what makes the difference?

Elizabeth over at The Occidental Idiot is a friend and inspiration, and we’ve been exchanging blog prompts for a while – though it’s been a while since the last time. This time around, the topic is “What makes the difference?” Interpretation up to me. So I’m going to take it in small chunks and diverse subjects. Feel free to weigh in on “what makes the difference” in your own experiences in the comments!

Between humor and awkwardness?

Humor is largely dependent on environment and certain ‘x’ factors, things beyond any one person’s control. After all, a good, humorous situation involves an interaction. One person has to say something or do something or record something (film, etc.) that elicits a favorable and amused reaction. When they don’t quite hit the mark, there’s the classic awkward moment, which often seems to stretch off into eternity. I think there are several things which can make the difference, but the most important is an open mind on both sides of the interaction. A willingness to be entertained. It is VERY hard to get a laugh out of a person if they’re not open to it. I mean, I know stand-up comedians do it all the time, but most of their repertoire is based on shock tactics, and they are, after all, professionals.

Whereas in my case, for example, it’s all about self-deprecation and extreme goofiness. If I can’t communicate well enough to make fun of some of my extremely odd characteristics (and I do have them, be warned!), then I tend to revert to slapstick. I’ll purposely run into walls or doors or street signs. I will ask strangers intimate questions and make silly faces or start dancing. I will be an absolute fool. But none of that is effective if the audience is completely depressed or badly drunk or unresponsive. It’s moments like those when I eventually subside into an awkward silence and give up. And then I spend quite a bit of time re-hashing the whole thing in my head to try and discover where it went wrong and why I couldn’t get a laugh. I do so love to get a laugh…

Between cheesy and genuinely entertaining?

I am easily delighted. Bright colors put together, a wondrous story, a fantastical imagination – these all entertain me. But there is a difference (quite noticeable) between cheesy and entertaining. For purposes of brevity, let’s limit this to…films. Cheesy: overdone, badly acted, unbelievable situations, missing segues, improbable dialogue in impossible situations, distasteful humor. Genuinely entertaining: cleverness, brilliant cinematography or set design, characters with whom I can identify, a hint of the bizarre, the unexpected made believable, and surprises that don’t immediately strike me as cliché. Examples: The Brothers Bloom, Charlotte Gray, Gosford Park, A Very Long Engagement, Stardust.

Between buying and not buying?

Intuition. Compulsion. Emotional state. Anticipation. Planning. Price tag. Perceived worthiness or value. Need. Presentation and packaging. I can’t nail it down…it’s all of those things together.

Between competition and apathy?

I think there are a couple of different things that contribute to a competitive spirit versus an apathetic one. a) Stake in the outcome. Is it important to my physical, emotional, spiritual, mental well-being that I win or compete? If so, there’s your answer. If you don’t even ask yourself this question…well… b) General character and personality. How do you deal with conflict? An avoider may choose to cease competing or actively seek activities where competition is uneccessary. c) Level of energy. A generally competitive person may act out of character out of extreme exhaustion. I'm just saying...it could happen!

And that is all. What makes the difference for you?

why cherry, apple & peach mini-tarts make me happy

Elizabeth (from the Occidental Idiot) and I have been trading writing prompts, and her latest for me was: Food... What are some ways it's more than nutrition? What is the significance of making and sharing food (for you)?

I’ve actually just baked, so I think that I’m in a pretty good mind-frame to answer the question. Or perhaps just to get started on the topic, and share a recipe in the process. Let’s start with food. Of course its obvious purpose is as fuel for the body. It’s what provides your body with essential nutrients and energy to stay alive. But what is it besides and beyond simply nourishment?

Food is a joy, when it is well prepared. It’s a delicious taste, pleasure on the tongue, a wonderful feeling in the belly. It’s the aroma of cooking, stewing, melting, and freshly-split-open fruits of the earth. It’s savory, sweet, bitter, sour, creamy, vinegary goodness. In short, it’s delight. But beyond just the experience of eating, food is about community. Whenever food appears it brings people together for enjoyment and meeting of needs. It also signifies time and energy and purpose: someone prepared the food.

I prepare food for many reasons. To feed myself, for stress relief, to share and provide for others, and to amuse myself. I love baking, especially. There’s something about the smell of spices in the air, the challenge of trying a new recipe, the process of kneading and shaping and getting traces of vanilla under your nails or worked into you skin so that later in the day, you still smell like a delectable concoction. It’s not entirely sensible, but it completely engages the senses. It is primal, pleasurable, care-giving and art-making. It is therapy, it is natural, and it is a way to relate to people.

Of course, gathering and eating with friends, family, or even strangers is necessary to the food experience as well. The intimacy of a table and the act of eating often lead to surprising interactions and compatibility. Discussions held over the dinner table have a special place in my memories – as a definition of true communication and affirmation of group status. A long meal is basic to social interaction in many cultures, and it’s easy to see why: people let their guards down at mealtimes, and open up their mouths – for conversation and consumption, both.

I could go on, but I think I’ve said enough, or at least exhausted my store of flowery words for the day. The only thing left is to declare that I AM A GENIUS. Err…not really. But temporarily, in the specific context of how my fruit tarts turned out today, I am. Lately I seem to bake by the seat of my pants. By this I mean that I look in the refrigerator or pantry and take an inventory of ingredients I have available, and then I find a recipe (or make one up) to match. I had fresh black cherries and peaches available, so I looked for a cherry and peach tart recipe. Then I elaborated and embellished. Behold the end result.

Mini Cherry-Apple-Peach Tarts

INGREDIENTS

1 recipe Pastry

2 cups fresh pitted black cherries (or other varieties)

2 peaches; sliced, peeled and chopped

2 apples; sliced, peeled and chopped

¾ cup sugar

2 Tbsp. flour

1 tsp. pumpkin pie spice (if you don’t have this, just a half tsp. each of cinnamon & ginger)

1 egg white, lightly beaten

sugar for sprinkling

DIRECTIONS

Let cherries sit in bowl until juice collects. I pitted the fresh cherries and then froze them in a plastic container, defrosting when I needed them for the recipe. I collected approximately 1/2 cup cherry juice.

Mix juice, 1/4 cup sugar and ½ cup water in small saucepan over medium-low heat. Add chopped apples and simmer until tender. Remove apples but continue to simmer juice.

Combine apples, cherries, peaches, 1/2 cup sugar, flour, and pumpkin pie spice; toss to mix.

Prepare Pastry. Divide pastry dough into 8 equal portions. On a lightly floured surface roll or hand shape each dough portion into a 7-inch circle. Place on a foil-lined, very large baking sheet. Place about 3/4 cup filling in center of each circle, leaving a 1 1/2-inch border. Carefully bring up edges over filling, pleating as necessary (dough may crack). Brush edges of each tart with egg white and sprinkle with remaining sugar. Remove cherry juice (now a glaze) from heat.

Bake tarts in a 350° oven for 40 to 45 minutes or until golden brown and centers are bubbly. Pour 1 teaspoon of cherry juice glaze over each tart. Cool on baking sheet on wire rack about 30 minutes.

Serve warm or at room temperature. Makes 8 servings.

PASTRY

In a large mixing bowl combine 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, 1/4 cup sugar, and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Cut in 1 cup cold unsalted butter until mixture resembles cornmeal. In a small bowl combine 3 tablespoons cold water and 1 teaspoon vanilla; drizzle over flour mixture. Toss with a fork until mixture holds together. If necessary, add up to 1 tablespoon more cold water. Gather into a ball. Cover and chill for 1 to 2 hours or until easy to handle.

Warning: this recipe is extremely delicious, yields a beautiful product, will make your kitchen smell like heaven, and induce envy in all your friends and neighbors. Watch your back – they’ll want those tarts!

family notions

Elizabeth and I have been trading writing prompts, and this is her latest for me: “Kids are too expensive. You can only afford two.” Respond.

First, I want to clarify that I’m not a parent, and I’m not in a position to even think about being a parent. So these thoughts and opinions are necessarily born of inexperience. I’m not commenting on any specific situation or family dynamic except my own upbringing. And I’m definitely NOT judging folks who choose not to have children or who choose to raise their children in a specific environment. These are only my thoughts (and thank you?, Elizabeth, for giving me a topic that makes these stipulations necessary).

I’m the oldest of five. I’m the oldest of five raised in a typical suburban household in the Metro Seattle area. I’m the oldest of five kids raised in a one-income household. I’m the oldest child of a tribe, a clan, or perhaps just a very well-loved and close-knit family. I’m well aware that families of five are rare these days. You don’t have to tell me…I’m probably the only one who remembers the looks my mom got (and they weren’t friendly), the snide remarks, the ‘amazement’ that wasn’t complimentary. Now that we’re older and seem to have turned out well, I tell people how my mom had five children age 7 and under at one point, and they can only comment that she was very brave.

But the fact was we lived in a very normal house in a very normal neighborhood, surrounded by families with 2.5 kids and unaccustomed to anything out of the ordinary. Later on we met families with eight, or even ten children. How did my parents (and those other families) do it, when so many people these days have trouble imagining supporting more than two kids? I think the answer comes in two parts: they made important sacrifices, and that once those were implemented, three or four children weren’t necessarily less expensive than five.

Things that DO make children expensive: diapers, brand-name clothing (brand-name anything, really), shoes (kids grow out of them so fast!), sports and hobbies, eating out, traveling and vacations. Probably there are plenty more that I missed. But maybe you can see where I’m going? My parents made sacrifices that reduced the costs associated with feeding, clothing, entertaining and providing a roof over our heads. Thankfully they didn’t skimp on diapers.

Examples! My parents didn’t buy me new clothing, and found me discount shoes. Thrift stores, hand-me-downs, and gifts were our friends. If I wanted new clothes, I had to buy them for myself. It was a tough policy, maybe, but it taught me responsibility and self-reliance. And not to be too proud to find a bargain or reuse and recycle. The whole family played the same sports until high school. This cut down on equipment, training and traveling costs for competitions, and made it possible for us all to get together in the evenings. We RARELY ate out. No delivery pizza or drive-through fast food when you could shop for bulk food and make it at home!

For family vacations we camped and visited historic locations (preferably without an entrance fee). If we flew, we were extremely careful about expenses. We played board games and cards and used the library liberally rather than go to the movies or the arcade or to play mini-golf. My dad built us tree forts with spare plywood in lieu of buying a swing set. We played kick-the-can and flashlight tag instead of video games and laser tag. We visited local parks, volunteered at church, went hiking, belonged to the local pool. If we wanted a car, we paid for it, for the insurance, and for the gas.

And my parents didn’t pay for college. You heard that right. We knew growing up that my mom and dad had made a lot of sacrifices. That they’d given us a pretty normal life on one income. We also knew that they expected us to be resourceful, and find our own way to pay for school. It’s not that they didn’t value education, because they definitely did. I was homeschooled for six years because my mom didn’t feel like the local public school was doing a decent job, and then I went to a private high school. And my other siblings were homeschooled and privately schooled as well, for varying amounts of time. It’s just that there were different expectations. If you want to go out of state, you find some place to give you a scholarship or you take out loans. Four of us went to a great college in Pennsylvania. The youngest is getting his AA at a local tech school in a trade, and will make bank when he’s done.

If you go over the things I’ve mentioned, it sounds frugal, sure. But it’s also not un-imaginable. I think sometimes the money argument against more children is a lack of creativity, or an unwillingness to realize that you CAN raise children on less than you imagine. Is it always fun? No. Is it easy to cut those costs? No. Is it hard to say ‘no’ to a child? Yes. Is it doable? Yes. I know so because I’m the child of just such an upbringing. I’m a big advocate of larger families, if the parents are capable. I’m not talking Jon and Kate Plus 8 here. I’m talking about parents who stay together (yes, forever!) and are committed to raising their children with a certain philosophy. Siblings who are best friends, who can’t imagine growing up any other way, who as adults still can make a party happen just by getting out a Monopoly game board. And if you’re willing to raise two or three children that way, then another couple are going to add to the joy, not the burden. Because it is joy.

The siblings, Christmas 2008

My sister suggested that I end by examining the ‘what if’ scenario. What if my parents had stopped after having two healthy kids? They certainly wouldn’t have been quite so stretched for funds. Maybe they could have helped us pay for college. Maybe we’d still be best friends. But we’d probably be a bit spoiled and a lot brattier, because instead of two girls and three boys, my parents would only have two girls. No Peter (training to be a fireman), no Lincoln (thinking about heading to seminary), and no rambunctious Joey. There’d be a whole different dynamic to our family. There wouldn’t be anyone who looks exactly like my Grandpa Hal, no slow-talking, sweet-natured giant, and no teddy bear of a boy-man who is so enthusiastic about life that you can't help but be caught up with him. There wouldn’t be three tall, deep-voiced, athletic and hilarious boys complaining about their bossy (and wild) older sisters. We’d be missing part of ourselves, even if we didn’t know it. I can't tell you how glad and grateful I am that my parents decided to have a big family, even though it was late in life and necessitated sacrifice. I truly believe that adding five well-adjusted, loving and decent people to the planet's population qualifies my parents for instant hero status.

what is the american summer?

Elizabeth, whose blog you can check out over at The Occidental Idiot, gave me a challenge a couple of days ago to write an entry answering the question “What is the American summer?”

In purely technical terms, the American summer is the summer season of the Northern hemisphere, which officially starts June 21^st this year, and ends September 22^nd.  But I assume that I’m supposed to give my own, subjective view of what makes an American summer special.  Or something like that.  So I offer that at its most basic level, ‘summer’ is no school, swimming outdoors, outdoor grilling and picnics, big movies, and…extra time spent with friends and family.  Let’s take it point by point, and make it American.

Summer is the 4^th of July, with parades, festivals and fireworks.  I grew up in a town that prohibited fireworks, but in exchange for citizens honoring that, the city put on a huge, 45 minute long fireworks show either at one of the high schools or at a park.  So whoever is in town for the 4^th drives over to the site as the sky darkens, parks the car, and either sits on the hood/roof or sets up a picnic blanket on a patch of grass.  Then you just lie back and wait for the show to start.  It’s never guaranteed to be sunny in early July in the Pacific Northwest, though, so I have many memories of running for cover or not going out at all too. 

Summer is when school lets out.  When instead of a classroom, you head to the pool or to camp or to a vacation Bible school.  When the family takes trips, either to visit family or on educational adventures.  When camping happens during the week, instead of only on weekends.  When bug bites and nettle stings and scratches from blackberry thorns are the price of warm, magical evenings spent running through meadows, supping on clover honey and salmonberry delights.  Summer is unlimited reading time, when it’s okay to check out as many titles as they let you from the public libraries, lie in a cool spot somewhere and enter new and fantastic worlds through books.

Summer is the local outdoor pool open every day of the week, and taking a picnic basket down so that you don’t have to go home between swim practice, tennis practice, playing pickle ball, and free swim.  It’s road-tripping to the seaside with friends and inadvertently getting sunburned and almost-ticketed for having an illegal beverage on a public beach.   It’s scouting for seashells at low tide and making movies or taking silly pictures about life’s simple adventures.  And sometimes it’s about having a miserable time that becomes an indelible memory and a story that will last a lifetime.

Summer is a cookout on a friend’s porch.  It’s eating too many hotdogs and burgers to count, and helping my mother make potato salad that I hate to eat.  It’s fixing iced tea in gargantuan containers so that my family doesn’t drain it all in one sitting.  It’s going to a baseball game and eating cotton candy and cheering for the home team.  It’s caramel apples, French fry bricks, elephant ears and other carnival food.  It’s listening to country music in the car with the windows down, drinking Coke and grinning from ear to ear.

Summer is going to the theater to see big-budget movies and action films.  Anticipating each and every Friday night for new releases, scrambling to buy tickets online lest the showing prove to be sold out.  It’s coming out of a show energized, giddy, excited and entranced by the magic of movie-making.  It’s make believe.  It’s leaving a dark theater with friends on a warm night, and looking up into the stars in the summer sky.

But best of all, summer is sitting out on the porch on a warm evening, talking to loved ones, having a conversation that in the winter months would require the intimacy of a car.  Somehow the night feels familiar, closed-in and yet infinite, with possibilities zipping around and knocking into each other like lightening bugs.  It’s catching fleeting glimpses of bats flying by on their insect-eating mission.  And when it’s at it’s best, summer is hearing the gentle lap of waves on the lakeshore while the moon reflects the depths, and sitting out on the dock, contemplating the enormity of the universe in night sky.

adventures in flight

It has been rather a long time since I last posted.  In the meantime, I’ve been to my brother Peter’s college graduation (from my own alma mater), and afterward road-tripped back down to Georgia with the next youngest sibling, Lincoln.  He is visiting me here in Atlanta for a week and a half before he goes off to his summer internship in South Carolina.  A state which is not that far from Atlanta, really.  At least, it doesn’t look like it on a map.  It’s a quarter inch to a half inch away, depending on how big your map is.

Anyway, with such goings on and traveling things, I haven’t been near a computer in a while, and am hopelessly backed up with fun little stories and adventures (many of which I have already forgotten or will forget and not post).  I likely wouldn’t have gotten around to blogging at all until Lincoln was gone if I hadn’t had the (bad) luck to get a cold.  So now, though I feel like putty recently scraped off a wall in a tenement somewhere, I have the time to write.  Er, blog.  In case you wondered, Lincoln is feeling well, and is out on the porch reading.  I am the invalid resting indoors on a perfectly lovely day.  Who knows what that fresh air might do to me!  I could get well!  Or something. 

The following is a bit of an entry that I started at the Atlanta airport when I was on my way to the graduation last Thursday.  It seems vaguely wasteful not to post a paragraph’s worth of useful material, so I’ll begin there.

The Wednesday night before I flew out, I went to see Star Trek (2009) for the second time.  I heartily enjoyed the film the first time around, when I saw it with friends on opening day, and I had to share the experience with Elizabeth, my fellow movie buddy here in Atlanta.  She was skeptical.  Said she wouldn’t go see it.  I offered to pay for her ticket.  She acquiesced (and drank cider in the theater!).  I think we both enjoyed it.  Last night I found myself at yet another showing of Star Trek with Lincoln, because he didn’t want to go alone.  He paid for tickets, and I really can’t complain, but please, oh please!, next time I go to a movie, can we see something new?  I was trying to remember last night if I’d ever seen another movie thrice in theaters, and the only thing I could come up with was Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl.  And that was only because it was playing on the $1 screen at my college campus the last two times.

Having said all that, Star Trek gets 5 stars.  It’s fun, it’s big, it’s action, it’s personal conflict and growth, it’s flashy, new and exciting.  In other words, everything you want a summer movie to be.  Elizabeth and I did go and see Wolverine, the first true summer movie, and it was mediocre and left me feeling unsatisfied.  Trek does not leave you feeling anything but full of excitement and maybe a little wonder at the glory that is big time film-making.  May all the rest of the summer movie lineup be as enjoyable.

Odd note:  Leonard Nimoy, who played Spock in the original TV series, makes an appearance in the new film.  When I was listening to his dialogue, a little sensor went off in the back of my brain, and I kept thinking, ‘Where do I know this guy from?’  He was strangely familiar, but I’ve never watched the TV series or anything… so that was a really peculiar feeling.  Then I looked up his imdb.com profile, and voila!  Nimoy is the voice behind Civ IV, my one admitted computer gaming habit.  It was his voice that is always saying things like “As the potter is to the clay…” and “I got pig iron, I got pig iron!” to me in the middle of the night from my laptop speakers.  Weird.  With a capital ‘W.’  He has a nice, deep voice that sounds very like the grandfather in all of the stories that I’ve ever read.  Well, you know how when you’re reading (to yourself, silently) you give the characters voices to differentiate them?  No?  I’m the only one who does this?  Yeesh.  Maybe I should talk to someone about that…

Now where did I leave off on the real storyline?  Oh yes.  So the night before I left I went and saw a movie.  That was not the best choice.  Because the next morning I’d made plans to breakfast with my mother’s cousins (they’re from Portland, but were visiting Atlanta for a week, and wanted to see me), and I wanted, hypothetically, to sleep at some point.  Between packing and a head that wouldn’t stop whirring (happens a lot, I’m thinking of getting it replaced.  Anyone have a spare brain floating around?), I slept a maximum of two hours.  And then went to a very agreeable breakfast at a place called The Flying Biscuit.  This restaurant has a couple of locations, and is something of an Atlanta institution.  We went to the one Candler Park.  I had an amazing raspberry French toast breakfast and listened and laughed at the foibles of the extended family, and was toted back to my apartment in time to head off to my flight.

I rode to the airport with Elizabeth (she keeps cropping up, doesn’t she?), because her flight left at approximately the same time as mine, and Why waste a good ride to the airport when there’s one to be had?, which isn’t my motto, but is probably someone’s out there.  There are enough people on the planet to practically ensure that.  The plane that arrived prior to mine hailed from Sarasota.  Watching the off-loading process was quite a kick.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many airport attendants (aka wheelchair helpers) preparing to greet a single flight.  The plane was absolutely chock-full of the elderly.  And when I use that term, I don’t mean anyone with grey hair.  I mean a physically impaired, possibly walking with a canister of oxygen at their side type of crowd.  Sarasota is a popular destination with the old, old set, apparently.

And then, lickety-split, I was on my own plane and off to Pittsburgh.  Star space, flying biscuits, and plane rides…that’s enough winging for a while!