Cookie Exchange

I'm going to a friend's cookie exchange party this afternoon. I am a good cook, but not being that into baked goods besides pies, I don't make them very often, so I'm not all that practiced and I don't have a "special secret killer cookie recipe". I made 2 kinds: glazed lemon and snickerdoodles. Ryan wanted snickerdoodles. They are never my first choice - I just do not see the point in them, eternally not cinnamony enough, I always feel that I could do just as well eating sugar on toast. I added extra cinnamon this time, still not cinnamony enough.

Anyway. I talked to Casey yesterday, who introduced me and the other friend and found out that I am going to meet a girl, my age, who just had a baby and "is very active".

I think that people are conspiring because I put a facebook post up the other day that read, "Hello mini-retirement/last 7 months of freedom" and this was cause for concern: some people don't understand my sardonic sense of humor. Also: I'm a little resentful because it's not like I don't already have enough fucking people telling me exactly what pregnancy is like/going to be/how I will feel/etcetera. Also: I feel annoyed that I can't complain, darkly, jokingly, as I do about everything else under the sun, but this subject is some how taboo. I come from the perspective that there is humor in every situation. And if I can't laugh about this then I will probably cry, because so far (this is for you all those women that say, "Oh I loved being pregnant, it was so amazing), it has sucked a lot.

However, just because I've been a miserable pregnant lady so far and not gushing about babies to everyone or rushing to pick up stranger's babies and posting pictures of my uterus on twitter, it really doesn't mean that I am not going to love my baby or not be a good mother. Promise.

My week.

I've given myself 4 days: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and today. These 4 days were for indulgences, particularly today: I have not done much today besides read 67%* of "The Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion.

On Monday, my boss, fed up with me missing work due to morning sickness, declared me useless, implied I was untrustworthy and asked why I even bothered coming in at all. I won't lie: it hurt at the time. I'm not really all that upset though, because, despite the shock of having a grown man childishly storm into my office, rifle through my things, hurl insults at me and then storm out, I also know exactly what I did at that job and know that I am a) useful and b) trustworthy. I just got pregnant, which, as far as I can tell, I am allowed to do. So, these 4 days haven't been me wallowing in depression. I'm pretty sure. After he left my office, I emailed him a note saying I wouldn't be returning.

At the time, I didn't know how I was going to react. I came home in tears and lay down on one of the dog beds with Jeeves for awhile. Rather sadly memetic and cliché, I sobbed into his fur. He's a good sport and puts up with this from time to time. Then I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, wondering if this was going to be one of those weeks or months where I couldn't face waking up in the mornings or going to sleep at night.

I pulled my shoes off and crawled into bed.

People keep asking me if I'm excited to be pregnant. I can't give them the "correct" answer because excited isn't really the word for it. I'm never excited about things until after they've happened. I'm not overly friendly to people I don't know that well and I have always had a revulsion towards the false, immediate intimacy that is so expected of women these days. False emotions go along with that and I simply can't say,  "Yes! Oh my god, I'm over the moon!"

What I am is: Apprehensive. A little scared about a number of things. Looking forward to it. Anxious about a number of things. Curious. Aware.

Anyway. I woke up after my nap and Ryan came home. He seemed pleased not to find me bawling. I was a bit surprised myself, but, I really think I'm not all that stressed because my boss was and is just plain wrong. It would be more upsetting if I had actually screwed up. Believe me, as someone who has spent a lifetime perfecting turning feeling horribly guilty about things that have barely anything to do with me into catalysts for debilitating, crippling, depression, I am certain that if there was a grain of truth to what I was accused of, I probably would have jumped out a window.

Instead, I did the dishes and ate some lasagne ad thought about what I plan to do next week, after my miniature holiday is over.



*I have a Kindle, so I know.

I'm retiring.

My boss informed me on Monday that my job was ending in December. He wants it to be a full-time position, with half of the time assisting the grant people. He let me know I was welcome to apply, but because it was full-time, benefits eligible, they had to open it up to other people.

I will not be reapplying, for various reasons. One, in particular, but I'll not go into it here.

Yesterday, he emailed me a lot of letters that I was expecting a little less than a month ago. I duly printed them on letterhead and sent them to his office to sign. This morning he let me know (nicely) that he'd expected me to add his contact information to the signature.

And here is why I will be damned if I ever take another job that has any hint of administrative support. I had the same frustrations at a different admin job I had. Mainly, I somehow missed the mind-reading class that all administrative assistants seem to have taken. When I worked for the hedge fund, my life was constantly reliving that scene in Office Space where Jennifer Aniston isn't wearing enough "pieces of flare".

"So, more then."

It's not quite like that here, but I still find myself visibly irritating my boss when I haven't done something as, for example, unintuitive as add contact information in a signature block. Obviously this is a minor example, but it is not "correct" to have contact information in a print letter signature block, particularly if it is printed on letterhead. I'm not even sure what he wants in the signature block - a phone number or email address is inappropriate, his title is already there and the address of our institution is in the letterhead. Of course, it's his letter and he can have it however he likes, but I can't possibly assume what that is, if it is not what is the traditionally accepted manner. What if he wants a small drawing of a giraffe at the bottom of the page or wants his name to be written in a coMbInatIOn of uPPer and LoWer cASe?

The reason I say I missed a class is because I get this impression from people that someone else would have known. It might be in my head, but I can't shake this feeling that someone else would probably have had this all knowing ability. Other people manage to be happy in administrative positions and don't seem to irritate their bosses.

Bacon is not health food.

Okay, I know, lately, I've been complaining a lot about Paleo dieters, but my frustration keeps bubbling up because of being annoyed by facebook posts from a particular person (A quote from To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee: "“You can choose your friends but you sho' can't choose your family..." neglects to mention that you also can't choose your husband's friends unless you are a shrew).


This rant's topic: bacon. In all it's sugary, salty glory, it could not have been eaten by pleistocene era homo sapiens sapiens because, well, salt was a rarity. So was fat. And sugar? Certainly not in any refined form. So much for the "lean meat" clause.  So stop smugly pretending you're eating bacon for health reasons.

Strange Lump

I've had a strange lump on my right pinky for about 2 weeks now. It hurts when you press on it, but it's one of those strangely satisfying sore hurts, almost like a sore muscle. Pressing on it, despite causing more pain, feels like some release. I don't know if other people experience pain the same way, but sometimes something sore just wants to be worried, poked at and prodded.

The other night, I was watching a recent episode of Doc Martin (I just love watching my stories! You never know whose long lost relative is going to show up and replace a character who left at the end of last season for some ambiguous reason explained hastily at the beginning of an episode!) and I yelled to Ryan, in the kitchen,

"I think I have arthritis. What's arthritis like?"

You may think this a strange thing to say to someone, but I come from a long line of hypochondriac, hysterical, medical quasi-autodidacts, so "I think I have [blank highly improbable ailment]"  is not an unusual utterance of mine.

He said, "You don't have arthritis."

"How do you know? I have this lump on my finger. It could be a Bouchard's Node."

"Okay fine. You have arthritis."

"No, look at it."

"I think it's broken."

He said this and has continued to say this to me since that evening not because he thinks it's broken, but because once, a few summers ago, he banged his toe while sailing and came home and casually mentioned that he thought he'd broken his toe. I didn't believe him and the reason I didn't believe him is because if I'd broken my toe, I'd have complained a considerable amount more than he did. So, good wife that I am, I dismissed it as a sprain. It actually was broken, though and has caused him some amount of discomfort since.

 I can actually trace this pinky pain back to a specific incident, but it happened so long ago, I'm not sure why the painful bump has arisen recently - or if it has been there all along, why I'm noticing it now. Web MD has nothing to say on the subject.

The incident is this: Nelly is a big brown horse who takes after her big grey mother, Henriette, in a lot of ways that neither of them have any pain receptors in their big heads (I'm afraid to lead Henry - she just doesn't care where she puts that thing and it could kill seriously someone). They are both a bit territorial too. Henry once swung her big anvil of a head over the fence and bit my thigh while I was riding Firefly (to be fair, she thought we were too close to her foal; to be even fairer, she was standing by the ring with her foal despite a huge pasture behind her when she decided that I was too close to her foal - there is just no reasoning with warmblood mares!). I was loud and unpleasant to her for it, and she decided that attacking me was a bad idea (although I could tell she still sort of wanted to - I'd see a glint in her eye when we passed her the next few times). Unfortunately her much younger daughter, Nelly, has less sense and when she tried the same thing on me, I went as far as to wallop her across the nose. She barely blinked; I was in excruciating pain and had to cut my ride short so I could go an put my hand in a cold bucket of water.

It hurt for a while - I don't remember how long - and then I forgot about the incident. Until that discussion on the couch.

Just now, I let him know it was bigger today than it has been. I think he's tired of me diagnosing myself with absurd ailments (hey, we've all got our coping mechanisms) and said, "Cancer" which is probably one of those internet memes, like Godwin's law, something like, "Every medical discussion or question on the internet will eventually lead you to a diagnosis of cancer".

I don't think I have little finger cancer. I probably did break it when I walloped Nelly. I will keep everyone informed.

Editorial from the American Journal of Clinical Nutrition on Hunter-Gatherer Diets

This editorial articulates my point regarding the Paleo Diet much more concisely and clearly than any cocktail party rambling I have been guilty of.

Lists: Things on the brain

-Autumn is here. I want to make apple butter, among other things.

-I want to get back into making almond milk and cooking beans on Sundays. The almond milk fell by the wayside because R wanted to order it from the bulk place but never got around to it. This is one of those things that really frustrates me: sometimes he won't do things because he's thought of a better way to do them, but the better way requires a little more effort in the beginning, so it doesn't get done at all. The beans will be easy to do though. I made a fabulous split pea soup last week, just split peas and a little bouillion and a lot of time. It was even better the second day.

-I keep reliving a course I had on Saturday with Ruby. It was perfect - we were the best we've been. I'd put together everything I'd learned from riding her and getting through all the tests she constantly throws at me. Then I failed, big time and was thrown into a coop. See, Ruby asks you a question before every single jump. About 6 strides out, maybe 7, maybe 5, she says, "Really?" What she is looking for is confirmation from you that you really do mean to jump it. Then she grabs the bit and drags you to the fence, so your next job, after answering her question is to keep her feet on the ground for as long as possible. So there she was asking and there I was answering. We jumped the hay bales and galloped down the hilllock and back up to the top of it, turned right and faced a coop that had the sun hitting it so it was glaring. "Really?" she said and I said, "Yes." She looked a little harder at the fence and asked again, "REALLY?" I said, more loudly, "YES". I thought this would be enough, but we arrived at the fence and there was no trouble keeping her feet on the ground. She stopped dead and I slid right down her neck and onto the coop. It's all on video.

-I have a list of things in my mind that I need to get the where-with-all and pantry space to make. One is bouillon from the River Cottage Preserves Handbook. It's a beautiful book that I bought at Powell's in Portland when I was there for my friend's wedding. I bought that book and Putting Food By, which has given me a very healthy fear of botulism. The River Cottage book suggests one or two methods of jam making that are, in capitalised letters, expressly discouraged by Putting Food By. 

-I also want to make apple sauce.

-R and I are talking about buying an allotment next year. Since I, in all likelihood, won't be working, I can contribute to the household by growing food, namely the things we do not get from our CSA. I can grow things and preserve them which sounds like a much more rewarding use of my time than trying to get reporters to by junk remedies or completing competitive renewals for grants. Maybe I'll be able to even sell a little and get that project going. Who knows how much time I'm actually going to have though. 

-I'm going to knit a bunch this winter. I have this idea that if I knit a 100% wool afghan, I'll be constantly warm, because I'll have it covering me as I knit. The flaw in this plan is that I have an idea to make a sort of sampler quilt by knitting a bunch of squares with different stitch patterns and in different colours and then bringing them together.

-I have a plan to have an indoor herb garden. Ryan is skeptical* and discouraged me in the past but a downstairs herb garden is just not practical when one cooks like me. Usually the thing is on the stove cooking before I think, "ROSEMARY!" and, as I am usually barefoot and in my pyjamas at any given time when I am at home, running downstairs and around the corner to get to the entrance of the yard, in full view of all the Northstar patrons enjoying their cocktails, isn't all that practical. I don't even care about being seen, really, it's the fact that I'm already in the middle of cooking. Sometimes, these days, it's dark when I finally start dinner, so I'm not really going to be all that great at finding whatever herbs I need, anyway.

-*Ryan is a sensible, very intelligent, pragmatic person who is almost always correct. Sometimes I am lazy and just believe him about things. This has bitten me in the ass more than once. I had an experience this last summer involving bringing bars of special soap for laundry from the Asian shop his sister goes to in Sacramento. He was convinced that the security people would think it was weird to bring several bars of soap in our carry on and that we shouldn't bother. His sister and I colluded and concluded that he was being a bit of a ninny and I went with her to buy the soap anyway. The worst we would be out would be the 80c I paid for the soap. There was no problem at the gate. In short, sometimes my husband is a little too cautious, so I am going to try an indoor herb garden.

Perfectionism

I am an absent-minded person. I also have an inability to pay "attention to detail" (apologies for the use of that hackneyed job board cliche), in certain circumstances. I can actually have "attention to detail", I just don't seem to have a lot of choice in what I pay attention to... my horses, when I had them, were always spotless, my tack room, when I had one, was organised down to the alphabetised-according-to-ailment medicine cabinet and I make some excellent jam...but tossing lemon juice into the compost and keeping the seeds or doubling a cheesecake recipe that I've already doubled make for some hilarious after dinner stories that have given my husband a lot of mileage. I am not someone suited, ideally, for administrative work. However, combine a degree in physical anthropology and a personality that is singularly unmotivated by money or prestige and these are the jobs one gets.

I have been lectured at work for things I accidentally do, such as misspell a name or put something in the wrong place on a chart. It's not an often occurrence but it does happen occasionally.

At the moment, I am supposed to be doing something (procrastination is another fault of mine...) that involves going through files (hard copy) that were put together by my predecessor.

I do not feel so badly anymore and the next time I am sent into a spiral of shame and self-loathing by a supervisor, I will remember that other people are possibly just as forgetful or absentminded. One file has someone's name misspelled on every piece of correspondence, despite receiving correctly spelled correspondence from the misspellee.  Others are missing swathes of necessary papers. One even has the wrong first name for someone in several places.

In short: I may not be perfect, but other people aren't either. Also, I just spilled water all over my lap.

Cornell Companion Animal Hospital is now on my enemies list.

Cornell Companion Animal hospital, you may have saved Jeeves life in June, but sending us scary emails following up on positive test results from six months ago that you neglected to inform us about in the first place and not having actual documentation of said test results (or other, similar tests!) and thus, no way of verifying whether it was in fact a positive test is too much to bear. Once you have given us our retest (which I do not expect to pay for), we will be taking our dogs elsewhere.

Begin vaccination rant/

I read a post on the facebook page of an old friend Liz Ditz (her daughter and I rode with the same trainer for years) that was in regards to vaccinations:

My two eldest children are patients of Dr. Baskerville. I have also declined to vaccinate them. As the article suggests, Dr. Baskerville has gently and kindly recommended vaccination for them and has graciously accepted my decision not to follow her recommendation. We've discussed the relative merits and risks of the practice and she continues to provide excellent care to my children in the rare instances that they need it.


My concerns regarding vaccinations do not center on autism, though I'm not convinced that there is no link. Rather, I believe that my children's immune systems, evolved over millions of years, in conjunction with good hygiene, nutrition, and adequate exercise, is their best defense against infectious diseases . Given that vaccines have a known, quantified risk (though it's likely that the risk is greater than what's published due to underreporting). I'm not willing to play Russian Roulette with my children's health by exposing them to a known, possibly fatal risk to possibly (since no vaccines are 100% effective) prevent a disease to which they may never be exposed.


I've asked medical professionals if they can point me to a scientific, peer-reviewed study that compared the overall health and well-being of vaccinated and non-vaccinated populations. So far, none has been able to cite such a study.


Obviously, to anyone who has an actual grasp of how evolution and statistics work, this woman is clearly an idiot wrong. What's surprising to me is that her sentences are complete and her punctuation is correct. Because usually, this kind of anti-science absurdity comes from the illiterati Tea Partiers that want the guv'mint out of their bidness.

But a certain core group of the anti-vax crowd in their be-sweatered, minivan driving, organic produce buying, highly educated glory are, in themselves, part of the so-called liberal elite. And these folks, in the  under the guise of fashionable scepticism and possibly out of a desire to feel somewhat in control, possibly through perceived "subversion", choose to believe the likes of Jenny McCarthy over less well known people who happen to understand the concepts of the scientific method, evolution (hint: you can use viruses to demonstrate it) and statistics (or even the fact the large numbers are in fact larger than small numbers: the amount of people who dye of measles today is a smaller number than the amount of people who died before the vaccine was invented).

This woman above is not willing to play russian roulette with regards to vaccinations which have a much lower rate of killing/causing damage to people than measles but she is willing to play russian roulette with the actual disease itself.

/end rant.

Happy Birthday to me.

When I was about 16, I had to go to the doctor for some reason or another. The doctor went through a list of normal health history questions and then came to the one that said, "Do you have a partner?"

I paused. Partner? Lab partner? Partner-in-crime?

Then I realised she was talking about a partner in sex and I blushed and mumbled yes. It was meta- embarrassment: I was embarrassed because I assumed my pause had led her to believe I was embarrassed about the question and I really wasn't, I was just having trouble understanding it.

+++

Anyway: I have a medical appointment with a nurse midwife (before anyone gets all excited congratulatory weird - I am not pregnant. This is only the planning stages) in a few days which involved a lot of paperwork for me (none for Ryan! I realise that one has to be sensitive about these things, but surely his medical history is pertinent too). It was full of similar questions. I made the appointment a month ago, they sent me a whole bunch of papers and said please bring these along, filled in and I thought, they expect me to keep track of this paper work for a whole month? (I am so incapable of filing things that once they make it off the kitchen table onto the living room side table that is on the way to the filing cabinet and then off the living room side table, further in the direction of the filing cabinet, they make it into a basket, that I keep a pile of papers in, on top of my filing cabinet that I call my "basket-of-shame". Every six months to one year the shame becomes overwhelming, boredom and a desire to be perceived as an adult set in and I convince myself to file it all away.) Then I remembered what the appointment was for and realised that this may be some sort of test. Are you organised enough to keep track of this paperwork for a month? Okay, step one completed, you may have a baby. 

What drove me to make this appointment? A desire to quit my job and my 30th birthday (today!). Well biology, really more than the actual age thing.  It's not anything I am actually conscious of - I just have baby dreams every single week and have done for about 3 years. I burst into tears over this one during one of our discussions, claiming that I was struggling with my own biology. I spluttered: "I should be above this!" then Ryan said, "Why? You're a biological creature." And I realised that once again I had been operating under assumptions that had been placed on me at a young age, by someone else.

***

So I have these baby dreams, despite the fact that I don't actually like babies. I have no interest in holding them, looking at them or cooing at them. I don't like the idea that stuff can come out of them, from any orifice, without much notice. Casey told me about "not minding" when they sick in your mouth and I turned white and then tried not to sick up lunch. "I will mind." I told her, she assured me I wouldn't (I will). Before you ask, I do like children and babies are only babies for a short time. I used to think there was something wrong with me (another assumption, placed on me at a young age by someone else)and then I decided that there wasn't and that it was okay not to like (human*) babies. Also: I have been told by reliable sources that I might actually like my own baby.

***

So, I can say it now, I want children. I am also terrified of screwing up, particularly in the beginning (What are babies? We just don't know). So, I am doing this the only way I know how. Lying awake at night worrying about it, meeting with a doctor first, taking vitamins and reading prodigious amounts on the subject. (Did you know that the baby gets to taste the flavours of the things you eat through the amniotic fluid and there is some evidence that that effects what kind of an eater they are when they are born? So it's a really good idea to eat a wide variety of foods when you are pregnant if it is important to you -as it is to me- that your child not be a picky eater? NEAT).

***

Ryan worries a lot less than I do. I had these concerns that my riding goals would have to be put on hold indefinitely ("No - I imagine I'll come home from work, you'll hand me the baby and go off riding.") or that the dogs would get neglected (he seemed doubtful over this as well and I think about it now and he's right. I'll be home with all of them all day. We'll go on walks. The baby will be the familiaris version of Mowgli).  Also having a messy house full of crap I don't want and don't need**.

My friends who are expecting a baby any minute now are instituting a no-plastic rule for toys in the hopes that it will cut down on some of the crap they are bound to receive. Of course, I mentioned that to someone else who thought they were nuts (I do not).

I mentioned my not wanting a lot of baby crap to Casey and it was like that scene in The Jerk... "Oh you don't need a lot of stuff. Except a co-sleeper. And a [some other item I don't recall]. Oh and a [another item I don't recall] is really great too" etcetera. But I really think that with our two forces of will united against plastic garbage and space takers in general, we will be able to avoid the problem of too much baby crap. Maybe I'm a fool to think that I can keep a grown up looking house and children, but I'm pretty sure it's possible (now I just want to go home and throw away a bunch of things).

So anyway. Happy birthday to me, I've decided to reproduce.

*and here is my assumption I am placing on you puppies, kittens and foals it is not okay not to like. If you've never seen baby horses frolicking, you've never actually seen frolicking and that is a shame. Also, look at their tiny, whiskery, puckered, little mouths while you are at it. And their butts.

** It's time to do the fall clear out. I've noticed some shirts in my drawers that I haven't worn in six months, so away they must go. Also, I need to move the warmer clothes back into rotation soon, get the old couch downstairs to make room for more storage in the pantry and hang Robert's painting. And dust the bookshelves.

Tomato Tart with goat cheese

Last night we made a tomato tart. We started with a whole wheat crust, prebaked. Smeared a bit of olive oil and about 4oz of Lively Run goat cheese across the bottom and then put a layer of caramelized onion followed by a layer of thinly sliced heirloom tomatoes that had been tossed with salt, pepper and fresh oregano. That went in the oven for 20 minutes or so and came out heavenly.

The combination of caramelized onions, goat cheese and tomato are an amazing combination, almost on the level of a *holy trinity (all though I'm not sure it could really count because it wouldn't work as a versatile flavour base which I think is a major criteria of a holy trinity).


*holy trinities: ginger, garlic, chilies; celery, carrots, onions; garlic, onions, olive oil; etc. - I'm sure everyone has their favourites.

Tomatoes and supporting women.

We are in the midst of the delicious season around here. I keep making a tomato salad by chopping up the lovely fat, juicy heirlooms that come from my CSA. I leave them tossed with a bit of salt for a bit, to bring out some of the liquid and it becomes almost a rustic gazpacho, to which I add bell peppers, crushed black pepper and crushed garlic. I try and chill it in the fridge before serving although this is not absolutely necessary. If you've done it right, you need to serve it in a bowl and with a spoon. The best part is drinking the leftover tomato water at the end when you've finished the pieces of tomato and pepper. Ryan and I jokingly call it "Fruit Salad".

****

I am working on a letter for work to a well-known person whose politics I do not agree with. It's a female and when I groaned about it (via IM, so my groan was probably not actually perceived: if no one is there to see you roll your eyes, did you actually roll them?) she said, "Oh! I love her!" and I said, "Really? I can't stand her."

I think my friend feels that anytime a woman reaches any level of national attention in a field usually dominated by men, it is a success and we should support her. I don't think my friend has actually ever paid attention to some of the things this person has done (sorry to be so enigmatic, but I don't want to get fired), just the fact that she is female is enough to garner my friend's support. Which is a pattern of thinking that has never occurred to me until I started working on the letter again and thinking about the conversation. It would never occur to me to support a woman principally because she is a woman.
***
 

I need to figure out how to get paid to write.

It seems odd to me that these people picked their Great Dane puppy because he was a runt. Surely, if you are going for a breed that is known for being huge, the hugeness is part of the appeal. I'm just going to chalk it up to the barely coherent article and then sulk for awhile that someone was paid to write this drivel and it wasn't me. 


Someone was also paid to write this, which I didn't finish reading. In fact I stopped just after the words "intellectual disabilities" because one can't take anyone seriously if they are using "intellectual disabilities" as a "polite" way to refer to people who are developmentally disabled. 

Ryan is in Portland and More About Horses

Ryan is in Portland at a conference. He had a paper to present. I have been faithfully looking after the dogs but really not doing much else other than watching Poirot mysteries (Five Little Pigs is great! Well, if you ignore the horrible acting by Aimee Mullins, but she's not in it very much so it's not that big of a deal. Big Suze is in it too. You can watch it here). 

I've been so tired recently and I think it's because of a sinus infection in combination with my hours not being suited to what my body wants.

I have Friday, Saturday and Sunday to sleep normally and by Sunday evening, I feel normal again. Human. Energetic! Then, Monday morning happens and I spend the next 4 days being a zombie. 

I'm not sure when the early birds got the upper hand, but I hate them all. The smug bastards who just tell you to "Go to bed earlier! That's what I do!". The ones that act as if they have evolved beyond the need for sleep and are therefore more evolved than you. I'm not sure why we all have to operate according to their schedule, but I seem to have the misfortune of having one as a boss a lot. My old boss didn't require sleep and his second in command pretended he didn't require sleep. The boss ended up inducing heart arrhythmia once or twice and the second in command was just a cranky jerk half the time. I had to be at work at 6am every day. I honestly don't know how I did it. I can't even imagine doing it now. I can barely imagine what I do do which is wake up at around 7, to get to work before 8. 

+++++++++++++++++++++

On Saturday, I went on a hunter pace with my current favourite - a big spooky mare named Ruby. At least we were told she was spooky and also that she was a stopper. She's never spooked particularly badly with either Casey nor me, so...her old owners were at the pace and I think they were a little shocked that we took her, on account of her apparent stopping problem and her spooking problem. Our theory is hunter paces are great for building up bravery in a horse that lacks confidence, which is really what her problem is. I also used an extra strong bit, in case she was TOO confident...  

I would like to buy her but I don't have the money and I am reticent to buy anything that has a hint of stop. I've only jumped her 3'6" once and that time she was pulling my arms out of their sockets to get to the fence, but the rumour is she has a stop above 3'. 

I have paid my dues with a stopper, starting with convincing him to jump crossrails and ending up with taking him to medal finals.The bucker I had was far, far more fulfilling to take to horse shows because all my hard work was rewarded with many, many blue ribbons and very little embarrassment. He was, to use jargon, an "Oh shit horse" meaning when you see it get off the trailer, you say, "Oh shit." A stopper is more heartbreaking than a bucker.

And I'm fed up with horsie heartbreak. 

My plan, as soon as it is possible, is to buy something trained and probably expensive. And take it to horse shows. And only sell it if and when I want to.

I'm done with greenies; I'm done with buckers, spookers, stoppers, rearers, leapers, biters, strikers and kickers. I'm also done with unsoundness, but that's a little harder to prevent. 

When I worked at a stable in college, I had a student, Catriona, whose mother used to tell us that Catriona liked to ride "spirited" horses. When Mandy took off with Catriona, bucking and farting around the ring, her mother shouted, "Ride that horse! You tame it Catriona!".

Clearly a woman who has watched too many Hollywood movies. Mandy was a feisty probably navicular quarter horse that couldn't be in lessons with other horses because she would charge at them. Once you denied her the right to charge other horses, her response was to take off, bucking and farting. We did not have good school horses at this facility, (save one, whom I rescued before I left). She wasn't a wild mustang fresh off the range who, once she realised how special Catriona was, would settle down and be her friend for life. 

Those horses you see in the movies that rear and scream? In real life, the ones that do that of there own volition are not safe to ride. Because a rearing, striking horse isn't a "spirited" horse that needs to be tamed, it's a dangerous horse that needs to be left in a pasture somewhere where it can't hurt itself or others by flipping over or coming down on someone's head. "Get rid of it! It's not worth it!" my old trainer would say when she'd hear about the latest insane horse related accident, like the one where the lady broke her leg in 3 places getting bucked off a horse that had cracked a trainer's spine 2 weeks earlier by striking at her while she was leading him somewhere. 

I know most sensible horse people already know this. It's a common lament amongst trainers, clients who insist on difficult horses - as if it shows off their ability better or somehow makes them a better rider. Everyone has to fall off and everyone has to have difficult rides, but why make it EVERY ride? Another trainer, one I worked for, used to say, "Riding is hard enough! Why make it harder with a difficult horse?"

++++++++++++++++

Car accident!

Ryan and I were in a car accident last week:

Hey! Here's a thing. Last night, the car I was in (a Subaru Forester) was slightly crunched by a car I was not in (a Ford Ranger). There were no injuries, except to the car, which will need a new fender and headlight and perhaps hood. There were four of us in the car, two of whom lived a considerable distance away. In order to get them home, we formulated a plan. We were two blocks from a Subaru dealership, so we drove the crunched car there to await repair. A friend [Ken] picked us up in his Subaru to drop us off at my place where Alice and I drove the other two to Dryden in our Subaru. Once to our friend's place in Dryden, she drove the fourth person home in her Subaru. A series of Subarus and one Ford Ranger.


That is what Ryan posted to Google+ which would be a whole lot more fun if anyone I know actually made use of it.


After we were in the accident and had pulled into the parking lot of the bank (next door to a Taco Bell), we got out of the car. Almost immediately, a man dressed in black and carrying a large shoulder bag approached us and started complaining about the idiots on the roads these days then proceeded to tell us about an accident he'd been in. As odd as he was he eventually seemed to pick up on the "now is really not a good time" sentiments that we were probably all feverishly broadcasting loudly with body language. We had a little chat with the girl who hit us and her father, who had been traveling behind her in a different vehicle. He was wearing a fanny pack and drove a large van. I think he wanted us to have been drinking (we'd split a pitcher between five adults at dinner). Then, the man with the shoulder bag returned and started to tell us another story about an accident he'd been in. I looked a little closer at his shoulder bag and realised that it was not a shoulder bag, it was a cat carrier. It had a cat inside it with its face pressed up against the mesh.


Then Ryan went into the Taco Bell to get Casey a drink. Here is what he overheard (cribbed from Google+ again):


clerk: "...also the Bell Whanger Mealy Deal. That's two forty three."
cat man: "Well, alls I have is, uh, about a dollar thirty. So, I guess I'm gonna have to go with the number 74 combo ersatz meal."
clerk: "ok"
cat man: "Unless you just want to throw in the Whanger Mealy. Cause otherwise I hafta go for the number 74 combo 'meal'. But I could owe you. I only got the dollar thirty right now, but my payroll is coming in tomorrow. I'm gonna cash my payroll tomorrow at the Citizen's Bank. I only got it today at five after the post office was closed, so tomorrow I'm gonna cash it at the Citizen's Bank. You know, right when you go in the Tops, the Citizen's Bank. So, I could swing back by tomorrow and drop off the extra, what, dollar ten. We'll call it two. Yeah, after I cash in my payroll at the Citizen's Bank right inside Tops I'll swing by here and drop off the two dollars. What I owe you and a little something for you. A little tipper, huh? What's your name?"
clerk: "Shawn."
cat man: "I'm Aaron. Yeah, tomorrow I'll swing by and drop off the cash I owe you after I cash in my payroll. And a little tipper for you. Thanks, Shawn."
clerk: "ok."

Then, when he went back to his table, the cat man scolded his cat, which he had previously let out of the bag, for getting off the table. "You stay on the table! I told you I'd be right back and you had to stay on the table. I don't want you wandering all over. Just stay on the table."

Slaughterhouse-Five banned in Missouri

A school board in Republic, Missouri, has banned Slaughterhouse-Five because, apparently, a parent complained that it is anti-bible. I'm fairly certain that this person is an idiot because the book doesn't have much to do with the bible unless the bible is pro-war (is it?). There are just some swears and a bit o'sex, but if you think that is so wrong, why can't you discuss it with your child?

I don't know how old I was when I started reading Kurt Vonnegut, but I'll just say this: he made high school bearable. 

I'm tired of seeing the pearl-clutchers win. I'm also tired of this weird attitude that parents from all areas of the spectrum seem to have regarding protecting their children from everything bad in the world. Kids need to have bad things happen to them like scraped knees or frustrating experiences with scooters so that when something actually bad happens, they can say, "Okay. I can deal with this and this is not the end of the world." 

When I taught riding lessons regularly, I'd have cross parents when their kid fell off. I'd get an angry glare before their child was whisked off to soccer practice. And I'd think, "If falling off a horse is the worst thing that ever happens to your child, your child will be very, very lucky." 

Then there were the parents who didn't think it was my fault or the horse's fault or even the child's fault - it was just something that happened. Guess which kids were more fun to teach and happier, more well-adjusted and functional human beings? Guess which kids got better at riding faster? 

Update: The Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library is sending a free copy of Slaughterhouse-Five to those students in Republic, Missouri that wants one. http://www.vonnegutlibrary.org/ You can help by donating a little bit of money.

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!