The critters are back at school and I have loved this first week of getting to write every morning.
Both kids seem to have embraced school which reduces the amount of worrying energy I expend and allows me to feel really free once I drop them off at 8:06 AM. Fiona, the extrovert, loves Kindergarten and at the end of the first day hid from me because she didn't want to leave. Ian likes his new teacher and the kids in his class seem kind (a big concern for my son) even though his best friend isn't in his class.
I have found that having three uninterrupted hours five days in a row has allowed me to take a much broader view of my book. I was able to develop significantly the back story of my villain and to work out some kinks in the logic of the world I've set up, both things that eluded me when I was only able to write once a week.
The only thing that has made me a wee bit cranky is the excess of construction noise that is currently going on outside my office window. Our neighborhood has been slated for sidewalk repairs (though individual home owners have to pay for it...grrrr) and this appears to be the week that all my neighbors hired the concrete contractors to come and jack-hammer out the slabs and bring in the big churning mixer. It'll make walking in our neighborhood a damn sight nicer in the long run, but right now I'm wishing I had a pair of ear plugs...
Friday, September 05, 2008
Sunday, August 31, 2008
One of my favorite things...
...from our trip to the UP were the wonderful wild blueberries we found almost everywhere:
though the waves and beach
and cabin in the woods were wonderful too!
While Ian was reading a stack of old Mad Magazines and Brian and Fiona were searching through the mucky bits for frogs (and found a spectacular mutant frog with 5 legs pictured below):
Count them legs, people.
I was sprawled out in the sun, or curled up in front of the fireplace with an excellent book: A Free Life by Ha Jin. Through a man and his family's immigrant experience, the book addresses how freedom sounds great as an abstract concept, but how freedom also means uncertainty and how it is often very scary. (The political wonk in me thought that universal health care would have relieved a great deal of Nan's employment concerns). Nan's struggles and conflicts with the Chinese immigrant community also show how manipulative nationalism and patriotism, whether of the Chinese or American variety, can be. Reading it after a couple of weeks of Beijing Olympics coverage was particularly timely.
The book starts off slow, and truth be told, it took me a long time to get into it. I started the book last January, but didn't get sucked in, so I put it back on the shelf to try again later. I'm glad I came back, because it isn't a showy book: it contains lots of the small events of everyday American life and you come to understand the main character, Nan, by how he responds to the stresses and pressures. At the beginning of the book, I was a little annoyed with how moody and grouchy Nan was, but by the end, I liked and admired the guy because he didn't settle for easy answers or do what other people thought he should be doing. He ended up embodying freedom in his impractical desire to become a poet and the compromises he had to make to achieve this goal. The book ends with "The Poems of Nan Wu" which are lovely and feel sort of like an intimate peek into a guarded character who you have slowly come to know over the course of the book. You can reference the subjects of the poems back to the novel and they show how Nan used his poetry to find meaning in events that were confusing and chaotic when they happened. It was an excellent book to read in a peaceful place where there was time for contemplation and an ample supply of wild blueberries.
though the waves and beach
and cabin in the woods were wonderful too!
While Ian was reading a stack of old Mad Magazines and Brian and Fiona were searching through the mucky bits for frogs (and found a spectacular mutant frog with 5 legs pictured below):
Count them legs, people.I was sprawled out in the sun, or curled up in front of the fireplace with an excellent book: A Free Life by Ha Jin. Through a man and his family's immigrant experience, the book addresses how freedom sounds great as an abstract concept, but how freedom also means uncertainty and how it is often very scary. (The political wonk in me thought that universal health care would have relieved a great deal of Nan's employment concerns). Nan's struggles and conflicts with the Chinese immigrant community also show how manipulative nationalism and patriotism, whether of the Chinese or American variety, can be. Reading it after a couple of weeks of Beijing Olympics coverage was particularly timely.
The book starts off slow, and truth be told, it took me a long time to get into it. I started the book last January, but didn't get sucked in, so I put it back on the shelf to try again later. I'm glad I came back, because it isn't a showy book: it contains lots of the small events of everyday American life and you come to understand the main character, Nan, by how he responds to the stresses and pressures. At the beginning of the book, I was a little annoyed with how moody and grouchy Nan was, but by the end, I liked and admired the guy because he didn't settle for easy answers or do what other people thought he should be doing. He ended up embodying freedom in his impractical desire to become a poet and the compromises he had to make to achieve this goal. The book ends with "The Poems of Nan Wu" which are lovely and feel sort of like an intimate peek into a guarded character who you have slowly come to know over the course of the book. You can reference the subjects of the poems back to the novel and they show how Nan used his poetry to find meaning in events that were confusing and chaotic when they happened. It was an excellent book to read in a peaceful place where there was time for contemplation and an ample supply of wild blueberries.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Better
Thank you for all the heartening words about the trials of parenting and how it is kinda normal to want to wring the necks of your progeny. Tonight I am drinking:
Pomegranate Cranberry juice with some Pama pomegranate liqueur, a splash of club soda and a whole squeezed lime on ice.
Though yippie and hurrah I am not drinking it because I need to, but because it is nice and refreshing and why not?
Thank god for camp. In particular the camp the kids are going to this week which is run by real adults, not rah-rah college student counselors. Not that there is anything particularly wrong with the rah-rah type camp, but we are not really rah-rah types. Those kind of people usually scare us. We are more the dweeby type and whoooa boy is this camp run by some lovely caring dweebs. My kids are each taking three "enrichment" classes which include Fencing, Baking, Ooey Gooey Chemistry, Little Ninjas (combo of karate and dodge ball from what I've seen), Self Defense for Kids and a math class that provides ample quantities of candy for math problems completed. They come home tired, they come home happy and they come home with interesting stories to tell me about things they learned. Way better than spending time with a pissy guilty mom (though not as cheap of course...)
While they are gone I am getting a blissful taste of what my writing future holds in the near future (school starts Sept 2nd!). I've been so happy to have the kids go to a place where the people are kind and their brains (and bodies) are kept active while I hunker down and work on my novel. This summer has been hard on the writing front and it is now pretty clear to me that some of my frustration with the kids has been frustration with a lack of opportunity for me to write. This book is stewing about in my head a lot of the time and clearly keeping it cooped up in there is not good for my psychic health.
In other obsessive news, I finished reading a lovely children's novel, The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart. It's an adventure starring four gifted children who together take down an evil genius. While their world is richly imagined and the plot moves quickly, what I particularly liked was how each of the characters demonstrated a different sort of intelligence. If you read any sort of educational theory you come across "multiple intelligences" with "word smart" and "number smart" being the two that are most rewarded in our educational system (just look at any I.Q. test) while "kinesthetic smart" and "interpersonal smart" are less emphasized. This novel shows how none of the children can be successful without the others and thus the acrobatic girl is as valuable a team member as the boy who is a walking dictionary. Even the curious fourth member of the book, Constance, who seems to be grumpy, hungry and tired most of the time, proves to be absolutely key to their team with her intrapersonal intelligence--this is one girl who knows herself! The playful tone of the novel reminded me of Roald Dahl, without as much of his dark side. My kids are a still a bit scared of the cruelty of some of Dahls characters, so this one is a safer bet for a successful read-aloud. And even nicer news for me, there is a sequel!
Pomegranate Cranberry juice with some Pama pomegranate liqueur, a splash of club soda and a whole squeezed lime on ice.Though yippie and hurrah I am not drinking it because I need to, but because it is nice and refreshing and why not?
Thank god for camp. In particular the camp the kids are going to this week which is run by real adults, not rah-rah college student counselors. Not that there is anything particularly wrong with the rah-rah type camp, but we are not really rah-rah types. Those kind of people usually scare us. We are more the dweeby type and whoooa boy is this camp run by some lovely caring dweebs. My kids are each taking three "enrichment" classes which include Fencing, Baking, Ooey Gooey Chemistry, Little Ninjas (combo of karate and dodge ball from what I've seen), Self Defense for Kids and a math class that provides ample quantities of candy for math problems completed. They come home tired, they come home happy and they come home with interesting stories to tell me about things they learned. Way better than spending time with a pissy guilty mom (though not as cheap of course...)
While they are gone I am getting a blissful taste of what my writing future holds in the near future (school starts Sept 2nd!). I've been so happy to have the kids go to a place where the people are kind and their brains (and bodies) are kept active while I hunker down and work on my novel. This summer has been hard on the writing front and it is now pretty clear to me that some of my frustration with the kids has been frustration with a lack of opportunity for me to write. This book is stewing about in my head a lot of the time and clearly keeping it cooped up in there is not good for my psychic health.
In other obsessive news, I finished reading a lovely children's novel, The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart. It's an adventure starring four gifted children who together take down an evil genius. While their world is richly imagined and the plot moves quickly, what I particularly liked was how each of the characters demonstrated a different sort of intelligence. If you read any sort of educational theory you come across "multiple intelligences" with "word smart" and "number smart" being the two that are most rewarded in our educational system (just look at any I.Q. test) while "kinesthetic smart" and "interpersonal smart" are less emphasized. This novel shows how none of the children can be successful without the others and thus the acrobatic girl is as valuable a team member as the boy who is a walking dictionary. Even the curious fourth member of the book, Constance, who seems to be grumpy, hungry and tired most of the time, proves to be absolutely key to their team with her intrapersonal intelligence--this is one girl who knows herself! The playful tone of the novel reminded me of Roald Dahl, without as much of his dark side. My kids are a still a bit scared of the cruelty of some of Dahls characters, so this one is a safer bet for a successful read-aloud. And even nicer news for me, there is a sequel!
Saturday, August 16, 2008
I don't care what's for dinner...
...because I'm going to eat pie!
The first piece is always messy.
The crust tastes fantastic but is a little fragile. And the peaches (Michigan Red Haven seconds from the farmer's market) slipped down my throat like liquid gold. I don't even remember chewing the first slice which meant I had to have another, right?
The second piece was kinda messy, too.
For once I'm glad my kids don't eat peaches (weirdos!) because that means more pie for me and Brian!
The first piece is always messy.
The crust tastes fantastic but is a little fragile. And the peaches (Michigan Red Haven seconds from the farmer's market) slipped down my throat like liquid gold. I don't even remember chewing the first slice which meant I had to have another, right?
The second piece was kinda messy, too.
For once I'm glad my kids don't eat peaches (weirdos!) because that means more pie for me and Brian!
Friday, August 15, 2008
I call it Kate's Coping Strategy
After a day of a lot of effort for zero gratitude, I mixed myself one of these:
vodka, lemon sorbet, splash of orange juice, club soda, lime and a little pomegranate liqueur poured over some ice. Or basically whatever I could lay my hands on that didn't sound disgusting when mixed together.
Then I took it outside and sat on the front step and watched cars go by on Summit St.
The worst thing about being this fed up with the small people inside the house was that I was also too tired to do anything more restorative than have a big old drink. Too tired to go for a walk on a beautiful evening, too tired to call up a friend and go out for some fun/relief, too tired even to listen to the radio, which is pretty pathetic on the tiredness scale.
I think the worst thing about how I feel is the guilt--I feel incredibly guilt that I am not treasuring every moment with my kids, even when they are being little shits. Sometimes I look at my daughter's hand in mine and think "It'll never be this small again--her hand will get bigger and she will get sick of me and I won't have appreciated the moments that she adored me enough." It doesn't help that I have a really sucky memory for reality. I can recount the plot of a book I read ten years ago, I can recite lines from my favorite poem from senior year of high school (The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock) but for the life of me, I can't remember a lot of significant stuff about my kids' lives, stuff that Brian or my mom will sometimes refer to and I only dimly know what the hell they are talking about.
So while my kids are being ungrateful little wretches and sucking the energy from the marrow of my bones, I feel guilty. Maybe I'd have more energy if I just felt mad.
Though I must say, I do not feel so guilty that I won't spend the damn money to send them to camp next week so that people who are getting paid will deal with them and I will get some time to write.
vodka, lemon sorbet, splash of orange juice, club soda, lime and a little pomegranate liqueur poured over some ice. Or basically whatever I could lay my hands on that didn't sound disgusting when mixed together.Then I took it outside and sat on the front step and watched cars go by on Summit St.
The worst thing about being this fed up with the small people inside the house was that I was also too tired to do anything more restorative than have a big old drink. Too tired to go for a walk on a beautiful evening, too tired to call up a friend and go out for some fun/relief, too tired even to listen to the radio, which is pretty pathetic on the tiredness scale.
I think the worst thing about how I feel is the guilt--I feel incredibly guilt that I am not treasuring every moment with my kids, even when they are being little shits. Sometimes I look at my daughter's hand in mine and think "It'll never be this small again--her hand will get bigger and she will get sick of me and I won't have appreciated the moments that she adored me enough." It doesn't help that I have a really sucky memory for reality. I can recount the plot of a book I read ten years ago, I can recite lines from my favorite poem from senior year of high school (The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock) but for the life of me, I can't remember a lot of significant stuff about my kids' lives, stuff that Brian or my mom will sometimes refer to and I only dimly know what the hell they are talking about.
So while my kids are being ungrateful little wretches and sucking the energy from the marrow of my bones, I feel guilty. Maybe I'd have more energy if I just felt mad.
Though I must say, I do not feel so guilty that I won't spend the damn money to send them to camp next week so that people who are getting paid will deal with them and I will get some time to write.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Meat-fests
We are lucky to be friends with someone who is intent on reproducing Southern barbecue up here in the northern climes. Thanks to his Southern wife, our friend Brian (yep, my husband Brian's best friend which makes life a wee bit confusing when we get the families together. Luckily my Brian is happy to be called "Crazy Brian" so we can be a little clearer in our conversations) has had ample oportunity to sample the real deal and it is our good fortune that he recently invested in this beauty:
The first meat-fest we were invited to was to try out his smoked pulled pork:
Brian transforming the smoked pork shoulder into "pulled" pork.
The meat was fantastic--smokey, tender, moist. There was not a scrap left at the end of the evening and I felt bad that after sweating over the smoker all day, Brian didn't get to look forward to left-over pulled pork sandwiches the next day. (On a related note, there's a wonderful blog entry about "smork"--smoked pulled pork--here.)
Between meat-fests Sarah, the non-crazy Brian and I did a little research in the form of the "blue plate special" on Thursday nights at Zingerman's Roadhouse:
Starting at the left and going clockwise are: pulled pork, brisket, wings, greens and cheese grits (the plate usually comes with mashed potatoes, but I much prefer grits with this line up). It was pretty decent--I liked their brisket best of the meats, but maybe it was just the fact that it had a nice kicky sauce. Their pork was nowhere near as tender and moist and smokey as Brian's. What I really enjoyed were the sides: excellent greens and grits. But then before trying Brian's pork, I never really understood why meat was everyone's focus--a big plate of Southern side dishes is my idea of (artery clogging) bliss.
The second meat-fest we were invited to was to try the Texas-style brisket:
From the left: black eyed peas, the glorious brisket, napa cabbage buttermilk slaw, and broccoli slaw. Not pictured is the slice of Wonder bread (yup, I brought a loaf this time) that I used for brisket eating.
Can you see the pink-ish smoke ring on that brisket? Yum. If forced to choose, I'd say I liked the pork marginally better than the brisket, but I think I might just be a bit more of a pork person than a beef person (cue Jewish grandparents rolling over in their graves...). And I certainly am happy to eat brisket when pork isn't on the menu!
So now the question is what meat product we should pester Brian to smoke next? Suggestions anyone?
The first meat-fest we were invited to was to try out his smoked pulled pork:
Brian transforming the smoked pork shoulder into "pulled" pork.
Sarah made some luscious Southern slow-cooked green beans with ham hocks, black-eyed peas and a peppy vinegar-hot pepper sauce to go with it. I brought the biscuits which were fine, but we all agreed that a slice of squishy Wonder bread would have been better since that is what you'd get with pulled pork in the South.
Between meat-fests Sarah, the non-crazy Brian and I did a little research in the form of the "blue plate special" on Thursday nights at Zingerman's Roadhouse:
Starting at the left and going clockwise are: pulled pork, brisket, wings, greens and cheese grits (the plate usually comes with mashed potatoes, but I much prefer grits with this line up). It was pretty decent--I liked their brisket best of the meats, but maybe it was just the fact that it had a nice kicky sauce. Their pork was nowhere near as tender and moist and smokey as Brian's. What I really enjoyed were the sides: excellent greens and grits. But then before trying Brian's pork, I never really understood why meat was everyone's focus--a big plate of Southern side dishes is my idea of (artery clogging) bliss.The second meat-fest we were invited to was to try the Texas-style brisket:
From the left: black eyed peas, the glorious brisket, napa cabbage buttermilk slaw, and broccoli slaw. Not pictured is the slice of Wonder bread (yup, I brought a loaf this time) that I used for brisket eating.Can you see the pink-ish smoke ring on that brisket? Yum. If forced to choose, I'd say I liked the pork marginally better than the brisket, but I think I might just be a bit more of a pork person than a beef person (cue Jewish grandparents rolling over in their graves...). And I certainly am happy to eat brisket when pork isn't on the menu!
So now the question is what meat product we should pester Brian to smoke next? Suggestions anyone?
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
ahhhhhh
The kids have been subdued, this is what my sangria pitcher looks like and I feel much better now that the malondialdehyde and hydroperoxide in my system have been neutralized by the polyphenols in the wine. And I also feel better because of the ALCOHOL!I made it with a bottle of La Vieille Ferme red--super cheap this month at $5.47 a bottle at Plum Market--a lemon, a lime, some sugar, and what was left in the triple sec bottle. The swig of wine I took before dumping it in the pitcher made me think it would be fine without the (ahem) fortifications, no bells and whistles, but perfectly drinkable which is more than I can say for most wine at this price.
uggggggg
The kids have no camp, no plans, no nothing this week and they are driving me nuts. Fiona, at the tender age of 5, has learned to whine "I'm bored" like a droopy teenager. Due to this pleasant state of the homestead, I have come to two realizations: 1) I better find some kind of camp for the other week we have nothing planned or else I'll throttle them and 2) I am not drinking enough wine, especially considering that Slashfood reported on research that red wine increases longevity. It looks like a pitcher of sangria is going to be made and consumed tonight.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Elixir of Life Recipe
Meg was kind enough to e-mail me with the recipe for the Elixir of Life AKA Pomegranate Mojito.Pomegranate Mojito
makes 1
1 oz Pama Pomegranate Liqueur
1 oz premium white rum
1/2 oz lime juice
2 T simple syrup
about 10 mint leaves
ice
club soda
Muddle syrup and mint leaves in a glass. Fill glass with ice. Add Pama, rum and lime juice. Top with club soda. Garnish with a slice of lime and/or more mint leaves.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Catch Up #2--taking it up yet another notch
Remember how I mentioned that at our last book group meeting Ami took it up a notch? Well Meagan hosted in July and damn if she didn't take it up yet another notch. I seriously don't know how I'm going to host after these displays of elegance...ah well! Luckily I haven't got a competitive bone in my body so I'll just serve food at my dinky table with my mismatched glassware and still have a grand old time!
But I am very happy to go to the homes of friends who are generous enough to include me in their celebration of good taste! Meagan set up this elegant table on her back patio:
While inside Meg used her muddler to great effect:
Ta da! Pomegranate mojitos!
That's how I imagine the elixir of life should look. Oh man, I want one right now...
And it just got prettier from there. Ami made a lovely, labor-intensive appetizer from the French Laundry Cookbook.
Let me see if I can remember all the components--the base is made up of a chopped tomato compote and the green pool around it is chive oil. The next layer up consists of blanched green beans in a thickened cream vinaigrette and it is all topped off with frisee tossed in olive oil and a little sea salt.
There was also a lovely summery fresh mozzarella salad, chlodnik (cold buttermilk cucumber soup), redskin potato salad and an amazing array of gorgeous grilled vegetables with a fresh herb vinaigrette.
And what was all this culinary and decorative splendor in honor of? Thankfully a really good book. We read Per Petterson's Out Stealing Horses and it is fantastic. (Warning to all relatives--you'll probably get a copy of this for your birthday or Christmas!) Stylistically the novel is very quiet--eve
n shocking events are related with a lack of histrionics. And the plot of an old man remembering the most significant summer of his youth is contemplative without ever getting sentimental. What amazes me still when I think back to the book is the subtlety with which the author told his story and how much he left out. This is a book that trusts its readers to fill in the gaps--there isn't one moment I can think of that is obvious and there were many times where I re-read a scene to make sure what I thought was happening was what was really happening. I also loved how every question wasn't answered--there were plenty of gaps in the story, particularly in the part told in the present, that are never explained. But then, this is a book that exemplifies the "show rather than tell" dictum of good writing. Like Meagan's gracious and elegant hosting, this book is a hard act to follow.
But I am very happy to go to the homes of friends who are generous enough to include me in their celebration of good taste! Meagan set up this elegant table on her back patio:
While inside Meg used her muddler to great effect:
Ta da! Pomegranate mojitos!
That's how I imagine the elixir of life should look. Oh man, I want one right now...And it just got prettier from there. Ami made a lovely, labor-intensive appetizer from the French Laundry Cookbook.
Let me see if I can remember all the components--the base is made up of a chopped tomato compote and the green pool around it is chive oil. The next layer up consists of blanched green beans in a thickened cream vinaigrette and it is all topped off with frisee tossed in olive oil and a little sea salt.There was also a lovely summery fresh mozzarella salad, chlodnik (cold buttermilk cucumber soup), redskin potato salad and an amazing array of gorgeous grilled vegetables with a fresh herb vinaigrette.
And what was all this culinary and decorative splendor in honor of? Thankfully a really good book. We read Per Petterson's Out Stealing Horses and it is fantastic. (Warning to all relatives--you'll probably get a copy of this for your birthday or Christmas!) Stylistically the novel is very quiet--even shocking events are related with a lack of histrionics. And the plot of an old man remembering the most significant summer of his youth is contemplative without ever getting sentimental. What amazes me still when I think back to the book is the subtlety with which the author told his story and how much he left out. This is a book that trusts its readers to fill in the gaps--there isn't one moment I can think of that is obvious and there were many times where I re-read a scene to make sure what I thought was happening was what was really happening. I also loved how every question wasn't answered--there were plenty of gaps in the story, particularly in the part told in the present, that are never explained. But then, this is a book that exemplifies the "show rather than tell" dictum of good writing. Like Meagan's gracious and elegant hosting, this book is a hard act to follow.
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