My miscarriage headache is gone.
This morning I brought in (in containers, not in belly) a pint of raspberries and a pint of blueberries, and — and! — counted 30+ Honeycrisp fruitlets.
02 July 2014
28 June 2014
Berries, Eggs, gadZukes
Since ~solstice we've had ≥ half a pint of berries / day from our yarden.
This week we got zucchini in our CSA box ... one zucchini = funny! I didn't know what to do with just one.
Bjorn said three times how much he liked the dish I made with it, so it's getting recorded.
♣ bacon renderings, 1 zucchini, 4.5 eggs (6 yolks 3 whites), basil leaves, ground black peppercorns to serve
I had a 14-inch saute pan thick with day-old bacon fat (my precious). I sliced the striped zucchini (very evenly, moderately thinly ... I'm sure I had the patience only because it's the first zucchini of the season) while I heated the pan til the fat was clear. I put the slices in the pan in a single layer, covering the bottom of the pan.
I let it fry while I cracked 6 eggs, removed 3 whites, mixed the yolky mess and poured it over the fried slices after setting the heat to low. I washed and dried basil (Sacred or Thai (I'm not sure which)), separated leaves from stems, and set the leaves to wilt over the setting-but-still-wet eggs.
The key here is to add each ingredient just barely before the previous one's done cooking. Secondarily, make sure your basil is dry.
It's kind of like a temporal lasagna, the way I cooked it in layers. It served up kind of like a pizza — in slices!
--
We've been getting eggs from my in-laws, who are in a joint chicken venture with their neighbor. Neighbor keeps the chickens, buys and prepares their feed (she ferments grains for them!); Da provided coop and capital. (He designed and built the coop in fact. Very cool.)
Bjorn and I provide, um, empty bellies. We help eat the eggs.
Neighbor-in-law is first on my list of where to send overflow blueberries! (We've none, yet; we're kind of having a Sal situation.)
(That reminds me. I wanted to name the baby Ursula. Bjorn said we can't unless she's born hairy with claws.)
This week we got zucchini in our CSA box ... one zucchini = funny! I didn't know what to do with just one.
Bjorn said three times how much he liked the dish I made with it, so it's getting recorded.
♣ bacon renderings, 1 zucchini, 4.5 eggs (6 yolks 3 whites), basil leaves, ground black peppercorns to serve
I had a 14-inch saute pan thick with day-old bacon fat (my precious). I sliced the striped zucchini (very evenly, moderately thinly ... I'm sure I had the patience only because it's the first zucchini of the season) while I heated the pan til the fat was clear. I put the slices in the pan in a single layer, covering the bottom of the pan.
I let it fry while I cracked 6 eggs, removed 3 whites, mixed the yolky mess and poured it over the fried slices after setting the heat to low. I washed and dried basil (Sacred or Thai (I'm not sure which)), separated leaves from stems, and set the leaves to wilt over the setting-but-still-wet eggs.
The key here is to add each ingredient just barely before the previous one's done cooking. Secondarily, make sure your basil is dry.
It's kind of like a temporal lasagna, the way I cooked it in layers. It served up kind of like a pizza — in slices!
--
We've been getting eggs from my in-laws, who are in a joint chicken venture with their neighbor. Neighbor keeps the chickens, buys and prepares their feed (she ferments grains for them!); Da provided coop and capital. (He designed and built the coop in fact. Very cool.)
Bjorn and I provide, um, empty bellies. We help eat the eggs.
Neighbor-in-law is first on my list of where to send overflow blueberries! (We've none, yet; we're kind of having a Sal situation.)
(That reminds me. I wanted to name the baby Ursula. Bjorn said we can't unless she's born hairy with claws.)
26 June 2014
Stuffing the Lily
Nudiustertian supper: daylilies stuffed with sardine salad (fennel bulb, pearl onions, garlic scapes, a mustard sauce, olive oil).
23 June 2014
Going to the Doctor with Dog
EuEu was getting recurring ear infections. His ear(s) would get red, waxy, stinky — and with the last case, seemingly painful; he'd scratch his ear and whimper. Le sad!!
The allopathic veterinary treatment we were given is a liquid "for canine otic use only", squeezed into the external auditory meatus, made of antibiotics (my enemy) and steroids (not my friend).
Dutifully I squirted it into his ear. He didn't like it, and the only nice thing for me about the procedure was that I was supposed to massage the base of the ear immediately after administration, to squelch the liquid around, and I liked the sound.
When Euclid got his latest ear infection, even after my not bathing him for a month and a half because I had been told it was because water got in his ears in the bath (he has flop-down ears), I was fed up.
I believe that the recurrence indicated some internal disorder; if his system was healthy he wouldn't have chronically inflamed ears.
Bjorn wanted to take him back to the vet, but I ... was upset at the idea of paying money to be told to do the same old thing that WOULD NOT FIX THE SAME OLD PROBLEM.
I said I'm not willing to pay a vet unless we see one who will help us address his health, not just his ear, and try to prevent this from happening in the future. Bjorn Googled up some alternative dog docs for me to call. I selected a favorite, called to chat about her practice and — satisfied — secured an appointment, then filled out and sent in a detailed 9 page intake form.
Our appointment was at 7:30 on a Tuesday morning. We arranged with Em and En to borrow a car; En made sure to bike to work that morning so we could have one available to us.
This vet runs a right smart set-up.
Guess what initial treatment she gave us? A liquid "for canine otic use only", squeezed into the external auditory meatus ...
... the same stuff.
BUT FIRST she actually took a swab of his ear and sent it to the in-house lab to see if we were dealing with something fungal, or bacterial, or what. She tests before treatment. She thinks that the type of infection is significant. It could, for example, suggest an etiology, or put us on the alert to certain co-morbidities.
Is this not medicine 101?!?
She also gave us formulae for drying his ears after a bath (involving hydrogen peroxide, or vinegar, or rubbing alcohol; all non-toxic household agents). She gave us a dropper to apply them. These liquid agents will reach where water will reach but they're dehydrators. She addresses my concerns. She freely shares information.
She also suggested measures we can take (mostly by way of supplements Euclid can take) to boost his immune health. And her practice is right next to the local high-end pet food/care store, and she doesn't carry or sell (and thus doesn't have monetary incentive to push) certain supps or drugs. She had recommendations, but they were based on health considerations. She's not a drug lord.
Basically, she's awesome.
And it's been a month and a half since Euclid had any trouble with his little ears. This is a record.
The allopathic veterinary treatment we were given is a liquid "for canine otic use only", squeezed into the external auditory meatus, made of antibiotics (my enemy) and steroids (not my friend).
Dutifully I squirted it into his ear. He didn't like it, and the only nice thing for me about the procedure was that I was supposed to massage the base of the ear immediately after administration, to squelch the liquid around, and I liked the sound.
When Euclid got his latest ear infection, even after my not bathing him for a month and a half because I had been told it was because water got in his ears in the bath (he has flop-down ears), I was fed up.
I believe that the recurrence indicated some internal disorder; if his system was healthy he wouldn't have chronically inflamed ears.
Bjorn wanted to take him back to the vet, but I ... was upset at the idea of paying money to be told to do the same old thing that WOULD NOT FIX THE SAME OLD PROBLEM.
I said I'm not willing to pay a vet unless we see one who will help us address his health, not just his ear, and try to prevent this from happening in the future. Bjorn Googled up some alternative dog docs for me to call. I selected a favorite, called to chat about her practice and — satisfied — secured an appointment, then filled out and sent in a detailed 9 page intake form.
Our appointment was at 7:30 on a Tuesday morning. We arranged with Em and En to borrow a car; En made sure to bike to work that morning so we could have one available to us.
This vet runs a right smart set-up.
Guess what initial treatment she gave us? A liquid "for canine otic use only", squeezed into the external auditory meatus ...
... the same stuff.
BUT FIRST she actually took a swab of his ear and sent it to the in-house lab to see if we were dealing with something fungal, or bacterial, or what. She tests before treatment. She thinks that the type of infection is significant. It could, for example, suggest an etiology, or put us on the alert to certain co-morbidities.
Is this not medicine 101?!?
She also gave us formulae for drying his ears after a bath (involving hydrogen peroxide, or vinegar, or rubbing alcohol; all non-toxic household agents). She gave us a dropper to apply them. These liquid agents will reach where water will reach but they're dehydrators. She addresses my concerns. She freely shares information.
She also suggested measures we can take (mostly by way of supplements Euclid can take) to boost his immune health. And her practice is right next to the local high-end pet food/care store, and she doesn't carry or sell (and thus doesn't have monetary incentive to push) certain supps or drugs. She had recommendations, but they were based on health considerations. She's not a drug lord.
Basically, she's awesome.
And it's been a month and a half since Euclid had any trouble with his little ears. This is a record.
19 June 2014
Keeping It Real
I sometimes tell people that I make EVERYTHING my family eats.
This isn't strictly true; I do not make, for example, the tahini we eat. The other day I was at the co-op filling up a jar with bulk tahini. A little kid in a grocery cart (who was shopping with a father figure) asked his dad "what's that?" His dad said, "it's tahini. It's ground up sesame seeds. You know the little white seeds we put in stir fries and stuff? That what they look like when you blend them all up." And the little kid said, "oh. But that's not homemade. That's co-op made." He repeated it, a note of disdain in his voice, "co-op made. Not homemade."
[Note: it's not even made at the co-op; they just stock it there! So it's even worse than he thinks ;)]
I thought it was so cute that this little kid's a homemade food snob .... though my dreams of this 100% homemade food family were dashed when I saw the man buy PASTA (gasp!) 30 seconds later.
I don't roast and pulverize my own sesame seeds. I don't make our own vinegar, either.
This isn't strictly true; I do not make, for example, the tahini we eat. The other day I was at the co-op filling up a jar with bulk tahini. A little kid in a grocery cart (who was shopping with a father figure) asked his dad "what's that?" His dad said, "it's tahini. It's ground up sesame seeds. You know the little white seeds we put in stir fries and stuff? That what they look like when you blend them all up." And the little kid said, "oh. But that's not homemade. That's co-op made." He repeated it, a note of disdain in his voice, "co-op made. Not homemade."
[Note: it's not even made at the co-op; they just stock it there! So it's even worse than he thinks ;)]
I thought it was so cute that this little kid's a homemade food snob .... though my dreams of this 100% homemade food family were dashed when I saw the man buy PASTA (gasp!) 30 seconds later.
I don't roast and pulverize my own sesame seeds. I don't make our own vinegar, either.
18 June 2014
eScape
My garlic scaped! Woohoo!
On 10 June while I was out watering ... at 5:50 am ... I noticed the scapes. They were not a bit there on 3 June when I took my visiting niece and nephew out to the garden.
I planted hardneck garlic because I wanted scapes. I like hardneck garlic better for its bulbs, too. I wondered, with hardneck's scapes and better bulbs, why would anyone plant softneck garlic?!
My most recent library-gotten Cook's Illustrated gave me an answer.
On 10 June while I was out watering ... at 5:50 am ... I noticed the scapes. They were not a bit there on 3 June when I took my visiting niece and nephew out to the garden.
I planted hardneck garlic because I wanted scapes. I like hardneck garlic better for its bulbs, too. I wondered, with hardneck's scapes and better bulbs, why would anyone plant softneck garlic?!
My most recent library-gotten Cook's Illustrated gave me an answer.
"Of the two main garlic varieties, your best bet at the supermarket is softneck, since it stores well and is heat tolerant."(It also occurred to me that some people might like garlic braids so much that they'll pick an otherwise lesser garlic just to be able to braid it.)
...
"Distinguished by a stiff center staff surrounded by large, uniform cloves, hardneck garlic yhas a more intense, complex flavor. But since it's easily damanged and doesn't store as well, wait to buy it at the farmers' market."
16 June 2014
Germ Therapy with Dog
One-third at least of the reason I wanted a dog.
As a bonus, this made me way less upset about the dog messing in the house as he got pottytrained.
As a bonus, this made me way less upset about the dog messing in the house as he got pottytrained.
15 June 2014
ri¢h #3 : on my own terms
My old definition of being rich was I am able to go running
outside in the light of day any day in the dead of winter.
So how did this fail me when Roscivs died? Technically, I could still do that (at least for the first winter).
When I was a newly-married college student, I was dirt poor. If you look just at $ in the bank vs my expenses, I was perhaps the poorest I've ever been.
But I was student poor. That's not poor poor. I didn't even feel poor. I didn't even know what it was like to feel poor. I felt like I didn't have a lot of money, but that's not the same. I wasn't expecting it to get worse; I wasn't expecting it to stay the same; I was expecting it to get better. When you're poor poor, that expectation is absent.
Last year my SIL Thea said that "Leon's poor". Bjorn said no, "he's not poor. His earning potential is heavily weighted toward the future."
A reasonable expectation of future earnings is an important sort of rich. This has to do with how I felt poor when Roscivs died. I had a lot of expenses, with no reasonable expectation of future earnings. It got worse every day.
Now it's getting better all the time.
My old definition belonged to a universe that ceased to exist when Roscivs died. Furthermore, it had a lot of non-monetary contours mixed in with its monetary ones. There's the rub when it comes to me and riches. To me, for me, rich is about outcomes way more than it is about income.
{What about to me, for others?}
My current definition (I have the funds I need to pursue and support my health) has a lot of the same elements as my old one: outside time, free time, health [running], security in times of scarcity [sun in winter]. It's intertwined with (if not predicated on) Bjorn's love and support.
(I tried to make it one that wouldn't fall apart like the last one did, but that just can't be helped. When everything falls apart everything falls apart.)
So. Ok. Health funds are enough for me to be rich. I went out of my way to make my new definition money-focused. I thought it to be an important part of the exercise. But when it comes down to it I just can't seem to conceive of me feeling rich without a bright future filled with health and family. My semantic wobbling is unveiled: "rich" can involve a nebulous "happiness" as much as "money".
I've been trying since the outset of this li'l blog series to clarify my terms. Clear terms are, after all, linguistic manifestations of clear thoughts. I don't know how successful I've been (uh oh?), but the exploration has gotten me closer to clear. If it's all still murky, at least it's an examined murkiness!
It would be less sloppy if I consistently used one term (say, "rich") to mean being rich (having money) and another term (say, "wealth") to mean feeling rich. And not having money ("poverty"?) and feeling poor ("destitute"?) could use their own terms too. Maybe I'll try using those clarified terms now.
I'm about to get less rich and more wealthy. I'm closing my studio; I'm going to stop teaching. It's fair call it retirement. What I say, though, is that I'm trading some income for some outcomes.
So how did this fail me when Roscivs died? Technically, I could still do that (at least for the first winter).
When I was a newly-married college student, I was dirt poor. If you look just at $ in the bank vs my expenses, I was perhaps the poorest I've ever been.
But I was student poor. That's not poor poor. I didn't even feel poor. I didn't even know what it was like to feel poor. I felt like I didn't have a lot of money, but that's not the same. I wasn't expecting it to get worse; I wasn't expecting it to stay the same; I was expecting it to get better. When you're poor poor, that expectation is absent.
Last year my SIL Thea said that "Leon's poor". Bjorn said no, "he's not poor. His earning potential is heavily weighted toward the future."
A reasonable expectation of future earnings is an important sort of rich. This has to do with how I felt poor when Roscivs died. I had a lot of expenses, with no reasonable expectation of future earnings. It got worse every day.
Now it's getting better all the time.
My old definition belonged to a universe that ceased to exist when Roscivs died. Furthermore, it had a lot of non-monetary contours mixed in with its monetary ones. There's the rub when it comes to me and riches. To me, for me, rich is about outcomes way more than it is about income.
{What about to me, for others?}
My current definition (I have the funds I need to pursue and support my health) has a lot of the same elements as my old one: outside time, free time, health [running], security in times of scarcity [sun in winter]. It's intertwined with (if not predicated on) Bjorn's love and support.
(I tried to make it one that wouldn't fall apart like the last one did, but that just can't be helped. When everything falls apart everything falls apart.)
So. Ok. Health funds are enough for me to be rich. I went out of my way to make my new definition money-focused. I thought it to be an important part of the exercise. But when it comes down to it I just can't seem to conceive of me feeling rich without a bright future filled with health and family. My semantic wobbling is unveiled: "rich" can involve a nebulous "happiness" as much as "money".
I've been trying since the outset of this li'l blog series to clarify my terms. Clear terms are, after all, linguistic manifestations of clear thoughts. I don't know how successful I've been (uh oh?), but the exploration has gotten me closer to clear. If it's all still murky, at least it's an examined murkiness!
It would be less sloppy if I consistently used one term (say, "rich") to mean being rich (having money) and another term (say, "wealth") to mean feeling rich. And not having money ("poverty"?) and feeling poor ("destitute"?) could use their own terms too. Maybe I'll try using those clarified terms now.
I'm about to get less rich and more wealthy. I'm closing my studio; I'm going to stop teaching. It's fair call it retirement. What I say, though, is that I'm trading some income for some outcomes.
13 June 2014
ri¢h #2
Before Roscivs died I thought that owning your privilege was an important ethic. (Still do.) I was writing a piece anent in the days before he was diagnosed. I was proud of my claims to privilege. I owned up!
I sometimes have trouble when privileged folks want to have their cake and deny it, too.
When I moved house from BeHi after Roscivs died, a doctor friend—a medical doctor, a general care practitioner—helped heft and haul some of my larger items. After the heavy lifting was done, a little group went out to get pastries.
I remember sitting in a tiny pastry shop hearing Mr. Dr. declare he's not rich. He spoke with deep, bitter frustration about how people think doctors are rich, but he's not: it's surgeons and specialists that make the big money.
You can't brain someone with a croissant. I didn't even try. I just sat there.
Employment fact: (in these parts) even the lowliest GP makes 6 figures. How is six figures not rich? Seriously?! Mr. Dr. may not be the 1%, but he's the 5%.
I would feel less chagrined hearing Jeff Bezos say I'm not one of those rich tech people: it's Bill Gates that makes the big money. Pretty much everyone (like, 99% of people) would see that that's just plain ridiculous. But move it closer to home and people put "rich" back on the horizon; people somehow don't see that Mr. Dr. is playing the same game.
Poor schmuck.
I sometimes have trouble when privileged folks want to have their cake and deny it, too.
When I moved house from BeHi after Roscivs died, a doctor friend—a medical doctor, a general care practitioner—helped heft and haul some of my larger items. After the heavy lifting was done, a little group went out to get pastries.
I remember sitting in a tiny pastry shop hearing Mr. Dr. declare he's not rich. He spoke with deep, bitter frustration about how people think doctors are rich, but he's not: it's surgeons and specialists that make the big money.
You can't brain someone with a croissant. I didn't even try. I just sat there.
Employment fact: (in these parts) even the lowliest GP makes 6 figures. How is six figures not rich? Seriously?! Mr. Dr. may not be the 1%, but he's the 5%.
I would feel less chagrined hearing Jeff Bezos say I'm not one of those rich tech people: it's Bill Gates that makes the big money. Pretty much everyone (like, 99% of people) would see that that's just plain ridiculous. But move it closer to home and people put "rich" back on the horizon; people somehow don't see that Mr. Dr. is playing the same game.
Poor schmuck.
11 June 2014
Dirty Richie (warning: privilege ahead!)
Being poor and feeling poor don't necessarily co-occur. Being rich and feeling rich don't either.
Roscivs thought that most folks should work out a personal definition of being rich. For him, it was I can buy any food I want. He declared himself rich.
A good "personal definition" is one that could actually apply to the person who makes it. Being rich is a location, not a horizon. Even if one's not there now, one (theoretically) could get there.
(If you've already attained it when you define it, all the better for you!)
I believe this outlook is key in a healthy concept of "rich". Beware of changing the goalposts: If every time your cup is about to o'erflow you make your cup bigger (SuperSize Me!) you're in for a life of ingratitude and greed. Maybe that doesn't sound so bad to you, but it sounds bad to me.
Gratitude improves quality of life more powerfully than pretty much anything else.
I submit that greed detracts from one's capacity to enjoy and the capacity to be satisfied. And obviously(?) I value those.
While I've struggled a lot with feeling poor since Roscivs died, I've refused to be the Red Queen when it comes to being rich. I've fought to maintain the mindset that rich is a location and not a horizon.
It was somewhere I had been.
Maybe I could go there again.
I just wanted to say, I'm back. I'm here. I'm dirt rich!
Roscivs thought that most folks should work out a personal definition of being rich. For him, it was I can buy any food I want. He declared himself rich.
A good "personal definition" is one that could actually apply to the person who makes it. Being rich is a location, not a horizon. Even if one's not there now, one (theoretically) could get there.
(If you've already attained it when you define it, all the better for you!)
I believe this outlook is key in a healthy concept of "rich". Beware of changing the goalposts: If every time your cup is about to o'erflow you make your cup bigger (SuperSize Me!) you're in for a life of ingratitude and greed. Maybe that doesn't sound so bad to you, but it sounds bad to me.
Gratitude improves quality of life more powerfully than pretty much anything else.
I submit that greed detracts from one's capacity to enjoy and the capacity to be satisfied. And obviously(?) I value those.
While I've struggled a lot with feeling poor since Roscivs died, I've refused to be the Red Queen when it comes to being rich. I've fought to maintain the mindset that rich is a location and not a horizon.
It was somewhere I had been.
Maybe I could go there again.
I just wanted to say, I'm back. I'm here. I'm dirt rich!
10 June 2014
Some Bat Time, Some Bat Channel
I love bats. If I could pick my reincarnation animal, I'd pick bat (or otter). I've held a bat (a fruit bat, wounded and in captive recovery), been licked by that bat; I've seen the bats swarm in Austin, TX. I've seen two bats mate (in captivity: zoo bats).
Many bats nest under the bark of dead trees. One more reason to let the dead decompose naturally. One more reason to leave nature less disturbed. Many bats are being harmed by insecticides (their food having been poisoned). One more reason not to use poisons.
I've been told that my new house is under a "bat highway". During the summer there is a week where the bats zoom overhead. I wish I knew what kind of bat! I'm very excited to see it.
Many bats nest under the bark of dead trees. One more reason to let the dead decompose naturally. One more reason to leave nature less disturbed. Many bats are being harmed by insecticides (their food having been poisoned). One more reason not to use poisons.
I've been told that my new house is under a "bat highway". During the summer there is a week where the bats zoom overhead. I wish I knew what kind of bat! I'm very excited to see it.
24 May 2014
Angels Instead
Society doesn't take care of widows any more. That corner harvest those ancient Jews did? Or the New Testament: True religion undefiled?
I wanted someone to get religion after Roscivs died.
Somebody did: a fellow that Roscivs and I met when we lived in Provo. I think we had graduated when we met Boaz, but he was just starting business school. We three had a bond; we were all ex-Mormons at BYU. As bonus bonds, we were all the same age (most fo-Mos defect at >30 years old) and he, like R, loved Orson Scott Card's fiction.
I want to say—
Roscivs could forge a bond with anybody. Maybe that's partly because he had the capability to give generous significance to small connections. He didn't require a profound sameness that most people seem to need in order to seek, enjoy, or value someone else's company.
Anyway. A few months later R and I moved to Seattle (though not before meeting Boaz' future wife: we by chance ran into him with her leaving the cinema on one of their first dates). He and she got married. He finished grad school and took an internship near Seattle. We all got together a couple of times while they were up in the PNW. He took an internship in Texas, too, liked that job better, and moved there.
There's some sort of death bonus that the Feds give you if your spouse dies. I got ~$200. It's almost more insulting than getting nothing, though maybe only because they would have given me more than that per kid per month if we'd made babies. That would have made me worth giving money to. It all kinda creeps me out.
If I'd have had all of Roscivs' babies (and actually, I did), who else would have thought I was worth helping?
My life would be so different. So many people would think I was worth more.
When Roscivs died, Boaz and I could be described as friendly former acquaintances connected only through FaceBook and past sharing—precocious apostacy, camraderie, pizza and beer. After Roscivs died I made a number of posts on FaceBook about how frustrating it was to deal with medical bills and medical companies. (For about three months I often spent three or more hours a day on the phone trying to sort out payments. It was a part-time job. I'm not sure why it all got so nasty after he died. The bills had been pretty straightforward before that.) I didn't bother to hide my financial and emotional distress.
Bo expressed his sympathies on FB, like several people did. Unlike others, he privately asked for my mailing address—he and his wife wanted to send me a little something—and I sent it to him.
This was a time when people were ranting all the time about health care. Obamacare had recently passed. FaceBook was abuzz with cries of "single payer!!" and "socialists!!" Boaz expressed the "socialist" preference; he supported government takeover of healthcare.
I had this problem with the position of government healthcare responsibility: There's a powerful human bias with regard to making things Somebody Else's Problem [nod to Douglas Adams]. When it's someone else's job to take care of a problem, it's, um, not your job. Well, I think that it's detrimental to human development to have institutions monopolize that position. That's a job everyone should have: take care of your sick people.
I thought that these liberals talked a fine game—feed the poor! But then they didn't do anything. And mostly, that is true. Mostly it is true of the conservatives, too. They both seem to be saying the same thing. Healthcare is Somebody Else's Problem.
Boaz sent me a check for $1,000.
To help with medical expenses.
I cried and cried.
What made me worth it to them? Was it the the science fiction? Was it that we'd supported him when he felt trapped at BYU? Was it that his wife has Chronic Fatigue, too, and he felt bad for me left disabled to care for myself? Any number of other people had that much in common with us and more.
He lived in Texas, not Seattle. But he seemed to have decided I was his neighbor.
I wanted someone to get religion after Roscivs died.
Somebody did: a fellow that Roscivs and I met when we lived in Provo. I think we had graduated when we met Boaz, but he was just starting business school. We three had a bond; we were all ex-Mormons at BYU. As bonus bonds, we were all the same age (most fo-Mos defect at >30 years old) and he, like R, loved Orson Scott Card's fiction.
I want to say—
Roscivs could forge a bond with anybody. Maybe that's partly because he had the capability to give generous significance to small connections. He didn't require a profound sameness that most people seem to need in order to seek, enjoy, or value someone else's company.
Anyway. A few months later R and I moved to Seattle (though not before meeting Boaz' future wife: we by chance ran into him with her leaving the cinema on one of their first dates). He and she got married. He finished grad school and took an internship near Seattle. We all got together a couple of times while they were up in the PNW. He took an internship in Texas, too, liked that job better, and moved there.
There's some sort of death bonus that the Feds give you if your spouse dies. I got ~$200. It's almost more insulting than getting nothing, though maybe only because they would have given me more than that per kid per month if we'd made babies. That would have made me worth giving money to. It all kinda creeps me out.
If I'd have had all of Roscivs' babies (and actually, I did), who else would have thought I was worth helping?
My life would be so different. So many people would think I was worth more.
When Roscivs died, Boaz and I could be described as friendly former acquaintances connected only through FaceBook and past sharing—precocious apostacy, camraderie, pizza and beer. After Roscivs died I made a number of posts on FaceBook about how frustrating it was to deal with medical bills and medical companies. (For about three months I often spent three or more hours a day on the phone trying to sort out payments. It was a part-time job. I'm not sure why it all got so nasty after he died. The bills had been pretty straightforward before that.) I didn't bother to hide my financial and emotional distress.
Bo expressed his sympathies on FB, like several people did. Unlike others, he privately asked for my mailing address—he and his wife wanted to send me a little something—and I sent it to him.
This was a time when people were ranting all the time about health care. Obamacare had recently passed. FaceBook was abuzz with cries of "single payer!!" and "socialists!!" Boaz expressed the "socialist" preference; he supported government takeover of healthcare.
I had this problem with the position of government healthcare responsibility: There's a powerful human bias with regard to making things Somebody Else's Problem [nod to Douglas Adams]. When it's someone else's job to take care of a problem, it's, um, not your job. Well, I think that it's detrimental to human development to have institutions monopolize that position. That's a job everyone should have: take care of your sick people.
I thought that these liberals talked a fine game—feed the poor! But then they didn't do anything. And mostly, that is true. Mostly it is true of the conservatives, too. They both seem to be saying the same thing. Healthcare is Somebody Else's Problem.
Boaz sent me a check for $1,000.
To help with medical expenses.
I cried and cried.
What made me worth it to them? Was it the the science fiction? Was it that we'd supported him when he felt trapped at BYU? Was it that his wife has Chronic Fatigue, too, and he felt bad for me left disabled to care for myself? Any number of other people had that much in common with us and more.
He lived in Texas, not Seattle. But he seemed to have decided I was his neighbor.
12 May 2014
Watery Grave
First I took the infant incipient out into the garden. By and by I picked a sprig of wild baby's breath, some forget-me-not, and mint.
I plucked a large leaf and wrapped. I secured the bundle with something woody and quick.
Bjorn and I held hands down the nature trail to the Sound. On the way, I added a buttercup.
We came to waters' edge. I set it out to sea.
I plucked a large leaf and wrapped. I secured the bundle with something woody and quick.
Bjorn and I held hands down the nature trail to the Sound. On the way, I added a buttercup.
We came to waters' edge. I set it out to sea.
11 May 2014
Family unPlanning
I had hoped to be great with child today. It didn't turn out that way; to be great today I have to be great without child.
Having a baby was going to be my 2014 event. I planned it and everything. Well. We don't need a dead Scotsman to tell us that things fall apart and centers will not hold; plans, schmlans — mice bestly laying them; blah blah, poo-poo.
But now something new, out of the blue! Out of the deep cerulean! Something I didn't (indeed, couldn't have) planned for. Mona, my older sister, and my brother-in-law, niece, and nephew are moving to my town. Pending closure, they'll live within a nice little walk from my house. (I won't even get my 5 miles in going there and back again. (I will get 5k. (Go metric: it's cheaper!)))
OO-DE-LALLY.
They'll have an acre of land. They might start keeping ducks. Ducks means duck poop. Maybe they'll let me have some o' their duck poop.
This is the best thing that could have happened to me this year. I don't mean the duck poo. :P Stream-of-consciousness can really jostle antecedents. I am so pleased.
Having a baby was going to be my 2014 event. I planned it and everything. Well. We don't need a dead Scotsman to tell us that things fall apart and centers will not hold; plans, schmlans — mice bestly laying them; blah blah, poo-poo.
But now something new, out of the blue! Out of the deep cerulean! Something I didn't (indeed, couldn't have) planned for. Mona, my older sister, and my brother-in-law, niece, and nephew are moving to my town. Pending closure, they'll live within a nice little walk from my house. (I won't even get my 5 miles in going there and back again. (I will get 5k. (Go metric: it's cheaper!)))
OO-DE-LALLY.
They'll have an acre of land. They might start keeping ducks. Ducks means duck poop. Maybe they'll let me have some o' their duck poop.
This is the best thing that could have happened to me this year. I don't mean the duck poo. :P Stream-of-consciousness can really jostle antecedents. I am so pleased.
05 May 2014
CSA Box with Dog
There is now a vegetable the dog has scarfed down that is not in the brassica family: chartreuse mustard greens! (He won't eat the leaves. Just the crunchy "bottom".)
21 April 2014
Going to the Bathroom with Dog
When Euclid knows I'm going to use the loo he rushes to join me. He's a social fellow. Doesn't want to miss out on a family pee.
Now I have an extra incentive to change the TP roll when it's empty. I used to, um, have aggravating TP replacement habits. Roscivs would hide rolls around the house because when the TP from my bathroom was gone I would take TP from his bathroom....
I never do that any more! My TP habits are great!
Anyway. The dog. I toss the empty cardboard tube on the ground, and Euclid vanquishes it. In the master bathroom it's especially fun because there's so much room for it to roll around.
Now I have an extra incentive to change the TP roll when it's empty. I used to, um, have aggravating TP replacement habits. Roscivs would hide rolls around the house because when the TP from my bathroom was gone I would take TP from his bathroom....
I never do that any more! My TP habits are great!
Anyway. The dog. I toss the empty cardboard tube on the ground, and Euclid vanquishes it. In the master bathroom it's especially fun because there's so much room for it to roll around.
16 April 2014
Jewish Trivium & Happy Income Redistribution Day
• Did you know that the back half of the cow isn't kosher? Kosher beef has lots of rules. It's more complicated than "don't eat cheeseburgers". Brisket is a classic Jewish cut; it's cheap (historically) and from the front of the cow.
• Did you know it's possible to make so much money that you're not allowed to put any of it in a Roth IRA?
True stories.
• Did you know it's possible to make so much money that you're not allowed to put any of it in a Roth IRA?
True stories.
14 April 2014
Lazeez -- No, Alazz
I was asked to bring a vegetable to Sunday dinner. A cooked one. (A raw one, beet-and-carrot salad, was already being provided.) (Of course, there weren't just two vegetables. There were cooked carrots, too; there are always cooked carrots. Ok maybe not always but 90% of the time.)
(There were homemade pickles, too, and the pickles are always; 100% of Sunday dinners.)
I didn't know when dinner was going to be, so I wanted to prepare something that would be decently yummy hot, warm, or cool. I also wanted to use nettles. Nettles (a) have such a short season and (2) are uberduber healthful and (+) they're local and (iv) I already had some.
Here's what I did, and it was the best nettle preparation I have ever eaten. (The first time I prepared them was last year and I boiled them. I was afraid of the stingers. :P AND I was serving them to guests. I didn't want to sting my guests.)
Put nettles (I used .5 lb total in two separate batches) in a skillet-ish pan on low-medium heat. Add raisins. (1/4 c?) Add a little bit (a few Tbsp?) of coconut oil in one crescent of the pan, shoving the warming nettles to the gibbous remains. (I was using my 14 inch pan.) When the coconut oil is about half melted add spices to it. I added ground mace, ground clove, and ground ceylon cinnamon. Then add salt. Then let the coconut oil finish melting, mix the spices as needed, then mix in the nettles and raisins bit by bit. Stop cooking when it looks and smells done.
Nettles are often compared to spinach. They are more delicious than spinach. They are much less watery, so these were almost crispy! Wow. Yum. And the type of fat, and the seasoning (bakery-ish) increased the temperature range at which it would be yummy.
I don't know if I'll get a chance to do this again before nettle season is over. I cook nettles infrequently enough that I might not be able to remember this if I don't record it.
So. For the record.
(There were homemade pickles, too, and the pickles are always; 100% of Sunday dinners.)
I didn't know when dinner was going to be, so I wanted to prepare something that would be decently yummy hot, warm, or cool. I also wanted to use nettles. Nettles (a) have such a short season and (2) are uberduber healthful and (+) they're local and (iv) I already had some.
Here's what I did, and it was the best nettle preparation I have ever eaten. (The first time I prepared them was last year and I boiled them. I was afraid of the stingers. :P AND I was serving them to guests. I didn't want to sting my guests.)
Put nettles (I used .5 lb total in two separate batches) in a skillet-ish pan on low-medium heat. Add raisins. (1/4 c?) Add a little bit (a few Tbsp?) of coconut oil in one crescent of the pan, shoving the warming nettles to the gibbous remains. (I was using my 14 inch pan.) When the coconut oil is about half melted add spices to it. I added ground mace, ground clove, and ground ceylon cinnamon. Then add salt. Then let the coconut oil finish melting, mix the spices as needed, then mix in the nettles and raisins bit by bit. Stop cooking when it looks and smells done.
Nettles are often compared to spinach. They are more delicious than spinach. They are much less watery, so these were almost crispy! Wow. Yum. And the type of fat, and the seasoning (bakery-ish) increased the temperature range at which it would be yummy.
I don't know if I'll get a chance to do this again before nettle season is over. I cook nettles infrequently enough that I might not be able to remember this if I don't record it.
So. For the record.
02 April 2014
mind blown like hot glass
During a recent morning conversation Bjorn gesticulated a graph of the matter in the universe, showing me where most of the matter is {hand wave} and that it's hydrogen {hand particle}, then helium, then &c. &c., and the rest is here {wild graph gesticulation} in the tail {wag}.
'What about dark matter?' I said. 'Is it in the tail?' Not in the tail. From there, somehow, by some parallel move, or some tangential veer, or some unobserved cat, the conversation came to this ... Maybe, he said, maybe dark matter has its own periodic table.
!
'What about dark matter?' I said. 'Is it in the tail?' Not in the tail. From there, somehow, by some parallel move, or some tangential veer, or some unobserved cat, the conversation came to this ... Maybe, he said, maybe dark matter has its own periodic table.
!
21 March 2014
sprang spreng sprong moo moo moo
On the first day of SPRING! I walked 5 miles, liquid fasted until supper, did some research at the library, enjoyed my day off work.
I turned off the heat. I let the dog sleep with us because I didn't want him to get too cold in his crate (I am a pup pamperer). Bjorn turned the heat back on this morning. 'Twas too cold for him.
Today I got my taxes done. Da did them. Joint filing FT$!
And we picked up our cow. Wow. Wow. Wow cow. Cow wow. 706 lb hanging weight. ~21 cubic feet of freezer filled.
We got 17 boxes of cut-and-wrapped cow parts and 3 bonus boxes of dog bones (that is, cow bones for the dog). When we got home, we took the meat out of the boxes. Most of the boxes were packed by cut. 4 boxes of mostly hamburger (whoa, so much hamburger), 2 boxes of soup bones, 1 box of cube steaks and fajita meat, 1 box of T-bone and sirloin steaks (one cow makes a lot of steaks!), 2 boxes full of roasts ... yada yada fish paste.
(When Roscivs lived in South Africa one of his favorite friends there said "fish paste" after "yada yada" and he picked it up from her.)
Bjorn and I did a great job with a novel situation. Go team! Huzpaz! Together, we wanted to get everything into the freezer as fast as possible on this end (the now), and to get things out of it as efficiently as possible on the other end (the future). To that end (that is, the future), we divvied up the cuts and put them back in the boxes (dead cow Tetris) with the basics in each: hamburger, steaks, a roast, soup bones. So it'll go like this: take a box out of the freezer. Bring it in to the little freezer in the house. Dine on a nice variety of cuts instead of 3 weeks in a row of chuck roast all the time, 4 weeks in a row of nothing but T-bone steaks, and no more of either for the rest of the year. And no digging around in the freezer for this or that cut.
I think it'll work well. If we get stew meat in a box I take out in the winter I'll make stew; if in the summer, I'll make kebabs (on rosemary skewers from our garden!).
These are the daffodil days. Anything you want to, do it.
I turned off the heat. I let the dog sleep with us because I didn't want him to get too cold in his crate (I am a pup pamperer). Bjorn turned the heat back on this morning. 'Twas too cold for him.
Today I got my taxes done. Da did them. Joint filing FT$!
And we picked up our cow. Wow. Wow. Wow cow. Cow wow. 706 lb hanging weight. ~21 cubic feet of freezer filled.
We got 17 boxes of cut-and-wrapped cow parts and 3 bonus boxes of dog bones (that is, cow bones for the dog). When we got home, we took the meat out of the boxes. Most of the boxes were packed by cut. 4 boxes of mostly hamburger (whoa, so much hamburger), 2 boxes of soup bones, 1 box of cube steaks and fajita meat, 1 box of T-bone and sirloin steaks (one cow makes a lot of steaks!), 2 boxes full of roasts ... yada yada fish paste.
(When Roscivs lived in South Africa one of his favorite friends there said "fish paste" after "yada yada" and he picked it up from her.)
Bjorn and I did a great job with a novel situation. Go team! Huzpaz! Together, we wanted to get everything into the freezer as fast as possible on this end (the now), and to get things out of it as efficiently as possible on the other end (the future). To that end (that is, the future), we divvied up the cuts and put them back in the boxes (dead cow Tetris) with the basics in each: hamburger, steaks, a roast, soup bones. So it'll go like this: take a box out of the freezer. Bring it in to the little freezer in the house. Dine on a nice variety of cuts instead of 3 weeks in a row of chuck roast all the time, 4 weeks in a row of nothing but T-bone steaks, and no more of either for the rest of the year. And no digging around in the freezer for this or that cut.
I think it'll work well. If we get stew meat in a box I take out in the winter I'll make stew; if in the summer, I'll make kebabs (on rosemary skewers from our garden!).
These are the daffodil days. Anything you want to, do it.
06 March 2014
Tortoise
I am making progress toward my goal to walk 5 miles a day. In February, my walking looked like this:
wk 1: 10.7 mi
wk 2: 17.3 mi
wk 3: 12.6 mi
wk 4: 15.8 mi
I had a cold (the first cold I had had in 13 months), which kept me back a bit. Weak 3 was snottiest, weakest. I was resting more.
You can see that I do not average 3 miles a day yet. I walk a few miles one day, and then some days not even one (lesson days are particularly prone to this). A better goal (in attainment and enjoyment) might be a 25 mi/wk average. I'd basically give myself a pass for my working days.
Today I walked more than 5 miles, the first such length on record. Walking with nieces to school, walking to buy fish, stopping by the co-op, and going out for fresh air. And the day's not over. (And my feet are not tired!) Glory: Today near the heron rookery we spied 5 herons in 1 tree.
As to the fish. I marinated it: mandarin juice, garlic, green onion, ginger root, thyme. The marinade was tops, and I didn't mess up the prep or cooking, but I didn't love it. Whitefish fillet sautee is not an instant favorite. I do love how fast it cooked.
I have a food goal this ~year: Multitudes of Experiments With Sea Meat. I imagine this will include a lot of walking to the monger's, and, my finger on the pulse of seafood advisories, tuning myself to seasonal rhythms (which creatures are caught when—where—how).
wk 1: 10.7 mi
wk 2: 17.3 mi
wk 3: 12.6 mi
wk 4: 15.8 mi
I had a cold (the first cold I had had in 13 months), which kept me back a bit. Weak 3 was snottiest, weakest. I was resting more.
You can see that I do not average 3 miles a day yet. I walk a few miles one day, and then some days not even one (lesson days are particularly prone to this). A better goal (in attainment and enjoyment) might be a 25 mi/wk average. I'd basically give myself a pass for my working days.
Today I walked more than 5 miles, the first such length on record. Walking with nieces to school, walking to buy fish, stopping by the co-op, and going out for fresh air. And the day's not over. (And my feet are not tired!) Glory: Today near the heron rookery we spied 5 herons in 1 tree.
As to the fish. I marinated it: mandarin juice, garlic, green onion, ginger root, thyme. The marinade was tops, and I didn't mess up the prep or cooking, but I didn't love it. Whitefish fillet sautee is not an instant favorite. I do love how fast it cooked.
I have a food goal this ~year: Multitudes of Experiments With Sea Meat. I imagine this will include a lot of walking to the monger's, and, my finger on the pulse of seafood advisories, tuning myself to seasonal rhythms (which creatures are caught when—where—how).
04 March 2014
Remembrancers
The initial title for this post was "My Hat Wallet It Has Three Corners Folds".
I abandoned purses wholly last year. Before total abandon, I chose to secure a wallet. I tried several (it's odd shopping!) but couldn't find one that suited until I rediscovered Roscivs'. It's a leather tri-fold. When I came upon it I had a sudden memory of him talking about how he found tri-folds superior to bi-folds, yet they're very hard to find.
I love this wallet. It doesn't encumber me (like a purse does), it isn't expected to match my clothes, my event, or a venue (as a purse is), it doesn't suffer junk (o ΓΌber-culpable purse!). It is a soft cowhide token of Roscivs. Simple, sensible, and sentimental. Win, win, win.
I have also taken up handkerchiefs. (After reading Zero Waste Home, tissues seem a gross waste.) Another memento. Sniff sniff.
I abandoned purses wholly last year. Before total abandon, I chose to secure a wallet. I tried several (it's odd shopping!) but couldn't find one that suited until I rediscovered Roscivs'. It's a leather tri-fold. When I came upon it I had a sudden memory of him talking about how he found tri-folds superior to bi-folds, yet they're very hard to find.
I love this wallet. It doesn't encumber me (like a purse does), it isn't expected to match my clothes, my event, or a venue (as a purse is), it doesn't suffer junk (o ΓΌber-culpable purse!). It is a soft cowhide token of Roscivs. Simple, sensible, and sentimental. Win, win, win.
I have also taken up handkerchiefs. (After reading Zero Waste Home, tissues seem a gross waste.) Another memento. Sniff sniff.
03 March 2014
Austin is Plan B
We were driving in a car with the dog. We borrow a car to drive to training.
Bjorn said, in his not-kidding voice, "Would you consider moving to New Jersey..." He stalled; he was task-switching, backing into a parking space. Back-in parking is familial, like the religious use of napkins and honing steels. His not-kidding voice is unmistakable. He was born and raised in NJ, so NJ has charge. It's a suggestion more and less plausible than "let's relocate to Latvia shall we?" So where I might have laughed or said "piffle!" I balked. "?!?!?!"
He continued "... or maybe Texas ..." and finished parking the car. Um. Texas? I said, or maybe sputtered, "What. What what. WHY."
He put on the parking break. "So that we can educate our kid(s) the way we want." [Yeah, he speaks with finial parens.] I figured out where this was coming from. At dinner a month ago I made some remark regarding laws, rules, hoops to jump through to homeschool in WA. He didn't know. He began research. He found 10 states that are minimally invasive. "Or Idaho." "No." He doesn't like Washington's hoops. (You have to (i) submit a curriculum meeting XYZ reqs, (ii) have it approved, (iii) get your child tested (&c).)
In the last month he has read books, set up appointments, contacted alternative schoolers, and made phone calls to explore what he can do to protect his education choices for his child(ren).
Now all I have to do is get pregnant again and get a baby this time, eh?
If you're wondering, I said well if pressed I suppose I might be open to Texas because we have some family there and family is the main thing I'm attached to providing and experiencing when we have kids. Good Lord — the words I thought I'd never say.
About the napkins. They to me (more than back-in parking, or the honing steel) are the hallmark of the Onzwit family. Napkins abide at breakfast, lunch, supper, tea, snack (even be it a single banana). Will you partake? Touch the cloth. The gesture is Grace.
All my favorite prayers are prayers of the hands.
Bjorn said, in his not-kidding voice, "Would you consider moving to New Jersey..." He stalled; he was task-switching, backing into a parking space. Back-in parking is familial, like the religious use of napkins and honing steels. His not-kidding voice is unmistakable. He was born and raised in NJ, so NJ has charge. It's a suggestion more and less plausible than "let's relocate to Latvia shall we?" So where I might have laughed or said "piffle!" I balked. "?!?!?!"
He continued "... or maybe Texas ..." and finished parking the car. Um. Texas? I said, or maybe sputtered, "What. What what. WHY."
He put on the parking break. "So that we can educate our kid(s) the way we want." [Yeah, he speaks with finial parens.] I figured out where this was coming from. At dinner a month ago I made some remark regarding laws, rules, hoops to jump through to homeschool in WA. He didn't know. He began research. He found 10 states that are minimally invasive. "Or Idaho." "No." He doesn't like Washington's hoops. (You have to (i) submit a curriculum meeting XYZ reqs, (ii) have it approved, (iii) get your child tested (&c).)
In the last month he has read books, set up appointments, contacted alternative schoolers, and made phone calls to explore what he can do to protect his education choices for his child(ren).
Now all I have to do is get pregnant again and get a baby this time, eh?
If you're wondering, I said well if pressed I suppose I might be open to Texas because we have some family there and family is the main thing I'm attached to providing and experiencing when we have kids. Good Lord — the words I thought I'd never say.
About the napkins. They to me (more than back-in parking, or the honing steel) are the hallmark of the Onzwit family. Napkins abide at breakfast, lunch, supper, tea, snack (even be it a single banana). Will you partake? Touch the cloth. The gesture is Grace.
All my favorite prayers are prayers of the hands.
02 March 2014
I am growing
My garlic and my tulips have come up! They live! I planted them roundabout Thanksgivukkah. (Thank goodness for En, or I would not have known that garlic is supposed to get in before first frost.) The tulips were a housewarming gift; the garlic — I selected from our CSA box one varietal (we get several) that I hope is hardneck, so as to produce scapes. (Softneck varietals don't scape. Scapes are the whole point of our growing garlic. We don't need more bulbs than our CSA provides. We need more scapes!) I separated the cloves and stuck them into the ground.
Minutes after I planted my garlic I found little mystery sprouts elsewhere in the garden. I dug one up ... they'd planted garlic already! Ha ha! If their planting was hardneck, we'll have scapes aplenty. I doubt it is.
I was newly pregnant then. I didn't work in the garden again until after the miscarriage.
On the first good day in February, I ventured to survey the garden. Not too daunted, I cleared the raised beds, preparing them to be turned. Most of the beds were already emptied when we moved in (in October, remember), but I didn't plant cover crops, and I didn't cover the beds (with burlap, e.g.). I didn't know to. Blessedly very few weeds took purchase and clearing the beds was a work without dread.
On George Washington's birthday, a traditional pea-planting day, I planted peas (securing a trellis!) after I turned over two of the beds. I learned from a book last year that one is to turn one's beds. It was a mystery to me until I did it. Here's how. I took our garden shovel (a Hannukah gift) and upheaved the dirt — upturned clods happy with worms. Then with another gifted tool I raked until the clods were clods no more. You might say I rotated and fluffed the dirt. In analogy, the dirt in the garden bed is like the pillow or the mattress in the sleeping bed. Now it is a known mystery; I have been through that door of the universe. Or it has been through me.
Last Friday, I planted lettuce from seed in the greenhouse. My lettuce is a little late, but the way I figure it, if I fuss over dates overmuch I won't have fun and I won't garden. I'll learn what's worth a fuss as I go.
So far, everything I've planted has been from seed or bulb. It's unusual; I am used to the starts mentality, not the seed mentality. It is pleasant for me to work from seed. Maybe as I get used to having a greenhouse it will become the new usual. The holy grail is using seeds I've saved myself. Imagine gardening without needing to be at someone else's mercy or mercantile for seeds!
When we moved, I was concerned about how much it would co$t me to garden. So far, it's about $3. The only co$t to me has been buying the peas and lettuce seeds. Tools = borrowed or gifted. Da (Bjorn's dad) bought us a Costco set of his favorite gardening gloves. Bjorn found overalls and a flannel work shirt for me at the Free Store.
I need a hat. I discovered this happily on Friday. I was two+ hours working in the sun and my eyes felt it a little. A hat — and more plants. Co$ts will rise, but I am not concerned about them any more. What shall I plant next!?
Minutes after I planted my garlic I found little mystery sprouts elsewhere in the garden. I dug one up ... they'd planted garlic already! Ha ha! If their planting was hardneck, we'll have scapes aplenty. I doubt it is.
I was newly pregnant then. I didn't work in the garden again until after the miscarriage.
On the first good day in February, I ventured to survey the garden. Not too daunted, I cleared the raised beds, preparing them to be turned. Most of the beds were already emptied when we moved in (in October, remember), but I didn't plant cover crops, and I didn't cover the beds (with burlap, e.g.). I didn't know to. Blessedly very few weeds took purchase and clearing the beds was a work without dread.
On George Washington's birthday, a traditional pea-planting day, I planted peas (securing a trellis!) after I turned over two of the beds. I learned from a book last year that one is to turn one's beds. It was a mystery to me until I did it. Here's how. I took our garden shovel (a Hannukah gift) and upheaved the dirt — upturned clods happy with worms. Then with another gifted tool I raked until the clods were clods no more. You might say I rotated and fluffed the dirt. In analogy, the dirt in the garden bed is like the pillow or the mattress in the sleeping bed. Now it is a known mystery; I have been through that door of the universe. Or it has been through me.
Last Friday, I planted lettuce from seed in the greenhouse. My lettuce is a little late, but the way I figure it, if I fuss over dates overmuch I won't have fun and I won't garden. I'll learn what's worth a fuss as I go.
So far, everything I've planted has been from seed or bulb. It's unusual; I am used to the starts mentality, not the seed mentality. It is pleasant for me to work from seed. Maybe as I get used to having a greenhouse it will become the new usual. The holy grail is using seeds I've saved myself. Imagine gardening without needing to be at someone else's mercy or mercantile for seeds!
When we moved, I was concerned about how much it would co$t me to garden. So far, it's about $3. The only co$t to me has been buying the peas and lettuce seeds. Tools = borrowed or gifted. Da (Bjorn's dad) bought us a Costco set of his favorite gardening gloves. Bjorn found overalls and a flannel work shirt for me at the Free Store.
I need a hat. I discovered this happily on Friday. I was two+ hours working in the sun and my eyes felt it a little. A hat — and more plants. Co$ts will rise, but I am not concerned about them any more. What shall I plant next!?
01 March 2014
Beef Eaters
Bjorn's parents are very even in their parenting. Even, perhaps most obviously, in what they give to their children. I have never known such even parents. My parents were (are?) not that even. Roscivs' parents were definitely not even even.
What is it that makes his parents so even? I conjecture. It's that they are Ts, not Fs. It's that they have two children and not five. It's that they have one of each sex. It's that one of them suffered unfairness with a sibling.
It's my perception. Moreover, it is the perception of both children that their parents are fair!!
In all this this fairness, we have gotten ourselves a mighty chest freezer. His parents bought a stand-alone freezer for Em and En when they got a house, and so when we bought our house they offered to buy one for us. They didn't shop for it: "Pick the freezer you want", they said. So we did. We picked the grandaddy of all freezers. (The geezer freezer?) This is a freezer that will hold approximately 25 cubic feet of chopped up bodies.
This was on our long list (as opposed to our short list) of reasons to get a house: we could have a freezer. (We didn't know, before we moved, that his parents would buy us a freezer. That they'd bought one for Em and En was information retrieved only from the fairness.xls file in his parents' minds.) In this our dream scenario, we would buy "locker meat", which is to say, buy an animal by the quarter, half, or whole directly from a local, sustainable-scale rancher/farmer/grower/herder.
Being busy with other things, we did not get a freezer right away. November and December passed freezerless. Then Bjorn spent much of January organizing the garage to be ready for it. It was partly because I was pregnant, and it had been suggested that I really should have a freezer in order for it to be stocked by my mother and sister-in-law for meals to eat in the first month after birth.
And so the space was made, the husband fabulous, the freezer acquired and (not long after the miscarriage) delivered.
The majority of small-scale slaughters happen in the fall, I thought, so we didn't know when we would be able to get any meat to fill our behemoth freezer. I started making inquiries early — now — to get on wait lists.
In a piece of luck, we got an opportunity to buy cow from our second-choice cow folk. (Our first choice is doing "herd maintenance" this year and won't have any available animals for at least another season.) w00t!
This is very exciting for us.
We bought a cow, a whole cow! The term that our cow-seller uses is "a whole beef". I thought that "a whole beef" sounded weird. It sounded more like the other kind of beef. It sounded inappropriately countable. Now I'm used to it.
We had a deadline if we were to make the midwinter slaughter (today). I agonized over the butcher/cutting order. I called the butcher. How was I to make sure I got my oxtail?! There was nothing on the order form about it. What about the skirt steak? Should I get the top of the top round cubed and the bottom of the top round in fajita meat? Yes I want the brisket cut but no I don't know how! I was overly whelmed. I made the order. Bjorn posted it, with our deposit.
The price/pound is $3.80 (that includes the wrapping fee). That's a little more than half what we pay for ground beef at the co-op. Estimating we eat 300 lb of beef a year, this will be at least $1,000/year in savings. This is a happy animal. Born on the same farm where it died, never stressed by travel and filled up with stress hormones; weaned in contact with its mother; loved; named; fed on pasture.
In a couple of weeks (like any respectable outfit the dry aging lasts a fortnight), the cow will come home.
What is it that makes his parents so even? I conjecture. It's that they are Ts, not Fs. It's that they have two children and not five. It's that they have one of each sex. It's that one of them suffered unfairness with a sibling.
It's my perception. Moreover, it is the perception of both children that their parents are fair!!
In all this this fairness, we have gotten ourselves a mighty chest freezer. His parents bought a stand-alone freezer for Em and En when they got a house, and so when we bought our house they offered to buy one for us. They didn't shop for it: "Pick the freezer you want", they said. So we did. We picked the grandaddy of all freezers. (The geezer freezer?) This is a freezer that will hold approximately 25 cubic feet of chopped up bodies.
This was on our long list (as opposed to our short list) of reasons to get a house: we could have a freezer. (We didn't know, before we moved, that his parents would buy us a freezer. That they'd bought one for Em and En was information retrieved only from the fairness.xls file in his parents' minds.) In this our dream scenario, we would buy "locker meat", which is to say, buy an animal by the quarter, half, or whole directly from a local, sustainable-scale rancher/farmer/grower/herder.
Being busy with other things, we did not get a freezer right away. November and December passed freezerless. Then Bjorn spent much of January organizing the garage to be ready for it. It was partly because I was pregnant, and it had been suggested that I really should have a freezer in order for it to be stocked by my mother and sister-in-law for meals to eat in the first month after birth.
And so the space was made, the husband fabulous, the freezer acquired and (not long after the miscarriage) delivered.
The majority of small-scale slaughters happen in the fall, I thought, so we didn't know when we would be able to get any meat to fill our behemoth freezer. I started making inquiries early — now — to get on wait lists.
In a piece of luck, we got an opportunity to buy cow from our second-choice cow folk. (Our first choice is doing "herd maintenance" this year and won't have any available animals for at least another season.) w00t!
This is very exciting for us.
We bought a cow, a whole cow! The term that our cow-seller uses is "a whole beef". I thought that "a whole beef" sounded weird. It sounded more like the other kind of beef. It sounded inappropriately countable. Now I'm used to it.
We had a deadline if we were to make the midwinter slaughter (today). I agonized over the butcher/cutting order. I called the butcher. How was I to make sure I got my oxtail?! There was nothing on the order form about it. What about the skirt steak? Should I get the top of the top round cubed and the bottom of the top round in fajita meat? Yes I want the brisket cut but no I don't know how! I was overly whelmed. I made the order. Bjorn posted it, with our deposit.
The price/pound is $3.80 (that includes the wrapping fee). That's a little more than half what we pay for ground beef at the co-op. Estimating we eat 300 lb of beef a year, this will be at least $1,000/year in savings. This is a happy animal. Born on the same farm where it died, never stressed by travel and filled up with stress hormones; weaned in contact with its mother; loved; named; fed on pasture.
In a couple of weeks (like any respectable outfit the dry aging lasts a fortnight), the cow will come home.
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