There must have been 25 dolphins playing in the breakers this morning. "I guess they don't mind the rain," Heidi said as we watched them jump and splash from the shelter of our balcony. It turns out Lucy didn't mind it either. It's 42 blocks down to the fishing pier and back, but she must have covered three times that distance on our walk, chasing seagulls and bubbles and running away from the scary surf. She never found the courage to actually enter the ocean, but that was okay with me-- she got just as much of a work out with no rinsing required.
Monday, October 16, 2017
Sunday, October 15, 2017
Memory Lane
The road was familiar with many personal landmarks: that's where we used to meet Aunt Harriett and Larry halfway; that's where Pauly found her dogs; that's where we used to stop for barbecue; that's where we saw the Talking Heads; that's where we were catering when I rode to the event on the back of Curtis's motorcycle; that's where you turn to go to my grad school; that's where Courtney went to high school and there's her college; that's where the toll plaza used to be-- we would make the passengers toss dimes over the car until they hit the basket; that's where you turn to go to the mall; that's where we ran out of gas on the way to the movies; that's where we found Noah; that's where we used to work; that's where Elaine lived.
And then we were here-- at our dog-friendly hotel in an oceanfront room with a balcony.
What a trip it's been already!
And then we were here-- at our dog-friendly hotel in an oceanfront room with a balcony.
What a trip it's been already!
Saturday, October 14, 2017
Worth the Trip
A few years ago when I was surprised by a bumper crop of peachy mama peppers, beautiful apricots-and-cream-colored peppers with all the flavor and none of the heat of habaneros, I found that dehydrating and grinding them produced the most fragrant chili powder imaginable, so wonderful that I find myself sneaking a pinch into almost everything I cook.
I first acquired them from my local CSA, but otherwise the peppers are rare, so much so that the only way I can grow them at all is to save the seeds from the year before. Imagine my disappointment, then, when my pepper seeds were slow to start this spring and still just tiny sprouts by mid-July. I know these tropical fruits are late producing, and I nurtured them through a cool, dry summer, but by the end of September, there was only a handful of peppers, nowhere near enough to produce enough powder to make it through to next fall.
Fortunately, although I am no longer a summer subscriber, I know my CSA farmer vends his crops at a farmers market on the north side of the city, and so Heidi and I took a little Saturday morning road trip up to that little village. Oh my! We found parking right away across from a picturesque elementary school on a street lined with neat cottages and cute bungalows. There was a little grocer on the ground floor of a Victorian house on the corner selling organic meats and other local products. The market itself had about 7 stalls, one selling hand dyed wool and felt with 2 sheep in a pen, a couple bakers, a pan-African cooked-to-order stall, and a few farmers, including my guy. The peachy mamas were there too, and we scored a half bushel for a bargain price.
Munching on halves of a ginormous almond croissant, we drove home through the city, past embassies, parks, and monuments, a felted pumpkin kit and peppers in the back. "Why don't we live there?" I asked Heidi.
I first acquired them from my local CSA, but otherwise the peppers are rare, so much so that the only way I can grow them at all is to save the seeds from the year before. Imagine my disappointment, then, when my pepper seeds were slow to start this spring and still just tiny sprouts by mid-July. I know these tropical fruits are late producing, and I nurtured them through a cool, dry summer, but by the end of September, there was only a handful of peppers, nowhere near enough to produce enough powder to make it through to next fall.
Fortunately, although I am no longer a summer subscriber, I know my CSA farmer vends his crops at a farmers market on the north side of the city, and so Heidi and I took a little Saturday morning road trip up to that little village. Oh my! We found parking right away across from a picturesque elementary school on a street lined with neat cottages and cute bungalows. There was a little grocer on the ground floor of a Victorian house on the corner selling organic meats and other local products. The market itself had about 7 stalls, one selling hand dyed wool and felt with 2 sheep in a pen, a couple bakers, a pan-African cooked-to-order stall, and a few farmers, including my guy. The peachy mamas were there too, and we scored a half bushel for a bargain price.
Munching on halves of a ginormous almond croissant, we drove home through the city, past embassies, parks, and monuments, a felted pumpkin kit and peppers in the back. "Why don't we live there?" I asked Heidi.
Friday, October 13, 2017
Paradigm Shift
Heidi is going to a 3 day conference at the beach next week, and she asked me if I wanted to take some personal days and come along..
"I can't!" I said. "It's the corn maze field trip AND the day of peace!"
She was disappointed,
And so over the next few days I gave it some serious thought. Finally it hit me. My gosh! It's the corn maze field trip and the day of peace!
Why wouldn't I want to be playing with my dog at the beach instead?
"I can't!" I said. "It's the corn maze field trip AND the day of peace!"
She was disappointed,
And so over the next few days I gave it some serious thought. Finally it hit me. My gosh! It's the corn maze field trip and the day of peace!
Why wouldn't I want to be playing with my dog at the beach instead?
Thursday, October 12, 2017
AKA
Sixth week of school, and I’m making my way through the roster, having a quick conference with every student. “When is it going to be my turn?” asked Andrew.
“Not for a little bit,” I answered. “I’m going alphabetically backwards by first name. That puts you at the bottom of the list today.” I smiled apologetically.
“Wait! How come Alex just went?” he asked.
“Who’s Alex?” I replied with furrowed brow.
Andrew looked over his shoulder.
“That’s Nelson,” I told him.
He shrugged, and I made eye contact with his buddy.
“It is my nickname,” the second guy admitted. “It even says so in the information system.
I did not doubt him. “What does your math teacher call you?” I asked.
“Nelson,” he answered.
“What about social studies?”
“Nelson,” he admitted
“Science?”
“Nelson.”
“Well, Alex," I said, "I will make sure they call you by the right name from now on, BUT...”
I paused, and his smile drooped a tiny bit.
“I am going to miss Nelson! He is a great guy!”
“Not for a little bit,” I answered. “I’m going alphabetically backwards by first name. That puts you at the bottom of the list today.” I smiled apologetically.
“Wait! How come Alex just went?” he asked.
“Who’s Alex?” I replied with furrowed brow.
Andrew looked over his shoulder.
“That’s Nelson,” I told him.
He shrugged, and I made eye contact with his buddy.
“It is my nickname,” the second guy admitted. “It even says so in the information system.
I did not doubt him. “What does your math teacher call you?” I asked.
“Nelson,” he answered.
“What about social studies?”
“Nelson,” he admitted
“Science?”
“Nelson.”
“Well, Alex," I said, "I will make sure they call you by the right name from now on, BUT...”
I paused, and his smile drooped a tiny bit.
“I am going to miss Nelson! He is a great guy!”
Wednesday, October 11, 2017
Goosebumps
When I was a kid I couldn't get enough of ghost stories or any other creepy supernatural tale. There's just something about cooler weather, golden afternoons, and dark nights that makes me want to settle in with something scary, and I know from my teaching that many kids are the same way.
It's been ages since I've had that pleasure, though. I trace the decline of my enjoyment to 1980, the year I saw Friday the 13th. Back then there was no such thing as a slasher movie, and I can still remember the sick feeling I had as I trudged out of the theater along with the other shocked and silent patrons. We were unsure what we had just seen. A couple years later I had a conversation I can't forget. "I cried when I saw Friday the 13th," a colleague told me, "because I had never seen someone killed before."
Imagine that! A world where we had never seen simulated death and dismemberment! It seems like a very long time ago. And over the decades, it also seems that such graphic violence has completely taken the place of a good, old-fashioned boo! of a scare.
I suppose there have been some exceptions. The Sixth Sense (1999) comes to mind, and although there was plenty of blood and gore in that movie, too, somehow it had a gentler sensibility. I also liked Disney's Hocus Pocus (1993); it was spooky and entertaining. And the TV show The Ghost Whisperer was a little hokie, but satisfying, but that went off the air in 2010.
To be honest, I think I had given up on the whole idea of October goosebumps, that is until I happened upon the podcast Spooked, by the producers of Snap Judgment. Well-produced, compellingly-told true stories of ghosts and other dark and scary things, I was hooked from episode 1.
I sometimes listen to podcasts to help me go to sleep at night, but when I tuned into this one? Man! I was wide awake and itching for another episode. Check it out-- it's really that good.
It's been ages since I've had that pleasure, though. I trace the decline of my enjoyment to 1980, the year I saw Friday the 13th. Back then there was no such thing as a slasher movie, and I can still remember the sick feeling I had as I trudged out of the theater along with the other shocked and silent patrons. We were unsure what we had just seen. A couple years later I had a conversation I can't forget. "I cried when I saw Friday the 13th," a colleague told me, "because I had never seen someone killed before."
Imagine that! A world where we had never seen simulated death and dismemberment! It seems like a very long time ago. And over the decades, it also seems that such graphic violence has completely taken the place of a good, old-fashioned boo! of a scare.
I suppose there have been some exceptions. The Sixth Sense (1999) comes to mind, and although there was plenty of blood and gore in that movie, too, somehow it had a gentler sensibility. I also liked Disney's Hocus Pocus (1993); it was spooky and entertaining. And the TV show The Ghost Whisperer was a little hokie, but satisfying, but that went off the air in 2010.
To be honest, I think I had given up on the whole idea of October goosebumps, that is until I happened upon the podcast Spooked, by the producers of Snap Judgment. Well-produced, compellingly-told true stories of ghosts and other dark and scary things, I was hooked from episode 1.
I sometimes listen to podcasts to help me go to sleep at night, but when I tuned into this one? Man! I was wide awake and itching for another episode. Check it out-- it's really that good.
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
An Allegory
At this point in the season the tomatoes are still sweet and tangy, but they are fewer and their skins are a little tough since the waning hours of sunlight means a longer ripening time. Even so, there were plenty of cherry tomatoes when I went to the garden yesterday afternoon.
Several years ago I found an excellent recipe for those times when we are blessed with such profusion. It involves lots of olive oil, shallots, garlic, basil, rosemary, and a long slow cooking time that takes maximum advantage of all that pectin in all those tiny tomato skins resulting in a silky and flavorful sauce.
It's kind of cool to watch the tomatoes burst as they cook, each individual losing itself for the good of the whole. Tonight, though, the pot was full of recalcitrant, tough-skinned little tomatoes, seemingly unwilling to yield.
Oh, I could have taken a masher to the batch of them and crushed them into submission, but I didn't. I hoped that with a little extra time and patience they would come along, and? They did.
(Except for that one little yellow pear tomato. That one I totally squished. After all, we had to eat.)
Several years ago I found an excellent recipe for those times when we are blessed with such profusion. It involves lots of olive oil, shallots, garlic, basil, rosemary, and a long slow cooking time that takes maximum advantage of all that pectin in all those tiny tomato skins resulting in a silky and flavorful sauce.
It's kind of cool to watch the tomatoes burst as they cook, each individual losing itself for the good of the whole. Tonight, though, the pot was full of recalcitrant, tough-skinned little tomatoes, seemingly unwilling to yield.
Oh, I could have taken a masher to the batch of them and crushed them into submission, but I didn't. I hoped that with a little extra time and patience they would come along, and? They did.
(Except for that one little yellow pear tomato. That one I totally squished. After all, we had to eat.)
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