I just got my new passport in the mail, and sadly, right now it won't really provide entry to very many other countries. Of the 195 nations in the world, only 29 admit US citizens these days, and several of those require a two-week quarantine. All of the others are either on the State Department's Level 3, Reconsider Travel, or Level 4, Do Not Travel lists.
I guess it's a good thing that I'm working 10 hours a day to make online school work-- I'd be too busy to travel, anyway.
At first I considered my corn crop this year a bit of a fail. The sweet corn was misshapen, tiny kernels on short and too slender ears. I planted three varieties, all in three sisters mounds with beans and squash (which may be another blog post, or two, themselves.) Of the three, perhaps the most successful was the blue variety, a fiels corn meant to be dried and ground.
I probably got 5 good ears of blue corn, and the good thing about was that it could either stay on the stalk and dry or dry in my kitchen, either way was fine, depending on humidity and critters. A month or so ago, I took 30 minutes to remove the dried kernels from their ears, resulting in perhaps half a pound of blue corn. What to do next was a puzzle, but not a pressing one, since the dried corn would last indefinitely.
A week or so ago, it occurred to me that a pot of posole would be nice, and I wondered if any corn could become hominy. Turns out, it can, all it takes is nixtamalization, an ancient process where kernels are boiled with lime (not the fruit, but the calcium salt), to soften them and release more of their nutritional value.
A few clicks of the mouse, and some food grade CaOH was headed my way, although my research indicated that most Latin markets would stock it as well. Yesterday I weighed and boiled my ingredients, and this morning I rinsed and finished the corn in the pressure cooker, and when it was done, miraculously, I had several cups of plump blue hominy.
Who knew!?
Um, just centuries of indigenous cooks.
And now, me, too.
September weather is a crapshoot around here, with temperatures bouncing from the 60s to the 80s on any given day.
It was in the low 60s this morning when I dressed to take the dog out before breakfast. As the two of us jogged down the parking lot in the cool morning air, a neighbor rolled to a stop and waved. "Shorts and long sleeves!" she noted, appraising my outfit. "The season has definitely changed!"
I shrugged and laughed. It was true that I had been wearing tank tops not too many days before.
"But you do have the sleeves pushed up," she noted. "I guess it's supposed to get warmer later, right?'
Like most Americans who were alive on the day, I'll never forget September 11. 2001. I have relived and recounted my experience teaching at a school less than 2 miles from the Pentagon on that day more times than I can remember. New York City bore the brunt of those attacks, for sure, but here in the DMV we were reeling, too. But so was the nation, I think. At least in my memory we were all collectively numb with grief.
In retrospect, I guess life went on more or less as usual in parts of the country that weren't directly impacted by the attacks and their aftermath, but a lot changed for most of us in the United States that day. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, enhanced security in airports and other high profile public places, a shared feeling of uneasiness, wasn't every American affected somehow?
The general consensus was that we would do what it took to make sure everyone was safe, and since then, there haven't been any major attacks by foreign entities on US soil. And the event was so pivotal, that nineteen years later, even in the midst of an economy-crushing pandemic, politicians, journalists, and citizens acknowledged the losses of that day with speeches, 90 second retrospectives and interviews, minutes of silence and shining beams of light to honor the dead.
Unquestionably, September 11, 2001 was a terrible day, but right now, more people than were killed in those attacks die every 3 days of Covid-19 in the US. Yesterday, Canada recorded a day without any deaths from the virus. Americans continue to be divided about what should and should not be properly required of us in order to defeat this latest attack, and we are on target to lose way more than 100 times the lives that were lost 19 years ago.
Why?
When at last I shut down my computer this afternoon after logging nearly six straight hours of screen time, most of it in-person teaching to a grid of tiny dots filled with my students' initials, I considered crawling over to the couch, pulling my soft, fleecy blanket up over my head, and taking a nap.
My eyes and brain felt raw and numb, but I knew in my heart that sleeping was probably not the best solution, and it was too early to start drinking, so, despite the pouring rain, I pulled on my boots, popped up my umbrella and went for a three mile walk.
Back at home, I put the loaf of bread that had been rising since 6:30 in the oven, unzipped my ukulele from its case and strummed and sang for half an hour. Next, it was a 30 minute dance workout, after which I finally started feeling capable of maybe, maybe looking at another screen and start getting ready for tomorrow.
I used to be in the habit of relaxing by staring at my screen, scrolling through news and games and messages and social media posts, but all that has flipped along with my classroom.
I only hope that my students are taking some breaks, too.
