Saturday, August 31, 2013

A Random Assortment



~ My neighborhood:

PEOPLE SAY THAT MERION and Bala began to look different about five years ago, but the Orthodox community there owes its origins to an event that occurred in 1990, when a local synagogue put up a taut, transparent line of monofilament going from telephone pole to telephone pole. The string creates a virtual Jewish home in a community by surrounding it in a continuous boundary, or eruv in Hebrew. The significance to religious Jews of an eruv is that on the Sabbath, they’re permitted by their laws to do more inside their homes than outside them — for instance, they can carry books or children, or pick up reading glasses. Once an eruv is established, making an entire neighborhood a "home," they can carry books to synagogue and push children in a stroller.
An Episcopalian I spoke to, William Gross, was more forgiving. He said he prefers the influx to, say, evangelical Christians, though he’s noticed that the Orthodox don’t say hi to him when he greets them on his regular 3.3-mile walk. Still, he got the children of an Orthodox neighbor to play with his grandchildren in his yard.
(The last paragraph is in reference to people in the area who are unhappy about the changes to the community. It made me laugh that the man was so forthrightly down on evangelical Christians.)

I had heard tell of this wire, and I had even repeated stories of it to other people. So I'm glad to know that it's true and not just some tall tale that I fell for. (Although I have heard variations on the wire, such as that it was buried underground.)

~ I have no children, but I'm all for blessing each other more. A dear Slovak friend was leaving after a four-month visit to the U.S., and she blessed me as we said good-bye. It brought me to tears.

~ A response to Obama's higher education proposals:

Blaming “complacent faculty” who remain “shortsighted” ignores the reality of higher education in the 21st century. It is not the tenured and tenure-track faculty, much less the army of contingent faculty who have been displacing tenured faculty, who are complacent or shortsighted. If anyone has lost touch with reality it is the metastasizing army of administrators with bloated salaries, who make decisions about the allocation of resources on our campuses, and our university presidents who are now paid as though they were CEO’s running a business — and not a very successful one at that. Unfortunately, these are the very people President Obama plans to consult while implementing his plan.
... In addition to the growth in administrative spending there is also the growth in entertainment spending and spending on amenities. Many universities claim that they must compete and therefore have borrowed millions to build luxury dorms, new dining halls and rock climbing walls. This construction is paid for out of rising tuition. They also spend millions subsidizing intercollegiate athletics, money that comes directly out of academic programs, while shamefully exploiting student athletes. According to USA Today, only eight Division I schools do not subsidize intercollegiate athletics and on average the subsidy accounts for about 61% of spending on intercollegiate athletics.  This is money that comes directly from students and which could be used to support academic programs.  Together the subsidy for intercollegiate athletics at 227 Division I schools is $2.2 billion, which accounts for about 3% of all state spending on higher education.
 ~ Mondrian cake.

Friday, August 30, 2013

Apocalypse Now


Francisco set up a projector for movies (also a wedding present; also a reason to visit). The first thing we watched was Apocalypse Now.

I disliked Apocalypse Now insofar as it was a tripped out view of Vietnam, which it was at times. (The visuals were excellent, making you feel like you were on drugs in the middle of a war.) Particularly jarring was the scene in which civilians on the beach are bombed and their village decimated, during which a commander insists that some of the men surf. All of this is set to Wagner, which that same commander prefers to play as he invades.

I liked Apocalypse Now insofar as it is richly allusive of literary tradition. Goodness, it was great. It was a creative reflection on The Heart of Darkness--instead of following Marlow up the Congo River, sent by his trading company to find another of their traders, we follow U.S. army Captain Willard up the Nung River to find a renegade Green Beret. The problems with colonialism that Conrad points to morph into problems with American intervention. But still the problem of evil is at the heart.

The film is not only a riff on The Heart of Darkness, but also on T.S. Eliot. Eliot's "Hollow Men" begins with an epigraph from Conrad: "Mistah Kurtz—he dead." Coppola's Kurtz (Marlon Brando) and his followers seem to echo Eliot's hollow men:

We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
One shot in the film scans what Kurtz has been reading--it's From Ritual to Romance and The Golden Bough, two books that Eliot relied on in the Waste LandThe original, pre-edited Waste Land's epigraph is also from The Heart of Darkness: "Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of  complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision, --he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath--'The horror! the Horror!'" Brando dies uttering the same words.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

The Art Museum


Then we popped in the art museum. The great thing about having a membership (what a wonderful wedding present!) is that you can just pop in and out at any time. We caught the exhibit of new acquisitions before it's over in a week or two.


My very favorite new acquisition is this rose chair. It's the "Miss Blanche" armchair, designed by Shiro Kuramata (inspired by Blanche DuBois from A Streetcar Named Desire).


We were also thrilled to see this gorgeous new-to-Philly Severin Roesen:


Here's a Frank Gehry corrugated cardboard armchair:


I hope they didn't pay too much for that. Here's a skirt made and modeled for a Matisse painting (that's also on display at the art museum):


And this is not new, but only the first time I've seen them: A theater background painted by Marc Chagall:




Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Clark Park


We also visited Sayers and Mr. Sayers' neighborhood, which is one of our favorites in Philadelphia. Their park, Clark Park, has a great little farmers market and coffee shop, which make for a perfect Saturday afternoon.




The tree is swallowing the sign!


(Photo credit: Francisco)

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Twitter

I work in a building shaped like a figure eight. At any given time, I have no idea where in the building I am.

Quote

(For the first day of classes.)

"So great is the influence of a sympathetic mind that our students are affected by us as we teach and we by them as they learn. Thus we come to dwell in each other; they speak within us what they hear, while we learn in them what we teach."

--St. Augustine, The Instruction of Beginners

West Chester


While Francisco and I still had the Uhaul from (one half of) our move, we headed out to West Chester to pick up some Craigslist chairs. West Chester is a very cute town, too, so we stayed for lunch and walked around.


Burglar Alarm?!


We had lunch at the immensely popular Market Street Grill. There was quite a long line, but since there were just two of us, they squeezed us in at the bar. I had something that was enormous and delicious and included scrapple (yay PA!), a sausage gravy, homefries, eggs, and peppers and onions in a giant mess on my plate.


Our other great West Chester find was a record shop, where Francisco picked out half a dozen records that he was quite pleased with. (We got a record player as a wedding present and just now have it all set up. Another reason to come visit!)


Cardigan--you have a great town--we're looking forward to coming back!



Monday, August 26, 2013

Eastern Market


Here are some pictures from our last hurrah at Eastern Market, our neighborhood market in DC.


Best breakfast items: "The Brick" (sausage, egg, cheese, and potato sandwich) and "Blue Bucks" (blueberry buckwheat pancakes).



Sunday, August 25, 2013

H Street


Here are some old pictures from our summer in DC.


"Take the battery out of your mobile device for 72 hours."


I hate architecture like this (even aside from the tower windows being cemented over)--the tower appears so heavy and there's nothing to balance it or to ensure our eyes that it's being held up.



Thursday, August 22, 2013

A Random Assortment

~ When I read the newspaper, I practice for my eventual mayoring job by considering how I would solve each political problem. Philadelphia's schools have me stumped.

~ An NPR podcast on gun violence and one of Chicago's public schools. Francisco and I listened to this on one of our recent road trips. It's incredibly sobering--it's a non-fiction version of The Wire.

~ Nevada ships mentally ill residents to California (and, it seems, vice versa).

~ Bradley Manning or Chelsea Manning?
However, the issue has a before-and-after aspect, too.News organizations might have to distinguish between Manning’s gender while on assignment in Iraq, and Manning’s life after being sentenced to 35 years in prison this week.For the historical record, Manning was a he during the former period; during the latter period, Manning has asked to be referred to in the feminine.
~ Remember that 80-something Spanish woman who "fixed" the fresco of Jesus? Well:
Visitors craving to have a close look at the botched restoration poured into Borja, prompting low-cost airline Ryanair to offer special fares to the nearby town of Zaragoza. 
Church officials also decided to keep the fresco as it was, and introduce an entry fee. 
One year on some 57,000 people have paid €1 to see the restoration, according to the foundation that manages the church, which said the money raised so far from ticket sales has been used to improve the building and cover personnel costs. 
Gimenz, who first demanded her share of the takings in September last year, has now reached an agreement with the foundation over her work's image rights.

Quote

"My only dietary restrictions are that I love meat, gluten, dairy, alcohol, and tobacco."

--Best prospective dinner guest ever

Monday, August 19, 2013

The Oranges


When Francisco and I first moved into our new house, we had no internet for about 15 hours. As a result, we were forced to go to Redbox to get our entertainment. After about 10 minutes of going through screens of possible movies to watch, none of which I'd ever heard of, The Oranges came up. Something about the description sounded not terrible, plus it had lots of actors and actresses we like (Hugh Laurie for me; other for Francisco).

Well, let me save you the awfulness in case you are ever tempted to watch The Oranges: it is incredibly awkward and gross and you should avoid it. The setup is two suburban families who are best friends. The father of one family (Hugh Laurie) cheats on his wife with the daughter of the other family (Leighton Meester). Ew. Ew. Ew.

Alia Shawcat (Maybe from Arrested Development) is Hugh Laurie's daughter and understandably annoyed by her father's choices, but comes to appreciate her father's taking life by the horns and follows his footsteps and moves out of her parents' house. The father's best friend (his gf's father) learns from Laurie's carpe diem attitude and is inspired to join an ultimate frisbee team.

It is every bit as terrible and unredemptive as it sounds. The acting isn't good; the writing isn't good. The squirm factor is overwhelming.

Saturday, August 17, 2013

Come Visit

The sooner the better:

If you come really soon, you can help us unpack (and enjoy our 1920s-ish swimming pool).

We have very little food, but we have leftover wedding wine, and lots of it.

We have four bedrooms and three bathrooms and some beautiful wedding gifts to break in.

Rant

I immensely dislike blog posts that use bold and/or italics. It reminds me of my childhood reading direct mail that begged for money by trying to get people worked up about politics.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

A Random Assortment

~ A young restaurant owner with Down Syndrome.

~ This is a difficult article about past and ongoing rapes and sexual abuse in a Bolivian Mennonite community.

~ RIP, JBE. Miss Self-Important points us to an excellent essay of Elshtain's on thrift:
None of these environmentalisms - although some of the tasks called for, like recycling, mimed what the thrifty had done a generation or two earlier - relied on the virtue of thrift, however. 
~ "Taken"--the abuse of civil forfeiture.

~ I sort of like this, but don't think it will go with our living room. What do you think, Francisco?

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Friday Phone Dump, Summer Edition


My favorite Georgetown mural.


My favorite DC bookstore.


Jazz with the BCSC!


Screen on the Green! (Note the scaffolded and lit up Washington Monument in the background.)


Very interesting seed pods on a tree in our neighborhood.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Twitter

Moving: Our house is huge. After spending the summer in one room, this feels like (and is) ridiculous luxury.

Which is to say, moving in was better than all my Christmases and birthdays put together.

Summer School Reflections


I just finished teaching my summer class. It was a great class, actually; one of the best I've ever had. Except with regard to teaching Rawls, whom they hated, and so I was forced to defend. Which is not how I want to spend two summer afternoons. I've decided to take a break from teaching Rawls, unless I teach a class on contemporary political thought. As punishment for their immense dislike of Rawls, I made each of them give their best argument for his theory of justice during their final oral exam.

Other observations from their oral exam: when asked which thinker they found most persuasive, at least half picked Tocqueville. Maybe they were just trying to get brownie points, but it worked.

One student picked Lincoln. He said that when his sisters visited this summer, they visited the Lincoln monument and read the speeches inside out loud on my recommendation. Again, brownie points.

My one regret: I didn't take advantage of the fact that my class on American political thought was set in DC--I should have scheduled our class on Lincoln to take place in the Lincoln Memorial; I should have scheduled the class in which we read Theodore Roosevelt to take place at the Roosevelt Memorial on Roosevelt Island. We should have read Jefferson at the Jefferson Memorial, too. Ah well.

Monday, August 12, 2013

The Bat Cave.2

When Francisco was putting together his two white Ikea bookshelves many years ago, he left the backs off, thinking it would make them look nicer (aesthetic considerations rank very highly for Francisco). Well, it turns out that those backs (and/or securing the bookshelves to the wall) helps keep them standing tall and straight. For the majority of the time that Francisco and I have known each other, the bookshelves have been standing at a 65 degree angle, held up, apparently, primarily by a thermostat on the wall. (Francisco said that he would say that they weren't leaning at a 65 degree angle, but that they were "leaning slightly.") In his defense, he put some nails into the wall before I moved in so that the bookshelves would stand up straight, in order to avoid the feeling that you're in the heart of a cargo ship, with the boat shifting every which way.

Then there's the fondue pot--we found it on the free shelf in Francisco's apartment building. (How wonderfully communal is it to have a free shelf?!) Well, the fondue pot has about a thousand pieces to it, and we don't have anywhere to put it at the moment. Right now it's stuck in a bowl (a lovely bowl--thanks, Frankincense!) under a chair near the desk. The problem it, the thermostat is behind the desk. Every time one of us reaches behind the desk to adjust the thermostat, we kick the fondue pot. (Ok, ok, this only happens when Francisco reaches.) (Ok, fine: I also kicked it a couple of times.)

I literally never understood before this what Mrs. Bennett was complaining about in Pride and Prejudice when she said, "My nerves, my nerves." ("... You have no compassion on my poor nerves." Mr. B: "On the contrary, my dear--they've been my good friends these 20 years.") And now I know exactly what nerves are because they scream out each of the many times each day that the pot gets kicked.

Finally, there's the bed. When I met Francisco, he slept on a futon that was a bit broken. Over the course of our relationship, the frame crumbled underneath him. For a time, he slept just on the futon mattress on the floor. For me, he bought a metal bed frame on Amazon, which is supposed to replace box springs. We sleep on the futon mattress on top of that. This, as you might guess, is sometimes the cause of shooting pains up my hamstrings and back. I'd like to do some yoga to strengthen my back, but the problem is, there isn't space in our tiny, packed apartment for yoga.

I record this here in the off chance that someday, as a result of declines in my memory, I feel nostalgia for the Bat Cave. I will probably feel nostalgia almost immediately for the roof and the neighborhood, but I doubt for the Bat Cave itself. 

Sunday, August 11, 2013

The Bat Cave

As Francisco packs up the Bat Cave, his home for the last five years and mine for the last five weeks, I think it's a good time to say something about our first home.

The first thing to say about the Bat Cave is that it's in a wonderful neighborhood. Eastern Market may well be the cutest neighborhood in the District. And on Saturdays and Sundays, there's the Market breakfast and the Market lunch--we love the crab cake sandwiches and "The Brick" (a sausage and egg and cheese and homefries sandwich) best.

The second thing to say about the Bat Cave is that it's got an incredible roof. It's the tallest building in its neighborhood, with a great straight view of the Capitol, the Washington Monument, and the National Cathedral. Dinner and/or rose (with an accent mark) on the roof is one of our favorite things.

The third good thing to say about the Bat Cave is that it's free. Through a work agreement with the building owner, we don't have to pay rent.

But there are many other things to say about the Bat Cave. I realized the extent of my fully internalized hyperbole about the Bat Cave when I described its three small windows to a friend as about 1 foot by 1 foot with my hands. I proceeded to tell them that once a burglar broke into Francisco's apartment. "Oh," my friend said, confused, "so someone could fit through the windows?" I confused myself in fact, but when I returned home to inspect the windows, I realized that they are much larger--probably 2 feet by 2 feet.

The fact is, they are at foot level of anyone who walks by and we don't want those people looking into our apartment, so we keep them closed most of the time. Plus the view isn't great--you see the edge of a parking lot.

The Bat Cave is one room, a bathroom and a tiny, tiny kitchen. It's filled with five years of Francisco's stuff and now my summer stuff, too. Plus some wedding gifts. It's sort of brimming over.

Francisco, surprisingly, isn't the cleanest person alive. His mother summed it up well when she said to him when he was younger, "I can't believe that you came out of that room." The irony is, Francisco is incredibly well groomed and neatly put together. His room, however, is not.

Francisco said that he realized the difference between us the first time he saw my bedroom at Little Gidding, complete with neatly stacked filing cabinets for all of my papers. We are quite different with regards to organization.

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Twitter

Emily: "What is sequestration again?"
Francisco: "It's like you're on Real Housewives."

A Random Assortment




~ Above: one of my friends shared a picture that he took of this man as he was walking home from work in DC. Then, he found this video of the same man. What an awesome guy!

~ Another awesome guy: "Man who created own credit card sues bank for not sticking to terms."

~ On London's 18th century coffeehouses.

~ A water sommelier?! (Francisco: "It's appropriate that it's in LA, because of their history with water scarity." True, true--we just watched Chinatown.)

~ "The Loveliest Short Story You Will Read Today Was Published on Craigslist."

Friday, August 9, 2013

The Summer House



I was visiting with Hopkins a couple of weeks ago when she asked me what I was reading at the moment (part of our typical conversational pattern). The embarrassment of having to say I haven't read anything for ages was just the shame that I needed to finally get me to read what I've been trying to get into for probably a year, The Summer House.

At dinner after Fr. Schall's final lecture at Georgetown, Dr. DW strongly recommended an obscure British novelist who is a conservative Catholic, who writes strong women characters and deals with disability--Alice Thomas Ellis--the pen name for Anna Haycraft (if I chose a pen name, I would try to make it sound better than Alice Thomas Ellis). He said that she is witty and interesting. All things I particularly love in a novelist.

The Summer House is a trilogy--three novellas with three different main characters gradually circling to the center of the story. The first tells the story of Margaret, drawing the reader, even through the cloudy descriptions, into her depression and its resulting passivity. We learn the story of Margaret's visit to Egypt, her interest in a group of nuns there, and her passionate love and associated evil. In the present day, she is pushed toward a bad marriage. The second story is from the perspective of her mother-in-law-to-be. From Margaret's perspective, she's a boring old lady. Mrs. Munro's own explanation of her life is far more interesting. Margaret's and Mrs. Munro's narratives are united in their attraction toward the central character in the third story, Lili. Lili sleeps with almost all the men around, driven by insecurity in her relationship to her own husband. She likens herself to Lilith, Adam's mythological first wife, who is replaced with Eve. The end of each novella is the same--a sacrificial and selfish set-up to get Margaret out of her impending marriage.

The Catholicism in the book is by no means overpowering--Margaret is attracted to some Egyptian nuns. All the women telling their story mention, at one point or another, going to confession. That's about it, at least explicitly.

One thing about the trilogy is curious--the narration is in the first person, told by Margaret, Mrs. Munro, and then Lili; however, sometimes the narrator tells the reader even about her own limits. This is to say, the narrator both is and is not the character. The narrator always lets on a bit more about herself than a person is able to articulate. The narrator is both the character and the author. In this way, the author is able to both get inside the disability (depression, in Margaret's case; aging and a bit of dementia, in Mrs. Munro's) and to transcend it.

The trilogy explores fate and free will: Margaret is being pushed around by her mother and by other circumstances and people that happen to her, and quite possibly, the book implies, by God (who works through the actions and motivations of the other characters in the book). It explores motivations for action and inaction. And it does so in a way that is slow and intentional and gradual, retelling the events of the story multiple times through different perspectives that each reveal something new. This method of story telling shows the limits that exist on our self-knowledge and on our knowledge of others.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Twitter

We missed our monthaversary. Still getting used to this marriage business.

How to Save Money (And the Environment)

(Initial disclaimer: I hate reading blogs where the author tells me how to live. I hate being told what to do both in person and in written form. I don't like bossy people. Now, that may in part be because I am a bossy person, but let's pretend that's not the case. My apologies if this is in any way bossy: I hope it's more of a self-deprecating [and simultaneously self-congratulatory] explanation of my philosophy of life.)

Francisco and NK have dubbed me, as far as I can tell, most frugal person ever. This is probably the reason that NK's gf asked me, one sunny day in the park, how I suggest saving money. I think my answer basically amounted to "Don't buy things." I want to say a bit more, so I'll say it here.

I think I actually have a lot of experience on this topic. I was raised by my mother: her siblings and extended family are frugal to a fault. And then I want to graduate school for seven years.  

The frugality that I was raised with was not explicitly oriented to living an environmentally friendly lifestyle. But I think that it was the accidentally most environmentally friendly lifestyle possible. If you're frugal, you try to use things down to the last drop; you scorn trends that are designed to make you buy things you don't need; you skeptically evaluate whether you actually need a new piece of technology and you wait until 5 years after everyone else has it to buy it. You choose free things over things that cost money. You use plain old tap water rather than buying disposable water bottles; you compost rather than buying fertilizer; you plant vegetables in your garden rather than buying them at the store. Which is to say, in the good-old American tradition of self-interest properly understood, I think that frugality is, for the most part, darn good for the environment. 

So, my opinion: 

1. Don't buy things. 

I have several friends who think that clipping coupons is the way to saving money. And sometimes, I'm sure, that's true--but my mother taught me to be radically skeptical of anyone trying to pressure me into wanting anything that I didn't previously want. Coupons (and groupons) can convince you to do something expensive just because it's less expensive than normal. 

Environmental advantage: this is nothing like throwing thousand dollar parties with a recycling theme. You just don't throw thousand dollar parties (with a wedding exception). 

2. Where necessary, buy used things. 

One fond memory of childhood and beyond was piling a bunch of people (up to 9) in the car on Saturday at the break of dawn to drive around town going to yard sales. Yard sales are a lovingly held Williamsport tradition--nearly the whole town drives around buying each others' stuff. How wonderful! How cheap! And environmentally friendly!

I also love Goodwills. And other thrift stores. And for my most dearly held splurge--book buying--I love library sales. 

Regarding Goodwill, try to find out what day they have discounts--often there's a half-off day once a week. Actually, my love for Goodwill runs deep: they've gotten to me with the (admittedly headache inducing) repeated commercials about how Goodwill helps people find jobs and offers job training. 

It takes some work rooting through aisles and aisles of clothes, but well-made items from Goodwill often last much longer than a similarly priced clothing items on sale at a cheap department store. 

3. Decide what you value most that costs money. 

    A. Make sure that it accords with the good life. 

    B. Save for that. 

I've found that saving for things that I really value (mostly travel) makes me much happier to live conservatively in other areas (such as cell phone service). I love exploring Europe; to do so on a graduate stipend involved cutting back in lots of areas, but also made doing so more tolerable. So it's not as if I simply never spent any money; rather, I spent my money differently than my peers did. 

Also, for me, it's quite important to have the freedom from financial pressures in order to pursue that (not very lucrative) work that I'm interested in. Being content, money-wise, means that you aren't constrained to seek high-paying jobs just for the money. I appreciate this freedom more than I'd appreciate endless fancy dinners and a convertible. 

4. Enjoy beauty in museums (on the free admittance day). 

There are so many cheap delightful things to do that I'm never sure why people are so focused on doing the expensive ones. At Baylor and Georgetown, for instance, I encouraged my friends to pack their lunch and they did and we had lovely lunch groups on campus. DC is a particularly nice city to recreate in inexpensively--between the museums and the monuments and the neighborhoods and markets and outdoor films and music, you can travel where you live and not spend too much money doing it.

5. Befriend other frugal people.

All the people who have lived in Little Gidding thus far, for instance, have been incredibly frugal. Being around others looking to save money means that the pressures are to stay in and cook dinner, rather than to go out and grab a quick bite. We did a lot of socializing in friends' houses back in the day, which allowed us to practice hospitality and generosity, in addition to often being cheaper than congregating at a bar. 

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Twitter

Just washed my hands with toothpaste. #tired

To Do

Things to cook when I'm a bit more settled, and maybe even have more time:

Roasted beet hummus. I love beets, especially roasted, and adding them to hummus sounds like a great (and pretty) idea.

~ Campari-grapefruit glazed donuts. Francisco loves donuts; we both love campari; and I love grapefruit. I'm guessing it would be a winner, but if not it will be a colossal failure.

~ Grapefruit-campari cocktails. Ditto. And ideally served with the donuts.

~ Lemon risotto. I love risotto in really any version, but especially lemon risotto. I've made this recipe before with asparagus and sausage. Not necessarily intuitive, but I think it tasted good.

~ Fish tacos. (Or this.) Francisco is a true Californian in the sense that he loves all Mexican food, and especially fish tacos.

~ Gazpacho. (Or this.) One of my favorite things. I hope to make some before summer is over.

~ Monster cookie batter. No link here because I wouldn't use any recipe except Mama Leopard's. Monster cookie batter is a Leopard family tradition, one that I really need to get on the ball about introducing to Francisco.

Other things to do (not exactly cooking, but cooking related):

~ Grow sprouts. I had lunch with a lovely old friend when I was in Philadelphia looking for housing. She made us delightful wraps and yogurt parfaits. And on the wraps, she put her home-grown sprouts. I'm inspired. (She also has two adorable sons, so I'm looking forward to having kids to hang out with in Philadelphia.)

~ Grow herbs. (Are mason jars too small?) Back at Little Gidding, we used to grow basil, but I haven't grown anything since then. Francisco and I won't quite be settled enough at first to plant a garden, but I'm thinking we could grow some herbs on the window sill.

Monday, August 5, 2013

Belief

Usually I'm the most open person in any crowd of people, at least in the sort of questions that I ask, so the other evening, enjoying drinks on Francisco's roof, I was out-opened: our friend asked me if I believe in the resurrection and why.

I've thought about this myself. I know I believe in it; I'm not sure I know why. Partially, I'm sure, because I was raised to believe it. But certainly I don't currently believe in the resurrection because my parents want me to believe in it (I'm a little stubborn and don't do many things because other people want me to do them).

I think that belief in specifics of the supernatural (which is to say, Jesus, rather than just God) requires being taught them--by the Bible, by another person, by a church, by direct experience (especially if you're a disciple). And yet teaching itself does not ensure belief. Rather, belief responds to the thing that you're taught.

And, at least in my experience, you can't fully reason about your belief. It's just a different sort of thing. I certainly reason about it to some extent: I couldn't, for instance, hold a belief that I thought contradicted my reason. I could, however, hold a belief that was about something beyond my reason.

The moral of the story is--belief is a mystery to me.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Twitter

Best text ever (upon being late to come meet me):

"Sorry was folding laundry--just realized I left cooked chicken out on paper towels #reallybadhousehusband"

Naming

I am nameless. Or perhaps I'm over-named.

Either way, it's a little confusing. I'm intending to change my last name to Francisco's (very reluctantly), but for the time being, I haven't. I keep pushing it back--it makes no sense to change my driver's license until I move back to Pennsylvania in a couple of weeks. Then I booked a flight in my maiden name. Not sure if it's going to be a problem if my ticket is in one name and my driver's license is in another (I mean, I imagine it would).

Anyway, socially I already use Francisco's last name. I also use it in class. But professionally, I sometimes slip back into my maiden name.

It's so strange--it's not me that comes up in the google results when you search for my first name and Francisco's last. (Unlike my maiden name, of which I was pretty much the only one alive.)

When I introduce myself to someone new, I take a long pause and have to think about it. And then, if they would have heard of me under a different name, they can't quite put it together. I suppose this new name business is a boon for scraping away the internet record that exists of me thus far, which I don't always want to advertise to potential employers.

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Invitations


This is from forever ago, but I just wanted to share Francisco's craftiness: here are the stamps that he used on our wedding invitations.

Friday, August 2, 2013

A Random Assortment

~ Slovaks build walls to keep the Roma separate.

~ Since I was, at one time, a Pentecostal home schooler, I found this article fascinating. The difference is, my mother was quite good at educating her children. And we went through yearly external evaluations for our schoolwork.

~ St. Louis is the most segregated place that I've ever lived in (of course, I haven't lived all that many places). St. Louis' public schools have lost their accreditation, and so are allowing students to be bused to accredited schools in St. Louis County. It's not surprising (but is horrifying) that race is an issue:
“When I saw them screaming and hollering like they were crazy, I thought to myself, ‘Oh my God, this is back in Martin Luther King days,’ ” said Ms. Gladney, 45. “ ‘They’re going to get the hoses out. They’re going to be beating our kids and making sure they don’t get off the school bus.’ ”
~ Oh my gosh--I'm totally into babies since Francisco and I have been watching Call the Midwife--a wonderful, wonderful show. (Ironically, despite it being a British period drama, which Francisco tends to adore, and tend to make me a little queasy, I love this one, and he tolerates it. I agree with him--it's a little cheesy and overwrought and designed to make you cry, but I, agreeably, sob right along with every episode.) Anyway, I was reminded of Call the Midwife when I read that a baby was born at the L'Enfant Metro Station:
L’Enfant is French for “the child,” making it an oddly fitting place to deliver a baby (insofar as Metro stations go, anyway).
Also: the baby was evidentally delivered minutes after the mother's water broke. Now that is an enviable delivery.

UPDATE: Evidently Metro gave her a $100 Smart Trip card as a baby gift.

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Slovakia and Marriage

From the archives of this blog, after a trip to Slovakia:

But really, my favorite part of St. James in Levoca is the pew of the White Lady of Levoca. The story is that the White Lady of Levoca was remarkably beautiful. She would arrive late each week at mass and walk to her special, carved pew in the front of the church. She would distract all of the men. After a while of this, they moved her to the back of the church, behind a pillar, where no one could see her and she would be less of a distraction. The story is that if a young unmarried woman sits in that pew, she will be married in a year and a day.

What I didn't write in that post is that I visited this church twice. The first time, quite a few years ago, I refused to sit in the pew, because I wasn't interested in getting married in a year and a day. The second time, maybe three years ago, I was interested in getting married, and I was in a relationship, so I thought it appropriate to sit in the pew. The funny thing is, I married the man who took my picture while I was sitting in the pew.