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Book Review: Beloved Cookbooks

2012-01-18T09:19:00.000-08:00

When I think about food, I almost always think about cookbooks. Specifically, my dog-eared, falling-apart collection spanning two shelves in the living room.

I don't think it's possible to separate my love for cooking from my love for cookbooks. I don't even think it's worth trying.

I think it's worthwhile to spend some time looking at my beloved cookbooks and reflecting on why I love them. Maybe someone else will fall in love with them too.

Let's begin with my elderly, heavily notated Madhur Jaffrey's World of the East Vegetarian Cooking.

But first I have to go back to Elicia circa 1993, sophomore in college. I was dating a boy who did a great deal to help develop my palate. He introduced me to Indian cuisine and sushi, homemade baked goods, and the use of real, whole fat butter and milk. He also opened up a world of cookbooks and curiosity about food. His mother was a professional chef, and everyone in the family had what might generously be called an obsession with food. I was surprised to find that I fit in quite well.

World of the East Vegetarian Cooking fell into my hands, probably from his mother's bookshelf. On my first visit to the family home, we made paneer (really? Cheese? Who knew!) and the famous dish, mutter paneer (homemade cheese and peas in a delicious sauce). On subsequent visits, I would sit in her bedroom copying recipes on lined paper and leafing through each cookbook. Of course, I had no idea how to actually cook anything. That would take years to work out.

World of the East was organized by ingredient and course, with lots of suggestions for menu planning, serving, and of course, the stories and history of each dish.

On Aalan Ka Saag (Kahi with Spinach): "I have only had this exceedingly tasty and nutritious dish in my family. It is like a thick soup and is either eaten with Indian breads or with plain rice." Doesn't this make you want to find out what else her family eats? It does for me. I also love that the dishes are given in their native pronounciation. It was from Jaffrey that I learned what saag and masoor dal actually mean. (Spinach and red lentils, if you were wondering).

Most of the recipes give suggestions for reasonable substitutions, but also point out where there are no substitutions available. Many of the cooking techniques are not difficult or require anything special, but aren't dumbed down or require the use of a microwave. I can't even begin to name the number of dishes I have learned from this book, not to mention the history and relationships between the many cuisines she writes about. I should also add that the illustrations are delightful.

My copy is now literally falling apart. I have notes in the back, copied recipes for Spanish food, taken from my college boyfriend's mother's cookbooks. I also have terse notes about recipes. "Add more salt; don't over cook." "Two teaspoons tamarind paste=better." I should probably buy a new copy, as this one requires individual pages to be taken out if I actually want to use it, but I love it just the way it is.

At last...

2012-01-05T16:30:00.000-08:00

The Book is FINISHED!!! It's ordered, and on the way. Here's a preview of a few pages: (It looks particularly good if you hit the "fullscreen" button on the lower right hand corner.)

Lagos, Montañas, Bicicletas: Patagonia by Elicia Cárdenas & Andy McKerrow | Make Your Own Book

Now I just need to start the next one...

Adventures in Nevada

2011-12-23T09:48:00.000-08:00

Andy at Six Mile Canyon, between Virginia City and a whistle stop on I-50, Nevada

At the beginning of December, my last day off for about 14 days (not even close to my personal best), we decided to take advantage of having the same day off and go down to Nevada to do chores as well as to go on a road ride. It was beautiful, cold, glittering, clear. The canyon was gorgeous, long and deep and full of crazy mineral deposits, new pavement and virtually no traffic. Unfortunately, it was in the shadows for the ride back, entirely downhill, and I would call it the second coldest ride of my life. Whoo!

After errands and bike ride, we made the obligatory Trader Joe's run for groceries and called back to the bike shop for advice about a cheap place to eat. We struck gold. The Old Roadhouse (can't find a link...that should tell you something about this place) is off of I-50, a cavernous building full of steam rollers, dead animals, an entire fire truck, and a whole lot more besides. The menu is large and not cheap, but the portions seem to be plentiful. We lucked out- happy hour with incredibly cheap beer (101 beers on tap!!!) and appetizers for almost nothing. Having ordered almost everything on the menu, plus beer, our bill amounted to a whopping $17.00.

Pork sliders, BBQ brisket slider, atomic chicken slider, tostada, quesadilla,
and potato skins at the Roadhouse, Carson City, NV

Will Winter Never Come?

2011-12-17T19:53:00.000-08:00

It's mid-December. We have had one morning of light snow fall. It's cold-freezing even-but it's not winter. At least it doesn't feel like it.

Mid December is always a tough time for me. December 14 is the anniversary of a school shooting that happened nineteen years ago, my freshman year in college. The guy who I was covering for at the theatre-he was shot and killed, and one of the Spanish professors. Other friends- taken hostage, shot, maimed, watching their friends gasp out life. It changed my life, of course it did. It changed all of our lives. Every year it affects me differently. Sometimes I get sad. Other years, I get angry. This year, I just got emotional and completely overreacted to everything, screaming at the top of my lungs at 6:00 am until I realized how silly I was being, and settled for gasping sobs alone in the car. Then I noticed what day it was. I guess I can forgive myself.

I wish I had pictures, but the land is bare. There are patches of snow and ice, especially at the ski resort, but the snow is man-made and the ice is windblown. I managed to end up in a full-time job at the ski resort this year. Due to a merger with the neighboring hill, there has been a lot of unexpected work. It's not bad-don't get me wrong. For the first time in my experience in the ski industry, I feel like I'm respected and compensated fairly for my expertise. And what I'm doing feels comfortable to me- working with parents and kids, scheduling and training instructors, solving problems along the way. It's a far cry from barely bringing enough money home to pay the rent, and being so tired every night I collapse. So that's a plus.

Although there is no snow, my ski season is effectively over before it has begun. I taught a two hour clinic to new hires, then...my foot hurt so badly I've been icing it (or I ought to be) every night since then. My doctor, who I've been seeing for a worker's comp claim, said "No Skiing, under any circumstances" until I get in to see the orthopedist. Of course, with the merger, my claim was somehow closed, causing a month-long Kafka-esque series of emails, phone calls, and forlorn voicemail messages. I still have not been able to get in to the specialist, but I have hope.

Andy started a job as a manager at a bakery/cafe. Although he has never worked in food service, I am not surprised to learn that he is really enjoying himself. It seems like a good place to work, to be honest. The down side is that the only way I've seen him this entire week was by waking up at the crack of dawn (literally, we left at sunrise, and I returned at sunset) so that we could car pool into work, and thus spend about 30 minutes together between breakfast and the drive. It was nice.

I have been coming home exhausted and watching favorite movies (the new Star Trek, anyone? I've seen it three times and it keeps getting better!); snuggling with the cat, and going in the hot tub.

That's right. We managed to score a hot tub for the winter- a small, portable thing that fits on our back deck and supposedly is very energy efficient. At first, I was worried about the cost of renting it plus the energy to keep it warm, but now I just don't care. I love it. I love being outside under the clear black skies, watching Jupiter and Pleiades, seriously unwinding.

In the good news department, my dog bites are mostly healed and I passed another series of tests for my credential. Now, I can officially teach in California because I have my authorization for English Language Learners. It's an easier standard than Oregon requires, but it felt great to take the tests and know that I was amazingly well prepared...and I didn't study at all!

Bummer News

2011-12-05T09:56:00.001-08:00

So, I got my results from my Spanish Bilingual tests...I didn't pass. I also got bitten by a dog last week. Had to go to the urgent care clinic, and have been in so much pain it's been hard to sleep. Here is a lovely picture, taken one week after the dog bit me. The bruising is significantly better.

Not sure what to do now to cheer myself up. Feeling really, really bummed out, broke, and frustrated. I worked so hard, and I was so sure I passed the spanish part. I felt good, confident, in charge. I was pretty sure I didn't pass the multi-cultural test (because no one passes it the first time...except me, I guess), but I figured the spanish...didn't I work my ass off? Didn't I spend my savings to go to Mexico to learn how to read and write well enough? I guess enough wasn't enough. I can't take the test again until March or May, and I don't know how I'm going to prep for it if being in Mexico wasn't enough.

Depressed.

Honeymoon Pictures

2011-11-19T14:38:00.001-08:00

La Playa, San Augustinillo, Oaxaca, México

I know, right? If this doesn't say honeymoon awesomeness, I don't know what does.

Teeny, Tiny Elicia on horseback on the South Pacific Beach

Cabalgatas, crocodiles, and last days

2011-10-28T09:06:00.000-07:00

I am writing from a second story balcony overlooking the South Pacific. Coconut palms and thatch provide shade but even at 10:30 in the morning it is sweltering.

Our bags are packed and we are just enjoying the few
remaining hours before we take a taxi and a plane back to Mexico City. We have been taking taxis, an unheard of luxury in our lives, because we are determined to enjoy our vacation in some comfort.

I have been thinking a lot about the last vacation I took like this. (Note: it WAS NOT a honeymoon!) I went to Costa Rica for two weeks about 8 years ago. I don't think about it much, and I almost never talk about it. It was not a good trip, overall, but now, with reflection, I can see how much I learned from that trip and I think it is worth laying it out. Much of the success of this vacation is a result of all the mistakes I made before. Of course, the fact that I speak Spanish this time and have a much better idea about what to expect after out bike tour is hugely important for the overall fun factor and my traveling companion is top notch.

Some background: I went with Voldemort (an ex, naturally) to spend 10 days in Costa Rica, 1/2 on the Caribbean coast and the other half on the Pacific coast. The first part (which, incidentally I planned) was pretty great. The second half was miserable for so many reasons I can't begin to describe them. Maybe someday I will scan the comic I wrote about it. Suffice it to say that the worst part was not waking up with a four inch cockroach on my chest. (Though that was pretty bad.)

So, some things I have learned:
1) know the seasons, and if you are traveling during busy times, make reservations ahead of time.
2) if you are going to use public transportation, be prepared to be confused and uncomfortable, and don't complain. (Unless your language skills are totally amazing. Then just be uncomfortable.)
3) ask for help. The folks at the hotel or hostel want you to have fun and come back and send your friends. They can call taxis and help with planning. That's what I do in my tourist oriented job.
4) do your homework. Know how to get from the airport or bus station, and know where you are going, at least that first night.
5) this should go without saying, but pack light. Really light. One pair of pants light.
6) don't expect American levels of service.

Now for an altogether more pleasant topic: cabalgatas! (horseback rides)

We went to the ecotourist village co-op to take a boatride through mangrove swamps and visit a protected island with lots and lots of wildlife and crocodiles. (Don't worry, Mom, we were with a guide the whole time.) We saw lots of crocs, learned about exotic animal smuggling, and enjoyed ourselves immensely. Then we got on horseback.

We galloped in the south pacific surf past a downed drug plane (though the guide assured me that they really don't have a narco problem, this was just a plane crash) and past shells of dead turtles to a river outlet of fresh, cool water.

We watched a man fish by casting his net, and swam in the amazing outlet. The water was cool and not very deep, until we got near the shore where it turned into warm, almost hot.
It was amazing.

Galloping was hard at first. Although I rode a fair bit as a girl scout, that was a long, long time ago. But on the trip back, my body suddenly remembered where to put my weight and how to balance, and there we were, splashing through the waves and spurring the horses on.
Epic.

Oaxaca, La Costa, Pacific Breeze

2011-10-25T20:30:00.000-07:00

I have gone from Spanish student in big city to honeymooner on a remote south pacific beach in such little time it hardly seems possible, but here I am.

After my final day in class (and a fascinating ofrenda building experience for Día de Los Muertos- including getting to taste calabacita dulce, three kinds of tamales, tuna fruit, and posh, an indigenous liquor), I had one last adventure with the family and a final breakfast. Then off to Mexico City on the bus to meet Andy.

I was incredibly nervous. Seriously. I was so worried that somehow I would miss him or something terrible would happen. Actually, I got to the airport with about two hours to spare, put my big bag in long term storage, bought some candy (elote flavored sucker with chili) and sat near the international arrival gate. Of course, this is Mexico, and while there was a helpful sign letting me know that "passengers may be arriving at Gates E2 or E3", there was no information about which gate it would actually be. I decided to choose the one with the biggest crowd.

My heart almost exploded when I saw him come through customs, and although I tried to keep my promise not to cry, I was unsuccessful. A month is a very, very long time.
But there he was, laughing and overwhelmed. And that was just the airport.

We got on the metro (I had charted and written out our directions in a fit of extreme overachievement) and disembarked in Coyoacán, a neighborhood that I had really enjoyed on a previous visit. Tiny problem with the hostel notwithstanding, we were quickly installed and on our way to the central square for elotes and dinner and an hour's wait for the best chocolate and churros ever.
7:00 am on Sunday found us eating toast, fruit, and jello for breakfast before getting a taxi to the bus station. 6 hours to Oaxaca, and we arrived hungry and weary.

Oaxaca was lovely, and I wish we had more time there. That's really been the theme of this trip: more time.

Although we really liked it, we were both anxious to get to the coast (no small task) and the least pleasant option was the one that gave us an extra day in the city. (Overnight bus, arriving super early in the morning with no option of early hotel check in, strong memories of a similar bus journey in Argentina and the three days of exhaustion that followed- only this time we only have three days.).
Instead, we booked it to the tiny bus station (the hostel helpfully making the reservation for us-fantastic service!) and boarded a 15 passenger van with 15 other people for a crazy, intense, incredibly steep and mountainous bus ride that lasted a good 7+ hours. We could not eat or drink too much, but had to find the balance between just enough food to not get terribly carsick, and just enough water to not be miserable. We did it, mostly. I was in the very last seat at the back, squeezed in, and only felt horribly claustrophobic for the last twenty minutes or so. We were approached by a cabbie as soon as we got out of the van and although we were starving, we decided to hop in for the remaining distance (about 1/2 an hour more). It was the best cab ride ever.

In San Augustinillo, we found a tiny town empty of most tourists, and a great price on a gorgeous cabaña, overlooking the beach. It is spacious and clean, thatched and elegant. There is a huge balcony and a bathroom almost as big, with copious hot water and a foot bath at the base of our own stone stairs. Also, two kitties to love and a baby racoon to marvel at and occasionally cuddle.
You read that right- a baby raccoon. She is small and totally devoted to her person (caretaker/hotelier) and his young daughter. She follows him everywhere and puts up with all sorts of indignities perpetrated by the two year old. Having never met a domesticated raccoon before, I am fascinated. Her fur is bristly and coarse, and her feet and paws are so fine and articulated they are almost human. She is shy but curious, and likes to play in the sand. She is called Violeta. (UPDATE: I do not in any way condone owning wild animals as pets. It is a BAD idea.)

I am incredibly glad to find that Andy feels much the same about México as I do. I didn't realize it before, but those months in South America make most of what's happening make sense here. That, and the fact that I can understand most of what is being said. The folks here talk fast and with indigenous inflections so it is even harder to follow, but I am feeling pretty good about my overall ability to cope with this country. I hope the next few days are as smooth and mellow.

Final Days, Tacos al Pastor, and PUPPIES

2011-10-19T18:19:00.000-07:00

I am down to my last few days here in Cuernavaca. Two, and counting, in fact. Wow. Time flies when you are cramming your head full of new everything.

I said goodbye to my English classes today, and swapped emails With a couple of the teachers. All the kids hugged me and it was surprisingly emotional.

Tomorrow, I have a final, of sorts. I'm trying to look at it as a way to prove what I've learned, but truth be told, I am pretty nervous.

I have been studying hard, but I got to a point tonight where I couldn't possibly learn any more. No way, not a chance. I had kind of a freak out, to be honest. I also didn't finish my homework, but I know I can make time for that in the morning. Instead, I went for a walk to try and clear my head.
I realized I was pretty hungry (it kind of sucks that I am paying for room and board, but there is not access to food any other time other than official meal times, so the only thing I really spend money on is food that I can stash in my backpack. Oh well.) but I couldn't decide between tacos and an Horchata or a snickers and a can of Jack Daniels and club soda ($2.00, chilled, and very satisfying).
Since I couldn't make up my mind, I went with the easiest solution: both. First, I went to the supermarket for candy and booze, downed half the candy bar in one bite, and went to the taco joint. (I think I was *really* hungry.)

Now, this taco joint is worth writing odes about, at least in my book. For one thing, no one at the school has ever gotten sick from eating there. The tacos are cheap and overflowing with meaty goodness. The place is huge, so while it's not generally packed, there are always people there.
Al pastor means a hunk of meat seasoned and skewered on a sort of vertical rotisserie, with a huge flame whooshing out of one side, and a young man shaving red marbled pieces of flesh onto waiting tortillas. There is also a pineapple on the top, lightly grilling, and every taco has a slice. On the table there are limes, pico de gallo, red salsa, green spicy-as-anything salsa, and this strange yellow salsa that has the color of mustard and a completely unidentifiable flavor. I wish I knew what it was. Every time I'm there I try not to be rude, but I stare at every one else's food, wondering.

A traditional drink is called Horchata, made of sugar, rice, cinnamon, and water. It's the next best thing to beer for spicy tacos, and La Gringa makes the best I've ever had.

My mood was rapidly improving.

I paid my bill (about $2.50) and started walking home. On the way, I had noticed a sign advertising chiuaua puppies, and had entertained myself with the possibility of incredible cuteness. But even I could not imagine the devastating level of adorable when presented with actual puppies, 2 months old.
I nearly burst into tears when one that was shaking in my hand (tiny, the runt, so delicate) relaxed and started licking me. It's a good thing that I am aware that my husband would probably leave me if I brought one home, because it was touch and go there for a moment. (Logistics aside...)

So now I'm giving myself an English break, sipping my jack-and-water, and trying not to think too much about the subjunctive irregular verbs or the puppy I can't have.

Taxco

2011-10-15T16:18:00.000-07:00

I am here...and overwhelmed. The map doesn't seem to have much to do with reality, and the cheap hotel is, well, cheap and has no wifi, but I made it!

This morning was rough. I had my itouch out to send Andy a text, and thought input it in my pocket. When I got to the bus station, I had missed the 10:00 bus because the damn local bus suddenly went a different route and I had to walk several blocks. Then I went to check my bag (because I had an hour to kill) and discovered my toy was missing. I ran out of the bus station and jumped back on the ruta (local bus) and prayed that it hadn't fallen out of my pack when I put on my sunglasses. At my stop, I ran the block to the house, fumbled with the keys, freaking out. There it was, on the bed. I ran out again, planning on just hailing a taxi, but the inversion law was in effect: although 4 or 5 taxis a day stop and ask if I want a taxi, the one time I really do want one, they won't stop. A ruta came by, but this one decided to miss a few stops, and again I found myself walking. Luckily, it was still before 10:30 and the busses here don't start loading until about 5 minutes before.

In that way that traveling can be exhausting, this has been. There was no terminal with information about which bus I was actually supposed to get on. Luckily, my Spanish is truly good enough for that (but not the announcements over the loudspeaker-I have been told by native born mexicana that they can't understand them either.)

Then we got to Taxco Although I stopped at the tourist information desk for a map and directions, I still managed to get spectacularly lost.

Eventually, as much by chance as dead reckoning, I found the hotel. This is a tourist town, and I've heard more English on the streets today than in the previous three weeks. I am not the only blonde.

Every shop sells silver jewelry of varying qualities, or flowy Mexican dresses, or both.

One of the things I realized about living in Cuernavaca is that I'm not living like a tourist there. I have not been to a single restaurant, only the awesome taco joint and the coffee shop. I have no ideal what menus are like, or food, for that matter.

Needless to say, lunch was interesting. I ordered a cubano torta, which turned out to be a sandwich that was almost but not quite scary meat plate. I also ordered My First Beer out. But you know me, I couldn't just order a beer. No. I ordered a Mango Chamoy, not having any idea what I was getting but trusting that Beer Is Good, and I know that things that include "Chamoy" are spicy, sour, salty, sweet.

I think the mango Chamoy had mango juice, salt, Chamoy, and possibly tomato juice, about half a pint glass worth, with a cold corona on the side.

I did good.

Now, I am sitting in a Stumptown-like cafe on the central square (all angles and coffee pride and fashionably minimalist glasses), drinking an amazing cup of coffee and contemplating my prospects for dinner.

-Elicia

Land of inversions

2011-10-14T19:00:00.000-07:00

Mexico.

Where I am afraid of the police.
Where I am told not to be out at a bar by myself, certainly not at night
Where everyone calls me Elli (emphasis on the final syllable. Ironic, isn't it?)
Where teachers believe so deeply in their rights they are killed in the night by government forces when they strike
Where you can't find a bra bigger than a B cup
Where thy call me Guera (white and blond girl)- pronounced "wera"
Where vendors of cooked pig products proudly display the face of your dinner on a special stretcher-shape, presumably so you know it's really pig.
Where I bravely ate a meal that consisted almost entirely of little dried fish, with their tiny eyes staring up at me until I just couldn't deal with it (or the flavor) any more (and really couldn't cope when they reappeared as dinner the next day!)
Where I don't get to cook even though the vegetables are like a fresh market dream, vibrant greens and reds and young men on the street selling mamey (I want to taste!)
Where they have a very weird relationship with clowns- one I can't even begin to fathom
Where they do allow candy in the classroom but do not have any books for reading (other than basal readers which DO NOT count)
Where there are mariachis in the square and I ache because I never heard my grandfather play, not once, but I can see him in my mind, elegant in his tailored jacket with fine stitching down the sides
Where they serve birthday with jello and everyone lives within a few blocks of their family
Where I am apparently not supposed to eat anything ever (advice which I selectively ignore-I've had a food born illness at 14,000 feet and it was a nightmare, but the entire country of Mexico is not out to make me sick)
Where elderly couples take over part of the central plaza every now and again, to dance
Where it is always noisy. Always. (right now: screaming kid, traffic, several dogs, crickets, occasional honking and car alarms)
Where it is rude to put your money (or notebook or homework) down in a certain way but it is normal to walk to the other side of the table and get what you need
Where I wish I had more time

For all it's quirks I really love it here.

Elote ice cream with chile

2011-10-09T18:07:00.000-07:00

Seriously. If you don't know what an elote is, don't fret. I spend a lot of my time not knowing what things are. Also time is spent trying to figure out what is happening, and what will happen next. It's ok though. I'm having a great time and I am learning an incredible amount of Spanish and Mexican culture. Some of the cultural stuff is easy. Some of the language is not.

Some highlights so far:
-mango ice cream covered in chili
-elote ice cream (think corn pudding flavor) with chili
- coconut ice cream with chili
-tamarind candy with spicy chili filling
-mango suckers with layers of chili

Hmm... There is quite a theme here. Normally, I don't eat many sweets, especially not candy and ice cream. Then again, normally sweets don't come with a spicy sour salty topping or filling, either.**

Other, non-chili related highlights:
-tacos al pastor with 4 kinds of salsa (that one is borderline)
-teaching the lady of the house that I am living in how to make Indian food (raita, dal, chutney, etc.)
-not having any time to write because I am writing in Spanish all the time.
-wandering around the market, declining to try chilied crickets (I guess I do draw the line somewhere), and tasting spices
-seeing archeological ruins from 700 bc
-getting a job offer to teach in a school here (in English) on my THIRD day here. (two f@/$:; years I've been looking for a teAching job and I literally walk right into one. Stay tuned.)
-furiously scribbling down recipes in Spanish as Rocio is cooking
-renting bikes in the nature reserve in the middle of Mexico City
-navigating the busses and the huge mercado so well that I took Rocio on a little tour.

I like it here. I am incredibly impressed with the quality of instruction at the school I am attending. I know what good teaching looks like, and I am on the receiving end this time, and it's great. My classes are fun and interesting and incredibly challenging. I always leave feeling really good about myself.

That's about it. Wish I had pictures to post but I don't actual own a camera. Hopefully I will get to write more later.

Apologies for spelling and grammar errors today. I am composing on an itouch screen and it is tiny.

**This is funny, right? Especially to my old friends that remember my first weblog called Chiligirl. Well, I think it is hilarious.

...Down in Mexico

2011-09-21T11:21:00.000-07:00

Soon, very soon, I will be hopping on a plane and flying to Cuernavaca, Mexico, for four weeks. Then Andy will be joining me, and we will be spending one week enjoying our much-delayed honeymoon. (Luna de miel if you were wondering.)

That's right. I'm going to Mexico. I'm finally making good of my frequently repeated statement "I just need a month of focused study in Mexico and I'll be able to pass the bilingual teacher's exam." So. A month of focused study, with the goal of passing the state teacher's exam in Spanish. Living with a family. Volunteering. Exploring on my own.

Needless to say, I'm beset by all kinds of stressors. Leaving my beautiful husband for a month seems really scary. All the practical stuff: money, packing, etc. The fear of failure. The financial strain of not working for five weeks. Not having Simon to cuddle with. Being totally out of my comfort zone trying to listen and learn everything I can. Studying.

Of course, there is excitement too. I've always, always wanted to live in Mexico, and as soon as I got the idea, got the recommendation for a school, I couldn't let it go. When Andy said he was totally in support of the whole plan, I bought my ticket and registered for classes.

And now, I'm packing (bed strewn with clothes, and lists, and school supplies) and trying to stay calm.

So if I'm quiet for a while, that's why. OK?

World, meet Simon.

2011-09-12T20:40:00.000-07:00

Simon, (if you could read), meet the world.

This, of course, is the newest addition to our household. He came from an incredible no-kill shelter over in Nevada, and although (like us) he's quirky and has some unusual habits, he is settling in just fine.

Some interesting facts about Simon:

He was in the shelter for three years, after being transferred up from Washoe County (Reno) where he was taken in as a stray.
He eats like every meal will be his last.
He tries to bury his remaining food.
Although he gets terribly hungry in the mornings, he will sleep on our bed quietly right up until you open your eyes and sit up. Then he will start with a silent meow, rapidly followed up by a not-so-silent meow. Shortly thereafter, he will completely freak out until you feed him.
The adjustment period-him to us and our house, us to him in the house-was almost nil.
He is not yet a lap cat, and I don't know if he will ever be one. However, if I'm sitting in the big chair, he seems to need to be sitting on the chair side of the sofa, with his paws draped over the edge.
Of course, he's completely beautiful and the second most perfect cat ever.

I am really happy that he is in our home, and life seems infinitely better.

Worth Watching

2011-08-14T16:51:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite web log writers (who also wrote one of my favorite cookbook memoirs) wrote about writing in her most recent post. Writing has been on my mind lately, for obvious reasons.

In that post, she directs the reader to this TED talk. Now, if you have been dismayed by Elizabeth Gilbert and Eat Pray Love, or perhaps it's the Julia Robert connection that worries you, think again. Ms. Gilbert wrote a great book, and is wonderfully humbled and surprised by what she calls her "freakish success." I have quotes from EPL in my journal. I think about that book frequently, even the bits that I didn't so much care for (spiritual seeking is not really my cup of tea, as it were). And yeah, she's a little kooky, but stick with it. And Olé.

For those of you not familiar with TED talks, well, all I can say is you better carve out some time and put on your thinking cap, because there's some seriously good ideas presented, by seriously good thinkers. Every TED talk that I've watched has made me think deeper, question myself and my assumptions, and taught me things I did not know.

Pretty good for the magical internets, right?

In the meantime, I'm going to continue to nurse my migraine and not work on the book.

I haven't actually fallen off the face of the earth...

2011-08-12T21:04:00.000-07:00

I'm just pouring all my creative energy into writing a book.

Seriously. I'm not joking. It's actually two books. I'm about 90% finished with the first one. Home stretch, in fact!

What, you ask, is the book about? It's about our bike tour in South America. Using the thousands and thousands of photos Andy took and the journals we kept, I've been slowly piecing together the story. It's been slow going- first, figuring out how to use the software, then figuring out what the story actually is to tell, then deciding how best to tell it. Don't get me started on the lay-out and design of the whole thing either, because not only is that time-consuming, it's also really important to me.

So, that's what I've been doing in my copious days off. I've also been doing some riding.
- Sonora pass, top 2000 feet, and the bottom 2000 feet; I got turned back by extreme smokey conditions on my 2nd trip there
-June Lakes loop for my birthday! Plus, a lift ride to the top of the resort! Plus hot springs!
-Buckeye creek trail on my 'cross bike
-Ebbet's pass last week with the guys from the bike shop
-Tahoe Meadows to Tunnel Creek (had to cut out early because of extreme foot pain) with Andy
-Blue Lakes road before it was opened to cars!

No more making fun of Matt Damon

2011-08-02T12:26:00.000-07:00

Here is a wonderful interview with Matt Damon on teaching.

Seriously.

Camping Food

2011-06-17T20:24:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, I spent about four hours in the kitchen getting ready for camping. I believe that one should eat very, very well when one is camping. Often, that means a bunch of preparation before leaving, and that's ok. I should note that we are car camping since I really can't be hiking yet. Not until September, says the orthopedic surgeon, and he should know, right?

Here is what I worked on:
Dinners:
Spicy Moroccan Cous cous- with sun dried tomatoes, kalamata olives, dried apricots, and fresh veggies; with a can of chicken
Tastee Bites and rice- because we can't go camping without tastee bites.

Lunches:
Instant hummus, apples, and bagels
Vegetable cream cheese (from this amazingly good-for Moosewood-cookbook) and bagels

Snacks:
Homemade trail mix- dried fruit, nuts, and chex mix
Granola balls
fruit

Breakfast:
Oatmeal
Coffee
Tea

I also heated up the grill pan and made japanese food, Tofu Dengaku, a sort of miso-based sauce to paint on pressed and grilled tofu and vegetables. It was delicious, even if I learned today that I don't really like brown rice miso. I was particularly happy with how I served it: on a big pretty tray, asparagus, tofu, zucchini, red pepper, scallions, and broccoli all mixed in, then sauce on the side, and brown rice, and then tiny bowls of lemon zest, roasted sesame seeds, and hot chili sambal. It was very filling and satisfying.

Tofu, roasted vegetables, with dengaku sauce

Early Birthday Dinner and other fun

2011-06-17T20:08:00.000-07:00

In a very few days, I will be thirty five.

Hmm.
What do I think about that?
Well, I think that it's a great excuse to go have a fancy dinner at a restaurant I've been dying to go to since we moved here. It's a good excuse to take some time off and go camping too, but that will have to wait until early next week.

So-dinner. We had to go a few days before my birthday because of work schedules and the fact that there was actually a coupon (Gawk-it might be a sign of being grown up when you clip coupons for restaurants...or, perhaps just a sign of being poor) for the desired restaurant, but it wasn't good for my actual birthday. Whatever. The most important thing was that I didn't have to go into work the next morning.

I went to physical therapy, with my dress and a change of clothes for Andy in the car. Then, off to the bike shop. See, the restaurant in question is next door to the shop, and around 4:00 every day we start smelling the food. On weekends we hear the patrons on the other side of the shared fence eating their fancy brunch. I've been really wanting to eat there.

At the shop, I changed and got made up. I wore my super awesome wedding sandals (because it's really nice to have one pair of dressy shoes that I can walk in) and the beautiful dress I embroidered for Kel's wedding. It's one of those convertible dresses that can be worn a million ways, and I found a rather classy way to tie the neck line that was all cleavage, but somehow very demure. Neat.

I also brought some bottles of wine, in case their wine list was out of our price range. (It was.) I figured paying the corkage fee was probably cheaper. I went through our wine shelf, and grabbed what I thought was a bottle from a wedding well-wisher.

Inside, we got a glimpse of how the extremely wealthy other half lives. Very well, it seems. The whole world of high-end dining is so mysterious to me. Mysterious, and pretty ridiculous, and yet something that I really want to be a part of. The view was decent, the tables very close together, and the service impeccable. Other patrons seemed to be wealthy Tahoe types, corpulent men and face lifted women. There was one entire family, with children. I can't even begin to think about how much that meal must have cost. Possibly, it could have paid our rent, or at least a good bit of it.

We started with a cocktail for me (tequila based) and then our lovely waitress opened the wine. About the time she was opening it, I was realizing that it might actually be one of the 5.00 bottles I like to have around the house. Oh shit. Oh well. It was a really crummy bottle of wine, fine for drinking with a spicy curry, but totally crummy with our high end food. Oh well.

For appetizers, we ordered the teaser plate, which had small tastes of about five different things- asian beets, edamame, olives, smoked trout, and the most incredible scallop with some kind of kelp salad. For mains, Andy got the lamb tagine and I went with the king salmon. I've been craving salmon. It was fantastic. Fantastic, but not as good as our anniversary dinner. Nothing really popped, exploded, or bowled me over, except for the scallop. Don't get me wrong-it was a good dinner. Just not a mind blowingly good dinner.

Dessert included a candle and a candy "happy birthday" message, with chocolate mousse and a delicious Bailey's and Kaluah and Coffee and Booze drink. The best part about both was that they were topped by a a sort of sweet, salty, vaguely spicy ball of very solid whipped cream. That, on top of the chocolate, was pretty mind blowing.

It was a pretty great night, all in all, and I'm very glad that I didn't have to go to work this morning!

Finally, the sun

2011-06-10T20:08:00.000-07:00

View from where I eat lunch, Tahoe City

Andy went swimming today.
I got a sunburn last week.
It's time to get out the summer clothes!

Good News, Everyone!*

2011-06-02T17:43:00.000-07:00

*Full credit to Dr. Farnsworth, naturally.

Our landlord is letting us go month to month until the end of the summer. No fear of having to move suddenly. I'm relieved. Although this house isn't perfect, it's home, and I love it. And one of the imperfections has been resolved.
Our landlord said that with a deposit, we could GET A KITTY CAT!!!! Stay tuned.
I am now officially a California resident. (After 2 hours at the DMV. And that was with an appointment.)
It stopped snowing. Briefly. At least for now. In fact, the sky is blue and there are no more flakes coming down from the sky. Since it's June, I'm pretty pleased.

Best minute

2011-05-26T17:15:00.000-07:00

This might be the best minute of your day. It was certainly the absolute highlight of mine. Call me cheezy poofs- I am a sucker for cuteness, and I desperately miss kitties.

And So Things Go...Better with Good Drinks

2011-05-25T14:46:00.000-07:00

Lately we've been on an Old Fashioned kick at the homestead.

I think it started when we were both feeling a little homesick, a little melancholy, for Portland. For me, it's the social stuff- being able to go down the street to Bar and meet a friend for drinks, to look up at the bewilderingly delicious menu, and maybe order a whiskey drink, or something with gin, and perhaps a plate of olives or a panini, and then suddenly realize the evening is over, and though I'm a little more broke, I feel pretty good about the world. I also really miss Friday night dinners at County Cork, with their fried chicken and mashers and a pint or two of my very favorite beer in the universe.

There are, of course, scads of things I don't miss about Portland, and a million and one reasons why I'm much happier here. But still, I think it's good to acknowledge when I do miss one of the good things. Also, I'm not a drunk, just like most other Portlanders- I like to do my socializing either around the dinner table or a good bar. Preferably, both.

To that end, using a few simple ingredients (and one quick trip to Safeway...love the liquor laws here in California!), we made our own Old Fashioned drinks, and have been enjoying the long evenings just a little bit more.

Since neither one of us can really do much without incurring pain, this is a bonus. Andy's arm is healing but hurting; working at a bike shop isn't easy. For my foot/toe issue, well, I've been put on strict restrictions of what I should and shouldn't be doing. In the "shouldn't" category is the following: skiing, mountain biking, running, jogging, hiking, walking, standing up for long periods of time, and climbing on a road bike. Leaving me with what...oh right. I rode my Vanilla down the Truckee River path yesterday, which was great, but it hurt. I've also been put on a motherlode of anti-inflammatory steroids which have made me loopy. Add the pain and frustration to the loopiness, and then shovel in a huge white-out snow storm, and I'm feeling pretty funky.

Another completely huge snow storm, end of May

I did get all enthusiastic and cut my hair this morning, before the snow started. It was getting long enough that it was a pain to put under my various helmets and hats.

I haven't cut my hair since before our wedding, and I felt a little nervous and out of practice, but I think it came out OK.

Here is our recipe for an Old Fashioned: (Adapted from here)

Old Fashioned

Makes 1

1 TBS simple syrup*

2 oz rye or bourbon (at the moment we are using Jack Daniels)

2 ice cubes

Shake or two of bitters

marachino cherry

Slice of orange peel

Stir the simple syrup, bitters, and ice in a cup. Add the orange peel and try to get the oils into the liquid. Add the bourbon and mix again. Finish with a cherry.

*Simple Syrup

2 parts sugar

1 part water

Dissolve over low heat until slightly thick. Cool and store in the fridge for about a week.

How Time Flies and Snow Falls

2011-05-18T17:51:00.000-07:00

It's snowed off and on for days.

My snow bike, starting to get dusted with snow. Again.

The weird part is that it's really not March any more. The snow barely sticks, but it's been cold and wet. Cold and wet enough that the Tour of California got moved from here.

We (me personally, as well as the bike shop) were really pretty excited about the Tour coming just past our shop, and we worked really hard to get everything ready for the potential hordes of customers that would pour in...

Señor Bill and his son block the entrance to the bike shop with all the new bikes

The decision was made to cancel the stage entirely due to the foot of snow that fell. Bummer.

Hail begins to pile up next to a child's bike. My hands are beginning to become numb.

I can't believe how fast time has flown. I am equally unbelieving of how significantly better my life is without the preschool, with a minor exception. (I wish I didn't stress about money, or lack thereof so much, but I also am sick of working 6 days a week, so I'm putting my foot down and trying only to work 5 days a week from now on. Money be damned.)

I got really sick about a week ago, and I still tried to work a few days. That didn't go so well, I'm afraid, but I got into the car to this little fellow, put there for me to go back to bed and snuggle with.

I decided to call him Sloth, since that was how I was feeling after a week of being too sick to get up.

Speaking of getting sick and hurt, Andy broke his humoral (sp?) tuberosity, and tore some bits of his rotator cuff last week while skiing. He's been in a sling, and won't be able to work as a mechanic for a few weeks, possibly all summer. Luckily, he can still work up front in rentals and sales, and although he is in some pain, his spirits are good.

In the good news department, we took a trip to Reno for our first mountain bike ride of the year (before the broken arm), and stocked up at the local asian grocery store as well as at good 'ole Trader Joes. Basically, we have ingredients again: curry pastes, dried shitakes, chilies, fermented bean curd, and all sorts of culinary potential sitting in the cupboard. We also invested in a new type of box wine, which was so amazingly good I drank 3 glasses last night before I realized I was getting a little tipsy. It was so nice to have two (TWO!!!) days off in a row. Tomorrow, I plan on doing some chores.

Mini-Break!!!

2011-04-29T16:18:00.000-07:00

Andy and I finally got some days off. Together. We took a short drive (less, much less, than an hour) north along Highway 89 to Sierraville, and the Sierra Hot Springs. It was pretty magnificent, all in all.

Some highlights: going to Loyalton to have breakfast at Vicki's Blue Moon Bakery. We spent less than $20.00, drank surprisingly good coffee, and ate three entrees, including an entry into the Best Biscuits and Gravy of My Life contest, possibly scoring in at least the top three.

The stars. It was like they put out extras for us. There were frogs croaking too, almost incessantly. It was music.

Chili verde at the one restaurant in Sierraville They were really good. And pitchers of margaritas too. Yes. Pitchers.

Hot water, no clothes=good relaxation

Spending time with my dear, dear husband who I like so very much.

Driving, having adventures, seeing Sierra City (cute) and the Sierra Buttes (gigantic, stunning, and surprising), and in general enjoying myself a great deal.

The Hot Springs

The hot springs were not quite what I was expecting. Not in a bad way, exactly, but not quite my head-picture, if you know what I mean. Having spend some wonderful times at Breitenbush Hot Springs* in Oregon, and seeing the website of Sierra Hot Springs, I assumed they were cut from the same cloth, at least roughly.

And they are. But it's a rough cut. There was lots of whoo-whoo, admonitions to listen quietly to the seven spirits, silence in the "Temple Dome", and even a sign about practicing water levitation. (Seriously. Also a re-birthing class and seminar.) Breitenbush has that too. But the experience in the pools was vastly different.

There were only 2 hot tubs. One, a small-ish hotel sized swimming pool, was the warm pool. Then there was a large hot pool inside the aforementioned Temple Dome. The hot pool also had two cold plunge baths next to it.

They were nice. I mean, I really like hot water, so I'm pretty much sold. However, the warm pool looked sort of like a hotel deck, only with naked people in it (and naked people on those cheap plastic molded lawn chairs, getting sunburnt) , and the hot pool didn't even have places for people to sit in it, except the steps. There was terrible "art" in the form of stained glass and then some equally terrible benches and statuettes from Home Depot. The other open pools were small-ish private tubs that took 30 minutes to fill and were barely lukewarm when filled.

(I understand that there is a more natural pool that is closed for the winter; perhaps this would be more of what I was expecting.)

So, not quite the blissful, one with nature in the hot springs, relaxed sort of place that I was expecting. The Californians there seemed pretty unfriendly, uptight even. Andy pronounced himself the friendliest person there, and I'm sure he was correct.

And then there's the lodging. I certainly wouldn't suggest my parents stay there. The room was tiny, with just enough room for a regular double bed, a small closet, and a dresser. No chairs, and only one bedside table. Naturally, no alarm clock. (Probably that would've disturbed the vibrations or something.) There were probably beds for 20-30 people in the whole building, but get this- only two bathrooms. Two. Shared. I kept having to put the toilet seat down. Not exactly luxury.

Now, this tiny room would normally be $88.00/night for two people. Seemed a bit...yeah. I was stoked for the two-for-one night special. (The room cost does include 24 hour access to the pools, to be fair. Also, there is a lovely, if unfriendly, shared kitchen available. And you can cook bacon in it.)

Finally, the last thing I want to say about the whole hot springs experience is about the grounds. Yes, it's winter, and yes, things are just getting rolling. I get that. But the grounds included ramshackle shacks, trailers (think permanent RVs), piles of dirt, virtually no landscaping, and weird private residences that you had to pass (complete with barking, growling dog) to get to one of the facilities. And tarps. It looked more like rural Nevada than a hippie naked hot springs retreat.

So, in sum, I'm incredibly glad that we went and I had an incredible, relaxing time soaking and having adventures with my husband. I won't ever suggest that someone who wants a Breitenbush experience go to Sierra Hot Springs. I will probably go back, but with more realistic expectations.

*Breitenbush, for all it's whoo-whoo, is truly a special, beautiful place. I've spent sunrises in the high pool watching deer feed around me, snow falling softly onto my head and a river running just below. I've met some wonderful people there, and I value the aesthetic experiences (and the relaxation, deep breathing, and peace) that I've encountered. I also really like the hot pools, purpose built but with lots of nooks to settle in, different temperatures and places to lounge, almost indistinguishable from natural hot springs, but more tidy.

News of all sorts:

2011-04-20T11:25:00.000-07:00

1) I tripped when cleaning up the beginner area at the ski slope; burst a bursa in my toe joint and can not put on ski boots for 14 days. Not cool.

2) It rained. It will rain more. It turns out there is ground under all that snow! However, not being able to put on my ski boot seems less tragic in light of all the rain.

3) Even if I can't put on my ski boot, I am still working. It's low paying, but it is money, and since I like the people I work with, I really don't mind.

4) I have been surprising myself by having a blast working as an aide in a special education classroom in a middle school. So much so that I'm looking into an endorsement in special education at this point.

5) I have been working six or more days a week for well over a month now. Luckily, we are taking a three day vacation next week, at a hot springs that is running an insanely good mid-winter special (two nights at the hotel for the price of one). This means that we can afford a little much-needed luxury and time together.

6) Bike. Bike. I am so incredibly ready to bike. The road riding seems tolerable (when it isn't actively snowing or raining) but there won't be mountain biking for a while yet. However, I can't put my foot in a bike show right now either. Pedaling (or even pushing down on a gas pedal) hurts considerably.

7) Pot-lucks and girlfriends: items I need to put more time into. Since ski school is closing very soon, I realize that I am not going to see many of my work friends. Already, many people that I really enjoyed getting to know have left. With my dear friend Jo having moved to Australia, that leaves me a bit high and dry when it comes to girlfriends. I need to do something about that.

By the numbers

2011-04-07T10:12:00.000-07:00

Total days working with out a day off: 14

Days I've been able to arrive after 12:00 pm: 3

Days coaching 3 year olds in the beginner area: 1

Days coaching advanced kids: 6

Times advanced kids didn't follow directions and sped off into scary off-piste territory: 1

Days working with non-ambulatory special ed kids: 1

# of requests to continue working with special ed kids: 3

Number of hours cursing bad lesson plans: 6

Days subbing: 3

Days at bike shop: 1

Explanations given about "Andy not being at the bike shop": 25+

New games learned while teaching PE: 3 (Geronimo, capture the flag, underdog)

New games successfully taught to 3rd graders: 1 (link tag)

Number of request private ski lessons: 2 (3 hours each, $18.00/hour)

Largest tip received from one family: (updated) $80.00

Total tips (approximately) received this season: $360.00

221 Hours

2011-03-26T17:36:00.000-07:00

(That's about nine days.)

That's how long it's been snowing. Sure, there have been some breaks. Some small breaks. Half the parking lot at the local grocery store is now being used for snow storage. Andy jumped off our deck into the snow. And, funny enough, it's STILL SNOWING.

I don't mind it, not terribly. I do, however, mind all the snow days and closures of Alpine that have left me with almost no work for the past week and a half. Every day I was supposed to substitute, schools have been closed. The mountain closed at 1:30 today, so there went the afternoon.

Hmmm. I'm not complaining about the snow. Just the $. Or the $ that I was counting on that I now won't make. Oh well.

72 Hours

2011-03-21T15:20:00.000-07:00

Snow piled above our deck

It has been snowing for 72 hours. The snow came in heavy on Friday afternoon; we watched (and tried to beat) the lifts closing, one by one. Eventually the whole mountain closed. Saturday was like this. Sunday, I got a call at 6:30am saying that whole mountain was closed. The school district called a snow day on Monday.

What will happen next?

Tiny car...huge snow bank

The Scariest Drive...or another hundred inches

2011-03-19T12:20:00.000-07:00

This morning, Andy and I left the house at 7 am.

It was snowing. It has been snowing since yesterday, when they closed down all the lifts.

The roads weren't great. They weren't terrible, but they weren't great.

Andy dropped me off at the bus stop to pick up the shuttle.

I fell in the parking lot. Ouch!

The shuttle, about 1/4 full, pulled out.

Almost immediately, we hit absolute white-out conditions on Highway 89.

It looked like this:

That's the driver's back and seat. See what's missing? Yep- anything out the window. There was a safety bar behind and next to the driver. That's my hand, clutching it.

The bus grew silent. The music went off. My knuckles whitened. I became aware of everyone else's slightly labored breathing. The radio crackled.

Then this:

See the two tiny dots just above the driver's head? Those are headlights on the correct side of the road. Small sigh of collective relief. Every few minutes, two small, washed out dots would appear and we would know we were on the right side of the road.

Time passed slowly, my hands and shoulders getting knotted up from tension.

We turned into the access road to the hill. There were two jackass-ettes stopped completely in the middle of the road. They said that the road was closed. We were confused, and the driver radioed to the top- nope, not closed yet. Someone (maybe me?) made a joke about us hurrying. The driver radioed that they'd better get a plow down the road; that we were struggling with all our chains on.

More silence. One rider turned to me and pointed out an empty garage with the doors open wide. "Avalanche zone," she said. "They have been hit so many times they just leave the doors open so it sweeps right through."

45 minutes later, in almost complete silence, in almost total whiteout the entire drive, we arrived at work.

New! Exciting! Videos of me doing the Hokey Pokey!

2011-03-13T21:45:00.000-07:00

In trying to figure out just what this weblog is all about, I'm experimenting with having some pages on the sidebar. I'm thinking of them like opinion pages- more like platforms for me to ramble that are less time sensitive. I have some opinions about being a ski instructor. I have some opinions about biking, and design, and, well, lots of stuff. So here's my first try.

The videos are alternately embarrassing, and gratifying. Remember, these are just clips, taken out of context. The bit where it looks like I tell a kid that they have to get up, well, sometimes when a kid sits down because she knows it makes Coach Elicia grumpy, the coach needs to (gently but firmly) tell her to get up.

The Great Ski...uh oh

2011-03-07T10:40:00.001-08:00

Every year, for 35 years, the Great Ski Race has taken place. It's a 30km (about 18 miles) ski from Tahoe City to Truckee. Many people do it on skate skis, some do it on traditional nordic skis. This year, I decided to enter as a non-racer and use my nordic skis, with a goal of completing the course.

As the day of the race grew nearer, I developed first a fever, then a miserable hacking cough. No doubt, it was a flu, ravaging my body. In addition to being sick, I was all over the school district, subbing here, there, and everywhere (6 grades, 3 days), and teaching ski lessons to all-mountain skiers. I was so sick and exhausted one night after ski school that I left my boots on the bus and didn't realize it for three days. THREE DAYS!!! Yep, I was a mess.

However, I was starting to feel a little bit better. I really wanted to do the race. I know that inherently I'm strong enough; I have the skills and fitness to ski 18 miles. I did not count on the flu. Or some of the other surprises that I encountered along the way.

At about 2 km into the race, I was feeling OK. Not great, and I knew I wasn't even close to starting the very long, steep climb. Although I was being passed by literally hundreds of people, my strategy was to pace myself and keep on keeping on. The first aid station was at the top of the first pass, advertised at 11 km in. Racers were required to get there, called Soup Station #1, by 11:30. I started at 9:12. No problem, right?

At the 5km marker, I started to be concerned. It was after 10:00 and I had only managed to go 5km, and the climb had just gotten started. Now my feet started feeling pretty bad, like my blisters had formed and popped, but I decided to keep going. I had an hour and a half to go 6 km (about 4 miles, ish). Surely it was not going to be a problem to get to Soup 1.

Then things started to go badly. As we passed a certain elevation (I'm estimating around 7000 feet), snow started sticking to the scales of my nordic skis. Not just a bit of snow to inconvenience me; no-I'm talking about five or six inches of snow sticking to the bottom of my skis. Suddenly I was teetering on these crazy rockers, trying to ski and instead just sticking. My ankles kept giving out because the skis were not designed to be balanced on 5 inches of snow. It got so that I'd walk a step, pause and bang some of the snow off with the pole, walk another step and repeat. I'd get two more sticky, non-skiing steps in, then I'd start over again. I thought I'd put some emergency wax in my bag just in case, so I pulled over to try and wax.

At this point, I was feeling pretty bad, frustrated, and the next 50 or so people passed me. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I couldn't find the wax. Cussing, I repacked my bag and decided to just keep going. I still had about 30 minutes until the cut-off. How far could the damn aide station be?

At 11:35, I saw a sign that said "Soup 1, 1km". Now, the last stragglers were sprinting, everyone trying to make it to the checkpoint before the cut-off. Again, I was passed by every last person (but four). I realized that there was no way I was going to make it. My feet felt raw, I could barely breathe, and I was coughing so hard that on occasion I had to throw up. Then the realization that I would need to turn around and ski the 11 km back hit me. I didn't even have my safety bag with things like a lighter, a space blanket, and waterproof matches (because I'd been assured there would be hundreds of people there and I really didn't need the extra weight).

Trying not to panic, I decided to stop again and look for the wax. Lo and behold, it was there this time. (This should say something about my mental state.) However, when I went to open it, I accidentally popped off the entire application thingy, and spilled most of the wax onto my gloves. Cold, wet, and smelling of rubbing alcohol, I managed to get the contraption back together and waxed my skis. What a difference! I actually skied to Soup 1.

At 11:44, a patroller greeted me, and said that I could stay at the station until noon and then press on, but he had to hear me say I was doing ok. At this point, I burst into tears. I explained (blubbering), that I had the flu and didn't think there was any way I could go further. He said he could get me a ride down if I needed it. Sniffling, I looked up. "Really? You could...could get me...sniff snort spit cough...a ride down? Yeah sob I think that'd be good." They put me in the first aid tent and asked if I needed a jacket. Luckily, I had an extra hat, an extra sweater, and an extra insulation layer tucked inside, so I sat and waited.

Presently, a large bearded man on a snowmobile pulled up, loaded my skis onto the sled for me, and showed me where the handles were. He promised we wouldn't be going too fast, but said that we were the final sweep for the first third of the course. We passed the last two stragglers on the way up, and the patroller advised them of the hazards (no support) and we kept going.

As we rode down the pass, I looked at the length and steepness of the way I'd skied, and I had to admit that I was pretty impressed, all things considered. That shit was steep! I had to walk in my skis, not even ski-and I still made it up the first pass, over 1200 feet of vertical gain. It was humiliating to have to get a ride down, but I accomplished a lot for being so ill.

Riding on the snowmobile was pretty fun too. The only real bummer about the whole thing was this (caution- slightly graphic):

I've always had a bad problem with blisters in my xc ski boots, and I always tape my feet before I go out. Still, that doesn't seem to have done much in this case.

Left Heel

Right Heel

Bloody tape from my heels; blood soaked through to my socks

A Pictorial and a Big Change

2011-02-23T17:25:00.000-08:00

Doodles from late, bad nights; October through February:

Slightly different theme, but similar sentiments:

1.Feeling bad and sad

2.In bed, sad and bad

3. At school, sad and bad and frustrated

4. Wine

5. Still bad and sad

Big Change: No More Preschool!!!

Predictions:

1. Fewer headaches

2. Happier evenings (and mornings, and days, and minutes, and seconds)

3. Less alcohol consumed

4. Stress levels about almost everything* significantly down

5. Life improving greatly

*Stress levels about cash flow and bills are predicted to rise, but hey, money sure as hell isn't happiness.

Finally, a day without disaster

2011-02-06T16:37:00.000-08:00

Maybe that's hyperbole. Maybe every actual single day hasn't been a true disaster. But that's how I've been feeling lately.

But today, and sort of yesterday too, were pretty good to completely awesome. For the first time in ages, I felt genuinely relaxed and happy, for a few minutes.

Without a care, joyful, enjoying the sun and the trees and the skis and the snow... yeah. I was skiing. I was skiing on my cross country skis just up above our house. I was sliding along, swish-swish, with soft incredibly delightful snow under my skis, and I started laughing. I began to push myself off- one ski, the other, poles and push, the other, and I realized that I was skating. I was teaching myself how to skate on cross country skis, and I was doing a damn fine job of it.

Skating, for those of you who don't live in Tahoe, or who didn't grow up with competitive Nordic skiing, is an incredibly challenging way to get around on two wooden sticks in the snow. It's what running is to walking. It's really, really hard.

I figured it out today, at least a bit, and in my touring skis! The blend of really tight boots and really soft, easy to control snow seemed to result in exactly the right combination of "Learning To Skate" factors. I felt the rhythm that everyone talks about, and felt how incredibly fast I could get going, and worked my heart rate up into a frenzy before I had to pull back...I was skating. And it was really, really fun, and I was wearing sexy ski clothes*-something I had hitherto believed to be impossible, and the sun was shining, and I was going fast.

Hopefully, tomorrow won't be a disaster either.

*Sexy ski clothes: not what you think. Really. But these pants, this vest, and a shirt that looks like this, well, that's sexy in Tahoe. So there. And since one thing I can seem to do is ski, well, that feels pretty good too.

Reaching Out

2011-02-01T19:59:00.000-08:00

Reaching out...what exactly does that mean? Here are some examples from the last few days:

Another site supervisor calling me at home, just to check in and chit-chat, but really to tell me to hang in there, and to start a friendship.
Flowers from a parent.
A card from a family.
Two different parents pulling me aside to say "Teacher, we want you to stay here. We happy with school. We very happy, teacher." (This is a big deal-they did it in English! Whoa!)
An old friend calling me, saying it's not quite the same as a kitten, but makes me feel just as good.

That feels a bit better. Not perfect, but better.

Tough Week...a continuation

2011-01-28T20:02:00.000-08:00

Well, no. Not actually.

Because if I started writing about what was happening to me, to my school, to my heart, I'd continue to cry (already cried my eyes out, finally calming down 2+ hours later) and might end up deciding to quit.

I want to be rational when I make those kinds of decisions.

Suffice it to say, it's been a shitty, shitty week.

However, one good thing shone through:

This news report about women in Tunisia- an Islam nation with equal rights.

I've been thinking about a lot since I heard it. It makes me feel hopeful.

Right now, I need all the hopeful I can get.

And maybe a kitten. Could someone send me a kitten, all cute and cuddly? That might help too.

Tough

2011-01-24T17:59:00.001-08:00

I feel like every day has been tough lately- at least at the school. There are some good reasons for that feeling.

Two staff quit within 24 hours of each other. Now, this is a supremely good thing, but it is still hard.
I found out that one of the staff (now gone) was lying daily to a parent about their kid's behavior. Not good. Big surprise to me. V. unprofessional.
I also found out that those outgoing staff members told parents a different reason for their departure than what they told me. Also a big surprise. And in Spanish. Let the confusion, rumors, and bullshit ensue. Note: also v. unprofessional.
One of my kids has some special needs; when talking to the parent about it at a formal meeting, the translation was garbled. For example... American speak:we are concerned because your son is not being successful in class and he is communicating with us with his behavior. Translation by translator: your kid is bad and we don't want him in our school. Revision by american: no, no, we want him to be here, but we know that his behavior is telling us that he's not happy, he's not having fun. We don't know yet what to do about it, and would like to talk about some options. Our priority is that he is being successful in school, and that teachers and students are safe. Translation by translator: your kid is bad and we don't want him in school.) Not good. Really, really, really not good. Very bad, in fact.
Substitute teacher did not show up today.
Understaffed; training one staff person; other one (the bilingual aide) has not been hired yet. Great. I'm doing my own translating. I'm sure that will lead to further disasters.
Buried in paperwork so high I don't even get to teach anymore. Not happy.
I was supposed to have a parent meeting tomorrow. I think the main objective might have been "Yell at Elicia." Not sure though.

On the plus side, the central office stepped up and in and said things like "we know you are doing your best" and "hang in there" and "cancel the parent meeting until one of us can come up and support you" and "we are really here for you, I promise". That was nice.

Also, my new staff member is truly exceptional. She already picked up on some concerns I have about fairness and "fair is not equal" etc.; she is clearly coming from the same philosophical place. I feel like I have a new friend too.

My sweet husband is skiing around Crater Lake this week. I miss him terribly, more than I thought I ever would. Part of me is stoked: I really like my husband! (Not like this is a surprise, but a nice reminder.) Part of me is really freaked out: Am I co-dependent? Can I function with out my partner? I think the answer to the latter two questions is that I'm going through some bullshit and it'd be easier if I could have someone who loves me and supports me to talk to, and a hug and a backrub. But no, I'm not co-dependent. I just really, really like the guy I married, and that's pretty cool.

Media Overload: Travis and the Dismemberment Plan in my bedroom

2011-01-23T11:34:00.000-08:00

Well, let's be clear: just the voices, and not on my CD player.

NPR interviewed some long-ago friends of mine this morning, in a truly fantastic conversation about music, life, and getting older.
It was so good I had to listen to it again, then scroll down to some of the video clips and watch them.

We all look about 10 years older. The music still makes me as happy as it always has.

Who ever thought that these guys, one of the hardest working bands I've ever know, would be showcased on NBC eight years after they called it a day? I certainly never expected to see them again. Not that they weren't great, but as they say, it's hard work to be in a band.

I am incredibly happy for them.

It makes me wonder about all those other bands though. See, I met the guys in the 'Plan because I was dating a friend of theirs in another band; they all were band guys together. That other band...well, I know what happened to them because I still keep loosely in touch with the fellow I dated, and I really don't think there is any chance they'll get back together. So what made Travis and Eric and the guys work? What kept the Vehicle Birth
from making it? (OK, maybe that's not a fair question...I was there when the Birth broke up. In my living room. I saw the last show, and it was sort of like witnessing an extremely messy divorce.)

Anyhow, just some thoughts about how we all get older, change, grow up, and have different ideas of success. Congratulations, Dismemberment Plan. You worked hard for this.

Ok, I think I have an opinion...

2011-01-22T18:42:00.000-08:00

...about the show everyone (and by everyone, I mean some folks on the NPR and some others on some various blogs) seems to be talking about.

At first, I was wary. Oh, great, another "aren't we smug" show about just how awesome Portland is. Then I took a closer look.

First, the cast has some cred- Fred Armisen from SNL, and Carrie Brownstein, aka my neighbor for several years and also from that band Sleater-Kinney. Armisen is funny. Really, really funny. Brownstein was a good neighbor.

So I decided to watch a clip or two, and then, well, I was sold.

Let me mention that I moved to Portland in 1997, and left for real in 2010. I loved it for all the millions of reasons to love it (clowns, bikes, and drum corps, to name a few) and I grew incredibly sick of the smugness I felt emanating from every bikey event and retro girl powered dance group. I turned 21 in Portland, and 30. Guess that says something, doesn't it?

Dream of the '90s indeed.

Hitch-hiking: not actually a crime

2011-01-16T12:45:00.001-08:00

Ok, let's get the collective horrified gasp out of the way right now. Done? Good. Now let's talk about hitch-hiking during the winter in a ski town. Still horrified? Not convinced? Mom having hysterics (Hi Mom!)? Take a deep breath and stay with me. Ready?

I hitch-hike. Today, I hitched two rides, reducing my travel time from 2+ hours to just under 40 minutes, slightly longer than driving myself. The first guy who picked me up works at Squaw in ticket services. He drove me all the way through town to the last bus stop. There, you are pretty much guaranteed a ride. Two different women offered me shorter rides while I was waiting, but I wanted to get all the way around to the North shore of the lake, and I knew it wouldn't be too tough. The 2nd ride was from a dude who's been at the lake since before I was born. We didn't talk much, but had a nice laugh about the visitors whom we love and hate.

Previous rides have been from well-off vacationers from Mexico, ski patrol, and various skiers and riders.

I have, in turn, picked up any number of hitch-hikers. There's the dude who works at the same hill that I do, who smartly put his little car into storage for the winter and uses a combination of area bus service, ski area shuttles, and hitching to get around. Then there's the liftie, also from work, who never takes the bus, just sticks out his thumb. How about the cross country ski girls who were skiing way beyond their ability and decided to hitch out rather than risk injury? I could go on and on. If there is room, I always try to stop.

See, it's part of our culture here. Everyone knows that the Lake is different; this is one major way. The bus system is adequate (mostly) but tends to not be on schedule. There are hundreds of people here on J-1 visas (speak English, work crappy job for 3 months, travel for one month; in winter almost exclusively South American or Aussie/Kiwi) that don't have cars, and the busses don't always get you to work on time.

Still horrified? Don't worry; the gapers (read: non-locals, visitors, people here to gape at the scenery, fail to stop at crosswalks, and pay our salaries) never, ever stop. It's too weird for them. But in our small community, it's just part of life.

A Little Levity Named Lorenzo

2011-01-09T19:27:00.001-08:00

This weekend has been full of violent news and semi-humiliating skiing. I'm exhausted. This working 6 days a week then trying to work towards my next level of Ski Instructor is tough. At school, two employees gave their notice (which is actually a REALLY good thing, but difficult in the short term).

But hey, why can't I put all that aside for just a minute and tell the story of Rescuing Lorenzo the stuffed bear? Right. No reason.

On Friday, I was driving home, desperate to make it to the post office before closing. As I came around the corner, I saw a misshapen lump in the road. All the oncoming traffic was swerving around it. When I got closer, I realized it was an extremely sizable teddy bear, right in the middle of the road! It took about 10 seconds to make up my mind. I waited for a break in traffic, turned around, and found a pull-out. Cars kindly slowed down when it became obvious that I was rescuing the teddy. I grabbed him, pulled around, and made it to the post office on time.

After that, I didn't really think much of it, figuring I'd take it to school. Then I had to clean out the car, so I sat him on the couch for a day or so. And that, I guess, is when I realized just how totally awesome he is. He is called Lorenzo because I found him near the Italian restaurant, and his bow tie matches the classic red and white checked tablecloths.

So, for a little levity, here is a completely adorable picture of me and the new teddy bear that is going to live in our house.

Violence and the Political Climate

2011-01-09T11:18:00.000-08:00

I don't normally give a rat's ass about MSNBC or political commentators, but I was directed to this commentary by some fellow alumni from Simon's Rock. This is in the wake of the attempted assassination of Representative Gabrielle Gifford yesterday.

I think this is very important.

What I wrote when I was trying to convince myself that I liked teaching Preschool:

2011-01-03T17:54:00.000-08:00

Never, not in a million years, did I expect to be teaching preschool. Never did I think I'd be teaching bilingually, now without a lot more work.

Never, not in a million, billion years, did I expect to be running my own one-room school, 2 months after graduating with my Master's.

But here I am.

20 low income, spanish speaking kids.

3 inexperienced teachers. Plus me.

Mountains and mountains of paperwork.

Teaching in a Headstart is a phenomenal experience, and once I figure out what I'm doing, I might surprise myself by truly enjoying it. There are moments...

Knowing that right now, this very moment in the lives of these little ones, I am imprinting them with a love for movement, and books, and crazy women covered in tattoos, and respect, and two languages.

Knowing that I can help educate these parents- to put their kid in the bilingual program offered here in town, to be respectful of the kids' independence, to trust in a school system.

When a kid exclaims "That's my letter!", pointing to my arm or leg (and the tattoos).

But it is hard. It's hard to stay energetic. It's hard to have an inexperienced staff. It's hard to remember all those tenses I learned in my 500 level spanish class, that I never actually needed to use (I maybe have been...for example). It's hard to be totally isolated from other teachers.

I think I can do this.

UPDATE: Nope, I can't. I'm glad to have tried. And now I don't have to any more.

The Circus Came...to My Front Door

2010-12-19T09:57:00.000-08:00

Snow. So, so, so much snow. It started on Tuesday, when I closed the school early, and then still had to ride my bike home at 4:30. But that wasn't too bad.

Wednesday and Thursday were clear and gorgeous, even warm. Friday, it started. Huge, gigantic snowflakes pouring down like a big white-out salt shaker full of kosher salt. Again, we closed the school early, and this time, instead of taking time to do the many, many projects I would like to get done, I went home too.

On the way down, about 1/2 a block from the school (which is situated on a big hill), I forgot how to drive in crappy, icy conditions and the car nearly drove off into a ditch. It stopped 6" from a pole, and 6" from a tree on the side. I panicked, a little. My staff, who were walking, saw it happen, and came and walked me down to the Family Resource Center, where I called the bike shop. (Who else?) Luckily for me, Peter, my awesome friend and bike shop boss, happened to be driving through town with his girlfriend and her daughter. This was surprising as he lives about 30 miles away. They picked me up and he got me behind the wheel of the car and coached me out.

I can not think of a kinder, more respectful thing that someone has done for me in a long time. Instead of doing it for me (which I desperately wanted him to do), he showed me how, increasing my confidence, and teaching me a skill. Wow. The car was totally unscathed, and since he made me promise to not use my brakes until the road flattened out again, I waved gratefully good bye and drove home.

Home. Where there was a huge SUV totally blocking my driveway, inches away from the ditch that is on either side of our house. (Is this a theme?) There was no note, so I parked my car across the street in our neighbor's lot, and called them to make sure that was ok. Then I called the sheriff, who gave me the parking/highway patrol number. Just as I was calling CHP (yeah, really, I live in California and we really do have CHP!) these two young people came out of the usually unoccupied house next door to say that their car had run off the road and they had no idea what to do. They had left a note, but not in a very good place.

I suggested that I could try to drive it out, or better yet, see if Andy could drive it, since they had zero experience in snow driving on a slick hill. We exchanged phone numbers and all was good. Until the snowplow that works in our neighborhood tried to get up the hill, couldn't make it, and pushed the SUV right into the ditch, about 5 feet.

Ensue circus. First there was the SUV/Snowplow mess. The driver was totally shaken up, and it was almost impossible to get out of our driveway. I called the SUV owner and told her to keep calm, that a plow had pushed her car into a ditch, and that she'd better come outside. She was wonderfully calm and personable.

Then another, much larger plow arrived to see if he could help. Meanwhile, there was a jackass in a mini-van with really crappy tires about 50 feet up the hill. He was all over the road, and totally unable to move his car in the direction he wanted. (I'm still not sure where he was trying to go.) First, he pulled out of a parking space and slid down, then gunned back up and slid sideways, until finally he ended up pointing up the hill (?) on the opposite side of the street, about 25 feet from where he started, totally stuck. Now, he was a nice man, not a jerk, but he had NO IDEA how to drive in the snow. And he sure as hell wasn't listening to a girl. He almost hit everyone out there trying to help him (which at one point, included 4 people and a plow). The large plow ended up plowing the road down to pavement (no mean feat) and the driveway in front of the neighbor's house, and the jackass finally took the advice of a man, and we sent him on his way. That took more than an hour. Mind you, all the traffic was blocked, up and down hill.

Then there was the matter of the snowplow in my driveway that had to be moved. By this point, the owners of the SUV and I had gotten pretty friendly, so I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and went over to their garage, where we sat undercover and watched the circus continue. It was getting dark. After much more palaver, they managed to pull the smaller plow out, and sent him on his way. The only thing left was the SUV in the ditch. Small miracle, or at least that's how it felt.

Finally, the tow-truck arrived for the SUV. His truck was smoking or steaming so badly we could barely see him, and he took one look at the situation and said no way. He was already slipping out on the lower part of the hill (we live at the base, or at least at the low angle part), and was exhausted. The SUV remained in the ditch, damage unknown.

The next day, after trying several different things, a tow company was able to winch it out of our ditch, and luckily, except for the place where the plow impacted the bumper, the car is fine. Plus, I made new friends, and spent a lovely early evening drinking shitty college beer, talking about theatre and opera, and playing cards.

Meanwhile, it is still snowing.

Dubious Fame

2010-11-22T10:36:00.000-08:00

I've never started to read a weblog and found myself on it.

Note: the tattoos are finished.

Note to self:

2010-11-21T14:25:00.001-08:00

Next year, there will be a No Holidays policy in place. This should increasingly simplify my life.

The Great Holiday Debate-Year One

2010-11-19T17:08:00.000-08:00

OK, so it's my first year as a teacher, and here I am teaching in an immigrant mexican community, and the subject of Christmas came up.

The parents want it. The official policy, as understood by the parents, is that as long as all the parents and staff agree, the school can celebrate Christmas.

I don't celebrate Christmas. Although ethnically, I am part Mexican, was raised Catholic, married a Jew, somewhere (around age 12) I decided I was agnostic at best. This isn't the only reason I don't celebrate that holiday, but it is part of it.

Therefore, one of the staff members does not agree that Christmas should be celebrated. It turns out that one of the other staff members is Jewish; she does not celebrate Christmas either.

I don't believe in a holiday driven curriculum. As a first year teacher, I'm not yet ready to tackle the whole "Christopher Columbus was a jerk, and the Native Americans saved our pitiful white asses, and then we killed them so celebrate" revisionist curriculum, so I mostly ignored Thanksgiving. I was hoping no one would notice. I was sort of hoping that this whole thing wouldn't come up...totally unrealistically.

Of course it came up. In a meeting with our parent delegate, I learned that last year, the teachers let them put in a traditional nativity in the class. They've always celebrated Christmas. Who the hell am I anyway? You mean my daughter can't say "feliz navidad?"

I explained that during the week before our winter holiday, we will be looking at different ways to celebrate winter that would be developmentally appropriate, including Christmas in Mexico, Chanukah, the Solstice, and maybe Kwanza. We would be making clay shapes to hang, ornaments if you will, as well as this really cool recipe I have for glittery white mud to squoosh, and maybe snow-globes if the parents want to help with the cost of materials. We will be singing one or two popular seasonal songs during that week, in English and Spanish. We will be celebrating...just not Christmas. And of course she can say "feliz navidad", and we can also practice saying "happy hanukah," and maybe start a discussion. Maybe. In addition, the last time the parents wanted to celebrate a holiday, I worked an extra 20 hours that week to try and accommodate them, and it was not ok. I need to set some boundaries; it really makes a big difference when the parents use the tools available to them (regular parent meetings, a curriculum wheel, informal discussions with me at drop-off and pick-up, to talk about curriculum ideas. I reminded her that I plan my lessons out a month in advance, so when a parent has an idea, putting it down on our curriculum wheel is the best way for me to include it in a developmentally appropriate way. (Yes, I dropped developmentally appropriate twice. Sometimes you've got to.)

Cold nasty stare from parent. She asked if a parent could come in dressed as Santa Claus could come in and hand out presents. We discussed logistics (time, $ for presents, types of toys that would be appropriate, the no candy policy), and agreed on a Santa-type culmination of our celebration. She is still pissed off though.

I guess I'm writing because although I feel very sure about my choices, I do think it's an interesting discussion topic. Here are some things that I've been thinking about regarding this decision:

- As a federally funded agency, I don't feel comfortable celebrating a religious holiday. I'm pretty sure that's blending church and state just a little too closely.

-I recognize that this is a soapbox issue of mine, and I'm trying to be thoughtful about why I'm making this decision at the risk of alienating the families that I work with.

- I believe that even in a preschool, I need to be teaching from my core beliefs in social justice and my role as a teacher in modeling my core beliefs.

- I probably wouldn't say a thing as a first year teacher in an elementary school. I probably wouldn't say a thing as an associate teacher in a Head Start. However, I'm the principal of my little school, and as my supervisor keeps telling me, it's mine to run (Within reason, of course. Obviously, I have very high standards, federal and state regulations, an adopted curriculum, and three or four supplementary curricula to comply with and/or have fidelity to.)

This is what it looks like...

2010-11-12T18:16:00.001-08:00

This is what it looks like when...

A kid hits you in the face
The workman discovers a broken sewer line in your school
The plumber leaves the water running until there is at least an inch covering your school kitchen
You have no water, so your staff can't clean up, so you stay until very late, doing the old school hand washing + sanitizing routine.
You discover that brown water (sewage) has spewed over everything. This includes the children's naptime blankies and pillows.
When you throw the blankies and pillows in the wash, water starts to spew out of the wall.
The plumber has gotten on a flight out of town.
Your facilities guy says "hey, just turn off the water and go home and get a glass of wine. We'll deal with it on Monday.
And finally, you realize that you will return to a crap-spewed school, because of course, the cleaning lady can't clean if there is no water.

I'm opening another bottle of wine.

A trip back to Chiloe...at least in my dreams

2010-11-01T20:54:00.000-07:00

Bike touring in South America undoubtedly changed my life. I learned so very, very many things, not the least of which was that I wanted to spend my life with my partner.

Today, I received a vest that is nearly identical to one that I lost on the island of Chiloe, on the south-western coast of Chile. I get that it may seem silly to use a vest as a jumping off point for my Chiloe memories, but this vest...well, there are literally thousands of pictures of me wearing it, from the day I got it until the day I...lost it.

Chiloe was a very unique place to bike tour. It was a very challenging part of our Patagonia trip (although nothing-NOTHING-compared to the northern part of our travels) for many reasons, and perhaps because of that, also one of the most memorable.

Some reasons for the strong memories:

As an island, there was limited space available for camping, and few water sources. Our first night, as we were setting camp up on the beach (and having one of those idiotic, unfathomable fights that lasted for hours), a man came up and told us that it was too dangerous to camp there because the sand cliffs above regularly collapsed.
The plan was to bike across it in four or five days, but the ferry that left from the opposite (southern) end of the island only ran once a week. We had to get there, so we were working under time constraints for the first time.
For whatever reason, the roads were as steep as any I've ever encountered, and constantly going either up or down. Andy got up to 70+kph trying to slingshot through the hills, and I made it up to 60kph.
Penguiñera. That means: super awesome local penguin roosting place on the Pacific, run by enterprising sailors with a mind to protect habitat.
A friendly local shared this crazy tea/lemonade drink with me while we, our bikes, some dogs, and many many others squished on the free ferry that ran from the island to a very small island. It was just so...friendly.
One night, we slept on a point overlooking the harbor, listening to the ancient ferries go back and forth. It was so beautiful.
Our bikes were run into by a slightly drunk driver in a minivan in our campground on our last night there. This resulted in some creative expression in Español, delivered in my underwear in the middle of the night. Luckily, the only thing really damaged was my wheel, and Andy was able to pound and re-true it the next morning.
Curanto-this crazy mesh bag of shellfish, potatoes, chicken, and sausage served with fresh salsa, broth, and butter. A protein kick. In fact, such a protein kick (plus a litre of wine) that I think that's where the memorable vest was lost...I was a little fuzzy by the time we left the restaurant.
We had, at that point, been camping for over 30 days.
The ferry trip back was one of the craziest boat rides I've ever been on, and not just because of the terrible movies they showed. 20 foot waves crashing over the bow, our little bikes lashed down and getting soaked at every turn, and all we had to eat was the cake that the contrite mini-van driver had brought us before we left.
That night, after the ferry, after leaving the island that we adored and biking into an unending storm, we got our first hotel room in over a month. The following night, finally on the Carretera Austral, the road that goes to the end of the continent, I discovered that the vest was gone, and there was No Way we could get it back. Ever.

So that's why I was so happy to find this version, exactly the same except that it's got pink accents instead of white, on ebay, and for the first time in my life, I bid, bid again, outbid, and won an ebay auction. Totally worth it.

Bear on Porch-Door Ajar-Escape Routes Planned

2010-10-08T13:24:00.000-07:00

True story:

About five minutes ago, Andy whispered to me "hon, there's a bear outside. On the porch. Close."

I dropped to my knees and crawled around the couch, just in time to see Mr. Bear sniff at the door and shuffle off down the ramp. Andy went for the camera. I went to close the damn door.

OK, it was a fairly small bear, and he was just sniffing around. I'm sure he heard us and was repulsed by our noise. He wandered off into the neighbor's front yard. I can hear the dogs barking, warning of his lumbering presence.

And I planned my escape. What if I'd been alone? What if the door was left ajar (it won't be again, I'm sure) and Mr. Bear wandered in?

1) Scream. They don't like noise. Make myself big and mean and screamy.

2) Go out through the nearest window. It's about a 10 foot drop below our bedroom, and we've intentionally cleared the area below for that reason. However, we have no door on our bedroom (why should we, we live alone!). So, if it's possible, go through the 2nd bedroom, where there is both a door and a short drop through the window. Last resort-bathroom. Very far drop (house on a hill) and tiny window, but bonus points for the door. Plus, the bathroom is so tiny the bear probably wouldn't really fit in it. No joke.

3) Keep the door from being ajar.

Sometimes I forget how very close to the woods we are, even though there is a 300 foot Jeffrey pine just outside the door, and we are surrounded by pine trees and rabbit brush.

Gift to Myself

2010-10-02T10:35:00.000-07:00

In 2006, I made a big ole public declaration about how much I loved my bike. It got a lot of publicity in surprising places. An old, dear friend surprised me by taking extremely high quality photographs of the whole thing. I have never felt so beautiful and loved (except for maybe my wedding to my human husband...but that was a hell of a lot more stressful).

This past summer, I realized that I'd never really celebrated these photos and that event, and I really wanted to do something nice for myself. Using some pretty decent (but not perfect) software, the same that I used to make a book of our wedding photographs for us and our families, I used the amazing pictures of me and my friends to create this. Yes, it's something of an ego trip. Yes, it's silly. That's ok. I'm very happy with it.

Also, I think that my impulse to celebrate my survival of one of the worst winters I'd ever had in Portland with the friends that pulled me through, with a super bad-ass party (that ended with an insane bike ride through town to sing karaoke in the best man's living room at 4 am), was a pretty good idea.

Elicia + Vanilla by Photographs by Ilana Hamilton | Make Your Own Book

New Job= Very difficult

2010-09-30T18:06:00.000-07:00

It maybe wouldn't be so difficult if it was the beginning of the school year. It'd be easier if the folks working with me had any experience in education. It would certainly be simpler if the parents and kids trusted the organization. Mostly, I'd settle for staff.

What happened was this:

We were in Las Vegas. I'd never been, and we had the opportunity to go to Interbike, the big bike hoo-ha (tradeshow) for our shop. The day before we returned, I got a phone call asking if I would be willing to take the position of site supervisor instead of teacher. I said yes, only sort of knowing what I was in for.

Thing one: most of my students speak Spanish. Only. My language has jumped about 400% in the last five days.

Thing two: the person I replaced quit after one day. There is no one to replace the position that I vacated. Thus, I am seriously understaffed. This means that if I go to the bathroom at any point during the day, I am out of compliance with federal and state regulations. Awesome.

Thing three: because of the staffing changes, the unexpected closure of the site, and a lot of other crap, the kids and parents are pretty fed up with us. This causes A LOT of stress.

Thing four: the actual physical environment isn't really very nice. I can do something about it, but it's going to take some work. And time.

Thing five: Working for a state licensed/funded agency is one thing. Working for one that is both state and federally compliant means there are these two giant notebooks that all the rules, regulations, and procedures are contained in. Those are distilled into this even larger binder that everyone (very unhelpfully) refers to frequently. "Oh, that's form H-3, on page HR-10, section 2." Duh, I should have known that, of course!

Thing six: this week alone, my fridge broke (meaning I had to throw out all the food I'd just bought and run to the store at 8:15 for an emergency breakfast for the kids, then go shopping again), my toilet broke, and I had to call the ambulance because a kid fell off a stool while washing his hands and gave himself a concussion. I've worked over 40 hours. It's only Thursday.

NEW JOB!!! Let me repeat: NEW JOB!!!

2010-09-18T20:59:00.000-07:00

So, there was this job posting. It was literally the ONLY job posting that was open in the California side of the basin, not including some possible ones that were over 50 miles away. I faxed my resume etc. in, and got asked to interview. The next day, I was offered the job.

I will be teacher in a Head Start program in King's Beach, CA. Even better: the job site is about two miles away from our little house. I can ride my bike!!!

So, goodbye reading too many books too fast. Goodbye sitting on the beach watching the waves, simply because I've got time to do so. Farewell leisurely wanders on Tuesdays (and Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and Mondays too), lingering coffee mornings, and elaborate dinner plans. Maybe I won't get all that stuff done that I intended to do. However, I will get a paycheck in the field that I got my Master's in.

I'll take the trade-off.

One Year

2010-09-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

One year-it's our first anniversary, and we celebrated by eating dinner at a fancy restaurant then going on a hotsprings adventure in the northern reaches of Yosemite.

First: dinner. After much deliberation, we chose The Soule Domaine, just up the road from us in Brockway. We got all gussied up (for Tahoe) and even made reservations. Of course, reservations were hampered by the fact that we took the TART (the local bus), which is notoriously unreliable. I am absolutely, 100% positive that we were the only diners who took the bus. And we forgot change-luckily the bus driver let us on even though we were short in fare.

All fancied up for our First Anniversary Dinner

Dinner was spectacular. We started with a warm duck salad with stone fruit, sort of a sweet and spicy chutney over greens, and a bottle of a good, solid red wine (Twisted Oak, !@$#$& Rhone). It's been a long, long time since we've ordered a bottle of wine with dinner.

Andy had filet minon with this crazy shitake-blue cheese-brandy sauce, and I had salmon with a fresh salsa with corn, tomatoes, and a salsa verde to finish. It was explosion after explosion in my mouth. The entrees were not insanely expensive, nor were they tiny little plates. They were...just enough. There was also a starter of vegan broccoli soup, and fresh bread with house made hummous.

We finished the bottle of wine, ordered dessert, and happily took the wait staff's suggestion for more drinks. I had a flourless chocolate cake with ganache and fresh cream, and Andy had this amazing bread pudding with the Best Ice Cream I Have Ever Eaten: homemade vanilla-cinnamon-almond. It was perfect. We called a cab, came home to a sweet happy anniversary message from Andy's folks, and tumbled into bed, completely unpacked for our camping trip.

The next day, somewhat slowly, we loaded the car and went out to get some breakfast. Andy had borrowed two classic hot springs books from our dear boss, and we set out to explore.

Our first stop was Travertine Hot Springs. This is a small set of pools just a mile from the town of Bridgeport. They are warm, hot even, and the bottom of the pools is all soft clay. It is an otherworldly place.

Travertine Hot Springs

I particularly liked it because it seems to be managed- there is a compost toilet, signs indicating no camping, and clearly marked trails. I do believe in managing high-use sites; they will last longer with less impact.

We then went to find the Buckeye Hot Springs, a bit further from town, but still insanely close. After a delightful lunch, we went on a total bust of a hike. I'm not sure what went wrong, exactly, except that the hike started with several miles of soft, sandy unused road. After about two miles of crummy walking, we saw a coyote skirting the edge of the meadow. That was certainly the highlight. We walked through a stand of aspen, and came across 50 or so cows. Now, I'm not too bothered by cows, usually. I mean, they are big, but pretty mellow. These cows, however, were all riled up from the coyote. We started making noise, expecting them to move off the path, but they were getting agitated and refused to move. They began to circle around us, and at that point, we called it quits. This trail was crummy, not particularly scenic, and populated by grumpy cattle. Bust. We did see another (or possibly the same) coyote on the way out.

That hike was almost instantly mitigated by Buckeye Hot Springs themselves. Getting to the river involves going down an extremely steep, slippery bank. It almost looks impossible to get down, but you know it can be done. When we finally made it, there was a small group just leaving. We were greeted by four magical pools, partially overhung by algae-covered dripping rocks, set right up against a rushing creek. The pools were all very warm to lobster boiling hot. They are fed by a source dripping down the cliffs above, and also, I suspect, by water coming up from below. They are deep enough to submerge your body when you lie down, and big enough that you can lie out in each one. You can duck behind the curtain of water falling from the cliff into the overhang and gaze out at the rushing river. When it gets too hot, all you have to do is jump into the pool that someone has created in the creek, and then get back into the tubs.

We don't have any pictures because, well, it's a clothing-optional hot springs, and it's pretty rude to take pictures under those circumstances.

The next day, we started the morning hiking from the other side of the river to the hot springs, taking a good dip, then we headed off to another trail head a few miles away.

This area is just at the northern border of Yosemite. It's easy to look west and see peak after peak of granite mountain tops. We hiked for about 2 hours to a place called West Lake. I can't wait to go back and do it with a pack so we could just stay. It was so beautiful: jagged peaks, green water, hundreds of wild flowers, and a huge eastern brook trout swimming out from just under our feet when we stopped for lunch.

West Lake, Hoover Wilderness

Completely, brilliantly, amazingly magical. Anyone who questions why we moved back here just needs to see what we saw over the past two days.

The Fear...the Agony...the...It's just a hike

2010-08-11T20:24:00.000-07:00

So, here I am in my mid-thirties. I live in Tahoe. And I love the idea of hiking. Of backpacking, even. Who doesn't? I mean, the images in my head- scenic vistas, hidden lakes, healthy happy smiling people with trekking poles and gore-tex and heads full of secrets-it seems like a great idea. Yay hiking!

But the reality of hiking, at least for the past 5 or so years, has been HELL. Or, to be more specific, fear and pain, all rolled up into a big bag-o-awful. I know, as an educator, that it's almost impossible to get someone to learn something if they are afraid, or if they are in pain. It stands to reason that it's pretty impossible to get someone to like something if they are hurting or scared. So for the last few years, I've been torturing myself, feeling like a failure because I wasn't liking this great thing that everyone seems to think is just the best. Especially that guy I married-I mean, he hiked from Mexico to Canada. (With another woman-but I'll get to that in a bit.) In fact, not only was I not liking it, I was actively dreading it.

And here are some reasons why:

The Fear

There is the normal fear of failure, the "I am no good at this, I'm not strong, and I'm a failure" voice that is hard to quell. It's not my husband's fault. Of course, his mentioning to me that the only thing that girl he hiked from Mexico to Canada was better at then me was hiking wasn't exactly helpful. Just the opposite.

But he's been great. Understanding, generous, willing to go short and slow and carry the heavy pack and give me the water when the water filter breaks and everything.

That voice though- the one that tells me I'm weak, that this level of discomfort is just Too Much, that I'm really not able to do this, it's just Too Much- it's a loud and ugly voice, and it is pretty good at drowning out most rational thought. Especially when it has some other kinds of fear to help it along.

The other kind of fear is a fairly legitimate fear of falling. I'm pretty good at falling, in general. I took a lot of Aikido, and I'm pretty clumsy, so I've gotten good at not hurting myself too badly if I do fall. However, add a poorly fitting pack to change my center of balance, an uneven trail, and I become absolutely terrified of falling. I did once, you know. It scared the crap out of me.

Then there is The Pain.

It turns out that most people, especially fit people, can walk for more than an hour and not suffer. I, on the other hand, walk for that long, and the last thirty minutes are pretty agonizing. After that, the agony turns to blinding pain. When the hike is finished, I will be in so much pain that sleeping is almost out of the question, and walking the next day will be another bout of agony. This is just how it's been for me. Between my propensity for quarter-sized blisters and the ancient ankle/hip pain combo, hiking has been awful. Feeling awful just turns around into fear of failure (see above) and it all goes to hell. Add a backpack to the mix, and I'm a walking disaster.

Sure, I've tried to keep a game face on. I started jogging, then running, then trail running in order to get hiking muscles built up. That helped, but only in terms of learning how much agony I could really stand. Plus, I almost never run for more than 40 minutes unless it's a race (which last happened in 2007). I found that my stamina was greatly increased, but hiking didn't really get any more pleasant. I just knew I could go further. I still got freaked out and I still couldn't sleep at night after a long walk due to pain.

Enter the Five-Fingered Shoe. There has been a lot of hype about these shoes. I guess someone wrote a book about it, and they are selling really well. I wear them at work and almost every customer asks about them. They always ask "do you like those?"

I reply enthusiastically, clearly, that I LOVE THEM. I explain that they have completely changed my life.

I started running and walking in them, for a few minutes at a time, last June. I worked up to running for 30 or so minutes in them on the trails. Then we went for a backpacking trip.

Suddenly, there was neither fear nor pain. I knew exactly where to put my feet, and exactly how to balance on them. There was no sole that could slip or throw me off. There were no blisters. There was no hip pain. A lack of ankle pain. I was fast, confident, and able to look up and enjoy my surroundings instead of counting the steps until we were done. I didn't get scared of falling, nor did I get so sore I started crying. I never once thought "I can't do this".

It's amazing what you can see if you can look past your shoes

We hiked in a tough trail, about four miles. We started at the Bay View Trailhead, and headed into the Desolation Wilderness, up to the Velma Lakes. I was bushed at the end of the day, no doubt, but just worked, not hurt.

Tired but happy in camp

The next day, we went on another hike from camp, and walked right up the side of some granite, right up a waterfall! Then we walked out. And I was ok. It was beautiful.

We climbed up this granite waterfall to get to Fontanelles Lake.

Isn't it gorgeous? This is what I always dreamed of.

True Story: The Break-in

2010-07-22T12:06:00.000-07:00

This is a true story. It's written in narrative because I was trying to explain the difference between narrative and laundry list story telling to one of my former students.

I woke up this morning from disturbing dreams of bears lumbering through the forest outside my window. I felt badly rested, troubled, and then I remembered.

Last night, at midnight, I woke from a deep sleep to the sound of a door banging loudly. I felt my heart race. I reached out for my husband in the dark to see if he was still next to me.

"What was that?" I said, feeling like I should maybe be whispering.

"I don't know." he replied, getting out of bed and turing on the light.

I could imagine the doors, deadbolts unlocked, in our tiny new house. Because we live in the woods, we aren't very vigilant about locking up at night. I started to become frightened.

"Are you going to get up and see?" I asked, feeling a little guilty for making the man of the house do the scary stuff.

He shot me a look and went to get a flashlight. Meanwhile, I went to the living room and checked to see if everything was still there. It seemed to be. Trembling slightly, I looked in the shower, in the other room, in the kitchen, and turned on the back porch light. All I could see was our little patio table and the trees just beyond.

"Hon, get the phone." My husband said this tentatively, like he wasn't quite sure why. He had gone back to the basement entrance, just past our front door. Going around in my head was the image of our bikes in the basement, the date of our rental insurance expiration (last week), and the financial trouble we were potentially going to be in if our bikes were gone.

"Do you want me to call 911?" I called out.

"I don't know. The door to the basement is wide open."

I called 911.

The dispatcher was calm, told me to stay inside and not put myself in any danger. I said that our basement had been broken into, either by a burglar or a bear, and we weren't sure if he was still inside. I could see Andy's tiny flashlight lighting up the trees, first here, than there, as he looked around.

"Andy, come inside. The dispatcher says that we should wait inside for the sheriff."

"Our bikes are just open, hon; I'm going down there."

Just as he said that, the sheriff pulled up. At night, they drive huge SUVs with flood lights, and carry powerful flashlights. The light pierced the darkness and the reassuring greeting of the law officer was a relief. He examined the door, showing us scratch marks, and said that bears will break in for an old energy bar in a backpack.

"I just came from the West Shore, where a bear had smelled a lollipop and broke in to a little girl's room. He got the sucker. Not the girl. If you have any food at all in there, that's what he wanted. These bears are looking for warm places to sleep, not in the trees." With that, he took his powerful flood light into the woods behind the house.

"I can hear him rustling around there. I'm heading up." After a few minutes, he called out "Looks like he broke into your neighbor's shed. Ripped off the door of that too."

Eventually, he came back to our house, advised us to nail the ripped off door shut, and said he heard the bear go up the hill behind us, and was going to go check it out. His huge vehicle and bright lights pulled away, leaving me scared and shaken.

Andy started pulling nails from the basement walls and I grabbed a cable lock to put around the bikes. We found some plywood under the patio and started nailing it up. This was maybe the scariest part, because without the comforting lights of the sheriff, it was very dark. Our small flashlight completely failed to penetrate the dark trees surrounding our house, and although I could see the sheriff one street over, slowly heading up the hill, I felt vulnerable and scared. The scratch marks on the door seemed to grow in my head as I held up the plywood, and every hit of the hammer rang out piercingly loud in the night silence.

When we came back inside, we were both pale and wide eyed. Somehow, after a cup of mint tea, I finally fell asleep to troubling dreams.

Lemon Curd, Arugula, Black Forest Ham, with Fried Egg on Grilled Brioche

2010-07-19T19:23:00.000-07:00

Imagine it- homemade lemon curd, thin sliced Blake forest ham, arugula...on grilled brioche. With some kind of cheese, salty and unassuming. Oh yeah, and an egg. A Big Egg, in fact.

Best eaten in the hot sun in the early mornings on moving days. Twice.

See, when we moved, we had no food, and my ever-so-helpful mother packed the dishes I deliberately planned on leaving out. So eating out was the way it was, and the Mississippi food carts were a revelation in amazing food.

The carts were just a few blocks away, and had I known about them before, I probably would've put half my non-existent earnings towards their wares. As it was, I got to barely scrape the surface. There was hippie cart that served some sort of grilled spicy tempeh over an insane pile of turmeric-African curry glazed cashews on top of amazing bread...that was one memorable meal. And then there was the Big Egg sandwiches, eaten at 8am, with the terrifying prospect of packing, cleaning, two days on the road, unpacking, and immediate work. Other carts called out, but they were inconveniently closed for the July holiday.

I became incredibly conscious of food during those last few days in Portland. I couldn't bring myself to go to the garden one last time, because I was in a state such that everything was making me cry. Just as we left town, we stopped at a New Seasons to get road food, and I lost it completely. There I was, in the produce section, trying to hold in sobs that had no desire to be held in.

I guess that's when it hit me the most: for all the many, many times I've left Portland, I've

always planned on coming home. I've always had a storage space, a mail box, a job lined up. This time it's different. I'm married. I packed the house plants. We rented two trailers (one for the bikes) and sold or gave away all the stuff we didn't want anymore. We said goodbye.

The highlight of our last day was probably when our amazing neighbor offered us her outdoor shower after we finished with the final cleaning and painting of our house. She had just fixed it up. She is an artist of enviable talent, and amongst other amazing edifices in her back yard she possesses a sauna shaped like the head of a Northwest Native American totem pole, of the crow or eagle variety. The outdoor shower is just in front of the beak, in total privacy. It rates as one of the best showers of my life.

Yeah, I'll miss Portland, and Cha Cha Cha, and Bar, and the garden, and all the amazing people and food, but I'm really, really going to miss having a neighbor like Vanessa.

Goodbye Portland, Love Elicia

2010-07-02T10:30:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of the photography folks at Powells

It's fun to cook!

2010-07-01T08:44:00.000-07:00

This recipe was sent by my mom about a month ago, and I finally got around to making it. Since I've been cooking more in the last two weeks than in the previous fifty, this is very timely. It should be noted that my kitchen is about 1/2 packed, leaving me with two spatulas, no serving spoons, and a good knife.

Ground Chicken Stir-Fried with Basil

Kai Pad Bai Kaprow

2 lightly packed qts (1/4 lb) basil or 1/2 bunch italian parsely + handful of mint

5 garlic cloves

7 medium shallots or 1 med onion or 1 shallot + 4 spring onions, green included, finely sliced

1 or 2 hot green chiles (jalapenos)

2 hot red chiles (optional- you could also used sambal olek)

1 inch ginger, ground

1 lb ground chicken

5 tsp fish sauce or salt

1/12 tsp brown sugar

splash of tamari (optional)

Chop basil or herbs without stems. Peel and chop garlic, peel and finely slice shallots. Cut chiles into fine rounds (leave out seeds if very hot). Peel and grate ginger.

Fry garlic and shallots in 4 Tbsp oil for about 2 minutes on med heat. Add chiles and ginger and stir a couple of times.

Turn heat higher and add basil/herbs. Stir once and add chicken. Stir and fry for about 3 minutes breaking up chicken lumps. Chicken should turn white all the way thru. Add fish sauce and sugar, mix in and serve.

The fish sauce is a key component- don't skimp on it, even if everything in your nostrils is saying "ick" and "gross". Fish sauce is vital.

Last Day of Graduate School- CHECK!!!

2010-06-26T19:10:00.000-07:00

Yep, that was it! Done! Fin! Not to be religious, but HALLELUJAH!!!

And I was so lucky to be with the best professor ever.

Seriously- she made this whole year worth it.

Dinner + Company + Salted Plum Vodka Collins=Joy

2010-06-25T15:02:00.001-07:00

It's the part of leaving where you get to go and have good dinners with good friends.

We one-upped this by having a truly extraordinary dinner with great friends.

First, we met at my friend Greg's house. Greg and his brother Ammon are kind of like brothers to me. We've spent many, many holidays, drunken nights, hikes, and lazy days together. We all grew up in the same town, and have a shocking number of commonalities. Greg's house is the place where I married my bike. It's the corner of fun and great memories.

Evan, Greg's landlord recently moved back, and the four of us sat on the sunny corner drinking beer and catching up. Andy got to go get a glimpse of his wedding present- A custom Millholland bicycle.

Now, it must be noted that between March 1 and June 22, there were three sunny days. THREE. We have been starved for sun. Dying for it. So sitting outside, drinking beer, watching the action at the intersection of two bike boulevards, well, it was fantastic.

Then we mustered and walked to Pok Pok.

When I lived a few blocks from Greg, I'd stop at the shack, Pok Pok, once a week or so. It had five items on the menu. I loved it. The pok pok salad, made of shredded green mango and dried shrimp, the curry soup served with pickled mustard greens...they made up a great deal of my diet. And during mango season, mango with coconut rice was my bliss. But there was no restaurant.

Fast forward four years or so, and Pok Pok has won a ridiculous number of accolades. Best this, best that, famous other... it all seemed like a lot of fuss. I mean, I really enjoyed the food, but really? Oh yeah, and it's a restaurant now, plus a bar down the street with a squid logo called the Whiskey Soda.

For my graduation, my folks took us there. Upon his first bite, Andy turned to me and said "Why haven't we been coming here once a month?" I just grinned and kept stuffing my face.

When Greg called to apologize for missing my birthday, he suggested that we go to Pok Pok. His treat. No joke.

We've since gone there twice more (that's three times in 19 days). I've tried quite a number of items on the menu now, because it's family style, and decorum be damned.

The Cha ca "la vong" was mind blowing.

The fish sauce wings are rightly drooled over. I crave them. I'm still craving them.

The Kaeng Hung leh- pork belly and pork slow braised in heavenly flavors is possibly the best thing on the menu. I ordered it after seeing it at the table next to us, and leaning over (about 4 inches) and inquiring.

The papaya Pok Pok is something else I crave. Often. Daily.

The Yam Samun Phrai with pork was one of the most amazing things I've ever put into my mouth, herbal and cooling and sharp and gentle all at once.

The Khao Soi Kai has kept me in health for ages.

Sticky rice comes in perfect little steamer baskets.

And the drinks include a salted plum vodka collins, and lots of japanese drinking vinegars. Trust me on this one. Especially if you like savory drinks.

Generally, you have to wait for an hour or so, and service isn't rapid, but you can wait in the bar down the street, or at Greg's house and wait for a phone call. They are very accommodating that way.

So we ate, and drank, and stuffed ourselves, and continued to eat, and laugh, and catch up, and the guys promised to come visit Tahoe, and we joyfully went home.

I'm gonna miss Greg and Pok Pok.

Birthday

2010-06-22T12:28:00.000-07:00

What an emotional day. It's not so much that it was my 34th birthday. More like it's been a bitch of a year, and it hurts. Everything hurts. My brain, my psyche, my body. I feel abused, and lost, and grateful that it's over. Well, almost over.

So I decided to throw myself a party. Birthday + Graduation+ sort of goodbye.

I guess if I'm honest with myself, I'm kind of disappointed. That's what happens when you hide out for 12 months...no one comes. Well, not exactly no one. Some super wonderful friends did show up, and one member of my cohort. We got rained out (thanks, Junuary) and ended up at an awesome bar down the street, slowly drinking for about 6 hours.

But only one cohort member? After all that? Even my friend Ayleen who had a party that same day showed up! So I'm feeling lonely and a bit sad.

And then there's the whole packing and moving thing. Even though I've moved so many times I can't count, I don't think I'm any better at it. Frankly, Andy and I accumulate little bitty annoying stuff, and lots of it. Plus, we are still sorting through crap that we shoved into storage in 2006, unsure if this whole dating and living together thing was going to last. We have two of a lot of things. And three. And four. Then there's the wedding gifts. What the hell do you do with a gorgeous cut crystal bowl that was gifted by a dear friend? It's something we will never use, I'm afraid. Oh well.

We are downsizing (as I've heard it termed) to a smaller place, and while it's great to purge, there is the hoarder in me that hates to throw stuff out that I may need later. Andy is even worse.

Moving is never fun, and we are 15 days and counting from our leaving date. There is also that delicate balance between packing it all now, and leaving out those things that you will need for the next two weeks. Nothing is worse to me than the chaos of packing and unpacking, so this is exceptionally stressful for me. Ick.

Spill

2010-06-18T14:21:00.001-07:00

It was all kind of unreal to me, hearing about the spill. We don't get much visual media here, so I saw no pictures, and the stories on the radio, while infuriating, mostly slid by me. I mean, I felt it. I felt saddened, and hopeless, and worried, and helpless, but not directly touched.

Then I heard about Siesta Key. It was a news article on the radio about folks at Siesta. The beach was described as white sugar sand. I flashed back- jokes about the sand being so fine it got in your skin. The feel of it running through my fingers. Sandstorm on an April day, a few hardy folks out, determined to get wind blasted, and watch the white caps. Sugar sand so fine it smoothed my skin, and a radiant sunset every night.

Then my mind went to Lido Key, just a bit further inland, and the night after night of sunsets that we watched. I still have Aaron's photographs running as a background on my computer. They are still some of the most stunning pictures of a sunset, and they still stir deep memories of friends and beach and happiness and a deep love of the ocean.

See, I lived in Florida for two winters, when I worked for the Sarasota Opera. I had a great time living there in many respects. I finally got to live at the beach. Ok, I was actually on the mainland, but I spent as much time as possible on the bay or on the beach. My life revolved around Opera and Beach, and I was incredibly happy about it. I had some great friends (who I still love and adore) and a deep tan, and I loved the way I felt when I saw the sea. For about a month, every morning my dear friend and I would go to the beach and walk, just walk. I noticed birds for the first time in my life- the gigantic pelicans, waiting for the fishermen, the scurrying plovers, looking for food in the mornings just at the tide line, and the egrets, standing tall and regal in the swamp. I loved the mangrove swamps, spooky and beautiful and stinky and mysterious.

So, my heart is broken again, by BP and the fact that all that oil...well, it seems it only powers our US economy for four hours. And it's still gushing.

There is a small way to make a difference: the lovely woman at Ripple started a small wave. For a 10 dollar donation, you get art, and make a tiny difference. It's not much, but remember how Obama made all his campaign $? A little at a time, and a bunch of people coming together.

I am the proud owner of this gorgeous piece of art, and I hope the animals and birds are better for it.

GRADUATION!!!

2010-06-06T08:20:00.000-07:00

Today, June 6, I graduate. For real! I already started crying because of the unreality of it. I can't believe how hard I've worked to get to this point. Or how hard Andy's worked, for that matter.

It feels a bit unreal. And it's POURING rain.

It's been such a long year.

This week...

2010-05-22T09:03:00.000-07:00

Last week one student kept asking persistent questions: "What if your mom hits you or hurts you but you still love her?" This week s/he wrote that mom sometimes throws things at him/her.
I called DHS (child protections services). I also talked to the principal and counselor.

This week one student wrote in their journal: "Dear famly I am going to kill myself" in stencils. Another page showed a drawing of the school blowing up, with notes.
We called the counselor, parents, and principal.

This week, the care-givers of yet another student came in and said that this student had tried to kill himself by banging their head on a granite counter. He has a bruise too. This wasn't the first time that this student has tried to harm himself, and he has been telling his caregivers that he'd rather die, and been praying to die.

That was horrible. Awful. Indescribable. But wait...it gets worse.

We got the counselor involved, who got DHS involved because of some other stuff going on with the student's other caregiver. That other caregiver had previously been jailed for threatening the family with a gun. There was a history of neglect, but nothing that could be proven.

The student seemed stable, and a plan was in place for his safety. He was off to get some professional help right after school, with the concerned caregivers. Then somehow, the less-concerned caregiver (who he is terrified of) shows up and takes him out of school.

And there was nothing anyone could do. Sure, we called the DHS caseworker. Sure, we called the next day when he wasn't at school.

No, we don't know if he's alive or not, we don't know what is happening to him.

And yes, my heart is utterly, utterly breaking.

Getting my life back...

2010-05-01T10:39:00.001-07:00

I'm about five days from getting my life back. Halleluhah. Five days more of my solo student teaching. Then I have the rest of my professional career to look forward to. Not going to the bathroom, eating out, panic attacks on Sundays, sinus infections, and insane parents...great.

No, it's not really that bad, but I am somewhat scared about knowing how to balance all this stuff when (if) I get my own classroom. I really do want my life back. My husband, my exercise schedule, my bicycle. Oh, and mountain biking. I put that new picture at the top of the page so that I can be reminded about what I care about every time I look at the web log.

This week has been something of a triumph, if I do say so myself. I started the "Human Growth and Development" unit- otherwise described as "What the body parts are, how they work, but not how they work together." Puberty. Periods, anatomy, and graphics. Boys and girls learning together. And they have been AMAZING. This week has been really fun-watching them become engaged in their learning. Watching a community form around this special secret thing that only they get to do-learn about this stuff with each other, with Mrs. C who is not afraid of making them say, in chorus "urethra" and "vas deferens." And other vocabulary.

When I was giving my presentation to my graduate school cohort about this unit, many concerns were voiced about how I was going to support a fragmented classroom community. These were valid concerns, and I was worried myself. I also watched my colleagues get squirmy in a way the fifth graders just did not. I was surprised-I mean, we are teachers. We are adults. Periods happen. It's not that big of a deal.

However, I did work to create a community, by giving structure and predictability to the class, by making my ground rules very clear, and by honoring them. They hate being on the rug like a bunch of kids, so we only sit on the rug when it's absolutely necessary.

I make them say the ground rules (especially #2- What we talk about in health stays in Room 17. It is not meant to be shared with other students) at the beginning and end of every class. I'm rewarded by questions asking things like "when the baby grows in the woman's uterus, how can it get flipped over?" This shows me that a) they are taking the "we use scientific language" rule (I think it's number 4) seriously, and b)that they get that babies don't grow in the woman's stomach.

And so, some random bits and pieces from the interwebs that have made me feel emotional in that monthly sort of way...crying at breakfast because of the beauty or craziness of it all:

This is a link to determine who's fans are more stupid in the twatting world. (Twat-past tense verb for Twitter-generally done by twits. You can follow me @elicia_almarine) I suggest trying lancearmstrong v. bikesnobnyc.

Then there was the completely heartwarming story about healing war wounds with the love of a good dog. If you listen to it, keep an ear open for the unlikely squeak of a doggie toy in the first few moments-it's adorable.

Finally, this is my first weekend home without the kittens. They went home with Emily, their real owner, when her evil roommate moved unexpectedly to the east coast. I miss them. I miss Toby following me around and sitting on my clean clothes, and Bella trying to help me with the typing. I miss Toby under the covers, and Bella sitting on my lap napping. Kitties in the window, kitties running to greet me when I got home. Kitties helping me in the bathroom, in the kitchen, in the shower, in bed. Kitties that almost never let us out of their sight. Oh well, I knew that falling in love with them was part of the deal.

And Andy promised that someday soon, we will have our own kitty friend. I'm so lucky to have met a man who understands that part about me.

Poetry

2010-04-27T19:49:00.000-07:00

4 1/2 Weeks Down, 1 1/2 to Go!

Haven't killed, maimed, or really harmed any child yet. I think. Student teaching is hard.

Harder than I thought, and way easier in some ways too. I like it, mostly.

It's great having my own classroom and not having to watch anymore.

In honor of my brain being fried, plus it is National Poetry Month...

I made Andy dig this poem up from a book tossed on the floor next to my desk at 7:30 in the morning sometime last week.

He accused me of just wanting to hear him read it to me. He's a little bit right.

Then I opened up a letter I wrote to myself dated March 17, 2010. Just a few weeks ago, but a whole other life in terms of my daily routines and worries. It was a project in my writing workshop on the last day. My letter included admonitions to eat, write, work out, spend time with Andy, worry less, and cook good meals. All very good advice. In the envelope was also a poem, a small gift from my literacy professor.

Faith

When you come to the edge

Of all light you know,

And are about to step off

Into the darkness of the unknown

Faith is knowing

One of two things will happen:

There will be something solid to stand on,

Or you will be taught how to fly.

translated by Daniel Ladinsky

It's nice to have poetry in my life again.

I didn't actually leave crying. Not once!

2010-04-03T18:46:00.000-07:00

The first week is over, done, and whew. My solo-solo teaching has started, and that fact alone is a huge relief.

Hooray.

The Best Dinner. Ever.

2010-03-26T21:07:00.000-07:00

So, a few months ago, I read that the author of my favorite food blog and her husband were opening up a restaurant. In Seattle.

Of course, I was in California at the time, but I promised myself that somehow, SOMEHOW, I was going to go and eat there.

I read her book. (it made me giggle and cry and I really, really recommend it.) I eagerly followed the blog posts about getting everything ready. I looked up ingredients on the menu that I was unfamiliar with. I listened to her podcast, wondering if I'd recognize her voice if I heard it. I imagined what the wine might taste like. I told Andy about it. (He promptly forgot the specifics, but that's ok.)

So it's spring break. I've had a tough year. My classes are officially over (except for my practicum) and I start my solo-solo student teaching on Monday. We decide to go to Bellingham to see Kelly and Kaylah, and maybe go up to Vancouver BC to take advantage of the exchange rate. (That isn't quite working out. Canada, don't you know you need to exist for the purpose of providing me a cheap place to get luxury goods such as Lululemon clothes and Lush products? This ninety-seven cents to the dollar exchange really does not work for me. No joke.) Since I-5 goes right through Seattle, I figure we can swing by the restaurant on my way home. I'm pretty adamant; we are going, no matter what.

Well, we got a late start on heading up to Bellingham because we realized we both forgot our passports about 40 miles out of Portland. Not cool. We had to turn around, get them, and then keep going. Which put us in Seattle at rush hour.

Why not, I reasoned, just go to the restaurant and eat, thereby waiting out the traffic jams and ensuring that there is no way we could miss it for any stupid reason on Saturday. Andy agreed. Then I realized I didn't have the address.

Seattle is a pretty connected city, so we found a coffee shop with wi-fi and I looked it up. That would've been fine, but for a few mistakes.

1) I got the address wrong. Instead of it being 1415, I thought it was 1450.

2) I got the address really, really, really wrong. Instead of it being 1415 NW 70th Street, I thought it was on NE 70th.

3) I quickly googled the directions using Andy's toy (Itouch). However, not only did I google the wrong address, I also asked it to give me walking directions. I'm still figuring out this technology.

So we drove through rush hour traffic to all the 1400 and 70th intersections in the north parts of the city. North, North East, and finally, after one accidental on-ramp and about an hour and a half of driving, we found ourselves blocks from where our friend used to live. In front of the restaurant. With an hour's wait.

Hell, we decided to go for it anyway. We ordered wine (I had a Columbia Valley Sangiovese) and beer (Chuckanut Lager) and sat down. Luckily, no one on the wait list was answering their phones, so we got a seat at the bar after only a few minutes.

And wow. Wow, double wow, triple wow, and all that jazz. It was just like how I imagined, only somehow even better.

At the bar (which I read about!) we had a great view of the wood fired oven (also read about that), and we could just glimpse the specials board, written in familiar handwriting. I was so excited I was almost jumping out of my skin. And Andy, sweet, patient, driving my ass all over Seattle because I can't remember addresses Andy, was so happy for me. He hadn't even tasted the food yet! I noticed the head chef looked familiar, and then I realized it's because I had seen his wedding pictures posted by his wife on her blog. Oh-oh-I think that's the owner! Oh-and he's cooking! Oh-and it all looks and smells amazing!!!

We started with a grilled radicchio starter, served with thin slices of parmesan, preserved meyer lemons peel slices, bread crumbs, and the most amazing garlicky, salty, oily, slight-whiff-of-anchovy-y dressing. Radicchio really comes into its own when it's grilled, and this was a brilliant rendition of one of my favorite ways to prepare it. Andy liked it too, even the anchovy bit.

Since we were watching the kitchen, we got to see all the pizzas being made, all the roasting going on, and all the pizzas coming out of the fire, charred and amazing smelling.

Andy had a fennel salami pizza, with home-made salami, a light touch of delicious red sauce, and some kind of amazing cheese.

I had the pizza romana, a cheeseless pizza that had red sauce (some), anchovies, olives, and a drizzle of chili oil. It was spicy and briny and the red sauce was perfection in red sauce, the epitome of all red sauce, what every red sauce dreams about at night for their unborn red sauce children.

Oh, and then there's the crust. Salty, chewy, perfectly balanced in flavor, texture, and charred slightly from the fire. It too was everything a crust should be.

By this time, I've started on my second glass of wine (a local Syrah) and I'm swooning. Andy's even eating slices of my pizza with anchovies. That's how good it is. I was probably making embarrassing faces and noises. Then the chef looked up at my stupid grin and asked how we liked it.

Hyperbole aside, it was amazing food and we told him. I asked if he was Brandon, and if Molly was there. (She wasn't. Oh well.) He came over and talked to us for a bit, about Bellingham and skiing and Tahoe and anchovies. We gushed. It was great.

And I haven't even talked about dessert.

Caramel apple- some sort of amazing baked apple soaked/baked so that it was like apples and caramel and cinnamon and everything good and comforting in the world, served with freshly whipped cream and some sort of crumble. Perfection. Then there was also the honey pot-du-creme, served with more whipped cream, pieces of some kind of nut toffee (Really? REALLY?), and hazelnut shortbreads.

I didn't actually die of gastronomic happiness, but it was close.

Sure, it wasn't the cheapest meal I've ever eaten, but I am sure it will remain one of the best.

Andy suggested that we swing by on our way back to Portland on Saturday night.

Slow Cooker, Part II: carrot soup

2010-03-14T19:31:00.000-07:00

You know when you find a recipe and you say "wow, this is delicious, we should make this again sometime" but you file it away in the back of your brain and you don't really come back to it for a while?

This carrot soup is exactly unlike that.

I made it for dinner one night; we had our friend Skyler over, and it was duly praised. Excellent with bread and cheese. Simple ingredients. Perfect, right?

So a week later, I found a bunch of carrots looking ready to be cooked, and remembered how yummy that soup was, and so I made it again.

Two more weeks passed, and at least one day we ate yet another batch of the carrot soup.

Now it's mid-March, and I'm making it yet again, this time for a pot-luck with my cohort during class time. And it is so good, I need to share the recipe:

Carrot soup with Honey* and Nutmeg

*To keep it vegan, I used agave syrup and water. Usually, I use honey and chicken broth in a box.

2 lbs of carrots

2 russet potatoes

1 or two onions

2 TBS or so of olive oil (for sauteing the onions)

4-6 cups water or broth*

1/2 tsp dried thyme

1/2 tsp dried marjoram

2 cloves garlic, pressed

2 TBS honey *

1/2 - 1 tsp nutmeg, preferably freshly grated

sea salt and pepper to taste

Crock pot with high and low setting

immersion blender (easy) or blender/food processor (harder)

Chop the onions and saute them in the olive oil until translucent. Meanwhile, chop the potatoes and carrots into chunks.

Add carrots, potatoes, pressed garlic, thyme, marjoram, and the onions with their oil to the crock pot. Cover it with water or broth.

Cook on high for one hour.

Turn the heat low and cook for 5-7 hours.

Blend the soup so it is fairly smooth.

Add the honey, nutmeg, and season to taste.

That's it. Simple. It likes to be served with bread, cheese, salad, and wine. Or beer. Or by itself.

Slow Cooker

2010-02-25T17:26:00.000-08:00

For our wedding, we received a gift certificate to a certain large store that sells kitchen appliances and food. I realized that one kitchen appliance we could totally justify was a large, fancy crock pot, to replace our tiny 4 quart one that we had outgrown.

The fantastic slow cooker came home with us. It has lots of features (like a removable crock, a tight fitting lid, and three heat settings!), but I found myself stumbling with it. I was still just making the same three dishes I knew how to make, and they weren't that exciting.

Enter Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker Cookbook. This gem of a book is priceless. I have yet to find a dud, and I've been cooking from it once or twice a week.

Like my other current favorite cook book (How to Eat Supper), there are few special ingredients required other than the sorts of things I usually have on hand. This quality alone makes it vital for the Tahoe kitchen. And it's the sort of food that I want to eat.

Recipes like Chicken Tortilla Soup, Golden Carrot Soup, Enchilada pie, Ginger Hoisin Chicken, and Lentils with Ham have completely rocked our world. Especially mine.

I realized that although I really wanted to spend time during the weekend cooking good wholesome meals to eat with Andy, I was really stressing myself out by doing so. Taking the time to cook and eat a good breakfast, then clean the kitchen, do homework (a multi-hour endeavor no matter what), work out, then cook dinner was becoming more than I could handle.

Yet, if I'm just preparing food to put in the slow cooker right after eating breakfast, then doing my clean up, I can get half my day's chores done at once, and I'm able to work on homework right up until dinner, I tend to get a lot more done. I sometimes even get to go grocery shopping! What luxury!

It's overwhelming sometimes

2010-02-14T12:30:00.000-08:00

A profile of a First-Grade Class*

8 are in Chapter 1 (3 of which will test out as learning disabled)

1 is on a reading individual education plan

3 are receiving assistance for speech problems

3 are receiving in-school counseling

2 are receiving out-of-school counseling

1 has a history of physical abuse

3 are from homes with a history of domestic violence

2 have been sexually abused

1 child lives in a shelter home

1 child is in his fourth school since kindergarten; several others in their third school

2 students have been evicted from their apartments for setting fire to them

Figure 1.1, Comprehensive Classroom Management, Jones and Jones, 2010

"Thus, always in our minds as we design curriculum must be these questions: Whom am I preparing to teach? How can I bring knowledge of my students to bear on the way in which I design curriculum>? How can I help these particular students find themselves and their world in what I am about to teach? Then, as we design and implement the curriculum, we need to continue asking: How might I teach in ways that best reveal the power of this design to these individuals? How might I learn more about these particular students as I watch them interact with the content and the ways in which I set about to teach it? In what ways might I ensure that each learner has full access to the power of this design in accordance with his or her particular needs?"

-Integrating Differentiated Instruction + Understanding By Design, Tomlinson and McTighe, 2006

Yeah. It's overwhelming sometimes. I have to come up with a way to answer all these questions. And teach. And stay sane.

*This isn't my class. It is, however, an excellent representation of the diversity found in a public school classroom, especially in a school located in an almost any neighborhood outside the rich ones. And even those have problems, just different ones.

Current Obsession

2010-02-13T14:48:00.000-08:00

What with it being Begging Week and all on OPB, and what with me having to drive everywhere because I feel like crap and am not ready to start biking, I've been in the car a lot. Which means I've been listening to CDs. Not just any CDs, but one my friend Deb sent as part of a wedding package.

It's the Flight of the Conchords album (not sure which one, actually, since it's ripped) and neither Andy nor I can get enough.

It started with seeing an episode somewhere in a hotel room, and thinking it was pretty funny. Then my math professor brought a clip in to class, just because it was so funny. We decided to order it up via netflix, and then the obsession started.

The show is funny. The music is amazingly, screamingly hilarious. Seriously. For a couple who gladly listens to Weird Al at the dinner table (and I'm not afraid to admit it...but no, we don't go to fan conventions for anything nor are we part of any sort of role playing game, and neither of us owns anything made of chain mail), this music fits right in.

Here's the song I've been singing in my head all afternoon. Too bad not a single song is safe for the school room.

Remnants

2010-02-06T20:55:00.001-08:00

So, Andy theorized today that H1N1 is still causing health problems for many people. Me included.

There were those amazing four weeks at the end of December and early January where I felt great. I was running almost every day, and riding my bike fast and hard, skiing, and even working out with this balance ball exercise video I got. Yeah, I admit it. I use a DVD and a balance ball and I love it. And my core is STRONG! Actually, it is a tough, energetic workout for my body and brain and it leaves me breathless, heart pounding, and unable to do every part of it.

Those weeks were great. I was so strong, and I was thinking about the competitions I want to enter in the spring and summer. Bike racing again...what a thought! Now a distant, distant thought.

Now, I can barely walk up the stairs without wheezing. I left school early on Friday because I felt so crummy. My throat is scratchy and my lymph nodes are sore (but less swollen than on Thursday). Is it the kittehs? Is it allergies to all the blooms I see out my window? Or maybe the mold I can smell in parts of my house. Is it remnants of swine flu pushing my body over the edge? It's probably all of those things and more I haven't thought of.

And it sucks.

A Day in the Life...Student Teaching and Learning

2010-02-06T17:10:00.000-08:00

Monday- wake up, dread going to my first class. I always leave this one class feeling like crying. My colleagues occasionally come up to me to give me comfort and support for my treatment. It's nice that it's not all in my head.

Then it's our writing workshop, over two hours of writing and studying the craft of teaching literacy.

Last in the day is algebra. I forget what the full title is. The class is intended to prepare us for the reality that we are licensed to teach K-8, and therefore will actually need to know algebra in order to teach it. It's taught by a fabulous math professor who somehow makes it seem interesting and exciting. Seriously! It helps knowing that my fantastic math professor from last term is taking the class too, albeit in a different section. So we can share strategies.

Tuesdays are the really, really long day. I head off (driving) to my student teaching site, check in with my mentor, then head off to a second grade class for observing. The second graders are a breath of fresh air. The whole experience of being in a different room is good for me, and the classroom teacher is talented and worth learning from. In the afternoon, I return to the 5th grade (my primary placement) and we suffer through a couple hours of our literacy block. I say suffer because our structure isn't really working, and I end up spending the majority of my time reminding students of the behavior expectations.

At 3:00, I get in the car and travel about 20 miles on freeways and state highways to my campus. 4:00 finds me ravenous and crammed in a basement room with my cohort and the Dean of the education program, studying classroom management. My classroom needs management, so I'm keen to get everything I can out of the class. Andy, thankfully, has dinner ready for me when I get home at 7:30.

Wednesdays are something of a relief. A 9:00 am start means I don't need to leave my house until 8:00 if I am riding to my carpool. My carpool consists of a couple of other 30+ women, smart, opinionated, and dedicated. Also, married or very partnered. We have a lot in common, and we make the most of our time to gossip and process what's going on in our complicated lives. The first class of the day is training on how to teach English to speakers of other languages; yet another course that I find incredibly valuable. The professor was with us for our Ethics and History class and she inspires me every day. Beth observed that Dr. Exposito's core values are so strong, she can't help but be a fascinating teacher. The afternoon is dedicated to our Reader's workshop; more work on literacy instruction. This class features "book club" time with two of my colleagues, to discuss our readings and response papers. I find myself looking forward to this part of the day; I like talking to these two and I think they have incredibly valuable observations. But the best part about Wednesdays? We are done by 2:45.

Thursdays and Fridays are both spent in my classroom. They have the beautiful bonus of not requiring any real homework to be done, as I do have some planning time during the day and I'm not doing much direct teaching right now. However, my solo-solo and solo teaching, once so far in the future they were impossible to think about, are rapidly approaching.

Solo-solo means I am by myself. Period. My mentor is only welcomed in the room to do some formal observations of me. This is for two weeks. Solo (single) teaching is the other four, wherein I provide all the instruction, planning, etc., but my mentor is in the classroom and can offer assistance. March 29. Here I come.

My, what a busy weekend

2010-01-31T17:36:00.000-08:00

Here's what a typical homework weekend looks like.

Reading

P. 297-361, Comprehensive Classroom Management. As I've said elsewhere, I really value this class so I take my sweet time reading the text. The incredibly useful, yet dense, text.
Chapters 4-8, A Teacher's Guide to School Law
Chapters 6-7, Notebook Know-how
Chapter 7, Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages
Two articles (subject of ADD and passive aggressive behavior)
Chapter 21-Elementary and Middle School Math

Writing

4-6 page paper on classroom procedures/creating classroom community
Response paper (one page) to literacy readings
GLAD unit development (Colonial America)
Unit Goals for state-required work sample of Literacy teaching
Starting the process for planning what I'm going to teach by myself for 6 weeks, including math, literacy, science, and social studies.

Life

Grocery shopping
Menu planning
ordering transcripts from all three universities I've attended
researching California requirements for teacher license
Working out (or acupuncture, depending on how I'm feeling)
Spending time with Andy
Cleaning some part of the house
Taking time for myself.

Kiittehs!!!

2010-01-24T20:41:00.000-08:00

First things first.

Grad school is HARD. Student teaching is HARD. It's a pretty unpleasant experience all around. I mean that it's hard to take over a class that is completely different than the way I want to teach. I know, deep in my heart, that my classroom won't look, sound, or feel like my student teaching class (called the internship). But I also know that there really isn't much I can do about the choices that are already made. Maybe that's not very clear. Suffice it to say that it's hard to take over someone else's classroom. I'm lucky that someone is willing to let me do it at all. I'm lucky I get such good feedback and guidance in the content areas where I'm weakest- math and science. I'm lucky we have a good, strong, caring relationship. But it's still hard.

Winter is hard too. We went skiing on the three-day weekend, but the snow was crap with extra crap on top. Below 4000 feet was almost snow-free (according to Andy- I bailed and waited for him to come back in the car-that's how bad it was). I also broke a strap on my brand-new boots, and I still haven't solved the problem with the blisters. In fact, the blisters are actually worse than my old boots. The new gear is good though (excepting the blisters). I have a great deal more control and confidence when I can actually use my edges. I miss Tahoe snow.

It's been raining a lot. Raining, but fairly warm. I saw a camellia in bloom the other day, and cherry blossoms starting to peek out. That means pollen, allergens, and still more mold growing in our house. Our bathroom has a leak (I think-there's a bucket on the floor for the moment), and the whole house feels damp.

My allergies are out of control, and I'm pretty miserable. I think I made a delicious pot of lentils tonight, but since I couldn't taste them, I'm not sure. I burned the tortillas I was reheating because I couldn't smell the smoke. My head is pounding with sinus pressure, and my throat and nose feel raw.

However, all that is nothing-NO THING AT ALL- when compared to the pleasure and belly laughs that have come from fostering two kittehs.

Toby and Bella came to us via a craigslist posting asking for help to foster two cats for six months. That's just about perfect, I thought. So I convinced Andy (easy), made contact, and voila- two very different 6 month old kittens are tearing our house, curtains, sofa, and peace apart. And I love almost every minute of it.

They bring a totally new energy into the house. They are noisy and annoying and needy. When we come home, they follow us from room to room. They sleep in open drawers, under the covers, on top of our feet, on shelves, in the laundry, and just about everywhere else. This is the first time I've lived with kittens since I was about 10 (when I rescued Vinigar, my childhood kitty). They are nuts. And fun as hell. They are good friends too, and when they sleep they cuddle, nuzzle, and groom each other. Bella is the runt, and she's the kind of kitty who will struggle to stay awake when she's sitting on you but just can't quite do it. Toby is about twice her size, and a bully. Toby's social, smart, and likes to sleep under the covers.

They are pure joy.

New Year!

2010-01-04T16:35:00.000-08:00

We were lucky enough to be invited to a McMansion in Sun River, OR, (about 20 miles from Bend) for the New Year. My dear friend arranged the whole extravaganza, including a hot tub, room assignments, a spreadsheet for logistics, and dinner/ food arrangements. We were the surprise guests. That worked out, mostly.

When we arrived on Wednesday night, it was almost midnight. We immediately got into the hot tub, and stayed there, catching up with my friend and his Boyfriend for much of the night. I'd barely spoken to the Boyfriend, so this was especially lovely.

On December 31, we woke late, lazed around, and eventually got ourselves out the door with our cross country ski gear. I had just bought new boots and bindings, and there was a good bit of snow on the miles and miles of off-street paths. There were also golf courses to ski through, and a distant XC ski trail. Here we are. Unfortunately, the snow turned to rain and I was sliding on the tiniest layer of sludge over the paths. We skied for about 10 miles, got fairly lost, and Andy broke a binding on my grandmother's skis. It's ok. She hasn't used them for several years. We ended up walking back, and then getting lost yet again coming home from the store.

The Boyfriend surprised us with delicious warm food, and we spent more time in the hot tub. For dinner, the boys made pasta (with reasonable success) and we added some gluten-free pasta and sausage. It was delightful.

Shortly after dinner, the Lawyers arrived. I was excited to meet the wife-half of the duo, and happy to see a familiar traveling companion. The other car arrived, and my dear friend Timo and his lady, my new friend Esther, walked in. Then this other girl came in, took one look at the table, and walked downstairs. Into the room we were supposed to share. And never came out.

She didn't come out again until someone got the bus schedule and offered to drive her to Bend to go home. Unbeknownst to me, I was somehow (in her mind) responsible for this. It was pretty awful to see a grown woman be so selfish and inconsiderate of the other guests or her host. I'm glad that the rest of my friends did not see the issue (whatever it was-I'm still not sure, although it probably has to do with the girl in question having many of her ex boyfriends there with their new significant others, and probably less to do with me; I guess that I'm convenient to blame) as being mine.

(We slept on the living room floor that night.)

The rest of us ate two kinds of fondue and drank enough champagne to fill several hot tubs, and soaked, and ate, and laughed, and toasted each other, and generally had a wonderful start to the new year. I have spent previous new year celebrations with some of these folks, and it was great to have that continuity. It was different in that we were ALL coupled up, but although the social dynamic was different, it wasn't bad at all. In fact, I think we are all healthier in so many ways.

The next day, I got to teach my first nordic (XC) ski lesson to the halves of the couples who had never skied, and we all joined up later. I had a blast teaching motivated adults who are athletic, and I am incredibly proud of how well I did. They did great too, but I feel like I created a couple of XC skiers on Friday! I really wanted to do this because their partners are super into XC skiing, and I suspected that the pressure + lack of teaching language would turn the newbies off immediately. Instead, we all had a great time, skied for a good while, and felt really good about the whole thing.

The drive back was uneventful, and that was OK too.

Cleansing finish

2009-12-30T09:36:00.000-08:00

I guess I should note somewhere that I am doing my own version of this cleanse-y thing, and I'm skipping what by all accounts is an important step: the Orange Juice day. Except that I really couldn't do an entire day of orange juice. So I'm going directly to veggie broth and later some juice. Tomorrow, since we are skiing, I'm going to make a smoothie (coconut milk, pear or apple, and kale) for the morning, and have hummus, crackers, and lean turkey, along with lots of carrot snacks and dried fruit to eat.

I have no idea how that's going to work with the sheer amount of calories burned while skiing, but I'm willing to bet I need the calories more than I need liquid if I'm doing snowsports.

This is so...interesting. By tomorrow night I plan on eating fairly normally, albeit gluten and sugar-free. (I hope.)

In other news...

2009-12-29T14:52:00.000-08:00

I'm doing one of those super detox body cleanses. Yep. The Lemonade Master Cleanse diet. I'm doing a short version of it because I just don't have time or energy to do a lemonade fast for ten days. Nope, that's too much.

It started with a day of just vegetable (apple, carrot, beet, parsley) juice and warm veggie broth. That was tough. Then the first day of the lemonade. It's just fresh lemon juice, maple syrup, cayenne, and water. The recipe that I followed was incredibly sweet and too spicy, and made me very grumpy. I was emotional and grumpy and did not want to continue. Luckily, Andy's incredibly supportive, and I stuck with it.

The cleansing comes from two sources: letting your body rest from the work of digestion, and by flushing out your system. The flush is done by drinking an entire nalgene bottle of salt water. I know. It was as awful as it sounds, and it didn't have the desired effect. Totally gross.

Day two was much, much easier. Instead of the salt water, I'm bailing and just drinking senna leaf tea (a mild laxative). I altered the recipe for the lemonade to make it both less spicy and less sweet. I remembered to drink more water. And I was incredibly productive.

Today is Day Three, and I've gotten a lot of work and chores done. I'm vaguely hungry, but it's nothing like I thought it would be. I'm not running or cycling right now, but that's ok.

Tomorrow I get to do the veggie broth and juice again, and eventually some plain crackers! Whoopee!

So why am I bothering to go through all this? Well, after the CT scan (mega radiation) and all the drugs in my body, I felt like I really needed to give it a good cleaning. Add to that the stress that I've been living with for the past 9 months, and I really need to take better care of my body. No more going to bed crying. No more waking up dreading the day.

I also like the idea of eating less gluten and sugar. Now, I eat very little of either, but I could still eat less. And drink less beer. Fewer hamburgers. Not that I eat much crap, though. I read about all the things one should reduce from one's diet (processed foods, white bread, milk, soda) and I think that I don't eat much of any of that. My vice is in homemade cookies in the staff room, instant oatmeal, waffles and applesauce for breakfast, and trader joe's granola bars. (I could probably live for a few days at least on those.)

Hopefully, this experience will give me better health as well as more reason to avoid the foods that aren't good and find alternatives to granola bars for my morning snack. Who knows?

Did I mention I get broth tomorrow? Hooray!

Snow!

2009-12-29T14:51:00.000-08:00

It's really snowing in Portland. Sure, it's more like a dusting, and it's supposed to warm up soon, but for now, just for now, I can look out my window into a flurry of gray and white, white tipped trees, and dream of mountains.

Vacation

2009-12-20T20:23:00.000-08:00

Vacation! At last. Finally. Since September 2 (yep, two days after the wedding) I feel like I've been going incredibly hard, except for those two months of swine flu, when I just thought I was going to die. But it finally arrived.

It being the last week, then the last day before the winter break. The kids were progressively more and more awful and excitable. I still had math-MATH!-to teach. Every day I would fall into my bed at the late hour of 8:40 pm and sleep until 5:30, and then get up and do it all over again. I was trying to ride, and trying to stay sane, and trying to be a good teacher, and a good person. I think I did ok.

I managed to be social a few times with school people. I went out on a beautiful boat on the Columbia River with a couple of Educational Assistants from the school and their husbands. I went to the Grant High School Performing Arts Winter Gala with my mentor and her friend/awesome substitute, Paula. There was massacring of the Nutcracker Suite and ackward teens and even some gorgeous singing. I also managed to make it to the staff party. Then, we left.

I'm currently a mile or two north of Klamath, CA, in the Redwood country. Tomorrow we are going to Endor. (Jedidiah State Park-whooee!)

Stay tuned for gigantic redwoods and elk.

I always wanted to be an auntie

2009-12-03T18:49:00.000-08:00

Tia Elicia and Kaylah Erin Brandon

Growing up, I was not really one of those girls who dreamed of motherhood. The idea of babies and family making seemed to me, if not completely vile, then certainly unreasonably difficult and unrewarding.

I understand that other people don't feel this way. That is fantastic. Smart people make smart babies, and for folks who want families, all I can say is more power to them. It's not my thing.

However, at some point I got the idea into my head that I'd make a great aunt. You know, the one with the funky glasses (check) and the crazy lifestyle (check), and lets you have wine with dinner and tells you stories prefaced with "I know your mom wouldn't want you to hear this story, but once we were..." Cool, maybe a little embarrassing (especially when you have to explain that the lady crying at your 5th grade graduation isn't actually related to you), and part of the fabric of your family.

It's hard to be an auntie when you're an only child. (And I have to confess, it never in a million years occurred to me that I might marry and thus get a niece or nephew. Honestly. That really wasn't in my reality either.)

I did get married, and I got a lovely little niece. I don't know her at all. I hope that changes. And then, in August of 2008, my best friend Kelly had a baby named Kaylah Erin.

Kel was the first of my closest girlfriends to get married. She is the only friend (who isn't one of my bikey girlfriends) to come bike tour with me. She has been my friend and confidante for seventeen years. We met because of college, and an acting class, and a borrowed tape of some rare Doors. We shared a love of Jim Morrison (c'mon, we were 16) and Pink Floyd. Her family kindly took me in when it was too far for me to fly home for holidays. I learned about New Jersey (a place that, growing up in western Colorado, only existed in books). I went to NYC for the first time with Kel. And so on. Years and years of letters and stories and visits and more letters. Kelly is the one who drove to Portland to pack me up when I left Voldemort's house. Kelly party hopped Thanksgivings with me one year, and hosted me the next. I spent one memorable Christmas with her, her boyfriend (now husband), and his family. I could go on and on.

Kelly and Pat, her husband, had a baby. Pat is a sailor. More accurately, he is an officer on one of the ferry boats that go to Alaska. He is gone much of the time. Kelly is more or less a single mom, at least with the the schedule they have now. And it's tough. Harder than I ever imagined.

But for just one short weekend, I got to be Tia (that's spanish for Aunt, gringo), and play with Kaylah and cook for Kelly and shower both of them with so much love and affection that I thought my heart might burst from joy. We stayed up late whispering the way that girlfriends do, and took turns playing with Kaylah, and I cooked and cooked and fed them both as best I could.

Kaylah learned to call me Tia (sounds more like Cha! coming from her). She saw my tattooed legs and made the sign for heart. She ran up to me and hugged me a few times. It was amazing.

So here's my chance to be the auntie that I've always wanted to be. Thanks Kel. Thanks for letting me continue to be part of your family, even with husbands and babies and different lives. I am so incredibly lucky to have a friend like you.

Hugo, Rest peacefully

2009-11-18T19:12:00.000-08:00

Hugo, curled in his special chair, with heating pad, Tahoe City, CA

Hugo left us yesterday, quietly, peacefully, and I think gratefully. I have never cried so hard in my life. I don't think Andy has either. I'm still crying.

I got to spend the whole day with him, loving him and kissing him and telling him how much I love him. He got an embroidered blankie that said "Hugo I love you" to wrap up in. He even came and wanted to be held for a while. I cried and nuzzled his belly (his treacherous, cancer filled belly) and was so happy for those last few hours.

We were lucky to find a wonderful vet who came to help us and him make this as easy as possible. I am grateful for her compassion and support in this incredibly difficult decision.

When the sedative took hold, it was easy to see how much better he felt.

We buried him in Shawna's yard, next to Ace and Dolly and Willie (all pets that Shawna has lovingly buried), with candles and flowers and lots of love and kisses and tears.

She helped us say good bye, and put a little jade kitty on his grave, and lit a candle to burn in her garden all night long. Andy dug a place for him, and together we covered him and cried and cried.

I'm so grateful to her for helping me see that I made the right decision, and for providing a time and place to say goodbye. As we left, she said that she says hello to all her kitty and bunny friends every morning. That makes me feel so good, that even when I'm not here, she will be saying hello to him.

I went back to leave more flowers today, to sit quietly underneath her beautiful tree and tell him all the things that I was too emotional to tell him yesterday. Like how he helped me be a better person because I had to take care of someone else, even when I didn't want to take care of myself. Or how he let me cry into his belly when I was sad. Or how he knew when I really needed to hold him, and he'd let (no, he liked it!) me carry him around like a baby, or later, when he was too sick to be inverted, like a baby looking over my shoulder. How he came to love Andy, and sometimes, in the old apartment, I'd be squished between the two of them, arms stuck under each, unable to move, and just cozy as could be.

See, yesterday, he didn't wake us up. He's woken me up every day that I've been with him for the last five years. He's barely been eating. He had a real bad day on Sunday- really undignified. And he couldn't walk all the way across the kitchen without having to rest. Of course, he was really stuck up about it- he pretended to just be sitting in the chair like that's what he meant to be doing. But it wasn't. And he was falling down the last few stairs when he made it up them. He was miserable, and barely breathing. So it's ok. It hurts, and the house is cold and empty, and his side of the couch is miserable, and I'm so sad that I feel like I'm going to break apart in a million little pieces that can't ever be put back together because there is a Hugo shaped hole in my life, but I know for sure I did the right thing.

Decisions about Life and Not-life

2009-11-17T11:03:00.000-08:00

So, Hugo is really sick, and it's time to let him go. This is maybe the hardest thing I can think of. He's still cuddling with us (a little bit). He's still eating- about a tablespoon of food a day. He's hiding his cancer pretty well, but it is pretty clear that I'm making the right decision.

Doesn't make it suck any less, or make me cry any less though.

A Little Niceness in November

2009-11-12T21:17:00.000-08:00

1) I can breathe again. I can even ride my bike! (Albeit very, very slowly.)

2) Lewis & Clark College wrote this nice article about me.

3) Finals are close to done.

A Day in the Emergency Room, again

2009-11-02T19:24:00.000-08:00

8:00 am- re-check doctor's appointment up at school because I'm still exhausted and feeling short of breath. Breathing is just hard, like there's a weight on my chest, and my lungs are fatigued.

8:10 am- the assistant director of health services is telling me that I really should just go to the ER. I protest, telling her how many classes I've missed. She calls the dean of the school. She also suggests I call Andy to come and be with me. So I go to the ER, against my will. She was very insistent.

8:35 (ish) am- The ER at OHSU is quiet. I'm seen almost immediately. It all feels pretty good, even though I'm still having trouble breathing and they don't seem to be quite getting that. Andy shows up.

9am-10am...stuff happens. They put an IV in me and draw blood. I have good blood pressure and make a huge bloody mess. It was funny.

11am, 12pm- waiting for blood test.

12, 1, 2pm- they do an EKG on me, and a sonar on my heart. Nothing. The blood looks weird though, so they recommend chest x-rays and a CT scan.

3pm- still nothing, but the CT scan made me feel like peeing my pants as promised, although I did not. There are patients in the hall way of the ER. Meanwhile, Andy has gotten the computer and we are watching Kids in the Hall, with me occasionally freaking out about missing school and not knowing what's going on. I've been here almost six hours now...great.

4pm- a nurse with fabulous dreads tells us he's appalled that we've been there so long, apologizes profusely, and is about to take out the IV.

The doctor (another, new doctor) comes in and tells me they have no idea why I can't breathe. He's kind, listens to our concerns, but has NOTHING TO OFFER. At all. I now know that I don't have a pulmonary edema (blood clots in my lungs), blood clots probably anywhere, or cardio problems. I can blow a breath tester thingy to high heaven (higher than Andy-I have to work my lungs twice as hard as he does for about 1/3 of the output-no wonder they are stronger) and I'm absorbing oxygen at the appropriate rate. I just can't breathe very well.

They take out the IV.

At some point during the day, I get an email about someone in the secondary elementary program at school who died this weekend of H1n1 complications, and I guess I understand now why they rushed me to the ER. I didn't want to go. I just want to fucking breathe. But I guess they were just being safe.

Now, theoretically, I should rest easy knowing that I've been screened for almost every major problem I could have. Right? Right? Well, no. I'm maybe even more scared because I can't breathe well and I'm exhausted. I'm now yet another day behind in my schoolwork, I panicked my car-pool when I left the message that I was going to the ER (I didn't yet know about the guy from school dying), and I STILL CAN'T BREATHE VERY WELL.

Who knows what the bills for these are going to be like.

Shit.

Update on Kitty Cancer

2009-10-27T17:59:00.000-07:00

I've decided (about ten minutes ago) that I'm not going to do anything like chemotherapy or invasive needle probes of his many tumors. I'm just going to take care of him until he doesn't want to eat or breathe or play. Damn.

But he's so old, and he's so content right now to just be the cat on the couch.

Cancer of the Kitty

2009-10-27T14:23:00.000-07:00

I found out that my kitty cat has cancer. Lots of cancer. I am trying really hard to keep it together. I know that at some point he will stop eating, and I will have to make a decision that I do not want to make. I know it's my responsibility to make that decision, because I love him and I want him to be comfortable. I know that I don't want to make a decision for him based on economics, or my own selfish desire to keep him here as long as possible. I know I'm scared, and sad. He's had a really good, long life.

I don't know how much cancer, exactly. We don't know if it's just in his lungs, or in his abdomen. I don't know how long he has, or what happens next. Do I call the specialist? I don't know.

But it's pretty sad.

Piggy Update

2009-10-23T14:51:00.001-07:00

Day 5 in bed- I am so incredibly sick of bed. On the other hand, I'm not particularly restless simply because my ability to do much out of bed is so limited. For instance, I went downstairs and took a good long shower this morning. Then I had to go have a little lie-down to recover from the effort. Movies, NPR, and the wonders of the magical internets characterize my days, plus excursions down the stairs to use the bathroom, refill my water, and eat. Eating sets me back a lot. I guess the energy I use to digest is all I've got.

My super cool math teacher wants to have a make-up session on Sunday, but I'm dubious of my abilities to drive to Beaverton, sit through a (what will certainly be fascinating) small class, then drive back.

My trip to the doctor on Wednesday was pretty good, actually. They took blood and found that I don't seem to have a bacterial infection. They want me back for a TB test, but I'm quite confident that will be negative, just like the one I had last December. They gave me an inhaler and told me to just rest as much as possible. So, five days down.

Plus homework.

Andy said that my timing is pretty good, for being sick. I mean, getting sick in the middle of a pandemic is ok, because truly I can't be penalized for being out. Not from my elementary school (almost 1/2 the class has been gone all week, plus my mentor is out now too), or from L&C classes. But there were still anti-virals for me to take. And I didn't get pneumonia. That's what kills people and I'm going to make sure as hell that I don't get it.

The Piggy, or H1n1 in the house

2009-10-20T13:05:00.000-07:00

About three weeks ago, I got pretty sick. Sick enough that Andy had to help me down the stairs, and I missed a bunch of class, and generally felt awful. I started getting better, but I found that I still couldn't ride more than about a mile without coughing so hard it made me want to pass out. My energy levels were pretty low, and it was pretty much all I could do to just get through the days- school, teaching, homework, making dinner, more homework, sleep.

I was even invited to social events, but the energy required just couldn't be mustered.

This past Saturday, I started feeling crappy again. Sore throat, worsening cough, that sort of thing. On Sunday, I woke up and started doing homework, with the plan to leave in the middle of the day to attend my friend's birthday celebration. I got all dressed up, even put on a little make-up, and made her a gift. Then I realized that just going up and down the stairs was totally exhausting, and there was no way I could ride the four miles to her house and back. So, an apologetic phone call, and I changed back into my pajamas, and did more homework.

At about 3:00, I started to feel truly awful and went to lie down. An hour or so later, the phone rang and I ran downstairs to pick it up, hoping it was Andy. It was. I told him that I was really sick and I needed him to come home immediately. Poor thing-he'd just gotten done with a race and hadn't eaten enough. He was calling me to invite me for tacos with him and our friends.

After getting off the phone with him, I started coughing so hard I was vomiting again. This was bad. So bad, in fact, that I couldn't get off the floor. It was like a blood sugar event with the added distraction of not being able to breathe very well and an extra serving of incredible pain and weakness in my lower body. It was terrifying.

When he showed up, I was still on the floor, and I somehow croaked out "glucose". He got me some juice and into a chair. After a few phone calls to the insurance company (useless) and the nurse hotline for Lewis and Clark (very useful) we decided to go to the ER.

I hate the ER. I am terrified of hospitals and doctors being mean to me and insisting that I must be pregnant. (This happens far too often; ironic since I've NEVER BEEN.) I was afraid of them asking difficult questions, and having to justify why I was there...it was scary! But then again, I couldn't really walk and there was more blood in my sputum. And everything hurt so, so bad.

So off we went. This was a new ER for both of us; very near our home. It was Sunday night, and there were a good number of people who looked like they were dealing with the flu too. They made us wear masks. It took about three hours to get in to see a doctor.

Three long, miserable, painful hours where everything hurt and all I could think about was what a waste of time this was.

But the doctor and nurses were very, very kind. They x-rayed my chest to make sure I don't have pneumonia (nope!) and threatened me with an IV drip if I couldn't keep down water or drugs. The doctor said I looked very dry. Hmmm...I was experiencing all the symptoms of classic horrible dehydration plus the flu. No wonder I hurt so badly and had very little control of my limbs. They gave me an anti-nausea medicine, and two oxycontins, and made me drink as much water as I could. The narcotics are because cough meds don't really work, and the pain was incredible.

At about midnight, they sent us home with a prescription for an antiviral medicine, a diagnosis of H1N1, and a prescription for more oxys. And strict instructions to not go anywhere until I feel better.

So, day two of my second round of illness. Sucks. Still coughing blood, but I can now walk down the stairs by myself (whooee!) and I'm trying to not take the little narcotics. I still hurt a lot, and I feel incredibly weak.

Please, please let this pass quickly and without any more pain.

The Garden

2009-09-19T12:02:00.000-07:00

Zucchini, lacinto kale, peppers, and flower from the garden

About half a block away is a garden called Ariadne's Garden. It's not a community garden like most Portland gardens. Individuals don't have plots, and it's not run by Parks and Recreation. Instead, this lovely woman called Kim is more or less in charge. She wears carhart overalls and bright blue eyeliner. She reminds me a bit of my grandmother in the garden, only from a long time ago and without eyeliner. She is incredibly knowledgeable and kind.

As a customer, I show up on Saturday morning with my basket and some cash. I look on the board to see what's available. Today, it was tomatoes (seven or eight kinds), beans (four kinds), eggplant (two or three types), brussell sprouts, summer squash (four varieties), leeks, three kinds of greens, apples, garlic, and a whole bunch of chilies. I greeted Kim and asked her for a bundle of lacinto kale. We walked out to the kale, and she clipped a gigantic bundle of leaves. That was $2.00.

Next, we hiked out to the other side of the garden for $2.00 worth of flowers. I wanted zinnias this time, and then I saw varegated marigolds, and had to have some of those too.

Back at the front of the garden, I selected two more zucchinis, a gorgeous globe eggplant, and some peppers. Another worker in the garden remarked that they had so many beans they should bring down the price. I bought a dollar's worth. We had a nice chat about the kind of zucchini I chose (similar to the kinds we ate in South America) and Kim remarked that the Guatemalan families always ate those first. She was glad to have that mystery solved, and told me that seed was called Roundo de Nice. Or something like that.

The total was $10.50, rather more than usual, but now I know there is time in my schedule to cook, and come on, it's autumn!

I said goodbye and was at home in less than 30 seconds.

I love the garden.

I am humbled

2009-09-19T09:14:00.000-07:00

Just watch these girls.

Autumn Goal Setting

2009-09-12T16:45:00.000-07:00

1) Fresh flowers or piece of nature on my desk. Always.

2) Candles and fairy lights in my office, especially when it gets dark and gray.

3) Remembering to love running in the rain.

4) Kindness at all costs.

Migraine

2009-09-10T12:42:00.000-07:00

It starts with a certain sensitivity to light. Spots in my vision, and I can't tell if it's just because I've come in from a sunny outside day. Then the tightness begins, in my neck, in a band around my head. My stomach starts to complain-the granola bar doesn't want to sit quietly. By the time I notice all the signs of the migraine, it's almost too late. I run to the back of the classroom where I stashed the pills I'm supposed to take, but they aren't going to do too much good. Take one, and write down the time so I don't forget. It's easy to forget things when the pain is so intense. In an hour, I can take another pill, and maybe, just maybe, that will do the trick. Or at least make me sleep.

I have to ride 7 1/2 miles home. I don't remember most of it, except that I pulled over to take the 2nd pill. Then I slept for seven hours, was migraine free for about three hours, and then it started again.

The bright light is bad. But moving light, like the shadow of a tree moving in the wind, is unbearable.

Sounds are worse. A tiny microphone in my ear turns all the way to eleven and I can hear everything amplified a thousand times. The cat walking one story below. Clinking of dishes being rinsed and put away is painful, but balanced by the sweetness of Andy doing the dishes. Water running is horrible-like a razor across my brain. The noise of the city, something I don't notice too much any more, makes me long for the shush shush of tall trees and wind outside our Tahoe home. Somehow, that noise never hurt.

Every cycle is preceded by an intense craving for salt. Cheezy poofs, almonds, chips, salted tomatoes, anything that gives me that intense flavor on my tongue. Sweets are ok too. But when I'm in the middle of the migraine, all I crave is popcicles. Cool, sweet, strongly flavored berry or cherry popcicles that distract my brain from the hurt in my head. Popcicles and either NPR (even tones that I can tune in or out of) or a book on tape. Distraction from the pain.

I left school early yesterday, didn't go in today. Migraines are considered a legitimate disability, so I can't be penalized for staying home. Plus what good would I be, glassy eyed and pale? Usually this will last three or four days. Tomorrow will probably be better.

Last days...

2009-09-07T20:53:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I start student teaching with the kids. Today was a bit of a waste-extreme weather cancelled our camping trip, leaving me feeling out-of-sorts, grumpy, and migraine-y.

However, I felt compelled to start making a dent in the 2 cases of corn in our basement, so I made a corn spoonbread/souffle type thing with ham slices and a fresh tomato.

Roughly, it went like this:

6 ears of corn, niblets sliced off

1 small onion, minced

1/3 cup of flour

1 cup soymilk

1 TBS butter

5 eggs

I sauteed the onions briefly, then added the corn to pre-cook a bit. When I deemed it tender, I blended everything gently together. Next time, I might actually blend some of the corn-it'd make a better texture, I think. I put the whole thing in a lasagne pan, and baked it at about 375 for about an hour.

It went great with sliced tomatoes (oh, how I love the gluttonous sliced tomatoes every day) and grilled ham.

Fall Cooking

2009-09-05T09:52:00.000-07:00

This was a free zucchini from the garden down the street.

I finally had a chance to cook dinner last night. It was one of those days where I had a huge list of errands and groceries and chores, and somehow I managed to get almost everything done. So much so that evening found me trying out the new wok.

First, I fried about a pound of tofu in canola oil. The wok worked great for this. Then I started some rice.

I made a sauce of mirin, miso, peanut butter, and a touch of sugar, mixed with some water, and kept it just below a simmer until it was as thick as peanut butter.

Then I took the gigantic zucchini from the garden down the street and chopped wedges. I started grilling each wedge until they were tender and delicious. I did the same thing with the garden leeks, then spread the sauce on each and put them under the broiler.

I took the rainbow chard, also from the garden, and sauted it in the wok with onions, the tofu, some garlic chili sauce (sambal olek), rice wine vinegar, and some soy sauce.

And that was it. We had some wine (too much wine for me...) and a friend over for dinner, and we talked about the wedding, and politics, and our future plans.

See, I started my student teaching this week, learning how to prep a room before the kids arrive. Tuesday is the first day with kids, and then the week after I start back at Lewis and Clark full time. I already have a stack of books and articles that I need to read. Not to mention the thank you notes...

Oh yeah, and it's raining.

Mrs. Cardenas

2009-09-02T18:10:00.000-07:00

Married. I think I even remember some of it. Once we got on the bikes, it was easy. Once we got off the bikes, it was tough again. Wish I had eaten more. No, I wish I'd eaten any of the wonderful meat.

But wow. I mean, wow. Andy is amazing. And now I'm married.

2 days...

2009-08-28T11:45:00.000-07:00

Why am I feeling so crappy? I mean, I'm sure it's nerves. I never, ever thought that I'd be this shook up. I never thought that my digestion would deteriorate, and that all I'd want to do is nest. Really. The thing is, I did so much work ahead of time for this wedding thingy that I don't have much to do right now. I clearly have enough time to write on the weblog. Andy has been truly, truly brilliant. Family is relatively stressful. And I am exhausted.

Break-in 2009

2009-08-07T17:23:00.000-07:00

So I come home from a long day at school, and the back door is open. I find out that Hugo is still inside (whew!) but the computer isn't where I left it this morning. It's not on the desk. It's not upstairs. I called Andy...he left it on the round table under the window, plugged in. It was gone.

I went ballistic, naturally. Then I called the police to report a burglary. While I was waiting for them to arrive, I discovered how the criminals got in-they turned a recycle bin over and boosted themselves through our kitchen window. Big muddy footprints were everywhere, and the place was a mess.

The police were great, but they didn't offer me much hope for the computer. They took my report, told me that there were some kids that they thought were responsible for the burglaries, and asked me to make a list of everything that was missing.

They left, cautioning me to not touch the kitchen (aarrgh! Starving to death! Hugo also starving to death!) until the ID lady arrived. CSI in real life. As I sat down to make the list, I realized that the other crappy computer was gone as well, along with my Ipod cable. The brilliant criminals had also left a glove on the floor of the working-in-a-garden variety.

Then we get a knock on the door. It's our neighbor from two houses down. He asked if we'd had a break-in, and said that someone tried to force his screens earlier in the day too. We sent the cops to his house.

Eventually, the ID lady shows up, does her stuff, and leaves after explaining how to clean up fingerprint dust, and without photographing the footprints. Great, right?

About 10:00 that night, exhausted, I'm lying in bed and my phone rings. I don't answer it. Then the house phone rings, and the answerphone picks up. "I have your computer..." said a drawly voice. I ran downstairs.

This guy tells me he bought my computer a couple of days ago (um, impossible) and just wants to do me a favor by selling it back to me for what he paid for it. I decide this is probably a pretty good idea, but I should call the police. So I stall him. Somehow I managed to stall him for about 2 hours, while I waited for the police (the dispatchers were rock stars once I explained what was going on). The cops instructed me to not go meet this guy as he may have more than extorting me in mind.

Can you imagine the frustration? My laptop, a few blocks away, the money for it in my hand, and having to depend on some cops to rescue it. It was stressful, to say the least. I dealt with it by reading my collection of children's books out loud to Andy. He was a good sport.

At about midnight, one officer (we'd talked to three or four at this point) called and said they got the computer back, but they may need to keep it for evidence, and if they didn't she would drop it off. We went to bed. Around 3:30, the cops called back to let us know that they wanted to look at the footprints again. They were very loud.

The next day, the fellow who had tried to sell me my computer called me back. NO JOKE. He wanted to let me know just how much I had wronged him. I hung up on him, and called the police again.

That evening, I spent a couple of hours with the detective in charge of this rash of burglaries, and received reassurance that the fencer was probably not a dangerous guy. I also got my computer back. The following evening, when I was out of town, Andy got the other computer and some random stuff back as well.

All in all, it sure could've been a lot worse.