And now, a word from our sponsor

Today's sponsor is Captain Obvious.

Ten days ago, the darling little silver laptop on which I type died a tragic and sudden death.  There was, as there often is, the Blue Screen of Death as well as some low-tech Beeps of Terror, which were all set to a pulsing backbeat of my husband's Swearing of Profanities.

We chalked it up to fate.  The poor thing was almost six years old, and while it was beyond top-of-the-line at it's inception, times had changed and subtle new technologies had left us in the dust.  It didn't help that we were also running a illegitimate version of Windows, which never allowed us any updates or additional virus protection; so really it's a wonder the poor thing had made it that long.

Suddenly, at about 8pm that fateful Saturday evening, I learned of laptop's death, and found out I would be rendered completely internet-less for all but an hour or so a day. 

Internet-less.  (noun)  \ˈin-tər-ˌnet-ˈles\   1.  being without internet   2.  being utterly devoid of access to email, social networking, and online shopping, with the inability to randomly find out the answer to any question instantly on Google, such as "what substitutes eggs in cookie recipe" and "red spot on breast."

Oh Lordy.  Whattodo?!?

Well here's where our handy, dandy sponsor, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS, comes in to deliver his message.

The Internet is certainly handy, but is 90% time-killing garbage.

I suddenly had SOOO MUUUUCCHHH TIIIIIIME.   So. Much.  Sickening amounts of time.  Time to play with my daughter.  Time to cook meals ahead of time.  Time to sit on the couch and watch a show about Tibet while drinking a coffee.  Time to unpack long forgotten boxes from our June move.  Time to consider painting rooms, and, once the colors are decided, time to actually paint them.  Time to spontaneously decide to rake the lawn, or chase the kid around the lawn, or chase the kid around the lawn with a rake.  Egads! 

Two evenings into my internet-less existence, I logged onto Facebook and felt like I was walking through a once-familiar neighborhood, where everyone I once knew had moved away.  No witty status came to mind.  No biting retorts, no virtual thumbs-ups.   I did not, in fact, care that Dawn wished us all a happy Tuesday, or that Ann's FedEx package had failed to show up.  I did not even click to "see more."

Sure, there were a couple of times during the day that I wished I could instantly ameliorate some morbid curiosity via Google, or when I became curious as to whether the car payment had gone through.  But you know what I did?

I WROTE MYSELF A NOTE.  And I looked it up later that evening when the hubba relinquished control of his work computer.  Or just forgot entirely, because it was, really, exactly. that. important.

Spaceholder

Haven't posted anything in awhile.   So will show video of kid on balance bike.   Insert "yaaaaaay" noise here.

Spampylandia Goes Political

I have another blog titled "An Ipod for the Queen" where I once imagined I would safely confine my political rantings.  Unfortunately, AIFTQ lies long neglected, and poor Facebook feels the brunt of my tri-polar South Park Republican, neo-conservative, and libertarian-except-for-the-whole-legalize-pot-thing moodswings.

I have a dear friend who in the kitchen is a pioneer and a scientist and an innovator.  On the computer and behind a camera, she's an artist and a wizard.  With her child, she's a beacon of humor and patience.  She's got the voice of a goddess and isn't afraid to shake her booty.  And as a friend, she's just damn good fun.  But somewhere early in our association I began to get the feeling that...

dum dum DAAAAAAH...

this friend is a liberal.

(Woah there.  Let me clearly state that noting all her talents and then calling her a lib was not in fact some sort of literary device for subtly implying that liberals are characteristically talentless boobs.  I will leave that sort of smug, implied slander to true assholes like Keith Olberman.  Who I would now call a boob, except to do so would insult the boobs of myself and every other woman.  Boobs are useful, beautiful things.  Olberman's just an elitist ass.) 

So your friend's a liberal?  Big damn deal, you say.  True.  Exactly that.  One thing I love about her - sure, we have a variety of political beliefs that don't necessarily line up, but either a.) we can talk about them without hating each other, or b.) we respectfully don't talk about them at all.  And perhaps that is the difference between "being a liberal" and having liberal beliefs or political leanings.  "Being a liberal" is not her defining quality; the end-all-be-all of her being.  She's very willing to consider the other side.  We have other friends (and family) who are unwilling to even just appear to consider an "opposing" point of view for the sake of ending an argument.  They ARE liberals (and conservatives), and very proud of it, but from an outsider's point of view it seems to take away from their quality of life. 

My mother always asked us as children to "humor" her.  As in, "Mawwwwwwm, I don't want to BE here!"  "Well, humor me."  Pretend.  Put your best face forward.  It may be a combination of patience and dishonesty that borders on the unhealthy, but it certainly keeps the peace.  And whatever unhealthiness aside, it builds a certain consideration for the feelings of others in s/he who is doing the humoring.  Which I believe is called empathy.

Things get heated in the political arena, but despite everything I really try to keep things civil, and at the very least humor those who will accord me the same level of respect.  It may be a better use of time to bounce ping pong balls off a wall than to try and relay facts to someone who does not want to hear them.  But it's really super fun to actually get out the paddles and have a proper game. 

This friend is a great friend, and I hope in her good humoring-humor she'll not mind too terribly that I've not only psychoanalyzed our relationship on a seriously strange political level, but also that I'm reposting what I'd written for her on Facebook in response to an article from the UK's Guardian that she shared regarding the so-called "Ground Zero mosque".

*colored additions denote things not originally posted on FB
*******************************************
I know you've missed me chiming in on things! :-) So here's an alternative viewpoint: http://www.jpost.com/Opinion/Op-EdContributors/Article.aspx?id=186290

Since when have we been such champions of religious tolerance and freedom in the US? Everyone's got to tread so lightly because someone might be OFFENDED. Yes, it absolutely is a constitutional right to put it where you please provided all the $ and permits come through. But people are offended. Ooooooh. But unfortunately, that's the precedent that has been set over the past few years. No nativity scene? No holidays? It's not all been just matters of separation of church and state.  Upwards of 75% of the people in the US are against the building of this center so close to where the World Trade Center once stood.  Simply put:  please,  No mosque.

As far as being the big olive branch... wouldn't a simple focus group show that this is NOT the best step toward bridging differences between good ol' ignorant Americans and progressive Muslims? If they're really trying to creative positive dialogue, why won't the planners consider any of the alternative options presented by NYC or the state of New York?   NY Governor Patterson has offered to meet with the planners and help find them an alternative site for the center, but his offer was met with flat refusal  - refusal to even meet.    Where's the dialogue there?

As for Ground Zero - the landing gear of one of the planes crashed through the Burlington Coat Factory building, which is part of the reason it's stood vacant for so long. Yeah, it's not the WTC site. But neither is it a residential area that would be best served by a community center with all the trappings of a YMCA.  I can't find any website to substantiate this, and the one I'll link to now doesn't help me because I'm unfamiliar with the geography of NYC and Manhattan, but apparently there is already an existing mosque about 6 blocks from the WTC site.  The argument that there is little worship space for Muslims living in NYC is silly, considering in the state of Connecticut has fewer mosques (23) than a search of "within 5 miles of Manhattan, NY" (34).
 
As for the media - aren't they worried about a backlash? The media danced around the Ft. Hood shooting issue claiming they didn't want to create a backlash against regular ol' Muslims. Yet this has been turned into such a "us vs. them" situation that truly moderate middle-American Muslims are being backed into corners and questioned by friends over something they would probably rather have nothing to do with. It's so hypocritical and dangerous on their part.   Mosques in CT and NC are being protested as well.  Now, provided there is due diligence in researching their funding, no permit issues, and the call to prayer won't drive away any endangered species, should they really be having such a problem?  No. 

This woman is amazing, and has been around the news for a bit trying to get her point across.  http://www.ottawacitizen.com/news/Mischief+Manhattan/3370303/story.html *funny - same pic from your article, right? must have been a slow "stock footage" day :-)

These are just the philosophical issues... there are more serious issues with the funding and all too.  Here, and here, and yeah... here too.  Oh and this also.  Especially that.

So, a la middle school: In conclusion, I absolutely believe the Cordoba Project planners have every right to build a community center with a mosque in it, or just a mosque, or a freakin' all-beef hotdog stand flying the flag of Hamas near, on, or a few blocks away from Ground Zero... but is the idea in good taste? Is it in the best interest of the people the center will serve? Are the planners according to the non-Muslim citizens of New York the consideration and respect that they demand for themselves?

Nope.

Onam Sadya

Happy Onam!  Onam is a holiday in Kerala - traditionally celebrated by Keralites of every faith and denomination, but only in Kerala or amongst those Keralites scattered around the world. Of the multitudinous holidays on the Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Sikh and Buddhist calendars of India, Onam is a celebration pertaining to the "all of the above" of Kerala; but of Kerala alone.

Being a "person of Indian origin" by marriage and wife of a Malayalee (Keralite) by choice, each passing year I've become slightly more aware of Onam's passing. I try to make an effort to celebrate, if even just the tiniest effort.

The most authentic Onam we've had was before we were married, up in Detroit; a Malayalee couple we knew invited us to a family celebration complete with set-saris, lungis, and Surya network on the TV.  We ate a colorful array of vegetarian curries on real banana leaves.  Sebastian arrived late with some other friends direct from a cricket match, looking sweaty and especially Mallu :-) 

Since then, it's always somewhere between completely forgetting and that.  Usually much towards forgetting.

Last year? If memory serves me, I think I emailed some cousins and asked for recipes which I did not in fact cook, and took pictures of my daughter in a traditional dress that did not fit.

This year? Ohhhhh... it's late, but I'm making the sadya.

A sadya is a vegetarian feast. Perhaps even just a feast... I don't know. But perhaps because of the Hindu origins of this festival, Onam food is traditionally vegetarian. And served on a banana leaf.

Alas, we'll be eating it on plates. Baby steps, chechi. Baby steps.

Does Sebastian know much about Onam? I'm sure he does, but I haven't bothered to ask. Having never been a native Keralite other than during summer vacations, I think he probably missed the Onam boat growing up. (which is "punny", because one characteristic of Onam is the boat races) I do know for a fact that he's not a fan of the food. Perhaps it's the whole vegetarian aspect :-)

So this year, our Onam sadya will include the following:

Mixed Vegetable Curry Avial
Ripe Mango Curry Pazha Manga Karri
Cabbage with Crushed Coconut Thoran
Mummy's Egg Curry
Basmati Rice
Lace-rimmed Rice Flour Pancakes Appam (provided we get around to making it tomorrow morning!)

I've never done a whole "hey look what I'm cooking" sort of blog, so today, beginning at the ripe hour of 10pm, I thought I'd give it a try. My sidekicks in this endeavor are both my trusty Canon camera and a bottle of 2009 Starborough Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand that I bought purely on it's bottle-y beauty and affordability. (God bless you, seven buck chuck!) Both have been trusty companions all night long, and the wine may survive to see the sunrise... maybe :-)

So. Egg curry and thoran are old hat for me, both being previous winners of the Sebastian George "Oh My God It's Better Than My Mom's" Award. This manga thing sounded delicious, but was uncharted territory, both in eating and preparation. Once I skinned four ripe mangos and settled them into a big pot of coconut milk, I realized that this particular dish was probably destined for failure. We'll see tomorrow when I, hopefully, pull the giant non-Indian mangos (the size alone made the recipe unrealistic) out and cut them away from their massive seeds and into digestible pieces, that this will become a dish worthy of a banana leaf after all.

Now avial... this is a better story. With photo documentation.

Avial is a vegetarian dish that pertains to especially Hindus of all southern India. It's preparation is laborious because of the vegetables that require chopping... beans, carrots, potatoes, bananas/plantains, yams, and then crazy local vegetables that I can neither remember, pronounce or procure when back in the midwest.

I say Hindus especially, because it's a Hindu friend who justified the purchase of a $200 chefs knife because, "it's a pain in the ass to make all of our food, especially avial."

My variety tonight, includes carrots, beans, potatoes, yams and a plantain...

Ye olde avial vegetables

Then, like Kermit the Frog used to sing... "You put the lime in de coconut, and drank 'em both up."  Actually not like that at all.  You put all the veggies into a big ol' skillet of water, which of course I had measured incorrectly due to the odd and irritating variance between the size of Indian and American cups.

*side note:  An Indian cup is approximately 150ml, whereas the American measure of a cup is upwards of some 240ml.  When we go to India, "a cup of coffee" is often served in the same variety of paper cups that your dentist gives you when you have to swish mouthwash - or in homes, in what seems like it's actually a child's tea set cups.   My clever and accommodating mother-in-law has a stash of three Wal-Mart variety mugs that she calls her "American coffee mugs" and brings them out on occasions where us super-sized folks, including Sebastian, are around.  God bless that thoughtful woman!

So in go the vegetables to a pot filled with 7 cups of water... which I quickly realize is way too much.  Nevertheless, let's cook 'em.

Now while those cook to an al dente sort of doneness, make a thick mixture of fresh ground coconut, onions (preferably shallots, which I cannot afford), green chilis, mustard seeds, ground cumin, salt, and... well, maybe some other things, I don't necessarily remember. (Oh, seven buck chuck... I'm still feeling your effects two days later!) 




Ah! TURMERIC. That's what else. See the lovely yellow color? That stuff will turn your fingers yellow, but it'll give your insides the lovely pink of health. (har har har) Anyway the mixture wasn't the right consistency, so I added some off the mismeasured water from the vegetable pan, resulting in this:



Yaaaaay! Much better. Now somewhere along the way, throw in a handful of green, unripe mango into the vegetables and then sit back and enjoy your wine for a spell. Then mix the coconut grind in with the vegetables.


At this point, I continued to fret over the watery-ness of the avial. The wine told me I should order a pizza, but common sense said to just remove some of the water. So I used a tea strainer to pour water out while keeping coconut in.

Mucho mejor, amigos!!

So... your cooked vegetables are cooling, they've got their ground coconut mixture gently mixed in (as not to break up the vegetables), and now you toss in some thick plain yogurt.  Finally, and this is one of those exotic touches that make Indian cooking exciting and rewarding, heat coconut oil in a tiny frying pan on high, throw in some mustard seeds, and when they splutter, drop in a handful of curry leaves.  Continue to fry them until crisp and arromatic, and then ceremoniously dump the entire contents of tiny frying pan into the avial. The satisfying crackle of hot oil hitting cool yogurt and vegetables makes me think I should have taken chemistry in high school after all.

The finished result looks something like this. 

Yes, the finished product was perhaps a little on the juicy side of traditional, but it still tasted straight out of Kanjirappally. Here it is (perhaps yet unstrained?), paired with the bottle of wine that helped me through my night of cooking that ended at 3am.  Not sure whether it was the completion hour or the wine, but something made me feel pretty lousy for the majority of the next day.

And other completed sadya components...

Cabbage thoran

Mummy's Egg Curry - although it may look like vomit to the untrained eye, it tastes like heaven 

Cookbook by the cousin of a friend who is from the same town as Sebastian's family.  Despite the name, she's no relation.  But her book is very helpful.

Now the end of this story is that we haven't yet made any appams, and most of this food has gone into the freezer because our Onam sadya guests had to cancel at the last minute. Last year's Onam dress hangs on a hook but will probably fit whenever we get around to officially celebrating.

Tickled

It tickles me to no end when I accidentally let loose a little morning toot, and Elena looks at me and very sincerely asks, "Mommy? Poopy?"

Thanks for keeping an eye on me, kid.

Mothers are always easily impressed

You'll understand if you're a mom. My kid just found a purse full of garage-sale change, unzipped it, and happily shouted, "MONEEEEEEY!" Then she sat on the floor, poured all the moneeeeeey out and proceeded to count coins.

Hawoooon
toooooo
treeeeeee
fooooooo
fiiiiive...
sevvvven
aiiiiit

Sure she skipped six. But where did that come from?

Then she put it all back. And again counted...

hawoooon
toooo
treeeee
fooooo
fiiiive
(prompted by momma) SEEEEEEX
seeven
aiiiiit
(pause for effect)
naaaaaaaaine
(pause for effect again... little drama queen!)
TAAAN!
Then she burst into spontaneous applause. So did I.

*yaaaaay!* :-)

Contentment Part 2

Hell yeah, I woke up content!

(I guess it took a day to soak in, because yesterday I woke up with an unseemly pain in the kidney area and deemed it necessary to schedule a doctors appointment. Oh, and a hair appointment. Functioning kidneys and bangs of a manageable length - both goals to strive towards.)

But today, whoo hoo - CONTENTMENT! And amusement, because I recall being vaguely aware that my phone's alarm was going off for a really long time underneath a pillow. Made a coffee for both Saby and I. Bid el husband-o adieu with a kiss at the front door, versus him kissing my sleeping corpse before going downstairs. I farked around on Facebook for awhile, threw myself into some clothing, threw the kid in the car and was off to Englewood Metropark to walk with Loreen by 9:30am! (well... maybe it was more like 9:40am, but Loreen was just unloading the car, so...)

We walked an indeterminate amount at a pretty decent clip, which I am rather frustrated to be unable to track via www.dailymile.com due to some crappy programming bug. But I am indeed pleased with both the satisfaction of having walked with a friend, and the high tech ability to track those miles - once dailymile.com pulls it's head from it's bum, of course. :-)

P.S. Doctor told me that random pain was probably musculo-skeletal and that "you'll feel better if you lose some weight." Well then.

Contentment

We've had days, possibly weeks now, worth of "heat advisory" temperatures... mid-to-high nineties, with pretty disgustingly high humidity.  The heat index rivaled that of Dubai the other day, with it feeling like 108. Here. In the lil' old Miami Valley, Dayton, Ohio.  

Today I found Elena's snowsuit for this winter and in honor of these heat advisories, I washed it. I felt a bit witchy while dumping the unseasonably large, fluffy pink thing into a gentle cold cycle, willing it to bring some gently colder temperatures.

And then I wondered how far into winter 2010/2011 we would have to get before I was pulling her bathing suits out, wishing for warmth and sunshine.

Which then made me google search "contentment".

Which then led me to this.

Let me paraphrase for those of you who don't click links, or who may be turned off by the Christianity factor.

Contentment is not something that comes naturally. Naturally, we are prone to,

* compare ourselves with others
* to always want more than we have (remember Adam and Eve?)
* to interpret someone else's good fortune as coming at our expense
* to complain

Contentment is not natural. It is something that we must learn over time. You don't just wake up content.

I think tomorrow I will try and wake up content.

Skinny Lina

Who is the girl in the photo?  
You'll never find out... I ate her. 

Genius Alert, Part 2

Kid might be a genius, but I'm an negligent asshole.

Guess who probably has a 2nd degree burn on her palm and 4 fingertips? Here's a clue: her hand is really little.

Kid: Genius. Mom: Dipshit.

***********UPDATE****************

12 noon
While making breakfast (yes at noon... there are multiple examples of my negligence) child burns hand on glass radiant range top while my back is turned. Assumption is that she flat-handed it, but exact cause forever unknown due to turned back and CSI Dayton not returning my calls.

12:15pm
Child takes Tylenol after sitting with hand under cold running water for 14 minutes (this timeline allows 1 minute for frantic panic of mother)

12:30pm
Pediatric staff is on lunch break from noon to one, crap.

1:02pm
I call Pediatrician's other number and am tersely told that it is not an emergency. I didn't think so either, but jeeze... when do your coworkers get back from lunch?

1:08pm
Debbie the nurse instantly answers and suggests the tiny crispy hand come in to be seen by a doctor, due to her age and my apparent inability to describe the injury. Probably also to have me evaluated for child abuse.

1:20pm
I realize, despite the drama du jour, that I must must MUST get finished with the day's necessary task, which is organizing and pricing items I'm contributing to a huge mom's sale on Saturday. The seller requirements are strict and the waiting list long, and I don't want to lose my chance at an 80/20 cut on getting rid of some unnecessary E-unit accessories! Safety pins. MUST HAVE SAFETY PINS. Rather than make Daddy come home from work...

1:25pm
Call Darion, babysitter extraordinaire. Who is also now Dental Office administrative assistant extraordinaire and has a mere 30 minutes worth of lunch break left... she generously and sweetly donates those 30 minutes to me as I run to Meijer for gauze, burn spray, and SAFETY PINS.

1:55pm
Return. Darion runs back to her real job. Elena cries for Muppets.

2:30pm
Halfway into The Great Muppet Caper, the burn victim falls asleep. I frantically tag items, get dressing down from Dada via chat, and drink coffee.

4:00pm
Intend to leave for doctor at 4:15, but find more things to sell and leave at 4:28 instead. Have to wake Lil' Well Done up and she appears to be feeling remarkably spiffy.

4:40pm
Arrive for 4:30 appointment, much to the chagrin of pediatrician office lady. While we wait, E runs in circles barefoot (negligence!!) yelling the lyrics to Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star in a way that seems entirely uncharacteristic of someone who doesn't feel well. Optimism all around.

4:55pm Doc comes in wearing a U of M sweater vest. Instead of reminding him it was August and 89 degrees outside, I compliment him and mentioned our Michigan roots. We discuss the University of Michigan versus Eastern Michigan University, then both if those versus "THE" Ohio State University. He checks E's hand, and says "Good! Uh... not that she burned her hand. That's not good. But it's better than it could be!"

So what I just spent 20 minutes typing could really be described as such: the burn was a bad first degree, with only one spot - fingertip of pinky - that is going to blister and be at risk for infection. It hasn't bothered her all day today, and we all learned a good lesson: keep the two-year old away from the stove!

p.s. And I then drove to Fairborn and turned in 65 items to the TCMC Sale for Saturday, not only on time, but EARLY. And then made what my husband described as the best egg curry he's ever had. All in all, not a terrible day.

** UPDATE!! **

I guess you could say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.  And also teaches your child how to "milk it."

Guess who's added something new to her conversation repertoire?  In addition to her friendly hellos, handshakes and "howa-you?", Elena now will show off her burn and revel in the pity.

Haaaaand?  Owwie?  Hot!  Pssss!  [her own special "sizzle" sound effect]  Hand.  [somber pause for effect.  Knowing nod.]  OWWIE.