When Help Isn't
True help is in the form of something offered by a donor and accepted by the receiver.
Ideally, the receiver may have even requested the help in a clear way, with an understanding that there was no obligation for it to be provided.
Unrequested aid is often the opposite of help. It often causes damage, both to the receiver and the person who spent time and effort trying to solve a problem without full understanding.
I just found myself the recipient of some unrequested "help" (that I was not given the opportunity to accept or reject) and now have quite a mess to clean up.
Definitely not helpful in the least bit.
November 14, 2010
Fun With Hobbies
When my niece was our flower girl, I made up a story called, "The Flower Girl Saves the Day."
She asked me to tell it every time I saw her in the year before the wedding. Once, I sat on the floor and regaled her and 6 of her friends (all boys) with the tale. They all loved it.
Since then, every few months, she'll ask me to tell it again. It's been years since the wedding, but she can't seem to get enough of the story.
After the last visit with her, when she requested it, yet again, I decided to hire an illustrator and self-publish an illustrated children's book of the story for Christmas so that she can read it to herself whenever she likes.
As a bonus, I'm going to make it available via Amazon and Barnes and Noble after I'm done with the gift phase to see if I can turn it into a successful children's book.
So far, I've very much enjoyed this process -- the drafting of the story and the selection of the illustrator from Elance has been the most fun part of my day every day this week.
When my niece was our flower girl, I made up a story called, "The Flower Girl Saves the Day."
She asked me to tell it every time I saw her in the year before the wedding. Once, I sat on the floor and regaled her and 6 of her friends (all boys) with the tale. They all loved it.
Since then, every few months, she'll ask me to tell it again. It's been years since the wedding, but she can't seem to get enough of the story.
After the last visit with her, when she requested it, yet again, I decided to hire an illustrator and self-publish an illustrated children's book of the story for Christmas so that she can read it to herself whenever she likes.
As a bonus, I'm going to make it available via Amazon and Barnes and Noble after I'm done with the gift phase to see if I can turn it into a successful children's book.
So far, I've very much enjoyed this process -- the drafting of the story and the selection of the illustrator from Elance has been the most fun part of my day every day this week.
November 6, 2010
November 1, 2010
America's Pastime
I *hated* baseball growing up. Grandpa Jack and Grandma Mary always had the radio on on the background when we visited. Constant noise.
Daddy played in college. That's how he got the scar that kept him out of 'nam. In hindsight, I should probably have loved the game more than I originally did. But I was a child, so I was just confused as to why my huge father played baseball instead of football, which he preferred as a spectator.
When brother played little league, I had to be a scorekeeper. I had to mark the runs, the errors, the hits, etc. It had its own symbolic language, which was cool, but it required me to pay attention to my younger brother and his friends rather than going off to play with the other kids, which was not cool. Thank goodness E2 was subject to the same scorekeeping duty on behalf of her brother's team (or perhaps they were on the same team, I can't recall) -- but I do think that's where we originally cemented our friendship, between the hits and errors.
Once, when I was small, Dad took me to a Giant's game with our local Indian Princesses group. Frankly, it was scary. Loud. Big people. Lots of Orange and White. I do remember Candlestick Park though. I thought that was a very cool name for a park.
In college, I knew a few baseball players, and I decided it was a solid sport. They worked hard. They were cocky when good, but humble when bad. Overall, I started to develop a soft spot for the sport.
My first employer had season tickets to the Giants and I developed a healthy respect for the game. I even watched a few college players from CAL make their early careers after I graduated. (ASIDE -- HOW COULD CAL HAVE ELIMINATED BASEBALL AS AN NCAA SPORT?)
When the Giants played the Angels in the world series, I got to go to a game with my employer. It was amazing.
And then, the Giants fell off my radar.
I focused on my life and they did their thing.
Until this year.
When my step-dad showed up to drop off his trailer to attend the first NLCS game and brought me back a good-luck hat.
I've been wearing that hat and watching games whenever I can ever since.
I've celebrated Giants wins this year at my Mom's house, Kapp's, home, the Grand Wailea, and McTeague's.
Tonight, amongst the crowd at Kapp's, E and I celebrated the win with an adorable local couple who've had season tickets for 32 years. The number of pins on their hats? Amazing.
And, as it's all progressed, I've finally become a true baseball fan. What a game! I love it -- the numbers, the data, the athleticism, the drama, the americana, and the esoterica. I look forward to next season!
I *hated* baseball growing up. Grandpa Jack and Grandma Mary always had the radio on on the background when we visited. Constant noise.
Daddy played in college. That's how he got the scar that kept him out of 'nam. In hindsight, I should probably have loved the game more than I originally did. But I was a child, so I was just confused as to why my huge father played baseball instead of football, which he preferred as a spectator.
When brother played little league, I had to be a scorekeeper. I had to mark the runs, the errors, the hits, etc. It had its own symbolic language, which was cool, but it required me to pay attention to my younger brother and his friends rather than going off to play with the other kids, which was not cool. Thank goodness E2 was subject to the same scorekeeping duty on behalf of her brother's team (or perhaps they were on the same team, I can't recall) -- but I do think that's where we originally cemented our friendship, between the hits and errors.
Once, when I was small, Dad took me to a Giant's game with our local Indian Princesses group. Frankly, it was scary. Loud. Big people. Lots of Orange and White. I do remember Candlestick Park though. I thought that was a very cool name for a park.
In college, I knew a few baseball players, and I decided it was a solid sport. They worked hard. They were cocky when good, but humble when bad. Overall, I started to develop a soft spot for the sport.
My first employer had season tickets to the Giants and I developed a healthy respect for the game. I even watched a few college players from CAL make their early careers after I graduated. (ASIDE -- HOW COULD CAL HAVE ELIMINATED BASEBALL AS AN NCAA SPORT?)
When the Giants played the Angels in the world series, I got to go to a game with my employer. It was amazing.
And then, the Giants fell off my radar.
I focused on my life and they did their thing.
Until this year.
When my step-dad showed up to drop off his trailer to attend the first NLCS game and brought me back a good-luck hat.
I've been wearing that hat and watching games whenever I can ever since.
I've celebrated Giants wins this year at my Mom's house, Kapp's, home, the Grand Wailea, and McTeague's.
Tonight, amongst the crowd at Kapp's, E and I celebrated the win with an adorable local couple who've had season tickets for 32 years. The number of pins on their hats? Amazing.
And, as it's all progressed, I've finally become a true baseball fan. What a game! I love it -- the numbers, the data, the athleticism, the drama, the americana, and the esoterica. I look forward to next season!
Wonderful Weekend
A beautiful wedding ceremony for The Enforcer in Tilden Park where the rain waited until after the ceremony to fall.
Hours of catching up with old friends at the wedding celebration.
Dim Sum with family and friends.
Wine tasting with girlfriends in Sonoma.
A delicious Portuguese dinner at La Sallette.
A long walk along the San Francisco Bay Trail followed by mediterranean food.
A long chat with a good friend on the phone to catch up.
Watching the Giants win their third World Series Game while handing out candy to witches, goblins, and ghosts.
Is it any surprise that the return to Monday normal is a bit difficult this morning...
A beautiful wedding ceremony for The Enforcer in Tilden Park where the rain waited until after the ceremony to fall.
Hours of catching up with old friends at the wedding celebration.
Dim Sum with family and friends.
Wine tasting with girlfriends in Sonoma.
A delicious Portuguese dinner at La Sallette.
A long walk along the San Francisco Bay Trail followed by mediterranean food.
A long chat with a good friend on the phone to catch up.
Watching the Giants win their third World Series Game while handing out candy to witches, goblins, and ghosts.
Is it any surprise that the return to Monday normal is a bit difficult this morning...
October 24, 2010
Identity
I'll never forget the moment at my grandfather's funeral when the pastor referred to my Uncle's professional feats, and then attributed them to my Dad. He claimed Papa (my grandfather) was so proud of my Dad (who, of course, was actually my uncle, by feats).
The old folks in attendance nodded, some touching the outsides of their eyes with kerchiefs.
I watched as my Dad and my Uncle silently refused to interrupt the ceremony with a correction.
Papa was more to the old folks than either Daddy or Uncle. Daddy and Uncle both knew that. They also both knew that if, at some point in the future, it came up with the old folks, they could gently correct them, and they'd acquiesce, blaming feeble memories. They also knew that all of us young folks understood the mistake (as we squirmed in the extra-awkwardness of the "oh-you're-his granddaughter!" or "oh-you're-his-grandson!" existence).
So Daddy slipped a bit into Uncle and Uncle slipped a bit into Daddy, each giving their permission to share their lives with each other, I suppose as brothers do, on behalf of their father.
Watching, as a daughter of Daddy, I was amazed at the slithering identity snake of this family. When you are your most vulnerable, it bites you.
So, no. I guess it's no surprise that I didn't officially change my last name (yet, if ever).
I'll never forget the moment at my grandfather's funeral when the pastor referred to my Uncle's professional feats, and then attributed them to my Dad. He claimed Papa (my grandfather) was so proud of my Dad (who, of course, was actually my uncle, by feats).
The old folks in attendance nodded, some touching the outsides of their eyes with kerchiefs.
I watched as my Dad and my Uncle silently refused to interrupt the ceremony with a correction.
Papa was more to the old folks than either Daddy or Uncle. Daddy and Uncle both knew that. They also both knew that if, at some point in the future, it came up with the old folks, they could gently correct them, and they'd acquiesce, blaming feeble memories. They also knew that all of us young folks understood the mistake (as we squirmed in the extra-awkwardness of the "oh-you're-his granddaughter!" or "oh-you're-his-grandson!" existence).
So Daddy slipped a bit into Uncle and Uncle slipped a bit into Daddy, each giving their permission to share their lives with each other, I suppose as brothers do, on behalf of their father.
Watching, as a daughter of Daddy, I was amazed at the slithering identity snake of this family. When you are your most vulnerable, it bites you.
So, no. I guess it's no surprise that I didn't officially change my last name (yet, if ever).
October 21, 2010
And there you have it
I'm back from vacation.
My neck no longer hurts, but I'm still very much looking forward to our big, huge, international trip-to-come. Too bad it's not this month. Or even next month. Bummer...
In other news, Penelope Trunk's most recent post explains one of my largest personality flaws as belonging to all folks that have my Meyer's Briggs:
ENTJs (what Penelope is, and depending on the test, what I am, unless I'm an INTJ) have trouble with tact. They lack a sensitivity that many people require in order to listen.
I find this comforting. I'm trying hard not to question what the comfort says about me.
I'm back from vacation.
My neck no longer hurts, but I'm still very much looking forward to our big, huge, international trip-to-come. Too bad it's not this month. Or even next month. Bummer...
In other news, Penelope Trunk's most recent post explains one of my largest personality flaws as belonging to all folks that have my Meyer's Briggs:
ENTJs (what Penelope is, and depending on the test, what I am, unless I'm an INTJ) have trouble with tact. They lack a sensitivity that many people require in order to listen.
I find this comforting. I'm trying hard not to question what the comfort says about me.
October 16, 2010
A Perfect First Day of Vacation
After 15 months without a true escape from everyone vacation (visits to family do not count, in my book), E and I spent yesterday relaxing and enjoying the Hawaii in what may be the best first day of vacation I've ever had.
We woke to a 5:15 AM wake up call (yay, time zone change in our favor), took a cab to Diamond Head State Monument and hiked to the top to watch the sunrise.
Then, we hiked back down, and walked the 5 miles or so back to our hotel along the beach, with a stop for the first of many Onigiri snacks for the trip. Mmmm... salmon rice triangle for breakfast.
From there, we checked out chairs and towels and read on the beach 'til it was time for lunch. Thanks to yelp, we found our way to Menchanko Tei for a delicious and filling lunch of Shoyu Ramen for E and Menchanko for me.
The afternoon passed slowly with leisurely souvenir shopping, a trip to the pool to read, a shiatsu massage, and a drink to enjoy the amazing view at House Without a Key.
From there, we walked to a teppanyaki to reminisce of dinners past at Kobe Japanese Steak House. We finished the night with the walk back to our hotel and a drink at the awesomely kitchy Top of Waikiki revolving restaurant, and some final relaxation on our balcony (with another rice triangle for E) to enjoy the night lights and sound of the ocean.
Could I be any more relaxed?
After 15 months without a true escape from everyone vacation (visits to family do not count, in my book), E and I spent yesterday relaxing and enjoying the Hawaii in what may be the best first day of vacation I've ever had.
We woke to a 5:15 AM wake up call (yay, time zone change in our favor), took a cab to Diamond Head State Monument and hiked to the top to watch the sunrise.
Then, we hiked back down, and walked the 5 miles or so back to our hotel along the beach, with a stop for the first of many Onigiri snacks for the trip. Mmmm... salmon rice triangle for breakfast.
From there, we checked out chairs and towels and read on the beach 'til it was time for lunch. Thanks to yelp, we found our way to Menchanko Tei for a delicious and filling lunch of Shoyu Ramen for E and Menchanko for me.
The afternoon passed slowly with leisurely souvenir shopping, a trip to the pool to read, a shiatsu massage, and a drink to enjoy the amazing view at House Without a Key.
From there, we walked to a teppanyaki to reminisce of dinners past at Kobe Japanese Steak House. We finished the night with the walk back to our hotel and a drink at the awesomely kitchy Top of Waikiki revolving restaurant, and some final relaxation on our balcony (with another rice triangle for E) to enjoy the night lights and sound of the ocean.
Could I be any more relaxed?
October 7, 2010
New Favorite Potato Salad
I don't usually love potato salad -- probably because it's typically a lackluster presentation of dense calorie mush without much taste.
But a few nights ago, I cleaned out the fridge and found this concoction to be absolutely delicious:
Dill Pickle Potato Salad
-1/2 pint of home-made dill pickles with cumin and mustard seeds in the brine
-1/2 bunch fresh dill
-2 extra-large russet potatoes, boiled, peeled, and diced to 1-2 cm^3
-1/2 small red onion, diced
-1 cup pickled nopales (with the associated onions and jalapenos)
-1/4 cup capers and their juice
-6 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and diced
-olive oil
-salt and pepper
1. pulse onions, pickles, nopales, and dill until it is a nice relish
2. Mix relish with potatoes, eggs, and capers until evenly mixed
3. Drizzle with olive oil and salt and pepper to taste, mix evenly
Enjoy immediately, or chilled for the next few days.
I don't usually love potato salad -- probably because it's typically a lackluster presentation of dense calorie mush without much taste.
But a few nights ago, I cleaned out the fridge and found this concoction to be absolutely delicious:
Dill Pickle Potato Salad
-1/2 pint of home-made dill pickles with cumin and mustard seeds in the brine
-1/2 bunch fresh dill
-2 extra-large russet potatoes, boiled, peeled, and diced to 1-2 cm^3
-1/2 small red onion, diced
-1 cup pickled nopales (with the associated onions and jalapenos)
-1/4 cup capers and their juice
-6 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and diced
-olive oil
-salt and pepper
1. pulse onions, pickles, nopales, and dill until it is a nice relish
2. Mix relish with potatoes, eggs, and capers until evenly mixed
3. Drizzle with olive oil and salt and pepper to taste, mix evenly
Enjoy immediately, or chilled for the next few days.
September 26, 2010
Trending in the Right Direction
Last week, I put over 38 miles on my feet. That's the first time I've done more than 32 miles in a week this year.
Also, I ran my easy 3-mile loop at faster than the necessary race pace to hit a 2-hour half marathon.
IF (and that's a big if) I can keep this up, I just might be able to do the US Half in under 2 hours.
Wish me luck...
Last week, I put over 38 miles on my feet. That's the first time I've done more than 32 miles in a week this year.
Also, I ran my easy 3-mile loop at faster than the necessary race pace to hit a 2-hour half marathon.
IF (and that's a big if) I can keep this up, I just might be able to do the US Half in under 2 hours.
Wish me luck...
September 18, 2010
Out and Back
In 2009, I ran 4 half-marathons and a 17K, but none at less than a 9-minute mile pace. In 2010, so far, I've done a hilly but gorgeous local 10K at a 10:23 mile pace and supported a friend through a run-walk of the Seattle Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon.
In truth, I haven't actually truly trained for a race since 2008.
And, as usual, our annual trip to the capital of fried food, has coupled with the blessings brought by barbeque season to give me the gift of more mass than I want to carry.
Oh, and I've taken to listening to Spanish lessons on my runs, which requires me to slow down so I can concentrate (or at least that's what I tell myself).
This is all a very long way of saying:
I'm in the worst cardiovascular shape that I've been in for quite some time.
So, it should be no surprise to me that when E2 and I met up at the Lexington Reservoir for a long run today, I had my work cut out for me. This route is great for training because the way out is mainly downhill and the way back is mostly uphill.
8.79 miles later, I am whooped.
I originally told E2 that I was going to try to break 2 hours at my 5th consecutive participation in the US Half Marathon. I suspect I may need to modify my goal...
In 2009, I ran 4 half-marathons and a 17K, but none at less than a 9-minute mile pace. In 2010, so far, I've done a hilly but gorgeous local 10K at a 10:23 mile pace and supported a friend through a run-walk of the Seattle Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon.
In truth, I haven't actually truly trained for a race since 2008.
And, as usual, our annual trip to the capital of fried food, has coupled with the blessings brought by barbeque season to give me the gift of more mass than I want to carry.
Oh, and I've taken to listening to Spanish lessons on my runs, which requires me to slow down so I can concentrate (or at least that's what I tell myself).
This is all a very long way of saying:
I'm in the worst cardiovascular shape that I've been in for quite some time.
So, it should be no surprise to me that when E2 and I met up at the Lexington Reservoir for a long run today, I had my work cut out for me. This route is great for training because the way out is mainly downhill and the way back is mostly uphill.
8.79 miles later, I am whooped.
I originally told E2 that I was going to try to break 2 hours at my 5th consecutive participation in the US Half Marathon. I suspect I may need to modify my goal...
September 17, 2010
Food is Love
After many false starts, Brother has hired two dependable nighttime caregivers who alternate to care for him in the evenings.
One is the wife of a man who owns a taqueria.
The other lives with her mother who makes homemade Mexican food in bulk and sells it as a side business.
Brother has stopped losing weight.
And, tonight, I paid an awesomely reasonable price for hand-delivered home-made pozole.
Like his father before him, my brother is a genius when it comes to people and food.
After many false starts, Brother has hired two dependable nighttime caregivers who alternate to care for him in the evenings.
One is the wife of a man who owns a taqueria.
The other lives with her mother who makes homemade Mexican food in bulk and sells it as a side business.
Brother has stopped losing weight.
And, tonight, I paid an awesomely reasonable price for hand-delivered home-made pozole.
Like his father before him, my brother is a genius when it comes to people and food.
September 15, 2010
Spam
It's not pretty.
No one wants it.
And yet, despite requiring approval for comments, my professional blog has become an unwilling target.
Thank goodness for Akismet, who says:
You are using monochrome theme with 0 widgets. This is WordPress version 2.5.1.
Akismet has protected your site from 8,592 spam comments already, but there's nothing in your spam queue at the moment.
Ahhh.... that's relief.
It's not pretty.
No one wants it.
And yet, despite requiring approval for comments, my professional blog has become an unwilling target.
Thank goodness for Akismet, who says:
You are using monochrome theme with 0 widgets. This is WordPress version 2.5.1.
Akismet has protected your site from 8,592 spam comments already, but there's nothing in your spam queue at the moment.
Ahhh.... that's relief.
September 9, 2010
Fraud Alert
Arvay's post on Active.com's fraud is worth reading if you ever register for races with them.
Arvay's post on Active.com's fraud is worth reading if you ever register for races with them.
September 3, 2010
More Southern Snippits
Today, I took a client call from a London client (yay EST instead of PST!!!) for 40 minutes at 9 AM and went for 2.5 mile walk in Grant Park while chatting. I was warm upon my return, but okay. Then, I headed out for 3 miles of a slow running with S and had to call it short at 2.25 miles because my body just really didn't want to go any further in the 90F+ heat with 60%+ humidity.
Late this afternoon, I actually needed to take a nap to recover.
Thankfully, here in the South, they have professional solutions to this problem. Like the super-fancy awesome popsicle man, the King of Pops (I opted for lemon-basil from the King of Pops' selection of dozens of options, how awesome is that?):
and his unfortunate side effects:
At home, this summer, when everything has been cool and calm and chill, I've had no problem busting out 6-9 miles without planning or training or struggle. For we have no king of pops.
Acclimatization is no joke.
Yesterday, I struggled to jog through a rough 4 miles in 89F with 70% humidity in rolling hills and very little shade. Then, after a shower and some work, E and I walked the 1-mile route to Alon's for a delicious French/Israeli-inspired lunch. MMMmmm... We walked home and I was exhausted, ready for another shower followed by a nap. Damn, the heat and humidity here just kills me.
In other Southern news, today's awesome lunch was sandwiches at Star Provisions followed by stocking up on various meats for the labor day weekendgorging gout-inducement feast.
From there, we went to The Dekalb Farmers' Market, which, frankly, is the opposite of what I think of as a farmers' market.
There was a clear landlord, who controlled the check-out, and photography was not allowed, and many imported items were sold on shelves that were stocked, Costco-style. It was huge. Organized. And, amazingly well stocked. A better selection of lentils then I've ever seen in my life in one location. An impressive meat section. A staggering seafood section -- live crabs, clams, lobsters, fish of many varieties with signs warning "children may not handle live seafood" (only children? SWEET!).
Overall, if you had to pick one place to shop for the rest of your life, this would have to be in contention for the number one spot. I mean, the watermelon selection alone was so amazing that I broke the photo rules and took this photo:
The love of food here is something I can't help but support. In fact, if you are interested in molecular gastronomy, our last night's dessert with friends was an epic commitment to science and food that you should enjoy.
Tonight's dinner was a wonderful evening of conversation, drinks, and food at Leon's full service with the folks I love from the first company I successfully counseled to a positive exit as a solo practitioner -- ShootQ.
Overall, the South is treating my quite well, and I cannot complain. I hope your holiday weekend is shaping up accordingly.
Today, I took a client call from a London client (yay EST instead of PST!!!) for 40 minutes at 9 AM and went for 2.5 mile walk in Grant Park while chatting. I was warm upon my return, but okay. Then, I headed out for 3 miles of a slow running with S and had to call it short at 2.25 miles because my body just really didn't want to go any further in the 90F+ heat with 60%+ humidity.
Late this afternoon, I actually needed to take a nap to recover.
Thankfully, here in the South, they have professional solutions to this problem. Like the super-fancy awesome popsicle man, the King of Pops (I opted for lemon-basil from the King of Pops' selection of dozens of options, how awesome is that?):
and his unfortunate side effects:
At home, this summer, when everything has been cool and calm and chill, I've had no problem busting out 6-9 miles without planning or training or struggle. For we have no king of pops.
Acclimatization is no joke.
Yesterday, I struggled to jog through a rough 4 miles in 89F with 70% humidity in rolling hills and very little shade. Then, after a shower and some work, E and I walked the 1-mile route to Alon's for a delicious French/Israeli-inspired lunch. MMMmmm... We walked home and I was exhausted, ready for another shower followed by a nap. Damn, the heat and humidity here just kills me.
In other Southern news, today's awesome lunch was sandwiches at Star Provisions followed by stocking up on various meats for the labor day weekend
From there, we went to The Dekalb Farmers' Market, which, frankly, is the opposite of what I think of as a farmers' market.
There was a clear landlord, who controlled the check-out, and photography was not allowed, and many imported items were sold on shelves that were stocked, Costco-style. It was huge. Organized. And, amazingly well stocked. A better selection of lentils then I've ever seen in my life in one location. An impressive meat section. A staggering seafood section -- live crabs, clams, lobsters, fish of many varieties with signs warning "children may not handle live seafood" (only children? SWEET!).
Overall, if you had to pick one place to shop for the rest of your life, this would have to be in contention for the number one spot. I mean, the watermelon selection alone was so amazing that I broke the photo rules and took this photo:
The love of food here is something I can't help but support. In fact, if you are interested in molecular gastronomy, our last night's dessert with friends was an epic commitment to science and food that you should enjoy.
Tonight's dinner was a wonderful evening of conversation, drinks, and food at Leon's full service with the folks I love from the first company I successfully counseled to a positive exit as a solo practitioner -- ShootQ.
Overall, the South is treating my quite well, and I cannot complain. I hope your holiday weekend is shaping up accordingly.
August 31, 2010
Snippits from the South
The bathroom at ATL has Sharps containers. The explanation I received is that the incidence of diabetes is so high in this region that it is a public health necessity.
Yesterday, our lunch was at Waffle House. Today, E brought back Chick-Fil-A. These are the two things he claims to miss the most about the South, so we should be in good shape for a few days.
Yesterday, other than the obligatory Waffle House outing, E and I sat at our computers and silently worked all day in his childhood bedroom. Not too different from a Monday at our home office, actually.
Today, I woke early enough to attend a power yoga class at my favorite Atlanta yoga studio. It was a power yoga, and it was refreshing, in a way, to take a class that was so physical and focused very little on the spiritual, emotional, and mental aspects of yoga where my practice has been focused for the last 6 months.
Sometimes, it's nice just to mix it up. And this class was physically demanding unlike any yoga class I've taken in ages -- I was literally DRIPPING with sweat. At one point, I looked back at the thermostat and it read 102F. YIKES! Power yoga isn't supposed to be as hot as Bikram, but when it's a crowded class and 90F and 68% humidity outside, unless they turn on the air conditioner, I guess that's just what happens.
Interestingly, my last six months of advanced vinyasa once a week at the studio plus whatever I've been able to fit in on my own meant I was in much better shape for this type of practice than the last time I'd done it.
In fact, the instructor only led us through about half of the number of poses that my advanced vinyasa instructor leads us through in the same time period. I was tempted to feel like it was almost easy in comparison because I was able to hold all of the poses without falling out too much or needing to take a break.
But, no. When I finished I realized it wasn't actually easier at all. The exhaustion post class was much more than I'm used to. Probably because, um, my regular studio is typically around 70F. In an un-ecologically friendly non-stereotypically Californian fashion, my Californian yoga studio uses the air conditioner on hot days.
So, today's southern lesson is that a 32F increase in temperature (coupled with increased humidity) approximately halves the physical ability of my body.
Good to know.
The bathroom at ATL has Sharps containers. The explanation I received is that the incidence of diabetes is so high in this region that it is a public health necessity.
Yesterday, our lunch was at Waffle House. Today, E brought back Chick-Fil-A. These are the two things he claims to miss the most about the South, so we should be in good shape for a few days.
Yesterday, other than the obligatory Waffle House outing, E and I sat at our computers and silently worked all day in his childhood bedroom. Not too different from a Monday at our home office, actually.
Today, I woke early enough to attend a power yoga class at my favorite Atlanta yoga studio. It was a power yoga, and it was refreshing, in a way, to take a class that was so physical and focused very little on the spiritual, emotional, and mental aspects of yoga where my practice has been focused for the last 6 months.
Sometimes, it's nice just to mix it up. And this class was physically demanding unlike any yoga class I've taken in ages -- I was literally DRIPPING with sweat. At one point, I looked back at the thermostat and it read 102F. YIKES! Power yoga isn't supposed to be as hot as Bikram, but when it's a crowded class and 90F and 68% humidity outside, unless they turn on the air conditioner, I guess that's just what happens.
Interestingly, my last six months of advanced vinyasa once a week at the studio plus whatever I've been able to fit in on my own meant I was in much better shape for this type of practice than the last time I'd done it.
In fact, the instructor only led us through about half of the number of poses that my advanced vinyasa instructor leads us through in the same time period. I was tempted to feel like it was almost easy in comparison because I was able to hold all of the poses without falling out too much or needing to take a break.
But, no. When I finished I realized it wasn't actually easier at all. The exhaustion post class was much more than I'm used to. Probably because, um, my regular studio is typically around 70F. In an un-ecologically friendly non-stereotypically Californian fashion, my Californian yoga studio uses the air conditioner on hot days.
So, today's southern lesson is that a 32F increase in temperature (coupled with increased humidity) approximately halves the physical ability of my body.
Good to know.
August 24, 2010
Summer Salads
Mmmm...Garden tomatoes, garden onions, garden cucumbers, fresh baked bread, gorgonzola, capers, olive oil, sea salt and pepper.
More mmm...Garden tomatoes, garden onions, baked beets, chevre, lemon-honey vinaigrette.
And the most mmmm...A colorful selection of garden heirloom tomatoes, homemade mozzarella, garden basil, balsamic vinegar, olive oil from vino nocetto, black pepper and fancy salt flakes and coarse salt crystals (an awesome gift from E's sister).
Mmmm...Garden tomatoes, garden onions, garden cucumbers, fresh baked bread, gorgonzola, capers, olive oil, sea salt and pepper.
More mmm...Garden tomatoes, garden onions, baked beets, chevre, lemon-honey vinaigrette.
And the most mmmm...A colorful selection of garden heirloom tomatoes, homemade mozzarella, garden basil, balsamic vinegar, olive oil from vino nocetto, black pepper and fancy salt flakes and coarse salt crystals (an awesome gift from E's sister).
August 19, 2010
Woo Hoo!
I finally checked, and confirmed that the remaining 8 eggs in our fridge were not recalled.
Here's to small victories and one more reason I want my own egg-laying chickens!
I finally checked, and confirmed that the remaining 8 eggs in our fridge were not recalled.
Here's to small victories and one more reason I want my own egg-laying chickens!
August 14, 2010
Thoughts on Food Policy
As you may know, I'm emotionally and logically fascinated by food. Food enjoyment. Food systems. Food culture. Patterns of food consumption. Food politics. All of it, really.
Most of the time, I process it internally. It comes up in conversation and I share my views, what I know, personally, from trying to make the majority of my own food from fresh self- or locally-obtained ingredients, what I've gleaned from reading and travel, and what I recall from the rants of my 3rd-generation small-scale farmer of 80 acres grandfather who eventually terminated his farming operations for economic reasons (selling land to winemakers and leasing the remainder of the land, claiming, there's no living to be made in farming anymore).
E2 sent me a link to a great article today, that had several fascinating statements:
One sociologist calculated that people have ten times as many conversations at the farmers’ market than they do in the supermarket.
--Huh. I wonder what the Harvard Happiness Studies would do with this data. I'm guessing, based on extrapolation from the correlation between the number of neighbor interactions and self-reported happiness (which, by the way, blew me away), the Harvard Happiness studies would probably treat shopping at a farmer's market vs. shopping at a grocery store as a variable that was correlated with increased happiness. Happiness is not very well modeled in modern economics, but I thought it was an interesting point, nonetheless.
In his 2006 book Crunchy Cons, Rod Dreher identifies a strain of libertarian conservatism, often evangelical, that regards fast food as anathema to family values, and has seized on local food as a kind of culinary counterpart to home schooling.
--Holy Crap. Wow. Refusing to eat fast food is as much of a rejection of general social norms as endorsing home schooling? Wow. I had no idea. Is this guy off his rocker?
And on the Slow Food movement, this article dares to ask:
Ever the Italian, Petrini puts pleasure at the center of his politics, which might explain why Slow Food is not always taken as seriously as it deserves to be. For why shouldn’t pleasure figure in the politics of the food movement?
Here. here.
In a challenge to second-wave feminists who urged women to get out of the kitchen, Flammang suggests that by denigrating “foodwork”—everything involved in putting meals on the family table—we have unthinkingly wrecked one of the nurseries of democracy: the family meal.
--This seems outdated to me. Perhaps I live in a sheltered world, but the trend to me seems to be that people (and particularly my female friends and colleagues) are reaching out and adopting ways to re-learn forgotten food cultures of their ancestors, to re-engage with food pleasures, and, in general, these endeavors are seen as lofty goals, admirable, (and something to be capitalized upon by the marketers -- see the Eat Pray Love/Cost Plus partnership).
On the political value of breaking bread:
Flammang attributes some of the loss of civility in Washington to the aftermatch of the 1994 Republican Revolution, when Newt Gingrich, the new Speaker of the House, urged his freshman legislators not to move their families to Washington. Members now returned to their districts every weekend, sacrificing opportunities for socializing across party lines and, in the process, the “reservoirs of good will replenished at dinner parties.” It is much harder to vilify someone with whom you have shared a meal.
--I have experienced first-hand the value of many shared meals. While I am not remotely attached to Washington D.C. or its machinations, this explanation sounds reasonable to me.
Flammang points out that the historical priority of the American labor movement has been to fight for money, while the European labor movement has fought for time, which she suggests may have been the wiser choice.
--Interesting. Certainly, in deciding to start my own law practice, I opted for the latter. Whether I would have considered doing so without having lived in France and Italy, I'll never know. But, a very interesting perspective.
Overall, I appreciated the perspective and the points raised by this article. I may not have agreed with all of them, but I do think we, as a culture, should be discussing them, and I'm happy that they are being raised.
As you may know, I'm emotionally and logically fascinated by food. Food enjoyment. Food systems. Food culture. Patterns of food consumption. Food politics. All of it, really.
Most of the time, I process it internally. It comes up in conversation and I share my views, what I know, personally, from trying to make the majority of my own food from fresh self- or locally-obtained ingredients, what I've gleaned from reading and travel, and what I recall from the rants of my 3rd-generation small-scale farmer of 80 acres grandfather who eventually terminated his farming operations for economic reasons (selling land to winemakers and leasing the remainder of the land, claiming, there's no living to be made in farming anymore).
E2 sent me a link to a great article today, that had several fascinating statements:
One sociologist calculated that people have ten times as many conversations at the farmers’ market than they do in the supermarket.
--Huh. I wonder what the Harvard Happiness Studies would do with this data. I'm guessing, based on extrapolation from the correlation between the number of neighbor interactions and self-reported happiness (which, by the way, blew me away), the Harvard Happiness studies would probably treat shopping at a farmer's market vs. shopping at a grocery store as a variable that was correlated with increased happiness. Happiness is not very well modeled in modern economics, but I thought it was an interesting point, nonetheless.
In his 2006 book Crunchy Cons, Rod Dreher identifies a strain of libertarian conservatism, often evangelical, that regards fast food as anathema to family values, and has seized on local food as a kind of culinary counterpart to home schooling.
--Holy Crap. Wow. Refusing to eat fast food is as much of a rejection of general social norms as endorsing home schooling? Wow. I had no idea. Is this guy off his rocker?
And on the Slow Food movement, this article dares to ask:
Ever the Italian, Petrini puts pleasure at the center of his politics, which might explain why Slow Food is not always taken as seriously as it deserves to be. For why shouldn’t pleasure figure in the politics of the food movement?
Here. here.
In a challenge to second-wave feminists who urged women to get out of the kitchen, Flammang suggests that by denigrating “foodwork”—everything involved in putting meals on the family table—we have unthinkingly wrecked one of the nurseries of democracy: the family meal.
--This seems outdated to me. Perhaps I live in a sheltered world, but the trend to me seems to be that people (and particularly my female friends and colleagues) are reaching out and adopting ways to re-learn forgotten food cultures of their ancestors, to re-engage with food pleasures, and, in general, these endeavors are seen as lofty goals, admirable, (and something to be capitalized upon by the marketers -- see the Eat Pray Love/Cost Plus partnership).
On the political value of breaking bread:
Flammang attributes some of the loss of civility in Washington to the aftermatch of the 1994 Republican Revolution, when Newt Gingrich, the new Speaker of the House, urged his freshman legislators not to move their families to Washington. Members now returned to their districts every weekend, sacrificing opportunities for socializing across party lines and, in the process, the “reservoirs of good will replenished at dinner parties.” It is much harder to vilify someone with whom you have shared a meal.
--I have experienced first-hand the value of many shared meals. While I am not remotely attached to Washington D.C. or its machinations, this explanation sounds reasonable to me.
Flammang points out that the historical priority of the American labor movement has been to fight for money, while the European labor movement has fought for time, which she suggests may have been the wiser choice.
--Interesting. Certainly, in deciding to start my own law practice, I opted for the latter. Whether I would have considered doing so without having lived in France and Italy, I'll never know. But, a very interesting perspective.
Overall, I appreciated the perspective and the points raised by this article. I may not have agreed with all of them, but I do think we, as a culture, should be discussing them, and I'm happy that they are being raised.
August 11, 2010
A Good Response
I had my first acupuncture appointment today.
I had 11 points where needles were gently inserted, mainly on my legs and arms, but one on my forehead and one in each ear.
It was quite a strange experience.
Immediately after the acupuncturist left the room and instructed me to try to sleep, I started crying. Hard. For 7 or 10 minutes. I very rarely cry. But I *really* missed my dad and had no choice. So I cried.
And then it was done.
And I was so relieved.
The rest of the 40 minutes was spent with me alternating between checking in with my various body parts and trying to see how they felt and what was going on (tingling? pressure? twitching?), and me realizing I was feeling very intense emotions and then trying to observe the emotions without judgment.
I basically didn't move and tried to breathe and relax and pseudo-meditate for 40 minutes.
The most interesting events where when I recognized I was feeling angry and then literally felt as if the anger was being pulled through the needle in my left foot. It left me too tired to be angry.
10 minutes or so later, I almost fell asleep only to be woken by the sensation of white light coming through my feet to my skull -- it was so strong and overpowering that I opened my eyes and made certain I knew where I was, yup, still at the acupuncturist.
Overall, I can say that I was jittery at the end of the session, and not at all what is the typical response -- relaxed. Oddly, this was a more emotionally charged experience than any psychological therapy session in which I'd ever participated.
My acupuncturist commented that it was normal for people to cry on the drive home, particularly after their first visit. But, that since I'd already cried on the table (which was apparently not super common and that's why she hadn't warned me), she didn't know if the warning was relevant.
I made the drive home without any threat of tears.
And now, after a pleasant chat with Arvay and dinner with E, I've calmed from the session, and I must say, I feel more balanced, calm, and safe than I have in quite some time.
I look forward to continuing this experiment.
I had my first acupuncture appointment today.
I had 11 points where needles were gently inserted, mainly on my legs and arms, but one on my forehead and one in each ear.
It was quite a strange experience.
Immediately after the acupuncturist left the room and instructed me to try to sleep, I started crying. Hard. For 7 or 10 minutes. I very rarely cry. But I *really* missed my dad and had no choice. So I cried.
And then it was done.
And I was so relieved.
The rest of the 40 minutes was spent with me alternating between checking in with my various body parts and trying to see how they felt and what was going on (tingling? pressure? twitching?), and me realizing I was feeling very intense emotions and then trying to observe the emotions without judgment.
I basically didn't move and tried to breathe and relax and pseudo-meditate for 40 minutes.
The most interesting events where when I recognized I was feeling angry and then literally felt as if the anger was being pulled through the needle in my left foot. It left me too tired to be angry.
10 minutes or so later, I almost fell asleep only to be woken by the sensation of white light coming through my feet to my skull -- it was so strong and overpowering that I opened my eyes and made certain I knew where I was, yup, still at the acupuncturist.
Overall, I can say that I was jittery at the end of the session, and not at all what is the typical response -- relaxed. Oddly, this was a more emotionally charged experience than any psychological therapy session in which I'd ever participated.
My acupuncturist commented that it was normal for people to cry on the drive home, particularly after their first visit. But, that since I'd already cried on the table (which was apparently not super common and that's why she hadn't warned me), she didn't know if the warning was relevant.
I made the drive home without any threat of tears.
And now, after a pleasant chat with Arvay and dinner with E, I've calmed from the session, and I must say, I feel more balanced, calm, and safe than I have in quite some time.
I look forward to continuing this experiment.
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