YUM

This week is the first week that we have bought a gallon of milk, probably since we moved to St. Paul six months ago. I eat yogurt semi-frequently but have almost eliminated milk from my diet because SB doesn't like to drink it and my consumption is too sporadic to warrant the purchase. This week is an exception and, in honor of it, I made peanut butter cookies after a surprisingly fun program evaluation night class. YUM. Milk + peanut butter cookies = weekday evening bliss. In the background is poetry being listened to by SB. Based upon what I'm hearing I think that a good read for the near future will be the poetry of Charles Bukowski.

   

Star Trek Party

Tabouli

Command Insignias

Pita Bread

Samosa Innards

One of Many Funny Labels by SB

In addition to pita bread, samosas, and tabouli we had cucumber sauce, hot mango chutney, sweet chili sauce, and almond-stuffed dates wrapped in bacon. There was a perfect amount of food, and it was a whirlwind of more than a dozen guests in our tiny one-bedroom apartment. SB dominated Star Trek "Scene It," and several of our homemade beers were consumed in-full (impressive since the beer isn't all that great).  Success!

A Favorite

Since my mad-scientist-type professor forgot to e-mail the readings for today's class, I have a bit of spare time to write another post! Classes are going well. A recent fascinating read was an excerpt from Becoming Justice Blackmun. I became completely absorbed in learning about the relationships, expectations, and politics existing within the Supreme Court. This book will definitely be on my list of "books to read post-graduation." Actually, maybe I'll make that another list on this blog. I'm slowly getting the hang of this whole blogging thing...

Lastly, before I post another of my all-time favorite poems, new: this weekend we host a party of at least a dozen guests, all of whom will likely be hungry and thirsty for delicious food, beer, and Star Trek. Yes, we're throwing a party dedicated to the one of the nerdiest cult tv series' of all time. It should be very fun. I'm making a ton of different foods including vegan options, and will certainly post pictures by next week. But first, a great poem:

Under the Willows 

J.R. Lowell

This willow is as old to me as life;

And under it full often have I stretched,

Feeling the warm earth like a thing alive,

And gathering virtue in at every pore,

Till it possessed me wholly, and thought ceased,

Or was transfused in something to which thought

Is coarse, and dull of sense.  Myself was lost,

Gone from me like an ache; and what remained 

Became a part of the universal joy.

My soul went forth, and, mingling with the tree,

Danced in the leaves; or, floating on the cloud,

Saw its white double in the stream below;

Or else, sublimed to purer ecstasy,

Dilated in the broad blue over all.

I was the wind that dappled the lush grass,

The tide that crept with coolness to its roots,

The thin-winged swallow skating on the air:

The life that gladdened everything was mine.

Final "First Day of Classes"

Today begins my final semester of graduate school. It started in a familiar room, but with an unfamiliar tone. Although it is surely too early to judge, I have a feeling that this classroom will be something like Hogwarts under Dolores Umbridge. The professor, while trying to appear generous (by offering that we call her by her first name and bring food when needed into the lunch-hour class), was so uptight that she went through the syllabus all hour without really showing any sign of relating to the students. She repeatedly mentioned how "very unusual" it was to have two students by the same first name; she was even more troubled when the students didn't offer up suggestions as to "what to do about this" -- as though one student should be required to be called by another name simply because there was another girl by the same name in the class! Seriously, it is as though she has never been in a classroom before! Also Umbridge-like, she spoke to us like small children -- "if I see you using electronics at inappropriate times I will ask you, in front of everyone, to put it away." Jeez. This is grad school. Most of us are 25 - 35 years old and are paying an arm and a leg to sit in these classrooms and hopefully learn from professors with great minds or at least great experience that they can share. I will conclude by stating that I wouldn't have even spent the time to rant on this blog if the professor had sent out the pdfs of our readings "right after class" as she had promised.

Pita Bread and Falafel

In fear that my new semester, beginning tomorrow, will squash my cooking time into mostly weekend afternoons, I experimented a lot today. First, hummus. Second, and nearly the same as hummus, falafel. Also, pita bread and cucumber sauce. We excitedly bought tahini from the co-op with a gift card only to taste it with complete disgust. Ugh. Ah well. I'm sure it will be useful when we have our upcoming Star Trek party with a few vegan guests. Can't wait to wow everyone with my new "from scratch" skillz.

Samosas and Dipping Sauce

A first attempt. Eaten while watching "Hell on Wheels," a documentary about the Tour de France. We intend to be in France during the tour to see it live some day. I can't wait for us to travel together. Mostly I can't wait to hear SB's adorable french-speaking in action. Love it. 

For Warmth

My Lover Gave Me Green Leaves


My lover gave me green leaves
with the mud of the garden on them,
radishes sharp and red,
nasturtium flames.


He gave me the tender heart
of a cabbage, its glossy coat,
a loaf of bread studded deep
with seeds.


He gave me the note
the blackbird
I'd cried at the blackness of
by the river sang.


He gave me the struck fire
of his thoughts
in his mind --
flint on flint.


He gave me the taste,
direct on his tongue,
of the syllables their embers
did not destroy.


He gave me his word,
the word of an Adam--
a promise,
should he set eyes on the sun.


He gave me a drop of the dew
to hold.
To see my face in it.
To look through.


He gave me,
in the chrisomed palm
of his empty hand--
a gasp of joy.


- Josephine Dickinson

Skyway

Today I rushed through the skyway, considering a walk to Target exercise if done with enough vigor. On my way back to the office, I was stuck behind a short man with long slow strides. Cursing him in my mind, agitated and with a higher heart rate than supplied by the walk, my skin was nearly crawling with frustration within mere seconds! As we approached a closed door, I sighed, disappointed, feeling the heavy weight of wasted time. I then looked up to see that this man had turned to hold the door for me, sharing with me a kind smile while exuding a calm happiness. Lesson: chill out.