Sobremesa

Why the conservatives will rule the UK starting tomorrow and why The Sun is genius

2010-05-05T16:34:00.001+01:00

Read further (not safe for work!)

Urban nature photography

2010-03-25T16:47:00.002Z

I love this...

Welcome, Spring!

2010-03-21T08:19:00.003Z

Working girl

2010-03-20T08:13:00.008Z

I was on the train yesterday and got to thinking about all the different jobs I've held. I think my mind wandered in this direction as it was early afternoon and my day off, and whenever I'm out and about on a day that most people are working I wonder about the other people who are out and about and seem to have the freedom to not be at work on a Friday afternoon. Are they on their lunch break? Are they en route to a meeting? Do they work nights? Are they an actor or pro boxer or inventor? Are they unemployed ? Independently wealthy?

I've always been a worker. My first real job was at 11 or 12. I was hired by a neighbor who lived on the 5th floor of my apartment building to assist him in a local election campaign. I wore a round, navy blue button on my lapel that read 'Caz Grascz for Freeholder' in white text. (Both names rhyme with Jazz). I did not know what a freeholder did (actually I still don't), but I liked Caz and wanted him to win more than anything. He had a big personality, and knew how to relate to children. He wore a plaid sports coat and porkpie hat, had a big nose and a shiny, reddish complexion, and his real name was Casimir which I thought was neat. There was something about his speaking voice that reminded me of Earl Scheib.

My job was to stand next to him as he knocked on doors, smile as he gave his pitch, and when he was finished I'd offer a leaflet from a small stack which I kept neatly organized in my hands. I remember thinking, at the time, that I was hired for my intelligence, and that maybe I had a future in politics. I wore my campaign button to school and the other kids thought it was dumb, which only made me more loyal to Caz. Sadly, Caz did not win and I have since lost the button. I'd kill for that button now.

Since then, I've had so many different jobs. I've been a baby sitter, a zoo docent, a TV extra, a clerk typist for the US Navy, a bartender (I lasted one day), a publicist, a refugee advocate, a PA to a man who had an addiction to strippers, a telephone market survey conductor, a data entry zombie, a hauler of recyclables (I wore overalls and leather gloves), a face painter at children's parties, a receptionist for an orthopedic surgeon and a proofreader, to name a few. I've worked at a Japanese bank, a Manhattan emergency room, a Bronx grammar school, a record label, and the United Nations.

I once almost took a job selling knives door to door, but despite the rich writing material I knew such a job could provide, I couldn't bring myself to do it. What kind of weird people buy knives from a traveling salesman? Whoever they were, I did not want to meet them.

My most favorite "almost job" was as a translator for Mexican heart throb Luis Miguel. He was in town to promote his record and his regular translator cancelled last minute or something. I got the call from my temp agency but couldn't get there fast enough. They gave the job to someone else.

Really?

2010-03-05T16:56:00.002Z

Pigeon-toed duck

2010-03-01T21:30:00.003Z

This handsome fellow was born last spring in our neighborhood pond. Being pigeon-toed myself, I really dig him.

Love is in the air

2010-03-01T19:27:00.003Z

This morning on my way to the bus stop I noticed two mated pairs of tufted ducks in our neighborhood pond. I'm really excited to see them, because last year they came to the pond to have their chicks and then left as soon as their offspring became independent. I expect they've returned for the same reason this year. I'll be following them closely over the next few weeks to see if I can spot any signs of their nesting. More soon.

Tufted ducks (or, Aythya fuligula, their unpronouncable Latin name) are such pretty birds, with their little golden eyes and jaunty, feathery tufts. And so fun to watch as they dive! The chicks are possibly the cutest in the world--little round black fluff balls with boundless energy. It was amazing last year to watch them learn to dive by trial and error.

Have a look at this video I found on YouTube that shows the diving action:

Don't mess with a Dune Ant

2010-02-28T12:33:00.009Z

As I mentioned previously, survival against the harshest imaginable conditions was a constant theme for us during our visit to Namibia. Well, not for us as well looked after tourists, but certainly for the all of the wildlife around us. We were constantly awed at what we learned about the ingenious survival techniques of desert dwellers. And not only must the animals be incredibly resourceful, but tough, tough, tough.

Take the Dune Ant. Every time I photographed one, after one or two snaps, the insect would sense me and, rather than scurrying away, actually stop its activities to look up at me and cock its sharp mandibles menacingly. As if to say, "Hey! Hey! Yeah, you, the papa-frickin-razzi. I'm workin' here. We ain't all on vacation. Get that lens outa my face before I bite your ass."

After coming home I read a bit more about the Dune Ant, and I'm even more impressed. They actually herd scale insects like livestock in order to milk their sugary secretions. And, according to a short description I read on PBS.org, they can navigate by the angle of the sun and "in order to limit water loss, they breathe in short rapid bursts." They also fiercely defend their nests and will fight intruders to the death, pinning a rival ant to the hot sand to cook it alive. Wow.

Have a look at this video courtesy of Animal Planet which explains more about this tenacious ant. And click the photos for a better, close up view.

Leopard, Namibia

2010-02-25T09:57:00.004Z

Chin up, it's almost spring

2010-02-21T16:58:00.006Z

Rain again today. Scott's in the office again today. I decided that in spite of those two less than ideal circumstances, I would have a nice day. I headed over to Kew Gardens to see if spring is here yet. Not bad. Definitely wet and chilly, but a good two hour walk always lifts the spirits and there were plenty of late winter flowers coming up.

There was still a good bit of ice on the pond I visited, but melting in such a beautiful way I wound up taking photo after photo of the water's surface. There was also a warm & steamy orchid exhibit which made me feel so happy. Click to enlarge the photos...

Namibia, day 1

2010-02-20T17:46:00.018Z

On our first day in Namibia we rented a truck in Windhoek and drove about 2 hours southwest from the capital to a small lodge to spend our first night before venturing further afield for the rest of out 10 day road trip. Beautiful drive. Incredibly hot, unbelievably dry. So dry you actually don't sweat--any moisture evaporates instantly. In fact by the end of the first day I had a pounding headache from dehydration. The rest of the trip we drank around 3 liters or more each per day.

After four years in London, I guess I've come to take water for granted. If anything, the English climate has turned water, in my imagination, into an ever present, gloomy, drizzly weight that must be endured for endless stretches with a scowl and an upturned collar. A roadblock to wearing my new high heeled turquoise suede ankle boots. A compelling excuse to skip morning runs and therefore a contributing factor to my body's modest but nonetheless alarming new tendency toward muffin top in the absence of regular cardio. All of these unpleasant things, rather than the precious stuff of life it is most everywhere else.

So it was humbling to notice, when we stopped our truck so I could hop out and open a wooden gate to allow our vehicle to drive into the lodge on a dusty, heat emitting road, a swarm of tiny purple butterflies coating a patch on the ground. Why? Because upon closer inspection, I realized they had gathered to lick a faintly moist patch in the sand, most likely deposited by a leaky vehicle that had stopped previously in this same spot to open the gate.

A hundred tiny creatures, whipping their little tongues at the dampness. This was life or death for them. I immediately poured half of my water bottle onto the ground, hoping to give them a party.

Most of them scattered as soon as I approached and started taking pictures...only a handful of brave (or extra thirsty) ones stayed behind. Click to enlarge...notice the little guy coming in for a landing to the right in photo four below.

How Scott saved my life in the desert

2010-02-07T19:35:00.010Z

Spent a cleansing and beautiful two weeks in South Africa & Namibia over Christmas & New Years. One of the most beautiful places I've ever been.

We are still sorting the 3500+ photos and will post an album soon, but thought you'd like to see my heroic Scott in action changing a tire on the side of a hot, dusty, lonely road in the middle of absolutely nowhere in the Namibia desert.

Never mind how his cowboy driving and cavalier attitude toward warning road signs as we approached a rocky river bed may have caused the blowout...we were in a double cab 4X4 Nissan Pathfinder gas guzzler with the double CD collection of Johnny Cash performing live at Folsom and San Quentin prisons blaring on the stereo. How could he be expected to drive any other way??

It wasn't until we'd driven a few kilometers past the river bed that we turned down Johnny to pinpoint where a certain troubling noise was coming from....when Scott saw smoke coming from the back rear tire we realized we better stop to have a look.

The tire was a mess! Scott got to it right away, but it didn't help that the handle on the jack was from a different model and so didn't actually connect with the cranking mechanism. But thankfully Scott was prepared with his leatherman (the only time I've ever seen him use the thing aside from once peeling fruit while hiking). And so with some strategic assistance from some nearby boulders (don't ask), we were on our way after only 45 minutes.

I stood by feebly holding our road map over Scott's head in an effort to shade his face and head from the sun, which was giving off about 120 degrees of unforgiving heat. After a while I gave up and started taking pictures.

Click on album for larger view...

Back from the deep freeze

2009-11-10T18:36:00.004Z

Scott and I have just returned from five days in St. Petersburg. Fascinating. Amazing museums, churches and architecture. We splashed out on a spa hotel which had a nordic ice cave among other features....more soon once I've downloaded photos.

In the meantime, here I am enduring said ice cave for the specified 5 minute period before heading to my choice of hot sauna (courtesy of Scott's blackberry--yes, he had it with him in the spa.)

Birdie Num Num

2009-07-27T18:18:00.004+01:00

Someone reminded me today of my favorite scene from The Party with Peter Sellers. Amazing. Especially 2:26 where he goes onto the PA system:

Howdie, Par-den-er!

I am not an otter

2009-06-07T09:36:00.008+01:00

In the same way that it's said Eskimos have 52 words for snow, the BBC online weather forecast seems to have about 500 different depictions of the sublte variations in the constant rain expected this week.

You must have a browser that supports iframes to view the BBC weather forecast

Summer is not here yet. Yesterday I wore my Barbour jacket (purchased in Chicago in winter to keep out the wind!) and a wool scarf. And I was still a bit chilly. Scott suggested we pretend it was October and then it would seen unseasonably warm.

I found a curious snippet in the Times Sunday magazine last weekend that sums up all that is wrong with this country:

THINK YOURSELF SUNNY
By Edwina Ings-Chambers

Hurrah, it’s the summer (almost). Except, hold on, this is Britain, so it’s almost guaranteed that rain will stop play. So, how can we keep thinking sunny?

- Reframe your thinking. “Focus on season indicators that aren’t about the weather,” says the cognitive behavioural therapist Rhena Branch. “New growth, flowers, window boxes, the smell of barbecues and all those other things that say it’s summer.

- Don’t be a perfectionist. “The British are famous for their intrepid spirit,” says the life coach Nina Grunfeld. “You can still head to the beach, even if there’s just a glint of sunshine, but take a cardigan.”

- ”If it does rain, try to imagine you’re a creature that loves rain, like an otter,” says Grunfeld. “Ask yourself how an otter would enjoy the rain, and see how you can bring those sorts of feelings into yourself by, say, putting on waterproofs and venturing out.”

Edwina, I don't mean to piss on your parade, but I AM NOT AN OTTER. Neither are you. Perhaps you are suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. A nation shouldn't have to tap the depths of its intrepid spirit to head on a picnic. WWII ended in 1945.

When birds attack

2009-04-16T06:53:00.004+01:00

I birdwatch from my desk. My office is in a leafy part of town, surrounded by trees, shurbs, and therefore birds. I sit opposite a bank of tall windows, so I can observe bird activity all day long. There is even a family of thrushes living in a tree outside our conference room, and lately I find myself distracted during meetings, as the birds have built a nest and are now rearing chicks.

Yesterday evening, I was leaving the office and I saw a dark fluttering form on the path ahead--a bird. I was immediately filled with dread--at the end of a long day I was going to have to cancel the drink with Scott and friends I was headed to, and instead call the RSPCA animal rescue hotline and wait with the injured bird until someone arrived to transport it to a vet.

As I got nearer, I realized there were two birds, one on top of the other. Oh, great. Even more complicated. Now I'd have to wait with the injured bird and its panicked mate, soaking in their avian heartbreak-melodrama-tragedy--it was just too much.

But as I got even closer, the picture changed. I now realized it was a male sitting on the chest of another male which was dead. The live bird was pecking out the dead bird's eyes! The dead bird's little wiry feet were sticking straight out in front of it, like you'd see in a cartoon. The killer was so engrossed in its activity it did not move even when I eventually walked past! It just kept pecking and pecking. I've never seen anything like it!

A little research on the RSPB web site reveals that what I saw was most likely the result of a territorial dispute:

Male blackbirds establish a territory during their first year, which they will hold throughout their lives. The territory is essential for pair formation and nesting, although only a part of the food is obtained from within it.

Territory size varies depending on the habitat, and can be as small as 0.2 ha. Territory boundaries break down when the last broods have fledged and adults moult. During this period, territorial drive is low, and many birds will feed outside their territories at abundant food sources.

Territories are re-established in the late autumn, and from spring until July they are defended against all other blackbirds.

It's the little things

2009-03-20T07:42:00.004Z

Scott works really hard. His job is demanding and takes up most of his time and energy. I've tried to get used to constant interruptions to conversations, meals, nature walks, entire holiday weekends. I've even retrained myself (mostly) not to talk to him on the bus in the morning as he taps away on his blackberry. It's not a natural state--he may be physically present but his brain is in an e-fog. I often feel like a minimized window as Scott multitasks (and I know that it's even worse for Scott--at least I'm not under the pressue he is). Next Guy Fawkes, I may burn a blackberry in effigy (Scott is tired of this joke).

So it was a pleasant surprise last night that on our brisk, chilly walk home from the bus stop, over the bridge, across the green and down our street, Scott and I shared my headphones and listened to The Smiths on my iPod. A completely ordinary thing, and yet it has been the highlight of my week. For what felt like forever, we were connected, in sync, and his blackberry stayed in his pocket.

Signs of Spring part iii

2009-03-10T23:44:00.009Z

Walking in Bermondsey today, which is not a place you expect to see green things, I spied a pair of magpies in a tree (the only tree on the street) building a nest. They had a mass of twigs of similar lengths & widths and were in the process of weaving them into a secure nest with their beaks. One would jump back every so often, onto an adjacent branch, as if to size up their progress. Amazing to watch!

Curious about what I saw, did a bit of Googling and came up with some interesting info. According to various bird sites I consulted:

"Both birds build the large nest, which can take several weeks to complete, from small branches and twigs, and line it with mud and vegetation. The nest is usually in a large tree (but sometimes in pylons) and domed to prevent predation by other crows, but some birds do not bother."

Also in the spring, "large numbers of Magpies often gather to resolve territorial conflicts and social standing. These gatherings are called parliaments."

On a related note, "breeding magpies hold a territory of about five hectares (12 acres) all year round. Because nest sites are limited, between 25% and 60% of magpies in an area do not breed."

So not only were these two quite skilled builders, they belong to a small breeding subset amongst celibate peers.

Signs of Spring continued

2009-03-09T21:26:00.013Z

Some images from Kew Gardens from last weekend:

I love a kestrel

2009-02-26T07:23:00.003Z

A clip from my new favorite TV show, on BBC2--Earth Pilgrim, with Satish Kumar. Check out the amazing kestrel starting around 1:10.

Signs of Spring

2009-02-24T19:58:00.005Z

Spotted today while seated at my desk:

a bird gathering twigs to build a nest in a tree outside my window -- observed for about 20 minutes making multiple trips from ground where it collected materials in its beak up to its perch
a Buff-tailed Bumblebee queen buzzing clumbsily around my window. According to the Bumblebee Conservation Trust, fertilized queens are often among the first bumble bees to appear in spring, searching out a suitable place to start the new colony. They are commonly seen in late February/early March after having hibernated in a hole in the ground or under moss for the winter.
two of the many lady bugs who hibernated in our office this winter waking up and diving into coworkers' computer screens (they were escorted outside)

Six Nations Rugby: England v. Italy

2009-02-07T20:46:00.049Z

Yesterday our friends Caroline & Andy invited us to see England trounce Italy in the first match of the Six Nations Rugby championship, a much anticipated annual tournament between England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, France and Italy.

The stadium is in Twickenham, a smallish London suburb/village with NO parking and very narrow roads. So spectators get as close as they can via a variety of public transport, and then walk for ages in the cold toward the stadium. Enterprising locals set up sausage stands on their front lawns and rent out their driveways to those brave/stupid enough to drive to the match.

And you can purchase flags and scarves to show your support for England all along the walk.

Unless you are fans from Italy and brought assenine fan gear from home.

In any event, there were LOADS of people.

What better way to kick off a rugby match than with Special Forces being lowered on a giant flag of Engand from the roof of the stadium? (It was a lot more hardcore than my photo conveys).

And there was also God Save the Queen:

It didn't take England very long to score. And so the crowd was happy.

I'm confused as to why England fans sing a traditional American spiritual to root on their team, and even more confused as to how they all manage to sing in unison from the first note.

In truth, it was not the most exciting game given how dominant England was. There was a solitary Italian fan near us wrapped in his country's flag. I wouldn't have guessed it was possible to look so stoic while wearing a blue clown wig.

But it's always great fun to see rugby anyhow. We purchased little radios that allow you to listen to the action on the field via a small mic worn by the referee (the feed from which is otherwise not broadcast). It's great for better understanding what's happening and also hear what the players are saying to one another. (It's not like American football where the refs will explain penalties to the crowd. )

Then, after being dominated most of the match and losing what seemed like half its team to injuries, Italy (in blue) finally scored:

But it was too little too late, and in the end England won handily.

After the game we retired to the Sun Inn, a rugby-themed pub in Richmond (along with a lot of other fans).

The crowd was jovial but it'd been a long day so we headed home while the evening was still on a, um, high note:

Mobile images, con'td

2009-02-05T23:13:00.005Z

Continuing on my quest to document London via mobile phone, I took these images of the Thames late last night on my way home from work (it's been a long week).

I was so tired, having spent my evening at the office. Eyes sore and dry from the computer monitor, brain weary from thinking and writing.

It was so cold. One of those clear, quiet, bitter evenings where everything seems unbearably harsh, yet somehow twinkling and pretty, with your eyes tearing from the cold.

All the more reason to stop and appreciate my surroundings. I stood on the bridge snapping away at what seemed most beautiful to me at the time, in this instance the harsh almost metalic feel of lights reflected on water.

Gary Busey, um, rocks?

2009-02-05T08:06:00.001Z

I never thought there'd be a post about Gary Busey on my blog, let alone a positive one. Check him out playing Buddy Holly in this 1978 movie that I caught on TV last night. He actually sings, too. He's excellent...

protect our home planet

2009-02-02T15:58:00.009Z

Are you familiar with NASA's mission portfolio?

I was not, until I stumbled upon it while doing a little Snow Day web surfing this afternoon. Their list of missions is absolutely, delightfully lunatic (no pun intended).

With all the news in the last year about the Mars Rover, you are probably aware that NASA is exploring the possibility of sending people to the Red Planet (and in style, too. See photo).

But did you know that the Rossi X-ray Timing Explorer Mission "observes the fast-moving, high-energy worlds of black holes, neutron stars, X-ray pulsars and bursts of X-rays that light up the sky and then disappear forever"?

Or, that the Chandra X-Ray Observatory "probes the mysteries of space with unprecedented x-ray images that help to unravel the structure and evolution of the universe"?

Or what about the Cosmic Hot Interstellar Plasma Spectrometer (CHIPS) project, which "uses an extreme ultraviolet spectrograph to study the 'Local Bubble' surrounding our Solar System"?

Local Bubble? Is your head spinning yet?

I've had so much fun troving the nutty descriptions on the missions list, that I've fashioned my favorite phrases into the poem below entitled "protect our home planet". These are lifted directly from the scientists' descriptions, people. Enjoy.

beyond the termination shock at the very edge of our solar system
the x-ray universe
supermassive black hole systems, pulsars and the origin of cosmic rays
constant vigil for the atmospheric "triggers"
unlocking the secrets of Saturn

relativity gyroscope
asteroid sample return mission
gamma-ray bursts
flyby studies of Pluto
fine-scale magnetic fields and the associated plasma structures on the Sun
a journey through our solar system and beyond

the basic physics of particle acceleration and explosive energy release
total solar radiation
interstellar gas clouds
stardust returns samples

where the Sun's influence ends and the dark recesses of interstellar space begin
the most powerful explosions in the universe
protect our home planet

Snow Day

2009-02-02T12:12:00.005Z

The whole city is taking a snow day. I had a walk around the neighborhood this morning with my camera...

(click on album for larger size photos, then select slideshow)

York Hall

2009-02-01T16:52:00.010Z

Scott and I went to the fights on Friday night at the historic York Hall Leisure Centre in Bethnal Green. Awesome venue and atmosphere.

The main event was the British welterweight title fight: Kell Brooks vs. Stuart Elwell.

The Telegraph summarizes it better than I could:

"Elwell looked out of his league, the 31-year-old felled by a jabbing hook 30 seconds into the fight, then punished again with a straight right. Before the first round was over, he was down again, this time by a left cross, and was given a standing count by referee Marcus McDonnell. Elwell ended the round looking very shaky indeed.

When Brook wobbled the legs of his opponent again in the second with a left, right, left, as Brook picked his shots, referee McDonnell had seen enough. It was the right decision. Elwell was in no position to continue."

Here's a very poor quality video from my mobile phone. You can't really see much, but if you turn up your speaker you can hear a very loud, very drunk spectator shouting advice to the boxers (something useful, along the lines of "fucking come on!"). Helps you get a feel for York Hall.

Brook was amazing to watch. Swift, powerful, focused, yet totally serene. Tough, both mentally and physically. Which is why I suppose was surprised/amused to hear his voice in the post fight interview:

Duck in a Truck

2009-01-31T18:40:00.002Z

Botswana & Zimbabwe

2009-01-27T21:05:00.002Z

Just realized that I never posted any of our pictures from Botswana LAST YEAR. In case you are still interested, here goes:

Sandibe Lodge, Okavango Delta (click here & select slideshow for larger view):

Savuti Lodge, Okavango Delta (click here & select slideshow for larger view):

Chobe National Park (click here & select slideshow for larger view):

Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe (click here & select slideshow for larger view):

Early Sunday morning

2009-01-27T20:14:00.010Z

Some snaps from over the weekend in an around our neighborhood. I love living a block from the Thames.

Mobile images

2009-01-25T17:12:00.036Z

I've been so busy with work, life, travel, everything these days that I've sadly had little time for creative pursuits. In desperation, I've begun snapping a great volume of pictures with my mobile phone, usually while commuting or running errands, anything to feel a bit more creative. My mobile camera is quite poor, which is fun because it makes taking interesting images all the more challenging.

I remember reading an interview with a Cuban filmmaker who was asked whether his country's limited resources prevented him from realising his vision for a particular movie. To the contrary, he said the constraints forced him to be even more creative. Not that my little mobile images are on par with Cuban cinema, but you get the idea.

(Click images to see them full sized)

Self portrait, Southbank, London

Parking ramp, Kingston-upon-Thames

Detail of sculpture, British Museum

Saturday night boxing at York Hall Leisure Centre, Bethnal Green

Southwark Tube station

Car wash, West Kensington

Foggy morning on the Thames, as seen crossing Kew Bridge

Phone booths, Turnam Green

Rainy evening, Oxford Street

Scott at Prince of Wales, Esher

'Reflection', Antony Gormley sculpture, Euston Street

Rising moon and solitary porch light, Kew Green

Escalator, Oxford Circus Tube station

Scott in reflection, morning commute on #391 bus

Self portrait, upper deck of #65 bus, rain

Self portrait, morning commute, #391 bus

Waiting for my ride, lonely road, Esher railway station

Evening commute, rain

Wintery platform, Hammersmith Tube station

Elderly man's reflection, upper deck, #267 bus

Morning, Della!

2009-01-08T07:46:00.002Z

Rockin' out to Della Reese while I eat my yogurt this morning...

Rock n Roll Specialists, 1958

2009-01-06T21:11:00.001Z

Um, how badass is Buddy Holly? Check out the knee jerk and the snarl. And the drummer's hairdo.

Sri Lanka

2009-01-04T07:15:00.006Z

Just back from an inspiring two weeks in Sri Lanka. A fuller post with photos in the coming days, but here's a little preview from the Sinharaja Rainforest Reserve, where we spent a few days birdwatching. These speedy leeches could be found everywhere (including attached to my leg sucking my blood):

Happy New Year

2009-01-04T06:10:00.001Z

Don't you LOVE Johnny Nash?

Sweet Mental Revenge

2008-12-06T10:13:00.004Z

Scott came across this amazing Waylon Jennings clip from 1966. The lyrics are acid. And how unflappably cool is he?? Check out how he moves his shoulders at about 9 seconds.

"I hope the friend you've thrown yourself with, he gets drunk and loses his job./ Every road that you travel on is dusty, rocky and hard."

And how about this one--does he not make the most electric eye contact with the camera (1:18)?

Who's Waylon Jennings, you ask? Scott says it is disrespectful and taints his legacy for me to mention this (as it is the least cool thing he did and he probably did it for the money during a career low), but since country music isn't everyone's cup of tea (not sure why) some of you may not be familiar with Waylon Jennings. But you've heard him before:

Scott just walked out of the room. "He's probably turning in his fucking grave."

Oporto

2008-05-29T22:12:00.005+01:00

To view larger images, click here and choose slideshow.

Scott and I are just back from 4 days in Porto, Portugal. Amazing little city. It's been declared a UNESCO World Heritage site, it's the home of port wine, and it's a quick 2 hour flight from London. What more could you ask for?

It rained--poured--the entire time we were there, but somehow we didn't mind. Our first stop was to purchase cool umbrellas from a local store (Scott was firmly redirected by the shop keeper when he tried to purchase a "women's" umbrella), and we didn't look back.

Highlights include:

--Amazing "azulejos" tiles on facades all over the city

--Learning lots about port wine and visiting cellars and tasting lots of port (makes for a delightfully hazy trip)

--Beautiful architecture spanning medieval to baroque to rococco to art deco & beyond

--Day trip to stunning Douro valley (east of Porto, where grapes are grown)

--A few memorable meals, including lunch at Graham's port lodge--traditional bacalao (salt cod) dish, and at another restaurant whose name I can't recall with yummy fusion food including a basil salmon fritter and spectacular chocolate suffle with mango ice cream

--Creepy church shrines/saints' remains/statues. My favorite is a carved wood panel from the Sao Francisco church, depicting Os Santos Mártires de Marrocos--a group of missionary monks beheaded in 1219 in Morocco:

Dear Sir

2008-05-23T08:10:00.003+01:00

Last night we fell asleep on the couch watching a movie (The Last Picture Show, which was excellent). Unfortunately, we stayed sleeping there until chirping birds woke us at around 4. It's not a comfortable night's sleep. Whenever this happens, I'm always aware that I'm uncomfortable, but unable to rouse myself to do much about it. Last night I dreamed that I sent Scott a letter requesting more space, explaining the unfairness of his body taking up more room on the sofa than mine. It was on special letter headed paper. He did not respond.

The night before, while sleeping comfortably in our actual bed (pillow top mattress + feather bed + down pillows + high thread count sheets dried in the sun) I dreamed there was a terrible storm forming. The clouds were dark and churning in the sky. The wind gusts were whipping the trees to and fro, and debris was flying through the air. It was eerily beautiful and I was enjoying watching it. I spotted a great blue heron using a broken off TV antenna as a surfboard to ride the gusts. I made a mental note to report this to the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, as it would likely be of interest to their behavioral scientists.

Ohmmmmmmm

2008-05-22T22:16:00.007+01:00

Feeling uplifted this evening, having spent the afternoon at Royal Albert Hall hearing a talk by the Dalai Lama who is in London this week.

He started off his address by pausing to remove his shoes, explaining the importance of comfort. Then he produced a saffron visor from the depths of his robes and plunked it jauntily on his head (a modern adddition to his monks attire to combat ultra bright stage lights).

One thing about the Dalai Lama--the man does not exactly project his voice. And, although his English is very good, it isn't always clear. This combination makes him difficult to follow at times. But the 50% I did understand was very inspiring.

I learned or was reminded that:

1. All people need affection and love. When they have it they lead happy, peaceful lives. When they don't, they act crappily. Apparently, according to His Holiness, even lab rats are better off when they can lick each other (at least I think that's what he said).
2. We must separate the wrong doer from the wrong deed. Despise the wrong deed, but have compassion for the wrong doer because he is acting that way because he's not had love and understanding.

3. To achieve world peace, each of us must first commit to cultivating inner peace through "inner disarmament," letting go of jealousy, suspicion, hatred, etc. in favor of compassion, patience and understanding.

4. The Dalai Lama carries a man purse.

5. The Dalai Lama attracts a lot of wack jobs. A LOT. I wasn't sure what was worse--the angry anti Dalai Lama protestors thronging the streets outside the venue (wtf?), or the annoying white people unfurling gigantic Tibetan flags inside the venue and hollering Pro Tibet slogans with all the enthusiasm of football hooligans. I almost lost it after watching two middle aged English women, apparently strangers, pause on a stairwell to bow smugly to one another, hands folded in prayer.

I don't know why I'm so bothered by the groupie mentality, or the cultish way some people adopt causes so removed from their daily lives. I guess it strikes me as false, naive, needy, and self-satisfied all at once.

That's not to say I don't feel affection for Tibetans (a lovely, lively people) and deep sympathy for their plight. I spent years helping Tibeten monks win asylum in the US, and have listened to many chilling accounts of their oppression under the Chinese. I attended Tibetan celebrations, was invited to a makeshift Tibetan nightclub, and even saw the Dalai Lama in Central Park while picnicking with clients. But I never felt the urge to romanticize them. To the contrary, I was secretly tickled that, once in America, many took lovers, drank beer, ate spare ribs, and acquired mobile phones among other un-monkly activities.

6. Google returns a lot of weird shit when all you're looking for is a picture of the Dalai Lama for your blog post. Here's my favorite find (see point 5, above):

Capetown

2008-05-07T21:35:00.005+01:00

So much to recount from our long, long African holiday. I spent a bit of time in South Africa for work. You can catch up on that leg of the journey on my work blog.

Scott then met me in Johannesburg and we headed down to Capetown for the weekend.

Beautiful spot. Highlights include:

-- good wine (courtesy of local Stellenbosch vineyards);

--a relaxing stay at a very lovely B&B called Cape Twenty Two located in the Oranjazicht neighborhood, Afrikaans for "Orange View," since in colonial times one could see the orange groves below, whose harvest allowed ships to guard against scurvy;

--a day trip out to the Cape Point and the Cape of Good Hope (described by Sir Francis Drake in 1580 as "The most stately thing and the fairest Cape we saw in the whole circumference of the earth." Read its fascinating history here); and

--watching the resident colony of (highly comical) penguins at Boulders Beach, part of beautiful Table Mountain National Park.

You can view our photos below or click here for a larger version (be sure to activate slideshow)

Safari!

2008-05-05T07:34:00.003+01:00

Amazing time in South Africa, Botswana & Zimbabwe. More pictures coming shortly.

April Fool's!

2008-04-01T22:25:00.001+01:00

Welcome Spring and War Pigs

2008-03-30T13:47:00.010+01:00

Today brought the first sun we've seen in England in months: short but delicious bursts of sun punctuating an otherwise impassive cloud cover. And the rain stopped long enough for the slate paving in our garden to dry. This convergence of good fortune lured us outside for a while to observe a variety of spring activities underway all around us:

Male jays, tits, robins and blackbirds battling one another to impress the ladies. A solitary daisy growing out of the lawn. Lady bugs gathered on a fence. A white tailed bumble bee queen searching along the planting beds for a place to set up her colony. Pear and apple blossoms soaking up the intermitent sun. And, new visitors--a beautiful pair of goldfinches at our feeders.

It's been a long, dreary, rainy winter. I can't begin to describe how numbing and depressing it's been. Interminable rain. Skies so heavy and low you slump to avoid them. A damp, penetrating cold that no amount of tea, or wool, or upturned collars can ward off.

When we last lived in New York, I regularly prepared for my morning subway commute by cranking this before leaving the house:

This morning, perhaps out of disdain for the climate, we turned to vintage Black Sabath. I've always felt a place's climate shapes the kind of music produced there. It couldn't be more true here. Despite it being 7:45 am, the music somehow felt cheery; it at least gives you a sense of having a fighting chance against the gloom:

Saturday Night Zombies

2007-10-13T18:09:00.000+01:00

Bruges

2007-09-16T18:24:00.000+01:00

Feeling the travel bug, we decided to take a drive to Bruges, Belgium, this weekend for a quick overnight stay. We left at sun up on Saturday, driving through the Channel Tunnel and up the coast of northern France on to Bruges. The drive took us about 4 hours total.

Bruges is quite beautiful (it's often referred to as the "Venice of the North" because of its canals). The city's historic center is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and does not disappoint--much of its medieval architeture is well preserved.

By the14th century Bruges had become an important commercial center (wool, cloth, banking) but later fell on hard times and its canal to the sea silted up. As a result the city went into hundreds of years of decline (by the mid-1800s was the poorest city in Belgium) but the upshot is that without economic development, the city center remained virtually unchanged.

Bruges' other claim to fame is as a base for the Flemish painting school and the city is home to a number of small museums with masterpieces by the likes of Jan Van Eyck and Hans Memling.

My favorite paintings from the weekend are:

"The Madonna with Canon Joris van der Paele" painted by Van Eyck in 1436:

"Sibylle Sambetha" painted by Memling in 1480:

And "Portrait of Jacquemyne Buuck" painted by Pieter Porbus in 1551:

We took a number of photos of our own in between eating waffles, nibbling local chocolates (ok, more like scarfing) and toasting one another with glasses of heavily intoxicating Belgian beer:

[For larger, higher quality photos, click here].

On the way back, we tried in vain to find any kind of museum or interpretive marker in Dunkerque, France, commemorating the heroic efforts of some 900 British civilians, who in 1940 crossed the Channel in their own small boats to rescue some 300K French and British soldiers who were pinned on the beach by the Nazis. Instead, we found a run-down Atlantic City-esque seatown resort with a number of sketchy drifters wandering the streets. Locating the Bureau de Tourisme, we quickly dismissed the listing on its billboard for the local Musee de Beaux-Arts. Our mistake. Upon return home, a quick Google reveals the museum has an impressive collection of 16th century masters. Crap!

We also struck out in Calais. This is the town where the Channel Tunnel is located, but also an important English holding during medieval times so I was curious to see if any medieval architecture survived the test of time. As far as I could tell, it did not. We didn't spend much time exploring, as Scott quickly pronounced it to have a depressing, has-been feel, and I couldn't quite convince him to stop the car. So we continued on and spent our last hours in France awaiting our appointed crossing time trolling the Channel Tunnel duty free shop buying chocolate and Belgian beer. I guess I can't complain.

A-OK

2007-09-09T14:47:00.000+01:00

I'm happy to report that Henry is back to his gregarious self. We stopped by the pond first thing Saturday morning to check on him. He was busy nibbling greens along the bank and bobbing for aquatic grasses with his adopted sibling.

Henry Update

2007-09-02T18:48:00.000+01:00

Just drove down to the pond to check on Henry.

I had been putting it off all day, mostly because I expected to find him worse than yesterday and I wasn't sure what could be done. I spent some time online today trying to gather some information on common duck ailments (there are many, including an unfortunate condition known as bumblefoot--don't ask) and whether there is any nearby organization that aids sick waterfowl (none that I could find). In short, it wasn't looking hopeful.

Thankfully, I found Henry in good spirits. I watched him for a little while and he seemed ok. He was preening himself along with other ducks on the bank. He was a lot more energetic than yesterday, shaking his tail vigorously several times, stretching his legs, and preening under both wings. I'll try to go back tomorrow.

But in the course of reading today, I've learned that it is REALLY bad to feed ducks. I always thought it was ok as long as you fed them whole grain bread or things like barley and corn. While it's true that that's at least better than non-nutritious white bread, it's still not as good for them as what they'd eat in the wild. And feeding can lead to ducks being overly aggressive with one another, can delay or discourage migration, can lead to overpopulation, makes ducks lose their fear of people, and can rob young of the chance to learn to find food on their own.

I guess I sort of knew all of that. I am considering not feeding the local ducks anymore, but I wonder--aren't they so tame at this point that they need to be fed? And, it's a pretty large group of ducks, and the pond is on the town green, rather than in the woods which would give it a more robust ecosystem. I wonder if there's enough for them to survive on without handouts. I think this requires some more research. Any advice is welcome!

More backyard melodrama

2007-09-02T18:31:00.000+01:00

Scott's out of town this week. It's been nice to have a few solitary days this weekend reading, taking myself out to breakfast, puttering around the house. In fact, the only human contact I've had all weekend has been at the coffee shop, the post office and when Scott has called to check in on me.

Today when he called, I was in our upstairs office, standing at the window staring out in to the garden. As we talked, I noticed a squirrel.

Me: Hey, a really cute squirrel just came into the yard.

Scott: Get down there! Quick, feed him a nut so he knows this is his spot and he'll start to come around!

Me: Yeah, I should. We hardly ever see squirrels here!

Scott: Go!

Me: OK! I'm going downstairs now. Oh, hang on, he's digging around in the flower bed. Hmm. I think he's got something in his mouth. I don't have my glasses. Wait. Oh, God. Is that....no....Scott, I think he's got a snail!!!!! Yes--he's running away with. He's going to eat it!!!! No!

Scott: My God. Your worlds have just clashed.

Normandy

2007-09-02T13:40:00.001+01:00

Scott and I spent drove to Normandy for the Bank Holiday weekend. It still amazes me that whereas before, living in the States, our most exotic 3-day weekend would be on the order of Vermont, it's now France. In 5 hours drive. Just like that.

We stayed in Bayeux, home to the famous Bayeux Tapestry, a 230 foot long, expertly embroidered cloth depicting the Norman invasion of England by William the Conqueror in 1066. It is believed to have been embroidered a decade or two after the conquest and is a truly fascinating historical document. I've wanted to see it for quite a while, and was not disappointed.

Bayeux is also home to a stunning 900 year old cathedral. Of course the heads of all statues within reach of several waves of protestant zealots and revolutionaries have long since been lobbed off, but luckily lots of beautiful carvings have survived. And also lots of creepy ones! The kind that I suppose were supposed to help people in 1100 better envision the fires of hell.

And of course there are the D-Day landing beaches. We spent all of Sunday winding through narrow country lanes that have probably changed very little since 1944, following occasional signs pointing to "D-Day Le Choc" (le choc = the impact). Scott was an excellent guide, reading aloud first hand accounts of Allied soldiers who landed at each beach we visited.

I suppose it is inevitable that with the passage of time WWII holds less relevance for people, even here, but I couldn't help feeling that WWII meant little more to people than a means to part tourists from their euros, as opposed to a fascinating aspect of the area's history. The "museums" are nothing more than garages filled with rusted debris, a few heavily made-up 1970s mannequins in army fatigues, and Glen Miller playing over loud speakers. The exception is the American Cemetery which has a thoughtful interpretive center where I actually learned something about the experiences of the soldiers buried there.

Early Monday morning we set off for home, planning to stop for breakfast in Rouen to see the cathedral there. Unfortunately it was closed! But Rouen has a lovely and well preserved medieval town center which we wandered around for a while, and a number of other really excellent churches such as the Abbaye de Saint-Ouen.

Take a look at some photos, either in the slide show below or, for better images, here (and click SLIDESHOW).

Henry

2007-09-01T14:30:00.001+01:00

In July, I told you about a little yellow duckling in our nearby pond.

It's been a busy month, hence NO posts during August (!) but I actually have managed to carve out time to visit Henry, as we've named him, at least once a week to check his progress.

Lately, I've been heading to see him after work.

I get to the pond around 8ish, with the sun low in the sky. I sit on a bench and often Henry will motor over to investigate, hoping, I imagine, for breadcrumbs. He makes eye contact. He quacks. He cranes his neck to get a better view. He waits a bit, feet paddling, and when no crumbs are produced he goes about catching insects hovering on the surface of the water, or nibbling at various aquatic plants.

He's quickly endeared himself to a lot of people and I'm not the only one who comes to see him--I've met a number of elderly ladies who have grown quite attached to him and we chat about him at the pond's edge.

You may recall that a female mallard seemed to have adopted Henry. He is still pretty much inseparable from her and her other duckling. When I arrived to the pond this morning, Henry and his adopted sibling were snuggled together on the shore with the female mallard not far away.

I was planning to get some photos for the blog, to show how he's grown.

As I approached, Henry was the only duck not to cast off into the pond. It didn't bother me initially, but after a few photos he was still sitting there, blinking at me. Was he sick?

I took some bread from my purse, which brought the other ducks circling back onto shore.
Henry seemed not to notice. I threw him a few breadcrumbs, which he ate, but he still didn't get up. Odd, I thought, since he is usually quite animated.

Finally, I watched him stand and head slowly toward the bank. I threw a bread crumb after him, which he turned to accept, but another duck snapped it up, nipping at Henry aggressively. Henry shrank back. I threw him another breadcrumb but he ignored it, sliding into the water and paddling away.

I'm slightly embarrassed to admit this, but my heart sank. I know it sounds ridiculously melodramatic, but I think something's wrong. I've never seen him like this. When he was the tiniest little duckling he'd bravely zip into any feeding melee and successfully compete for food like a duck many times his size. What's happened??? I really hope he's not sick. I'm going to go back tomorrow to see if there's any improvement.

Everyone has off days I suppose.

Did you mean Lebanese?

2007-07-27T11:41:00.000+01:00

Walking home from the train last night, wrapped up in a million thoughts, enjoying the setting sun and the clean smelling air.

I had stopped to watch a blackbird perch on a fence with a small floppy worm hanging from its bill.

Around the bend came two pretty girls walking in my direction. They were dressed like they were headed out on the town--eye makeup, dangly earings, heels. They were maybe 20--could have been younger.

"Lesbian!" one of them spat at me as we passed each other.

I stopped and turned around, but they didn't look back.

Did I hear right?

No, it was unmistakeable. One of them called me a lesbian!

Mind you, it's not that I care if anyone thinks I'm a lesbian. It's that some snotty kid, in my own damn village, desired to insult me, as she clearly meant it as an insult. She could have said librarian or soccer mom, doesn't matter. It was said in a vicious spirit.

I was pretty taken aback. A, I didn't think people behaved like that here. And B, it's 2007 and this is suburban London for God's sake. Are these girls so sheltered they feel threatened by a 5'4" birdwatching lesbian carrying home groceries at 9pm?

No matter. A few hundred yards later a fox darted out in front of me from a hedgerow set close to the road. He was brindley, and so thin! He may have been a juvenile--he had big paws and reminded me of a puppy that's yet to grow into his. We locked eyes and both of us stopped, staring at each other for about 3 seconds. Then he darted for cover. Scott later commented that he probably thought I was gay.

Scotland & Lakes District

2007-07-22T15:59:00.000+01:00

Spent a lovely week in the Lakes District and Scotland earlier this month. It's taken me a while to download and sort through all of the photos. It was a fascinating trip--we essentially drove the whole length of the UK.

The Lakes District in Cumbria is stunning. It's a large national park with some of the most dramatic hiking I've ever done, and home to Beatrix Potter. It's hilly and so so green. Feels like it is at the end of the earth, but only 4 hours drive from London. We saw the handsome Red Squirrel which is native to the area, and climbed up the Catbells and also Hellvellyn (highest peak in Cumbria). Here are some photos (click here and select slideshow to see the album online, with better quality photos than slideshow below):

Scotland was beautiful as well--even more so than we expected. We drove straight up from the Lakes District, passing through Glasgow and then heading up to Glencoe in the Highlands, in the western part of the country. The Highlands have an expansive feel, almost like being in the American West--long stretches of uninhabited prarie. Almost impossible to capture in photos.

To sum it up in 50 words or less: Rain, wool, fog, clouds, bone-penetrating cold, rain, God-awful food, midges, exhausting hikes, sheep, rain, scrabble, asking Scottish people to repeat themselves, scotch, ferns, stone walls, hills, rain, sea birds, ruins (pre-historic, Roman, Medieval), amazement that people really do speak Gaelic up there, oh, and did I mention rain?

But in spite of a decided lack of creature comforts, it was an excellent trip. All the credit goes to Scotland's natural beauty. We were so inspired by our surroundings no amount of rain, cold, or dubious pub meals could dampen our spirits.

We spent most days hiking and in the evenings, after unsuccessfully hunting for a decent meal, we'd curl up with our books (though it was a challenge to fall asleep with the sun not setting until nearly 11!). I was quite absorbed in an historical novel about Lady Jane Gray followed by a biography of Mary, Queen of Scots, while Scott was engrossed in the new Alain DeBotton book.

We managed to climb Ben Nevis, the highest peak in the UK, though it was not as easy as we expected. There was snow at the top, and a pair of snow buntings hopped around at our feet on the peak, hoping for a few crumbs to fall as we ate a snack. Unfortunately we didn't take any photos, as we found our camera and various lenses are too cumbersome to hike with--hence we've only got photos of our first hike in the Lakes District.

On the days we weren't hiking, we took day trips to various places: we visited a scotch distillery, which was fascinating and deserves a post on its own; we scooted up to Loch Ness (couldn't resist); took the ferry to the Isle of Skye, and, on the next to last night found an oasis in the Crannog Restaurant in Fort William, where we had a truly inspired meal with mouth watering smoked salmon, excellent wine, a serene view of Loch Linnhe, and a heavenly sticky date pudding with homemade vanilla ice cream.

Here are some photos (click here and select slideshow to see online album w/ better quality photos):

Rooting around

2007-07-22T14:02:00.001+01:00

Beautiful summer day here in England. Sun has been out for at least 2 hours, and the temperature has hit 60! The children next door are doing cannonballs into their pool, and neighbors' barbecue smoke would be wafting through our windows if they were open.

Inspired by the weather, we headed to Garson's farm this morning to get some carrots and beets, which are at the peak of their season. Notice we are wearing sweaters; it is July frigging 22nd.

In love...

2007-07-22T13:18:00.000+01:00

Last night, as we do most Friday nights, Scott and I stopped at our village pub after work for a pint and a bite to eat. As we pulled the car up (parking half the car up on the sidewalk to allow traffic to pass on the narrow 2 way lane), I saw an odd glint in the pond across the road. I moved closer to see what it was. A bright yellow duckling!! It was paddling alongside a female mallard and a peeping mallard duckling.

The adult seemed equally protective of both ducklings, though clearly the yellow one wasn't hers. (I later learned the yellow one is a Pekin duckling). I haven't seen any adult Pekin ducks (the classic white farm yard duck) in the pond, and the yellow guy is the only Pekin duckling there. Was he abandoned, or orphaned? Could the mallard have adopted him??

He is heart-stoppingly cute. We decided to return this morning to photograph him. I was initially concerned we wouldn't be able to find him again, but I needn't have worried. Highly reflective of what little sun reaches this part of the world, he's like a little sun beam motoring around the pond:

Here are some close-ups:

Scotland photos coming soon...

2007-07-22T09:29:00.001+01:00

I don't think he's in there

2007-06-29T16:57:00.000+01:00

Is CNN trying to be cute, pairing its latest headline ("Manhunt on for London bomb suspect") with this photo:

I take a special interest not only because I work in London, but because the nutjob they're looking for dumped the bomb a few blocks from my office, on the street I walk down every morning to get my coffee. So, CNN, don't be cute please.

Dispatches from Scott's Blackberry

2007-06-28T14:06:00.000+01:00

Received this from Scott this morning:

I board the train and am happy to land a seat. I nice young woman in her late 20s or early 30s seated to my right, reading a novel. "wonder what she's reading" I think.....perhaps Dickens or Hardy. No! Maybe she's a biography person - I bet it's the new biography of Beatrix Potter....I glance at the page......

"I'm going to rip his f'ing eyeballs out and make him suck them like gobstoppers," Cafferty was snarling, flecks of saliva pocked the inside of his windscreen.

Oh well.

It's a hard knock life

2007-06-23T19:25:00.000+01:00

We're often reminded that, while our garden may be a relaxing and idyllic refuge for Scott and me, it's the setting of a real life and death struggle for the smaller inhabitants.

It can be hard work navigating around:

And sometimes it's not a happy ending, evidenced by this snail whose shell was pecked apart by a song thrush before being eaten:

or this honey bee, whom we observed in its death throes on the patio, its tongue unfurled:

Is there no summer in this country?

2007-06-23T19:07:00.000+01:00

It's getting on to late June here, and we are still sleeping with our down comforter. We still wear woolly slippers around the house. The weather forecast in yesterday's newspaper kindly reminded "don't forget your jumper." I am debating whether or not to put the thermostat up this afternoon. I have goosebumps as I type this.

The English don't seem to notice there is anything wrong. I was at an event* the other night in a venue that was at a normal temperature and droves of people were fanning themselves with their programs and asking me whether I wasn't "bloody boiling."

We've decided the best remedy is to head up to the Scottish Highlands for holiday in a few weeks. I figure that after being subjected to a week of even colder, wetter weather, it will seem positively balmy down here.

^^^^

*Even more noteworthy, Mr. Bean was at the event (opening of a children's art exhibition)! Possibly the most awesome random celebrity sighting ever.

SoHo by way of Green Bay

2007-06-23T19:04:00.000+01:00

The absolute last pick up line you expect to hear on a Friday evening as you walk through London:

"So, you girls big Packers fans?"

More on pollen baskets

2007-06-06T21:25:00.001+01:00

Following up on my post from earlier today about the buff-tailed bumble bee with "pollen baskets" I thought I'd provide a little more detail on what, exactly, a pollen basket is. I've had a hard time understanding the concept myself, but found some helpful illustrations, below (and, if you want to see photos click here to see what Google Images pulls up).

So, the "pollen basket" isn't a basket per se, it's a collection of specially designed hairs on the two rear legs that act like a net to hold pollen. The bee uses combs on the inside of the rear leg to gather pollen stuck to her body, much like a lint brush, which she then moistens with flower nectar to form a lump of pollen which she then sticks into the "basket." A full pollen basket can contain as many as 1 million grains of pollen! Amazing!

Bombus terrestris

2007-06-06T16:52:00.000+01:00

Did you know that bumble bees had such things as "pollen baskets"? I didn't before this weekend. Read this awesome response to my email query from a kindly entomologist at the University of Stirling in Scotland.

From: Christie
Date: Jun 3, 2007 6:43 PM
Subject: question about bumble bee ID
To: beewatch@bumblebeeconservationtrust.co.uk

Dear Bumble Bee Conservation Trust,

We were watching bumble bees in our garden this weekend and I'm wondering if you can ID the following bee--it was the only one we saw with such striking, bright orange pollen baskets (it was feeding on periwinkle flowers).

Thanks!

From: Beewatch
Date: Jun 6, 2007 10:45 AM
Subject: RE: question about bumble bee ID
To: Christie

Dear Christie,

Many thanks for the record. The bee in your photo is a buff-tailed bumblebee (Bombus terrestris).

The pollen baskets of the bee are the black, shiny indentations on the hind legs. These are surrounded by long hairs to help hold the pollen in place. When the bee finds a good source of pollen, she will collect it, moisten it with nectar and pack it into these baskets, moulding it into a lump like the one seen on your bee. Pollen varies in colour from flower to flower, with most being a variant of yellow or beige, however some plants have very red pollen (presumably periwinkles do) and others have a blue-black pollen (such as vipers bugloss). Collecting these types of pollen gives bees an extremely striking appearance!

Best Wishes,
Bumblebee Conservation Trust

Commuter's Haiku

2007-06-05T16:46:00.000+01:00

A haiku honoring passive aggression by British commuters and in particular commemorating this morning's 7:44am Southwest Trains service to Waterloo.

Yeah, like you don't know
You've squashed my hand on purpose
I will punch you, fool!

The Sun Returns to England

2007-06-03T15:55:00.000+01:00

Welcome back, sun. Whatever you do, please don't go on another six-month hiatius. We'll do anything...

Last weekend, when back in the States all of our friends were grilling tofu pups and applying insect repellent, we were wearing wool and marveling about how a week before the start of June we could still see our breath outdoors.

But this weekend, the weather gave us a break for about 2 hours. To celebrate, we bought a grill. Scott put it together out back, frequently consulting the instruction manual and doing all the things pictured in circles with lines through them.

I settled in for an afternoon of insect identification and photography. [click on photos for larger versions--these are high res so fun to see bigger]
After about 600 shots, I finally have a few I like. The green guy covered in pollen in the first two shots is Oedemera nobilis, identifiable by his really weird hind legs. I watched him clean pollen from his face for a few minutes, which was great. It was like watching a cat bathe. I also liked him because he didn't move quickly, like all the bumble bees.

Next up is Chrysolina americana also known as the rosemary beetle, which feeds on rosemary and lavendar (as it is doing here).

Finally, here are a few snaps of the bumblebees who have nested under our lawn. I think they are buff-tailed bumble bees, and we also found red-tailed bumble bees and about 3 types of smaller bees.

When Animals Attack

2007-06-02T18:50:00.000+01:00

This video is long (8 min), but please trust me that it is totally worth watching. I promise--no gore. I don't want to spoil it, but let's just say that after viewing, you will never look at a Cape Buffalo the same way again. (and thanks to Chris for sending it!)

Scottish People Make Me Feel Dumb

2007-05-29T15:15:00.000+01:00

Without fail, I always feel like a fool when I converse with Scottish people. Why? Because I often have trouble understanding them, often when they are asking a question. I usually just say something that I hope answers what I think is their question but it often comes off as totally non sequitur.

Take this exchange from earlier today:

Scottish man in my office: Jahve a nigh wig in then?

Me: Uh, yeah, um it is really cold in here today.

SMIMO (puzzled expression): Tis, yeah. (pause) So, jahve a nigh wig in then?

Me (brain racing): Um...OH! Did I have a nice weekend? Yes, I did, thanks. And you?

Since you've been gone...

2007-05-26T17:22:00.000+01:00

One thing about the world: it keeps to a tight schedule. It doesn't put its plans on hold when you have your nose buried so deep in your new job you don't have as much time and energy as you normally do to document it on your blog. Flowers don't wait for the weekend to bloom so that you'll have time to photograph them. Ducklings at the local pond don't slow their growth in hopes that you'll have the chance to come by and see them while they are in their super cute phase. Nope, not a chance.

I seem to have a lot of things swirling around in my head these days. Lately, while sitting on the tube or walking on the street or lying in bed at night, I notice that my brow is deeply furrowed for no apparent reason. I like my job, I guess I just don't always like working. It gets in the way. There have been dozens of times over the past few weeks where I've seen something beautiful, or something interesting has happened to me, and I've thought about what a good blog post it would be. And then I get busy and nothing comes of it.

So, here's my attempt to recap 5 notable things from last two weeks:

1. Spiders are back. Everywhere. To Scott's dismay, the whole country seems to be, well, crawling with them.

I was waiting on the train platform the other morning going through my wallet to weed out old receipts, and underneath my wallet I was holding, in the same hand, a rolled up New Yorker. In the short time it took me to pull out all the old receipts and toss them into the trash bin, I noticed a spider had begun spinning a web in the 3 inch space between the magazine and my wallet!

It inspired me to take a tour of my garden to try to document some of them [click photos for larger versions]:

1a. Remember that nursery web spider that beat the glass with his fangs when I trapped him last summer? I found a new one who lives in the rolled up end of one of our rugs in the dining room. I watched it leap onto a smaller spider and ominously drag it into its dark, hidden lair. It has been very difficult to photograph because every time I notice it outside the rug and try to approach, it scurries back inside.

1b. A number of spiders have taken up residence behind our sideview mirrors again. I think that they must do it because the mirrors reflect light from our porch lamp at night, which attracts bugs. Smart spiders.

2. The aforementioned flowers are blooming (from our garden):

3. We have discovered a colony of bumble bees living under our lawn. They come and go out of a small hole in the grass. I watched one bumble bee chewing the blades of grass to keep the hole tidy and unobstructed. They are very fast little bees, and this is the best I could do to capture their high-speed comings and goings.

4. Though it's true that a growing duckling or gosling waits for no one, we have managed to spend some time at the local pond in the past few weekends observing their downy cuteness.

The park sells little bags of grain that you can feed them. Some will eat out of your hand. This little flock of older ducklings descended on me voraciously.
Only one of the ducklings was brave enough to feed from my hand (the alpha duckling?) while the rest just quacked at me urgently until I threw some food their way. The mother watched me very closely to be sure I didn't try anything funny with her children, and she quacked disapprovingly when one of the ducklings first started feeding from my hand. Isn't she pretty?
Our Disney-esque afternoon with cute animal babies was shattered when we noticed one little yellow gosling floating face down in the pond. Scott convinced me it was irrational to ask the groundskeeper to perform avian CPR; we left on a low note.

5. We drove out to see Canterbury Cathedral, where Thomas Beckett, the Archbishop, was murdered by Henry II's knights in 1170. Murdered doesn't really do it justice. The top of his head was sliced off with a sword, and one overeager knight plucked out his brain with the tip of his sword and swirled it around the cathedral floor. After his death, local visitors to the site began to experience miracles and so the cathedral became one of the most important pilgrimage sites in the Middle Ages (one such group of pilgrims is the subject of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales). The site is stunning. The items in the giftshop, on the other hand, struck me as a bit questionable.

I chick you not

2007-05-17T19:39:00.000+01:00

You may remember that in previous posts I have swooned over one of my favorite UK supermarket items, Old Cotswold Legbar eggs. You know, those lovely green and blue shelled free range eggs from hens whose "freedom of expression" underpins their farmers' business plan? Yes, those eggs. Which I cook with all the time.

Well, I caught a disturbing tidbit in the news last week about a 9 year old British kid who successfully incubated an OCL egg he bought at the supermarket, resulting in a new pet named Celia. Read about it here. Not sure why this disturbs me, but it does. Deeply.

I'm With Stupid

2007-04-25T16:11:00.000+01:00

Ok, this is just bizarre.

Texas

2007-04-22T15:03:00.000+01:00

Phew! The poor Sobremesa blog has been the victim of serious neglect in the past month, owing to out-of-town visitors, Easter break, a heavy work schedule at the new job, and 10 days in Texas. But, I'm back!

Texas was really relaxing. We spent four days in Austin for Dylan & Phil's wedding and then drove south through San Antonio down to Rockport, on the Gulf of Mexico, for a week of birding.

So many highlights, it's hard to know where to start.

First, being invited to share such an important event in a friend's life is really special, and Dylan's wedding was simply beautiful. You could tell that a great amount of love and care were taken in planning every aspect--the ceremony, the food, the music, the flowers, the setting--but not in such a way that the marriage was eclipsed by the event. It was sincere, personal, and uplifting. Congratulations again! I also got to spend some nice quality time with my friends from college and my friend Donnell.

Other Lone Star highlights [click photos to enlarge]:

1. The sun.

2. Tex-Mex to die for, especially at Las Manitas Cafe in Austin (Scott & Donnell at breakfast, below) and Nichas in San Antonio:

3. Bluebonnets in bloom and various other roadside wildflowers:

4. Visiting the San Antonio Missions:

5. Learning that global warming is in the Bible and that a Winnebago is capable of towing a Hummer down the highway.

6. Being regularly addressed by waitresses as Mija, Mamacita and on one occasion, Sir.

7. Being the only non-pick-up truck/SUV/Hummer on the road at all times.

8. Making Scott pull over every 5 miles to photograph herds of cattle:

9. Various roadsigns:

10. Beautiful scenery:

There's a lot more to tell about the spring migration and the birding portion of our trip. Until tomorrow...

In case you were wondering

2007-03-31T20:57:00.000+01:00

The frog eggs I spied at Wisley in early March have hatched. I went back to check on their progress two weekends ago, and the tadpoles were huddled on top of the egg mass. None had ventured very far and some still had not emerged. But they were very active, whipping their minute tails back and forth. No doubt they're huge by now. I may check on them tomorrow.

[click on photos if you'd like to see larger versions]

Amsterdam

2007-03-27T22:20:00.000+01:00

Started my new job last week and have not had the time, unfortunately, for any blog posts. Hopefully this is not a long term trend, but rather a matter of adjusting to a new schedule.

Scott and I spent a fun weekend in Amsterdam visiting our friend Erik and his wife, Mirjam. Erik was part of our circle of friends back in NY but moved back to the Netherlands several years ago. We hadn't seen him in 5 years!

One of the trip's top highlights was their charming 2 & a half year old, Maurits. He spoke to us in Dutch, we pretended we knew what he was saying when translation wasn't available. Under his tutelage, we learned how to say "hey ducks, come here" in the local tongue. He addressed me as "Kus-tee" and sometimes "Koo-stee" and Scott as "Slote" "Stock" and, inexplicably, "Sabrina."

Here are some photos of us tooling around the city, including taking in the very beautiful 1300s-era Old Church (De Oude Kerk), the canals, and the farmer's market. And may I add that pushing a stroller through the red light district is a very odd experience!

My Lucky Day

2007-03-15T20:57:00.000Z

Got a call out of the blue yesterday from the other allotment site in our village. I forgot I'd put myself on their waiting list this summer. Looks like a plot has freed up! More soon...

White Cliffs of Dover

2007-03-13T09:42:00.000Z

Earlier this year, after visiting the Cabinet War Rooms (the underground bunker where Churchill was based during the Blitz), I realized this is the aesthetic I want for our home office. I'm not aiming for the bunker feel, mind you, but I find the furniture and office equipment really stylish and beautiful (not to mention 1000 times better made than the crap you can buy at Staples in 2007).

Take a look:

What better way to furnish a 1942 inspired office than via eBay? So yesterday I drove 2 hours down to Dover, on the coast, to pick up the beautiful 1940s desk I'd purchased for £62 from a retired couple downsizing their cottage. It belonged to the husband's brother, who worked for a shipping line in London. You can still see the various shipping line stamps inside the top drawer. (More 1940s eBay purchases in the pipeline--Scott, ever skeptical, asked me this morning if I'd fallen into some "weird online subculture." Once the office is complete I'll post some photos).

Anyway, while I was there I figured I ought to check out the famed White Cliffs of Dover. Similar to Burling Gap, though the huge port at Dover detracts from the bucolic prettiness. But I grew up gazing fondly across the water at the ports of Newark and Elizabeth, so I'm partial to industrial landscapes. I watched the ships for a while and then set off for a two-hour walk along the cliffs. The sun was really strong, so by the hike's end I was down to a t-shirt, having shed my coat and sweaters. It was so peaceful and quiet. England is such a beautiful place.

I've posted a photo album online if you'd like to see. [the easiest way to see the photos is to double click on the first one and then use the arrows to scroll through the album]

Thank you, Judi Dench

2007-03-08T12:12:00.000Z

Not only is Judi Dench amazing on the big screen, I can now admire her for simplifying my relationship with my hairdresser.

Without sounding too much like a Cosmo woman here (Lose That Last .5 Pounds Now! Hottest Spring Accessories for Under $800! Find out Which Part(s) of Your Body He Secretly Wants to Airbrush!), I think many women have frustrating relationships with the people who cut their hair. I know I do. I usually bring tons of photos of (usually unattainable) styles torn from magazines. We discuss what I want. I'm usually worried he or she is not totally listening. And then I always wind up with the exact same hair cut, give or take an inch.

One exception is the six month period last year when my hairdresser in Brooklyn convinced me to sport a reverse mullet. This short-lived look is, unfortunately, captured on both my drivers license and passport.

Yesterday, I had a breakthrough. Instead of bringing my normal cache of supporting materials, I just went in the salon door and asked Sinéad, my new hairdresser, to cut my hair exactly like Judi Dench. Why didn't I think of that before?

Plants are people too

2007-03-07T10:32:00.000Z

When I worked with refugees, one of the toughest parts of my job was interviewing prospective clients. The purpose of these interviews was to assess the veracity of their claims and determine if the organization could assist them. So, on a weekly basis, I listened to stories of rape, torture, executions and other acts of horrendous cruelty.

The interviews were conducted in a small, plain room furnished with a round table, a few chairs, a bookshelf, and a large potted plant. The plant was not what you'd call robust. It was not on its deathbed, per se, but certainly it had seen better days. For the two years I worked there, even though it sat by the room's only window, it didn't grow an inch. It just kind of hung on, in a state of arrested scrawniness. I'd occasionally try to give it a boost with fertilizer or selective pruning, but nothing seemed to help. Looking back, the only reason we didn't get rid of it altogether was because we were too busy, and it was too big for anyone to want to deal with.

One day, a prospective client who later became a friend remarked on the health of the plant. "Day in and day out, this room is filled with terrible stories," he said after he'd finished relating his own. "Your plant takes in all this suffering. No wonder it looks like that."

I'd never considered this idea, but after he left I moved the plant out of the interview room. It went to the (windowless) mail room, run by our cheeky office manager who played salsa CDs all day, sang out loud, and always seemed to have something to smile about. The plant bounced back immediately. It even flowered. We never knew it was a flowering plant.

I was thinking of this story over the weekend as I planted vegetable seeds. I bought a tool that allows you to turn newspaper strips into biodegradable seedling cups. There was a long story about Muqtada Al-Sadr in an old issue of the Independent which I didn't notice until his face and automatic weaponry were visible on about a dozen of the seedling cups. I pointed this out to Scott and he refused to plant his peas and carrots in them because of the "negative energy" they'd give his seedlings. I can't blame him.

However, on a positive note, re-used egg cartons seem to give off great vibes, evidenced by one of my first tomato seedlings which just popped up this morning:

Nineteen days and counting

2007-03-02T17:51:00.000Z

The calendar may think it's still a few more weeks 'til spring, but don't tell that to the inhabitants of Wisley garden (run by the Royal Horticultural Society). I popped by there earlier today to buy pea seeds for Scott for our backgard container garden, and wound up making a few detours. There were crocuses, daffodils, budding trees and shurbs, lively fish and masses of frogs' eggs in the ponds. Although I should note that I observed eggs only in ponds not inhabited by fish. Coincidence? Perhaps. But I'm putting my money on smart frogs.

[click on pictures for larger view--especially the frog eggs!]

Parsnip Risotto with Shiitake Mushrooms

2007-03-01T19:18:00.000Z

Risottos are one of my favorite cold weather meals. They are surprisingly easy to make and, for me, offer the same comfort-food satisfaction as a bowl of rich mac n' cheese.

Another nice thing about a risotto is how versatile a dish it is. You can put just about anything in a risotto. I had some parsnips to use, as well as some heavy-hitting pecorino romano I brought back from Rome, so with a risotto in mind I picked up some shiitake mushrooms at the farm shop on my way home today.

I never really use precise measurements when I make risotto (or in any cooking really, except baking where exact measurements are important--you know, chemistry and all). I just eyeball the proportions according to what I think would taste good. However, here I've tried to give approximate measurements to be helpful.

Here are my ingredients, so you can see the ratio I'm using and how I've chopped everything: one very large parsnip peeled and cut into small cubes; three cloves of garlic peeled and minced; and about 10-15 shiitake mushrooms, coarsely chopped.

I've also included two small, diced onions (not pictured). Many risotto recipes will instruct you to mince the onions, and I agree that most of the time that makes for a nicer texture. But tonight I was feeling a little lazy, so I diced them (resulting in larger pieces). All this means is that the finished risotto will be a little more "rustic" which, tonight, is fine by me.

Risotto is usually made with arborio rice. It's a variety that, when cooked, releases a lot of its starch which is what produces the risotto's creaminess. Isn't it a lovely grain? Very pearly. I'm using one and a half cups, because that feels like a good ratio to my veggie ingredients, above.

You'll also need about 6 cups of stock (or water). Get this simmering on the stove before you start cooking. You'll need it to be hot because you'll be adding it little by little to the rice and if it's not hot it will halt the cooking. Keep it covered so it doesn't evaporate too much as you work.

You'll also need good Italian cheese (parmesan, pecorino, etc.) Buy good stuff--in my opinion, the quality of the cheese can make or break a risotto. Here's my heart-stopping pecorino (I'll use about a cup or a cup and half, grated):

Finally, a few words about mushrooms before we get cooking. First, don't wash them! Mushooms are little sponges. If you submerge them or run them under the tap, they'll absorb water and consequently their flavor will be less intense. Instead, wet a paper towel and just brush off any dirt. Depending on the mushroom, you may want to remove the stem. If you are using plain button mushrooms, this isn't necessary. But for some of the wilder varieties I find the stem woody and hard to cut. My rule of thumb is: if it feels like it would be unpleasant in my mouth, I remove it.

Finally, the best way to store mushrooms is in a plain paper bag at room temperature--this keeps them in optimal condition (for a short period!) in terms of flavor, texture, and moisture level.

OK, let's begin.

Start off by heating a few tablespoons of olive oil and some butter (1 tablesppoon at least) in a large saucepan (medium-high heat). Add chopped onions and parsnip and sautee for 7-10 minutes.

When the onions and parsnips have softened somewhat, add the garlic and mushroom and cook 3-5 more minutes.

Now, add the arborio rice and stir so it gets coated with the butter and oil. Keep stirring and sautee for about a minute.

Now, add enough stock to just cover the rice. Stir.

Keep an eye on the heat--you don't want the bottom to stick, and it shouldn't be boiling, just gently, barely bubbling.

Once the stock has absorbed, gradually add more as the rice aborbs it(about 1/4 C at a time) and stir frequently, making sure to scrape the bottom.

It takes about 20-25 minutes for the rice to become tender. If you run out of stock and the rice isn't done, you can add hot water.

Once the rice is done, add salt and pepper to taste and stir in the cheese. Serve immediately!
We've drizzed ours with a little truffle oil before eating. And we're having a side of sauteed brussels sprout tops tossed in olive oil.

Yum!

Tuesday Bluegrass Clips

2007-02-27T13:47:00.000Z

I know not everyone is a fan of Bluegrass. But I am. It always brightens my mood and gets my blood going. Getting to see it live is one of the things I miss most about living in the U.S., and in D.C. in particular, where one could see everyone from living legend Ralph Stanley to a group of middle aged unknowns who'd driven several hours to perform at a dive on a Friday night in Alexandria, where their wives made up half the audience (that's not to say they weren't excellent).

Anyway, if you like Bluegrass, or if you normally cringe at the first plunk of a banjo but are feeling open-minded today, check out this old clip of the Stanley Brothers playing one of my favorites, How Mountain Girls Can Love. And watch lightening Ralph Stanley on the banjo!!!

Along the same lines, here's excellent footage of a young Dolly Parton singing live at the Grand Ole Opry. Beautiful! Can you believe her hair? And fascinating people watching among the audience.

Roma

2007-02-25T16:56:00.000Z

Just back from an excellent weekend in Rome visiting my friend Jasmine. Here are my top ten highlights [click on photos for larger versions]:

1. My lovely hosts, Jasmine and Marco.

2. Leisurely capuccinos and freshly squeezed blood orange juice each morning at the local cafe. The incredibly sweet man who made our coffee suprised both Jasmine and me each morning with a little drawing in our foam (although no picture for Marco or any other male patron).

3. Shopping around the neighborhood.

4. Cheese shopping at Antica Caciara. The proprietor addressed us as "my little treasures" and when he learned that I would be transporting cheeses to England said he would not sell them to me if I did not promise they would be eaten on Sunday (after which they would no longer be optimal and he did not want me eating non-optimal cheese). He also wanted toknow why I was leaving when we were "only just gettting to know one another."

5. Long dreamy lunches, including at Taberna Recina, a husband/wife-owned/operated slow food restaurant with an impressive wine selection. The friendly husband/sommelier came round after we'd ordered lunch so we could sample a variety of wines that would compliment our meal. We ate Roman style artichokes, puntarelle salad (a green in the chicory family which is dressed in olive oil & vinegar and tossed with anchovies), a hearty chick pea stew with homemade taglietelle, and then we shared a ricotta, pear, dark chocolate tart with a perfectly paired dessert wine. And then they brought us some toblerone. Excellent!

We also had a long lunch at Da Augusto in the Trastevere neighborhood. Just wonderful. I had simple rigatoni tossed with pecorino romano and olive oil with a side of bitter garlicky greens, crusty bread and some white table wine. Simplist food in the world but when it's of this high quality it is just unmatched.

6. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, the 17th century master whose works changed the face of scuplture. If you're interested, take a look at this short clip from Simon Schama's documentary The Power of Art which highlights many of the sculptures we went to see this weekend.

7. Baroque churches. Rome has no shortage.

8. This woman who, though in her 80s, still manages an unmistakeably girlish pose while waiting at a counter.

9. A lively, late-night dinner at Retro near Jasmine & Marco's house where I ate a wonderfully simple risotto with truffles, zuchini flowers, and pecorino cheese.

10. Quality time with a good friend!

Heading out of town, be back Sunday

2007-02-22T05:15:00.000Z

Oh Dear

2007-02-21T11:22:00.000Z

How does the BBC find these stories?

Also, looking at the farm's web site makes me realize I really want to have a pair of ducks! Check out the jaunty Indian Runner or the handsome Saxony. Probably not practical here (cats, foxes, irritated neighbors), but maybe some day.

Apparently I'm an Undeserving Slacker

2007-02-20T16:55:00.000Z

One of the great joys of English life is the allotment system. These community gardens, tended largely by retirees, are wedged into patches of otherwise unused land, some large, some small. People keep their plots for years; I've heard that in many towns the only way to get one is to wait for someone to die.

So, last fall, you can imagine how delighted I was to secure the last available plot from my local allotment association. It was no beauty; it was covered with a thorny, invasive bramble and one corner had been used as a compost heap by other gardeners for the past year. It would take a lot of work to clear, including re-homing a brood of nesting slow worms, but it was in a great location: close to the water spigot, in full sun, and BIG. All fall I dreamed of the beautiful vegetables I'd be growing come summer, the senior citizen friends I'd make, how cute I'd look in my straw hat and polka-dotted gardening gloves.

About three weeks ago I went down there bright and early to clear my plot and get it ready for planting. The plan was to burn the refuse with an incinerator contraption I'd bought from the garden center and then cover the plot with black plastic to kill off the bramble. In a few weeks it would be dead and by that time the ground would be soft enough to till the soil and commence spring sowing. I ate a hearty oatmeal breakfast. I donned my Wellies and gloves. I made a thermos of coffee to ward off the cold.

Upon arrival, I was crestfallen to discover that someone else had already done all the work! I rounded the garden twice to make sure I wasn't looking in the wrong row. I wasn't. Bloody hell! Turns out the association thought I'd abandoned the plot because I hadn't cleared it earlier this fall. They deemed me a slacker and gave my plot away! Total heartbreak.

Well, no time for brooding. I'm still determined to grow vegetables this summer and so I've been investigating what can reasonably be grown in containers here at home. Turns out many things.

Today I planted seeds for an assortment of salad greens (little gem lettuce, sangria lettuce, wild rocket and radicchio). The packages say they should germinate in 6 days. When they're big enough they'll go into troughs in the garden and by May/June we'll be able to go out back and pick a salad for dinner. The novelty!

Sunday walk

2007-02-19T12:00:00.000Z

This was a busy weekend, with a visit to the National Gallery, a play, a dinner with two couples I'd never met (Scott's work colleagues and their spouses), lots of walking all around London, and a late afternoon massage (our belated Valentine's Day present to each other).

By Sunday morning, I was feeling a serious need for quiet. One of the best things about where we live is that quiet isn't hard to come by (in fact it's all there really is). We took a peaceful morning walk in an area I recently discovered just five minutes from our house. (click on photos for larger view)

I wanted to distribute left over "nesting wool" which I purchased at the garden center last month. You place little tufts of it around your garden and birds use it to insulate their nests.

The nuthatches, chaffinches and robins currently nesting in our garden have been very receptive to it, but they don't seem to want/need any more. I thought we ought to leave some along the footpaths for other birds to use.

It still amazes me that, outside of urban areas, there isn't a parking lot or Home Depot occupying every open space. The buildings that comprise towns are clustered together, and open space is left for farming or grazing. The public footpath system ensures that ordinary people have public right of way to enjoy these spaces; there are 140,000 miles of paths all over the UK, and even a charity dedicated to protecting them.

Here's an example from our town:

You can see all the homes grouped together, and then big open fields. The dark green lines are hedgerows and/or public footpaths (this is where we walked on Sunday).

As someone who has always lived in large cities, I can't get over the novelty. You can go for miles and miles, crossing private farms, heaths, meadows and woods. Farmers post little signs reminding you to close gates behind you. And depending on the route, you can usually end your walk at a nice warm pub.

Turns out that the birds on this particular footpath might not need our help. We found plenty of fox fur caught on fencing for those birds who have more upscale decorating tastes.

Faux Flipper Fix

2007-02-15T18:27:00.000Z

Asian sea creatures have had a rough couple of months, what with botched capture attempts and questionable medical interventions making the news.

But things are looking up. A 37 year old Japanese dolphin has been fitted with the world's first prosthetic fin! Look at her go!

It's a boy! And, um, also a girl!

2007-02-14T14:14:00.000Z

I was lured out to the garden this morning by a fleet of fat earthworms pulling themselves across the patio.

Surely, a sign of Spring!

After watching them for a while, I thought I'd check out what was new in snailville. Our little rocky fountain is homebase for many snails; they spent the winter huddled together in small clutches on the underside of the rocks. So I wondered if they'd come out of hibernation. Nope.

But I did spy something unusual:

Something slick and shiny caught my eye.

I looked closer.

What do you know? It's a baby slug!

Slugs are hermaprodites. When they mate, each slug gives sperm to its partner and also receives sperm to fertilize its eggs.

The eggs are then deposited in the soil and after a short gestation period out pop these cute little babies.

And, as a Valentine's Day treat, you can see some racy pictures of slugs' very bizarre lovemaking here.

Spring is in the air!

Pistachio Ice Cream

2007-02-13T19:48:00.000Z

Flipping through some cookbooks today, I was reminded of a recipe for pistachio ice cream I've been meaning to try.

We went through an ice cream phase this summer-fall, where every few days the best fruit in the house would wind up as cherry ice cream with dark chocolate, fresh strawberry ice cream, and mint chip, for example. Later this fall it was pumpkin ice cream, cinnamon ice cream, vanilla pecan. Pure heaven.

Somehow with all the New Year's resolution-inspired exercise, we fell off the ice cream train. Well, I want back on, dammit. Will you join me?

Basic Ingredients/Equipment

1 Cup pistachios (roasted, non-salted)
2 Cups half-and-half
2/3 Cups plus 2 teaspoons sugar
4 egg yolks
1 teaspoon unsalted butter
1 Cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Double boiler system (I just use a small bowl that fits into a regular sauce pan filled with water)
Bowl of ice water large enough so the small bowl can sit inside it. (keep in freezer until needed)
Ice cream maker (I use a Krups, which costs about $60. Worth every penny)

How To

First, put a pot of water on to boil (for use as a double boiler). This way, by the time you need it the water will be ready.

Now, shell the pistachios.

Especially at this time of year, with Spring so close, the fresh green of a pistachio is a welcome sight, don't you think?

Now, place 2/3 Cups of the pistachios into a food processor or blender.

Process until the nuts are finely ground.

Next, place 2 Cups half-and-half into a small bowl.

Add the ground pistachios.

Now, cook this mixture for 15 minutes using your double boiler.

The water should be barely simmering. This is really important. Don't overheat the water--keep an eye on it and adjust temperature as necessary. The water should be steaming but not bubbling. Stir the mixture often and scrape down the sides.

While that's cooking, prepare the eggs. If you buy your eggs from a back to nature type farm concerned with the hens' "freedom of expression and fullness of life" you may first have to remove a few feathers:

Now, separate the yolks. I assume most people know how to do this, but if not it's very easy. Crack the egg in two over a bowl. Let the whites drip out while keeping the yolk in one of the shells. Transfer the yolk back and forth between the two half shells a few times to allow all of the whites to drain out.

Now, add 2/3 Cup sugar to the yolks and whisk until well blended.

Don't forget to stir the cream/pistachio mixture on the stove. Keep your eye on the water to make sure it's not boiling!

After 15 minutes, whisk in some of the hot cream/pistachio mixture into the eggs (maybe 2/3 Cup). Whisk it quickly to incorporate. The idea is to "temper" the egg, or gently raise its temperature so that you can add it to the rest of the hot cream without it cooking instantly.

Now, add the egg to the cream/pistachio mixture and stir constantly.

When the mixture coats the back of a spoon, it's done (usually a few more minutes).

Once it passes the "spoon test" take the bowl immediately out of the double boiler and plunge into the cold water bath you've prepared. Add the vanilla extract and the heavy cream.

Allow it to cool to room temperature, then cover it with plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator for 2-3 hours.

While you wait for it to chill, coarsely chop the remaining 1/3 Cup pistachios.

Melt the butter in a skillet and add the chopped nuts. Stir to coat them evenly with the melted butter. Now, add the 2 teaspoons of sugar.

Saute over medium heat, stirring often, until the sugar melts and the nuts take on a golden brown color. Remove from heat and let cool.

After 3 hours, freeze the mixture according to your ice cream maker's instructions.

When the ice cream is partially frozen add the sugared nuts.

Enjoy!

Tuesday Clip

2007-02-13T18:47:00.000Z

Came across this clip of the Bill Evans Trio (whom I've been playing a lot lately) performing Autumn Leaves. Recorded 1966. Wow.

Basel

2007-02-12T08:42:00.000Z

We spent a fun weekend visiting our friends Lukas and Dita who live in Basel, Switzerland. They were gracious hosts, making us delicious breakfasts each morning and entertaining us all around the city. (click on photos for larger versions)

Basel is located in NW Switzerland, where Germany, France, and Switzerland meet. In fact, when you arrive to the airport you have your choice of exiting to either of the three.

We visited three museums, took a peaceful ferry ride across the Rhine, walked through various neighborhoods and had two lovely dinners, including at Restaurant Erlkönig situated the middle of the trainyards in a building that once served as a mess hall for railroad workers.

My favorite part of the weekend was our visit to the Swiss Museum for Paper, Writing and Printing which traces "the technical and cultural development of paper, writing and printing."

It's very well done, set in a 15th century papermill that still operates today. We had the chance to make paper, as I'm doing in these photos. (I have no recollection of making a distressed expression at any point during this relaxing weekend, least of all while making paper.)

The museum also hosts workshops for all sorts of paper arts, including one of my favorites--marbeling--an example of which is shown at the bottom.

High Street Haikus

2007-02-08T19:54:00.000Z

Because a certain person might be finalizing negotiations on a job that will take her out of the house and into the warm glow of daily social interaction, and owing to the recent wardrobe issues that same person has noticed, today was shopping day in London.

The goal was to find a few pieces to liven up my late winter look, and maybe help me transition to spring. You know, things that would make me look smart, put together and stylish at my almost-in-the-bag new job (I will divulge all details when and if it's finalized).

I hate shopping. I detest the crowds, the blasting artificial heat, the repetitive taking off and putting on of clothing (especially in winter). And I'm a frugal person so I always feel guilty for spending money, and with the current exchange rate (£1 = $2) I have a harder time than usual buying clothes.

But London is such a stylish city, and people here have so much fun with clothes. The trendy high street shops like TopShop and Miss Selfridge are completely irreverent, with lots of loud, fun, daring stuff. You'd have to be the wettest wet blanket not to approach shopping here with at least a little twinkle in your eye.

After 4 hours, my eye twinkle was long gone but I did have a new sweater, a new purse, and a few new haikus:

Marilyn Manson
playing at this high volume
makes me want to leave

All the clothes in here
are plaid neon tent dresses
Who authorized this?

Trendy tunic dress
you are just a little short
I am not Twiggy

The Lovely Things About England

2007-02-07T08:51:00.000Z

Got this email from Scott, sent from his blackberry on the train to Waterloo this morning:

.....At 7:59, I stepped into the ticket office, faced with 7 people in front of me. Right on the cusp...would I get my ticket and make it out, down theplatform and over the bridge for the 8:04?....at 8:02, 2 people ahead ofme....at 8:03, I was up. And I could hear the train pulling in. The ticketman expedited his movements (lovely thing no. 1) and pushed my tickets under the window. Train now stopped, doors open....I dashed out, ran down the platform...ran up the steps and onto the bridge. Whistle blows...imminent door closing. As I came to the end of the bridge and bounded down the steps, I was faced with an empty platform and another whistle. Then I saw the man in the blue uniform at the end of the train, holding it for me (lovely thing no. 2). I waved and jumped into the car. Doors closed and we're off.....

And then to top it off, he sees three owls sleeping in tree as the train heads out!

I cannot imagine these sort of things happening in Brooklyn. Yes, there are many magical things that happen in NYC, but commuter trains patiently waiting for stray commuters is not one of them. And wildlife viewing is limited to watching rats dart around on the tracks (although I always found that quite amusing. Are they all deaf? Have they, after 100s of generations of subway existence, developed eardrums immune to thundering trains? Is natural selection responsible for the fact that their fur is the EXACT color of the track floor?)

Persian Braised Squash

2007-02-06T20:20:00.000Z

It's cold.

It's dark.

It's time for comfort food.

No doubt we all define comfort food differently. Today, the comfort food I want is something with rich flavors, maybe sweet and savory, heavy on the carbs, perhaps a hearty winter stew.

I look around the kitchen. I notice I have quite a few squashes sitting patiently on the windowsill. I survey my cookbooks and remember an excellent recipe for Persian braised squash from one of my favorites, Silk Road Cooking, a great source of ideas for fortifying winter meals.

I thought I'd share the recipe with you, because it is divinely tasty and no hassle except for peeling the squash, a task I find tedious but might not bother others.

Start out with a squash (you'll need 2 pounds worth):

Before peeling it, procrastinate for 20 mintues trying to take "interesting" photos of the squash:

When you've finished, and have resigned yourself to the task at hand, peel the squash and cut it into 2-inch cubes, like this:

With that task out of the way, you can coast for the rest of the recipe.

Now, slice 2 small onions very thinly. My knives are dull so I wasn't able to get these as thin as I'd like (need to get a sharpener!!), but you get the idea.
Any recipe is vastly improved if you use loved cooking implements. I'm thinking of my red Le Creuset dutch oven which I use for nearly everything. It was actually Scott's red Le Creuset dutch oven when I first met him 9 years ago. I remember being impressed that a single man who didn't cook much had such a thing in his apartment. It was one of many subtle things that cemented him in my mind as The One. Another was the wide variety of spa/beauty products in his bathroom--but that's for another day. Here's the pot:

Now, put a few tablespoons of oil (I use olive) in the pot and turn up the heat.
When it's hot, throw in 3 whole cloves and a 3 inch cinnamon stick. Stir. Heat for about 10 seconds.

Now, add the onion and squash.

Let the onion and squash cook for about 15 mintues until everything starts to brown. In the meantime, have a glass of wine.

After 15 min, add 1 1/2 C vegetable stock, 1 C pitted prunes, 2 tablespoons sugar (I prefer brown) the juice from one lime, and salt and pepper to taste.

Bring to a boil, and then cover and lower heat. Simmer for about 20 more minutes until the squash is tender. It will get very thick, much more so than the following photo.

I'm serving this with brown basmati & wild rice and a simple spinach salad.

Too bad Scott doesn't get home for another couple hours.

Scott Guest Post - Images

2007-02-03T08:53:00.000Z

Space (Jupiter and Io; molecular clouds; the Sombrero Galaxy)

You know you're getting old when...

2007-02-02T08:51:00.000Z

I was vaguely aware yesterday of some kerfuffle in Boston over a street art ad campaign gone wrong. Something about a bomb scare.

Upon opening the full article in this morning's New York Times, my eyes went first to the photo of the "performance artists" who were detained in connection with the incident and my immediate thought, before reading a word, was "Lock 'em up. Especially the one in the middle."

Going Beasley

2007-02-01T19:33:00.000Z

When I was a small child of two, I had a Mrs. Beasley doll. This toy was mass-produced by Mattel following the popularity of a 60s sit-com called "A Family Affair" in which one of the child characters loved and confided in a doll named Mrs. Beasley.

I, too, loved Mrs. Beasley--so much so I wanted to be her. I took to wearing the plastic Beasley-esque glasses from my Mr. Potato Head set and would fake-hobble around the house, a quilt draped around my head and shoulders, pretending to be an old woman. I squinted, feigned being hard of hearing, and made my voice feeble and shrill. I insisted on going out in public like this, undeterred by even Atlanta's July heat, much to my mother's embarrassment. She pleaded with me to ditch the Beasley guise, which only made me cling to it more. Other little girls pretended they were princesses, unicorns, Nadia Comaneci. I channeled an octogenarian.

Mrs. Beasley remains a family nickname. And between Scott and me it has evolved into a verb, as in "to go Beasley" or to eschew a fashionable/sexy appearance for the comfort of flannel, eye glasses, wool hats, sensible shoes, cotton underwear and the like. It can also be used in the adjective form to describe a bookish, reclusive state marked by general grannyish attire or general lack of concern for one's appearance, as in "you are so Beasley right now."

In the broadest sense, it is a sublime state of retreat from the world.

Since coming to England, I have ascended to a higher plane of Beasley-ness than I ever thought possible and frankly, as a woman of 31, not 81, I think it is cause for alarm. I think it means I need a job in London among fashionable people who wear lipstick and high heeled shoes and meet regularly for happy hour and can still tolerate loud music.

Exhibit One, my outfit today:

Look familiar? Maybe that's because you last saw it on Hyacinth Bucket, of BBC's Keeping Up Appearances (one of my all-time favorites but not to be relied upon for fashion inspiration):

Bottom line, I am playing a dangerous game. One more wool cardigan and I could reach a point of no return. Somebody pull me back from the brink!

Tudor ramblings

2007-02-01T08:43:00.000Z

I popped into the National Portrait Gallery yesterday after a job interview in London. (I had stashed a change of clothes in the museum's cloakroom prior to my interview which was just down the street so that I could spend the rest of my day out in London NOT in heels and a wool suit.)

As its name suggests, the museum is devoted exclusively to portraits. The oldest works in its collection are of the Tudor family, begining in the 1400s and including some Hans Holbein works--exactly the kind of thing I'm a sucker for. Floor map in hand, I headed directly for the Tudor gallery.

* * *

Elderly British woman 1: Ahh, this one is Catherine of Aragon.

Elderly British woman 2 (hobbling over with two canes, stopping to adjust bifocals): Yes, she was married to Henry VIII. Their marriage was to form an alliance between England and Spain. Henry cast her aside when she got old so that he could marry a younger woman, Anne Boleyn. He didn't cut her head off, but I think she spent the rest of her days in seclusion, at a nunnery or some sort.

EBW 1 (studying portrait more closely): Hmm. Is that right?

EBW2: You know, I really admire her. It couldn't have been easy, giving him all those years only to be disposed of. She was a virtuous woman.

[thoughtful pause]

My, how pale she looked--and from sunny Spain. Not much sun for her here, was there?

EBW 1: Which one was she? Was she his third wife?

EBW2: I'm not sure. Let's read the card.

Young American woman (aka me): She was his first.

EBW2 (smiling): Ah, yes. I get them all confused.

* * *

I don't know if you appreciate how much restraint it took for me not to say more, with Tudor History Geek Thrill pulsing through me. I didn't want to intrude, but did they realize that Henry's maneuvering to rid himself of Catherine is one of history's most exciting stories with no shortage of sordid details and political intrigue?

Catherine was originally intended as a bride for Henry's older brother, Arthur. They married in 1501, but six months into the marriage Arthur died suddenly. When Henry assumed the throne several years later, he married Catherine (historians generally agree that they were in love).

Catherine maintained that her marriage to Arthur had never been consummated due to their tender age, and this paved the way for her union with Henry. But after 24 years of marriage, itching to move onto a younger woman who could give him an heir, Henry did an about face. He petitioned Rome for an annulment, claiming that Catherine had in fact slept with Arthur, cementing Henry and Catherine's status as brother and sister and making their marriage incestuous and therefore illegal. To prove his point, he dug up stories of 14 year old Arthur bragging about his "sleepovers" with 15 year old Catherine to members of court. (Can you imagine?)

But Catherine did not go quietly. She refused to be supplanted by some upstart tramp. And she was protecting her daughter, Mary (if her marriage proved to be illegal, then Mary would be a bastard with grim future prospects). Conveniently, Catherine's nephew, Charles V, was Holy Roman Emperor and pressured (an understatement) the Pope not to grant Henry's wishes.

Nor did Anne Boleyn give up easily. She had Henry wrapped around her little finger and manipulated him artfully. For one, she didn't sleep with him as all his other mistresses had (including, previously, Anne's own sister). Yes, there was heavy petting--in one love letter Henry refers to her breasts, longingly, as "pritty duckys I trust shortly to kysse"-- but she held out going all the way with him--seven years--until it was certain Henry intended to leave Catherine.

Henry eventually broke from Rome and formed the Church of England, with himself as the head, in order to get his way. Catherine was banished, and Anne Boleyn took her place (though not for long).

Anne was fiery, opinionated, and a fervent supporter of the Reformation. It is thought that it was she who influenced Henry to establish a Protestant church in England, and after their marriage was very politically influential. But her political nature was regarded as inappropriate for a Queen, and she made many enemies within Henry's inner circle. These same advisors eventually turned Henry against her, fabricating evidence that Anne was carrying on several affairs, including with her own brother. She was convicted of treason and beheaded at the Tower of London.

Henry did not stop his philandering after marrying Anne, and some historians feel her failure to give him a son, and his infatuation with a new found marital prospect (one of Anne's ladies in waiting), contributed to Henry's willingness to plot against her.

Either way, eleven days after Anne's execution, Henry married wife number three, Jane Seymour.

Probably best I didn't lay the "pritty duckys" on those women, huh?

Not such a happy meal for this sober child

2007-01-29T21:23:00.000Z

Overheard on the top of a double decker bus, stopped in traffic on Charing Cross Road, London:

Little boy (7-ish, gazing out rain-specked window): Dad, look. There's that Mac-Donalds place.

Father (reading paper): Mmmm, yes.

Little boy: It's rubbish food, isn't it?

Father (looking up, amused): Yes, and if you're not good I'll take you there and make you eat it.

Little boy: Yuck!

30 seconds later

Little boy (staring intently at the golden arches, with genuine disgust): Dirt!

Lyre Bird

2007-01-29T20:53:00.000Z

Could not believe my ears, watching this segment from The Life of Birds last night. The Australian Lyre Bird, in its attempts to create the most elaborate mating song possible, mimics some unlikely forest sounds:

New Forest

2007-01-28T17:48:00.000Z

We spent Saturday night and part of today in the New Forest, at the weekend home of Scott's friend Sam. Situated on England's south central coast, the New Forest comprises 45,000 acres of woodland, heaths, bogs and shoreline and is the largest remaining area of lowland heath in Europe. William the Conqueror established it as a medieval hunting forest in the 1100s, and it has been shaped by centuries of grazing livestock including the New Forest's famed wild ponies, which roam everywhere and, we discovered, are actually quite tame.

Owing to a late start on Saturday compounded by traffic, we spent just under 24 hours there, and so we did not adequately explore the area. It's really a shame because I love winter hiking--the air is crisp and envigorating, and the landscape is stark and muted, beautiful in a way that summer's showiness can't match.

But we did have a chance to take a short walk this morning along the Beaulieu River, and on our drive out of town were able to make friends with at least one pony who was grazing on the roadside:

He liked the apple I gave him so much, he ambled across the road to and stood by the car hoping for another (we obliged).

We also met a very sleepy donkey in the village of Beaulieu, located within the New Forest. He apparently wanders down from the heath to the high street and stands around hoping, I assume, for a snack. The shopkeepers shoe him away when he blocks their storefronts, but otherwise no one seems to pay him much mind. I gave him an apple (I couldn't resist) and a scratch behind the ear.

The Yard Birds

2007-01-24T13:47:00.000Z

Today's visitors include:

On a related note, I am convinced that a pair of robins and a pair of nuthatches are nesting in our garden. They've been out there all day, coming and going, and the male robin has been staking his territory quite aggressively--I watched him chase a house sparrow that had come too close to a particular area of hedge.

The robin has quickly become my favorite. They are the terriers of the bird world: fiesty, pugnacious, brave. A big bird stuck in a little bird's body. This morning, as I returned from my walk, I discovered that the workmen still tearing up the street had stationed their diesel belching backhoe in my driveway in order to excavate something in the road. I stood there watching to make sure they didn't wreck my hedges (the jerky hydraulic arm was coming a little close).

Apparently I wasn't the only one concerned--I noticed a robin standing on the ground not far from the backhoe's treads peeping up at it aggressively (robins use this special "tic tic tic" call to raise the alarm and fend off intruders to their nesting areas). Brave chap!