In which Ashli has the house to herself: Part 1

With Megan in Utah since last week and mum newly landed in Moscow, the tea is brewing and I am ready to begin the saga of...me, in the house by myself (well, largely by myself. Stepfather will be home most evenings). Megan, if you read this, I have a confession...I've been wearing your black leggings and have used the Jenny-cup twice without asking. Such is my unruliness when you are not around to keep tabs on me.
And what shall one do with one's stolen time? Hmmm...

Around this time of year I get the inclination to make jam. I think I've contracted a sort of harvest-bug, because this inclination has expanded to include other types of preservation, like pickles and such what-nots. Kind of a 'let's-prepare-for-winter' spirit. Recently I finished reading a book called Plenty (by Alisa Smith and J. B. MacKinnon), which describes the authors' year-long experiment in eating only foods produced locally, within one hundred miles of their British Columbia home. To do so, they actually had to pay attention to the seasonality of certain vegetables (sorry, no salad in winter!) and the fact that many produce items don't actually grow in the Pacific Northwest (tragically, bananas, and things like olive oil and cane sugar). So naturally, when one is living off the local land, one must take advantage of what's available. In part, I suppose this is where food preservation comes into business. As the experiment in the book showed me, there is plenty of food right at our fingertips, and much of it can be frozen or canned. I find it fascinating! Really, it's the coolest thing ever.

Although, in recent years more traditional ways of life have become increasingly appealing to me. I think a lot of it has to do with understanding the natural ryhthms and cycles of life, things which God intended to be natural to us. Things which we have lost contact with, and therefore make our lives feel disconnected and unbalanced. It's something to think about, at least.

And every September, I get the urge to turn sweet Oregon summer fruits into jams. Not that I'm saying it should be everybody's business to do the same, that you should reestablish your ties with the earth and be all natural. No. And whether or not someone has the same inclinations, he or she is always welcome to something from my kitchen!

Vegan times

Being part of a church that fasts frequently (and by fasting I mean giving up animal products for stipulated periods during the year) has its adventures. From a very upbeat and positive viewpoint, it can be rather exciting for someone who enjoys culinary challenges. As a devotee to dairy products, I appreciate the opportunity to take a break from my usual cheese-with-everything diet and explore the (plain) vegetable world. My family has gotten somewhat used to my food quirks in recent years, with my bowls of sourdough starters and fermented things, so now they smile at my half-gallon jars of what looks like guts (but are, in actuality, cooked beans) in the fridge and assortment of eggplants and cabbage. Yes, being a part-time vegan, I never realized what weird looks you get from non-vegans. Although I have spent the last two years of my life in Eugene, where vegans are indigenous and nothing is really that weird.
But fasting isn't always so upbeat and positive. It's not just a dietary decision (and let me tell you, it's not one I would make if there wasn't a higher spiritual value to it. I've come to respect those who do it just for health convictions, because I certainly couldn't). It's a time of sacrifice, when through your physical struggles you realize how much you need God's mercy if you're going to live for Him. I'm definitely not very good at it, but it is a blessed thing, and not something to despair over. Although pizza is rather tragic without cheese...but then, hummus covers a multitude of sins. God lets me laugh at myself!

By the way, ripe garden tomatoes taste great with rain water droplets on them!

Two piles of books

Yesterday I was checking out an armload of books and CDs from the library, and as I was doing so realized that I was being surveyed by a bust on display above me. It happened to be Beatrice (presumably Dante's lady), and on making eye contact with her she seemed to be reminding me that I already have a stack of summer reading for the upcoming school year. Which, alas, I have barely touched. And will probably distract myself further from it with my new stack. (So I'm more interested in green living and food-related literature right now than in Dante and Beatrice. It's summertime). Beatrice's little attempts at nudging me toward duty and integrity were not entirely fruitful (well, there are guilt pangs, yes, but have I acted upon them? No).

So here I enter yet another contest with myself. For really, a reading list that includes the Divine Comedy, Great Expectations, and Anna Karenina should be literary heaven to my bookish self. It rather offends my inner would-be English Lit. scholar that such a list fails to tempt. I would like to think this means I'm not that pretentious. Maybe I don't just read things for pretention's sake! Feeling better now? No, because what I'm actually dealing with is, quite plainly, good old-fashioned laziness. I encounter this frequently, but it's always discouraging to realize that things don't get done sheerly because I never put forth great effort to accomplish them. I feel this keenly after two years of it in college. But I suppose that's why I'm in college. Not to be able to say that I'm a whiz at homework assignments (even after fifteen years of school, sheesh), but to learn things about myself along with the academics. Whether or not I'll be able to parse Greek or pontificate on some obscure philosopher in a decade or two, I know that I will most likely struggle with laziness all my life. (For the record, I do highly value and enjoy my wacko liberal arts education. No, it probably won't ever pay as far as jobs and money are concerned, but then, I'd rather be a good person than a wealthy one. With humility, of course. For obviously, I struggle with the goodness part). Maybe if I tuck into the Divine Comedy right now, some of Beatrice's perfections will rub off on me.

Doubt it. But glory be to God anyway, for any mean attempts at goodness on my part.

The cook and the boy get married

The title of this post sounds very like something that would originate from some of my times with those precious children, as you read in my previous post; actually, it comes from a very different source. Far from sitting at a toddler's tea table, I was recently promoted to Maid-of-Honor in my friend's bridal party. Now, I am a fiend for tradition and history, and as I have been settling into my role and performing my duties, it seemed interesting and appropriate to read up on the origin of my position. My first online read, after googling something like 'maid-of-honor-history', was mainly a fruity description of stuff I already knew: "The maid-of-honor is the pillar of emotional support for the bride to make her happy leading up to her happy day blah blah blah lots of girly parties blah details blah...". Wikipedia was somewhat more enlightening. I discovered that the attendants to the bride on the big day traditionally were just that, 'bride's maids'. They typically were young, unmarried women who witnessed the wedding, the chief of them (maid-of-honor) being the bride's personal attendant for the days before the wedding. Of course this has evolved with the advent of the bridal shower and bachelorette party, where the Honorable Maid organizes some last hurrahs for the bride and bridesmaids before the marriage. I could have guessed the info wikipedia gave on it, and will be interested to see if there is anything else to read. What was more intrigueing was the origin of the words 'bride' and 'groom'. Apparently bride possibly comes from the Teutonic word for 'cook', while 'groom' comes from 'goom, guma', meaning 'boy'. Whether wikipedia is to be trusted or not, I think they make a very interesting pair.
For some last words, I hope (as maybe you have been hoping for over a year?) that this is a true revival of 'Ashli's Anecdotes'. May I have mercy from elsewhere to have some integrity in this project!
Because God gives, not just second chances, but chance after chance, may we, I and my readers, come at this little article with fresh minds. I am etc.

Strawberry Shortcake Tea

For those of you who aren't aware, I am by trade a babysitter. As anyone who has even encountered a child knows, the mind of a child is quite lively, and sometimes difficult to keep up with. I experience this regularly every other Thursday afternoon, when I have the great fortune to hang out with Indigo (3) and Raina (1). Now, my girls do not watch television, so they are especially expert at entertaining themselves, and while they're at it, me. Since child anecdotes are always a kick, here are some recent favorites.
One of Indigo's favorite activities is a large, barn-shaped puzzle with various animals pictured on it. Now Indigo is incredibly eloquent, and as we were constructing the puzzle, we were discussing each piece in order to help her figure out its proper position. When we got to the cow (or 'tow', since Indigo can't say her hard c's), she took one piece that had the rear end (including hooves and udders) and attempted to fit it in. "What part of the cow is that?" I prompted. "That goes in the back," she replied. "Those are his feetsies (pointing to the hooves), and those are his milk-thingies (being the udders)." Oh, really? I'm not sure which was more amusing: her particular choice of words, or that she said HIS milk-thingies.
The girls' mother spent a lot of time in Ireland, and absorbed (to my excitement) the custom of taking tea frequently. Needless to say, she's brought up her babies to be teatotalers, and so we often 'have tea' in they're little play kitchen/dining area. Indigo is already a superb hostess; she is constantly presenting me with a fresh cup. Raina and I drink tea together while our hostess bustles about. On my last visit, as I was thanking Indigo for her gracious service in giving me tea, she said, "Yes. It's Strawberry Cake Tea. It's Strawberry Shortcake Tea." Fancy-schmanzy!
Part of our more recent fun and games includes dancing. It's not uncommon for music, mainly of the nursery rhyme nonsense genre, to be playing, and since everyone except myself is under four years of age, ballet is the dance of choice. So we dance ballet around the house to the Wiggles and Mickey Mouse music. I never would have thought, but when in Rome...a three year old's Rome, at least...
Their father came home one time while I was there in order to fix his car up for a trip. Since dad is the most interesting business around, our activities upon his arrival consisted of watching him through the glass door (and poking our heads out to ask questions, mainly 'what are you doing?'). We took brief breaks to decorate the doorknobs with pony-tail holders, prettifying the house for Indigo's birthday the next day, but other than that, dad was the main attraction. When he disappeared shortly into the garage for supplies (after telling us he was going to do so), Indigo turned to me and asked, "Where did papa go?" Me:"To the garage, remember?" I:"Oh, yes, because that's where the grown-ups go." I guess they do.

Potpourri

Eugene lies decimated down here today. The weather continues dismal, although we had the sun peek out a bit. As a native of this state, I have a definite affinity with rain. But even I, who loves the storm, could not wish for sunshine to come sooner. It has a dampening effect on the mood, if you will.
All is truly well, though. I have little homework this evening, so I thought I'd update. There's not much in the way of news, so I thought, as kind of a review of the year, I would publicize some of my favorite works from this prolific year of reading. Here they are, folks!
~Measure for Measure (Shakespeare): admittedly one of the Bard's naughtier plays, I loved it for it's humanity. It was remarkably deep, and dealt with heavy issues while still being trademark zany.
~Locke, Federalist Papers, de Toqueville, Rousseau, Marx, Lenin: How does one do government? Let me count the ways! All these dudes had their own take on government, and it was fascinating to trace the differences and how they affected history (is it 'affect' or 'effect'?).
~A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens): I read this when I was sixteen, and disliked it considerably. A second reading helped me discover it's brilliance. I had also the advantage of maturity, and was able to decipher Dickens' verbosity.
~Crime and Punishment (Dostoevsky): hands down, the most intense read I've ever experienced. I was pulled right into the thing! Human nature is indeed wicked, and this book unabashedly displays this. Also: I never knew that an author could have so much talent, to write a book one way and make his reader think a certain thing for six hundred pages, then take the last page and a half to twist the thing in the other direction. Whew!
~Nietzsche: please, nobody have a heart attack. I don't prescribe to him; he is freaky. But he has a certain appeal that is undeniable, and his place in history and his writings are so profound, that reading him is definitely worth it. If you wonder, I only refer to him as 'him', for I don't want to have to type 'Nietzsche' left and right. You should try it.
~other recent favorites that don't really need explanation: Man and Superman (George Bernard Shaw), A Doll House (Ibsen), and All Quiet on the Western Front (Remarque).
Ta-ta for now! May your reading endeavors be worthwhile.
~I am etc.

Spring Cleaning

No, the whole blog endeavor is not all washed up, in case you were wondering. It is generally typical for a person to finish what they've started, and be faithful along the way, but such is not my relationship with the internet. Just ask anyone who is on emailing terms with me.
Today's title is 'Spring Cleaning', for various reasons: 1) It is spring, or it is trying to be at least 2) It is supposedly what people do in spring 3) We've got a lot of catching up to do!!!
Thinking about cleaning, we just had our smoke detectors cleaned Thursday. The reason for this being that we have very erractic smoke detectors. They have cried wolf three times in the last two weeks, and as with all 'good' smoke detectors, they aren't something that you want to go off without justification. They're lmost as loud as the singer who's singing from the UO stadium right now. I'm sure the sound could wake the dead. Actually, we discovered this at seven-thirty this morning, when we were nearly electrocuted out of slumber by our faithful detectors. Here we were, a little gaggle of sleepy students in front of the house, in our pajamas, IN THE SNOW (I among others being without shoes), while get this, the fire department was running a test on our smoke detectors! Yes! They thought it would be brilliant at seven-thirty in the morning to test our newly-cleaned smoke detectors in order to figure out which single one was causing the problems. So we're outside for twenty minutes while our house manager is running around the house in her pajamas looking for the rogue little detector. I applaud the Eugene Fire Dept. for their cute idea.
That's the only anecdote for today. I thought it was a nice, light transition back into blogging, instead of some 'o, my life!' commentary. So fair-thee-well, and may your smoke detectors fain to treat you justly.