My thoughts on the matter of banned books haven't changed much since I posted about it a couple years ago. I don't like it. But the same freedom of speech that gives people the right to write and speak the things I find offensive gives me the right to object. Sometimes those standing up for freedom of speech and freedom to write whatever they want forget that.
Banned Books Week is a bit of a misnomer anyway, and has been for years. Books are very seldom pulled from shelves. Yes, they are often challenged, and sometimes by people who are acting from what they think they heard from someone who heard from someone else who read the back cover of the book ten years ago - rather than read the book themselves - but that's a different animal. It's short sighted, but it's not inherently evil of them, nor inherently stupid, unenlightened and uncivilized of them, as those who challenge books are generally portrayed. Generally, they are objecting because they have beliefs every bit as strong as those who write the things they object to. And that's wrong? I think not. It's wrong to say "You can't write that, you can't think that, you can't publish that." But you know what? The vast majority of the challenges every year are simply people - usually parents, vile creatures that parents tend to be - saying, "I don't want my child to read that. I don't want them to be forced to read that." But under the guise of protecting free speech, people come along and say, "How dare you object! Get with the program and think the way we do!" Poppycock. (Whoops, I shouldn't have written that - anyone who knows the literal translation of that word will surely be offended and have my blog banned!)
Too many people are interested in freedom of speech only if it's their own speech that's free. Everyone else is wrong. I am glad the American Library Association fights for freedom of speech. I hope they do for many years to come. But I get annoyed when snide remarks are made about not the challenges to the books themselves, but rather the challengers. In doing so, they are - intentionally or unintentionally a moot point - denying the right to object. I find that every bit as scary as having some of my favorite reads some day become unavailable. It's the exact same narrow minded thinking which leads to challenging and banning in the first place.
The very fact that challenges continue to happen tell me our freedoms are still vibrantly healthy. Nobody is disappearing following their speaking out and the populace is not being told they never existed in the first place, as in George Orwell's 1984. No one is having their homes raided and all their books burned by the Firemen, like in Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. I think I can understand why people are afraid of the slippery slope which could lead to such dystopian societies. But just because something could conceivably happen, doesn't mean it already has. It doesn't mean that if they believe a school library should have such a book, that they have the nefarious intent of undermining society. Nope, they only have the nefarious intent of protecting their own families. Educate them. Tell them why you think the book is important, even what merit you think it has. Even if they think their rights trumps yours, explain why that isn't so. But to tell people they don't have the right to object? Uh-uh. You do. They do. Simple as that.
Another thought. I've read a number of blog posts and editorials suggesting we all "should" read banned books - even providing suggested reading lists - as if doing so carries some sort of badge of honor. Pfft. Myself, I read the books I want to read. Occasionally someone has said I shouldn't, but they usually say so off stage, and I read it in utter ignorance, only learning of my folly when the ALA release the next "Most Frequently Challenged Books" list. Sometimes the controversy has lead me to a book I wouldn't have known about otherwise, but even then, I read it because it piqued my curiosity. Many of those books I'm "not supposed to" read I don't want to read anyway, because they have no appeal for me - not because I'm unenlightened or afraid of having my beliefs challenged.
It's downright silly to read a book you don't want to read because someone else didn't want to read it either. This proves.... what exactly? Read to enlighten your mind, to learn new viewpoints, even to see what all the hullabaloo is about. But most of all, read because you enjoy reading, and read what you want to read. Read Huckleberry Finn. Read The Adventures of Captain Underpants. A Child Called It. To Kill a Mockingbird. The Chocolate War. Lord of the Flies. Lord of the Rings. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Of Mice and Men. A Wrinkle In Time. The Catcher In the Rye. Breakfast At Tiffany's. The Great Gatsby. A Separate Peace.
Some of those in the list above I have read a half dozen times and I love them. Some I have read and personally loathed. Some I have never read and do not plans to. Read them anyway. Because I told you to! No, seriously, read them. Or don't.
Pick up a book everybody loves, read a few pages, decide it's not for you, and burn--- I mean, calmly put it back on the shelf for the next person to read. Pick up a book everyone hates and read a few pages and decide that that everyone is correct, the book actually does indeed suck. Or buy it because you fell in love with the first page.
If someone wonders why you didn't like a book, tell them. Maybe doing so will offend them. People sometimes take it personally if your tastes don't match theirs. Apologize and buy them a hot cocoa. If you think it's inappropriate for your child to read an assigned book, call the school and ask for an alternate title. If someone else in your community objects, support their right to exercise their right to do so - even if you disagree with them. Support their freedom, even if you don't support their viewpoint.
Because freedom of speech shouldn't be limited to the printed word, nor to a bestseller list, or a banned books list or any list at all. It shouldn't be confined to the recommendations of talk show hosts and Hollywood shills or political pundits. Nor should it be dictated by controversy. Freedom of speech - indeed, all of our freedoms, carry with them the responsibility to protect those freedoms, not just for ourselves, but also for those we disagree with. The minute we attempt to silence those whose opinions we disagree with - and those disagreeing with us - we grant permission to others to silence us.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Friday, September 6, 2013
Festival Food
Summer and Autumn -- time for community fairs and festivals. Time for wall-to-wall people (sans walls, of course, as these festivals are generally held outdoors) many of whom are walking around in a half stupor, stopping suddenly or reversing direction like a human pinball. It pays to keep one eye on all the sights and another on all the people keeping both eyes on all the sights. Time for really bad "art" and "crafts"; time for really good but exorbitantly priced arts and crafts; seven dollar soaps, twenty dollar lotions, twelve dollar salsas and mustards.
In years past I caught nearly all the community festivals, but the last couple of years my planning has been poor and I have missed out. I'm pretty much a hermit by nature and because of this I generally avoid crowds. Yet there's a peculiar energy present at these community festivals; one that somehow rejuvenates me rather than zapping me as crowds usually do.
If the energy of the crowd doesn't do it, every festival is replete with energy-giving food. To paraphrase the orphans in the musical Oliver! :
Food, glorious food! Fat, sugar and chol-es-ter-ol!
Okay, so it's overpriced. If you eat before attending you might be able to stave off the hunger pains until you leave and find an actual restaurant three blocks from the festival, and get twice the food for the same amount of your hard earned money. However, you probably won't find dill pickles on sticks, roasted garlic, homemade root beer, deep fried Oreos, or deep fried alligator bites.
Tonight I made a last minute decision to stop at the Arvada Harvest Festival. I was on my way home but not ready to go home and I hadn't been to a festival since the Chocolate Affair (also in Arvada and one of my favorite annual events) in February. Having not initially planned to stop, I had already drunk the water I carry with me on my daily commute, so of course I was thirsty when I got there. I could either buy a generic two dollar bottled water or wander about until I found the two dollar fresh squeezed lemonade -- which was tart, as lemonade is supposed to be. Well, that was an easy decision. If I'm going to pay too much, I might as well support my dentist while I'm at it.
Thirst quenched, it was time to eat. Check my pockets. I had enough for the lemonade. Oh, but look - the nice festival people have conveniently placed an ATM directly in my path. They are not altogether altruistic for doing this. Despite displaying every banking network logo on the planet -- usually a sign there will be no fee, but not so at festivals and performing arts centers -- there is a higher-than average fee to which my financial institution will tack on another for using a "foreign ATM" (funny, the instructions were in English). Ah well, I just saw the sign for fried alligator bites and so I succumb.
I learn tonight that my sense of humor is both a blessing... and a curse. I step up to the counter and ask if the alligator bites are from domestic or wild gators. Either I can't tell a joke properly or I can tell one very well -- the poor lady looks confused and repeats my question to the others. The teenage girl doesn't appear to know nor particularly care. The man informs me that they bought the alligator meat from a firm out in Florida and tells me it is FDA Approved. I am not certain if he really was trying to assure me or if he simply delivered his line as deadpan as I did mine.
The alligator, by the way, was very tasty, and although not as large a portion as a third pound hamburger or "foot long" hot dog with all the trimmings, infinitely more satisfying. Last year at the same festival I'd had some very tasty catfish and sweet potato fries. The man ahead of me tonight had purchased a Gyros for himself and corn dogs for his four boys. He pointed out to them that with what he was spending tonight, he could feed them for two weeks at home. The children fell to their knees and thanked their father profusely. Actually, they simply ate their corn dogs in a silence, but I am certain that silence was pensively grateful.
I needed a veggie so I bought an ear of roasted corn. Yes, I know, corn is a cereal grain, not a vegetable. But I couldn't find the booth selling pickles-on-a-stick. Close enough. And oh, oh, oh, how sweet it was. Where did they find such sweet corn? Must be festival magic. Corn in the store sure isn't this sweet.
And for dessert: a deep fried Oreo. More because my curiosity was piqued than because I thought (which I didn't) such a thing would be tasty (which it was, surprisingly) and although I could have eaten Oreos for two weeks on that same dollar (okay, only one week) -- well, it's festival food.
In years past I caught nearly all the community festivals, but the last couple of years my planning has been poor and I have missed out. I'm pretty much a hermit by nature and because of this I generally avoid crowds. Yet there's a peculiar energy present at these community festivals; one that somehow rejuvenates me rather than zapping me as crowds usually do.
If the energy of the crowd doesn't do it, every festival is replete with energy-giving food. To paraphrase the orphans in the musical Oliver! :
Food, glorious food! Fat, sugar and chol-es-ter-ol!
Okay, so it's overpriced. If you eat before attending you might be able to stave off the hunger pains until you leave and find an actual restaurant three blocks from the festival, and get twice the food for the same amount of your hard earned money. However, you probably won't find dill pickles on sticks, roasted garlic, homemade root beer, deep fried Oreos, or deep fried alligator bites.
Tonight I made a last minute decision to stop at the Arvada Harvest Festival. I was on my way home but not ready to go home and I hadn't been to a festival since the Chocolate Affair (also in Arvada and one of my favorite annual events) in February. Having not initially planned to stop, I had already drunk the water I carry with me on my daily commute, so of course I was thirsty when I got there. I could either buy a generic two dollar bottled water or wander about until I found the two dollar fresh squeezed lemonade -- which was tart, as lemonade is supposed to be. Well, that was an easy decision. If I'm going to pay too much, I might as well support my dentist while I'm at it.
Thirst quenched, it was time to eat. Check my pockets. I had enough for the lemonade. Oh, but look - the nice festival people have conveniently placed an ATM directly in my path. They are not altogether altruistic for doing this. Despite displaying every banking network logo on the planet -- usually a sign there will be no fee, but not so at festivals and performing arts centers -- there is a higher-than average fee to which my financial institution will tack on another for using a "foreign ATM" (funny, the instructions were in English). Ah well, I just saw the sign for fried alligator bites and so I succumb.
I learn tonight that my sense of humor is both a blessing... and a curse. I step up to the counter and ask if the alligator bites are from domestic or wild gators. Either I can't tell a joke properly or I can tell one very well -- the poor lady looks confused and repeats my question to the others. The teenage girl doesn't appear to know nor particularly care. The man informs me that they bought the alligator meat from a firm out in Florida and tells me it is FDA Approved. I am not certain if he really was trying to assure me or if he simply delivered his line as deadpan as I did mine.
The alligator, by the way, was very tasty, and although not as large a portion as a third pound hamburger or "foot long" hot dog with all the trimmings, infinitely more satisfying. Last year at the same festival I'd had some very tasty catfish and sweet potato fries. The man ahead of me tonight had purchased a Gyros for himself and corn dogs for his four boys. He pointed out to them that with what he was spending tonight, he could feed them for two weeks at home. The children fell to their knees and thanked their father profusely. Actually, they simply ate their corn dogs in a silence, but I am certain that silence was pensively grateful.
I needed a veggie so I bought an ear of roasted corn. Yes, I know, corn is a cereal grain, not a vegetable. But I couldn't find the booth selling pickles-on-a-stick. Close enough. And oh, oh, oh, how sweet it was. Where did they find such sweet corn? Must be festival magic. Corn in the store sure isn't this sweet.
And for dessert: a deep fried Oreo. More because my curiosity was piqued than because I thought (which I didn't) such a thing would be tasty (which it was, surprisingly) and although I could have eaten Oreos for two weeks on that same dollar (okay, only one week) -- well, it's festival food.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Sue Grafton's Kinsey and Me
I've only read two of Sue Grafton's famous "alphabet mysteries", maybe three, but two that I actually remember elements from. For the record, they are "K" and "C", in that order, and I seem to recall reading "B", but thumbing through the book just now, nothing truly leaps out at me, so perhaps I read it while half asleep, and it's time to read it again.
After reading "Kinsey and Me", a collection of short stories, I think perhaps it is time to again pick up one of her novels. This lady can craft a mighty fine story.
In case you don't know, Sue Grafton's heroine is 30-something year old, divorced twice, ex-cop turned private eye, Kinsey Millhone. We the readers are told this, in some variation of those words, at the opening of every story, and this collection of short stories originally published in magazines and anthologies, is no exception. Each novel takes a letter of the alphabet and ties it to a crime: "A is for Alibi", "B is for Burglary", "C is for Corpse"etc. The series was begun in 1982, and the stories have remained in the eighties. Kinsey solves the crimes without the aid of the Internet, GPS tracking, or anything else but brains, guts, perseverance, wit, and no small amount of luck.
I found the book while browsing and decided that while I had enjoyed the novels, it wasn't enough to work my way through the entire alphabet. The ones I had read I hadn't read in order, and with each new novel, the task of "catching up" seemed more daunting, as "W" is being published this fall. But a collection of short stories? Sure, I could do that, and if I didn't finish all the stories before the public library respectfully requests the return of their book because other patrons are waiting (this happens to me a lot), I'll still have enjoyed a mystery or two and not have to wait another two or three months for it to be my turn again (also something that happens often).
Many writers have said it is harder to write a short story than it is a novel. I believe this. You don't have time to flesh out a character. Dialog and plot must be concise and you have to win your reader over in 5, 15, 35 pages - not 200, 300, 1100 (nothing against Victor Hugo!) This collection of Kinsey Millhone stories does that, superbly. Dead and disappearing bodies, guns with a history of disappearing and reappearing years later in other crimes, and dysfunctional families are some of the plot lines. My favorites were the slightly creepy ending of "Falling Off the Roof" and the poetic justice of "Full Circle".
the last Kinsey story was commissioned by Lands End for a 40th anniversary catalog in which she plugged one of their jackets. I've read some reviews in which the reviewers were not amused by this story. Myself, I thought it was funny, taking the rapier wit of the character and throwing in product placement for a very nice jacket which I myself used to own. It wasn't intended to be a serious story and I didn't take it as such. Its lightheartedness I felt was a nice segue into the second half of the book.
The second half is actually less than half the book, although it contains half again as many stories. The character in these stories is Kit Blue which the author states is a younger version of herself, in stories she wrote in the years following her mother's death. They are somewhat autobiographical. And they are heartrending. I read the book front to back, although I was tempted to skip ahead, for the knowledge of the inclusion of these stories is what prompted me to put myself on the waiting list for the book. I was curious to see how the author writing about growing up in a household with alcoholic parents might have affected her writing. I didn't really get that question answered.
What I did see in these stories were people I know. Not necessarily those with addictions, unless loneliness and despair can be considered addictions. If you have lived on this planet for more than a decade and you haven't been living under a rock, you know people like Kit Blue's mother and father. You know people who the more you love them, the more they wilt. And you've probably wondered what more you can do for them, and agonized over the fact that your love for them is not only rejected but it somehow inexplicably hurts them. And you've had to struggle to believe what is obviously the truth even though the evidence apparently contradicts it: that their pain is not your fault.
I'm not sure that's what the author intended in combining the two very diverse sets of stories. It's what I got out of it, however. Reading these stories, you probably won't get any answers as to how to help the hurting. But as the stories progress you will journey with Kit past anger and chaos to hope and love. as the author writes, "I wish life could be edited as deftly as prose... what I've noticed, though, is that any attempt to trim out the dark matter takes away some of the good that was also buried in the muck. The past is a package deal and I don't believe there's a way to tell some of the truth without telling most. Wisdom comes at a price."
I'll be honest. Even though I checked the book out for the "and Me" stories, I enjoyed the "Kinsey" stories more. Both, however, make for compelling reading, blending well that can't-put-it-down-edness we readers crave with short segments which allow us to put it down. Both Kinsey and Kit are very likable heroines: kind, smart, courageous and persevering.
After reading "Kinsey and Me", a collection of short stories, I think perhaps it is time to again pick up one of her novels. This lady can craft a mighty fine story.
In case you don't know, Sue Grafton's heroine is 30-something year old, divorced twice, ex-cop turned private eye, Kinsey Millhone. We the readers are told this, in some variation of those words, at the opening of every story, and this collection of short stories originally published in magazines and anthologies, is no exception. Each novel takes a letter of the alphabet and ties it to a crime: "A is for Alibi", "B is for Burglary", "C is for Corpse"etc. The series was begun in 1982, and the stories have remained in the eighties. Kinsey solves the crimes without the aid of the Internet, GPS tracking, or anything else but brains, guts, perseverance, wit, and no small amount of luck.
I found the book while browsing and decided that while I had enjoyed the novels, it wasn't enough to work my way through the entire alphabet. The ones I had read I hadn't read in order, and with each new novel, the task of "catching up" seemed more daunting, as "W" is being published this fall. But a collection of short stories? Sure, I could do that, and if I didn't finish all the stories before the public library respectfully requests the return of their book because other patrons are waiting (this happens to me a lot), I'll still have enjoyed a mystery or two and not have to wait another two or three months for it to be my turn again (also something that happens often).
Many writers have said it is harder to write a short story than it is a novel. I believe this. You don't have time to flesh out a character. Dialog and plot must be concise and you have to win your reader over in 5, 15, 35 pages - not 200, 300, 1100 (nothing against Victor Hugo!) This collection of Kinsey Millhone stories does that, superbly. Dead and disappearing bodies, guns with a history of disappearing and reappearing years later in other crimes, and dysfunctional families are some of the plot lines. My favorites were the slightly creepy ending of "Falling Off the Roof" and the poetic justice of "Full Circle".
the last Kinsey story was commissioned by Lands End for a 40th anniversary catalog in which she plugged one of their jackets. I've read some reviews in which the reviewers were not amused by this story. Myself, I thought it was funny, taking the rapier wit of the character and throwing in product placement for a very nice jacket which I myself used to own. It wasn't intended to be a serious story and I didn't take it as such. Its lightheartedness I felt was a nice segue into the second half of the book.
The second half is actually less than half the book, although it contains half again as many stories. The character in these stories is Kit Blue which the author states is a younger version of herself, in stories she wrote in the years following her mother's death. They are somewhat autobiographical. And they are heartrending. I read the book front to back, although I was tempted to skip ahead, for the knowledge of the inclusion of these stories is what prompted me to put myself on the waiting list for the book. I was curious to see how the author writing about growing up in a household with alcoholic parents might have affected her writing. I didn't really get that question answered.
What I did see in these stories were people I know. Not necessarily those with addictions, unless loneliness and despair can be considered addictions. If you have lived on this planet for more than a decade and you haven't been living under a rock, you know people like Kit Blue's mother and father. You know people who the more you love them, the more they wilt. And you've probably wondered what more you can do for them, and agonized over the fact that your love for them is not only rejected but it somehow inexplicably hurts them. And you've had to struggle to believe what is obviously the truth even though the evidence apparently contradicts it: that their pain is not your fault.
I'm not sure that's what the author intended in combining the two very diverse sets of stories. It's what I got out of it, however. Reading these stories, you probably won't get any answers as to how to help the hurting. But as the stories progress you will journey with Kit past anger and chaos to hope and love. as the author writes, "I wish life could be edited as deftly as prose... what I've noticed, though, is that any attempt to trim out the dark matter takes away some of the good that was also buried in the muck. The past is a package deal and I don't believe there's a way to tell some of the truth without telling most. Wisdom comes at a price."
I'll be honest. Even though I checked the book out for the "and Me" stories, I enjoyed the "Kinsey" stories more. Both, however, make for compelling reading, blending well that can't-put-it-down-edness we readers crave with short segments which allow us to put it down. Both Kinsey and Kit are very likable heroines: kind, smart, courageous and persevering.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Fresh - Delivered!
Since the beginning of the year I've been trying to eat more produce but like with most times I have made the resolve to do so, it's been a struggle simply because of the way produce makes it to the grocery store: mass produced and engineered for looks rather than taste, then picked before it is ripe so it spoils quickly. The reason people don't eat their fruits and vegetables is because they don't taste all that great.
I decided this year if I could spend a little more money to buy a little higher quality cheeses, chocolates and root beers, I could certainly spend more on my produce. I had the previous year gotten oranges delivered straight from the Florida groves and i did it again this year, followed by some Meyer lemons - who knew lemons could actually be almost sweet? - and this summer I had blueberries and cherries delivered. Friends and family got a false impression on the strength of my pocketbook and probably questioned my sanity for the money I was spending. but here's the thing: the food didn't go to waste, and here's the reason why: it was good. Not simply "good" as in "tasty" - it was that - but good as in fresh, ripe. I know, not all store-bought produce is bad. Every now and then I'll get a really good tomato or peach. But the others I bought the same day from the same bin in the same store are not. It's hard to get enthused about eating healthy when the supposedly healthy food doesn't taste good and spoils in your refrigerator.
And there is no shortage of groves willing to ship directly to you. Depending upon the season and how close you are to the groves, you might have to pay a premium for shipping. Some groves had great prices but their shipping policies put the already higher prices over the top for me. True, I don't want my blueberries to be cooked before they get to me in the hot summer months. But I don't want to pay for shipping that seems to approach what the gasoline would cost me to drive to the Great Lakes region to pick them myself. Ordering itself is a bit of a leap of faith; if I balk at store prices for fresh Ranier or Bing cherries, do I really want to double that? It's not something I can do every week or even every month. But I tried it, had some success, and what I knew I would not consume right away I shared with family and friends and froze the rest. The ones I have tried so far and enjoyed are:
The Orange Shop
Lemon Ladies Orchard
Pittman and Davis
The Blueberry Store
and I have bookmarked a few pages which look promising but for which I missed the growing season.
So after the oranges and lemons and blueberries and cherries came in their big boxes and my tummy was happy I decided to try the organic produce delivery in the sidebar ads I kept seeing on Facebook and my ISP homepage. Although supposedly geared towards my locale and my preferences, some of these ads didn't deliver within a hundred miles of my locale. So I did an internet search and discovered fresh produce can be delivered to your door if you live in New York, California, London or Australia. Awesome. But what about Colorado where I live? I did find two which deliver to the Denver metro area, Door to Door Organics and Mile High Organics. Both work essentially the same way: you create an account, select the size box of veggies and fruit you wish delivered, and whether you want it delivered once a week or every other week. You can even specify local in-season produce. And you can add fresh milk and other dairy, meat, bread, and other organic groceries. With Door to Door Organics, you supply an ice chest and they deliver to that with ice packs as needed; with Mile High Organics, they supply the chest and the ice packs. Reuse and recycling of all content is encouraged on both sites by the customer putting the thawed ice packs and empty produce bags and glass milk bottles, etc, back in the chest the morning of your next delivery. Costs vary especially depending on what size produce "box" you want plus whatever extras you've ordered, but they start at $25 and go from there. Does getting your produce delivered cost more than a run to Walmart or your regular grocery store? Certainly. It even costs more than going to natural grocers like Whole Foods or Sprouts or Vitamin Cottage, although the price difference is less there. For me, it is worth it, since I generally go grocery shopping when i am hungry so I overbuy, and this way I can better plan. I haven't yet worked out the intricaies; it is difficult to prepare meals for one. But in the month since signing up for both services, alternating weeks, I have wasted less food than before, so I'm not convinced I'm truly spending more.
Are these services for everybody? No, probably not. You have to weigh what you know you will use with the upfront cost versus the long term cost and consider your taste buds as well. For me, if I am enjoying what I eat, I am going to eat it, and if not, I won't. So the extra cost is worth it to me. And weighing the cost of the organic foods against what I might spend in the vending machines because I (a) forgot to grab something out of the fridge when I left for work or (b) grabbed for it but it crawled away under its own power because it had gone bad -- for the time being, it's worth the money and the time saved not going to the grocery store.
Honorable mentions go to Abe's Market and iHerb.com, two online grocery stores for canned and boxed groceries. I haven't bought from them yet, and some of the groceries only come in bulk, but the prices seem very comparable to like foods at natural foods grocery stores.
I decided this year if I could spend a little more money to buy a little higher quality cheeses, chocolates and root beers, I could certainly spend more on my produce. I had the previous year gotten oranges delivered straight from the Florida groves and i did it again this year, followed by some Meyer lemons - who knew lemons could actually be almost sweet? - and this summer I had blueberries and cherries delivered. Friends and family got a false impression on the strength of my pocketbook and probably questioned my sanity for the money I was spending. but here's the thing: the food didn't go to waste, and here's the reason why: it was good. Not simply "good" as in "tasty" - it was that - but good as in fresh, ripe. I know, not all store-bought produce is bad. Every now and then I'll get a really good tomato or peach. But the others I bought the same day from the same bin in the same store are not. It's hard to get enthused about eating healthy when the supposedly healthy food doesn't taste good and spoils in your refrigerator.
And there is no shortage of groves willing to ship directly to you. Depending upon the season and how close you are to the groves, you might have to pay a premium for shipping. Some groves had great prices but their shipping policies put the already higher prices over the top for me. True, I don't want my blueberries to be cooked before they get to me in the hot summer months. But I don't want to pay for shipping that seems to approach what the gasoline would cost me to drive to the Great Lakes region to pick them myself. Ordering itself is a bit of a leap of faith; if I balk at store prices for fresh Ranier or Bing cherries, do I really want to double that? It's not something I can do every week or even every month. But I tried it, had some success, and what I knew I would not consume right away I shared with family and friends and froze the rest. The ones I have tried so far and enjoyed are:
The Orange Shop
Lemon Ladies Orchard
Pittman and Davis
The Blueberry Store
and I have bookmarked a few pages which look promising but for which I missed the growing season.
So after the oranges and lemons and blueberries and cherries came in their big boxes and my tummy was happy I decided to try the organic produce delivery in the sidebar ads I kept seeing on Facebook and my ISP homepage. Although supposedly geared towards my locale and my preferences, some of these ads didn't deliver within a hundred miles of my locale. So I did an internet search and discovered fresh produce can be delivered to your door if you live in New York, California, London or Australia. Awesome. But what about Colorado where I live? I did find two which deliver to the Denver metro area, Door to Door Organics and Mile High Organics. Both work essentially the same way: you create an account, select the size box of veggies and fruit you wish delivered, and whether you want it delivered once a week or every other week. You can even specify local in-season produce. And you can add fresh milk and other dairy, meat, bread, and other organic groceries. With Door to Door Organics, you supply an ice chest and they deliver to that with ice packs as needed; with Mile High Organics, they supply the chest and the ice packs. Reuse and recycling of all content is encouraged on both sites by the customer putting the thawed ice packs and empty produce bags and glass milk bottles, etc, back in the chest the morning of your next delivery. Costs vary especially depending on what size produce "box" you want plus whatever extras you've ordered, but they start at $25 and go from there. Does getting your produce delivered cost more than a run to Walmart or your regular grocery store? Certainly. It even costs more than going to natural grocers like Whole Foods or Sprouts or Vitamin Cottage, although the price difference is less there. For me, it is worth it, since I generally go grocery shopping when i am hungry so I overbuy, and this way I can better plan. I haven't yet worked out the intricaies; it is difficult to prepare meals for one. But in the month since signing up for both services, alternating weeks, I have wasted less food than before, so I'm not convinced I'm truly spending more.
Are these services for everybody? No, probably not. You have to weigh what you know you will use with the upfront cost versus the long term cost and consider your taste buds as well. For me, if I am enjoying what I eat, I am going to eat it, and if not, I won't. So the extra cost is worth it to me. And weighing the cost of the organic foods against what I might spend in the vending machines because I (a) forgot to grab something out of the fridge when I left for work or (b) grabbed for it but it crawled away under its own power because it had gone bad -- for the time being, it's worth the money and the time saved not going to the grocery store.
Honorable mentions go to Abe's Market and iHerb.com, two online grocery stores for canned and boxed groceries. I haven't bought from them yet, and some of the groceries only come in bulk, but the prices seem very comparable to like foods at natural foods grocery stores.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Sporks!
Things you might not have known about sporks....
* Patents for spork-like instruments date back to 1874. And here, when I was a kid, I thought Kentucky Fried Chicken invented them!
* The word "spork" appeared in the 1909 supplement to the Century Dictionary. I need to get a copy of that supplement. You know, for the historical significance.
* You can buy them made of titanium. I have one in my spork collection:
* Patents for spork-like instruments date back to 1874. And here, when I was a kid, I thought Kentucky Fried Chicken invented them!
* The word "spork" appeared in the 1909 supplement to the Century Dictionary. I need to get a copy of that supplement. You know, for the historical significance.
* You can buy them made of titanium. I have one in my spork collection:
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
withdrawal.....
Somehow, I don't know how, I arrived at my bus stop this morning with my water bottle, my umbrella, and.... no book. I had chosen a hardcover copy of Agatha Christie's "The Murder At the Vicarage" to take with me today instead of my ereader, in which I am currently reading "Ben Hur", "Les Miserables", "Change Your Brain, Change Your Life", a sampler of recent teen novels, and the scriptures. I set the book, umbrella and water down in order to turn off the air conditioner before I left. Somehow I missed picking the book back up. Sleep deprivation, perhaps. Whatever the reason, by the time I realized it, I didn't have time to run back home and grab the book. For the first time ever I wish I had a smart phone, because then I could have books on it. But no, I have a phone of ordinary intelligence.
The bus came. I read all the signs on the bus. I hoped for the opportunity to interact with another passenger, ask what they were reading. There was a strange dearth of readers today. The regular riders who like me generally have a book or ereader in their hands either weren't on the bus today or had possibly left home themselves tomeless, because they weren't reading and they weren't napping.
Somehow I survived. I think I might've broken out into a cold sweat at one point, but I survived, by rereading all the signs on the bus and past text messages and current text messages in response to the one I sent out lamenting my lack of a book. Helpful messages like "You should get more rest" and Oh man you are going to have a long morning" and "I hate it when that happens" and "This is serious!" and "How could you forget a book?"
When I forget my phone, I shrug and figure I'll make my phone calls when I get back home. When I forget my hat, my pate gets warm in the summer and my ears get cold in the winter. When I forget my umbrella, chances are good I will get wet (not a bad thing, as remembering it will almost guarantee it won't rain and forgetting it will almost guarantee we will get some moisture.) When I forget my water bottle, I can generally stop and buy another halfway to work in-between buses.
When I forget my book....
Well, I survived. Wish me luck and a good memory tomorrow...
The bus came. I read all the signs on the bus. I hoped for the opportunity to interact with another passenger, ask what they were reading. There was a strange dearth of readers today. The regular riders who like me generally have a book or ereader in their hands either weren't on the bus today or had possibly left home themselves tomeless, because they weren't reading and they weren't napping.
Somehow I survived. I think I might've broken out into a cold sweat at one point, but I survived, by rereading all the signs on the bus and past text messages and current text messages in response to the one I sent out lamenting my lack of a book. Helpful messages like "You should get more rest" and Oh man you are going to have a long morning" and "I hate it when that happens" and "This is serious!" and "How could you forget a book?"
When I forget my phone, I shrug and figure I'll make my phone calls when I get back home. When I forget my hat, my pate gets warm in the summer and my ears get cold in the winter. When I forget my umbrella, chances are good I will get wet (not a bad thing, as remembering it will almost guarantee it won't rain and forgetting it will almost guarantee we will get some moisture.) When I forget my water bottle, I can generally stop and buy another halfway to work in-between buses.
When I forget my book....
Well, I survived. Wish me luck and a good memory tomorrow...
Monday, December 17, 2012
Breadcrumbs
"Breadcrumbs" by Anne Ursu is a book not easily classified. Equal parts fairy tale adapted from "The Snow Queen" and an exploration of friendship, loss and the power of imagination, it grabbed my attention and didn't let go. I loved the writing, the verbal imagery, and the characters. And although it's often true that you cannot judge a book by its cover,
with this book you can: the story lives up to Erin .McGuire's magical artwork
"It snowed right before Jack stopped talking to Hazel" opens the story; the snow is described as a magical event and the author manages to remind the reader of a time when he (or she) saw that magic as Hazel sees it, without falling into the trap of too much stage direction. Hazel greets the new snow in pajamas and socks, soaking in the magic; her mother comes to the door to tell her to come in out of the cold and get ready for school and to explain the science behind snowflakes - expertly showing how clueless adults can be when it comes to magic. Her best friend Jack hits her with a snowball and a snowballfight would have ensued right then if mom hadn't intervened. All this causes Hazel to miss her bus, requiring her mother to take her to school on icy streets which trip includes a pleading for Hazel to make new friends in addition to Jack.
Now all that might seem like rather mundane events, but in the first few pages the characters and their motivations are well established. Hazel's father has left them, her mother is overworked and tired but loving and gentle towards her daughter; Hazel is in a new school with no friend but Jack and with teachers who see her daydreaming as disobedience to the rules rather than the creativity recognized at her previous school. Fifth grade can be tough on any kid, but Hazel is having an especially difficult time coping. So Hazel tries "desperately not to disturb the universe" and just get through the day, looking forward to spending after school time with her best friend Jack.
With her mother's prodding and orchestration, Hazel slowly develops a friendship with Adelaide, who has an active imagination as well, and a very cool uncle who unlike most adults actually understands the magic the kids take for granted. He also understands kids, shown when he tells Adelaide's mother: "Come on, Lizzie. Kids can handle a lot more than you think they can. It's when they get to be grown up that you have to start worrying."
But this new friendship doesn't compare to her friendship with Jack, and when Jack inexplicably changes a couple days later after she hits him with a snowball, Hazel is bewildered, lost and confused. Unknown to her, the snowball contained a shard of a broken magic mirror and Jack has fallen under the spell of the evil Snow Queen.What she does realize is that Jack has grown distant and unimaginative and now says mean things like "stop being such a baby," something the real Jack would never say. No one seems to notice that Jack is not Jack and although her mother is sympathetic she tells Hazel that sometimes people just change, and Hazel must accept that fact as part of growing up.
"Breadcrumbs" is divided into two parts, the first of which is set in the "real" world which is in many ways scarier and more unfriendly than the fairy tale world Hazel enters into in the second part when she goes to rescue Jack. One of my favorite parts in the real world comes after Hazel, having been sent to the school counselor where "she felt like a bird that someone was preparing to stuff and put on a mantel" has a session with the counselor and her mother. As they leave, her mother is silent and stops outside the office to look at a flower arrangement. Hazel tells her the flowers are fake. Her mother rolls her eyes and says she knows, and asks if Hazel is okay. A defeated Hazel shrugs and responds, "They're going to figure out what's wrong with me."
Something flashed over her mother's face, and she leaned down and put her hand on Hazel's shoulder. "Hazel," she said, her voice firm and grave. "Listen to me. There is nothing wrong with you. Got it?"
Hazel nods, but she believes the words to be like the plastic flowers, looking good on the surface. She's not yet ready to trust herself or the adult world she believes has let her down. That will come by the tale's end (I would have been acutely disappointed if she didn't) but the character of her mother was wholly redeemed with that exchange. Despite her own frustration and not knowing how to help her daughter cope with her trials, she found a beautiful way to love and support her child. Sometimes children's literature paints adults as emotionally absent and non-supportive without showing that they struggle as much as their children do. Extra points here!
When one of Jack's friends tells Hazel that he had seen Jack follow a woman dressed in white into the woods, she knows what she must do: she must go into the woods and rescue Jack from the Snow Queen, and in the second half of the book she does just that, "in ill-considered shoes, brave and completely unprepared."
Wolves and ravens and giant clocks; dancing slippers and a trio of women at a spinning wheel and an empty swan skin are just a few of the creatures and things Hazel finds in the woods before she makes it to where the Snow Queen is holding her friend captive. Hazel must learn to know who to trust and who not to in this strange world, and that of course includes herself. And in the end, it is her love for Jack that rescues him and brings them both back to the real world.
The book is replete with references to both classic fairy tales and more modern children's classics by C. S. Lewis, J. K. Rowling, Madeleine L'Engle, Phillip Pullman and others, many of which I recognized and probably a few which went over my head; most of which are old friends of mine and a few which in the context given I figure I perhaps ought to revisit. In celebrating imagination and friendship, "Breadcrumbs" celebrates the joy of reading as well. And it has earned a spot in my "favorites" bookshelf.
"It snowed right before Jack stopped talking to Hazel" opens the story; the snow is described as a magical event and the author manages to remind the reader of a time when he (or she) saw that magic as Hazel sees it, without falling into the trap of too much stage direction. Hazel greets the new snow in pajamas and socks, soaking in the magic; her mother comes to the door to tell her to come in out of the cold and get ready for school and to explain the science behind snowflakes - expertly showing how clueless adults can be when it comes to magic. Her best friend Jack hits her with a snowball and a snowballfight would have ensued right then if mom hadn't intervened. All this causes Hazel to miss her bus, requiring her mother to take her to school on icy streets which trip includes a pleading for Hazel to make new friends in addition to Jack.
Now all that might seem like rather mundane events, but in the first few pages the characters and their motivations are well established. Hazel's father has left them, her mother is overworked and tired but loving and gentle towards her daughter; Hazel is in a new school with no friend but Jack and with teachers who see her daydreaming as disobedience to the rules rather than the creativity recognized at her previous school. Fifth grade can be tough on any kid, but Hazel is having an especially difficult time coping. So Hazel tries "desperately not to disturb the universe" and just get through the day, looking forward to spending after school time with her best friend Jack.
With her mother's prodding and orchestration, Hazel slowly develops a friendship with Adelaide, who has an active imagination as well, and a very cool uncle who unlike most adults actually understands the magic the kids take for granted. He also understands kids, shown when he tells Adelaide's mother: "Come on, Lizzie. Kids can handle a lot more than you think they can. It's when they get to be grown up that you have to start worrying."
But this new friendship doesn't compare to her friendship with Jack, and when Jack inexplicably changes a couple days later after she hits him with a snowball, Hazel is bewildered, lost and confused. Unknown to her, the snowball contained a shard of a broken magic mirror and Jack has fallen under the spell of the evil Snow Queen.What she does realize is that Jack has grown distant and unimaginative and now says mean things like "stop being such a baby," something the real Jack would never say. No one seems to notice that Jack is not Jack and although her mother is sympathetic she tells Hazel that sometimes people just change, and Hazel must accept that fact as part of growing up.
"Breadcrumbs" is divided into two parts, the first of which is set in the "real" world which is in many ways scarier and more unfriendly than the fairy tale world Hazel enters into in the second part when she goes to rescue Jack. One of my favorite parts in the real world comes after Hazel, having been sent to the school counselor where "she felt like a bird that someone was preparing to stuff and put on a mantel" has a session with the counselor and her mother. As they leave, her mother is silent and stops outside the office to look at a flower arrangement. Hazel tells her the flowers are fake. Her mother rolls her eyes and says she knows, and asks if Hazel is okay. A defeated Hazel shrugs and responds, "They're going to figure out what's wrong with me."
Something flashed over her mother's face, and she leaned down and put her hand on Hazel's shoulder. "Hazel," she said, her voice firm and grave. "Listen to me. There is nothing wrong with you. Got it?"
Hazel nods, but she believes the words to be like the plastic flowers, looking good on the surface. She's not yet ready to trust herself or the adult world she believes has let her down. That will come by the tale's end (I would have been acutely disappointed if she didn't) but the character of her mother was wholly redeemed with that exchange. Despite her own frustration and not knowing how to help her daughter cope with her trials, she found a beautiful way to love and support her child. Sometimes children's literature paints adults as emotionally absent and non-supportive without showing that they struggle as much as their children do. Extra points here!
When one of Jack's friends tells Hazel that he had seen Jack follow a woman dressed in white into the woods, she knows what she must do: she must go into the woods and rescue Jack from the Snow Queen, and in the second half of the book she does just that, "in ill-considered shoes, brave and completely unprepared."
Wolves and ravens and giant clocks; dancing slippers and a trio of women at a spinning wheel and an empty swan skin are just a few of the creatures and things Hazel finds in the woods before she makes it to where the Snow Queen is holding her friend captive. Hazel must learn to know who to trust and who not to in this strange world, and that of course includes herself. And in the end, it is her love for Jack that rescues him and brings them both back to the real world.
The book is replete with references to both classic fairy tales and more modern children's classics by C. S. Lewis, J. K. Rowling, Madeleine L'Engle, Phillip Pullman and others, many of which I recognized and probably a few which went over my head; most of which are old friends of mine and a few which in the context given I figure I perhaps ought to revisit. In celebrating imagination and friendship, "Breadcrumbs" celebrates the joy of reading as well. And it has earned a spot in my "favorites" bookshelf.
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