My father in law invites us regularly to crab feeds. We have declined consistently until this year, when we realized that free (for us) all you can eat crab might not be such a bad thing. Setting our preconceived notions of old men sitting around a Legionare's Hall picking at crab legs and discussing the good old days aside, we agreed to go.
This particular events was a fundraiser for the police department's youth outreach program, PALS. It was held at the Ulatis Community Center - which is new and modern on the outside with dramatic landscape lighting. My hopes rose. Inside though, its just another Legionares Hall. Sigh.
A few things struck me as odd, and I quickly realized, there is a whole culture to crab feeds, one I knew nothing about. I hate to think of all the faux pas I committed unknowingly that night, although for once I am happy to claim ignorance. I am sure all the crab feed afficionados are still looking down their butter smeared noses at me, but I was just there to eat crab.
First, each place setting had a crab bib, supplied by Joe's Crab (who presumably got let off an illegal crab smuggling charge by providing the police force with large quanities of fresh crab for their fundraiser). Plastic or vinyl, I am not sure, but the bib was, in a word, terrifying. A large, true to life red crab was painted across the front. Little tabs pulled off to create ties for around your neck- which reminded me of the way toilet seat covers pull apart. Not so appetizing. At first I chalked the bibs up to festive decorating -certainly cheaper than buying fishing nets and sand dollars to decorate the tables in a crabby theme. But after we sat down and introduced ourselves to the other couples at the table, everyone proceeded to pull out their bib ties and wrap them around their neck, as if this was totally normal behavior, as if we didn't all have giant red crabs, the exact likeness of the food we were about to eat, waving pinchers across our chests. Can you imagine going to a rib eating contest and wearing a cow on your shirt, as you consumed said cow? Twisted....I turned to my husband and his sister, both relatively hip, normal, stylish people. They both already had their bibs on. I pondered what kind of crab was so messy that we even needed these bibs. We ate crab at home, and no one ever tied an apron or a Safeway bag around their neck. We weren't dressed up - its not like there was silk or cashmere at stake. Apparently, the bibs were for morale, as if to show the cops that yes, we really did care about the kids, and by golly we would feast on crab wearing sadistic bibs to prove it. And the cops, to their credit, did their best to make us feel involved in the PALS program, even if we were secretly just there for the crab. Each place mat had its own PALS program statistic: "87% of PALS kids report better relationships after participating in the PALS program," "45% of PALS kids report better grades at school after participating in the PALS program." I am not sure of the statistics saying that after hanging out with cops, kids are more social but not necessarily smarter...seems like something could be said there but I'll refrain.
In addition to cheerful place mats and horrific bibs, each place setting had a plastic wine cup (for wine you bought with tickets - unless you accidentally put your wine tickets in the raffle barrel and tried to buy wine with your raffle tickets - keep your tickets straight people!), utensils (plastic), a plate and a bowl. I was a little confused about the knife, fork, and bowl...but no crab eating utensils. Apparently at these crab feeds (for charity, mind you, I can't imagine why they are trying to stretch their crab dollar), they try to cheap skate you by getting you to fill up on salad, spaghetti and nasty garlic bread before they bring out the crab. The strategy is, they make you arrive early to get a seat, then make you wait 2 hours for crab, so you are forced to eat the filler food or keel over from starvation before the main attraction makes its appearance. I held back - I was here for crab, dammit, and I would not be dissuaded from my mission. Also, the salad dressings were gross and I don't like spaghetti.
It was around this time that my father-in-law brought out two bottles of wine. I was horrified, as this was clearly not a tailgate kind of party. Who brings their own alcohol to charity dinners? Then I looked around. Apparently, everyone. In fact, we were the least equipped of the crab feeders, with just our wine and disposable chopsticks. Other tables had real glass wineglasses, magnum bottles, ceramic butter warming crocks set over tealights, crab crackers and tongs, coolers on wheels full of beer and wine and god knows what else. At our own table, the veteran crabbers brought out a baggie of sliced lemons for handwashing and two kinds of desserts - in case the salad, spaghetti, bread and endless crab weren't enough.
I also realized why we were introduced to everyone. We would wait almost two hours for crab, and that's a long time to sit at a table with strangers. Talk quickly turned to other crab feed charities. Our veteran crab feed couple told the horror story of attending a feed for $40 per person, and just one bowl of crab was set in the center of the table for everyone! The shame! The injustice! I started to worry - should I have eaten more spagetti? Would I starve? Would we have to arm wrestle for crab legs? (I knew I could beat my son, he was only 9 and had lost to me on both arms...but his dad and sister had me beat. I would starve.)
And then, the crab arrived. Pimple faced teenagers (lucky PALS recipients who, with new social skills and slightly increased intelligence, signed up to volunteer for the night) brought out giant trays of crab. I asked my mother-in-law, is it bad form to take the bodies here? I am partial to bodies myself. She replied there was no bad form at a crab feed. I took 5 bodies and added a few legs just so I didn't look picky, and started in. No half-assed pre-cracking here- apparently they had PALS kids with anger issues doing the cracking in the back - you simply had to peel off the shell and the meat fell right out. The meat was fresh, sweet, delicious. I became another person. It was just me and the pile of crab. I used my fingers to pry open shells, scoop out meat, and to shove it in my mouth. I was unstoppable.
My mother-in-law had joked that it had been embarrassing to be at a crab feed where they are packing up the tables and her husband is still eating. This became my new goal - to eat crab until they made me stop. I was focused, I was confident, I was dedicated. The table quieted, everyone consumed with the eating of crab. It wasn't an orgy, it wasn't gluttonous. It was determined, but dignified - as dignified as ripping meat from clobbered crustaceans with your bare hands while wearing a tacky plastic bib can be. Occasionally a server came to empty our shell bowl. Occasionally someone asked for a body or passed a new tray (we cleaned 4 or 5 trays between us that night), or passed the lemon slices. But it really resembled something holy - a meditation of sorts. The conversation was deserted. Only the bare minimum was spoken. Even my son, who always butters up a grandparent to pick out the meat for him, sensed the revery and picked his own crab (and silently!).
And then, the auction began. Oh, for the love of silent auctions. This was not silent. A zesty, peppy, incurably deaf old man was shouting into the microphone about the amazing wonders of a hair cut at the local salon, a golf lesson with the local pro, and a dozen donuts delivered to your office by, you guessed it, a Vacaville cop in uniform. He was on emotional viagra. He couldn't stop exclaiming the wonders of the aution items. He wouldn't settle for $10 or $20 bids. He wouldn't shut up. It was as if he was fighting for life by screaming at us - if he slowed down, or even paused for a breath, the grim reaper would appear and carry him off forever. It was that kind of fervor. And so our zen crab feasting took on a new level of discipline. If people were auctioning, the more crab for us. If we missed out on policemen reinforcing stereotypes, that was beside the point. We were here for crab.
And then, just like that, it was over. No more crab. Paltry sheet cake desert offerings from pimple faced teens. Giant black garbage bags emerged from the kitchen like a crab cleanup armada sailing for heathen crab bibs and unholy tattered napkins. The lights came up (actually, I just looked up from my plate), and we packed up and went home. Just like that, over. I heard the cop-delivered donuts went for $200. $2 for donuts, $198 for shaming a cop and getting away with it.
(written in 2007 and never published)
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Beautiful Beans
One of the perks of being part of a CSA is the suprise veggies you get. CSA means Community Supported Agriculture - we pay to get fresh, organic, local, seasonal veggies and fruits (and bonuses like herbs and chilies) from a local farm. They get a subscriber base that prepays for their food, so that they have overhead money to keep the farm running. Our CSA is with Full Belly Farms in Capay Valley - north of us in Yolo County.These are cranberry beans, and they are beautiful! I haven't cooked them yet because I just like looking at them. Who knew beans came in pink and white?
We have tried tons of other new veggies - bok choy, kale, winter greens, squashes, melons, etc. but these take the cake for beautiful.
If you haven't considered joining a CSA yet, I encourage you to think about it. All the farms deliver to 3 of 4 drop off zones, and I know they go to Sacramento and the Bay Area too. The veggies cost around $17 a box, and one box is enough for 2 weeks for us (we get a box every other week). I can't even stomach Safeway veggies anymore - compared to what we get here and at the farmer's market, they have no flavor and the textures are horrible!
Farmer's markets and CSA's are great because you, the consumer (or consumpter?), pay the same or even less. You get better, fresher, more healthy food. The farmer gets all the money for the fruit, instead of around 1/10 or less that he gets selling to a store. Also, most of our fruits and veggies come from far far away now. This means they are picked green, and you paying (financially and environmentally) to ship them from around the globe. Even worse, the food starts loosing its vitamins the day it's picked. So if your fruit was picked two weeks ago in Chile, its not worth much nutrionally by the time it gets to you.
CSAs, and farmer's markets, are a great way to support family farms, local business, green food production, and your family's health! Next time I pick up a box, I'll take a photo so you can see what you get - delish!
Oh - and they send recipes too, so you can try the new foods you are getting.
(written in 2008 sometime and never published)
Soup Night Disclaimer
So two lovely friends gave me some feedback tonite at soup night.
Mel said "you always say you are disappointed about how your food turned out" (or something like that). Will said I always explain what I made, but then also explain how I feel about what I made. Which, for people who know me well, is very standard me-ness.
I realized two things. First disclaimer - I am still learning to cook, be forewarned. Becuase really, I have had some bad meals with friends (none of you readers of course). It was still a lovely evening, but the food was not very good. And that's always sort of akward because you want to be appreciative of the hospitality, but you are still hungry because you don't like what is on the plate. And inevitably, I have cooked bad meals for my friends. And I don't want them to be in that akward place (is no one akward about this but me? Maybe its a foodie thing?) So, when people come over to our house, I want them to know, if its bad, I hope next time it will taste better. My son and husband think I cook weird food - I need to know "less cumin, more tuna helper" from them and you. I also get totally obsessed with flavors, which leads to me trying to cook things that are over my head, or trying to alter things that turn out badly (I am learning not to do this pre-culinary school...it just doesn't turn out well). So, my cooking is a work in progress. Feedback is helpful and appreciated.
Second, I remembered that my mom always used to ask us, about every meal she cooked, if we liked the food. She wasn't really asking if we liked it, she was asking if the time and effort and love she put into it were reaching us. Which is tricky, because sometimes we felt very loved but also really didn't like what she made - and there was no safe way to speak to the bad wilted green beans without saying "I hate you". So, my second disclaimer is, I won't take it personally if you don't like it. I give you permission to not like it, and to tell me so, because I don't want to make a giant pot of something none of us want to eat.
The final disclaimer is, you soup niters are really my guinea pigs. The kid and husband get sick of trying out new stuff, and I have this "I already made that I want to try something new" thing that is really annoying but I can't give up. So, I invite people over to taste weird new soup. I try to have one safe soup and one weird soup each night - so no one starves. But I want to hear back about which ones work so that eventually, we can always have yum soup. So you can really appreciate the hospitality, and not be starving afterwards. (Ty just pointed out that I won't want to cook the good soups more than once - but I am working on that).
So, that is what I mean when i say "the lentil soup really needs lemon, and the ham and barley soup isn't as good as this other recipe we have...."
(written in 2008 sometime and never published. We don't even do soup night anymore - but in case we ever pick it up again...)
Mel said "you always say you are disappointed about how your food turned out" (or something like that). Will said I always explain what I made, but then also explain how I feel about what I made. Which, for people who know me well, is very standard me-ness.
I realized two things. First disclaimer - I am still learning to cook, be forewarned. Becuase really, I have had some bad meals with friends (none of you readers of course). It was still a lovely evening, but the food was not very good. And that's always sort of akward because you want to be appreciative of the hospitality, but you are still hungry because you don't like what is on the plate. And inevitably, I have cooked bad meals for my friends. And I don't want them to be in that akward place (is no one akward about this but me? Maybe its a foodie thing?) So, when people come over to our house, I want them to know, if its bad, I hope next time it will taste better. My son and husband think I cook weird food - I need to know "less cumin, more tuna helper" from them and you. I also get totally obsessed with flavors, which leads to me trying to cook things that are over my head, or trying to alter things that turn out badly (I am learning not to do this pre-culinary school...it just doesn't turn out well). So, my cooking is a work in progress. Feedback is helpful and appreciated.
Second, I remembered that my mom always used to ask us, about every meal she cooked, if we liked the food. She wasn't really asking if we liked it, she was asking if the time and effort and love she put into it were reaching us. Which is tricky, because sometimes we felt very loved but also really didn't like what she made - and there was no safe way to speak to the bad wilted green beans without saying "I hate you". So, my second disclaimer is, I won't take it personally if you don't like it. I give you permission to not like it, and to tell me so, because I don't want to make a giant pot of something none of us want to eat.
The final disclaimer is, you soup niters are really my guinea pigs. The kid and husband get sick of trying out new stuff, and I have this "I already made that I want to try something new" thing that is really annoying but I can't give up. So, I invite people over to taste weird new soup. I try to have one safe soup and one weird soup each night - so no one starves. But I want to hear back about which ones work so that eventually, we can always have yum soup. So you can really appreciate the hospitality, and not be starving afterwards. (Ty just pointed out that I won't want to cook the good soups more than once - but I am working on that).
So, that is what I mean when i say "the lentil soup really needs lemon, and the ham and barley soup isn't as good as this other recipe we have...."
(written in 2008 sometime and never published. We don't even do soup night anymore - but in case we ever pick it up again...)
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Forever Fuls
To be honest, I have a hard time thinking of things I am THANKful for. But I can list endlessly things I am GRATEful for. What is that about?? I have no idea.
But that got me thinking about the -fuls...thankful, grateful, joyful, even sorrowful..and how their opposites aren't empties, are they?
It seems to me that unlike other feelings, or states of being, that once you are a -ful, it never really goes away. We don't loose our joys or our sorrows - although mine certainly get lost in the jumble. You don't feel nervous or giddy forever, but really, once a -ful feeling lodges in your heart, I don't think it ever comes out again. Pain may heal, but sorrow never really leaves. Happiness may fade, but a joyful moment is ours to treasure long after.
And now, the -ful words just look wrong and weird, because I have typed them too many times in a row. That's all for now - wishing you a -ful day (even the sorrowful kind - because eventually they'll become bittersweet).
But that got me thinking about the -fuls...thankful, grateful, joyful, even sorrowful..and how their opposites aren't empties, are they?
It seems to me that unlike other feelings, or states of being, that once you are a -ful, it never really goes away. We don't loose our joys or our sorrows - although mine certainly get lost in the jumble. You don't feel nervous or giddy forever, but really, once a -ful feeling lodges in your heart, I don't think it ever comes out again. Pain may heal, but sorrow never really leaves. Happiness may fade, but a joyful moment is ours to treasure long after.
And now, the -ful words just look wrong and weird, because I have typed them too many times in a row. That's all for now - wishing you a -ful day (even the sorrowful kind - because eventually they'll become bittersweet).
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Hunting and Gathering
Why is it that some people are avid collectors, and others could care less?
Why do some people need the newest, latest, greatest version - while others just want every version ever made?
Is it tied to some ancient, proto-human, pseudo-squirrel instinct from the days of cave living and ice-age survival? What does what we collect say about us?
I collect odd ball stuff.
Maps. Rocks and shells from places I have been (totally illegal and ungreen, I know). Two new ones: old cameras, and globes. Someday I hope to collect a few old typewriters - but I don't have room yet. They might all be gone by the time I can store them.
Tristan collects all kinds of things - he has a total collector's personality. He doesn't even look at the stuff he gets - just checks it off the list and adds it to the shelf, still wrapped in its packaging. On to the next item on the list. Which is really unrewarding as a parent paying for all those $20 Star Wars figurines...
Tristan collects: star wars stuff (any and all), tree house books, erasers, stuffed animals, squirrels (Pictures and stuffed animals, not the real thing. Although he would if he could). Nerf guns. Paper air planes (he keeps every one he has every made). Anything that comes in a series.
Ty collects: Disappointing Raider games (it's really quite a library now - looks like he is picking up another one as I type). Scrubs season dvds (which he gives to me as gifts, but they are really for him). Golf balls. Tools. Parts for the Z (which may or may not ever be installed). Sports equipment.
Sometimes you go about looking for these things, and sometimes they find you. If word leaks out that you are a fan of something, everyone seems to want to support your fondness. I used to have to hide my interests from my parents - who are gift-happy people - because once they knew I liked, say, wolves, every birthday card would have a wolf on it. I would get wolf books, wolf blankets, wolf figurines. Same with dolphins, Paris/France, and those Willow Tree figurines. Since I am only mildly afflicted with the collecting bug, most of my collections far exceed my interest in the subject. So I feel a little nervous outing my current collections...I still don't have room for those typewriters, or really many more globes.
Maybe I should start collecting storage units, or bookshelves. Or for that matter, laptops and cars. Dinners at good restaurants. Trips across the globe. If you have any extras, let me know - I am starting a collection.
Why do some people need the newest, latest, greatest version - while others just want every version ever made?
Is it tied to some ancient, proto-human, pseudo-squirrel instinct from the days of cave living and ice-age survival? What does what we collect say about us?
I collect odd ball stuff.
Maps. Rocks and shells from places I have been (totally illegal and ungreen, I know). Two new ones: old cameras, and globes. Someday I hope to collect a few old typewriters - but I don't have room yet. They might all be gone by the time I can store them.
Tristan collects all kinds of things - he has a total collector's personality. He doesn't even look at the stuff he gets - just checks it off the list and adds it to the shelf, still wrapped in its packaging. On to the next item on the list. Which is really unrewarding as a parent paying for all those $20 Star Wars figurines...
Tristan collects: star wars stuff (any and all), tree house books, erasers, stuffed animals, squirrels (Pictures and stuffed animals, not the real thing. Although he would if he could). Nerf guns. Paper air planes (he keeps every one he has every made). Anything that comes in a series.
Ty collects: Disappointing Raider games (it's really quite a library now - looks like he is picking up another one as I type). Scrubs season dvds (which he gives to me as gifts, but they are really for him). Golf balls. Tools. Parts for the Z (which may or may not ever be installed). Sports equipment.
Sometimes you go about looking for these things, and sometimes they find you. If word leaks out that you are a fan of something, everyone seems to want to support your fondness. I used to have to hide my interests from my parents - who are gift-happy people - because once they knew I liked, say, wolves, every birthday card would have a wolf on it. I would get wolf books, wolf blankets, wolf figurines. Same with dolphins, Paris/France, and those Willow Tree figurines. Since I am only mildly afflicted with the collecting bug, most of my collections far exceed my interest in the subject. So I feel a little nervous outing my current collections...I still don't have room for those typewriters, or really many more globes.
Maybe I should start collecting storage units, or bookshelves. Or for that matter, laptops and cars. Dinners at good restaurants. Trips across the globe. If you have any extras, let me know - I am starting a collection.
Life is Good
We celebrated Ty's 30th birthday yesterday. We had over 20 dear friends come to Davis and sweat through a windless hot afternoon with us (a reminder that even if the second week of September is beautiful and breezy, fall doesn't really come to Davis until at least October!).
It's a little like a mini-wedding - everyone we love and want to catch up with, but so many people all at once we don't get to talk with anyone enough. But it was really exciting to have so many people with us at once - people from the last 10 (or more!) years of our lives - from family, school, college, post college, church, work...and all the spouses and kids (and strollers!) that have been added in over the years. It makes me a little weepy, I have to admit. I am sucker for a good picnic with friends.
We are really blessed to know an amazing bunch of people. I have been having this conversation a lot lately - that it's really hard to make good friends in the grown up world. We just don't have the opportunities to create the memories, trust, and intimate knowledge of each other that we had when we were younger - and that makes me so much more grateful for the friendships we have developed and held onto - however long distance - over the years. The friends we spent last evening with were all loving, supportive, fun people who have passions, great personalities, and good senses of humor to boot. We are really lucky to know you all.
Then this morning, we made it to church (amazing these days), and were overwhelmed (at least I was, still needing to introvert after all that community last night) by the dozens of people we wanted to say hello to on our way out. Given we were starving, we didn't stop for long, but I was reminded that humanity, after all, is pretty amazing. We know so many amazing people, and at church we often know them just enough to wish we knew them better. I will always hate the mob of people in the lobby as we leave, but now its dotted with faces that bring us joy and make me tempted to stay a few minutes (when I've had breakfast already).
In these pre-election days and all of their political commentary, and in the midst of the economic chaos and the struggles of so many countries, I have been pretty down on humanity. But this weekend reminded me there are really so many things to love about people. And we are really lucky to know so many people who are so lovable!
It's a little like a mini-wedding - everyone we love and want to catch up with, but so many people all at once we don't get to talk with anyone enough. But it was really exciting to have so many people with us at once - people from the last 10 (or more!) years of our lives - from family, school, college, post college, church, work...and all the spouses and kids (and strollers!) that have been added in over the years. It makes me a little weepy, I have to admit. I am sucker for a good picnic with friends.
We are really blessed to know an amazing bunch of people. I have been having this conversation a lot lately - that it's really hard to make good friends in the grown up world. We just don't have the opportunities to create the memories, trust, and intimate knowledge of each other that we had when we were younger - and that makes me so much more grateful for the friendships we have developed and held onto - however long distance - over the years. The friends we spent last evening with were all loving, supportive, fun people who have passions, great personalities, and good senses of humor to boot. We are really lucky to know you all.
Then this morning, we made it to church (amazing these days), and were overwhelmed (at least I was, still needing to introvert after all that community last night) by the dozens of people we wanted to say hello to on our way out. Given we were starving, we didn't stop for long, but I was reminded that humanity, after all, is pretty amazing. We know so many amazing people, and at church we often know them just enough to wish we knew them better. I will always hate the mob of people in the lobby as we leave, but now its dotted with faces that bring us joy and make me tempted to stay a few minutes (when I've had breakfast already).
In these pre-election days and all of their political commentary, and in the midst of the economic chaos and the struggles of so many countries, I have been pretty down on humanity. But this weekend reminded me there are really so many things to love about people. And we are really lucky to know so many people who are so lovable!
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Birthday Post
Since my birthday is in the middle of the work week, I have nothing thoughtful to share.
But in typical me-fashion, I'll add a few tidbits: witty, deep, and random:
Witty - hmm. wait. Its still the middle of the week. sorry...no wittiness between 8-5, m-f...instead I will tell you about a "get well card" that Ty bought this week that cracks us both up:
A cartoon guy is sitting in the middle of a brown river in a row boat. He says, this river sure stinks, and I can't find my paddle. Hahahaha......one of you may recieve this card someday. Hope it makes you laugh too, despite whatever shit creek you are floating in at the time.
Deep - I did have this revelation at around 1130pm on my last night of being 28: In business, the whole point is to do one thing over and over until you are so good and efficient at it, that people would rather pay you to do it than do it themselves. Given that I really love learning, puzzles, and challenges, the business world is ultimately never going to be able to satisfy me. Huh. Now what?
Random - I love flamenco. The music, the dance, and the great outfits. It's like tap on ecstasy in the Vogue dressing rooms..although that's probably an insulting analogy to make. Here is a great flamenco video - I don't know yet how to embed it so you'll have to paste the link, old-school style.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxfwm9N1L_4
I like the opening shot where the women are reduced to sillouhettes, and then you see the colors and movements build up, and it moves to one central dancing figure in the end. Its like watching the sunrise. deep+random = two out of three....there are more insulting analogies I could make about flamenco, but that's for another post not in the middle of the week.
But in typical me-fashion, I'll add a few tidbits: witty, deep, and random:
Witty - hmm. wait. Its still the middle of the week. sorry...no wittiness between 8-5, m-f...instead I will tell you about a "get well card" that Ty bought this week that cracks us both up:
A cartoon guy is sitting in the middle of a brown river in a row boat. He says, this river sure stinks, and I can't find my paddle. Hahahaha......one of you may recieve this card someday. Hope it makes you laugh too, despite whatever shit creek you are floating in at the time.
Deep - I did have this revelation at around 1130pm on my last night of being 28: In business, the whole point is to do one thing over and over until you are so good and efficient at it, that people would rather pay you to do it than do it themselves. Given that I really love learning, puzzles, and challenges, the business world is ultimately never going to be able to satisfy me. Huh. Now what?
Random - I love flamenco. The music, the dance, and the great outfits. It's like tap on ecstasy in the Vogue dressing rooms..although that's probably an insulting analogy to make. Here is a great flamenco video - I don't know yet how to embed it so you'll have to paste the link, old-school style.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxfwm9N1L_4
I like the opening shot where the women are reduced to sillouhettes, and then you see the colors and movements build up, and it moves to one central dancing figure in the end. Its like watching the sunrise. deep+random = two out of three....there are more insulting analogies I could make about flamenco, but that's for another post not in the middle of the week.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Nalgene - how the mighty have fallen
Nalgene was so big in the 90's. Nalgene's were invincible - you could run over them with a car! Amazing! I remember when their patent ran out and competitors could finally make the polycarbonate plastic bottles - it was huge!
And now, Nalgene's polycarbonate plastic (aka Lexan) has been linked to endocrine disruption and cancer. You might be able to run over them with your car, but you better not drink from them after a day rolling around in the car. This is driving a stake through the hearts of outdoorsy people across the globe. You can hear us collectively smacking our heads on the desktop of our dayjob cubicles. Of course, us outdoorsy folks could write off the potential health threats in the name of getting out there and being healthy in the natural world, but that's about as hypocrtical as driving our gas guzzling SUVs up the mountain to do it. Oh wait, we do that too...But in the name of health-consciousness, I am deeply pondering maybe someday giving up my bottle, maybe.
Of course, Sigg makes fun, colorful (but small and pricey) stainless steel bottles, and you can always pick up a super heavy original Thermos canteen at the local thrift store. But I think the kid in us still longs for the brightly colored plastic and the ridiculously large volume the Nalgene's touted, while weighing practically nothing.
So what to do with your indestructible but now useless Nalgene? Well, I have found the solution - make it a nightlight! Oh yes, this is by far my favorite techie invention of the decade, Nalgene-salvation perks aside. I am totally geeking out on this - too bad my Nalgene has the tiny drinking spout so the light won't fit!
Check it out, and repurpose your Nalgenes into a light that lasts forever! Of course, the neon glow may not strike you as the natural ambience you are seeking out in the wilderness, and in that case, I say donate it to your favorite scared-of-the-dark youngster. Or, keep drinking from it, and maybe someday you'll be the freakishly neon glowing light in the tent!
http://www.guyotdesigns.com/firefly
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
What does she do exactly?
Well, when I am not being a super mom, super wife, super homeowner, and super writer (I don't even qualify for that one), I am working at MAK Design+Build, a local green design-build remodeling firm. I am also a Certified Green Building Professional (professional what you ask? well, don't ask. Professional everything!)
Here is my staff profile, which tells you the tip of the iceberg of what I do around here:
Go to: makdesignbuild.com THEN "We Are" THEN "The Team" THEN click on my photo.
Next check out the newsletter archive. Other than the first issue (which was more team collaborated) , I have put together all of them and written most of the articles. Our fantastic graphic guru, Phuong Nguyen of Melonhead Studios gets credit for making them look good - I just write the stories and pick the graphics - he makes it all come together and look snazzy for us.
Go to: makdesignbuid.com THEN "We Do" THEN "Newsletter".
Also, I stage the photo shoots (and mostly decide what shots we take) with the technical help and good ideas of Dave Adams - our fantastic photographer. We have newer projects up at our new photo gallery at:
http://makdesignbuild.com/gallery.html
I "manage" (being a relative and constantly redefined verb at this company...) the marketing, green research and implementation, developing standard operating procedures, help with projects in design and construction, process new leads, and on and on. Many hats, one head.
So, if you have any green building questions, I am your go-to gal!
Here is my staff profile, which tells you the tip of the iceberg of what I do around here:
Go to: makdesignbuild.com THEN "We Are" THEN "The Team" THEN click on my photo.
Next check out the newsletter archive. Other than the first issue (which was more team collaborated) , I have put together all of them and written most of the articles. Our fantastic graphic guru, Phuong Nguyen of Melonhead Studios gets credit for making them look good - I just write the stories and pick the graphics - he makes it all come together and look snazzy for us.
Go to: makdesignbuid.com THEN "We Do" THEN "Newsletter".
Also, I stage the photo shoots (and mostly decide what shots we take) with the technical help and good ideas of Dave Adams - our fantastic photographer. We have newer projects up at our new photo gallery at:
http://makdesignbuild.com/gallery.html
I "manage" (being a relative and constantly redefined verb at this company...) the marketing, green research and implementation, developing standard operating procedures, help with projects in design and construction, process new leads, and on and on. Many hats, one head.
So, if you have any green building questions, I am your go-to gal!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Stuffing Your Stocking (an email love story)
From December 2007, a little preface is in order:
Ty and I decided to use commuter mugs instead of paper cups when we go out for coffee. You know, integrity as a green building professional and all. I wanted to get him a mug for Christmas but he was very picky (Ty? Picky? No!) about which mugs would be acceptable for a Raider fan/ex rugby player to be seen holding. Never mind they would be filled with white chocolate mochas and whip cream – no one could actually see the foof inside.
Also of note: Ty had recently sworn off caffeine entirely and was a little bitter about it.
I have painstakingly re-pasted all of these in order so you can read down, not up.
-----Original Message-----
From: Juliana R. Tadano [mailto:jrtadano@gmail.com]
Sent: Friday, December 14, 2007 11:03 AM
To: Ty Tadano
Subject: RFI - stuffing your stocking
Dear Picky But Lovable Christmas Client,
Santa would like to bring you a new coffee mug for your stocking this
year. Santa respects that you would like as manly a mug as possible.
Can you please convey your manly factor on the following choices?
If none of these choices are appealing, please provide specifications
or models you would accept.
Santa also respects your thriftiness (although it has put you
dangerously close to getting on the naughty list at times) and so
would like a prompt response, as all of the choices below are on sale
this weekend only. :)
Thanks,
Chief Operating Elf
Department of Picky Clients
Disclaimer: For those clients who are caffeine impaired, offered mugs
may also hold decaffeinated coffee, tea, warm or cool water, gatorade,
or other beverage of choice. Please note that soda will cause cup and
client to spontaneously explode and should not be used with gift mugs.
http://www.starbucksstore.com/products/shprodde.asp?SKU=602891
http://www.starbucksstore.com/products/shprodde.asp?SKU=602338
http://www.starbucksstore.com/products/shprodde.asp?SKU=602366
On Dec 14, 2007 11:33 AM, Ty Tadano
Dear Chief Operating Elf,
As a direct employee of the jolly old, and all knowing, Mr. Santa
Claus, he should have told you that I am not fond of any mug that has
"Starbucks" prominently displayed on it. While I will likely continue
to be a patron of Starbucks, I do not like advertising for them.
Perhaps Mr. Clause is too busy to relay such details at this time of
year.
However, my thriftiness, as you have noted, also makes me wonder why
Santa would want to purchase a new mug, when there is a nice, brand
new, stainless steel mug already residing in the Tadano cupboard.
Granted, it may have "Starbucks" on it, but the thriftiness usually
wins out over picky tendencies I may or may not have.
That all said, the Concord tumbler model is the most appealing to me.
Another related gift idea for picky clients such as myself would be a
stainless steel water bottle, with screw on/off cap. The "suck" type
lids are not favored.
Best of luck to you this Christmas season. I hope your picky clients
can loosen up a bit.
Thanks,
Client #1
-----Original Message-----
From: Juliana R. Tadano [mailto:jrtadano@gmail.com]
Sent: Friday, December 14, 2007 11:56 AM
To: Ty Tadano
Subject: Re: RFI - stuffing your stocking
We here at the North Pole love it when you sub-arctic folk think you
know more than us. It really ups the jolly level around here to laugh at you.
Said nice new mug in the Tadano cupboard was already rejected by yourself, and has been claimed by said Chief Operating Elf. Do not under any circumstances claim said mug for yourself. You are not worthy of it as you do not appreciate its niceness and tried to regift it - a felony offense here at the North Pole. That behavior did indeed land you on the Naughty List, and your recent delivery of just-because tulips is all that got you off that list and back into gift receiving status.
Secondly, ALL commuter mugs of any quality (ie. will not crack and break as photo mugs do) have someone's logo on them. The good news is the logo generally wears off - see Stainless Steel Eddie Bauer mug in your cupboard as evidence. If you want a gift with no brand name in this day and age, your lump of coal is waiting.
The mugs below were chosen based on: stainless steel is manly and
subtle. Double wall insulation works at keeping things warm/cold,
handles (where offered) provide help with bike trips to work, bottoms
fit in car cupholders, and the containers are not plastic or in 3 pieces which will come apart as your WYA mug did. Any mug lacking in logo is a)hard to find and b) shitty cheap and will fall apart.
We do offer a new waiver and right of responsibility form this year.
If you (or any other PBL Clients) wish to fill your own stocking, I can
forward this form which removes all responsibility and liability from
Santa and his associates for filling your stocking. In addition, you
agree to fill your stocking as long as there are children of influential age in your household or visiting on Christmas Day.
However, this is a one-time offer, and you cannot reinstate said
services once the contract is signed. In addition, by not signing said
contract, you agree to appreciate and utilize all gifts from this
Christmas forward without negativity, guilt trip, or ungratefulness.
You are permitted to give positive, gentle, and constructive feedback on stocking stuffers received or not received for future Christmas use
- if accompanied by a back rub, 10 compliments, and a box of good
chocolate. Santa and Associates reserve the right to still be pissed off and angry upon receipt of said advice.
Please let me know what you would like do this year in regards to the
Transfer of Stocking Stuffing Responsibility Form.
-COE, Dept. of PBLC's
On Dec 14, 2007 12:18 PM, Ty Tadano
Tempting, however, I do not wish to sign the transfer of stocking
stuffer responsibility form. Thanks for extending the offer though.
Very thoughtful of you.
Please note that the Concord Tumbler mug was the preferred style out of
the three sent.
I plan to obtain a beverage holder for my bike once the commute
increases, therefore, a traditional handle is not necessary. Also,
since I am no longer partaking of coffee, I may not be traveling with
the mug by bike at all. Of primary importance are manliness and the
ability to fit in a car cupholder. I agree that stainless steel is a
very manly finish in coffee mugs.
Thanks for your hard work up at the North pole this (and every) year. I think I am speaking for all my fellow PBLC's when I say that you are
much appreciated.
Client #1
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Juliana R. Tadano
Date: Dec 14, 2007 12:23 PM
Subject: Re: RFI - stuffing your stocking
To: Ty Tadano
Noted, noted, noted and noted.
You continue to be our most difficult, vexing, frustrating,
impossible, and lovable client, this year and every year.
I will now bang my elf head on my elf workbench in a most jolly way.
That Other Half of the Species…
This was started in Sept 2006 and never finished. But its still worth reading I think. But I am a bit biased...
So therefore, a good communal game of Apples to Apples (which is one of the few games I will play because its more about hilarity and wittiness than competition or embaressing antics) gets reduced to a boys club - where the grown men basically split off, grunt and giggle over horse heads in bed and black masks and throwing stars, and leave the game to go build a fort with "no girls allowed" painted on the outside.
Which I guess would be fine, except girls don't have trump cards. We are fair, we are relational. If we could, we would choose every card. Even the lame ones that don't fit - like "slippery" and "barbara thatcher". We spend all this time hemming and hawing over which cards we can legitimately discount without hurting anyone's feelings. Which makes us about as lame as the boys with their trump cards, now that I think about it.
That Other Half of the Species…
I find men endlessly entertaining…as much as I try to minimize the differences between the sexes (well, its not that I minimize the differences, I just tend to think that our shared humanity is much larger and more implicating than the differences based on hormones and genitalia)….anyhow, there are some things men do that I don’t understand!
Case in Point #1:
Last night over a birthday dinner, we played Apples to Apples. The game involves a judge, who chooses an adjective card, and the rest of the players, who offer a noun card for the judge to choose as the best fit for his adjective. For example, if your adjective card is “Explosive” the noun cards might include “Volcano,” “Chili,” “Rush Limbaugh,” “Exorcism,” and the random cards from folks who had nothing good to offer, like “Betsy Ross,” “Apples,” and “Milwaukee.” Whoever’s card is chosen by the judge gets a point, and a new round starts with a new judge and a new adjective card.
The problem is, for men, there are “trump cards.” Basically, no matter what the adjective, these cards represent something so revered in male culture that the card wins by default of being cool (where, in this case, cool means really nerdy in an 10 year old boy sort of way). The fact that there are trump cards alone says so much about men…but then, what qualifies as a trump card says so, so much more.
Last night’s trump cards included:
-Ninjas
-The GodFather (which was never actually played, but was agreed upon as being THE trump card if it was indeed in the deck).
-Exorcism (beat my submission of “Tidal Wave” for “Refreshing” – I am disgruntled!)
So therefore, a good communal game of Apples to Apples (which is one of the few games I will play because its more about hilarity and wittiness than competition or embaressing antics) gets reduced to a boys club - where the grown men basically split off, grunt and giggle over horse heads in bed and black masks and throwing stars, and leave the game to go build a fort with "no girls allowed" painted on the outside.
Which I guess would be fine, except girls don't have trump cards. We are fair, we are relational. If we could, we would choose every card. Even the lame ones that don't fit - like "slippery" and "barbara thatcher". We spend all this time hemming and hawing over which cards we can legitimately discount without hurting anyone's feelings. Which makes us about as lame as the boys with their trump cards, now that I think about it.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Resemblances
They say dogs and their owners resemble each other – like an old married couple, perhaps, each picks up mannerisms of the other. (what does that say about all of the Lab owners out there? “I identify with a dog who is sweet but pretty stupid, obedient but slobbery, and just like everyone else’s dog”…)
So here is the selected (aka shorter) list on how I am like Tana. I am humble enough to say its an honor to resemble my dog, not the other way around.
-Tana loves squishy landing spots. Pillows, blankets, couches, beds. She doesn’t even sleep there, just enjoys the sensations. Right on with her owner.
-Tana is not graceful. She doesn’t know her size, her dimensions, or the power of her feet. She clomps and tromps and stumbles all over everyone.
-Tana loves Ty more than anyone in the world. She dotes on him and sits by the door waiting for him everyday at 5, looking out for him to pull up. I know this because I am waiting by the door too.
-She is incredibly honest. I have never known that dogs could be so honest. When she gets a hold of something she shouldn’t have, she brings it to me. She doesn’t drop it, exactly – she is not passionless…but she lets me know – hey mom, I found something I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist it, but I know you wouldn’t want me to have it, so I am bringing it to you, please help me do the right thing. I take it from her mouth easily, and throw it over the fence (or back in the laundry hamper). She is never sad. She doesn’t even watch it as I throw – she knows, she just wanted to enjoy the thrill of it for a moment. I wish I could do the same. I might be honest, but after I finish indulging, not before.
-She delights in the little things. A tuft of her own hair blown from a corner. A toilet paper roll. A cardboard box. A stinky sock (brought promptly to mom in confession). Getting to go in the front yard – all 10 feet of it.
-She loves a good nook. I think all dogs do – they create little caves or dens or crates under furniture. But a 70 lb dog trying to hide under my chair is hilarious. I get it though. When I was little, we had an under-stair closet that was the most fantastic hideout. I would go in there and read ghost stories – the one place secure enough to let my imagination run wild. My sister and I would make forts out of couch cushions, sheets, and the kitchen table and camp out in there. My home office is tucked into our hall closet. I worked in an Airstream trailer (aka tin can) for a year. I dig small spaces, even if my butt is sticking out.
-Oh for the love of peanut butter.
-Tana won’t give kisses on command, and I won’t make her. I don’t believe in kissing ass.
-She won’t do anything you tell her to, but she’ll do anything you ask her too.
-A lot of perfectly nice, good people are not dog people. A lot of perfectly nice, good people are not my kind of people either. Tana and I are both still confused about that one though. If we could have our way, everyone would be our kind of people. Silly them for missing out.
-Tana is an imp. She loves to run up to the mud hole, wait until we are watching, and then steps in. She waits until we are yelling at her to leave it, come, leave it, Tana!!!! Then she rolls in it. She revels in the rebellion, soaks up the mud and our anger, knowing she will be in trouble and not caring for a minute. She is always totally shocked at the cold water hose bath that follows. The injustice!
-She is egalitarian. She does not want to be dominant, but she doesn’t like submitting either. If she has to choose, she is more likely to sit out – to just lay down and stop playing. She wants everyone to be equals. Equal wrestlers, equal chaser and chasee, friends. She has found a few dogs who get this at the park – they are her favorites. Others are friendly but she is annoyed when they submit, or at others when they won’t leave her be for wanting to be dominant. So she just lays down and waits. She’d rather not play than be in a power struggle.
-She has a flair for the dramatic. She has a fantastic way of collapsing with a humph and a sigh on the floor. Of looking up at you forlornly from her paws. Of pawing and licking at the floor in mock insanity from her boredom. Of getting up to leave just as you sit down to play – she is so over you. Yeah, I might do that a little.
Miraculous
I am not much of a fan of miracles. I have witnessed one or two, and read about a lot. Maybe its my overzealous imagination, but they just don’t “wow” me like they should. Also, I think people waiting for miracles are missing the point.
But today is one of those glorious fall days – its still mid seventies outside but the leaves have turned and the sky has that gray quality that makes the sunlight a soft yellow. It feels foggy even though there is a blue sky. And something about fall feels so poignant to me that I am thinking about miracles today.
Here is the short list of what I find miraculous. I hope the list keeps growing, but any of these are enough to keep me impressed with the wonder in the world.
-forgiveness – hands down, without a doubt, the most miraculous and amazing thing on the planet.
-the planet – or rather, the exact combination of physics, chemistry, and geography that makes life on this planet possible
-conception – I know the birds and the bees part. But really, how does that process make life? The sperm gets in, and oila, baby.
-dying – one moment you are alive, the next you are not. We’ll never know what its like.
-that no one dies in the safeway parking lot – its madness in there!
-that two siblings can come from the same parents, live in the same house, and turn out so entirely different
-boyness and girlness (read Tomboy post)
-water – have you ever studied this stuff? It’s pretty special. It’s the only substance that expands when it freezes, instead of contracting. It has a super high heat quotient (how much heat it takes to which physical states). It has great surface tension. It refracts light. Its edible. The number of aspects that make our living state possible – as well as fun (puddles, snow cones, rainbows, bubble baths, swimming) – that are related to properties of water are amazing.
And that’s about it. Email me if you have something on your Miraculous List, I’d love to hear about it.
Well Then, Better to Clarify Than to Mislead You
I just want it on the record that I know the difference between then and than. You wouldn't know it reading some of my posts. If I weren't a year behind I'd go in and fix them, but I think you'd rather read new stuff.
Consider it a game- how many than/then mistakes can you find? And those spelling errors? Typos, not errors. I can spell anything. Try me. I just can't type your most basic words.
In fact, my husband said the other night, 'Thank God you can spell. I don't think I could ever be married to a woman who didn't spell as well as me." I'll let you unpack that statement...but I take a compliment whenever I can get one. Even when its grammatically incorrect...
So, bear with my typos and then/than moments. I promise, I am educated, just impatient. Think of it as a chance to hone your editing skills and we both win.
Consider it a game- how many than/then mistakes can you find? And those spelling errors? Typos, not errors. I can spell anything. Try me. I just can't type your most basic words.
In fact, my husband said the other night, 'Thank God you can spell. I don't think I could ever be married to a woman who didn't spell as well as me." I'll let you unpack that statement...but I take a compliment whenever I can get one. Even when its grammatically incorrect...
So, bear with my typos and then/than moments. I promise, I am educated, just impatient. Think of it as a chance to hone your editing skills and we both win.
Checking In, Oops its 2008
Its um, been over a year since i updated this blog and far more than a year since I posted. That is not because I don't love my blog. I do.
Actually, Blogspot tried to upgrade me to a new version, and after I spent a week transferring everything over, the new version fried up and died, taking my access to both accounts with it.
After many hours researching and emailing the damn info people, I gave up.
So now apparently I am back (whoohoo) in the old version, which I liked better anyways.
The next two posts I wrote somewhere in 2007. Of course, I thought I could tell you when by looking at the last saved date. Then I went in, corrected typos while re-reading, and saved...thus loosing their original date. I love myself sometimes.
So, well, January 08 will look really productive compared to all of 2007. I don't think anyone has been holding their breath anyways. :)
Oh, and I am 28 now, in 2008. I was 26 in 2006. That's fun. Or it will be until 2010, then the fun is over.
J
PS. I love my friend Mel's blog so I am shameless posting it here.
http://idealismformom.blogspot.com/
Actually, Blogspot tried to upgrade me to a new version, and after I spent a week transferring everything over, the new version fried up and died, taking my access to both accounts with it.
After many hours researching and emailing the damn info people, I gave up.
So now apparently I am back (whoohoo) in the old version, which I liked better anyways.
The next two posts I wrote somewhere in 2007. Of course, I thought I could tell you when by looking at the last saved date. Then I went in, corrected typos while re-reading, and saved...thus loosing their original date. I love myself sometimes.
So, well, January 08 will look really productive compared to all of 2007. I don't think anyone has been holding their breath anyways. :)
Oh, and I am 28 now, in 2008. I was 26 in 2006. That's fun. Or it will be until 2010, then the fun is over.
J
PS. I love my friend Mel's blog so I am shameless posting it here.
http://idealismformom.blogspot.com/
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Tomboy
I always thought I was a tomboy.
To my father's credit, my dad did his best to believe I was the son he never had. We went fishing, camping, worked on cars (okay, he taught me to change the oil and check the tire pressure...which I am pretty sure are the only things he knows how to do on a car), hung stuff on the wall. I flipped the breaker when he needed to work on the electrical. I brought up tools and tools and tools from the garage to the upstairs rooms (why was he always working on the second story?) - because I didn't know a crescent wrench from any of the other silvery contraptions in the red tool box. I cleaned the attic, washed the car, hauled the firewood (I did get money for that one), cleaned the pool, learned how to move valves and switches on the pool pumps (to this day I don't know what I was doing, but I knew if I messed up it meant a big electric bill from heating the pool for a week instead of just the spa).
I believed until recently that my poor dad, living with 3 women and even female dogs, was trying his best to pass his expertise on all things manly to me (and by doing so, hold on to the last vestiges of his manhood in our estrogren soaked house). I figured being first born and the less dramatic (only slightly, and therefore slightly more male-like) of the two daughters was the reason I got chosen for this inheritance, despite the fact that I had that extra leg on my chromosome. I was XX, and if he couldn't break off that chromasome and make me an XY, well, he would pass on what he could and take the issue of no sons up with God later. Because of sympathy for my dad (come on, THREE "times of the month"!), and because he was then (and still mostly is) my hero, I played along. I thought I was helping - maybe even rescuing - him for those short bonding times where I played apprentice to his Mr. Fix It.
I see now, though, that what this was really all about was efficiency. My dad didn't want an apprentice, he wanted a gopher. He wasn't driven by a sense of legacy to teach me the electrical systems, but he needed someone to run just up the stairs enough to hear "still on!" and back down to flip another breaker switch. I thought he was challenging my courage when he sent me up in the creepy attic alone to pass down boxes of holiday decorations each year, but really, he wanted to be at the bottom of the ladder, piling the boxes up for me to carry in once I came back down. The reason I brought so many tools up to his projects was that to teach me which tool went with which name, he would have had to make a trip downstairs to walk through the assortment with me. Apparently, walking up and down stairs was beyond his abilities. He avoided those extra trips like the plague - something that in time I came to realize was THE last, or maybe first, or maybe the only, vestige of his manliness - laziness.
In fact, had I been the first born son and not the first born daughter, instead of helping so much, I would have devised ways to avoid these situations at all, since I too would have held running up and down the stairs with the same manly contempt as my father. A son learns early on that these "teaching moments" are not meant to teach anything, and would despise the blatant attempts at indentured servanthood. Had I lacked the extra chromosomal leg, I too would have been driven more by laziness than even that primal urge to earn your father's approval.
How do I know this? Because I have a husband, and he has a son. Ty tries so hard to include Tristan in car projects, but Tristan has already figured out that this his role as "dad's helper" is NOT one he wants to do. He has even less enthusiasm for helping dad with the car than I do - even though he might get to learn manly things about valves and gas lines and tools and soldering. But that would mean moving around and getting things - not worth it to him! And while I like to think that Ty wants to share his man-knowledge with Tristan, the reality is, when Tristan is not around, I suddenly get indoctrinated into the secret order of "Dad's helpers" - lending credence to my theory that its all about the helper and nothing about the legacy.
So now that I have lived with men, and watched them in action, I have learned a lot about what it means to be a man. In fact, just recently, Tristan and Ty taught me a secret - there is a name for this father-son "who wants to get the Phillips from the toolbox" game..The Lateral Pass. My own (step) son, at age 9, who can barely throw a pass of any sort, already knows the lingo and when to use it. He laughs as he easily sidesteps Ty's attempts at "sharing" the man jobs with him, and says "nice try at the Lateral Pass Dad"...I can't believe it. My dad can STILL talk me into hauling firewood for him. I still jump up when he says he needs help with a project or someone to run to the store with him (ie. to go get the stuff in the far aisles while he hovers near the registers). I am such a fool...clearly, not the surrogate son I thought I was. I know see that the way to truly honor my dad's desire for male progeny would have been to ignore him, laying on the couch with one hand in a bowl of pork rinds and the other hand flipping the remote, saying, "Nah, I don't feel like it."
What I have also learned is that all those tomboy things didn't make me a boy. The things were the same as things boys do, but the motivation was all girl. Boys and girls often overlap what they do - gardening, baking, riding bikes, climbing trees, make believe - at least until they get socialized. But the reasons why they do those same things are vastly different. Boys are motivated by competition, proving themselves, and laziness. Those may seem at odds - I am still figuring out how they all work together. But I was motivated by adventure, learning, the chance to bond with my dad (something boys do by beating the crap out of dad - oh wait, we did that too). My dad was just crafty enough to see that those desires could be manipulated to mean less moving and getting things for him! How manly of him, after all....
To my father's credit, my dad did his best to believe I was the son he never had. We went fishing, camping, worked on cars (okay, he taught me to change the oil and check the tire pressure...which I am pretty sure are the only things he knows how to do on a car), hung stuff on the wall. I flipped the breaker when he needed to work on the electrical. I brought up tools and tools and tools from the garage to the upstairs rooms (why was he always working on the second story?) - because I didn't know a crescent wrench from any of the other silvery contraptions in the red tool box. I cleaned the attic, washed the car, hauled the firewood (I did get money for that one), cleaned the pool, learned how to move valves and switches on the pool pumps (to this day I don't know what I was doing, but I knew if I messed up it meant a big electric bill from heating the pool for a week instead of just the spa).
I believed until recently that my poor dad, living with 3 women and even female dogs, was trying his best to pass his expertise on all things manly to me (and by doing so, hold on to the last vestiges of his manhood in our estrogren soaked house). I figured being first born and the less dramatic (only slightly, and therefore slightly more male-like) of the two daughters was the reason I got chosen for this inheritance, despite the fact that I had that extra leg on my chromosome. I was XX, and if he couldn't break off that chromasome and make me an XY, well, he would pass on what he could and take the issue of no sons up with God later. Because of sympathy for my dad (come on, THREE "times of the month"!), and because he was then (and still mostly is) my hero, I played along. I thought I was helping - maybe even rescuing - him for those short bonding times where I played apprentice to his Mr. Fix It.
I see now, though, that what this was really all about was efficiency. My dad didn't want an apprentice, he wanted a gopher. He wasn't driven by a sense of legacy to teach me the electrical systems, but he needed someone to run just up the stairs enough to hear "still on!" and back down to flip another breaker switch. I thought he was challenging my courage when he sent me up in the creepy attic alone to pass down boxes of holiday decorations each year, but really, he wanted to be at the bottom of the ladder, piling the boxes up for me to carry in once I came back down. The reason I brought so many tools up to his projects was that to teach me which tool went with which name, he would have had to make a trip downstairs to walk through the assortment with me. Apparently, walking up and down stairs was beyond his abilities. He avoided those extra trips like the plague - something that in time I came to realize was THE last, or maybe first, or maybe the only, vestige of his manliness - laziness.
In fact, had I been the first born son and not the first born daughter, instead of helping so much, I would have devised ways to avoid these situations at all, since I too would have held running up and down the stairs with the same manly contempt as my father. A son learns early on that these "teaching moments" are not meant to teach anything, and would despise the blatant attempts at indentured servanthood. Had I lacked the extra chromosomal leg, I too would have been driven more by laziness than even that primal urge to earn your father's approval.
How do I know this? Because I have a husband, and he has a son. Ty tries so hard to include Tristan in car projects, but Tristan has already figured out that this his role as "dad's helper" is NOT one he wants to do. He has even less enthusiasm for helping dad with the car than I do - even though he might get to learn manly things about valves and gas lines and tools and soldering. But that would mean moving around and getting things - not worth it to him! And while I like to think that Ty wants to share his man-knowledge with Tristan, the reality is, when Tristan is not around, I suddenly get indoctrinated into the secret order of "Dad's helpers" - lending credence to my theory that its all about the helper and nothing about the legacy.
So now that I have lived with men, and watched them in action, I have learned a lot about what it means to be a man. In fact, just recently, Tristan and Ty taught me a secret - there is a name for this father-son "who wants to get the Phillips from the toolbox" game..The Lateral Pass. My own (step) son, at age 9, who can barely throw a pass of any sort, already knows the lingo and when to use it. He laughs as he easily sidesteps Ty's attempts at "sharing" the man jobs with him, and says "nice try at the Lateral Pass Dad"...I can't believe it. My dad can STILL talk me into hauling firewood for him. I still jump up when he says he needs help with a project or someone to run to the store with him (ie. to go get the stuff in the far aisles while he hovers near the registers). I am such a fool...clearly, not the surrogate son I thought I was. I know see that the way to truly honor my dad's desire for male progeny would have been to ignore him, laying on the couch with one hand in a bowl of pork rinds and the other hand flipping the remote, saying, "Nah, I don't feel like it."
What I have also learned is that all those tomboy things didn't make me a boy. The things were the same as things boys do, but the motivation was all girl. Boys and girls often overlap what they do - gardening, baking, riding bikes, climbing trees, make believe - at least until they get socialized. But the reasons why they do those same things are vastly different. Boys are motivated by competition, proving themselves, and laziness. Those may seem at odds - I am still figuring out how they all work together. But I was motivated by adventure, learning, the chance to bond with my dad (something boys do by beating the crap out of dad - oh wait, we did that too). My dad was just crafty enough to see that those desires could be manipulated to mean less moving and getting things for him! How manly of him, after all....
Monday, September 11, 2006
The Feel Good Factor
If the goal in life is to feel good as much as possible, the reality of life sucks. Its hard to stay encouraged, its easy to feel sorry for myself and whine about my life's conditions. Life is hard, and that sucks. It feels easier to try to escape into fantasy, to take the easy way out, to look out for number one.
But if the goal is to grow and mature, to become more Christlike, to bring glory to God by traveling the hard road and not being swayed away from our faith, then the difficulties in life are something to celebrate, something to give thanks for.
The question is, am I living for myself, or for something bigger than me? If I live for myself, then all that matters is how I feel at a given moment. If my story is part of a bigger story, than not only is my comfort not the crowning achievement of my life, but there is hope that the trials and tribulations, however great or small, can be redeemed, or at least used for a greater good.
Am I going to glorify myself, or glorify God? When I worship myself, I get frustrated easily, mostly because the rest of the world never seems to adore me the way I think I should be adored. The world is callous to my needs and wants, fickle to my demands, easily swayed from my magnificence. The world might play with me for a while, but inevitably moves on to the next shiny pretty thing. I am left to pout and commiserate with my ego over our lost importance.
I was not made for this. I was not made to worship myself, a created thing. I was created to worship the Creator, who really, honestly, is the only thing worthy of worship. If I live for that purpose, than what I have been given claims its purpose - to point to the Giver. My strengths point to His plans, my weakness points to His mercy. My interests, passions, desires illustrate his infinite creativity - the maker of an infinite number of unique human beings.
We are made in the image of God, yet we try to reduce God to our personal vending machine and fan club. God, the world, everything around us is reduced to the role of giving us pleasure or helping us avoid pain. We grow shallow and self centered when we worship ourselves. What follows is pettiness, grandiose ego, self righteousness, vindicting hearts, jealousy, manipulation, disregard. We become the frame of reference, the center of gravity, and really, we aren't made to handle such a position. We can't maintain it - we are not God, we cannot hold his position without royally screwing up. We are promised that it is good to be the created thing, that we are most ourselves when doing what we are made to do: worship God. Why can't that be enough for us???
But if the goal is to grow and mature, to become more Christlike, to bring glory to God by traveling the hard road and not being swayed away from our faith, then the difficulties in life are something to celebrate, something to give thanks for.
The question is, am I living for myself, or for something bigger than me? If I live for myself, then all that matters is how I feel at a given moment. If my story is part of a bigger story, than not only is my comfort not the crowning achievement of my life, but there is hope that the trials and tribulations, however great or small, can be redeemed, or at least used for a greater good.
Am I going to glorify myself, or glorify God? When I worship myself, I get frustrated easily, mostly because the rest of the world never seems to adore me the way I think I should be adored. The world is callous to my needs and wants, fickle to my demands, easily swayed from my magnificence. The world might play with me for a while, but inevitably moves on to the next shiny pretty thing. I am left to pout and commiserate with my ego over our lost importance.
I was not made for this. I was not made to worship myself, a created thing. I was created to worship the Creator, who really, honestly, is the only thing worthy of worship. If I live for that purpose, than what I have been given claims its purpose - to point to the Giver. My strengths point to His plans, my weakness points to His mercy. My interests, passions, desires illustrate his infinite creativity - the maker of an infinite number of unique human beings.
We are made in the image of God, yet we try to reduce God to our personal vending machine and fan club. God, the world, everything around us is reduced to the role of giving us pleasure or helping us avoid pain. We grow shallow and self centered when we worship ourselves. What follows is pettiness, grandiose ego, self righteousness, vindicting hearts, jealousy, manipulation, disregard. We become the frame of reference, the center of gravity, and really, we aren't made to handle such a position. We can't maintain it - we are not God, we cannot hold his position without royally screwing up. We are promised that it is good to be the created thing, that we are most ourselves when doing what we are made to do: worship God. Why can't that be enough for us???
Camp On
I have to vent - and I should start by saying I participate in the very activity I am about to lambaste, so don't take it personally.
I really think camping should be something we do to get away from our civilized, mechanized, nifty tool for every small task we need to accomplish in our lives. It should not be an exercise in packing nifty tools for doing every small task we need to do at home in the woods. It should not fund the next generation of clever inventors. It should not require a minivan full of gear to move our entire lives - albeit now in plaid and tarpaulin material - into the forest for a weekend. It should not advertise that our entire last paycheck is now property of REI.
Camping SHOULD be different than our everyday lives. All too often what starts as trying to bring a few creature comforts from home turns into living our exact same lifestyle with a nicer backdrop - at the expense of the backdrop. Really, do we need to bring sports gear to the lake? Do we need to bring stereos to the woods? Do we need a tablecloth in the forest????
We need another word - some folks use car-camping - to designate the simplicity-challenged who enjoy the spell of pine but not the reality of being outdoors. But even "car camping" denotes that some camping should be happening - and I would argue most car campers aren't coming close. A line needs to be drawn in the needles and dust and rocks and bugs that constitute a campground....so here is my attempt:
Camping should NOT involve the following:
showering (unless in lake, sans soap),
using anything electronic or requiring access to your car battery,
anything requiring a generator,
cooking gourmet meals (no recipes involving spices other than salt/pepper/tabasco/garlic powder, no fresh meat or fish that needs to be kept cool - unless you caught it within 5 miles of your campsite, etc, no drinks except those that can be made from a mix)
sweeping (you are outside! in the dirt!)
pianos (no really, on the Rubicon Trail in the Sierra Nevada, they haul a piano up on a jeep)
fireworks (also can be experienced on the Rubicon Trail, if you don't believe me)
4x4s, ATVs, dirt bikes (not saying you can't use them, just use them in a designated area, preferably where there is already a lack of peace and quiet)
makeup, hairspray, or mirrors
inflatable water toys
mass quanitites of alchohol (at the very least, there are more tripping hazards)
RVs (don't get me started)
cell phones/blackberries/laptops/video games
I think there is something healthy about being challenged on how much stuff we really need. I think we are drawn to camping because we come back with a renewed confidence in our ability to be creative and survive without material goods (at least to a small degree). When we don't face that challenge - when there isn't a small fear of starving or wrestling a bear, its not camping, its just a long picnic in someone else's backyard.
Getting out in that big world is supposed to give us perspective - on how small we are, on what we really need to get by, and on what really makes us happy. We can't obtain that perspective unless we leave our little self-centered techno bubbles behind. If you can't have the guts to really get out there and experience the natural world, at least leave the campsites available for people who are up to the challenge.
Really, if you want to enjoy all the comforts of home with some fresh air, open your windows and leave the woods to the stinky people who don't need a shower.
I really think camping should be something we do to get away from our civilized, mechanized, nifty tool for every small task we need to accomplish in our lives. It should not be an exercise in packing nifty tools for doing every small task we need to do at home in the woods. It should not fund the next generation of clever inventors. It should not require a minivan full of gear to move our entire lives - albeit now in plaid and tarpaulin material - into the forest for a weekend. It should not advertise that our entire last paycheck is now property of REI.
Camping SHOULD be different than our everyday lives. All too often what starts as trying to bring a few creature comforts from home turns into living our exact same lifestyle with a nicer backdrop - at the expense of the backdrop. Really, do we need to bring sports gear to the lake? Do we need to bring stereos to the woods? Do we need a tablecloth in the forest????
We need another word - some folks use car-camping - to designate the simplicity-challenged who enjoy the spell of pine but not the reality of being outdoors. But even "car camping" denotes that some camping should be happening - and I would argue most car campers aren't coming close. A line needs to be drawn in the needles and dust and rocks and bugs that constitute a campground....so here is my attempt:
Camping should NOT involve the following:
showering (unless in lake, sans soap),
using anything electronic or requiring access to your car battery,
anything requiring a generator,
cooking gourmet meals (no recipes involving spices other than salt/pepper/tabasco/garlic powder, no fresh meat or fish that needs to be kept cool - unless you caught it within 5 miles of your campsite, etc, no drinks except those that can be made from a mix)
sweeping (you are outside! in the dirt!)
pianos (no really, on the Rubicon Trail in the Sierra Nevada, they haul a piano up on a jeep)
fireworks (also can be experienced on the Rubicon Trail, if you don't believe me)
4x4s, ATVs, dirt bikes (not saying you can't use them, just use them in a designated area, preferably where there is already a lack of peace and quiet)
makeup, hairspray, or mirrors
inflatable water toys
mass quanitites of alchohol (at the very least, there are more tripping hazards)
RVs (don't get me started)
cell phones/blackberries/laptops/video games
I think there is something healthy about being challenged on how much stuff we really need. I think we are drawn to camping because we come back with a renewed confidence in our ability to be creative and survive without material goods (at least to a small degree). When we don't face that challenge - when there isn't a small fear of starving or wrestling a bear, its not camping, its just a long picnic in someone else's backyard.
Getting out in that big world is supposed to give us perspective - on how small we are, on what we really need to get by, and on what really makes us happy. We can't obtain that perspective unless we leave our little self-centered techno bubbles behind. If you can't have the guts to really get out there and experience the natural world, at least leave the campsites available for people who are up to the challenge.
Really, if you want to enjoy all the comforts of home with some fresh air, open your windows and leave the woods to the stinky people who don't need a shower.
Silly technology
Yup, I finally got sucked in...am I cool now? I am blogging! And even worse, I am starting out with a really cheesy "I am blogging!" message....I blame lack of coffee and 105 degrees for a week...which tend to be my excuses for everything. Hmm, I need some new excuses...But really, I just need a place to flex those writing muscles, and to spare Ty from listening to yet another diatribe on the world. Hope you find some thoughtful tidbits or something to laugh at while you are here. : )
J
J
List of Authors
For the sake of space, I am removing this post because I now have all this info on my "goodreads" profile.
If you are interested, check it out at:
http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/880160
Sorry that you have to make a profile to see it - I can email you a list too if you prefer.
If you are interested, check it out at:
http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/880160
Sorry that you have to make a profile to see it - I can email you a list too if you prefer.
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