ten

I'm wasn't cool enough to be tagged in this on Facebook, so I'm going to be extra un-cool and post it over here, on my blog, which no one reads.

soopa cool.


TOP TEN FAVORITE BOOKS OFF THE TOP OF MY BRAIN, AT THE TOP 'O THE MORNING!

1. To The Wedding
2. Reading Lolita in Tehran
3. The Curious Incident of the Dog in Night-time
4. The Book Thief
5. Here if You Need Me
6. Fletcher and the Springtime Blossoms
7. Don't Lets Go to the Dogs Tonight
8. Jane Eyre

ugh. I can only think of eight. and one is a kiddy book.

I will pretend this is because I have a discerning palette.

Antony & Cleopatra

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies.

do the right thing, do it every time.

pretty good video, excellent reminder.

remember

Go ahead. Arrange and rearrange the stones on top of your beloved's grave. Keep arranging those stones for as long as it hurts to do it, then stop, just before you really want to.
Put the last stone on and walk away.
Then light your candle to the living. Say your prayers for the living. Give your flowers to the living. Leave the stones where they are, but take your heart with you. Your heart is not a stone. True love demands that, like a bride with her bouquet, you toss your fragile glass heart into the waiting crowd of living hands and trust that they will catch it. --Kate Braestrup, Here if You Need Me

chills

It's only a matter of time until Grand Rapids makes headlines. Not for artistic breweries or large social media events, but for the latest round of senseless gun violence.

Just saw the preview for Fruitvale Station right before watching the biography of Nelson Mandela. The juxtaposition of these was interesting as I considered how little my generation concerns itself with the affairs of others. Perhaps if we were made more disturbed by the pattern of gun violence we would be able to steer our ship away from the course that has been set before it.

I just watched this video. I can't get it out of my head.

At the end a few victims of police brutality are listed, and the name Amadou Diallo jumped out at me. Ouari Diallo was a close friend of my parents while they lived in Guinea, and his brother's name is Amadou. This is merely coincidence as the two Amadous are not related-- yet maybe not so much coincidence as circumstance, for Amadou Diallo was also a Guinean immigrant who was shot by police when he pulled his wallet out of his jacket. 41 times. 41. 41. 41.

Completely chilled at the thought that one person has the power to end another's life with a flick of a finger.

I don't know what I can do, but I know I can't allow myself to sit back and do nothing.

A CLASSROOM OF KINDERGARTENERS WAS MURDERED AND NOTHING HAS CHANGED.

What hope is there for African-American men if cute little white kids didn't change the minds of the nation?

Sean Bell, Rodney King, Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant. Amadou Diallo.

Maybe my name will be next.

a recipe from my mother

Anna loves blueberries. 
Anna turned 24 today. 
To welcome her to the age of maturity, I asked my mom for her blueberry pie recipe. Mom sent me the following (verbatim). 

Blueberry Dessert (a.k.a. Grandma Pranger's best of all time dessert)

The directions below are for a 8-9" pie shell.  If you need to make a 9x13 pyrex size dessert, check back for adjustments. :)

Read all directions through to the end before beginning.

The crust:

3/4 or slightly more of one stick butter

5 tblsp. sugar

1 1/4 cups flour

Comments:

a. Use butter.....margarine makes it flop.

b. A trick that seems to work for me is to mix the sugar in with the flour and then add this mixture to softened butter.  If the butter is hard, you can let it set in a warm room for an hour OR microwave it on very very low power (20-30%) for 30 seconds.

c. Pat slightly in pie plate and bake for no more than 10 minutes at 350.  You want to check this from time to time.  Crust should NOT start to become golden.

The glaze:

1. A blender 1/3 full of blueberries (approximately 1 1/2 - 2 cups)

2. 1 1/2 - 2 tblsps. cornstarch

3.  1 cup sugar

4.  scant amount of salt (little less than an 1/8 of a teaspoon)

5.  1 tblsp. lemon juice (fresh is nice but bottled is fine)

Comments:

a. Put the blueberries in first, whirl until crushed, then add the cornstarch and the rest of the ingredients, cornstarch first, then sugar.  This is important because otherwise the cornstarch adheres to the side of the blender and it's hard to mix in.

b. Don't get smart and reduce the sugar.  You don't need to add any sugar to the blueberries the glaze goes over, but you need this amount to give the whole dessert flavor.

c.  When the mix is blended in the blender, pour it into a saucepan with a higher side --so you can keep it from spattering.  I turn the burner on medium and keep stirring it, preferably with a wire whisk, but if you don't have one, a fork will do.  The trick is to stir constantly once it becomes warm or it will burn on the bottom of the pan.  After a couple minutes of boiling, it will start to thicken.  Keep cooking it a minute or two longer and then remove from heat.  Don't worry that it is too thin, as the sauce will thicken as it cools.  

d. Be sure the sauce is at least room temperature before you add the berries below.

e.  This is the second thing I do after washing the berries and making sure the above amount are more or less dry....the crust can easily be made while the sauce is cooling down.

gettin' saucy (note: blue tongue. mark of a good chef.)

The fruit:

1.  3 - 4 cups of blueberries, approximately a quart (you'll also need the cup and a half for the glaze above, so be sure to get enough).

Comments:

a. The first thing I do when I start to make this dessert is wash ALL the blueberries, hull them, if needed, and put them on a cookie sheet lined with a paper towel (or clean dish towel--but it might have purple leopard spots when you are done) to dry.  You can shake them back and forth to speed up the process, but when you add the glaze to the berries for the pie, they should be dry, not wet, or you will have a watery glaze.

It always annoys me when people write, "Enjoy."  So I will not say that, but you will find this dessert is absolutely the best dessert in the entire world. !!

L,

M.

Bliss. 

Love-- Billy Collins

The boy at the far end of the train car
kept looking behind him
as if he were afraid or expecting someone

and then she appeared in the glass door
of the forward car and he rose
and opened the door and let her in

and she entered the car carrying
a large black case
in the unmistakable shape of a cello.

She looked like an angel with a high forehead
and somber eyes and her hair
was tied up behind her neck with a black bow.

And because of all that,
he seemed a little awkward
in his happiness to see her,

whereas she was simply there,
perfectly existing as a creature
with a soft face who played the cello.

And the reason I am writing this
on the back of a manila envelope
now that they have left the train together

is to tell you that when she turned
to lift the large, delicate cello
onto the overhead rack,

I saw him looking up at her
and what she was doing
the way the eyes of saints are painted

when they are looking up at God
when he is doing something remarkable,
something that identifies him as God.

Things

Being a soccer mom this week (complete with three boys age 10-4 and a minivan) has taught me a few things. Trading cards is still a thing. Minecraft is a thing. Watching (endless) youtube videos of someone ELSE playing Minecraft is a thing.

Disiderata

Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its shams, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

--Max Ehrmann, 1927

(The INFP Manifesto)

sonnet 17

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

--Neruda 

I hope one day I understand. 

another favorite

If I could go through it all again,
the slender iron rungs of growing up,
I would be as young as any,
a child lost in unreality and loud music. --Robert Lowell

hindsight

I take back any (undeserved) feelings of superiority I harbored for "developing early" in middle school. I'd gladly exchange all invading gray hairs. TMI? Everyone bleeds. Or, half of you have. All of you will gray.

Irrational Fears

1. I will become homeless.

2. If I use the toilet in the dark, bugs will attack my rear end (gracias, Honduras).

3. Someone will push me into an oncoming train / subway as I wait next to the tracks.

4. There are basement cockroaches waiting for me to step on them or snuggle between bedsheets (this one has basis in reality-- except I'm no longer in Honduras).

contest

12o words or less

“Hidden branches of your family tree: 

Unexpected stories that changed the way you think of yourself or your family.”

          Picture a boy. Picture a train. Picture this boy on a train winding through New York at the close of the 19^th century. Before the train can stop, he is tossed into the waiting arms of strangers like his family had thrown out rotting potatoes in Ireland. Picture his parents waving goodbye forever, and picture the boy then turning to face a new harbor. Picture all of the stars overhead that aligned to guide this little boy on this large ship to this particular train and into the waiting arms of this new family. No actual pictures of these events exist, but it is enough for me to envision what a chance at life I nearly missed. 

Reflections December 29, 2012

I’m looking at photos of my students from the Christmas program and it feels like another lifetime ago.

The more I stay in this frigid artic, the less I want to leave. I’ve become as entrenched in this environment as the ice clinging to the ground. I don’t want to be uprooted again, I don’t want to be gone for so long. Six whole months. What if I become homesick?

Well, then I become homesick. And I move on.

Mom says I’m different. She says I’m calmer, that I don’t fly off the handle so much. And something else—she says I’m happier.

I ask her what she means—I want examples, specific instances to identify—but she can’t explain it any further.

I came with a checklist of items I wanted to bring back to Honduras. Shampoo, quinoa, socks, nail polish, shavers, a hair dryer—all have been filling up my suitcase until I realize this morning that I have less than ten pounds to spare.

I have a different sort of checklist now, a list of experiences I want to devour and savor before I’m whisked away. I want to see Les Miserables in theatres several times. Go ice skating at Rosa Parks Circle. Read a book. Lesson plan. Chase my dogs around at the park. Catch the eye of a cute boy. Drink wine with friends. And so much more.

I said before and mean it still—I didn’t leave Michigan to run away. And I didn’t leave Honduras wishing never to return. But 

__________________________________________

And that's where it ends. I don't know what was supposed to explain the "but"-- how I would have connected these thoughts in my mind. It wasn't something I planned to share. But... why not?

My Life was the Size of My Life

My life was the size of my life.

Its rooms were room-sized,
its soul was the size of a soul.
In its background, mitochondria hummed,
above it sun, clouds, snow,
the transit of stars and planets.
It rode elevators, bullet trains,
various airplanes, a donkey.
It wore socks, shirts, its own ears and nose.
It ate, it slept.  It opened
and closed its hands, its windows.
Others, I know, had lives larger.
Others, I know, had lives shorter.
The depth of lives, too, is different.
There were times my life and I made jokes together.
There were times we made bread.
Once, I grew moody and distant.
I told my life I would like some time,
I would like to try seeing others.
In a week, my empty suitcase and I returned.
I was hungry, then, and my life,
my life, too, was hungry, we could not keep
our hands off    our clothes on   our tongues from

Jane Hirshfield

being the hands and feet

This left me misty-eyed by 11 AM.

Take II, Mustache

that's about as far as my photoshop skills will take me.

a little boy and her dad on construction night in kindergarten

Audio

And the stars down so close, and sadness and pleasure so close together, really the same thing. Like to stay drunk all the time. Who says it's bad? Who dares to say it's bad? Preachers, but they got their own kinda drunkenness. Thin, barren women, but they're too miserable to know. Reformers, but they don't bite deep enough into living to know. No, the stars are close and dear and I have joined the brotherhood of the worlds. And everything's holy-- everything, even me. -- John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

My car radio quit a few months ago. This unfortunate turn of events led me to begin listening to podcasts on my iphone, which led me to audiobooks, which led me to marathon "reading" sessions while taking the bus/ walking/ standing in line at the post office. I've since plowed through:

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Fit2Fat2Fit

168 Hours

Wise Blood

The Grapes of Wrath

Of Human Bondage

A Long Walk To Freedom 

29 Gifts
Enjoy Every Sandwhich
Middlesex

1/3rd of White Teeth (currently reading)

It seems like there were others.

My favorites were The Grapes of Wrath and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Wise Blood was hauntingly good. White Teeth is also super good so far... I can't believe the author wrote it when she was younger than me!

I probably am missing out on some twists of words and not savoring as much as I would if I had the printed version, but I also am able to stick with books I likely would have given up on (or, more accurately, forgotten after I picked up other books to entertain myself with in the meanwhile). 

And so, this is a pointless post to tell you what I've been up to lately. Listening. Lots of listening. 

my kind of folk

Hipsters? They don't strike me as such, but whatever and wherever they are, I want to join.

my favorite country song

(prepare yourself!)

A rare photo from childhood in which my gender was (at least mildly) evident

Flashback: Guatemala III

I wanted to tell you that I came down with a fever this week and felt awful. I think my host mom gave it to me, and it probably didn't help much that the bed I was sleeping on was the most uncomfortable bed (second perhaps only to Nana and Grampy's pull-out couch…) and the pillow was absolutely wretched… so I never got a good night's sleep and kept waking up every hour or so. 

I decided to leave early because I wanted to be able to rest a bit more before classes begin again on Monday. 

All the while that I was sick (well, I still am getting over it) I couldn't help thinking that all I wanted to do was go home. I had these plans to travel a bit after school got out, but I don't really have any desire to do that any more. I'm so ready to pack up and leave. 

I saw more poverty than I wanted to deal with this week. The 20-hour bus journey passed by rows and rows and rows of tin shacks or small huts. I knew this before but it only cemented in my mind that I really am living a cushy life here and not likely doing much to help those that actually need it. My life in Catacamas is among the elite-- and our life in Michigan is among the super-elite. We are a tiny tiny minority… Wall Street got all up in arms about the 1%, but we must be among the .0001% of the world's rich. 

And yet I feel so selfish… all I want to do is flee and not deal with people's problems. I am reminded of what you said Dad said to you in the airport towards the end of your stay in Africa-- that he just was sick of dealing with people's problems. I've only been here eight months and I feel the same. But this is so selfish of me. These people can't flee their own lives. 

I read a really moving book during this journey that probably egged on these thoughts… its called Half the Sky by Sheryl WuDunn and Nicholas Kristof. Sheryl WuDunn was the only January speaker I went to see this past January-- that was the day I went out to Marie Catrib's with Anna and Emily and Emily's boyfriend. She was absolutely beautiful and so articulate-- I remember being really inspired by her talk-- and the book was rather powerful/ disturbing. There were only one or two times I think she and her husband (Kristof) overstated their case, but in general I thought it should be required reading for most high school/ colleges. 

Anyway… so all this was on my mind and I wanted to talk to you about it, but then the dog business came up… 

-----

sending you a warm bear hug… my dear Momma Bear… 

xoxo

H

Flashback: Guatemala II

Mom had replied: 

Don't know if this message goes back to your phone, but thanks for keeping us informed.  I think this wasn't the wisest idea, but I had a few of those when I was younger (and still do).  Praying that you will be safe.

Love,

Mom

Which I recieved after I arrived. I was feeling wordy and so my fingers got the best of me and out poured the following: 

That message made me chuckle.

I'm here!! Can't comment much as only just arrived, but have been very blessed by the kindness of strangers.

First, when I took a taxi after breakfast to get to the bus terminal, I was confused because the taxi driver was saying that the terminal I wanted to go to did not service the bus I needed to take. Well, actually that is the abbreviated version-- what he really said was a lot more complicated but I didn't understand most of it. And sure enough-- he drove me past the place and it was not at all what I had read online that it would be. So he took me to a bus station that had bus lines all throughout Guatemala. This place was a lot farther out from where we had agreed upon, so I was expecting him to charge me more. All the other taxis in Guatemala had shrifted me and I expected this guy to be no different. I had just hopped into his car when he rounded a corner-- we had no formal contract or understanding between us. But no, he quoted me at the original price. And then he parked his taxi and said, "Let's go find what bus you need to take." He traipsed all over that huge terminal with me, asking several uniformed folks along the way. Finally we (he) found it and asked the price, and then explained to me that I would need to take a ferry once I got there. After I bought my ticket, I realized I should probably use the bathroom before I left because I didn't know if the bus would stop (it didn't). So I asked where it was and the bus driver pointed in the general direction, but my taxi driver took me in tow to find the exact location. As we were walking, he said "Be careful and watch your stuff. It can be dangerous here." He seemed genuinely concerned. Then he waited for me outside the bathroom and escorted me back!! :) This was a bit excessive but very kind. He had also given me his number and asked me to call if anything went wrong.

The converted school bus I took is called a "chicken bus" because people cram into it with everything and their chickens. I didn't spot any chickens but I did hear an upset puppy yowling from two seats over.

I was worried I'd miss getting off where I needed to go because there weren't  actual stops-- the bus would merely slow down somewhat and people (including old bitties) would just sort of hop off. But just as I was about to tap the bus driver on the shoulder (I'd sat right behind him, partly for this reason) to ask if he could tell me when to get off-- like a little lost kid-- I spotted the sign I needed and kept following it as we approached.

Then I was in Santiago and boarded a full boat. When I turned around I saw that there were three Caucasians a few rows back. One was an American guy who spoke halting Spanish, but the two girls he was talking to appeared rather fluent. In any case, they were LOUD. And hippies. I will never call myself this again as I was grossed out by what I saw. Dreadlocks and the whole shebang. I didn't get the full picture until one of them walked up to the front and exchanged her bongo drums that she'd been banging on for a guitar-- and sat back down. Her legs were so hairy and her feet looked like they belonged to another ethnicity, they were so dirty. Worst of all, there was this cloud of foul odor following her around, like rotting fruit. The Guatemalans sharing our boat had dirty feet as well, but the rest of their appearance were tidy and neat and I couldn't help but cringe.

I'm not sure if I should be somewhat relieved or equally put off by the fact that these girls took every opportunity to remind us all that they were NOT Americans. (They were Canadians. You know, because that is sooooooo different.) They spoke French so I'm guessing they're from Montreal. I didn't actually hear them speak French. They spoke exclusively in Spanish to the guy and later to a fellow passenger. I have to imagine others on the boat were also internally rolling their eyes at these girls. I wasn't listening to everything they said-- and I couldn't understand it all, either-- but at one point one of them was declaring how rude it was when Americans assumed she spoke English and came up to her saying, "Hello, how are you doing?" She viewed it as disrespectful. "You're in another country! Speak the language!" she declared.

I found this argument amusing / ridiculous. Just yesterday, the guy from Iceland approached me and spoke English. Was I to be offended that he assumed since we were both Caucasion that we both might communicate? He didn't speak much Spanish-- would this girl rather he didn't visit Central America at all? And that's the thing-- I can't help but assume that this girl has a huge double standard, because I doubt she would side with the Americans who think immigrants to the states should instantly speak English.

I agree, one should attempt to learn the language if one is going to spend any length of time in a different country. But to insist on speaking Spanish (loudly) with your fellow Canadian friend, when Spanish is clearly neither of your native languages, is just weird.
Whatever. I'm done analyzing the ridiculous. :)

When the ferry arrived at the dock, I didn't exactly know where to go. Actually I didn't know where to go at all. I asked a few people but no one seemed to know. There was this huge funeral procession/ parade going on, with tons of people walking behind a fake-looking casket. It was obviously a religious procession and I felt very much out of place walking behind it with my backpack and jeans and white skin. I was worried I might be offending folks by joining in, but I didn't know where else to go and thought the last person I'd asked directions from had pointed me that way. One of the Guatemalan girls from the ferry turned around and smiled at me. Still, I was growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation when a man walking next to me asked me which country I was from. I then asked him if he was from Guatemala and he and his wife said yes-- from here. Seizing my chance, I asked them if they knew where the school was. He didn't-- but called out to his cousin ahead of us. Oh great. I was going to interrupt the whole parade. It would probably the pallbearers who would be consulted next.

The cousin did know and gave me directions, but, likely seeing my confusion, thought better of it. He motioned me over to a women sitting with some girls. Taking one of them, he said "Here! Show her where the Cooperativa school is!" The girl looked up at me, rather alarmed, but took my hand. Another little girl about her size held on to her other hand.

And that is how I walked up and down the streets of San Pedro Laguna, holding hands with little girls.
They were 8 and 9 but looked much younger-- they only came up to my hip! I was also rather surprised at how trusting her parents were. This would not have happened in Honduras.

Even though the countries are so close, I can already tell some differences. 90 percent of the women and girls I've seen-- from a bigger city like Guatemala City to small San Pedro Laguna-- and all the cities in between-- wear traditional, bright- colored skirt/shirt/belt combinations-- and different patterns for each. Also, the language-- I don't know what it's called, but I've heard a lot of people speak it. It sounds like a cross between Dutch and Swedish. I'm listening to some folks speak it right now... They look the farthest thing from Swedish.

I meet my host family at 5. Am hoping that goes well!

Ok, I've typed an essay! Guess I had lots to say. I feel like I could write a book-- though I'm not sure who would want to read it :)

Xoxo
Hannah