It has been really rainy in Poitiers for about the past week. We are all ready for some sun!
My friend left just a little over a week ago. Our trip was really good. We went to Normandy with some friends from Poitiers who all rented a house together, for the annual D-Day celebrations. It is always interesting to mix new and old friends, and all in all, I think it went rather well. I had been to Normandy once before, and just like the last time, it was moving in a really eye-opening way to stand in beautiful green fields, to look out over peaceful cliffs, and to know that so much horror happened right there. My friend and I broke up from the group on most days, to go venture a little farther. We listened to her favorite podcasts and the same music we listened to together in Colorado, and went and saw the Bayeux tapestry, William the Conquerer's castle in Caen, and a goofy Edward Satie museum in Honfleur. It is always interesting traveling with other people, and this friend and I had not traveled all that much together before. I was reminded how different we are and how different our worlds are. I thought a lot about the things I know a lot about versus the things that she knows a lot about. We both have different things we are good at, and different perspectives, and I like that balance.
After Normandy, we came back to Poitiers, and just hung out. We went on a long walk, picnicked by the river (my favorite Poitiers activity, I think), had drinks with my friends, and had some long talks on my terrace. Then, we headed to Paris, where we rented an AirBnB in the 19th arrondissement, which I of course immediately wanted to move into. The thing about renting this AirBnB was that, unlike a hotel, I DID want to spend all my time there, just pretending I lived in Paris, and not actually taking the metro and going to all ends of the city, which is what makes me not want to live in Paris. Of course, we didn't stay in the AirBnB the whole time, don't worry. It was kind of nice because Cari didn't really have much of an agenda, so we did a lot of just walking, and didn't feel too bad the couple of times when we didn't get to the places we wanted to go because of opening hours or random closings, etc. We found a little flea market, Cari's favorite thing in the world, and after a couple of minutes of me fretting that we were losing time losing time losing time, I settled in and helped her pick out a ring, tried on funny glasses, and bought a bright yellow shirt. We took a trip to Giverney. I couldn't decide if I really enjoyed the actual site that much or not...I told my friend in Paris....every park in France has amazing flowers, and that was the main thing there was to see so, was it worth the trip out there? But my friend thought it was the best thing we saw, so I'm happy we went. The bike ride there and then our hilarious sprint back and nearly missing the train but not was also a story I am glad to be able to tell now.
At the same time that we were there, a little Tarbes reunion also descended upon Paris, and I luckily got to take part in that. One other U.S. friend who now lives in Paris, a vrai tarbais turned Parisian, a Venezuelan who nows lives in Montpellier, a Venezuelan now living in Le Mans, and a Venezuelan who now lives in Panama all arranged themselves to come to Paris thanks to the Venezuelan/Panamanian friend buying herself a ticket to visit. It was really really nice to see them. I did feel self-conscious about my French, and also about how much I had to discuss with them. I was so quiet in Tarbes. My U.S./Parisian friend, along with her boyfriend, though, are an incredible force and made me feel warm and fuzzy and I just kind of sat back and listened and stewed in the togetherness, mostly. It was good. It was really good. A totally different time in my life, and we have all changed so much since then. But my old roommate, the Venezuelan living in Montpellier, is strong and wise, and really they are all so strong and wise and it's great to see everyone taking advantage of their lives and looking so happy.
The Sunday that my friend left to go back to the states was the same Sunday that the Orlando shooting happened. We actually read the first news of it as we were getting ready to head out of the apartment for the day, when they were saying there were 20 victims. And really...it didn't give us much pause. We both sat for a bit and just acknowledged how awful, how terrible it was. And later in the day, we heard that it was 50 people and did the same thing. And I returned home without thinking too much about it. But the next day, when I checked the news, my focus totally turned to that. I kept reading the news throughout the day, and really, really wishing I could be near my family and friends. Wishing I could tell my brother to leave L.A., and then realising that that wouldn't change anything. The fact that it was an attack on an LGBT and Hispanic community was hot in my mind, but I didn't really fathom what my LGBT friends must be feeling until I checked in with one of them, and he sounded so discouraged. So then I got pissed off. And, it almost doesn't feel right writing it, like I am trying to make this sad story about me, but I read the texts that were released in the media that were sent from a kid to his mom from the bathroom, where he was later killed. I still can't stand it. I felt and feel really mad. I still don't think I have a very rational way of thinking about it. Not many people in France have spoken to me about it. Maybe I should come up with a better stance on it, so I can talk about it with people here.
Now I am getting ready for my Dad to come, and getting ready to go home. I wish I felt more clear-headed.
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Wanting to...
I read a blog called Orangette, written by the lovely Molly (last name here) who has a book published now called A Homemade Life. You should go read them both. I just discovered her, or rather my mother discovered her and then passed her knowledge to me, this past summer. Now, I am catching up by reading her entries from 2004. They are so lovely, I can't figure out which thing she makes me want to do--cook like she does, or live in Seattle, or write like her, or have her friends and family.
But then I realize, oh so happily, that I have all those same happinesses. I don't even have to worry about it, because I too have wonderful memories of friends and food, and all have been just as wonderous as hers even though most have taken place in Kansas.
Lately I have been remembering my endlessly amazing friends from high school, whom I miss with the same ferocity as I did when we first left Topeka for schools spread out across half the country. It is overwhelming--the mixture of gratefulness and happiness I feel when I remember the times we've had, and sadness I feel because they've already happened. It always make me think of that Joni Mitchell song--"don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone"--which is so true and seemingly inescapable. But it is also these friends who defeat all the scariness of life by proving they will not disappear, that this is not yet over. Ah, the joy of knowing there are good things to come!!
Unrelated-ly...
Last week, I was having a very bad day, and I just wanted to come home and cook something. I have been wanting to make banana bread ever since the week before I moved out of my house in Lawrence and tried to make time to use the 38 or so frozen bananas we had for bread but failed. Luckily, my parents and current roommates also have frozen bananas. Much to my dismay, however, I remembered upon sifting my mother's banana bread recipe out of my file that it calls for BUTTERMILK. BUTTERMILK. Let me tell you, one of my least favorite things is wanting to make something fairly ordinary like banana bread and not being able to because you lack something like BUTTERMILK. Which is so close to being regular milk. Which no one ever has in their refrigerator. Which you can buy, but rarely do you need all of it for the recipe you are making.
But, this banana bread is special. To me, it is special simply because it's the banana bread my mother has always made and I will never think any other banana bread is as good. To her, it is special because the late great Emily Carmona, a feisty friend of hers who died suddenly a few years ago, gave it to her. Isn't it funny how significant a recipe can become under these circumstances? I have thought of making other banana breads, just for the sake of trying them, but I never feel like it would be right to do at my parents' house. Here, Emily lives on in small things like banana bread and found pennies. They become instilled with this higher function of reminding us to appreciate and remember. Is this a rare way of thinking? Ideas like this one are what make it hard for me to be vegetarian or vegan or any kind of restricted eater.
Anyway, apparently BUTTERMILK IS used in other things, because there is now a half-used bottle in my fridge. And tonight, it will be taken out, mixed with other things, and after they all cook together, I'm going to cut them up and dunk them in coffee and be grateful.
But then I realize, oh so happily, that I have all those same happinesses. I don't even have to worry about it, because I too have wonderful memories of friends and food, and all have been just as wonderous as hers even though most have taken place in Kansas.
Lately I have been remembering my endlessly amazing friends from high school, whom I miss with the same ferocity as I did when we first left Topeka for schools spread out across half the country. It is overwhelming--the mixture of gratefulness and happiness I feel when I remember the times we've had, and sadness I feel because they've already happened. It always make me think of that Joni Mitchell song--"don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone"--which is so true and seemingly inescapable. But it is also these friends who defeat all the scariness of life by proving they will not disappear, that this is not yet over. Ah, the joy of knowing there are good things to come!!
Unrelated-ly...
Last week, I was having a very bad day, and I just wanted to come home and cook something. I have been wanting to make banana bread ever since the week before I moved out of my house in Lawrence and tried to make time to use the 38 or so frozen bananas we had for bread but failed. Luckily, my parents and current roommates also have frozen bananas. Much to my dismay, however, I remembered upon sifting my mother's banana bread recipe out of my file that it calls for BUTTERMILK. BUTTERMILK. Let me tell you, one of my least favorite things is wanting to make something fairly ordinary like banana bread and not being able to because you lack something like BUTTERMILK. Which is so close to being regular milk. Which no one ever has in their refrigerator. Which you can buy, but rarely do you need all of it for the recipe you are making.
But, this banana bread is special. To me, it is special simply because it's the banana bread my mother has always made and I will never think any other banana bread is as good. To her, it is special because the late great Emily Carmona, a feisty friend of hers who died suddenly a few years ago, gave it to her. Isn't it funny how significant a recipe can become under these circumstances? I have thought of making other banana breads, just for the sake of trying them, but I never feel like it would be right to do at my parents' house. Here, Emily lives on in small things like banana bread and found pennies. They become instilled with this higher function of reminding us to appreciate and remember. Is this a rare way of thinking? Ideas like this one are what make it hard for me to be vegetarian or vegan or any kind of restricted eater.
Anyway, apparently BUTTERMILK IS used in other things, because there is now a half-used bottle in my fridge. And tonight, it will be taken out, mixed with other things, and after they all cook together, I'm going to cut them up and dunk them in coffee and be grateful.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The Catholics
I was trying to fall asleep tonight, having just compiled a mix CD for the garage sale I am helping my mother and aunt run tomorow, and I realized something. Tonight at my Lawrence Fair Trade meeting, we were talking about a grant we applied for through Catholic Relief Services last year, which we didn't get. The reasons we didn't get it were because we don't do very much with catholic groups, and we don't have a strong relationship with CRS. Tonight, a couple of comments were made about catholics, similar to comments which have been made before--we're talking mild, but still. I didn't say anything. I didn't even think about saying anything.
There are two reasons this is a problem. First, the meeting I was at was at the ECM--which stands for Ecumenical Christian Ministries. The whole point behind this place is that it is an open community space. All are welcome. I go there, but I have never gone there to be religious. That's why I like it. And that's why it likes itself. Second, most of my family is catholic. I went to catholic school for nine years. So a great many of the good people from my childhood were catholic. I always felt like we were a pretty good bunch. I don't go anywhere to be religious now, but I think I am pretty open-minded, and I think that is because of the way I was brought up. So....what the hell?
As soon as this thought entered my head, the entire space up there became clouded with overlapping issues and problems, all of which shake me to the core. This seems to happen far too frequently for me. I feel pretty certain that it all boils down to a lack of self confidence, which I know is probably behind a lot of my other problems, such as frustration over not knowing what to do now that I have graduated. And this is annoying because I know that I will have to get over the first thing before I can get over any of the others.
I have been thinking about starting a blog for a while now. I always feel that it's a little weird, blogging. I don't know why it isn't enough to write in a journal. But for some reason, it isn't.
I read a lot of food blogs. There are several young, lady food bloggers who seem to me to be very much enjoying themselves. Reading their writing and recipes gives me a feeling of serenity. So, this will be mostly a food blog, as well as a way of ...yes....finding myself. And if that is a made up idea that is actually impossible or inaccurate, well I am just going to have to deal with that outcome when it comes. Because for now, all I can see is that something must be done.
So, here it is. I have decided I will not delete this entry, even if it does start out with two paragraphs about catholicism. I will start here. And the first recipe will be: Eggplant and Tomato Pasta.
Two nights ago, I wanted to make a dinner with lots of vegetables because I had yet to eat any that day. However, I was a little limited because we already had some vegetables, and they were all locally grown and just asking to be used to their full potential. So, I turned to my Italian for Dummies Cookbook. Not a very glamorous start to this food-bloggin' business, I know. But this cookbook has really been wonderful. Everything I have made out of it has been easy, has made good use of fresh ingredients, and has left nothing desired. I also really like it because, not having gobs of experience cooking, I usually have to call some parents or former roommates in the middle of a cooking venture to ask them to please clarify some point. With this book, the answer is almost always there somewhere. Finally, the titles of things are pleasingly blunt. The last time I made something out of it, everyone was very impressed and asked intriguingly, "oooo what is this called," and I said with a smile, "Shrimp with Beans."
Eggplant and Tomato Pasta
1/4 c olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
4 cloves of garlic, minced
1 tsp dried red pepper flakes
1/4 c white wine
1 large eggplant, cubed
1 14 oz can tomatoes or 2-3 c fresh tomatoes, in large chunks
1 tsp thyme, chopped
2 tsp oregano, chopped
1/4 c basil, chopped
1 tbsp parsley, chopped
salt and pepper to season
There are two reasons this is a problem. First, the meeting I was at was at the ECM--which stands for Ecumenical Christian Ministries. The whole point behind this place is that it is an open community space. All are welcome. I go there, but I have never gone there to be religious. That's why I like it. And that's why it likes itself. Second, most of my family is catholic. I went to catholic school for nine years. So a great many of the good people from my childhood were catholic. I always felt like we were a pretty good bunch. I don't go anywhere to be religious now, but I think I am pretty open-minded, and I think that is because of the way I was brought up. So....what the hell?
As soon as this thought entered my head, the entire space up there became clouded with overlapping issues and problems, all of which shake me to the core. This seems to happen far too frequently for me. I feel pretty certain that it all boils down to a lack of self confidence, which I know is probably behind a lot of my other problems, such as frustration over not knowing what to do now that I have graduated. And this is annoying because I know that I will have to get over the first thing before I can get over any of the others.
I have been thinking about starting a blog for a while now. I always feel that it's a little weird, blogging. I don't know why it isn't enough to write in a journal. But for some reason, it isn't.
I read a lot of food blogs. There are several young, lady food bloggers who seem to me to be very much enjoying themselves. Reading their writing and recipes gives me a feeling of serenity. So, this will be mostly a food blog, as well as a way of ...yes....finding myself. And if that is a made up idea that is actually impossible or inaccurate, well I am just going to have to deal with that outcome when it comes. Because for now, all I can see is that something must be done.
So, here it is. I have decided I will not delete this entry, even if it does start out with two paragraphs about catholicism. I will start here. And the first recipe will be: Eggplant and Tomato Pasta.
Two nights ago, I wanted to make a dinner with lots of vegetables because I had yet to eat any that day. However, I was a little limited because we already had some vegetables, and they were all locally grown and just asking to be used to their full potential. So, I turned to my Italian for Dummies Cookbook. Not a very glamorous start to this food-bloggin' business, I know. But this cookbook has really been wonderful. Everything I have made out of it has been easy, has made good use of fresh ingredients, and has left nothing desired. I also really like it because, not having gobs of experience cooking, I usually have to call some parents or former roommates in the middle of a cooking venture to ask them to please clarify some point. With this book, the answer is almost always there somewhere. Finally, the titles of things are pleasingly blunt. The last time I made something out of it, everyone was very impressed and asked intriguingly, "oooo what is this called," and I said with a smile, "Shrimp with Beans."
Eggplant and Tomato Pasta
1/4 c olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
4 cloves of garlic, minced
1 tsp dried red pepper flakes
1/4 c white wine
1 large eggplant, cubed
1 14 oz can tomatoes or 2-3 c fresh tomatoes, in large chunks
1 tsp thyme, chopped
2 tsp oregano, chopped
1/4 c basil, chopped
1 tbsp parsley, chopped
salt and pepper to season
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