All the fruit in Puglia

The good parts of the trip were very good. When we arrived at the villa, after a somewhat disheartening drive by some very soviet looking apartment buildings and through towns of cardboard-flimsy buildings and over roads more hole than pot, we met Paolo, the son of the owner and our English speaking host. He pointed out the coffee, the semi-stocked mini-fridge and the fact we had to pay in cash. Except for the cash part, which would prove one of the stickingest points of the trip, we were happy there was cold milk and cold, fresh cherries in the fridge. Z could live on cherries and milk. 

Paolo invited us to pick any fruit on the fruit trees. This was early June. What fruit could possibly be ready? I was already amazed about the cherries but then we saw the peaches. Walking around the villa's couple of acres I found lemons, oranges, pears, apricots, figs, some weird caterpillar looking fruit under which Milo, the caretaker, draped a huge net to catch the falling fruit. Apparently, in this region of Italy, this is also how they collect olives. Most of the olive oil in Italy comes from this region but since they collect the olives with the net, which means the olives are a little over-ripe, it's not as high quality as the olives that are collected directly from the branch. These fruits were more starchy than sweet. I was the only ones who ate them. 

Not all the fruit was ripe yet and while we had a few peaches from the tree abutting one of the stone huts, Paolo and his girlfriend came by and collected them all one day. There was another peach tree but it wasn't ready yet. The figs were almost ready and we ate a couple. We pulled some almost ripe apricots and plums--still tart but pretty delicious.

Around the town of Lecce and in different cities we found even more fruit. Watermelon in June! More cherries. We went through pounds of peaches. While there weren't as many berries as you'd imagine, Z did find some strawberries. To complement her obligatory "Spaghetti con il burro," we also learned to order "Frutta da Stagione." One time, the seasonal fruit included a whole half a watermelon. Apparently Erik isn't much of a still life photographer so I don't have any pictures of the monstrosity but when he served the melon, the table looked very Flinstone-esque.

We had melon and prosciutto and kiwis. Oranges and apricots. I'm not sure in what world all these fruits are seasonal simultaneously. I attribute it to the dual ocean breeze but for someone who loves fruit more than other foods, and whose mother-in-law and daughter who love it as much, the bounty was more than welcoming. 

The long story

Scroll down. I have many posts. I'm trying to make amends for my lame-ass blogging.

OE

Though the trip was lovely, as documented in Erik's pictures, it was also traumatic. Most of the trauma can be ascribed to operator error. Italy is a foreign foreign country and it was more difficult than I thought it would be to get the nuance of things. It was hard just barely knowing the language but harder was not knowing the customs. The south of Italy partakes in the longest siesta I've ever heard of. From 1 or 2 until 7 or 8 at night, everything was shut. Grocery stores and museums, restaurants and shops. That's a long time not to be able to do much--thank god we had the villa and the ocean for swimming. But with the Z, we couldn't stay up too late and because we were at the villa, we mostly cooked dinner at home. But if we had plans for a short trip to a little town in the morning, we couldn't shop and go. We had to plan and shop for dinner, drop the food off at the villa, and then travel out. With 7 people (at the height of my mom's visit) that didn't happen much. So we ate a lot of salami and cheese, tomatoes and fruit for dinner, which was good but wasn't exactly the cooking adventure I'd hoped to embrace.
But the true trauma started early. First was the laptop. People. I'm addicted. It was so hard to reorganize how I'd planned to acquaint myself with Puglia. I figured I would do as I do at home--learn a little about something, go home and Google it, then go out and discover some more. But as it was, I was only able to see the surface of things--to imagine how baroque was baroque, how poisonous was oleander, if Gallipoli was more interesting than Santa Maria de Leuca (answer: yes). It was like flying blind. Plus I couldn't blog. Plus I couldn't write.
Also. Z had a pretty bad cough upon flying over. No problem. We brought the nebulizer and an outlet adapter. And yet. I did not bring a voltage adapter. And, apparently, the nebulizer needed one because as I was administering the albuterol to Z, the machine started to hiss. And then smoke. And then kaboom. The first night there. 3.5 more weeks to go without her breathing treatments. Should we go home or risk pneumonia? Every day, the cough would get better. And then worse. She still has a cough. (Now that we're home, we have a new nebulizer).
Then, there were the bugs. The first day, we left the doors open. Erik woke up with a mosquito bite on his eye that made him look like the pirate he always wanted to be. Z looked like she had measles. When we came back from Siena (she stayed with Erik's parents at the villa while we took the train), I had hoped she would be mosquito bite and cough free. Instead, she had even more bites all over her face and was coughing like crazy. Erik's parents had asked the villa's owners, who speak no English, where a doctor was. The hosts, having been more recently acquainted with measles, had Z stick out her tongue where no spots or whiteness or something could be found. Safely diagnosed it was hard to take the girl who looked like she had measles/leprosy out to lunches. I practiced saying morso di zanzarra over and over but as usual when I tried to tell jokes in Italian, the Italians looked at me like I was just covering for having the swine flu.
We also learned there were these contraptions in our stone houses (read: stone huts) that you could plug into the wall and insert a "Vape" which would "vaporize" the mosquitoes. When I die 4 years from now, you'll know it was from the fog of pesticide I inhaled while in the southern part of Italy.
Some of our meals were a consequence of our general stupidity. If there's no one eating there, should have been our motto, don't go. But we were often desperate for lunch or dinner and the Italians seemed to eat at times not in any way in alignment with ours. One day, we went for what turned out to be a feast. Antipasti, I ordered for us all--figuring cheese and salumi would be safe. He asked "Antipasti di terre or di mare?" I swear I said di terre but really, this guy with one squiwampous eye, he didn't want us to order di terre. No we were by the sea and he wanted to impress us with his 15 ways with squid. Squid with oil. Squid, di salento, squared and roasted, squid with tomatoes. Also, eggplant that looked squid innards. And calamari, fried on a stick. And roasted peppers roasted until they were slimy like squid. And Z's obligatory spaghetti with butter which was all overcooked tentacles. The only edible bit was the zucchini frittata. When he asked if we'd like more, I finally got to use the word Basta!
Also, on our trip back from Siena, I was in a grumpy mood and, when he asked which train we needed to change to at Empoli, I meanly said, the one to Pisa duh. Then I marched off to the bathroom. He went to the platform. When the train came to Livorna, I saw him over there but assumed he wouldn't get on. It didn't say Pisa. But then, when the train pulled away, I couldn't find him. He did get on! I couldn't decide what to do. I was sure he was destined for some weird town far off our path. Our flight back to Bari wasn't for 4 more hours. I decided to wait in Empoli. It took me two hours to figure out the train to Livorna also went to Pisa. I jumped on the train, assuming he would be waiting at the airport for me. I actually imagined the running into each other's arms reunion scenario that should mark all good Italian vacations. But this one? He was not at the airport. We were down to 1.5 hours until our flight. The trains came every half hour. He wasn't on the next or the next. We wouldn't make the flight. He had my passport, I had the tickets. We would be trapped, and mad, in Pisa. Finally, on the 4:30 train, he appeared. Our flight was at 5. The check-in desk was closed. We ran to security but they wouldn't let us on without having our visas stamped. We went to the ticket counter. She claimed to have no stamp. No one else from RyanAir was around. Finally, the security woman called someone, she came and escorted us to the ticket counter, where the woman did indeed have a stamp and stamped our passes without the slight look of chagrin. We made it to our flight, which ended up being 30 minutes late any way.
The 30 minutes ended up being its own problem because the train from Bari to Lecce left at 7. It was an hour flight to Bari. The cab ride? About 40 minutes. We showed up at the train station at 6:58. The train was there. We went to buy our tickets. There was a line. And then the train was gone. The next one came two hours later leaving us to have to take a 50 euro cab ride from Lecce to our villa to find our measle-ridden looking child. Who itched and coughed for 2 weeks straight (fortunately, my mom let Z sleep in her clean, bug free apartment for the week she was there with her cortaid cream and albuterol inhaler. My mom probably saved Z's life. Or at least made it possible for us to still have fun with the poor, tortured baby.
There is more but I don't want to sound too complain-y. Most of the trouble really was just me, not knowing. Next post: The best parts.

Rome

And then we spent 3 days in Rome. These were good days except maybe the last one when we were so exhausted and we went to the Vatican and so the entire populous of the earth on one piazza and had two horrible meals. We were pretty beat by then but Z is the biggest trooper in the world--walking all over the Palladium and the Vatican Museums and all around the town. I can't believe she did all she did.


P.S. Each of these pictures, but the one of himself, was taken by Erik.

The last week in Puglia

The last week was a little rough. I missed my mom and was getting a little tired of speaking Italian badly and eating pizza.
But we still managed to hit the beach again, as well as return to Otranto since the Cathedral had been closed on our first visit (note--siesta from 13:00 to 19:00 sometimes includes tourist sites). We drove to grottoes (sea caves) and decided Castro was the most beautiful town on the coast.

My mom arrives!

The second week was action packed because my mom was in Lecce for only a week. We had the white city of Ostuni to visit, the Ionian sea to swim in near Gallipoli, Otranto's castle and cathedral to see, plus much swimming to do at the villa. The high point of food might have been the fish I made on the grill at the villa although Erik and Bart (mom's boyfriend) both had good pasta with mussels (cozze).


The highpoint of this week, of which Erik took no pictures, was the fruit extravaganza at the La Fontanelle beach near S. Roca Beach. After swimming for awhile, Z was hungry. We asked the bar (having now figured out how to rent an umbrella and beach chairs (pay 20 euro)), if they had fruit cups. They kept saying 2 minutes, 2 minutes. Every 2 minutes, we'd go check. About 40 minutes later, we're standing at the bar and everyone starts to come in from the ocean. A man on a speaker phone is yelling about frutta. There's a line. We're confused. I mean, we like fruit but it doesn't usually achieve celebrity status. People had their cameras out for the huge tray--the size of a kitchen table, that was delivered to the people. And then champagne popped. All for free. Z ate more fruit than her share but there was plenty--watermelon, kiwi, cherries. Delicioso. From then on, we started ordering Z Frutta da stagione (seasonal fruit) almost as often as we ordered her spaghetti with butter.

Siena

That weekend was our crazy trip back across the country. Erik and I woke up at 4:30 on Saturday morning. Rick drove us to the Lecce train station (after much lost-getting). We caught the 5:07 train to Bari, took a crazy taxi cab (also 30 Euro) to the Bari airport, flew to Pisa and took the train to Siena.
Our hotel, the Pensione Piazza Ravizza, was lovely. Siena is gorgeous. Miriam, she who runs the school with which our school is affiliated, took us to lunch, told us about how Siena and Florence were each in the running for Italian cultural center. Siena lost but thanks to said loss, the city has retained a lot of its medieval character, with a few baroque touches, as seen in the Duomo.

The rest of the week 1

Our thought behind this trip was to go somewhere where we could experience the great food, the culture and still make sure Z would have some fun. Hence the villa with a pool and our close location to two coasts--the heel of the boot divides the Adriatic from the Ionian seas. We went to the Adriatic that first Thursday. We didn't quite get how the whole umbrella/lounge chair thing worked so we just went to lunch and ordered great mussels au gratin, proscuitto with melon, and Z's omnipresent spaghetti with butter. Erik's mom, the veg, ordered seafood pasta which might have been her undoing but she tried a shrimp and some scallops. At least she didn't order the spaghetti ai ricci which, we discovered later, was spag with sea urchins.

Back from Italy Lecce 1

It was lovely. In many ways.
This is the positive post. I'll have a "What I wanted from Italy, what I got," more grumpy post tomorrow. But today. Today I will try to detail all of the great adventure that was great.

One negative that will have to come first: My hard drive crashed on the first day. It worked in Rome. I turned on the laptop at the aeroporto and then turned it off when they wanted 9.99 E to access the internet. When we got to the "villa" (quotation marks explained soon), I turned it on and the black screen with white letters read: "No internal drive found. Please press F1. Try to re-seat drive." F1 pressed. Hard drive reseated (using kitchen knife to unscrew small screws). Nothing but black screen from now on.

So. Hard drive free I got to "enjoy" my vacation in the manner that one enjoys rehab.

We flew from Rome to Brindisi, Zoe, Erik and I. We actually met up with Erik's parents in Brindisi, then drove, thanks to in-laws renting a car, toward Lecce, the main city near our villa-compound. We arrived at the compound at 4:00, tired but determined to stay awake until at least 8. Our hosts left us with some snacks upon which we snacked and then we ventured into Merine (Ma--REEN--ay) to the Non Solo Cafe (meaning they never close--unlike everything else between the hours of 13:00 and 19:00). My Italian comes in a tiny bit handy so we can get a table but Erik's stepdad, Rick, does a better job actually ordering us whole pizzas rather than the pizza-sandwiches available at the counter. I order us some house wine (rosso) and we eat what we can and then drive back to finally sleep.
The next day, we go into Lecce. They call this the Florence of the South. Having never been to Florence, I'll have to take their word for it.
Here's a picture of Lecce. We spent much time here since this book shop was across the street from the Internet Point--which I visited once a week or so. The first food was among the best. We tended to eat big lunches out and dinners at home. At this somewhat British-themed restaurant, we ate Ravioli with walnut sauce, pizza, and antipasti with duck prosciutto, wild boar, and some kind of delicious goose lardo.

What I want from Italy

The best prosciutto I've ever had.
A cheese I've never heard of.
A scene that reminds me of Ovid.
One that makes me think of Virgil.
One that reminds me of John Fowles The Magus.
Some distance from my obsessions.
A return to blogging?
A behavior modification that lets me learn to roll with the punches (i.e. fly across the Atlantic without panicking, sleeping on a lumpy bed, 3 hour dinners that I fall asleep in the middle of, 5 a.m. travel, not worrying about the cat, plus more, much more).
A revised food book. A new proposal--who comes first? Must I be driven by my desires/appetites? When can you put someone else's bodily desires before yours? A man's? A child's? A chicken's?
A swim or 20 in the Adriatic.
A plan for next year.
A little bit of a sun tan.
One conversation in Italian where I don't sound like a complete idiot.
A taste of something I never suspected that I would love so much I will, after my return, always pine for. Or maybe I already said that when I noted the cheese...

Random things

I'm going to do that 25 random things list but only one at a time. And maybe not all of them.

But here's one.

I have never used bleach without spilling getting some on whatever I'm wearing. Or, it's not even like I spill. I'm soooo careful. I pour it over the sink. I hold my arms out as far as my hands will take them. I wrap the bleached item in a towel or pour the bleach in the wash using something as overly-cautious as a pour spout. Today, I wasn't even wearing what I'm now wearing when I was playing with bleach. But somehow, the bleach puddled or pooled or melted through whatever barrier was between me and the bleach. Now there's big caustic stain on my brown skirt. I'm thankful the whitish-brown splotch is at the top and I can pull my shirt over it, but I can't get passed the feeling that my skirt is tainted, and therefore permanently ruined.

What kind of summer is this?

This is not turning out to be a normal end of the semester. Usually, by now, I've watched 18 episodes of Top Chef and started writing to make up for the last two month's non-writing festival I call teaching. And coordinating the "area." And planning on a visiting prof at the end of the month. But, even before turning in grades, I took off for Tucson for a weekend of swimming and applying sunscreen. I still smell like chlorine and sunscreen--it was magnificent. But also crazy because I came home to grades and visiting prof plans and meetings and appointments and oh yeah a presentation I gave this morning and then do laundry and pack for a camping trip this weekend.
Also: with housesitters? One feels compelled to leave less than 1,000 dirty sunscreened, footprints on the floor.
All of this is in preparation for the trip to Italy about which at this point I can only complain. It will take three days to get to Lecce. We have to drive down to Hub City on Sunday, get up at 5 to fly out from Hub at 7 on Monday, fly to Atlanta for 3 hours. Hang out in Atlanta for another 3 hours and then fly 10 hours into Tuesday, land in Rome, fly to Brindisi. Then, dumbly, I told my dean I'd check out our sister school in Siena where Egg and I will interview and film people about I don't know what. We'll get to our destination and then fly out again 4 days later from Bari to Florence, which is 1.5 hours away and whose flight leaves at 8. Meaning we wake up again at 5 and drive to the plane.
I'm sure/I promise that when I get there, I'll stop complaining about my so hard existence. Or maybe after the Siena part of the trip, when I'm back, fully sunscreened and chlorinated in the villa's swimming pool.
Perhaps I should have stayed in Tucson.

Cure for Insomnia Discovered

Cheerios.

Sleep

I woke up when Z woke up for milk and didn't go back to sleep. I think it was 3 or 4. I hope 4. I finally got up at 5:30 to eat some Cheerios. Now, of course, I might be able to go back to sleep but in an hour, I have to get up anyway.
Why is the end of the semester more stressful than during? I think it's this one foot still grading, one foot in summer business. And I don't feel I'm going into that collapse of summer. There's so much travel ahead. It seems as busy as work.
Just like with sleep, and that impossible place you get to when you are on the verge of falling and then think something stupid like "hey, I think I'm falling asleep," which then wakes you up, a too busy travel schedule interrupts what might have been actually relaxing.
But instead of agitating against the universe, I'll try to relax and travel simultaneously. It's like being asleep and awake--

My friend Craig is missing

Dr. Write, who called, and Hightouch, who blogged, made me realize that the "Find Craig Arnold" facebook was not a game or a hoax. Craig is really missing on an island in Japan. There's work to be done: John Gallaher posted some information about how to urge the searchers to keep looking for him.
I was just IMing with him like 4 days ago. Where could he be? I can imagine he just wandered off, deciding to become more familiar with the trees and the women of the forest. But I also know stupid things happen: falls, slips, disorientation. My hope: is that he got turned around on that 14 square mile island but has now rediscovered his compass and is heading back toward the inn and the people who know him.

Post party post

I am beat. I just went outside to "help" Egg trim the hedges. Such help included lying on the driveway. Z helped by taking a branch and pretending to saw like her dad, first asking Egg if "It's OK my use one of your branches?" One day she will stop saying "my" for "I" and it will be a sad day.
I came in to empty the dishwasher and make lunch. For lunch we are having leftover bacon wrapped water chestnuts! Pick out the toothpicks--rumaki is no longer an appetizer any longer. We're also having leftover cabbage and cucumber, which I had prepared to serve the tuna tartar. Now, tartarless, they'll be a great comb with the bacon and water chestnuts. I hope. The leftover (3/4 of a pound) tuna tartar is in the freezer along with the fully 2.5 lbs of ribs we didn't end up cooking. We couldn't. There was so much food.

This party made me feel grateful. Grateful to Egg who cleaned the office, went on an ill-fated trip to Arby's for lunch, went to World Market, fixed the drain on the upstairs bathtub and barbecued the ribs we did eat, for the graduate students who brought fruit salad and flowers, 15 avocados worth of guacamole, hummus, carrot-curry dip, and delicious artichoke dip, for the professors and staff who brought popcorn and chicken curry, stuffed mushrooms, homemade raisin bread (which I ate for breakfast) smoked salmon cream cheese and delicious miniature chocolate cakes and beautiful white flowers.

As I put the dishes away, I'm thankful for the platter I got for my wedding and the blue dish that set off the tuna tartar. I didn't end up talking to many people because I was always getting someone drinks or turning over the rumaki we did eat and then retrieving from the garbage, rinsing and recycling the plastic plates (I could reuse them but they still smell like curry. I still might go get them out of the recycling bin). But everyone was funny and kind and even though the kitchen was mobbed and the other rooms just waiting for people to sit down in the comfortable seats, I felt pretty unstressed the whole night. I think I messed up a couple of people's names and maybe overstated my plans for the Lit Mag before the current staff finished up for the year, but overall, I put few feet in my mouth, went to bed with a mostly clean house and in general feel like this is a good department and I am so lucky to be able to host with my blue plates, Korean bbq ribs and tuna tartar (though Egg thinks maybe he and I ate it all--which is fine with me!) and chopsticks and comfortable chairs, a pretty good party.

There's leftover wine to boot. And much hope that by tomorrow I'll be fully recovered.

Hosting

I used to host parties a lot. I think though I burned out on big parties after I made a hors d'oeuvre of deep fried crouton stuffed with "cassoulet" for Steve Fellner's goodbye party. But then also Z was born. I had family parties but no big shindigs. So, this weekend, I'm biting the bullet and throwing a party for my grad students and some English Dept. faculty. I'm making Korean bbq ribs, tuna tartare and edamame salad. I also asked everyone to bring an appetizer and drinks so I can be monetarily responsible with the pending furlough etc. I've never had a party where I invited my chair although I did have Thanksgiving in GR with almost all of my colleagues there. So I guess it won't be that weird.

I wish that Little Hands (should I even link, she who blogs no more?) and her people could have stayed for the party. They were here for nearly a week and it was one of the loveliest weeks I've had in a long time. And Little Hands is the best co-hostess. She made waffles for breakfast. I made frittata for lunch. She made Egg's entire birthday dinner--a whole turkey, mashed potatoes, turkey broth and strawberry-rhubarb pie (which we're eating the final bits of now). I did make the gravy and may have, against her will, made her a gravy convert. The next day, she made more waffles--this time with blueberries. I made open-faced sandwiches with turkey and gravy. We made spaghetti bolognese together. One night, we madenachos. (Egg made popcorn. For dinner!) Why is so much cooking so much less effort even when there's twice as many people to cook for when there are two of us?
We had a great trip: Slide Rock Park in Sedona, Oak Creek Brewery (with a bill that made us never want to eat out again), shopping at Gene's Western Wear downtown to buy Carharts for Little Hand's husband, a very fine western shirt for Egg and stuffed horses for the kids. We went running in the hail and snow and to wine at the wine bar. We went to the Skate Park for Little Hand's eight-year old and the regular park for Z and Little Hand's four year old. Z has not been the same since they left. She wants someone to play Crocodile with, stamps with, red-light-green light with, Tinkertoys and horses with. It's always when they leave that I feel guilty that Z is an only child. I think Little Hand's kids don't feel the absence of their cousin so much because they still have each other.
I did promise Z her best friend from school will be at the party on Saturday. It's not a cousin but it's better than nothing. I just wish Little Hands were here to help host.

Environmentalism as bad work ethic

Sometimes, two belief systems get in the way of each other. I try to make a slightly smaller impact on the environment. I also try to get some work done. But there are many ways that I've chosen to do a little bit to be less of a energy/resource glutton that have probably gotten me into a bit of trouble.
To wit:

• Letting students turn essays and poems in on Vista to save paper: This is fine in the abstract but students take the electronic deadline as a negotiable one. And I care and tell them they'll lose points for turning in late but if everyone does it, then the points don't really take or matter in the end anyway. And since I grade/comment the day before class, I don't care as much as I should.
• Speaking of grading or commenting: I grade/comment electronically to save paper. This means I give great, long narrative commentary but not so much of the grammar/proofreading variety. I will do "Track changes" on larger documents but that's only so helpful.
• My own writing: I revise online. Sometimes I'll print it out to great guilt. In revising this last project, I printed twice and revised from there. Perhaps this will appease the publishing gods.
• I try not to drive. So I go to campus less often than I would if I lived across the street. I go in twice as much here as I did in GR though, probably because campus is twice as close.
• Clean house: I hate to use paper towels. Sometimes, that's all that works. If I could use a paper towel each time I had to clean up a tiny spill, well, my table wouldn't look like this.
• Dog: She probably would be a lot thinner if I didn't try to save water by letting her be the pre-recycling, pre-dishwasher cycle that she's become.
• Yard: I'd try to grow some flowers or plants this summer if I didn't cringe at the water I'd need. However, we're planting wildflowers when the monsoons hit so it won't look exactly like a campground outside our house.
• Alerts, newsletters, etc.: I think I might have a better outcome if I put notices in my grad students' boxes. But instead, I send email reminders weekly. I'm wasting electrons as much as I'm wasting my time, since I'm pretty sure students have come to ignore my incessant emails.

I'm sure there are more instances but even if I find them, I'm not sure I'll reform. I pretend these little things make a difference.

Orange Marker

Zoe is covered in it. And since I believe this will be a random updating, starting with that random bit of information is a good start. She's drawing her letters. She just asked if she could draw a note on her hand or something. If she wants something and she's just thinking she's the first ever to come up with the idea of wanting that thing, she says, "Can we go to Fratelli's for pizza or something?" or "Can I have gummy bears or something?" As if something is an option.

Speaking of food I made the most delicious thing I've ever made. Last week, I went to my butcher (see? Mountain Town has some of the basic necessities) and asked if I should get a flank steak or something. He's prone to suggesting the prime rib eyes ($17.99 a pound. Haven't splurged yet. But did buy the Kobe beef burgers). He took a flank steak and said, let me do something first. So he took it, butterflied it, and put it through his tenderizer--I think he called it a ricer. I didn't look at it. I took it home and proceeded to convince Erik that we should go to dinner.
But on Sunday I decided to make the flank steak. Usually I marinate for an hour or so in something. I made up a Korean sauce with sesame oil and soy sauce. And then I waffled for an hour about whether I really wanted to make that. I looked online for awhile. I tried to convince Erik that I should do something new. He truly did not care.
So I found a recipe about braciole or pinwheels. I had none of everything. But I had some of a few things in some recipes. So I julienned some red pepper, some carrots and some scallions. I grated some fontina. On the one side of the steak, I layered the vegetables and topped with cheese. I rolled it up and stuck it shut with some gigantic skewers. Erik grilled the packages for 6 or 7 minutes a side.
We ate them with rice pilaf. I had never been so happy.
Tonight, I think I'll take that leftover rice and stuff some porkchops. With a little more fontina.

And, in the revising world, I'm working on the manuscript that did not win but finalisted. It's close I think. I re-read it today and didn't cringe. That's a good sign. I had to axe three whole chapters and might have to delete one more but I complicated one of the already complicated essays and in doing so, think I found the narrative thread through the whole thing.

And I'm happy that Hightouch and Dr. Write invited me to poetate this April. I'm already behind but I'm trying to keep up with their good work.

It's snowing here. We're staying in even though it's Gallery Stroll downtown. We went in March and it was super fun but cold then. We'll go in May when there's a 50% chance it will be warm. It's supposed to be 64 degrees here on Monday!

Edited to add. Actually, it's snowing sideways. The snow's smacked up against the east side of the trees. Erik is says we're just getting the tail end of the storm--flicked like an alligator.

Languages

I used to think I was good at learning languages. I started taking German in the 8th grade. I kept taking it every year until in high school I progressed out of the sequences and they brought in a woman to teach three of us--Pete, Alyssa and me--the 6th year German course. By the end of that year, I thought I knew German pretty well. That year, I went to Germany with my family. From the hotel room, I ordered towels. The housekeeper responded in English. Apparently, either my knowledge or pronunciation could have used a 7th year.
At Reed College, we had to take a third year language course in our English major. I thought, no big deal. I'll test out of that first year.
Not so much. I do think I got an A in first year. And I studied with my boyfriend who grew up with grandparents who spoke German (who is now also strangely living in Arizona. Thanks FB.) and therefore got A's and B's in second year German. Third year German, I read Perfume, The Clown, The Sleepwalkers, and the Magic Mountain--in translation--but read a few pages of each in the original German.
At the U, to graduate, you had to be proficient in one language or competent in two. I took the German test for proficiency. I translated the strangest passage about bees. I have no idea what that had to do with the title of the piece, which was something like "Disorientation in Adorno's Metaphor." Or maybe that wasn't the title at all, for I did not pass that test.
I high-tailed it to Spanish. I could never remember what aufrichten meant in German. I had a hard time with the verbs that cut themselves in the middle and the prefix is tossed to the end of sentences like: Ich richte meine Mutti auf. That could mean I called my mom up, out or bought her a sweater. "Auf," a preposition, can mean at, to, on, or upon. "Auf" can also be an accusative or dative perposition meaning that the articles, die, der or das, changed depending on how auf is used.
Although I may not understand German, I understand German grammar better than English.
Spanish proved easier because I already understood that sometimes verbs are reflexive, like "me gusta" and that adjectives can come after the noun "the cornflower blue." Again, the words didn't stick that well. Egg and I once tried to help a guy move his car. He spoke only Spanish. I kept (in my version of the story, Erik says this, but I really don't know which of us brought out the heavy cannons of translation skill) saying "Parko el caro." I think that means are parrots expensive here.
Now I'm trying to learn Italian. I have a language tape for my iPod. It's 70 minutes long so I listen to one half when I run one day, the second half the next running day. Over and over. There's fancy music in the background. The Italian woman who teaches me is named Philomena. I understand "mi piaci" is "me gusta" in Italian. I get "I would like," is "vorrei" in Italian and "Ich moechte"(the o should have umlauts but Blogger won't let me umlaut. The e suggsts umlaut) in German.
I had to look up how to spell "vorrei" since I only know the sounds of the words from Philomena. I presume, by the time I get to Italy, I will know how to order a towel in Italian. (Vorrei un asciugamano?) I expect that someone will counter with, "You'd like a towel" just to be sure I'm not asking for a wiry ice cream (gelato asciutto). I do think I know how to order a bottle of wine, red(vino rosso) and some bread (del pane), which is, in the end, all I probably need to know.

Green

My friend Steve has a new blog about poetry--gay men and gay critics specifically but also about the poetry world in general. Steve's writing voice is one of my favorites--both smart and sweet. I don't know how to be that vulnerable with words.

In response to Dr. Write's posting about the end of blogs, I do fear for the blog. People post less frequently, it seems. Facebook is OK but it's not as revealing. To me, it's a good way to remember I have friends but not a good way to actually learn anything more than I didn't already know. So, in honor of Dr. Write's Long Live the Blog, I updated my blog colors. Maybe one day, I'll make my own graphic. Maybe one day, I'll choose a more reasonable blog name. I thought Otterhead would be funny but now I can't remember why. When I updated, I accidentally lost all my links so there's new ones and old ones but if somebody wants me to add theirs, I'm happy to.

And in honor of more than you didn't already know I will tell you that I called some people in the department to invite them to dinner tonight--impetuously! Spontaneously! They, in turn, invited us over to their house instead which means I have a) a lot of food and b) might have to impetuously/spontaneously invite different people over tomorrow. I'm working on the making of real live friends. We'll see how it goes.

And, in Zoe news, she would like you to know that we have three flowering croakersez.

And I'm still revising a research proposal and a book proposal and an essay. I think the essay is nearly done, thanks to Steve. One day, I'll write something new. I think it will be about grilled cheese. Stay posted.

Saving Daylight

Good morning ye who are wondering where that hour went, thinking man, that sun is pretty low for 9:15. But ye people know that spring has arrived. Or will shortly and you can look forward to warm evenings when the sun sets at 9 or even 10. When we were in Michigan, right near the solstice, the sun wouldn't set until almost 10:30.
But now we are here. Where the Republicans don't like to switch time. Where there's some thinking that in Phoenix, it will be hot for a shorter amount of the day. I suppose one sleeps through an hour of extra sun?
But up here, it's not so great. First of all, I like daylight savings. I think everyone, everywhere should always wake up later and drive home in the light. In the summer, I like sitting outside until midnight. But when the sun goes down, at least up here, in this desert mountain town, so does the temperature. Therefore, inside we go, tamping out the fires in the fire pit and closing up the blinds at 8:30.
Perhaps I will spend the day writing an ode to Daylight Savings.
I look forward to going home next week where home isn't just a place, it's an altered, and therefore perfect, time zone.

Harper's

Life is listy. That's all there is to it. No matter what happens, I really only have snippets. I think it's like film--everything has its own frame and then we move onto the next. There really is no time for narrative or transition. There's only time for complaining. Sadly, I don't expect my index to be pithy or insightful like Harper's, but at least it's a different kind of list.
So this week, by the numbers:
Number of presentations and readings for graduate student conference: 2.
Number of panels attendended at grad school conference: 2.5.
Number of hours at the grad student reading fest: 3.
Number of classes taught: 3--2 regular, one independent study.
Number of colds Z almost recovered from: 1.
Number of new cold Z seems to have come down with: 1.
Number of times home after 7:00 this week: 4.
Number of preschooler performances: 2.
Cost, in dollars, of echocardiogram in Mountain Town: 3440. (Nothing is wrong--just an expensive test that revealed overall good health. I do not like, however, to be on the side of feeling sorry for an insurance company).
Cost, in dollars of echocardiogram at Harvard: 1400.
Number of needle sticks: 3 (again, more tests to confirm overall good health).
Number of movies working on with Egg: 2 (one about poetry another about our sister school in Italy).
Meetings about said movies: 2 (and one more next week).
Emails sent about said movie to student-poets and fellow professors: 15.
Number of visitors from an MFA program down in the valley, wanting to talk to me about the future: 1 (the future of what? I'm still not entirely clear).
Number of courses I'll be teaching next year: 3-3.
Number of courses I was going to be teaching, until last week: 2-2.
Number of would-be adjuncts bringing me their CV's even though I told them that we're not hiring adjuncts because faculty loads just changed: 3.
Number of emails from Provost threatening to let first year TT faculty go: 1.
Number of phone calls from Chair saying not to worry: 1.
Number of meetings with Chair over area recommitments: 2.
Number of finalists for a certain big prize: 4.
Percentage of those finalists of which I was one: 25.
Number of winners of said award: 0.
Letters written because of lack of awarding of award: 1.
Number of letters written from me & Z to relatives: 5.
Number of summer grants awarded to me: 0.
Number of essays sent out on my behalf from my agent: 1.
Number of hats found: 0.
Number of people who made me happy, commenting about said hat: 21.
Number of poetry contests submitted to: 6.
Number of glasses of wine to survive week: 6 (teen?)
Number of Burn Notices on DVR to watch: 1.
Number of spoilers about Top Chef read about on blogs: 1.
Number of proposals written to agent: 4.
Number of chances to write one more perfect proposal: 1.
Number of proposals I should be writing right now: 1.
Number of naps I think I'll take instead: 1.

Have you seen my hat?

I lost my hat on the second day of AWP. I recommend all of ye bookfair wanderers, panel-goers, anxiety sufferers and ennui-filled writers to lose your hat at AWP. Did I have to search for agents, publishers, magazines, books, professors who forgot me, friends who look at me bewilderingly? Did I have to worry about my talk at the panel? No, I did not. Because I had lost my hat and spent the next 2.5 days looking for it. A little OCD is good for the wandering soul.

Overall, the AWP was great success. I saw nearly everyone I meant to and had at least one drink with each of them meaning I had too many drinks but got to see all the good people. The panel was great even though at 9 in the morning on a Saturday. It was jam-packed with people sitting even in the aisles. The readings I went to were all pretty good and the buzz overall positive. Professors talked to me. No one turned their heads. The magazines and publishers shook my hand.

I always get home expecting something major to happen, but I do that after every trip. I need to focus on the one thing. That is the getting back of the hat. Which is somewhere, lost in Chicago. But I miss it. And maybe it will return to me. It was gray wool with tassles and one yellow and one orange stripe across the top. It was lined with black flannel so the wooly outsides did not make my head itch.

I would like my hat back but if that is impossible, I would like it to please be spring so I have no need for a hat.

Oh Wait,. We're still here.

OK. Welcome to AWP's dumb planning for the 2nd year in a row. Last year, my flight from GR to NYC, which left at 6:00 a.m. and included one snowplow buried Jetta, four frozen doors on the 4 Runner that I couldn't open, a slide into a Lexus SUV and a canceled flight. The flight was canceled not from snowy GR but into snowy Laguardia.

Today, I am in sunny Phoenix, again awaiting a delayed and possibly canceled flight.

F**k AWP and their winterly conferences.

I'm on the verge of canceling all my Chicago plans and hanging out in the Phoenix, which though an evil and unneccsary town, is 80 degrees and full of good food and wine. Just like Chicago without the OHare and the wind. I'll give my panel to the cacti. They'll probably be more interested anyway.

Edited to add I had to write f**k because Sky Harbor has rules. Stark and Draconian and Mormony rules.

Did I mention f**k? I think so. Perhaps I'll go find the Tequilaria. Again.

Snow Afternoon

Erik says my blog is getting list-rutty. It's been a listy semester so far, and I mean that in terms of bullet points and tilt. Today, I chaired my first thesis prospectus meeting. And then I hung out in my office and revised and revised and emailed and emailed students until the news came the campus was closed.

It snows a lot here, when it snows. And then it gets sunny and the snow melts. And then it gets snowy again.

I'm making mushroom soup tonight.

See why I write bullet points? I have nothing particularly coherent to say.

I leave for Chicago on Wednesday, should the snow stop and the planes fly.

Perhaps then I'll have something to say after AWP???

Fun fun fun

I wanted to write a post about how I'm trying to learn to have fun but it's complicated and I don't think I'm very good at it--having fun or writing about fun. It's much easier to write about work. It just takes lists!

Z started full time school this week. Very stressful. Also, the university's budget was cut by 13%. Egg or I may or may not have a job next week. And I have agent troubles. So maybe work is fun. At least it distracts from the anxiety.

Work has included yesterday and today:

• Take Z to first day of all day school.
  
• Meet teachers and find out where to put her lunchbox, blanket, pillow and water bottle.
  
• Worry she'll cry when I leave. Just a nervous glance and then she turned to ask her teacher what to play.
  
• Meeting about budget. 2 hours. Really?
• Talk with Mary Anne about Food Book. (thanks Mary Anne!)
• Make a plan to implement Mary Anne's suggestions.
• Pace a little about book. Ask Egg to read a section.
  
• Make BLT's for me and Egg.
• Read Self-portrait in a Convex Mirror (3 hours) and Thomas and Beulah (1 hour) for Independent Study I'm teaching.
• Find criticism to support both books as allegory. A stretch? Possibly.
• Rememorize Pound's Erat Hora as it applies to Convex Mirror
  
• Write chapter synopses for food book.
• Pick Z up from her all day school.
• Much cuddling with Z required.
  
• Leave to meet with Independent Study Grad Students.
• Eat fondue with said students while discussing Self-portrait and backwards falling language, modernism, post-modernism, margins and seams with students.
• Come home, play dogs with Z.
• Watch old The Closer to keep up with Lisa B.
• Change bedsheets because I love new sheets and the news was impossible to watch because apparently we can't watch one channel and record another on our DVR (I thought that was the point of our DVR).
• Read Shouts and Murmurs (mice and wine) and begin Atul Gawande's plan for National Healthcare (New Yorker Jan 26).
• Sleep on clean bedsheets.
• Wake up at 7:45 because Z now has to be to school by 9 which is early for we people. She sleeps until 8:30 usually.
• Take Z to all day school.
• Come home--run through snowy forest.
• Work on Teach-In Day presentation for Thursday.
• Make lunch of smoked turkey leg, sliced fennel, and spring mix.
• Talk to long-lost friend for 1.5 hours. Yay!
• End up late for advising hours in advising center.
• Forget book for teaching. Panic. Call Egg to see if he'll bring me book. He will but....
• Student from upcoming class comes in to advising center.
• Get student to lend me book so I can make copies for class.
• Talk to said student for 1 hour about creative writing versus rhet comp, the 7 points of physical fitness--strength, flexibility (and 5 other points I didn't quite catch), robots, linguistics and epigenetics.
• Talk to student who is late to apply for graduation but I do highly powerful advising by signing off on science credits and dropping her 2nd major and 2 minors.
  
• Talk to new grad student about degree progress and course distribution.
• Get another email about budget. Freak out on phone with Egg.
• Write a prompt for class that starts in 15 minutes.
• Discuss two poems in class. Accidentally give a lesson on semiotics and the gnostic gospels (I do apologize, fine students).
• Get in an heated discussion with one student about why she shouldn't use so many abstractions as love, beauty, loss, hurt, miss, forever in a poem. I may have lost the fight but will win the war. I told her to write a poem against me/my arguments. I presume it will turn out particularly concrete and specific.
• Run Top Chef--this time, whichever group argued best for the poem won.
• Talk with another student about abstractions.
• Help Z peel potatoes for dinner.
• Fry up said potatoes which will underpin Egg's all-day cooked green chile sauce.
• Play puzzle with Z.
• Wonder why I have so few emails today.
• Read books with Z.
• Sing her to sleep.
• Check email again.
• Blog.
  
• Watch, in perfect synchronicity with yesterday, The Closer--though this one is new.

See. Lists. Fun and worky.

Happy New Year

We made wonton soup in celebration of the oncoming Year of the Ox.

Last night, I made roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, broccoli, gravy. The chicken was undercooked. The mashed potatoes undermashed. I dropped the whole pan of gravy on the floor. Erik mopped while I ate potatoes.

So I had a lot of leftover chicken. I made stock with parsley, celery, onion, carrot and lots of pepper. Then, Zoe and I made wontons stuffed, following recipes from both Cooking Light and the Frugal Gourmet's Three Ancient Cuisines) with ground pork, sesame oil, super chopped (perhaps by that I mean minced?) carrots (substituting for water chestnuts. Why don't I have water chestnuts in my cupboard), green onions, and rice wine vinegar. Zoe painted the edges of the wontons. I pressed them together--hoping I actually got most of the edges sealed.

We tossed the wontons in the stock (into which I followed no recipe and added ginger and star anise). I also sauteed some shitakes and cut up some bok choy and added that.

Z tried a wonton, ate a ton of raw bok choy, and sipped the broth.

Super delicious happy New Year making up, somewhat, for last night's gravy disaster.

My new new year's resolve: Make my own stock. That seems like a hard times, more delicious recipe for a happy future.

To the year of the ox.

Top Chef Too Mean?

Maybe it is too mean. My poetry/nonfiction class version goes like this. The students break into small groups with their writing and a ballot that lists the criteria for the writing. They vote in their small group for who the winner is. The winner goes into the ring of fire, also known as the vast expanse in the middle of the room when all the desks and chairs are in a circle. Then, they read. We vote. In the first poetry class, I had them vote by ballot and didn't have time to tabulate the winner. Last night, in nonfiction, I had them vote by raise of hands (making it seem, I hope, a little bit less official). But then when girl yelled out, this is hard and one student only got one vote (his group should have voted for him at least. They as a group seem disengaged).

I like the idea of competition because it makes them, in their small groups, not just be like "I love this. You're so great." And it makes them take the exercises seriously. But maybe the last Top Cheffery bit should go? If I had time, I would have the groups vote and then defend their decision, ala Tom Colicchio. That would be the best student-centered learning option but maybe overly complicated.

To Molly: I don't know about Stefan. I think I like him. I definitely like Fabio and the way that they both add a new edge to the Top Chef. Yes. I'm going to say Stefan rocks. Although he's no Jeffrey. Because blonds can cook! (and he's the best looking of the chefs, in any of the season.

To MaryAnne: No kidding. Isn't a list enough propulsion? I'm about to propel my food book over the cliff.

Cirque du so lame

What is the point of Thursday? Nobody does any blogging or emailing. My students are already worn out. I say, make Thursday the new Friday since it's already as unproductive. Then, Friday can be reserved like Saturday and Sunday for productive fun--like skiing and laundry.

Top Chef Poetry went pretty well. The students had to choose the best poem from their groups and then toss those poor poem-writers into the center of the room where they had to have their poems judged and rated based on the sound, image, turn and line on a scale of 1-5, 5 being best. The only problem came when I tried to tabulate. Too many numbers to add up without a 10-key. So, next time, I'll probably have the groups judge as groups and then defend their judging, more like Top Chef. And then the loser can pack his or her knives and go home! Or, rather, go on to write another day.

Top Chef Nonfiction will be trickier because the criteria can be a little more wobbly but we're going with image recurrence/evolution, narrative propulsion, voice, and place/space rootedness. That's tonight. We'll see how that goes.

Then, Friday can commence after class at 6:00 p.m. Until then, it's a workday. I expect to see you on Facebook or blogging or emailing me.

Happy Inauguration Day

It has been a long, long, long eight years.

It will take a lot to repair all the damage. I have enough hope to think maybe there will be enough good well and good energy to turn the tide. But having that much hope makes me nervous.

There's amazing images on the TV. One of someone holding a picture of Lincoln next to a picture of Obama, the millions of people with tiny flags, a very strong looking Jimmy Carter, an oddly hobbled George HW Bush, Bob Bennett (that guy is huge) towering about George W.

They're already 15 minutes behind, the announcers keep announcing. Which reminds me that I can't watch all day. I have to go in to the office so I'm off to take a shower. But I will be streaming all day at the office. And the Dean has it on in his office, he promises.

It seems like a different world today. I know it's not but it seems like it, for a minute.

January

January is trying to kill me. It's making me post blogs in pure list fashion just because my mind can't wrap itself around the greater meaning of why January would have it out for me. I like January. It's my sisters' birthday. The days start getting longer. There's fun snow times. But still. It has it out for me.
Thus far, I got a really bad cold on the day after the drive home from Mountain City. Then Z got it last weekend. As she's getting it and I get worried that it's bad enough to require outside intervention instead of just the 3 hours of nebulizing a day, I find that the letter I sent to Blue Cross Blue Shield telling them we indeed have continuous coverage and that we should not be subject to a waiting period was filed but not acted upon. Apparently, I needed another letter from my old University telling them the exact same thing (which no one told me I needed. I just sent them a copy of my insurance card since that's all this HR dept. told me was required). Happily, my old university was amenable to faxing BXBS the letter and now all is well and Z's cold is moving out of her lungs and out into some other poor child's.

But the viruses don't end there. I'm typing this on Egg's computer. My computer has the worst virus I've ever heard of or seen. When I go to Google something, the search results appear but when I click on them, I'm redirected to a shopping site of some sort. It's not always the same one--sometimes it's "yellow pages," sometimes "ad direct." When the IT guy tried to fix it, the computer wouldn't let it access Ad-aware or lavasoft at all. I tried to download Microsoft's malicious adware/spyware tool and it said "that page doesn't exist." It's very creepy and now they over at IT are reimaging my computer. I'm supposed to be finishing the last 60 pages of the nonfiction book but I'm not. Plus, other writing problems on which I cannot blame the computer unless someone the virus is keeping all the good news stored in some un-openable folder. But the bad news comes through just fine.
Perhaps the computer will be better by tomorrow? Just saying that sounds jinxy.

Also. I think I now get migraines. Last night, I could only move if I put both hands on my temples and pressed really hard.

Also. The snow. It snowed like a million feet right before we left and while we were gone. But it's been 50 degrees here every day in the sun. So I tried to go running in the woods behind my house. The people who walk there every day had not been doing their job, evenly tamping down a trail for me. Instead, there were some deep sinks made from what looked someone fence-poling and then a few smaller foot holes. It was like trying to run on lava rocks. Cleo and I kept sinking and then finding an icy cover and then sinking again. So now we have to run on the road which I do not like nearly as much.

Also. School started but that's OK. Except for that my classes are overfull because I'm a weak, weak person, I'm excited to teach Intro classes. We're doing a reality TV/Top Chef/Survivor contest thing so the first weeks are fun and not just whole-class workshop after workshop or peer group after peer group workshop.

Plus, the economy still sucks and I'm always nervous about my and Erik's jobs.

Still, except for the writing bad news and the headaches, none of this is really getting me down. We're invited to Obamatini's tomorrow night, are going to Phoenix on Saturday to see A & M (and to make a test run to see if it's feasible to go see Dr. Write if she comes down) and a new computer so chock full of anti-virus software (it already had some, but obviously, I need the Fort Knox equivalent of security) that it'll take fourteen "yeses" just to get to anyone's blog. The second half of January begins today. Perhaps January can call off the hit and we can try to be friends.

Winter Break--A Food Retrsopective

Some of this will be redundant because the people with whom I dined and cooked already blogged about it. The best part was how much we cooked at home and how many of us cooked together.
Thanks to food, the break is memorable. Everything else is sort of a hazy mess of sickness and conflictedness.

In reverse order though, I did eat well enough to sustain me through Mountain Town's semi-bleak cuisine. Highlighting the best parts:

The Sunday before we left, mom and Little Hands indulged me by going with me to the Hong Kong Tea House. As an added bonus, the kids came too. Watching Lil and Z eat rice with chopsticks and Cam and Lil try the sticky buns and Cam actually liking potstickers was the sweetest part. Well that and I got to order pork dumplings, shrimp dumplings, homemade meatballs, homemade dumplings, potstickers, spare ribs, beef wanoki roll, shrimp noodle roll, curry roll in rice noodles, and the half-hour special--fried rice. I think there may have been more food ordered but the blood that rushed to my stomach trying to digest all that food stroked out part of my brain.

Sunday night: Halibut with dill butter. Halibut had a worm. Not a highpoint, but a highlight nonetheless.

Saturday....bleak except for brunch at Red Rock where I ordered a cholesterol sky-rocketer: eggs in a nest with hollandaise instead of red sauce. And yes, I'd like the bacon too.
Cheese at the Paris. Should have made a reservation for dinner.

Friday: Flew down to the New Yorker in the snow. Shared a rib-eye with bernaise will Little Hands. KJ had delicious carpaccio. H-ster ordered the best--some sort of chopped salad special.

Thursday: Delicious spaghetti and meatballs at Little Hands'.

Wednesday: The Pub with KJ, Doug and Egg. Southwest Chicken Salad. Mediocre. More queso fresco please.

Wednesday lunch: ACME burger with HighTouch and Dr. Write. Delicious shoe-string fries and even better conversation about movies, books and academics.

Tuesday day: Skiing lunch. Best pizza in Utah at Goldminer's or was I just hungry from torturing my calves?

Tuesday night: Delicious dinner with Scorpion's Tail (maybe she'll blog again if I link her) and Dr. Write at Cafe Madrid: Red peppers stuffed with white fish, sardines on toast points, manchego, prosciutto, and two other meats whose names I can't remember, a sausage, bacon wrapped shrimp, mussels. All in all, pretty good but overpriced and some problem with paying by threes. Rude.

Monday: Tomato soup and baked potatoes? I think so...

Sunday: Iron Chef Citrus--(mom's choice of "secret ingredient") You can get another angle at KJ's but overall, much more successful than Iron Chef mushroom. Citrus is versatile. Half the recipes I looked at had citrus anyway. KJ made a great halibut ceviche with lime and coconut milk and jicama. The chicken wings were spicy and fruity. Little Hand's roasted red-pepper with tangerine cream was possibly the best soup I'd ever tasted (should have made mushroom soup last time instead of risotto!). Her scallops were perfectly cooked and paired well with the lemon capellini. The caviar was just a huge bonus and El said now she can say she tried it, even if she didn't like it.
The shrimp I marinated for just a half an hour in lemon juice, salt and pepper then grilled and topped with a mango, lime and radish salsa. Sectioning the limes was the biggest pain. Then I made duck breasts marinated in orange, soy, orange zest, white wine vinegar. I also threw the marinade on top of some salmon and the leftover halibut that KJ brought for the fishotarians who don't eat duck. I cooked the duck skin side down in a large pan for a little longer than they said, took them out and let them rest and then reduced the marinade. Braised chicory formed the base and then I cheated by making lemon mashed potatoes.
Overall, a much more balanced and exciting meal--partly again because of the company and partly because citrus is just a note, not the primary ingredient and partly because that's a lot of food and it's easier to eat a lot in the winter.

Saturday night: Dinner at the cousin's with funeral potatoes and ham. Thankfully, mom brought sausage and cream cheese stuffed mushrooms and a turkey.

Friday night: Lugano's with my mom and sisters? Things are getting fuzzy. Either way, everyone ordered badly except Little Hands. Mom and I both ordered prosciutto pizza. KJ ordered clam linguini. Little Hands ordered something so good that I can't remember. It involved pappardelle and cream. And maybe prosciutto.

Thursday: Merry Christmas Meat-By-Val--ham, turkey breast, prime rib, sausage and cream cheese stuffed mushrooms. She made the best prime rib yet!

Wednesday: Christmas Eve. Tomato soup with dill. Cold roast beef.

Tuesday: Dinner at Marshall and Joy's (Egg's sister and boyfriend). They made Tom Kha Gai and spring rolls with peanut sauce and the most delicious skewered mushrooms I'd ever had.

Monday: I roasted a chicken at Val's. Mashed potatoes involved again? I'm sense a them.

Sunday: Erik and I went to Trio after I was mostly cured. A delicious pizza made better with a side of mashed potatoes.

Saturday: Rick's big party. El made nacho cheese green chile soup. I made clam chowder.

Friday: I was sick but I still made halibut and salmon and possibly the best hollandaise I've ever had. Fortunately, no one got what I had.

Thursday: Little Hands made something delicious. Mom was there. Edited to add: She remembered! Tacos. This after we realized that Erik is the Johnny Appleseed of beer caps, leaving beer caps everywhere he goes. Val found three in her ski boot. She thinks perhaps he's hoping for beer trees, she texted. Thank god for texting.

Wednesday: We arrive to a bounty of homemade enchiladas.

Surprisingly, I didn't got to Settebello, Martine, the Paris for dinner, Mazza, or the Metropolitan. I suffer I know. Being sick those first 4 days really cut into my organizational abilities and my food plans. I see already I didn't eat with my mom nearly enough and that mashed potatoes may have figured too prominently in my diet.

Bird Count

On the longish drive down from Mountain City to Mountain Town I saw:
Five redtail hawks with their winter-white stomachs.
Two wild turkeys drinking out of a puddle on the side of the road.
One golden eagle the size of my car.
Two turkey vultures smartly following the golden eagle.
Five bald eagles sitting strangely on top of a juniper-looking tree.

And, in non-bird sightings:
One deer leaping right across the road in front of the car in front of us but safely making it to his friends on the other side of the road.

2009 Wishes and Fishes

First the no's.

• No trip to the hospital (only one in 2008 and that was for a non-related .
• No complaining about coming and/or going (for instance, no complaining too much about going back home).
• Say no to a (every?) student at least once.
• Say no to a service request once.
• No moving.
• No freaking out about pubs (Ha. Ha.)
• No freaking out about plans changing, especially in regards to food (I get stuck on an idea about what we're having or going for dinner. Also ha.)

Second the yes's in the form of to-do's

• Go to Italy for June.
• Drive to Phoenix (the 3rd circle of hell Edited to add: I should also refrain from calling it the 3rd circle of hell until I know it better. Even hell deserves a proper vetting.) for something besides the airport.
• Go to Sedona visiting and wine tasting with Sam.
• Make one new friend.
• Make wonton soup (hankering since I watched Kung Fu Panda. Didn't get to go to Little World this trip.
• Be ambitious about next writing project.
• Play lion/witch with Z once a day.
• Walk/run every day.
• Send missives to Obama (not just letters of love and adoration).
• Ski with Egg at least one more time.
• Read at least one book a month unrelated to teaching/research.
• I would say be more mellow but then Egg would read this and say you vowed to be more mellow this year, which would make me respond in less than mellow ways.

Happy Holidays

Today I sent out email Christmas cards (which is about as good as it gets for me any more). Now I have to wrap and cook roast beef, tomato soup and mac and cheese (hard mac, as my nephew calls it.)

I'm having a bit of spell of holiday cheer. I love the Christmas email because people email right back to say hello. It's very sweet and reminds me of my good friends and family.

Christmas Eve begins at 5:00. That gives me 2.5 hours. Have a great Christmas if that's the way you roll, as Erik would say. Who picked it up from one of the many times he watched Alvin and the Chipmunks. Because it's a long drive from mountain town to mountain city, but well worth it.

On being sick

Sometimes, I prefer the sick version of me. For the four days I was sick, I learned how to be a better guest--not always getting in the way, worrying about compensating my hosts every twelve minutes by offering to cook or clean or empty the dishwasher. I let Erik's parents, just wake up with Z and play whatever she wanted without saying, Zo, Grandma and Grandpa can't play nonstop. I finally realize they only do this a couple weeks a year. They can get up early. I finally let my mom make me three kinds of toast and tea and find movies for us to watch all day Sunday. I let Val cook tacos without helping or even doing the dishes. I let Erik shop for gifts without worrying if I was doing my fair share. Erik cleaned and shoveled and I just laid in the bed and listened. I think I found an off switch. I kept seeing it in my head. It's electric blue and if I focus on it enough, my brain truly does not speed at a thousand miles an hour.

But being sick also irritates me. I missed a big deal party with for one of my friend's kids. We're trying to repair our friendship and this set us back. I missed a neighborhood party at my friend Sylv's. I missed going downtown every night and I love going downtown when I'm here. I'm also annoyed by realizing how frantic I get in trying to make everyone even--seeing everyone exactly the right number of times. I drive myself nuts and then end up in a crabby mood because I'm always fretting. I don't like being a fretter and I think that's part of the reason I was sick for so long. Also, I was not eating enough yogurt.

It is snowing like crazy up here in the Cove. Perhaps we'll ski tomorrow. Or sled.

I'm actually getting excited for Christmas. Perhaps I should finish shopping? Tomorrow. Today, I have to make up for all the writing I didn't do although I do think I
Plus I have a list of other things due by the end of break.

• 1st year review (I know. I've been there 3 months. They review yearly.)
• AWP talk.
• National teach-in day presentation.
• Syllabus 1.
• Syllabus 2 (speaking of which, I'm still getting emails for people asking me to let them into my class. I'm already over by 4 in each! Stop. It's Christmas week!)
• Holiday cards? New Year's Emails? Some sort of missive into the nonblogging universe saying hello.
  

My hope for everyone? May no one be sick for the rest of the week. Maybe even the rest of the year.

We did make it

We're here. It's snowing here too. Apparently, it's winter.
We're at Erik's mom's house where the snow hits hard. I have a stomach ache but think I'm on the mend.
Rick's sister and her daughters and her two dogs are staying here. Erik's sister and her dog is here. We're hunkering down, making halibut and salmon even though Rick's sister and her daughters don't eat fish. I'll make hollandaise and try to convince them that everything is edible with hollandaise on it.
Update when stomach is fully returned to its steely self.
Happy weather!

Will We Get Out of Here?

It is forecast to snow thirty-one inches by five p.m. tonight. I don't think we'll get that but Erik has shoveled for an hour and a half today after an hour's worth last night at nine. Cleo looks like a little skunk out there. I'm taking her running because if at all possible, we're heading north in the morning--come rain or shine or snow or sleet. We'll be like postmen.

For HighTouch I've included a picture, thanks to Egg who reduced it to a reasonable size. I need Photoshop.

Semesters

On Yahoo today, they posted the 13 most overrated careers:

• Advertising Executive
• Architect
• Attorney
• Chef
• Chiropractor
• Farmer
• Medical Scientist
• Nonprofit Manager
• Physician
• Police Officer
• Professor
• Small-Business Owner
• Teacher

Not only was Professor on that list but so were all my back up jobs. What? Being a farmer that sells a $2 pair isn't an easy gig? I had planned on going to med school if this whole professor thing didn't/doesn't work out.

But perhaps I am particularly ill-suited to the rhythms of the academic calendar. In August and early September, I am all embittered complaint wondering how the hell I have to be some place on time when I just want to work on my whining. I mean writing. And then, when the semester really gets going, I hunker down and the rest of the world drops away. I hardly leave the house. I email my students (rather than just respond to their emails). I say yes to every independent study and special project. Then, at the end of the semester, I am alternately cranky and. Oh wait. Just cranky because students still want stuff (4 people came into the advising center yesterday. On a Thursday. Of Finals Week! One asking me if I knew if they could graduate sooner under a different catalog year.) But I do start to look up and around. I try to make phone calls and emails to people who aren't students or don't work at my work. I make 7 plans for fun. I start writing again. But then Christmas takes a huge chunk of concentration and then it's time to think about the semester starting again: First year review, syllabi, new marketing project.
I presume early January will be full of complaint then no one will hear from me from the middle of February until April 1st. And then I'll be wondering, isn't this all over all over again?

Final analysis: Winter break isn't long enough to feel relaxed and re-absorbed into human culture and summer break is too much absorption altogether.

Easy Monday Meme

As Seen at Anastasia's and Inside the Philosophy Factory

1. Started my own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than I can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland/world
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sung a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched lightening at sea (spelled lightning, no?)
14. Taught myself an art from scratch (do hand-turkeys count?)
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning (Bambara with Leonard Schwartz. Lobster “pie.” Ew.)
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown my own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitchhiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset (I like the idea of someone not doing this. They close their eyes every evening from 9 until 10 in the summer and 5-6 in the winter).
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of my ancestors (I was born in the place of my ancestors. And I have been to Evanston Wyoming too. Also England and Germany).
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught myself a new language (the latter half)
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied (some days).
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke (unfortunately for the audience)
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant (no but I bought some groceries for a woman at the check out whose card wasn’t working)
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance.
47. Had my portrait painted (Thanks Bek!)
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China (KJ—wait to do this meme until July)
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle (only once. Don’t tell my mom)
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person. Twice.
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had my picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House.
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating. (I’ve caught trout but I don’t think I did the head-bashing or gutting).
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life.
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous.
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person.
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake (Although I don’t think “swimming” is quite the term).
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Ridden an elephant

Obviously I need to sing in a band and ride (and fall from) flying machines and give more blood (although it makes me pass out).

Deer!

There are deer hanging out inthe back yard. A lot of them. I hope we have some delicious grass. It's cold out there.

The Bullets of De-complaint

I can't think of the opposite of complaining. Plus, mostly I mean a retraction. Perhaps I won't even bullet this list.

Oh, but I will.

• The makers of nebulizers proved un-helpful but Zoe's pediatrician's nurse proved a godsend. She heard my plight, took down Z's name, wrote a prescription and faxed it over to the home health outlet right by Zoe's school.
• The bestowers of licenses and license-plates were quick (ish. 1 hour). I got new license (not horrible picture) and new plates that are protecting the environment as we speak for a mere $25 more dollars.
• The soup Erik made for dinner spilled only a little in my bag and was as delicious today as it was last night.
• My kind friends and friends on the internet (and in real life) buoyed me with their kind comments and good ideas. I shall indeed meet for writing group and connect my bullet points in so preparing for writing meeting.
• And, I might have figured out a plan for the would-soon-be-failing writing project. A little bit of one.
• I still have no fantastic email but I'm sure it's just stuck in the pipe somewhere waiting to fall upon me like so much delicious soup.

The Bullets of Complaint

• Zoe's nebulizer broke last night. Now she's all hacky and I have to try to find a new one today. Last time, one just arrived at our door but that was thanks to a hospital stay. I'd rather drive the desert long to find one myself than have the hospital involved.
• The people who are helping me find a nebulizer are not calling me back. Perhaps my phone is broken and calls cannot get through.
• It is also though my email is blocked and only the most persistent and determined emails can get through. Thank you for ye who email.
• I must register car today. And get a driver's license. Have I gotten a haircut in the last 8 months? No, I have not.
• I have university-wide committee meeting that tends to go for two hours. Two!
• This last week of class? I have no motivation.
• I haven't slept well in two nights.
• I have an impossible writing project that I really cannot do because I am too lame. Perhaps I can write a writing project all in bullets. That I can at least accomplish.

Report: Thanksgiving

It seems that Lis, in the cold, cold north, and I, in the cold at nights, warm in the day southwest, practically worked in the same way on Thanksgiving. I too made my own broth. Nor would I let anyone help in the kitchen except for Em to mash the potatoes and Rick, who, the day before, was allowed to make his own cheesecake. I too am a kitchen tyrant and need the order and the manner of things to go just so (although I relented much on Saturday and Em helped me a ton to make roll the pasta and to peel the butternut squash for the lasagna.)

However, Lis and I departed on a few key points. Sadly, in the ways that make me come off a bit more boring. Cranberry sauce? Just orange zest and the juice of an orange. Stuffing? Mushrooms, onions, celery and sage. The yams and sweet potatoes had a bit of brown sugar, pecans, sage and butter. They were supposed to be tossed, thanks to Martha, in cayenne pepper but I forgot and then used Z as an excuse for not doing it (thanks Z!). The worst deparature? My lame thinly sliced, raw turnips, beets, radishes, cheese and crackers for lunch/appetizers. I always forget the early feeding. And we had no fancy cocktails. Just wine. And not even too much. Weird.

I did brine the turkey however. In the cooler went about 2 cups of salt, 1.5 cups of sugar, some juniper berries (Alton Brown called for allspice berries which I could find nowhere). I let it brine overnight and until noon the next day. Then, ala Alton, instead of stuffing the bird I infused the cavity with an apple, sage, rosemary and onion. Covered the whole thing in Canola oil and cooked the 16 pound bird for 2.5 hours (first 30 minutes at 500, then the rest at 350) using the new Jenn Air oven and its integrated probe. When the meat of the breast reached 165, the oven turned off! The turkey came out entirely brown, entirely cooked and moist. Even the useless white meat was pretty tasty. Next time, I think I'll use a bit more salt or salt the top like I would usually.

Again, the whole thing seemed like two days of work for 20 minutes of eating but it was good great fun. The gravy was the best ever. The appreciation large.

I just ate too much leftover turkey. We had a lot of leftover turkey. Not so many leftover mashed potatoes, most likely because 2 of the 7 of us are vegetarians. And the 7th, being Z, ate almost nothing.

I believe our guests for the long weekend had a good time. We went down to Sedona for lunch on Friday at Oak Creek Brewery, walked along the creek of the same name at Slide Rock park and hiked up to the vortex. This time, we had to hustle because lightning was striking in the near distance and if lightning's attracted to anything, it's a vortex. It was a quick trip down the canyon. Next time, I would like to linger in Sedona. Maybe even eat dinner and stay the night. When there are no tourists. Which might be never. That night, we played Cranium as we had the night before but Friday night, we stupidly brought out the Trivial Pursuit which brought out the uber competitiveness of some and stupidly made us stay up until midnight. Z slept with us because the other beds were packed with guests, coughed all night, and kicked Erik in the head. I was surprised to find myself able to function the next day.

But function we all did. On Saturday, the guys played disc golf, the women-folk walked Cleo the dog and Zoe the cold-ridden toddler who every nine minutes or so all weekend made a lovely noise when she wanted something, much like the noise made from a cow mooing because she's stuck in the mud. Perhaps her lungs felt muddy. Surprisingly, the noise was entirely unpleasant.

Saturday night, the lasagna. No games. Just chatting and a tiny bit of wine. Lovely.

Yesterday, after the folks left, cold-ridden myself and nearly comatose from turkey or a lack of sleep, I still managed to grade. And watch 3 movies, ET, Forrest Gump (ugh. And yet not that bad.) and Ratatouille plus the t.v. shows, Property Ladder and Top Chef. All in all, a complete weekend.

Now I have to finish a grant proposal that's due today and make some big decisions about books and travel plans. Thankfully, I'm fully sated with the egregious amount of leftover turkey I just ate. However, I still need to think of what to make for dinner. I have basil. And leftover turkey.