The grass is back

No time, no blog.  Halfway ready to be off to the Kon.  House filthy--guests coming--I won't be here.  Off to the Kon.

Not your typical Wednesday

Worked.  Stopped at Hancock fabrics to get more webbing and some stiff black elastic.  Stopped at grocery.  Forgot to get chocolate.  Stopped at egg lady's. 

Came home.  Sewed.  Sewed.  Looked for old black shirt.  Found substitute black shirt (brand new).  Callie cut the cuffs off.  Pinned harness.  Tried on.  Tested wings.  marked PVC pipe.  Sewed harness.  Walked dogs.  Hemmed shirt sleeves.

Quit work, cussing.

We have one whole night and one "eleventh hour" night to finish this.

Meanwhile I finished reading A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck.

I wish they'd made me read this book when I was a pre-teen.  I'd have enjoyed it just as much, plus I wouldn't have suffered the embarrassment of crying my eyes out in the bathroom at work.  (Lunch break.)

I can't describe this--it's about a Shaker boy coming of age in the 1930s.  He and his father--and his pig--have the sort of close, love-filled relationship that breaks your heart.  I'll never read it again--it hurt too much the first time.  I'll never forget it.

Setting aside the handkerchief for a minute--why were the women so out of the picture?  Yeah, they were old.  And yeah, the sisters were wedded and gone.  But old people can work.  Why weren't they growing a garden?   In Little House in the Prairie, Laura's mother grew a garden.  Farming women--in America--traditionally fed the family from the garden.  Where was the garden?

Infidel--my review vs. others and you got to see for yourself.

It's a funny coincidence that I just happened on a review of Infidel, written by someone whose opinion I enjoy reading.  She disliked it, a lot.   I liked it, a lot.

I think it's technically more of an autobiography than a Memoir.  Wiktionary says:

A memoir differs from a simple autobiography by not focusing on the author as the primary subject matter, but on people and events in the author's life. Emphasis is placed on personal observations about external events.

There are a few places in the book where she reacts to external events, but most of it is simply autobiographical--what she did; where she went; etc.

The reviewer and I are in agreement that it is an uneven book.  At some times Ms. Ali is deeply introspective and at other times, superficial.  But I don't think she shows a lack of empathy and I don't think she needs to get psychotherapy to work out her father issues.   She's not mad at her father--she's mad at her culture.  Her religion.

Not to say I came away applauding Ms. Ali.  Many times she showed a severe lack of judgement by making  inflammatory remarks and then professing surprise at the reactions they provoked.  But she wasn't a career politician; not a debater or a trained diplomat--she was thrust into those roles and didn't seem to know when to say, "no."  Did that hurt her cause?  Maybe--but it got her issue (oppression of women in Muslim societies) some air time.  She didn't know when to shut up. 

The biggest insight I gained from this work is this: Islam is a danger to the modern world.  Islam isn't a religion; it's a way of life. If you are a true believer, your family will demonstrate your devotion and if they don't, they must be compelled to conform or be cast out.  And it's literal--when the prophet says, "wage war on the unbelievers," that's what it means to many, many people.  To the men who murdered filmmaker Theo van Gogh.  To the Ayatollah Kohmeini who issued the fatwa against Salman Rushdie.  To the hundreds of fathers and brothers who murder young girls for committing adultery.

I think this book should be read.  I think it's truth.  Maybe a greater person would have lived a nobler life--but this is a life that was lived.  Period.

Sunday...over...work...much

It's 6:30 and the day is pretty much gone.  The work day, that is.  The wings are by no means complete but Callie gave in on the piece of plywood.  It's waiting for me to trim, attach to the harness, and then we'll try articulating.  If it works, we're nine-tenths done.

I made 28 strawberry cupcakes--heavenly--and two plates of tuna sandwiches.  Callie made a poster board celebrating Edward's graduation, and now they're gone.  Off to church and then a party in his honor.  And I'm reading Infidel.

I'm having more fun than they are...but I feel a little guilty about it.

the pigman

Writing a review of The Pigman is going to be awkward. 

I loved it--it bugged me--it hurt.  The bugged me part came from his endless recitation of names of kids coming to the party; that, and other places where he was writing exactly the way a real teenager would have.  And Lorraine, too--why couldn't she get some spine and stand up for herself?  And why couldn't they say no just once when the party got wild?  Just back off a little.

It's almost like...they're real people and I really care.  Almost?  Heck no--it's exactly like.

I won't bother with a plot synopsis.  Just read it and find out for yourself.

Memorial Day weekend, started early

Vacation day and you could say that made it a good day.  And I say--a day.  We didn't get moving early but it wasn't super late; found what we needed at JoAnn Fabric but spent forever waiting in line.  By the time we got home and did a quick jogging trip (make-up for Thursday); there was only about an hour to work on The Bat Wing project before time to go to the movies.

Then Posados took freaking forever.  Most unusual--I think our waitress had a hard day.  When we left there were thunderstorms moving in from the west.  Luckily, we were going east.

But you know--despite my anxiety attack about the thunderstorms--it was a winner because (a) the whole family was together and (b) we liked each other.     And the movie was

Who says dogs have noses?

One dog walked right over this poor dead critter and didn't even stop--the other two walked past it.

It was gone the next day so I guess something smelled it.

I may have to buy my own copy

I think I summed up my feelings about Summer Of My German Soldier pretty succinctly on my blog.

                   *  Wow
                   * I'm glad she didn't put a glossy, sugar-coated finish on it and
                   * One of the most depressing books I've ever loved.

Everyone knows the story, right?  After all, it was first published in 1973 and has been on teen reading lists ever since then.  But it turned out, I didn't know the story--or less than a tenth of it.    I'd read a spoiler so I thought I knew the ending, but that wasn't the ending.  It ended several chapters past the "spoiler ending", and the book's ending was the sort that didn't really end, just stopped.  If I were Bette Greene, I'd write a sequel.

The story is not "teenage girl has a summer romance with an escaped German soldier."  That would be trite and formula and this is anything but.  It's a girl; her screwed up, unfeeling, psychopathic parents; her colored cook; her town, country and religion; and her soldier...who's not really a soldier at all.  He's just a smart, sensitive, guy who ended up in the army because that's where everyone ended up.

Recommended.  To everyone.

Weeds

      Don't belong in the garden but...oh.





The rain came through today instead of yesterday.  The school administrators were apparently so freaked out about the tornado in Moore, Oklahoma yesterday, that when the storm started blowing in at about two o'clock, they locked down the high school and wouldn't let anyone leave until after three.  So my dogs were stuck out in the storm.  And to top it off, the bus driver wouldn't go down the gravel road so she let my kids off down at the cul-de-sac by the horse farm.  Idiot.

I'm really stuck to Summer Of My German Soldier.  I find myself re-reading passages to make it last longer.  I know it's going to end sadly, but that's somehow not making me distance myself now, to deaden the blow later.

I did little else, but I finished

         This Incomperable Lande: A Book of American Nature Writing,
                        edited by Thomas J. Lyon


It only added two books to my amazon.com wish list.

No criticism of the book, the selection of pieces, or the writers represented, but the book really didn't do much for me.  His introduction--three whole chapters of it--was dry.  If I were to assemble such a collection I'd limit my introductions to afew paragraphs at the front of each piece.

It would have been a good anthology to skim through in order to pick out some writers I wanted to follow at length.  But each author was represented by ten or more pages--too long to skim; too short to fall in love with.

But the main issue was me, not the book.  Nature writing is something I read at leisure, when there's time to splurge on images, re-read whole sections out loud to feel the rhythm, make pictures from words, be there.  To close my eyes and walk the paths they relate.  I didn't take the time to do that...and so I didn't really read this book.

Dallas Summer Musicals

It couldn't compare to Wicked, but the costumes alone were worth the waste of a working day.

Productivity slump

There will be no more productive work now.  I got a login on 'goodreads.com'.  Will spend the rest of my life adding my books and reviews.  No more time to read, even.

JK. Funny...I'm still stuck deep in This Incomperable Lande: A Book Of American Nature WRiting and I'm actually developing longings for the quick-read teen books.  It was only 400 pages, too, but it's 400 painful pages.  My brain needs a rest!

Vegetable arden or flower garden?

Foreground: Arugula gone to flower.  Background: sage and lots of happy bees.
 

Whew--relief!  Slight relief but I'll take all I can get.   When I want meat and don't have time to go to Local Yokal (their hours are somewhat restrictive for a commuter), I stop off at Whole Foods Market.   But I've been more and more suspicious about the meat I buy at Whole Foods Market--it may be organic and free of antibiotics, but it's not necessarily humanely raised.  I just did a check on "Applegate Naturals."  Their web site has an excellent spin doctor.  Their animals have space, good food, good treatment--but nowhere does it use the words "pastured" or "free range."  Not in a cursory search, anyway.

So it's better than CAFO, but not what I prefer.

The ham I just bought, labeled "Niman Ranch," is a winner!  .It says right there on their web site,
    Livestock are raised outdoors
I'm bookmarking those guys.

Spring storms coming soon. But first--

Started hearing nighthawaks a couple of days ago.  Also saw my first chimney swift but that was down by work.  The hummingbirds, on the other hand, seem to have disappeared.






Here's what happens when spinach decides it's over.

Bolting!


It's over for me, too--I pulled up all but a single spinach plant, washed and picked over and washed and picked over and....

Ate it.

A good teen book, okay!

I'm so glad I went back and re-read the ending of Jacob Have I Loved by Katherine Patterson.   The first time, I sort of skimmed it late at night and I was probably half asleep...all I could remember was, how disappointing!



But it wasn't disappointing at all.  It was nearly as good as the ending to Bridge to Terabithia, by the same author.


The meaning of the book title is a mystery, not revealed until pretty far along, so I won't give it away here.  It's dead-on the theme of the book.

Sara Louise (Wheeze) has spent her life (a) eclipsed by her beautiful, talented twin sister and (b) trying to be a son to her father.  Only a son could work on the crab boat, help build the business and provide for the family's needs.   Her parents are good people and they clearly love her very much...but they work hard and never seem to have time to see her for herself.  She never seems to need attention, so she never gets it.  She's..the other daughter.

Throw in a deranged, Bible-thumping grandmother, a lonely old man who moves into the haunted house at the end of the island, an evil orange tomcat, a best friend who never gets her jokes, and a million crabs, lobsters, tortoises and oysters; and you've got a winning combination.  I won't say I loved this book unconditionally, but I'm glad I read it.

My friend in the garden.

 

You could say I cooked on Sunday.   If you were being polite.

I executed Smitten Kitchen's batter-dipped fried chicken recipe exactly as written and I had the exact same results she did--blackened chicken.  My first batch turned black and started smoking as soon as it hit the oil.  My second and third batches were less black--more of a darkish brown with occasional dark speckles.  And because I had to shorten the cooking time, they were all raw in the middle.

Maybe Minnie don't burn no fried chicken--but I do.

Only later, when I went back and re-read her blog, did I realize I had the same problem she did.  A cheap, grocery store candy thermometer that misreported the temperature of the oil.  Next time I "fry" I'll go back to my old technique of tossing a little batter into the oil to see how fast it browns.  We don't need no stinking candy thermometers.

Book #36, still on schedule

 
Dragons in the Waters
Madeleine L’Engle



Drat!  I thought this was the last L’Engle but there’s still one later in the list.  Much later in the list—good.  I get a break.

This one again stars a boy character.  He’s being pushed into manhood by certain life-changing events, and he’s having to deal with the loss of a (figurative) father image and the gain of a real father image—one who made mistakes and hurt people, but left a legacy greater than his life.   And if you think that sounds like a great theme for a story—which it is—and you can’t wait to read it—hold up.

(Embarrassed whisper) It’s just not well-written.  Shame on me!  Sacrilege!  Who am I to denigrate the great L’Engle, the queen of pre-teen?   Can I do better?

I don’t know, but I couldn’t do worse.   Her moral reflections are underlined so hard that there are rips in the pages.  Her point of view flips around so much that I couldn’t tell who the story was about, sometimes.  And her attempts at atmosphere just sound silly.  “…his relief washed over him like a clean salt wave from the sea.”  Since when was the sea “clean”?  It’s gritty and smelly; harsh and soft; full of live and life-giving—but clean?  Not an image I can imagine.

But if you’re under fifteen or so, I’d suggest you give it a try.  It’s kind of interesting and you learn stuff.

Whew.  Thank dog that one's over.

Of all the stupid ideas....

What a riot!  Ed had to work until seven so I thought I'd cook steaks for supper.  Yeah, me--I haven't cooked steaks in ten years.

I got the free-range meat okay--not saying how much it cost--then went to Kroger's for the veggies.  They had less than squat.  Their squash was so ugly I couldn't touch it; potatoes are boring; green beans would have taken too long to prepare; .  I finally ended up with two sweet potatoes; iceberg lettuce because he won't eat leaf lettuce, tomatoes, a grody-looking cucumber, and a bag of frozen lima beans.  I still like Kroger because they buy locally, but face it--the only thing ripe locally right now is salad and I have plenty of that out in the garden.

With Callie's help I got the coals lit--she's a true pyromaniac--and finally finished searing the steaks by about eight-thirty.  (Note: I left work at 4:45)  They were a little crisp on the outside and a little too rare on the inside, but they smell great. 

If I ever do this again, take note:
1. Have Callie start the coals.
2. Don't use quite so many.
3. Wait a little longer to put the meat on and let it cook a trifle slower.
4. More salt.
5. Sneak off some for myself before I serve it.

A reread of a book that deserved the effort

The Omnivore's Dilemma
by Michael Pollan

Life-changing.


Simply put, this book attempts to answer the question, "What's for dinner?"  And the answer is anything but simple.

It is not an expose of American factory farming.  Not in the slightest.  He tells simple facts, not lurid, over-adjectized horror stories.  But American factory farming is a horror story any way you tell it--the facts alone will turn your stomach.  Yes, I'd read about factory farming in the eighties and I adjusted my diet accordingly.  Years went by and the burden of child-bearing and feeding a family overtook me; I lost sight of just why I didn't used to eat meat very much.  When I thought about factory farming at all, I just assumed, it couldn't be as bad as it used to be.

It's worse.

Forgetting that part of the book--just one section near the beginning--this book needs to be read just so you can understand the magic and the madness mankind has wrought from the simple kernels of corn.  One plant; one species; one gene pool--and our modern lives depend upon it.  A typical McDonald's dinner consists of chicken nuggets (56 percent corn), french fries (23 percents), and a  milkshake (78 percent.) 

[We are]...corn's koala.  

Other questions the book attempts to answer include: how did all that corn get into our food?  Why are the farmers producing so much corn and still losing money?  What is the true cost of organic vegetables?  How did the organic movement cope with the pressure to get big or get out?  They're not simple questions. 

Then he spends a week visiting and working on an alternative farm, one run by a self-professed grass farmer.  Fescue, timothy, clover, bluegrass; plantain and timothy and sweet grass.  It's a cow's business to know the difference--and it's the true farmers job to make the difference.  The farm is a place where chickens, turkeys, pigs, rabbits and cattle all share the job of keeping the grass healthy...and in turn they lead a life that makes you almost proud to be an eater of flesh.

And last, Mr. Pollan explores hunting and foraging--what is the meaning of a meal when it's all produced by the hands of one man?  He learns quickly that it's never one man.  The man needs a history of gardening and a network of friends--people who are experienced in recognizing chanterelles and morels when they're hidden under a deep litter of leaf.  People who know how to extract yeast organisms from inner-city air.  People who know how and where to hunt pig--his best help comes from a displaced Sicilian with a passion for prosciutto.

Standing on the backs of so many friends, he produces the fourth meal.  Wish I were there to help eat it.

Heading to Local Yokal tomorrow.

Found in the garden

Friend or foe?  You tell me.

I put him back where I found him.  Be he good or evil, it's his garden, too.

Here's yesterday's cooking adventure

Spinach and Feta Pita Bake.  Only I didn't have any pita bread and I couldn't find any "sun-dried tomato pesto" at Kroger's.  I ended up making my own pesto which wasn't half bad (note to self: use fresh garlic, not old) and skipping the sun-dried tomatoes. 

Oddly enough, it turned out halfway good.  Which is to say, halfway bad.  I won't do it again unless I can get real pita bread and from now on, no feta cheese.  Nobody likes it.  Mozzarella or Swiss would have been yummily.

Cat resting after stepping on all the tiny brocolli seedlings

It's still a jungle out there but at least it looks inhabited. Callie and I mowed the weeds, then I mulched the flowerbed.



I'm too exhausted to post the weekly food adventure.  Plus, I haven't tried it yet--it's not the sort of thing you can taste before it's cooked.

Posted while postponing a hard day of work

Three of four L'Engle books down and one to go.  I'll be glad when they're over.  The third book is,

The Arm Of The Starfish


a.k.a., an extremely thin mystery and a surprising amount of morality lessons woven into a story of a teenage boy grappling with some pretty strong hormones and losing, pretty much, every time.  It's hard--as a reader and a woman--to fall into the mindset of a boy who is so obviously being manipulated by a beautiful, lying, conniving and contriving young woman.

Who doesn't want to believe you're being wanted for yourself, not for your potential as a spy?  Even when she starts slipping in phrases like "how do I know I'll see you again" or "I love you," he is still hopelessly confused.  Girls don't say that, silly--unless they want something.

I think I just slipped a major spoiler.

But to be honest, I just don't see what anyone sees in this book.  Or ever saw.  The morals are good--think for yourself; live for a reason more important than mere survival; and when you have to power to help other people, help unconditionally.  I like those morals.  I just didn't like the book.

Gardeners are obsessed with weather, remember?

It turned off chilly and windy to the extreme.  I'm going to have to go flip the heat pump control from cool to heat.


The dogs like it.  Tomorrow, when they get stuck outside, the sun should come out and warm things up
a little.   But will the potatoes like it?

Be happy to get out of this section of teen books--Danger Girls

Book #33 is

The Grounding of Group 6

by Julian F. Thompson



Well, it's certainly different.  It's a book-child of the late seventies--that's evident in every phrase, every platitude, every character and every action.  The girls are cool, liberated and sexy in a way that only a male writer can depict--I suspect him of creating the three girls of his dreams and throwing them into a mixer to see how the arms and legs shake out.

His creations: 
The uninhibited girl. 
The untouched girl. 
The psychic who is emotionally wise beyond her years.  (What guy doesn't want to do it with a psychic?)

It's not a shallow book--well, it doesn't mean to be.  But it really is.  Five kids are sent off to boarding school by their parents, and by off, I mean off.   As in, to be offed in true NYC gangster style.  They're not such bad kids, they just don't fit the mold their parents desired.

They survive and surpass their emotional deficiencies and end up....
Misfits.
You read it and see if you don't agree.