So my October attempt at NaBloPoMo didn't go so well; I made it through nine days in a row, and then got distracted, and busy, and decided that other things were more important.
Tomorrow is November 1st. New day. New month. Time to give it another shot.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Yes, that's turmeric stuck to the refrigerator door.
One benefit of the falling temperatures is that my landlord got a move on with making some changes in the building. Namely, some limited clean-out of the back crawl space that I'm trying to convince him to turn into tenant storage. (I will be victorious in this if it kills me. Or him.) As such, I was able to move my giant tub of holiday decorations, and my air conditioner, and my bicycle out of my kitchen, where they've been stealing livable space for rather unsightly piles of currently unused stuff. Hurrah!
I still have more "stuff" than is really appropriate for a flat of this size, but I'm very much back to my good habits of not bringing unnecessary crap into the house. Next agenda item: pick up one of the lovely little "Do Not Place Unsolicited Advertising Material on This Property" placards from Green Fort Greene. But in the meantime, I can actually eat dinner at my little cafe table, in the kitchen, next to my windowsill herb garden, without tripping over a very large, very heavy, super-groovy cruiser that I won't be riding until spring.
I really need to paint that nook.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Making Strides Against Breast Cancer
Today, in all of its gray, damp, bone-chilling splendor, was the annual celebration of Making Strides Against Breast Cancer, the American Cancer Society's premier event focused on breast cancer. At 19 sites across New York and New Jersey (and dozens of others elsewhere in the country) we honored cancer survivors, remembered those we've lost to this disease, and worked together to help people stay well, to help people get well, and to fund research to find cures. Cold, wind, and rain didn't stop hundreds of thousands of people from stepping out of their warm, comfortable homes to make a difference. As one woman said, "how can it? Walking in the rain ain't nearly as hard as walking after chemo."
I work the registration tent at Making Strides, and have for the last five Octobers. It's a pretty amazing experience. Over the course of the day, I support one of five teams, each with about 18 volunteers, who are responsible for checking in and collecting funds from 20,000 walkers in the space of just a few hours. I'm their cheerleader, their supply runner, their bathroom-break-spotter, their answer-the-tough-questions-girl, and the one they look to for Freak-Out-First.
Freak Out First? Yeah.
The very coolest part of that job, apart from meeting a whole slew of AMAZING people with fantastic attitudes and such gracious willingness to something good for others, is the ability to cheer for the Making Strides Pacesetters.
Pacesetters are our top fundraisers -- individuals who, on their own, fundraise more than $2,500.00 for the fight against breast cancer. Now don't mistake -- every dollar raised to fight cancer is one for which we are unendingly grateful and we take every opportunity to say so. But it takes a special brand of commitment, perhaps even a special brand of crazy, to be willing to fundraise constantly, every week without fail for a whole year - and that commitment earns a bit of Freak Out appreciation. We clang cowbells. We whoop and cheer. We boogie down with whatever music is pumping through the park. We drape our Pacesetters in feather boas (perfect for wiping away the inevitable tear that falls) and fit their heads with special commemorative caps. And the delight on their faces -- and every other face in and surrounding the 3200 square foot registration tent -- wipes away any trace of cold.
Can you imagine any volunteer work that's more fun that greeting people and saying thank you? Than clapping and cheering and leading a squad of terrific people to do it? Than hugging everyone you see in joyous celebration, at the sheer exaltation of being alive and fighting to stay that way? On days like today, I can't. Who can feel cold when surrounded by that much love and warmth?
I work the registration tent at Making Strides, and have for the last five Octobers. It's a pretty amazing experience. Over the course of the day, I support one of five teams, each with about 18 volunteers, who are responsible for checking in and collecting funds from 20,000 walkers in the space of just a few hours. I'm their cheerleader, their supply runner, their bathroom-break-spotter, their answer-the-tough-questions-girl, and the one they look to for Freak-Out-First.
Freak Out First? Yeah.
The very coolest part of that job, apart from meeting a whole slew of AMAZING people with fantastic attitudes and such gracious willingness to something good for others, is the ability to cheer for the Making Strides Pacesetters.
Pacesetters are our top fundraisers -- individuals who, on their own, fundraise more than $2,500.00 for the fight against breast cancer. Now don't mistake -- every dollar raised to fight cancer is one for which we are unendingly grateful and we take every opportunity to say so. But it takes a special brand of commitment, perhaps even a special brand of crazy, to be willing to fundraise constantly, every week without fail for a whole year - and that commitment earns a bit of Freak Out appreciation. We clang cowbells. We whoop and cheer. We boogie down with whatever music is pumping through the park. We drape our Pacesetters in feather boas (perfect for wiping away the inevitable tear that falls) and fit their heads with special commemorative caps. And the delight on their faces -- and every other face in and surrounding the 3200 square foot registration tent -- wipes away any trace of cold.
Can you imagine any volunteer work that's more fun that greeting people and saying thank you? Than clapping and cheering and leading a squad of terrific people to do it? Than hugging everyone you see in joyous celebration, at the sheer exaltation of being alive and fighting to stay that way? On days like today, I can't. Who can feel cold when surrounded by that much love and warmth?
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Audrey Hepburn
I just finished reading Enchantment, a beautifully written biography of Audrey Hepburn by Donald Spoto.
As a child, she survived the desertion of her father, a mother who simply could not show affection to a child, and the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands (like most Dutch children, she served as a shield for the resistance with the consequence of death ever looming). Interestingly, in terms of importance to her development, parental desertion and lack of affection rank as more important to her than the Third Reich.
Audrey trained as a classical ballerina, adoring every moment spent dancing -- and worked as a model, but never planned to be a stage or screen star. In interview after interview throughout her life, Audrey honestly shared that she never wanted to be an actress, and never believed that the accolades and adoration she won were earned. And while living a life she never wanted, she carefully didn't let on how intensely, profoundly unhappy she was through the majority of her life.
It was only near the end of her life, when she realized that she could *use* the fame she had never sought for the benefit of those that she desperately wanted to serve, that she found true joy and purpose. Audrey Hepburn became a goodwill ambassador for UNICEF, tirelessly serving the organization that had saved her life in 1944 by journeying throughout Africa, South America, and Southeast Asia to advocate for the sick, the hungry, the parentless, and the homeless children of the world, until her death from cancer in 1993.
How wondrous for her to realize that the things she had learned and studied, the things at which she had desperately tried to succeed despite all manner of dissatisfaction and weariness and sadness, had thus prepared her for the work which "fulfilled the deepest, aching recesses of [her] soul".
There's a lesson there -- certainly an important one for me. I'm fortunate enough to be profoundly happy with my life, perhaps outrageously so. What is my current work -- which I love with all my heart -- preparing me to accomplish down the road? What service will I be ready to render in thirty years time? How will what I'm doing now force me to grow, allow me to change in ways I haven't anticipated, so that opportunities I've never considered become the best and most logical option?
As a child, she survived the desertion of her father, a mother who simply could not show affection to a child, and the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands (like most Dutch children, she served as a shield for the resistance with the consequence of death ever looming). Interestingly, in terms of importance to her development, parental desertion and lack of affection rank as more important to her than the Third Reich.
Audrey trained as a classical ballerina, adoring every moment spent dancing -- and worked as a model, but never planned to be a stage or screen star. In interview after interview throughout her life, Audrey honestly shared that she never wanted to be an actress, and never believed that the accolades and adoration she won were earned. And while living a life she never wanted, she carefully didn't let on how intensely, profoundly unhappy she was through the majority of her life.
It was only near the end of her life, when she realized that she could *use* the fame she had never sought for the benefit of those that she desperately wanted to serve, that she found true joy and purpose. Audrey Hepburn became a goodwill ambassador for UNICEF, tirelessly serving the organization that had saved her life in 1944 by journeying throughout Africa, South America, and Southeast Asia to advocate for the sick, the hungry, the parentless, and the homeless children of the world, until her death from cancer in 1993.
How wondrous for her to realize that the things she had learned and studied, the things at which she had desperately tried to succeed despite all manner of dissatisfaction and weariness and sadness, had thus prepared her for the work which "fulfilled the deepest, aching recesses of [her] soul".
There's a lesson there -- certainly an important one for me. I'm fortunate enough to be profoundly happy with my life, perhaps outrageously so. What is my current work -- which I love with all my heart -- preparing me to accomplish down the road? What service will I be ready to render in thirty years time? How will what I'm doing now force me to grow, allow me to change in ways I haven't anticipated, so that opportunities I've never considered become the best and most logical option?
"People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed;
never throw out anyone."
Friday, October 16, 2009
Heat
Winter has come early and hard to New York City. Landlords are required to provide heat as of October 15, so early October has habitually meant steady business for heating and fueling companies. I stopped to chat with a couple of guys draining the boiler in my building this morning, and they've been working round the clock all week, unable to stay ahead of the demand. Good news for them. Not so pleasant for those in shivery flats around the city.
Two winters ago, as part of my Greening experiment, I challenged myself to see how temperate I could keep my townhouse in the winter. (Result: 55 at night/65 by day felt comfortable by Christmas, when I was wearing sweaters every day anyway, though my Dad and Nana refused to visit if I didn't bump it up to 70 for them.) My landlord explained that city dwelling is a little different; consistent temperatures in independent units help to regulate a building as a whole -- one of those "whole is greater than the sum of parts" situations. His suggestion was 58-60 at night/when not at home, and 68-70 when home and active.
Last night was damn cold. I'm thinking that tonight will be downright balmy by comparison of what I was expecting!
Two winters ago, as part of my Greening experiment, I challenged myself to see how temperate I could keep my townhouse in the winter. (Result: 55 at night/65 by day felt comfortable by Christmas, when I was wearing sweaters every day anyway, though my Dad and Nana refused to visit if I didn't bump it up to 70 for them.) My landlord explained that city dwelling is a little different; consistent temperatures in independent units help to regulate a building as a whole -- one of those "whole is greater than the sum of parts" situations. His suggestion was 58-60 at night/when not at home, and 68-70 when home and active.
Last night was damn cold. I'm thinking that tonight will be downright balmy by comparison of what I was expecting!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
An Afternoon at the Met
Last Sunday I spent a fantastic afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, possibly my favorite museum ever. Johannes Vermeer's masterpiece, The Milkmaid is on loan to the Met from the Rijksmuseum of Amsterdam, and the exhibit of work that's been curated around the painting is exquisite.
One wing of the first floor has been turned into a glorious Vermeer exhibit. The curator has showcased The Milkmaid, along with five other Vermeer painting owned by the Met, plus sketches and rough studies. Each piece is shown in miniature along a chronological timeline, and the master works are hung among pieces by Vermeer's contemporaries, highlighting how exceptional and groundbreaking were his accomplishments: color so vibrant it still sings from the canvas and calls a viewer from across the room, interplay of light and shadow in portraiture that includes the light source within the subject matter, twisting traditional symbolism into subtle, self-referential ironies. Vermeer will most definitely be the subject of whatever non-fiction book I next borrow from the BPL.
The other pieces that caught my eye were a series of sketch studies by Antoine Watteau. In another special exhibit, Watteau, Music, and Theatre, a large body of Watteau's work was displayed through a long, narrow gallery -- rather like an early incarnation of the proscenium stage. While the paintings are, of course, masterpieces, his sketches better held my attention -- rough studies in movement and juxtaposition. Watteau focused on glorious scenes and scapes, for commission, like any artist, but starring actors, dancers, clowns, and courtesans -- individuals of a class too low to be considered proper subject material. And yet, with his own interests cross-secting what was popular artistically, he was able to develop composite scenes embodying the soul and story and symbolism of his patrons in the subject matter of his choice. I know a few contemporary artists who might kill -- or at least consider permanent maiming -- for that ability!
With my Baroque and Rococco dance lessons, I've been paying more attention to posture and line and intentional movement, so one sketch in particular mesmerized me. "Woman spurning a lover's advances" has a fascinating posture; the leering clown is leaning forward from the waist, pressing into the woman, who has her arm raised against him and her face turned away. But her feet, rather than shown in running steps, are still, standing in a traditional foot posture - one foot placed forward with the heel teed against the other instep, legs turned out from the hip to support the spine and elevate the shoulders, neck, and head. She is recoiling back and to her left, bending at the waist, but the revulsion on her face and in her gesture seems irrelevant; interrupted from her typical, proper stance, she's in an impossibly weak, vulnerable position. Its painful to attempt in jeans and trainers (because of course, I tried it), let alone hindered by bustled skirts and a corset. Interesting, to say the least, for a charcoal crayon sketch to hold so much rich observation.
I recommend seeing both exhibits. Vermeer's work is incredibly limited, with just 35 known paintings, and after The Concert was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston (years before I started spending Friday afternoons there in late 2003), security is very tight. If you can create an opportunity to get to the Met before November 29, 2009, jump at the chance. The lines are worth it, the crowds are worth it -- in some ways it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Leave your camera at home, though; photos in the Vermeer exhibit are forbidden, and two girls caught taking them had the camera confiscated and were escorted out of the building. Never thought I'd meet a bouncer at the Museum!
One wing of the first floor has been turned into a glorious Vermeer exhibit. The curator has showcased The Milkmaid, along with five other Vermeer painting owned by the Met, plus sketches and rough studies. Each piece is shown in miniature along a chronological timeline, and the master works are hung among pieces by Vermeer's contemporaries, highlighting how exceptional and groundbreaking were his accomplishments: color so vibrant it still sings from the canvas and calls a viewer from across the room, interplay of light and shadow in portraiture that includes the light source within the subject matter, twisting traditional symbolism into subtle, self-referential ironies. Vermeer will most definitely be the subject of whatever non-fiction book I next borrow from the BPL.
The other pieces that caught my eye were a series of sketch studies by Antoine Watteau. In another special exhibit, Watteau, Music, and Theatre, a large body of Watteau's work was displayed through a long, narrow gallery -- rather like an early incarnation of the proscenium stage. While the paintings are, of course, masterpieces, his sketches better held my attention -- rough studies in movement and juxtaposition. Watteau focused on glorious scenes and scapes, for commission, like any artist, but starring actors, dancers, clowns, and courtesans -- individuals of a class too low to be considered proper subject material. And yet, with his own interests cross-secting what was popular artistically, he was able to develop composite scenes embodying the soul and story and symbolism of his patrons in the subject matter of his choice. I know a few contemporary artists who might kill -- or at least consider permanent maiming -- for that ability!
With my Baroque and Rococco dance lessons, I've been paying more attention to posture and line and intentional movement, so one sketch in particular mesmerized me. "Woman spurning a lover's advances" has a fascinating posture; the leering clown is leaning forward from the waist, pressing into the woman, who has her arm raised against him and her face turned away. But her feet, rather than shown in running steps, are still, standing in a traditional foot posture - one foot placed forward with the heel teed against the other instep, legs turned out from the hip to support the spine and elevate the shoulders, neck, and head. She is recoiling back and to her left, bending at the waist, but the revulsion on her face and in her gesture seems irrelevant; interrupted from her typical, proper stance, she's in an impossibly weak, vulnerable position. Its painful to attempt in jeans and trainers (because of course, I tried it), let alone hindered by bustled skirts and a corset. Interesting, to say the least, for a charcoal crayon sketch to hold so much rich observation.
I recommend seeing both exhibits. Vermeer's work is incredibly limited, with just 35 known paintings, and after The Concert was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston (years before I started spending Friday afternoons there in late 2003), security is very tight. If you can create an opportunity to get to the Met before November 29, 2009, jump at the chance. The lines are worth it, the crowds are worth it -- in some ways it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Leave your camera at home, though; photos in the Vermeer exhibit are forbidden, and two girls caught taking them had the camera confiscated and were escorted out of the building. Never thought I'd meet a bouncer at the Museum!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Yarn is Love
At the end of last month, when I was feeling like utter crap and the weather made leaving the house on a Sunday afternoon completely unpalatable, a day of lounging around the house ingesting fluids and playing with yarn seemed like a terrific plan. I took photos of some stash yarn, some works-in-progress, and a couple of finished pieces.
This is Malabrigo Merino, worsted weight yarn in geranio, a stunning rose color. I've begun working it up into a gorgeous wrap, which just might be done by New Year's, if I don't bury myself in baby presents for the holidays.
These are "magic afghans" made for my twin nephews, Liam (blue) and Rory (red), for their Christening. "Magic" because they're made with super-soft acrylic yarn that is easily washable, and that grows softer and stretchier with use. Perfect for little boys who will need to build tree houses and indoor forts, plan trips to the beach and the lake and the park, go on wagon rides and watch hockey games, steal the occasional magic carpet ride -- you know, all the wonderful make-believe stuff that makes wild afternoons with a big brother fun.
These gauntlets (fingerless gloves) crocheted out of a super-soft silk/wool blend in DK weight are the first garment (besides scarves and skull caps) that I've ever made for myself. Considering how cold my hands usually are, they're among my most-often-worn accessories, and they always draw attention and compliments.
I've finally purchased a pair of knitting needles, and a skein of gorgeous Wool Bamboo in aquamarine that's the right weight for working up. I'll have to get someone to teach me how to knit so that I can turn that into ... something photograph-able. Chances are good that other projects will have to wait until after the holidays, when I won't spoil surprises by posting them.
This is Malabrigo Merino, worsted weight yarn in geranio, a stunning rose color. I've begun working it up into a gorgeous wrap, which just might be done by New Year's, if I don't bury myself in baby presents for the holidays.
These are "magic afghans" made for my twin nephews, Liam (blue) and Rory (red), for their Christening. "Magic" because they're made with super-soft acrylic yarn that is easily washable, and that grows softer and stretchier with use. Perfect for little boys who will need to build tree houses and indoor forts, plan trips to the beach and the lake and the park, go on wagon rides and watch hockey games, steal the occasional magic carpet ride -- you know, all the wonderful make-believe stuff that makes wild afternoons with a big brother fun.
These gauntlets (fingerless gloves) crocheted out of a super-soft silk/wool blend in DK weight are the first garment (besides scarves and skull caps) that I've ever made for myself. Considering how cold my hands usually are, they're among my most-often-worn accessories, and they always draw attention and compliments.
I've finally purchased a pair of knitting needles, and a skein of gorgeous Wool Bamboo in aquamarine that's the right weight for working up. I'll have to get someone to teach me how to knit so that I can turn that into ... something photograph-able. Chances are good that other projects will have to wait until after the holidays, when I won't spoil surprises by posting them.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Parrothead
I was so excited to hear the radio announcement, spoken in the "excited announcer" tremolo over the unmistakable notes of Margaritaville! That is, until the venue was announced.
"Madison Square Garden."
I adore Jimmy Buffett. His music is delightful -- and for every upbeat beach-bum style song we've all heard a hundred times, there's a less-frequently played poignant reflection, a bit of his-and-hers story pulled into song. And his cast of characters is the quirkiest, most vibrant bunch, shared as he chooses in story and song. (Reminds me of a laugh-out-loud Carl Hiaasean novel, without the drugs.) His songs are the stuff of everyday life. They're personal, intimate in their simplicity, making you feel like you're sitting next to the narrator at a campfire, in a hammock, or tacking a sail into an upwind.
How can anyone listen to that music in a venue with 20,000 other fans, an echo chamber that will steal the soul right out of it? Doesn't that defeat the whole purpose? Clearly doesn't do so for everyone, since Jimmy and the Reefers will probably play to a sell-out crowd, but certainly for me. I'm a small venue girl; shall stick to haunting Margaritaville after sunset, waiting for a solo guitarist, or wandering to a steel drum band set up in the sand.
"Madison Square Garden."
I adore Jimmy Buffett. His music is delightful -- and for every upbeat beach-bum style song we've all heard a hundred times, there's a less-frequently played poignant reflection, a bit of his-and-hers story pulled into song. And his cast of characters is the quirkiest, most vibrant bunch, shared as he chooses in story and song. (Reminds me of a laugh-out-loud Carl Hiaasean novel, without the drugs.) His songs are the stuff of everyday life. They're personal, intimate in their simplicity, making you feel like you're sitting next to the narrator at a campfire, in a hammock, or tacking a sail into an upwind.
How can anyone listen to that music in a venue with 20,000 other fans, an echo chamber that will steal the soul right out of it? Doesn't that defeat the whole purpose? Clearly doesn't do so for everyone, since Jimmy and the Reefers will probably play to a sell-out crowd, but certainly for me. I'm a small venue girl; shall stick to haunting Margaritaville after sunset, waiting for a solo guitarist, or wandering to a steel drum band set up in the sand.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Eats Shoots and Leaves (and Shrooms)
So, my new diet -- more water, no caffeine, more fiber, new milk, reduced (to be eliminated) meat, more fish. In some ways I'm doing well, and in others this still regularly seems impossible.
I thought that the second most difficult piece would be the milk, but Whole Foods has rescued me. They carry Sky Top Farms milk, which is organic, grass-fed, hormone-free, non-homogenized, pasteurized only to the limit required by public health law -- and less than $3 per quart. Best of all, it's incredibly tasty, and feels like a treat when I splash a bit over my oatmeal or into my tea.
Tea. Oh, tea. I have caved and returned to sipping caffeine on occasion. Thus far it's been one serving every other day within the past week, and absolutely worth every savored drop. I do recognize the need for extra hydration, though; one cup seems to quench my thirst for anything else for hours, so I have to train myself to drink more water and juice. I also completely refuse to waste my one cup on anything but a perfectly prepared, high quality tea. No more "hot-but-not-boiling water from the fountain in the office, no crappy
tisanes or bags filled with leaf dust. I have enough Numi, Pu-ehr, Lavendar Earl Gray, and English Breakfast to last three months at this rate, but after Christmas I'll order something ridiculously special.
I haven't really missed cheese or yogurt yet, but as I still have some animal-derived meat-ish products in the cupboard and freezer, it will be a few weeks before I can say for sure whether I'll hold onto that opinion. I make a lot of vegetable-and-grain soups, but use chickenstock as the base. I think I can switch out for vegetable broth in most if I experiment more with using fresh herbs to boost the flavor -- have basil, parsely, thyme, and mint potted in my indoor container garden, and will see what else Mr. Herb has at the farmer's market on Saturday. I haven't purchased any meat products at home, although I have been using individual strips of bacon from my freezer for flavor -- with braised leafy greens, a "kitchen sink" pasta sauce, roasted apple-n-onion potatoes.
The real difficulty, of course, is in eating out. Cooking at home is easy, since I go meatless so often anyway (check out the mushroom-barley soup recipe below), but finding vegetarian options on the go that actually make for a pleasurable eating experience is proving impossible. How do you screw up a wrap sandwich of roasted vegetables? Or make oatmeal badly? And why in the world would anyone want to eat fake meat -- excuse me -- soy-substitute products? Disgusting.
So, my "transition plan" is working toward satisfied vegetarian at home, happy omnivore on the road. I don't know that I'll be able to survive the next month without increasing my daily caffeine intake -- or bumping up the juice content of my day for extra sugar.Not optimal for dietary health, but I still want to bloody-well enjoy my days, which means being awake and alert and productive.
Mushroom-Barley Soup
8 ounces Portobello mushrooms, roughly chopped
2 medium leeks
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 carrots, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch dice
2 medium onions, cut into 1/4-inch dice
1 small clove garlic, minced
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
10 cups chicken stock or canned low-sodium chicken broth
4 cups of lukewarm water
1 tbsp mushroom "better than bouillon"
2 bay leaves
1/2 cup pearl barley
Coarse (kosher) salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
I thought that the second most difficult piece would be the milk, but Whole Foods has rescued me. They carry Sky Top Farms milk, which is organic, grass-fed, hormone-free, non-homogenized, pasteurized only to the limit required by public health law -- and less than $3 per quart. Best of all, it's incredibly tasty, and feels like a treat when I splash a bit over my oatmeal or into my tea.
Tea. Oh, tea. I have caved and returned to sipping caffeine on occasion. Thus far it's been one serving every other day within the past week, and absolutely worth every savored drop. I do recognize the need for extra hydration, though; one cup seems to quench my thirst for anything else for hours, so I have to train myself to drink more water and juice. I also completely refuse to waste my one cup on anything but a perfectly prepared, high quality tea. No more "hot-but-not-boiling water from the fountain in the office, no crappy
tisanes or bags filled with leaf dust. I have enough Numi, Pu-ehr, Lavendar Earl Gray, and English Breakfast to last three months at this rate, but after Christmas I'll order something ridiculously special.
I haven't really missed cheese or yogurt yet, but as I still have some animal-derived meat-ish products in the cupboard and freezer, it will be a few weeks before I can say for sure whether I'll hold onto that opinion. I make a lot of vegetable-and-grain soups, but use chickenstock as the base. I think I can switch out for vegetable broth in most if I experiment more with using fresh herbs to boost the flavor -- have basil, parsely, thyme, and mint potted in my indoor container garden, and will see what else Mr. Herb has at the farmer's market on Saturday. I haven't purchased any meat products at home, although I have been using individual strips of bacon from my freezer for flavor -- with braised leafy greens, a "kitchen sink" pasta sauce, roasted apple-n-onion potatoes.
The real difficulty, of course, is in eating out. Cooking at home is easy, since I go meatless so often anyway (check out the mushroom-barley soup recipe below), but finding vegetarian options on the go that actually make for a pleasurable eating experience is proving impossible. How do you screw up a wrap sandwich of roasted vegetables? Or make oatmeal badly? And why in the world would anyone want to eat fake meat -- excuse me -- soy-substitute products? Disgusting.
So, my "transition plan" is working toward satisfied vegetarian at home, happy omnivore on the road. I don't know that I'll be able to survive the next month without increasing my daily caffeine intake -- or bumping up the juice content of my day for extra sugar.Not optimal for dietary health, but I still want to bloody-well enjoy my days, which means being awake and alert and productive.
Mushroom-Barley Soup
8 ounces Portobello mushrooms, roughly chopped
2 medium leeks
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 carrots, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch dice
2 medium onions, cut into 1/4-inch dice
1 small clove garlic, minced
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
10 cups chicken stock or canned low-sodium chicken broth
4 cups of lukewarm water
1 tbsp mushroom "better than bouillon"
2 bay leaves
1/2 cup pearl barley
Coarse (kosher) salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
- Trim away and discard all but 1/2 inch of the green part from the leeks. Split the leeks lengthwise and rinse them well under cold running water to remove the grit. Drain and cut into 1/4-inch dice.
- Melt the butter in a medium-size saucepan over medium heat. Add the carrots, onions, leeks, and garlic. Sauté, stirring occasionally, until the onions and leeks are wilted and very lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Stir in the flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 5 minutes. The flour may brown slightly. Whisk in the chicken stock and increase the heat to high.
- Whisk the boullion into the water and set aside.
- When the soup comes to a boil, add the water into the soup continue to bring to a boil. Add the bay leaves.
- Add the mushrooms and barley and simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the barley is tender, about 45 minutes. Remove and discard the bay leaves. Season with salt and freshly ground pepper and serve.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Minsoo Sohn
On Thursday night, I attended the Carnegie Hall debut of a brilliantly talented young pianist with a stunning tremolo -- Minsoo Sohn of Korea. He's a very intense player, incredibly focused, but very young and still a little shocked by the audience; when he stood after each piece, he blinked a bit at the audience, remembering to bow and acknowledge the appreciation through seeming near-surprise; it was terribly sweet.
He put together a lovely program. The first set consisted of Kirchners Interlude II, and Beethoven's 33 Variations on a Waltz by Diabello (Opus 120). The Kirchner was a gentle caress, delicate and warm, but not particularly memorable as a stand-alone. Beethoven's 33 Variations on the other hand, was both stunning and unusual, as well as being an incredible display of stamina. My favorite of the varietals was the 7th or the 8th -- there was a delightful game of hide and seek included within it, plus a good tree climb and tumble. There were some lullabies, a partner dance or two, a lament that Emily Dickinson would have loved to listen to her sister play, and even an off-step military march -- I loved it.
The piece was well-positioned; 45 minutes of still, silent listening made the intermezzo a welcome break for conversation and stretching, and remembering to take full breaths. I always yawn inappropriately at solo recitals. I subconsciously slow my breathing to something resembling death while sitting on edge to catch every note and reverberation, and then my brain zaps my lungs with a "hey, keep us alive up here!" message. I'll have to figure out a way to combat that; it's terribly embarrassing.
The piece was well-positioned; 45 minutes of still, silent listening made the intermezzo a welcome break for conversation and stretching, and remembering to take full breaths. I always yawn inappropriately at solo recitals. I subconsciously slow my breathing to something resembling death while sitting on edge to catch every note and reverberation, and then my brain zaps my lungs with a "hey, keep us alive up here!" message. I'll have to figure out a way to combat that; it's terribly embarrassing.
Post intermission, the gloves came off and Sohn demonstrated just why he's the First Laureate of the Honens competition, and a top prizewinner/laureate at 6 other international competitions, as well.
The second set was comprised of Liszt transcriptions of pieces by Beethoven (Adelaide, S. 466), Schubert (Gretchen am Spinnrade, S. 558 No. 8 and Der Muller und der Bach, S. 565 No. 2), and Mozart (Reminiscences de Don Juan, S. 418). Sohn earned a two-minute standing ovation that began in the balcony of the Weill Recital Hall after the Schubert-Liszt -- a piece that begins with a bucolic, pastoral little introduction and quickly sweeps the listener along on an epic sweep of music. I was blown away -- and too disoriented at the end of it to stand and applaud. Hayley and I ducked out between the program conclusion and the encore, so I can't tell you what it was, only that we could hear the applause on the street.
The second set was comprised of Liszt transcriptions of pieces by Beethoven (Adelaide, S. 466), Schubert (Gretchen am Spinnrade, S. 558 No. 8 and Der Muller und der Bach, S. 565 No. 2), and Mozart (Reminiscences de Don Juan, S. 418). Sohn earned a two-minute standing ovation that began in the balcony of the Weill Recital Hall after the Schubert-Liszt -- a piece that begins with a bucolic, pastoral little introduction and quickly sweeps the listener along on an epic sweep of music. I was blown away -- and too disoriented at the end of it to stand and applaud. Hayley and I ducked out between the program conclusion and the encore, so I can't tell you what it was, only that we could hear the applause on the street.
I've been to Carnegie Hall before, but not since moving to the city; this was a lovely first re-introduction, and as I have the opportunity to attend other performances, I'll leap at the chance.
Video of Minsoo Sohn playing the Liszt transcription of Paganini's Etude No. 1 at the International Arthur Rubinstein Competition:
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Change Is Gonna Come
Something occurred to me this week. I love to make random asides about things, but rarely do so in conversation. (There's some lingering anxiety in me that speaking out of turn to poke fun at or rant about something will always be taken amiss.) For the last ten years, I've fed that desire electronically; in one and two-line blog posts for the greatest part of time, and then more recently, the last two years or so, via facebook and twitter. That kind of writing pattern let's me entertain and keep in touch with friends -- superficially -- in easy, conversational ways when we're split by states, continents, and oceans. And it's let me make new friends, too, namely Clay, and Katie, and Erica, and Kathryn (who bounces to different blogs almost as routinely as I do). But given how easy it is for me to make a pithy, throw-away statement about something and then move on, especially with the 140-character and 255-character limits of status updates, I've realized that I'm not saying much of substance anymore.
In part, that's because every waking minute (and many of my dreaming ones) are full of substance requiring constant conversation and update-reports, on topics that keep my mental wheels spinning on over-drive. When I first started blogging, my nearest (and dearest) friends were a four-hour drive away, I was working one full-time and two-part-time jobs (all of which bored me to near-tears on a daily basis), and experiencing pretty much the worst year of my life; long, rambling, emo posts about random books I was reading, music I'd rediscovered, characters and story lines I'd dreamed into existence, and my agony over the daily awareness that my vocal strength was fading were easier to come by when there was nothing more interesting to do.
And in another way, it's because I really do enjoy real conversation more than writing in some ways. Perhaps enjoy is the wrong word -- it's more that I get to converse less and have to write more, particularly at this time of year when the even smallest things I produce go through about 14 drafts of review before they're finalized. That, combined with spending ten or twelve straight hours at a desk with no time for a lunch break, let alone writing more than a bit of text requiring more than 18 seconds worth of thought, makes developing anything of substance too daunting to spend much energy on.
The downside, though, is that I'm becoming far less interesting. Because I'm only really writing for work, my topics are limited, my medium is limited (really, how many ways *are* there to pen mass-market -- and even segmented-market -- emails?), and my focus of study is limited. Gone are the days of reading a different Wikipedia article every morning with a cup of tea and my oatmeal, learning something new, letting it whirl away in the back of my mind and find a home among the treasure trove of useless information I've accumulated over the years. Gone are the stolen moments of political debate, the dissection of minute literary details, the philosophical ponderings around new questions. They've been replaced by great focus and breadth around a few key areas, which don't make for interesting topics of conversation or debate outside of the technical philanthropic sector.
It's time to keep from boring myself and everyone else.
November is "National Novel Writing Month" -- an event that I have signed up to participate in no less than five times, and failed at within ten days during each of those attempts. It has spawned many "write a certain amount of X every day for a month" subset programs, including NaBloPoMo -- National Blog Posting Month. I'm not so out-of-touch with my need for sleep that I'll attempt to write a novel in thirty days, but I am going to work on the NaBloPoMo thing again. A post a day, every day, for thirty days. Something of substance -- a question, a reaction, a photograph and caption and comment or explanation, an exclamation over something lovely and new-to-me. Not a list, not a light little rant, not a cop-out. My official participation starts now, and goes through November 30.
Nothing like coming up with an idea and making a commitment without thinking it all the way through. :) I'm feeling a little intimidated. In a good way. Time to get out of my comfort zone and shake things up.
In part, that's because every waking minute (and many of my dreaming ones) are full of substance requiring constant conversation and update-reports, on topics that keep my mental wheels spinning on over-drive. When I first started blogging, my nearest (and dearest) friends were a four-hour drive away, I was working one full-time and two-part-time jobs (all of which bored me to near-tears on a daily basis), and experiencing pretty much the worst year of my life; long, rambling, emo posts about random books I was reading, music I'd rediscovered, characters and story lines I'd dreamed into existence, and my agony over the daily awareness that my vocal strength was fading were easier to come by when there was nothing more interesting to do.
And in another way, it's because I really do enjoy real conversation more than writing in some ways. Perhaps enjoy is the wrong word -- it's more that I get to converse less and have to write more, particularly at this time of year when the even smallest things I produce go through about 14 drafts of review before they're finalized. That, combined with spending ten or twelve straight hours at a desk with no time for a lunch break, let alone writing more than a bit of text requiring more than 18 seconds worth of thought, makes developing anything of substance too daunting to spend much energy on.
The downside, though, is that I'm becoming far less interesting. Because I'm only really writing for work, my topics are limited, my medium is limited (really, how many ways *are* there to pen mass-market -- and even segmented-market -- emails?), and my focus of study is limited. Gone are the days of reading a different Wikipedia article every morning with a cup of tea and my oatmeal, learning something new, letting it whirl away in the back of my mind and find a home among the treasure trove of useless information I've accumulated over the years. Gone are the stolen moments of political debate, the dissection of minute literary details, the philosophical ponderings around new questions. They've been replaced by great focus and breadth around a few key areas, which don't make for interesting topics of conversation or debate outside of the technical philanthropic sector.
It's time to keep from boring myself and everyone else.
November is "National Novel Writing Month" -- an event that I have signed up to participate in no less than five times, and failed at within ten days during each of those attempts. It has spawned many "write a certain amount of X every day for a month" subset programs, including NaBloPoMo -- National Blog Posting Month. I'm not so out-of-touch with my need for sleep that I'll attempt to write a novel in thirty days, but I am going to work on the NaBloPoMo thing again. A post a day, every day, for thirty days. Something of substance -- a question, a reaction, a photograph and caption and comment or explanation, an exclamation over something lovely and new-to-me. Not a list, not a light little rant, not a cop-out. My official participation starts now, and goes through November 30.
Nothing like coming up with an idea and making a commitment without thinking it all the way through. :) I'm feeling a little intimidated. In a good way. Time to get out of my comfort zone and shake things up.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Habitual Nourishment
Nine days ago I had my first annual wellness check-up in four years. (For more about why it's been four years, this post, a collection of Facebook and Twitter conversations from early March 2009, sums it up.) I'm quite thrilled with my new GP; Dr. L is young and energetic, a wise and focused listener, well-trained in diagnostics, and very focused on healthy living and holistic, preventative behaviors rather than the pills and potions of what I think of as more traditional medicine. I arrived at her office with a list of 23 questions and was very focused on getting them all answered; her response was "that's fantastic; we'll get to all of those. Let's start with a full history, though, and then we'll address anything that doesn't come up in the process." It's so wonderful to work with someone who approaches things logically!
I have a well-established family history of cancer and heart disease, over multiple generations. I've thought for years that it will be a miracle if I don't suffer a heart attack or be diagnosed with cancer before I'm fifty. I read a lot about diagnostics, prevention, and treatment research, and try to pay attention to things that can impact my long-term health and wellness without driving myself insane. That said, it's a very different feeling to have a personal opinion derived at logically with a hyper-intelligent but untrained awareness than it is to have it corroborated ten-fold when one's physician says, "you are incredibly healthy. But in order to keep you that way for more than ten to fifteen years, we have a great deal of preventative work to do."
The good news, of course, is that I'm remarkably healthy. I've had a ridiculously persistent virus for the last almost-three weeks, and my immune system is a little depressed as a new-to-the-city New Yorker, but those things will pass with proper treatment (a fall and winter that include lots of rest, lots of water, little to no caffeine, and the same regular exercise I've been getting for the last six months). I have really good habits; my diet is balanced and conscious, I don't drink alcohol often (usually one drink if any, maybe once a month), I quit smoking ten years ago, I have a solid exercise routine (walking in excess of three miles every day, one fairly long bike ride per week, and a yoga or ballet class each week, and, newly, regular manual labor in the community gardens) that's let me lose 23 pounds and three sizes since moving, and I'm not one for taking pills that aren't actually called for.
The bad news, and I don't know that it's bad necessarily, is that I need to make some major changes to my diet in order to stay this healthy for more than the next ten years. There's a lot of research being done around Gastroenterological cancers and ingestibles -- what foods consumed in what amounts are linked to higher incidences of cancer in different populations (google "red meat and colon cancer" for 150,000+ hits with research findings) -- and Dr. L pays close attention to trends. She's recommending a few basic but major, life-long changes for me:
The fiber will also be easy; I prefer whole grains to processed white flours (and Nicole is sending me the recipe for Danish bread that she made for us last night; yum!), eating more fruits and veggies raw or steamed is an easy shift, and I'm -- slowly and under duress -- learning to like legumes. Steel-cut Irish oatmeal for the win!
The milk and the cheese? When I first heard this a week ago, I was devastated. Wracked with sobs (okay, I was *sick* remember, so my ability to keep things in perspective was a little limited), feeling horrifically sorry for myself, and thinking about throwing the whole plan out the window. But each day it's gotten a little easier -- in part because Dr. L spoke to me logically and intelligently, and agreed to send me the research papers on this stuff. (I need to email and remind her; forgot to do that.) To summarize her explanation:
And then the caffeine. Oh, the caffeine.
This is my twelfth day without any. Zilch. Zip. Nada. Originally the lack was "by accident" as I didn't brew any the two days before my appointment, and my head ached so badly from the cold that I didn't notice any additional onset from deprivation. The first week was horrific, but now -- no headaches, no body aches, no extraordinary muscle fatigue. An insane desire to take a nap at 4pm every day, a significant decrease in my typing speed and my productivity output every day and a general feeling of "I'm not *doing* as much as I could be, what is WRONG with me" -- but no physical ailments.
The hardest thing, though, is that I have been a tea-drinker -- I have defined myself as a person who adores tea and knows a lot about it -- since I was thirteen years old. I have no less than fourteen varieties of black tea in my cupboard; estate teas from various Chinese provinces, Assams blended with two different varieties of chai spices, Earl Grey with whole lavender blossoms, my staple double-strength organic English Breakfast, and a box of loose twenty-year-old Pu-erh leaf. In fifteen more days, I will be at a point where I can drink "a couple of cups" of tea a week -- more if I switch to non-caffeinated varieties and double my intake of plain water.
I love Rooibos -- African red bush tea -- which can be prepared plain, with flavorings (pomegranate!), or blended with chai spice. I loathe green tea, but white teas brewed lightly and sweetened with fruit juice make lovely summer ices. Herbal teas for balance and correction? I have a sore throat soother, a peppermint tummy-ache relief, a Dong Quai tonic -- and all of these are fine. But the lack of black is devastating.
So, changes to be made, lots of them. Rapidly, since I don't see the point of knowing something and not acting on it. I need to change the way that I stock my kitchen -- slowly but surely. Join the co-op for easy purchase of bulk grains. Order a variety of cooking oils. Make another trip to Kalyustan's for a broader selection of "Mediterranean" spices. Expand my windowsill herb garden to include rosemary and fennel and French tarragon. Reconsider requesting a plot in the Community Garden for vegetable growing, or joining a CSA. Write-up the recipes I've been making (Potato-Leek Soup, an incredible Apple-Spice bundt cake, Mushroom-Barley soup) -- how ironic that I can't actually eat what I was so excited to try two weeks ago.
I have no business complaining. A doctor's recommendations are only that -- recommendations. If I'm making these changes, they're of my own volition, by my own force of will -- no one's holding a gun to my head. Which doesn't exactly make it easier, but does help buoy my attitude a bit. Or will, once I get over the not-drinking-tea bit.
I have a well-established family history of cancer and heart disease, over multiple generations. I've thought for years that it will be a miracle if I don't suffer a heart attack or be diagnosed with cancer before I'm fifty. I read a lot about diagnostics, prevention, and treatment research, and try to pay attention to things that can impact my long-term health and wellness without driving myself insane. That said, it's a very different feeling to have a personal opinion derived at logically with a hyper-intelligent but untrained awareness than it is to have it corroborated ten-fold when one's physician says, "you are incredibly healthy. But in order to keep you that way for more than ten to fifteen years, we have a great deal of preventative work to do."
The good news, of course, is that I'm remarkably healthy. I've had a ridiculously persistent virus for the last almost-three weeks, and my immune system is a little depressed as a new-to-the-city New Yorker, but those things will pass with proper treatment (a fall and winter that include lots of rest, lots of water, little to no caffeine, and the same regular exercise I've been getting for the last six months). I have really good habits; my diet is balanced and conscious, I don't drink alcohol often (usually one drink if any, maybe once a month), I quit smoking ten years ago, I have a solid exercise routine (walking in excess of three miles every day, one fairly long bike ride per week, and a yoga or ballet class each week, and, newly, regular manual labor in the community gardens) that's let me lose 23 pounds and three sizes since moving, and I'm not one for taking pills that aren't actually called for.
The bad news, and I don't know that it's bad necessarily, is that I need to make some major changes to my diet in order to stay this healthy for more than the next ten years. There's a lot of research being done around Gastroenterological cancers and ingestibles -- what foods consumed in what amounts are linked to higher incidences of cancer in different populations (google "red meat and colon cancer" for 150,000+ hits with research findings) -- and Dr. L pays close attention to trends. She's recommending a few basic but major, life-long changes for me:
- Focus on the Mediterranean diet -- lots of vegetables, fruits, grains, natural oils, fish, and herbs/spices; little to no meat, dairy, or salt, and absolutely no fake processed foods.
- Triple the amount of fiber I consume on a weekly basis -- through food, not supplements.
- Cut 100% of dairy from cows -- milk, butter, cheese, yogurts -- from my diet, unless I can find a non-homogenized, non- or lightly-pasteurized, whole milk that I use sparingly. (A splash in the occasional spot of tea, perhaps a cup used to make dessert batter for a special occasion -- definitely no yogurt smoothies or cottage cheese with fruit for lunch, no ice cream, no grilled cheese sandwiches or made-from-scratch baked macaroni-and-gouda.)
- Cut 99.9% of the caffeine from my diet -- for heart health and general peace of mind. "No one, ever, should be drinking two pots of black tea per day plus espresso 'on the hard ones', for any reason. If that's what it takes to accomplish everything in your day, you need to develop a new daily plan."
The fiber will also be easy; I prefer whole grains to processed white flours (and Nicole is sending me the recipe for Danish bread that she made for us last night; yum!), eating more fruits and veggies raw or steamed is an easy shift, and I'm -- slowly and under duress -- learning to like legumes. Steel-cut Irish oatmeal for the win!
The milk and the cheese? When I first heard this a week ago, I was devastated. Wracked with sobs (okay, I was *sick* remember, so my ability to keep things in perspective was a little limited), feeling horrifically sorry for myself, and thinking about throwing the whole plan out the window. But each day it's gotten a little easier -- in part because Dr. L spoke to me logically and intelligently, and agreed to send me the research papers on this stuff. (I need to email and remind her; forgot to do that.) To summarize her explanation:
NIH is funding a series of cancer studies that are looking at genomic attributes (lifestyle choices on those with a genetic predisposition for) for GI-based cancers -- esophageal, stomach, and colon. Early findings show that in every case, de-fatted dairy, homogenized dairy, and pasteurized dairy, singly or in any combination, exponentially increase the rate at which cells in the GI tract are stripped of their DNA and forced to rebuild. The breaking down and rebuilding of DNA is what allows tumors to form. For an ordinary person with ordinary risks, limiting dairy intake to recommended levels is just fine. In someone like me, with an unbroken line of GI-tract and related cancers going back four generations, I have to be more careful.She suggested that I take a year to cut things out entirely, and that sounded like a good idea -- except that I'm a generally logical, rational person. Now that I know that eating milk and yogurt and cheese will make me sick? I've stopped eating them. Mostly. Yesterday was the second bit of dairy I've had since the appointment; I made dinner for two of my best friends, to celebrate our thirtieth birthday year and twenty years of being friends, and decided "what the hell, this is definitely a special occasion. Having a bit of ice cream with birthday cake wasn't actually all that enjoyable, since I kept thinking with every bite, "is this really worth it?" I think I'll be able to go pretty much dairy free by holiday time -- though the first time my Mom makes baked macaroni-and-cheese from scratch the hard way, I will probably die of indecision and want.
And then the caffeine. Oh, the caffeine.
This is my twelfth day without any. Zilch. Zip. Nada. Originally the lack was "by accident" as I didn't brew any the two days before my appointment, and my head ached so badly from the cold that I didn't notice any additional onset from deprivation. The first week was horrific, but now -- no headaches, no body aches, no extraordinary muscle fatigue. An insane desire to take a nap at 4pm every day, a significant decrease in my typing speed and my productivity output every day and a general feeling of "I'm not *doing* as much as I could be, what is WRONG with me" -- but no physical ailments.
The hardest thing, though, is that I have been a tea-drinker -- I have defined myself as a person who adores tea and knows a lot about it -- since I was thirteen years old. I have no less than fourteen varieties of black tea in my cupboard; estate teas from various Chinese provinces, Assams blended with two different varieties of chai spices, Earl Grey with whole lavender blossoms, my staple double-strength organic English Breakfast, and a box of loose twenty-year-old Pu-erh leaf. In fifteen more days, I will be at a point where I can drink "a couple of cups" of tea a week -- more if I switch to non-caffeinated varieties and double my intake of plain water.
I love Rooibos -- African red bush tea -- which can be prepared plain, with flavorings (pomegranate!), or blended with chai spice. I loathe green tea, but white teas brewed lightly and sweetened with fruit juice make lovely summer ices. Herbal teas for balance and correction? I have a sore throat soother, a peppermint tummy-ache relief, a Dong Quai tonic -- and all of these are fine. But the lack of black is devastating.
So, changes to be made, lots of them. Rapidly, since I don't see the point of knowing something and not acting on it. I need to change the way that I stock my kitchen -- slowly but surely. Join the co-op for easy purchase of bulk grains. Order a variety of cooking oils. Make another trip to Kalyustan's for a broader selection of "Mediterranean" spices. Expand my windowsill herb garden to include rosemary and fennel and French tarragon. Reconsider requesting a plot in the Community Garden for vegetable growing, or joining a CSA. Write-up the recipes I've been making (Potato-Leek Soup, an incredible Apple-Spice bundt cake, Mushroom-Barley soup) -- how ironic that I can't actually eat what I was so excited to try two weeks ago.
I have no business complaining. A doctor's recommendations are only that -- recommendations. If I'm making these changes, they're of my own volition, by my own force of will -- no one's holding a gun to my head. Which doesn't exactly make it easier, but does help buoy my attitude a bit. Or will, once I get over the not-drinking-tea bit.
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