May 2011

You are currently browsing the monthly archive for May 2011.

Sometimes, as you’ve likely read, I believe that I don’t have enough, that I am not enough.  Time, love, money, friends, clothes, flowers, patience: insert a noun here and wonder how to multiply it.  Thankfully, most times, I realize that I have plenty, more than enough even.  An abundance to share, put out at the curb with a “free” sign, and send out to the rest of the world.  I am rich, if only in my own mind.  That’ all that matters.  This weekend is a perfect example of that.  Three perfect days, almost endless, with fun, food, friendship, laughter, and hard work.

To start, we rose early on Saturday for a splendid outing, caravaning to Hood River for glorious vistas, one cool car (a Ford Cobra), books (I bought two: Dashiell Hammett and Aravind Adiga – hoping they are good), sunshine (I wore sunglasses and actually felt hot for a moment!), the best company (Lori, Bert, and Beanie), and, of course, super yummy food (thanks to Lori’s family – Apple Valley BBQ – plus honey and jam for home).  As if this weren’t enough, we made a stop to wash our dirty car before heading across town to Old Town Pizza.  We sat in chairs worthy of napping, sipped beer, an Arnold Palmer, and ate a rather fine pizza pie (most of it, anyway).

Sunday we celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary.  Huzzah!  (The photo is actually from a couple weekends ago.)  A blur of not much, we ate leftover pizza for breakfast.  We went for a walk.  I baked bread (as a delivery vehicle for the honey and jam purchased Saturday) and hot dog buns and must admit they look rather, ahem, phallic before putting in the oven.  They were yummy, despite the imagery, though not as soft as Franz.  We watched a movie (Jack Goes Boating – very good) and ate a bowl of popcorn.

Yesterday called for a fancy looking breakfast, which I made (recipe below).  It was also dry enough to mow the very long lawn, so the hubster was in charge of that.  I dead-headed the iris, pruned the glory bower, weeded (we have some very healthy clover), moved a few plants in the garden, and planted two agastache (hyssop) for the pollinators.  This was followed by a long bath to clean my farmer feet and hands, another hot dog, the finishing of a book (That Old Cape Magic – just okay), the baking of a batch of cherry walnut brownies, and an early bed time.  Plenty, all of it good.

Saucy Breakfast Sandwich

equal amounts butter and white flour (rice or wheat)

milk (I used rice)

grated cheese (I used a jalapeno gouda.  Any soft cheese that you like will do.)

salt

pepper

cayenne pepper

Sliced bread (I made a variation of this bread {1/2 whole wheat flour, rice milk, no herbs or raisins}, use an English muffin if you like), lightly toasted

egg, prepared any style to go on top (I made ours my favorite way)

bacon, sausage,  sautéed mushrooms (or see ideas below)

This can be adapted  to serve as many people as you like and the reason I’m not specific with the ingredients.  Since there were only two of us, I used 1 tablespoon each butter and flour.  Melt the butter over medium heat, whisk in the flour.  Allow this mixture to cook for a minute before slowly whisking in the milk.  I used about 2/3 – 1 cup.  It thickened, but was still a little runny.  Sprinkle in the grated cheese (I used about 1/3 cup), and stir until it is smooth.  Taste it, and add as much salt, pepper, and cayenne as it needs.  Cover and keep warm (very low heat, if any) while you cook your eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, whatever you like.  Place a slice of toasted bread on a plate, pile on the goodness, and pour the sauce over the top.  The sauce was enough for three sandwiches, with very generous portions.  Look at that pool!

Some ideas:

Mexican:  jalapeno jack, sliced avocado, roasted peppers (jalapeño, bell, poblano),  pinto or black beans.

Italian: fontina, tomato, fresh oregano, red pepper flakes

Spanish: Petit Basque, roasted tomato and red pepper, smoked paprika instead of cayenne, a splash of sherry in the sauce

French: gruyere, finely chopped fresh rosemary, thyme, tarragon, a splash of white wine in the sauce

Enjoy!

Pin it on PinterestShare on TwitterShare on TumblrShare via email+1Submit to StumbleUpon

Tags: ,

Knowing

To know what you prefer, instead of humbly saying Amen to what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to have kept your soul alive.

Robert Louis Stevenson

Pin it on PinterestShare on TwitterShare on TumblrShare via email+1Submit to StumbleUpon

Tags:

Plants give us oxygen for the lungs and for the soul.

Linda Solegato

Pin it on PinterestShare on TwitterShare on TumblrShare via email+1Submit to StumbleUpon

I fell down the stairs a few years ago.  It really hurt, and I got a nasty bruise on my back, but I didn’t really think about it much.  I do that, move right along once the initial pain subsides.  I’ve got things to do, places to go, people to see!  The trouble is, my back never really healed properly, even though it felt okay.  It got itself in a bit of a jumble that’s caused other problems, more irritating and insidious.  I’ve tried visiting a chiropractor and acupuncturist to get rid of it, but nothing seemed to work.  I’ve recently been working with a massage therapist, and she said, rather casually, that problems like these, ones that should heal but don’t are often the result of not being able to let go of something painful.  This idea gave me pause.  It it true?  Is there something I’ve been unwilling to loosen from my grasp?

I talked to my former student, now friend, Daniel last night.  He’s coming for a short visit and wanted to be sure we saw each other, which we will.  It’s nice to be thought of like that, wanted.  I like it.  Anyway, during our conversation, we talked about life and what we’re doing, and whether the work we do means anything or is going anywhere, despite the hours, days, weeks, and months we’ve been at it.  In particular, I was thinking about my blog and the fact that my last post was the 500th (Zowie!).  I’ve come to this space five hundred times, put myself out there as honestly and earnestly as I can, yet what is it doing, really?  Where is it going?  What is it about? What kind of blog is it?  Honestly, I have no idea.  I only do what feels right at the time.

I was at the library the other day, in a section I don’t normally browse, and found a sweet little book called Start Where You Are, by Pema Chodron.  It’s about meditation and how to practice and cope with whatever life brings, mostly by letting go.  I brought it home (along with a giant stack from the sections I do normally browse – libraries are awesome), and I’ve really been enjoying it.  She writes in a very accessible style, with many personal anecdotes.  I find myself laughing a lot and agreeing with her words, especially these: Give away what you don’t want.  Give away what you most want.  Nothing is concrete. There are no definitive answers.  There’s only this moment and this breath.

Then, yesterday, I popped in a bonus Shiva Rea DVD, again, like the book, something I wouldn’t normally browse, and watched an interview with Shiva about the practice of yoga.  At the beginning she said, “With yoga, you start where you are.”  Well the light bulbs went off friends.  I thought about how true it is, especially in reference to Pema Chodron’s book.  Nothing is concrete.  Each moment is new.  With each yoga practice, I start where I am.  Sometimes, I am strong and steady, moving with grace and ease through the postures.  Other times, like yesterday, I fall on my ass doing what is normally pretty simple.

Then I got to the big picture thoughts that have been weighing heavily on my mind.  I’ve written five hundred blog posts and am nearly forty years old.  This is a big deal, isn’t it?  Something significant, concrete, should be happening, right?  Fireworks?   I should know what I’m doing, where I’m going, what I’m going to be.  I should be making money.  It’s about time.

Then, finally, it’s back to my massage therapist’s words and the book.  Letting go.  Everything is a passing memory.  I’ve had these ideas and expectations my whole life.  I’ve been holding on to the notion that I should know what I’m doing, be successful, that my back shouldn’t hurt, that I should like everyone.  It’s all very concrete and solid, like the knots in my back.  But what if I looked at life differently?  What if I allowed a space for softness, for not knowing, not grasping.  What if I let go of all the stories?  What if I start where I am right now, again and again, no destination, no need to be anything different than what I am.  What will happen then?

I guess I will see.

Pin it on PinterestShare on TwitterShare on TumblrShare via email+1Submit to StumbleUpon

Tags: ,

500

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.

E. E. Cummings

Pin it on PinterestShare on TwitterShare on TumblrShare via email+1Submit to StumbleUpon

Holy frijoles, a post on a Saturday?  Yup, just for fun.  These are my all time favorite YouTube videos.  What did we ever do before?  A word of warning – they’re definitely not for everyone.  Grandma, Grandpa, you should skip these, and anyone at work or with kids nearby.

What a mad duo this is, Kanye West and Zach Galifianakis!  I can’t decide which I love more, the song, the video, or the juxtaposing of the two.  Well done, gentlemen.

This is all kinds of goodness.  I’m also glad to see that Elijah Wood is no longer a Hobbit.  He makes a much better rapper in my opinion.

Ahh, the Flight of the Conchords.  Come back!


Gangsta Bert and Ernie!

Pin it on PinterestShare on TwitterShare on TumblrShare via email+1Submit to StumbleUpon

Heppy Friday friends, despite it being nearly over – late start!  I see that typo, by the way, but think it looks kind of hep (there I go again), so it stays.  How was your week?  Mine was a solid 8.5 (good friends and even better times), though it would have been higher had I the cooperation of Mr. Soleil.  I am missing him something fierce.  C’est la geurre, je suppose.

Anyhoo, to the post and my diabolical plot to get people in front of the television.  Bwa ha ha!  No, not really, but I am a big lover of film, if you hadn’t noticed, and when they touch me, I am duty bound to sing their praises.  Ooh, cheeky monkey!   No, these movies are not copping feels, they’re just worthy of  mention and your time.

I was feeling under the weather one day and cast aside my chores and one half of my yoga practice (sad face) to lie on the sofa.  Happily, the entertainment gods were watching over me, and I found this streaming on Netflix, watching the entire six episodes in one go.  Holy smokes gentle readers, this is some business.  John Luther (Idris Elba – well cast and handsome, with a fabulous name) is one of those not quite right police detectives (I know that line’s getting a bit cliche, but it works) who’s just returned from the force after some “time off.”  He’s dedicated, a bit explosive, and a mad genius at his job (“It’s not right”), the kind of fellow who has a difficult time separating himself from his work.  This caused problems in his marriage, and we watch him struggle with what may be its dissolution, along with the trials and travails of a detective in the murderous metropolis that is London. It is thoughtful, intense, and incredibly well written, full of unexpected twists and surprises, the absolute best being Luther’s friendship with Alice (Ruth Wilson from Jane Eyre - so good!), a woman he’s absolutely positive is responsible for the grisly murder of her parents and family dog (she’s far too clever to be caught).

This has got to be one of the best and most unusual documentaries I’ve ever seen.  Truly.  A man (Mark Hogankamp) is brutally beaten in a bar fight and decides, once the insurance money for traditional therapies runs out, that he will work through his trauma and regain his hand-eye coordination by creating and photographing (with meticulous detail) a WWII era Belgian town.  Populated with dolls that represent friends and coworkers, with a history so intricate, so poignant, that it’s often difficult to separate from the real world, past and present, especially for Mark.  Then there are the photographs, surreal and oddly beautiful, just like the town they depict.

A love letter to a complex and beguiling city, Dhobi Ghat shows Mumbai at its best and worst, through the eyes of four very different people.  Arun is an artist who meets Shai at his most recent opening.  They spend the night together, though it doesn’t end well.  Munna is an aspiring actor, rat killer, and the dhobi who washes both of their clothes (by hand, in a vast and strangely enchanting neighborhood dedicated to the practice).  Then there is Yasmin, the infinitely sweet and naive girl whose video tapes (intimate letters and travelogues for her brother) Arun finds in his new apartment.  We watch as each navigates the city and their relationships with the outside world and each other.  It is tender, honest, and sometimes harsh, just like life.  I did find it a tad clumsy at the start, but that may be more cultural than anything.

Ooh, this was fun!  After a white lie about the loss of her virginity spreads like wildfire, once unknown and uninteresting Olive Penderghast decides to take the rumors up a notch and parallel the life of Hester Prynne.  Literally dressing like a prostitute and appliquéing a scarlet “A” on her garments, she takes money and gift cards from boys desperate for a change in reputation (without actually becoming a prostitute herself).  Of course it gets out of hand, with hearts and friendships broken, but, as these films go, all turns out well in the end.  Chock full off witty banter and a gracious nod to Say Anything, I say well played.

But wait, there’s more!  I listened to Rafael Saadiq’s Stone Rollin’ while typing this: a little Stevie Wonder, a little hip hop, a little funk, and a whole lotta awesome.  Add it to another queue…

Pin it on PinterestShare on TwitterShare on TumblrShare via email+1Submit to StumbleUpon

Tags: ,

Silly Me

Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-gumble song,
Whistle through your comb.
Do a loony-goony dance
‘Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain’t been there before.

Shel Silverstein

Pin it on PinterestShare on TwitterShare on TumblrShare via email+1Submit to StumbleUpon

Good morning all!

I hope today is the beginning of a bright and beautiful week for you.  Yesterday was a glorious day of firsts around here, many of them captured in the above photo.  It was sunny and warm enough to dry laundry outside!  Sunny enough for a little happy hour of lemon bars and sparkling lemonade on the patio!  Sunny enough to walk to dinner wearing sandals and a dress -  no down vest required!  Hallelujah – we’d waited so long that’s it’s truly worthy of all the exclamations!  Seriously, this is the first time in my nearly thirteen years as a Stumptown girl that the wet weather has gotten me down.  I spent many a recent day pining for warmth and light, so when two days in a row came, and on a weekend, no less, I was pretty jazzed.

On our way out the door to dinner, we found this bit of sweetness left by a neighbor.  I don’t know which I love more, the act of kindness or lilacs!  I have one in the back, just behind the clothesline, and its blossoms are just beginning to open.  Happiness!

Now to the second bit of the title: mussels, my favorite gift from the sea.  My love for them is pretty serious, so don’t go messing with the menu, people.  I’ve made special trips to places to indulge only to have my spirit squashed like a bug at their absence.  This place used to have mussels but now has only crap burgers and too loud Grateful Dead on the hi-fi.  And I like the Grateful Dead! It’s just that everything is exaggerated when food disappointment is involved.  The hubster will vouch for me on this.  There’s a certain look in my once sweet eyes that means we gotta get outta here.  I’m not happy.  Thankfully, I have enough sources that I need not rely on one place and can get my fix in practically every area of town.  Should you share my love for mussels here are the best PDX preparations:

Lauro Kitchen – served rather dramatically in a cataplana (a cool looking copper pot) with peppers, onions, and sausage.

St. Jack – A very French preparation with ultra crispy crusted baguette.

The Observatory – there’s Sake in there, and it’s damn good!  (An aside – the whitefish spread is pretty spectacular, too.)

North 45 – This place takes mussels as seriously as I do, with a half dozen or more preparations on the menu at one time.  Deciding is not easy.

Here’s hoping it’s a wonderful week for you and yours, one without the heartache and destruction of weather disasters.  My thoughts and prayers to all who lost so very much.

Pin it on PinterestShare on TwitterShare on TumblrShare via email+1Submit to StumbleUpon

Tags: ,