Ginger scones.
Presents (mostly for the baby, because: cute).
Frost-cicles on all the trees.
Walking the dog.
Family.
Naptime, sort of.
Tea with honey.
Dreams of tropical seashores.
Games.
House of Thai.
Happy Xmas!
---
*these were Hanukkah Harry's reindeer, when he took over for Santa one year. SNL, circa Jon Lovitz.
12.25.2009
12.15.2009
Hacienda de Zesty, or "I've Got Moxie!"
We had a gas station snack pack yesterday, an off-brand peanut/pretzel/etc. mix that was "Zesty Ranch" flavored. It wasn't very good, but it was worth it for one thing: in Spanish, it was "Hacienda de Zesty" flavored! When I live in a house that deserves a name, that is what I will call it.
The reason for going to this particular gas station, aside from the obvious refueling opportunity, is because they search far and wide for delicious oddball beverages. (Disclaimer: I have not yet actually been, but was picked up yesterday by my husband who had purchased some) I was excited to find a local source for Moxie, which I have long enjoyed but rarely find. I've even been to the Moxie festival in Lisbon Falls, Maine! (thanks to a good friend with a cabin nearby) I was surprised that it came in a plastic 20-oz bottle (has it become more mainstream than I thought? rarely a good sign), but when I cracked the cap and that smell wafted out, it was delightful. Actually drinking it was somewhat disappointing - it seemed too sweet and a bit flat. Maybe it had been sitting too long, maybe they've changed the formula (could high-fructose corn syrup be the culprit?), or maybe my memory has clouded the reality...
What I know is that I associated the same odd deliciousness found in Moxie with bitters and Chinotto (an Italian soda) - also things I like that most people don't (or not without a good deal of alcohol, anyway). Another reason to love the magical internet: while it might have been more fun to go on an expedition and try and find out what's in those drinks, it was far easier and quicker to hit the google. Gentian root, that's what. Hurrah for that! Also for the chinotto, which is a citrus fruit. Not sure how those flavors overlap, but now I kind of want to try growing them...
Ok. There's my involved ramble for the day. It's lunch, which means it's time once more to crack that cap because, hey: I've got Moxie!
The reason for going to this particular gas station, aside from the obvious refueling opportunity, is because they search far and wide for delicious oddball beverages. (Disclaimer: I have not yet actually been, but was picked up yesterday by my husband who had purchased some) I was excited to find a local source for Moxie, which I have long enjoyed but rarely find. I've even been to the Moxie festival in Lisbon Falls, Maine! (thanks to a good friend with a cabin nearby) I was surprised that it came in a plastic 20-oz bottle (has it become more mainstream than I thought? rarely a good sign), but when I cracked the cap and that smell wafted out, it was delightful. Actually drinking it was somewhat disappointing - it seemed too sweet and a bit flat. Maybe it had been sitting too long, maybe they've changed the formula (could high-fructose corn syrup be the culprit?), or maybe my memory has clouded the reality...
What I know is that I associated the same odd deliciousness found in Moxie with bitters and Chinotto (an Italian soda) - also things I like that most people don't (or not without a good deal of alcohol, anyway). Another reason to love the magical internet: while it might have been more fun to go on an expedition and try and find out what's in those drinks, it was far easier and quicker to hit the google. Gentian root, that's what. Hurrah for that! Also for the chinotto, which is a citrus fruit. Not sure how those flavors overlap, but now I kind of want to try growing them...
Ok. There's my involved ramble for the day. It's lunch, which means it's time once more to crack that cap because, hey: I've got Moxie!
12.08.2009
NaBloNoPoMo
As November approached, I said to myself, Self! You'll be home with lots of time, looking for things to do. What a good opportunity to actually commit to National Blog Posting Month, known to those in the know as NaBloPoMo. It's pretty simple: you post to your blog every day. Much easier than NaNoWriMo, wherein you must write a novel in a month. Heck, the posts don't have to be long, or interesting, or even words. A lovely way to get into the habit of posting more. Good on you! Ah, but in reality? Not so much. In fact, not even one post. And now it's December.
But! I had a baby, so that's cool. And now I'm doing all the things you do with a baby, to wit: gazing in wonder, whipping out the boob, talking in ways I swore I never would, singing nonsense songs, occasionally freaking out at the responsibility I have for this tiny being, leaking milk, not sleeping enough, taking pictures, agonizing over our ridiculous consumer society, wondering what he's going to be like in 10 or 20 years, snuggling.
It's pretty great.
So hopefully I will actually start posting more, and not always about the baby. Rock on.
But! I had a baby, so that's cool. And now I'm doing all the things you do with a baby, to wit: gazing in wonder, whipping out the boob, talking in ways I swore I never would, singing nonsense songs, occasionally freaking out at the responsibility I have for this tiny being, leaking milk, not sleeping enough, taking pictures, agonizing over our ridiculous consumer society, wondering what he's going to be like in 10 or 20 years, snuggling.
It's pretty great.
So hopefully I will actually start posting more, and not always about the baby. Rock on.
10.29.2009
The Government Ate My Baby
After initial unconcern, then schools closing because the outbreak of swine flu was so bad, my doctor wants me to get the vaccine, and finally got some in, after weeks of not knowing when/if she would. This is good, yes? But we live in a place where people routinely do not vaccinate their children (something like 12 times the national average for exemption requests at school - which, among other things, led to a recent outbreak of whooping cough. Whooping cough! Pertussis! Who knew it even still existed, outside of Victorian novels? Cheese and Rice. [that's how fearful Mormons avoid using the lord's name in vain - say it out loud, you'll see]) and therefore have been sending around all kinds of info about how the vaccine is going to damage my unborn child. (who the doctors think is most at risk if he actually gets the flu, which is not unlikely these days) Except. Except!
They are spouting incorrect information. (specifically in this case about certain ingredients that are not actually in the H1N1 vaccine) And it really irritates me. And the internet doesn't help, with all the crazies out there going on about how bad for you things are, and how untested, and so forth. The problem is that they aren't always wrong, but it's sort of boy-who-cried-wolf, and then it's hard to know what to actually trust, but my gut does not point me in the direction of the people who write IN ALL CAPS and clearly have a limited understanding of the English language and an attachment to government conspiracy.
I'm getting the vaccine today. So there. Just needed to vent a bit.
They are spouting incorrect information. (specifically in this case about certain ingredients that are not actually in the H1N1 vaccine) And it really irritates me. And the internet doesn't help, with all the crazies out there going on about how bad for you things are, and how untested, and so forth. The problem is that they aren't always wrong, but it's sort of boy-who-cried-wolf, and then it's hard to know what to actually trust, but my gut does not point me in the direction of the people who write IN ALL CAPS and clearly have a limited understanding of the English language and an attachment to government conspiracy.
I'm getting the vaccine today. So there. Just needed to vent a bit.
10.25.2009
My Uterus Ripens
There's just something about that expression that tickles me. As I've reached the "any day now, or else another few weeks" point of pregnancy, I decided to actually flip through some of the books on birthing that have been filling up a shelf, given to us and ignored for all these months. Having done so, I concluded that it would have been fine not to look at them, for the most part. Got some amusement out of visualizing strawberry mists to float on (don't really think that's going to happen, but you never know). Can't even remember the other funny bits. But I will say that - as common wisdom around here goes - Ina May's Guide to Childbirth is the one to read, if you're going to read one. She's got a good attitude, lots of experience, a nice combination of common sense, humor, appreciation for modern medicine, and trust in a woman's body. She talks about how men would brag if they had a body part that could do what our girly bits do, and I have these great images of men shooting pool, drinking beer, and claiming "Mine dilated to 13 centimeters, dude!"
That idea - that our bodies are built for this and know what to do - is the most helpful birth prep for me. It's something I can believe in and hang on to and has moved me beyond the "very small hole" anxiety of the early days. Heck, I'm even aiming for orgasmic! If I can't have dolphins, I can at least hope for that.
On another note entirely, Glee may be my new favorite show. It has some unnecessary side plots (the wife with the fake pregnancy) but on the whole is pretty damn entertaining. Except I got that irritating Beyonce song stuck in my head after the last episode I saw (we're watching them online, and therefore are behind a few weeks). I can't quite put my finger on why I dislike it so much, but something just doesn't work for me about that whole "If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it" bit. I'm sure some clever feminist has a well-articulated argument about possession and objectification and all that jazz, so I'll just get on her bandwagon, wherever she is. You go, girl!
This whole television-on-the-internet thing has totally ruined my self-righteousness about not having a TV. And I missed World Poetry Day, and meant to post some choice rhymes. Even if they didn't actually rhyme. Another time.
Ok, back to the daily lounging about and feeling uncomfortable. :)
That idea - that our bodies are built for this and know what to do - is the most helpful birth prep for me. It's something I can believe in and hang on to and has moved me beyond the "very small hole" anxiety of the early days. Heck, I'm even aiming for orgasmic! If I can't have dolphins, I can at least hope for that.
On another note entirely, Glee may be my new favorite show. It has some unnecessary side plots (the wife with the fake pregnancy) but on the whole is pretty damn entertaining. Except I got that irritating Beyonce song stuck in my head after the last episode I saw (we're watching them online, and therefore are behind a few weeks). I can't quite put my finger on why I dislike it so much, but something just doesn't work for me about that whole "If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it" bit. I'm sure some clever feminist has a well-articulated argument about possession and objectification and all that jazz, so I'll just get on her bandwagon, wherever she is. You go, girl!
This whole television-on-the-internet thing has totally ruined my self-righteousness about not having a TV. And I missed World Poetry Day, and meant to post some choice rhymes. Even if they didn't actually rhyme. Another time.
Ok, back to the daily lounging about and feeling uncomfortable. :)
10.05.2009
Gay Pride March Of The Penguins
A side effect of not teaching this semester is that I just missed Banned Books Week, the ALA's celebration of the freedom to read. It was last week, and when I'm in class, I always do something about it with the kids. We look at lists of books that have been challenged or banned and discuss why and read some of them and talk about what they think is appropriate or not, and so on. It's pretty great.
While I'm not advocating reading Stephen King's _It_ to your five-year-old (though I read it probably far too young, in fifth grade, and had nightmares and called it one of my favorite books for years afterwards), or the Penthouse Forum to your grade-schooler (they'll discover it soon enough on their own anyway), I'm pretty strongly against the kind of censorship that book banning is all about. Especially when it's led by the religious nutjobs who think they should be the moral arbiters of our society.
Case in point: The most frequently challenged book in 2008 was _And Tango Makes Three_, a children's book based on a true story about two male penguins in the Central Park Zoo who hatched an egg and raised a baby. It's totally adorable. It won all kinds of best book awards. It is not going to make your child - who will love this story, because penguins! Yay! - grow up any gayer than they otherwise would.
Other than the ridiculous challenges to kids' books (Bridge to Terabithia, The Giver, Goosebumps, In The Night Kitchen, Where's Waldo, Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret, to name a very few), the ones that really irritate me are the challenges to the "classics" (including Catcher in The Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, Catch-22, Lord of the Flies, Gone With The Wind, Fahrenheit 451, 1984, Of Mice and Men, etc). For one reason or another, these books are considered some of the very best written - you can argue with the literary merits if you like, but to ban them? Why don't we want to raise a generation that thinks, that grapples with issues they may not agree with, that takes on the complications of being human?
So go out and read a banned book, and tell people all about it. Score one for the Queer Penguin Alliance!
While I'm not advocating reading Stephen King's _It_ to your five-year-old (though I read it probably far too young, in fifth grade, and had nightmares and called it one of my favorite books for years afterwards), or the Penthouse Forum to your grade-schooler (they'll discover it soon enough on their own anyway), I'm pretty strongly against the kind of censorship that book banning is all about. Especially when it's led by the religious nutjobs who think they should be the moral arbiters of our society.
Case in point: The most frequently challenged book in 2008 was _And Tango Makes Three_, a children's book based on a true story about two male penguins in the Central Park Zoo who hatched an egg and raised a baby. It's totally adorable. It won all kinds of best book awards. It is not going to make your child - who will love this story, because penguins! Yay! - grow up any gayer than they otherwise would.
Other than the ridiculous challenges to kids' books (Bridge to Terabithia, The Giver, Goosebumps, In The Night Kitchen, Where's Waldo, Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret, to name a very few), the ones that really irritate me are the challenges to the "classics" (including Catcher in The Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, Catch-22, Lord of the Flies, Gone With The Wind, Fahrenheit 451, 1984, Of Mice and Men, etc). For one reason or another, these books are considered some of the very best written - you can argue with the literary merits if you like, but to ban them? Why don't we want to raise a generation that thinks, that grapples with issues they may not agree with, that takes on the complications of being human?
So go out and read a banned book, and tell people all about it. Score one for the Queer Penguin Alliance!
9.23.2009
I [blank], Therefore I Am
Descartes was sitting in a cafe one afternoon, enjoying a croissant and people-watching. A waiter came over and asked him if he'd like anything else; he replied, "I think not," and disappeared.
I'm having a bit of existential angst these days, as the school year is rolling and I'm sitting at home, growing a baby. Lots of time for reflection, amidst the sleeping and eating.* I've realized that teaching isn't just what I do, but it's part of who I am, and though I can't imagine being that veteran teacher who's been at the same school for 30 years, I also can't imagine not teaching at all. I read the paper and want to cut out an article to bring to class. I learn a fun fact and want to tell the kids. I hear a joke and think of them. And - it's really nice not to have to do the work right now.
We go to dinner parties and meet new people and ask, "What do you do?" but we mean, "Who are you?" I know there's a degree of luxury in those things overlapping, and that for many (most?) people a job is just a job, a way to make a living so that they can get on with who they really are. Johnny Paycheck sings their tune ("Take This Job and Shove It"). But most folks I hang out with are lucky enough to do something they want to do, and find fulfilling. So now that there's this empty space where that used to be, I'm floundering a bit.
I know that in 6 weeks or so, I'll be glad for the time off, and it will be hard to go back. In some ways, this is a good crossroads for thinking about change: is there something else I want to do? Are there things I've given up on, branches on the alternate timeline of my life that I could climb out on now? Well, it's too late to be a ballerina, but maybe this is the perfect time to start writing for real. Or...I don't know - but it does sort of seem like an opportunity. I teach, I am a teacher, and I love it (and it's not perfect, of course), but I don't want to get stuck doing something just because it's what I've always done.
I feel like I should break out into an Andrew Lloyd Webber song, a not-quite-operatic baring of my soul that will somehow resolve all my problems with a long-held high note. (heh - I spelled his name wrong at first, as Weber - the legendary creator of the Phantom of the BBQ, Jesus Christ SuperGrill... George Foreman ain't got nothin' on him!) This kind of brushes the edge of that whole "just a mom" issue. Except I'm not even a mom yet. I'm just...at home. With lots of time that I know I should savor because soon my life will change dramatically and I'll look back on these days fondly blah blah blah. Or I should be frantically sewing baby blankets and researching breast pumps.
I've been thinking about this a lot and I'm not really sure I captured what I wanted to say, or even really know what I want to say about it, but I wanted to put something out there. Now that it's down, I can go back to contemplating my navel and working on filling in the blank. Or, you know, take the dog out, pick some veggies from the garden, and enjoy the afternoon.
*my life these days is nicely summed up by a poster in the children's bookstore downtown: Snack. Nap. Read.
I'm having a bit of existential angst these days, as the school year is rolling and I'm sitting at home, growing a baby. Lots of time for reflection, amidst the sleeping and eating.* I've realized that teaching isn't just what I do, but it's part of who I am, and though I can't imagine being that veteran teacher who's been at the same school for 30 years, I also can't imagine not teaching at all. I read the paper and want to cut out an article to bring to class. I learn a fun fact and want to tell the kids. I hear a joke and think of them. And - it's really nice not to have to do the work right now.
We go to dinner parties and meet new people and ask, "What do you do?" but we mean, "Who are you?" I know there's a degree of luxury in those things overlapping, and that for many (most?) people a job is just a job, a way to make a living so that they can get on with who they really are. Johnny Paycheck sings their tune ("Take This Job and Shove It"). But most folks I hang out with are lucky enough to do something they want to do, and find fulfilling. So now that there's this empty space where that used to be, I'm floundering a bit.
I know that in 6 weeks or so, I'll be glad for the time off, and it will be hard to go back. In some ways, this is a good crossroads for thinking about change: is there something else I want to do? Are there things I've given up on, branches on the alternate timeline of my life that I could climb out on now? Well, it's too late to be a ballerina, but maybe this is the perfect time to start writing for real. Or...I don't know - but it does sort of seem like an opportunity. I teach, I am a teacher, and I love it (and it's not perfect, of course), but I don't want to get stuck doing something just because it's what I've always done.
I feel like I should break out into an Andrew Lloyd Webber song, a not-quite-operatic baring of my soul that will somehow resolve all my problems with a long-held high note. (heh - I spelled his name wrong at first, as Weber - the legendary creator of the Phantom of the BBQ, Jesus Christ SuperGrill... George Foreman ain't got nothin' on him!) This kind of brushes the edge of that whole "just a mom" issue. Except I'm not even a mom yet. I'm just...at home. With lots of time that I know I should savor because soon my life will change dramatically and I'll look back on these days fondly blah blah blah. Or I should be frantically sewing baby blankets and researching breast pumps.
I've been thinking about this a lot and I'm not really sure I captured what I wanted to say, or even really know what I want to say about it, but I wanted to put something out there. Now that it's down, I can go back to contemplating my navel and working on filling in the blank. Or, you know, take the dog out, pick some veggies from the garden, and enjoy the afternoon.
*my life these days is nicely summed up by a poster in the children's bookstore downtown: Snack. Nap. Read.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
