Happy January First

on the corner of Market and Main

We rang in the new year - and celebrated our sixth anniversary - in Weston, Missouri, a historic town north of here that is very charming indeed. Situated in the remarkably hilly terrain of the bluffs above the Missouri River, Weston was a bustling place 150 years ago. It used to be one of the western most towns in the US, was a port for western-bound wagon trains, and for many years, was the only major tobacco market west of the Mississippi. Now it is a hub of history and tourism, hosting festivals year round, and housing visitors in many of its quaint B&Bs.

We stayed in the Benner House Bed and Breakfast, a 114 year old "painted lady" (do two shades of purple count as a painted lady?) that was originally built by an owner of the McCormick Distillery in Weston (oldest continuously operating distillery in the U.S.!). Our hostess at the B&B started out the New Year's Evening with a champagne toast to the New Year ... and to us. (I pretend that all the celebrations are also in honor of our anniversary.)

The Benner House is replete with decor, Victorian and otherwise. Creaking floors and twisting staircase, antiquarian furniture, wallpapers galore, the yellowed sheet music of "I Love You, Truly" open on an antique "peerless" organ ... right next to a Panasonic laser jet printer ... on a doily. A modem blinking in the corner behind an antique wooden stool; a grand piano, two guitars, a Christmas tree, and a remote control fireplace in the solarium. It was our first foray into the world of B&Bs and we were fascinated by every tiny bit of it. We stayed in the Rose room which - as you might imagine - has a floral motif. We had a view of the neighbor's "widow's walk" and the wide-stretching fields on the horizon, which looked beautiful at dusk. Everything is dormant as this is the deep sleep of winter. But there are fields, foliage, and rolling hills all around Weston. We have vowed to return in the spring.

For dinner we headed down the street (past "Old Geezer's Mantiques") to Avalon Cafe for the New Year's Eve Wine Dinner, all five courses of which were delicious. After that we stepped out into the biting cold where the Main Street sidewalks were completely empty. Not a creature was stirring except us, standing on the corner, discussing how much brighter and more numerous were the stars here than at home. We walked a block down the hill and turned down Short street to find the pub that Sergio remembers from his first visit to Weston 10 years ago - O'Malley's. We stepped inside the very plain looking building, paid the cover, and descended into the subterranean former wine cellars that make up O'Malley's Irish pub which is where everyone in Weston was last night. Cavernous and smoky and deep beneath the surface of the earth, all kinds of people had gathered to celebrate loudly - young and old and middle-aged; singles and couples, big groups and small; people dressed up and sparkly, people dressed down and dull; two men in utilikilts; one red head in a red satin strapless dress; lots of singing; cigars, pipes, cigarettes, kazoos, and hats shining "Happy New Year," all the revelry enhanced by booze, bright stage lights and a band with guitar, fiddle, and hammer dulcimer.

underground at O'Malley's

We stayed just long enough for one beer and then headed out, through the upper room of the bar, still subterranean, where a cozy subset of people were belting out limericks of the sort that could only be sung so loudly in a bar beneath the ground. We climbed our way up and out and into the freezing cold again and on the street above O'Malley's you could hear positively nothing. We tiptoed back up the hill to our B&B and counted down the new year - and our anniversary.

After breakfast this morning we drove in and out of the 22 block historic district of Weston, ooh-ing and ah-ing at the charm. We hit the road early and were home in time to spend the rest of the day without a care in the world, before heading out again tonight for dinner and a movie, the cap on our New Year's anniversary celebration. Every bit of which was perfect.

(Oh! And the person who planned this entire outing for us while I was so busy with school I couldn't see straight? Sergio. To whom I am very grateful.)

The Weston Depot (1922), now the Weston City Hall, is in the same spot where Lewis and Clark's Corp of Discovery camped out in 1804. The land where Weston is was part of the Louisiana Purchase of 1803.

Today Only!

I don’t remember if it was this way last year at the holidays, or if the economic situation has ratcheted things up a notch, but this year I am bombarded by sales pitches. Every day for a week, I have received 8 to 12 emails each day from retailers enticing me to buy something. It’s the same stores sending me a new email every day, making my inbox a broken record. Didn’t I just delete that email yesterday?

But each day is a different incentive: discounts? one day only? gifts under $10? gifts under $6? free shipping! additional discounts! buy something red! (?) something free if I hurry? clearance items? last minute gifts? extra points on my rewards card? free gift with purchase!

None of these offers have enticed me to do anything except hit delete. Right now I am not going to buy any of that, no matter how much of whatever they offer me. But since the economy is bad and I know that retailers are suffering and that circumstances are dire, I actually sort of … feel … kind of … guilty. Like I’m saying “No” to a desperate plea each time I click delete.

Hey! Want to buy this? No thanks.
What about this? No.
Okay how about these – they’re buy one get one free! No, really.
Just buy it! We’ll give you a free gift. No. Not now.
Please buy something? No, I already said No.
Are you sure you don’t want to buy something? I’m sure.
But we thought maybe you wanted one of these. No, I don’t.
We’ll ship it to you for free. No.
Yes we will. I know, but still – No.
Oh, just buy something from us, will you? No!
Please? No.
Pretty please? No!!
Pretty please with sugarplums? No, No, No!!
Fine! But this is the last time we’re asking you. Fine.
Don’t expect to get this great offer tomorrow. Fine, I don’t want it anyway!
And today is your last chance for free shipping, too! Good!
Until tomorrow. Okay.
See you then? Yeah, see you tomorrow.

Snow Day

Today was a snow day, so to speak. This does not mean the same thing at this stage in my life that it meant when I was younger, but I still get excited about the snow as though I were a kid. It doesn't matter that I still have to go to work when it snows and it doesn't matter that I don't have the time or interest to play in the snow. (Although that snow angel I made a few years ago was kind of fun.) There's still something exciting about the possibility of it all, of just knowing that I could go out and make a great snowman or enjoy a day free of obligations, given the right circumstances. Those prospects, even if unrealized, are delightful.

Yes, I believe it's official now: I could not enjoy life in a place that does not have seasons like this.

old St. Patrick's in the snow
cold covering of snow outside, warm glow of lamp inside

Christmas in a Cup

The Mayor's Christmas Tree at Crown Center is 100-feet tall, only slightly taller than the mayor himself (joked Sergio). It is a massive piece of merriment secured on four sides by powerfully strong ties latched to the ground amidst a whimsical Christmas village of tiny train cars, giant peppermint sticks, small houses, nutcracker soldiers and two brown pigs (?). The tree has 7,000 white lights and innumerable ornaments, as well. It is extremely merry.

Tonight, on the ground in the whimsical Christmas village, I found two tiny pieces of a branch from the Mayor's Christmas tree. I brought them home to spruce up the place a little bit (pun intended) with some natural Christmasness (in lieu of any garland or tree of our own). It felt a little like Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree. Except I guess this was Mr. Funkhouser's Christmas Tree.

But now it's my little Christmas in a cup.

My Saturday

And just because you are confined to your apartment all day reading genre theory, doesn't mean you can't have a nice snack.


In the foreground: bruschetta featuring local parsley and fresh (fresh!) local tomatoes (an heirloom variety of cherry tomato, grown in a greenhouse by Alice) and Woolly Rind, a local sheep's cheese from Green Dirt Farm - both purchased at Bad Seed Winter Market. Plus crackers from an undisclosed location. (Okay, they're from Whole Foods. *sigh* You can't win 'em all...)

In the background: Writing Genres by Amy Devitt.

My Friday Night

Just because you are really busy writing a paper, doesn't mean you can't have something nice for dinner. And just because it's December, doesn't mean your dinner can't be somewhat local.


In the foreground: pasta with local oven dried tomatoes, local dried oregano, local dried chili, and fresh (fresh!) local parsley from Root Deep Urban Farm and local rosemary fougasse bread by Roaring River Bread Company, both purchased at tonight's Bad Seed Winter Market. Plus a few local pickled okra - not pictured, but fun to say - which I pickled myself about four months ago.

In the background: a paper about hair in nineteenth-century sensation fiction from both sides of the Atlantic.

A Little Christmas

It's December 1 and already I am really craving Christmas. However, I have determined that this year there will be no time for much of a display around here. No time for a tree or garland - no time for ornaments - no time to bake things - no time for the Saul Steinberg Christmas plate - no time for "Love, Actually." Only time for school work and travel. If it weren't for tight deadlines looming on the horizon, I'd probably have already whipped out the ornament box, made some hot cider and played Vince Guaraldi on the iPod. *sigh* But there is no time for that.

So, today when I got two little bits of Christmas in the mail - it was not a moment too soon. Perhaps I'll hang them on the houseplants in lieu of a tree.

Thanksgiving Day

Happy Thanksgiving from the cutest pilgrim salt and pepper shakers in all of Nashville. (Wait a minute: were the pilgrims Shakers?)

In Honor of the Piano in Harwich, Mass

Recent news reports have shared the strange details of an abandoned piano found in the woods in Massachusetts recently - a good condition, Baldwin upright, complete with bench, sitting in the middle of the forest. How, why, and by whom it was left remain a mystery.

News organizations have snapped up the chance to ask if a piano is played in the forest and there's no one to hear it ... etc.

But here's another What If proposed by poet Winfield Townley Scott. (This is from a strange little volume I bought for $1 at the library book sale years ago. It's called Some Haystacks Don't Even Have Any Needle.)


IF ALL THE UNPLAYED PIANOS

If all the unplayed pianos in America--
The antimacassared uprights in old ladies' parlors
In the storehouses the ones that were rented for vaudeville
The ones where ill fame worsened and finally died
The ones too old for Sunday School helplessly dusty
The ones too damp at the beach and too dry in the mountains
The ones mothers used to play on winter evenings
The ones silenced because of the children growing away--
Resounded suddenly all together from coast to coast:
Untuned joy like a fountain jetted everywhere for a moment:
The whole nation burst to untapped, untrammeled song:
If would make--in short--a most satisfactory occasion,
A phenomenon which the scientists could never explain.

- Winfield Townley Scott

ThanksVegan, The Meal

For the last three years our Thanksgiving table has been graced with vegetables from our CSA with Fair Share Farm. Even though the season ends in October, our farmers still have a few winter crops that keep growing into November, which they harvest and bundle and bring in to town just in time for the biggest food day of the year. We picked up this year's Thanksgiving share last Friday and drove it straight to Tulsa for ThanksVegan. Several items from our abundant local stash featured prominently in our meal, including the sadly maligned Brussels sprouts (whoever thinks those adorable little vegetables aren't delicious maybe just hasn't eaten sprouts fresh from the farm?) which we roasted until slightly crispy with olive oil and walnuts. We also had swiss chard (sauteed with onion in olive oil) which we combined with chard from Jon & Erin's yard, the food "miles" of which could be logged in a mere handful of footsteps. We also had a plenteous Wilted Spinach Salad with Fair Share spinach and a good old fashioned Sweet and Sour Cabbage, complete with a local apple from Bad Seed Farm. Looking back, I think this year's meal may be the most local we've had.















Looking forward, I am realizing how absolutely possible (dare I say, simple?) it can be to source an entire ThanksVegan almost completely locally; we could have done that with this year's meal, had we eaten in Kansas City where I have learned about so many great sources for local food. This year, the only things we ate that are not available locally are lemons, orange and cranberries, walnuts, olive oil, and olives. But everything else is available this time of year, at least around the midwest. We could have gotten bread for the stuffing and the croutons in the salad from Hot Mama Bakery or Bread of Life bakery (to name just a few). We could have gotten butternut squash, potatoes and onions from any number of places near by. We even could even have made our Tofu Roulade with local tofu from Central Soyfoods in Lawrence, KS. It hadn't occurred to me that we could do almost everything local since for our version of the holiday we typically buy a Tofurky® or a Field Roast®, but by making the main dish ourselves, we could.

Well, if we went completely local, I guess we'd need to find a midwestern substitute for cranberries. Or I suppose we could make an exception for the sake of an old tradition, even in the midst of what I think makes a lovely new tradition - a full Thanksgiving dinner made with food from close to home.

To Be Grateful

The most relevant aspect of Thanksgiving is obviously not the turkey, as we all can agree. But you have to admit that the bird features pretty prominently this time of year. And if you happen to be a vegetarian or a vegan, your version of this holiday will necessarily shift a little. In 2003, Sergio and our friends in Tulsa, Jon and Erin, became vegans, and the next year for Thanksgiving, we decided to get together to partake in an turkey-less meal. It was a great weekend - we spent hours and hours cooking and chatting and filling in the gaps of time that stretch and grow in long-distance friendships. Sergio cleverly named our event ThanksVegan and we had so much fun that weekend that we did it again the next year ... and the next ... and the next ...

This year we celebrated our Fifth Annual ThanksVegan. It is our tradition now. Jon pointed out that we have been doing ThanksVegan longer than we knew each other in college. Which was a startling, but nice, realization. Each year this holiday has been our spot of time to savor all the things we have in common - things much greater than the turkey missing from the table. But I am grateful for that missing turkey and for the opportunity it gave us to start this tradition of getting together with friends, about whom there is much to be grateful for.


home grown swiss chard from Jon & Erin's yard

trusty resources

Let's eat!

A Lot of Hands

Tonight was the penultimate class session for Transatlantic Sensations. We are off next week for Thanksgiving, then we meet on the 3rd to do peer reviews on our papers, then our final papers are due on the 10th and that's it - the end of this, my last literature course for my degree. Next semester I have only one rhetoric class left (and one huge thesis project) in order to finish my masters degree. So six months from now ... I'll kind of ... be done.

On the one hand, this is really exciting because it means I'll have successfully completed this major accomplishment. But on the other hand it means I won't get to go to class any more. But on the one hand it means I will have more free time to read other things. But on the other hand it means I will not get to sit around with 12 people and discuss what we've all read. On the other hand it means I won't exhaust myself staying up until 2:00 am. to finish school work. But on the other hand it means I won't be writing academically as much. But on the other hand it means I can write non-academically more. But on the other hand it means I won't be reading thematically like I am now ('transatlantic sensations'). But on the other hand it will free me up to do other things besides read, other things entirely.

But in the meantime I have a 15-page paper to write and a big thesis project to work on.

Ready for Winter

I've been preserving the harvest this year and tonight it was time to reap some of those rewards. The cold weather gave me a hankerin' for Red Bean and Quinoa Chili. So, I used some local frozen corn and some local canned tomatoes which I processed in September, combined them with local fresh bell pepper, garlic, and onion, and of course kidney beans (not local but cooked from scratch!) and quinoa (not local, but I hear there IS local quinoa which I am determined to find!) - and added a tomato juice ice cube (local!) - and I made a very nice chili indeed.

Sergio's new winter coat came in the mail today - while I was dishing out our dinner, he tried on his coat and confirmed that it will be just the thing he needs to keep him warm this season. With a new boldness towards the cold weather that he typically abhors, he asserted, "Winter's got nothing on me."

And with two heaping bowls of my mostly local chili, I heartily agreed.

RED BEAN AND QUINOA CHILI

from "Feeding the Whole Family" by Cynthia Lair

2 t. olive oil

1 onion, chopped

2 t. sea salt

1 green pepper, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 or 2 t. cumin

1 t. dried oregano

1/8 t. cinnamon

1/8 t. cayenne

2/3 cup quinoa, rinsed in warm water and drained

1 cup fresh or frozen corn

1 or 2 cups tomato sauce or crushed tomatoes

1 cup water or broth

1 can of kidney beans (or one cup of dry beans, soaked 6-8 hours, cooked 50-60 minutes with cumin and a bay leaf)

Heat oil in skillet on medium. Add onion, salt, garlic, pepper, and spices; sauté for 5 to 10 minutes. Add rinsed quinoa and stir in. Add corn, tomatoes, and water (or broth) to onion/quinoa mixture. Simmer 20 minutes. Add cooked beans to other ingredients; simmer around 10 minutes.

You Should Go to the Library

The Central branch of the Kansas City public library is hosting two very nice exhibits which I recommend highly to all.

Hungry Planet: What the World Eats features photographs of families from around the world and the food that they eat in a week's time. They are all photographed in their dining rooms, surrounded by food. It is a fascinating array. Descriptions and explanations support the photos making for an enlightening view of what we typically don't think about that critically ... but what is absolutely essential to our being. It is interesting to note the amounts of food and how much processed food (or not-processed food) is a part of people's diets.

Illuminating Kansas City is a collection of photographs (photographer Kevin Sink) of Kansas City from a variety of interesting perspectives. There are some stunning shots and unique perspectives of the city, many downtown shots as well as views of the Plaza and some remarkable images of the Bloch building at the Nelson-Atkins.

Oh, and the library has books. Another good reason to go.

Consumption

Tonight on All Things Considered, News Analyst Daniel Schorr speculated that the Age of American Consumerism May Be Over. Though being consumers is closely tied to patriotism in our national psyche, current economic circumstances necessitate or reflect a decrease in spending that might make us, as a nation, change our tune.

But what's interesting about Schorr's analysis is the use of the word "consumption." Even though I assume there is a definition of this term that is exclusive to the field of economics, that didn't stop me from pondering the other definitions of the word and placing them in this economic context. Since I am studying 19th century literature just now and not economics, each time Schorr said "consumption," I couldn't help but think of an old-fashioned disease.

The OED confirms this sense of gloom with the tone of some other definitions of consumption: "the action or fact of consuming or destroying; destruction," "decay, wasting away, or wearing out," and "wasteful expenditure, waste." When you put it that way, it brings a whole new meaning - as Shorr hinted - to "shop til you drop."

"Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better"

In yesterday's paper there was a blurb on the front page enticing readers to find out if their favorite blog is written by a man or a woman by testing it at www.genderanalyzer.com. Never one to pass up a good opportunity to examine gender stereotypes (especially gender stereotypes about writing), I couldn't resist trying it out. I was hoping to find proof of the inaccuracy of the sharply contrasted gender conventions on which I assumed the analysis is based, so I was disappointed when the "Gender Analzyer" guessed the gender correctly on 8 blogs out of the 12 I tried. However, I was delighted (and surprised) with the 2 it got wrong, and I was tickled with its verdicts on the blogs I submitted which are co-written. MY blog rated 67% feminine; I'll take that over a higher percentile - the kind of higher percentile reserved for blogs that are pink - but I'd rather have gotten something in the 50% range which wins you a "gender neutral" designation.

Here I am acting like I really care what the Gender Analyzer says when what I really care to know is what criteria the site's "Artificial Intelligence" uses to determine masculinity and femininity in blogs - and how they determine it to a degree, no less. And what I really wanted to run through their little tester is some editorial copy written by a man but meant to sound like a woman ... and maybe some novel passage from the 19th century that was written by a woman but published under a man's name.

I am skeptical of easy, clear distinctions between men and women. Perhaps the percentage range in results on the Gender Analyzer does bridge the chasm between the diametrically opposed gender poles of simply "male" and "female." However, doesn't this spectrum still uphold the polarization, the strict either/or? Obviously, the Gender Analyzer did not address this. It picked one gender or the other and designated a percentage rating. It did not critically investigate the notion of gender entirely. Needless to say, this wasn't quite the level of gender analysis one might hope for.

Weekend with the Girls

These are the friends I have known the longest ...

... and what better way to spend a cold, autumn weekend than with a group of people who have known you since forever - a group of old friends that you admire and enjoy. Last weekend they converged from Chicago, Oklahoma, Overland Park, and Olathe and gathered at the M&A B&B (my apartment) in downtown Kansas City and together we began celebrating our 30th birthdays. Turning 30 means that we have known each other for a long time - 15 years at least. It's hard to believe it's been that long. We were quite different back then and are quite different now but we're still the same people somehow and a remarkable bond has ensured that we still have a wonderful time together every time we converge. I am already looking forward to 30th birthday celebration part 2 next year, or any other opportunity to enjoy the company of my dearest, oldest friends.

Yes, We Can

And we did!


President-Elect Barack Obama

All Souls' Day

Three years ago when we bought this apartment, we were delighted by the perfect view: Old St. Patrick's - the second oldest church in Kansas City (1875) right across the street. We watched people coming and going each Sunday and listened to the bells chime. But only for two months - at which point the diocese shut down the church for renovations.

For three years it has been just another pretty face - quietly housing a community of pigeons on its spires, but otherwise looking quite lonely. We'd see an occasional truck load of stuff going out (blue carpet) and better stuff (new lumber) going in. Each weekend the only visitors were a family that came to tend to the lawn across the street and the long skinny patch of grass on the side of the parking lot, which on the weekends is always empty. Until yesterday, an unseasonably warm All Souls' Day, when the church was finally open for business again after three long years of lying fallow.

So, with Garrison Keillor telling ghost stories on the radio, I re-potted the basil in my window sill while Sergio pulled the threads of my scarlet A off the rented costume ... and we watched the parishioners pouring out, one after another, after another, clowns-in-a-Volkswagen style.

Here comes the neighborhood!

Sinners and Saints

We were invited to a fabulous Halloween party this weekend, the theme of which was Sinners and Saints. Sergio and I, not wanting to play it too straightforward, decided we wanted costumes that were ambiguous in their representation of the notions of virtue and vice. My mom came up with a brilliant idea: Hester Prynne and Reverend Dimmesdale from The Scarlet Letter. It was perfect. A couple of puritans who sinned - one is a reverend while the other wanders in a "moral wilderness" (Hawthorne 183).

It was a costume that any English major could love. And love it I did. But for that matter, so did all the other party-goers with their bouffant hair-do, devil horns, angel wings, metallic face paint, rubber mask and foil wrapper hat. The best moment was when a woman at the party approached me, having not seen the red A on my chest, and said "Ah, you must be a saint." I smiled, shook my head no, pointed at my scarlet letter and said, "I'm a sinner."

Works Cited

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter. Bantam Books, Toronto: 1981.