Faux-liday Food

National Spaghetti Day and trying to keep food interesting in trying times.

Yesterday was National Spaghetti Day - a marketing gimmick, surely. But hey, if it helps me to decide what to eat, so that I actually eat (and avoid the paralysis of indecision, and the resort to snacks), I will take it… this stupid pandemic, combined with work from home that has basically morphed into all work all the time, and more home cooking than ever (and utter exhaustion with my own culinary repertoire), has taken a toll on my eating habits. Others ate more. I ate less; I tend toward that direction when stressed. I am back down to the weight I was two decades ago, 15 pounds less than 2.25 years ago, even with far, far less exercise. So maybe it’s not all bad.

Tonight’s meal had a hefty assist from Mommy sauce from the freezer - the sauce I grew up eating that someone pointed out has little resemblance to Italian spaghetti sauce. Um, yeah; we’re Vietnamese. Mama Hen has always added carrots and peas - probably in an effort to get veggies into us. But that’s my comfort zone pasta sauce.

The nod to adulthood is the fresh basil leaf adornment. That’s right - fresh basil in January, from the cutting Mama Hen put in water to root, that I decided to transfer to the hydroponic tier of the beta fish tank from some Christmases ago (the fish died soon after). My hope was that the basil would grow and flourish through Winter and I would have a steady supply of basil. The reality is I don’t think there is enough light in my north facing window, though it has popped some new leaves. C’est la vie. At least maybe I’ll get a head start on basil come Spring.

Speaking of out of season foods, a few weeks ago, in December, there was the pan roasted tomato sauce from the last of the tomatoes, including a handful harvested in December the day before the first freezing night. Tomatoes - in December! - to go with the tornadoes, in December, alas. Paired with whole wheat pasta and snack mozzarella balls - pretty tasty, even if not so visually appealing.

So, a faux-liday, with foods that would seem faux for the season, but are very much real.

[Edited January 6, 2022.]

First Non-Manic Monday

The dreaded, anticipated, manic Monday may be more monstrous mental manifestation than the music to be faced.

When I drew open the curtains this morning, this greeted me from the windowsill - the geranium I beheaded right before the first freezing nights a few weeks back, and plunked into water in hopes of propagating it for color over Winter and maybe getting a head start on planting come Spring if it survives. I have been checking for roots - none yet. But the upper leaves stayed green and vibrant, and this cluster of buds hadn’t withered. But only with today’s flowers can I dare hope it’s taking in water and still actually alive. And I didn’t even discover these lovely little blooms until after noon - because I was cocooning in bed until then (taking advantage of an “off” day of work for me - one of the few “off” days on my part-time schedule I have actually felt free to be off in the almost two years since I switched to this schedule), on this whiplash-inducing frigid January Monday that followed on the heels of a pair of 50+ degree days for the start of 2022.

The reduced schedule just hasn’t really worked out that way. The last two months leading into year-end have been rough work-wise. (The last two years have been rough work-wise, and otherwise.)

[No More to come.]

[Edited January 4, 2022; then to finality August 26, 2023.]

The Work of Elves

Small acts of community love, working behind the scenes.

In the spirit of the upcoming holiday, planting bulbs, partaking of holiday lights, and taking in a comedy show.

[Edited January 4, 2023 with addition of link.]

Free Time

Research says it's possible to have too much free time ... Um, what?!

Sunset rainbow viewed from the terrace, captured on a workday, during a break I gave myself from the grind - some stolen "free" time.

Others fantasize about money; those of us fortunate enough to have our material needs met fantasize about time.  I fantasize about all of the ideas that could break free from my brain and come to fruition - if only I had time to pursue and execute them; I fantasize about early retirement.  And those flights into lala land have become more frequent with these last couple of crazy years, when work has been on overdrive.  For the time deprived, it is hard to fathom that there could ever be too much free time.

But a study indicates otherwise - that over five hours a day mitigates the sense of well-being, while two hours a day is the floor for maintaining that sense of well-being.  This whole blog is geared toward attempting to hit that sweet spot - still elusive. 

The thing is, the study results seem to be premised upon "free time" being quite literally unoccupied time - such that the benefits can be regained by picking up a hobby, spending time with people, finding purposeful activities.  Well, no kidding, right?  Isn't that the whole purpose?  Who is left with nothing to do?  (Prisoners?  Torture victims?)  One would think anyone with a brain and some agency would find SOME way to occupy the "free" time.

On the other hand, it did occur to me that my assumption that "free" time would somehow be productively occupied is probably very much symptomatic of capitalist inculcation, if one wants to critique our systems that way.  I see a point in it - human beings shouldn't always be forced to be productive.  But, yes, my ableist default mode is to assume that intelligent people will have passions and curiosities and pursuits.  "Free" is not the absence of something to do, just the ability to control the selection of the cause to which to focus one's energy.

That's the very pursuit of happiness, isn't it?

Lap of Luxury

Outdoor space as necessary amenity in New York City luxury residences.

Between being, befuddlingly, slightly ahead of the curve on residential trends and the happenstance of a global pandemic and the new found general appreciation for stretching room, somehow I have managed to be the owner of an apartment with a highly sought after requirement in luxury abodes - the outdoor space - at precisely the moment when it is most prized.  Very lucky me.  

It all began with that New York City rite of passage - the real estate upsell.  Fresh out of law school and with limited time to find an apartment, Sissy and I had turned to a broker after dead ends looking through listings on our own.  We had a budget.  We saw holes in walls.  Then the broker said there was a listing right above our budget; "no," we said; "it's on the way to the next one," he said.  So we went, and, of course, it blew everything else out of the water.  It was a duplex - so the volume just felt expansive, even if the footprint was not necessarily larger.  And it had a little terrace off the second floor - large enough for a cafe table and four chairs, with an umbrella, and planters at the edges.  I couldn't believe that we, ordinary girls, could afford that in New York City - though we had to stretch a bit.

And so, when it was time to hunt for a place, I had to have outdoor space - I needed my plants, my space to stretch and unwind and not feel confined.  I was willing to venture to the "far east" for more affordable apartments in order to get it.  Back in those days, before the Q, we were OUT there.  But we knew right away when we saw it - the terrace was exactly what I wanted.  Truth be told, I might have considered exposures better, but, well - it felt too good to pass up.  And it has been far more positive than not.

I suppose sometimes it actually works to follow your passion - the plants, the respite - and let the finances work themselves out from there.  When I refinanced last year, the appraiser put a higher than expected premium on the terrace.  So, patience, and luck - until it falls out of fashion.  And then I still will have my little Jardin to console me.  No idea what the owner of those luxury units who don't do their own gardening (who in the world would want a space that comes pre-planted??!!) do with their outdoor spaces when the day comes when having one is more hindrance than benefit.  I guess their unit prices fall, making room for the diehard and passionate gardeners to move in and green the terraces and balconies.

[Edited October 31, 2021.]

Eagles, Beavers, and Sea Turtles - Oh My!

The return of some non-human native New Yorkers.

My most vivid Nat Geo moment in this crazy metropolis of ours unfolded some years ago when I stopped mid-run at dusk in Carl Schurz Park to watch a huge bird, clearly a raptor (probably a red tailed hawk), perched in a tree, and then, at the base of the branch on which it was resting, some sort of movement.  It flapped its wings and flew off, and in the waning light, the shadowy silhouettes made it all clear - a wriggling rodent grasped in its talons ... the original New York City takeout order.

Since then, I've seen our large feathered friend again (or its relations) in the park (that photo above), as have others.

And they aren't the only non-humans coming back to city life.  The City has been trying to clean up for decades - about as long as I've been here - and the seeds planted and nurtured are bearing fruit, and the creatures are coming back to partake!

My love of this city runs deep, but all of the cold hard concrete and sterile steel can just leave us sentient beings feeling bereft of that natural life force.  The urban jungle can be a harsh place, but the jungle also provides refuge.  And I have always believed there is the possibility, the necessity, of balance, of cohabitation, of nature existing with the structures and things we humans need for a comfortable existence.  We just have to be more thoughtful about designing and going about our journey of coexistence.  Not a zero sum game - there's room for all of us.

[Edited October 29, 2021.]

Accepting Autumn: Surrendering to Mother Nature

Honey bee hospice care.

I saw this little guy earlier this week - on a paver, which in and of itself is unusual, of course. Buzzing about, flitting from bloom to bloom is what we like to see.

He seemed almost drunk, stumbling on the ground - but there were no pollen sacks. He seemed to be dragging a leg, or limping. And then he would somehow lose balance and land on his back, legs flailing in the air.

So I thought I should help him out and flip him over with the stem of a fallen leaf. This happened a few times before I even started to record the footage here.  Something seemed off.

And so after the footage, it seemed my aid was just prolonging something inevitable. I righted him, and then walked away to take care of other gardening tasks.

And when I came back a bit later, he was on his back, and still. I scooped him up with the leaf and deposited him into a planter to return to the earth.

Sobering to bear witness to another being letting go of life. There is a solemnity about it, to surrendering to Mother Nature - but a peace. And Autumn is full of those little moments.

[Contrast to the excruciating guilt of carrying out the mandate to kill any spotted lanternflies I might see. My count is up to 7. It still feels awful. And awful to realize that my method for getting the job done has become somewhat routinized. It goes against every instinct I have. All of their little corpses are under a large rock in the planter with the maple trio.😔]

[Edited October 28, 2021.]