Nothing gold can stay

When my husband and I bought the house that we currently live in - which, incidentally, is the ONLY house either of us have ever bought - we also purchased an Amana refrigerator. Being young, naive, and mostly not-wealthy-at-all, it was a simple vanilla, no-frills refrigerator with the freezer on the top, and no automatic ice maker, no cold water, or no fancy anything. I selected it to be in white because, um, that's just what you did. Every refrigerator I ever had growing up was white. All my friends' refrigerators were white. They were just.... white. Always. I didn't even know that there was an option to, say, oh, MATCH COLORS with the appliances that came with the house (all of which were - of course- black). We have happily lived with our plain vanilla white refrigerator (and unmatching black everything else) for a long time - long enough to evolve from newlyweds to having a high school junior as of tomorrow (gah! That's a whole other blog post). The refrigerator is still functioning perfectly fine - never a maintenance call once. It has proudly displayed baby photos, toddler drawings, and postcards from friends throughout the years. President Obama has lived there in his magnetic glory, hilariously changing hats and wigs and podium signs as needed. School schedules, baseball, volleyball league and band schedules, doctor's appointment reminders, and business cards have graced its front. It has shown me family Christmas card photos from friends all over the US throughout the years and even occasionally has held to-do lists or shopping needs on the occasions when I was attempting to be organized. It has kept our food fresh and cool - from frozen dinners to milk for babies to applesauce for toddlers to mac and cheese for kids and pizza for teenagers and wine for mom.

However, now it is getting some ugly rusty looking spots on it, and occasionally, water will drip from the top of the refrigerator section when I open the door. For the most part, I didn't notice the rusty spots much, but the dripping water and a cracked produce drawer bugged me. So we decided to go shopping for a new refrigerator this weekend.

Things have been moving right along in the refrigerator business over the last 18 years while we have been blissfully unaware. Freezers have moved from the top to the side, to the bottom, and the newest greatest thing is a french-door style opening to a fridge with the freezer on the bottom with the availability of crushed ice and a cold water dispenser on the front door. Wandering through Lowes and Home Depot, I was overwhelmed. I could understand the reasoning behind the excitement of locating the freezer on the bottom, though I didn't buy into it 100% (e.g., you've got to either break your back bending over to rummage through light produce in a produce drawer or through unwieldy and heavy frozen veggies in a bottom freezer. I figured I'd rather opt for the lighter, non-finger-freezing accompaniment to the breaking back). But here's the deal. The bottom freezer options were approximately twice the cost as the top freezer options. So obviously I must be wrong.

I was confused. There was a product that I actually preferred that cost WAY less than the other option. So of course my reaction was to assume I was wrong. I made us go home to research online a little more. I compared energy efficiencies. I weighed my options. I fretted and fretted and ultimately became brave and proclaimed that I honestly liked the idea of having my freezer on the top. Also? I didn't care about crushed ice. Collective gasp. (A cold water dispenser, I could see. But crushed ice? Seriously?)

I realized I was just narrowly avoiding being taken in. If the media tells me I need a fancy stainless steel refrigerator that makes my breakfast for me and tells me when to let the dog out, then by god, I must NEEEEEED it, right? Believe me, I'm more than happy to jump on the fad bandwagon if there's something I see that I honestly can't live without. But more and more, I'm realizing that what the media tells me I must have and what my soul requires are not very similar. I am the proud owner of an IPAD II that is used exclusively for playing Words with Friends. I sometimes use it to play words with friends while I'm sitting in my home office beside my computer. But everyone else told me it was the best thing since sliced bread, so I decided it must be so. Right?

We are a very consumer-oriented society. There are some very very good parts of being part of a capitalist society. There are also some pitfalls that sneak up on you before you realize it. Is it really in everyone's best interest to buy a home rather than rent? Do we all really need IPADs? Are top-freezer refrigerators really past vogue? Does profit trump altruism? How much propaganda should we be forced to endure during a single day? How can we assure we aren't brainwashed?

We purchased a refrigerator with the freezer on the top and a cold water dispenser without the crushed ice option. It is a very nice color of black. It will arrive in approximately 2 months from now, during which I must endure the suddenly rust-infested, ugly, last-legs monstrosity of a refrigerator my poor old one has suddenly become. Everything is perception, especially in capitalism.

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay. 

- Robert Frost

Possibility

Once upon a time in my past life, I was in grad school. This was a really happy time for me. There have been other, happier, more life-changing events since then of course, like - oh, say, getting married and creating two fabulous humans and watching them grow. Little things like that. Even so, if a magic genie gave me the chance to return to just one time of my life - I just might pick my grad school years.

I wasn't an extraordinary student. I wasn't super adventurous or risky. I wasn't especially deep and philosophical. I was simply a normal human, perched on the top of the mountain of her life, gazing out over the vista of possibilities out there. I was young and starting fresh and felt pregnant with the possibilities of...life. Those days were like a constant New Year's Eve. I was a blank slate, waiting to be written upon. One good friend of mine described me as a flower, ready to bloom. (This particular friend was very interested in dating me, I should add. It is entirely possible that this description was designed to woo me.) Nevertheless, I liked the description.

Possibilities. That is one of the most beautiful ideas ever.

Why, I wonder, do we leave the purview of Possibilities to the young?

Indeed. This is a question worth thinking about.

A Return

In case anyone is wondering, I have not written in my blog for almost exactly a year. This has been intentional (as opposed to just forgetting about it, I suppose?). In a quick recap of this last year, including why I have not been blogging - life sucked. It actually sucked a lot, as implied by the larger print. Things are better now, so no worries, please. But basically, yeah, last year was the hardest period I've been through to date. I'm still processing things and sorting out the life lessons. I'm not going to rehash this past year in specifics. One of the things about your children growing older is that you realize they don't really appreciate having their private lives become fodder for mommy's public musings. I recognize that it's well past time for me to stop blogging about things that are private in regard to them. However, it is important for me to write. I think I have reached a place now where life is gentle again, and I might be comfortable blogging.

So I'm going to try.

Since I've become an adult, it might be an understatement to say that I have not been a fan of summertime. I loved it when I was a kid, of course. My sisters and I spent most of our summers exploring the neighborhood and the empty lots beside our house in rural Texas, completely immersed in whichever fantasy game we decided upon for that day. We might be orphaned children that had escaped from the evil torture of our orphanage, trying (and succeeding) to outsmart Hog-Jaw and the Pig-Snouts, who were policeman-like bad, bad, oh so bad men that were trying to return us to our orphan-prison. The Pig-Snouts were ugly, fairly stupid flunkies who attempted to track us everywhere, including the town down the highway where my grandparents and aunts lived. They were relentless. It wasn't our fault that we very often had to escape through windows and "steal" bicycles to frantically race through the streets to outwit the Pig-Snouts.We headed them off at school playgrounds by deftly weaving through parking lots, and on one occasion, we climbed onto the car shed by my aunt's house and tried unsuccessfully to break into her apartment for cover (I'm not sure that she knows about this attempt. Maybe she figured it out when she found wood chips clogging her keyhole???). We hid from Hog Jaw and his flunkies in the dense, dank forest across the street from our house, which were dubbed the "Angel Grounds" (and which played prominently in various other fantasy worlds we created on other days). On any given day, we might be tiny tiny people living in another dimension - our forests were but tiny weeds to the next dimension of people. Or the jungle gym in our backyard might become an underground cave, and each space in the ladders ringing the cave was a tunnel leading to a different land. This last fantasy was more than a little odd because we'd each embark alone on our on tales, running alone through the neighborhood seeing and experiencing our own version of reality for a good long while, and then return to the cave at some set time to share our adventures with each other in stories. When we weren't designing elaborate stories, we might drive to the town where my grandparents lived to go swimming at the local the swimming pool. The order of business on these excursions was to walk barefoot across the hot pavement from the car to the pool. We (or as my sisters might correct me..."I") decided that we could only enhance the joy of jumping into the cool water if our feet were truly blistering at the point of contact. We had long weekends at the Galveston beach, my memories of which are punctuated with peeling away layers of my sun burnt skin, the taste of saltwater and sand in my mouth, building sandcastles decorated with "quicksand" enhancements (in which quicksand was the result of a saltwater and sand mix, poured into spirals and adornments that would harden within a few seconds of pouring.) We skipped through the waves to avoid the jellyfish while looking for shells, and played dominoes in the cold, cold air of the rental house. My grandfather loved to put his grandchildren to work hand cranking the ice cream maker. I don't ever remember truly hardened ice cream, but I remember the most delicious, sweet creams, occasionally dotted with an explosion of salt from the freezer along with peppermint candy that would come at the end of suppers of spaghetti or hamburgers. Summertime was composed of magnificent camping trips in my family's camper, when my parents allowed us to bring along nearly half of the kids we knew in town. We would set up tents and sit around the campfire telling ghost stories while eating s'mores and swatting the June bugs away from our faces, and then we would spend the days paddling through lakes in inflatable boats, landing on islands that were ripe for adventure making. Summertime was an absolutely titillating, glorious and entirely sensory experience.

As with so many things, the process of growing up has tended to dampen my imagination-driven enthusiasm for summer. These days, when I think of summer from my middle-aged and so very mature perspective, I envision bugs and heat and dirt. I see the weeds overtaking my flower beds because it is too miserably hot and humid to spend any more time outside than it takes to walk from the car to the door of my air-conditioned house. I resent the disruption to my schedule as my kids become fluid creatures that sleep for periods that may vary to be any period within the diurnal cycle. I view summer as the necessary evil to get from spring to my beloved fall. I have envied people living in the Pacific northwest or the far north, as in, Nova Scotia, for not being forced to endure the humid torturous conditions that define my summers in southeast Virginia.

So, back in the spring this year, when things in my life still sucked, I decided to start practicing meditation and I started to attend a weekly sangha (Buddhist meditation group). One of the major focuses in Buddhism is mindfulness - simply paying attention to the present moment.  I decided it would be a very good idea this year to practice mindfulness of the season this summer to try to re-embrace some of the things I used to love about it. I decided to slow down and try to return to the perspective of a child. (I want to take an abbreviated aside at this point, and point out that one of the things I have realized from my work at meditation and mindfulness, is that we are very good at this as children. Sometimes when I am meditating, and I feel like I have reached a good solid point of being in the present, I am flooded with memories and feelings from childhood. I think that time went so slowly and things seemed so much more significant in childhood because we were naturally mindful. I think this is a skill that we forget as we assimilate into adult society). To a large extent, this has worked. I have had a much more enjoyable summer than I've had in a very long time. I have stopped on my walk from the car to my air conditioned house to watch the butterflies at our butterfly bush perform their exquisite dance of tasting each tiny bud in the flowers.  I have tried to remember to savor each unique moment - my daughter overflowing with joy at the connections she made at a camp and my son exploding in growth at being in a leadership role in his band. I savor the flavor of the tomatoes we get from our CSA. I savor the growth. Summer is alive in so many ways.

And yet.

I was driving down the winding road to my house today and I saw 4 yellow leaves fluttering by the side of the road. I noticed this and looked to the sky. It was clear and bright, yet there was something- the sense of the imminence of  fall was there. My stomach did a flip-flop. I checked weather.dot.com and saw that we have a cold front scheduled to come in tonight. My son has started marching band rehearsals. I am starting to pencil in fall activities in my date book. I can smell the fires and I can feel the cold air. The school year is starting (I have a Junior and an 8th grader this year!!!). Football. School. New Beginnings. I am learning to love summer again, thanks to mindfulness. Fall is easy. Fall has always been easy for me to love. It has been many falls, however, since I have had the time to let go and let myself love. This is going to be the year that I can do that.  Live doesn't suck anymore. I am learning to be more mindful. And the earth is turning and rotating as it always does, and autumn is coming to where I am. And I am open for it this year.

Things are good.

The Pause

This post may make it WAY into the realm of TMI for more than a few. But it is what is is. It's what is going on in my life and it is what I want to write about. So any skittish or cowardly readers who don't want to think about or discuss THE PAUSE may exit now.

For the last 4 months or so, I have been more than mildly worried that I have been losing my mind. Seriously. No, really - seriously. While on vacation in Colorado with my family this summer, I burst into tears many times, successfully (or not?) hiding my daytime crying spells and crying myself to sleep more nights than not. I had to soak my face in cold water every morning to try to diminish the puffy eyelids I get when I cry at night so my parents and siblings and nieces and nephews wouldn't think I had been transformed into a monster. This fall, I have found myself driving down Rt. 199 here in the Burg, sobbing - SOBBING - SOBBING over the fact that my kids were growing up (duh! It's what happens! They grow up!). I'm talking, not able to breathe, gasping, horrific earth-shaking sobbing. I have yelled at friends (well, I didn't realize I was yelling at the time, but she interpreted it that way, given the raised voice and all) and have found myself wandering the halls of the high school with tears streaming down my face. I have had knock down drag out emotional nosedives with both of my children. In all of these cases, there was a part of me there that was barely cognizant of what was going on, was horrified at my out-of-control behavior, and was completely unable U.N.A.B.L.E. to stop it. I have felt like a possessed woman and have been terrified that I am losing my mind. Seriously. At times other than these horrific emotional upheavals, I have felt completely out of sorts, unnatural, different, unsettled, and unhappy in general. I have been attributing this feeling to the stress of balancing raising my kids with my job and with being band booster president and with keeping the lives of so many people just moving in the right direction in general, but it didn't seem right. I've been stressed before and I haven't fallen apart like this. I have been struggling to simply keep it together, to simply make it from day to day. I have been on the phone with my parents so many times lately, having called them in a near panic, and found myself with tears streaming down my face and unable to articulate what was wrong, so I would pretend I had just called to say hi.

I have finally figured it out. Each of my enormous emotional upheavals have been accompanied the next day by, ahem, Auntie Flo. I have not had PMS like this since I was a teenager going through puberty (and maybe not even then). I've not felt such emotions since my hormones were undergoing the enormous fluctuations of puberty - the enormous fluctuations like those that also occur in..... (ahem) perimenopause.

Excuse me a moment, but....

F**********CCCCKKKK!!!!!!!!!

Well that certainly explains it. Coincidentally, as my daughter's body is entering a new phase, as it is undergoing enormous changes and hormonal fluctuations, so am I. As she begins, so I end.

It was huge relief to realize that 1) I've not been making this up - I really have been going through something different and major the last 4 months, and 2) there is an explanation for it. It is also profoundly sad for me. It seems like it hasn't been that long since the whole female adventure started. How can it be that I am at the end already? It's not like I wanted more children. I already have the two most perfect children anyone could want or need. It's just.... so final.

At least I know what's happening now, and can talk to my doctor about something that might help. How horrible and terrifying for women long ago who might not have had information available. It's not been a good several months. I truly thought I was losing my mind. I can only hope that now that I understand, things will be better and I won't be as confused and worried about my sanity. Maybe I'll figure out a way to stop crying and maybe my kids will stop being afraid of being in the same room with me.

I don't believe in god. But if there were one, I'd have a few choice words for him. I say "him" with careful certainty because no god with female characteristics would pull this kind of nasty joke on women in their middle age, after they successfully made it through the emotional upheaval of puberty and bearing children. No. A female deity would not do this.

And so it goes. Time passes, and people age. Things are still good, and I'll still find the happiness out there...especially when this hormonal crap is over. Until then, keep the wine coming and send lots of happy vibes and wishes of patience to my sweet husband.

Ride the Pause. Wheeeeee!!!!

warts and all

Warts make you think of witches, I bet. When I was little, I had a line of warts that would come and go on my forearm. I was absolutely horrified by them (as any good preteen would be). More recently, I've had a series of plantar warts that don't so much horrify me as piss me off. They're highly painful, inconvenient, and gross. The latest one is on my big toe, if anyone cares.

"Warts and All": The whole thing; not concealing the less attractive parts.

I was raised as a band kid. With a band director for a father, I grew up believing that high school consisted solely of band kids and football kids. Band kids went to school to learn to play instruments and to march at football games played by the football kids. This was exacerbated by growing up in Texas, which is big for football and band. My childhood memories include band trips and being passed around the bus by teenage girls who oohed and awwed over the books I was reading. I adored band and everything about it. (Largely because I adored my father!!) Then, somehow, I grew up a little bit and was old enough to BE in band. I adored it even more. My high school memories are, essentially, band memories. The smells of uniforms, of my mouthpiece, of the bus. The band hall with corregated silver walls and forests of music stands. The sounds of the band hall, of random pieces of music while kids warmed up. Snippets of marching tunes. Memories of friends, of competition, of being part of something great.

I didn't think anything could top those memories, until I had children. And then my children joined band and I was able to watch their joy in being part of band. Let me tell you...watching your child enjoy something magnifies the level of joy multifold. Thousands of multifold. Last year, my son was a freshman and started high school band. Finally!! Last fall was amazing. Suddenly, after years of absence, I was plunged firmly back into the life of band. Rehearsals. Competitions. The thrill of doing well. Laughter, silliness, companionship. I was lifted up to the heights I'd forgotten about - had never even really known to that extent. It was like a drug. I wanted more. I wanted to dive in, to encourage, to participate.

So I did.

I became Band Booster president. And this year? This year, I have been made acutely aware of the warts that exist behind the scenes. Instead of hearing the band play "The Jerk" in the stands and watch them dance, I am racing through traffic to return to the band hall to retrieve a forgotten uniform. Instead of 150% rejoicing in the 2nd place win the band received at their first competition, I am trying to figure out how to deal with a student passing out from heat exhaustion while a well-meaning but power-hungry chaperon turns into a bear and yells at anyone who dares try to help. Instead of dissolving in ecstasy into the fall temperatures and colors, and into the fun of MARCHING SEASON, I am receiving phone calls from irate and over-worked board members and stressing out over fundraisers. The joy has completely disappeared with the emergence of the warts. Big time.

I have discovered that I don't love band, warts and all. I really only love it without the warts. I love it as the fairy tale I grew up with. I love the possibilities and dream of it. I don't love the reality of it. I am not loving worrying about budgets and concessions and volunteer hours. I'm not loving it, and I'm pissed. (There is SOOO much drama I am not describing here, as you can certainly imagine.)

It would take only a small move to return to the love and joy I felt last year. I could make the decision that I do not want to continue to sacrifice my personal enjoyment and not continue as band booster president next year. I could step down and return to "highly involved" but not "responsible" parent. There's nothing wrong with that. It's certainly tempting, and it's a very plausible next decision.

There are those who love, and those who know the warts and still love. I have decided those are two very distinctive groups. I have not decided which one is preferable. Warts are reality. But they are an ugly reality. Are we better off ignoring their existence, or in acknowledging them and accepting them? I am not sure.

What is my role as a parent? That question is easy. My role is to facilitate the best life possible for my children. My son doesn't see the warts that I see. He sees the same thing I saw when I was in high school band - warts free. And there is nothing I want more than to assure that he and my daughter have a collection of fantastic memories.

How to assure that? To be decided.

Falling apart, redux, redux, redux, etc.

For the last five months or so, my family and close friends have been listening to me complain about how busy and overwhelmed I am (and they have been very patient about it, I must add). The story goes: I burst into tears at random times. I have trouble breathing sometimes (literally and figuratively). There is NO MORE SPACE left on any of the little squares in my calendar planner. I have to write in the margins! I often forget to make dinner for myself and my family. I have forgotten how to have fun during all this, and, and, and, I know I'm going to miss it one day!!!! (let the panic build-up ensue!!!) Wail, wail, tears!!! (So far, I have not forgotten to pick my children up from any activities so that is a good thing).

Anyway, today, for the first time in, oh I don't know how long (5 months?), I have a Friday off to myself. I sat myself down in front of the computer and started reading back posts from this blog. (Which was quite entertaining, I must say. I have cute and very funny kids!)

But the thing that struck me was - you could take many of my posts from 3-4 years back and I was going through the EXACT SAME FREAKIN' THING!!!!!! All my bellyaching, all my whining, all my feelings of being out of control...ditto ditto ditto. The only difference is which organization I have sold my soul to (PTA versus Band Boosters) and my kids are older and in slightly different activities. The good part is I don't really remember feeling this frustrated and out of control back then, so I have hopes now that these feelings will not only pass but will eventually be forgotten. Unfortunately, many other things will also be forgotten. I was a little sad at reading the amazing conversations with my kids I documented here on this blog that I have totally forgotten. Therefore, I thought I'd better start documenting again. I'll try.

There are so many various smallish sorts of things that are routine here in my current life that are hidden amidst the chaos, and that are, in fact, somewhat amusing. Things like - Erin's cat Lucy spends 98% of her awake time sitting in the bathtub licking the faucet.


She looks a little stunned and embarrassed when I switch on the bathroom light to find her there once again, like a druggie being discovered at her stash. Actually, it's a bit obsessive of her. More than a bit. If someone leaves the door closed, she lies in front of it with the shakes and in a cold sweat. Personally, I haven't tried licking the faucet myself, so maybe there's something to it...

There are dozens of other smallish things that make me smile ( or that sometimes make me grit my teeth and count to ten). For instance, Erin must be... (let me think of how to phrase this)...the most comfortable "person among chaos" on the planet. As an illustration, this is AFTER she has been instructed to straighten her room (and has, indeed, to a point):


Yet. YET. Before she may use any eating utensil, this child must inspect it with a magnifying glass for any trace of food, waterspots, dust, or scratches lest it upset her delicate sensibilities. And, apparently, I am a failure of a housekeeper in this regard. I have been the recipient of many the condescending look, as she stands in front of an empty silverware drawer, the counter littered with deficient spoons.

I feel much better now that these small areas of light have been documented for my reading pleasure 3 or 4 years from now when I am wiping away tears of panic while wondering how I will survive whatever current crisis is dominating my life. To my future self: Have a cup of coffee!!! It is what it is!!! You are in the middle of the river of life - not drowning, but being swept along in the wildest, greatest adventure there is. And don't forget to leave the bathroom door open. I don't foresee Lucy's addiction going away.

what to do with fresh produce: 1

We got our first CSA haul last Tuesday. My goal this year is to not let ANY of the wonderful CSA bounty go to waste, nor to let any of our bountiful garden output go to waste. I'm being optimistic about our garden. Last year was so pitiful it wasn't at all difficult to use it all since we got a handful total. This year is going to be awesome though. So to inspire myself and have a place to document recipes I try, I'm going to blog how I handle the produce. I doubt anyone will read this. Maybe I'll share it with Mare. :-)

From the CSA:
Lettuces and mixed greens (Arugula, Tat Soi, Red Mustard and Mizuna): YUM!!!!! I've been having salads for lunch every day, using 3-4 lettuce leaves and a large handful of greens to add spice. Personally, I'd be happy eating straight greens, but I want to use up the lettuce too, which is too bland to eat on its own in my opinion. In the salads, I've included radishes and cucumber, and I also like fruits - strawberries in particular, but not necessarily with the radishes. Different days, just to be clear. I added boiled egg one day for some protein. I don't always add dressing, just salt. I did make a grapefruit vinaigrette and use that until it was gone. For vinaigrette, add the following to a blender: 1/4 cup grapefruit juice - usually from 1 grapefruit, 1/4 teaspoon grapefruit zest, 1 tablespoon honey (local honey from farmer's market!), 1 tablespoon dijon mustard, 4 scallions sliced thin - only white part, 1/4 teaspoon sea salt, 1/4 teaspoon black pepper. Turn on blender and blend. Then veeeeeerrry slowly, while the blender is on, drizzle in 1/2 cup oil (1/4 cup canola+1/4 cup olive). This gets messy. I put on the top and take out the middle plastic part but still have to shield it with my hand or a paper towel to keep the vinaigrette from dressing everything in the kitchen. Put in a plastic squirt bottle and keep in the fridge - squirt on salads all week long. Yum. This recipe is one we got from A Chef's Kitchen.

Earliglow Strawberries (2 quarts): The first quart disappeared from snacking. I used some of the second quart for today's salad (see above). Still have a few to use up...

Bright Lights Swiss Chard: I think you have to use swiss chard the day you get it. I adore swiss chard when it's freshly picked. Otherwise, meh. I sauteed garlic in a olive oil with salt, added the swiss chard (which I washed thoroughly and cut into 1" squares). Sauted for about 5 minutes, then stirred it up and flipped it over. I didn't get to eat any. It was gone by the time I was ready for my dinner. I do think I added too much olive oil. You don't need much. Next time I might even try the spray oil.

Asparagus: This went into Risotto with spring onions and parmesan. Saute spring onions in olive oil, then add risotto - I used 1 1/2 cups for my family - and stir for a few minutes to coat the rice with oil. Add 1 cup of white wine, and decrease heat to low/medium. As the wine cooks off and is absorbed, add a large ladle of warm veggie broth one at a time, stirring and letting liquid be absorbed between ladles. Once risotto is the right consistency, add asparagus and shredded parmesan. I cut the asparagus into 1 inch lengths, and blanched in boiling water for 2 minutes, then put it into ice water until ready to add to risotto. This keeps it bright green. Was going to also add green peas (the steam-in-your-microwave kind), but there was more asparagus than I thought there'd be. We just ate the peas on the side.

Spring onion: (see above for risotto)

French breakfast radishes: Added to my salad one day. Still have some to use up. I'm not sure what to do with radishes other than snack on them or put in salads. Radish butter, maybe?

From our own garden:
Cilantro: I harvested a bunch and set it in a jar of water while I decided what to do. The internet says you can keep fresh cilantro for a few days like this. Don't know if it needs to also go in the fridge or not. I ended up making black beans with brown rice. Soaked the beans all day, then cooked for about 30 minutes. In a large sauce pan, I sauteed 1 1/2 diced yellow onions. Added black beans (a couple of cups?), salt, and ground ginger. (yes, ginger). I chopped up all the cilantro and added it (maybe 1/4 cup of chopped cilantro leaves?). I also added some lemon juice. It was supposed to be lime juice, but I didn't have any. Lemon didn't taste bad, but I'll use lime when I make this again. Made some brown rice to go with it. It wasn't spicy enough for me - I'd add chopped jalepenos or habaneros if I were making it just for myself - but the family loved it.

Strawberries: nowhere near as good as the variety from the CSA. Maybe they'll get sweeter as the summer goes on. They might be good for smoothies when we get more. I need to pick them - there's starting to be a lot.

"it is what it is."

Subtitle : Jen invokes the privilege to engage in indulgent navel-gazing

"It is what it is."

My husband says this phrase a lot. I get incredibly irritated every time. I told him it sounds awfully condescending to me. Why not just say,

"I am mature enough to view this problem that is making you curl into a fetal position and sob as the simple event it is, all contentedly set in its proper place in the universe and I'm cool enough to shrug it off with a flip saying."

or more succinctly,

"I'm not stupid enough to make a big deal over this."

(I know. Poor John. Sympathy donations to him for dealing with such a shrew are welcome)

So then I started noticing that at the many band boosters meetings I'd go to, the band director would very often shrug at any given complication, give a half smile and say "It is what it is."

(Of course, I initially had a different reaction when he said it. I thought it was cute and laid back...the first 100 times or so. Now, I'm having a reaction more similar to the one I'd reserved for John).

I've started to notice more and more people throwing this phrase around. And my dislike/morbid fascination for is increasing. Why does this phase make me so completely crazy?

Here's what the urban dictionary has to say about it. Some of the suggestions resonate with me and my annoyance:

A way of demonstrating apathy; an unwillingness to evoke change; a way of saying "It's not of interest to me."

OOOOhhh. There you are. That's exactly why that phrase makes my toes curl. Apathy is one of the things I hate most. Ever. I despise apathy. Apathy is lazy, and I hate lazy almost as much as apathy. Apathy is action by inaction; committing yourself to live in isolated boredom. Passion is where it's at!!!! PASSION and engagement and putting yourself out there - now that's the way to be, right?

But as my recent "beloved-teacher-from-my-past-getting-irritated-at-my-posting-a-link-to-an-article-about-cutting-spending/raising taxes-and-my-general-liberal-crap-and-then-calling-me-a-bitch-on-facebook" episode might have taught me, putting myself out there - embracing my passions and wearing them on my sleeve has certain drawbacks. (I am still smarting from that episode and trying to figure out if there is more than a negligible smattering of bitchiness to me - I think there is - and I'm trying to come to terms with it). But even still smarting from that virtual bitch slap, I can't retreat in how I attack life.

Life is a sine curve. You can let life wash over you without engaging, and flatline. Or you can engage and actively push those peaks up there and ride the resulting wave, including the valleys. It only is what it is if you let it stay that way. Change can be evoked, and it's passion that evokes change.

Did you read that?

Change can be evoked.

And thus is the conundrum of my life. While I am not a fan of change in the "Lassie is going off the air respect", I don't feel engaged and alive unless I invoke it. So I engage and push for change and feel wistful for the way things used to be. Repeat. It's just the way I am.

Indeed, you might even say, "it is what it is".

My second inaugural post

I miss blogging. It's been 1.5 years since my last blog post and I think that hiatus has been long enough. Part of the reason I stopped blogging is because it was simply easier to communicate in sound-bites on Facebook, and I didn't feel the need to sit down and take the time to think things through on a broader scale with enough depth to create a blog post. I think I've had enough of that strictly fast-food diet now though, and am ready for some home baking again.

So in my second inaugural post, I figure I have several ways that I can proceed.

I could reintroduce myself and give a quick outline of the last year and a half - but I imagine most people are not exactly on tenterhooks to hear a year and a half of trivia.

I could explore the various options about what this blog should look like and be about and hear back from my readers - but it's awfully narcissistic to imagine that I have enough "readers" at all, much less enough readers that have an opinion about what I should blog about, to poll. That's just a silly option.

I could just...start back up. I'm going with this option.
_____________________________________________________

Lassie is going off the air.

When I was a little girl, back in the wonderful world of 70's TV, one of my favorite shows (along with millions of other little girls) was "Lassie." There are several youtube clips from old Lassie shows, but this particular one is what I remember. The theme song is important. That sad, wistful melody, played in a whistle... At the end of the show, listening to that theme and watching Lassie stand on a hill with the wind blowing through her fur, I would just bawl. I'd sit there week after week and just sob and cry at the end of every show. I can't imagine what all my mom was thinking about me. She finally asked me why I cried at the end of every show. I don't remember the conversation we had, but I must have finally been able to articulate to her that I was crying simply because it was over. I'd spent the last 30 minutes enthralled with being a part of the world of Lassie, with all of its lessons about love and friendship and love and devotion and love and family and love. (I know - isn't this just the SAPPIEST?????) And after 30 minutes of heaven always came the same realization: that the show was over.

Ever since, the code phrase in my family for what is wrong when I am distraught in one fashion or another over some change or another, is that "Lassie is going off the air."

My baby - he just turned 15, and my other baby, the littlest one, is 12. I am in the twilight years of being a mom of schoolage children. For many years there, my house was one of toys scattered across the floor and a pantry full of juice boxes and applesauce. The laundry was copious and consisted of lots of dirty bibs and tons and tons and tons of socks. Currently, the bibs have been replaced by black vintage 80s rock band t-shirts and middle school uniforms, but the socks are still multiplying. I've finally gotten the lunch-packing business down to an art now, whipping out a couple of mostly healthy lunches packed in mostly reusable containers in just a few minutes every morning. I can cook up a homemade dinner with separate versions available for vegetarians or mushroom-haters. I sign off on tests and write letters asking for excused absences when my kids stay home from school sick, and I no longer feel like I'm forging the official mom signature. I'm no longer at a loss about how to let my kids hold a sleepover, and dutifully buy bags of cheetos and plenty of rootbeer just before pumping up the air mattress to throw in front of the TV/DVD player with movies carefully selected to just barely toe the line between parent-approved age-appropriateness and coolness. I still spend hours sitting and watching practices for soccer, baseball, and volleyball, and watching rehearsal for school plays and band concerts, and of course, attend said plays and concerts. I've moved away from volunteering each week in classrooms, but still chaperon dances and school trips, and hold offices in the PTA and band boosters. My life was and is defined by being mom.

And I see the end coming, as it must, as it should, as it will. I'm helping my son to structure his activities to look good for college applications. The prospect of paying for college is no longer something that I put way off into the future. I recently realized that the dozens of family vacations I've always wanted to take with the kids is going to need to be whittled down to only a few, because time is....well, it's finite. Before I know it, the frustrations of finding socks stuffed behind the couch cushions, empty soda cans in the playroom, and candy wrappers scattered over my buffet are going to be solved....because there will no longer be children in the house. Didn't I just start this journey? Wasn't it just a few years ago that I fell to my knees sobbing in front of the perfect baby boy in the bassinet because I suddenly realized that his only mom was... me? who had no idea what to do with a baby boy? Wasn't it just yesterday that I made my first batch of birthday cupcakes to take into school for my kindergartner and was buying adorable little girl dresses at Target? I entered the parenthood years with trepidation, but with more enthusiasm than I've ever had in my life. I had the wind knocked out of me with the transition to being a parent, but it was the most invigorating rollercoaster ride I'd ever been on.

Yet, I really don't want time to stop. I adore the young people my children are now. I adore them. I have the most amazing conversations with them, and I often walk away feeling humbled by their depth of feeling and their depth of understanding of very complicated issues. They are amazing people. What I do miss is the job I used to have. Just when I finally started to get my footing and figure it out, it is time to think about moving to the next phase. I'm excited for the future. I'm excited to see what my kids end up deciding to do with their lives and see who they become. But I hope you all understand if I occasionally make cupcakes with sprinkles and topped with a Hershey's kiss. I hope you allow me to occasionally watch reruns of "Little Bear" and "The Wiggles" without judging me. I will miss wiping fingerprints off the TV and buying orange juice by the gallon.

I never want to lose the people that my children are at the moment where we are. It's just that..I'm a little sad/wistful. My job as mom is slowly moving from being the center of their universes to being someone who is merely very important. I will no longer be the architect of their every activity, the artist who colors their world. They will appreciate my cooking, but my job of feeding their souls will be gone. As it should be.
I'm just a little sad/wistful, because Lassie is going off the air.

some random weirdness

November is NaBloPoMo, which translates into National Blog Posting Month. Someone has decided to form a national movement to encourage daily blog posting for one month a year. Why? No idea. I'm certain there is some advertising revenue in there somewhere for somebody.
In any case, while I don't get particularly excited about made-up movements like this, I suppose it's a good excuse to try to post more often.

So here are some random observations to make up my post for today:

There is a woman at the supermarket who is a perfect likeness of Sarah Palin, but with blond hair. When she spoke to me, it cemented the deal. She's way over-the-top perky, with perfectly applied make-up and has a loud, direct and um... down-home way of speaking. I admit my first reaction at being cheerfully greeted by her left me with my mouth hanging open in disbelief. It was almost as disturbing to me as the thought of Tom DeLay on Dancing with the Stars. However, after she asked me if I wanted paper or plastic in her perky, smiley way, I decided that she is actually a likable enough person. I look for her at the register now, and purposefully get in line to chat with her. She's fun in short doses - about the amount of time it takes to pay for my groceries. I imagine she's putting on somewhat of a front for her job, and is probably much more sedate in everyday life. It cheers me to no end when I see her at the grocery store now. I always feel like I'm caught in the middle of a Saturday Night Live skit.

I was getting my hair restored to its natural color on Friday, and was chatting with my new hair stylist, who is very very young - probably about 20 or 21. We got to talking about flu shots, and she told me about seeing something on youtube about how a healthy woman (who was training to be a Redskins cheerleader) got a flu shot and now she can't talk and can only walk backwards or run. My thought was oh great - every time I get my hair done, I'm going to be bombarded with urban legends. I didn't roll my eyes at her, in my defense. I smiled and said "Huh." in an appropriately bored manner in an attempt to change the subject. Because I am a well-educated and mature adult. Well, recently, I was bored and surfing the net and thought I'd look up that hoax. Color me completely shocked. I think it's a real story. I officially apologize to my new hair stylist. Sometimes life really is crazy...

in which she pops her head up to say hello...

November. WTF?

At the beginning of every autumn, I tell myself that this is the year I am going to go slow and revel in the change of seasons and enjoy every second of the cooling temps, the fires in the fireplace, the start of a new school year. I'm going to go slow enough to track the incremental changes in leaf color on the trees in my years and I'm going to feel the aura of autumn in every cell of my body. And about this time every autumn, I realize that I've been enjoying it so much that it has flown by unnoticed. I guess that's the point, ultimately, isn't it?

Soccer and baseball for the kids are over now, so my "free time" allotment has just exploded for the next couple of months (until it all starts up again). But really - I complain in jest. I never did sports as a kid and I do wish I'd had the opportunity. The opportunities were simply not THERE for a little girl back in the 70s. I love that E has no idea that there could possibly be any limits there for her because of her gender. It simply doesn't factor into her thought process. She plays soccer for the enjoyment and for the social benefit (very honestly, she has no real love of the game and has inherited my limited athletic prowess, but she embraces her "right" to play simply because she has fun). I LOVE that Q has found a sport that marries athletic ability and intellect. He is a perfect candidate for baseball. I love watching him play and love having him analyze the game for us afterwards.

So what I have had time to focus upon this fall from a personal perspective is food. FOOD!!!!! Food fascinates me. I love simple, plain food - the smell of earth, the warmth, the freshness that I smell on new greens, on onions, on potatoes. I stuck my head down into my CSA basket the other day to just breathe. In retrospect, I'm fairly lucky no one walked in on me. My counter is covered with butternut squash, garlic, honeycrisp apples, and something like 30 sweet potatoes. While I turn into psycho-yelling mom when my counter collects papers and junk mail, seeing all the food spilling over onto every quarter of the counter makes me happy. I'm sure my family will learn these fine distinctions in no time.

I've become quite the convert into eating locally and seasonally and organically, and so far, my family hasn't complained too awfully much. In fact, being the evil mom that I am, I forced my kids to sit through a showing of "Food, Inc." Despite the eye rolls and whining, E has since become a vegetarian, and has stuck to that quite strictly for about a month now. The rest of us have no problem eating meat as long as it's from an animal that resembled what it is naturally supposed to resemble while alive. It's been some work to find sources of healthy foods for the various aspects of our lives (school lunches, quick snacks, etc) but we're making excellent progress. I have a new 9 cubic foot freezer chugging away in the garage filled with fresh tomatoes, tomato sauce, and fruits, and waiting for our first delivery of meat from PolyFace Farm tomorrow. I have a lot of thoughts on my transition into crazy granola mom and why it's really not very crazy or granola. It's actually quite spiritual to me. My spiritual focus is on the way the universe fits together so beautifully, and the transition of solar energy into food into us is ultimately something important. I think the US has been brain-washed by the media into ignoring that natural cycle, or at least brain-washed into believing that the industrial version of that cycle (which is pretty whacked out) is the natural one. Craziness.

In the meantime, it's time to revel in November. October may have slipped through my fingers, but so far November is actually looking more like fall and I'm happy with that.

blog action day

Today is "Blog Action Day", and the topic is Climate Change, so my good friend Holly has encouraged me to use this as an excuse to start posting on my blog again.

Most of you reading already know I'm an atmospheric scientist, so this topic is near and dear to my heart.

I spend a lot of time hanging out at blogs of so-called "global warming deniers" or "skeptics" to try to understand where they are coming from. It's never accurate to generalize, so it's wrong to lump everyone that is skeptical of human-caused global warming into one pot. It is legitimate to question. I would, in fact, be concerned if people believed anything without questioning and doing their own thinking. However, some of the arguments out there are simply ludicrous (e.g., CO2 is not a greenhouse gas, or human activity is not increasing CO2 in the atmosphere). In fact, these two things are solidly established. CO2 occurs naturally in our atmosphere and absorbs infrared radiation, re-emitting it in all directions (rather than allow infrared heat to escape directly into space), and this ultimately keeps the surface of our planet at the comfortable temperature it is. The average temperature of the earth would be about 60 degrees Fahrenheit cooler without CO2, water vapor, and the other greenhouse gases. It's also easily and well-established that our burning of fossil fuels has significantly increased the amount of CO2 in the atmosphere. We know this from simply looking at the sources and sinks of CO2, including the increase in human sources during the industrial age. We can also can use isotopic analysis to convince us that human activities are responsible for the increase of CO2 from 280 ppm (parts per million) 150 years ago to about 380 ppm (and rising) today. (See, for example, this post from climate scientists at their "Real Climate" website)

Given these two simple facts, the impetus in fact becomes "show me how humans can't be impacting the climate."

Of course it's infinitely more complicated than that. There are climatic feedbacks. We don't fully understand the role of aerosols and clouds. Climate scientists are making much progress at understanding the climate through use of models (only one tool to try to better understand the processes impacted by increased CO2). There is also work afoot to drastically improve the observations that we need to better understand how and why the climate is changing. There are a multitude of signals that we're monitoring to follow the impact of climate change: e.g, surface temperature (from surface stations), near-surface temperature (from satellites), polar ice melt during the spring and summer, glacial melting, average sea level, ocean temperatures, changes in permafrost, migratory behavior of species...

There is overwhelming scientific consensus that human activities are impacting the climate. The areas of active research - the areas where there is not consensus - are focused on the expected magnitude of the changes, and how increased CO2 and the accompanying average warming might impact things like agriculture, species migration, and regional climate.

I thought I'd also point out that the idea of global warming is not as recent as you might think. Here's a brief history of some of the early key players.

John Tyndall was a British physicist, born in 1820, who loved mountaineering. He adored nature, and in particular loved geology.He was fascinated by the idea that geologic evidence showed that northern Europe was once covered with ice. He was amazed and puzzled that the earth's climate could change so significantly. This curiosity led him to examine the ideas put forth about 30 years earlier that some of the gases in the atmosphere might in fact, be capable of absorbing and reemitting heat energy (infrared radiation).

So in 1859, John Tyndall published results from laboratory studies that in fact did show that several gases that were commonly present in the atmosphere were absorbers of heat. (Check out that link - it's a copy of his 1859 paper.) Water vapor and carbon dioxide were two of the most important gases with this property.

Here's his lab set-up. (Much of this information was obtained here). On the far left is a bunsen burner (sitting atop the desk). It is heating a Leslie's cube which is filled with water, and there is a thermometer sticking out of the top to measure the heat of the water. It's hard to make out, but there's another Leslie's cube being heated by a bunsen burner at the far right side of the long horizontal tube. The long tube is filled with the gas of interest. Tyndall ran experiments on several different gases. The funny looking thing with two cones on it (sitting on the desk between the long tube and the first Leslie's cube) is a thermopile. This instrument generates electricity when there is a heat differential – that is, when one side is warmer than the other. It's connected to a galvanometer to measure the electric current that is generated. As the infrared energy from the 2^nd Leslie's cube passes through the gas in the long tube, if the gas is an absorber of the infrared radiation, the temperature at the end of the tube will increase, resulting in a temperature differential that can be measured by the generated electric current. What John Tyndall discovered was that water vapor (aqueous vapour), carbon dioxide (carbonic acid) and ozone were particularly strong absorbers of infrared radiation while being transparent to visible light. Here's some of what he wrote:

"But this aqueous vapour, which exercises such a destructive action on the obscure rays, is comparatively transparent to the rays of light. Hence the differential action, as regards the heat coming from the sun to the earth and that radiated from the earth into space, is vastly augmented by the aqueous vapour of the atmosphere."
"...Now if, as the above experiments indicate, the chief influence be exercised by the aqueous vapour, every variation of this constituent must produce a change of climate. Similar remarks would apply to the carbonic acid diffused through the air, while an almost inappreciable admixture of any of the hydrocarbon vapours would produce great effects on the terrestrial rays and produce corresponding changes of climate."
"...Such changes in face may have produced all the mutations of climate which the researches of geologists reveal."

About 30 years earlier, Joseph Fourier, who was a French mathematician and physicist (and yes, this is the same Fourier of the mathematical Fourier Series), had published work where he noted that the temperature at the surface of the earth was much warmer than you would expect from doing a simple energy balance of the planet.

"The decrease of heat in the higher regions of the air does not cease, and the temperature can be augmented by the interposition of the atmosphere, because heat in the state of light finds less resistance in penetrating the air, then in repassing into the air when converted into non-luminous heat."

His theory was that the atmosphere must allow visible light through easily, but infrared heat energy must be absorbed by the atmosphere. (He also had some idea that the earth received heat from "the universe at large" but that's since been disproven, heh.)

Building on these studies, in 1896 a Swedist chemist names Svante Arrhenius refined the idea of the greenhouse gases. He suggested that halving the amount of CO2 in the atmosphere could decrease the global temperature enough to explain previous ice ages. He also worked with a colleague Arvid Hogbom and showed that the amount of CO2 put into the atmosphere by burning fossil fuels was roughly equivalent to natural processes. He postulated that given enough years, the amount of CO2 might build up enough to begin to impact the climate. This was in 1896. Arrhenius and Hogbom figured it would take about 3000 years to build up enough CO2 to see an impact on temperature, given the emission rates of 1896. We started burning fossil fuels considerably faster than the rate of 1896. Don't you wonder what these scientists would think of how things have played out today?

back

Well I certainly took a hiatus. It was unplanned, actually. I apologize to all two of my dedicated followers. :-)

Since July 17, the date of my last post, we've gone on vacation to Colorado. We went white-water rafting and hiking and soaked in the hot tub under the Rocky Mountain stars. What I remember most though, is that my daughter got sick with what I assumed was a stomach bug - she was complaining of stomach pain and throwing up, with a fever. After a day of letting her sleep at the rental cabin, I went to check on her and "something" suddenly kicked in. My mom-instincts flashed on and I told my husband I really needed to take her to the ER. Turns out that mom-instincts are pretty awesome. She had appendicitis and was in surgery 4 hours after we arrived at the ER. I've tried to figure out exactly what it was that triggered my instincts. Logically, it was a combination of things - she was complaining about stomach pain more than usual, she had mentioned to me that she was peeing every time she threw up (which was multiple times that night), she groaned when she sat up...but still, the right side of her abdomen wasn't where her pain was centered, and everything else just screamed "normal stomach bug". It was partially the few unusual things, but also - I think that I could just tell something was different in a very hand-wavy sort of way. I can't articulate it. Perhaps if I was better at diagnosing my feelings or fears, or if I was better at remembering minute details I could tell you. But ultimately, something deep inside went from "off" to "on" and I KNEW, I absolutely KNEW within an instant that this was not a stomach bug.

Thank goodness, too, because her surgeon told us her appendix was particularly nasty and he could see an abrasion along it where it looked like it was close to rupturing. Oh, and her surgeon told us her appendix happened to be located in the center of her abdomen.

So.

We came home and finished up the summer. My kids mostly played video games and watched TV and ate microwaved hot pockets. This is not what I'd wished for them, but it's what they did. I would have enjoyed if they had taken up knitting or art while I was at work, and if they'd eaten cucumbers and green beans and peaches from our CSA. But you know, they enjoyed their little bit of independence and they DID do the chores I left outlined for them in the dreaded "summer notebooks" each day. They called me multiple times each day while I was at work, so I pretty much knew what they were doing each minute. They begin their new school years tomorrow. All supplies have been bought and are either already at school or are in their backpacks. They have new lunchboxes, and have enough new clothes (or uniforms in the case of my son) to get them through at least a week. They both went to bed on time tonight, after showers, and set their alarms. We're good to go.

In the meantime, I'm still reeling from the insanity in the US. Don't get me STARTED on the shrill nonsense the ultra-right is spewing over President Obama's planned speech to school children tomorrow. We've had our own minor uproar here locally when a parent used our PTA volunteer email list to send political propaganda against the speech. Me, being the DOOFUS that I am, noticed that he planned to pull his child out of school tomorrow because he was so against him hearing the speech. While I fail to understand how anything ANYTHING the president plans to say tomorrow justifies such action, I did take note that my information (which happened to have come directly from the superintendent of our school district) indicated that our school planned to tape the speech and air it Wednesday. Part of me giggled at the idea of him keeping his son home Tuesday only to discover after the fact that he would have been exposed to the dreaded "socialist propaganda" which encouraged children to work hard and stay in school when his son returned on Wednesday. But then my f*cking moral, earnest part kicked in and I thought the man deserved to at least know the facts. So I sent him an email telling him that while I didn't agree with him politically, I thought we should all have access to the facts.

Well. Stoopid me. Several emails later, I realized that he was not going to quit arguing with me over the appropriate use of our PTA email list, or demanding to know why my information on when the speech would be shown didn't mesh with the media's, so I told him to take it up with our president and that I wished to have no further correspondence with him. As a past president, I did feel a little guilty about this, especially since I'm good friends with the current president. But there you are. He'll figure it all out when the principal sends home a note tomorrow explaining exactly what will be happening on Wednesday and what he needs to do to protect his child from the Nazi-socialist-propaganda.

For the love of GOD!!!!!

I thought political games were nasty months ago. I had no idea how stupid they were yet to become.

And yet, life goes on. I had a lovely LOVELY conversation today with my beautiful friend Jamie, reminding me that friends are what it's all about. I will consider not picking up and moving to New England just so I can stay near her and many of my other friends here who make it easy(er) to live down here amidst so many many MANY people with political and cultural opinions that are lifetimes away from my own. It's all OK. I only need a little connection to make it OK.

(But Jen K, keep an eye out for good home opportunities up there just in case).

morning haiku

pre-ground hazelnut
bitter and mellow and smooth
the hot bites my tongue

muted morning sun
air so still it suffocates
thunderstorm looming

Jillian Michaels
waits in the dvd; come
I sigh, I obey

swimming against the current

If you read the news, you've probably heard of the incident of the private swim club in Pennsylvania that told a mostly-minority daycamp that they were no longer going to be allowed to bring their kids there to swim this summer. One of the families that attends the daycamp just filed a lawsuit against the swim club for racial discrimination.

[Funny aside. I read about the suit earlier and didn't remember where I'd seen it. I wanted to link to it, so I did a quick google search to find the article. You need more than "swim" and "suit" to narrow this one down. Gads I can be such a dork sometimes.]

Racial discrimination?
Really?

First, and most importantly, this particular daycamp wasn't the only one affected; the swim club had changed its mind about letting several daycamps utilize their private facilities this summer. The other daycamps affected aren't predominately minority. How then can racisim be claimed as a motivating factor?

I can so easily envision a possible (likely?) scenario:

Many public pools in Philadelphia have closed because of the horrid economy. Mr. Private Swim Club director sees an opportunity to make some extra cash by opening his pool up to nearby summer child cares and camps. He probably means well but didn't spend enough time thinking through the consequences of this decision. Hoards of children descend upon the pool, surprising and angering dues-paying members who expected their investment to yield a quiet, controlled pool environment. [The daycamp in question brought 65 children to the pool. SIXTY FIVE children in a pool is a LOT.] Paying members complain to Swim Club director, who realizes he'd not thought this through very well, so he returns the money for all of the local day cares and camps who had decided to participate and informs them it's not going to work after all. Only one of those facilities is predominately minority, and it decides to throw the word "racism" into the scenario. At that point, all hell breaks loose.

One of the daycamp children claims to have heard a club member ask why so many "black kids" were at the pool that day. That is probably true. Private club member mom probably said something stupid. But to extrapolate that to racism on the part of the swim club is an awfully quick and sloppy determination. Another daycamper reported that they heard an adult member worry that her child was going to be "hurt" by the kids. (You can interpret this to mean she was worried that black children would hurt her child, or you can interpret this to mean she was worried that her child would be hurt in an overcrowded pool. Your choice.) Further, in response to the incident, the director replied "There was concern that a lot of kids would change the complexion...and the atmosphere of the club". That statement has been held up as proof of his racist attitude. His use of the word "complexion" is, apparently, the ringer. Complexion can mean "the hue and appearance of the skin" but can also mean "overall aspect or character." Taken in context, it seems obvious to me that he was using the word with the latter definition. Too many children made the pool uncomfortable and unsafe. Do people really think that by "complexion" he meant color? Really? Or are they jumping all over that to continue to fuel their rage? Honestly, when I read his statement, it never occured to me that his use of the word mean skin color. Good grief.

I know I know I know I KNOW that racism is a real problem in the U.S. I know real cases of it exist and they make my stomach turn and should never be ignored. But this kind of reaction - this immediate bandwagon response of calling out RACISM only exaserbates our problems. The most common response I hear when people read about this incident is surprise. Opinion writers opine their "SURPRISE" that such blatent racism still exists today. If that is true - if these reporters and opinion writers are so surprised that this kind of racism would happen - then why does the default assumption immediately fall on the side of racism?

I think this is ridiculous. In addition to the lawsuit, Arlen Spector has weighed in and requested an investigation by the Federal Department of Justice. The state Human Relations Commission is investigating at the request of the NAACP. What a waste of resources.

The director of the daycamp, Alethea Wright, has been quite vocal about the incident. She has stated that she is looking for a psychologist to talk to the children about the incident. Perhaps she means well. Perhaps she really feels like there is racism at play. I think her reaction to this incident has done more harm to the kids in her care than anything else. She is teaching them to live life as victims and teaching them that discrimination is to be expected. She is teaching them that the "others" in the US are not to be trusted and to suspect the motives behind every action. She is teaching them that they are different.

And with that, I guess my liberal-lefty membership card will soon be revoked.

another birthday

Today is my birthday, and look at what gift I received from Mother Nature.
As of 2:45 this afternoon:

Light Rain

65°F Feels Like 65°F

Updated Jul 5 02:45 p.m. ET


I've got the air conditioning off and the windows open so I can hear the rain and feel the cool wind. Mmmm. I'm watching it come down, and the smell of wet earth is heavy in the house now. I'm still full from a lovely birthday brunch from a dear friend this morning (grits casserole, sausage, bacon, blueberry pound cake, baked french toast from homemade sourdough bread, fresh fruit, orange juice, coffee, etc), and am now happy with a beer and cheez-its. I've got all the senses happily covered. Daughter E is busy baking me a cake and our plans are to go out to dinner tonight. I'm thinking perhaps lobster or crab legs? Woo.

Speaking of senses, I feel more than a little overwhelmed with love today. I'm getting lovely and thoughtful gifts and lots of hugs and kisses and phone calls. If I can get over my guilt about being the recipient of such a wealth of love, it'll be an absolutely perfect birthday.

I'm mostly feeling ambivalence over turning 45. Actually, I've been mistakenly thinking I was already 45 for the last several months, so the real birthday lost any punch in that respect long ago. One year ago on my birthday, I was on a bus riding toward Cold Lake in Alberta, Canada for our field campaign. I stared out as the Texas-like landscape rolled by and tried to think deeply about what I wanted as I entered the mid-40s. Today, I've been trying to remember what it was that I wanted for this past year. I wanted to lose weight (well I have, though I've promptly put it back on again), I wanted to have a better organized house (parts of it are better and parts of it are worse), I wanted to be more patient with my kids (I am sometimes, and am sometimes not). In other words, all these abstract, hand-wavy things that I wanted to improve in my life this last year are about the same as they were then.

What I really accomplished without any prior planning, is living another year, and thoroughly enjoying it.

Our dear assistant principal at the kids' elementary school is retiring this year. I adore this man. I've heard him quote something from his uncle many times. "Whatever it is that life puts in your way, it's up to you to enjoy the ride." His uncle was killed in the 9/11 attacks, which makes his words resonate all the more.

This last year has been a pretty easy one for me, personally. It's not hard to enjoy life when things are going mostly as you have planned. I'm certainly not looking for a tough year, though I know there are inevitably some out there in my future. In the meantime, the best I can do is practice enjoying the ride, with all the unplanned little curves and jogs that take me by surprise. And that's what I hope my 45th year will be filled with. Open eyes, ears that truly hear, slow meals where I truly savor the taste, deep breaths and long pauses.

food food beautiful food

Farm share pick-up day:



One of the original reasons we wanted to join a CSA this year was to support small local farms. Today, we received a dozen peaches from South Carolina. While this particular CSA does support several farms here in town, we've discovered she occasionally brings in peaches from South Carolina and apples from Pennsylvania. One look at the peaches and I was smitten. Local schmocal, I say. The eastern seaboard is definitely local enough for this family, especially when it comes to fruit. I (heart) peaches.

We received a big head of cabbage (Mm. Got to think about what to do with that one), red potatoes, beans, green pepper, cucumbers and lots of squash and zucchini. She also threw in a big bunch of beets as I was leaving. I've never prepared fresh beets before. Any expert advice is welcomed!

Last week the bounty included a quart of strawberries, melon, beans, squash, spring onions, tomato, cucumbers, corn and lettuce. I'm estimating that the cost-savings for buying a full share might not be all that spectacular in the end, but the variety she's packing up for us each week is certainly nice. Plus, I like carting around the bushel basket. It makes me feel all farmer-like.

dreamweaver

I've been dreaming again, finally. It's been a while. Suddenly, I've had very vivid dreams for the last few nights. Last night's was just silly, but dear neighbor M helped me figure it out.

I was at a scientific conference and many of us were meeting at someone's house for dinner. All throughout the dinner, I kept spilling my drinks and knocking over my chairs. (feeling a little inadequate, ya think???)

I had just been diagnosed with a disease by my doctor that required multiple medicines, one of which was glue. I needed to take 1 teaspoon twice a day. At the dinner, I was worried about what people would think, so kept squeezing glue onto my finger and eating it.

In the meantime, I had to relay the message to everyone that my friend P had been diagnosed with a horrid outcome. We'd found out that one of her doctors when she was young had translated two numbers and that the result was that she was several (about 5?) years older than she thought she was.

Mary let me know I am in anxiety over getting older. (duh). I'm eating glue like a child and am self-conscious so am knocking over my drinks and chairs. My friend P is a cancer survivor and my take on it is that she is "older" than she thought she was.

This getting-older thing was so abstract when I was in HS. I never thought it would actually happen. I went on a hike with the Girl Scouts tonight in our local state park and after the very mild and easy hike, I hobbled into my house on painful knees. I'm beyond youth now. My body is breaking down. I have been at my workplace for 20 years (although they have YET to acknowledge that with my 20 year pin. Should I ask someone about it? WTF would I do with a 20 year pin anyway?)

I'm not a work in progress anymore. I'm there. I'm who I am. I am closer to retirement than I am to starting work. I'm not a "bud waiting to bloom" anymore. I'm more like a fully bloomed rose with petals that are dropping off.

Eating glue. What a weird way for my aging anxiety to manifest itself. Anyone who wants neighbor M's services should send a bribe directly to me.

Lucy! I'm Home!

We have a new family member now. Lucy is an 8 week old diluted calico that we adopted from our local animal shelter. E (my 10 year old) has been orchestrating this move for months now. She is in little girl heaven. Her tiny kitten slept on the pillow beside her last night and woke her up by gently batting her cheek with her paw. She's been prancing around the house tonight, attacking unsuspecting toes and making Roxy (the dog) hyperventilate. She is a trip.



As for the rest of my life, I feel like I am slowly winding up the process of wrapping up an enormous package. One by one, bits and pieces are being wound up and bound off. Piano recital and lessons (with the accompanying planning and transportation), check and check. Girl scouts - check (after Wednesday). Band practices and concerts, check. Career day presentation and PTA yearbook sales, check check, check. Baseball merits no check yet, but possibly will after another couple of weeks. I am not sure where this enormous package will be sent at the end of spring. I'm glad to see it wrapped up but not glad to see it sent away. Know what I mean?

I am not sure that I will remember how to exist on the absence of adrenaline. As much as I enjoy complaining about my (oh so typical) busy mom-of-teens-and-preteens schedule, it is, like it or not, my way of life. I have never been fond of change so the abrupt end to the chaos this summer may not be the reprieve I've been hoping for. In fact, I find myself projecting the summer's loss of activity onto my empty nest years. These are not exactly looming, but they are close enough.

I asked DH what in the hell we did before kids and what we would do after they are gone. He responded by cooking me a dinner that was fabulously full of spices and onions, which is something we've had to forgo when the kids eat dinner with us. It was delicious.

We are such a funny species, we humans. And in particular, we parent humans.

You’re an interesting species, an interesting mix. You’re capable of such beautiful dreams and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you’re not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we’ve found that makes the emptiness bearable is each other.

(from the movie Contact. I find myself repeating this line to myself very often)

Life has been fabulously fun and good this spring. I am short on time and long on things to do. The house is not very clean and certainly not organized, but my kids are smart and healthy and INCREDIBLY thoughtful. No complaints here. It's all spicy food and kittens.

continued

I was surprised when I looked at the date of my last post. Apparently, I'm still losing days. So on that topic (my last post) here are my latest adventures in the story of my mind's demise:

At the orthodontist yesterday (for Q) I was trying to make an appointment for E to be evaluated. They were getting some background information.
"Who's her dentist?"
All I could think of was "Dr. Payne." We've never had a dentist called Dr. Payne, but my friend and I were discussing unfortunate names one day long long ago and he told me HE used to have a dentist called Dr. Payne. Why that was the only name that came to me I don't know. (As an aside, my contribution to that conversation was the vet who put down my first dog Callias. His name was Dr. Stiff. Seriously).

Anyway. I hit my head with my palm and mumbled something about losing my mind. "He's in Hampton" I offered.
"Hampton?" the assistant asked as she flipped through a list of names. "Not Newport News?"
"Um, it's Newport News" I said.
In my defense, I usually call the whole peninsula down there Hampton because it's simpler to say. They finally found the name of E's dentist.

Then there was the lovingly made peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was intended to give my dear son sustenance during his 5:30-7:30 baseball practice (before dinner). I left it neatly wrapped sitting on our counter until I found it at about 10 pm last night. So there's not much progress on the losing my mind front.

I'll keep you posted, if I can remember.