A Transit of Venus

Today I went to the Fuertes Observatory and watched Venus pass in front of the sun, despite the clouds.  It was so cool!

A strange person took Ken's special sun-watching glasses without much explanation. He just walked up and tugged them out of Ken's hands and then said,

"He's really excited about looking."

We looked confused and desirous of clarification.

"You guys have more than one."

And then he walked away and handed them to a small child. I'm not opposed to sharing things with small children, but it was a very odd way of handling the situation. He literally pulled the glasses out of Ken's hands before saying a word.

Blender coveting

Here's a thing that I covet:

A non-crappy blender.

Right now, we have a shitty, shitty, $25 blender from Wegmans with no lid (we use a small plate instead) because Barnaby chewed it up when he was a puppy.

It doesn't really blend things all that well besides soups.

My friend Laila bought a fancy, 'spensive, blender a few years ago: she told me she knew it was kind of a lot of money but she was sick of crappy blenders. ME TOO. But I still can't justify spending that kind of money right now. So, I'll just have to covet and dream about making green smoothies that are actually smooth. 

List.

1. I packed a bag for the hospital. Jeeves sleeps on it a lot. I don't know why.

2. Ryan finally figured out what to do with those dry fava beans we have that refuse to cook. He made felafel. It was yummy.

3. I bought ice lollies to go to the hospital with us because every thing I read suggest them. However, there is a catch. If I know there are ice lollies in the freezer, I will eat them. So, I didn't want to buy them too soon. However, I'm trying to "be prepared" so I did want to buy them. I ended up buying 2 boxes, raspberry and mango. I thought, if I eat 3 of each, I'll still have a whole box for the hospital. I just ate the seventh one.

4. Barnaby spent two days vomiting foamy yellow bile occasionally. As he was due for some vaccinations anyway, I took him to the vet. He's fine. Then, that night, I got in to bed. Turns out, he'd been sick in the bed. I found that out after I got into bed.

5. I heard a funny story at the place at which I have been volunteering. I really can't go into detail because it's not appropriate to post online, but I will say this: it involved a "bag of wigs".

6. The baby is due in less than a month. I have been so tired and frustrated and in pain (my feet are rebelling against any form of use) that I am much less "ready" than I was 2 weeks ago.

7.  Sometimes the fear of anxiety-induced insomnia makes me dread going to bed. Also, now, the fear of dog sick in the bed.

Fall Creek Neighborhood Association

I subscribe to the Fall Creek Neighborhood Association Listserv. I am about to stop. It is not good for my blood pressure.

I call it the "Pearl Clutchers Listserve" because a lot of the emails on the listserv are very much in the
"Won't someone please think of the children?!" vein of absurdity. Ryan and I started subscribing after we rescued a loose dog, took it to the SPCA and then discovered the listserv and used it to communicate with the owner of the dog, who was very grateful that we'd found her little dog.

Yesterday, I posted about a dog that had been whining and crying on and off for HOURS. I have heard the dog before, but never for hours. I thought that perhaps - because this happened to me when I first had Jeeves - that the owners were unaware that the dog was upset. It was Memorial Day, perhaps they'd all gone out and left the dog and she was sad.

I would want to know if my dogs were crying while I was out. This is the email that I sent:

Hi all,

There is a very sad dog that has been crying on and off for most of
today, somewhere in the vicinity of the corner of Lincoln and N.
Tioga. I've heard it cry before, but never for so long!

Beyond calling the SPCA, I'm not entirely sure what I can do, but it
is a little heartbreaking. Does anyone know if something can be done?
If you are the owners, perhaps you are unaware that your dog is so
miserable sometimes?

I got a lot of responses, most people said, "call the SPCA!"

I didn't call the SPCA because within minutes of that email being posted, the crying stopped.

Then today, I received this email from an "aztennenbaum":

Maggie is a wonderful dog we've had for nine years. If you knew her,
you would understand that the howling is just something she does, and
has done since she was a puppy because it gets such a prompt response
from the humans.  The howling crying tortured sounds start when she
wants to come back inside and stop the instant we let her back inside.
There is no ramp up. Usually she gets bored after about 5 minutes of
in the backyard and starts howling, so we let her back in.

Yesterday we were doing some gardening so we let her come out back
with us. The reason it was on and off was because we were continuously
moving stuff from the backyard to the front yard (crying starts) and
back again (crying stops). In spite of this, I think she had a better
time than she would have had we just made her stay inside, which would
have resulted in zero crying. Quite frankly it doesn't matter how
happy our neighbors think she is, only how happy she actually is.

The last paragraph, mainly the last sentence, suggest a certain amount of aggression that I felt was unnecessary, but I just chalked it up to "aztennenbaum" not really thinking about my perspective. Most people don't think about other people's perspectives.

Then, from the same email address, 15 minutes later, I received this:

Hi all,

There is a very sad baby that has been crying on and off for most of

today, somewhere in the vicinity of the corner of Lincoln and N.
Tioga. I've heard it cry before, but never for so long!

Beyond calling DSS, I'm not entirely sure what I can do, but it

is a little heartbreaking. Does anyone know if something can be done?

If you are the parents, perhaps you are unaware that your baby is so
miserable sometimes?

Isn't that weird? It's like they think I made a mistake not calling the SPCA on them. Or something. I don't know. I wrote back telling them I wasn't sure what they were trying to accomplish with that email besides being rude. I'm about done with the Pearl Clutchers. It used to provide me with some amusement but frankly, it's making me hate my neighbourhood and I didn't before.

Sweater Pattern

I love the moth eaten sweater look, don't you?

High School Validation

I guess it's validating when your therapist, upon discovering that she is, in fact, familiar with your high school, having done a fellowship at the university across the street from it, says, "That school sounded awful."

Lettuce

I pay more for lettuce. I realise lettuce can be cheap, but there's nothing so unappetising as cheap lettuce. Once, at Wegmans, I overheard another customer asking a stock boy where the iceberg lettuce was. He looked a little confused and then said,

"We don't carry that here."

Good for you Wegmans. Iceberg lettuce is revolting. I can't tell you how many horrible salads I've been served that consists of shredded iceberg, one mealy cherry tomato, a bit of shredded carrot and some revolting cornstarch-y vinaigrette dribbled unappealingly over the top. No wonder people claim not to like vegetables. 

Children get hurt sometimes.

The New York Times recommended to me that I read this article, on the subject of the dangers of sippy cups. 

This is the same newspaper that keeps publishing articles about how helicopter parents are raising a generation of namby-pamby spoiled brats who are incapable of filling in a job application on their own. 

My point is this: kids get hurt. They trip and fall. I sliced my wrist open when I was 4, running with a ceramic piggy bank. I still got into college.  

From the article:

“We think 1-year-old children are just learning to walk and run and are pretty unsteady on their feet and may be more likely to experience a fall,” said Dr. Keim."

It also mentions that a lot of sippy-cup related injuries that possibly aren't reported because they aren't serious enough to warrant taking to the emergency room or even a trip to the pediatrician. So the number of sippy-cup related injuries are actually higher than the study suggests. Shock-horror. Their are probably an awful lot of skinned knees out there, not being reported either. 

Baby Girl

People are so different. I found out I was having a girl and I bought books. Books on how to help me help her become a strong, confident little girl and then, strong, confident woman. Books on ways I could navigate all the pink and the princesses and the Disney garbage.

I made a personal rule (not that it would have occurred to me anyway) that she doesn't get called "princess" - I hated that even when I was a kid - my father would call me princess and I would say, "I'm not princess, I'm Alice." I want my daughter to be a productive member of society. That is my one goal.

My cousin-in-law who is expecting a baby girl a few months after ours?

"I bought a little outfit for her the day of the appointment and then the next day I couldn't help myself and got two more outfits! Next comes crafting her some hair accessories..." 

I haven't bought one outfit yet, all though I am knitting this sweater. I picked out a rich, navy blue in a wool/cotton washable blend.  

Favourite Children

I realise one is not supposed to play favourites with one's own children, but is it okay to have a favourite child of your friend's? Does it make a difference if it is the middle child?

Mason Jars from Pottery Barn

You can buy mason jar mugs from Pottery Barn.

I'm really not quite sure why anyone would do this. They are $24 for a set of 6, which means $4 per glass, plus tax. Ryan and I buy peanut butter in glass jars for $3.49 from Wegmans. The bonus for the peanut butter jars (besides the peanut butter that comes inside!) is that they work as more than just drinking vessels because they come with lids. I use them to mix salad dressings, store things like beans and spices (I write on them with a dry erase marker) and when they break, it doesn't matter. I have a replacement in the fridge.

The mason jars from pottery barn remind me of a roommate I had for a few months in college. She wanted to purchase breeze blocks (cinder blocks) and planks in order to make herself a bookshelf. I was met with a confused look when I suggested that she purchase a real bookshelf for less money from one of the 50 hundred thrift stores in town instead.

Baby Shower

How weird is it to have more males than females on a baby shower guest list?

Expectant Parent Workshop

Today I felt like I was in one of those awful neverending, unfunny, SNL sketches and simultaneously in a Christopher Guest movie.

Terrible Hat

I found this pattern while looking at knitting patterns, trying to get inspired to knit something for the baby. Aside from looking really stupid, I can't think that that would be utterly, utterly annoying to wear. The model's face seems to suggest that I am correct. You can almost see her repeating to herself, in her head, "I'm-getting-paid-for-this-I'm-getting-paid-for-this-I'm-getting-paid-for-this-not-enough-but-it's-something."

In Pain.

I am in annoying pain. I believe that I have pulled my abdominal muscles, but I guess I'll find out tomorrow at the midwive's.  It is not excruciating, but is certainly very, very distracting and I just cannot find any way to be comfortable. Any sort of activity seems to aggravate it, but some things just need to get done.

Ugh.

We had a snow/rain storm on Sunday night/Monday morning that resulted in our roof leaking worse than ever before. We have several new water stains on the ceiling and I spent the morning listening to new leaks spring up from the light fixture and running around with yoghurt containers trying to contain it all.

This is mid-morning. Not all the leaks had sprung and this also doesn't show the bathroom where we had about a gallon and a half come through the doorway. At one point, while I was peeing, I felt a droplet on my head, looked up and realised that the fan had just started leaking too. So, I had to try and dodge awful brown rain drops while also urinating.

I am still afraid to turn on the light in the kitchen because I'm worried it is still wet in there.

This has been a problem for years, but the landlord finally decided to put a new roof on this coming spring. He has promised to do it before the baby comes. Fingers crossed.

Our downstairs neighbour left us what can only be qualified as a passive-aggressive note, although it's really more passive than anything else. She left it on her door (not ours). It said,

"The fan in my bathroom is leaking. :( 4/23"

I'm not sure what she expected us to do about it. I'm not even sure why she left it. Why didn't she tell the landlord?

Ryan responded by writing the following on it:

"Ours too."

It disappeared almost immediately after he did that.

I sort of wanted to drag her upstairs and show her the ugly disaster that is my kitchen ceiling and kitchen wall and let her play dodge the droplets while she tries to urinate but I don't think that will persuade her to be more assertive in the future.

People are so strange.

***

So, as I mentioned before, I've been seeing a therapist to try and sort out a lot of mixed up things in my head. It turns out that the things I end up talking about in therapy seem to be things that have been a problem for a long time (shout-ey father, horse miseries, mother with pathological fear of any sort of confrontation, et cetera...). I had assumed that I would be more anxious/eager to talk about baby things because, after all, I feel I am at high-risk for PPD and this current bout of insurmountable depression seems to have been brought on by being pregnant. But the more I think about it, the less I think it is about the baby. I don't think my worries about the baby are unreasonable, but I do think that whatever other anxieties I have are unreasonable. 

That's really the worst part. Being so totally aware that the repetitive-thought-trains in my head are totally absurd and yet being unable to get past them or even articulate what they are or why they are so painful to other people. 

I'm a little afraid of my therapist at this point though. So far things have been going well, but I gave her an example the other day of a thing that is a constant problem for me. The example is this: I have been trying to knit a pair of socks for a year and a half now. I keep fucking up. I have somehow disallowed* myself from starting any other knitting projects until I can finish the socks. I can't finish the socks, therefore, I can't knit. Even though I really want to and I look at patterns all the time and make plans to knit things. I feel guilty and angry with myself for not finishing the socks. 

She asked me how it would feel to burn the socks. I said that I didn't think it would feel good. She said, are you sure? and I said, Yes. It would feel terrible to burn the socks. Why? 

Because it's not the socks fault I can't finish them. It seems unnecessarily punitive. 

I got the distinct feeling I was supposed to relish the idea. And that maybe she was going to tell me to go home and get rid of them. 

So, we'll see how long this goes on for. I already feel a little more "manageable".

*I do not know why.

I (Ryan) finally figured out how to get therapy for me. So I've been seeing a therapist.

I've been twice and mostly we've discussed my background. I also told her about being screamed at by Dr. Parker and she mused that it may have reminded me of my father treating me in a similar manner.

I was thinking about that just now as I was doing the dishes and then I realised something. I've been yelled at by an awful lot of people, mostly bosses, one boyfriend. Is it normal to have had a number of people yell at you?

Not including my father, my business partner from my school horse program yelled at me, my ex-boyfriend, Al yelled at me (I yelled back though, occasionally), Dr. Parker. I'm sure at least one other. Am I just totally irritating or do I spend more time than most people with males who need anger management training?

Eggs Poached in Tomato Sauce

Today, I needed to make something protein-y for dinner as I've been really fatigued today and I have found, since being pregnant, that that usually means I need something with protein. I also had leftover tomato paste from yesterday's quinoa pilaf (quinoa and dried mushrooms tossed in with sauteed onions and various spices, then seasoned stock/broth and a bit of tomato paste added ). Additionally, my interest was peaked a few days ago by this recipe from Budget Bytes.

Since I really wanted to use up the paste rather than open up a can of tomatoes and I didn't have any onions or garlic, I did some different things. Here is my version:

1 stalk celery, chopped finely
3 green chilis, sliced, finely
ground cumin, paprika, asofoetida, garlic powder, salt, black pepper (to taste)
3 tbs tomato paste (or more, as needed)
homemade apple chutney (obviously most people may not have this on hand, it is optional. I used it to "round out" the flavour, but a nice stock might do the same thing)
3/4 c frozen spinach
3 eggs
Fresh parsley, fresh oregano and crumbled feta.

Heat some canola oil in a large saucepan and add the chilis and celery to sweat. Once the celery has begun to turn translucent, add the spices and salt and tomato paste. Give them all a good stir and add a bit of water. Scrape up any spices that are stuck to the bottom and then add some more water. You will want to end up with a sauce the consistency of pasta sauce. Since water will evaporate as it boils, add enough so that it would be too thin for pasta sauce (sorry- I never measure when I make up my own recipes). You may need to add a little more later. Bring it up to a boil, add spinach and leave it to boil for awhile, stirring occasionally, tasting and adjusting the seasoning as needed. I ended up adding more of everything.

Once you are near eating time (for me, it was when the soda bread loaf I made to go with this dish was out of the oven and cooling), get out your eggs. Your sauce should be fairly thick at this point - but not burning obviously. I cracked the eggs, one at a time, into a one of my mise-en-place bowls before sliding them onto the top of the sauce. Then I covered and left them for 5 minutes, until they turned white. Then I spooned some sauce over the top.

I served them over slices of soda bread, with the parsley, oregano (first edible things from the garden this year!) and crumbled feta.

Fixing the car.

Yesterday, we spent $1000 getting the car fixed. It's sort of our once yearly "Oh shit the car needs serious help" expense. This time it was the brakes.

Every time I think about actually replacing the car, though, I get sad. I've had it since I was 19 years old. It's been driven up and down the California coast, it's been to horse shows, it's carried kayaks, it's gone off-road it's lasted longer and been more reliable than any boy, save Ryan. It's been my companion for 11 years! It's a part of my identity: when I see another one like it, I say to myself (and anyone else who happens to be in the car) "There I go." because that's what I have looked like for 11 years, whenever I've driven anywhere in my car.

I've been reading about hoarders recently. They attach significance to things that other people cannot understand or see. I am not a sentimental person. I don't keep birthday cards. Three times a year, I go through the house and freecycle everything I do not use, no matter who gave it to me or what the circumstances were under which it came into my possession. But this car....

I asked Ryan if we should replace the car, seeing as we spend a huge chunk of money every year keeping it running. I realised I was dreading that he thought we should and that I am still harboring the idea that we will drive it back across the country (I have no idea how, considering that not only will we have an extra dog this time, but an extra human, and last time the car was about as packed as it gets with just the three of us). I can't bear the thought of just leaving the car in Ithaca. I sort of hope that it actually, completely dies before I have to agree to just get rid of it. Much easier that way. I know what's going to happen and I'm a little ashamed. I'm going to cry.

Ryan said (to my relief), no, we shouldn't replace it, because cars are just expensive to run. And yes, we wouldn't be spending a bunch of money fixing a new one, but we also would be spending a much larger amount buying it.

Arugula and lemon juice.

Exciting afternoon: finding a bag of arugula in the fridge that you thought you'd finished already and then eating it with a drizzle of lemon juice. My chapped lips hurt now, but it was so worth it.

Garden news!

After much hand wringing and worrying: the pea shoots have appeared and, as of this morning, three fava shoots. I'm going to finish my lunch and go down there with a watering can, my Kindle and the dogs (after watering my seedlings, I am going to lie in the sun and read).

Tiny Furniture

I could not finish watching Tiny Furniture. I may try again, but watching a lazy girl with unwashed hair wander around her TriBeCa apartment in her underwear, feeling ignored was just not compelling enough for me to get past the scene where she shows her dead hamster to a date, not realising that the hamster is dead. I may have been interested in continuing to watch it if there had been at least one actor in the film who managed not to sound like they were reading their lines off a cue card.

/rant over

Desserts

I've now made 2 delicious chocolate cakes in a row. One with mocha-cardomom icing and one with a raspberry glaze.

Additionally, successfully made raspberry sorbet without an ice cream maker.

I never used to be into desserts before, but here we are.

Edit: I just ate some raspberry glazed chocolate cake with the raspberry sorbet. And I drizzled leftover raspberry glaze over the whole thing. And it was delicious.

First Baby-Related Purchases

Today we bought car seat covers for our filthy, filthy car seats. We are also purchasing a pet barrier because the dogs, from now on, will be relegated to the way back. Jeeves will hate it, just like he hates everything that he is not used to.

I'm calling them our first baby-related purchases because we wouldn't be taking these steps towards cleanliness, hygiene and adulthood if we weren't expecting a baby.

The excuse I use for my car being gross: I am a horse person.

Cupcakes

I can bake breads - quick, yeast risen or sourdough risen. I can bake pies - sweet, savory. Quiches, casseroles, generally anything that goes in the oven. I can even bake cakes.

Cupcakes defeat me and reduce me to tears. Every damn time. Fuck cupcakes.

Lazy morning

Today we are having some strangers over for dinner. Okay, not strangers. I haven't met them. Ryan knows them.

We are making pizzas with my perfected olive oil crust that for which I have to make the dough. Before I make the dough, I need to tidy the kitchen. It will take 10 minutes to do this and 10 minutes to make the dough. I have Morning Edition queued up and ready. Why can I not get off the couch to do this 20 minutes of not very difficult, somewhat enjoyable* work?

*I like cleaning my kitchen because it is semi-instant gratification for very little output. Kind of like making my bed. Which I haven't done yet either!!

Etiquette is there to prevent people from screaming at you legitimately.

My husband's crazy ex-girlfriend sent him a strange email today.

This is the crazy ex-girlfriend who was a high school girlfriend who continued to have a friendship with his family after they broke up, even though she didn't want to speak to him ever again. Then they became friends again then she befriended another girlfriend of his with whom she became so close that they even took a bath together at one point. They called his mother during the bath (I think  that neither girl was involved with Ryan at this point). The crazy ex-girlfriend informed Ryan, when he started seeing me, that she didn't want to hear anything about me unless/until he was serious about me. So he didn't mention me until he emailed her to say that we were getting married. Which made her very, very angry and she told him to never talk to her again, mainly because of the pain he must have caused his mother by getting engaged to someone that this girl hadn't heard very much about. I know this seems to not make any sense, but believe me, it doesn't make sense to us either.

There is so much more to this story, but that contains the juiciest bit of gossip (who takes a bath with their ex-boyfriend's more recent ex-girlfriend and then calls said ex-boyfriend's mother to tell her about it?) and covers the main points.

It doesn't cover how weird the whole thing was for me and how weird it still is for me, to a certain extent.

The weird email that was sent today (as opposed to the flurry of weird emails she sent initially, how ever many years ago that was) basically said something about realising that they haven't been in contact recently and not particularly wishing to be in any contact but here's a Tim Minchin song she bought recently and she thought it would be a "dick move" (her words) not to share it with him.

I'm not going to speculate. I mean, I have speculated. Obviously. The first words out of my mouth were speculation and judgement. But there's no point in guessing because we'll never know. Ryan simply wrote back, "Thanks, Tim Minchin is fun." or something similar. He thought that perhaps she was upset that he hasn't told her about the baby and possibly considers this neglect a "dick move".

It's funny because the other day, I thought about the "social obligations" of pregnancy which are similar, but not the same as getting married. When Ryan and I were engaged we talked about the "etiquette" involved and how there really isn't an accepted rule for telling people but there should be. Engagement etiquette was invented before people had lots of premarital relationships, particularly not serious premarital relationships, there were no rules for making sure that you didn't get yelled at for or for not telling an ex that you are getting married. Babies are a little different though. I had thought that there was no reason to tell an ex you were having a baby unless you are actually good friends with them, in which case they are a friend and you would have told them anyway. But apparently, you may also be supposed to tell exes who hate your guts but still feel that they have some sort of claim on your personal life.

Since there is no accepted rule for babies or marriages, one has to go on a case by case basis. I opted not to tell Al I was getting married because the most recent email I'd had from him was a year prior, informing me, among other things, that he now had a concealed weapon license. Not that I think he'd ever have hurt me, but he definitely was scary at the end of our relationship, too scary to want to engage in dialogue for any reason, let alone telling him you've found someone you want to marry after a 6 month relationship. When I finally felt guilty enough to send him a quick email letting him know (maybe a year after the wedding), I got one back almost immediately, saying that he already knew and was "ecstatic" (his word) for me. It irritated me to no end because ecstatic was surely not the word he meant. And he was always misusing words.

Towards the end of Al's life, we were actually corresponding a bit, as even he seemed to understand that our relationship had changed and it wouldn't be appropriate to call me from various blues clubs telling me I needed to come and get him because he thought he was going to get beat up - something he did repeatedly after we broke up (but never before). I would send him maybe a Bob Dylan related email and he'd write back with some news. Or he'd post on my facebook wall. He mentioned coming to see me and meet Ryan at one point but I didn't encourage it. Al would have done it purely for the pleasure of going on a road trip; that was just who he was but I didn't want to actually see him or for Ryan to meet him. They would have not gotten along, having almost nothing in common and it would have been awkward.

I don't know how I would have told him I was pregnant though. He would have misused some other exclamation probably and I would have been irritated. Obviously, I don't really have to worry about it though. And regardless of what social convention says, Ryan shouldn't have had to worry about it with this particular crazy ex because she specifically told him never to speak to her again.

Offbeat Mama

I found this blog/site called "Offbeat Mama". I don't care for the name, but the sentiment seems like I've finally found a publication that doesn't make me feel totally alienated in reference to motherhood. For example, at the midwive's waiting room, I found an article in a magazine that polled readers on whether or not they intended on wearing make-up in the delivery room. This is not a thing I had even considered nor did I consider that other women might consider it. I wasn't even sure why you would consider it (for the other people present? It's possible you've just crapped in front of them, who cares about makeup??) until I read one response "regretting that she wasn't wearing any in her post-birth pictures."

Anyway. I found this article on Offbeat Mamas on the topic of egalitarian parenting and I strongly identified with the sentiment of the author, despite the fact that I don't have experience in the actual scenarios she describes (yet). She describes the odd feeling of talking to other mothers pre and post birth and having it turn into a partner-bashing session, rather than anything productive. Partner-bashing, specifically on the topic of male incompetence when it comes to anything domestic, particularly baby-rearing.

Obviously, I do not know how Ryan is going to handle fatherhood but based on statements like, "I'm going to teach her to tie knots. Knots and math." tell me that he has definitely got some plans for her. And though he makes a face when we talk about nappies, he's also and this is important and (was an important factor in my choosing to marry him) a grown-up. So, I imagine nappies will get changed as needed the same way the dishes get done as needed and he will watch her and feed her and look after her because she is his daughter, the same way the dogs get walked and fed as needed because they are his dogs.

However, I have been present for conversations about how incompetent male counterparts and there's not much I can do besides smile sheepishly and mutter something about Ryan not doing that, silently thinking to myself, "Why are you with someone who bugs you so much?"

I hate the cultural suggestion that men are incompetent just as much as I hate the cultural suggestion that women are killjoy shrews.

Wrong Texts

I got a strange text this morning. It was a picture of a girl - maybe middle school age - holding up candy. The text portion said:

sour
soccer rox

I texted back:

Think you may have texted a wrong number.

I assumed that this would be enough to end the conversation, although I was getting prepared to be annoyed any potential, "Oh! Sorry!" reply.

Then,

is this helene or no
soccer rox

I had thought with the first text that "soccer rox" must be because she was excited that she got sour candy at soccer. As in, the candy I received at soccer practice was sour, which is a what I like, therefore, soccer rocks. Now, I have a suspicion that it is a signature of some sort.

Nope. This is Alice.

Once again, I assumed that this would be enough to end the conversation. Once again, I overestimated this person.

oww w do u play soccer on palo alto and go to jordan
soccer rox

Here's the funny thing: I did go to Jordan. But probably several years before this girl was born. I never played soccer, though. I'd like to think that when I was a student at Jordan, however, I did realise that there was a world beyond Jordan*. That the likelihood of someone who was at the other end of a misdialed phone being just like me was probably fairly low. Surely my use of capital letters and punctuation must have tipper her off?

No. I'm 30 and I live in upstate NY.

Result. No 12 year old wants to text with a 30 year old. Most of the 12 year olds I've interacted with don't believe that old people know anything or do anything "cool" so what on earth was I doing text messaging?? Mutton dressed as lamb.

Like when Maria at the barn (42) mentioned to Karin (12) something about instant messaging.

"WHAT? You're too old to instant message."

"Um. I have to use it for work. Also, what does that even mean?"

I realise that I could have just stopped responding to the texts, but part of me wanted to embarrass her into using her brain a little. Particularly after the Jordan question.

*In fact, I know I realised it. I spent day after day after day wishing I could leave that horrible school. I couldn't wait to go to Paly, then I found Paly just as unbearable, probably because the same people went to Paly as went to Jordan.

Roasted White Bean Salad and Pear Cheesecake

Roasted White Bean and Arugula Salad:
(the amounts are all estimates except the can of beans - this is a forgiving recipe and should be cooked to the cook's own tastes. Just make sure you have enough oil in your pan so you don't burn the beans.)

1 can white beans, drained thoroughly
2 large cloves of garlic or 4 small (or as much garlic as you like...), chopped.
2 tbsp neutral-flavoured oil
handful of arugula (complimentary amount to the amount of beans you have)
2 tbsp sundried tomatoes, chopped
1/2 olive oil
1/4 cup olive oil
1/2 tsp sugar or to taste
mustard seeds, black pepper and salt.

Pre-heat your oven to 400 degrees F. Heat up the neutral-flavoured oil in a large oven safe skillet over medium heat. I used my largest cast iron - it needs to be big enough for all the beans to all lie flat on the bottom of the pan. Once the oil is hot, add the beans, garlic, a pinch of salt and some fresh ground black pepper (and make sure the beans are all flat on the bottom...). Once those have gotten going, move them to the oven. They should be nice and browned up in about 15 -20 minutes, but check on them in 10 just to be sure.

While those are in the oven, prepare your vinaigrette. Red wine, olive oil, salt, fresh ground black pepper and mustard seeds, and sugar all in a peanut butter jar* with the lid on. Shake until it emulsifies, taste add more of anything it might need.

Prepare your arugula (rinse as needed) and put it in a bowl with the chopped sundried tomatoes. Once the beans are done, pull them out of the oven and let them cool down otherwise you will end up cooking your arugula. They don't have to be room temperature, just not 400 degrees!

Once they've cooled down to warm instead of really hot, combine with the arugula and tomatoes. A few minutes before serving, add the vinaigrette. Yum.

*Ryan and I use peanut butter jars instead of drinking glasses and I save the lids. They also serve as storage vessels for things like dried beans or grains and as vinaigrette shakers. Also, when they break you aren't sad because you can just eat some more peanut butter to replace them.

Eggless Pear Cheesecake take 1.

I had some frozen cream cheese from a long time ago. I also had one pear and no eggs. And some almond flour that I love, but never remember to use up.

So, this is what I did:

Filling
8oz cream cheese
1 pear, chopped but not necessarily peeled (I didn't)
1/2 c confectioners sugar
1 1/2 tsp cornstarch
1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Crust
1 1/2 c almond flour
1/3 c butter
1/2 c sugar

Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees F. Combine the almond flour and sugar. Melt the butter and then pour into the almond flour and sugar mixture. Give it a good stir to combine but don't "mix thoroughly". Press it into the bottom of a spring form pan. Put the pan in the oven for 5 minutes.

While this is in the oven, combine the cream cheese, chopped pear, sugar, vanilla and cornstarch in a food processor until smooth. Once this is ready and the crust is done toasting, pour the filling into the spring form pan.

Put in the oven for 20 minutes or until the top is nicely browned and cooked-looking. This is a thin cheesecake - the crust and the filling are about equal parts. If you want a thicker, on the more filling side, you could easily make more filling - maybe half again what I have called for here or perhaps even doubling the filling recipe. Of course this will require more cooking time.

Once it is done, take it out of the oven and let it cool to room temperature, then put it in the fridge for at least an hour, to set.

I wasn't completely happy with this version. Or rather I was happy with it, but I think I will tweak it a bit in the future. Mainly, I want it to be fruitier.

*Edit: I tried again. Doubled the cream cheese, added a bit more cornstarch and this time, used frozen raspberries that I tossed in the food processor to chop up finely before anything else, instead of the pear. YUM.

Today's Walk.

Today, my dog, Jeeves, peed on my foot.

Luckily, I was standing right next to Fall Creek, so I screamed at him, he scowled, then I ran into the creek, shoes and all.

Once, he peed on Barnaby's head. Barnaby was in the middle of his own micturation and Jeeves just walked up, lifted his leg over Barnaby's head and peed.

Barnaby moved on, as one would expect.

On my way back from the creek, I walked past the Tiny House. It's a house at the end of our street that consists of a front room, a tiny bedroom and in the mudroom at the back, the tiniest kitchen I've ever seen*. A strange couple lives there, they don't speak the same language, but they are involved because I saw her professing her love to him one morning from the front steps of the house. She sounded like Marta from Arrested Development. The guy looks like a reimagining of the Dude, if the Dude listened to Whitesnake instead of CCR. His partner is a tiny brown woman who looks about 25 years younger than him.

Today, there were 8 full garbage bags outside their house. Which seemed SO WEIRD. I mean, 8 bags of garbage from a house the size of an average garage seems excessive. Then I realised the bags were full of leaves.

They probably aren't anywhere near as weird as I think they are. 

*I'm not a creepy stalker (at least not in this regard) - it was on the market when we were looking for a place to buy. It was some ungodly amount of money considering the fact that it needs a lot of work and it's an absurdly tiny house.

Celeriac Puree, 2 ways.

I made a yummy two dish meal component the other day: celeriac mushroom puree. I turned it into pasta sauce the first day and then 2 days later, it was delicious soup.

2 celeriac roots, cubed
2 small onions (or 1 large...) sliced
~1/2 cup dried shiitake mushrooms
white pepper
salt
olive oil

Toss the onions in a pan (I used my trusty 12" cast iron) with the (heated) olive oil on medium-low. Once they have started to soften, add the celeriac. I turn the heat up a little bit, but not too much. The point is a long, low cook with occasional stirring to get everything sweet and caramelly.

While this is happening, rehydrate the mushrooms. Put them in a bowl and pour enough hot water over them to cover.

Once the celeriac has started to brown up a bit, you can add a bit of water and cover - I did this instead of parboiling, just to make sure it was getting cooked all the way through. The water also helped deglaze the pan, next time, I might try stock or white wine.

When the celeriac is done getting very nearly close to done (everything should be a nice goldeny brown colour and the celeriac should be soft and break apart easily), drain the mushrooms and reserve the liquid. Put the liquid, along with the celeriac and onion mixture into a blender and puree. You may need to add water.

Return the puree to your pot, slice up the mushrooms and toss them in with the puree. Flavour, to taste, with white pepper and salt.

For pasta sauce, I made a roux, included some nutritional yeast with the flour and added my delicious puree. Remember to cook it to a point where it is less thick than you want it as as soon as it starts to cool, it will thicken up.

For soup, I melted several cubes of leek stock that I made and froze a few weeks ago and added the puree. Simple, quick and delicious, we had it with yummy Gary's Bread (a sort of whole wheat sour dough made from locally grown and milled flour) from Wide Awake Bakery.

begin rant

If one more person takes an ordinary, completely normal statement that I make and attributes it to my being pregnant, I will have to find some further measure to take besides just complaining about it here.

The balcony smells like squirrel pee because a squirrel spent the winter hibernating in it, not because I can smell it more easily now that I am pregnant. Homemade cheese on homemade bread is something I would enjoy whether or not I am currently gestating a foetus. I am vacuuming/folding laundry/mopping the floor/tidying up/doing dishes/scrubbing my toilet because I am presumably, by most cultural measures, an adult and adults clean their houses and non-pregnant adults can do this without it being called "nesting" - why can't I?

/rant over

Cutting spending

Ryan and I are trying to spend less money. We went to the grocery store last week and had a conversation in the car that went like this:

"I'm going to stop getting my hair cut at that expensive salon."

"Yeah. We should probably cancel cable."

"Also, those gym memberships - we never go anyway."

"I'm going to stop buying fancy cleaning products and just start using old rags, baking soda and vinegar."

"We should start eating at home more often and making our meals from scratch."

"No more clothes shopping sprees!"

"I'll start walking to work and bringing my lunch"


The thing is, we were laughing, because we don't do* any of these things anyway but it's also kind of sad, because I've been racking my brain trying to come up with things we can cancel or stop buying or whatever and I've not been able to come up with much.

One thing we actually did was combine our mobile phone plans - a big commitment, I know, but we felt we were ready. It's about $25/month difference. I've also started tracking our grocery store expenditures. I know we could spend less on certain items, but some things, I'd rather compromise on quantity than quality. For example: I'd rather buy less yoghurt or milk from the local dairies than buy more of the mass produced stuff. 


Of course "treats" get removed from the shopping list - things like ginger beer and ice cream. I'm attempting to get better at making them myself: last week, I made raspberry honey black tea coconut milk sorbet/ice cream (the raspberries were ones we picked last summer - the advantage to not working is that one has time to make sorbet without an ice cream maker!) and yesterday, Ryan used up some sad little lemons and made us some lemonade. 


*or already do? The point is, I haven't had my hair professionally cut since my wedding, I've never belonged to a gym, Ryan already packs a lunch and walks, I've only bought new clothes in the last year because I needed maternity pants in order to be able to leave the house, we don't even own a television much less pay for cable, I have been using vinegar and baking soda to clean for years and neither of us would know how to eat if we didn't cook our own food.

Eating clay

From BabyCenter.com:


"Finally, some studies have found a link between severe iron-deficiency anemia and cravings for non-food substances such as ice, paper, or clay (a condition known as pica). If you do have these cravings, don't give in to them, and be sure to tell your healthcare provider."


I like how they have to tell you not to give in to your cravings to eat non-food substances.


"Hmm. I could go to the doctor. Or I could just eat this clay."

(Don't worry - I'm not craving non-food substances)

subject: re: I don't regret it, but I both rue and lament it.

To: Ken


I lifted my temporary boycott of Northstar* tonight. I may never return. At the very least, the boycott is back on. 


To: Alice


Oh dear, what happened?


To: Ken


Aside from the insultingly bland mushroom stroganoff (Ryan made a better mushroom pasta dish two weeks ago, out of stuff from our freezer and powdered milk), it took them over an hour after seating us (at 6:25) to bring us our mains (~7:40).  


To: Ken


Also the french fries were far too salty and far past done. 


To: Ken


And they burnt the toast that came with the stroganoff.


To: Alice


Ewww.


*The temporary boycott was because the last time we went, the waitress was so condescending and awful when I asked her to point us in the direction of the hostess (it was super hard to tell the difference between all the girls in peasant blouses and dangly earrings) that I walked out. The place has notoriously snotty waitstaff and this was sort of a camel breaking straw incident, however, I was willing to try again. This time it wasn't the waitstaff so much as it was the slow kitchen.

This happened at a restaurant in the Fall Creek neighbourhood of Ithaca, New York called Northstar Public House, a place I used to love and frequent regularly, but it has sadly fallen from my graces. 

Secret Shame

A few weeks ago, I mentioned my shameful preference for British crime dramas. I'd like to come clean today and bring up another fascination of mine:

Agony Aunts, also known as Advice Columns.

I read them for, well, a number of reasons. Number one, I am a voyeur. Other people in my major and I used to joke about it in college: anthropologists are just legitimizing pathological voyeurism. I don't read celebrity magazines but (I imagine I am having the same kind of shock-horror reaction that those are designed to solicit). Celebrities are boring and I don't really think it's right to take an active, unsolicited, interest in their personal life. Advice column advice seekers, however, are literally asking for judgement, so it's fair game.

Sometimes, if I'm in a hurry, I don't even read the advice given. This is particularly true of the long-winded and often boring Cary Tennis, who never seems to actually give advice, he just suggests, over and over again, that there isn't much we can do anyway about anything, so just continue existing. I'm not saying it's not good advice, one just doesn't need to read it over and over again.

Prudence from Slate is usually pretty good, except when it comes to anything that is outside vanilla sex problems. But we all know who really should be fielding sex questions and that is Dan Savage, who is mine and probably everyone else's favourite advice columnist.

Today I read the Friend or Foe column by Lucinda Rosenfeld. I'm pretty sure that it's just a performance art piece, because her advice is often so poor. Right now, it's fairly subtle, but I imagine that it's just going to get worse and worse until finally, it's just her answering, "I think you should probably just kill yourself." to everyone who writes in. The idea is that it will be so gradual that no one will notice. Slate's pretty much entirely troll bait anyway. Here's an example of her shitty advice, this one in particular caused a huge stir, but I don't think it's really all that much worse than what she normally advises, it's just the situation was so extreme.

Today, she advised that someone to try talking to their single-mother cokehead best friend and roommate and asking them nicely to make sure not to do coke in the house, after apologising for calling the roommate a junkie. To be fair, I doubt Lucinda has ever spent anytime with a cokehead but there is such a thing as a cocaine asshole which is a very special kind of asshole that can only be created by the careful and steady cultivation of a coke habit. This asshole is not your friend and they do not care about you, although they are in possession of the body of your friend, so it is hard to disconnect the two. They should not live in your house and they should not be allowed to drive your car nor should they be trusted with the deposit on a house (I speak from personal experience). You can feel badly for them but feel bad for the person that they were not the person they are. If you think about it this way, it makes it less painful for you because it is easier to see that their poor behaviour is inarguably not about you, it is about them and it makes it easier to forgive them when/if they finally stop doing cocaine and start attempting to be not an asshole again.

I digress, although, the above is exactly what I do, in my brain, when I read advice columns. I think about the people involved and come up with my own conclusions. I do it over morning tea when Ryan has left for work early or I do it while I'm eating my lunch. Sometimes, if the advice seeker is really crazy, I tell Ryan about it and we both throw up our hands and say things to each other like, "People are idiots!!"

Maple Sugaring and Monkey Bread

This weekend we tapped the maple trees on Casey's farm. We're hoping to get 100 gallons of sap, which will mean about a gallon and a half of syrup for us. If all goes according to plan, anyway. It is so amazing - the syrup tastes like Casey's woods. Much better than the storebought stuff and that stuff is pretty awesome. I don't know what we are going to do after next year's season, when we most likely will not be living in the northeast anymore.

I also made monkey bread this weekend for the first time. It is something Ryan's mum used to make when he was a kid and we found the recipe in the Kind Arthur flour book.

I made bagels last week and they turned out pretty well - I need practice. I will make them again soon and post pictures/instructions, but right now I have to get ready for the dentist.

Shabby Apple's Shabby Art Director

Ignoring the weird dress and inappropriate shoes, this model for Shabby Apple is wearing a hunt cap and leading a cow pony with an ugly Western bridle. She's also wearing English gloves and carrying a broken crop, not to mention committing a series of pony-club-don'ts in the other pictures. Surely there are enough horsie people in the fashion industry to fix these glaring mistakes. She just looks like a moron. 

http://www.shabbyapple.com/p-1277-grand-national.aspx

Bread and Pregnancy

I made a butternut squash gallette the other night. I fried up some onions, threw in some cubed squash and Mark Bittman's chili spice mix (ancho chilis, cumin, coriander, black pepper and oregano), tomato paste and water and put the resulting mixture in a whole wheat crust.

I have some of the filling leftover, so Ryan's getting a special treat for his lunch tomorrow: a squash pasty.

We've been so excellent about not only remembering to put things together for his lunches everyday but also baking the bread for his lunches - so even if there's no leftovers or the leftovers are a bit meager, there is fresh bread to make sandwiches. We do get our weekend loaf from Wide Awake Bakery, but that is for Friday afternoon tea with Ken and Saturday and Sunday morning breakfasts. Their bread is better than ours, but they also have a giant brick bread oven instead of a crappy, poorly insulated one.

Last week I made a batch of olive oil dough. That plus rosemary from the CSA (although once I used za'ta) meant we had focaccia for a few meals - it never lasted more than an evening.

My mood has been a little better this week although I did have another meltdown on Saturday. I know I've spent a lifetime feeling like I didn't get some memo that every other girl seem to have gotten, relating to things that are stereotypically associated with women, but pregnancy fucking takes the cake. Sure, I can read in the books that it's perfectly normal not to be radiant and excited and a blithering idiot, but that is no help when you are dealing with the well-meaning advice givers in-person.

"Oh you're cleaning your bathroom/doing laundry/cleaning house? You must be NESTING." (No, from time to time, I clean my house because I am an adult.)

"Oh I've been waiting for you to get excited! How exciting that you are finally excited!" (I just told you I had an ultrasound and that I still feel like shit after eating.)

"Oh you need to eat TONS OF FAT. It will make your baby smart." (Do not counter this argument with, "actually that's not a good idea for a number of reasons".... otherwise you will be called out for your vanity. Never mind the omega-3 supplements you are taking.)

As annoyed as I sound, the tears on Saturday were because I can't figure out how to be as excited as everyone else seems to be. I'm just existing and the baby is existing and soon the baby will be born and that is what happens. I guess I just want to be left the hell alone, but (I imagine) people get awfully touchy when you scream at them "Please for the love of all you hold sacred, talk to me about SOMETHING ELSE." Not to say I'm banning the subject - obviously it's on my mind a lot and I do have questions/potentially interesting things to say on the subject and I really don't actually mind talking about it, but the subject does get tiresome when it is the only thing people can talk to you about.

Maybe it's partially my fault: I don't have a whole lot else going on right now. I keep meaning to get on with certain projects, but I still feel sick or tired or both most days. Things about the second trimester, so far, that are annoying: it is still quite possible to have morning sickness and be too fucking tired to stay up past 8pm. These instances are just less frequent or less severe (I can manage food if I don't think about it afterward and sometimes I'm just too fucking tired to stay up past 10 instead of 8). Sleep is increasingly uncomfortable: I am an "active" sleeper, meaning I sleep on my sides, back and front throughout the course of the night, the front is increasingly not an option and the back is not recommended. So sides it is! If I can remember, while I'm asleep, not to roll onto my back (I usually can't). The books say, get pillows! People who suggest this are not familiar with the members of my family, who are quite happy to roll and roll and roll until they are completely tangled up in the duvet, pillows flung to the far corners of the bed. Pillows will do nothing to stop me. The only thing that works is Ryan occasionally waking up in the night and noticing I am on my back, then gently prodding me, hopefully onto my side. He is so brave.

Getting Older and Girl Scout Cookies

Today I was trying to describe my friend Jane to my friend Ken. I assumed they had met, but he didn't remember her.

"She was at my birthday party. Very pregnant."

Then I remembered that there were two very pregnant women at my birthday party, so I amended the statement by declaring she was the brown haired very pregnant person as opposed to the blonde haired very pregnant person.

"I do remember pregnant people at your party."

Then I thought about how old I am to have pregnant women at my birthday party without it being totally weird.

There are things that I do differently now that I am older. I just had a conversation with Ryan where my roommate situation in Santa Barbara came up. I described calling someone back who had called to inquire about our loft space. We (roomate Casey and I) had talked over breakfast and decided to put off renting the loft for another month - I think because there was the possibility of our old roommate and good friend moving back in. So I called the person who had left a message inquiring about the space and said, "Yeah, well, my roommate and I decided that we aren't going to rent the space after all." The man immediately launched into a weird rant at me about how I was being "ageist" (I had no idea how old he was) by refusing to rent to him and how uncool that was and how rude and on and on....

Ryan said, "Why did you listen to this man enough to hear the whole thing?"

I said that I didn't know. It was a strange thing to have happen. Maybe that's why.

Then he said, "How old were you?"

I must have been about 20.

"Ah. So not old enough to know you could just hang up and not listen."

It reminded me of my sweet friend Georgi, a 19 year old freshman. She told me about being on a bus, getting in a conversation with a grad student and him asking for her phone number. She said she didn't really want to give it to him, but felt she should to avoid being rude. I said, "Georgi, you do not have to give your phone number to anyone you do not want to. It doesn't matter if they think you are being rude or not."

Which is something that I think a lot of 19 year old girls should hear. You do not have to do that shot and you do not have to go home with that person. Unless, of course (!) you WANT to. In which case, do and have fun.

So, at 20, I didn't know I didn't have to listen to some stranger's abuse on the phone but Georgi will know that she is allowed to not give her phone number out to just anyone who asks for it.

***

In other news, I'm buying some Girl Scout cookies. I'm buying them from a kid whose parents are homophobic social conservatives. Mainly because I don't know many Girl Scouts (just the one, really) but the irony is not lost on me - but it will probably be lost on them. Which makes it a little funny. 

Battles with healthcare

Just tried to watch Bridesmaids. Completely unrelatable. I had to switch it off because everyone in it, so far, including Matt Lucas, was too high-pitched.

***

I tried to get a counseling appointment this morning. I'll just say this: the last few months have been less than fun for me and it occurred to me, on Friday, that sobbing my way through doing the dishes for no apparent reason was perhaps not normal. I mean, I don't like doing the dishes, but it doesn't normally result in tears. I'm sure it's bad brain chemicals, but all the things I normally do to clear them out are either unavailable to me or nor working or part of what is making me cry so much. I signed up for a counselling appointment through MyGannett, which is an electronic appointment service. The appointment was a phone assessment and made for 11:40 this morning. I dutifully called in on time and was connected to a psychologist whose first question was, 

"What year are you?"

"Um [I clear my throat] I'm actually a spouse of a grad student."

"Oh. I don't think we can assist you, unless you are coming in for couples counselling."

"But, all my health care services are provided by Gannett."

"That's strange. You shouldn't be able to received services through Gannett *, but either way, we aren't part of Gannett. Let me put you on hold and go and check."

"I'm so sorry for leaving you on hold for so long. I'm still confused as to your receiving healthcare from Gannett, but as I said we only provide counselling for students. I can refer you to Family and Children's...."

And there I cut her off, thanked her and hung up.

*Also, she is entirely wrong. Gannett is the only place I can go with my insurance and receive full coverage. 

I can't go to Family and Children's because I know some of their counsellors and staff socially and at least one of the counsellors should never have been granted a license to practice, because NO ONE who is that unfriendly, rude, humourless and insecure should be counselling other people.

"Try being bitchier. It worked for me!"

And here is the crux of the matter and should be noted for anyone considering being a Cornell Graduate Student  Spouse.

Cornell doesn't care about you. You are extraneous. They don't wish you to be happy, they don't even know you exist. Despite a study done AT CORNELL, showing that married grad students are both more likely to finish and finish faster than unmarried grad students, they do nothing for this admittedly small population. They don't even provide counselling or job seekers assistance, despite the fact that moving here is more likely to be hardest on the spouse, which means the spouse will be unhappy which will result in unhappy grad students that take forever to not finish their degrees. No effort at building a community or connecting said spouses is made and no forum is provided for us to even to this on our own effective. 

I had sort of gotten over this sentiment until I discovered that they won't let me see a counsellor - the counselling services is separate from the university health insurance, and paid for by the university (I assume to allow students to go and not be forced to inform their parents, should they still be on their parents insurance) so if I want to see a counsellor, I have to go outside the system pay, instead of it being covered like it would be, were I a student. Nice one, Cornell. Force me to pay for your shitty student health insurance and yet don't allow me the same access that you do the students.

British crime dramas.

Confession: I watch a lot of British crime dramas. 

They are sordid. 

Lately, I've been re-watching Waking the Dead. I like that the forensics anthropologist is apparently always some kind of crazy auto-didact genius who has managed to build up an expert knowledge base not only of forensic anthropology, but also cryptography, ballistics, radiology, botany, dentistry, serology, toxicology, pathology. Also, Spence is hot. 

I also like Midsomer Murders - not quite a drama as there is often some comic relief. The premise is basically some grisly, sordid murder happens in a quaint tiny village in the fictitious county of Midsomer. Somewhere around the half hour mark, a second murder happens and then, before the third murder happens, our hero, DCI Barnaby figures out who the killer is and rescues the potential victim in the nick of time. It doesn't matter that all the episodes are the same.

Unlike a lot of American shows, British crime dramas are often a lot more graphic.

So you see quite a lot of "murders" and "rapes". And I never think the victim struggles hard enough: If someone attempted to garrotte me, I'd probably reach behind and gouge an eye or grab a throat and squeeze. Maybe attempt to grab testicles. 

At least: I think I would. a former student of mine published a piece about almost getting raped. She felt disappointed that she didn't do anything to help herself. No kicking in the balls, no screaming. I blame so many pathetic TV victims for this attitude. My friend Mark described a study (I do not have a link) that looks at cops and criminals being shot in exactly the same way. Cops fall over and "act shot". Criminals run for miles. 

So, I've been thinking about reversing the patterns put in my brain by these TV shows. I have a plan in my head, as I mentioned above. Eyes are good. So are throats and testicles. And screaming.

Garden Plan

I'm working on planning the garden for next year. Last year, we didn't do much in it because our garden is so crappy sun-wise and I didn't really have time to get into a pissing contest with our downstairs neighbour (she kept trying to plant things where we had already planted things...."I was thinking about putting some garlic here, what do you think?" "Um. That's my herb garden. See these plants I'm picking right now? I put them in my food to make it taste better." I won't talk about her destroying our mint - it's too upsetting.

This  year, however, I will have time to stake my claim properly. And with carte blanche from Steve to do whatever we like to the garden in the name of vegetable growing, I intend to get rid of the ugly, invasive tiger lilies from the front patch and plant tomatoes there. Beans and peas in the area we have previously used for tomatoes (they will supposedly do better with less sun than tomatoes). The really exciting part of the plan is that we are going to experiment with container gardening on the roof of the garage: eggplant and sweet pepper.

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.