Lessons Repeated

The pictures of Sikh families outside their temple awaiting news of loved ones are chilling to us all.  Of course, maybe we excuse ourselves from feeling bad about this shooting because we're not ready to get worked up about another round of inexplicable American violence.  After all, the Aurora shooting was just a few weeks ago.  How much hand-wringing and agonizing can one nation handle?

The morning of the Aurora shootings, I wrote a post about our willful national refusal to engage in responsible gun control.  Then I signed a petition at the Brady Campaign website, wrote some letters to my members of Congress, folks who already favor good gun control laws, and listened in horror as gun advocates explained that guns aren't the problem here.  I suppose it won't be long before some NRA advocate explains to me that if only some of the people at the Oak Creek Temple in Wisconsin had guns with them, this event wouldn't have been so violent.  This needn't be so difficult folks: let's ban the sale of assault rifles and let's limit ammunition purchases.  Let's not extinguish more lives in pursuit of some kind of twisted second amendment freedom that doesn't feel like freedom at all to families who have lost the people they love.

Long Overdue Ketchup Innovation

For any number of reasons (today I will merely cite the 25% of the state who goes without healthcare, thanks to willful policies of the state legislature….it's the highest portion in the nation), I am not a fan of Texas.  On a normal day, I'd be happy as a pig in shit if we told Rick Perry to bag up his boots and carry his state to someone else's union.

Still, I did pause when I saw this ketchup packet during our recent layover in the Lonestar State.  It represents some handy ketchup innovation:  you can dip or squeeze.

I'm not saying it's enough to keep Texas in the union, but it does represent a point or two in the bonus column.

Playing Chicken

By now, you are perhaps weary of the hubbub surrounding Dan Cathy and his Chick-fil-a restaurants.  If you aren't up-to-date on this mess, a quick Google search will reveal the details.  In a nutshell, the man whose family runs the chicken sandwich empire gave an interview to a religious broadcaster in which he confirmed his own homophobic sentiments.  He thinks being gay is a violation of the Bible and he opposes same sex marriage.  In the aftermath of his comments, a furor erupted.  Boston mayor Thomas Menino invited the restaurant to clear out of Beantown; Chicago's Rahm Emmanuel did the same.  Conservatives piled in the family van and shot over to the local mall to fill their mouths with chicken sandwiches and and show their support for both the restaurant and the anti-gay point of view its owner expressed.

It's not news that the Cathy family is conservative and religious.  For heaven's sake, Chick-fil-a restaurants are closed on Sunday so that employees can go to church.  It came as no surprise to learns that this man isn't down with me being gay.  But as far as I'm concerned, the 1st amendment protects Mr. Cathy's right to worship as he pleases, tell us his political views, and spend money on behalf of those political causes.  

Of course, I'm not without recourse in this battle.  The same Constitution which protects Mr. Cathy's right to believe as he pleases guarantees that I have the right to spend my dollars at businesses that conduct themselves in ways I find to be politically and socially responsible.  So I won't be eating  Chick-fil-a sandwiches any time soon (which is a damn shame, because that chicken is tasty).  

Freedom's road goes both ways and I'm awfully glad of that.  Gays have grown weary of being excluded from the most basic of rights and given the chance, we are eager to demand equality.   Most states don't protect us from employment or housing discrimination; most don't permit same sex-couples to marry.  That's why there is all this out-cry over a chicken sandwich.   In the meantime, all this condemnation of gays and lesbians does nothing to make us a better nation.   And in the long run, we can predict the outcome of this nonsense.  History proves that justice is always on the side of those seeking equality.

Food Friday: Corn Bean Mash

Normally, my Food Friday postings feature recipes of my own devising.  But I can make exceptions and this week's Food Friday is just that.  I got the recipe for corn bean mash from T, who got it from her friend J.  No matter its origins, the recipe is tasty and easy to make.  It's colorful and looks great on the table.  Plus, it keep s beautifully in the fridge for up to 5 days and can be served in a variety of ways.

Ingredients

1 can black beans, drained

1 can corn, drained

4 chopped green onions (you can also substitute 1/4 cup diced red onions)

3-4 cloves minced garlic

1/4 cup olive oil

4 tablespoons red wine vinegar

1 teaspoon sugar

1/4 teaspoon each salt and pepper

Combine all ingredients in a bowl and mix well.  Refrigerate for at least one hour before serving.

I serve it most often with the scoop-style tortilla chips but it also tastes great in a lettuce wrap or served with other summer-style salads for a cook-out.  

Real Life Observations of JT: We're Not in New Jersey Anymore edition

The backstory:  We were at DFW airport, taking the airport train from one terminal to another.  The ride took us around miles and miles of parking lots filled with cars glittering in the hot Texas sun.  JT watched for a while and then turned to me with an observation offered in a tone that was one part awe, two parts condemnation.

JT: Man, there are A LOT of pickup trucks in those parking lots, Mama.

Beware, middle America: the east coast judges you.

August 1st: Front Yard Flowerbed

 

The other day my sister and I were having a conversation about patience, a virtue that our family is sometimes lacking.  In fact, one of the reasons I like to garden is because it unfailingly reminds me of the virtue of patience.  These days, the rose of Sharon tree in my front yard is exhibit A in my battle to be patient.  At this point in the year, it's less a tree than an ever-expanding bush.  Thanks to the summer's heat and moisture, the rose of Sharon is enjoying a bang-up growing season.

To my dismay, it seems to have choked out the gladioli blooms I was hoping to see this month.  And though the purple and white flowers are lovely, the bush will need to be dramatically trimmed back when fall arrives.  I like a lush garden, even tending toward the over-grown, but enough is enough and a haircut is in order.

The rose of Sharon won't be the only plant getting a trim; the rhododendrons that frame the front steps are in need of some limits, lest we wake up one morning and find ourselves unable to leave the house.

And while the clippers are out, I plan to take care of some unhappy limbs on the lilac tree.

I'm not complaining about a lush garden, so much as looking to keep things in check.  As news of the nation's drought continues, I am glad to have wet-fueled growth as my problem.  

A Continuing Thirst

A few months ago, T and I watched Idiocracy, a movie she had been quoting for many months before that.  The film is funny; it is also an alarming dystopia rife with commentary about how idiotic our nation has become.  Among other things, Idiocracy predicts that in our future we'll exchange water for Gatorade, persuaded of its hydrating superiority.  Throughout the movie, the earth is dry and parched and crops have quit growing because of our national preference for Gatorade over of water.  When the film's protagonist incredulously suggests that water would be better for the crops the universal response is an assertion that should sound alarmingly familiar to us, "Gatorade has electrolytes."

I have to confess that I found this part of the film more than a little unsettling.  Though we haven't yet adopted Gatorade sprinklers for our drought-stricken fields, we do pour the stuff down our kids' throats, pushed to do so by giant corporations and their advertisements which imply that dehydration and electrolyte loss is a persistent danger for active Americans.  I've never been a fan of the stuff and though the rest of his nutritional habits are dreadful, I have JT kept free of from Gatorade-America.  When my kid is playing outside or sweating in his catcher's gear, I give him water.  And now I've got science on my side.  

I can't say that I'm surprised to learn that America has a sports drink industrial complex.  I can say that it may very well be a sign of our coming apocalypse.

Vocabulary with T: Befouled

It wouldn't feel right to end the month without a little vocabulary from T to make July complete.  This month's word is one of the first I added to my vocab with T list and it's grown to be a favorite of mine: befouled.

Strictly speaking, T didn't invent the word befouled.  It's in her deployment of befouled that she has painted it with a glory befouled couldn't have otherwise dreamt of.    Messes in T's world aren't average, they are befouled.  Bathrooms in public places are often declared befouled (and let's be honest, they are often befouled).  My cats befoul things.  Her much-adored sugar glider,  Zip, has been accused of befouling his cage.  The boy's playroom?  Befouled.

One thing is certain….when befouled is deployed there can be little confusion about how T feels about the mess at hand.   Sure, befouled is a tad dramatic.  But it gets the point across, doesn't it?

It's a Seasonal Thing

Last week, I picked my first two garden tomatoes.  But for the possum, I would have enjoyed some earlier in the summer.   I'm still fighting off wildlife garden poachers but that's not the point of this post, which is really about the taste of home-grown tomatoes and the fulfillment of one of my favorite summer traditions: the first BLT of the season.

Yum.

Making My House a Home

Though JT lives with me full-time, he sees his other mom every other weekend and on the occasional afternoon.  Those breaks in our life together are tolerable and, after 6 years of this arrangement, I've come to expect them.  But twice a year, he's away from home for a whole week.  I wonder if I will ever get used to that.

I help him pack his things, I assure him that he will have a good time, I dearly hope that he doesn't miss me.  But my house is a little quieter in his absence and my days lack the anchor of a child.  It feels like a void; a sore spot in my daily existence.  I fill the time and keep busy; there are plenty of things I can get done, of course.  That I have no choice in this arrangement is also worth noting.  I don't like it but I can't change it so I try my level best not to be sucked down into the grief of what-might-have-beens.  Instead, I concentrate on being grateful for the fact that he lives with me for the other 50 weeks of the year.  The sure knowledge that my house is his home is a comfort.

Still, my house doesn't quite feel like home without the boy in the mix.  He returns this morning, and then we head west in a few days.  He'll be off for a second week with his other mom in August and I'll face that week when it happens.  Today, I'm just glad to have my boy back where he belongs.