Yes...another gratitude blog! However, this one is really more of a movie review. This Thanksgiving weekend, I am 2/3 grateful because I have two of my three children home. I am 100% grateful that my parents (mom--this means mostly you since you do all the cooking) are still willing to host the big turkey dinner meal at their house. Though, on mom's schedule, turkey dinner should be re-named turkey lunch--but that's another story.
I am grateful for my good friends-- near and far-- and the relatives from far who were here to celebrate the holiday with us--(Elana and Lou from Philly). I am grateful that we had a few days off from school and I've had time to watch a silly movie on-demand with Ben and Emily and bake and do laundry and even catch up on some grading. Mostly, I'm very grateful that I got to become an honorary/temporary member of the Senior Movie Group. Mom, dad, Elana and Lou planned out their whole visit, day-by-day, movie by movie. They saw (and I skipped) Anna Karenina on Thursday (after turkey lunch) and the SMG was divided about the film. Joan and Lou panned it. Sam thought it was "o.k." and Elana loved it.
Yesterday, I joined them for Silver Linings and it was a home run. We all adored it. Bradley Cooper stars as a young man living at home again after an eight month stint at an in-patient psychiatric facility. The movie plays beautifully with the edges of pathos and humor, swimming easily back and forth between the two. Yes, you will laugh and you will cry! The brilliance of the film is that, as the story line unfolds, we recognize the part of all them (and all of us) that is a little bit crazy. We must inevitably acknowledge that being human takes great courage and none of us is perfectly equipped for the job. We are all playing with just shy of a full deck.
That is a perfect segue into today's film: The Sessions. First the disclaimer: I WOULD NOT NORMALLY RECOMMEND ATTENDING A FILM ABOUT A SEXUAL SURROGATE WITH FULL FRONTAL NUDITY WITH THE FOUR ELDER STATESMEN and WOMEN OF YOUR FAMILY. HOWEVER, MOVIE THEATERS ARE VERY DARK AND WE ALL HANDLED OURSELVES LIKE GROWNUPS (except for an occasional loud laugh from Joan).
Now that that's out of the way, Don't Miss This Movie. Actually, don't miss either movie. They are both winners. They are both smart, well-written films that are brilliantly acted. The Sessions tells the true story of the deceased poet, Mark O'Brien, who spent the majority of his 49 years of life in an iron lung having suffered from polio as a child in the 1950's. If you are interested, you can view a short documentary film about the real Mark O'Brien on Amazon where you can also purchase his memoir.
The film centers around Mark's desire, at 38, to experience sex. While his mind is incredibly sharp and creative, his body is weak and ravaged by the effects of decades of immobilization. Though he has a lively wit and a warm persona, he has not met a woman who could see him as a fully-functioning man. In reality, he cannot really see himself in that way either. On top of the physical limitations, he is also bound by his religious convictions and rigid views of sex outside of marriage as sinful. He confides in a kind-hearted priest, played well by William H. Macy, to help absolve himself of some of the religious baggage he carries. Helen Hunt plays the wise and wonderful sexual surrogate who teaches him how to use his body to receive (and also-at his request- to give) pleasure. The scenes between them, their sessions, are incredibly raw and real. They manage to achieve a sense of beauty and honesty that is not one bit titillating.
Having seen these two marvelous films back-to-back, I am grateful for art and artists, for writers and actors and directors. For visionaries who take life and re-package it in fresh ways so that we can begin to understand ourselves.
Both Silver Linings and The Sessions involve love in all its guises. Friendship, romance, families and even people whose job it is to listen to us and try to help us heal. Both films are brave and gritty and absolutely gorgeous. Both films make us remember that living life is often the greatest act of heroism and that love is the most important tool in our toolbox.
Tomorrow, the Senior Movie Group will be heading out to see Lincoln. Even though I am a great fan of Abe's, I will be skipping that one so that I can grade some more papers and prepare for the busy week ahead. Besides, after hitting the jackpot with the two films I saw, I don't really want to test my luck on a third.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday but it really shouldn't last only one day: EAT MORE TURKEY AND BE GRATEFUL ALWAYS!
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Are You A LOVER or a HATER......of Oatmeal?
For most of my life, I was an oatmeal hater. I didn't mean any offense to that particular food, but I hated all foods with a mushy texture. I didn't like Flan, or Creme Brulee or pudding or yogurt or Boston Creme Pie or Key Lime Pie or anything else that gushed and smooshed in my mouth. I craved crunch or snap or bite. For the most part, that is still true; however, the positive health effects (and the earthy ethos) of oatmeal have motivated me to give the humble oatmeal a Rachel Makeover.
The first thing I discovered was that it mattered what kind of oatmeal I started with. Steel Cut Oats, also called Irish or Scottish Oats, have a much chewier texture than regular oats. I have tried several different brands and you can experiment as each has a slightly more or less chewy consistency.
The next thing I realized was that most oatmeal was entirely too bland for me. I like flavor and lots of it!
So I gathered together all the ingredients that I thought might enhance oatmeal's blank canvas and began experimenting. The following recipe is my latest version of Rachel's Oatmeal. I am happy to report that I had my dad taste-test it and it passed the Sam test with flying colors. While dad was used to making a smoother, less jazzy bowl of oatmeal, he soon became a willing convert to my new flashier version.
The first step requires toasting slivered almonds and coconut flakes in a 375 degree oven for about 10-15 minutes until they start looking toasty and brown-ish.
My dad likes a nut-free version so I will add in the almonds at the last minute after putting his oatmeal in a separate container.
While the nuts and coconut are toasting, boil 4 cups of water with a pinch of salt. Once the water has boiled, add in the oatmeal and after about five minutes of stirring and watching, it should start to thicken. At this point, turn the heat down a bit and continue to stir gently.
The easiest measurement is 1 cup of Steel Cut Oats to 4 cups of boiling water.
While the oatmeal is cooking, peel and mash two ripe bananas.
Don't forget to check on the coconut and almonds; make sure to take them out before they get too dark!
Here's a complete list of the ingredients:
1 cup Steel Cut Oats
pinch-salt
2 ripe bananas
1 tsp. cinnamon (add more if you really want a cinnamon-y flavor)
1/2-3/4 cup sweetened coconut flakes
5-6 tablespoons slivered almonds
3 generous tablespoons brown sugar
1/2 cup dried cranberries
After the oatmeal has absorbed all the liquid (about 20-25 minutes) add in brown sugar, oatmeal, mashed bananas, cinnamon, cranberries and almonds.
Then let cool and store in airtight container in fridge. Small portions can be reheated in the microwave all week-long and served with a few tablespoons of milk or half & half.
Delicious!!! Would I turn down a hot slice of buttery brioche in favor of a bowl of oatmeal? Not yet, but this version has the potential to tempt me; the regular kind of oatmeal never could!
The first thing I discovered was that it mattered what kind of oatmeal I started with. Steel Cut Oats, also called Irish or Scottish Oats, have a much chewier texture than regular oats. I have tried several different brands and you can experiment as each has a slightly more or less chewy consistency.
So I gathered together all the ingredients that I thought might enhance oatmeal's blank canvas and began experimenting. The following recipe is my latest version of Rachel's Oatmeal. I am happy to report that I had my dad taste-test it and it passed the Sam test with flying colors. While dad was used to making a smoother, less jazzy bowl of oatmeal, he soon became a willing convert to my new flashier version.
The first step requires toasting slivered almonds and coconut flakes in a 375 degree oven for about 10-15 minutes until they start looking toasty and brown-ish.
While the nuts and coconut are toasting, boil 4 cups of water with a pinch of salt. Once the water has boiled, add in the oatmeal and after about five minutes of stirring and watching, it should start to thicken. At this point, turn the heat down a bit and continue to stir gently.
While the oatmeal is cooking, peel and mash two ripe bananas.
Here's a complete list of the ingredients:
1 cup Steel Cut Oats
pinch-salt
2 ripe bananas
1 tsp. cinnamon (add more if you really want a cinnamon-y flavor)
1/2-3/4 cup sweetened coconut flakes
5-6 tablespoons slivered almonds
3 generous tablespoons brown sugar
1/2 cup dried cranberries
After the oatmeal has absorbed all the liquid (about 20-25 minutes) add in brown sugar, oatmeal, mashed bananas, cinnamon, cranberries and almonds.
Then let cool and store in airtight container in fridge. Small portions can be reheated in the microwave all week-long and served with a few tablespoons of milk or half & half.
Delicious!!! Would I turn down a hot slice of buttery brioche in favor of a bowl of oatmeal? Not yet, but this version has the potential to tempt me; the regular kind of oatmeal never could!
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Are You High Tech or Low Tech?
After years and years of being chained to T-mobile (the iphone-less cell provider), we all switched to Verizon. This is would hardly be newsworthy other than for the fact that Emily and I finally got iphones. The iphone 5 had been released that morning, so the 4s models were drastically reduced. We took advantage of the discounted prices and left the store feeling like we were finally a part of the same century as everyone else in the world.
In fairness, I do have an ipad, which I have thoroughly loved using, but there is something different about the iphone. For one, while I leave the ipad at home each day, my iphone is always with me. Secondly, since my ipad is 1st generation, this new iphone is upgraded and has lots more bells and whistles, including a wonderful camera. But the purpose of this piece is not to create ad copy for Apple (they hardly need my help!); rather, my love affair with my iphone has forced me to reexamine my split personality. On the one hand, I am almost Amish: I love to read,cook, knit, sew, make things with my hands. On the other hand, I am almost freakishly fascinated by the latest technological gizmos and gadgets.
My favorite moments come when I am finding bridges between the old and the new. For example, a few years ago I found out about a cool new website where you could upload your artwork and they would turn it into fabric and mail it to you. Spoonflower.com is the perfect marriage of old school and new school.
I took a photo of the kids from when they were little and, using photo-editing software on my mac, I turned into a neon-colored Warhol-esque piece of art which I then uploaded to Spoonflower. When the fabric arrived, I sewed it into a pillow.
Obviously, one of the most incredible marriages between old and new is the e-reader. I have owned a Kindle for several years and, while I still buy "real" books occasionally, I would hate to give up the brilliant convenience of having so many of my favorite tomes in one small, portable container. I fervently hope that, in this case, old and new can learn to happily co-exist. I don't want to give up on bookstores or the smell of paper and ink or the feel of a solid book in my hands. When I teach, I need to hold a dog-eared, well-loved copy of the book as I page through and share with my students my copious handwritten notes.
Speaking of reading, another technological wonder I just discovered is the fact that since Audible has become part of the Amazon dynasty, there is a lovely easy link between the two called Whispersync for Voice. Let me tell you what this enables you to do: Now, you can read books on your Kindle, or the Kindle app on your iphone or ipad, and then go out for a long walk with your beloved dog and continue listening to the novel you were reading through your ipod or iphone Audible app. Here's the AMAZING part: when you crawl into bed that night and pick up your Kindle, it will sync to the last spot you listened to on your walk! Really!!! In the "old days," I would listen to a book on cd as I drove Josh all the way to Kinkaid, and then when I got home to read the book, it took me ages to find my place and visa versa the following day when I'd get back in the car. Certainly, I am not the only human out there who finds this high tech trick marvelous!
In Robin Sloan's quirky new novel, Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore, Sloan plays with the pull we feel to both old and new. His odd little book (you could almost read it in one sitting...or listen to it on a long walk and then finish up reading it in bed that night) cleverly draws the reader to the intersection of old and new: ancient encoded books and Google. I do not want to give too much away, but the ending seems, for me at least, to reinforce the idea that all knowledge can lead to insight and therefore should be embraced. Mystery and curiosity feed the soul. What seems extinct may only be hibernating. What seems to conflict may only be awaiting our deeper understanding and appreciation. As Sloan writes, "All the secrets in the world worth knowing are hiding in plain sight."
In fairness, I do have an ipad, which I have thoroughly loved using, but there is something different about the iphone. For one, while I leave the ipad at home each day, my iphone is always with me. Secondly, since my ipad is 1st generation, this new iphone is upgraded and has lots more bells and whistles, including a wonderful camera. But the purpose of this piece is not to create ad copy for Apple (they hardly need my help!); rather, my love affair with my iphone has forced me to reexamine my split personality. On the one hand, I am almost Amish: I love to read,cook, knit, sew, make things with my hands. On the other hand, I am almost freakishly fascinated by the latest technological gizmos and gadgets.
My favorite moments come when I am finding bridges between the old and the new. For example, a few years ago I found out about a cool new website where you could upload your artwork and they would turn it into fabric and mail it to you. Spoonflower.com is the perfect marriage of old school and new school.
Obviously, one of the most incredible marriages between old and new is the e-reader. I have owned a Kindle for several years and, while I still buy "real" books occasionally, I would hate to give up the brilliant convenience of having so many of my favorite tomes in one small, portable container. I fervently hope that, in this case, old and new can learn to happily co-exist. I don't want to give up on bookstores or the smell of paper and ink or the feel of a solid book in my hands. When I teach, I need to hold a dog-eared, well-loved copy of the book as I page through and share with my students my copious handwritten notes.
Speaking of reading, another technological wonder I just discovered is the fact that since Audible has become part of the Amazon dynasty, there is a lovely easy link between the two called Whispersync for Voice. Let me tell you what this enables you to do: Now, you can read books on your Kindle, or the Kindle app on your iphone or ipad, and then go out for a long walk with your beloved dog and continue listening to the novel you were reading through your ipod or iphone Audible app. Here's the AMAZING part: when you crawl into bed that night and pick up your Kindle, it will sync to the last spot you listened to on your walk! Really!!! In the "old days," I would listen to a book on cd as I drove Josh all the way to Kinkaid, and then when I got home to read the book, it took me ages to find my place and visa versa the following day when I'd get back in the car. Certainly, I am not the only human out there who finds this high tech trick marvelous!
In Robin Sloan's quirky new novel, Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore, Sloan plays with the pull we feel to both old and new. His odd little book (you could almost read it in one sitting...or listen to it on a long walk and then finish up reading it in bed that night) cleverly draws the reader to the intersection of old and new: ancient encoded books and Google. I do not want to give too much away, but the ending seems, for me at least, to reinforce the idea that all knowledge can lead to insight and therefore should be embraced. Mystery and curiosity feed the soul. What seems extinct may only be hibernating. What seems to conflict may only be awaiting our deeper understanding and appreciation. As Sloan writes, "All the secrets in the world worth knowing are hiding in plain sight."
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
ANNOUNCEMENT
Hello Again.....I have come to a decision that was not easy to make. I am temporarily stopping the novel blog and resuming the questions blog. I won't necessarily be posting every week, but I will post when the spirit moves me, when I feel that I have something to say.
I think that life has to be about challenging yourself and growing through that challenge, but sometimes it is also about honestly acknowledging our strengths and weaknesses. I was not writing the novel that I hoped to write. I was not entirely proud of what I was putting out there and that made me reluctant to continue the story. Perhaps, someday, Sarah and Miriam will call me back. Perhaps, their story will shape itself in my head as I lead my life, and I will be motivated to resume their tale. Or not. Maybe their story is not the story I need to write.
In the meantime, I will continue to post my thoughts and queries, my dreams and observations, to the question blog. I hope that I have not disappointed anyone; though, I can't help feeling a bit disappointed in myself. When I was young, I started out writing fiction and loving the appeal of creating worlds from words on paper. Then, life taught me to value truth and honesty because without them, nothing else is real. Today, I'm realizing that memoir feels like the genre that best suits me. When I write about the books I'm reading, the dreams I have, the food I create or the people I know...I am embracing and chronicling a life lived. For now...that feels like what I am supposed to be doing.
Please stay tuned for a new post from this blog soon. As you may have noticed, I tweaked the title a bit.
Thanks to all of my faithful bleaders for taking this circuitous journey with me.
-Rachel
I think that life has to be about challenging yourself and growing through that challenge, but sometimes it is also about honestly acknowledging our strengths and weaknesses. I was not writing the novel that I hoped to write. I was not entirely proud of what I was putting out there and that made me reluctant to continue the story. Perhaps, someday, Sarah and Miriam will call me back. Perhaps, their story will shape itself in my head as I lead my life, and I will be motivated to resume their tale. Or not. Maybe their story is not the story I need to write.
In the meantime, I will continue to post my thoughts and queries, my dreams and observations, to the question blog. I hope that I have not disappointed anyone; though, I can't help feeling a bit disappointed in myself. When I was young, I started out writing fiction and loving the appeal of creating worlds from words on paper. Then, life taught me to value truth and honesty because without them, nothing else is real. Today, I'm realizing that memoir feels like the genre that best suits me. When I write about the books I'm reading, the dreams I have, the food I create or the people I know...I am embracing and chronicling a life lived. For now...that feels like what I am supposed to be doing.
Please stay tuned for a new post from this blog soon. As you may have noticed, I tweaked the title a bit.
Thanks to all of my faithful bleaders for taking this circuitous journey with me.
-Rachel
Monday, September 24, 2012
UPDATES ABOUT THE NOVEL PROJECT
Recently, several people have expressed concern that I have not been writing/posting chapters for the 52chaptersin52weeks blog. I have posted 17 to date! However, if you have not followed the link and registered for email notifications, you may have been missing out. PLEASE follow this link and sign up if you want to follow this novel-in-progress!
http://52chaptersin52weeks.blogspot.com/Thanks!
Rachel
http://52chaptersin52weeks.blogspot.com/Thanks!
Rachel
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Chapter three is up!
Follow this link PLEASE!!!
http://52chaptersin52weeks.blogspot.com/2012/06/chapter-three.html
http://52chaptersin52weeks.blogspot.com/2012/06/chapter-three.html
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
REMINDER
Please sign up for the NOVEL PROJECT blog to be notified when new chapters are posted!
You can get there by clicking on this link:
http://52chaptersin52weeks.blogspot.com/
You can get there by clicking on this link:
http://52chaptersin52weeks.blogspot.com/
Sunday, May 27, 2012
CHECK OUT THE NEW BLOG
Hey all you loyal bleaders...I have just posted chapter one of my new serial novel-blog. I would be honored and grateful if you would join me for this new adventure. Please check out the new blog and sign up to be notified by email when a new chapter has posted. The link is: http://52chaptersin52weeks.blogspot.com/
Many thanks!
Rachel
Many thanks!
Rachel
Sunday, May 20, 2012
#52 WHAT COMES NEXT?
Here we are...and thank you for making this journey with me. When I started, I really didn't know if I would complete all 52 posts. It was a challenge I set for myself, so I figured that if I gave up, no one would really notice or care. Then my wonderful bleaders started following my posts from week to week and commenting to me about their thoughts. You told me what touched you, what motivated you, what amused you. You shared your own ideas and dreams with me. As my energy faltered, you gave me yours. So here we are! 52 posts have now been written and hurled into cyberspace. What's next?
I considered many options. I thought about stopping blogging completely. I have lots on my plate and I thought I could check this experiment off my list and move on.
I considered keeping the blog going but only posting when the spirit moved me. That seemed like a doable compromise.
I thought about focusing the blog on one topic, food perhaps, or books, and then posting only about things that pertained to that. However, I have heard from some of you non-cooks that the food posts were not as captivating to you. I didn't want to cut down my readership right out of the gate.
The idea for 52 Questions about Food, Books, Life and Love came to me suddenly, and when it popped into my head, it felt right. I was hoping for another such epiphany but they say that lightening doesn't strike twice. Lucky for me, it did. However, this time I wasn't sure I was ready to buy what my muse was selling. She seemed to be asking me to put a lot on the line, to take a big risk. Our conversation went something like this:
Muse: I know what your next project should be.
Rachel: Really? Great. What? (Since my muse is part of me, I can talk in shorthand).
Muse: Don't freak out, but I think you should write a novel in 52 chapters.
Rachel: You're nuts!
Muse: Think about it; you've already mastered this blogging thing. Remember how scary it seemed at first? Now you're done, and its been a really interesting and satisfying experience.
Rachel: I've never written a novel.
Muse: You've started quite a few.
Rachel: Thanks, don't remind me. That fact alone makes me feel like a failure.
Muse: Okay, then rise to the challenge. I know you can do this!
Rachel: I wish I had as much faith in myself as you have in me.
Muse: Look, the fear is part of the fun. This will be a challenge but that makes it exciting.
Rachel: But what if I can't do it? What if its awful? What if I embarrass myself?
Muse: What if its good? What if people like it? What if you can get it published eventually? Why do you always have to look at the dark side? This glass is half full.
Clearly, I am no match for my marvelous (manipulative?) muse. Next week, I will embark on a new blogging adventure. I will be writing a serial novel. This is not a novel novel concept. Charles Dickens' The Pickwick Papers was first published in the British papers in contiguous installments. Henry James, Harriet Beecher Stowe and Herman Melville all wrote serial novels. Even Tom Wolfe's iconic novel, The Bonfire of the Vanities ran in 27 parts in Rolling Stones magazine.
I have not yet ironed out all of the logistics. I may need to re-vamp this blog or begin a new one on the same site. I will have to let you know as I figure out the details.
In the meantime, friends, please stay tuned for our next shared adventure.
I considered many options. I thought about stopping blogging completely. I have lots on my plate and I thought I could check this experiment off my list and move on.
I considered keeping the blog going but only posting when the spirit moved me. That seemed like a doable compromise.
I thought about focusing the blog on one topic, food perhaps, or books, and then posting only about things that pertained to that. However, I have heard from some of you non-cooks that the food posts were not as captivating to you. I didn't want to cut down my readership right out of the gate.
The idea for 52 Questions about Food, Books, Life and Love came to me suddenly, and when it popped into my head, it felt right. I was hoping for another such epiphany but they say that lightening doesn't strike twice. Lucky for me, it did. However, this time I wasn't sure I was ready to buy what my muse was selling. She seemed to be asking me to put a lot on the line, to take a big risk. Our conversation went something like this:
Muse: I know what your next project should be.
Rachel: Really? Great. What? (Since my muse is part of me, I can talk in shorthand).
Muse: Don't freak out, but I think you should write a novel in 52 chapters.
Rachel: You're nuts!
Muse: Think about it; you've already mastered this blogging thing. Remember how scary it seemed at first? Now you're done, and its been a really interesting and satisfying experience.
Rachel: I've never written a novel.
Muse: You've started quite a few.
Rachel: Thanks, don't remind me. That fact alone makes me feel like a failure.
Muse: Okay, then rise to the challenge. I know you can do this!
Rachel: I wish I had as much faith in myself as you have in me.
Muse: Look, the fear is part of the fun. This will be a challenge but that makes it exciting.
Rachel: But what if I can't do it? What if its awful? What if I embarrass myself?
Muse: What if its good? What if people like it? What if you can get it published eventually? Why do you always have to look at the dark side? This glass is half full.
Clearly, I am no match for my marvelous (manipulative?) muse. Next week, I will embark on a new blogging adventure. I will be writing a serial novel. This is not a novel novel concept. Charles Dickens' The Pickwick Papers was first published in the British papers in contiguous installments. Henry James, Harriet Beecher Stowe and Herman Melville all wrote serial novels. Even Tom Wolfe's iconic novel, The Bonfire of the Vanities ran in 27 parts in Rolling Stones magazine.
I have not yet ironed out all of the logistics. I may need to re-vamp this blog or begin a new one on the same site. I will have to let you know as I figure out the details.
In the meantime, friends, please stay tuned for our next shared adventure.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
#51: WHAT HAVE I LEARNED?
Sorry I'm a little late with this week's post....life is busy with school ending soon and Mom's Day brunch at my house on Sunday! Shout out to all the moms who read the blog: Hope your Mother's Day was filled with love!
Mine definitely was!
So...this is the second to last post of the original 52, and I thought this would be a good time to ask myself what I have learned this year. Here's my list:
#1 I am enormously grateful that there are people out there who want to read what I write. That is incredibly gratifying and inspires me to write more and write better.
#2 My life is full. I have managed to come up with a different question and answer every week for one whole year. I juggle lots of balls, a myriad of responsibilities and interests. I am a curious sort of gal, and I seem to have an infinite number of questions in my brain.
#3 All three of my young adult children have learned something new about me this year by reading the blog. Who knew that you could transmit valuable information to your kids via the internet?
#4 I have a few incredibly loyal fans (Thanks Mom & Dad) who actually email me every week with comments. You know who you are and I am incredibly appreciative. You let me know every week that when I press SEND, someone out in cyberspace actually receives my words.
#5 I can rise to a challenge! When I began this, almost a year ago, blogging every week for a whole year seemed like a monumental undertaking. Yet, here we are! The truth is, the year will pass regardless of what any of us do. Therefore, we might as well dream big and occasionally even bite off more than we can chew--which brings me to number 6.
#6 One bite at a time! That is the answer to the tongue-in-cheek question:"How do you eat an elephant?"
The truth is, we are capable of so much more than we think we are. But lots and lots of things get in the way of our dreams. Here's a list of a few of them:
*Responsibilities
*Insecurities
*Time
*Money
*Fear
*Exhaustion
*Naysayers and doubters
AND we ask ourselves the following USELESS questions?
*Do I deserve to succeed?
*Am I aiming too high?
*What if I fail?
*Do my dreams have merit?
*Can I?
*Should I?
*Is it too bold of me to try?
*Isn't there someone who can do it better?
*Why should I take the risk?
*What if I look foolish?
*What if people laugh at me?
*What if I try and fail and then have to finally let go of my dream?
#7 Time marches on. Things I thought I'd do by thirty, I still haven't done. But each time I have pushed myself, I've grown. My Grandma Fanny used to say, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." I still hear those words in my head...ALL THE TIME! I still have to coax myself out of my comfort zone...inch by inch.
#8 Next week, I will announce what comes next. I have not told a soul yet...maybe because I'm afraid I'll change my mind. Nevertheless, stay tuned for next week's announcement. In the meantime, think about tackling one of your own dreams...bite by bite!
Mine definitely was!
So...this is the second to last post of the original 52, and I thought this would be a good time to ask myself what I have learned this year. Here's my list:
#1 I am enormously grateful that there are people out there who want to read what I write. That is incredibly gratifying and inspires me to write more and write better.
#2 My life is full. I have managed to come up with a different question and answer every week for one whole year. I juggle lots of balls, a myriad of responsibilities and interests. I am a curious sort of gal, and I seem to have an infinite number of questions in my brain.
#3 All three of my young adult children have learned something new about me this year by reading the blog. Who knew that you could transmit valuable information to your kids via the internet?
#4 I have a few incredibly loyal fans (Thanks Mom & Dad) who actually email me every week with comments. You know who you are and I am incredibly appreciative. You let me know every week that when I press SEND, someone out in cyberspace actually receives my words.
#5 I can rise to a challenge! When I began this, almost a year ago, blogging every week for a whole year seemed like a monumental undertaking. Yet, here we are! The truth is, the year will pass regardless of what any of us do. Therefore, we might as well dream big and occasionally even bite off more than we can chew--which brings me to number 6.
#6 One bite at a time! That is the answer to the tongue-in-cheek question:"How do you eat an elephant?"
The truth is, we are capable of so much more than we think we are. But lots and lots of things get in the way of our dreams. Here's a list of a few of them:
*Responsibilities
*Insecurities
*Time
*Money
*Fear
*Exhaustion
*Naysayers and doubters
AND we ask ourselves the following USELESS questions?
*Do I deserve to succeed?
*Am I aiming too high?
*What if I fail?
*Do my dreams have merit?
*Can I?
*Should I?
*Is it too bold of me to try?
*Isn't there someone who can do it better?
*Why should I take the risk?
*What if I look foolish?
*What if people laugh at me?
*What if I try and fail and then have to finally let go of my dream?
#7 Time marches on. Things I thought I'd do by thirty, I still haven't done. But each time I have pushed myself, I've grown. My Grandma Fanny used to say, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." I still hear those words in my head...ALL THE TIME! I still have to coax myself out of my comfort zone...inch by inch.
#8 Next week, I will announce what comes next. I have not told a soul yet...maybe because I'm afraid I'll change my mind. Nevertheless, stay tuned for next week's announcement. In the meantime, think about tackling one of your own dreams...bite by bite!
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Do You Remember "The Lottery"?
POST #50.......and counting
When you were in middle school or high school, you probably read Shirley Jackson's highly anthologized short story, "The Lottery." It is a literary rite of passage for American teens. I can remember being traumatized by it when I first read it at thirteen. For those of you who never read it (or who cannot remember it), here is a short synopsis:
The story opens as members of a small town in an undisclosed location (picture Any Town, USA) are gathering for the annual lottery. The children are innocently collecting and piling up stones, the men are chatting together as are the women. Then as the time for the actual lottery draws near, the fathers and mothers gather their children and stand together in family groupings. As the lottery begins, it becomes apparent to the reader that the participants want to lose rather than "win" this lottery. The family patriarch picks a paper out of a special box, and that paper determines whether or not his family is chosen or exempt. The members of the chosen family must then each draw individually until one member draws the paper with the special mark on it. The "winner" is stoned by all the members of the town including her own husband and children. It is chilling and ghastly and hard to read.
So why, then, did I pull it out and share it with my students this week? Well, there was an incident at school where a student tweeted something that he thought was funny but that many of us felt was highly inappropriate. It was, at the very least, thoughtless and at the very worst, cruel and divisive. Several faculty members were outraged; much of the student body (even those who were members of the groups he was targeting) were fairly apathetic. They chalked it up to a lack of sensitivity or an awkward attempt at humor. They forgave him easily and quickly. They wanted the whole thing to go away. No one jumped up and defended the people whom he had maligned. There was no student-lead outcry.
The unfortunate incident made me think of "The Lottery." It made me think about the way in which humans--in groups--often sink to the lowest common denominator. It made me think about peer pressure and apathy and about traditions that should be re-considered. Our conversations this week were very interesting. Some of the students couldn't get past the over-the-top nature of the story until I explained that Jackson was really writing a fable. If we can get past the extreme nature of the lottery, we can begin to think about some of the things we accept without questioning them.
I asked them to think of times in history that reminded them of this story. We talked about the Holocaust, slavery, the Salem Witch Trials, and the draft during the Vietnam War. We also talked about hazing in college fraternities and sororities. We talked about the way that hazing is perpetuated because the victims feel entitled to become the perpetrators, and the cycle continues over and over again. I then moved the conversation a little closer to home.
I told them that when I arrived at this school six years ago, it was a tradition for the senior class to toilet-paper the quad in the spring of their senior year. I told them that, while the quad looked magical the next morning covered in white toilet paper, and while the seniors seemed to love the experience of doing this activity as a class, it struck me as odd. I explained that I was looking at the event with fresh eyes; I was an outsider. To me, it seemed terribly wasteful to buy rolls and rolls of toilet paper to use in this way. It also seemed to go against all the eco-friendly advances most schools and organizations are trying to make. However, the most egregious part of the tradition to me was the fact that the following day, the school's maintenance workers had to spend hours and hours cleaning up the mess. They had multiple ladders out so that they could pull toilet paper off the uppermost branches of the trees. They spent most of their day pulling toilet paper off the ground, away from the shrubs and out of the trees. I couldn't imagine how it could seem appropriate to sanction an activity that was so wasteful and unnecessary and which caused so much extra work for school staff members. I am happy to report that, without any intervention from me, the tradition quietly ended. I don't know who lead the charge to abandon it, but I am grateful that someone felt strongly enough about it to fight the hold that traditions have on communities such as ours.
Perhaps everyone should re-read "The Lottery" at different stages of their lives as a reminder of the importance of asking questions. In the story, Tessie questions the tradition only after her own family has been chosen. Her greatest complaints happen when she herself has been singled out for stoning. At that point, she seems like a sore loser and no one is willing to listen to her. We talked about how the more power you have, the more likely it is that you will be heard when trying to change something. We agreed that it would be highly unlikely that a college freshman who was undergoing hazing would be able to put an end to it. The students agreed that it would take an upperclassmen, probably someone in a position of leadership in the fraternity, to make change happen. As JFK (I think???) said, "With privilege comes responsibility!"
One last little aside: I had always assumed that Jackson must have had a dark soul to have written such a terrifying story, but then I came across, LIFE AMONG THE SAVAGES. I don't remember how I stumbled upon it, but I was a young mother and I was eager to read stories of other women who had loved the challenging, engaging and exhausting job of being at home with young kids. I loved this book. I loved her warmth and her sense of humor. I loved the pure, fierce love she had for her four wild and wonderful kids. It is simply charming and made me transform my view of Jackson from a creepy woman to a warm and wonderful writer/mother. This is purely conjecture, but, perhaps, it was the strong mother lioness in her that caused her write "The Lottery" in the first place. Perhaps, she wanted
her children to grow up in a world where everyone would stand up against injustice and fight to change those things that needed to be changed.
When you were in middle school or high school, you probably read Shirley Jackson's highly anthologized short story, "The Lottery." It is a literary rite of passage for American teens. I can remember being traumatized by it when I first read it at thirteen. For those of you who never read it (or who cannot remember it), here is a short synopsis:
The story opens as members of a small town in an undisclosed location (picture Any Town, USA) are gathering for the annual lottery. The children are innocently collecting and piling up stones, the men are chatting together as are the women. Then as the time for the actual lottery draws near, the fathers and mothers gather their children and stand together in family groupings. As the lottery begins, it becomes apparent to the reader that the participants want to lose rather than "win" this lottery. The family patriarch picks a paper out of a special box, and that paper determines whether or not his family is chosen or exempt. The members of the chosen family must then each draw individually until one member draws the paper with the special mark on it. The "winner" is stoned by all the members of the town including her own husband and children. It is chilling and ghastly and hard to read.
So why, then, did I pull it out and share it with my students this week? Well, there was an incident at school where a student tweeted something that he thought was funny but that many of us felt was highly inappropriate. It was, at the very least, thoughtless and at the very worst, cruel and divisive. Several faculty members were outraged; much of the student body (even those who were members of the groups he was targeting) were fairly apathetic. They chalked it up to a lack of sensitivity or an awkward attempt at humor. They forgave him easily and quickly. They wanted the whole thing to go away. No one jumped up and defended the people whom he had maligned. There was no student-lead outcry.
The unfortunate incident made me think of "The Lottery." It made me think about the way in which humans--in groups--often sink to the lowest common denominator. It made me think about peer pressure and apathy and about traditions that should be re-considered. Our conversations this week were very interesting. Some of the students couldn't get past the over-the-top nature of the story until I explained that Jackson was really writing a fable. If we can get past the extreme nature of the lottery, we can begin to think about some of the things we accept without questioning them.
I asked them to think of times in history that reminded them of this story. We talked about the Holocaust, slavery, the Salem Witch Trials, and the draft during the Vietnam War. We also talked about hazing in college fraternities and sororities. We talked about the way that hazing is perpetuated because the victims feel entitled to become the perpetrators, and the cycle continues over and over again. I then moved the conversation a little closer to home.
I told them that when I arrived at this school six years ago, it was a tradition for the senior class to toilet-paper the quad in the spring of their senior year. I told them that, while the quad looked magical the next morning covered in white toilet paper, and while the seniors seemed to love the experience of doing this activity as a class, it struck me as odd. I explained that I was looking at the event with fresh eyes; I was an outsider. To me, it seemed terribly wasteful to buy rolls and rolls of toilet paper to use in this way. It also seemed to go against all the eco-friendly advances most schools and organizations are trying to make. However, the most egregious part of the tradition to me was the fact that the following day, the school's maintenance workers had to spend hours and hours cleaning up the mess. They had multiple ladders out so that they could pull toilet paper off the uppermost branches of the trees. They spent most of their day pulling toilet paper off the ground, away from the shrubs and out of the trees. I couldn't imagine how it could seem appropriate to sanction an activity that was so wasteful and unnecessary and which caused so much extra work for school staff members. I am happy to report that, without any intervention from me, the tradition quietly ended. I don't know who lead the charge to abandon it, but I am grateful that someone felt strongly enough about it to fight the hold that traditions have on communities such as ours.
Perhaps everyone should re-read "The Lottery" at different stages of their lives as a reminder of the importance of asking questions. In the story, Tessie questions the tradition only after her own family has been chosen. Her greatest complaints happen when she herself has been singled out for stoning. At that point, she seems like a sore loser and no one is willing to listen to her. We talked about how the more power you have, the more likely it is that you will be heard when trying to change something. We agreed that it would be highly unlikely that a college freshman who was undergoing hazing would be able to put an end to it. The students agreed that it would take an upperclassmen, probably someone in a position of leadership in the fraternity, to make change happen. As JFK (I think???) said, "With privilege comes responsibility!"
One last little aside: I had always assumed that Jackson must have had a dark soul to have written such a terrifying story, but then I came across, LIFE AMONG THE SAVAGES. I don't remember how I stumbled upon it, but I was a young mother and I was eager to read stories of other women who had loved the challenging, engaging and exhausting job of being at home with young kids. I loved this book. I loved her warmth and her sense of humor. I loved the pure, fierce love she had for her four wild and wonderful kids. It is simply charming and made me transform my view of Jackson from a creepy woman to a warm and wonderful writer/mother. This is purely conjecture, but, perhaps, it was the strong mother lioness in her that caused her write "The Lottery" in the first place. Perhaps, she wanted
her children to grow up in a world where everyone would stand up against injustice and fight to change those things that needed to be changed.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Are You a Cake Person or a Pie Person?
The answer for me is: It all depends! If the choice is Key Lime Pie or Chocolate Cake, I'm a cake girl. However, if the choice is Carrot Cake or Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie, I will take the pie--thank you very much!
I am pretty sure that I was in my forties before I ever tasted this delicacy. I am also pretty sure that the first one I ever ate was baked by my dear friend Beth. I'm sure that, never having tasted rhubarb, I was initially a little reluctant. However, one bite and I became an instant convert.
Last summer, Beth and I embarked on a wild rhubarb hunt. The hunt was wild, not the rhubarb.
Greg, Beth's lovely husband, had requested a S-R-P for dessert and the local grocery was out of rhubarb. The farmer's market had none either, but they tried to sell us a rhubarb plant. We spent several minutes debating the pros and cons of buying the plant in order to have the pie for dinner. In the end, we left the plant there and went in search of another store that might have a few stalks left.
The point of my little tale is that S-R-P is worth some extra effort; it is that good!
So...back to the present and true confession time: Although, I love eating Beth's S-R-P, I had never actually attempted to make my own. That all changed a few days ago when, while shopping in my local Houston market, I happened to spy the loveliest stalks of rhubarb I had ever seen. I am not exaggerating one bit when I say that they were GORGEOUS!!
I bought three large stalks and 2 16 oz. containers of strawberries and then phoned Beth for the recipe. She didn't have it on hand and I got impatient, so I started googling and found one that sounded similar to the one she uses. Luckily, I had a beautiful piecrust dough in my freezer (from a local bakery) and that saved me the extra step of making the crust. If you are not so lucky, you can easily make an all-butter pie crust for your S-R-P. There are oodles of easy recipes on the web.
So--back to the rhubarb. One question that one must address when cooking with rhubarb is whether or not to peel them. Beth said that there was no need to peel the stalks. However, as I started cutting into the first one, pink strips started coming off and they felt awfully stringy. I opted to pull them off (no peeler necessary) and they formed a beautiful pile of ribbons that was photo-worthy!
The next question is whether or not to cook the rhubarb mixture before you bake the pie. Beth said: "No Need" My internet search found recipes both ways, but I opted to save a step and cook it all together. So, after cutting the rhubarb into little celery-like pieces, I added them to the sliced strawberries and added the juice of one half a lemon, 1/2 cup of flour and 1 cup of sugar. Then I left it all to soak for about twenty-thirty minutes.
While the fruit mixture rested, I worked hard at rolling out the pie crust. As you shall see, I was not terribly worried about the LOOK of this pie; I was mostly focused on TASTE! One step I failed to take that I would add for all future S-R-P's is that I would pour off the extra juice after soaking the fruit. My pie was a tad runny, and I think this extra step would help alleviate that problem.
As you can see, my large lattice strips are very rustic looking. I think rustic sounds much nicer than sloppy!
Anyway, I like a lot of crust with my pie so thick strips of dough suit me just fine!
I am happy to report that the final result was amazing and it would be embarrassing to admit how quickly Ben and I polished off the whole thing--so I won't tell you. Suffice it to say, it was yumm-o!
Last night, I found out that S-R-P happens to be a favorite of my dad's. Who knew? So, the next one I make has his name on it!!!
By the way...this POST is #49 of the 52 I initially promised to write. Can you believe that a whole year has almost passed since I started this project? Anyway, I have not yet decided whether or not I will continue this blog in some form or other, but I am eager to hear your suggestions. Also, if you have any question requests for the last three posts, please send me your comments!
I am pretty sure that I was in my forties before I ever tasted this delicacy. I am also pretty sure that the first one I ever ate was baked by my dear friend Beth. I'm sure that, never having tasted rhubarb, I was initially a little reluctant. However, one bite and I became an instant convert.
Last summer, Beth and I embarked on a wild rhubarb hunt. The hunt was wild, not the rhubarb.
Greg, Beth's lovely husband, had requested a S-R-P for dessert and the local grocery was out of rhubarb. The farmer's market had none either, but they tried to sell us a rhubarb plant. We spent several minutes debating the pros and cons of buying the plant in order to have the pie for dinner. In the end, we left the plant there and went in search of another store that might have a few stalks left.
The point of my little tale is that S-R-P is worth some extra effort; it is that good!
I bought three large stalks and 2 16 oz. containers of strawberries and then phoned Beth for the recipe. She didn't have it on hand and I got impatient, so I started googling and found one that sounded similar to the one she uses. Luckily, I had a beautiful piecrust dough in my freezer (from a local bakery) and that saved me the extra step of making the crust. If you are not so lucky, you can easily make an all-butter pie crust for your S-R-P. There are oodles of easy recipes on the web.
So--back to the rhubarb. One question that one must address when cooking with rhubarb is whether or not to peel them. Beth said that there was no need to peel the stalks. However, as I started cutting into the first one, pink strips started coming off and they felt awfully stringy. I opted to pull them off (no peeler necessary) and they formed a beautiful pile of ribbons that was photo-worthy!
The next question is whether or not to cook the rhubarb mixture before you bake the pie. Beth said: "No Need" My internet search found recipes both ways, but I opted to save a step and cook it all together. So, after cutting the rhubarb into little celery-like pieces, I added them to the sliced strawberries and added the juice of one half a lemon, 1/2 cup of flour and 1 cup of sugar. Then I left it all to soak for about twenty-thirty minutes.
Anyway, I like a lot of crust with my pie so thick strips of dough suit me just fine!
I am happy to report that the final result was amazing and it would be embarrassing to admit how quickly Ben and I polished off the whole thing--so I won't tell you. Suffice it to say, it was yumm-o!
By the way...this POST is #49 of the 52 I initially promised to write. Can you believe that a whole year has almost passed since I started this project? Anyway, I have not yet decided whether or not I will continue this blog in some form or other, but I am eager to hear your suggestions. Also, if you have any question requests for the last three posts, please send me your comments!
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Do You Know Who You Are?
My 17 female seniors have just finished reading James McBride's powerful memoir, The Color of Water, and I spent part of this weekend reading their moving in-class essays about McBride's search for his identity and about their own struggles to figure out who they are. School will be over soon. Some of these seniors have attended our small private school since kindergarten. We talk fondly about our "cloistered walls," but walls can be both protective and confining. The world outside those walls is large and far more diverse. Some of the girls are more than ready to break out of this lovely shell, but many others seem filled with trepidation. A few of the girls wrote about trying to define themselves in a world that often makes them choose between being "cool" or "popular" and their Christian faith. One of the girls, who has one Asian and one Caucasian parent, wrote about identifying with McBride's struggle to define himself racially (he had a black father and a white mother). A few of the girls wrote about being different with different groups of friends and trying to ascertain which identity was more genuine or authentic. One interesting essay was about a young woman's understanding that she could view her affluent and privileged upbringing as either a benefit or a deficit. Ultimately, she chose to see it as a gift.
These girls are all bright and talented and will go on to college and then into the world to do great things.
As I read their essays, I couldn't help envying them a bit. So much of their lives lies in front of them like a blank canvas. At 51, I have much less of my life left to unfold. Yet, I don't feel as if my identity is completely static. I believe that we are always evolving and growing if we live our lives with intention and clarity. I know that I am a different woman than I was at 20 or 30. I hope that when I turn 60, I will feel that I am almost exactly the woman I had hoped to become. Not that I plan to stop growing, but I hope, at that point, to be mostly satisfied with my identity.
My forties were a time of great re-invention. I went from married to single, from stay-at-home-mom to full-time English teacher and from someone who was frightened and sad to someone who was happier and braver.
My challenge for you, dear bleaders, is to upgrade yourself at least as often as you upgrade your cellphone. If your software needs a 2.0 version, perhaps you do as well. Stretch your comfort zone.
Learn something new. Be a kinder, gentler, stronger, smarter, happier, healthier, wilder, freer version of YOU. Think of identity like a painting-in-progress: add some detail, erase an imperfection, experiment with a new color. After all, you're the only person on this entire planet who can create YOUR IDENTITY. Make it a great one!
These girls are all bright and talented and will go on to college and then into the world to do great things.
As I read their essays, I couldn't help envying them a bit. So much of their lives lies in front of them like a blank canvas. At 51, I have much less of my life left to unfold. Yet, I don't feel as if my identity is completely static. I believe that we are always evolving and growing if we live our lives with intention and clarity. I know that I am a different woman than I was at 20 or 30. I hope that when I turn 60, I will feel that I am almost exactly the woman I had hoped to become. Not that I plan to stop growing, but I hope, at that point, to be mostly satisfied with my identity.
My forties were a time of great re-invention. I went from married to single, from stay-at-home-mom to full-time English teacher and from someone who was frightened and sad to someone who was happier and braver.
My challenge for you, dear bleaders, is to upgrade yourself at least as often as you upgrade your cellphone. If your software needs a 2.0 version, perhaps you do as well. Stretch your comfort zone.
Learn something new. Be a kinder, gentler, stronger, smarter, happier, healthier, wilder, freer version of YOU. Think of identity like a painting-in-progress: add some detail, erase an imperfection, experiment with a new color. After all, you're the only person on this entire planet who can create YOUR IDENTITY. Make it a great one!
Sunday, April 15, 2012
What Was The Last Movie That Moved You?
Yesterday afternoon, my dad and I went to see a matinee of "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen." My mother and sister had gone to the opening and raved about it so much that my dad decided that he had to see it.
I am so glad that he insisted. It was charming and unusual. While there were a few over-the-top touches that I found cheesy and unnecessary, as a whole the film was a delight. There were moments during the movie when my cheeks hurt because I was grinning so much. There were other moments that I wished I had a pad and pencil with me so I could write down the wonderful lines. At some point in the film, I remember thinking, "If I could write a movie, this is the kind of movie I'd want to write."
An all-star cast put this together, but it started with a debut novel written by a British businessman and dedicated fisherman, Paul Torday. Then, the screenwriter for "Slumdog Millionaire," Simon Beaufoy worked his magic on it and finally, it was directed by the talented, Lasse Hallstrom who also directed, "What's Eating Gilbert Grape."
The film was brilliantly acted as well. Emily Blunt and Ewan McGregor played the lead characters and it was lovely to watch as they calmly and quietly fell in love with each other. McGregor's character is a quirky scientist who becomes part of an Arab Sheik's far-fetched dream to bring salmon fishing to his native land. The fact that his land is a desert only makes the dream that much better. Emily Blunt is the Sheik's financial advisor and the person he's put in charge of shepherding his dream to reality.
There are twists and turns along the way, but the essence of this film is simple and sweet. Its about love and dreams and faith. At one point, the Sheik is questioning Ewan's character about his lack of religious belief. The Sheik then cleverly points out that all people who fish, (and Ewan is a huge fisherman), are people of faith; they have to be to cast a line into the water hoping that a fish, that can't be seen, will attach itself to the hook. I could feel my dad smiling as he sat on the seat beside me. He is a man of deep faith and has spent his life explaining faith to people who question it.
I loved this movie. I loved its whimsy and I loved its depth. Movies like "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen" make me want to write books and read books and see movies and be in love and travel and see the world and explore the universe and explore my own heart. They make me believe that dreams can come true and miracles can happen. They make me bigger and better. They expand me. Great art makes us grow.
GO SEE THIS MOVIE.
An all-star cast put this together, but it started with a debut novel written by a British businessman and dedicated fisherman, Paul Torday. Then, the screenwriter for "Slumdog Millionaire," Simon Beaufoy worked his magic on it and finally, it was directed by the talented, Lasse Hallstrom who also directed, "What's Eating Gilbert Grape."
The film was brilliantly acted as well. Emily Blunt and Ewan McGregor played the lead characters and it was lovely to watch as they calmly and quietly fell in love with each other. McGregor's character is a quirky scientist who becomes part of an Arab Sheik's far-fetched dream to bring salmon fishing to his native land. The fact that his land is a desert only makes the dream that much better. Emily Blunt is the Sheik's financial advisor and the person he's put in charge of shepherding his dream to reality.
There are twists and turns along the way, but the essence of this film is simple and sweet. Its about love and dreams and faith. At one point, the Sheik is questioning Ewan's character about his lack of religious belief. The Sheik then cleverly points out that all people who fish, (and Ewan is a huge fisherman), are people of faith; they have to be to cast a line into the water hoping that a fish, that can't be seen, will attach itself to the hook. I could feel my dad smiling as he sat on the seat beside me. He is a man of deep faith and has spent his life explaining faith to people who question it.
I loved this movie. I loved its whimsy and I loved its depth. Movies like "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen" make me want to write books and read books and see movies and be in love and travel and see the world and explore the universe and explore my own heart. They make me believe that dreams can come true and miracles can happen. They make me bigger and better. They expand me. Great art makes us grow.
GO SEE THIS MOVIE.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
How Do You Define Freedom?
Friday night my parents hosted the annual Passover Seder at their home It was probably one of our largest gatherings ever. I was thrilled to have the ENTIRE Delagi clan joining us from Dallas: Beth*Greg*Matt*Sam*Hannah*Evan*Ben*Wilbur*
Dexter (that is one mom, one dad, five kids and two dogs)!!!
Our families have shared many big and small moments as the kids were growing up, but this was the first time in years that most of us(sadly, Josh was in NYC and couldn't be there to join us) were all together in the same place. Now, many of the kids are grown (we drank a lot more wine collectively than at our past seders) and it is fun to watch them all hanging out together.
We have a serious seder. My dad, the Rabbi, does not take any shortcuts. We laugh. We sing. We eat. We drink. We drink some more. But we do this holiday justice. We work our way diligently through the whole Haggadah. Dad expertly doles out parts and everyone --from the youngest to the oldest--has a part to play. Mom does all the behind-the-scenes work. She cooks, she sets a beautiful table, she hides the afikomen and she buys wonderful gifts for all the finders of the hidden matzoh. My mother does not like anyone to be disappointed--esp. children--so she hides enough little matzoh morsels for everyone at the table UNDER 30. That's a lot of hidden matzoh!
The Passover story is a story of freedom. We are all lucky to live in a country where, most days, we take our freedom for granted. Not only are we granted "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," but we are also free to practice our religion even though we are in the minority. Of course, there have been issues of freedom even in this great country. There was a sad time when blacks were slaves, women have fought valiantly for equal rights in the workforce, and the battle for same sex marriage is ongoing.
I think that it is fair to say that we might all define freedom a little differently. For me, as I struggled at a particularly difficult juncture in my life, freedom came to mean having my insides and my outsides match.
It meant being free to live the kind of life, to be the kind of person, I wanted to be. It meant creating a safe and loving home for myself and my children. Life is a series of choices and we are free to choose our own path. Sometimes, we choose wisely, sometimes we don't...but that freedom to create our own life is more of a gift than a burden.
As I have grown up (I think I am still growing up), I have learned that going down the wrong path can have its merits. When I take a risk, I feel alive even if the end result is not exactly what I would have wanted. Each time I step beyond my comfort zone, I grow. We should all embrace that kind of freedom.
The Israelites' freedom came at a price for the Egyptians. One of my favorite parts of the seder is when we take a drop of our wine and symbolically give it away in memory of each of the plagues visited on the Egyptians. Friday night, Beth brought an adorable array of plague masks and the kids donned them during that part of the seder. They were locusts and boils and wild beasts, etc.
Some days, we feel plagued by the price of freedom as well. We have so many choices to makes each day, and some nights we go to bed with our own small share of regrets. We second guess ourselves and question the wisdom of our actions.
And then, we wake up and start again. We embrace our freedom and recognize the responsibility that comes hand in hand with it. The seder ends with a wish that all people everywhere will soon know freedom. Lets celebrate our freedom and work to free those who are still bound.
Dexter (that is one mom, one dad, five kids and two dogs)!!!
 |
| Emily, Beth, ME, Hannah & Dexter |
Our families have shared many big and small moments as the kids were growing up, but this was the first time in years that most of us(sadly, Josh was in NYC and couldn't be there to join us) were all together in the same place. Now, many of the kids are grown (we drank a lot more wine collectively than at our past seders) and it is fun to watch them all hanging out together.
We have a serious seder. My dad, the Rabbi, does not take any shortcuts. We laugh. We sing. We eat. We drink. We drink some more. But we do this holiday justice. We work our way diligently through the whole Haggadah. Dad expertly doles out parts and everyone --from the youngest to the oldest--has a part to play. Mom does all the behind-the-scenes work. She cooks, she sets a beautiful table, she hides the afikomen and she buys wonderful gifts for all the finders of the hidden matzoh. My mother does not like anyone to be disappointed--esp. children--so she hides enough little matzoh morsels for everyone at the table UNDER 30. That's a lot of hidden matzoh!
The Passover story is a story of freedom. We are all lucky to live in a country where, most days, we take our freedom for granted. Not only are we granted "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," but we are also free to practice our religion even though we are in the minority. Of course, there have been issues of freedom even in this great country. There was a sad time when blacks were slaves, women have fought valiantly for equal rights in the workforce, and the battle for same sex marriage is ongoing.
I think that it is fair to say that we might all define freedom a little differently. For me, as I struggled at a particularly difficult juncture in my life, freedom came to mean having my insides and my outsides match.
It meant being free to live the kind of life, to be the kind of person, I wanted to be. It meant creating a safe and loving home for myself and my children. Life is a series of choices and we are free to choose our own path. Sometimes, we choose wisely, sometimes we don't...but that freedom to create our own life is more of a gift than a burden.
As I have grown up (I think I am still growing up), I have learned that going down the wrong path can have its merits. When I take a risk, I feel alive even if the end result is not exactly what I would have wanted. Each time I step beyond my comfort zone, I grow. We should all embrace that kind of freedom.
The Israelites' freedom came at a price for the Egyptians. One of my favorite parts of the seder is when we take a drop of our wine and symbolically give it away in memory of each of the plagues visited on the Egyptians. Friday night, Beth brought an adorable array of plague masks and the kids donned them during that part of the seder. They were locusts and boils and wild beasts, etc.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Where Do You Find Beauty?
I told a friend recently that they should surround themselves with Beauty. I think I was in a poetic mood; perhaps, I was speaking metaphorically. Nevertheless, it made me think (as my random insights often do) about my own life.
This weekend as I traveled to Austin to attend my daughter's sorority's Mother-Daughter Weekend, I was delighted to see that the Indian Paintbrushes and Bluebonnets were all abloom. I cannot remember the last time I traveled those roads at exactly the right moment to partake of the amazing sight of the orange and blue covered fields. Cars were parked along the highway as people got out of their cars to take photos among the flowers. I felt buoyed by the Beauty. I felt that the magical landscape somehow was a harbinger for what would be a lovely weekend. Beauty begets Beauty.
The Pulitzer Prize winning poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950), once wrote: "Beauty is whatever gives joy." I could not agree more. Sometimes, we put Beauty in this small box and she is so much larger, so much more interesting, than that. She is wild and wonderful, and she is all around us.
My daughter is beautiful. Yes, she is a lovely looking young woman, but she is beautiful to me for so many other reasons. She is bright and brave and honest and real...and those are all beautiful adjectives. She has beautiful friends, but mostly, I see Beauty in the friendship they share. They care for and about one another.
They support each other. They laugh loudly and often. I have always felt that true friendship is one of the most beautiful things in my life. By surrounding myself with friends who truly know and care about me, I am surrounding myself with Beauty.
Saturday night, the three girls and their mothers (and one aunt) all went to dinner. Later, I learned that Emily was a bit nervous about how it would all go. Just because these girls adore each other doesn't necessarily mean their mothers will feel the same. Also, Emily knows that I can be a tad shy in new social settings and I suppose she worried whether or not I'd be outgoing enough to make new friends. She needn't have worried! It was an easy evening filled with camaraderie and laughter. The common theme seemed to be gratitude. We were all grateful for our lovely, beautiful daughters. We were grateful that they had found such wonderful new friends. We were grateful that they wanted us to spend time with them, and we were grateful that the other mothers could recognize our own daughter's true Beauty. After the evening, Emily marveled at what a great time we had all had.
As I drove back to Houston on Sunday, again surrounded by orange and blue and yellow wildflowers, I felt the truth in Edna St. Vincent Millays' words: "Beauty is whatever gives joy."
So friends--go forth today and surround yourself with BEAUTY!
The Pulitzer Prize winning poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950), once wrote: "Beauty is whatever gives joy." I could not agree more. Sometimes, we put Beauty in this small box and she is so much larger, so much more interesting, than that. She is wild and wonderful, and she is all around us.
My daughter is beautiful. Yes, she is a lovely looking young woman, but she is beautiful to me for so many other reasons. She is bright and brave and honest and real...and those are all beautiful adjectives. She has beautiful friends, but mostly, I see Beauty in the friendship they share. They care for and about one another.
They support each other. They laugh loudly and often. I have always felt that true friendship is one of the most beautiful things in my life. By surrounding myself with friends who truly know and care about me, I am surrounding myself with Beauty.
 | |||||
| Emily w/Annika & Kate |
As I drove back to Houston on Sunday, again surrounded by orange and blue and yellow wildflowers, I felt the truth in Edna St. Vincent Millays' words: "Beauty is whatever gives joy."
So friends--go forth today and surround yourself with BEAUTY!
Sunday, March 25, 2012
WHO WAS FLANNERY O'CONNOR?
Mary Flannery O'Connor (March 25, 1925 – August 3, 1964) was an American novelist, short-story writer and essayist. An important voice in American literature, O'Connor wrote two novels and 32 short stories, as well as a number of reviews and commentaries. She was a Southern writer who often wrote in a Southern Gothic style and relied heavily on regional settings and grotesque characters. O'Connor's writing also reflected her own Roman Catholic faith, and frequently examined questions of morality and ethics. (Wikipedia)
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FLANNERY!!!!!!
This spring, as part of my "Putting the FUN in Dysfunctional Families" Senior Seminar, I am teaching Flannery O'Connor's short stories, I have loved these stories since college, but other than one or two of them, I have never taught the majority of them. They are masterful and complex. They are unsettling and fascinating. Like the very best literature, the stories make us look at ourselves in new ways.
O'Connor was a keen observer of small town Southern life, and she understood the ways in which the people around her placed themselves in a human hierarchy based on race and class and land ownership. O'Connor wrote about people who wielded their Christianity both as a shield and as a weapon. The stories are filled with seemingly random acts of violence that cause us to question her characters' morality. Judgement arrives in the form of an errant bull, a wild-eyed Wellesley coed, a riderless tractor, etc. In one of my favorite stories, "The Comforts of Home," O'Connor describes a thirty-five year old man who lives at home with his mother. The young man is mortified when his naive but kind mother befriends a wayward young girl who has been arrested for passing bad checks. In a classic contest-of-wills, the girl, Star, and the young man, Thomas, battle for supremacy. There are sexual undertones as well and Thomas's late father makes some ghostly appearances in the story too. Ultimately,
Thomas makes a decision to frame Star for stealing his father's gun in order to get her arrested and out of his house. When Star catches him red-handed, a tussle ensues and the gun goes off killing the mother. This is how O'Connor describes the scene:
"Thomas fired. The blast was like a sound meant to bring an end to evil in the world. Thomas heard it as a sound that would shatter the laughter of sluts until all shrieks were stilled and nothing was left to disturb the peace of perfect order."
As the story ends, the reader struggles to separate the heroes from the villains. O'Connor loved to show us worlds where people separated themselves into the righteous and the sinners and then she seemed to take great pleasure in jumbling it all up. Finally, when the pieces settle, the new tableau looks very different.
In most of O'Connor's stories, everyone is flawed. However, the people who proclaim their goodness from the rooftops, and see themselves as higher than their fellow humans, usually end up paying a huge price for their hubris. In her stories, if one is open to them, grace can be found in the unlikeliest places. While it took my students some time to figure O'Connor out, I think that ultimately, they were able to appreciate her unique Southern sensibility and to see the violence in her stories as the price humans pay for duplicity, arrogance and blindness.
If you have not yet had the pleasure to immerse yourself in The Complete Stories of Flannery O'Connnor, treat yourself to 31 little gems!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FLANNERY!!!!!!
This spring, as part of my "Putting the FUN in Dysfunctional Families" Senior Seminar, I am teaching Flannery O'Connor's short stories, I have loved these stories since college, but other than one or two of them, I have never taught the majority of them. They are masterful and complex. They are unsettling and fascinating. Like the very best literature, the stories make us look at ourselves in new ways.
O'Connor was a keen observer of small town Southern life, and she understood the ways in which the people around her placed themselves in a human hierarchy based on race and class and land ownership. O'Connor wrote about people who wielded their Christianity both as a shield and as a weapon. The stories are filled with seemingly random acts of violence that cause us to question her characters' morality. Judgement arrives in the form of an errant bull, a wild-eyed Wellesley coed, a riderless tractor, etc. In one of my favorite stories, "The Comforts of Home," O'Connor describes a thirty-five year old man who lives at home with his mother. The young man is mortified when his naive but kind mother befriends a wayward young girl who has been arrested for passing bad checks. In a classic contest-of-wills, the girl, Star, and the young man, Thomas, battle for supremacy. There are sexual undertones as well and Thomas's late father makes some ghostly appearances in the story too. Ultimately,
Thomas makes a decision to frame Star for stealing his father's gun in order to get her arrested and out of his house. When Star catches him red-handed, a tussle ensues and the gun goes off killing the mother. This is how O'Connor describes the scene:
"Thomas fired. The blast was like a sound meant to bring an end to evil in the world. Thomas heard it as a sound that would shatter the laughter of sluts until all shrieks were stilled and nothing was left to disturb the peace of perfect order."
As the story ends, the reader struggles to separate the heroes from the villains. O'Connor loved to show us worlds where people separated themselves into the righteous and the sinners and then she seemed to take great pleasure in jumbling it all up. Finally, when the pieces settle, the new tableau looks very different.
In most of O'Connor's stories, everyone is flawed. However, the people who proclaim their goodness from the rooftops, and see themselves as higher than their fellow humans, usually end up paying a huge price for their hubris. In her stories, if one is open to them, grace can be found in the unlikeliest places. While it took my students some time to figure O'Connor out, I think that ultimately, they were able to appreciate her unique Southern sensibility and to see the violence in her stories as the price humans pay for duplicity, arrogance and blindness.
If you have not yet had the pleasure to immerse yourself in The Complete Stories of Flannery O'Connnor, treat yourself to 31 little gems!
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Who inspires you?
Abraham Lincoln inspires me. Though I don't know as much about Honest Abe as I would like to, I have always felt a special fondness for him. I remember seeing his memorial in Washington DC for the first time when I was sixteen. I had travelled to DC with a Close Up group during my sophomore year in high school. Of all the memorials, museums, and buildings we visited, Lincoln made the biggest impression on me. In all honesty, my love of Lincoln may have less to do with any deep understanding of his place in history than it had to do with my burgeoning love of tall, dark and quirky boys.
Nevertheless, when I returned to Washington DC this weekend, Abe was near the top of my list of things to see. Regretfully, I did not make it to the new Martin Luther King memorial, though I would have loved to see it. However, I did see the WWII and Vietnam memorials for the first time. The Vietnam sculpture is startling in its simplicity. It looks as if it could not possibly serve as a fitting memorial to all the soldiers who lost their lives in that unfortunate war. However, as I walked down the gently sloping walkway and watched all the names etched into the black granite, I was incredibly moved and saddened. Halfway through, I thought that the wall must be ending. I thought that there could not possibly be any more names. And as I glanced up and looked at how far I was from the end, I realized that no other memorial could have so perfectly captured the tragedy and futility of war. The loss of innocent lives is etched like a tattoo on my brain after walking alongside American architect Maya Lin's surprisingly simple wall.
When we got to Lincoln, my friend --a true lover of history and a Washington insider--motioned me towards the wall where the Second Inaugural Address is etched. He pointed to the following lines to highlight Lincoln's unique wisdom and humility:
"Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we may be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully."
I want to cry when I read those lines. They move me so deeply. Someday, when I have more time, I will immerse myself in Lincoln's life and story. I want to know as much as I can about this great man.
We need great men and women to lead us. We need to believe that the people who serve our nation do so with humility and wisdom. Too many politicians seem to have forgotten that the love of country and mankind should be their greatest motivators.
I used to say that I do not have a political bone in my body. Politics have never claimed my heart in the way that literature has. However, walking around Washington this weekend, surrounded by blooming Cherry Blossoms, I get it. It must feel like such an honor to work for our glorious nation. You may call me naive, but I just wish that all those men and women who profess such patriotism would listen to dear old Abe. As humans, even as humans of different faiths, I have to believe we are more alike than we are different. Jews and Christians. Arabs and Israelis. Democrats and Republicans. We want to be safe.We want to be loved. We want to be able to care for and feed our children. We want work that allows us dignity and hope for the future. We want good health. We want fairness.
We want peace.
Nevertheless, when I returned to Washington DC this weekend, Abe was near the top of my list of things to see. Regretfully, I did not make it to the new Martin Luther King memorial, though I would have loved to see it. However, I did see the WWII and Vietnam memorials for the first time. The Vietnam sculpture is startling in its simplicity. It looks as if it could not possibly serve as a fitting memorial to all the soldiers who lost their lives in that unfortunate war. However, as I walked down the gently sloping walkway and watched all the names etched into the black granite, I was incredibly moved and saddened. Halfway through, I thought that the wall must be ending. I thought that there could not possibly be any more names. And as I glanced up and looked at how far I was from the end, I realized that no other memorial could have so perfectly captured the tragedy and futility of war. The loss of innocent lives is etched like a tattoo on my brain after walking alongside American architect Maya Lin's surprisingly simple wall.
When we got to Lincoln, my friend --a true lover of history and a Washington insider--motioned me towards the wall where the Second Inaugural Address is etched. He pointed to the following lines to highlight Lincoln's unique wisdom and humility:
"Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we may be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully."
I want to cry when I read those lines. They move me so deeply. Someday, when I have more time, I will immerse myself in Lincoln's life and story. I want to know as much as I can about this great man.
We need great men and women to lead us. We need to believe that the people who serve our nation do so with humility and wisdom. Too many politicians seem to have forgotten that the love of country and mankind should be their greatest motivators.
I used to say that I do not have a political bone in my body. Politics have never claimed my heart in the way that literature has. However, walking around Washington this weekend, surrounded by blooming Cherry Blossoms, I get it. It must feel like such an honor to work for our glorious nation. You may call me naive, but I just wish that all those men and women who profess such patriotism would listen to dear old Abe. As humans, even as humans of different faiths, I have to believe we are more alike than we are different. Jews and Christians. Arabs and Israelis. Democrats and Republicans. We want to be safe.We want to be loved. We want to be able to care for and feed our children. We want work that allows us dignity and hope for the future. We want good health. We want fairness.
We want peace.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
How Can You Tell When Spring has Sprung?
I am my father's daughter. I have watched him agonize over the selection of the perfect peach at a local market, and I have seen him savor the sweetness of a ripe tomato as if he were eating Godiva chocolate. Dad, you would have loved the sight of all of these farm fresh veggies waiting on my doorstep. This week's bounty included kale, tomatoes, artichokes, spring onions, beets, arugula, spinach, oregano, mushrooms and bokchoy. So, even though the weather is crummy, I am thinking that spring must be in the air.
I stayed in today and made a chicken soup using many of the ingredients from yesterday's delivery.
 |
| a bowl of spring yumminess |
I hope that wherever you are today, you are beginning to feel the rumblings of spring. You are beginning to think of newness and freshness and beauty. Passover and Easter remind us of this season's symbolic meaning. It is a time to savor the new. New love, fresh starts, blooming flowers and bountiful produce.
It is the season that means that winter is over and summer is near.
Robert Frost's poem, "Blue-Butterfly Day" captures some of that feeling.
It is a blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these-sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry
There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.
But these are flowers that fly and all but sing:
And now from having ridden out desire
They lie closed over in the wind and cling
Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire.
Enjoy all your "blue-butterfly days," and let the world show you its majesty and mystery as spring springs forth right before your eyes.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
What can we do to bridge the education gap?
This is a serious question and one that I spent the last two days pondering in a conference for Breakthrough. Breakthrough is a national organization that singles out gifted but under-served middle school children and attempts to fill in the gaps of their education in order to prepare them for Tier One high schools and ultimately strong four-year colleges and universities. Breakthrough consists of both a 6-week intensive summer school program and a school year program that meets about every other Saturday. I have been affiliated with BTH for the past three years as the school year English Mentor Teacher. This summer, I have accepted a position as the Dean of Faculty for the summer school.
The teachers are bright and motivated high school and college students and they are guided, instructed, supported and evaluated by professional teachers (aka Mentor Teachers or the new term: Instructional Coaches). Breakthrough's mission is both clear and compelling; they are trying to change futures.
In order to do this in the most successful and efficient manner, they have had to enlist some of the greatest educational minds and the most recent educational research. Afterall, they have a relatively short amount of time to make an incredibly large difference in a child's life. On top of that, a class is only as successful as its teacher, and the Breakthrough interns are strong students but novice teachers. That means that we somehow have to impart to them decades of educational wisdom in our two weeks of orientation and training. YIKES!
As I participated in the two-day long conference this weekend, I realized that the Breakthrough initiative is like a crash course in educational theory. Suddenly, all the lectures and readings from my time at Rice University came flooding back to me. I'll admit that it was a little overwhelming to do this in two days, and I'm sure that the interns' head will be spinning, but the goal is a worthy one. Just having these kids in class is not nearly enough to make a difference. They have to be consistently engaged, and the instruction has to be both systematic and rigorous.
The national trainer who came down from New Hampshire to lead the conference was both sharp and motivational. She made us want to do our best and give our all. That is the tone that I will strive for this summer as well. This is hard word. There is no doubt in my mind that the intern teachers, young, bright and idealistic, have no clue how much they are going to be challenged this summer. However, they also are not yet aware of the enormous gift that they will be giving. Some great Jewish scholar whose name temporarily escapes me (Hillel perhaps?) said, "Change a life and you change the world."
Breakthrough is trying very hard to change the world, one child at a time! If you are inspired to learn more about Breakthrough in Houston or in your own area, please google them. If your philanthropic list needs a new recipient, they would be delighted to benefit from your generosity as well :)
The teachers are bright and motivated high school and college students and they are guided, instructed, supported and evaluated by professional teachers (aka Mentor Teachers or the new term: Instructional Coaches). Breakthrough's mission is both clear and compelling; they are trying to change futures.
In order to do this in the most successful and efficient manner, they have had to enlist some of the greatest educational minds and the most recent educational research. Afterall, they have a relatively short amount of time to make an incredibly large difference in a child's life. On top of that, a class is only as successful as its teacher, and the Breakthrough interns are strong students but novice teachers. That means that we somehow have to impart to them decades of educational wisdom in our two weeks of orientation and training. YIKES!
As I participated in the two-day long conference this weekend, I realized that the Breakthrough initiative is like a crash course in educational theory. Suddenly, all the lectures and readings from my time at Rice University came flooding back to me. I'll admit that it was a little overwhelming to do this in two days, and I'm sure that the interns' head will be spinning, but the goal is a worthy one. Just having these kids in class is not nearly enough to make a difference. They have to be consistently engaged, and the instruction has to be both systematic and rigorous.
The national trainer who came down from New Hampshire to lead the conference was both sharp and motivational. She made us want to do our best and give our all. That is the tone that I will strive for this summer as well. This is hard word. There is no doubt in my mind that the intern teachers, young, bright and idealistic, have no clue how much they are going to be challenged this summer. However, they also are not yet aware of the enormous gift that they will be giving. Some great Jewish scholar whose name temporarily escapes me (Hillel perhaps?) said, "Change a life and you change the world."
Breakthrough is trying very hard to change the world, one child at a time! If you are inspired to learn more about Breakthrough in Houston or in your own area, please google them. If your philanthropic list needs a new recipient, they would be delighted to benefit from your generosity as well :)
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Have you ever been wowed or disappointed when you met someone famous?
This week, we had a rare opportunity at school to bring in an incredibly well-respected (dare I say famous?) author. A lovely grant allowed us to invite Tim O'Brien (author of The Things They Carried, In the Lake of the Woods, Going After Cacciato, and many other highly praised works) to speak to our students. While O'Brien is an author I've read and enjoyed, he would not have been at the top of my "Gee, I'd Like to Meet This Person" list. However, he blew me, and everyone else, away with his easy speaking style, emotional vulnerability and amazing stories.
A Vietnam Vet, O'Brien has experienced the war stories he writes about firsthand. However, most of his writing is fictional. O'Brien spoke eloquently about the ways in which harsh truth can sometimes be best captured in fiction. He illustrated his points by reading a story from his book and than telling us why it was true even though it never actually happened. It was a fascinating concept and challenging for many to wrap their heads around, and it provoked many interesting conversations afterwards.
Speaking to my seniors the next day, I realized that their understanding of Vietnam is extremely limited. While so many of the soldiers were only a year or two older than the seniors are now when they were shipped to an exotic and dangerous place, it is not something these kids really think about. They also really cannot begin to understand that these young men left the US only to return to a country that was hostile towards them, treating them as if they were the transgressors rather than the victims. O'Brien said to the students, "You would have liked me before the war. I was a sweet kid. Really sweet. You wouldn't have wanted to know me when I came home."
When I was in college in the late seventies, the war was definitely a thought in my head. Though I started college in 1978 and the war had ended about 3 years earlier, it was still too close for comfort. When I took a playwriting class at Hampshire College, I wrote a play about women being drafted. I did not actually know anyone who went to Vietnam, but the thought that the government, my government, could require a person to leave their home and fight was terrifying to me. Now, as the mother of two strong, sturdy sons, I am grateful that they are not soldiers, but I am also enormously cognizant of the fact that there are mothers like me who have hugged their sons (and daughters) goodbye only to see them return in a flag-draped coffin.
September 11 made all of us even more patriotic (and more frightened) than we had been before. I know that, speaking for myself, I felt safer knowing that we had a willing group of soldiers to keep us protected and secure. The obvious tragedy is that the war(s) become disconnected from issues of security and, as often happens with war, the conflict takes on a life of its own.
In the title story of O'Brien's collection. "The Things They Carried," he lists all the burdens, literal and abstract, that the soldiers carry with them in the jungles of Vietnam. They carry the usual accoutrements of war, they carry the common memorabilia from home, but they also carry guilt, fear and the heavy burden of responsibility for each other's lives. By the end of the story, we, the reader, are sharing their burden by carrying their stories. Once you read a story, you can't unread it. Once you know a truth, you can't unknow it.
Telling stories allows us to share the burden that is an inherent part of being human. Somehow, our hearts expand when we carry each other's stories, and while we may feel heavier, we are also more united and even more ready to carry what we can.
A Vietnam Vet, O'Brien has experienced the war stories he writes about firsthand. However, most of his writing is fictional. O'Brien spoke eloquently about the ways in which harsh truth can sometimes be best captured in fiction. He illustrated his points by reading a story from his book and than telling us why it was true even though it never actually happened. It was a fascinating concept and challenging for many to wrap their heads around, and it provoked many interesting conversations afterwards.
Speaking to my seniors the next day, I realized that their understanding of Vietnam is extremely limited. While so many of the soldiers were only a year or two older than the seniors are now when they were shipped to an exotic and dangerous place, it is not something these kids really think about. They also really cannot begin to understand that these young men left the US only to return to a country that was hostile towards them, treating them as if they were the transgressors rather than the victims. O'Brien said to the students, "You would have liked me before the war. I was a sweet kid. Really sweet. You wouldn't have wanted to know me when I came home."
When I was in college in the late seventies, the war was definitely a thought in my head. Though I started college in 1978 and the war had ended about 3 years earlier, it was still too close for comfort. When I took a playwriting class at Hampshire College, I wrote a play about women being drafted. I did not actually know anyone who went to Vietnam, but the thought that the government, my government, could require a person to leave their home and fight was terrifying to me. Now, as the mother of two strong, sturdy sons, I am grateful that they are not soldiers, but I am also enormously cognizant of the fact that there are mothers like me who have hugged their sons (and daughters) goodbye only to see them return in a flag-draped coffin.
September 11 made all of us even more patriotic (and more frightened) than we had been before. I know that, speaking for myself, I felt safer knowing that we had a willing group of soldiers to keep us protected and secure. The obvious tragedy is that the war(s) become disconnected from issues of security and, as often happens with war, the conflict takes on a life of its own.
In the title story of O'Brien's collection. "The Things They Carried," he lists all the burdens, literal and abstract, that the soldiers carry with them in the jungles of Vietnam. They carry the usual accoutrements of war, they carry the common memorabilia from home, but they also carry guilt, fear and the heavy burden of responsibility for each other's lives. By the end of the story, we, the reader, are sharing their burden by carrying their stories. Once you read a story, you can't unread it. Once you know a truth, you can't unknow it.
Telling stories allows us to share the burden that is an inherent part of being human. Somehow, our hearts expand when we carry each other's stories, and while we may feel heavier, we are also more united and even more ready to carry what we can.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
HOW CAN I MAKE HEALTHY FOOD APPEALING?
I spend more time than I should pondering this question. I LOVE food. I love cooking it. I love eating it. I love restaurants. I love cooking for family and friends. The problem, simply put, is that much of what tastes good is not good for us. So sad!!!! As I age and things expand and drop and shift and pop, I struggle to continue my love affair with food in a healthy way. This is especially hard when you add the added factor of fatigue to the mix. When I come home from a long day at school, I do not usually yearn for a salad, I dream of comfort food. So, one of most recent attempts to make comfort food healthy was a very spur-of-the-moment re-take on Sloppy Joes; we will call these Just As Sloppy but not as Greasy Joes.
Ingredients:
1 package ground TURKEY
1 package ground TURKEY BREAST
1 14.5 oz. can diced tomatoes and green chiles
1 green pepper
1 onion
1/2 - 1/4 cup brown sugar (depending on how sweet you like it)
1 bottle CHILI SAUCE
Tabasco Sauce
Salt/Pepper
Garlic Powder
Directions:
1. Chop green pepper and onion and saute in small amount of olive oil
2. Once veggies are softened, add both packages of ground turkey and cook.
3. Add garlic powder, s/p and the brown sugar.
4. Add the can of tomatoes/chilies
5. Add chili sauce and several dashes of Tabasco
6. Let simmer for a while--the longer the better.
7. Serve on little wheat sliders
Ingredients:
1 package ground TURKEY
1 package ground TURKEY BREAST
1 14.5 oz. can diced tomatoes and green chiles
1 green pepper
1 onion
1/2 - 1/4 cup brown sugar (depending on how sweet you like it)
1 bottle CHILI SAUCE
Tabasco Sauce
Salt/Pepper
Garlic Powder
Directions:
1. Chop green pepper and onion and saute in small amount of olive oil
2. Once veggies are softened, add both packages of ground turkey and cook.
3. Add garlic powder, s/p and the brown sugar.
4. Add the can of tomatoes/chilies
5. Add chili sauce and several dashes of Tabasco
6. Let simmer for a while--the longer the better.
7. Serve on little wheat sliders
 |
| This photo really doesn't do them justice. I need a food stylist. |
Sunday, February 12, 2012
How Do You Celebrate Valentine's Day When You Are Single?
This is a question I have had a decade to ponder! Admittedly, I would be very happy NOT to have to know this particular piece of information, but since I have finally figured it out, I will share it with you!
The secret to celebrating Valentine's Day as a single person is simply to broaden the definition of Valentine.
Instead of limiting it to romantic love, expand it to include ALL the people you love who love you back. You will find that instead of feeling alone on this day that celebrates love, you will actually feel like the King or Queen of LOVE. My sweetest Valentines are Josh and Ben and Emily. The Valentines you give birth to always hold a special place in your heart!
Don't stop there! Think about your parents and your siblings. Add your friends to the list. See, you are a Valentine Aficionado! You ooze love out of all your lovely pores! Love surrounds and defines you.
I must have always believed this to be true without even knowing that I knew it. Let me explain.
A few days ago, while I was cleaning up and de-cluttering (my pre-pre-pre putting the house on the market efforts), I came across a Valentine's Day poem and project I'd had published in a Holiday Book for teachers of young children. I'd totally forgotten this poem and when I re-read it, I realized that this would be the perfect thing to share with you all for the Valentine's post, so here it is:
Valentine Virus
by
Rachel Karff Weissenstein
On February first,
Ann woke up in a tizzy.
She didn't have fever.
She didn't feel dizzy.
She hadn't a cold
And her throat wasn't sore
But something inside her
Was screaming for more--
More love, more attention--
She just wasn't sure.
So Ann called her mom,
Hoping she'd have a cure.
"Well it sounds like the
Valentine Virus," mom said.
"Don't worry a bit.
Now just hop out of bed."
"Will I live?" Ann inquired.
"Is it fatal...or worse?
And how did I get it?
From bad food..or a curse?"
"Now, now," said Ann's mother,
"I'll explain it to you.
But its not at all like
Chicken Pox or the flu.
The doctor's quite useless,
And they don't make a pill.
But I do know, my dear.
Why you're feeling so ill.
Valentine's Day is soon
And the hearts are all out.
In store windows, on TV;
Why they practically shout:
'Who loves you? Who cares?
Whom do you admire?
Is your heart all aglow
With a passionate fire?
Do you yearn? Are you yearned for?
What cards will you buy?
Will someone send chocolates?
And if not, then why?
Will your friends send you cards?
And if so, how many?
And how will you feel
If you never get any?'"
"Yes, yes!" Ann agreed.
"It all sounds quite perverse.
Quick, tell me the cure,
Before I get any worse!"
"The cure," said her mom,
"Is the simplest thing.
It will make your heart soar,
And your spirit will sing.
The 'Look Who Loves Me' necklace
Is the best remedy.
The virus will vanish
And its even pain-free.
We'll make it, one day
At a time," said her mother,
"And you'll soon have a necklace
Unlike any other.
Each day we'll add one heart
With one special name
Of someone who loves you--
No two hearts the same.
By Valentine's Day,
You'll have quite a collection
Of hearts on a string
Symbolizing affection.
You can count them and touch them,
And they'll always remind you
Of all of the people
Who are standing behind you.
'You go, girl' they'll shout.
'We love you, we do
On Valentine's, New Year's
And April Fools' too.'
On each day that is special
And each day that is plain
You are loved and admired
from New Jersey to Spain.
So each day remember....
And don't ever forget
That your necklace keeps growing;
It hasn't stopped yet.
Your 'Look Who Loves Me' necklace
Will only grow longer
As your love for yourself
Gets stronger and stronger."
On Februrary 14th,
Ann woke up in a hurry.
Her heart was racing,
But from joy, not worry.
She put on her necklace
And jumped out of bed.
She picked out a red dress
And a bow for her head.
Today is the day
To declare it out loud:
"Look at me. Look who .loves me."
Ann was feeling so proud.
"And look who I like,
Who I love and admire.
I can shout from the rooftops!
I can sing in the choir!
"You and you...oh and you
Happy Valentine's Day.
I've got such love to spare,
I'll just give some away."
So, Ann raced to school
With her bag overflowing
Full of Valentines to share
And a heart that's still growing!
The End
Happy Valentine's Day and thank you to so many of you for being the names on my "LOOK WHO LOVES ME" necklace year after year!
 |
| One of my lovely PINTEREST finds. |
The secret to celebrating Valentine's Day as a single person is simply to broaden the definition of Valentine.
Instead of limiting it to romantic love, expand it to include ALL the people you love who love you back. You will find that instead of feeling alone on this day that celebrates love, you will actually feel like the King or Queen of LOVE. My sweetest Valentines are Josh and Ben and Emily. The Valentines you give birth to always hold a special place in your heart!
Don't stop there! Think about your parents and your siblings. Add your friends to the list. See, you are a Valentine Aficionado! You ooze love out of all your lovely pores! Love surrounds and defines you.
I must have always believed this to be true without even knowing that I knew it. Let me explain.
A few days ago, while I was cleaning up and de-cluttering (my pre-pre-pre putting the house on the market efforts), I came across a Valentine's Day poem and project I'd had published in a Holiday Book for teachers of young children. I'd totally forgotten this poem and when I re-read it, I realized that this would be the perfect thing to share with you all for the Valentine's post, so here it is:
Valentine Virus
by
Rachel Karff Weissenstein
On February first,
Ann woke up in a tizzy.
She didn't have fever.
She didn't feel dizzy.
She hadn't a cold
And her throat wasn't sore
But something inside her
Was screaming for more--
More love, more attention--
She just wasn't sure.
So Ann called her mom,
Hoping she'd have a cure.
"Well it sounds like the
Valentine Virus," mom said.
"Don't worry a bit.
Now just hop out of bed."
"Will I live?" Ann inquired.
"Is it fatal...or worse?
And how did I get it?
From bad food..or a curse?"
"Now, now," said Ann's mother,
"I'll explain it to you.
But its not at all like
Chicken Pox or the flu.
The doctor's quite useless,
And they don't make a pill.
But I do know, my dear.
Why you're feeling so ill.
Valentine's Day is soon
And the hearts are all out.
In store windows, on TV;
Why they practically shout:
'Who loves you? Who cares?
Whom do you admire?
Is your heart all aglow
With a passionate fire?
Do you yearn? Are you yearned for?
What cards will you buy?
Will someone send chocolates?
And if not, then why?
Will your friends send you cards?
And if so, how many?
And how will you feel
If you never get any?'"
"Yes, yes!" Ann agreed.
"It all sounds quite perverse.
Quick, tell me the cure,
Before I get any worse!"
"The cure," said her mom,
"Is the simplest thing.
It will make your heart soar,
And your spirit will sing.
The 'Look Who Loves Me' necklace
Is the best remedy.
The virus will vanish
And its even pain-free.
We'll make it, one day
At a time," said her mother,
"And you'll soon have a necklace
Unlike any other.
Each day we'll add one heart
With one special name
Of someone who loves you--
No two hearts the same.
By Valentine's Day,
You'll have quite a collection
Of hearts on a string
Symbolizing affection.
You can count them and touch them,
And they'll always remind you
Of all of the people
Who are standing behind you.
'You go, girl' they'll shout.
'We love you, we do
On Valentine's, New Year's
And April Fools' too.'
On each day that is special
And each day that is plain
You are loved and admired
from New Jersey to Spain.
So each day remember....
And don't ever forget
That your necklace keeps growing;
It hasn't stopped yet.
Your 'Look Who Loves Me' necklace
Will only grow longer
As your love for yourself
Gets stronger and stronger."
On Februrary 14th,
Ann woke up in a hurry.
Her heart was racing,
But from joy, not worry.
She put on her necklace
And jumped out of bed.
She picked out a red dress
And a bow for her head.
Today is the day
To declare it out loud:
"Look at me. Look who .loves me."
Ann was feeling so proud.
"And look who I like,
Who I love and admire.
I can shout from the rooftops!
I can sing in the choir!
"You and you...oh and you
Happy Valentine's Day.
I've got such love to spare,
I'll just give some away."
So, Ann raced to school
With her bag overflowing
Full of Valentines to share
And a heart that's still growing!
The End
Happy Valentine's Day and thank you to so many of you for being the names on my "LOOK WHO LOVES ME" necklace year after year!
Sunday, February 5, 2012
IF WE ARE THE SANDWICH GENERATION, CAN WE CELEBRATE OUR LAYERED LIVES?
I am writing this post in defense of the Sandwich Generation. The term has been used to describe Baby Boomers who are "stuck" between the demands of aging parents and growing children. I am writing as one of the LUCKY ones, and I am incredibly cognizant of that fact. While there have been a handful of times when I have felt the need to care for my parents (a destructive house fire and bouts with cancer), the majority of my life, they have been my rocks and my supporters. On those few occasions when the tables were turned, I felt a vast array of emotions including the obvious sadness that they were suffering but also an awkward intangible sort of relief that I was able to help them, the people who have given me the most, in some small way.
I look around at my friends and realize that I am very, very lucky.Some people are parent-less, some have only one parent left, others are caring for ailing parents, and still others never had a close relationship with their parents to begin with. I have had the extreme gift of sharing my life with them and watching them interact with, and get to know, my three children. That is one of the sweetest parts of the sandwich.
I look around at my friends and realize that I am very, very lucky.Some people are parent-less, some have only one parent left, others are caring for ailing parents, and still others never had a close relationship with their parents to begin with. I have had the extreme gift of sharing my life with them and watching them interact with, and get to know, my three children. That is one of the sweetest parts of the sandwich.
 |
| Josh, Ben & Emily with my dad, many years ago in Charlevoix, Michigan Of course, there is also a bit of anxiety inherent in that because we want the people we love most in the world to love and appreciate each other. My parents have made a conscious effort to connect, on an individual basis, with each of their seven grandchildren. In fact, starting with Josh, the eldest, they took each one on a trip to Disneyworld. They have also made it a point to visit each college-age grandchild in his or her natural habitat. This weekend, we drove to Austin to visit Emily and see her apartment and meet some of her friends and sorority sisters. Emily was not always the sweet, charming child she is today. My mother recalls picking her up from middle school when she needed a ride to Hebrew School Wednesday afternoons to prepare for her Bat-Mitzvah. I was tied up in class since I had returned to graduate school and this lovely chauffeuring task fell in my mom's lap. As she tells the story, she would arrive at the carpool line only to have Emily spot her and then walk quickly in the opposite direction and stand visiting with her friends. My lovely mother, not really known for her patience, somehow mustered enough of it to wait for Emily to acknowledge her presence and get in the car. Ultimately, mom discovered that a quick trip to Chick-Fil-A before Hebrew School would entice Emily into the car and soften her adolescent edges. Today, they greet each other like long lost friends and clearly have a mutual admiration society. Emily was a wonderful guide and drove us around the University of Texas campus and the city with ease. Last night, two of her new friends, Annika and Kate, joined us for dinner and it was lovely to see that Em has surrounded herself, once again, with great gals, This morning, before we left Austin to drive back to Houston, the four of us went out to a fun Austin hangout for breakfast. When I spotted this wild and vibrant mural on the wall, I couldn't resist the urge to snap this photo of three of my favorite people. I am so lucky to be the turkey to their whole wheat!!!!! |
Sunday, January 29, 2012
WHY IS NEEDLEWORK SO SATISFYING?
Ok..all you non-crafty types, feel free to check out now and come back next week :)
Seriously though, I know that all my bleaders (blog-readers) may not be equally fascinated with all of my different passions, and that's perfectly fine. Right now, I happen to be happily obsessed with embroidery.
I wish I still had one of my very first crafty projects which was an embroidered chambray workshirt that I worked on all summer when I was about thirteen. It was so seventies...which makes sense since that would have been around 1973. Hopefully, I've progressed in skill since then, but it has been a long time since I've tried my hand at this type of needlework.
In the interim, I've dabbled in knitting, felting, cross-stitch, quilting, needlepoint and sewing. That list doesn't include my forays into the worlds of scrapbooking and photography. What can I say? I'm a crafty gal.
Something drew me back to embroidery in the last few weeks, and I am thoroughly enjoying becoming reacquainted with an old friend. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I was born in the wrong era. I'm reading Pride and Prejudice right now with my sophomores and East of Eden with my seniors and both of those books talk a bit about needlework. Jane Austen's world is appealing to me for so many reasons (OK, I have a crush on Colin Firth's Darcy), and I think I may have been well-suited to that kind of life. I am obviously romanticizing things in a big way because being a woman in the Regency Era had innumerable challenges which we contemporary gals cannot even begin to fathom. Hygiene and women's rights both come to mind!
But I digress....anyway....In East of Eden, the very upright, uptight Liza Hamilton judges the evil and very pregnant Cathy Trask because she has idle hands. "What was she doing with her hands?" she asks her husband Samuel. "Nothing I guess," he responds. "Liza sniffed. 'Not sewing, not mending, not knitting?" While Liza admittedly could find fault with someone even less tainted than Cathy, her point is clear. There is something productive about needlework. When our hands are occupied we feel useful.
One of the many books I've collected on the subject is the Embroidery Companion by Alicia Paulson.
Paulson describes being in a terrible car accident when she was 29. She writes about the months and months of recovery time when she was bedridden. To keep her sanity, Paulson took up embroidery, a pursuit she remembered from her childhood. She writes: "Through almost every day of my recovery, I stitched a wonderland of hearts and flowers. Each morning I set about creating the world I wanted, so different from the real one I was in."
Somedays, the world can be trying, or stressful, exhausting or frightening and needlework is a soothing reminder that I need to slow down, and focus my attention on something beautiful. I love the feeling of creating something from nothing. A small piece of linen fabric is like a blank canvas. The threads come in different weights and colors and there are a myriad number of patterns available in books and online and in my head. It is exciting to watch a picture develop stitch by lovely stitch.
Of course, the fun continues when I am able to share my creations as gifts. The photo below is of a little blue linen pouch I made for my sister's upcoming nuptials. Every bride needs to carry something old and something new and something borrowed and something blue. So I made this little new blue bag.
I better sign off now...computers are great...but my needle awaits :)
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