Defining Myself October 2, 2009

This blog post got me thinking today and wondering how I define myself.  One of the first two assignments I ever gave my high school students was to carefully select five nouns and ten adjectives that define and describe them.  The other assignment was to write the story of how they were named.  Both of these assignments always helped me learn the names of my 150 students, and it helped me get to know them a bit better (while trying to assess if everyone had a firm grasp on elementary parts of speech).  I always encouraged them to think beyond the usual: 1. student, 2. son/daughter, 3. brother/sister, 4. friend, and 5. freshman/sophomore.  And, most of them did.  It seemed that most of them jumped at the opportunity to describe themselves as something other than the obvious.

So, how come I struggle with the same task?  In trying to pick five nouns that define me, I come up short.  I can’t use my profession to define me any more; I don’t even feel like a teacher any more.  I can’t use musician any more because my guitar sits in storage and the piano was sold to make room for cats.   I don’t even feel like I can legitimately use the stand-by relationships of sister and aunt to define me.  The truth is, most days I don’t feel like a sister and the only time I ever felt like an aunt is when my nephew lived with Linda.  So, where does that leave me?

Wife – the single most important noun I have ever known.  This time last year, having just three months of marriage behind me, I wrote on my blog, “Three months in and it’s still funny to hear Clark Kent refer to me as his wife.”  But now, it seems the most natural thing in the world.  I say husband in conversation with confidence and it no longer feels foreign.  I don’t know when the shift happened, but even though I’ve only been his wife for fifteen months, it feels as if it could be fifteen years.

Daughter – I will always be my mother’s daughter – both literally and figuratively.  Figuratively in the sense that people who know us both can say, “Oh, boy, you’re your mother’s daughter.”  As I’ve moved more into adulthood (Hello, I’m thirty!  And, married!), I’ve become more and more my own.  I can point to ways that Linda and I differ as clear as night and day.  But there are other ways in which we’re similar.  Being Linda’s daughter has shaped me in many significant ways.

And here’s where I get stumped.  If I were completing my own assignment, I would fail!  Isn’t there anything else?  I guess this is where I get stumped because to call myself anything other than wife and daughter is subjective.   I get self conscious and think, “I can’t call myself a photographer!  I don’t even have a real camera!  I can’t call myself a crafter!  I don’t even have a sewing machine!  Blogger?  Ha!  Reader?  Hardly!”  But, maybe I’m being a bit hard on myself.  So, I’m allowing myself the following descriptions.

Baker – What little girl who had an Easy Bake Oven didn’t love it?  I sure did.  That picture is childhood to me.  That brown mixing bowl?  I can’t even tell you how many things were whisked up in that mixing bowl and whenever I thought about what being a grown-up looked like I thought of a wife and mother in the kitchen baking something for her husband to take to work and for her kids to take to school.  Even in the months leading up to my wedding, I had that picture in my mind – so much so that I requested my shower to be baking themed.  I’m not a great baker; my finished product seldom looks like the photos in the cookbooks or on the blogs, but I try and my sweet husband oooohhhs and aaaahhhhs over everything I try as if Martha Stewart baked it.  That’s good enough for me.  Though I’ll never achieve baking fame or come up with an original amazing recipe, I am still going to call myself a baker.

Chronicler – both in picture and word format.  I won’t go so far as to define myself as a photographer or a blogger, but not because I don’t own a real camera or receive so many hits on my site a day.  I don’t want to define myself as those things because I think chronicler is a better fit.  I photograph homemade pancakes on a Saturday morning and write about a weekend picnic because I want to remember it.  I want to remember it all.  And that’s why I have kept a pen and paper journal, and started an online blog, and take pictures of my meals in restaurants.  Remembering is so important to me.

So, I’m a wife, a daughter, a baker, and a chronicler.  That’s 4/5, an 80%.  I guess I don’t have it all figured out just yet.  After all, I’m only 30.  There’s time to define myself as something else, something more.

Oh, October! October 1, 2009

"Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree." Emily Bronte

We didn’t get to see fall arrive last year.  We landed in the middle of reds and oranges and kicked through leaves on our first weekend.  There really wasn’t any build up.  I remember being a bit disappointed arriving on campus and seeing the colored leaves and thinking I had already missed the change.  I didn’t miss it all last year, but the dramatic beginnings of change had already happened.   And, for an almost 30 year old who had never experienced a real autumn, I was a bit let down to arrive after it already happened.  The air was already chilly and my favorite tree on campus was already half red.  The evenings were already dark pretty early.  I didn’t really get to experience the coming of autumn.  I didn’t get to usher the new season in with a ceremonious fall drink.  And so, that October an entire year ago I remember thinking, “Well, this isn’t as magical as I had hoped.  Maybe next year will be different.  Better.“

Would you believe that when I saw the first yellowing leaf in early September, I was angry?  Angry, I tell you!  My strong emotions surprised me, she who has always loved the fall and Thanksgiving and orange.  And when more and more colored leaves started popping up on the very tops of the trees that I could see out of our kitchen window, I called CK in the kitchen and said, very upset, “Look at that.  The leaves are already changing!”  I pouted.  I didn’t want it to happen.  I wanted to pause the world.  I mean, it wasn’t even October yet and half the trees around town were no longer the bright green of summer!

But, you can’t pause the world or slow down the seasons.  The leaves continued to change all through September and I started taking more and more pictures of the same tree so that I could have a tangible record of the coming of fall.   I told myself that as soon as October 1 arrived, I would embrace it: the changing leaves, the darker evenings, the cooler days.  For a while in September I began wondering if I had changed.  Did I even like fall any more?  Did I actually prefer *gasp* summer?

Since today is October 1, and I promised, I’m embracing fall: the leaves, the dark, the chill.  And, in a moment today, just like magic, my questions have been answered: Yes, of course, I still like fall.  I dare say that I still love it.  And, no, I wouldn’t say I prefer summer over fall … I actually can’t say I prefer one season over another, which is shocking!  I’m just 9 days shy of having lived here a full year and I have now experienced the coming of each season, the changing of one season into another, and … with this year, I have learned to appreciate each season, to savor the final days of each season, to enjoy the present. I recognize this little lesson as huge growth for me, for I am, and always have been, a person who lives and breathes in extremes.  I love something, or I hate it.

Living in real, definitive four seasons, though, has changed me just a bit.  Living here has made me just a little more mindful of living in the present, a little more aware of the present, and a little more appreciative of the present – instead of always looking to the future or remembering the past.  I’m happy fall has arrived, and I’m happy that I got to witness its arrival this year.

Motherhood: the perfect brownies and the possibility of goth boots September 22, 2009

I love The Smitten Kitchen. Blogger Deb is funny and thoughtful and a fantastic baker.  Not only do I love her recipes, but I love her stories, too.  Back in a post from July she wrote:

Some people find out they’re going to be parents and — you know, after the whole “yay babies!” cheer has simmered down a bit — freak out because they haven’t yet a) traveled the world, b) made their first million, paid off all of their debt and saved up enough for $200 toys for their little snowflake or c) well, grown up yet. But me, I actually had a moment of panic because I hadn’t yet found the perfect yellow layer cake recipe.

But, Deb met the deadline.  She found the perfect yellow layer cake recipe a couple months before her son was born.  Her post reminded me of that episode of Friends where Monica wants to the be the mom known for the best chocolate chip cookies.  Go ahead, watch this 4 minute clip – there are so many things that are funny about it. [Edit: Sadly, the PERFECT clip of Friends that I had originally posted here was removed from YouTube.  Hopefully, you know the episode I am referring to and if not, take my word for it :: it was a good one!]

So, Deb’s story and the Friends episode got me thinking: by the time I have children, what do I want to bake really well?  And it came to me in an instant: brownies.  I love yellow layered cake and chocolate chip cookies just as much as the next American girl, but I adore brownies.  Yes, it was settled, I would be the mom known for her amazing brownies.  So amazing that her kids would miss her brownies nearly as much as they’d miss her when they go off to college.

Now, as luck would have it, another favorite blogger, crafter, and baker of mine posted this entry just a couple of weeks after I got thinking about The Best Brownies ever.  After reading the Black Apple’s description, I was sold:

These are so reliable, so fast, and so good, and they fit my brownie-criteria to a T. I know that people look for different things in their brownie, but these are my top concerns:
-Chewiness
-Soft-ish insides
-Crisp (but not hard) little crust on top and sides

I gave them a try and … guess what?  They were perfect.  In.Every.Way.  She’s right: they’re reliable, fast, so good, chewy and softish, with a crisp upper crust.

The Best Brownie Ever

Please don’t think that I’ve just gone and settled for the first recipe I’ve tried.  After several batches of Chocolate Raspberry Brownies (sans nuts and raspberry topping), Cookie Dough Brownies (which we loved because not only because they were delicious, but the recipe made a lot: 9×13 pan instead of an 8 or 9 in square!), and Cheesecake Brownies (cream cheese makes anything better), I know a little about what I’m looking for.  While all these brownies are stand-outs in their own right, the Black Apple brownies still win.  I feel so accomplished to have my go-to brownie recipe secured.  Sure, it’s not my original recipe, but I have every confidence in the world that our kids will love them.  I might not make batches to send to them when they head off to college (mailing baked goods makes me nervous), but I will make them every time they come home to visit.

So, to me, motherhood means making the perfect brownies.  It also means letting your kids dress themselves and if that means they’ll pair their favorite polka dot shirt with their well worn plaid pants and hand knitted striped socks (because I will know how to knit by the time we have kids), then fantastic! I will proudly take them, in their silly and lovely mismatched outfits, out in public where they can parade around a bookstore.  After all, it’s just an outfit!

I’m glad I tell Clark Kent my thoughts because he holds me accountable.  We sit next to a very lovely couple in church most Sundays.  Both husband and wife hold degrees in Mathematics and are very nerdy (in the best possible way!).  They’ve had us to their home for Sunday lunch and we’ve met and talked with their two (very nice) teenage children.  Their daughter is very shy, soft-spoken, sweet, and when she is in church, she sits between her parents … wearing the most interesting foot wear.  And I mean interesting. I remember the first time I noticed them, I had to do a double-take.  It’s not like you would ever expect a girl like E to wear shoes like that. Like, crazy platform, goth-like, boots – a little bit something like this:

Definitely not something I would ever choose to wear – or want to buy for my daughter to wear.  As we walked home from church the other day, I asked Clark Kent, “What if our daughter wants to wear shoes like E?  What will we do?”  I sounded desperate.  Clark Kent, without missing a beat, said, “We’ll let her and it won’t be a big deal.”  I stared at him, in disbelief.  He then continued, “If we’re going to let our toddler pick out her own clothes, we might as well let our teenager.”  Touche, my dear husband, touche!

So, to me, motherhood is also the possibility that my daughter will choose goth boots over the sensible, yet stylish, Clarks that her mother might choose for her; and I’m ok with that now that I am armed with the perfect brownie recipe for her!  After all, they’re just shoes!

On how I’ve come to love audio books. September 17, 2009

For a brief moment in time, I was in charge of a book club.  It was a strange little book club that never really got off the ground, but I was in charge of it – part of my duties as manager of Mad Hatter Tea & Gifts, where I worked my first year out of college.  (Manager sure sounds impressive, doesn’t it?  Don’t be fooled.  I was more or less manager by default: I was the only one of the four of us who worked full time.)  We didn’t read any classics (much to my dismay) and I think it was in this book club that I read my first modern fiction – ever.  Seriously.  (For the first 22 years of my life, I read only classics.  Further, 95% of the books I read were assigned.)  So, in 2001, the year of my book club, I remember reading The Red Tent and The Girl with the Pearl Earring (both books I didn’t care much for no doubt because they weren’t classics – yes, I have been a book snob in my past).

One of the book club’s members was the owner’s best friend, Suzanne.  [As an aside, Suzanne's mom, Susan, was one of the part timers I managed at Mad Hatter.  At over 65, Susan became my best friend in Melbourne that first year I was out of college.  We took a road trip to Miami together, went out for Cuban food regularly, saw George Clooney movies together, and ordered a pizza (and ate the whole thing) while we watched the series finale of Felicity together.]  Anyway, Suzanne didn’t have time to read, but she still wanted to be a part of the book club and so she “read” her books in the car to and from work thanks to audio books.  I was horrified – she wasn’t really reading these books, was she?  Listening wasn’t an acceptable substitution for reading!  You couldn’t make notes in the margins!  You couldn’t slap a Post-It on the page of a favorite passage!  I also hated how Suzanne would actually talk about reading the book.  Like, she used the words read and reading!

The point it: I did not look favorably on audio books.  Until recently…

Life as a library shelver is boring when there aren’t students around using the books.  I mean, it’s really boring.  Students don’t start until the first week of October, so it’s going to be boring for a little while longer.  And, I’m a good worker!  I really am.  I actively look for work to do.  I ask people.  I go to different floors and beg for jobs – silly and menial jobs.  I ask my “floor manager” for work and he always responds the same: he chuckles and walks away from me.  It’s weird, really – the lack of initiative that others take.  If another shelver runs out of books to shelve, she just sits on a kick stool and reads a book.  Or, stands in the 330s and talks to another shelver.  Me?  Well, I find something else to do.  I relabel books (I love doing this), I tape up tatty book spines, I straighten books and straighten signs.  I work.  And most recently, I’ve been working with my iPod in my pocket.

No one has ever told me not to listen to my iPod whilst working.  My good common sense tells me it’s not a good idea, but I still manage to ask people who I see wandering around looking for the folios if I can help them.  So, it’s not hindering my customer service.  I also decided that should I ever get “caught” by my line manager and reprimanded – or just gently told to put my iPod away – I plan on pleading ignorance AND casually replying with, “Oh, I know I shouldn’t listen to my iPod, but I just had to find out what happened next on this audio book I’m listening to.”

And so, I have “read” two books whilst working this month: Robinson Crusoe and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.   Yesterday, I began my third book, Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book.  And I’ve come to love audio books and I’m sorry that I ever looked down on Suzanne all those years ago.

After my first day listening to Robinson Crusoe, I met Clark Kent at the library’s revolving door and we walked home together.  ”Do you know what Robinson Crusoe is about?”  I asked him fully expecting him to shrug his shoulders.  But, he knew.  I guess I’m the only one who didn’t really know it was about a shipwrecked man.  THE ENTIRE BOOK.   8.5 hours of goat hunting and cave building!  I persevered and I liked the narrator very much and grew very excited during the last 30 minutes of the book – when he finally gets off of the island after (I think) 28 years (or something like that).   I expected greatness.  Afterall, RC is a classic, right?  Oh well, it’s another notch in my Book List (because YES I am counting it as a book I read!).

But then there came The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (narrated by Marc Devine – a free podcast on iTunes and SO worth it!).  Oh, my!  What a gem!  This version was 9.5 hours of sheer delight!  I absolutely fell in love with Huck!  Having been to Hannibal, MO two summers ago, it was fun for me to “read” a Mark Twain book and be able to really picture the landscape.  I can’t say much else about it other than I absolutely LOVED listening/reading this classic!  And, I am definitely a Huck over Tom fan.  Tom Sawyer gets on my last nerve!

I tried to find a version of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer with a narrator that I loved as much as Marc Devine – but just couldn’t.  I eventually gave up and just tried to find another book that I probably wouldn’t have chosen to read on my own, but maybe could get behind listening to.  After nearly two weeks of searching iTunes and audible.com (where I had a free book to download), I chose Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book.  I just started it yesterday and am thoroughly entranced!  I have already thought several times that as soon as I’m finishing “reading” the book, it’s one I might actually want to read!

And so, 8 years later, I love audio books.

I just remembered that I love picnics. September 16, 2009

All I wanted for my 13th birthday was a picnic basket.  Linda came through for me and I got a cute, square, wicker picnic basket complete with a set of pastel picnic dishes.  I even got one of those quintessential red and white check picnic blankets (except mine was a tablecloth).  And for that one glorious summer, we picnicked.  We picnicked on the beach with fried chicken and potato salad.  We picnicked in Grant and brought along homemade ice cream packed in a cooler.  Then, the picnicking seemed to stop.   For the next many years, my picnic basket lived in the “back room” and then the outside storage room.  Then it moved out and lived in the storage closet in my apartment before finally ending up in Uncle Bob’s storage.  (However, though it mostly lived in out of the way and out of sight, it was used on a few very special picnics over the years, this one being the most special.)

Anyway, Clark Kent suggested we take advantage of the last few days of summer (just look at those changing leaves!  I wish they’d stay green until October 1) and head into town to picnic in Forbury Park this past Saturday.  We didn’t have a picnic basket, but we loaded up the backpack with all sorts of goodies (our favorites: fresh jam doughnuts and baguettes from the bakery and brie) and walked into town.  The sky was blue, the sun was out, the park was full, and it was an all round perfect day for a picnic.  We had such a good time, in fact, that we decided to go on another picnic on Monday (we both took the day off!).  We loaded up the backpack again (with all the leftover goodies from Saturday’s picnic) and this time walked into campus and picnicked by the lake.  The sky wasn’t as blue  and the sun wasn’t as bright, but the picnic was every bit as enjoyable.

And so, as long as the weather will allow us to, we’ll be going on a few more picnics.  There’s just something so lovely about the intention of it all – choosing special picnic foods and choosing a special picnic spot and spreading out a special picnic sheet.

13 Months & and a lady detective August 19, 2009

I always thought it was silly for parents to talk about their kids’ ages in months after said kids reached their first birthdays. But, here I am, still thinking about my marriage in terms of months even though we had our first anniversary.  And so, I will allow myself to continuing counting the months until next July just as parents count the months until the kid is twenty-four months.

Today we’re been married for thirteen months!  A whole year and a month.  When I really think about it, I know thirteen months is silly – it’s a drop in the bucket, so to speak, especially when I consider how two very dear friends of mine celebrate their tenth anniversary in just a few days.  Ten years?  Now that is something.  Ten years ago, I stood  as a twenty year old in a light purple dress and the most beautiful (and expensive) shoes I have ever bought hoping I wouldn’t fidget or get light headed, and watched as my dear friends said, “I do.”  They were twenty-two, just two years my senior, but I thought they were so old and wise and as it was the first wedding I had ever been in (I do not count the obligatory flower girl in my aunt’s wedding when I was 7) and the first wedding of someone truly important to me, I tried to imagine what it would be like for me when my turn came.

But, of course, the wedding was just a day.  It was a great day, but it was just one day.  The marriage has been great and I think that is part of the excitement I feel each month when the nineteenth rolls around.  Just as a new mother marks each month of her new baby’s life with excitement and wonder of what new milestones are being reached, as a new bride, I live for the nineteenth of each month – to mark each month with excitement and wonder of what marriage has been – being in this life with my best friend and being known by someone so incredibly well.  It’s exciting to keep adding a month under our marriage belts and I think it will be sad once month twenty-four rolls around and I have to shift into simply counting years.  I bet the same is true for that mother whose kid turns two and then it’s no longer twenty-five or thirty-two months, but just years.

One of the greatest aspects of marriage for me during these last thirteen months has been being known and how quickly it’s happened.  In December, Linda and Matt were in Pound£and (yes, where everything is a pound) and looking at Winnie the Pooh socks for me.  Linda would’ve (rightly) chosen the pink Pooh socks with polka dots, but I unwrapped the “jailhouse” Pooh socks (black and white stripes, you guys!) from Matt on Christmas.  We had  been married just five months that Christmas when Matt picked the socks that weren’t my first choice and while I tease him every time I wear those jailhouse socks, I still love that he got them for me; he had his reasons and he chose them because he had already gotten me a pair of pink Piglet socks and didn’t want to duplicate the colors.  I have since informed him that I can never have too many pink pairs of socks and he understands.  And, he understood enough about me to secretly squirrel enough money away (I am pretty tight with the purse strings) to have enough to secretly go into town when I thought he was in a meeting with his boss.  There he went to the expensive card store and chose THE perfect first anniversary card (a Forever Friends card that was relationship AND occasion specific!) for me!  He also secretly got me a picture frame (as I love picture frames) and my favorite chocolate bars.  He knows me and being known feels great.  He knows that my blog and flickr site are important to me and reads every word I write (which means more than I could ever express).  He knows the look I get on my face when I’m reading a SouleMama blog entry and will ask me what’s new – and he’ll listen and remember!  He asks about what I’m reading and seems genuinely interested in my too-long plot summaries.  And so, those jailhouse socks are a symbol to me – a symbol of how far we have both come in a short thirteen months and it is exciting to think about where we’ll be in thirteen years.

Now, I will quickly tell you about the latest book I’ve read: Alexander McCall Smith’s The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency.  I remember seeing this book for sale in Barnes and Noble and in Target.  It never piqued my interest and I never even wanted to read the back of the book to see what it was all about.  It was chosen for the English Teachers’ Book Club when I taught at Palm Bay High (though I was pretty much one of the most anti-social teachers at PBHS and never went to one book club meeting) and I never picked this book up until the day before we left for Paris, August 4, 2009.  I knew I would finish A Thousand Splendid Suns whilst in Paris and I didn’t want to be stuck on a 7 hour bus ride with nothing to read.  Since I work in a library, I thought I’d be able to find something good to read as my back up book BUT the university library is sorely lacking in good, modern fiction books.  I mean, SORELY!  (Though there are two of the Harry Potter books in CHINESE! on the shelves.)  There was The Other Boleyn Girl, but I just couldn’t bring myself to check it out (for two reasons: the spine was seriously crooked and it was a bit too long to be my easy back up read).  When I came to the P section, I seriously considered a Terry Prachett book, but I kept moving toward the end of the alphabet and found Smith’s book.  At an easy 233 pages, I thought it was worth a try.  Plus, it was set in Africa and that excited me.

I didn’t know what to think of the book at first.  In fact, I was actually thinking that I didn’t like it when I mentioned it to one of my colleagues (we have THE SAME taste in books and find we’re always reading the same books).  Her face lit up and I found out that she loves the series.  The series?  I had no idea there was more than one Ladies’ Detective Agency books and learned through my conversation with this colleague that there are ten books AND a television mini series.  And so I decided to reserve judgment since S liked them so much.

I’m glad I continued reading with an open mind as I turned out to really enjoy the book.  I enjoyed it largely because of its African setting – the people and customs are just fun.  And, fat, thirty-five year old, unassuming, private detective Precious Ramostwe is so likable and lovable.  Our library doesn’t have any other books in the series, otherwise I’d probably check out a couple more, though I probably wouldn’t read all the other nine.  It was enjoyable and I liked the short, staccato-like sentences and story-telling.

Not The Kite Runner August 17, 2009

The weekend before we left for Paris, Matt and I walked into town to go to the library.  We were looking for a simple Paris guide book and I was either going to check out Possession or The Kite Runner.  Fortunately, we got the last Paris guide book on the shelf and then I went off to the fiction department to see if I could find one or both of the books.  I ultimately passed on Possession because the copy on the shelf was very “tatty” (a term I have learnt since arriving in the UK) and not only was the library fresh out of copies of The Kite Runner, there was a long reservations “queue” for their various copies.  

 

We left the Reading Central Library and headed to Oxfam.

 

Oxfam didn’t have The Kite Runner, but there were two copies of A Thousand Splendid Suns (both by Khaled Hosseini).  I had seen the book on amazon and it was on Richard and Judy’s book list (from what I have gathered, R&J host a morning show and recommend books from time to time – kind of like Oprah, but WAY less annoying).  To be honest, I didn’t really ever want to read The Kite Runner.  But, it was just one of those books that kept appearing on EVERYONE’S list on facebook, on amazon, etc.  I actually thought it was too trendy.  I hate following the crowd and wouldn’t touch an Oprah book if you paid me!  [I just read through all the past Oprah picks in fear that I would find several on the list that I have read and loved.  I have only read five books out of all the past 13 years!!  Can you believe she's had that book club since 1996?  Four of the books I read because I had to: Sula, The Sound and the Fury, Light in August, and As I Lay Dying (all in college).  I only chose to read The Poisonwood Bible (but, I would like to state for the record, 8 years after she picked it!).]  Anyway, I just didn’t want to read The Kite Runner and I was kind of relieved when I couldn’t find it at the library or Oxfam.  I thought his follow-up A Thousand Splendid Suns would be good enough, if not better simply because it wasn’t The Kite Runner.  Same author, same Afghanistan, same thing – only better.

 

All in all, I liked it very much.  I hated the male character, Rasheed, but I think, especially as a woman, I was supposed to.  I loved the story alternating between the two central women, Mariam and Laila.  I loved not being able to guess what was going to happen; even in the parts where I partially guessed parts of the plot, I was always surprised by the whole story.  I loved not knowing anything about Afghanistan, its history, its people.  Though a work of fiction, I finished A Thousand Splendid Suns with a bit more understanding of the history of Afghanistan (the Soviet rule, the rise of the Taliban, the role of the burqa).   In the postscript included in my copy of the book, Hosseini explains, “A Thousand Splendid Suns is very, very dear to me.  It has been a labor of love, and I hope that it doesn’t sound too pretentious if I say that I think of it as my modest tribute to the great courage, endurance, and resilience of Afghanistan.  I hope that I will engage you, that I will transport you and that the novel will move you and leave you with some sense of compassion and empathy for Afghan women whose suffering has been matched by very few groups in recent world history.”  This reader was engaged and transported and moved and left with some sense of compassion and empathy for Afghan women who she had absolutely no understanding of before having read this book. 

 

I have since began reading a work of non-fiction by Asne Seierstad called The Bookseller of Kabul.  I enjoyed finding out a bit about Afghanistan and so when I came across this book whilst shelving last week, I thought it might be a good follow-up to A Thousand Splendid Suns.  I’m not sure if I’m going to ever get around to reading The Kite Runner (in fact, I was delighted when I brought up A Thousand Splendid Suns to my kindred-spirit-in-choosing-books colleague and discovered that she too chose it over The Kite Runner); for now, I’m content with my choice.  I’m content that I chose to read a book in which the subject was completely foreign and didn’t interest me.  I’m content that I finished the book with a deeper understanding and compassion for another country and its women and culture.  I would recommend A Thousand Splendid Suns.

Eating our way through Paris – Day 3 August 16, 2009

What could be more quintessentially French than baguettes and brie and escargot?!  Well, maybe creme brule, but three out of four isn’t too bad and that’s exactly what we enjoyed on our third day of eating our way through Paris.

 

On our last full day in France, we went on an absolutely lovely and amazing excursion to Giverny where we explored Monet’s home and gardens and the sweetest little town we’ve ever seen.  It also was where we had a delicious lunch and where one of Matt’s desires was met.  Before heading to France, I asked Matt what he hoped to do and see.  He was pretty simple and said, “I’d like to go to the Louvre, see the Eiffel Tower, eat in a typical French bistro, and try some good French wine.  Oh, and have a true French baguette with some delicious cheese.”  Well, day one accomplished the Louvre and Eiffel Tower.  Day two, with Kate’s help, accomplished the French bistro and French wine.  And, little did we know when we set out for Giverny, but day three was going to take care of the baguette and cheese.

This little outdoor cafe with seating for only about twelve is just up the hill from Monet’s home and gardens.  Giverny, small as it is, is teeming with tourists practically all year – and so is this cafe!  We were so lucky to arrive just in time to grab the last cafe table tucked away in the corner with a great view of the street.  I read over the menu and my heart did a little dance because I knew Matt was going to get what he so wanted: a half baguette FILLED with camembert cheese.  I decided on the three cheese panini, which was good (especially when I got to the brie part), but was no where near as delicious as Matt’s camembert baguette.  This lunch taught me a very important lesson: Never be afraid to order the same thing.  I think in my heart of hearts I wanted the baguette with camembert, too, but I thought I was being clever by ordering the second best thing on the menu in order to sample two things.  Again, while my panini was tasty, it just didn’t compare to the baguette!  How about those cute little bags they were served in?  Though we loved our Giverny lunch, we had no idea what delicacies were awaiting us when arrived back in Paris.

 

That’s right, a Laduree tea party was in order!  When we arrived back in Paris from our Giverny excursion, we had a short two hour window of time to fill before heading on our evening excursion to Montmarte.  In case you’re wondering what to do if you have two hours to kill in Paris, go to the Laduree on the Champs!

When we arrived, there was a very long line that was even out the door.  I was getting very nervous about the time.  Matt would joke later that the theme of our trip was me being nervous (I get very nervous when it comes to departure times).  We soon realized that the line we were standing in was just for the bakery case (no doubt for macarons specifically) and there was no one waiting to be seated.

We were first taken to a table for two by a window in the downstairs area.  This simply would not do.  I excused myself to the upstairs bathroom in order to check out the upstairs seating.  I was happy to find two open tables upstairs so I returned to the hostess and asked her if we could move upstairs.  She didn’t mind at all and led us to a lovely table right in front of a fireplace in the library room.  The atmosphere does make all the difference in the world!  In the downstairs area, there were countless tables.  In our library room?  Only four!

Matt had his heart set on a glass of champagne and chose the Laduree Rose rather quickly.  I spent a few minutes trying to choose between the rose, violet, or Laduree blend of tea before choosing the house blend.  And then came the pastry picking!  The mini macarons were a given and we chose four to share: rose (my favorite), vanilla (Matt’s favorite), orange blossom (a close second for us both), and caramel with salt (which was good, but we would definitely choose coconut next time).  Our individual pastries were a bit more difficult to decide upon.  I ended up selecting a rose cream and raspberry puff pastry (very similar to the St. Honore that I always get at the location in Harrod’s) and Matt picked a passionfruit and raspberry tart (that was amazing!).

 

We paid our bill, used the extremely swanky bathrooms, and then left Laduree just in time for a light drizzle.  It was lovely to walk huddled underneath one umbrella, Matt’s arm around my waist, strolling down the Champs.  We made it back to our bus promptly at 5:30 and then were whisked away to the Montmarte district of Paris.

 

Montmarte is a famous part of Paris, set on a hill with a lovely view of the city below.  I know it because it’s where Amelie worked, in a little cafe frequented by a bunch of eccentrics.  The guide book we took with us from the library AND our amazing tour guide, Mansel, both warned us about the many restaurants in the village square that loved nothing more than to rip tourists off.  So, we set off on the task of finding somewhere decent to eat, and oh, were we lucky?

 

After wandering by a strolling accordionist playing “La Vie en Rose,” we arrived in the village square, the artists’ hub.  There were so many restaurants, so many choices, and only two hours – so, the pressure was on to make up our minds quickly.  One thing I love about Paris is how 99% of cafes and restaurants post their menus outside so that you can look at the menu before you decide to ask for a table.  This would work more to our advantage if we spoke French as some of the menus are only in French, but since we don’t speak French, the posted menus serve as a good weeding tool.  If a menu is only in French, we pass.  We finally came upon La Cremaillere and all its English description glory!  Another thing about Parisian restaurants is their prix fixe menu: a set price which often includes a starter, main, and dessert.  My eye was immediately drawn to La Cremaillere’s Degas menu (aptly named for an artist since Montmarte is known for its artists, too) at €26.  I was pleased to see escargot as a starter option and while I was disappointed that creme brule was not listed as a dessert option, I did spy a delicious salmon main.  After little discussion, we decided to ask for a table.

 

We had such a friendly waiter.  Matt kept an eye on him and felt like our waiter was friendliest to us!  The two phrases of French I know must’ve charmed him.  Since the escargot was one of the deciding factors in our restaurant choice, my starter was a no-brainer.   Never having tried escargot before, Matt was a bit hesitant to order it as well and opted for the Italian salad instead.  I loved the little dish the escargot was served in.  Matt and I each had three and to his delight, he loved them!  His Italian salad was equally delicious and he very generously shared his fresh parmesan and mozzarella with me.

 

Oh, yeah!  I almost forgot to mention our drinks!  Since it was our farewell to Paris dinner, we thought it fitting to celebrate with a bit of wine for him and a practically-all-fruit-juice drink for me.  (I really don’t like the smell or taste of anything alcoholic, so in order for me to be able to drink more than a sip, the drink mustn’t resemble alcohol at all.  The Tropical fit the bill: coconut rum with lots of banana and orange juice!)  We also got a bottomless basket of French baguette pieces which was a big hit with Matt!

 

Our main dishes were absolutely delicious and in fact, perfect (even though I had misread the menu and expected salmon and scallops instead of the salmon and scalloped potatoes).  When our meals were served, the couple next to us kept looking at my dish.  A few minutes later, the man sitting next to Matt motioned for their waiter, mumbled something, and pointed at my plate.  When their food was served, guess what the woman sitting next to me had?  That’s right, the same thing as me!  Matt’s lamb was super tender and he (and me, too) loved it.  The mashed potatoes weren’t anywhere near as good as the previous night’s, but they were still pretty amazing.

 

Now, the food and drink weren’t the only amazing things La Cremaillere had to offer.  It had atmosphere and location as well!  The restaurant had three parts to it: the spacious inside seating complete with bar and live music, an outside garden terrace that they tried to sell us on by describing it as very romantic, and the outside cafe right in the middle of the square with a great view of all the action and that’s where we asked to sit.  Artists and their easels were set up all around the square and we could actually see a few artists sketching the portraits of fellow tourists.  It takes about 20 minutes to sit for a portrait and if Matt and I ever find ourselves back in Paris and in Montmarte, we will have our portrait drawn.  We’ll probably also choose to dine at La Cremaillere.

 

I haven’t mentioned the dessert yet!  Our third and final course was just as spectacular as the first two.  I didn’t know what I was in for when I picked the Chocolate and Pear Charlotte but it seemed the best of the options.  Oh, wasn’t I in for a treat?!  It was so refreshing and delicious.  It was a chocolate-mousse-and-pears with sponge-cake-and-cream-and-chocolate-sauce thing.  By the time dessert was served, I was already so full, but I was not going to let a bite go to waste!  Matt was very full, too, and decided it was a good thing he went with the lightest dessert among the selections: fresh pineapple slices with a scoop of raspberry sorbet and some raspberry sauce.  

 

It was a fabulous farewell to France full of good eats!  And now I leave you with a little video of our tea party in Laduree and our dinner in Montmarte.

Eating our way through Paris – Day 2 August 15, 2009

Our second full day in France began with a morning to mid-afternoon excursion to the town and palace of Versailles.  In our hour walk around the town before claiming our tickets to enter the palace and its grounds, we stumbled upon the greatest farmers market we have ever seen!  If only every town had a regular farmers market like this one, it would make eating like Michael Pollan suggests in In Defense of Food not only easy, but super enjoyable!  The video doesn’t do the market justice, but you might get an idea of the scope of the thing.  My favorite parts?  The whole pigs and giant sunflowers for sale.

Versailles was huge and too much and while worth the trip, I wouldn’t go back (unless it was for the farmers market).  Our lunch was great.   The palace grounds have several take away food shops and a few restaurants.  It was a bit of a gamble deciding on one, but we finally settled on a little cafe-restaurant with a lovely view of a pond and we weren’t disappointed.  The swarm of wasps that seemed to like the outdoor seating area was a little disconcerting, but the service was friendly and good.  The food was good, too!

Here are we enjoying each other's company waiting for our French fries.

So, what did we order at this sweet little Versailles cafe?  I couldn’t resist the FOUR CHEESE pizza!  I am a sucker for cheese and I was not disappointed with this pizza: goats’ cheese, mozarella, parmesan, and gorgonzola. 

Matt ordered a very French lunch, a Croque Madame with French fries.  I had never heard of a Croque Madame.  I have had my share of Croque Monsieurs on my previous trips to Paris as they’re generally a pretty cheap cafe meal (basically a hot ham and cheese sandwich) and so I advised Matt to give the Croque Madame a whirl.  The Croque Madame is a Croque Monsieur topped with a fried egg!  What could be better?  Especially when you throw in some French fries!

So, we enjoyed our cafe lunch and we shared each other’s picks.  The weather was lovely – a bit overcast and a wonderful reprieve from the previous day’s scorching hot (very Florida like) weather.  Oh, and the wasps!  There really were lots of them.  A waiter would occasionally pass by a table and drop off a fly swatter to help fend off the wasps.  An over enthusiastic patron at a table nearby, swung at a wasp, missed, and broke their table’s carafe of water instead!  It was funny!  All in all, it was a great lunch, great food, great weather, and it felt great to sit down and rest our feet!

 

But the eating didn’t end in Versailles for all day on Friday we had dinner to look forward to with Kate and Jon!  I was very excited to see Kate and Jon again (as it had been five whole years), I was very excited for Matt to meet Kate (you see, I have so few friends that when I finally get to introduce one to my husband, it’s pretty special), and I was very excited to eat dinner (as I trusted completely in Kate’s judgment to find us a great French bistro).

 

Kate (who recapped our dinner here and who I wrote this post about years ago) and I were reunited at the Eiffel Tower (which is so incredibly fitting since the first day we met was spent getting to know one another by reminiscing over our respective trips to Paris).  I had told her that Matt really wanted to eat dinner somewhere really French-y – the bistro setting, the red wine, etc.  Kate was up to the task of finding a suitable place and ended up leading us to a great place just five minutes from the Eiffel Tower.

 

Cafe Constant was a typical French bistro that didn’t take reservations.  It was fortunate we were in the neighborhood right in time for its 7 pm opening.  Though we found not being able to speak French never really hindered us (I guess I’ve just always been lucky and have never encountered the stereotypical rudeness associated with the French), it was great having someone among us who was fluent in French (that would be Kate).  She navigated the menu for us, chose the table’s wine, and insisted that we try an appetizer of foie gras with toast (that would be duck liver!).  As I don’t really drink, Matt doesn’t really indulge in wine all too often but one of his desires for our Paris trip was to have a really good glass of wine.  I was so happy that Kate could steer him in the direction of a good wine – he loved the dinner wine!  

 

Kate and I both ordered the chicken.  I forget what it’s called, but Jon (who is in Paris for culinary school and is currently working an internship at the Ritz) certainly sold me on it with his description.  Apparently these kinds of chickens have better lives than some humans (his words).  The pasta with basil sounded appetizing, too.  And besides, it’s not every day I get to have dinner with a culinary master who’s interning at the Ritz, so I took his recommendation seriously.  Matt, a lover of a good steak, jumped at the opportunity to order the beef dinner.  Not only was his beef delicious, he raved about the mashed potatoes.  I sampled both; they were both truly delicious.  

 

There wasn’t time for dessert and sadly there wasn’t time for sufficient catching up.  Since Kate is a hop, skip, and jump from the UK, perhaps another visit is in our future!  And so, our second full day in Paris/France ended at a quaint bistro over a glass of French wine and with good company.  What could be a more perfect ending to a most perfect day?

 

(I guess I’ll just call him Matt from now on.)

Eating our way through Paris – Day 1 August 14, 2009

I think both Clark Kent and I agree that our favorite part of our wonderful Parisian vacation was the food!   We spent €1.50 on some post cards and another €2 for a water color-esque print of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of our budgeted money was most happily spent on food (Oh, and the audio guides at the Louvre.  If you ever find yourselves in the Louvre, spring for the €6 audio guide!).  There were several people on our coach who were clearly in Paris to shop – a mother with her two daughters came back to the bus each evening with handfuls of shopping bags and two elderly women were hoping to catch another handbag sale at Galeries Lafayette – but we were in Paris to eat!

 

In fact, as soon as the coach dropped us off at the Place de la Concorde, a very central location as well as the guillotine’s home during the Revolution, after a two hour sightseeing bus tour, CK and I practically ran down Rue de Rivoli to Angelina, home of the best hot chocolate in the entire world.  Sure, I’m prone to hyperbole every now and then, but I do not exaggerate.  If you’ve never been to Angelina, you will have to take my word for it.

 

Angelina has an absolutely beautiful interior.  The restaurant is nestled in between a swanky hotel and upscale clothing stores, a fancy bookstore – and a few tacky-ish souvenir stores.  As we walked in around 11:30 am on our first full day, the reality of being in Paris with my sweet Clark Kent began to sink in.  We were really here!  I was getting to show him something that I love about this city, Angelina hot chocolate.  (As silly as it sounds, this hot chocolate is important to me.  Not only is it super delicious, it also just represents something that I experienced before CK and something that I wanted him to experience with me.)

 

And so, we were seated in the practically empty downstairs – right in the middle.  To my left was a huge and beautiful painting and to my right was a huge and beautiful mirror (that we ended up taking our pictures in).  As I struggled to get situated around the very tiny marble-topped table, I giggled and giggled – just bubbling over with excitement!  I just knew that even with my best descriptions of the hot chocolate, it was still going to blow CK away!  Also, I couldn’t wait to drink some myself!  

 

We decided pretty quickly on our desserts.  I went with something called Olympe and was pleasantly surprised when it came to the table looking so pretty!  The fact that there was violet cream and a macaron involved sold me and the generous amount of raspberries were a definite bonus.  CK consulted my opinion and I advised him to go with the lime cheesecake.  Never did we imagine it would arrive at our table looking like a magnificent white chocolate encased bomb!  I had a few (very tiny) bites of his lime cheesecake and it was out of this world!  But, then there’s the chocolate!

 

At nearly €15 for hot chocolate for two, it’s definitely the most expensive hot chocolate either one of us have ever enjoyed; with every sip, we were reminded over and over that the experience and taste was worth every penny (whether you’re talking about dollars, pounds, or euros!).  Their hot chocolate is so thick a spoon can nearly stand upright in it!  It is so velvety creamy and coats your mouth!  It was so fun to enjoy hot chocolate in the breathtaking Angelina with my sweet husband and I savored every minute of the hour we spent sipping and nibbling on the pure decadence of it all.  Before we arrived, we were both so hungry – like, lunch-hungry not little-pastries-hungry.  After our hot chocolate and pastries, though, we were pleasantly full and ready to tackle a three hour, fast paced tour of the Louvre (another post).  

 

Before CK, I had been been to Paris three tines with Linda (in fact, when I got back from my last Christmas in Paris, I raced to hang out with CK for the New Year…never would I have imagined that the next time I would go to Paris, I would go with him, my husband!!).  Anyway, there were three main things Linda and I would gush and gush about: Laduree and their macarons, Angelina and their hot chocolate, and the Latin Quarter and their gyros.  Now, I was able to introduce CK to Laduree and their macarons at Christmas time thanks to Harrod’s and the London location of Laduree.  Our first hour alone in Paris I was able to introduce him to Angelina and the heavenly hot chocolate.  So, that left only one thing: the Latin Quarter!  I was thrilled that our first day in Paris included some time in the Latin Quarter to explore (we ended up going to Notre Dame and Shakespeare and Company, a bookstore) AND enjoy dinner (which meant, glorious gyros!).

 

We happened up on THE street, home of Linda’s and my favorite gyro dealer, quite by accident.  I giggled and bubbled with excitement once again and made CK pose for a picture!  (How funny that we come to Paris to have dinner in the Latin Quarter at a Greek restaurant run by Indians/Pakistanis – and, the section is called the Latin Quarter because it is where the Sorbonne was founded and everyone used to speak Latin there.)  I think that the meat in these famous gyros tends to be shaved lamb and beef, but maybe it’s pork?  I’m not sure, but it’s absolutely delicious and it’s hanging in the window!  I love it!  I think CK loved it just as much!  

 

I ordered two “Pitta Extra” and two Cokes very enthusiastically and I think we were shown to the best table in the colorful joint!  So, for €4.50, a gyro is a pita filled with generous helpings of: the shaved mystery meat, lettuce and tomatoes, salt (they actually dump it in there :: I love it!), and…French fries.  I relished every bite and was definitely sad when I had finished it.  

The restaurant had its other charms, too.  The food wasn’t the only thing that was amazing!  First of all, the floor was covered in salt.  Maybe you don’t know this about me, I happen to love salt.  In fact, the salt shaker lives on the shelf next to where I sit on the couch and I have been known to sprinkle salt in my hand and lick it.  Yes, like a deer would do with a salt lick.  I don’t care who knows – I love salt.  So, I love a restaurant that not only dumps salt in the food, but has the actual canister of salt (not a measly shaker) on each table.  Second of all, I love the decor.  I didn’t take any photos of the crazy, border line garish (I love how Merriam-Webster defines garish as “excessively or disturbingly vivid, offensively or distressingly bright, and tastelessly showy”) interior (though I did take a video of it and it does, in a small way, come across).  The walls dripped with color and pictures of Greece.  Next, the public bathroom is great.  You have to get to it by walking down a twisting staircase that leads to their downstairs seating, which is very cool.  

 

See how cool the downstairs is?

 

 

I just love it.  And the men who work there are so friendly!  After dinner, we wandered through the bustling streets of the Latin Quarter.  We looked in the tacky souvenir shops (which is where we bought our 12 postcards for €1.50) and politely declined the offers to dine at one of the many restaurants that had a hostess/host type person beckoning to passers-by.  But when we came upon an ice cream stand, I couldn’t refuse.  I enjoyed every bit of my violet ice cream cone!

 

It was a fabulous first day of eating our way through Paris.  And now, I leave you with a little video of the interior of the Maison de Gyros.  If you ever find yourselves in the Latin Quarter wondering where to eat, go have yourself a gyro!