Category Archives: Regional

At Last!

Houston, we have Internet access at home! Whee!

I’ve been sick since yesterday with stomach problems. It’s an on-again-off-again thing. At the moment, Husband is securing an 8-foot bookcase in the office to the wall with earthquake straps. Tomorrow we’ll unpack boxes in there.

Some observations:

I made beef stock for soup. Nothing smells more savory to me than roasting the bones and some vegetables in the oven in preparation for making stock.

Now that I have easy access to the Internet, I can follow up all immediate curiosities. For example, I wondered recently about the origin of the name Oreo as I nibbled on the cookies. Well, one answer speculates:

While there is no written record as to the origin of the OREO Chocolate Sandwich Cookies name, there are several theories. Some say that OREO was chosen because it was a nice melodic combination of sounds and was easy to pronounce. Others feel it was patterned after the French word for gold, “or” , a color used on early package designs. It is even believed that the name comes from the Greek word for mountain, “oreo”, and that the name was chosen because the first test version was hill-shaped. Regardless of its origin, the name stuck and today OREO Chocolate Sandwich Cookies are one of the most popular brands of cookies in America.

—Wade Lee

However, a Metroactive article states:

According to Nabisco historians, the Oreo was not named after the Greek word oreo, meaning “mountain.” Nabisco’s pride and joy was named by taking the “re” out of cream and squishing it, sandwich-style, between the two “o’s” from the word chocolate.

—David Templeton

I like the latter explanation the most!

I’ve been deeply immersed in the novel, Ahab’s Wife: Or, the Star-Gazer.

Our friends had their first baby, a son, on February 8th!! He’s healthy and adorable, and we are thrilled for them.

I’ve been following the news about Oswego, NY, coping with 7 feet of snow recently dumped on them. I attended SUNY Oswego for my bachelor’s degree, and it was truly a place for hardy souls. In a recent conversation with my mother, she mentioned she’d heard that part of the reason for the amount of snow is that some of the Great Lakes have not frozen over as usual; the weather system has captured moisture from the lakes and carried it to land, where it becomes “lake effect” snow. I lived in Syracuse for 31 years, and boy, did we know what that was like! Looks like people now have to figure out where to put additional snow predicted to fall.

Just More About Moving

Every day for the past week (or more) I’ve received an email notice to “spare the air” by not burning firewood, reducing car trips, and so on. There have been 24 incidences this winter alone where we have exceeded the limit; that is, air quality has been less than good. Today I had to go out briefly, and as I drove I could see haze hanging in the streets. At a stoplight I looked over to some houses and saw haze wafting in the yards. It’s ugly. You can’t see the mountains.

I’m a little cross, because the reason I went out was to meet a painter at our new home so he could inspect what needs painting. He didn’t show, so I called him. He said he couldn’t make it, that he tried to come by at 3 p.m. instead but no one was there. I reminded him we don’t live there yet and an advance call would have been appreciated. We rescheduled for noon tomorrow, but I’m going to let Husband deal with that. Also, English is his second language; it’s very hard to understand him, and I’m not entirely confident he understands what is said to him.

Packing continues. It’s the story of my life. Most of the house is finished. We have our bedroom almost done. The bathrooms and kitchen will be packed this weekend. We always take stuff over if we go to the house. I’m feeling punky again today, almost zero energy. I’ll be happy when this move is over and we are somewhat unpacked! (The thought of unpacking tires me even more, though.)

I believe Internet access is going away Saturday for a few days. Given that the only thing I have to say seems to be about packing and feeling unwell, you can expect silence here for a short while.

A Full Belly and a Feeling of Peace

Today was the first day I felt almost perfectly healthy since just after Christmas. I was able to make it to the gym for a 35 minute walk — nothing strenuous, but enough to generate a light sweat. Then I arrived home starving and ate some leftover Afghani food (lamb, rice, carrots and raisins) and an orange before getting horizontal with the cats for a little nap. I awoke at 2:30 and popped into the shower, after which I ate another snack of rigatoni and tomato sauce and a banana. It feels good not to be nauseated, to feel hunger and eat with pleasure again. My hope is that this trend continues!

To get out of the house I headed to the library for a cup of tea in the café and to read my novel, The Master and Margarita. While I was there I looked up some soup cookbooks. I wanted to check out The Soup Peddler’s Slow & Difficult Soups: Recipes And Reveries, but it wasn’t on the shelf though it was checked in. However, I happened across two other books. An Exaltation of Soups: The Soul-Satisfying Story of Soup, As Told in More Than 100 Recipes has been on my list to check out, and I found a copy of Twelve Months of Monastery Soups by Brother Victor-Antoine d’Avila-Latourrette. My cousin gave me a copy of his other cookbook, From a Monastery Kitchen, in 2005. I sat for a couple of hours browsing these books and then checked them out. I love soup, and yet I eat it infrequently and rarely make it. The monastery cookbook is chock-full of seasonal recipes, and he has made an effort to ensure these are simple instructions. The other book has more elaborate concoctions that call for somewhat fussier ingredients, so I may not use as many recipes from it. When I drove home later, I felt suffused with peace and contentment that had eluded me for many weeks. For dinner I had soup — from a can (Progresso), but it was warm and tasted good. Armed with these new books, I plan on making soup a daily food for at least one meal, and I’ll make my very own.

We are moving next Monday, January 29. The packing is proceeding at a reasonable speed, and we are trying to eat foods from the freezer and cupboards. We hope to impose on our two friends one more time next weekend (their packing assistance has been invaluable the past two weeks) as we pack the kitchen and bathroom. And then? Then comes the nesting and unpacking, but I think that will feel less arduous, especially now that I’m feeling better. And since we’re moving Monday, this means we won’t miss the next episode of Rome! Small pleasures…

[cross-posted at Knit Together]

Oh, the Irony

Yesterday we signed the lease for our new place. Today we were packing with our friends, and the landlord called. It seems as though they won’t be needing the house for their son after all — maybe. They were offering to let us stay longer because something had come up in his life, and the inference was that he’d not likely make it to the Bay Area. After we move they plan to paint inside and replace the carpeting and rent it out again.

I had a feeling there might be a turn of events like this one!

Of course, we wouldn’t stay without a lease, and they wouldn’t have agreed to that. And we’re moving into a bigger home; it’s all good.

A Night Off

As I drove to Mountain View to pick up Husband from work, I heard Melinda Shoaf read her essay, The Designated Celebrator, on NPR’s This I Believe. I found myself in tears by the end.

I’m exhausted. Tonight I feel too tired to care where I live. I need a break. So tonight, dinner is a mug of Trader Joe’s roasted red pepper and tomato soup and a viewing of Cars (suggested by Husband). He’s got a hella week at work, and he’s tired too. Tomorrow we go see another house at 4:30 p.m., drop off the application for the Craftsman house after 6:00, and another application for a house in Sunnyvale (or tell him no — we were first, but there are other interested parties). I’m dizzy and hormonal and very very emotional.

The question is: do we take the one in Sunnyvale, or maybe the one we’ll see tomorrow in Santa Clara, or wait on the Craftsman house, which we won’t know until maybe Saturday? (That’s rhetorical.) Houses are coming up all the time, so if we miss these there are more. But. I am ready to be done searching. It is not my personality trait to research and research some more. I know this is an opportunity to work on sitting with the unknown and trusting the universe; I’m just having a damn hard time doing this.

Maybe, Maybe Not

We went to the Craftsman house today and liked it a lot. Lots of good things, some glitches. We liked the owner and think it would be a good landlord relationship. The only hitch: she plans to show the house through Thursday evening and make a decision Friday, so even though we were first and want to hand over a check, that’s not guaranteed to happen.

The Santa Clara house is apparently taken already; the leasing agent was a jerk and wouldn’t even show it to us (and it would have been nice if he’d returned our phone calls, but no, we had to call him twice today before we got to speak with him). The Mountain View townhome is really nice, but she wants to leave the furniture there because she might move back in a year (or might not). We don’t want to move in a year. We have furniture, and we like ours. There was a little room to negotiate, but she clearly preferred to rent it as is. The Sunnyvale house is still a possibility, but Husband said a few more houses came up this afternoon on Craigslist that fit our parameters.

Back to Craigslist to hunt some more. Argh. I find this very unsettling. My stomach is in knots.

A Place For Us?

Despite feeling markedly under the weather this weekend, I was a trooper and went with Husband to look at 20 potential homes (houses, condos, townhomes). We scaled down our rent to $2,000 or less monthly. We also decided against a condo on the third floor of a huge concrete complex near downtown San Jose. While the interior was quite livable, it was a corner unit abutting a really busy street, and it didn’t feel very neighborly. Lots of security, though, and they would take pets. There was an elevator, too, though that unit is the farthest from it. The vision of dragging groceries, child gear, and baby weighed heavily. On Friday I was desperate to rent it. However, my intuition cautioned me. We may have found one or two other places today — real houses in friendly neighborhoods. I’m getting worn out, though. I don’t know how much more looking I can stand! By evening yesterday we’d been out for six hours, and I fell asleep sitting up in the car. However, we have time still, and after a night’s sleep I’ll feel better.

Update 6:00 p.m.: Husband “scraped” Craigslist again and found an ad for a Craftsman style home in San Jose. (We love that style.) Cats are okay. He called, liked the woman immediately, and we have an appointment to see it at 9:30 tomorrow. Then another person called him back about a townhome in Mountain View, and it turns out she’s enthusiastic about cats. So we’ll see that at 11:00. Hopefully the non-responsive agent for a Santa Clara house will finally get in touch so we can see that house tomorrow, and by the end of the day we’ll have four places (including one we saw today in Sunnyvale) to choose from. May Hestia be with us tomorrow.

Commodified Bodies, Commodified Lives

I have been spending much of this week trapped in a lounge chair in front of the television. What I have seen isn’t pretty. First this woman says something is missing from her life, and it turns out to be a bigger butt. So she heads off to Dr 90210 for implants. Then Oprah says she does not consider herself lucky at all, that she’s earned her success and exemplifies the American Dream. I kept thinking they were both being ironic, waiting for them to crack up at the ridiculousness of their statements, but neither one of them did. They were dead serious.

What’s it like to live in a culture so spiritually dead that someone could consider butt implants the key to happiness? What’s it like to live in a culture so obsessed with individuality that someone could consider herself entitled to billions of dollars just by being a talking head? …

…Is this really what “America” means? Commodified bodies to go with commodified religion, everything marketed, marketable, even our bodies and our souls? It’s so obviously out of whack that I cannot believe I even need to comment on this, but every time I do I am reminded that voices like mine don’t hold center stage. Why? Because I’ve got nothing to sell except the insistence that we need to stop buying. There’s no advertising revenue in that, is there Oprah? Guess I won’t be a billionaire like you.

–Diana York Blaine, The Adventures of Diana York Blaine: And Now a Word From the Oracle

Diana York Blaine is a recent discovery. I learned of her on another blog which mentioned that she’d taken some photos of herself without a shirt or bra which resulted in a fracas rumbling into her personal and professional lives. (What is it about women’s breasts that are so taboo in some contexts and yet so tantalizing on others?) I went to her Flickr site to see them. I found nothing offensive. Wait, I misspoke: I did find something offensive there; the nasty comments left by some people pointing out what they felt she lacked, how her waist needs to be trimmer, how her body doesn’t match the “ideal” standard of beauty. What I saw in the photos was a normal woman. In fact, in one photo she said she was competing with a painting on the wall, and the woman in the painting looked much the same! Diana is a feminist philosopher at the University of Southern California. We are the same age, and I’ve found a kindred soul; she is pursuing a career and life path that might have been mine if I’d taken some different turns a long time back. Oh, that we only get one life! There’s so much to learn and do and be. Through Diana I can vicariously experience some of it.

Speaking of Oprah, I read about her South African school for girls that will open soon. I applaud the good intention, but not her exclusivity. Of the thousands of girls deserving education, she selected only 150 to attend. Winfrey chose expensive designer furniture, china, and even the uniforms. She wants the girls to experience the sense they deserve good things, with the notion being their self-esteem and confidence will grow. Maybe so, but does it cost $40 million dollars to do this for 150 girls? Will huge fireplaces in every building really contribute to creating “beauty that inspires” as she claims? Oprah was quoted: “I wanted this to be a place of honor for them because these girls have never been treated with kindness. They’ve never been told they are pretty or have wonderful dimples. I wanted to hear those things as a child.” Um, kindness is not expressed in fancy china or color-matched rugs and couches. How about spending less money on commodities and hiring more excellent teachers to shower the girls with kindness through teaching their minds, mentoring their spirits, and nurturing their souls?

And why is she devoting so much effort and money to girls in South Africa? I’m not contending they are undeserving. It’s just that there are many girls in America that could use the same assistance. If she spent less money in South Africa, perhaps she could do more in both places. But no, here is her explanation.

Oprah also knows that some people will complain that charity should begin at home, even though she has provided millions of dollars to educate poor children in the United States, especially via her Oprah Winfrey Scholars Program. But she sees the two situations as entirely different. “Say what you will about the American educational system — it does work,” she says. “If you are a child in the United States, you can get an education.” And she doesn’t think that American students — who, unlike Africans, go to school free of charge — appreciate what they have. “I became so frustrated with visiting inner-city schools that I just stopped going. The sense that you need to learn just isn’t there,” she says. “If you ask the kids what they want or need, they will say an iPod or some sneakers. In South Africa, they don’t ask for money or toys. They ask for uniforms so they can go to school.”

She is entirely free to allocate her philanthropy however she chooses, but her explanation sounds more like giving up on the youth here.

I believe Jonathan Kozol would have much to say about that. Here’s an excerpt from his website:

Education is taken for granted in modern American society. If a child cannot afford to attend a private or parochial school, which are generally seen as better than the alternative, then they go to public school. The assumption is made, because of compulsory attendance laws, and the societal emphasis on childhood learning, no matter what, a child is getting an education. Unfortunately, attendance is not a prerequisite for education. A child in a classroom faces many obstacles that should not be faced at such an early age. Instead of the next spelling test that pupil must deal with issues from discrimination to shoddy facilities to a lack of funding per pupil. In some communities children are bussed forty miles to their schools. The difference between the spending of suburban communities per student and urban communities per student is quite enormous. How can our society expect to survive when under-privileged urban children are not even being given the chance to compete on an equal footing with their suburban counterparts? Children should be allowed to be children. No child should ever bear the burden of adult concerns until they are ready. For the past thirty-five years, Jonathon Kozol has been an advocate for children. He points out the discrepancies that make our educational system so blatantly hypocritical. He is not the only advocate of the forgotten pupil, yet he has been among the most vocal and active.

I’ve read many of Kozol’s books, all of which are compelling; he is one of my heroes for his tireless efforts to change an unresponsive culture. You can read more at his website.

I recommend The Shame of the Nation: The Restoration of Apartheid Schooling in America, an updated critique of public education; it follows up on his original work, Savage Inequalities: Children in America’s Schools, in which he assessed schools he visited from 1988-1990.

Tightening Our Belts and Paying the Piper

Tonight we crunched numbers for last year’s income and expenditures. We hadn’t done that in a long time. When both of us worked and with Husband’s extra income from his little software business, there was enough money for basics and extras. But it’s a new reality we are facing, and it was sobering.

The places we are looking at run from $2,100 to $2,500 (and believe me, they run much much higher too). The 3-bedroom homes we find less than $2,100 are often in poor condition and in neighborhoods we don’t like. If we were looking for a 2-bedroom abode, we could find nice ones for $1,700-$1,900. But we hope to start a family and still have room for guests for visit. The latest house — which we really like as it has been immaculately maintained, is spacious (1,600 square feet), and in a lovely quiet neighborhood, is $2,300 per month, not including utilities. This would be a 40% increase in rent for us.

I am not working, and we don’t plan for me to work while we pursue fertility treatments, and assuming I successfully bear a child, I’ll be a stay at home mother. So we did some math to see if we could afford this. Yes, Husband works in high-tech. Even so, most people here live on two incomes and that’s how they afford it. We can no longer count on the income from his software business, as this may go away (it’s been decreasing steadily over time).

I don’t know what we’re going to do. We either need to reduce the size of place we’re looking for and accept this, or we need to drastically reduce our hobby, entertainment, gift expenses, or I need to work, or some permutation of these. We tend to be really generous with charity and presents to friends and loved ones. And of course I spend more than I should on yarn and craft supplies. It’s got to stop. Especially if we have a child; our research shows it costs about $27,000 a year to raise a child from birth to 18 and then pay for 4-year public college. Time to simplify, pare down.

It’s really frightening, though, to have the kind of income we do and still learn that it may not be enough to live on.

[cross-posted at Knit Together]

The George Carlin Dilemma

I’ve moved more often in my life than I would like: 20 times since the age of 20 (several moves in one year at different points). The last move — an entire house of stuff from Texas to California — was less painful than I thought it would be, because Husband’s company paid for people to pack our belongings, load an 18-wheeler, deliver and then unload everything. We ditched (gave away mostly) a lot of stuff before we left Texas , since we were moving to a smaller space. Even so, if I’d had to pack it all to go that distance, I wouldn’t have moved.

Now we are faced with this task again, once we find a place. No one is packing our stuff. So I need to answer the question of whether I want to pack and move stuff that I’ve accrued since moving here. For example, there is the small purple beaded box a teacher gave each academic coach when I worked for Extreme Learning in 2005; she got it in Mexico, and it was a token of her gratitude. I don’t remember her name, though. And then there’s the 12-inch long by 15-inch tall leather elephant one of the students gave me. I don’t recall his name either. I’ve got a handpainted Russian goblet made of wood that contained honey and was given to me by a coworker to cheer me up after my father-in-law died. I’ve got lots of little bottles and vases I purchased from Goodwill for pennies apiece that I used to put plant snippets in to root. There are two framed prints — both of which I purchased at Target and while pretty, are not pieces of art — hanging in one bathroom. And the question I have is: do I want them? I am not deeply attached to these items in an emotional sense. There are plenty of other knicknacks and pieces of original artwork lining my walls and bookshelves that I will keep. On the other hand, items that were gifts were given with good intention. And getting rid of things I bought (i.e., small glass vases) that I might someday want to use again is wasteful.

I’m also faced with a similar decision about some of my book collection. I kept most of my texts from graduate school. However, I no longer work in mental health. Do I really want or need to keep the text on psychopathology, conjoint family therapy, or statistics? My collection of art and knitting resource books is increasing, and there is simply no room to keep it all. Still, parting with these books feels definitive to me, as though I’m closing a door. And no, I don’t want to store them in boxes. We have enough stuff in boxes (childhood memorabilia, for example). I also don’t want to hang on to them and try to sell these or mooch through Bookmooch. The point is I have to move soon and I just want to lighten the burden as much as possible.

I have divested myself of many belongings in the past. When I moved to Texas, I selected 20 boxes worth of belongings to ship to my brother (including clothes), and sold off my furniture. I also sold my book collection (which was extensive) for a pittance to a book dealer. I kept only those books I cherished. I know other people in my life have not moved nearly as much, and they have been able to accumulate stuff over decades. They have some difficulty empathizing with my desire to streamline. Life hasn’t afforded me the luxury of rootedness, but I don’t mind so much. It’s good to clean out occasionally. Now if only my stuff would pack itself!

New Blog

My friend who is fighting breast cancer has decided to join the blogging adventure. She’s a woman of passion and has a big heart. I met her when I trained to be a grief counselor (she trained me). Then I learned she officiates weddings, baby blessings, house blessings, handfastings, and so on. She performed our marriage ceremony in 2005!

So please welcome my friend Eileen at her new blog, Souldancer. She could use some good cheer especially now, since she’s just begun chemotherapy.

As for me, I’m feeling a little under the weather lately. I may be fighting a bug. Hence, the absence of words here. We still haven’t found a home (looked at 14 places this weekend), and I need to start sorting stuff for the move and for donations to Goodwill.