Strange pathways

As some of you know, I wholeheartedly scoffed at any number of new media phenomena when they first cropped up. I had no understanding of, nor any real use for twitter, and I certainly mocked the iPad when it first came out as I was a steadfast kindle fan. Fast forward a year, and suddenly I understand how this happens. First I start looking at various blogs. Then I notice that half of my favorite bloggers are twittering. And then I start thinking that I would be much more likely to blog if I don't have to wait until I get home to do it, and which point the allures of various things such as food, sleep and entertainment start taking precedence. And now here I am, blogging through the vaunted internet cloud, and typing on my new, shockingly girlish iPad which is white and pink. (Don't ask me what happened. I went in with the best intentions of getting a black one and a blue cover but somehow got swindled into the white one with a pink cover under the auspices of being told that it was very "Hello Kitty." I make no excuses.)

Anyhow, I'm still loyal to my kindle. I consider this more a multimedia platform, and a way to separate church and state, so to speak. Consider this an experiment of sorts - is it true that increased accessibility can lead to greater communication or will this simply end up being a deluge of rather useless minutiae? Only time will tell. I'm trying out a new blogging app called Blogsy, so we'll see how that works. But to set the tone right as we embark on this new venture, here's a random photo of Yukie intent on her donut frisbee to get us started.

Much in the way she is completely fixated on her activity, I myself have been fascinated by my new techie toy. How embarrassing it is to be such a sucker for early adoption. Regardless! Here's to the grand experiment!

semantics

Yesterday, as I was ruing the fact that I hadn't worked out in days other than during my bike commute, and melting the butter for a truly wicked chocolate sheet cake (http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2007/06/the_best_chocol/), I started to think about how difficult it is for me to be committed. Indeed, I would even argue that I fear commitment (see, e.g., male/female relationships of a personal nature). Thus, we see the repetitive cycles of my life - abandoned diets, short-lived exercise efforts and the like, and the accompanying whine of "it's too hard to commit."

Yet on the other hand, my life is overwhelmingly full of what I would term obsessive interests. For example, the devotion to crafts can be demonstrated with my persistence in finishing yet another row even though it's 3:00 a.m. and I have to go work the next day. Or, the need to continue making fantastical, really gorgeous baked desserts despite living by myself with only choco-allergic canines. And then there are the 16 (or 54, or 108) episode Korean drama marathons. All shining exemplars of obsession, which, it need be said, are not limited to extracurriculars. My type-A attention to detail regarding professional writing is also closely related to the obsession gene.

Commitment feels hard. In theory, it involves working against one's nature, diligence, and a stoic kind of Protestant work ethic. Obsession though, is easy in its involuntary, whimsical nature, as it is more akin to surrendering to the tide of your interests. Regardless, both involve immersion in an activity and true dedication. It's just that one is much more fun and feels infinitely easier, rather than a trial of patience.


So I'd like to say, screw commitment. Isn't it possible to reframe one's mind into productive obsession? Can't I become obsessed with exercise, and whole grains, and a more positive attitude towards work? I think it's worth a try. After all, it all depends on perspective.

blog delinquency, I banish thee!

A quick update:

1. As always, coming late to the party, I am now kind of totally obsessed with http://www.bakerella.com and http://thepioneerwoman.com.

2. I started a new job. Sigh.

3. I started trying to date again. Sigh part deux.

4. I am crocheting (!) a ginormous blanket for myself. My sister has already asked for one. Only through the magic of familial bonds and genetic recognition will I be willing to undertake this herculean task again for her.

5. I got a new adorable bike. I have, upon further consideration and a month of on-again-off-again contemplation, now named her. She is MolaMola, the Commuter Sunfish. Pictures to follow.

6. MolaMola is still in the process of being properly accessorized.

7. Yesterday, a true SF-bike folk asked me something in inexplicable biker code. Apparently my disguise is working. Also, now you too shall know that evidently there is some kind of group ride along the bay and through the city on Wednesday nights that involves drinking called the butter ride or the butter lap. See, this blog is educational too.

8. I made red velvet cake bombs (I cannot bear to name them cake balls because I am evidently quite puerile) this week and they have gone over exceedingly well. See #1.

9. I think I need a Jelly roll pan. Id.

era's end

It sounds so dramatic, to think that we are standing at the precipice, overlooking the next decade already. I can still remember the drama surrounding the thought of the new millennium, and the welling feeling that great things lay ahead.

Today, at the end of 2010, there is a niggling sense of dissatisfaction. Reflecting on the past year, I can't help but feel unfulfilled. If you asked me, I couldn't say that there was any great horrifying event that marred this year for me. Certainly not at the level that many people have to deal with, and for that, I am tremendously thankful. Regardless, I feel as though this year was a series of little disappointments, a lack of progress, and a sense of limbo that has been difficult to shake. I am discontented and frustrated, and it threatens to color my recollection of the year.

Mulling it over with my mother, I mentioned how other friends of mine seemed to have such good years, and she responded with the chestnut that it's human nature to believe other people are happier than ourselves, but in reality, no one is that happy. Now, that's a typically depressing thought from her, but it led me to think further - is it a question of managing expectations? Isn't it true that if we don't expect anything of ourselves, we won't disappoint ourselves either?

Well, yes, but who wants to live like that?

It seems to me that that may just be an excuse to race to the bottom. With no expectations, no hope for achievement, it's true one won't be disappointed, but then there's nothing to inspire ourselves. If we take the paved road that we can see stretching in front of us to the clearly marked destination, things may happen, but it's pure luck. The overall journey, despite that, is completely predictable. You end up where the path said you were going to go. But what if we take the weirdo path that is overgrown and unmarked? It's risky, but possibly rife with great rewards. Unfortunately, the very drive, the striving for something better, naturally ends in at least some sense of defeat for some of the time. After all, no one wins all the time.

What's the answer? It must be a balance between the two - having goals to work towards, and learning to savor the little victories along the way. Self help experts always say you should break down great goals into manageable steps, and there's something to that. Perhaps I haven't changed my life hugely this past year - there are elements that I wanted to change and haven't. But I have managed to accomplish some great things, and I am proud of that. Next year, I'll tackle some other goals, and maybe I'll nail some, and some will surely continue to slide. We'll see.

So, sayonara 2010. You weren't the worst year, and you weren't the best. But I got through you a stronger person, and I'm sure 2011 will be just as challenging. Not because I'm passively allowing things to happen to me, but because I'm looking for that hilly goat track off to the side that hopefully leads to the better view.

The knee high perspective

There's this amazing thing that happens when children in your sphere discover the process of conveying how they see the world to you. It may be in stories, in song, or in interpretive dance. More likely, though, I find that the advent of digital photography, and its attendant freedom from ordinary monetary cost associated with

usage (until your camera finds itself in pieces or in water) means that more and more children are turning into amateur shutterbugs.

My niece Natalie took possession of my camera over Memorial Weekend, and I utterly forgot to look into what she had done with it. Instead, I continued to take my own photos once I regained possession, and only discovered once I hooked it up to the mothership what an adventure she had gone on. It's fascinating to see what she finds worthy of interest, and from what I can tell, she REALLY loves my dogs. (To be honest, I was well aware of that for any number of reasons.) But in addition to revealing her sweetly obsessive interest in documenting the hijinks of my older dog Yukie, her photos are like a little love letter to those things she adores.* Her sister. The backyard. Her flip flops. The dogs. The ball thrower. The garden. Flowers.

It's a good list. I think we should each have one to remind us of the things that bring us happiness.

*To be fair, there were photos of her mom and me, which I have omitted to save the innocent. Also, her dad was away, or surely he would be represented as well.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming

The business of being a bridesmaid is an odd one. I've had two weddings in relatively short succession and been in both of them and they've been distinctly different experiences. There is something to be said for seeing your close friends go through that "wedding day transformation." It's interesting to see how someone you're used to seeing on a daily basis in relatively low key gear get whipped into princessness, much less undergo a similar transformation (though to a much lesser degree, and possibly under a certain degree of duress depending on your tolerance for being beautified). And though it's been fun, I'm happy to declare an ending to my wedding season.

This particular wedding was in Healdsburg, which is an area I've not been to before - and I would genuinely like to go back again. It is really gorgeous, and it seems like there are many adorable boutiques in the main square, including what appeared to be a quilting store. Intriguing!

In other news, I have rounded up a new series of recipes to handle. I am a big fan of the savory egg dish for dinner, and any opportunity to do so should be thoroughly encouraged. So when I found smittenkitchen's recipe for Spring Asparagus Pancetta Hash, I was immediately intrigued. This has led me to realize that I seriously need to master a faster method of dicing vegetables.

prepped - finally.

An hour or so later (okay, I exaggerate, but seriously, stupid potatoes took forever), I was finally ready to cook. Time for walkies for the pups!

mmmm....pork product.

After a pause to feed the puppers, phase II commences - I start the cooking. Note to self: need larger pan, as it took so long to brown the potatoes that we were approaching more of a "giant potato pancake" rather than all the diced potatoes I spend an hour on. See supra. Undaunted, I struggle valiantly on. Despite my best efforts, I proceed to both cook my yolks (grrr, I like them runny) and drop the remaining 6 eggs on the kitchen floor.

The product of my labors - at 10:00 pm.

Was it worth it?

Every bite.

enamored

I am completely infatuated.

Not with anyone, but with this blog I discovered through a backdoor link from another knitting blog - smittenkitchen.com. Honestly, if you're a decent photographer, you have such a jump on getting people sucked into what you talk about, and then if you happen to be talented to boot...my goodness.

Anyhow, so this site has a ton of interesting recipes, mostly adapted from other sources with the cook's twist. I am in love with it. It started with the Apple Cake.

Before

After

Ironically this stemmed from a strange little memory of going to the German Delicatessen over by Logan Square when the whole family got hauled along with my dad to his office on the weekend. It was such a crazy little place - you could get marzipan anything, all these little animals and vegetables, which my sister really liked, but I couldn't stand because I can't deal with marzipan. And then there were all the various sausages (well, it was a German deli after all), including the odd cured sausage shaped like a pretzel (why??), the bratwurst, the knockwurst, the head cheese, etc. Then they had the best chocolate Santas and Easter bunnies, and funny German taffy candies. I adored going there, but the crowds were nuts.

What I remembered at the moment that I came across that recipe was this German Apple Strudel my mum used to make. From a box. That we bought at the deli. I really enjoyed it, but, as my mum informed me when I brought it up, there were no real apples in it. Yeah, all we did was probably add oil or butter. Otherwise it was all dried/preserved/artificial. But in my head it was delicious.

Regardless, here was an opportunity to recapture my youth. Oh sure, I could go and try to google the box mix, but honestly. Better to at least use real apples, right? Anyhow, it was a resounding success despite the inexplicable loss of my tube pan. I swear I had one, but evidently not anymore. Nevertheless, yum! I let it sit outside for about 36 hours, and then started refrigerating it. Leaving it out helped the apple juices soak in, making it a moister cake as opposed to a drier coffee cake. The biggest danger, of course, is to keep from eating it all. My friend, who I swiftly corrupted into making it as well, was not so lucky when making it for her husband and sister, and proceeded to devour her version over the weekend with her accomplices - a distinct risk.

So since trying the Apple Cake, I have since made the Jacked-Up Banana Bread (unjacked, frankly, because I don't have bourbon, and there was no way I was going to buy it just for a quick bread), and tonight, the Shakshuka, which is allegedly poached eggs in spicy tomato sauce to be served with warm pita bread. Despite using the increased pepper dosage (Anaheims, not Jalapenos) mine turned out not-so-poached, and not-so-spicy. Also, forgot to buy the feta. OK, so in other words I completely botched it - it's really just eggs in a tomato-pepper stew. Not bad, but not exotic either.

Oh man, shakshuka.

So next time - I have a bunch of knitting to share. Plenty of FOs, including the wedding shawls (one for the bride, and one for me), and Mama socks. Also, the world's most ineptly sized sock for my dad. Yeah, he's going to have to wait for that one.