humanist of the year?

So, Toni, what does it mean to be Humanist of the Year? Once you and So-and-So return from your visit with JCO, you must tell!

You know, I am a horrible person. If JCO gets that award, then surely I should receive its opposite. The reason being, I have yet to read more than an essay or two by her. That’s right. You even gave me a collection by her (which I dutifully brought with me to Estonia), but I have not read from it yet. And the craziest thing is, I know I will love her. Or maybe that’s my reasoning – I just can’t add another fabulous writer to my reading repertoire. No room on my shelves and no time for getting lost in books… so sorry JCO. Maybe later this summer.

Cheers,

rae

Portland bound

Rae,

Angel enjoys walking on the leash, although she prefers keeping to one spot. Basking in direct sunlight and rubbing her back this way and that on the sun-warmed gravelly sidewalk appears to overrule actual walking. Sound a little Chauncey-like? I keep her leash and harness on a nail inside the coat closet by the front door. When I shake them, she comes running. She knows and shows, in dog-like fashion (Shh… We shan’t tell her this.) what’s up. She stands without moving—well, she manages a few flicks of her tail—while I snap the harness in place. Then we’re off to look for dragonflies or bask in the sunshine.

You have joined Second Life. Theory Masala. I like it! So how’s it going? I’m hesitant to add any new online pursuit to my list of social activities. It all requires so much time and keeps me away from the great outdoors and face-to-face relationships. Finding balance is sometimes difficult.

Speaking of time, I don’t have much of it left for puttering about the house and letter-writing—I’m off to Portland now. The AHA Conference is this weekend. I’m pleased to tell you that Joyce Carol Oates will receive the 2007 Humanist of the Year Award.

Catch up with you soon.

Yours truly,
Toni

P.S. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy making a feast out of hardboiled eggs?

cooking for friends: a different perspective

Dear Rae,

As I read about your current entertaining quota versus the “just two or three times during the entire three years [you] lived in Florida,” I could not help but feel a spook nudge up against the back of my neck and blow whooo at the backside of my ear. Though a nice apartment helps, may I propose that maybe the spike in the number of your meet-and-greet activities has less to do with the apartment per se, and much to do with local culture?

As you know, I spent last weekend in New York. Late last Saturday night—10:30ish—while wrapping things up at a wonderful gathering of people at one location, one person, without forethought, invited six adults and three small children to gather together at his apartment. This sort of impromptu entertaining is nonexistent in my current local social milieu.

At this second, smaller gathering of friends, I end up talking to someone, who upon learning that I live in Florida, says, Oh, my husband absolutely hates that place! He lived there for 7 months and it was awful. He won’t even go there for a vacation. Her husband’s former Florida residence is far south of Tallahassee and has a greater population than your “old stomping ground.” I was not overly surprised by the comments (I have my own issues), but I did want to find out why the husband found my native home state so unappealing.

I cornered the husband (nicely, calm down) and coaxed him into giving me his reasons. They mirrored my own “issues.” It is the people (behaviors and customs), not the place. Here, a good number of us seem to display similar behaviors: We go from home to work, work to home, stick closely to our husband/wife/children/girlfriend/boyfriend, watch television, talk about television programs, sports and pets, shop at Home Depot and spend our weekends maintaining our yards and our large homes. Oh, and the two-four-week vacation period is like a single shining star in a black sky blanketing a well-traversed desert. Outside of stressed-out, everything-must-be-perfect holiday cooking, when do we cook for friends?

Isolation, or distance from others, renders me a bit empty. Not lonely—just a portion of me not properly filled. If I am at home with myself or with the same beloved people for most of the 365 days of each year, how can I, as the cliché goes, broaden my horizons? If I entertain and allow myself to be entertained, along with my spouse (who has not yet found me), then I/we are doubly “broadened.” Toss my current social climate among memories of social climes of which I have been exposed, and you get a tricky little mix of thoughts all ending with resigned awareness of being caught by the inertia of place.

Do you think that people in Tallinn have fewer behaviors to maintain (lawns to mow and tend, big houses to clean and decorate, television viewing, shopping and driving time), and therefore have more time to spend with others? Do they seem to value friendships nurtured the old-fashioned way—through the tummy? And through cheerful chat?

This is probably far more of an answer than you wanted (especially all the questions), but, given the timing of your letter and my meeting with an anti-Florida friend, I could not help myself. By the way, as my new friend was leaving the apartment, I placed a hand on his shoulder and asked him to please make peace with Florida. I got a good laugh out of him; maybe he and his wife will come down sometime.

Before closing, I thought I would add that when I got home late Monday night, the only fresh ingredients I had on hand was this red pepper and some garlic.

I sliced the pretty red pepper in half and placed it under a pre-heated broiler. I broiled the two pieces until their skins blackened. Then I took them out of the broiler and placed them on a wire rack for cooling. Once touchable, off came their blackened skins. I tossed the pepper in a blender with 3/4 cup of water and blended until smooth.

I heated 2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil in a pan and sautéed 3 minced garlic cloves on med-low heat for 3 minutes. Next, I added the pepper puree, 1 teaspoon of crushed red pepper, salt to taste, and 2 tablespoons of plain yogurt. Finally, I reduced the heat and simmered the mixture for about 10 minutes. Since I had angel hair pasta on hand, I served the roasted red pepper sauce on a bed of it, with some dried basil sprinkled on top.

Tip: Do not eat a lot of Angel Hair with Roasted Red Pepper Sauce before falling asleep.

Hey, I am glad you are too busy these days to think about your old stomping (out of frustration?) ground. Keep up with the entertaining; only good things can come from it.

Cheers pal,

Toni

P.S. Two lines I remember from last weekend’s entertainment: 1.) People don’t move to New York to stay at home. 2.) The ‘whys’? That’s why we have philosophy.

t’s tea time

Dear Rae,

So good to hear from you!

Why were you drinking Coke during your language lessons? Was it for the caffeine? And how do you manage to drink anything anyway? As part of your “intensive learning” session, aren’t you talking rather intensely? With the switch to Jasmine Green tea, especially the “nicely warming” part, you might discover a properly energized you, a you who is ready to absorb and spout all sounds Estonian.

Dare I ask… I do dare: Have you been able to find C2 in Tallinn?

Lovely tea pot, my dear. Your “new best friend” has a very good eye for assessing your taste—just look at that pot! Its gorgeous texture is yearning to be appreciated by more than just your eyes and hands. I’m ready to join you, the pot and… her. Is it a “her”? It must be a “her.” Only “hers” are so good at gifting comfort items. Well, minus your “her” in Tallahassee. Sorry. I’ll try to remember next time.

Your “tea dealer.” Hmm. I understand. I’ve got a candy dealer. Dentist too. I can’t promise you “more on that later”—candy man is under wraps. Do share more about your own particular dealer; I’m most curious. Is he coming to your place? I completely understand your need to accessorize. Does YK know about this relationship?

The paraphernalia of a single hard core tea drinker: water-stained kettle, coffee mug from my (used to be “our”) favorite hang-out-and-chill joint, baggie of black tea (see string?), spoon, spice mix (I make my own masala these days, but when I’m lazy, this does the trick.), whole organic milk (full fat for richness), and sugar to taste.

Do you like how I’m hiding behind the flash? The white object reflected on the right side of the pot is Angel’s penthouse. Nice capture, eh? My fated husband (should he materialize during this lifetime), will win my heart by promising to keep my kettle shiny. I do not seem to have the patience nor the elbow grease necessary to keep it looking presentable for company. Oh, and this kettle is the only tea pot in my possession. (Like to keep things simple.) I got it at a store on Broadway, near Prince Street, in New York for less than five dollars a couple of years ago. If you’re gifting any time soon, keep stationery in mind—the pen pals I’ve made through Postcrossing have me fairly busy.

Rae, unless I’m off gallivanting (i.e., traveling), I drink at least five cups of the same generic black tea every day. The only other “varietal” I’ve “gotten into” is Assam tea—a black tea. This indulgence came after having one of the best cups of cha (Punjabi for “tea”) on the day I was chased by a frightened bull elephant while in the back of a white maruti jeep whose driver couldn’t make a fast enough getaway for his or my good comfort. (Hey, I didn’t scare the elephant! He was frightened and very confused by the controlled burn taking place in his home, Kaziranga National Park.) I’m not sure if it was the tea itself or my many, many thanks to God for sparing my life that day in Assam, but I sure got hooked on the tea. It’s a very strong (like one’s survival instinct) tasting tea. When I make it—now I’ll make you happy—I use loose leaves.

You and I should visit Assam together some day. That is, if YK approves. (Are we having a Single Girl/Married Girl moment?) Aw-shucks, he can come too.

I went out to Lake Ella yesterday and passed by Black Dog Café.

Cheers Inchworm!

Toni

P.S. I might have a “new best friend” too.