Yoga is the best part of my week; I've been going to classes regularly since August. I'm not good at it (yet), but I like how it makes me feel. You shouldn't confuse that with "I like doing yoga", because as soon as class starts to get challenging, the Inner Dissenter starts whining about if class will EVER be over.
In case you're not familiar, the Inner Dissenter is the voice that tells you that you're not good enough, you're not a fastidious enough flosser, or that you look fat in those jeans. Mostly, the Inner Dissenter is a jerk.
[Side note: I think my personal hell is one where you're in a super-hard yoga class that never, ever ends. Or, sitting in a perpetually spinning office chair.]
I tried out a variety of classes, and throughout the week, my yoga workout varies. There is one class that is an ongoing challenge for me, taught by Kent Bond, who is the founder of Willow Glen Yoga. It's only the second yoga studio I've ever been to, but I like it LOADS better than That Other Place. They encourage the use of props, and for those of us who might be out of shape (or "alternatively shaped", as I like to think of it) props make easing into the positions much, much easier. It's taken a lot of the misery, pain, and self-loathing out of doing yoga, as far as I'm concerned.
Some of the classes are lovely and slow, but still on the challenging side. Not Kent's class. Kent's class delivers a Chuck Norris sized punch in the face, the core, and the hamstrings. Kent's class is simultaneously the most challenging and the most satisfying class of my week. The first few weeks were really frustrating for me; I felt betrayed by my lack of body awareness, my lack of balance, and my lack of sheer strength. I'm used to being a quick study, but my brain and body have had a really tough time with yoga.
Going to yoga has been incredibly humbling. I'm not used to struggling to learn something, and the first few classes I took with Kent were a challenge to say the least. The first class was an exercise in humility: every pose that we did in class, Kent would come by and correct me. When we were in a pose and he would pass me, it felt like a victory; I'd have a ticker-tape parade in my head. Halfway through class, every time Kent walked towards me, I thought, "Please don't be here to correct me." Then, I realized, No Jasmin, you're wrong.
I was there to learn, and unless I wanted to do it incorrectly (and risk injuring myself), I needed to really absorb the correction. Being a quick study has made me a lazy learner; if I don't get it right away, my inclination is to quit. Frankly speaking, that is crap.
The Inner Dissenter was louder than ever, saying all sorts of unflattering things about my learning ability, and was encouraging me to roll up my yoga mat, go home, and have a bowl of ice cream instead of doing the Hard Yoga.
I thought loudly to the Inner Dissenter, Shut up and let me learn.
I pushed through to the end of class, and ached all the way home. When I got there, Andrew asked me how it had gone, to which I responded, "Miserable. I'm going to keep going until it's not so hard."
And I have. In the last couple of weeks, I've noticed that I'm able to hold the poses more easily, my flexibility has increased, my balance is improved, and my shape has changed, noticeably.
Maybe if I approach intarsia with the same gusto, it won't be so horrible.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
An apple [pie] a day
Our CSA has inundated us with apples. I know it's the season for it, but when it comes to apples and citrus, we're set. The previous owner of our house took a lot of pride in the garden, and the thriving fruit trees are a testament to his hard work.
Unfortunately, regardless of how many times I tell the trees to please ripen 8-10 apples a week, they insist on ripening all at once. This year, a friend of ours volunteered to come and pick our apples in order to turn them into deeeeelicious hard apple cider.
Then came the CSA, with eight million apples every week. I've mostly just been eating them as I go, but there are only so many apples a girl can eat. Since I am trying to earn my Adult badge, I've been going to the grocery store on a more frequent basis in order to properly stock my pantry.
Like my knitting and spinning stash, it takes time to stock a pantry properly. I'm finding that we were missing some essential items (like cinnamon, oddly enough). In my quest to stock the pantry, I pass the baking section every time I go to the store, and I see the tub of lard.
Historically, I've never cooked/baked/sculpted with lard, and it's not something that my mom used in her cooking, either. But I WANTED to buy a tub of lard. Obsession doesn't even begin to explain this. Every time I walked past the lard, it called to me.
So, given the abundance of apples and my burning need to buy a tub of lard, the only logical solution was to make apple pie. Apple pie isn't a big deal, I've made it before, and I've made my own crusts before, too. Just not with lard. I called Laura and Mom over, and we. Made. Pie.
We used the pie recipe from Mom's McCall's Cooking School cookbook, and the crust recipe from Joy of Cooking. I used lard and butter for the crust, followed the directions to the T, and Mom coached me on rolling out the crust properly.
At this point, it's only fair to point out that Andrew was suspicious of my use of the lard, despite my enthusiasm. He declared that he didn't think he liked lard in pies, despite any lack of previous pie-with-lard experience. (I think it was the beautiful marbling in my rolled-out crust, with the lard and the butter making a lovely swirl of deliciousness.)
"Ah, well," I said, channeling my mother, "More for me. It sounds like you don't need any pie."
Andrew backpedaled a bit, and boy, was he glad he did. The conversion rate of photos to words applies here:
Yeah.
We actually ended up baking three pies, but I only kept one at home. (Laura took one, and we delivered the last one to my BFF, Miss Kalendar, at her enviable new residence.) It's amazing how satisfying a piece of pie can be.
There were learning experiences attached to the pies, of course.
The first was discovering that three pies worth of crust are exhausting to make. I've been going to yoga 3-4 times a week since August, and the last crust felt positively Herculean to make. Core strength doesn't matter when you're cutting in cold butter and lard. (It's okay, Core Strength. I use you for everything else!)
The second was finding out that LukeWarm is a drama queen. A little bit of crust falls to the bottom of the oven, and he smokes like a chimney. Sheesh!
The last is that there is nothing more satisfying than eating hot pie (a la mode, of course) while you relax with your loved ones in front of a zombie apocalypse flick.
Unfortunately, regardless of how many times I tell the trees to please ripen 8-10 apples a week, they insist on ripening all at once. This year, a friend of ours volunteered to come and pick our apples in order to turn them into deeeeelicious hard apple cider.
Then came the CSA, with eight million apples every week. I've mostly just been eating them as I go, but there are only so many apples a girl can eat. Since I am trying to earn my Adult badge, I've been going to the grocery store on a more frequent basis in order to properly stock my pantry.
Like my knitting and spinning stash, it takes time to stock a pantry properly. I'm finding that we were missing some essential items (like cinnamon, oddly enough). In my quest to stock the pantry, I pass the baking section every time I go to the store, and I see the tub of lard.
Historically, I've never cooked/baked/sculpted with lard, and it's not something that my mom used in her cooking, either. But I WANTED to buy a tub of lard. Obsession doesn't even begin to explain this. Every time I walked past the lard, it called to me.
So, given the abundance of apples and my burning need to buy a tub of lard, the only logical solution was to make apple pie. Apple pie isn't a big deal, I've made it before, and I've made my own crusts before, too. Just not with lard. I called Laura and Mom over, and we. Made. Pie.
We used the pie recipe from Mom's McCall's Cooking School cookbook, and the crust recipe from Joy of Cooking. I used lard and butter for the crust, followed the directions to the T, and Mom coached me on rolling out the crust properly.
At this point, it's only fair to point out that Andrew was suspicious of my use of the lard, despite my enthusiasm. He declared that he didn't think he liked lard in pies, despite any lack of previous pie-with-lard experience. (I think it was the beautiful marbling in my rolled-out crust, with the lard and the butter making a lovely swirl of deliciousness.)
"Ah, well," I said, channeling my mother, "More for me. It sounds like you don't need any pie."
Andrew backpedaled a bit, and boy, was he glad he did. The conversion rate of photos to words applies here:
 |
| So good, we couldn't wait for a photo first. |
Yeah.
We actually ended up baking three pies, but I only kept one at home. (Laura took one, and we delivered the last one to my BFF, Miss Kalendar, at her enviable new residence.) It's amazing how satisfying a piece of pie can be.
There were learning experiences attached to the pies, of course.
The first was discovering that three pies worth of crust are exhausting to make. I've been going to yoga 3-4 times a week since August, and the last crust felt positively Herculean to make. Core strength doesn't matter when you're cutting in cold butter and lard. (It's okay, Core Strength. I use you for everything else!)
The second was finding out that LukeWarm is a drama queen. A little bit of crust falls to the bottom of the oven, and he smokes like a chimney. Sheesh!
The last is that there is nothing more satisfying than eating hot pie (a la mode, of course) while you relax with your loved ones in front of a zombie apocalypse flick.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Good enough to eat
For a few years now, I've been fooling people around me. People seem to be under the impression that I am an adult. It's an elaborate deception; like an adult, I went to work, I paid my bills, I did my laundry, but I never considered myself to be an adult.
I still eat ice cream for breakfast in the summertime. When I see kids begging for candy at the grocery store, sometimes I buy it not because I WANT candy, necessarily. I buy it because I *can*, and there isn't a thing anyone can do to stop me.
What really convinced me that I am a total fraud is cooking . I do a fine job with executing recipes, but I can't look in the fridge and compose dishes by memory or invention. I watch other people (I call them "adults") glance at the contents of their refrigerators and divine up brilliant and delicious dishes. Not me.
Meal planning is another challenge, mostly because my inner six-year-old wants something different on Wednesday than I did on Sunday (when I was trying to be an adult an plan my meals).
I confessed to Laura that I am a fraud, after she complimented a dish that I had prepared for a pot luck, and she laughed hysterically at my heartfelt, shame-filled confession. Maybe I hadn't been clear enough.
"I don't know how to throw things together. I look up what I want to cook, buy the ingredients, and make it," I explained.
Laura laughed even harder, then declared that EVERYONE is a fraud, and that there were no real adults. Apparently, everyone is guilty of perpetuating an elaborate social ruse. Who knew?
Mom told me that it wasn't about any secret that I didn't know - it was my cookbooks. I picked my cookbooks based on specific dishes or skills; I bought Soup: A Way of Life for the Quibebe recipe, the America's Test Kitchen cookbook for the tomato soup recipe, and the Williams Sonoma "Meat" cookbook for the Texas Chili recipe.
(Yes, there are loads of great recipes, but those were the clinchers.)
"You need a good, basic cookbook," Mom said, "A Fannie Farmer, or the Joy of Cooking. You do the complicated stuff well; this will be a breeze."
Laura mentioned that she had a few copies of The Joy of Cooking, so I asked to borrow one to flip through before investing in a Very Large Cookbook. To my great surprise (and intimidation), Laura GAVE me one of her copies (yes, still plural) of Joy of Cooking, along with a few of the Better Homes and Gardens recipe binders.
A few nights ago, I made meatloaf for the first time. It's not a big deal for most of you, but I am ridiculously proud of myself. I prepped the meatloaf, threw it in the oven, then worked on getting the sides (steamed carrots, green beans, potatoes, and gravy) prepped and timed to be ready when the meatloaf was done.
Before you start admiring my adultitude, wait a moment.
Like with knitting (and everything else in life), with cooking you should read the directions all the way through FIRST. Had I done that, I could have knit through an uninterrupted repeat on my Cece cardigan, instead of trying to figure out why my oven refuses to actualize its potential. (It seemed that while the knob reads one temperature, the oven itself runs 75 degrees colder than the knob claims.)
While I can appreciate LukeWarm (my oven's name)'s desire to tell me that he's hot and ready for my tasty morsels, he's just too small for my needs, and really takes too much time to get me what I need. Which is (in case you weren't clear on it) hot, delicious food in a reasonable amount of time.
(Don't tell LukeWarm, but I've been trying to burn him out with my constant attention so that I can move on with Prince PipingHot. I need size and heat and will accept no substitutes.)
In any case, after figuring out how much I need to compensate for LukeWarm's lackluster performance, when the time came I held my breath for the moment of truth: How is this dish?
A rousing success! Plates were cleared, and for the first time in almost five years of marriage, Andrew went for seconds. Then joked about licking his plate. I thought it was pretty good, too.
With the help of friends and family, I think I might just earn my adult badge someday. Or at the very least, a really convincing fake.
I still eat ice cream for breakfast in the summertime. When I see kids begging for candy at the grocery store, sometimes I buy it not because I WANT candy, necessarily. I buy it because I *can*, and there isn't a thing anyone can do to stop me.
What really convinced me that I am a total fraud is cooking . I do a fine job with executing recipes, but I can't look in the fridge and compose dishes by memory or invention. I watch other people (I call them "adults") glance at the contents of their refrigerators and divine up brilliant and delicious dishes. Not me.
Meal planning is another challenge, mostly because my inner six-year-old wants something different on Wednesday than I did on Sunday (when I was trying to be an adult an plan my meals).
I confessed to Laura that I am a fraud, after she complimented a dish that I had prepared for a pot luck, and she laughed hysterically at my heartfelt, shame-filled confession. Maybe I hadn't been clear enough.
"I don't know how to throw things together. I look up what I want to cook, buy the ingredients, and make it," I explained.
Laura laughed even harder, then declared that EVERYONE is a fraud, and that there were no real adults. Apparently, everyone is guilty of perpetuating an elaborate social ruse. Who knew?
Mom told me that it wasn't about any secret that I didn't know - it was my cookbooks. I picked my cookbooks based on specific dishes or skills; I bought Soup: A Way of Life for the Quibebe recipe, the America's Test Kitchen cookbook for the tomato soup recipe, and the Williams Sonoma "Meat" cookbook for the Texas Chili recipe.
(Yes, there are loads of great recipes, but those were the clinchers.)
"You need a good, basic cookbook," Mom said, "A Fannie Farmer, or the Joy of Cooking. You do the complicated stuff well; this will be a breeze."
Laura mentioned that she had a few copies of The Joy of Cooking, so I asked to borrow one to flip through before investing in a Very Large Cookbook. To my great surprise (and intimidation), Laura GAVE me one of her copies (yes, still plural) of Joy of Cooking, along with a few of the Better Homes and Gardens recipe binders.
A few nights ago, I made meatloaf for the first time. It's not a big deal for most of you, but I am ridiculously proud of myself. I prepped the meatloaf, threw it in the oven, then worked on getting the sides (steamed carrots, green beans, potatoes, and gravy) prepped and timed to be ready when the meatloaf was done.
Before you start admiring my adultitude, wait a moment.
Like with knitting (and everything else in life), with cooking you should read the directions all the way through FIRST. Had I done that, I could have knit through an uninterrupted repeat on my Cece cardigan, instead of trying to figure out why my oven refuses to actualize its potential. (It seemed that while the knob reads one temperature, the oven itself runs 75 degrees colder than the knob claims.)
While I can appreciate LukeWarm (my oven's name)'s desire to tell me that he's hot and ready for my tasty morsels, he's just too small for my needs, and really takes too much time to get me what I need. Which is (in case you weren't clear on it) hot, delicious food in a reasonable amount of time.
(Don't tell LukeWarm, but I've been trying to burn him out with my constant attention so that I can move on with Prince PipingHot. I need size and heat and will accept no substitutes.)
In any case, after figuring out how much I need to compensate for LukeWarm's lackluster performance, when the time came I held my breath for the moment of truth: How is this dish?
A rousing success! Plates were cleared, and for the first time in almost five years of marriage, Andrew went for seconds. Then joked about licking his plate. I thought it was pretty good, too.
With the help of friends and family, I think I might just earn my adult badge someday. Or at the very least, a really convincing fake.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Reading material
The last time I went to give blood, I took Sam along. The Stanford Bloodmobile was a short and heart-healthy walk from home and Sam was curious about his blood type, so I took him with me. It was his first time giving blood, and I was there to tease and heckle encourage and support him. As I served him up to the volunteers, I was positively bursting with sisterly pride.
We filled out our paperwork, and then waited in line for our turn. Sam was lost in his thoughts, so I pulled my Kindle out of my purse and started reading.
"Do you like your Kindle?" Sam asked me.
"I love it. I can read anything, anywhere. AND nobody knows whether I'm reading War and Peace or if it's a trashy romance novel," I answered honestly.
"Are you reading War and Peace?" he asked with a sarcastically arched eyebrow.
"...No."
Normally, Sam would have made some sort of crack about the decline in the quality of my reading material, or if he's on a feministy kick, how romance novels set unrealistic expectations in women and continue to denigrate the cause of female Writers. (Notice the capitalized "W". That's because they're Serious Writers.)
Instead, he chuckled to himself, and shook his head, let me enjoy my romance novel, and enjoyed the sunshine.
And Sam? For the record, I do have War and Peace on the Kindle. I just haven't gotten to it yet. I have sometrashy romance novels incredibly important literature to read first.
We filled out our paperwork, and then waited in line for our turn. Sam was lost in his thoughts, so I pulled my Kindle out of my purse and started reading.
"Do you like your Kindle?" Sam asked me.
"I love it. I can read anything, anywhere. AND nobody knows whether I'm reading War and Peace or if it's a trashy romance novel," I answered honestly.
"Are you reading War and Peace?" he asked with a sarcastically arched eyebrow.
"...No."
Normally, Sam would have made some sort of crack about the decline in the quality of my reading material, or if he's on a feministy kick, how romance novels set unrealistic expectations in women and continue to denigrate the cause of female Writers. (Notice the capitalized "W". That's because they're Serious Writers.)
Instead, he chuckled to himself, and shook his head, let me enjoy my romance novel, and enjoyed the sunshine.
And Sam? For the record, I do have War and Peace on the Kindle. I just haven't gotten to it yet. I have some
Friday, September 3, 2010
Supernatural
This last year, we discovered "Supernatural". I know it's been on TV for a few years now, but I thought it looked cheesy and thought that the premise (from the teasers) was thin. When a friend of mine (the same one who recommended Buffy, Coupling, and a number of other great shows) turned out to be a fan, I gave it a shot.
I was pleasantly surprised at how fantastic this show is. The writing is smart, the dialog is funny and sharp, and the characters are nicely developed over the course of the program. It's Buffy meets The Dukes of Hazzard with a little of The Odd Couple thrown in for good measure. I really like their take on the various mythos and urband legends,and the two protagonists are so handsome that they ought to be required to carry a permit for their potentially lethal good looks. Google them at your own peril.
The basic premise is that there are two brothers who go around hunting the things that go bump in the night, and their relationship feels a bit Kirk/Spock-ish. In a good way. It's about friendship, general badass-ery, but most importantly, it's about the good and the bad when it comes to family. (It also has an *incredible* soundtrack, full of classic rock.) Every episode is "a good one!", and the best part of the whole thing is that they don't take themselves - or anyone else - too seriously.
Anyway, to bring this back to the point of the story (which is always knitting), we attended the Sock Summit before I got really into the show, and I bought some sock yarn. (Gasp!)
The gal from Damselfly Yarns was a die-hard Supernatural fan, and dyed this colorway which was inspired by the demon cloud at the beginning of Season 2:
It might have been the combination of the color and the silver threads that are spun into this yarn, but I had to have it. Magpie, much?
In any case, Astrid was enthusiastically telling me about the source of her inspiration, and I couldn't share her excitement about perfectly capturing the color- because I hadn't seen it yet! I was inspired to cast these on when I saw the demon cloud fill the sky at the beginning of the season, and I thought, "I have yarn that looks *just* like that!" (Well done, Astrid!)
I paused the DVD, scampered back to my office and grabbed the skein so I could have a themed knitting project to go with the entertainment. (And for the record, I plan to spin "One" while I watch "A Chorus Line". And do a kickline at my wheel.)
I've been slowly plugging away at these socks, using them as my carryalong project. Season 5 is coming out on DVD next week and if I don't finish the socks before then, I'm seeing some ab-filled knitting time in my future.
There are certainly worse things in life.
I was pleasantly surprised at how fantastic this show is. The writing is smart, the dialog is funny and sharp, and the characters are nicely developed over the course of the program. It's Buffy meets The Dukes of Hazzard with a little of The Odd Couple thrown in for good measure. I really like their take on the various mythos and urband legends,and the two protagonists are so handsome that they ought to be required to carry a permit for their potentially lethal good looks. Google them at your own peril.
The basic premise is that there are two brothers who go around hunting the things that go bump in the night, and their relationship feels a bit Kirk/Spock-ish. In a good way. It's about friendship, general badass-ery, but most importantly, it's about the good and the bad when it comes to family. (It also has an *incredible* soundtrack, full of classic rock.) Every episode is "a good one!", and the best part of the whole thing is that they don't take themselves - or anyone else - too seriously.
Anyway, to bring this back to the point of the story (which is always knitting), we attended the Sock Summit before I got really into the show, and I bought some sock yarn. (Gasp!)
The gal from Damselfly Yarns was a die-hard Supernatural fan, and dyed this colorway which was inspired by the demon cloud at the beginning of Season 2:
It might have been the combination of the color and the silver threads that are spun into this yarn, but I had to have it. Magpie, much?
In any case, Astrid was enthusiastically telling me about the source of her inspiration, and I couldn't share her excitement about perfectly capturing the color- because I hadn't seen it yet! I was inspired to cast these on when I saw the demon cloud fill the sky at the beginning of the season, and I thought, "I have yarn that looks *just* like that!" (Well done, Astrid!)
I paused the DVD, scampered back to my office and grabbed the skein so I could have a themed knitting project to go with the entertainment. (And for the record, I plan to spin "One" while I watch "A Chorus Line". And do a kickline at my wheel.)
I've been slowly plugging away at these socks, using them as my carryalong project. Season 5 is coming out on DVD next week and if I don't finish the socks before then, I'm seeing some ab-filled knitting time in my future.
There are certainly worse things in life.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Corrrrrrrrrrrrmo!
In the spirit of Jasmin 2010, I have been on a finishing binge. After the Tour de Fleece, I decided to finish up some spinning projects that were languishing on plastic weaving bobbins, and the first project on my list was the baby cormo fleece that I bought at the Retzlaff winery in 2009 and split with the fabulous Meghan.
Before I say anything else, you should know that this fleece is so soft and crimpy, that it's no longer just "cormo". You have to roll your r's. Rrrrrrrrr. Corrrrrrrrrrrrmo. It's that soft.
Before I say anything else, you should know that this fleece is so soft and crimpy, that it's no longer just "cormo". You have to roll your r's. Rrrrrrrrr. Corrrrrrrrrrrrmo. It's that soft.
The baby is all grown up!
and finally:
I wish you could feel how fabulous this yarn is. When I was finishing the singles, Gnat was positively bombarding me with fantastic sweater suggestions, including the Baby Cables and Big Ones Too sweater.
Go ahead, click on it. It's GORGEOUS, and is totally feeding my current obsession with cables and yoked sweaters. Of course, from this blog you wouldn't know, since I haven't posted pictures of me in any of the sweaters I've finished except for the Mondo Cable Cardi, but they're coming.
For now, I'll pet the yarn until I cast on the sweater. Which, for the record is queued to get cast on after I finish ... something.
Go ahead, click on it. It's GORGEOUS, and is totally feeding my current obsession with cables and yoked sweaters. Of course, from this blog you wouldn't know, since I haven't posted pictures of me in any of the sweaters I've finished except for the Mondo Cable Cardi, but they're coming.
For now, I'll pet the yarn until I cast on the sweater. Which, for the record is queued to get cast on after I finish ... something.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Something good for Gigi
When I was a kid and we'd go grocery shopping, my mom was one of the "If it's not on the list, we're not buying it" moms. For the record, she was also an "If it's advertised on television, we're not buying it" mom, but that's not the point of this story.
Anyway, at a certain point I decided that I was Very Clever, and wrote "Something good for Jasmin" at the bottom of the shopping list. Vague, but specific enough. Sam, of course, saw the brilliance in my plan and would write "Something good for Sam" under my "Something good for Jasmin". A good idea once is a good idea twice, and as a little kid he could recognize that.
"Something good" was often a favorite fruit, but as we got older, Mom would get us "Cocoa Farts" (generic Cocoa Puffs), or our own specific favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry's. It was a little something special- and we still ate nutritious meals, lest you think Mom hung up her Dr. Scholls sandals and abandoned her crunchy muesli ways. It was just a little junk food that we ate in moderation.
Fast forward to this last year. Mom has been spending more time here, which we enjoy thoroughly, and our grocery list is out for all to see - and add to. Mom has been carrying on our grocery tradition, and I often find "Something good for Mom" on the list.
So, in the spirit of "Something good for Mom", I picked up a treat that we don't get very often:
Sesame seed balls. My favorite Chinese bakery is in downtown Mountain View, and sadly, I don't get there very often. Yesterday ended up being a right-place-right-time kind of day, and I picked up a box of these goodies for us to enjoy.
After all, Mom also taught us that the best part of "something good" is having enough to share.
Anyway, at a certain point I decided that I was Very Clever, and wrote "Something good for Jasmin" at the bottom of the shopping list. Vague, but specific enough. Sam, of course, saw the brilliance in my plan and would write "Something good for Sam" under my "Something good for Jasmin". A good idea once is a good idea twice, and as a little kid he could recognize that.
"Something good" was often a favorite fruit, but as we got older, Mom would get us "Cocoa Farts" (generic Cocoa Puffs), or our own specific favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry's. It was a little something special- and we still ate nutritious meals, lest you think Mom hung up her Dr. Scholls sandals and abandoned her crunchy muesli ways. It was just a little junk food that we ate in moderation.
Fast forward to this last year. Mom has been spending more time here, which we enjoy thoroughly, and our grocery list is out for all to see - and add to. Mom has been carrying on our grocery tradition, and I often find "Something good for Mom" on the list.
So, in the spirit of "Something good for Mom", I picked up a treat that we don't get very often:
Sesame seed balls. My favorite Chinese bakery is in downtown Mountain View, and sadly, I don't get there very often. Yesterday ended up being a right-place-right-time kind of day, and I picked up a box of these goodies for us to enjoy.
After all, Mom also taught us that the best part of "something good" is having enough to share.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Off the needles and into my heart
Dear Miss (Mrs?) September;
I have to admit, when I got the email from Stephanie including me in the Off the Needles calendar, I was a little nervous. When I got to the shoot, and saw this gorgeous shot of you, it didn't comfort me in the slightest:
I have to admit, when I got the email from Stephanie including me in the Off the Needles calendar, I was a little nervous. When I got to the shoot, and saw this gorgeous shot of you, it didn't comfort me in the slightest:
I mean, look at you! You're cute as a button and twice as sharp as your needles. You've written my all-time favorite KnitLit, I've been reading your blog for *years*, and may have had to contain myself a bit when we were interviewing you for the podcast.
There are so many things I admire about you: you're gorgeous, smart, funny, a great knitter, a fantastic writer, and you have a sassy Mama tribute tattoo. And LOOK at that rack! I am totally honored to be in the same sexy knitter calendar as you. I hope you'll sign mine!
Your fan forever,
Miss (Mrs?) July
(As a side note, the project still needs about $1k in funding, so order your calendar now!)
There are so many things I admire about you: you're gorgeous, smart, funny, a great knitter, a fantastic writer, and you have a sassy Mama tribute tattoo. And LOOK at that rack! I am totally honored to be in the same sexy knitter calendar as you. I hope you'll sign mine!
Your fan forever,
Miss (Mrs?) July
(As a side note, the project still needs about $1k in funding, so order your calendar now!)
Monday, August 16, 2010
The Lion in Winter - A review
Event: The Lion in Winter, Shakespeare Santa Cruz
John Pasha as Richard “the Lionheart” in the Shakespeare Santa Cruz production of “The Lion In Winter”.
(Photo by rr jones)
The Review:
As with "Love's Labor's Lost", I went into this play totally cold. There's a brief description of the plot on the page for the show (linked above), but it doesn't do the play justice.
The best way of describing this show is part Tudors, part Twits, and a hint of the Prodigal son parable. Henry II is preparing for his succession, and like any good monarchs-in-training would, the three boys fight, plot, and do their utmost to secure their spot as the future King. Marco Barricelli conveys the conflict of deciding what is best for the empire he has built and reconciling that against how he feels about his sons.
There are complex family dynamics at work in this play, mainly how the imprisoned wife and the scheming sons interact. Everyone is working toward their own end goals, politically aligning themselves for their best benefit, but looking over their shoulders the whole time.
There are complex family dynamics at work in this play, mainly how the imprisoned wife and the scheming sons interact. Everyone is working toward their own end goals, politically aligning themselves for their best benefit, but looking over their shoulders the whole time.
"The Lion in Winter" deals with serious themes, but is also incredibly funny. All of the actors have fantastic dramatic chemistry. I feel inclined to add that this is a ridiculously handsome cast. Most notably, John Pasha (Richard, photographed above), who happened to be sitting in front of me during Love's Labor's Lost. So, so handsome- and look at that beard! I love a good beard. He was convincing both as a future monarch and as a soldier. (This is personally relevant to me because my initial introduction to Richard I was in the Robin Hood story.)
There is definitely some artistic license taken with the history, but it didn't ruin my enjoyment of the play. (For reference, I *love* The Tudors.) If you can't cope with anachronisms, perhaps you should skip this show, and for that matter, any historically-based costume drama. If not, this play is not to be missed.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Love's Labor's Lost - A Review
Event: Love's Labor's Lost, Shakespeare Santa Cruz
Photos: 
The Review:
Costard (J. Todd Adams) describes his newfound "lady friend" to Berowne (Adam O'Byrne), Longaville (Brett Duggan) and Dumaine (Richard Prioleau) in the Shakespeare Santa Cruz production of "Love's Labor's Lost".
(Photo by rr jones)
As with every Shakespeare Santa Cruz production, this production has chosen to use contemporary costumes in order to make the show more accessible, or perhaps, to reflect the timelessness of the themes. I like the comedies- who doesn't? While this particular production is a bit over-the-top, I think it works. I hadn't read this play before, so other than knowing that it was categorized as a comedy, I went in cold.
I was pleased to see some familiar faces from last year (J. Todd Adams, who played Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream), along with some outstanding new talent. The standout performer in this production was Dana Green, who played Rosaline; she is simultaneously dark and fair, has a voice like a 1920's jazz singer, and has a presence on stage that borders on distracting- in the best way. Green plays the sharp-tongued Rosaline with her tongue firmly in her cheek and a playful air.
[To be honest, if this is the same Rosaline that Romeo was pining over, I think he got the short end of the stick when he picked Juliet. (Sorry, Juliet. Being a rebound can be tough.) Rosaline, on the other hand, traded up from the besotted Romeo to the quick-witted Berowne (played by Adam O'Byrne).]
The other standout was V Craig Heidenreich, who played King Ferdinand with a command of the stage that reminded me of Martin Sheen on the West Wing- with an air of authority and a booming voice that fills the Festival Glen, which is no easy feat.
Overall, I wouldn't say that this was my favorite play, but isn't a reflection on the production; just my tastes. If you like Shakespeare's comedies, you'll enjoy "Love's Labor's Lost".
It's worth mentioning that Shakespeare Santa Cruz is doing something differently- but I'm not sure what. There were more chairs *and* there was more "groundling" seating, and every seat was full. Not only was this a standing room only show, but the audience was well matched to the performance; lively and responsive.
I've said it before, but it's worth saying again. Even if you have no interest in Shakespeare, give Shakespeare Santa Cruz a try. The outdoor Festival Glen makes a great spot for evening romance and so does the brisk Santa Cruz air.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
