VP Debate: Palin’s Performance Review

The thing that disturbed me the most, more than the rehearsed quality of her answers, more than the funereal suit or the plastic smile or the winking at the cameras (winking!) was something nobody is talking about. It’s what happened right after the debate was over, when both sets of families came up and mingled.

First, she gave a look to her daughter (the one holding the baby) that was a terrible one. It was one of those looks that one family member gives another that speaks volumes – and these were not pleasant volumes. I don’t know exactly what she was saying, but I can tell you two things about it: 1) her daughter knew exactly what it was, and it did not make her happy, and 2) it was not a look I would want to get from anyone, ever, let alone in front of millions of people.

Second, she glanced at the cameras, and took the baby from the daughter and held it – turning so that the cameras got a good look: “Look, here I am, woman with baby”… but she wasn’t holding it with tenderness or care. She was holding it like a lump, patting it mechanically on the back even though it was sleeping. The mother hovered in the background, her attention focused entirely on the baby, while Palin was focused on shaking hands and posing. After a few minutes, Palin handed the baby to the littlest girl to carry – instead of returning it to its mother. Another photo op. *shudder* It was horrible. She treated her grandchild like a publicity stunt, like a prop. It made my stomach churn to watch.

It was especially disturbing since she puts forth this image of herself as the Everywoman Hockey Mom, loving her family through its trials, etc etc. Where was the mother’s love last night? Left in the ice of Alaska, I guess, or maybe its her heart that’s frozen. I’m not saying that for a woman to be a good politician she must be a tender, family-oriented woman; I don’t actually care whether a politician of any gender even has a family, unless it helps focus them on education and healthcare. I was just made palpably aware in that moment of how false she is, how shallow is her folksy image. Even down to the winking, and the “Can I call you Joe?”

Plus, her head did not catch on fire, which disappointed me greatly.

Drowning

The closer you are to a person, the more deeply you can wound one another. My mother and I have always been as close as two people can be without sharing a body; since the end of my adolescence our conflicts have been increasingly rare but still bloody. I don’t think there will ever be another person with whom so many buttons are pushed, so many subtle ways of hurting one another are employed without conscious intent. Married life can be like that, if you allow yourselves to become that close (and we did), but there is a different intensity between mother and daughter; the child that dwells always inside me rises up with fists cocked, screaming, deaf to mature entreaties, impervious to calm and logic, gripped by nameless terrors.

When I was eleven or so there was a period when from time to time I tried to hurt her, and for years I inhabited a place lit by a smoldering coal of shame because it always worked. Vindictive, cruel, childish – yes. Thank heaven those times are long past; too many things were learned during that time I wish I hadn’t, too many blows dealt and received between two people who loved each other more than themselves and couldn’t escape their individual pain. They say that when a drowning person is being rescued, they often unknowingly fight the rescuer – striking blows in a frenzy of fear that nearly swamps them both; this is what it was like when I was that age. Sometimes I wonder how we survived it, still speaking to one another. In what dangerous seas were we drowning, and how could we save each other when we could barely hang on ourselves? This is how I remember the phenomenon of adolescence, this metaphor of drowning and rescuing, struggle and confusion and desperate emotion - who was saving whom? Probably both.

I love my mother with an urgent, trembling love; I worry over every bump in her road, grieve for each of her wounds. The fear of someday losing her is embedded in my flesh, as close as my own breath. I can no more escape loving her than I could run away from my own skin. I am grateful for every moment that I have her in my life, and remain continually stunned at my good luck: to have grown in her body, to have walked beside her as my stride gradually lengthened until I struck off on my own. I am so glad that nowadays we rarely experience those pitched battles, those conflagrations of emotion; they leave me wrung out and empty, a rag used too many times and finally discarded, getting crusty in the sun. My own part in the conflict grieves me more than hers, and I know she feels the same. With our moments growing more precious every day, there isn’t time to waste on this – the drowning, the distance. There is only the slow talking, softening, pulling gently toward the shallow water. “Sssh, my sweet one, everything will be okay.” This is the time for resting on the sand, coughing up water and letting the sun slowly still our shaking limbs.

The cord that bound my belly and blood to hers may lie coiled in a little tangle in her glass box, but it was never severed. It will always be my arms pulling her toward the shore, her arms holding my head above the waves, when we are drowning.

Theater, anyone?

I have bought myself a ticket to see Vera Wilde at the Ashby Stage (Shotgun Players) two thursdays from now, on October 9th @ 8pm.

I would love for some of my friends to go with me, so here's the tempting info.

www.shotgunplayers.org/verawilde.htm

If you'd like to go, just buy yourself a ticket for that night, and meet me before you check in so we can sit together.
w00t!

Hello. My name is Si, and I am a Snooze Addict.

I used to Snooze just once in a while, when I was especially tired or dreading the day, but before I knew it I started Snoozing every day. It has gotten so bad that I have given up breakfast, morning bathing, and sometimes clean trousers – all in a desperate need to keep Snoozing for “just one more” 9-minute cycle.

My Snoozing is out of control.

This morning was typical: I was supposed to get up at 5:00, but I kept Snoozing over and over… and before I knew it 6:30 had come and gone. I finally got up for good but then I was rushed and stressed, hungry and dirty, and got to work late.

Snooze is ruining my life and I don’t know how to kick the habit. It seems like everyone does it, and no one takes it seriously as a harmful addiction. I want my mornings back; they used to be my favorite time of day, the most productive and positive… now they are just something that keeps me from my Snoozing. But Snoozing makes my work life so much harder that I get more tired, and the cycle keeps repeating itself, getting worse and worse.

I’ve tried going cold turkey before, but it never lasts; sooner or later I have a late night or a hard day or the weather turns cold, and before I know it I’ve started Snoozing again. What can I do? I have heard that admitting you have a problem is Step One, reaching out to your community for support during the hard transition time.

What’s Step Two? I can’t remember; I’m just so tired… maybe Step Two = Drink More Coffee?

In Search of Wilderness

Much as I love reading, cooking, playing games, watching movies, and filling my mouth with yummy things… I really miss the outdoors. I miss being unable to hear any engines over the rustle of trees. I miss seeing more animals than people, spending a whole day with nothing more technologically advanced than a good pair of boots and maybe my camera. I miss being free from the need for electricity, and free from mirrors. I miss the comfort of that silence that is so much bigger than us.

I have decided that I need to stop whining and dreaming and wishing and take actual steps. I’ve been looking at parks, trying to find places that don’t take a half a day in the car to reach, places that look challenging enough that they won’t be hugely populated, dreaming of places I could take my dog with me. I’m looking for quiet, for long hikes and no services, places that allow leave-no-trace backpack camping (where RVs cannot go). In short, I am seeking wilderness.

It is only in the wild that I truly feel like myself. It strips away all the extraneous layers which are so essential for my survival-in-culture, and reduces me (like a sauce) to a simpler, more potent Self… the self that only needs to survive-in-nature. Walking, with my whole world on my back, moving at my own pace through the rustling, shifting, flowing world, feet on earth instead of concrete, clean air and water and simple food nourishing me… this is my idea of heaven. By the second day, something releases in my belly and my heart, a tight clenching I am never aware of holding until I let go. Only once I set down that burden am I aware of its weight.

I wish I could have more days, since it takes a while for this transformation to unfold, but if I could feel that bliss even for one day that would be wonderful. If any of you have good ideas of places to go, comment here or email me! I would love some input from people who have actually seen these places with their own eyes, and hearing about areas that might not be so well-advertised but which some of the neat people I know might have discovered…

(photo by AmberJoy)

For Women Who Think Sarah Palin Might Be A Good Idea

I was talking politics in a gentle way with my step-dad the other day and he remarked that he was nervous that Palin seemed to be pulling a lot of moderates and a lot of white women (many of them Hilary supporters) away from the Democratic side. I was slightly more optimistic, hoping that it was a momentary weakness and as soon as they took a good look at her stands on abortion and the environment (both big issues among women, in general) that they would change their minds. Here is a little help:

Sarah Palin opposes abortion in all cases, specifically including rape and incest.
Rape and incest!

Did you hear that, ladies?

Statistically, one in six women are sexually assaulted during their lifetime (and 15% of sexual assault victims are under age twelve). This includes girls and women of both parties and none, every race and economic strata, every profession and creed - and let's not forget that these are only reported numbers.

How many of those women and girls are given the option of using birth control while being assaulted, molested, abused? Anyone besides me remember that famous case during the eighties, when a man broke into a woman’s house and raped her, and because the victim asked that the he use a condom (because of AIDS, among other things), the case was made that this request constituted consent?

How many of those women and girls are prepared or able to properly care for a child, even supposing they wanted a lifetime reminder of that trauma?

And since Sarah Palin also opposes birth control and sex education, and welfare for all these unwed mothers, then what options remain? Who is going to feed, educate and raise all those millions of babies? Our foster care & social services systems are already underfunded, overcrowded, and getting worse by the minute (and Republicans are not known for increasing funding for public services).

Okay then.

Any moderate, independent or low-key Republican women, female doctors, social workers, mothers, or survivors of any of these atrocities who think they can hold that knowledge and still walk up to the polls in November and check the McCain/Palin box?

How’s your conscience?

www.rainn.org/get-informa...ault-victims (contains relevant & scary stats, as well as pregnancy projections)

Pictures of Iowa

Here is the visual record of some of my Iowan adventures. Photos from the big reunion luncheon, the birthday party, everything i baked while i was there, and of course (since it's me) lots of houses, random stuff, pictures of the dog... enjoy!

(nearly all photos taken by me, unless they are OF me *laugh*)

www.flickr.com/photos/140...7306764432/

ps -
when i'm home i will try to put up some of the photos that go with the blogs i've written; so go back in a couple days and check them out!

Baking in Iowa, Part One: Scones

I have a vision: it is my mother’s Iowa kitchen in the early morning darkness of winter, snow piled up outside the window. She shuffles in wearing her slippers and pajamas, her face worn from too little sleep, hair all awry. The house feels empty and still, the cold seeps in through the floor; she feels isolated and far away from me, sadness wells up and threatens to overwhelm the day. Movement will get her through; she opens the freezer and sees, there at the back, a crusted freezer bag with my handwriting on it. She remembers my voice, hears me laughing with my hands all covered in flour: “400 degrees for twenty minutes… it’s so easy, mom!” She turns the oven on and pours her first cup of coffee while it heats. She pulls out a cookie sheet and four scones, puts them in the hot oven and goes to take a shower. Donn comes in when the smell starts to fill the warm kitchen. He pulls them out of the oven (because my mom always lingers too long in the shower), and puts out butter and jam, pours another cup of coffee. Maybe he nibbles, maybe he waits; when she comes back the kitchen smells like fresh baked scones, it is warm and filled with light and the ghosts of her family – especially me.

I wanted my mom’s freezer to be full of treats, so she could a) have fresh baked scones at will, and b) could have a tangible, olfactorily tempting reminder of my presence, even when I was far away in California. There’s nothing quite like the smell of fresh baked anything in a cold morning house. So the first thing I did when I got to Iowa was make five dozen scones, which we wrapped individually and froze. There were four flavors:

Apricot Almond (made with ¼ whole wheat flour and the rest white) – two dozen of these

Cranberry w/Pumpkin Seeds (the seeds were huge so I broke most of them in half with my fingers)

Currant w/Lavender and Lemon Zest (the lavender was an inspired touch… I just put in a little, about a tablespoon in the whole dozen, rubbed between my fingers to release the oils – it was delightfully subtle)

Cheddar Dill (these were a special request from mom, but they were so fabulous that they are now a permanent part of my interior scone repertoire)

I learned my scones from Dorie Greenspan’s book “Baking from My Home to Yours”, so this is me giving credit where credit is due: this woman (Dorie) is amazing. But one of the best things about her recipes is that once you’ve done it a couple of times you no longer need the recipe. I can eyeball a batch of scones pretty much from start to finish now, and tinker at will with the ingredients. (For example, we didn’t have the cream so I substituted whole milk and upped the amount of butter slightly. That kind of thing.)

The Apricot Almond was the one I’d made before, but the pumpkin seeds were a great addition, and for me the Lavender and the Cheddar were the shining stars in the Iowan scone firmament. I actually instructed my relatives to keep their hands OFF the cheddar scones so that when we were all gone my mom would still have her favorites. *smile*

(I did take photos of the scones, but don't have them on the computer yet!)

As autumn rolls in, I’m thinking about pumpkin (or sweet potato!) scones with nutmeg & cinnamon, dried figs, cranberries, chestnuts both chopped and ground for flour, orange zest instead of lemon when they come in...

MeMe for Foodies

Andrew from Very Good Taste has come up with a list of 100 foods he thinks every omnivore should eat in their lifetime. (I've altered the notations for tribe's limitations.) I have eaten everything that's CAPITALIZED on the list, **asterisked** foods are foods I am unlikely ever to put in my mouth (unless I’m starving to death), and those in normal type are foods which I have yet to try.

There are several curry based ones that I’m not likely to eat, but I felt crossing them off would be premature, since I’m not actually grossed out by the idea, just dislike the taste of the ginger. I have so far tasted 56 of these things (pretty good for someone with food allergies who spent much of her life as a vegetarian), which leaves lots of room for further adventures down the road! w00t!

1. VENISON
2. NETTLE TEA
3. HUEVOS RANCHEROS
4. STEAK TARTARE
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. CHEESE FONDUE
8. Carp
9. BORSCHT
10. BABA GHANOUSH
11. CALAMARI
12. PHO
13. PB&J SANDWICH
14. ALOO GOBI
15. HOT DOG FROM A STREET CART
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. FRUIT WINE MADE FROM SOMETHING OTHER THAN GRAPES
19. STEAMED PORK BUNS
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. HEIRLOOM TOMATOES (I will add “Dry Farmed Tomatoes” to this list)
22. FRESH WILD BERRIES
23. Foie gras
24. RICE AND BEANS
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. DULCE DE LECHE
28. OYSTERS
29. BAKLAVA
30. Bagna cauda
31. WASABI PEAS
32. CLAM CHOWDER IN A SOURDOUGH BOWL
33. Salted lassi (So far I have only had sweet mango lassi)
34. SAUERKRAUT
35. ROOT BEER FLOAT
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. CLOTTED CREAM TEA
38. VODKA JELLY/JELL-O
39. GUMBO
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat (Unlikely, but I’m not crossing it off…)
42. **Whole insects** (There is a line.)
43. Phaal (Unlikely, but I’m not crossing it off…)
44. GOAT’S MILK
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. CHICKEN TIKKA MASALA
48. EEL
49. KRISPY KREME ORIGINAL GLAZED DOUGHNUT
50. SEA URCHIN
51. PRICKLY PEAR
52. Umeboshi
53. ABALONE
54. PANEER
55. MCDONALD’S BIG MAC MEAL
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. **Poutine** (Never gonna happen. I’m sure they’re yummy, but not for me.)
60. CAROB CHIPS
61. S’MORES
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin (Yes, this is a kind of clay. It has nutritional value but it's unlikely i'll eat it anytime soon...)
64. Currywurst (Unlikely, but I’m not crossing it off…)
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. BEIGNETS, CHURROS, ELEPHANT EARS OR FUNNEL CAKE
68. Haggis
69. FRIED PLANTAIN
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette (I have had Andouille sausage, but not chitterlings)
71. GAZPACHO
72. Caviar and blini
73. LOUCHE ABSINTHE
74. Gjetost, or brunost (Unlikely, but I’m not crossing it off…)
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. HOSTESS FRUIT PIE
78. Snail
79. LAPSANG SOUCHONG
80. Bellini
81. TOM YUM
82. EGGS BENEDICT
83. POCKY
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant
85. Kobe beef
86. HARE (I’m assuming rabbit counts)
87. GOULASH
88. FLOWERS
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. SPAM
92. SOFT SHELL CRAB
93. Rose harissa
94. CATFISH
95. Mole poblano
96. BAGEL & LOX
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. POLENTA
99. JAMAICAN BLUE MOUNTAIN COFFEE
100. Snake

So… how did YOU do? Andrew is inviting everybody to take part:

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

Thanks to Liz Upton (www.gastronomydomine.com) for passing on this delightful little game!

Best Dinner Party Yet

I am the luckiest woman in the world, in many ways. If my life is a bright piece of colored paper, on Monday it became for the evening an origami bird or flower. Folded in and opened up to be a thing of greater complexity and beauty, a whole more interesting and delightful than its component parts.

Mom sent me home with a tub of her homemade pesto, from the basil she and her husband grew in their garden in Iowa. I thought about carefully working my way through it, how many meals it would give me, and then I thought: why not share it? Why not have a mini feast, bring this bounty from my family-of-origin and share it with my family-of-friends out here? It seemed like the right kind of celebration.

I invited the three most food-oriented friends I have, the three closest Daily Friends with whom I have been sharing meals, conversations, emotional upheavals, food experiments over the past year. By Daily Friends, I mean the ones where you can visit each other in your pj’s, in a bad mood or any mood at all, and they accept you in every state. The ones who are close enough geographically that you can drop in on each other for a half-hour visit on a weeknight when you just need to bitch about your day, or leave Tupperware on their doorstep when you make a great dessert and want to share. At the moment I seem to have three of these (Brian, Greg & Kat), and they hadn’t all met each other – so I invited them over on Monday for pesto.

I defrosted the pesto and immediately had a crisis: there was no way this amount of pesto would fill up four people’s bellies all by itself. What could I serve with it that wouldn’t take away from its starring role? (Think, Si, think, and consult your inner Maries…)

I shopped on the way home, buying two apples, two heirloom tomatoes, a cucumber, a bunch of Italian parsley, two zucchinis (the pale, stripey ones), a baguette, and two Tilapia filets. I did a little last minute cleaning when I got home (and Brian helped immensely when he got there), changed into my comfy white pj’s and apron, and started cooking.

I made a half portion of tart crust and filled it with apples coated in cinnamon, brown sugar and lemon juice, then folded the edges over to make a Galette and popped it in the oven. I diced red onion, cucumber (seeded) and two colors of heirlooms, then tossed them with olive oil, lemon and salt & pepper; I set them aside to marinate and chopped the parsley separately. (At the last minute I mixed the greens with the veggies before piling them into bowls.)

I cooled the Apple-Cinnamon Galette on my new cooling rack (yea, uncle rich!) so the bottom was nicely crispy. The crust was a little too dense, from overworking I think (that’ll teach me to rush a pastry), but the flavor was good and I loved how crunchy it got.

When they had all arrived, we munched on olive bread & seedy baguette with goat gouda and butter on the side, and opened a bottle of Malbec (a light, savory red – sort of between a Pinot Noir and a Sangiovese).

I sliced the pale zucchinis into rounds, and set aside four slices of lemon and all the remaining lemon juice for the fish. I heated some olive oil and butter in a pan, set the fish in, sprinkled them with salt & pepper, and covered it so they would start to steam a little. After a few minutes, I flipped them, added the lemon juice and slices, and piled the zucchinis around them. Lid back on until the fish was cooked, then I pulled the filets out and finished braising the squash. At the last second I added a little more butter, just to thicken the lovely juices that were accumulating in the bottom of the pan.

At the same time, I boiled up four cups of fusilli (spiral) pasta, and when all was done I plated it all American Style: fish, squash & pasta on one plate, salad in bowls, all served at once. The plates are slightly concave, so the pesto and lemony fish juice pooled in the bottom… so yummy!

The salad was juicy and crunchy, the fish was tender, the squash sweet, and the pesto blew our socks off. Once the food was devoured, Greg sharpened my knives while I washed plates & forks for dessert, and then we ate almost the entire Galette with scoops of lemon sorbet Brian had brought.

The meal was a great success from my point of view: the pesto was the most dominant flavor, but while I allowed it to take a starring role it didn’t overwhelm everything else. Each piece of the meal went perfectly with the others, touching different parts of the palate, stimulating different senses. It was all seasonal and fresh, the spicing and cooking was minimal so the flavors of the foods themselves took center stage. The flavors were gentle and (I thought) fairly subtle; I found myself concentrating to pull out each layer, savor each texture and combination, until suddenly my plate was empty. I was full afterward but not sluggish. Everyone seemed to enjoy it: plates were emptied and there was much appreciative, non-verbal noisemaking. Everyone took home some leftovers, and there was salad for my lunch the next day.

And not only was the meal itself good, but I got to feed people that I love! This sharing is the greatest gift, the best part of cooking to me. The conversation moved easily as we had lots in common and easily flowed from one topic to another; all of us were comfortable squeezing in the kitchen and lounging on the floor. It was a wonderful evening and it felt so good; even the next morning as I finished up the last of the dishes and pulled my salad out of the fridge I was wreathed in smiles, carrying a happy glow all morning, so grateful for and delighting in these wonderful friends.

(One funny moment: as Greg and Kat were leaving, he said to Brian “I’m so glad I got to meet you. I was starting to think Si didn’t have any other friends.” He was kidding (I hope!) but it reminded me that mixing up one’s groups of friends is crucial. It’s too easy for each sub-section of friends to just stay in one pocket, all knowing one another already, all sharing history and stories. If you mix them up, then the stories become new again, and new connections are found.)

From now on I think I’ll keep my dinners small like this. I keep thinking “oh, I should throw a party” but I get bogged down with the sheer number of great people I know, wonderful friends and family I want to see and feed and talk to. It’s overwhelming, exhausting (ever tried to throw a party all by yourself, start to finish?), and expensive. If I think of it in terms of small combinations like this I think it will be easier; find three at a time, cross sections of my life to find people who might not already know each other but should, and tailor the meals to those few tastes.

Brace yourselves.