June 2008 Archives

I’ve had quite the busy weekend, with not one, but two barbecues to attend. One of my co-workers had a barbecue/reggae housewarming party on Saturday night. I woke up on Saturday morning hating all of my clothes, so I went out looking for something reggae themed and fun. I found the perfect dress at Ann Taylor Loft – a cute green and yellow and black knit halter top dress. Unfortunately, it was so perfect for a reggae party that someone else showed up wearing the same dress. However, I got there first, so I claimed dress victory. The people I was with said I looked better than the other girl did. Of course, they pretty much had to say that, but let’s just believe them. Co-worker parties can be a tricky prospect, but this one was good. I hung out with co-workers I like quite a bit, met some fun people, had a beer and some unbelievably good salsa, and enjoyed the night.

Today’s barbecue was a whole different kettle of fish, although I have admit that I did wear the reggae dress again. It’s a good dress for a cookout. My bestest pal Laila is in town with her son Noah and her fiancé John, and a bunch of my favorite people got together in honor of their visit. We all descended on my friends Dave and Valerie’s place. They have a nice big yard perfect for kids to run around in, a very fancy grill – complete with mini-fridge – and a kitchen that is made for hanging out, chatting and eating. It was a lovely afternoon. We ate till we were stuffed, and then ate a little more. The kids ran and played, the grownups talked, photos were taken, and a good time was had by all. I’m never sure about posting photos of other people’s kids, so you’ll just have to take my word for it when I tell you that my friends all have remarkably good looking children. I get such a kick out of seeing their faces light up when they say hi, and the way they hand out hugs. I guess they like their Auntie Hillary ok. Even better was hearing Noah calling Dave “Hey, Big Dave” in all seriousness. That’s what we called him in high school. I don’t get to see any of them (the kids or their parents) nearly often enough. I’m very glad we all had time to just be together today.

I took a bunch of photos, most of which did not turn out. I really need to learn to take the time to frame the shot better. But here are two that I like: me, Jules and Laila

And Dave, Mike and Laila's John:

How was your weekend?

If my weekend had a theme beyond “over way too fast,” I guess it would be baking, with a little cooking thrown in for good measure.

On Saturday I made an attempt at creating vegetarian bangers, a type of British sausage. If you’re ever looking for a cooking challenge, try coming up with a vegetarian version of something you’ve never eaten and never will eat, and which isn’t even typically served in your country. Thank goodness for the Internet. I read a bunch of vegetarian sausage recipes, and then a bunch of banger recipes, and somehow managed to do a bang up job (sorry, couldn’t resist) on the first try. The spicing wasn’t exactly right – too much white pepper and too much mace – but according to John, I got quite close to the real thing.

Vegetarian Bangers:
2 packages Smart Life Gimme Lean soy sausage one “pork” one “beef”
1 egg
3 teaspoons banger seasoning

Banger seasoning (adjusted to have less white pepper and mace):
4 tsp white pepper 1 ½ tsp mace
2 tsp salt 2 tsp sage
½ tsp nutmeg ¼ tsp thyme
¼ tsp marjoram ¼ tsp cloves

Mix all the ingredients together, roll into sausage “links” and fry up in olive oil until brown on all sides.

Traditionally, bangers are served with mashed potatoes and gravy, but John prefers to make them into sausage sandwiches.

Then I had an idea for an Indian baked rice pudding made with Basmati rice that I wanted to try. It turned out to be delicious.

Baked Rice Pudding
1 cup cooked basmati rice 1 tsp vanilla extract
1 cup milk 1 tsp (poss. 1 ½ tsp) apple pie spice
1 cup half and half ½ tsp salt
¼ cup honey 2 tbsp cornstarch

Start with the milk and cream in a medium saucepan. Dissolve the cornstarch in the milk and stir until smooth. Stir in the rice, honey, vanilla, apple pie spice and salt, and simmer over low to medium heat until thickened, stirring constantly. This should take 10-15 minutes. Pour thickened pudding into loaf pan (I used a heavy enameled one) and bake in a 325 degree oven for 20-25 minutes. The top will crust over and get a little brown, while the inside will remain creamy. You can slice and eat it still warm, or chill it in the fridge.

Today I made a practice version of a lemon fruit tart I was thinking of taking to a barbecue next weekend. John says it is tasty, but I am not sure it is ready for public consumption just yet. I think the lemon curd was too lemony and the tart crust was too thick. It seemed like the perfect summery dessert, but now I’m not sure. I’m taking the leftover tart in to work tomorrow, so we’ll see what those folks think.

I did make some excellent meringue cookies almost by accident. I had 6 egg whites leftover from the lemon curd, and a bag of chocolate chips, so I thought what the heck? I have this awesome little hand blender/whisk tool that John gave me for my birthday, so I whipped up the egg whites with some sugar, salt and cream of tartar, and threw in the chocolate chips. I was kind of annoyed at the meringue as I glopped it on to the cookie sheets, but it was really very easy to make and turned out yummy.

And that’s it. Funny, it felt like a lot more work than it looks like when I write it out like that. Although I did manage to get plenty of other stuff done too. Vacuuming, cleaning the kitchen 17 times, movie watching, book reading, continued obsessing over real estate prices, hiking, and even working out. Of course, I kind of had to work out, what with all the baked goods I've been producing. Never fear! All leftover baked goods will go to work, where they can make my co-workers fat instead of me.

Jerri Ann tagged me for the Six Word Autobiography meme. My friend Becky tried to get me to do that one a while back, and I came up totally blank. I guess I'm just not good at being succinct. Plus, with only six words, I could practically change from minute to minute.

For example, Curly haired, good natured, loves dogs

applies to me today, but so does worked late, went to gym anyway

as does lost one pound, did happy dance

I'd claim to be too complex to be summed up in six words, but the truth is it just doesn't suit my personality. It's why I don't like haiku, or people telling me what to do. As in, Perverse streak makes Hillary resist rules.

What six words fit you right this minute?

This morning I woke up feeling like crap. My headache is still there, lurking, waiting to strike again. My stomach is just a bit off. I'm so tired. And my sinuses are clogged and painful. I really, really didn't want to go to work today. But I sucked it up, showered, got dressed, and was all set to walk out the door when I got the call. Water main break. Office closed. Work from home.

WOO-HOO!

Just last week I said to someone, "if I could just have one day to do some work without a bunch of meetings and interruptions, I could get a bunch of stuff done." And now here it is.

Thanks, universe. I appreciate it.

My father. I’m reading David Sedaris’s new book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames, and I find myself wishing I could somehow mine my relationship with my father and make it humorous. I certainly wish I could find a way to write about today’s Father’s Day encounter without sounding both pathetic and bitter. I find my father baffling, and frustrating and exasperating and all sorts of other “ings.” I should have known better than to expect two positive Dad interactions in a row, but he lulled me in to a false sense of security. When I called him this week to ask about getting together for Father’s Day, he sounded so delighted to hear from me that I felt like a jerk for not calling him more. Not that he ever calls me, mind you, but still, I told myself I should make more of an effort.

So today I get to the restaurant to have lunch with him, and he leads off the conversation by telling me he’s registered to vote so he can vote for John McCain. Now, the man knows what my political views are, so by starting off with that little tidbit, he was pretty much asking for a fight. I refused to rise to the bait though. I mean, I did a little bit, because it is physically impossible for me to let someone saying they think Bush has done a fine job over the last eight years and they want more of the same go unchallenged. But then I said I wanted to be nice to him because it was Father’s Day, and I changed the subject. Luckily, it was grandiose Dad who showed up today, not angry and hostile Dad. Grandiose Dad is easier to deal with. But oh, all the schemes and plans he has. I hate listening to them. Most of them don’t even make sense, but if you try to question them, you’re just asking for trouble.

And then there’s the personal stuff. He asks me about my financial plans, and then acts like I’m an idiot, when my finances are in much better order than his are. In fact, the last time I saw him I told him something he wanted to do wasn’t possible, and guess what? I was right.

Then he insulted my nose. My fucking nose is fucking fine, but he felt the need to call it big and tell me it was just going to get bigger as I got older, like his. Thanks. I didn’t feel the need to point out that his eyebrows are now long enough to braid, did I?

Eh, a whole bunch of other crap happened, but I don’t even want to get into it. It wasn’t the day I’d hoped to have with my dad, but I’ve had worse meals with him. Hell, I’ve had worse meals at that restaurant. I particularly enjoyed the monster headache that this interaction spawned. By the time I got home, I was shying away from light and feeling like crap. Two Advil and one decongestant later, as I was slumped on the couch convinced that my head was going to explode and/or I was going to throw up, John suggested that I try his Excedrin Migraine pills. Those things are awesome, and quickly crushed my headache into submission. He also went to the store and got me a Coke. That settled my tummy down a bit, and made him the hero of my day. As always.

I’ve been busy lately, but I’m never too busy to read. I really, really enjoyed the two books I read most recently, so review time has rolled around again.

New Moon by Stephenie Meyer is the sequel to Twilight, which I only just discovered and loved. Sequels can be tricky, but I loved New Moon just as much as the first book. The story picks up a little while after the end of Twilight and just flows naturally as an extension of the world she started creating in the first book. The characters (even the supernatural ones) are so well drawn and so believable. You just connect with them. When Bella, the heroine, believes her vampire love Edward has left her, you grieve with her. This time around, Bella has to learn to adjust to life without Edward for a while. A character I particularly liked from the first book, Jacob, gets a front and center role in this story, and is even more interesting than I thought he would be.

Stephenie Meyer also excels at setting the scene. I feel like I’ve been to the town of Forks, where most of the story takes place. The books are written for teens, so the Romeo and Juliet parallels in the plot are perhaps a little more heavy handed than they would be in an adult book, but overall, the story is subtle and well told. I’ve been hopelessly sucked in to the series, and ran out and bought the next book, Eclipse in hardcover, and will no doubt buy the new one in hardcover in August as well.

North River by Pete Hamill is a completely different kind of book. The only other Pete Hamill book I’ve ever read is Forever, which was also a great story. Based on the strength of Forever and now North River, I’d say I’m going to have to take a trip through his catalog. North River is the story of a WWI vet and doctor, James Delaney, living the best life he can in New York City during the Depression. His world is populated with traumatized vets, gangsters, Tammany Hall holdovers who knew his father, bohemians and radicals, recent Italian and Irish immigrants, and the poor of New York City. Dr. Delaney meant to be a surgeon, but was wounded in the hand during the war and had to become a regular doctor instead. His wife has disappeared and no one is sure whether she is alive or dead, his painter daughter deposits his two year old Spanish-speaking grandson on his doorstep and takes off for Europe in pursuit of her husband, who may or may not be a Communist bomber, his patients can’t afford to pay him, and a psychotic gangster may be out to get him. And yet, somehow this is also the quiet story of a man finally putting his life back together and reconnecting with the world after the unexpected arrival of his little grandson.

I loved this book. I loved the people in it, even the bad ones. Pete Hamill is such a colorful writer, and you can feel his love of New York City, of the people who lived there and the city’s history on every page. Two scenes in particular stuck in my mind. First, one little detail, but the details are what make the story, right? James goes in to a store to buy his grandson a book, and when he selects Babar, the clerk says “You know that’s just Colonialist propaganda, right?”

Second, when he takes his grandson’s nanny to the Roseland Ballroom to go dancing (sidenote: watching James and Rose's relationship slowly change over the course of the book is one of the many pleasures of the story) a man gets up and starts to sing “Brother Can You Spare a Dime.” Hamill’s description of the crowd stopping their dancing and singing along, getting more and more into the song and its story of broken promises, failed dreams and hard times, perfectly reflects the anger and hopelessness that characterized American life back then. So much was changing, and so many people felt so powerless and betrayed, and well, it was just a really powerful and well written scene.

Both of these books get my highest recommendation! Two flippers up, or whatever penguin appendage seems most appropriate.

I’ve spent most of the last two years trying, with some success, to get in shape. While I am most definitely fitter and healthier than I was when I first got diagnosed with diabetes, I have really struggled with the weight loss portion of the program. I initially lost a bunch of weight. Then I gained some of it back. Then I lost some of it again, but could never get back to my low. Then, this year, somewhere between my trip to London at the beginning, during which I actually lost a couple of pounds, and the end of May, I gained an unacceptable few pounds. I was already feeling pretty low and crappy about it. My clothes aren’t fitting the same, and I saw a few photos from the reunion, and I look heavier than I did in my London photos. Things took a turn for the worse on Monday though, when someone asked me if I was pregnant.

I don’t actually know who was more upset – infertile Hillary or the Hillary who just got called fat. I sort of stammered something, ignored the lame “Oh, because you look tired” CYA statement that followed (like they were going to say Oh, because you look kinda fat today) and fled. Since I neither hauled off and socked the person nor burst in to tears, I think I handled it as gracefully as I possibly could have. I know why it happened. Not only have I gained a few pounds, but I wore a really lightweight floaty top on Monday because I knew it was going to be about 100 degrees out. I suppose from some angles you might think it was a maternity top, but who the hell doesn’t know that you never ask a woman if she’s pregnant if you don’t already know she’s pregnant? I thought everyone had been informed of that rule. It was a really cute outfit, but now I might just have to burn it.

So anyway, I am, here and now, publicly recommitting myself to getting skinnier. No more sneaking off to Starbucks for iced Chai Lattes, no more hitting the vending machine when I get hungry at work, and no more skipping spinning class or making excuses because my knee hurts. Portion control, discipline and exercise are going to be the rules around here. I’m weighing myself tomorrow morning, and we’ll see (ok, you won’t, because I’m NOT sharing what I weigh with the world right now) where I’m starting from. Please wish me luck. I have the feeling I’m going to need it.

This past weekend I attended my 15 year college reunion. 15 years! I don’t know how the hell that happened. Forsooth, I am old.

My best pals Jules, Julie and I converged on Wellesley on Friday. Julie brought her almost three month old little girl Nadia, who was snuggly and sweet and adorable and everything you want a baby to be. We stayed in the dorms, which was fun in an uncomfortable plastic mattress, bizarrely flat pillow, communal bathroom sort of way. The dorm they had our class in was right next to the dorm we all lived in our first year, exactly the same, except a mirror image of it.

We had fun sitting in the courtyard looking at our old dorm and trying to pick out the rooms we’d lived in and the 1st floor smoking common room we really lived in for our first year. Not even that new roadrunner computer could calculate how many hours we spent in there, doing everything from debating the meaning of Twin Peaks and Angel Heart to founding our own fake sorority to engaging in deep philosophical discussions about art, politics, history, psychology, fiction to playing marathon games of Othello and Egyptian Rat Screw. Oh, and smoking like chimneys, of course. We all LOVED that line from The Sure Thing that went something like “All those girls at those hoity-toity northeastern colleges want to do is sit around, smoke cigarettes, drink tea and relate.” We were the campus misfits, a bit of a scandal, and considered party girls (only at Wellesley would we have been labeled party girls. It mostly meant that we occasionally had parties instead of studying on Saturday nights. Wild.) and we had the time of our lives.

We settled in to our own niche our sophomore year, and had plenty of fun over the rest of our college years, but there was a special magic to that first year.

As much fun as it was to relive all of those memories, it was even better to see how our friendships have deepened over time. It was also interesting to see how we’ve changed even over the course of the reunions we’ve been to so far. At the five year, we had a crowd, most people were still single, and I think we were drunk almost the entire time. At the ten year, Jules was pregnant and living nearby, so we spent more time at her house than we did on campus. This year, we were content to just hang out. We left campus to go in to the town of Wellesley only twice – once to meet up with a friend of Julie’s and have baked goods for breakfast (if you are ever in Wellesley, I highly, highly recommend the Susu Bakery. Yum-my!) and once to go in search of dinner after the class dinner proved to be lame. They tried to stuff way too many people into too small a dining room, had live music playing way too loudly, and had sub-par vegetarian options. Oh, and it was 98 degrees with no air conditioning. While we were looking for dinner, we also went in search of a six pack of cold beer, but that meant we had to leave Wellesley, which is a dry town. Hello Town Line Liquors of Natick! Glad you found us and our dorky reunion nametags so amusing.

Sunday there was an alumnae parade. We’ve always skipped the parade in the past, but this year we went. I was not necessarily a fan of the parade. For one thing, we were supposed to dress all in white, but I didn’t think we were going, so I hadn’t brought anything appropriate to wear. My friend Carri showed up for it, which was great, because I didn’t think I’d get to see her. It was hot. It seemed sort of poorly organized. But then we got to see the older class members, from 1928, 1933, 1938, 1942 and 1948. They all came at the end, riding in fancy historic cars. And I don’t know, it is hard to explain, but marching along in the parade, hot and miserable and listening to the very loud class of 88 behind us (20 years later, 20 years better!) I couldn’t help but feel a kinship and sense of sisterhood, even with people I don’t know, some of whom I probably wouldn’t even like on a personal level.

So, reunion = very good, overall. Best part, beyond bonding with my buds, would be the development of our new group slogan, which goes “So, I did a half-assed job, and then I left (alternatively, and then I got the hell out.” Your mission, should you choose to accept, is to find as many situations as possible where that saying applies. It is easier and more fun than you might think.

Worst part, probably the questions about whether or not I have kids yet, and the endless paeans to how wonderful motherhood is and how much I’m going to love it. Gosh, I hadn’t thought of that. Of course, the good part was not even having to say a word, and Julie knew I needed a hug.

Most interesting part: one of my former classmates, Stephanie Carbone is a jewelry designer. I really like her stuff, and I think you should check it out at her website: http://www.spacemermaid.com/

These absolutely insane storms rolled through the area this afternoon. I missed most of the show, although I did see it get pitch black outside at 3 p.m. Then I went in to a meeting taking place in an interior conference room, so I didn’t see the storm hit. I did, however, notice when the power went out. After a short period of time hanging out in the office, listening to the melodious chirping of the battery backups and lighting documents with our cell phones, it became clear that the power wasn’t coming back on anytime soon. We closed down at 3:45. I battled my way through a few non-working stoplights, hit the highway and made my way home. I saw a few branches and piles of leaf bits on the road, but that was nothing. Apparently there were trees and wires down all over the place and even two confirmed tornado touch downs. Thankfully, none of the tornadoes were anywhere near where I work or live.

By leaving early, I was able to go to the grocery store, to the bank, get home, look up something on the computer, have a snack, work out, do a load of laundry, take Seamus for a walk and make and eat a nice dinner, all by 8 pm. I don’t usually even get home until 8:30! I didn’t even know what to do with myself and all that extra time. I read a little, I chatted with John a little, I had some extended belly rub/snuggle session with Seamus, watched an episode of the Tudors (Memo to Sir Thomas More: dude, just take the oath and save your life and your family. The king doesn’t want to kill you. But, oh, look, he just did.) Seriously, I know how the story goes, and I’m getting frustrated with the characters, like somehow they are going to act differently. It’s like the way I get all anxious every time I see the movie Apollo 13 – will they make it back to Earth safely? Gosh, I don’t know. And then after the Tudors I still had time to put the laundry away before Top Chef started at 10!

Bizarre. And yet so luxurious. I’ve had a taste of the early to home life, and I like it. It’s totally impractical for me, traffic-wise, schedule-wise and even personal preference-wise. In fact, I’m totally screwed for tomorrow because I still had a good three hours worth of work to do when I left the office this afternoon, but it was a nice change of pace.

I just spent two + hours on the phone with Dell, working on getting new drivers for my desktop which refused to acknowledge the Internet and was pretending not to have an audio card, as well as throwing in some video problems just for kicks.

We went with a Dell because you can get them with XP still, and because John hates Vista with a deep and eduring passion. So far it has been a pretty darn reliable computer, quite unlike our old Dell. But oh, I forgot what a pain it is to resolve problems over the phone. The guy who helped me was really nice and actually pretty resourceful, but what a waste of an evening! I bet Mac users don't have these kinds of problems...

Anyway, these peonies caught my eye at the grocery store over the weekend, and just looking at them makes me happy. Even when my computers are giving me fits. They are the embodiement of a lazy summer day -- so cheeful and pink and drowsy and overblown. I thought the Internet might enjoy them too.