Cooking Lessons

Michael (my 8 year old) says that he wants to grow up to be a chef.  He's been asking for six months for me to get him a cookbook that will teach him to cook.  On Wednesday, we found one at the library that looks good.

So yesterday he covered "kitchen rules" in school.  Then he looked at the recipes he had chosen and made out a grocery list.  Last night he made his first meal.

I was surprised that he had difficulty cracking eggs.  In his lifetime he has dropped more than one entire dozen of eggs at a time for the sheer joy of experiencing the "Craaaack - Splaaaat."  I believe eggs are the original inspiration for bombs.  But for some reason when he was SUPPOSED to crack the eggm he turned timid.  Snick, Snick, Snick.  He tapped the shell lightly against the edge of the bowl.  "Michael, you'll need to tap it harder to break the shell."  Snick, Snick, Snick.

So I offered to demonstrate.  He needed three eggs in his recipe so he would have two more chances to practice.  "Here, baby, see.  Rap it sharply, then turn it to another place and rap it sharply again, then hold the ends of the egg and twist (I'm not showing him the one hand method yet!)  Then it was his turn.  Crack!  turn Crack!  "Look MOM!  I did it!"  He turned to show me as he twisted - and plop!  The egg hit the floor.

Egg number three was a rousing success and we cheered as it dropped in the bowl with the yolk intact.  Then came egg number 4.  He cracked it with a little extra enthusiasm and the shell didn't just crack it kind of crushed.  So he raised it to peer at the damage from underneath.  Only, when an egg has a goodly sized hole in it . . . The yolk landed neatly on top of the dog's head.

Over all though he did an excellent job.  He had chosen Pasta Carbonara for his first cooking lesson and we substituted lean ham for the bacon.  It was good! 

His Dad took over the instruction for the dessert (milkshakes) while I gave the dog a bath.

Pasta Carbonara       

Place 3/4 pound of Spaghetti noodles in boiling water to cook.

While the pasta is cooking,

Beat: 3 eggs
        3 T heavy cream
        1 T corn vegetable oil
        1/4 c parmesan cheese
        freshly ground pepper to taste

In a small frying pan, cook four ounces of lean ham until lightly browned at the edges.

When the pasta is cooked, drain in collander then return to saucepan.  Put ham and egg mixture on top of noodles and cook for another 2-3 minutes stirring constantly.

Nature Red in Tooth and Claw

I love it where I live.  I can't see another house from my house.  In fact, from most places anywhere on our property, I can't see anyone else.  When I go to the mailbox, I can see my neighbor - and once the leaves fall it's possible to catch the occasional glimpse through the bare tree trunks of her husband's truck going in or out of their driveway.

From my home I can see birds, animals, wildflowers, toads, turtles, trees - - - all the things that country life promised.  Each morning, I start my day by opening the door and stepping out into this little paradise with my dog, (who would appreciate it more if she weren't terrified of butterflies.)

This morning I stepped outside and Ewwwwwww!  A skunk has been in the neighborhood.  So now I'm holding my nose and hoping that Simone will hurry with her business.  I didn't look where I was stepping and Ewwwwwwww!  Mouse guts.  And Ewwwwwwww! next to the mouse guts - a little mouse skull, compliments of one of the cats. 

Forgiveness, Confession, Restoration, Forgetfulness - what's a victim to do?

Okay - let me say up front that I'm not mad at anybody.  I had a conversation with my sister about a situation in which someone that she has looked up to was arrested for a shocking act.  She'd welcome your comments as she sorts out her feelings.

Now, what exactly are we talking about when we say that we need to forgive people?  I believe in forgiveness, but I define it as "choosing not to hold anger or resentment toward a person who has wronged you".  You will notice a couple of things about this.  First of all the act of forgiveness is all about me.  It's whether or not I choose to hold on to anger, bitterness, resentment, and all those other negatives that come with the territory of finding myself the victim of someone who's actions have hurt or betrayed me.  It's not my place to forgive people who hurt you.  In fact, it's presumptious of me to include myself in your hurt or betrayal.  I can empathize with you, I can conclude that the person who commited the action against you may be an unscrupulous, nasty, tick-infested, boil on the butt of humanity - but I'm dispassionate about that, because after all, it wasn't me that they hurt.

On the other hand, sometimes people do things that hurt ME.  I'm not dispassionate about this.  I feel hurt, fear, anger, rage, and urge to drive over that person with my minivan if I can figure a way to do it without damaging my fragile transmission.  If I say to that person at some point in the future - I have forgiven you - that means only that I have chosen to let go of these negative feelings and inclinations. 

A related but completely separate matter is the restoration of the relationship that I have with that person.  I can and have forgiven people without ever saying to them - "you're forgiven."  Mostly, this is because they either lacked the capacity to understand what I would be offering them, or I didn't see any way to preserve/resume the relationship.  In order for a relationship to be restored, there has to be effort on both sides.

1. The person who has commited the offense must confess.  I need to hear you acknowledge that you understand that your action was hurtful.  This is not because I want to humiliate you, this is because your confession is step one in restoring our relationship.  If I don't have a clear understanding that you know what you did and why it was wrong, what hope can I have that you won't do the same thing next week?  "I'm sorry you got upset when I ran over your prized hibiscus bushes with the bulldozer that I had to rent for a lot of money"  is not a confession.  Oh, it appears to include all the right elements, it describes the wrong action, but you'll notice that there is no acknowledgement that the action was wrong. 

Even in this relative world, I retain the right to insist that if you want to have a relationship with me, you must acknowledge that some things are wrong.  But, if you don't believe in wrong as an absolute concept, I'll even accept "I can see that when I rented that very expensive bulldozer and brought it over to your house to destroy your property that damaged your ability to feel comfortable having me as a friend" if you just cannot use the word "wrong."  Because I'm a nice person.

Step 2 - when damage can be corrected it is the responsibility of the offender to "make it right."  Once those prized hibiscus bushes are gone, hearing your confession is simply not enough to restore our relationship.  After all, before I had you plus a lovely garden.  Now I have - you and a big spot of bare ground that I'm going to look at everytime I open the door to let you in my house.  (Which by the way, I hven't done yet.  So far, all that I've been willing to do is meet you at a restaurant for a cup of coffee and civility.) 

Now, if you really understand that what you did was wrong, and you really want to be my friend you HAVE to 1) replace the hibiscus bushes or 2) give me a damn good reason why you can't even though you are willing to try.  Yes, in this day and age, there are some people who still think that restitution is a good idea and I'm one of them.  If I borrow your book and spill coffee on it, I'll replace your book even though it was an accident.  If in a fit of anger I torch your book - then my own awareness of my malice will demand that I replace your book plus something.  If the book had a value of say $7.99 - I think it's reasonable that I should give you a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble for $15.  This repays you for the book and offers an apology to you for emotional damage. 

3) only at this point can the relationship be restored.  But, listen, if you think for one minute that I've forgotten that you've shown yourself to be the kind of person who would bring a bulldozer to my house and run over my bushes - you're nuts.  I'm not amnesiac - I'm a normal human.  In the future, I will be your friend, I'll resume our relationship, but I'll keep my ear open for the sound of a bulldozer coming until such a time as you have convinced me that you were temporarily insane when that happened and that it will never happen again.

You know what?  There are times when I can be really ugly.  I've been known to say things that I cringe to think of now.  I've even been known to throw things.  I don't expect that after I've behaved in such a manner that *I* will forget what I've done, I don't expect you to forget it either.  I think that we can restore our relationship and maybe even build a stronger one, but not because we pretend that nothing ever happend.  The relationship will grow and be strong only if we acknowledge it and move on.

For my part, I'm not forgiving if I'm nursing my anger.  Its unrealistic to expect that I can turn my feelings off and on like a water faucet, but I must at least make the effort to acknowledge the hurt and let it go.  If I'm inviting it to come in and have a soda - well, I'm not doing my part and in fact I may be manipulating you with my anger - in which case I need to see step 1.

So does that make me a bad person?  I know that some people would say - absolutely, you cold-hearted, rigid, and demanding witch to expect people to live by your standards of right and wrong.  To them I answer that I don't expect any such thing.  I don't expect that anyone will want to be my friend in the first place.  But, if you decide that you want a relationship with me, then I expect you to treat me with respect, treat my property with respect, and to accept that within the bonds of friendship it is necessary for each person to accept responsibility for him/herself. 

The lamest words in the English language are "I'm sorry you feel that way."

You wouldn't think that Mexican food would be directly related to transmission fluid.  But the connection was too strong to deny last night. - Let me back up.  On Monday, I experienced some inconvenience when the transmission in my van just kind of blew up.  One minute I was driving along, the next minute there was a loss of transmission.  Smoke was pouring our from under the van, fluid was bleeding all over the road.  It was bad.

But, it gave me the opportunity to speak with a person that I know mostly through Tim.  bbell1973 was answering the phone in Tim's office when I called to tell him that he'd need to come straight home instead of going to the gym.  So I had a lovely chat with a person who said all kinds of nice ego-building things about my writing here at quiltnmomi.  Thanks Barry!

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to wait while the local dealership service department went over the van trying to find our what happened.  I hate waiting.  I especially hate waiting when money is involved.  The longer it took for them to call, the more expensive I imagined the fix woudl be.

I had my customary diet coke for breakfast, but my lunchtime, I was so tense that I not only didn't eat, it never occurred to me to eat anything.  So when they finally told me that it was just a HOSE! and that the repair was going to cost about $100 - I was so happy that I threw myself a little dance party.  Still, it never occurred to me that I should eat lunch.

So last night, when Tim and I went to pick up the van (they washed it too, so we had to drive aroudn the block a couple times looking at all the vehicles before we recognized it - thank God the boys' still had bicylces, water noodles, and month old chese curls on the floor or we might still e trying to figure out which one was ours) I was happy to agree to his suggestion that we have dinner at the Tumbleweed.  Kids eat free on Tuesday which makes my cheap little heart glad. 

So last night, I wallowed in enchiladas and cheese dip, refried beans, and mexican rice.  I slurped down diet coke (because everyone knows that diet coke has the ability to cancel calories out of regular food) and when we got home, we decided that we couldn't think of a better time to open that bottle of cheap champagne we've been saving for almost four days.

I've never had a transmission problem that was repairable for less than $1000.  I'm still happy this morning. 

Many that live deserve death
Many that die deserve life

Taaa Daaa

*Oooops - I forgot to say - I am 5 feet even and Tim is 6' 7".  I think the shoes I'm wearing with this dress have about a 3 inch heel. 

There is NO such animal as a good picture of me and Tim.  Either one of us is cut off, the lighting is wrong . . . you name it.  But of the many photographic embarrassments - this one is the least embarrassing.  So here we are, in Florida this past June.  We spent the morning at the beach, then got all dressed up for the evening.  Yes - Tim IS tickling me. 

The final report on my digital camera is in.  It is definitely hosed.  So I guess I know what I want for CHRISTMAS this year. 

This was so cool!

Okay, Picture this - I'm outside sitting in the chair beside my little pond, listening to the sound of running water and watching my husband do yardwork (I'm fascinated by yardwork, I could watch people do it all day) when I notice a bit of activity down the hill.  Two yearlings stroll up out of the grove to within about 30 yard of my house.  Then a magnificient red fox came running out of the grove and started to nip at the heels of one of the young deer.  For the next five minutes at least, there was qute the Wild Kingdom scene here as the fox chased the deer, then the deer chased the fox.  Finally they parted company with the deer heading into the wood uphill, and the fox disappearing back into the grove.

Another Saturday Blog And I Don't Have No Ideeeeees . . .

If you automatically put the tune to that are you now back in the days of your youth - when you first discovered the joys of the radio and weekly top forty?  Are you thinking about the ten speed bike, trying to figure out what to do with hair gel, the cute guy/gal in the car next to yours at the Sonic.  You know, the one you'll NEVER meet because it's so embarrassing to BE at the Sonic with your parents that you slide into the floorboard and pretend to be looking for loose change, tomorrow's homework, your baby teeth, anything to just stay hidden under such humliating circumstances.

Me neither.

I just stepped on the scale.  Not a good way to start the day.  You know even if I do manage to lose weight the bottom line is still depressingly large.  In the meantime, Tim is taking this whole health thing very seriously and his weigh-in routine has become an exercise in jubilation.  Which just makes me feel cranky.  Oh, I know, if you really love someone you're happy for them when good things happen.  Stuff that! 

Well, I made the claim over on Morganna's blog that I'm not depressed, if I don't change my tune, it's going to look like I lied.  So lets see - what good things to talk about - Oh I KNOW.  We recently signed up for our free trial month with NETFLIX.  You know them?  They sponsor some of those annoying pop-ups that have started to buzz around my screen in spite of the pop-up repellant that I sprayed liberally.  Okay, I have to say that of all the Internet companies we've taken for a test drive - this is one we are most likely to form a long-term relationship with. 

In our first month we have received in the mail 11 different DVD's that are not carried by our local video store.  It would have been 12 if I hadn't insisted on keeping the Blackadder DVD extra days so we could watch it again and again.  Last night we watched the Silent Movie classic - Nosferatu.  If you are a Dracula fan and you haven't seen this one, you are in for a treat.  Of course it's a silent film and the style of acting made us laugh in a couple of places, but it is a classic for a reason. 

I was a little concerned about the notion of spending $20 a month on DVD rentals when we don't ordinarily spend $20 in six months at the video store.  But this has turned out to be a great deal.  You don't pay for the first month of membership, so you get ahead of the game up front.  We've been able to watch most of the videos on the night they arrive and put them in the return mail the next day.  (They come with a postage paid return envelope so you don't have additional expenses added onto the membership fee.)

The only drawback - getting to see all these films has made us realize that we want to OWN more.  Our wishlist has Amelie at the top right now and I'm really thrilled that Daff said that today she would blog about this film - it's wonderful.  So I'm headed there now to join the discussion.

You had me at hello -

Have you ever noticed that there's an odd sort of relationship between questions and answers?  Intuitively it seems simple.  You notice a gap in your knowledge - you put it into words - and voila?! a question is born.  Then you look around, make some obeservations, maybe read a doctoral dissertation or two, and you fill in the gaps - there you have it - the answer to the question. 

Only every answer raises at least two more questions.  And frankly, the more certain the answer seems, the less I've learned to trust it.  Sometimes I find myself asking questions that I didn't know were questions.  When I think on a particular concept and maybe even write out what I think I know about it, questions appear out of thin air.  I didn't KNOW there was a gap in the knowledge until I got it down on paper.  Then like cream cheese on a bagel, little gaps appear.  Before my eyes the gaps widen until the honey is running all down in the bagel and dripping through for my waiting poodle to lap it up.

Then its back to thinking, back to the books, back to research, and back to writing down answers that become questions that require answers that become questions.  Have you ever heard this one, "an intellectual is a person who has been educated beyond his intelligence."  Or how about this one, "Egghead: A person of spurious intellectual pretensions, often a professor of the protege of a professor.  Fundamentally superficial.  Overemotional and feminine in reaction to any problem.  Supercilious and surfeited with conceit and conctempt for the experience of more sound and stable men.  A self-conscious prig, so given to examining all sides of an issue that he becomes thoroughly addled while remaining in the same spot."  When you hear the word intellectual - doesn't you mind automatically fill in the object "elite."  I've heard the two words "intellectual elite" together so often that they seem like the brands that I automatically reach for at the Supermarket.  I can't think of the one without the other. 

I spent most of the first 20 years of my life in bitter resentment of the teachers who commented on my "intelligence" in class, in front of my peers.  How dare they tar me with that brush!  "Don't listen to them, I'm not really that smart!  I'm no different from anyone else.  Look, I missed a problem on that last algebra test, see!?  I'm not smart, I'm not different and I'm certainly not one of those people." 

If you look up the word gullible in the dictionary - there I am.  I'm not gullible about ideas - I'm irritatingly nitpicky about the nuances of philosophy, theology, and scientific theory.  But, put me in with a bunch of real live people and stir . . . I think it should be more automatic that I could relate to beings who after all are of the same species!  And most people I meet seem to think that I do relate well.  I have a nice smile, and I'm genuinely interested in other people, how they feel, what they think, what kinds of things they find important.  But I learned a long time ago, that it just isn't safe to tell them in return what *I* think, feel and value.  Mostly, it just gets me odd looks and head shakes.  Sometimes people get hostile, they assume that if I have a different opinion than they hold that I must be committed to proving that I'm right and they are wrong. 

For a lot of different reasons - overuse of sarcasm from the adults who raised me, past experiences where I've misunderstood what people were saying, and my own awareness of the gaps - I am very seldom committed wholeheartedly to the absolute truth of an proposition.  That doesn't meant that there aren't things I think are true - but I recognize that even if it is true - it's impossible (at least from my point of view) for any particular truth to be exhaustively true.  No single statement answers every question that might be asked of it.  So when I talk with you, I do pretty well at listening to your ideas.  Here on Xanga at least, I find it easy to talk about my own ideas.

In general, I assume that you are an interested listener and a willing participant in the process of asking questions, looking for answers, and asking more questions.  I'm going to choose to take your statements at face value - if you meant it sarcastically, well, I most likely didn't "get it."  If you want to argue with me on points of fact, I'll most probably wrinkle my brow and reach for whatever heavy book is closest by that refers to that point or concept.  If you have some need for me to be "wrong," you'll find that I'm not resistant to that notion, if may very well be that I get excited because you've helped me find another of those intriguing cracks that make life interesting.

If that's not your intent.  If you only start a dialogue because you are looking for a way to practice your skill at making another person feel foolish - I'm not a good target.  Not because I never feel foolish, but because I always feel foolish.  I'm not going to "get it."  I may in fact come across to you as arrogant, stubborn, conceited, eggheadish or any number of other negative words you might attach to the term "intellectual."  I'm not in high school anymore, and I think I may have finally grown out of the need to reassure people that I'm "not different."  I'm not tolerant, I'm exhilarated by the differences in the way we think.  Every difference I find is another rung on my ladder of understanding my world.  Not to mention, in my mellow maturity, I've come to appreciate your right to be wrong. 

No Xanga - No problem - I can live without it . . .

Last night Fugitive and I had one of those ever important email chats.  With a few details left out to protect the innocent, I offer you this glimpse into conversation between two Xanga-sisters.