My sister's choir (she's the conductor). This is STUNNING! I'm totally in awe! (and terribly sad I couldn't see/hear this live! *sob*)
My iPod just died. I knew it couldn't last forever -- they're basically programmed to "expire" after a few years -- but I thought I'd get a bit more time out of it. It won't turn on and when I plug it into my computer, nothing happens. Bah! Yes, I'm addicted to having music-on-the-go at all times but that's not what's making me grumpy: I use this iPod to make sure I'm not double-booking myself, scheduling meetings or things at a nightmarishly busy time or whatever. It's not the best method for this but since I can store all of my iCal info on my iPod, I've been using it as a pseudo (and lame) palm pilot, hobbling along until forced to buy a more serviceable gadget -- a gadget that will allow me to add appointments/meetings/etc. as well as see what's already scheduled (how novel!). And it seems that now's the time...
A while back I blogged about an interview I heard on CBC radio with psychologist Jonathan Haidt. Happiness was what he and the host, Mary Hynes, discussed following his recent book, The Happiness Hypothesis. I was quite taken with some of the ideas raised in the interview and so I went out and bought the book. And while it's taking me quite some time to read (I read it just before bed and usually fall asleep after 2 or 3 pages which has nothing to do with the book and everything to do with my level of sleep-deprivation this semester), it's very interesting. Despite its title, this is not a self-help book, rather, Haidt explores the history of the concept of happiness -- ideas and theories from psychology, to philosophy, religion and popular culture. It's all very interesting stuff but what I read last night was particularly interesting. So interesting that I'm here to tell you about it!
Surprising? I thought so. I've been off and on with my meditation practice for years but when I was most committed, I can say that it had only positive effects on me and especially on my ability to cope with life's challenges. And now it's here in black and white for me to read. Proof."Suppose you read about a pill that you could take once a day to reduce anxiety and increase your contentment. Would you take it? Suppose further that the pill has a great variety of side effects, all of them good: increased self-esteem, empathy, and trust; it even improves memory. Suppose, finally, that the pill is all natural and costs nothing. Now would you take it? The pill exists. It is meditation."
I'm reassessing my online life. I've got accounts and identities littered all over the www and lately I've been questioning what they're amounting to. So as an experiment, I've taken a break from a number of my online stopping places in order to see if I really miss them. I'm surprised to see that I don't for the most part. Facebook I don't miss at all although I feel guilty about avoiding it because I know that many of my friends rely on it as their primary mode of communication with their friends afar. I'm so tempted to deactivate my account but I have this lingering fear that I'll then miss something -- I'll miss the window into the everyday lives of my friends far away, I'll miss the latest pictures of my favourite kids etc. etc. But will I really? I seemed to do just fine before I signed up. I didn't feel disconnected from my friends near and far. I guess I just feel that Facebook and other social networking sites are making me lazy. They allow me to feel connected but without requiring me to make any kind of effort to reach out to the people I care about. That doesn't seem fair. I'm not a lazy person when it comes to my care. I love my friends, I really do, so I should show it not through status updates or wall posts but through real contact -- phone calls, emails, cards in the mail, whatever.
I am not capable of going to the big Loblaws and buying "just a few things," particularly when my fridge and cupboards are airing on the side of bare. I therefore must remember to bring numerous cloth bags so I don't have to juggle nine plastic bags with only two hands. In the pouring rain. With the wind repeatedly blowing my two measly cloth bags off my shoulders and my hood off my head. I must have looked like a drowned pack-rat walking those six blocks from the metro. Six blocks that felt like 10km. And the lovely tulips I bought to cheer me were crushed by the surrounding bags of groceries. *sigh*
In lawnchairs under stars. On the dock
at midnight, anchored by winter clothes,
we lean back to read the sky. Your face white
in the womb light, the lake's electric skin.
Driving home from Lewiston, full and blue, the moon
over one shoulder of highway. There,
or in your kitchen at midnight, sitting anywhere
in the seeping dark, we bury them again and
again under the same luminous thumbprint.
The dead leave us starving with mouths full of love.
Their stones are salt and mark where we look back.
Your mother's hand at the end of an empty sleeve,
scratching at your palm, drawing blood.
Your aunt in a Jewish graveyard in Poland,
her face a permanent fist of pain.
Your first friend, Saul, who dies faster than
you could say forgive me.
When I was nine and crying from a dream
you said words that hid my fear.
Above us the family slept on,
mouths open, hands scrolled.
Twenty years later your tears burn the back of my throat.
Memory has a hand in the grave up to the wrist.
Earth crumbles from your fist under the sky's black sieve.
We are orphaned, one by one.
On the beach at Superior, you found me
where I'd been for hours, cut by the lake's sharp rim.
You stopped a dozen feet from me.
What passed in that quiet said:
I have nothing to give you.
At dusk, birch forest is a shore of bones.
I've pulled stones from the earth's black pockets,
felt the weight of their weariness -- worn,
exhausted from their sleep in the earth.
I've written on my skin with their black sweat.
The lake's slight movement is stilled by fading light.
Soon the stars' tiny mouths, the moon's blue mouth.
I have nothing to give you, nothing to carry,
some words to make me less afraid, to say
you gave me this.
Memory insists with its sea voice,
muttering from its bone cave.
Memory wraps us
like the shell wraps the sea.
Nothing to carry,
some stones to fill our pockets,
to give weight to what we have.
Dark chocolate bar, chopped 3 1/2 oz. 100g
Whipping cream 1/3 cup 75 mL
Balsamic vinegar 2 tsp. 10 mL
Chocolate sprinkles 6 tbsp. 100 mL (I substituted for a mixture of cocoa powder and raw sugar)
Heat chocolate and whipping cream in small heavy saucepan on lowest heat, stirring often until almost melted. Do not overheat. Remove from heat. Stir until smooth. Add vinegar. Stir. Chill, uncovered, for about 1 hour, stirring occasionally, until just firm enough to roll into balls. Roll into balls, using about 2 tsp. (10 mL) for each. Roll each ball in chocolate sprinkles in small dish until coated. Place on waxed paper-lined baking sheet. Chill. Makes 16 truffles. The truffles may be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 1 week, or in the freezer for up to 1 month.
I love sandwiches. Love Love them. I didn't inherit this love from my mom who hates them. She nearly refuses to eat them, in fact. Her mom made the most dreadful sandwiches -- dry sadwiches made of bread with a slice of something in between. Nothing else. No pizazz. How much I've inherited many great cooking and baking talents from my grandmother, I did not inherit her horrible sandwich-making habits. I think my love of sandwiches might come from my dad who seems to eat them often. He likes meaty sandwiches, though, and I don't. I hate sandwich meat. Hate Hate it. It grosses me out. A sandwich with real meat (turkey from a roasted turkey or beef sliced from a good roast beef) is a-ok. But not the thinly sliced processed stuff that looks like rubber. I will eat processed ham if I'm cornered into it but only then. And with a lot of mustard.
I love making sandwiches that are different but based on tried and true combinations -- the classics. I often make grilled cheese sandwiches (because I love cheese) and enjoy many variations, usually according to what I have on hand: sharp cheddar with sliced tomatoes, fresh basil and a bit of balsamic vinegar is a popular one around my kitchen. But last week when I decided to put this one together, I fell in love. This grilled cheese takes the cake. It's so simple and just so darn tasty. What's the secret? Well, apart from using good bread (a must), this beauty is made with smoked gouda and apple slices. Yip, that's it. Like I said, so simple and delicious. I made it on olive bread because that's what I had on hand. I think it would go well with any french-style bread, though. And it must be grilled with butter. A grilled cheese must be. That's half of their loveliness: the taste of bread gilled in butter. Yum.
Funny aside: I made cookies on Monday in order to do something on my lunch break that would give my left brain a much-needed break (from my 17 hour work day). It was a great escape with a sweet reward. If I continue to use baking as a respite from my crazy work schedule, I'm gonna pack on a whole lotta pounds by winter's end! Oy.
I made these on a whim last night and boy oh boy they're delicious! The recipe comes care of Martha Stewart's fantastic Cookies book which is chocked-full of great recipes covering everything from the basic to the fancy cookie. I highly recommend this book to anyone who likes to make cookies and/or squares. Lovely photographs too (I love good food photography!). The ginger makes these brownies special. It's not too pronounced; it just gives them a little pizazz. They're lovely and moist and the chocolate flavour is deep and rich, not too sweet. Yummmmy!
Chocolate-Ginger Brownies
1/2 c. (1 stick) unsalted butter
3 oz bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped (I used 2 oz unsweetened and 1 oz sweet)
1 c. sugar
2/3 c. all-purpose flour
1/4 c. Dutch process cocoa powder (or same amount of normal cocoa powder plus a pinch of baking soda)
2 large eggs
1 tsp grated, peeled fresh ginger
1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract
1/2 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp coarse salt
1/8 tsp ground cloves
Preheat oven to 325˙F. Grease a 8-inch square baking pan. Line the bottom with baking parchment allowing approx. 2 inches to hang over two sides. Grease lining.
In a heavy-bottom saucepan over medium heat, melt together butter and chocolate. Remove from heat when melted through and stir in remaining ingredients. Pour into prepared pan and smooth with a spatula. Bake for 30-35 minutes or until cake tester inserted into centre comes out with moist crumbs. Let cool in pan for 15 minutes then transfer brownies (via nifty parchment "wings") to wire rack. Enjoy!
Yesterday, I had an unusual exchange with one of the fellows who works at the library. As he was checking out my (large) pile of books, he asked me if I'm happy. I was rather taken aback by this so told him that it was a difficult question to answer. He then asked me to rate my happiness on a scale of one to ten. I answered seven, mostly because it seemed like a reasonable answer -- not suspiciously high but not so low that it might garner more questions from him (I admit, I was a bit weirded out by his questioning although I do see him regularly since I'm often at the library taking out books). Anyhow, his question evoked a brief discussion between us about how to define happiness which, as I thought, is something I that's hard to nail down. I doubt I'm the only one who thinks that way. It's not that I don't know what happiness feels like -- I feel it regularly -- it's just that I don't know if I would define my general state of being as "happy." Does anyone?
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