Candy ≠ Sex

From this article in the Nation: 

In Cincinnati, Ohio, a high school sex education teacher carefully places a Jolly Rancher candy on each student’s desk. The 14- and 15-year-old students feel the crinkly plastic wrapping in their hands, wondering when they will get to eat their tantalizing treats.

“Don’t eat the candy!” warned the teacher, although she had just finished placing one on each desk. “You must wait until after class. It will taste much better if you allow yourself to wait.”

Obviously, this woman has never had sex. Because if she had, she would know that the first time you have sex is awkward and weird, a little embarrassing, and not all that great. For some people, it's painful. It's not candy. 

She would have been better off giving them something they could practice at. Like, I don't know, musical instruments. I bet if they practiced the kazoo every day for a week, they would find playing the kazoo a lot more fulfilling than when they first began. It might even be less embarrassing. 

Accurate Scales Save Lives!

When it comes to certain things, I am a bit of a luddite. Here is a list of things which I prefer in mechanical or analog format


-Clocks and watches
-Thermometers
-Scales


Speaking of scales: I am researching purchasing one for the bathroom. I want one that has a dial instead of a digital read for two reasons: aesthetics and lack of batteries. I also want it to be cheap because I am cheap.


I found this one that fit the bill: The Health O Meter Dial Scale, for $13.99.


Of course, it being Amazon, I read the reviews. The first one I read started off oddly: 


As a career food champion, I need to constantly weigh myself and eat accordingly during the competition season. 


What is a food champion? I do not know. But I read on, in search of context.


I usually wake up and eat 20 hard boiled eggs and 40 pickles before 9am. 


I don't have much to say about this. It just sounds really unpleasant. Forty pickles? Forty?


I purchased this scale to take with my to the tournaments. 


Ah. EATING CONTESTS. Filed away in that pile of things I will never fully understand. I feel awful after overeating. I can't imagine anyone feels good. Those people who plan and get all excited to stuff themselves on Thanksgiving? Masochists. There is no pleasure for me in being stuffed full. Even if there is a competitive element. I am just crampy and constipated and uncomfortably sleepy.

I always make sure I weigh 250 pounds going into every season and 300 when I get out per my doctor's orders. 


Who is this guy's doctor? Dr. Nick??

Unfortunately, this scale does not tell you if you are at 300 or above 300. The meter just stops. For about 4 weeks I thought I was at my normal weight.


Then it gets really bizarre:

When I returned home I weighed 328 pounds. Two weeks ago I had cardiac arrest due to eating 495 clams and 300 shrimp in eight minutes. 

I think this is not the scale's fault.


I'm not saying this scale is not good for what it can do, but keep this in mind if you are overweight or a food champion like myself. This could cause very serious repercussions.

There are two grammar problems with this section. 1. It should be one sentence and 2. "or" is the incorrect word to use here.


Additionally, I would like to point out that having an inaccurate scale is not the thing that might cause serious repercussions. 


 Next year I will not be bringing this scale with me, and I will break my record and eat 500 clams.


Best of luck.

It could have been worse.

I don't take back what I said in the last entry, but it certainly could have been worse. My friend's sister was on this flight.

PLANES.

I spent 5 hours trying to sleep on the floor of the Cinncinnati airport yesterday. As "reparations" for cancelling our flight, the airline gave us each $6 to purchase food. I'm not sure where they expected us to buy a meal for $6 at the airport, but as Ryan and my father pointed out, it was almost insulting.

This was after our trip out, where flight delays resulted in us (long story short) running across the Detroit airport with only a few minutes to spare between us having to stay the night in Detroit and us not having to stay the night in Detroit.

I was running down one of those moving walkways, messenger bag thumping against my back, panting out "excuse me..." to the people I was trying to squeeze past when a man, who had to be asked twice, said to me, "What's the big hurry??"

I didn't stop to answer because, well, being in an airport and all... I was worried about missing my plane.

A similar thing happened in Detroit (again) this time, with a fat, diabetic man on the escalator already annoyed because Ryan had asked him to move his suitcase so that he could get passed (once again, we were short on time) and then when I asked for the same thing he said, "The escalator's not for people who want to move. The stairs are for people who want to move." At this point in the trip, I would like to add, I had reached the end of my tether. Also, we weren't in serious danger of missing our flight, so I had enough time to say to him, "You're wrong and if you'd done this in London, you would have been thrown off the escalator."

I'm not sure when plane travel became so unpleasant. I remember in the 80's, when I was tiny, it was a fun adventure. I don't know if it was because I was small enough to be able to sleep comfortably in the seats then or because air travel was just better than. I am still small enough these days that, if I am flying with Ryan, I can manage to catch a few uncomfortable winks - I turn sideways, tuck my toes under his knees and sleep in a fetal position. I can't sleep without my feet resting on something and they do not touch the floor in most planes. I'm not abnormally short or anything, just run of the mill, average short, but short enough that unless I can rest my feet on my carry-on I am quite uncomfortable. One merciless flight attendant wouldn't allow me to rest my feet on my carry-on for a whole flight across the damn Atlantic, insisting that it had to be under the seat in front of me for the duration (incidentally, she also wouldn't allow me to have a book on my lap during take off and landing)(what a bitch).

I've heard that one doesn't truly remember the pain of childbirth; the reason being that if women remembered how painful it was, they would only do it once. I think that plane travel experience probably results in the same memory loss - why else would we continue to subject ourselves to this misery, this merciless machine, this discomfort on every level - we are forced to sit closer to people than is considered polite, exposed to their breath, gasses and elbows, we sleep on nasty plastic-carpeted floors,

Every time I go through it, I swear, NEVER AGAIN. But then there is another wedding or other thing, far enough in the future that I don't remember how awful it is or I don't want to let my own fear of discomfort take away from enjoying my friends....and here we are. Back sitting behind a shrieking child, avoiding the glare of the stranger next to you and trying to sleep with your toes jammed into the seat pocket in front of you.

Email from my husband II

From: Ryan
To: Alice
Subject: re: Jeeves had an interesting walk this morning


Jeeves is a white dog with brown spots.  His ears are lopsided!

This morning, Jeeves went for a walk.  He got to smell his favourite corner.

Then he went up to the levee near Fall Creek.  There is a big willow tree
on the other side of the creek.

CRICK! CRACK!  What's that sound?  It's the willow tree!
The willow tree is falling over!  CREEEeeeaaak.
SPLASH! into the creek.

At the end of the path, Jeeves turns left onto Cayuga St.  There is a fire
truck here.  And there is an ambulance in the driveway.

Look at that! A stag is walking down the road!  He looks a little scared.

Jeeves follows the stag down Cayuga Street and left onto Falls Street.  There
are two other dogs on Falls Street, and the stag runs away.

Wow! What a morning.  Jeeves needs a nap.

Email from my husband

From: Ryan
To: Alice
Subject: Jeeves had an interesting walk this morning


First, he got to smell the corner.  Then, we walked up onto the levee
and watched a big willow tree fall into the creek.  Then, there was a
firetruck.  Finally, a stag ran south on Cayuga and turned left onto
Falls Street and we chased him down Falls Street until he turned north
on Tioga and we turned south.  Wow!  What a walk.

-Ryan

Putting the hay up

My best friend here in Ithaca owns a horse farm (I ride her horses, the last 2 years in a row I've had a pony to train, this year I've been sticking with a big red warmblood mare named Ruby because I'm tired of posting quickly). 

Of course owning 30 head of horses means you have to feed 30 head of horses and while she has tons of pasture, that pasture is covered in snow most of the winter. Hay can be made less expensive moneywise if you spend a week mowing, drying, baling and then stacking it yourself (and spreading manure on it year round). This last week was that week. Friday, we put up* 7 wagons, yesterday and today another 4. I do not know how many bales in a wagon but I do know that we end up with over 1000 bales. And that doesn't last even half the winter! Casey usually supplements with round bales, which are expensive, money wise but it means that feeding the horse doesn't have to be done every day, twice a day. And with the exception of a few hard keepers (mostly thoroughbreds, of course), because we don't ride in the winter, none of them need much grain to keep weight on (particularly the Welshes). 

*putting up the hay requires many hands and many steps: 1. Someone bales the hay; 2. Someone drives over to the field to pick up the full hay wagon; 3. Hay wagon is delivered to the barn; 4; With 2 or 3 people in the hay loft  (the most unpleasant position) taking the bales off the elevator and stacking them, and one person putting bales on the elevator plus one or two people on top of the hay wagon, passing (or dropping or throwing) the hay to the person on the elevator, the wagon is unloaded into the loft and put in neat, stacks. 

 

It's good, honest work and I can't help but feel like it is so much more fulfilling than trying to complete competitive renewal paperwork, which is what I have to look forward to tomorrow. 

When I mistook my thumb for a carrot.

Chopping carrots last night, I sliced my thumb open pretty badly. I rushed over to the sink and rinsed it, while gripping it in anguish and tried to decide what to do.

I was fairly certain I needed a stitch or two, but, I really did not want to waste an evening in the urgent care and Gannett was closed. My phone was luckily on the floor and not somewhere where I'd have to dig for it. I used my toe and my good hand to open it and then my good hand to call Ryan, who was walking home. I sobbed and yelled about thumb pain. He ran home in the 90 degree F heat and in all of Ithaca's glorious humidity!

Then he drove over to the hardware store and bought some superglue. He cleaned off my thumb, poured rubbing alcohol over it (stingy!!) and after I dried it off with a piece of gauze, he glued my cut back together.  

What a guy.

Miso Soup Stirrer

There's a job posting on the Victoria, Washington Craigslist for a position as Miso Soup Stirrer.

I'm in need of a shiromiso soup stirrer for part-time work. Japanese Miso soup consists of softened miso paste suspended in a hot stock called "dashi." While the miso paste easily mixes with the dashi, in time it will settle and separate. My personal preference is to enjoy a mixed (stirred) miso soup, where the paste clouds the bowl. What I'm looking for is someone (male, female and transgendered are welcome) to stand beside my table during meals and stir my miso soup so that the bowl remains cloudy while I am enjoying other delicacies. (note: miso soup is not the only thing I eat)

You will be informed (via mobile phone) where my next meal will be. You will arrive in uniform an hour ahead of my own entrance and await me in the foyer or by the hostess' stand. You will accompany my party and I to our seats and you will stand beside my table and stir my soup once it has arrived. Using subtle hand signals, I will direct you to stir the soup along the side of the table. When I am ready to eat it, a signal will inform you to place the soup in front of me. While I am eating my soup, you will stand where you were stirring, making sure that the utensil you were using does not touch the table, or any other object. If I stop eating soup, you will stir the remainder. If I am done with my soup you will remain at attention in case I order more. When the meal is over, you will leave and await your next contact.

You and I will not speak for the duration of the meal, yet my guests may at times wish to engage you in conversation. You may converse with them, but you will only speak when spoken to. Eye contact with me is unadvised.


What you'll need:

Transportation: you will need to provide your own transportation to and from the places I dine. If I am traveling outside of the greater Vancouver area, transportation assistance funds will be provided. The ideal candidate will already posses a valid drivers license.

Communication: It is essential that I am able to communicate with you at all times. While I normally enjoy a very traditional dining schedule, sometimes my exotic tastes and whims can bring me to the dinner table at strange times. Other times, it is my work that effects when and where I eat. As a part of this position, I will provide you with an Iridium 9555 Sat Phone so I may reach you when I need you. The first day you don't show up at the appointed time will be the day I repost this ad to find your replacement. If you already have a satellite-linked mobile phone for personal use, I can provide a stipend to pay for the monthly service. The ideal candidate will also be fluent in English. However, English need not be your first language and candidates who speak multiple languages will be looked upon favorably.

Physical Fitness: You will stand for the duration of the meal, so the ideal candidate will have the physical fitness to remain standing in place for as long as three (3) hours. If you arrive at the restaurant ahead of me, I wish to encounter you standing as you prepare for my entrance. A previous employee could not follow this simple rule and was summarily terminated. Please understand that while I have the utmost respect for my employees, I at no time wish to see you seated. This is not a position for someone with chronic leg/lower back pain, or someone who wishes to take breaks every 15 minutes. It is also no secret that I love the Platonic form of beauty, but I am an equal opportunity employer and I welcome cover letters, resumes/CVs and photographs from all races and sexes.

Attire: I am an important man within my community and it would be unbecoming of me to consort with men or women who dress poorly. In your cover letter, please include your measurements so I may fit you with a custom silk kimono. The right candidate will be provided a new kimono and geta each month. While in service, the kimonos are not to be worn outside of work. Once I have given you a new set, you are free to use the old set for personal use. However, please keep track of which set is currently in use. I do not wish to see old kimonos being worn.


Requisite Skills:

While I have posted this opportunity in the hospitality section, the reality is that I am open to candidates from many walks of life. While a background in Japanese cuisine is helpful, you will not be required to prepare or serve my soup. Your task will be to simply stir it while I eat. This opportunity may seem well-suited for an experienced personal assistant or executive secretary. Yet, even though I dine at some of the world's most exclusive Japanese restaurants, you will not be required to book my table. Muscular men or a female athlete may think they have the upper hand in applying, but my last miso soup stirrer was of average physical build and she served me without issue for several years before going on to pursue other ventures.


Frequently Asked Questions:

Is this a real posting? Is this opportunity for real?
--Yes, this is a real offer for part-time, contract employment. I would not have taken the time to illustrate my needs in detail if this wasn't a serious offer.

How will I be paid?
--You will be paid cash in person at the end of the last scheduled meal of the month. If for some reason that meal is delayed or canceled, you will receive your payment promptly at the beginning of the next meal.

Are there benefits?
--While this is a contract position, I am open to the idea of building a long term business relationship with the right candidate. Such discussions could include my coverage of private health care, a retirement package and other perks. While in service, the kimonos are not to be worn outside of work. The satellite-linked mobile phone is never to be used for personal calls.

How often do you eat miso soup?
--Not every meal I enjoy is Japanese cuisine. However, when I do dine at Japanese restaurants or enjoy meals from Japanese chefs at private homes, I indulge in miso soup. Normally, I enjoy miso soup during meals at least three (3) times a week.

When do you eat dinner?
--I normally sit down for dinner between 8:00pm PT and 9:00 pm PT. Dinner can last between 1-3 hours, depending on the company I am with.

How do I apply for this position?
--Please send an e-mail with your contact information as well as a photo and a cover letter detailing why you are a candidate worth my time. Please note that only those selected for a personal interview will receive a reply. Those who do not meet the physical requirements, or those who fail to include a full length photo will obviously not be contacted. 

It seems to me that one's soup would be far too cold if it were subjected to constant stirring.

Gorge Deaths

-Three people have died this summer swimming in the gorges which is something I do quite frequently. All three of them died in the Fall Creek Gorge, two of them on Saturday, the day we hiked up through four Fall Creek falls, one of them on Saturday afternoon under Ithaca Falls, while I sat near the top of Ithaca Falls, unaware.

Yeesh.

I can't stop imagining what it must have been like to have drowned under the falls. At some point, you have to stop struggling and accept death. Then you are gone.

Tandoori Tempeh

Last night I made tandoori tempeh. As per my usual system of making curry pastes, powders and the like , I always at least double the recipe and reserve the remainder for another day. So here, I've posted the curry paste recipe for a single recipe but in actuality, I doubled everything in the paste portion, put it in a jar in the freezer. Since I have left over tempeh, I'll make it again soon and it will take about 5 minutes of prep. This time, I used about 10 oz of tempeh, sliced into triangles - but I am not entirely sure on the actual amount as I was using up leftover bulk. 


For the curry paste:


1 tsp cumin seeds 
1 tsp coriander seeds 
2 hot chilis or 1 tsp chili powder 
2 tsp garam masala 
2 tbsp sweet paprika 
Juice of ½ a lemon 
2 tbsp oil (neutral tasting like peanut, groundnut or canola)
1 tsp salt 
½ tsp turmeric 
1/2 tbsp tomato paste
3 garlic cloves, crushed 
Large knob of fresh root ginger, finely grated 


Toast cumin, coriander and chili peppers, if you are using them, in a pan until fragrant. Put in a spice grinder and make into a powder. Combine with rest of ingredients, adjust spices to personal preference, as needed. 


For the marinade:
Combine curry paste with:
5 oz yoghurt
1tbsp olive oil
1 tsp sugar


Pour about a third of the mixture or or enough to coat the bottom of a baking dish (I used a 10" square one). Place a layer of tempeh in the baking dish and pour over the remaining marinade. I ended up having a couple of extra triangles that didn't fit, so I put them on top and scooped marinade over them. Let it sit for 20 minutes to 2 hours, while you do your dishes and chop cucumbers for the salad or watch an episode of the Simpsons or Poirot or Doctor Who or whatever. Somewhere in there, remember to pre-heat your oven to 350 degrees F.


When you are ready to bake, put it in the oven for 20 minutes or so. 


Then take it out and enjoy. We had ours over a bed of rice with a cucumber salad, dressed with a rice vinaigrette. 

Strawberry season.

- I occasionally have reason to take dictation in the form of what is known as a cassette tape. Some of you may remember these items - an elegant way of storing audible information. Some of you may even have one or two lying around your car or home.

-I have learned to love omelettes. I thought, for years, that I wasn't keen on eggs. Then I started eating fresh eggs. Meaning not-from-the-grocery store eggs. Frankly, after a year or so of living on fresh ones from the farm (sometimes -almost- literally straight from the hen's cloaca...) the idea of eggs from the grocery store is a little disgusting. They do not taste right. They taste old. We have our omelettes stuffed with Lively Run goat cheese and arugula. After our little trip to the Dixon Market this a few weekends ago, on the way to a wedding in Central CA, where we bought super cheap sun dried tomatoes, I can see some of them making it in to our omelettes as well (unless I just eat them all straight out of the bag, which I have been doing frequently).

-This article in the New York times is strange to me. I have been bringing my own food onto airplanes for years. I thought that this was a normal (obvious) thing to do - everyone knows airplane food is awful and now they expect you to pay extra for it, why would anyone do that? Fruit, nuts, salads (with 3oz of salad dressing), sandwiches. I also always carry teabags with me - you never know when you are going to chance upon the possibility of boiling water (or slightly cooler, if it's green).

- We picked 2 gallons of strawberries last weekend. I made strawberry jam and ate them fresh with cream Apparently eating them with a bit of (unwhipped) heavy cream poured over them and a sprinkle of sugar is more of an English thing than I had assumed, having 2 experiences recently where people were new to the idea. I'm not sure about this though, it just seems like a really obvious thing to do with fresh berries. It's much nicer than whipped cream, I think, although whipped cream is pretty essential for the last thing we did with the strawberries: strawberry shortcake. I just had some leftovers for breakfast. Strawberry season is so short, but so delicious.

We found these in the strawberry patch when we were picking:

-I made a failure of a peanut soup last night which was rescued with some thai flavours. I did not have enough peanut butter on hand, so it just wasn't any where near as strongly flavoured as it should have been. Next time!

-I'm considering quitting my part time job and just spending the rest of the summer riding. I may be unable to next summer, so I want to get in as much as I can before then.

Ithaca Antiques Mall for Cast Iron

Ryan and I went to the Ithaca Antiques Mall, looking for another bicycle for him. He has a nice touring bike, but I think he wants something that's a little more of a beater, to ride around town.

We didn't find a bicycle (there had been a whole bunch from an estate sale that had already been sold). What we did find was a section upstairs featuring very reasonably priced cast iron cookware. Of every variety. A while ago, I'd been looking into buying a dutch oven and I'd had the idea of buying an orange enameled dutch oven (orange because of the nostalgia for one my mother had from which I ate many a delicious stew or potato or curry or soup). But then we sort of came to the realization that everything a dutch oven would do can be done by something else that we already have* - with the exception of campfire uses, and since we really only ever backpack (verses "car camping"), a dutch oven would not be practical for camping.

Still, I have such an affection for cast iron. It's so... functionally elegant. This section that we found had every kind of cast iron cookware you could imagine. I spent awhile in there, squealing every time I found some oddly shaped muffin pan or tiny skillet. We looked at the dutch ovens and I found one that I loved - for $60! We didn't buy it though, for the reasons I stated earlier. We also found a real waffle iron, which I am still thinking about buying. We don't have a waffle iron and if we're going to buy a waffle iron, I want it to be awesome. This one is definitely awesome. It's the kind that comes with it's own stand which you put over the burner. The waffle iron itself is attached to the stand at the hinge. It rests on the stand until you pick it up by the handle and flip it over. I adore it, but alas, I have no room for it. If I did, I could make moffles.

*For example, we got a slow-cooker from Williams-Sonoma as a wedding present. It died after maybe 3 uses - the heating element (get this!) got too hot. When Casey discovered that we were living without a slow cooker, she picked one up at her thrift store for 5 bucks and it's way better than the fancy one (it fits on our counter and still has a lot of room for "batch cooking" and it's heating element hasn't gotten too hot).

Ideas for Slate Magazine.

I know I get myself into these things. I'm fully aware of it. But, sometimes you need a release. A bit of fluff. Some amusement. Other women read Cosmo. I read Slate. Sometimes the articles are interesting. A lot of them are stupid and some are offensive. All of them must be taken with a large, grain of salt.

They have a particular type of article where one of the reporters makes a confession about not like something that everyone appears to like and then spends the rest of the time cajoling the readers into admitting that they really don't like it either.

If you'll pardon the expression, I read an article today that literally "took the cake". An anti-pie article called "It's gloppy, it's sloppy, it's un-American" by some giant ass named Nathan Heller. My first thought was, "I can't believe the presence of a pie actually affects someone so much as to make the entire afternoon unpleasant."

The rest of the article is about how we all eat pie because we think we're supposed to according to tradition and now trend, but really, let's just admit that it's not very good, because the author, apparently doesn't understand why other people like it, so they must be lying.

Clearly Slate is struggling for article subjects if they are attacking something as innocuous as pie (I mean really, why the hell does Nathan Heller care if other people eat pie??). To help them, Ryan and I came up with some possible titles for future articles.

"Puppies are just not that adorable - why can't we admit it?"


"Why we should all eat babies."


"Being inexplicably rude to strangers is a good idea."


"Paradise: Returning to the Religions of our Forefathers"


"Fear God!  FEAR HIM!"


"Walking: is this primitive form of locomotion overrated?"


 "Chewing your food may be worse for you than you thought."


 "Stop Blinking: Why Your Eyes Are Crying"


"Why Stubbing Your Toe Isn't As Painful As You Think It Is."

Paleo Diet, cont...

I found this article, by Katharine Milton of UC Berkeley - published in the book The Human Diet, of which I'd love a copy, but I can't even afford the Kindle version (around $73).

It articulates what I have been trying to say to various people: "It is difficult to comment on "the best diet" for modern humans because there have been and are so many different yet successful diets in our species." She also points out of the few significant mutations that have served as adaptations which differentiate  us from our nearest great ape relatives occurred AFTER the advent of agriculture and animal domestication, so are not associated with our Paleolithic, hunter-gatherer ancestors.

Tracheotomies and pulled up mint

We've finally got around to our garden, a little less ambitious this year: lettuce, onions and various herbs. Also, we have been cultivating the volunteer mint in our garden for the 2 years we've had a garden, with a view to mint drinks and mint preserves (we made pesto using oregano, mint and chili instead of the usual basil - it was divine. The magic ingredient was lemon juice, to taste. We have it on toast). Proud and excited about our crop of mint this year, we started making more plans for it (mint syrup! mint tea!), only to catch our rather unobservant downstairs neighbour pulling them out. Definitely an odd duck: she claimed that we'd told her that that was where the sunny part was (for her tomatoes) despite the fact that she was digging in the shadiest part of our garden. It turned out that she intended to plant her onions there. Ryan then pointed out some volunteer tomato plants that were growing where we had planted tomatoes last year and asked her to avoid them. She promptly trampled them as she trundled over to plant her tomato plants. I think she is new to gardening (as am I!). Ryan replanted the mint she pulled out - most of it is seeming to recover, so not a huge tragedy. 

We are going to buy some more plants this weekend at the farmer's market: a stevia plant and some more exotic greens.Currently, we have two mixed salad greens patches, designed to be harvested regularly for fresh salads.  I even found a cardamom plant for sale at the market but couldn't fit it onto my bicycle (our recent routine has been to wake up on Saturdays, eat a leisurely breakfast and then bike to the farmer's market and food co-op for vegetables (market), cheese and locally produced butter and yoghurt. With the exception of dried beans and grains, we are done shopping for the week.) The cardomom plant was in a little stall full of interesting plants and as I was exclaiming about finding cardomom, a hand gripped my upper left arm and someone whispered something in my ear. I turned and saw a white bearded, jolly faced man standing next to me, who repeated his whisper: 

"Can I help you?". 

I replied, 

"No thanks, I was just excited by your cardamom plant." 

Ryan stepped forward and asked him about wintering the plant, 

"Surely you can't keep it outside during the winter...?"

The man leaned forward to answer and I noticed he had a large white gauze patch taped to his throat, but the medical tape was coming loose on the side closest to me, revealing a gaping, dark hole at the base of his neck that had a sort of orangey yellow crust around the edges. 

"No, you bring it in, in the winter." He whispered back.

Ryan said, "It's a pity about your voice." and I cringed. 

"That's life." 

As we walked away, I asked Ryan if he knew why the man was whispering. He shook his head and I said, 

"He'd just had a tracheotomy."

Ryan had apparently thought the man was suffering from laryngitis. 

Really, Jeeves? II

Jeeves has returned from the hospital! He has a very long incision, neatly stapled, and a shaved portion on his hindquarters to which the vets have affixed a clear patch that releases pain killers, (we were given explicit instructions not to eat the patch). In addition to those instructions, we were given a veritable pharmacy of pain killers, antibiotics, and healing agents for his stomach. This is in addition to all the eye medicine he is still on for the black eye he mysteriously came home with a few weeks ago.

He is in good spirits (almost too good - he celebrated getting home by jumping back and forth over the back seat of the car) and, aside from the heat (it's in the 90s F today), he seems content to be home.  

The offending object was identified as a squash stem along with various bits of vegetation. We are still unsure as to where he found a squash stem this time of year, especially considering that he was under quasi-house arrest due to the black eye!

His prognosis for a full recovery is excellent, given his physical condition, age and stubborn nature. We are glad that the worst part is over!

Really, Jeeves?

Jeeves is in the Cornell Companion Animal Hospital right now awaiting
surgery for an obstruction of the small intestine.  He should be
having the surgery this afternoon, and will stay in the hospital for
two or three days afterward.  His prognosis is good.

The first signs of the bowel obstruction showed up yesterday morning
when he puked up his breakfast.  He continued to throw up fluid
throughout the day.  We brought him to the vet in the evening when he
turned down his dinner and then puked up the dog treat that Alice gave
him to see if he had any appetite at all.  They took x-rays and didn't
find anything one way or the other.  So, they gave him fluids and sent
him home with instructions for how to treat "dietary indiscretion,"
the most likely and easily treatable cause of vomiting.  This morning,
when we gave him water, after twelve hours without, he puked it all up
about 20 minutes later.  So, we went back to the vet, where they were
able to take a look inside of him using ultrasound.  They found a
bolus in his small intestine, approximately 11 cm long with a 2.5 cm
diameter.  So, they recommended surgery.  We agreed, and they kept
him.

We caught the obstruction very soon after it happened, so everything
should go well.  The vet seemed very positive---she thought that
getting the obstruction out as soon as possible was the very best
thing to do.  So, it's up to the surgeon and Jeeves, now.  Good luck,
little buddy.
-Ryan


Thursday I came home to dog sick all over the rug and in the closet and in all sorts of other strange places. I called Ryan and asked him if he had been the one to throw up all over the rug and he said, "No. But Jeeves did throw up his breakfast."


He seemed fine, so I chalked it up to a dog being a dog and bundled him and Barnaby over to the barn. He ran around and played as normal and then we went home. 


Then he refused dinner. I gave him a treat, which he took, albeit almost more out of custom more than any interest. Then he threw it up, whole. At which point I called Cornell and they said bring him in.


After many hours of waiting and a massive tornado/thunderstorm, we went home with an inconclusive diagnosis. That is to say, they looked at the radiographs of his chest and stomach and found nothing, which didn't rule out anything except something mysteriously called "mega-esophagus". Our instructions were to not feed him for 24 hours or give him water for 12. They also gave him subcutaneous fluids so he had a wobbly, jiggly, camel hump that he spent most of the evening trying to get away from. 


"It's under your skin, Jeeves. You can't actually get away from it."


The thunderstorm or the intestinal distress or the fact that it's probably hard to find  comfortable sleeping position when you have a blob of saline solution quivering like jelly sitting on your back made him restless and I don't think he slept a wink. Then, in the morning, after watching him shift his weight repeatedly trying to find a comfortable position, we gave him a little bit of water. He responded by spewing bright green (it was quite a pretty colour) liquid and undigested grass all over the carpet. I put on some pants and we packed him off to Cornell. 


Ryan sent out the above email a few hours after we'd received the diagnosis. In a way it was a relief that they found an obstruction - much worse things like cancer or liver failure had crossed my mind repeatedly. 


The surgery, that they did on Friday, resulted in the discovery of a winter squash stem. I have no idea where he found a squash stem this time of year, particularly because he has been on house arrest for the last two weeks due to a completely unrelated injury (a mysterious black eye). 


Anyway. His prognosis is very positive. He apparently tried to leave when they took him out of his crate for the first time after his surgery - which is very Jeeves. 


I still can't get the look of his little face as we stood in the hall watching him be led away. They asked us to stay until he couldn't see us anymore because it would be easier to get him to come with them. He kept craning his head around trying to see us. 

Sorrel Soup

I made a sorrel soup the other night. It was a recipe my mother sent me a long time ago that I had never tried, because I never got around to looking for sorrel. I bought some at the farmer's market last weekend and then realised that it grows all over the place. It is, in fact, not only a weed, but the same weed I spent my childhood smearing myself with after encountering a stinging nettle (there is no scientific evidence that it is actually effective, but to my memory, it worked. There is definitely something to be said for the placebo effect). 

Ingredients: 


A big bunch of sorrel leaves, stems trimmed off.  Wash well as for spinach.
Potato scrubbed but leave skin on.  Chop into cubes and  parboil or put in microwave for 4-5 minutes.
Bunch of spring onions chopped fine including greens
3 Cups of vegetable stock
2 tablespoons Olive oil
Nutmeg, salt & pepper

Heat oil, medium, add onions and sorrel leaves, stir and cook for three minutes till leaves turn bright green.
Add potato, vegetable stock, cook for about 6 minutes or until potato is fully cooked.
Grate in nutmeg
Leave to cool a bit and blend til smooth, return to pan to heat through if necessary.
Taste, add salt & pepper to liking.

Has it's own flavor, doesnt taste like anything else.

Oh I also added a large pinch of dry mint with the potato & veg stock.

enjoy elaine

It's a teensy bit poisonous though, do you shouldn't have gallons of it. And the nutmeg is key! I used regular onions instead of spring and started the onions first - before adding the sorrel. In the future, I would leave the onions in longer to get them to sweeten up a bit more as a counter to the sour sorrel, although that wouldn't be necessary with spring onions.

I had it with two whole grain Ryvita crackers with some peanut butter. So satisfying.  

Electrical Fire

Today my office mate stood up in shock saying, "There's something burning in here!"

We systematically and quickly checked all the sockets and found nothing. Next, I ran downstairs and checked the kitchen. The smell was stronger downstairs but there was no discernible source. I decided, after looking in the other downstairs rooms, to call the maintenance manager.

While waiting for him to come and see what he could do, I checked the Norwegian Ugly Man's office. He was on the phone. He looked up at me and held his nose to indicate there was a bad smell. His door to the outside was wide open.

The maintenance man showed up and I went upstairs to my office. It then occurred to me that 1)The smell was much, much stronger downstairs. 2)He works downstairs. His office door was wide open. 3)He works in an office that was full of a smell (I mean a BAD SMELL, a GET OUT OF BUILDING! smell, a Chemicals! Burning! Don't breathe it in or you will suffer irreparable damage! smell) of an electrical fire and he did NOTHING about it, failing to alert the others in the building (me) or call the people who could potentially prevent our deaths.

Another flag for you, Mister Norwegian Ugly. Although, I am surprised that my office mate was able to smell the burn smell above the mold smell in our office.

Yay! I had a root canal!

Yesterday I had the third root canal attempt done on the cranky, nasty, MEAN tooth that has plagued me since it decided not to grow into the nice little gap that its predecessor had left for it and rather grow sideways, along the gum line, hoping to never see sunlight. It had to be tortured into submission by way of a tiny set of chain links bolted to it that was gradually shortened every few weeks, link by link.It recently decided to exact further revenge by abscessing.

I am terrified of the dentist. I have that thing where going to the dentist makes you scared and nauseated, then you lie in the chair and they say open your mouth and you have to fight back tears of absolute terror and repress the urge to scream (which is not easy with your mouth open). I have been focusing on trying to be a more responsible person though and that means things like going to the appropriate medical person when in severe pain. So, instead of ignoring the pain in order to avoid going to the dentist, I went to the dentist. Shaking and sweating all the way there. I had a bit of concern when I described the pain and they wanted to see me immediately. I started to try and say things like,

"Well, it isn't that bad. Maybe I just have a really low tolerance for pain..."

"Can you come in at 2:30 today?"

I went (see "responsible person") and they did some x-rays, after which the dentist walked in and said, "Well. You have an abscess. You have a couple of options. One, we can remove the tooth."

At which point, the room started spinning and I'm sure a look of horrorfear slid across my face and I probably stopped breathing.

"Or we can do a root canal."

To which my reaction was actual relief, then horrorfear, then the room started spinning.

"I'll take the root canal" I whispered.

"That's what I'd recommend."

But he couldn't actually do the root canal because the tooth itself is so damaged and full of ill will that it has "calcified" which means he couldn't actually get to the root canal.

So, still in pain, prescription for antibiotics in one hand, phone number for an endodontist in the other and a little dizzy from oxygen deprivation, I drove home and cried for awhile.

The next day, I took a bunch of ibuprofen and called the endodontist for an appointment.

Yesterday was actually the second trip to the endodontist who had the same issue as the dentist and had informed me that I would probably need surgery.

"Yeah. Well. We'll try again. But, there's so much calcification in there...."

The good news is that despite everyone's skepticism and the general stubborn nature of that stupid tooth, she managed it and I don't have to have surgery.

Which is why I'm excited that I had a root canal.

Deep Freeze

I really want a deep freeze.

We've decided to buying a pressure cooker for this summer, which will help, but I really want a deep freeze. 

I eat a lot of frozen fruit this time of year (a favourite breakfast/snack: frozen peaches and blueberries with yoghurt, nuts and ground flax seed), because I really want to eat fruit and nothing is in season yet. I'd like to freeze my own fruit this summer, but there just isn't room in our freezer.

Last summer we picked peaches (among other things) at Indian Creek Farm. We kept intending to freeze some but ate them all up before we had a chance to prepare them. I mentioned this to a friend who scoffed: "Indian Creek is not organic - they spray everything". 

I came to the conclusion a long time ago that organic is pretty much meaningless to me, as far as labeling goes. It's nice that our CSA farm follows organic practices - which is more interesting to me because what they do contributes to the overall health of the land they are farming, rather than their resistance to using pesticides - but I'd pick local over organic any day. Give me a "conventionally" grown peach from 3 miles down the road over an organic one from California. Our CSA, incidentally, is not certified organic. 

It's also nice that I have the option of choosing a local peach though. There is so much good food, so near by and yet, I can't fit it all into my freezer! 

Norwegian Ugly

Several months ago, I overheard a man in my building complaining about a student who wasn't just ugly, she was Norwegian ugly.

I wasn't entirely sure what he meant by Norwegian ugly, but it sounded to me like he was personally offended by the fact that she had the nerve to be unattractive, in addition to being a poor student.

This man is also morbidly obese. The bathroom is directly below my office and I can tell you that he either needs more or less fiber in his diet, but the amount that he is getting is not right. Once, I was leaving work and I caught him shuffling out of the kitchen, towards the bathroom, gripping his trousers around his waist, apparently having preemptively started unbuttoning them. The top of his underwear was visible and the bottom of his pendulous stomach, peaking out from bottom of his polo shirt. I looked shocked and then I looked away and he mumbled sorry and scuttled (as well as he could) into the bathroom.

Just now, I overheard him in the kitchen (he's got a loud voice, so it's fairly easy to echo-locate him as well as hear and understand what he is saying, no matter where you are in the building) talking about Ron Paul. Someone walked into the bathroom and turned on the fan before I could figure out whether he was supporting or denouncing him. I found myself making an effort to hear him because I really wanted another story.

Tonight's dessert

Tonight I melted chocolate chips and poured the result into Jersey cow yogurt from Meadow Creek Farm in Interlaken.Yum.


Yesterday, I went on the first trail ride of the year. I took Ruby. Here is a blurry picture of us:

Last night, among other things, I went to the Shop for an espresso and looked at my friend Ken's artwork.

Right now, a huge ant is frantically trying to escape Barnaby and Jeeves is nursing a black eye from an unknown source (we spent all morning at the vet...).

Mother's Day conversation.

I talked to my mother on Mother's Day. Two of my parents neighbours have been diagnosed with something life threatening (congestive heart failure, metastasizing cancer) and my father's long time friend has to have a stent replaced.

The neighbour that has cancer has had a crappy time of it. Her son died of cancer several months ago, somewhat unexpectedly and she didn't tell anyone about it until she flew into a rage at my mother, lashing out because no one had asked her about her son. No one had asked, because no one knew - she hadn't told anyone that he was dying.

It was a pretty dramatic situation. She was screaming at my mother through her closed door about how she wanted nothing to do with her or anyone else in the cul de sac. We talked about it a little during this conversation. My mother said she didn't mind that it had happened because she understood that people might need to behave badly when they have terrible things happen to them. Although the situation was distressing at the time, she was glad that the neighbour felt comfortable enough to scream at my mother and call her lousy things.

Adult Prom

If a New York time trend piece is to believed (and it probably isn't), people who are no longer in high school are attending "adult proms". Well, I guess only women are, because they only interviewed women for the article.

I went to prom my junior year in a borrowed dress and my boyfriend's Dodge Neon. He really wanted to go - he had gone the year before (he was a year older than me) and had had a blast. All I remember from the evening is eating strawberries at Margo's house beforehand, standing in line to check my coat behind two girls discussing whether or not they should "do it" with their dates (they didn't feel like it, but they felt it was a breach of etiquette not to put out after he'd spent all that money), standing in line to get our picture taken and standing in line to get my coat back.My limited memory of this event has nothing to do with alcohol (my boyfriend, at the time, didn't drink and I had limited access to alcohol and also was fairly unaware as to its abilities improve an otherwise tedious situation) and mostly to do with how unmemorable the evening was for me, the prom was the awkwardness of the forced romanticism, the terrible, terrible (terrible!) music and a Mean Girl atmosphere..

These women, trying to "re-create one of the best times of their lives" baffle and depress me. For example, I enjoyed college, but I'm not really interested in recreating the best times I had, not just because of the legal implications,but also because of the fact that as fun as it was, there are other things that interest me more. I guess what I'm asking is, don't these women have better things going on in their lives?

Rampy pasta and lentil salad

I've not posted anything food related in a while, so here goes:

On another note:

Last night I experimented with ramps. I thought, originally that I felt like having one of our brothy asian style soups (it's a component of our repertoire - tasty, savory, usually spicy broth poured over raw or barely cooked vegetables and then, possibly, a poached egg, lovingly added to float on top of everything) but decided that, since it was my first time cooking and eating ramps, I wanted to do something a little more classic and something that would feature the ramps more, seeing as I wanted to determine what there actual flavour was.

So I put a pot of spaghetti on and while waiting for the water to boil I washed my ramps and separated the leaves from the bulb ends. I sliced the bulbs up and tossed them in a pan with some olive oil (rather more than I might have otherwise - I intended it as a dressing for the pasta), oyster mushrooms (sliced to be a similar size to the ramps and at ratio of 1 to 1, mushrooms to ramps), salt and pepper. I took the leaves, rolled them up and sliced them into ribbons. Then, when the pasta was drained and returned to its pot, I poured the sauteed ramps and mushrooms over the spaghetti (and scraped out all the olive oil with a spatula). Then I added the ramp greens and tossed it all together. Yum. Sweet and woodsy but nice and mellow oniony too.

For protein, and before I made the spaghetti dish, I threw together a lentil salad. I put green lentils on to cook until still firm (cooked all the way, mind you, just not falling apart) with a bay leaf. While this was cooking, I diced a small onion fairly finely (I wanted them to be at least similar in size to the lentils, but still wanted actual pieces of onion, so I refrained from actual mincing) and put half of it in a bowl (the rest went in the fridge). I squeezed 2 lemons into the onions and also added 2 cloves of crushed garlic and salt and pepper. I let that sit while the lentils finished cooking, then I drained the lentils and added them to the bowl with a drizzle of olive oil. Tossed it all together and let it sit while I made the spaghetti dish.

Hurried Bees

There are news stories every day about the rainy spring we've been having. Unfortunately all the rain means the farmers are behind on just about everything (including horse farmers - all the ponies are suffering from scratches that we have only just got a handle on -because we had a few days where the mud started to dry up - and thus haven't gotten them fit enough to jump yet, let alone go to a horse show). Our CSA has not sent us a start date because they do not know when they are going to actually start.

Regarding this small crisis, I read this article in the Ithaca Journal today and had to laugh because of the line (emphasis mine):

More rain could also result in scabby apples and hurried bees trying to pollinate flower blossoms. 

True to form, the Journal doesn't add any context to that, so all we are left with is the scratching of our heads and muttering to ourselves, "Aren't bees rather usually in a hurry? As in Busy-As-A...."

Paleo Diet

The Kitchn featured a thing on some people doing a Paleo diet barbecue. I responded to someone a few months ago on facebook regarding my take on how idiotic the Paleo diet argument is. It's a little trite, but it gets my point across, mainly that using the argument that we should all eat like cavemen for some as-yet-unexplained-clearly-to-me reason is silly reason as it has no bearing in science or fact. Also, on a pettier note, Paleo dieters are smug. Like pregnant women. 

 

"This diet suggests that we should all eat like "cavemen" (I assume they mean homo sapiens during the Pleistocene era). The idea is that all of them lived on a specific diet (a ludicrous idea - considering that at this point, humans were scattered all across Africa, Europe and Asia - hardly likely that we were all eating the same food) and therefore, if we all live on this specific diet, it is "healthier" and more "natural". That specific diet is low-fat meat, nuts, fruit and vegetables, no legumes and no grains. This is because of the suggestion that we only started eating legumes and grains after the advent of agriculture - something I find hard to believe, considering we would have had to have eaten them before agriculture - why else would we have started cultivating them??

Humans were probably scavengers and definitely omnivorous. Our teeth are a great clue as to what we were eating - you don't develop large molars for high meat diet, you need them for breaking down fibrous plants! Look at a dog's mouth - known omnivores - and compare to ours and to a horse's mouth. Not to mention that it is VERY HARD to catch an animal without a gun. So hard, in fact, that lots of hunter-gatherer tribes developed interesting ways of deciding who owned the food. For example, someone kills a deer, they get part, but the man who made the arrow also gets a part as does the leader of the hunt...etc... a typical diet more likely consisted of lots of what was "gathered" combined with occasional meat. But once again, this absolutely depends on where one was. People of Scandinavian descent have a much easier time digesting milk and dairy than people of Asian descent due to available diet. Another thing to remember is that there are differences between humans then and humans now - not enough to warrant speciation, obviously, but we see changes in things such as aforementioned digestive enzymes and the intelligence not to follow fad diets.

There are more reasons I could go into, but that's the gist of it. Eat a high protein diet if one find that it is best, but rationalising it with science one barely understands makes for a weak argument."

Disgusting Scenario

My dogs will eat sick. They aren't picky: they'll eat their own, they'll eat each others' and I'm sure, given the opportunity they would anyone's that happened to be presented to them.

I asked Ryan today, why is it that they don't have the same aversion to vomit that we do and he responded,

"I don't know. They're more practical, I guess."

To which I responded,

"Are you saying that there is a circumstance under which you would eat sick?"

He shrugged. Then I asked,

"Say you were on a desert island. You'd been there a month. You have access to running water, but no food. A ship shows up to rescue you and two people come in a dinghy to bring you back to the ship. One of them is made seasick by the dinghy and upon landing, before they can say or do anything, they vomit in your lap. What would you do?"

He said,

"That's an excellent scenario."

And then kissed me on the cheek and went to work. I called out to him,

"But you never answered."

"Yes, Alice. Under that circumstance, I'd probably eat vomit."

Arguing on the Internet (redux)

Broke a personal rule today. Regretted it.

I don't regret it because I was called obnoxious (yes, someone on the internet called me obnoxious - I think that's like what, OT I of the internet?) but because these things are so pointless (see above). I was called obnoxious after I made a point about how people take themselves too seriously and how if everyone took things less personally, we'd all be much happier, in general.

I am aware of the irony of posting the above mentioned sentiment in an anonymous comment section.

NY Times sez "It's fashionable to be rude"

Okay. So I only read the first couple of paragraphs of this article, (because after the first couple of paragraphs it became apparent to me that it was another NYT fake trend piece) but I don't know anyone (and I've lived in Silicon Valley) who thinks it's polite to constantly check ones phone during a conversation unless the phone can provide direct information pertaining to said conversation ("What time did you say we were meeting her?" "I don't remember, let me check what her text message and/or email said."). I don't think people who are texting and emailing and checking facebook while they are talking to me are "wired, well-put-together [people]" - I think they're people who suffer from issues with self-control or a pathological inability to be comfortable in their present situation.

Milk(?) Moustache

Cornell has a really awful picture up on its main page today of President Skorton with something white smeared across his upper lip, in an effort to suggest we should all drink more milk.

I don't like milk. But even if I did or even believed that we should "all drink more milk" this detestable campaign would be off putting. BLECH.

Bread, soup, tea, nap, Dan Savage.

We joined a bread CSA. I like to make my own bread and usually do so instead of buying it, but I don't have own an oven modeled on the great Spanish ovens of the late 19^th century. The flour comes from a local miller and the bread is the best bread I've ever had.

***

Last night I made one of the better leek and potato soups. Thyme, bay and both black and white pepper were my herbal additions. Yum.There are leftovers. YUM.

***

I'm more tired than I normally am on Mondays. I have to be at work earlier than is comfortable for me and I am, oddly enough, usually early. I get in early which means I can leave a little early, although since I do it every day, it doesn't feel early which has made getting in "on time" feel late because it means I have to stay later than normal. Which means I have less time for the nap I take after work to catch up on sleep. This might seem silly, however, because of the fact that even if I were to get to work on time instead of early, I would STILL want to nap afterwards and most likely for the same amount of time. I'm trying to break this nap habit, because I end up feeling like I'm wasting the afternoon. I've been failing at that and have recently adopted a compromise: scheduled napping (instead of passing out on the couch for 2 hours as soon as I've finished my post-work tea and then waking up realising that the laundry still isn't folded and I've got to go to the grocery store). 

***

Dan Savage is speaking at Cornell tonight. I'm pretty excited to see him - not so much for his recent work, although I think it was a great campaign, but because I think that if everyone followed Dan Savage's advice (which could be paraphrased as saying: Treat Everyone With Common Decency), everyone would be a lot happier. 

***

Stupid Sweater

I saw this knitting pattern the other day for the "Atlas Shrug", thought that the absurdity of the design (why would you wear a shrug when it most certainly will do nothing to keep you  shoulders warm, but be uncomfortable to wear in warmer weather?) must be the reason it was named as it was: to illustrate the absurdity of Ayn Rand.

Notes from when Ryan was away.

A few nights ago, I was walking to Madeline's to meet someone for late night drinks after a strange evening. As I crossed Lincoln Street, I heard screaming from two blocks up, from someone standing by the Creeker.

"Imonna kill you! Imonna fucking kill you!!"

And so on.

I would have been more alarmed if I hadn't spent more than a few nights at the Creeker myself: generally the atmosphere is very friendly and family-like, but, as with all real families, there are going to be times when someone will threaten to kill someone else over something seemingly trivial.

The next morning, I ate at a diner and read this poem on the menu:

Spoon

Spoon

Spoon

Oh how it feels

to be dipped into the soup.

Knife

Knife
Knife
A knife
Watch out I will get you.

Fork
A fork
A fork
Oh how it feels
to be stabbed into a cake
A fork
A fork.

Lastly, I had very long an involved dream last night that involved me winning a radio contest to spend a day with a celebrity whom I can't bring myself to name. We got along great until he attempted to rape me, which I talked him out of by explaining that I wasn't going to remove my shorts and he shouldn't rip them off of me because they were my favourite pair (I pondered this upon waking up and in my half asleep state came to the conclusion that the weirdest part of that scenario was that I don't really wear shorts very often, as I prefer skirts and dresses for hot weather).

Then he left and I spent a good deal of time trying to convince my ex-boyfriend that I had actually spent the day with this celebrity and aside from him being psychotic and rapey, he was kind of fun to hang out with, as long as I avoided giving him coffee or any other kind of stimulant. 

Tender moment.

I just watched a tender moment between the two dogs: Barnaby ambled over to Jeeves, who normally rejects affection at this time of day (noon), gently nuzzled Jeeves' right eye and followed it with a gentle wipe of the tongue.

Mammals are amazing!

Granola

It's the nearing the end of winter (according to the calendar). I've had a weird couple of months, but finally (as of this week) am possibly starting to feel normal again.

I made a delicious loaf of bread the other day out of sprouted whole wheat flour. It made me want to go and buy big sacks of wheat berries for sprouting. Which then made me thing of granola, something I'd been meaning to make but never gotten around to. It was surprisingly easy and definitely one of those things that is worth the effort to make yourself. I used rolled oats and rolled barley (3 cups of each). Once these had toasted in my large (12"? maybe bigger?) cast iron skillet for about 5-7 minutes (with occasional stirring to prevent burning)- until the grains were fragrant. I added 2 cups of a combination of chopped almonds, chopped cashews, poppy seeds, flax seed that I ground with cardomom seeds and sesame seeds and stirred those around. I then added maybe 1.5 teaspoons of cinnamon and a 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla. Finally, I added 1/2 cup of honey, stirred that as best I could (the heat helps) and then popped it into a 350° F oven for half an hour, occasionally opening it up and stirring. When that came out of the oven, all toasty and smelling heavenly, I added some raisins.

I had this with homemade almond milk (also worth it! so much better than that sweetened store stuff!)and felt, well, pretty granola. Well fed too, though.