Our plane, returning from Tokyo, landed on the tarmac yesterday morning around 10:00 am. Since we left on the same date at 4:15pm, and were airborne for several hours, we actually gained time. Kind of. If time on an international flight counts for anything.
I can do a travel blog type post later. The weather was hot. The city was crowded, but clean. And Japanese is completely foreign. But we had a very nice trip.
On Monday, I first visited the woman who invited me, and her Japanese colleague, at the Tokyo Institute of Technology. After a morning of work, they took me to their favorite soba shop near campus. Soba is a kind of noodle. It was served with dipping sauce and a bowl of rice and topping, along with miso soup and various pickled vegetables. On our walk over, I confessed that since arriving Saturday night, I hadn't really eaten any good Japanese food. They told me that for lunch, we would change that.
I never would have known the tiny shop was a restaurant. I think the flag-like banners hanging over the door indicate this fact to those who read the language. The menu was completely in Japanese, which is somewhat unusual -- usually the prices are written in familiar arabic numerals.
My hosts tried to translate the menu for me. They would look at a dish, begin translating, then read a few words back and forth in Japanese together, trying to decide on a word that would help me understand what I might choose to eat. After they had given it their best shot, I told them I would trust their judgment, and have what they were having.
The woman said she would have the dish with... what was that? ... Sardines eggs. Very good. I cringed a bit.
The man said he would have the dish just above it. Some sort of fish and vegetables with rice. That sounded a little more tame for my American pallet. I asked him to please order the same for me.
When the meals came, the woman had her bowl of rice stacked with small pink balls. Sardines eggs.
Mine, identical to my colleague's, consisted of some sort of flaked fish around the sides of the bowl, surrounding a beautifully raw egg. Staring up at me with its giant yellow eyeball.
Um. He didn't mention the raw egg.
My colleague stirred his up into scrambled eggs and fish and rice. I copied. Scrambled like that, stirred into the rice, it wasn't quite as slimy and inedible as a single raw egg eyeball. I was able to eat most of it. And it wasn't bad. And I do like miso soup. Yummy.
Later that afternoon, after a few more hours of hard work, the woman suggested we try a new sweets shop near the train station. That sounded like a nice break, so we followed her there.
This shop was very clearly selling food. Like many Tokyo establishments, they had pictures of their menu items outside the entrance, so one could see what one could purchase before entering.
It was a hot hot day, 35 C and very humid, and so I said I'd like a shaved ice. My colleagues recommended I try the traditional Japanese flavor. Red bean and sticky rice balls. A little more skeptical, but still willing, I ordered the red bean shaved ice. The woman ordered the same thing, only with extra green tea flavoring. The man ordered fruit and ice cream.
When I received my shaved ice, it was a small bowl filled with beans and a sticky rice ball, with plain shaved ice stacked twice its height on top. Plain shaved ice. So a big pile of snow, on top of red beans and sticky rice balls. I wish I had a camera. But I did not. So you will have to imagine.
Imagine me, eating plain snow down the side, scooping a bit of red bean to go with it. And it tasted just like ... red bean. I know the Japanese think red beans are sweet. But to me, they are an ingredient in savory dishes like chili. Or Mexican food. And they are not eaten plain.
The sticky rice balls were made of rice flour, but did not resemble rice. They were very very chewy. I popped one in my mouth and chewed and chewed and chewed. Very slimy. Unsweetened, except for the red bean. And so I chewed and chewed and chewed.
After about four more bites of the red bean and rice balls, I realized I was going to begin gagging if I ate any more, which is not polite to do in front of your wonderful hosts. And so I finished eating all the plain snow off the top of the dessert, and picked at the beans while I could.
"You don't like it?" asked my hosts.
"Oh, it's very good," I said. "It's just very filling."
At which they smiled at each other and said something to each other in Japanese. ("She totally hates it." "Oh well, it was fun to watch her try.")
Dear traveler, watch out for red beans in your sweet food in Japan. It's very disappointing to think you'll be eating chocolate chips, and then biting in....
Aside from the red bean shaved ice, I found the food to be good. I ate sushi, sashimi. Ramen from a ramen shop. Rice bowls and chicken and a very delicious steak one evening. Very delicious. Something that ended up tasting just like beef stew another lunch hour. Tempura -- deep fried fish and eel and vegetables -- with rice. And lots of miso soup. Soup with every meal. Salad and rice for breakfast, along with western choices like yogurt and bread at our hotel. Once a very fishy breakfast fish. Hm.
I was always the last to finish, among my Japanese colleagues. I am not quite as expert with chopsticks as they are. But I survived.
You hear? I survived.
How long do you think it takes for symptoms of salmonella to appear if they are to appear? I'm assuming that after nearly a week, I'm safe.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Ill in the time of Google
Lisa gave me a large bag of garden grown tomatoes, and I had been devouring them voraciously, with no concern for consequences.
By Thursday, I had developed a canker sore on my cheek. That night, it hurt when I brushed my back tooth. I decided I'd better lay off the tomatoes for a while.
Friday morning my gums were swollen double their usual size, my body was wracked with chills and aches all up and down my legs and back. I tried to go to work as usual, but found myself curled into a ball on the floor while speaking on a conference call. I gave up.
After sitting on hold for five minutes with the dentist, I scheduled an appointment with a doctor. Then looked up "swollen gums" on Google.
Possible causes.
1. Allergic to toothpaste. No. I've been using this brand for years.
2. Poor dental hygiene. No. I floss religiously.
3. Diabetes. Oh no. I will never get to eat sweets again. How will I survive?
4. Mercury poisoning. Aack! It must be my new steel water bottle. Soon my hair will start falling out!
5. Leukemia. Goodbye cruel world.
I got to the doctor's office, and an annoyed looking assistant weighed me and took my blood pressure, ignoring all my attempts at small talk. She put me in an examining room. And I sat there. For 45 minutes. Aching, headache, chills and fever. Just an examining table and hard wooden chairs. After 30 minutes, I decided I'd leave. After 35 minutes, I decided that was enough, I'd leave. After 40 minutes, I was going to leave. After 45 minutes, I stood up, hesitated in front of the door. Should I leave?
Just then the doctor entered.
Looked at the swollen gums. Let me talk about symptoms. Felt my giant tumor of a lymph node.
"Since it's the weekend, I'll prescribe an antibiotic to kill off any bacteria affecting your gums. If you aren't better in five days, call your dentist. I'm sure you'll be better in five days."
And that was it. Less than five minutes.
Got my antibiotic, came home and went to bed.
Got up around dinner time and tried to eat bland mash. Body ached too much to sit for it. Took Advil and went back to bed.
This morning the body doesn't ache as much, but the gums look worse. And hurt. A lot.
Back to Google.
Consequences of severe swollen gums.
1. Loss of teeth and bone. Oh I will look ugly. And have to eat bland mash forever.
2. Heart disease.
3. Death. Goodbye, cruel world.
Or -
Maybe -
Maybe I have something called gingivostomatitis? Fever, swelling, aches, giant tumorous lymph nodes in the neck and jaw. And sores all over the mouth and gums. Hey, that kind of sounds like me.
"In healthy individuals the lesions heal spontaneously in 7-14 days without a scar."
Healthy aside from a giant swollen mouth and the aches and fever, apparently.
In two days I'm supposed to start teaching again.
In six days I'm supposed to get on a plane to Tokyo.
In fourteen days I'm supposed to be back home.
I can't think of a better way to spend the next 14 days than with my friends the lesions.
And the very very worst most miserable part of all this? All those extra delicious garden ripe tomatoes, now in my fridge, which I cannot eat. *Sob*. I will have to can them.
By Thursday, I had developed a canker sore on my cheek. That night, it hurt when I brushed my back tooth. I decided I'd better lay off the tomatoes for a while.
Friday morning my gums were swollen double their usual size, my body was wracked with chills and aches all up and down my legs and back. I tried to go to work as usual, but found myself curled into a ball on the floor while speaking on a conference call. I gave up.
After sitting on hold for five minutes with the dentist, I scheduled an appointment with a doctor. Then looked up "swollen gums" on Google.
Possible causes.
1. Allergic to toothpaste. No. I've been using this brand for years.
2. Poor dental hygiene. No. I floss religiously.
3. Diabetes. Oh no. I will never get to eat sweets again. How will I survive?
4. Mercury poisoning. Aack! It must be my new steel water bottle. Soon my hair will start falling out!
5. Leukemia. Goodbye cruel world.
I got to the doctor's office, and an annoyed looking assistant weighed me and took my blood pressure, ignoring all my attempts at small talk. She put me in an examining room. And I sat there. For 45 minutes. Aching, headache, chills and fever. Just an examining table and hard wooden chairs. After 30 minutes, I decided I'd leave. After 35 minutes, I decided that was enough, I'd leave. After 40 minutes, I was going to leave. After 45 minutes, I stood up, hesitated in front of the door. Should I leave?
Just then the doctor entered.
Looked at the swollen gums. Let me talk about symptoms. Felt my giant tumor of a lymph node.
"Since it's the weekend, I'll prescribe an antibiotic to kill off any bacteria affecting your gums. If you aren't better in five days, call your dentist. I'm sure you'll be better in five days."
And that was it. Less than five minutes.
Got my antibiotic, came home and went to bed.
Got up around dinner time and tried to eat bland mash. Body ached too much to sit for it. Took Advil and went back to bed.
This morning the body doesn't ache as much, but the gums look worse. And hurt. A lot.
Back to Google.
Consequences of severe swollen gums.
1. Loss of teeth and bone. Oh I will look ugly. And have to eat bland mash forever.
2. Heart disease.
3. Death. Goodbye, cruel world.
Or -
Maybe -
Maybe I have something called gingivostomatitis? Fever, swelling, aches, giant tumorous lymph nodes in the neck and jaw. And sores all over the mouth and gums. Hey, that kind of sounds like me.
"In healthy individuals the lesions heal spontaneously in 7-14 days without a scar."
Healthy aside from a giant swollen mouth and the aches and fever, apparently.
In two days I'm supposed to start teaching again.
In six days I'm supposed to get on a plane to Tokyo.
In fourteen days I'm supposed to be back home.
I can't think of a better way to spend the next 14 days than with my friends the lesions.
And the very very worst most miserable part of all this? All those extra delicious garden ripe tomatoes, now in my fridge, which I cannot eat. *Sob*. I will have to can them.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Modified lessons from church
Think of the word Satisfaction.
I would like more satisfaction with my life. Who wouldn't?
What do I need to do to get more satisfaction?
Look at the last six letters of the word Satisfaction. They spell Action.
Now throw those six letters away. Throw away three more letters while you are at it.
What are you left with? That's right. Sat.
I think if I sat around more regularly, I would feel more satisfied with life.
****
While we are playing with letters, I want you to note that there is no I in Team.
But there is me in Team. In fact, without me, the team would just be ta. As in, ta ta, team.
Which, I suppose, must mean that I am the most important part of the Team after all. Which is what I suspected all along.
****
What games do you play during church lessons?
I would like more satisfaction with my life. Who wouldn't?
What do I need to do to get more satisfaction?
Look at the last six letters of the word Satisfaction. They spell Action.
Now throw those six letters away. Throw away three more letters while you are at it.
What are you left with? That's right. Sat.
I think if I sat around more regularly, I would feel more satisfied with life.
****
While we are playing with letters, I want you to note that there is no I in Team.
But there is me in Team. In fact, without me, the team would just be ta. As in, ta ta, team.
Which, I suppose, must mean that I am the most important part of the Team after all. Which is what I suspected all along.
****
What games do you play during church lessons?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Concert in the park with loopy parents
Actual excerpts from conversations that occurred between 6:35 pm and 8:30 pm on Monday, August 16, 2010.
The cast of characters: My father, whom we shall call Earl. My mother, whom we shall call Ace. My son, Jonathan. Myself.
The event: A concert in the park that my parents read about in the newspaper, and decided to invite us to attend. Basque dancing and bagpipes. One issue: It didn't start until after Jonathan's bedtime. I initially told Jonathan no, we weren't going. But then Earl talked it up so much, and got so excited about it, that Jonathan begged to go. So we went.
**** Excerpts from Earl ****
Earl (in the car): I'm not actually that excited about the dancing. It's too bad they have dancing first.
Earl (listening to announcements): They do this every Monday? Why haven't we come before? This is really neat.
Earl: I don't actually like bagpipes. Don't you think they all sound the same?
Earl (minutes later): Should we go now?
Earl (next song): Let's go. We should go.
Earl (next song): Let's get out of here.
Earl (next song): Let's go. Don't you think we should go?
Earl (while packing up at the end, speaking to unknown lady next to him): I hear they do this every week. Have you ever been to one of these before?
(Lady: Every week.)
Earl: Oh yeah? This is really neat. We should go every week, too.
Earl (lady has left, now packing up his chair): Bagpipe songs really all sound the same.
**** Excerpts from Ace ****
Ace (walking toward the park): Do you hear the bagpipes? Isn't this fun?
Ace (as we arrive, dancers are dancing to the melody of a whistle and drum): Are those the only instruments they use? It's going to get a little old.
(We watch the dancing for a while. They finish.)
Ace: Let's have the bagpipes now. It's time for the bagpipes.
(Pipe band arrives and starts playing a tune.)
Ace: Oh! I know this song! Hum hum hum hum... something about the moon. Oh it's too bad Daniel isn't here. He would know all the words... hum hum hum ... on the moon... hum hum.
(next song)
Ace: This song isn't very interesting. Why don't they play something more familiar?
(next song)
Ace: I wish they would play something familiar.
(next song)
Ace: Oh a march! This should be better.
(later)
Ace: I don't like this. Why don't they play something we know?
Ace: This isn't very pretty.
(...)
(Last song)
Ace: Oh this is more like it... hum hum hum... This is the one they played in that movie. Ooo this is really pretty. Hum hum hum. Isn't this nice? Hum hum hum.... It's too bad they didn't play more familiar songs the rest of the concert. Hum hum hum....
(Packing up afterwords)
Ace: Isn't this neat? Let's go next week. Won't it be fun?
****
Me (walking back toward the car when the event was over): Do you two ever listen to yourselves talk?
The cast of characters: My father, whom we shall call Earl. My mother, whom we shall call Ace. My son, Jonathan. Myself.
The event: A concert in the park that my parents read about in the newspaper, and decided to invite us to attend. Basque dancing and bagpipes. One issue: It didn't start until after Jonathan's bedtime. I initially told Jonathan no, we weren't going. But then Earl talked it up so much, and got so excited about it, that Jonathan begged to go. So we went.
**** Excerpts from Earl ****
Earl (in the car): I'm not actually that excited about the dancing. It's too bad they have dancing first.
Earl (listening to announcements): They do this every Monday? Why haven't we come before? This is really neat.
Earl: I don't actually like bagpipes. Don't you think they all sound the same?
Earl (minutes later): Should we go now?
Earl (next song): Let's go. We should go.
Earl (next song): Let's get out of here.
Earl (next song): Let's go. Don't you think we should go?
Earl (while packing up at the end, speaking to unknown lady next to him): I hear they do this every week. Have you ever been to one of these before?
(Lady: Every week.)
Earl: Oh yeah? This is really neat. We should go every week, too.
Earl (lady has left, now packing up his chair): Bagpipe songs really all sound the same.
**** Excerpts from Ace ****
Ace (walking toward the park): Do you hear the bagpipes? Isn't this fun?
Ace (as we arrive, dancers are dancing to the melody of a whistle and drum): Are those the only instruments they use? It's going to get a little old.
(We watch the dancing for a while. They finish.)
Ace: Let's have the bagpipes now. It's time for the bagpipes.
(Pipe band arrives and starts playing a tune.)
Ace: Oh! I know this song! Hum hum hum hum... something about the moon. Oh it's too bad Daniel isn't here. He would know all the words... hum hum hum ... on the moon... hum hum.
(next song)
Ace: This song isn't very interesting. Why don't they play something more familiar?
(next song)
Ace: I wish they would play something familiar.
(next song)
Ace: Oh a march! This should be better.
(later)
Ace: I don't like this. Why don't they play something we know?
Ace: This isn't very pretty.
(...)
(Last song)
Ace: Oh this is more like it... hum hum hum... This is the one they played in that movie. Ooo this is really pretty. Hum hum hum. Isn't this nice? Hum hum hum.... It's too bad they didn't play more familiar songs the rest of the concert. Hum hum hum....
(Packing up afterwords)
Ace: Isn't this neat? Let's go next week. Won't it be fun?
****
Me (walking back toward the car when the event was over): Do you two ever listen to yourselves talk?
Friday, August 13, 2010
Recent events
On Sunday, Jonathan gave his first talk in primary. He did a very nice job. He was fearless, needing no help from mom and dad. He spoke clearly and carefully. But listening to him speak with his little lisp, I kept thinking about how young he really is. He is so tall for his age, and so clever, with his own funny little personality, that I sometimes forget what a little guy he is.
*Aww* Tender mom moment.
Spanish is over for the summer as of today. Jonathan loved his Spanish class all summer long, and he learned a huge amount. He was putting lots of words into sentences, communicating with friends and teachers all in Spanish all after just 2.5 months. I am super impressed. In fact, I keep going back and forth on the idea of taking him back to their after school class twice a week to maintain what he has learned. But then I remember I would have to leave work early twice a week, pick him up in the car, and drive north a long ways. More commuting by car in our lives. So I think we'll go without, at least for a little while.
This means, of course, that I will no longer be spending my afternoons in the public library. I'm out of afternoons. I have a research conference next week in the city over the mountain, and then university meetings the following week, and then classes start.
*Sigh*. What happened to the summer?
It is melting into a blur of raspberries, apricots, and apples. And a new, massive, food dehydrator that we bought online a couple of weeks ago (which has been running pretty much nonstop). Apricots make yummy fruit rolls.
*Aww* Tender mom moment.
Spanish is over for the summer as of today. Jonathan loved his Spanish class all summer long, and he learned a huge amount. He was putting lots of words into sentences, communicating with friends and teachers all in Spanish all after just 2.5 months. I am super impressed. In fact, I keep going back and forth on the idea of taking him back to their after school class twice a week to maintain what he has learned. But then I remember I would have to leave work early twice a week, pick him up in the car, and drive north a long ways. More commuting by car in our lives. So I think we'll go without, at least for a little while.
This means, of course, that I will no longer be spending my afternoons in the public library. I'm out of afternoons. I have a research conference next week in the city over the mountain, and then university meetings the following week, and then classes start.
*Sigh*. What happened to the summer?
It is melting into a blur of raspberries, apricots, and apples. And a new, massive, food dehydrator that we bought online a couple of weeks ago (which has been running pretty much nonstop). Apricots make yummy fruit rolls.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
On buying and living in a home
Letterpress put up a post on her blog, directing to a New York Times article, that I found so fascinating I have decided to turn my comment into a post.
The article argues that until very recently (this year), homes seemed to have been built and remodeled solely with resale in mind. Which appliances will attract the buyer? Vaulted ceilings and granite countertops. And bigger is always better.
Maybe that's why we had such a hard time finding a house. We were looking for a house to live in, not to sell. Of course, those of you who know our home buying story will be surprised. We bought our house sight unseen off the internet. What do we mean, hard to find? But it was one of a kind.
When we were looking for a home in 2008, we were looking purely for "livability" factors. Top priority: within walking distance of the places we need to be. By 2008, Tim and I had lived five years in campus housing, where everything was walkable, followed by three years in a beautiful newer home in commuter land, where I found myself stuck on a freeway for 30 minutes at a time, mornings and evenings, listening to children's music ad infinitum with a toddler in the back seat. From there, we moved to England for a year and did not buy a car.
Going a whole year without a car was tough. There were days when it was raining diagonally, I had a massive migraine, and yet Jonathan was at school a mile away and needed to be picked up. Bundled in my coat and overcoat, I grumbled to myself that these were the days that everyone else gave up their exercise routine. We didn't let ourselves have the choice.
But in spite of those diagonal rain days, we found we were overall healthier. We ate all the double cream that we wanted with no affect to our waistlines. We spent time together. Every day Tim and I walked and talked and laughed. Down the hill, through the park, to the preschool. Back across the park, and up the hill. Thirty minutes of walking rather than 30 minutes on I-35. What a difference.
We needed a home within walking distance of the places we needed to be. Number one priority.
The second thing we were looking for was a relatively small home. About half way through our year in England, we were shocked to realize that our house there was about the perfect size for our family. Permanently. There was a medium sized kitchen on the first floor, a master bedroom and living room on the second, Jonathan's bedroom and an office on the third. It was a typical mid-row house in a working middle-class neighborhood. It was all we could afford on my postdoctoral salary and a brutal pound-dollar exchange rate, and significantly smaller than working middle-class homes in Texas. But halfway through the year, we realized the space was perfect. Each room was used regularly. No space was wasted. No space was too tight. Cleaning took a couple of hours. That was it.
Looking for homes here in the mountains, the newer homes with the better wiring were over 40,000 square feet. Each. One. Of. Them. There are only three of us. Who was going to clean those extra 30,000 square feet? Who was going to heat the vaulted ceilings? While we really wanted the most modern electrical systems that money could buy, we couldn't justify purchasing all that wasted space. In the end, the house we found had all those England rooms on the first floor, plus a bonus basement. The basement has been nice. It's nice to have a guest bedroom for the occasional guest. It's nice to have a large playroom and a separate laundry and storage room. But we really don't use it as much as the first floor. I can't understand why families like ours would want 40,000 square feet.
Location, size. Price. And a garage was also a make or break deal here where it snows a lot.
We found a house that was perfect. It needed new electrical work, some modernization of the windows and decor, a new kitchen, new bathrooms. But we bought them for ourselves, for livability. Solid surface in the bathrooms -- no more scraping black out of tile grout. Solid surface countertops in the kitchen -- no sealing granite or stone, or chipping formica. Extra lighting in the living room where we would be reading. French doors opening to the back yard where we would be... um... apparently picking fruit.
And I love it. I really really love living here in this home. The colors, the lighting, the ease of cleaning. Riding my bike to the library. Walking to work. Dropping Jonathan off at school on foot. Neighbors and fruit trees and community. I hope it is years before we need to find out the resale value of this home. Because I want to live here longer.
The article argues that until very recently (this year), homes seemed to have been built and remodeled solely with resale in mind. Which appliances will attract the buyer? Vaulted ceilings and granite countertops. And bigger is always better.
Maybe that's why we had such a hard time finding a house. We were looking for a house to live in, not to sell. Of course, those of you who know our home buying story will be surprised. We bought our house sight unseen off the internet. What do we mean, hard to find? But it was one of a kind.
When we were looking for a home in 2008, we were looking purely for "livability" factors. Top priority: within walking distance of the places we need to be. By 2008, Tim and I had lived five years in campus housing, where everything was walkable, followed by three years in a beautiful newer home in commuter land, where I found myself stuck on a freeway for 30 minutes at a time, mornings and evenings, listening to children's music ad infinitum with a toddler in the back seat. From there, we moved to England for a year and did not buy a car.
Going a whole year without a car was tough. There were days when it was raining diagonally, I had a massive migraine, and yet Jonathan was at school a mile away and needed to be picked up. Bundled in my coat and overcoat, I grumbled to myself that these were the days that everyone else gave up their exercise routine. We didn't let ourselves have the choice.
But in spite of those diagonal rain days, we found we were overall healthier. We ate all the double cream that we wanted with no affect to our waistlines. We spent time together. Every day Tim and I walked and talked and laughed. Down the hill, through the park, to the preschool. Back across the park, and up the hill. Thirty minutes of walking rather than 30 minutes on I-35. What a difference.
We needed a home within walking distance of the places we needed to be. Number one priority.
The second thing we were looking for was a relatively small home. About half way through our year in England, we were shocked to realize that our house there was about the perfect size for our family. Permanently. There was a medium sized kitchen on the first floor, a master bedroom and living room on the second, Jonathan's bedroom and an office on the third. It was a typical mid-row house in a working middle-class neighborhood. It was all we could afford on my postdoctoral salary and a brutal pound-dollar exchange rate, and significantly smaller than working middle-class homes in Texas. But halfway through the year, we realized the space was perfect. Each room was used regularly. No space was wasted. No space was too tight. Cleaning took a couple of hours. That was it.
Looking for homes here in the mountains, the newer homes with the better wiring were over 40,000 square feet. Each. One. Of. Them. There are only three of us. Who was going to clean those extra 30,000 square feet? Who was going to heat the vaulted ceilings? While we really wanted the most modern electrical systems that money could buy, we couldn't justify purchasing all that wasted space. In the end, the house we found had all those England rooms on the first floor, plus a bonus basement. The basement has been nice. It's nice to have a guest bedroom for the occasional guest. It's nice to have a large playroom and a separate laundry and storage room. But we really don't use it as much as the first floor. I can't understand why families like ours would want 40,000 square feet.
Location, size. Price. And a garage was also a make or break deal here where it snows a lot.
We found a house that was perfect. It needed new electrical work, some modernization of the windows and decor, a new kitchen, new bathrooms. But we bought them for ourselves, for livability. Solid surface in the bathrooms -- no more scraping black out of tile grout. Solid surface countertops in the kitchen -- no sealing granite or stone, or chipping formica. Extra lighting in the living room where we would be reading. French doors opening to the back yard where we would be... um... apparently picking fruit.
And I love it. I really really love living here in this home. The colors, the lighting, the ease of cleaning. Riding my bike to the library. Walking to work. Dropping Jonathan off at school on foot. Neighbors and fruit trees and community. I hope it is years before we need to find out the resale value of this home. Because I want to live here longer.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Making jam
I am making jam.
Right now I am making jam.
Na-now-NOW! I'm making it.
The instructions said let it sit for 30 minutes, stirring every 5 minutes. So I set an alarm for 5 minutes. When it goes off I get up and stir and then reset the alarm. When I have gotten up 6 times, the 30 minutes will be over and I can add the sugar.
That's what the instructions say.
Only they didn't say 6 times. I figured that out myself.
That's mathematics, by the way.
I have already gotten up to stir several times.
I think maybe 4 times?
Actually, after the 3rd time I forgot to reset the alarm, and I read two email messages and sent one to my mom before I realized I had no timer.
Do you think reading two messages and writing one to my mom took five minutes? I am thinking it probably did.
Probably.
Which means I'm almost done?
Actually, I have lost count on how many times I've stirred the jam.
What do you think happens if you stir too many times?
And what does a "finely chopped" apricot look like?
I guess I'll figure both of those things out by the end of the night. Or at least over the course of a year when eating jam.
One thing about jam, it doesn't really use that much fruit. You add 3 cups of fruit, but 5.5 cups of sweetener (sugar and corn syrup). So that's nearly 2/3 sugar, 1/3 fruit.
Which means even after tonight, even after making jam, I will still have a tree full of apricots --
'scuze me -- 5 minute alarm.
I'm back. I'm calling this the 6th alarm this next time, so I can finish.
Cousin Lisa came and helped pick three grocery bags of apricots. You can barely tell. So my offer still stands -- come and pick and help yourself to apricots.
My jam-making relatives bailed on me. They were going to come today and pick and then make some jam, but Peggy looked in her freezer and realized she already had more jam than she could use from the same tree, two years ago.
So I'm making my own jam.
Right na-now-NOW!
(Making jam is kind of boring.)
Right now I am making jam.
Na-now-NOW! I'm making it.
The instructions said let it sit for 30 minutes, stirring every 5 minutes. So I set an alarm for 5 minutes. When it goes off I get up and stir and then reset the alarm. When I have gotten up 6 times, the 30 minutes will be over and I can add the sugar.
That's what the instructions say.
Only they didn't say 6 times. I figured that out myself.
That's mathematics, by the way.
I have already gotten up to stir several times.
I think maybe 4 times?
Actually, after the 3rd time I forgot to reset the alarm, and I read two email messages and sent one to my mom before I realized I had no timer.
Do you think reading two messages and writing one to my mom took five minutes? I am thinking it probably did.
Probably.
Which means I'm almost done?
Actually, I have lost count on how many times I've stirred the jam.
What do you think happens if you stir too many times?
And what does a "finely chopped" apricot look like?
I guess I'll figure both of those things out by the end of the night. Or at least over the course of a year when eating jam.
One thing about jam, it doesn't really use that much fruit. You add 3 cups of fruit, but 5.5 cups of sweetener (sugar and corn syrup). So that's nearly 2/3 sugar, 1/3 fruit.
Which means even after tonight, even after making jam, I will still have a tree full of apricots --
'scuze me -- 5 minute alarm.
I'm back. I'm calling this the 6th alarm this next time, so I can finish.
Cousin Lisa came and helped pick three grocery bags of apricots. You can barely tell. So my offer still stands -- come and pick and help yourself to apricots.
My jam-making relatives bailed on me. They were going to come today and pick and then make some jam, but Peggy looked in her freezer and realized she already had more jam than she could use from the same tree, two years ago.
So I'm making my own jam.
Right na-now-NOW!
(Making jam is kind of boring.)
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