Things I’ve Learned On the Current Project

Section 203(b)(5) of the US Immigration and Nationality Act provides permanent residency status for immigrants who invest $1 million in the US economy.

In France, employers using illegal immigrants can be penalized up to 1,000 times the minimum wage (it’s not clear if they mean this in a monthly or a yearly sum; I’m querying this). In the US, the maximum fine is $10,000 (the paper implies this is much lower than the French penalty).

Germany spends about five times more per worker than the US to prevent the employment of illegal foreign workers.

Germany has about 1,500 labor-market inspectors for a labor market with about 40 million workers. In 1994, the US had 245 INS worksite inspectors and 900 Dept. of Labor inspectors for about 130 million workers.

In France and Germany, inspectors can inspect any site without prior notification. In the US they must give three days prior notice.

Sign across Uncle Sam's forehead: "For Sale to the Highest Bidder".

The Perks of Blogging

Wow. I can understand now why some bloggers see their blogs as income producers. You remember my post on Friday, about Jest Red wine? Well, the folks at Jest Wines saw my post (the beauty that is technorati, I'm guessing), and they liked what they saw. (They said I "totally got what they are about", the blogger says, smugly.) So they offered to send a few bottles as a thank you. Rock on, Jest Wines people!

Now one thing I am, is a fast learner. So really, I just wanted to say to you all how cool it is that Toyota has come out with the Prius. Unfortunately, when our car got smashed 18 months ago, they were on back order (way back), so we weren't able to consider it. The Honda Civic Hybrid was super cool, but it is all fitted out with leather seats and XM satellite radio, which ups the price beyond what a freelancer and an academic's family can afford (and really, Honda, the Consort is one of the few and the proud which educates the next generation of Honda employees and Honda executives' dependents, remember that!)

And, being the radical environmentalists we are, at heart, I just wanted to shout out to Real Goods that we think they do a fantabulous job selling folks products for an ecologically sustainable future. If we could, we would refit our house with all sorts of great products like solar panels, so we could get off the grid, and maybe even give something back to the community; a solar-powered water pump; maybe convert to geothermal heating; and definitely get a high-efficiency refrigerator like SunFrost.

But you know, sometimes surprises are the best.

Oh, and Oxford? Impera was very impressed when we visited the UK a couple of years ago, and has been talking ever since about maybe doing her studies at your prestigious institution when she gets to college age (only 6 years away!). I told her that I've heard say that maybe the whole Oxbridge rep has become overstated in the past decades, but she has a lot of faith in that new committee the government established that is charged with strengthening your academic results. Anyway, if you think about it, maybe having an intelligent young spokesperson for your school may be the way to go. (What's the cost of one full-ride scholarship in comparison with the income potential from heightened international interest? Think about it. I've got plenty of sidebar space -- let's talk.)

Fun With Wine

Last night, at our weekly potluck, we opened up a bottle of red wine, and I fell in love. I was intrigued before the bottle was opened. You see, it was one of those random cheap bottles of wine the Consort brings home from the wine shop, just in case we want to imbibe, without snobbishness. Yes, I can be a wine snob if I choose: I prefer red to white, I prefer dry to sweet, and a small amount of Good Wine can be preferable to a large amount of vinegar. But sometimes, you don’t want the heaviness, or the expense, of Good Wine.

“Giddy pleasure, leaping grace … this red wine, blended from seven noble grape varietals, was crushed by the bare feet of 69 beautiful women in the wee light of dawn one misty October day.”

The Consort tells me we probably have about $2,000 worth of wine down in the basement (excuse me, in the caaaaahve). (I don’t know if this includes our homemade wines or not [but really, who can put a price tag on our Cherry Berry or the delicious Black Currant we took camping with us?]). Some of it is wine for those times we relish in our snobbishness, and some of it is questionable. Questionable in the sense that we don’t know yet if it is good, not in the sense of “hmm, I ran out of silver polish, will this do, d’y’think?” Because of the label, I hoped that last night’s wine would make the cut. Not to Good Wine (that would have been asking too much), but to good wine.

“The nose is deeply perfumed with wild dewberries, Himalayan breeding musk and horehound candy, while the flavors, so titillating they may only be disclosed in the Ecstatic Singing Mantra, will remain cloaked in silence until the bottle is uncorked.”

I like my winemakers to have a sense of humor. This is one reason why I like Frog’s Leap organic wine ("Time's fun when you're having flies"; but nope, last night’s was not Frog’s Leap). At the bottom of their labels, they have a note which reads, “Open other end.” Those are my kind of guys.

And now, I’ve found another table wine I can serve with a smile. Jest Red. They also make a Jest White and a Jest Pink (but I stopped doing pink wine in college). I don’t know about those. But if you are ever looking for a wine that’s fun to read while you drink, try Jest Red.

“Sip delicately, sing with abandon.”

Getting Your Priorities Straight

The girls have been using an older PowerBook for their RPG (role-playing game [think Dungeons and Dragons]) adventures (let’s call it Gamer), but this PowerBook had lost the capability to recharge its battery. This was a bit of a problem because Gamer also didn’t recognize the power cord. So we kludged together a system where they would play for about an hour, save and shut down Gamer, switch out the drained battery with the fresh one in my PowerBook (let’s call it Workhorse), and start up Gamer again and get another hour’s worth of playing time. This was a bit awkward, but it worked. Until Workhorse decided that its electrical system was going to become wonky, too. It sometimes would not charge up a battery, just sit happily at 23% charge and use power from the power cord.

Workhorse also freezes up if the power cord is disconnected unexpectedly (but isn’t this portability supposed to be the beauty of laptops?). There have been a few times, in the middle of a project, that I’ve justifiably been stressed about getting things done on time, what with my files irretrievable, and switching data from CD backups onto our even older iMac (GranPoppa) to be able to move forward on my deadline-driven work.

Now, one of the academic perks which makes up for the low salary of professors is the new computer you get through the university every few years. The Consort just brought home a new laptop. A sweet little MacBook with tons of memory and extremely fast processor speed (so let’s call it The Puppy [“look at that puppy run!”]). He’ll need it from time to time to run some data, but he’s happy to share its use with the family.

Create a cascading priority list makes a lot of sense. That is, I get The Puppy and the girls get my wonky but still useable Workhorse—which runs RPGs well—and we place the Gamer in retirement. Then, if the Consort needs to run one of his experiments on The Puppy, he takes it from me, I take the Workhorse from the girls, and they either don’t play for a while or we wake the retired Gamer for them.

It is a fact that RPGs work much better if the processor is fast. It is also a fact that the software I use for my projects is Word, Excel, and Acrobat Reader. Which, really, don’t need the speed, actually. I guess.

So the girls got The Puppy.*

It comes with a webcam built in to the top of the screen. It is shiny and new. It is pretty and clean.

Excuse me now. I need to go fetch the Workhorse another nosebag of grain.

*This was voluntary on my part. I was the one who suggested it. (A moment after which I thought, “What the hell was I thinking?!!!”)

We spent three days camping and caving with my father-in-law and his 10-year-old son. Here are some comments, in no particular order.

After several years of Big Vacations (UK, Belgium, & Switzerland; Montreal, New Hampshire, Maine; Christmas out East) this year we decided to do Little Trips (camping with un-friends; camping/caving in East Iowa; end of summer campout with friends [to come]). I have decided that I prefer Big Trips (less packing & unpacking of camp site).

Camp Hosts can be sticklers for the rules. Some of their decisions are reasonable (only 2 tents per site), others are not (switching sites allowed only if you pay an additional site fee [but you already paid for 2 sites, you just want to open up one of the original ones to someone else and take a closer one]).

Caving is necessarily an Extreme Muddiness sport.

A mother’s sense of safety of her family is not helped when she is told of all the very narrow passages squeezed through and slippery ledges grasped at from vertical climbs during a caving afternoon. Chuckling about it and adding, “But that wasn’t as bad as when…” does not help her pacing heart return to a normal rate.

If its shadow looks like a cat and its sound is a snorty snuffling, it’s probably a raccoon.

If you hear an intense QUACKADOODLE in the middle of the night, it’s probably an owl. (Whatever happened to soft too-whoos?)

The civic administration of Galena, Illinois, is very weird. They think that a sign placed at the top of a very steep hill which reads “QUIET ZONE. No braking unless in emergency” makes sense. But this is also the town where the local rock shop says there are no rock deposits in the area (Galena – as in galena, the mineral, for crying out loud!)

Camp-fire pyromania is genetic and can be considered a competitor sport. (Imperatrix has retired, but can beat any of these young whippersnappers if she so chose.)

Children will insist on telling scary stories at campfires, even though it has been proven time and again that someone will have trouble sleeping afterwards.

Having children in their own tent is a fabulous thing. (We’ve been doing it since Impera was 5 and Trixie was 3.)

Listening to stories on tape is the best thing for long trips. This time we listened to Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett. (“Nae king! Nae queen! Nae laird! Nae master! We’ll nae be fooled again!”)

Now I'm off to being anxious about all the work I need to get done. I dont' know why. I've got things under control. But somehow my body thinks this would be a good time to get all stressed out. Sheesh.

We're Off

I'll be back Wednesday.

I'm sure I'll have only good stories to tell.

You People Aren't Making My Life Easier

Really, it's my fault. I didn't have to read your comments to Impera and Trixie, but I did. They are revved up to get the magazine online. I was thinking in the next few months. They are thinking in the next few hours.

(Oh, have I mentioned that in the past three days I've gotten three projects sent out to me, which means that I have the same three weeks to do three times three weeks' worth of work?) (And had I noted that in the two weeks prior to this, I haven't had any paying work on my desk, so I got into some pretty slothful websurfing habits, that need to get expunged RIGHT NOW, because of the information in those previous parentheses?) (e: This is Joy #73 of freelancing.)

Add to this mix the visit this morning of Idea Boy and Action Girl, and things were a bit hairy for about 15 minutes. Wait -- you don't know Idea Boy and Action Girl? Well, I think a replay of this morning's episode is about to come on:

***
It's Idea Boy and Action Girl! Starring the Imperator Consort as Idea Boy (great with the thinking, not so great with the follow-through) and Peaceable Imperatrix as Action Girl (the one who has to pick up the threads and run! run! run!!). In today's episode, Idea Boy joins in on the webzine conversation:

AG: If you two want to get this thing off the ground soon, then maybe you should just start up a Rat and Rabbit blog, where each post is an article. Impera knows how to upload graphics, you guys could add whatever digital shots you want to include, you can cut and paste your articles from Word... that sounds workable.

The girls: Thoughtful silence.

IB: Instead of a blog, maybe this should be hosted from your [Imperatrix's] business website. And maybe they could produce a pdf file to send to subscribers.

The girls: Yes! Yes!

AG: ...but ...but [Visions of three three-week projects due in 21 days, a time period which includes a short camping trip, school registration days, and other such administrivia run through her thought bubble.]

IB: Really, that would be a better learning experience. They would learn how to code in html, how to do layout in a Word template, how to turn the document into a pdf...

AG: I don't have the full version of Acrobat, just the Reader! [Note how that sneaky Action Girl doesn't mention that one can Save As pdf from Word.]

The girls: A real magazine! A real website! Cool!

AG: Will you be helping them with this?

IB: Me? No, I have an article to submit, some data runs to complete for another paper, I've got classes to prepare for. Plus, I'm going to the gym this afternoon. I figured you could do it.* [*Trademark 1994-2006, Idea Boy. all rights reserved]

AG: I think the blog idea is the most reasonable one.

The girls: Thoughtful silence.

***

Now, I better get back to work.

(Oh, and I'm sure the Consort will want me to add the disclaimer that sometimes, we have to deal with the evil twins of Idea Boy and Action Girl: Idea Girl and Action Boy. But I would like to point out that this is my blog, and he is more than welcome to blog about those other two, if he ever wanted to start his own blog.)

Today, Bad Parent

As I noted in the comments to yesterday's post, this morning we headed out to the 4-H County Fair to see how the girls' project fared (yesterday morning they presented their project to the judges).

What was their project? BoyOnTop asked. They've started a magazine they have titled "Rat and Rabbit Magazine." It is a bimonthly (using definition 1: ocurring every two months, not definition 2: ocurring twice a month [is this not the stupidest word there could be? meaning two very different things at the same time? "Here is the bimonthly report on the bimonthly software updates" -- riiiiight]) magazine chock full of informational articles, product reviews, and Q&A advice columns.

This project has been great for the Consort and I because now instead of having to answer, "Name the types of hay that are OK to feed to your rabbit..." or "Name two requirements that your rabbit must meet in order to compete in rabbit hopping competition..." or, better yet, "List the signs of heat stroke in rats, organized by stage of dilemma..." when we are trying to play a computer game or read a book, we can tell them, "Just write an article about it!!!" and they leave us alone. (Of course, this has meant that they disappear for hours on end in the office, stealing my desk chair and chattering away, so that I have to either put on earphones to drown out their noise with music or do my work in some other, quieter, room.)

This morning, we found out that "Rat and Rabbit Magazine" took the gold ribbon! Best in Class (class being Communications). Woo hoo! This was their first year in 4-H, and they weren't sure how the projects were supposed to be organized (never having gone to the County Fair before). The judge yesterday got them very excited as she suggested they bring their magazine to their local library and offer to have the library keep the past issues in the stacks (oh, my!).

The bad parent part comes in here. See, I brought the camera yesteday morning. But there wasn't anything to photograph. Many of the projects hadn't been submitted yet (we went first thing in the morning on the first day), and I couldn't really take a picture when they were presenting (they keep the parents out in a "waiting pen" while the kids go to the table and do their stuff for the judges). Today, I forgot the camera. One of our friends said she'd take a picture, but as I typed this I realized that ... maybe we can get the Consort to go with us to see the exhibits and I can take the camera then! Phew. Not that that absolves me of bad planning, of course.

How have the girls taken their success? A little too well, I fear. They're already talking of putting the magazine online, so they can actually get it out to people. And using color graphics rather than black and whilte copies of photos. And they have been playing around with designing return address labels and business cards for the magazine. (Thanks alot, vistaprint.) And noting that if the magazine becomes a webzine, they can then get submissions from other rat and rabbit aficionados for guest articles... and.... and.... (What have we started?!)

And I will finish off with another multimedia humor link. This is very funny, and guess what? It isn't even political:

Punctuation in E-mail.

Bad Neighbor

Wednesday is our neighborhood's local farmer's market. Today was also the day our neighborhood hosted Jazz in July (Throughout this month, jazz concerts by local bands are held across the city; there's a concert every four days or so.)

We didn't go to either community-building activity.

(It was 98 [37] degrees today. With heat index, it was 114 [45]. I'm sorry I'm such a wuss, but I just. couldn't. do. it.)

Bad neighbor. Bad. bad.

I'm feeling some frustration, here, people.

A group of friends (5 families) have decided to share a meal once a week during the summer (that's pretty language for have a weekly potluck; I like it better prettified) (and no, this isn't the frustrating part, this is the informational background part). Now, we don't check in with one another about what we're bringing. That's part of the fun, you know? For example, last week was Pasta Salad night. We had three different types of pasta salad. What could be better than three different types of pasta salad? My friend E. said, in passing, "One of these weeks everyone will bring dessert." That's what could be better than three pasta salads: five desserts. So of course, what do I feel like making this week? Yes: dessert.

I have my mind set on making those papaya-coconut cupcakes with ginger-lime frosting by Chockylit that I made back in April. They are tasty, they are filling, and they're not too sweet (Canada Dry ginger ale, anybody?).

So on market day (fancy talk for Saturday), I asked the Consort to bring me back a papaya. The farmer's market didn't have any (no surprise: this is the midwest, after all; it isn't quite the right climate [we cram our 260 days of heat into 100 days]); the grocery store didn't have any; and the organic market (the place of the $5 organic broccoli) didn't have any. Rats. Yesterday I called another chic market (we call it "the healthfood store"). They didn't have any either (we're deep in the territory of the frustration, now; in case you hadn't picked up on it).

What the heck, people? Why can't I find papaya in July? Huh? I can find apples in July (sure they're mealy and tasteless, but they are there, in the produce section!). I can find asparagus in October. And don't go telling me that papayas are a delicate fruit -- I can find berries in March.

What use is being a world hegemony if I can't get papaya in July? And it isn't like we'd have to twist the arm of places like Indonesia to get them. THEY GROW THEM IN HAWAII*, for crying out loud! Hawaii is part of the fifty states! What are they doing holding back on the papaya shipments, I ask? Don't they know -- can't they -- see, the irony is what they need to do is get the Hawaii to get the growers to stop doing this shit and it's over. It's all about transparent shipping, folks.

If I can't find any today, then I may have to give in and make peanut butter pound cake; but that just seems so -- autumnal. Double rats.


*I find it hilarious (but reasonable) that the University of Hawaii extension has a description of papaya; it's such a different world than the Iowa State University extension, which has pages on how to preserve gooseberry jam safely and can identify the disease that is making your buckeye tree turn yellow early (just send them a 12-in. bit of branch with leaves on it, a check for $10, and within two weeks you'll receive a letter detailing the problem and how to deal with it.

Reason #68 to Use Organic Eggs

[CBS] plans to announce today that it will place laser imprints of its trademark eye insignia, as well as logos for some of its shows, on eggs — 35 million of them in September and October."

Entire article here. Read it and weep at another example of why our civilization is doomed.

Then dry your eyes and watch this. George is a U2 fan. Who knew?

(PS to Three of Four: Sorry. I know how you dislike posts that are just links to other sites. But it's Monday.)

IF-THEN Statements are Great, If They are Respected

Log for Spouse Unit Device version 1.2. Run-through 2006-07-13.22:37:47

Device Driver Rules. Buffered.
IF hands wet
THEN use hand towel
ELSE hands drip everywhere

IF dishes wet
THEN use dish towel
ELSE long time before snack

IF dog or cat wet
THEN use dog towel (old, holey towel in closet)
ELSE muddy mess in house

Run Device.

Error 236541: This device cannot find any free dog towel resources to boot.
Driver Command: Increase focus resolution. Make second search attempt.

Error 45: This device cannot find any free dog towel resources to use.
Driver Command: Increase focus resolution. Make third search attempt.

Error 000003: Device attention fragged.
Error 000078: Device registry may be corrupted.
Error 245669: Hand towel corrupted by wet cat.
Error 006732: This device is causing a resource conflict.
Error 435520: This device may be bad, or your system may be running low on memory or other resources.

Driver Response: No duh.

Driver Command: Abort hand towel usage.
Error 293768: Command unrecognized by device
Driver Command: Ctrl-Esc.
Driver Command: Ctrl-Esc.
Driver Command: Ctrl-Esc.

Old Wives' Tales

Yeah, yeah, we’ve all heard of these. Things like, a mayonnaise won’t “take” if it’s that time of the month; chewing gum will take seven years to work its way through your digestive system; eating within one hour of going swimming will cause cramps. Aren’t they silly?

On an unrelated note, I have, in the past 4-6 weeks, lost about 9 pounds. I haven’t started exercising (what kind of silly person would exert themselves in humid weather?), and I haven’t DIEted (sorry KathyR). I think it’s because of summer schedules. See, I am not running errands the way I do during the school year (you know, getting a few things done before it is time to pick up Trixie from school, giving myself way too much time to do those errands, so having time to kill, and—hey, would you look there, a Starbucks! Mochas are not good for one’s figure. We all know that, but what better way to keep yourself occupied when it is 2:40 and your kid gets out at 3:00?

Also, with other people in the house, it is less easy to relieve boredom by eating a handful of chocolate chips (don’t gasp all self-righteously, we all do it [except the Consort, who isn’t “into” chocolate])—because 1) then you’d have to share with the witnesses and 2) you just aren’t as bored when other people are around (plus there’s a little bit of shame involved in there somewhere, I think).

I’m not particularly proud that cutting out coffee drinks and surreptitious snacks will so easily drop 9 pounds from my frame. And, you know, 9 pounds lighter and I’m not into the next lower clothing size. My clothes are all a bit looser, but really, I must have been at the upper edge of my current size before the summer, which is scary to think I was this close >--< to having to move up a size.

There is one unexpected thing though. We all know that when a woman loses weight, she’ll lose it on top first. Skinny women always complain that that happens to them (and we have to stand there and use our best Jedi training to keep our hands still at our sides, rather than up around their scrawny little necks as they bemoan the fact that they are losing the minimal buxomness they had started to enjoy during pregnancy…). Now, I’ve checked, and my bras fit just as well as they did two months ago. What is going on here? This is so unfair. Every time I have planned to think about starting to lose weight, the one constant thought that allows me to think maybe it would be a good idea is that when a woman loses weight, she loses it on top first! And I am here to prove that that is clearly an old wives’ tale (which here means an old tale told by wives, not a tale told by old wives, OK?). The Consort is happy with this turn of events (he stopped buying lottery tickets when I mentioned that I sure would like to use a bit of the splurge money we’d allow ourselves from winnings on an appointment with a plastic surgeon). I am not.

Admission (now, with graphic!)

There’s something I haven’t mentioned here, although I’ve known about it for a while, and it became irreversible a few weeks ago.

It’s been hard to admit that my youthful idealism can so easily be swayed by personal investment in a living being. If you had asked me 16 years ago, when the Consort and I first started talking about these sorts of things, or 13 years ago, when the Consort and I were taking the first steps to increasing our realm, I would have responded in absolute terms. We knew our limits, we knew what was the right choice for us, and we were cocky enough to think that if more people used us as their guide … well, let’s let that one be, since I can no longer consider our situation to be one I think everyone ought to follow.

I know the astonishment some people will feel when they find out about our new addition (“Another!” They’ll say to each other, rolling their eyes with implied meaning), because I myself have felt it when I’ve met others who (although I admit our realm won’t be as prolific as many) have chosen this. But there are extenuating circumstances! (Aren’t there always? I really can’t use that as an excuse. We have made this choice and we shouldn’t try to pussyfoot our way around it. [As you can see, I’m still conflicted about this; but like I said, at this point it’s irreversible (and now that it’s irreversible, it’s hard not to get that happy excited feeling, you know?).])



Yes. The realm is getting used to having another citizen. A boy.

His name is Tamarind (but you can call him Tam). And technically, he is Impera’s (although she doesn’t want him to dislike her, so guess who has to do most of the collecting of the rabbit when it’s time to go back in his cage? That’s right: Imperatrix. [What?—Don’t look so shocked; don’t you keep your rabbits in a cage?])

I’d like to think that, although this brings us now to 5 animals in the house, we only have one of each, and most (those in whom this matters) have been spayed. But the innuendoes have already started; mostly by family members who are fecund in their own way (and I know for a fact they won’t be spaying their boys, let me tell you!)

(Not least of my worries is that now I’ll have to redo the blog’s masthead.)
KW requested a picture. Here it is. Although part of the conflict I'm feeling is that after 3 weeks of being a well-behaved addition to the family, yesterday Tam chewed through an $80 laptop cord and halfway through the cord to the digital camera (I've put that one aside until the Consort can fix it for me). Lucky for him we had already taken this shot.

Frightening: Definition

"It was essential that the F.B.I. get rid of its pre-9/11 mentality of not making an arrest until they have enough evidence to convict..."

We now return you to your regularly scheduled day.

Summer Camp

We’re a one-kid family this week. Trixie is off to 4-H camp; I drove her out yesterday afternoon. The girls have done Girl Scout camp in the past, and even in the brief time I was out at the camp, I noticed differences:

Girl Scout Camp girls only tents counselors separate pit toilets delicious buffet-style meals

4-H Camp co-ed air-conditioned cabins counselors in cabin flush toilets limited choice generic

When she returns from camp, we’ll see how many other differences there are, and whether she liked 4-H camp better than GS camp.

She seemed excited about camp, and introduced herself to one of her cabin-mates right away. Trixie is definitely “cool” about meeting new people, or about going to camp alone. She’s a brave little thing. It’s funny because she always describes herself as being shy, but of the four of us, I’d rate her as the least shy and most confident at meeting new people.

She typed up and printed directions for Impera to take care of her rat, including an example baggie of food portions, plus a description of the best ways to play with the rat. The rat snuck a little note in Trixie’s toiletries bag, wishing her a fun week at camp (you can’t use the words “miss you” “homesick” or “sad” in letters to camp—you don’t want to give the camper any ideas!).

But I already miss her. I hope she’s having a good time…

Weak Endings

Several of you have chimed in about Poisonwood Bible, saying it was a great read -- despite a weak ending. Thanks for the heads-up, and don't worry, it doesn't make me want to read it any less.

In fact, because you all weren't phased by PB, I have my own recommendation: The Bone People by Keri Hulme. It is a *fantastic story*, and Hulme tackles a serious topic, but in the end, this is a first novel, and she loved her characters too much to stay true to them. Which works out better for them, but not for us as readers. I highly recommend it. (In fact, the Consort & I loved it so much [it was one of the books we read on our traveling year abroad] that we gave it to Sis #2's spouse as a gift. Not once -- but twice! [This is why I now keep a little notebook of what gift we've given to each family member, and for what occasion.])

Gifts for Me, A Recipe for You

Have I already mentioned that my Secret Pal is great? I got another box of treasures yesterday, so many that I had to break it into two pictures:
Once again, books for me (I've been meaning to read The Poisonwood Bible for a long time; my father grew up in the Belgian Congo, but his stories have been sparse), and books for the girls (Trixie already called first dibs on one of them and hasn't gotten up off the couch unless I insist). There was also a magazine on Iowa gardens, with an article on kitchen gardens (yummm), and some snacky treats and peppermint tea!

Then there were the crafty items. I now have a beautifully soft blue knitted facecloth (SP, you said it's your favorite pattern, would it be shareable?), some yummy (in the scent sense!) artisanal goat milk soaps and deliciously scented lemon verbena/lavender hand salve (you have a Whole Foods near you? I am *so* envious!). And see that gorgeous yellow and green thing? That is a knitted dishcloth from Mason-Dixon Knitting. Here's where it gets spooky: just last week we went to the bookstore, and I sought out MDK because I was curious about the dishcloth pattern. How did you know?! (Of course, I didn't want to seem to be copying down info from a book I wasn't going to buy just then, so I only glanced at it -- how *do* you make those 3-row cross-over stitches?) And she included a ball of variegated cotton yarn -- I'll have to figure out that pattern and try a dishcloth myself! There were also some double-pointed needle holders in the shape of little sweaters (I'll have to take a close-up shot for you-all, they are too cute!) And yes, the astute will have noticed: more office supplies! Thank you, Secret Pal!

And now, I am sure the rest of you are feeling pretty down that you don't have a secret pal as well, so I will share with you the Rhubarb-Lavender Lemonade we made this weekend with a recipe from Prairieland Herbs (a local farm):

Rhubarb-Lavender Lemonade

5 stalks rubarb, chopped

1 cup fresh lavender (or 1/2 cup dried, but we used the fresh)

8 cups water

1 cup (or more, to taste) sugar

1/2 cup fresh squeezed lemon juice

1. Bring water, rhubarb, and lavender to a boil in a large pot. Let simmer for 20-30 minutes with the top on.
2. Turn off heat, and let sit until cool (this is the hard part!)
3. Strain out rhubarb and lavender, and put in your compost pile (this is straight from the recipe -- I love these folks!)
4. Stir in the sugar and lemon juice.
5. Pour over ice, and enjoy!

We did this with the last of the rhubarb. We liked it so much we talked about next year making up a whole lot and freezing it. One warning: don't drink too much at once, or you will get the subtle sense of being in a lingerie drawer. But the bouquet is half of the draw; try it!

Youtube Find: Edited

Three of Four noted in the Comments the other day that because the U.S. invaded Iraq and made a mess there, there is a responsibility to stay and fix the problem that was created. I used to feel that way, too. However, I do not believe that this administration can fix it, and I am also not sure that a subsequent administration will be able to do anything about it, either (I mean, gods almighty, Kerry is thinking of running again [blech!], as is Edwards [hock-ptui!]. Who is there anywhere in the U.S. who could make a significant difference?)

Including all the reservations of Saddam's iron-fisted leadership, let's remember though that before March 2003, there was no Al Qaida presence in Iraq, women had a significant amount of freedom, there was a working infrastructure, and the streets were safe. Now, the reverse is true on every point.

Things are only spiraling out of control now, and the reputation of the U.S. military and the U.S. government in Iraq is hemorrhaging. In an interview last week with a retired Air Force JAG (is that the correct terminology?), he said that the international repercussions of Guantanamo will be felt not only in this generation, but in our children's generation.

I have no answers.

And here is the video mentioned in the title today. I came across it earlier today. (I even bought the music, afterwards.)



* If you can't see the video as embedded, then you can use this link: http://youtube.com/v/QSClSrcGpMo

Independence Day

I don't mean to be a skitzophrenic blogger (i.e., angry one day, happy the next), but there isn't anything new to say on the Mahmoudiya case right now -- no! I mean it's such a beautiful day! -- that I just wanted to wish everyone a Happy Fourth of July.

We've had a great day. The weather has been perfect (although it's been perfect because there were some severe thunderstorms last night). After pancakes for breakfastr (thank you Consort!), we picked raspberries in the garden, then decided to go on a long bike ride. We packed a picnic lunch and set out. The girls did very well (although it was all downhill on the way to the park and so uphill on the way back).

The neighbors came over to play in the sprinkler, and now all the kids (the girls + the 4 neighbor kids) are drawing with chalk on the sidewalk. I knit outside, then did some weeding with the Consort, then knit some more.

We'll be grilling Boca burgers later this evening, and Impera and I will be preparing lemon-raspberry mousse for dessert.

Hope everyone has enjoyed celebrating a nice summer day (which is pretty much what we did).

The Plot Thickens

Remember those two US soldiers who were tortured and killed by insurgents a couple of weeks ago? Well, they belonged to the same unit as the rape/murder suspects. (Note that the New York Times is still calling her a "young Iraqi woman.")

The suspects belong to the same unit as two soldiers kidnapped and killed south of Baghdad last month, a military official said on condition of anonymity because the case was under way.

The military has said that one and possibly both of the slain soldiers were tortured and beheaded. The official said the mutilation of the slain soldiers stirred feelings of guilt and led at least one member of the platoon to reveal the rape-slaying on June 22.

Now, remember that the Mahmoudiya incident happened in March (we're only hearing about it now). And that in that part of the world, rape usually calls for an honor killing. I'm not condoning the torture/murder of the two soldiers. But at least it explains some of it (and dammit, the suspects participated in torture/murder as well, don't forget).

Why was Green discharged? Did anyone know about this and hope it would blow over? Why must these people (PR people? Military people, I don't know, ... the decision-makers) show the same idiocy over and over? It didn't work at Abu Ghraib, it didn't work in Hamdaniyah, it's not working in Mahmoudiya; IT JUST MAKES THE U.S. LOOK BAD.

Disgusted

US troops suspected of raping Iraq teenager

I can't find the Washington Post article by Ellen Knickmeyer the the DM register reprinted this morning, but as I read it, I became more and more disgusted.

Abeer Qasim Hamza was 15/16 years old

She was afraid, and so was her family. They knew she had gotten unwated attention from US soldiers at a checkpoint she had to cross every day.

The mother told a neighbor she was afraid the soldiers would come for her daughter in the middle of the night.

They did come, the very next night.

The soldiers separated her from her mother, father, and 7-year-old sister.

She was raped.

The US soldiers shot the four family members.

The US soldiers tried to burn her body (to hide the evidence of rape, I assume)


These soldiers were not in a fighting frenzy. They deliberately planned and staged a rape/murder. There is no sympathy in my heart for them. None what.so.ever.

On a larger scale, this incident and last week's discussion of the murder of a civilian because some soldiers couldn't find an insurgent in the area of their search shows, yet again, that this whole Iraq fiasco can not be salvaged. That George Bush and his administration are the worst thing the United States and the world have ever seen in a US administration. And that the US people fucking RE-ELECTED this man.

For shame.

Last Day of June

...So here's a last Red Foods of June picture:

For some reason, Trixie got very excited about making red currant jelly. So the Consort and I went out with her to pick red currants off our bushes, then she and I stemmed them, boiled them to make juice, then boiled the juice again with sugar to make jelly. (Next time I will add sage leaves. The recipe called for it, but neither the Consort nor Trixie thought it was a good idea.)

She helped make the jelly (except for about 7 minutes during the boiling phase when the Consort's game of Warcraft seemed more interesting than watching sugary syrup bubble and boil). But she came right back to help fill the jars (she held the funnel).

Today, after a 4-H meeting, I promised the girls we would bike down to our local yarn shop. Impera has gotten very excited about making herself a scarf and hat out of this ultra-soft yarn she noticed there. And Trixie has stated she wants to make herself a scarf, then a hat, then a pair of socks. (Could be a case of plans bigger than one's attention span, but who knows?)

Oh, and I got a very nice note from a client of mine, so I'm walking on air! (I really mean to start sending notes to people whose work I appreciate [authors, reporters, etc.] because we none of us get enough encouragement, I think).

That's it for randomness for now.

Insert Useful Title Here

My blogging is off this week; you don’t need to tell me, I already know. After four weeks of the girls at home, and of the Consort doing “work” from home (yes, he has been very productive, but really, I’m teasing him about bracketing his day with one hour of Warcraft on either end), this relatively anti-social freelancer is getting prickly.

So I’m copping out and offering you a link to the Book of the Zogg. Enjoy.

The funniest part is that I think I remember this Little Golden Book. But I don’t remember being particularly freaked out by the pictures; although seeing it now, I wonder, “What kind of art director thought these were a good idea?!!” (Oh, there they are. I wondered where a few stray exclamation points had gotten to after yesterday’s post.)

[Now, if anyone knows where I could find the Little Golden Book called The Color Bunnies, I’d be ever so grateful. There were these painter bunnies, see, and each two-page spread showed a bucket of color, plus items that were of that color. Its pictures enthralled me as a kid, especially the one at the end when all the buckets of paint swirled together into a rich rich brown. Anybody?]

PS: I remembered something else we learned at the Great Ape Trust yesterday: The male orangutan, Anzi, loves music. So once (before he was at the GAT) Peter Gabriel visited Anzi and they jammed. Lucky devil!

Great Apes

Yesterday the girls and I visited the Great Ape Trust. It’s a research facility that does intelligence and behavior research (currently with bonobos and orangutans). Now, since most of you don’t live in Iowa, you probably aren’t thinking “Wow! That’s amazing!! They let you in?! I thought it was off-limits to the general public!!!” Yes, you’d be using more and more exclamation points. See, at first they weren’t letting anyone visit:

We’re a research facility, not an entertainment facility. Yeah, but, you sure are taking a lot of Iowa state funds, aren’t you? And we the taxpayers like those “Your Tax Dollars at Work” signs by public projects, see.

Aherm, well, we don’t have enough toilet facilities for lots of visitors to come through. How about if we promise not to pee while we’re there?

We wouldn’t want you to stress out the apes. This is a serious research facility!

Then, someone must have mentioned subtly that any institution that would like to grow and receive money from the outside might want to consider making the tiniest effort to be nice to the folks you’d like to get money from.

So this summer they’ve instituted 2-hour visits. They are free (but who doesn’t buy a cap, t-shirt, or book at the end of the tour?). The rules: You must be 10 years old. You must sign up ahead of time, and once the visit is full, it is full. You must be 10 years old. You must sign in at the security gate, and follow all the directives given to you by the staff. You may not take photographs. You must be 10 years old. The apes understand English, so you must speak respectfully about them in their presence. In fact, in the bonobo house, YOU MAY NOT SPEAK AT ALL!!!!! And, oh, you must be 10 years old.

People, did you know that you visit the blog of a rule-breaker? Yes indeed, Peaceable Imperatrix brought her “will-be-10-in-6-weeks” daughter on the visit. (Come on, Trixie is totally a great ape person. She belongs to Jane Goodall’s Roots and Shoots program, and even got to say hello to Dr. Goodall when she visited Iowa last year! Plus, she sat in on a presentation by a woman who is trying to save the bonobos in the Congo [the only place they live, which, if you haven’t heard, is in the throes of violence, with very little responsible control on the part of any of the factions].)

Well, for all my complaints, it was a great visit. Did you know that bonobos love to cook? And that the ones at the Great Ape Trust have learned language since babyhood, and that they are teaching it to the next generation themselves? Coolness.

In the bonobo house, we were taken in groups of four to stand by the window where we could observe the bonobos. When I went, the bonobo came up to the window, looked at us, and then wandered off. (Of course she would! She’s an intelligent person, and there we were standing like mute statues, afraid to even smile at her because we were afraid the staff were going to kick and beat us if we spoke!) But our guide got a group of four kids to go up (my two, our friend, and some random kid), and Kanzi, the “head” of the bonobos, came to the window and signed “chase”. One of the staff played chase with him. But that’s not what he wanted. He wanted the kids to play chase. So they did. He then said “chase, again!” and Impera and Trixie did. How cool is that? Interaction with another great ape! That in itself made the visit worthwhile, in my opinion.

Look, we’re all intrigued by the possibility of communicating with other species, aren’t we? That just feels so magical to me. I would LOVE to raise a bonobo as one of my family (not that we’re allowed to. But hey, once you break one rule … it’s a slippery slope, I tell you). If I had my school days to live over, I would SO study anthropology. In a heartbeat. Supposedly Spain is considering passing a resolution that gives personhood to great apes. And I think: Go Spain! Maybe we should move there.

Anyway, the visit was fantastic. Thanks to my friend D for inviting us along, and for confirming that my rule-breaking is an OK thing to do, if the circumstances are right. (And she’s a lawyer, so hey, if she says it’s alright, then it’s alright!—Right?)

Conditional Girl

Children are great hedgers. And I think this is a natural protective measure. You never know how stupid an adult can be, so saying things like “I may have broken that dish” or “I just picked up the CD and this big scratch just … appeared out of nowhere!” (or, my own example from when I was a little girl looking through my mother’s jewelry box, having been warned to stay away from the old-fashioned razor blade she kept in there [I still don’t know why she kept one in there]: “I was looking at your rings, on the other side of the jewelry box from the blade; I looked down and–POOF!–my finger was bleeding. Isn’t that weird?”) can maybe avert a scolding. Who knows? It’s worth a try.

My Trixie has brought this conditional treatment to an art form. I don’t know why. It’s not like she needs to prevent physical punishment. Like yesterday, for example. I brought her to the doctor because for the past 6 weeks she’s been complaining off and on that her foot hurts. I happen to have overly flexible ligaments, which instead of preventing strains, allow it (I had to see a podiatrist a couple of years ago, who told me I just needed to stay off my feet for several weeks to heal the stretch [!!!]); I didn’t know if maybe I passed on this extra flexibility to my daughter (the podiatrist had said it was probable other family members had this same problem [hear that, sisters of mine?])

After waiting the requisite 15 minutes in the examination room, the doctor comes in and starts her exam. “Which foot is the one that hurts?” she asks Trixie.

“I’m pretty sure it’s this one.”

!!!!!!!

Project Completed. Project Begun.

I’ve finished the socks!

They fit perfectly, and I’m very pleased with them. Lace isn’t as hard as I feared. After I began them, I read about how variegated yarns have a tendency to hide the lace effect, and now that I’m done, I have to agree. You can’t really see the lace with the colors swirling.

Hmmm. I have a ball of Sockotta sock yarn that is a very fun mix of colors, so I guess I should do it in a stockinette (i.e., plain) stitch. But I wonder if that might not bore me to death? I’ll have to report back. But later, because I’ve got a different project on my needles.

See, the reason I got the burst of energy needed to finish these socks was because I had received the package from my Secret Pal. As you remember, it included a cabled hat project, with yarn. Look at this, I’m already halfway done with the cabled band. And cable is fun! It’s a breeze, really. When I did the swatch (for all my non-knitter readers, that’s to make sure that if you follow the directions, you won’t get a result fit for an ogre or for a wee little elf), there was no way I could get 4 inches from 28 rows with the recommended size 8 needles, I was getting more like 6 inches or more. So I am knitting this with size 6 needles; and this is very strange for me because I am usually a tight knitter, so I am often on gauge or below it. I’m not sure if this means that the finished product will be for Impera or Trixie, or if I’ll be able to keep it for myself, as I originally planned. We’ll see.

But, after months of working on size 1’s, working on size 6’s is a snap. (I would have probably finished the band yesterday, but the yarn didn’t come out of the ball easily, so after making half of the band, I had to stop and spend an hour untangling the yarn. Grrrr.

Unorthodoxy in Cooking

Last night, while the Consort was out playing Ultimate, I did something. Something so amazing and unorthodox that I still can’t believe I did it: I boiled some eggs with the pasta I was cooking for dinner. In the same pot. At the same time. Now, let me warn you that when the Consort finds out about this, you will hear his shock (and he doesn’t read the blog every day, so it may be next week). Even if you are in another state, even if you live across an ocean, his gasp of distress will be heard. Because, you see, the Consort has this “thing” about pasta.

Back when we were poor students,we’d sometimes make boxed macaroni and cheese dinners. This is when I first learned of his “thing” with all things pasta. I’m sure you all know that after you drain the elbow macaroni, you put it back in the pot and mix in the margarine, milk, and powdered cheese. My contribution to making better mac & cheese was to suggest putting the margarine in first: stir it up in the pasta, put the top back on the pot, and let the margarine melt completely in the hot noodles before adding the milk and powder. The Consort’s contribution was to insist that the powder needed to be added gently—grain by grain, almost—without stopping the stirring, or else you’d get clumps. Now, I was young, and in love, so I let him be the Cheese Powder Sprinkler; I never mentioned to him that we had made many a box of it at my house, too (my youngest sister loved that oh so American mac & cheese), and despite dumping it all in at once, we never got the dreaded clumps (or, if you did, you just stirred a bit more vigorously until they were broken up). Whatever floats your boat, babe.

This was a minor fixation, compared to other fixations a live-in boyfriend might have had (drinking til he puked every weekend, baseball on TV [sorry KathyR, I’m just not a baseball person], leaving the kitchen a mess, leather and chains … all that kind of stuff). So I let it be. I figured that in the fullness of time, he would work through his pasta sensitivity. And I am here to bear witness that just a few years ago, he mentioned, on his own, that you know, the powder does dissolve pretty well, even if you dump it all in at once.

But recently, when he was in the kitchen while I prepared pasta, I realized that his pasta sensitivity had not gone away, it had just been transferred. The water was at a rolling boil, so I dumped in the spaghetti.

“Eek!” he cried. “It’s going to stick!”

No it’s not, I told him. I return to my task, and, as the dry pasta softens in the water, Iuse the wooden spoon to press it further into the water, until it is all submerged and I can swirl it around a bit, to prevent that stickiness of which the Consort is so afeared.

“You just dump it all in at once?” he asked.

Yup. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I just can’t imagine how one could “sprinkle in” stiff strands of spaghetti!

Back to last night: it had been hot and sticky all day, so I figured today would be as well. I had a hankering for hard-boiled eggs, so I figured that cooking them in the pasta water would reduce the amount of boiling I had to do and pat two dogs at one time (as Trixie says; she doesn’t like the whole killing birds image).

It did mean I had to be a bit more delicate in my stirring. But no eggs cracked, the pasta was al dente, and I was able to turn the stove off after 10 minutes of one pot boiling, rather than two pots for 10 minutes … or one pot for 20 minutes. The eggs were a bit slippery from the pasta water, but other than that, success.

Now just brace yourself for the gasp.

P.S. In red foods of June news: Yesterday the Consort came back from our little neighborhood farmers’ market with strawberries, so I was able to make strawberry shortcake.

Although the cream I whipped tasted terrible (like metal poison; is that what bad cream tastes like when whipped?), so we had to use—gasp! (my gasp here)—some Reddi Whip we had left over from a sundae evening with Trixie’s friend and her family the other night. The girls were thrilled. I refused to use the Reddi Whip, so I put crème fraiche on mine instead. Very good.

Summer Has Arrived

For the past six weeks, we've been able to hold off on turning the air conditioner on until, oh, 5 o'clock on very hot days (some days we only needed to turn it on when we went to bed [if we leave the windows open at night, then the car noises and such keep us from sleeping deeply]). Don't get me wrong, it would get hot (90 degrees and up); but our old house kept the cool for much longer than one would think.

We've also been able to bring our sandwiches outside at lunchtime and eat in the garden, and most dinners were eaten out back as well. This is the pleasant part of the year: the weather's fine and the mosquitoes aren't out yet.

But now; now that the Solstice has come, the humidity has arrived. This morning, it looked a bit overcast and gray (showers have been passing through), so I opened the window, to let some of the cool in. Nope. What greeted me instead was a sticky hot breath of "fresh" air. I shut the window quickly. We'll stop the cool from escaping for as long as we can.

I meant to provide a good post today, but the humidity has wilted my resolve. Instead, I'll talk about the red foods of June.

First, we have rhubarb. Our own stalks, plus some from the farmers' market, provided enough to make some rhubarb fool:

The picture makes it seem too yellow, and too whipped cream-y. It was delicious, though. You just make rhubard compote (Peel and cut up rhubarb, add sugar, maybe a smidgen of water, some cardamom, and half a vanilla bean; cook until it's a pink smush; scrape the bean, return the specks to the smush) and chill. Layer with lightly sweetened whipped heavy cream in tall glasses. Serve.

Then, there are the strawberries, with which I hope to make some strawberry shortcake. (And maybe some jam; it depends on how much there is at the farmers' market).

Then, here we have:

Our first harvest of sour cherries off our tree. The Consort started two gallons of cherry wine, and I made a delicious sour cherry upside down cake. This recipe is definitely a keeper. You should try it; the recipe is here. I found it by reading the archives of yarn harlot, which I have recently discovered. (As an aside, does anyone else, when they come across a blog they find interesting, spend the next week or so reading the entries in order from the beginning? No? It's just me? Oh well.)

Have you any red foods of June that you particularly like?

My Secret Pal Rocks!

Yesterday, the mailman brought me a box of treasures. The girls crowded around as I opened it, and oohed and aahed at all the pretty wrapped rectangles:

(And if my Secret Pal notices that maybe the packing looks different, it’s because I was so curious about what the box of treasures contained that I unwrapped with wild abandon, all the while warning the girls to “Let me do it, this is MINE!” Only afterwards did I think I should have taken a pre picture, so I rewrapped everything for a photo op.)

The unwrapping and finding out what was there was half the fun (well, maybe a quarter of the fun, but enjoyable, whatever the percentage). Can you see how much my Pal was able to stuff into a cardboard box?

There are books—for me and the Imperatrixes-in-Training (Trixie has already claimed Mr. Popper’s Penguins). There is a set of cute blank notecards, as well as a chic photo brag book. There are desk supplies (I love desk supplies, particularly post-it notes; I use them in my work, I leave post-its on packages to mail, I take down the name of books or CDs I come across that I’d like to get from the library on them … although I’ve never left a nagging note on one [I like them too much to use them in such a manner: they should bring joy, not frustration]). There is an innovative (that's what hte publishers call it, and I agree) vegetarian cookbook (wow, this Pal does the homework!) that has a chile-ginger parsnip recipe: I love the sweetness of parsnips, and I’m always hoping to find different ways to prepare them! Plus, when you’ve been vegetarian for 18 years, it’s hard to find recipes that seem new and snazzy, but this book is full of new and snazzy ways to prepare vegetables; innovative!

Of course, this is a knitting-themed exchange, so I also got two skeins of 100% yak milk protein fiber (you can make yarn out of yak milk? I did not know that!), a book on crocheting beaded bags, plus the pattern, worsted yarn, double-pointed needles, and cable needles (!!!) needed to make a very cool-looking hat.

And then, there was the chocolate decadence cookie, as well as a variety of fruit leathers. (Was. Notice the “was”.)

Secret Pal, thank you! I am very excited to get cracking on all this bounty. In fact, I believe I will be finishing that second lace sock that has been languishing for a while, so I can cast on that hat. Maybe even by this afternoon!

Weekend Recap

This weekend was … rather not what we had expected (I’m trying to find the positive, here, folks). Most of our friends were going off to other states to visit family over the Father’s Day weekend (not that Father’s Day is celebrated all weekend, but that it happens to fall on a weekend, so people are willing to travel back to the old homestead or other fun vacation states for a visit—sorry dads).

Now, there is a group of people that we thought we had things in common with, but that weren’t our normal group of friends. And they were having a group campout this weekend. Since our usual partners in crime weren’t going to be around (so it wasn’t like we were snubbing them or anything [not that they thought so, just that I was worried about any perceived slight of camping with “potential new” friends over doing something with “established friends”…yes, I sometimes indulge in overthinking, but you all knew that]), we thought, “Hey, maybe we should go to the group camping!”

This would have been fine except for a few things: 1) They started the campout on Friday, but we didn’t show up until Saturday afternoon (because of previously scheduled activities), 2) The person who had told me that this would be a great time for us to join up with them and get to know folks wasn’t around this weekend (I was under the impression that he would be) and didn’t mention to anyone that we’d be showing up, 3) These people didn’t turn out to be the most welcoming bunch in the world (some folks didn’t talk to us the entire time we were there; don’t get me wrong, others did, but, mmm, only if we sat down next to them and started the conversation ourselves, and there was one couple and their 13 year old daughter who were very nice, indeed), but mostly, it was that 4) There was a handful of people who stayed up late Saturday night, got incredibly drunk, and, in the tradition of drunk people everywhere, spoke REALLY LOUDLY, kept insisting they were NOT DRUNK, and, with all their inhibitions lowered, used LANGUAGE THAT WOULD SHAME A SALTY DOG. In EVERY sentence. And decided a wonderful topic for this 2 a.m. conversation to be: “Bisexuality, versus homosexuality, heterosexuality, or a mix thereof, does not exist. Discuss.”

The Consort admitted on Sunday that he wondered, “Gosh, just how hard would it be to get the four of us up, into the car, and back home?” (This campout was at a state park only about 20 minutes out of town). But he decided the risk was too high that the camp gate was locked (as many do after a certain hour of the night), and we’d be stuck there anyway.

I admitted that although I really had to go to the bathroom around 4 am (really, from 2 am to 4 am and beyond), I wasn’t sure what scene would greet me if I left the tent, so I just held it in. (I usually have a bathroom run once during the night. This meant that above the loud conversation, the crass discussion of personal mores, and the overindulgence of alcoholic beverages [probably Milwaukee Beast, I’m guessing], I kept thinking about how I REALLY had to go, but I kept shutting up my inner voice [and not turning over onto my stomach or my left side, for obvious reasons]).

Yes, we could have asked them to be quiet, but heck, we felt we had kind of “crashed” their campout, you know? If the rest of them were OK with this (I still don’t understand how all those other folks were able to sleep through it [earplugs, maybe?]; really this was just 2 really loud people and maybe 2 others in for the conversation), then it wasn’t our place to say.

On Sunday morning, we four went for a nice hike down to the lake, and I made sure to tell the girls that not all adults were like these two. Trixie, who I found out went to the bathroom three times during the night (three times! she's a brave one), informed me that “They were pretty loud.” (Luckily, although she heard about the bisexual vs. experimental part, the ‘82 partners part, of which 12 have been of one kind and 70 of the other’ seems to have gone over her head. [Not that that bothers me, just that the language used to describe it was, as I said, pretty salty, and it isn't the kind of thing that need to be elaborated on around kids {and did I mention that there were lots of other kids in this group?}]) Impera noticed that “They smoke a lot!” (True, but not all of it was straight tobacco, chickie…).

So, how can I spin this into a positive, you ask? Well, 1) we are pretty confident we won’t be going camping with these folks again, 2) We all slept very well last night, 3) The weather was perfect while we camped (it wasn’t humid during the day, and it cooled down beautifully at night), and 4) We took the dog with us, let her run off-leash when we were down at the lake shore, and she had a BLAST.

But she’s still recuperating from all the fun:

Blog Hunting

[whispered British voiceover]

Welcome to another episode of Mutual of Hama-O’s Blog Hunters. We now join our intrepid blogger as she moves cautiously towards the new visitor. The visitor’s silent comings and goings have been noticed over the past few weeks, but it (we have yet to get close enough to determine the sex) has yet to make its visits known publicly.

Our blogger is trying not to disturb the large tufts of free-growing binary grass that encircle the blog site. The visitor, which we think is a Surfericus New Jersica, is as yet too shy to move beyond the safety of the undergrowth. Can our blogger coax the visitor out into the open? She has begun the ritual of welcoming, but it is an awkward dance which can easily be mistaken for the ritual of taunting; only a confident blogger can attempt such delicate movements. Oh my! It looks like the visitor is taking some tentative steps towards the circle. Can it really be? Will the new visitor become known?

...Oh no! A flock of Robot Spam birds has decided at this moment to perch in the Comment Palms, setting up a squawking that has frightened the unidentified Surfericus deep back into the binary grass. Our blogger is distraught. Her shoulders droop. All that “welcome to my blog” shimmying for naught. Ah well, such are the trials and tribulations of a blog hunter.

As the sun sets on the whispering grasslands of the blogosphere, we are only left with questions. Will the visitor return? Have the Robot Spam birds scared it off for good? Or, perhaps, was the dance of welcoming too shoddy? Our blogger will contemplate her next move, and we shall see what her plan will be next time on Blog Hunters.

[deep American voiceover]
This episode of Blog Hunters has been underwritten by Mutual of Hama-O and their national subsidiaries, under the Parlin Merkins endowment. Mutual of Hama-O: For Today, and All of your Tomorrows.

Fat Knees

Oh. For. Crying. Out. Loud.
(GAAAAAAAAaaaaaaa!!!!)

It seems that some women now are getting micro-liposuction to remove the fat from places such as (get this) their knees.

One woman had a surgeon remove some fat from her lower back (note that this woman, before surgery, was trim and fit and getting whistles when she walked down the street). Another one, 5-foot 10-inches tall and 126 pounds, had liposuction on her upper arms. (I know, you can't get to the end of the previous sentence because you're shocked at the 5'10" and 126 lbs. [Even at my sveltest, say, in those wedding pics, there is no way my 5'9.5" frame was down as low as 126. No way.])

Why does our society exalt the enbalmed (via Botox) anorexic (via liposuction)? Why?

Personally, I think all those plastic surgery babes are scary-looking. Makes me wanna eat a brownie in defiance. (So there, scary skinny babes!)

Dill Days of June

Our garden is rather prolific in dill right now. See the green fuzziness in the picture? That’s not shaking on my part; that’s dill.

And I’ve run out of dill ideas. We’ve added dill stalks to our salads. We’ve been having lots of raw veggies with:

Creamy Dill Dressing
1/2 cup yogurt
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 tsp red wine vinegar
2 tsp olive oil
1 clove garlic
1T minced fresh dill
Fresh ground pepper to taste

1. Mix it up. Chill until needed.

And tomorrow I am making:

Quick Cottage Cheese Dill Bread

2.5 cups whole wheat pastry flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
2 heaping T minced fresh dill
1/4 cup oil
1/4 cup honey
3/4 cup milk
1 egg, beaten
1 cup cottage cheese

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Butter and flour a 1.5 quart loaf pan
2. In a large bowl mix the first 5 ingredients.
3. In a small saucepan combine the oil and honey, and heat until just blended. Remove from heat and stir in milk, egg, and cottage cheese.
4. Pour this mixture into the flour mixture and stir until just combined Scrape into prepared pan and press down on batter to remove any air pockets. Smooth the top, then give the pan a good thump on the counter. (You’ve got to wake those drowsy baking spirits).
5. Bake for 45-50 minutes, until golden on top. Or you can test with a knife. Cool 10 minutes on a wire rack before unmolding, and let it cool at least 1 hour before slicing.

I expect we’ll try to dry some, too, for Mother Wolf Soup in the winter. But I sure would like to have some other recipes for dilly stuff to make now. Anyone have any to share?

Happy Anniversary, Consort

Fourteen years. Two kids. Five Macs. Not a bad start, indeed.

You still make me laugh. (You still drive me crazy.) And that's the way it should be.

And for those who thought I was just making up the whole Imperatrix thing, I offer you this:

For my Secret Pal, But You Others Can Read and Commiserate as Well

Dear Secret Pal –

I’ve visited a few of the participants’ sites for SP8. And I finally got the questionnaire from my spoilee. And I feel I have to say: Sorry! I realize now that I am nowhere near as high a caliber knitting pal as many others. Now, I’m not saying this to get you to respond, “No, no, Imperatrix, you’re as fine a pal as anyone would like!” (Really, my ego got lots of stroking during the Home Tour, I’m fine.)

…But these people know the names of the specialty yarns they prefer. They have all sorts of fancy tools. They whip up entrelac sweaters in a week (—a week!). And here I am still chugging along on that pair of socks. Which I won’t post a picture of because I am getting close to finishing. And if I post it now, I won’t have anything to post then. I like that you come visit my site a lot; but I feel bad that my knitting posting isn’t up to snuff.

But I can share the following tale of woe. So here goes.

I think that all our good luck on the kitchen redo (everything in one piece, all the work done on time…) has sucked out any other nearby luck.

Somehow, during the 3 weeks of painting and renovations, I lost (where would it go, I wonder?) one of my bamboo double-pointed needles that I was using for my socks (and I think I mentioned that I didn’t really like them anyway, they were too long [8 inches] and too delicate [I had already broken one]). I needed to get another set.

On Saturday, we wanted to incorporate a few fun errands into my needle run, so we decided to visit the New and Improved Central Library for our city. Well, the lines were long (and mislabeled, so I waited 10 minutes in one that was supposedly “Help”, but when I got to the front they sent me to another line [!!!]). Then, because I hadn’t brought my keys, which has my library card fob on it, they wouldn’t let us check out books (even though I had my other ID with me in my purse). Yes, I took it personally. But hey, the old Library building was a 1903 treasure with lots of cool windows and beautiful tilework on the floor. And this is a copper monstrosity that they obviously spent too much for, because the carpeting and the shelving look like seconds from a discount office warehouse. It is not welcoming in the least.

So, we leave the library and drive to a craft shop. They don’t have any needles smaller than 3s (I needed 1s). Another wasted stop. Grrr. Then, Impera wanted to get a computer game, so we went to the CompUSA nearby, which stocks Mac versions of games. Did they have the game she wanted? No they did not. (Fer crying out loud!!!). We are batting 0 for 3 at this point, and I am disheartened. We stop by a housewares store for a new grater (we seem to have misplaced ours in the past 3 weeks) and some kitchen rugs. The rugs are OK, but not really what we like. We try another store. No better luck there.

On the way home, we stop at the specialty yarn store where I had bought the bamboo needles. I’m not very happy about having to buy a second set of needles of a type I don’t like, but what choice do I have?

A bit of luck now: They actually carry another kind of needles in size 1: Brittany birch needles! I used these when I made the Consort’s winter hat in December. They are much sturdier than the bamboo ones, and they are made in N. California from sustainably harvested domestic birch. How perfect!

Except, they are 5 inches long. Which is very puny. I feel like I’m knitting with Hobbit needles. Is it too much to ask to have 6- or 7-inch needles (but 8-inchers are too long, remember)? That would have been perfect. But at least now I have been able to continue on these socks.

I sure hope that all this bad luck has brought us back into alignment with the Universe. Because Saturday really sucked.

Things I Learned This Morning

1. Behavior Modification

If you want your kids to do their morning chores without sighing and to eat their breakfasts at a reasonable time (rather than have to be nagged at 10 AM that it is time to finally have breakfast, and yes I know it's summer vacation and yes, I know there are no plans today...), then have an argument with your spouse. Not a no-holds-barred shoutfest, just a serious disagreement. In the kitchen.

Then just sit back and watch those kids behave. Hoo-yah!

2. Voice of Wisdom

Michael Berg (father of Nicholas Berg, the young businessman who was beheaded on video in Iraq in May 2004 by a man thought to have been al-Zarqawi) is my hero. If you read the interview, you'll notice that he doesn't allow the CNN "reporter" to bait him in any way.

"Haste Makes ..." Well, It's a Bad Thing

So I moaned here about how our internet cable provider was on the fritz the past two weeks, and, after having dealt with their less-than-acceptable service for five years, we switched to DSL, thanks to a buddy (in the weakest sense) of the Consort. This buddy came over last week and got us hooked up. At one point as the Consort and the Buddy were changing pointers, etc., our password needed to be entered. Buddy offered to plug in the info if the Consort just sang out the password. Considering the Consort's anality about such things*, he just mumbled that no, it was OK, he'd plug it in. Buddy made some comments about that, implying he was joking, but really making it clear he felt snubbed (he's got the personality you'd expect from a computer guy).

Eureka! We had internet connectivity!

Except that my laptop, which we hadn't turned on during Buddy's visit, wasn't connecting the next day. This was crunch time for Home Tour preparation, so I put it on the back burner and just used our old iMac instead.

But then... I noticed something strange. Someone from Buddy's server was visiting my site... For hours and hours! And They came back several times a day!

This freaked me out because we never talked about my blog with Buddy, so the only way he could have gotten the link was if he had somehow gotten our bookmarks or something. Was this his way of getting even with us for not sharing our password? How much info had he stolen? Did we have to change all our passwords -- like to my student loans or our bank account?!

I was pissed. I was so angry that he would do such a thing (and he's a computer guy, so if anyone could suck someone's private info off a computer, it was Buddy). The Consort was surprised to say the least, but he was busy, too, so he didn't have the time to call Buddy and see what was up with this incident.

I figured the Consort would be too nice about it, so I should take matters into my own hands. I mean, it was my blog this guy had violated! I didn't have time to post anything other than place-holder posts (you all noticed that). But I was planning a post where I would get him. Oh, yes, he'd be reading along, thinking I was praising him, and then -- BANG !-- I'd let him and all my readers know that I knew what he was up to. In my daydream, you all would boo and hiss supportively, and I'd get even, yes I would.

Well, on Saturday morning, I'm elaborating on my payback post daydream in my head while I'm scrubbing the sink, and another explanation comes to mind. See, I've set up my laptop to be invisible to Sitemeter, so when I check my blog, it won't keep a tally of those visits. But my laptop was out of commission, right? So I was using the iMac ... which wasn't invisible ... and our new service provider's server would (of course) have the same name as Buddy's server ... so every time I visited my site, or the girls visited my site, the name would be .... THE SAME!

Serendipity is a wonderful thing. Thank god I didn't have time to put my devious plan in motion those first few days (although, as Buddy wasn't really visiting my site, he never would have seen it; but the Consort's plan of just talking to him would have shown us to be silly fools [so see, deviousness would have kept us safe!]).

Sometimes, giving our brains the time to catch up with our emotions is a good idea.



*When we moved to California, lo these 14 years ago, we didn't have internet connectivity at first. So the Consort took me to one of the student computer labs (which was a busy busy place full of students coming and going, not paying attention to what others were doing) and showed me how I could sign in under his grad student password to get online.
"Now, this is the password," he said. He looked around furtively and he slowly typed out N...E...B...U.
"Oh, you mean Nebu, the name of our parakeet?" I said (out loud, but now loudly).
He waved his hands frantically. "SHHHHHHHHHHH!" he hissed, a look of terror on his face.
We were newlyweds at the time, but I couldn't help laughing at the distress on his face.
You'd think I had shouted out our ATM passcode or something, sheesh!

The Home Tour

Let me tell you a bit about my neighborhood. It’s 125 years old this year. Development began when a new private university opened right here, which at the time was outside the city limits, but now is only 5 minutes from downtown. Advertisements from the late 1800s sell this area as a wonderful getaway from the city: a place where families (of lawyers and small businessmen) could live in the fresh air of the countryside, only a trolley-ride away from the hustle and bustle of the metropolis. It was a golden age.

Then, in the mid 20th century, life wasn’t so good. These old homes (Craftsmans, Foursquares, and a few Victorians) were big (many, such as ours, were built with a back staircase [servants’ staircase]). They weren’t insulated. Electricity and indoor plumbing were added after the fact. Not many people could afford the upkeep, so they were purchased by that bane of cities: landlords. These people came in a craved three, four, or more apartments out of these single-family homes, adding outdoor staircases to attic apartments, doing just enough maintenance to keep the city inspector from applying fines.

Needless to say, if the landlord doesn’t care about the property, neither will the tenants: as property quality goes down, tenant quality goes down, too. By the 1970s, the university was telling students to stay off the neighborhood streets, police weren’t very visible, and life around here sucked.

But a few tenacious property owners banded together and started a neighborhood association that worked with the city to fix the neighborhood’s problems. Once a few people start making a difference, more outsiders become willing to take a risk and purchase property in this type of neighborhood.

By the time we arrived in 2000, this neighborhood was up and coming. Many older homes had been renovated by adventurous home owners, and every year the neighborhood association sponsored a Tour of Historic Homes. In fact, the Consort and I decided to buy in this neighborhood because our house-hunting weekend happened to fall during the House Tour that year, and we chatted with people and decided we could make a go of it here. Don’t get me wrong: it is still a transitional neighborhood. But the city is actively involved in keeping it safe, and right now we have, all within walking distance, a drugstore/market, a video store, several restaurants (Chinese, Mexican, Greek, African, American bistro, barbeque), a one-screen movie theater, two sandwich shops, a coffee shop, two hairdresser, a couple of tattoo parlors, a live-music venue (OK, it’s called Hairy Mary’s and their acts are mostly punk, but still…), and lots more planned.

The Home Tour is a way for the neighborhood to showcase the great work people can do to fix up an older home, and to get people thinking, “Hey, I could live here, too!” Anyway, most of the homes on the House Tour have been renovated by couples without children (either before they have kids or with no plans of having children). We were asked to be on the tour for two reasons: first, our awesome backyard (because previous owners bought a condemned house, tore it down, and put in fruit trees; and because the Consort’s put a lot of time and effort into adding plants, bushes, and more fruit trees); and second, because we have kids (so the thought process can go from “Hey we can live here” to “Hey we can live here with our kids!”).

The House Tour is a great motivator: we redid the kitchen and repainted the living and dining rooms. It’s exhausting both before (trying to get everything finished on time) and during (standing up from 11 to 5 two days in a row, talking with people who walk through your house, all day). But it was so fun to hear the compliments from people when they saw the garden, the kitchen, the woodwork in the dining room that we stripped of paint and varnish. (And the color choices both in the dining room and in the kitchen; that made me feel good, too.) Lots of people liked the floating floor we installed in the kitchen, too. I forgot to add that picture in the kitchen set, so here is the vinyl before and the new floor:


It was also fun that one woman who came had grown up visiting this house weekly: Her aunt and grandmother lived here from the 1940s to the 1980s. She saw an article for the Houme Tour, which mentioned this house, in a magazine when she was getting her hair permed, and decided she had to see what the house looked like now. It was wonderful talking with her. And one of the two guys who did a lot of the renovations to this house and who turned our garden into the “oasis” that it is came on Saturday. On Sunday he returned with his partner. They told us all sorts of funny renovation stories, and gave us a duplicate set of pictures of the old condemned house and of them doing some of the tear down. As the Consort said, you never expect when you do the Home Tour that visitors will be telling you stuff about your house!

So I’m glad we did it. It made me feel proud to live in this neighborhood, and it made me feel proud of our home decorating accomplishments. And it made me remember how much I love our very cool garden, that makes living in the city bearable.

(I've posted pictures of the living room and kitchen below this post.)

The Kitchen

Warning: I'm not too happy with the pictures. But I really want to get this up, so here we go.

Before, the walls were beige, and the cabinets were large, but they were dark and had large gouge marks in the soft wood. We had a portable dishwasher. The Consort and his dad built a counter for us to slide the dishwasher under when it wasn't in use.

(And the kitchen was beige. Blech!)



We chose maple cabinetry because it is light and airy. And balanced that with dark green counters. We have a built-in dishwasher now, too!





We had so many colorful seed packets from the garden (Seeds of Change packets), that I said one day, "We should use these in a frame!" The Consort took me up on it, and he put it all together.


"Wait," you're thinking, "don't the colors look different in that last picture. Yes, you're right: three walls are a sunny yellow, the fourth is orange. Someone who came through the tour called it a "margarita kitchen" -- I guess he's right, although the runner on the counter is one we bought in Guatemala last year (not a traditional maragrita country, really).



You all should plan to come visit, so you can see what the colors look like in real life.

The Living Room

Before, there were multiple colors on the ceiling trim (red and gold) and the walls were a vibrant yellow. The fireplace surround was white. And that inset above the fireplace was so large that whatever we put in there looked dwarfed by the space.


Now, the walls are more toned down, and the fireplace matches the drapes (Pow!). And the Consort painted a piece that fills the inset, so no more big open hole.

Sorry I'm Keeping You Waiting

Putting a kitchen back together takes more time than taking it apart. Add in a spouse who does half the cooking, so expects to have input in where things go, and that makes things take even longer. But the end is in sight: the Consort is going to the office now, so I can make the final decisions myself (was it clear that we have very different ideas about where to put things that we use every day?).

Stories of the party hosted by our Somali neighbors (that's a Somali party) and the hour tour will come, I promise (and yes, KathyR, we let hundreds of people traipse through our house... it was more fun than I thought it would be!)

House Tour, Day 1

Wow! I didn't think we'd have things cleaned up and put away, but when 11 o'clock chimed, we were ready. Lots of fun, about 250 people came through on the tour on Saturday, and they expect 350 or more today.

I stood up most of the day, though, so last night I warned the Consort that wherever I sat down, there I'd stay for quite a while.

Two previous owners came through on the tour, so we were able to hear stories of the house from the 1940s plus we were able to thank in person the man who planted our apple/pear/cherry trees. (He was glad to see we were taking care of the trees and didn't cut them down!)

Photos and more lucid reportage tomorrow, I would venture.

(Tonight, the girls and I have been invited to a Somali party [women only, of course]. That should be interesting as well!)

T - 48 Hours and Counting

On Saturday at this time, we will be opening our door to strangers, and I know the house will still smell of paint. As I write, two Bosnian counter men are in my kitchen, installing the counter, and the Consort is in the bathroom, installing quarter-round.

I had to come to the cafe so I could upload digital "before" pictures to our local Walgreens Pharmacy so I can pick them up in an hour (ain't the Internet swell?). I figure I had a couple of minutes to post a quickie for you all. (Hey, KW, do you think using a word like "quickie" in a post will get me some x-rated google searches?)

I promised KathyR I'd tell my plumbing with lumber story, but I'll have to do that later, I think.

I will finish off by presenting you all with the photo of the Hellmouth I promised:

There is the overturned compost bucket, held in place by the cement block. If you look closely at the roll of toilet paper, you will notice it is shredded. That's because before the cover was in place, a demoncub shot out and tried to make it into our Midwestern Sunnydale. As we were beating it down, it grabbed on to the toilet roll, thinking it could just hang on with its superior strength. Little did it understand the concept of a toilet roll!


(Actually, it was the cat who did that. He does it whenever we forget to take the roll out when we put him in the bathroom at night. It's his way of marking his displeasure with the whole situation.)