Archive for » September, 2008 «

ZOMG I have a dog

Um, world?  Sometimes I do things.  Impulsive things.  Things I not only do not think about, but things that I do not WANT to think about, and yesterday that thing was to go to the local pound and bring home a 30 pound dog.

Why do I do this to myself?  It’s hard to say.  A deathwish?  Intense masochism?  Psychosis?  I’m sure Marti could affirm either or all of those, particularly since I did not mention the dog to him until he got home and saw us walking home from the park, dog in tow.

In my defense, he always told me that if I wanted a dog, that I should get one without telling him.  That he should just come home and have the dog be there.  Implicit in this is his total lack of desire to take care of a dog, any dog, or any animal period.  Let’s just say that we were lucky half the fish lived through the summer.

I, on the other hand, already have two children, four fish, three snails and a cat to care for.  Why did I need a dog?  Osito the cat is certainly upset, and I can’t say much for the sleep I got last night, what with Maya snuffling and the dog trying to crawl into bed with Ben at 2 a.m.  But for some reason, I need a dog.  My messy house will only get messier, and all that money I’ve been working toward shaving off the food budget each month will likely go to dog food, but still, I just need a dog.  I haven’t had a dog since my childhood dog died in 2002 — Opee had lived to the ripe old age (and I mean ripe!) of 17 years old.  For a Cocker Spaniel, that’s the equivalent of really freaking old in dog years.  I always considered myself sort of a cat person, except that I loved Opee desperately and even had my senior pictures taken with him (earning me a lot of jeers in high school).

A few days ago I picked up the book, Marley and Me — Life and Love with the World’s Worst Dog, and after sobbing through the end (spoiler alert: the dog dies.  Of course the dog dies!  Dogs don’t live forever!) I decided I wanted a dog.  “Missy,” I told myself sternly, “You just read a very emotional book about dogs.  You should not go looking for a dog for a few days.  Let yourself calm down and be reasonable first.”  I heartily agreed with myself.

Two hours later I was in the Pima County Animal Center getting licked through the chain-link door by a beautiful, 2-year-old Australian shepherd/labrador mix.  I asked the tech to open the door so I could see the dog, and she came back with keys, cooing, “Oh yes, girl, you get to go home, girl, who’s a pretty girl, now…”  I interrupted her.  “We just want to see her.  We haven’t decided yet whether we’re going to take her.”  The tech gave me a look that withered me to a pile of dust on the floor.  “I see,” she said curtly.  “Well, step on in, we don’t want to take her out of her cage prematurely, now, do we?”  I did, feeling like dirt to the negative 20th.  Thirty minutes and $52.00 later (half off dog adoptions!) I was dragging my new dog Saffron out the door.

This morning I woke up in a complete panic.  “I have a dog,” I told myself.  “Well, she’s not that big.  She’s a medium-sized dog.”  Just then, Saffron came bounding in (Marti is insisting we should rename her “Steak”) and jumped into bed with me.  At this point I realized that she had grown in the night, from a medium-sized dog that seemed small compared to the Malemute at the park, to a giant dog, snuffling and shedding on my pillow.  Later I found where she had pooped in Ben’s room — so much for the assurance she was already potty trained.  As I cleaned it up, I thought about just taking her back — would that be so bad?  I had acted impulsively, without discussing consequences or even thinking about them.  But, as I looked outside, where Saffron had been chucked after being scolded for her accident, I saw her running up and down the driveway, “helping” Maya ride her little push tricycle.  She saw me looking and came running up, nose wet, tail wagging like mad. And I knew, impulsive or not, I was in for the long haul.

God help me.

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More “Wingtips on the Ground” from Iraq

I received a notice today that my friend and former colleague, Aaron, had posted more good stuff on his blog Wingtips on the Ground.  I was particularly amused by this photograph:

I also noticed that my updates must not have been coming through, because he has put up a lot of new posts I had not seen that included a plethora of interesting information about diplomacy and the security situation in Iraq. I think Aaron is a natural diplomat; while I was in Japan, I watched how he interacted with people and, although I don’t think he knew it, I tried to emulate him in a lot of ways. It gives me hope, knowing he’s on the ground in Iraq; if anyone can cut through cultural difficulties, it is Aaron. I loved the pictures of him with Iraqi kids, too.  I loved the Iraqi children I worked with when I was volunteering here with refugees; like children in Japan, there was an innocence and lack of materialism that we do not see as much here in the U.S.  Thinking about Aaron working on bringing drinking water and soccer fields to rural Iraq certainly makes my day — and Aaron, if you need more chocolate chip cookies?  Just say the word. :)

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Feeding the kids

You know, I just saw this article in the New York Times about helping kids eat healthy foods, and all I have to say is, New York Times, do you realize that you’ve opposed every parenting book published since 1985 that wasn’t sponsored by the Christian Coalition (motto: nothing like a good smack to help Johnny eat his broccoli)?

I mean, how dare you suggest that we should not let our kids eat whatever they feel like eating.  I know several serious authors — serious! — who insist that toddlers instinctively know what their nutritional needs are, and will eat exactly as much as they need to fulfill those needs.  Which makes perfect sense, because I, as a perfectly functioning adult who can cook an entire meal, instinctively know what tastes good is good for me.  Which just doesn’t explain why I eat so many cookies…

My favorite tip in the article, however, is the one about dressing up the vegetables with a little fat.  When I lived in Japan, I was surprised to find how delicious the vegetables were.  Cabbage dishes that melted in your mouth, spinach concoctions that tasted of sesame and rice wine, sprouts browned to perfection in a savory sauce — oh, there were some classy veggies!

Then, when we moved to Arizona with Ben, I noticed a similar phenomenon; Abuela vegetables.  Ben, who wasn’t a big fan of greens as a baby (still isn’t) would ask for 2nds and 3rds at Abuela’s house — even when it was purslane, a green weed she used to pick in the arroyo.  Ben learned to say frijoles before he could say mama, practically, and uncle George loved to give him the choice of Abuela’s beans, or ice cream, just to watch Ben choose the beans (he always did, indicating an early talent for sucking up).  Anyway, the secret of Abuela’s vegetables isn’t really a secret; they were fried in garlic-saturated oil, they had chunks of Mexican cheese nestled among the greens, or they swam in a lovely butter sauce.  They were about a thousand calories per bite, but they were also full of all the wonderful nutrients that we desperately want kids to eat.

I’ve decided that the problem here is that most Americans eat vegetables like they do penance.  Tofu has a bad name; just try offering tofu to an American male, and you’ve immediately challenged his manhood (try it in the summer, raw and ice cold with some spring onions on the top, drizzled with soy sauce — even my father loved it).  Also, we don’t love our vegetables the way we should; they linger in the fridge and wilt, so that by the time they’re cooked they’re practically compost.  I’m not pointing a finger here; I’m equally guilty.  I’m just saying it’s no surprise that kids don’t like vegetables, when so many of our traditional dishes (peas and carrots, anyone?) are mushy and tasteless.

Anyway, I know how hard it is to get children to eat well — oh yes, I know! — and I’m sure Ben will be forever traumatized that we make him count up bites when he’s reluctant to try something (listed as a parental mistake in the article, incidentally).  But, I had an elderly Japanese woman tell me if I wanted my kids to eat vegetables, to start them off easy, with tempura (breaded, deep-fried vegetables with a dipping sauce).  With that in mind, I’ll share the recipe, and much luck to everyone in getting their kids to eat a decent meal.

Vegetable Tempura
For vegetables, any will do — carrots, broccoli, sweet potatoes, cauliflower, beans, onion, lotus root — you can try just about anything. Just cut the vegetables into manageable pieces; for potatoes/sweet potatoes/lotus root, cut thick circles. For broccoli, each large floret can be dipped and fried, and for carrots, cut a large carrot into thirds and then cut into four strips. Medium to large shrimp are also delicious dipped in the batter and fried.

Dipping sauce (you can buy this in the store also, check the Asian foods aisle):
1 cup dashi broth (this is fish broth; you can also substitute 1 cup water and 3 tsp salt)
3 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon mirin (if you don’t have it, add 1 tbsp cooking sherry plus 1 tbsp sugar)

Put all ingredients in a saucepan, bring to a boil, then let cool. Heat a frying pan with a couple inches of vegetable oil in the bottom.

Photo courtest of An American in London

Photo courtesy of An American in London

Tempura batter:
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 eggs
3/4 cup ice-cold water

Very lightly mix the eggs, flour and cold water (the colder the better) in a bowl until ingredients are just blended but the batter is still very lumpy. Test oil temperature by dropping a little bit of the batter into the oil; if it sinks for a second and then rises up, it’s the right temperature. Dip vegetables into the batter and then fry in the oil. Carrots and green beans can be dipped in clusters of 3 or 4 and fried together. Frying too many bunches at once can cause the temperature in the oil to drop, making the resulting tempura a bit droopy, so watch the temperature.

You should end up with lightly cooked vegetables nestled in a crisp batter shell. Dip in the sauce and enjoy!

Thanks to the book, Japanese Family-Style Recipes by Hiroko Urakami, for the ingredients list; substitution suggestions, however, are mine.  The photo of vegetable tempura can be found at the interesting travel site An American in London; for some reason it won’t allow me to put the link in the caption.

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My Kind of Principles

Marti and I spent a long time tonight talking about politics, about who is principled and who isn’t, or if “principled” even really applies to politicians. But one thing is clear: I’m a Democrat because of my principles, and because I believe that more Democrats share those principles than Republicans. It took me a long time to get to this place where I agree with one side rather than the other, but I truly believe that allowing religious interests to seep into our politics will make us little more than a theocracy — no better than any Islamist country that elects its ministers to office. Call them Imams or Preachers or Pastors or right-wing nutjobs — they all stink in politics.

Sí, se puede cambiar

Afterward, though, after talking about all this, I felt really sad.  Sad enough that I could not sleep, and here I am, up at 3 a.m., writing a forbidden post on politics.  But what can I say?  It’s infuriating.  I mean, the media is terrified to criticize the Republican candidates, there is a media blitz about an aging beauty queen who is completely unqualified to sit public office, let alone the White House, and in all this I fear that we will, again, slide backwards with another conservative election.

What matters the sex of the candidate if that candidate does not support women’s rights? I am sick of puppets. Marti admires the Republican party for this strategic move on the chessboard; I just find it sad. As always, women are being lied to and manipulated when their best interests are not at heart. Someone who makes rape victims buy a rape kit in order to be examined — not a women’s advocate. Someone who publicly refused to take maternity leave because she thought it was unnecessary — not a women’s advocate. Someone who touts abstinence-only sex education, then turns around and flaunts her pregnant, teenage daughter to the world — not a women’s advocate.  I might shoot a gun, be able to skin and quarter a deer and know just the right way to cook a sage grouse, but that doesn’t make me qualified to run the country.  Nor does it mean I have conservative values.  Those are just skills — the skills of someone who grew up in the backcountry.  I, at least, can speak multiple languages and am familiar with what, exactly, the job of vice president is.  Perhaps I should apply for public office?

Sí, se puede. -- César Chávez
Sí, se puede. — César Chávez

Is that what the glass ceiling is all about?  Realizing that it’s really not that big of a deal, this representation of all the people in the United States?  I mean, why have women held back, if all you need is to cater to men’s opinion, and show your pretty face?

I wait for the day when a female candidate is not another move on the chessboard, but a real political figure, with the education and experience she should have in order to hold the highest office in the land.  Someone who actually cares about women’s issues, even if it means that she might not be as popular.  Someone who is honest and truthful, and makes me proud that another woman is running for a public office.  Maybe it’s just a dream, but didn’t someone say once, I have a dream? We all have one. I’ll keep dreaming mine.

Barack Obama 2008

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Category: Politics  Tags:  7 Comments