I can’t seem to write to save my life, I’ve started a project. It’s a tumblr (I really love tumblr) and I will be posting three photos every day. No words, just everyday kinds of things…so this will hopefully challenge my photography skills and keep any interested parties visually informed.
Anyway, it’s here. And I posted my first trio of pics today.
Sometimes I go through these phases where I just get sick of words, you know? Not your words — mine. I love your words.
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Kids Who Die
Kids will die in the swamps of Mississippi
Organizing sharecroppers
Kids will die in the streets of Chicago
Organizing workers
Kids will die in the orange groves of California
Telling others to get together
Whites and Filipinos,
Negroes and Mexicans,
All kinds of kids will die
Who don’t believe in lies, and bribes, and contentment
And a lousy peace.
Of course, the wise and the learned
Who pen editorials in the papers,
And the gentlemen with Dr. in front of their names
White and black,
Who make surveys and write books
Will live on weaving words to smother the kids who die,
And the sleazy courts,
And the bribe-reaching police,
And the blood-loving generals,
And the money-loving preachers
Will all raise their hands against the kids who die,
Beating them with laws and clubs and bayonets and bullets
To frighten the people—
For the kids who die are like iron in the blood of the people—
And the old and rich don’t want the people
To taste the iron of the kids who die,
Don’t want the people to get wise to their own power,
To believe an Angelo Herndon, or even get together
Listen, kids who die—
Maybe, now, there will be no monument for you
Except in our hearts
Maybe your bodies’ll be lost in a swamp
Or a prison grave, or the potter’s field,
Or the rivers where you’re drowned like Leibknecht
But the day will come—
Your are sure yourselves that it is coming—
When the marching feet of the masses
Will raise for you a living monument of love,
And joy, and laughter,
And black hands and white hands clasped as one,
And a song that reaches the sky—
The song of the life triumphant
Through the kids who die.
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Basically drowning the last couple of months.
Quick and dirty update: My mom is past her hip replacement surgery (the big day was June 17th). The preparation for the surgery was so intense and time-consuming. There were clearances that had to be got from PCPs and dentists and cardiologists and rheumatologists and whatchamacologists, and then there was the mental preparation for a person who has been mostly bed-ridden for three+ months, plus the fact that my stepdad no longer drives but needs to go places (he has lost almost all his vision from glaucoma). They both need to do things like eat, too. Then came the surgery itself, hospital recovery time, physical therapy, and home recovery…which includes “precautions” against dislocating the new joint. You have to move like a robot: “nose over toes”…easier for some of us than for others.
But her pain is so much less now. Yesterday she forgot about her hip — HUGE development. She is also driving again! All worth the effort, for sure. However, I’m kind of annoyingly tired. Wish I had the energy of say, a Hayat or a Scooter!
I’ll find time for a real update soon.
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You Begin
You begin this way:
this is your hand,
this is your eye,
that is a fish, blue and flat
on the paper, almost
the shape of an eye.
This is your mouth, this is an O
or a moon, whichever
you like. This is yellow.
Outside the window
is the rain, green
because it is summer, and beyond that
the trees and then the world,
which is round and has only
the colors of these nine crayons.
This is the world, which is fuller
and more difficult to learn than I have said.
You are right to smudge it that way
with the red and then
the orange: the world burns.
Once you have learned these words
you will learn that there are more
words than you can ever learn.
The word hand floats above your hand
like a small cloud over a lake.
The word hand anchors
your hand to this table,
your hand is a warm stone
I hold between two words.
This is your hand, these are my hands, this is the world,
which is round but not flat and has more colors
than we can see.
It begins, it has an end,
this is what you will
come back to, this is your hand.
~Margaret Atwood
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recent quote: “I’m not sure I’m going to be a scientist. I might be a clown.”
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Quick update to say a couple of things. Some big news — Steve and Hayat are going to Ethiopia on a fact-finding mission in October. Tickets are purchased! And Hayat has no idea right now — neither do the other girls.
It froze last night and I feel completely betrayed. I have been postponing putting all my tomatoes and herbs in the garden, but they are going to seriously cook in the greenhouse if they are in there much longer, and they’re root bound and I don’t want to do yet another transplant. And it’s supposed to freeze again tonight. Please, please let this be the last of it. The wind will be hard enough for the plants to endure.
However, if that’s my biggest problem I should just be very quiet.
We had a really fun spring break, aside from the drives out and back (HELL IS REAL). We spent a beautiful beach day with G and D and their merry band, got to see my dad a couple of times, and the weather was perfect and sunny and not too hot. Pineapple whip was had twice at Disneyland. I got to Soar Over California twice, too.
I watched Lincoln after we got back and was sniffling within the first five minutes, so you can imagine how the rest of it went. I had to watch a bunch of Jenna Marbles videos* to regain my emotional equilibrium.
Isa managed to catch the Lincoln virus on her trip — I’m secretly thrilled. At the Lincoln Memorial, she and her best friend read the Gettysburg Address together out loud.
She also caught a cold, which she was fighting during the California portion of her week, but she had fun in spite of it.
I do have photos (but I didn’t take my big honking camera to Disneyland — I figured an iPhone was camera enough, and my neck and back thanked me enthusiastically) which I will try to edit and post soon.
Hope it’s warming up smartly for all y’all!
*this is in no way an endorsement of Jenna Marbles videos
*do not watch Jenna Marbles videos
Posted in blah blah blah, the progeny, travel | 3 Comments »
So, we survived round 1 of Earth vs. Sky — March is the month when the desert flings itself violently into the air and the sand finds every crack (oh, you) and forces its way in. Every day the wind leaves fans of brown silt at the bases of all the doors, and coats the sills of the supposedly closed windows with grit. The tile floors get slick from the tiny grains that are invisible until they’re glommed together via broom. Some years it drags on for months. So far, though, it’s been a typical cycle of budget New Mexican dermabrasion and sunny blue gorgeousness.
I thought the best thing about having a greenhouse would be winter tomatoes. I imagined starting new plants in the waning hours of summer, keeping them bathed in warmth and appropriate humidity as the snow piled up in gauzy drifts around my tropical hothouse — and I, wearing beach pants under my down parka that I shed like a snakeskin as I open the greenhouse door, would be blithely plucking ripe orbs of garnet and popping them in my mouth with floaty abandon, all seen through a vintage instagram filter (soundtrack: Glenn Gould’s 1955 recording of The Goldberg Variations).
The cruel reality is that I have no winter tomatoes. And, you know, it’s okay. The tomato rotation gives the year structure, kind of a slow gear in the seasonal machine. There are the tomato months (May through November) and the I-can’t-wait-until-the-effing-tomato-months (the others). Wouldn’t I start taking Cherokee Purples for granted if they greeted me every time I waltzed into the kitchen? I hope not, but I think maybe so.
I started tomato seeds on February 1st. As of 5 p.m. yesterday, I have 40 *flowering* tomato plants in the greenhouse, a 2′ x 4′ box of stubby carrots that are tiny right now but packing on the micrograms every day, another box of dill, thai basil, genovese basil, oregano and thyme that is going CUCKOO, yet another box of leeks and rainbow chard, 8 kohlrabi plants in an EarthBox, and overflow containers of the above herbs.
And the greatest thing is that I can save my little green friends from the grinding blasts of March. But I do think I’ll put a radio in there tuned to the local classical station.
So Steve’s Disneyland trip is coming up in about a week and a half…why Disneyland? Why? Why? Anyway, we’ll be road-tripping to California. But first, we’ll be dropping Isa off at the airport as she embarks on her 8th grade Washington, DC trip. Am I nervous? Rhetorical.
Scooter has no memory of Disneyland — she is less than impressed that she’ll be spending her birthday week there. She has had this odd obsession about having her birthday at…Panda Express. She’s convinced that “they have rides in there” and I have no idea where she got that idea. We have never set foot in Panda Express. I hope she’ll be pleasantly surprised and blinded by princesses when she gets to the Happy Place. She is really picking up speed at school — very excited to start kindergarten next year. She’ll have the same awesome teacher Hayat had…I’m really glad Hayat went first. Don’t think I need to explain that.
Our Hayat is going great guns. She had a bit of a stumble after Britta left, which coincided with my mom having some hip problems that have sidelined her, so two people she was used to seeing a lot of suddenly kind of vanished from her daily routine. She’s back on track, though, reading and writing and mathematizing like crazy — and grooving and beatboxing and playing soccer and keeping her parents on their toes.
Britt is slogging away in Grenada. She is so, so happy in med school — and SO SO busy, it’s crazy. She has no time to plan a wedding…so it looks like the date has been pushed back from this summer to unknown. Between moving to Tampa (Tom) and Grenada (Britt), things are pretty hard to plan. And I think she needs a few months to lose the formaldehyde smell before putting on a fancy white dress. Only half kidding, there.
Angela got her summer fellowship to study Uyghur — she is such a language brainiac. She really loves Madison, probably because Madison is so lovable. My grandmother was born and raised there — so I feel one of those genealogical connections. Also, cheese. CHEESE.
Both smallish girlies are home with fevers and sore throats today. It’s their first sick day in months and months — we have been so lucky this year. It’s going to be a beautiful day, so hopefully the fresh air and sunshine will help them recover. They’re almost mellow when they’re sick.
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Hayat’s new hobby: beatboxing.
Because it’s all we do at home.
Besides waterskiing.
Posted in drama in real life, the progeny | 2 Comments »
Last fall we embarked on one of our real estate mis-adventures. We found this small piece of property in a little town off the High Road to Taos. The lot had been on the market for a whole bunch of months, so we got our stuff together and submitted an offer. Unbelievably, someone else made an offer a few hours before we did — and the seller had already accepted it. It was 4+ acres right on the Cañada de Ojo Sarco, which is a tiny, spring-fed stream at an elevation of about 7500 feet. It was lovely and just perfect for building a nice little cabin or house…yes, we were disappointed. But not surprised. We have the worst luck in the history of humanity when it comes to real estate, at least since we moved to ABQ.
Around February 1st, Steve saw a listing for some land in Ojo Sarco, and initially we thought it was the same lot. However, it turned out to be the lot just across the creek, and it was about an acre larger, and also bordered Carson National Forest, another 5 acre undeveloped lot, and…the local Catholic church. As Angela said, how super convenient for those emergency confessions we all depend on.
Anyway, the deal is done and it’s ours. Actually finished. Closed — and I get to amuse myself designing a solar home!
There are old fruit trees up there, and I just know this Apricot Ent and I are going to be great buddies.
We pass through Chimayó and Truchas to get there, and we’re only about 30 minutes from Santa Fe.
We’re pretty freaking excited.
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Give me that dark moment I will carry it everywhere
like a mouthful of rain.
~Mary Oliver, Blue Pastures
(dawn wave, Grand Anse)
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it’s May 15th and have some pineapple upside down cake after our barbecue. What else does one do when it’s in the 70s?
The trick to upside down cake is to heat the milk and butter almost to boiling before adding it to the batter. It cooks more evenly and you avoid that “accidental lava cake” effect.
Pineapple Upside Down Cake, adapted from Canal House Cooking, Vol. 5: The Good Life
The Canal House ladies make this with pear halves.
Preheat the oven to 375F.
8 Tbsp. salted butter, divided
1/3 cup dark brown sugar
3/4 tsp. salt
5 pineapple rings (this thingy is genius and totally recommended)
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 tsp. ground ginger (optional)
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 cup half and half or milk
2 eggs
1 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp. vanilla extract
Melt 6 Tsp. of the butter in a small saucepan and add the brown sugar; stir to combine. Pour the mixture into a 9-inch round cake pan and tilt the pan so it covers the bottom completely. Place the pineapple rings on top of the brown sugar and butter mixture. Aesthetics are optional.
Whisk flour, optional ginger, baking powder and salt in a small bowl. Heat the half and half or milk and remaining 2 Tbsp. butter in a small saucepan until almost boiling and keep warm over low heat. In a medium bowl, beat the eggs, vanilla and sugar until light.
Add the egg and sugar mixture to the flour mixture and stir well. Gradually add the hot milk and butter, whisking the batter until smooth. Pour the batter over the pineapple rings in the pan. Bake for 45-55 minutes, until a tester poked in the middle of the cake comes out clean.
Let the cake cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then run a knife around the perimeter of the cake several times to release the sides of the cake from the pan. Invert the cake pan on a platter, and voila! Hayat is happy.
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As you know…
I spent five days in Grenada earlier this month — a very beautiful island just north of Trinidad and Tobago where darling daughter Britt is toiling away in med school. The school scheduled their biannual “family weekend” for the days just before the first term students had a giant, scary test called The Unifieds. So hundreds of parents descended on the place and barely got to see their wild-eyed and over-caffeinated progeny. Luckily, there was plenty to do and everyone was literally and figuratively in the same boat/bus, so we all commiserated and made do. In the plus column: I tried barracuda and it was amazing. Also, I got to taste a fresh cocoa bean straight out of a cacao pod. It was white, slimy and fruity, like mango or papaya — nothing like chocolate at all.
I ate grilled spiny lobster in a tiny fishing village, sampled coconut rum at 9:30 in the morning,
and witnessed more limbo than is recommended by mental health professionals to maintain emotional equilibrium.
My friends who have experienced traffic in Addis Ababa will feel right at home in Grenada, except that the British forgot to take their left-side driving habit with them when they left. So, you can enjoy heaping helpings of crazy! wild! and free! as you navigate unmarked lanes, narrow roads, left-spinning roundabouts, lots of expressive honking (anything from “you jerk” to “hey, there’s Joe!”), pedestrians everywhere, rare seat belts, and pot holes that have been known to swallow medium-sized animals.
Steve insisted (which usually just makes me dig in my heels and resist), and then INSISTED, and then — just canceled my rental car reservation after he got back in January. I grudgingly admit that it was probably right to do. It was easy enough to take a taxi and the school had decent buses available for all the scheduled events, and who knows what would have happened if I had been behind the wheel trying to force my brain to learn a new set of navigational and spatial skills with rum punch and local beer on board…probably a diplomatic crisis or at least a night in the clink. Here’s one of my many, many out-the-bus-window shots of the northern part of the island:
The biggest city in Grenada is St. George’s, the capital. Population ~34,000 — 33,000 of which are walking up and down the sides of the road at any given moment.
You can get by using American dollars nearly everywhere in Grenada. The official currency is the Eastern Caribbean dollar, and the conversion trick is to divide EC by 10, then multiply by 4 to get the U.S. equivalent, something the med students do automatically but family visitors all had at least one incident of sticker shock after being told that a 7 minute cab ride cost $40. Luckily I had practiced my times tables on the plane and sufficiently detached myself from reality, so that the EC was play money and all I had to do was see how much I had in my wallet.
Despite the expeditious and panic-inducing driving, Grenada is very tranquil. Very VERY tranquil. Like almost comatose. The ocean, which in PR is raucous and loud and dynamic, is so calm in Grenada that the waves barely register — it’s like they’re tentatively licking the beach. In PR, surfing is big because the waves can be 30 ft. high. In Grenada, obviously, surfing is rather unsatisfying. But the water is about a million shades of impossible blue.
I stayed at a resort hotel on Grande Anse beach, the same place Steve and Britt landed when they got there last month…the view from my 3rd floor balcony:
All in all, a fun trip and so great to see Britta. Lots more to post about the goings-on around here, but I’d better publish this before February ends and I have failed at blogging for another month.
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So our dear Britt is in Grenada. She told me yesterday that she couldn’t wait for the weekend so that she could catch up on her studying. Apparently they throw you head first into the med school abyss…after an entire week of “adjusting” to being on a beautiful, balmy Caribbean island. She’s doing okay — a little homesick, but she’s made a gaggle of friends and her suite-mates are nice. We really miss her!
The girlies are all doing fine. Everyone in the household has had their flu shot or flu mist, and so far we have avoided all horrible viruses this winter. I had a brief (like less than a week) cold, which did not culminate in six weeks of coughing, for a change. We have also avoided the tummy bugs that seem to make the rounds way too often. I realize I’m tempting fate here, but I really am relieved that we’ve made it this far through the cold months without rivers of phlegm or other unspeakables harshing our buzz.
Hayat is starting chapter books at school — her reading group has the Magic Treehouse series queued up (she calls the characters Kyle and Annie, of course). She is really invested in school, and loves loves loves her teacher. It’s heaven for us, of course. And Scooter is doing well in Montessori, and scheduled to transfer to traditional kindergarten next year. She is shaping up as a very cute picky little twerp. Example: we have to make her bed *while she’s in it* at night. Yesterday she folded dirty washcloths before she put them in the laundry. And she adores being given a rag and a spray bottle to wash walls. This tendency does not come from her older sisters, that much is sure…
Isa got contact lenses and she’s still trying to make friends with the whole idea/process/responsibility. She pestered us relentlessly about getting them, so she’s going to learn to deal with actually wearing them. Do I sound like the mom of a petulant 13 year old?
There is one thing they all have in common. They are loud. Whether they’re happy or sad or somewhere in between, they go big on drama and volume. There is nothing subtle about these children. It can be very startling for those of us who live in a world of nuance and gauzy daydreams and post-chocolate stupors.
In other news, I was put in cervical traction at my physical therapy appointment yesterday. That was exciting. My neck/upper back are still bugging me — three weeks of PT and no change means that now I get to have deep tissue massage and go to a chiropractor. My x-rays were normal, so my doctor thinks the problem is muscular. She says if it were a disk problem I would have numbness, tingling or weakness somewhere and I don’t. Sigh. What the bleep have I done to myself?
I leave for the West Indies two weeks from today, and I must say, trying to find island-worthy clothing is nearly impossible right now. I bought some flowered pants at Anthropologie. This is what I’ve come to. Have you ever had flowered pants? Like when you were older than 5? I fear that all the other parents will be wearing sensible pants, and probably saying sensible things. What chance do I have?
April brings our trip to southern CA ( hello, G&D&co!) and back through Bryce Canyon, which I’m really excited about. In May I’m meeting my sister Catherine in New Orleans! We’re going to paint the town whatever color you paint a town that’s already red.
I’m on my laptop, so I’ll add a few photos to this post in the morning from my desktop. Hope all the northerners are staying warm! It was 60F here today.
The wagoneers in Santa Fe on Christmas Eve, ready to rock.
Cartwheels in the snow.
(photo by one of Britta’s friends after the School of Medicine white coat ceremony)
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Like some Sandy Hook parents who have spoken to the media, Veronique has shied away from portraying Lanza as evil or diabolical. “If we describe him as a demonic force or as a beast with the sign of the beast on his forehead, that is a mistake,” she says. “Because then we are making him apart from humanity when in fact he is part of what is possible in humanity. How do we help these people so this doesn’t happen again, so they never sink so low, so they never have to go to a place so dark where they can take out small children in a fit of rage?”
The rest of the article at The Jewish Daily Forward.
Posted in culture, my country, news | 2 Comments »
Have you seen the beautiful, haunting New York Times interactive story “Snow Fall: The Avalanche at Tunnel Creek“? It’s truly amazing, and the story is amazing and heartbreaking, too. And meta-geeks like me are extra lucky to get to read about how it was designed and the collaborative effort that went into it.
Cheers to new frontiers and be careful where you ski.
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Some points of interest:
So, cheers all around. We’re really, really happy for them!
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Daisy Chain Gang 
