Status?

This weekend, I received a designer handbag as a gift.  It is very pretty, has plenty of pockets, and is a bright color monkeys find fetching.  It was a lovely and thoughtful gift.  (Truth be told, I carry a lot of candy with me. And lip goos . . . lots and lots of lip goo.)

But, I'm not actually a designer handbag sort of monkey.  Most of my handbags, I bought from Ebay. (Disclaimer, I do have a knock off Prada handbag I purchased on the streets of DC but the point was more to bargain the guy down to the price I wanted to pay.  I actually don't recall what he was asking because I told him what I wanted to pay, stuck to it, and was willing to walk away in order to get him to relent.  The Phenom was both horrified and impressed.)

I carried my new designer bag to work with me today, and propped it up on a shelf behind my desk.  And, no one noticed it.  No one commented.  I thought the whole point to a designer bag was to elicit comment from other humans.   Otherwise, wouldn't one of my ebay purchases be as good?

The Phenom asked what others thought of the new bag.  I think he was disappointed, too, that this new acquisition didn't immediately create some level of status for me.  Sigh.  Oh well, I have a very important meeting with very important people later this week . . . one I normally break out the knock off Prada for . . . so perhaps I'll find myself hoisted up the social ladder all due to this gift.  We can hope, right?

Cheater

That would be me.  But, I have a reason.  Just listen.

I went to another community's farmer's market today.  And, I bought stuff.

I've been hearing about the farmer's market in the next big town over.  They show pretty pictures on their face book page.  I have a friend who is a regular there, and she brags about what she gets.

I discussed it with another foodie friend, and we decided that we'd drive over there today.

There weren't as many vendors selling food as in my farmer's market, but the offerings were more exotic.  It seemed more like the pickings of really enthusiastic gardeners.  (And lots of crafty types.)

My haul (and all are items not available at my market) bok choi, asparagus, honey sticks (they did have jarred honey and jams, but I can get good local jams and honey, so I didn't buy), carrots, and garlic/herb goat cheese.

I have beautiful new potatoes left over from last week, so we'll have potatoes and carrots for dinner tomorrow night (I'll figure out a protein), and then Monday night I'll make a veggie fried rice with the asparagus and bok choi.  I'm fairly sure I might have a squash or two left from last week as well.

I don't know if I'll make it back to that other farmer's market . . . but it's nice to know it exists.  It has been decades since I had asparagus from the garden.  The Old Woman use to love to taunt me during asparagus season, after I'd moved out on my own.

Perspective

Two stories.

One:  I have dear friends in Portland, Oregon.  I've become a fan/friend of their teen aged daughter.  (Okay, I may have sent her some radical feminist reading materials.)  Their daughter is gay.  She's been openly gay, with girlfriend, since middle school.  I know it just killed her parents that they could not give their daughter a world in which she could enjoy the rights and freedom to marry the person of her heart's desires.  Until today.  I was so happy for this family when I heard about the federal judge striking down the ban on gay marriage in Oregon today.  And, I know that her parents are thrilled that someday, their child will have the chance to enjoy one of the dearest relationships humans can enjoy.

Two: I have a long time friend whose husband has serious kidney issues.  He has been waiting for a transplant for years.  Saturday morning, she texted me to say they were on the way to the big, university hospital because there might be a kidney for her husband.  I was so sad to hear from her Sunday evening that no kidney was available after all.  But, she said, she's okay because they are just disappointed, and somewhere there is a family grieving the loss of a loved one.

I love it when other humans make me wanna be a better monkey.

Camp Cook

This week, I'm taking a bit of time off from my "ruling the world" job to give back.  (And, if I happen to develop new minions, bonus.)  I'm the cook at a day camp for local kids.

I've had to make very basic, "kid friendly" foods.  Like grilled cheese and chicken nuggets.  (Honestly, the only time in my life I've ever fixed chicken nuggets from frozen was last year when I had the same gig.)   Timing is an issue . . . to have everything ready for little faces at noon.  BUT!  I also get to cook in big quantities.  You know I love that.

Yesterday, I cooked 3 pounds of spaghetti noodles.  It should have been, according to the package, twice as many servings as I needed.  THEY ATE IT ALL!!!!  Today, I fixed 32 grilled cheese sandwiches . . . nothing left.

This is almost as good as the Chinese Red Army showing up at dinner time.  Clearly, I was a camp cook in a previous life.  And, the kids are always happy to see me and are loud in their thanks.

Too bad it's just once a year.

Okay, so maybe I did absorb something from the Old Woman

The Old Woman and I have very different approaches to life.  She worried.  I tended to blithely think that it would all work out, eventually.  She described herself as not just a "glass is half empty" sort of person but a "not only is the glass half empty but eventually someone will come along and empty it and I'll have to figure out how to refill it" kind of person.

She also had remarkable self control.  (As evidenced by the fact I never ended up in military school and/or the fact she NEVER ONCE hit me.  I'm sure there were times I vexed her to the point of wanting to just slap the ever-loving-monkey-grin off my face . . . especially with my fondness for rolling my eyes . . . but she always maintained control.)

One of her favorite things on the planet was chocolate.  Her favorite afternoon pick-me-up was a fine piece of chocolate, and sipping coffee over it as it slowly melted in her mouth.

But, to prove her point to me about self control, she gave up chocolate, once, for a full year.

She was right, of course, that it's often simply a matter of making the decision and following through.  Which is why this "diet" thing seems to be working . . . because one day I just up and decided to do it.  In the back of my mind, I've committed to one year for this experiment.  Next January, I will decide if it was all worth it.  But, in the mean time, my own rules include that I don't stick to the diet when vacationing, and there are days on which I declare to be diet free.  I also don't beat myself up for slipping.  I find I'm more likely to slip when I get tired or hungry . . . so I do try to plan ahead to avoid that.

Now, I've added in exercise.  It started with twice a week yoga.  But, I wanted to add in something more cardio focused.  So, I've downloaded an interval trainer and have decided that when I can, three mornings a week, I will get up early and run/walk.  I'd like to be able to run a local 5K next spring.

Realistic goals, being realistic about personal limits, and self control.  The Old Woman would be so proud.

No good deed . . .

I injure myself in the funniest ways.  I sometimes worry that my somewhat fantastic stories about how exactly I get these boo-boos might someday be seen as a cover up for abuse.

Right now, I've got a numb thumb and bruised up knuckles on two fingers on my right hand.  From cracking pecans.

A customer is selling pecans to help fund a mission trip early next year.  I bought 5 pounds.  I spent most of the evening yesterday cracking just about a third of what I bought.  But, I don't actually own a real nutcracker.  So, I used the bottle opener on my kitchen shears.

Last year, I got pretty good at using a beer bottle to crack pecans.  Maybe the combination of drinking the beer, and using the bottle as a nutcracker will help ease my pain as well as be more effective.

Community

So, thousands of people showed up to make the human wall between the haters of WBC and the family of a fallen soldier.  It was quite the cross section of our society.  I couldn't help but wonder if Mittens Romney has ever actually seen real America up close.  Because, today, I saw real America up close.  I saw ancient jews and tattooed kids.  I saw people in drag and grandmothers.  I saw flag-waving patriots and peace-niks.  And, it was amazing.

The WBC people had a permit to gather a couple blocks from the church where the funeral was being held.  Even still, they tried their damnest to be heard all over town.  Rumor went through my crowd that there had been WBC peoples arrested.

I don't think they timed it this way, but when the processional was leaving the church and headed to the grave site, another church's bells chimed the noon time hymn.  It was touching . . . the perfectly blue sky, trees just starting to turn, thousands of people in a reverent hush, with bells tolling.  As the limo transporting the family passed, there was a young woman in the back seat dabbing at tears and someone near me said "that's Tracy" (the widow).  

I'm torn between being concerned that the family might think that the death of their beloved became a spectacle and hoping that they saw the outpouring of support.  As one woman explained to her friends, within my ear shot, "I almost didn't come today because I am sick, but then, I thought she doesn't have any choice about being here."    

As I watched the widow being driven away, I wondered if she experienced the same kind of isolation I've been feeling lately?  I hope with the repeal of DADT, she has experienced the same respect and assistance het widows and widowers receive.

On the drive home, I missed the Old Woman even more.  There was a time when I would have discussed this event with her. Even though it has been some time since I could really tell her about what was going on in the world, and discuss it with her, I realized today how much I miss it.  There was a time when all the interesting or good things that cropped up, she was the first person I'd call.  For the last couple of years, the immediacy of her needs replaced my realization I'd lost something so precious.  She would have been proud of me for going.  She raised me right.  

And, I got paid

A bit of distraction this week.  I was invited to be a judge at the county fair again this year.  Last year, I judged crafts, and was scheduled to repeat that duty.  But, at the last minute, a judge dropped out, and I was asked to fill in judging BAKED GOODS.  

Drawing from my knowledge gained from Mayberry, I assumed that the treats we would be sampling would be the best of the best church lady desserts.  Last year, the baked goods judges were sequestered to their own tables . . . with several volunteers running items in the various categories back and forth.

We had a fair official assigned to us, cutting slices . . . recording our decisions.

I spent two hours, Friday morning, trying more pound cakes, cupcakes, brownies, pies, and various other items than you can imagine.  It was a conveyor belt of sweets.  About half way through, I was swimming in a sugar high.  

The best item we tasted was peanut brittle.  The worst?  There were some whoopie pies that had developed a rather unappealing black/green color that we refused to try.  (The fair officials who photographed entries as they came in assured us that they weren't that color when they were submitted.)

And, on top of it all, I got paid.  Just enough to buy a round of drinks next week, but that's another story.

Politics

Once upon a time, way back when I was interviewing ESK, I was politically inappropriate.  It was well over a year before the nominees had been decided, in fact, before most of the primaries had even been held.  I was making chit-chat before getting into the heart of the interview, when I declared that in the previous election I'd carefully read the various candidates' statements, weighed the issues I felt were most important, and decided with deliberation the candidate I would support.  Only to have that candidate not survive primary season.  So, this election, I was just going to vote for the candidate whose name it was the most fun to say . . . Barack Obama . . . O-bam-AH!

I guess I should also say that I don't think I've ever voted for a republican candidate in any race . . . not even girl republicans.  One wouldn't have to work very hard to guess my political leanings.  I'm not one of those humans who outwardly supports the "politically correct" candidate and then votes for the other guy.

So, it should come as no surprise that the only parts of the RNC convention I absorbed were through decidedly left leaning media outlets.  And, I watched both Joe Biden and Obama give their speeches.  I actually had not planned on watching any of the DNC, but I was bored.  (Speeches at this point in the game won't change my mind . . . they merely will give me ammo or a new level of smugness.)

Keeping in mind that my exposure to the RNC came solely from the media, and my experience with the DNC was brief; I was struck by the wide diversity of the attendees of the DNC.  I saw people in native dress from various peoples . . . from the Asian man in traditional chinese clothing to women in headscarves.  But, what I was most struck by was how proud everyone was to represent their peeps.  And, it seemed to me that even if in their usual lives they face marginalization or discrimination . . . in this place, at that time, they were accepted and valued for their diversity.  Too bad those opportunities only come along every 4 years.

I forgot my hairnet

But, I did remember to put a couple freshly laundered aprons in my bag this morning.

I have a friend whose work place sponsors a day camp for kids each summer.  The camp is for 5-8 year olds, and they get to make all sorts of crafts and read and learn about growing and making food and all sorts of fun stuff.

And, at the last minute, the person who normally prepares lunch for the campers was unavailable.  So, this week, I'm volunteering to make lunches for campers.  The meals are already planned (all picky kid eater friendly) and ingredients purchased.  I just have to go cook it all.

When I told the Phenom my plan, the first reaction was "don't get all fancy . . . they are just kids."  Which is exactly what I can imagine the Old Woman saying too.  It seems I have a reputation. 

Community

You know how you can run down the town you live in?  How you can decide that pretty much any where but here is better?  One of the reasons I love NOLA so much is that, despite its size, you can see and feel the sense of community there.  Thanks to facebook, I can see it several times a day.

Last month, a police officer in my community was shot and killed while trying to serve an outstanding warrent on a criminal.  He was off duty that day, but when he saw the person he knew they'd been looking for, he called other officers to come.  He sent his pregnant, days away from her due date, wife into the store where they were parked to put distance between the criminal and her.  As they approached the criminal, the criminal pulled a gun and shot the off duty, but well known police officer. 

I didn't know this officer, but I understand he was active in working with youth and helping them stay out of trouble.  His wife gave birth the day after the officer was buried.

And, I couldn't be prouder of my town with the way they have rallied to support both this officer's family and law enforcement as a whole.  Officers with other departments volunteered to be on duty so that members of this officer's department could attend the memorial.  Flags are still flying low as a reminder of what we've lost.  But, best of all, driving through town, I'm so pleased to see so many businesses doing fundraisers for his family.  Even the popular chicken sandwich restaurants are getting in on it.  So, although I avoided all chicken restaurants last week, this week, I'll be getting potato wedges or a bucket parfait to support our community.

The Most Enduring Lesson

A hundred years ago (if it didn't happen in the past two weeks, might as well have been 100 years ago), but more realistically 20+ years ago, I had an internship.  My internship placement was with a women's advocacy center.  My on-campus supervisor was a favorite professor.  This professor was a lesbian.  She didn't wear t-shirts proclaiming it, but she was genuine and honest about it, as it was just one of the many facets of her person.  My agency supervisor was also a lesbian, although much more subtle about it.  She would speak about her partner with a nonchalance that you might think she was speaking of a friend or neighbor.

I was at a young, impressionable age.  The Phenom and I were at the start of our relationship, and I was pretty comfortable using the phrase "my boyfriend" 100 times a day.

During a meeting between my two supervisors to discuss the expectations of the internship, they realized that they each knew, socially, the others partner, but had never met each other.  While watching this conversation, I realized that they both were talking about their partners in fairly generic terms, even though we were in a private office and everyone in the room knew what the situation actually was.

I was struck at how lucky I was that I could openly and freely talk about the love of my life . . . as the love of my life.  And, they couldn't.  Even in private, they were cautious and concerned that they might find themselves being judged or even attacked.

Twenty some odd years into the future, and my agency supervisor is open about her relationship.  She lives in a community where she is safe from close minded types.  But, she's lucky.

We need to vote down Amendment 1 . . . not because it opens a pathway to gay people getting married in this state (we have a long, long way before we get there) and not because the only people this amendment will truly harm are the most vulnerable amongst us and not because you don't use the constitution to deny rights to some that others gain by virtue of their birth.  But, we need to vote against this hateful legislation to tell people who live in daily fear of judgement and violence, we see you and we want you to be safe.

One of those "ask forgiveness" situations?

One of the first, fundamental, lessons I learned about being human is that sometimes it is better to ask forgiveness than permission.  Generally, I think that any situation covered by this rule is probably something you ought to think twice about in the first place. 

But.  There is always a but, right?

Last month, my backwards little community finally started curbside recycling.  I've been sorting trash like a champ since.  Last pick up, we actually filled our 96 gallon recycling container.  I was so proud, even if I didn't get an award.

Phenom thinks I'm obsessed with recycling.  On one hand, there seem to be some items, like copy paper, that he thinks it is unreasonable to recycle, but on the other, he is more than happy to leave all the cat food cans for me to peel the labels and wash out. 

This weekend, after making my first Saturday morning visit to our tailgate farmer's market (WOOT), I was making a big ol' salad with all the fresh veggies when I thought to myself . . . I wonder what Phenom would say/do if I got a composter?  We throw out so much in the way of compostables.  It would be nice to have my own organic compost for the garden. 

Perhaps if one follows me home from work one day, we can keep it?

Allergy prevention, right.

I've been all itchy for the foods of spring and summer.  I have snipped back my basil already . . . my mint . . . I need to snip the oregano so I can start drying it.  The cilantro is ready for some salsa.  I have tiny little tomatoes on my plants . . . and this time next week, I'll be picking snow and snap peas on the regular.

But, our tailgate farmer's market hasn't opened for the season yet.  This morning, I rerouted my normal drive to the office just to see if anyone was doing business.  And, there was one lone old guy.  He had some plants and some pecans and jars of his home produced honey.  I bought a large jar.  As I walked back to my car, I thought "Huh, I'm too cheap to buy a new thermometer which would cost all of $2, but I'll happily pay $6 for honey to support my local farmers." 

I guess I know my priorities.  And, I should suck it up and get a new thermometer.

FINALLY

When we moved to this little culinary hell, we left a community with curb-side recycling.  This place . . . well a few years ago when the state mandated that certain recyclable items not be thrown away, they had to hastily set up two dumpsters for folks to use for those items.  They weren't emptied often enough and the openings for dumping into were well above my head.

And, last night, the city dropped off a curb side recycling container!!!!!  We have, FINALLY, joined the 20th century!  Of course, they gave no instructions other than a sticker listing the items they now recycle on top of the container.  Nothing about when pick up will be, or what have you.

But, now they will take the cornucopia of recyclables.  When I mentioned to Phenom to put the foil from tonight's dinner prep in the recycle bin instead of the trash, I got lip about how we don't want to go "too crazy" and "recycle too much."

In the words of the Old Woman, WHATEVER.

Roughage

The Old Woman liked to pick kale very young and tender, and saute it in butter. I spent a good bit of my life being a vegetarian. Even now, meat isn't served that often in our household.

And, ya'll know my proclivities run towards the liberal. I understand the frustration expressed by the occupy movement. When I hear about the intermingled way politics/big business/and money are screwing over the average person, I get frustrated too.

So, naturally my self-righteous indignation was dusted up when I heard on NPR that Chick-fil-a corporation has sent a "stop it right now or we'll flex our big corporate muscles to squash you little man" letter to the guy behind the "Eat More Kale" t-shirts. Talk about corporate greed and screwing over the small business man.

Go to the web site, look at the shirts, read his story . . . and ask yourself, at any time did you confuse his "eat more kale" message with chick-fil-a's advertising scheme? I didn't think so.

Perhaps Santa needs to dump some kale on the doorstep of the chick-fil-a headquarters . . . then they'd know the difference between fried chicken and a leafy green.

Be Generous

It is the holiday time again. Along with planning parties, family events, huge meals, and the whatnot, how about including an act of generosity, too?

I know there are lots of folks with their hands out, and it's really easy to get pulled into stories about bad charities or people who hop from charity to charity. (Thank you facebook for making everyone just a bit more cynical about charities . . . and most folks looking for food boxes at the holidays aren't driving to the food bank in a 50K car.)

But, you can find a variety of ways to help out . . . and you can tailor your generosity to an issue near and dear to your heart. Did you have a grandmother who spent her final days at home with hospice care? What about adopting another hospice family and providing a homemade meal for them while they face the end of a loved one's life? Were you a kid who learned respect on the basketball court of your local Y? How about donating new basketballs, footballs, baseballs, and what-have-you to your local youth shelter? Look around your community, I promise there are many different ways to contribute without just giving a check.

This week, our company is encouraging our employees to support a local group of kids' holiday meal. These kids all come from a school that is like 110% free lunches. The local college is preparing a holiday meal to serve to the kids. They have asked for donations of food. I'm making a couple chocolate cakes. ESK is making a crazy amount of mashed potatoes. I have also pulled some homemade stock out of the freezer and will make gravy for ESK's potatoes.

Now, go be generous in your own special way!

Looking for gold

I've spent the whole day watching football. And, I'm puzzled. I know a bit about the group of women who came up with the pink ribbon campaign for breast cancer awareness/research support. Frankly, it was marketing genius. These days, any corporate overlord can slap a pink ribbon on more or less any product, and VOILA! sales!

We even have the whole NFL sporting pink all over the field . . . from caps to gloves to socks to ribbons sewn on their uniforms. And, I don't believe it's just marketing. I believe that many of the men playing in the NFL genuinely want to support breast cancer awareness/research. They all have wives and mothers and girlfriends and sisters and aunts and friends who may have faced breast cancer.

But, the fact of the matter is that there are other issues that take a bigger toll on our society that don't get nearly the attention or support, despite pretty ribbons. Violence against women effects more women than cancer. Childhood cancers effect more children than breast cancer does women.

Autism seems to have picked up some of the awareness marketing, but people seem to really only care about young children with autism; we kinda forget about them when they get older.

I don't begrudge the pink ribboners. I just wonder how we can capture that gold for other pressing issues in our society.

Fall in the south

means community meals!

Every year, in our little town (and I suspect little towns everywhere in the south) we combine community needs with our flare for the culinary. And, I have a group of folks who like to drop by our office with tickets for me, our staff.

In the next month, we'll be enjoying a group of church men frying up fish, a kiwanis pancake supper, and a youth group serving up pulled pork and fried chicken. And, since both the fish fry and bbq plate sale allows ticket holders to drive up and have food passed to them in take away containers, I'm going to count them in the category of "food from the side of the road."

And, that is one of the great things about the south, you can live nicely on foods you find on the side of the road.

Inspired

After dragging myself home last night, I had a late night conversation with a long, lost friend. A nice boy who has grown up into a very nice man.

He is a single dad. He is a martial arts expert. And, right now, I'm in awe of him. He told me to check out one of his newer facebook photo albums. The album was of an event he'd pulled together and hosted recently. A martial arts clinic as a fund raiser. He was raising money for a family with a son with autism. They want to get their son into a new program, but need money to make that happen. He told me about how, after hearing about their needs, he pulled together a really impressive event in a very short time. And, he was thrilled with the giving spirit of the people who participated.

But, most impressive is that rather than being proud of himself . . . he was really proud to report the progress already experienced by his friend's son in the new program.

The conversation was wholly spontaneous . . . but the perfect ending to a very long day.