I moved into this neighborhood nearly 4 years ago and I still cannot stop singing it's praises, but sadly I have failed to take full advantage of some of it's more convenient conveniences.
I remember when I moved in being delighted in the to discover an Ace Hardware less than three blocks away-I remember going there to make spare keys once and discovering they had ever so much more than hardware! Much of what I needed around the house could be found at Ace, from laundry detergent to potato peelers, lamps to scotch tape and batteries, picture frames and more! But after learning this bit of useful information, I promptly forgot it. See, Ace is not on my way to the train station, it is in the other direction, which I only walk by on random occasion, when my mind is usually miles from scotch tape and detergent. Also, when I did walk by, it was always closed.
And inevitably, because Ace was not something I grew up on, my mind always turned to Walgreens or Target when I needed things like that anyway, so always I am going to these two places when Ace was always RIGHT THERE....and now...
A few weeks ago I walked by and there was a sign saying Ace was closing down!!! Also there were signs saying that there is 20-50% off every thing in the store. And in my unemployment you would think my mind would remember that and take note and yet I have been to Walgreens like three times since this whole discount opportunity has been right at my fingertips.
Gaowrsh.
In other news, as I walked to the coffee shop today I gazed at the beautiful storm cloud floating overhead to the southwest, and the patch of blue sky to the East, and the white clouds there all glowy with sunset. I pondered the storm cloud's deep greenish gray color and wondered why I wasn't more worried. Ten feet from the door of the coffee shop it burst and the heavy drops came down on my umbrella-less self and I thought, 'Perfect timing,' as I ran to the door and made my way inside....
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Quote for the last day of the Fast
"Climb up over the top.
Survey the state of the soul.
You’ve got to find out for yourself whether or not you’re truly trying.
Why not give it a shot?
Shake it, take control
And inevitably wind up
Finding for yourself
All the strengths you have inside still rising..
Climb up over the top
Survey the state of the soul
You’ve got to find out for yourself whether or not you’re truly trying
Why not give it a shot?
Shake it, take control
And inevitably wind up
Finding for yourself all the strengths you have inside of you"
-Song for a Friend, Jason Mraz
Survey the state of the soul.
You’ve got to find out for yourself whether or not you’re truly trying.
Why not give it a shot?
Shake it, take control
And inevitably wind up
Finding for yourself
All the strengths you have inside still rising..
Climb up over the top
Survey the state of the soul
You’ve got to find out for yourself whether or not you’re truly trying
Why not give it a shot?
Shake it, take control
And inevitably wind up
Finding for yourself all the strengths you have inside of you"
-Song for a Friend, Jason Mraz
Thursday, March 19, 2009
More Dream Stuff
WATER-
To dream that you are walking on water, suggests that you have supreme and ultimate control over your emotions. It may also suggest that you need to "stay on top" of your emotions and not let them explode out of hand. Alternatively, it is symbolic of faith in yourself.
NIGHT-
To have a dream that takes place at night, represents some major setbacks and obstacles in achieving your goals. There are some issues in your life that you are facing, but are not too clear. You should put the issues aside so you can clear your head and come back to it later. Alternatively, night may be synonymous with death, rebirth, reflection, and new beginnings..
FLOATING-
To dream that you are floating in water, suggests that you have a handle on your emotions.
SKYSCRAPER-
To see a skyscraper in your dream, represents your high ideals, creativity and imagination. You always aim high at whatever you do. It also suggests that you have great foresight.
To dream that you are walking on water, suggests that you have supreme and ultimate control over your emotions. It may also suggest that you need to "stay on top" of your emotions and not let them explode out of hand. Alternatively, it is symbolic of faith in yourself.
NIGHT-
To have a dream that takes place at night, represents some major setbacks and obstacles in achieving your goals. There are some issues in your life that you are facing, but are not too clear. You should put the issues aside so you can clear your head and come back to it later. Alternatively, night may be synonymous with death, rebirth, reflection, and new beginnings..
FLOATING-
To dream that you are floating in water, suggests that you have a handle on your emotions.
SKYSCRAPER-
To see a skyscraper in your dream, represents your high ideals, creativity and imagination. You always aim high at whatever you do. It also suggests that you have great foresight.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
C'mon Baby!
If my laptop could talk he would be the poster child for the Little Train That Could....Every time I try to turn him on, he just sits there and does nothing and in my head I am imagining all of the little electrodes just loping around the inside of my baby trying to find the right places to go in order the get the engine started.
If I press more delicately or firmly on the 'ON' button, nothing happens. If I hold it down for thirty seconds nothing happens. Finally, after a few minutes, he will sputter on and the light for the power shines green and ready. Then, a mere 10 minutes later he is ready to go. Not surprisingly the amount of time it takes for my computer to turn on is directly related to how long he was out in the cold. The longest was 40 minutes until today-I have been here for more than an hour and my baby is finally working. I was about to give it up for lost when my half-settled finger finally got a response. And I get it, I do, heck- my extremities refuse to work until they are warmed up too.
But being that I am currently jobless in need of a job, this type of thing is not....reassuring. I need my baby to work, and keep working, at least until I get that money job that is surely right around the corner waiting for me. But I do not have internet at home and I must indeed leave the house every day to go to the libes, where the interweb is free and abundant, but my baby does not like the trip. Either he is a cranky four-year old that I need to coddle and coax into submission, or he is a 400-year old man (who knows how computer years translate-much faster than dog years, I am sure)who is merely ready to pass the torch on. I can understand that. And being a bit of a secret gadget junkie who has managed to put her obsession on hold until reason dictates it a reasonable purchase, I fully intend to be one of those people who gets a new computer every couple a years, just because.
But not today. I did look at laptop prices today on the libes' computer while idly and randomly pressing my baby's button and realized it will be possible once I get that money job to get a new computer but I'm not quite there.
And let me tell you something-I know all about patience now. The Lord has given me to find infinite and copius amounts of patience. Soon I will also know all about gratitude as well. Nothing like the memory of lugging my baby to the libes in the cold dead of winter and then sitting around waiting for him to catch his bearings will make the days of internet at home on a computer that works seem like pure heaven. I look forward to that. Pure Heaven.... sigh.
If I press more delicately or firmly on the 'ON' button, nothing happens. If I hold it down for thirty seconds nothing happens. Finally, after a few minutes, he will sputter on and the light for the power shines green and ready. Then, a mere 10 minutes later he is ready to go. Not surprisingly the amount of time it takes for my computer to turn on is directly related to how long he was out in the cold. The longest was 40 minutes until today-I have been here for more than an hour and my baby is finally working. I was about to give it up for lost when my half-settled finger finally got a response. And I get it, I do, heck- my extremities refuse to work until they are warmed up too.
But being that I am currently jobless in need of a job, this type of thing is not....reassuring. I need my baby to work, and keep working, at least until I get that money job that is surely right around the corner waiting for me. But I do not have internet at home and I must indeed leave the house every day to go to the libes, where the interweb is free and abundant, but my baby does not like the trip. Either he is a cranky four-year old that I need to coddle and coax into submission, or he is a 400-year old man (who knows how computer years translate-much faster than dog years, I am sure)who is merely ready to pass the torch on. I can understand that. And being a bit of a secret gadget junkie who has managed to put her obsession on hold until reason dictates it a reasonable purchase, I fully intend to be one of those people who gets a new computer every couple a years, just because.
But not today. I did look at laptop prices today on the libes' computer while idly and randomly pressing my baby's button and realized it will be possible once I get that money job to get a new computer but I'm not quite there.
And let me tell you something-I know all about patience now. The Lord has given me to find infinite and copius amounts of patience. Soon I will also know all about gratitude as well. Nothing like the memory of lugging my baby to the libes in the cold dead of winter and then sitting around waiting for him to catch his bearings will make the days of internet at home on a computer that works seem like pure heaven. I look forward to that. Pure Heaven.... sigh.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Courage, Presence of Mind, and Grandma's Lasagna
One of my favorite memories from childhood is driving to Chicago after the Christmas holiday every year to visit my Grandma and my mom's siblings. There were always more presents and even better, Grandma's cooking. Her fudge and her chocolate chip cookies, cliche though it is, were THE BEST.
But the thing I hungered for, the thing I fantasized about for months at a time, was her meat lasagna. I remember none of us kids could ever seem to get enough of it. By the time I graduated from college, the tradition of going to Grandma's had changed for me-I was living here in Chicago and would often be home in MN during that time, and my own parents and siblings were no longer too keen on going for various reasons.
Also, after Grandpa died, the gatherings themselves stopped happening, or were transferred to an aunt's house or something. I lost track, myself. But I had determined by this point, to get the recipe myself anyway. However, everytime I was around Grandma, I forgot to ask. Years went by and I kept forgetting. Until this past year, when she herself began to talk of death as though he were a welcome friend, I finally got around to asking. Morbid, I know, but it is what it is....
And so my Grandma, vibrant but slightly slower than she used to be, walked over to the cupboard and reached up and brought down a box. She pulled out the recipe and gave it to me to copy, but she was in a hurry to get somewhere and so stood over me as I copied it out. I wrote fast. And I interpreted, for the writing of the recipe was not as straight-forward as it could have been. No worries, I thought, I will figure it out later. I am a smart person. Plus Grandma is hurried and therefore I am hurried.
Finally last night I decided to put the recipe to the test.
I had acquired some gluten free lasagna noodles a couple weeks before but needed more ingredients. Since the local grocery by my house did not have affordable swiss cheese I decided to walk to the nearest Jewel over a mile away. No worries, it was nice out. Though I was nearing the end of my fasting day, I figured I would have the ability to accomplish my goals with reasonable clarity. Empty stomach, be damned.
And so I walked. I had the recipe card in my bag. I arrived at the store and the plethora of food immediately overwhelmed me. It was 5:00 pm and my last meal or drink was of course around 6am in the morning. I was very thirsty. Distractingly so. I wandered around for a bit in a haze and decided to start with sauce first. On my list it said: 18oz Tomato sauce and 1 can of tomatoes. I realized immediately what my mistake was. Because she was in a hurry and because she is my Grandma, I did not clarify with her what this meant. Did she mean spaghetti sauce (what my dad uses for his spinach lasagna) or ACTUAL tomato sauce? And what kind of tomatoes? Diced? Stewed? And what size? Turns out there are NO 18 oz cans of sauce anywhere in the store. Just 14.5 ounces, and 28 ounces. In both tomato sauce and spaghetti sauce. Being as famished as I was, this knocked me out for about 20 minutes, as I strolled up and down the aisle trying to remember what Grandma had told me.
I had once made the mistake of using tomato sauce instead of spaghetti sauce and it made a huge disappointing difference in my recipe. I did not want to do it again. But alas, I trusted my interpretation of my Grandma's recipe, ie. trusted my Grandma. Never mind that we may not speak the same cooking language. Where my dad would have been certain to clarify-'spaghetti' sauce vs 'tomato' sauce, I assumed Grandma would too. Even though they are two different people, not related by blood or anything.
I finally settled on 1 14.5 ounce diced tomatoes, 1 14.5 ounce can tomato sauce, and 1 8 ounce can of tomato sauce. Then I noticed something curious on my recipe card.
It said to stir until thickened. But stir what? I was to brown the meat. I knew that, with the cloves. But meat does not thicken. Nor does tomato sauce. I shrugged, unable and unwilling to figure it out but by this time so determined that this was going to happen that I marched on.
I grabbed the cheese in hurry, 8 oz of swiss, and a carton of cottage cheese. The carton was a guess too-since there was no size on the recipe card. I said a short prayer at that point, hoping this would at least be edible.
Then I slooped over to the meat counter, where they had pre-packaged meat in 1.5 lb packages and 3 lb packages. I needed 2 pounds. And it was expensive meat too-much more than the $2.19/lb at my local store. I was incapacitated for another 10 minutes as I debated on buying more than I needed at higher prices, or less than I needed at higher prices, OR walking that whole mile again and then some to the local store to get exactly what I needed at the right price (I am unemployed, you know).
I checked the meat counter at Jewel and they only had the $4.49/lb available to package at my choice. WAY too expensive. So I called it a day, and made my purchases and proceeded to walk to the other grocery store. By this time I was mortally thirsty and though I realized it was after 6pm and I could in fact, eat, I wanted to wait to get home and say prayers. It seemed so unceremonious to break down then and there...
After the stop at my local store I finally got home, said a quick prayer, ate a snack and drank some fluids and proceeded to COOK. I was excited. I counted out the 12 noodles I would need to layer the dish, and added 3 more noodles to the pot to boil. I browned the meat. Added the cloves and the tomatoes-deciding that this is what she meant by 'thickening'. Shredded the cheese. It was starting to smell a little, and not like Grandma's recipe. I knew with a fear, right then and there, I should have stuck with the spaghetti sauce and NOT the tomato sauce.
It was too late for that thought-I just hoped it would taste OK.
As I took out the brown rice noodles and began to layer them in the pan, I realized I has waited to long and the damn noodles were all breaking apart. Still I charged on-beginning my layering process with the meat and the cheese. Reached for the cottage cheese and opened the container and there were dark green spots in the cheese. 'Is this rotten?' I wondered. No-it was not rotten. It was cottage cheese with CHIVES in it. First of all, gross! Second of all, I can't believe I grabbed the wrong kind. I was halfway through this whole experience and I knew that chives would destroy the already failing lasagna beyond eating capacity.
So I threw on my shoes and literally ran 4 blocks BACK to the store and got another 'carton' of cheese and RAN back to my kitchen, where the rest of the noodles had already begun to stick. Then to my surprise, I ran out of noodles. My beautifully layered lasagna could only be partially layered. How does this happen? Can I not count? Wait, don't answer that. I finished the recipe best I could and popped it in the oven and prayed again that it would turn out. It was actually edible so I can't complain but I am glad I wasn't having anyone over.
The funny thing is you'd think I was very cranky in all this, but really it was more like I was in my own special comedy of errors. Although I was not laughing out loud, I was laughing in my heart.
But the thing I hungered for, the thing I fantasized about for months at a time, was her meat lasagna. I remember none of us kids could ever seem to get enough of it. By the time I graduated from college, the tradition of going to Grandma's had changed for me-I was living here in Chicago and would often be home in MN during that time, and my own parents and siblings were no longer too keen on going for various reasons.
Also, after Grandpa died, the gatherings themselves stopped happening, or were transferred to an aunt's house or something. I lost track, myself. But I had determined by this point, to get the recipe myself anyway. However, everytime I was around Grandma, I forgot to ask. Years went by and I kept forgetting. Until this past year, when she herself began to talk of death as though he were a welcome friend, I finally got around to asking. Morbid, I know, but it is what it is....
And so my Grandma, vibrant but slightly slower than she used to be, walked over to the cupboard and reached up and brought down a box. She pulled out the recipe and gave it to me to copy, but she was in a hurry to get somewhere and so stood over me as I copied it out. I wrote fast. And I interpreted, for the writing of the recipe was not as straight-forward as it could have been. No worries, I thought, I will figure it out later. I am a smart person. Plus Grandma is hurried and therefore I am hurried.
Finally last night I decided to put the recipe to the test.
I had acquired some gluten free lasagna noodles a couple weeks before but needed more ingredients. Since the local grocery by my house did not have affordable swiss cheese I decided to walk to the nearest Jewel over a mile away. No worries, it was nice out. Though I was nearing the end of my fasting day, I figured I would have the ability to accomplish my goals with reasonable clarity. Empty stomach, be damned.
And so I walked. I had the recipe card in my bag. I arrived at the store and the plethora of food immediately overwhelmed me. It was 5:00 pm and my last meal or drink was of course around 6am in the morning. I was very thirsty. Distractingly so. I wandered around for a bit in a haze and decided to start with sauce first. On my list it said: 18oz Tomato sauce and 1 can of tomatoes. I realized immediately what my mistake was. Because she was in a hurry and because she is my Grandma, I did not clarify with her what this meant. Did she mean spaghetti sauce (what my dad uses for his spinach lasagna) or ACTUAL tomato sauce? And what kind of tomatoes? Diced? Stewed? And what size? Turns out there are NO 18 oz cans of sauce anywhere in the store. Just 14.5 ounces, and 28 ounces. In both tomato sauce and spaghetti sauce. Being as famished as I was, this knocked me out for about 20 minutes, as I strolled up and down the aisle trying to remember what Grandma had told me.
I had once made the mistake of using tomato sauce instead of spaghetti sauce and it made a huge disappointing difference in my recipe. I did not want to do it again. But alas, I trusted my interpretation of my Grandma's recipe, ie. trusted my Grandma. Never mind that we may not speak the same cooking language. Where my dad would have been certain to clarify-'spaghetti' sauce vs 'tomato' sauce, I assumed Grandma would too. Even though they are two different people, not related by blood or anything.
I finally settled on 1 14.5 ounce diced tomatoes, 1 14.5 ounce can tomato sauce, and 1 8 ounce can of tomato sauce. Then I noticed something curious on my recipe card.
It said to stir until thickened. But stir what? I was to brown the meat. I knew that, with the cloves. But meat does not thicken. Nor does tomato sauce. I shrugged, unable and unwilling to figure it out but by this time so determined that this was going to happen that I marched on.
I grabbed the cheese in hurry, 8 oz of swiss, and a carton of cottage cheese. The carton was a guess too-since there was no size on the recipe card. I said a short prayer at that point, hoping this would at least be edible.
Then I slooped over to the meat counter, where they had pre-packaged meat in 1.5 lb packages and 3 lb packages. I needed 2 pounds. And it was expensive meat too-much more than the $2.19/lb at my local store. I was incapacitated for another 10 minutes as I debated on buying more than I needed at higher prices, or less than I needed at higher prices, OR walking that whole mile again and then some to the local store to get exactly what I needed at the right price (I am unemployed, you know).
I checked the meat counter at Jewel and they only had the $4.49/lb available to package at my choice. WAY too expensive. So I called it a day, and made my purchases and proceeded to walk to the other grocery store. By this time I was mortally thirsty and though I realized it was after 6pm and I could in fact, eat, I wanted to wait to get home and say prayers. It seemed so unceremonious to break down then and there...
After the stop at my local store I finally got home, said a quick prayer, ate a snack and drank some fluids and proceeded to COOK. I was excited. I counted out the 12 noodles I would need to layer the dish, and added 3 more noodles to the pot to boil. I browned the meat. Added the cloves and the tomatoes-deciding that this is what she meant by 'thickening'. Shredded the cheese. It was starting to smell a little, and not like Grandma's recipe. I knew with a fear, right then and there, I should have stuck with the spaghetti sauce and NOT the tomato sauce.
It was too late for that thought-I just hoped it would taste OK.
As I took out the brown rice noodles and began to layer them in the pan, I realized I has waited to long and the damn noodles were all breaking apart. Still I charged on-beginning my layering process with the meat and the cheese. Reached for the cottage cheese and opened the container and there were dark green spots in the cheese. 'Is this rotten?' I wondered. No-it was not rotten. It was cottage cheese with CHIVES in it. First of all, gross! Second of all, I can't believe I grabbed the wrong kind. I was halfway through this whole experience and I knew that chives would destroy the already failing lasagna beyond eating capacity.
So I threw on my shoes and literally ran 4 blocks BACK to the store and got another 'carton' of cheese and RAN back to my kitchen, where the rest of the noodles had already begun to stick. Then to my surprise, I ran out of noodles. My beautifully layered lasagna could only be partially layered. How does this happen? Can I not count? Wait, don't answer that. I finished the recipe best I could and popped it in the oven and prayed again that it would turn out. It was actually edible so I can't complain but I am glad I wasn't having anyone over.
The funny thing is you'd think I was very cranky in all this, but really it was more like I was in my own special comedy of errors. Although I was not laughing out loud, I was laughing in my heart.
On the Fast
It's the fourth day of the Fast and my prayers are ardent. Familiarity couples with newness to create a brand new Fast for me-one with more time for personal reflection and for waging new battles.
I hope by the end of this one the strength I search for has found me. I also wonder what to wear to the Naw-Ruz party?
I hope by the end of this one the strength I search for has found me. I also wonder what to wear to the Naw-Ruz party?
On Lost
For the last, what is it, five years(?), I have been told numerous times that I would LOOOOOVE the show Lost. I have listened to thrilled peers as they ponder and worry and wait with anticipation for new episodes. I'll admit, I was intrigued. And given the slightly (or greatly) supernatural nature of the show, I assumed what friends have about me, which is that I would love the show.
So finally a few months ago I began the Netflix journey. And here, a mere season and a half later, I am officially giving up. Well-acted? Why yes. Interesting? Why yes. Well-written? Well....while I think the plot lines are intriguing enough, maybe too much so, I absolutely hate the character development. It's a personal taste thing for me. I discovered a long time ago that I don't particularly enjoy watching people be bad. It doesn't not float my boat to watch deliciously evil people accidentally blowing heads off of young men sitting in the back seat of a car, nor does it ever make me happy when the bad guys win.
So when you take Lost, where bad is good is bad turns bad-it just frustrates and irritates me.
For example, when you begin to imply that a group of people who would steal children and hang people from trees are possibly 'good' or redeemable, or you have a terribly immature and bitter father to kill two innocent people and serve 5 others up for slaughter all in the name of saving his son then you have completely lost me.
The reason why I have always loved science fiction and fantasy is because it always presented interesting opportunities to test the true capacity or capability of man to overcome his base/animal nature to grow in his virtues, the things that make him or her essentially human and different. In other words, I like when you take an unbelievable situation and create a character who was believable, and experiement with how that character then reacts to that situation.
But what you have with this show is a bunch of people who to me, are not believeable.
For example, an African-American woman who would be a part of a group that would kidnap a child and torture a father for no reason other than they can and it's interesting is...unbelievable. Call me naive on that one-but so many things are unbelievable in the natures of the characters in this story. I could go through and list a bunch but it would take too long. I understand they are trying to build some of that unbelievability into the 'lore' of the island, that perhaps the 'island' brought this mix of truly effed-up individuals, killers, addicts, dishonest and pathetically victimized individuals together, for a reason. But to me I would much rather watch a bunch of folks mired in depravity IMPROVE their character rather than fall deeper into it while people keep dying left and right.
And that is just me and my taste. I like to watch things that make me feel good, things that horrify me without redemption. Other people are different. That's cool. There is a small chance that I could watch through all 7(?) seasons and find that redemption, but I don't want to, because if it is not there, I will be even more frustrated.
So finally a few months ago I began the Netflix journey. And here, a mere season and a half later, I am officially giving up. Well-acted? Why yes. Interesting? Why yes. Well-written? Well....while I think the plot lines are intriguing enough, maybe too much so, I absolutely hate the character development. It's a personal taste thing for me. I discovered a long time ago that I don't particularly enjoy watching people be bad. It doesn't not float my boat to watch deliciously evil people accidentally blowing heads off of young men sitting in the back seat of a car, nor does it ever make me happy when the bad guys win.
So when you take Lost, where bad is good is bad turns bad-it just frustrates and irritates me.
For example, when you begin to imply that a group of people who would steal children and hang people from trees are possibly 'good' or redeemable, or you have a terribly immature and bitter father to kill two innocent people and serve 5 others up for slaughter all in the name of saving his son then you have completely lost me.
The reason why I have always loved science fiction and fantasy is because it always presented interesting opportunities to test the true capacity or capability of man to overcome his base/animal nature to grow in his virtues, the things that make him or her essentially human and different. In other words, I like when you take an unbelievable situation and create a character who was believable, and experiement with how that character then reacts to that situation.
But what you have with this show is a bunch of people who to me, are not believeable.
For example, an African-American woman who would be a part of a group that would kidnap a child and torture a father for no reason other than they can and it's interesting is...unbelievable. Call me naive on that one-but so many things are unbelievable in the natures of the characters in this story. I could go through and list a bunch but it would take too long. I understand they are trying to build some of that unbelievability into the 'lore' of the island, that perhaps the 'island' brought this mix of truly effed-up individuals, killers, addicts, dishonest and pathetically victimized individuals together, for a reason. But to me I would much rather watch a bunch of folks mired in depravity IMPROVE their character rather than fall deeper into it while people keep dying left and right.
And that is just me and my taste. I like to watch things that make me feel good, things that horrify me without redemption. Other people are different. That's cool. There is a small chance that I could watch through all 7(?) seasons and find that redemption, but I don't want to, because if it is not there, I will be even more frustrated.
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