Backfilling the VT National Guard

I wonder how the families of VT Nat'l Guard troops about to deploy to Afghanistan feel about the upbeat ads running on the radio where the young recruit tells his friend "I can be a soldier and keep my job and hang out with you while protecting our community." Sure you can. More Kool Aid?

Swiss Chard Goodness

Garlicky Roasted Garbanzo Beans with Swiss Chard

(adapted from Michael Psilakis, Epicurious.com)

Makes 4-6 servings

Ingredients:

Beans:

2 15.5 oz cans garbanzo beans (chickpeas), drained

10 garlic cloves, peeled

2 large shallots, chopped

3 bay leaves (fresh recommended, but I used dried)

½ cup extra-virgin olive oil

1 tsp fennel seeds (I don’t like fennel, so I used mustard seed)

Chard:

2 T olive oil

6 garlic cloves, crushed

3 bay leaves

2 shallots, sliced

large bunch swiss chard, center stems cut out (or not – I didn’t), leaves coarsely torn

½ cup chicken or vegetable broth

pasta and parmesan cheese

Preparation

Beans: preheat oven to 350°. Combine first 5 ingredients in a glass baking dish (8x8 or similar). Sprinkle with salt and pepper, then pour oil over (original recipe called for 1 ½ cups of oil – I used A LOT less, ½ - 2/3 cup). Cover with foil and roast until garlic is tender, about 45 mins.

Chard: Heat oil in large pot over medium-high heat. Add garlic, bay leaves and shallots, cook until shallots are tender, about 2 mins. Add chard in a couple batches if necessary, allowing first batch to wilt and make room for the rest. Add broth and cook until chard is tender and most of liquid has evaporated (7-10 mins). Season with salt and pepper. Combine beans and chard, season if necessary.

Serve over pasta (or barley?) with grated parmesan cheese.

Lovely poem from Wendell Berry

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wendell Berry

pesto. kalman.

So I took a little break from blogging. I did so much writing in February and March for other reasons that I didn't have any thing left. Then I needed a break... then the problem of what would be my first post, after the lengthening dry spell.

Tonight, after an insane meal of garlic scape and fresh basil pesto with insalata caprese and a glass and half of tempranillo, I'm ready to break my silence. But I have nothing in particular to say. Except do you know about Maira Kalman? And her sublime NYT blog? I'm smitten. Bought the book, and inhaled most of it in one sitting. I love the way she enlarges the world but keeps us close with disclosures of her familiar, imperfect humanity. I know I'm probably late to this dance (I'm kind of famous for my glamorous, late arrivals), but just in case others haven't been introduced to her unique genius, here you are.

In Defense of "25 Things"

Who hasn't been tagged in a friend's Facebook note, "25 Things About Me?" If you haven't, don't fret, it's unlikely you'll miss out. But wait, don't count me in the group of people disparaging this quasi-viral game of sharing tag. While I initially resisted (it felt too self aggrandizing, and the direction to tag 25 friends did feel a bit like spamming), I eventually couldn't fight the urge to see what would spring to mind. Now I'm a defender of the phenomenon. Here's why:

Self reflection is an important exercise. How many of us would have taken the time to consider what makes us who we are had we not been challenged to come up with 25 distillations of self?
In reading others' lists, I've gotten to know interesting things about people I didn't know terribly well. We get beyond favorite color and music preferences into the fears, accomplishments and oddities that fill out the somewhat two dimensional caricatures presented in Facebook profiles. A friend of mine told me that she even found out something new about one of her oldest friends from her "25 Things."

And as a result, the tentative connections between casual Facebook friends are strengthened. I've found unexpected commonalities with people I considered more acqaintences than friends, or people with whom my shared experiences are from the days of the hair bands and acid wash jeans. From the empowerment of childbirth to the fear of monsters under the bed as a child, to unrealized aspirations and deep contentment...we are connecting the dots and making the experience of cyber-friendships a bit more human.

Feeling a Little Verklempt

I just returned from a quick non-inauguration related trip to Washington, DC. The city was humming in anticipation of the big day next week, almost like that somewhat supernatural phenomenon that happens in Taos, NM. But I’m sure it was emanating from inside me – I was beside myself.

On our last day in the city, my travel mate and I stood before the inauguration podium, walked the streets lined with bleachers where millions are anticipated to converge on January 20^th, and peeked through the gate at the White House. We posed in front of Blair House, where the Obamas took up residence during our stay (or rather diagonally to it, as the street was naturally closed off), a follow up to our photo in front of the Hay-Adams Hotel where the First Family Elect were relegated for a couple weeks due to one last, lame power play by Bush. And we poked through the mostly-made-in-China inauguration paraphernalia at a shop near the White House. It was here that my emotions really ran amok, and I had to choke back tears as I pawed through the pins and stickers and t-shirts.

I’m sure it had something to do with the rough night I had before, thanks to a toxic combination of Ethiopian food and gimlets (okay, wine too), and a waxing head and chest cold. But that wasn’t it – see nothing else was choking me up. Not the homeless people, the mentally ill woman who accused my friend and me of being go-go dancers, the potentially confrontational scene between DC police and some young shoplifters in the Filene’s Basement entryway, or even the gut wrenching photo of a napalm survivor at the Richard Avedon exhibit. My hormones were tuned to respond to the historic occasion approaching, and nothing else.

But as I contemplated the unexpected intensity of my emotions, I realized it was not just the historic nature of the event that was making me feel so raw. It was fear, mixed with desire. Desperation is probably more apt. I was struck with the realization that I am expecting too much, and need to ratchet my hopes down – but just a notch. I do believe good things will start happening, and quickly. We’ve had brilliant policy makers in the White House, corporate puppets, ideologues, philanderers, and buffoons - often a combination of these at any given time. I’ve never had the word “integrity” bubble up when I think of a president, until now. It’s the golden ticket, Charlie! But it’s the golden ticket in the hands of a mere human, in a terribly flawed and corrupt system – fortunately one he has not been tumbling around in as long as most.

So what’s a patriot to do? Well, this one is going to pay attention, stay engaged, and make my voice heard. And yes, I’m going to keep up the hope. It can’t hurt.

Video Games are Shifting Evolution in Reverse

When I venture into stores, I often have emotional reactions - especially when I'm in stores I'd rather not support. In Walmart, I'm generally overwhelmed by the sheer mass of crap, and disgusted at how easily I let myself wander from a very limited shopping list - "necessities" I just can't find in locally owned shops - to buy things I don't need. Also, having read Barbara Ehrenreich's excellent Nickel and Dimed, I'm hypersensitive to the aggregious working conditions. "Kids, take in all this plight!" but without the National Lampoon humor.

The other day I found myself in a Game Stop store. Holy schmoly what a creepy place. But first for my brief confession - I own a Playstation 2, purchased in the throes of Seasonal Affective Disorder last January when we had about 8 feet of snow and it was too cold to get out and enjoy it. I bought 3 games, all rated "E" for everyone: an American Idol karaoke game, a horse racing game and one based on the movie "Cars." In the past year the thing has probably gotten about 6 hours of play - not counting the times when it filled in as a dvd player. But it's cold and snowy again, so I decided to see if I could find a Harry Potter game. Lily is all things Harry Potter now, thanks to her Dad's nightly read-alouds of the books (about to start #4).

Back to the store. I had some difficulty finding the used Quiddich Cup game, overshadowed as it is by the shocking variety of violent games. Even some of the "E" rated games involve swordfights and the like, but I guess as long as there isn't any gushing blood it's considered okay for the under 10 crowd. When I saw the rows of used Grand Theft Auto I couldn't help but think about the young men who had been indoctrinated into this world. It's shudder-worthy. Then, standing in line I had some time to check out my fellow patrons. There was a decided lack of females, and the men/boys, well...let's just say there seemed to be some hygiene issues. Honestly, it was sociopath central. It was a good tonic against doing anything more than dabbling in this pastime!