Didneelan!

Changes changes!
Still, for me - one of the happiest places on earth.

10 Things I Hate About You: the movie

It's made out to be the atypical mindless let's-all-get-dumbed-down teen flick.

But NO.

One word movie review:
non-imbecilic
(OK so it's a hyphenated made up word, but what the hey).

It's a wrap!

What's not to love about Furoshiki?

Waaaaay back in the 80's, friends from Japan presented me with large cloth squares in cotton, rayon, poly blends or silk. Each square was printed with traditional Japanese designs rendered in gorgeous colors.

I wondered why my new found Japanese friends were all into giving big square scarves as gifts. I received quite a few. Not a problem, for I, at the time, was The Scarf Woman. Not only did I accent my outfits with a scarf round the neck or shawl o'er my shoulders, but dressed my hair in scarves and wore them at the waist or fashioned into wrapped blouses as well. So I welcomed these presents of big square scarves in a multitude of colors and prints!

Indeed a furoshiki can be used as such, but the true purpose of these over sized square cloths is much more than that.

I watched in amazement as my Japanese friends demonstrated clever ways to use the square to wrap items into pretty cloth packages for gift giving or simply to tote round. It is astounding how many creative ways there are to wrap and tie a furoshiki around objects. Who knew a simple square of cloth could be so useful?!? Well, someone knew and I learned.

Recently, DollinkDaughterLLS presented me with a 'modern day' furoshiki.

The one LLS gave me is from Furochic.
It's a 27" cotton square in a vibrantly colored elephant and flower print. The fabric is tightly woven; strong yet flexible. The latter features are important when it comes to using furoshiki cloth for wrapping, twisting and tying.
Think: use and re-use. Think: sustainability.

The owner of Furochic is designer Jenn Playford. Her books and videos show examples of the tried-and-true approach to wrapping anything and everything in a simple square of fabric. Cultures all over the world wrap things in fabric squares, but there is definitely an art to the Japanese way.

Furochic's website emphasizes the 'green' of eco-friendly packaging with fabric.
If you don't know by now -
Green is the new Good. So very good.

Now get yourself some furoshiki and start wrapping!

Happy Wishes...

b's blog ~~~
Three years old on July 21, 2009. It's been fun. Let's keep on keepin' on.

A big loving Happy Birthday to DollinkGranddaughter LBPS.
Two years old TODAY. What a joy you are, little one.

How quickly these young'uns grow up!

Midnight Madness Eats

**
The art of the late night snack.

Dinner taken between 6-8PM. A full belly.

Midnight rolls around and I get the hankerin' for a bit more food before beddy-bye. To ignore the notion of a snack would mean going to bed a tad hungry. It would mean visualizing food whilst lying in bed awake. Only to get hungrier.

I crave a small hot meal. A wee dish of something savory would be best.
I decide to head for the kitchen. Something warm and savory across the palate and into the tummy would be nice. However, due to the late hour, a cold offering from the larder would be quicker and easier. Cold cereal or a some fruit will have to suffice.

Late night snacks were the norm when I was growing up. My family-of-origin made no bones about partaking in the 4th meal of the day: 'siu yé'. And yes, the food would always be warm and savory...

Great memory of late-night eating:
The family would eat an early dinner. After post meal dishes were taken care of - Mom, Dad and one or more of us kids would head out for a movie. We'd walk a few blocks down to Chinatown to one of the Cantonese movie theaters. Sometimes there was a recent film release that Mom or Dad had in mind to see. Other nights, we'd take in a double feature of whatever happened to be playing. It was after sitting through two movies that we'd reward ourselves with some Midnight Madness Eats.

When the show let out around 11PM, it was an unspoken rule that siu yé was next on the evening's agenda. Even if it happened that I'd nod off by the end of the second feature, San Francisco's cold night air, plus the promise of a hot tasty midnight snack would jostle me awake good and proper.

Siu yé? I am sooooo there.

The Chinese restaurants we frequented were all within walking distance - another block or two, maybe three if we wanted to go 'out of our way' for a particular dish. Upon arrival at the chosen eatery, we'd usually find the joint fairly jumpin' with other late night diners. A waiter would motion us to a table or booth, we'd peel off our coats and pass the menus around.

Typically, our late night food choices would be simple ones: a bowl of jook (congee), won ton (soup) or noodles (fried or in broth). The food - tasty. The company - convivial.
I always felt happy and secure taking these midnight sups with family.

For me, Midnight Madness Eats translates to yummy food, laughter and going to bed very much satisfied with life.

That was then and this is now.
These late nights I settle for a bowl of cold cereal with a splash of milk.
Perhaps a sliced banana over top for some real excitement.
Then I sit and eat alone.
Satisfaction of life rating: all things considered and sans jook = still A-OK.

)) sigh ((


** Photo of 'jook' aka 'congee' from this yummy website.**

ROAR!!!!

Today I am (once again) obsessed with Eric Burdon!
Gonna haul out my Animals LPs and 45's circa 1960's!!!



Here is the 'See See' variation favoured by my Mom, who adored singing and dancing:


Dad could also carry a tune and loved to sing. My brothers and I do our best to carry on in the family tradition by following suit - singin' n' dancin' whenever the spirit moves us.

See 'Ruminations' sidebar for another early Burdon video.

love means never having to say you're sorry

No shit.

The harsh reality of those times.
The harsh reality of these times.

the neverending story

On B's blog, I post with increased frequency bemoaning my accumulation of stuff.

The truth is that at times, my stuff fairly overwhelms. When one has spent a lifetime in the hunting/gathering of cute things, fun things, sentimental things, both necessary and extraneous non-essential but delightful things - it adds up. Big time.

When one is short of storage space, those items that once served to please, accessorize and embellish a humdrum existence quickly morph into excess baggage that can bog down one's lifestyle.

Too much stuff! is the bane of my existence. It is also my mantra. My rallying cry.

The urge to purge is constant, a chronic condition. Though fond memories can be readily recalled of how good it buoyed the senses to acquire this or that, it feels equally, if not better, to let go of what has amounted to a ridiculous number of belongings**.

Fact: the powers that be in the advertising world are largely to blame for convincing us to get more stuff. Advertising drives and defines our consumer existence. Every ad that convinces us to consume MORE MORE MORE is a well-thought out bit of propaganda. Each is a brilliant example of brainwashing: you want it. Need it. Gotta to have it. Show it off. Validation of self through the acquisition of stuff appeals to a basic human need: to feel significant. It isn't wrong - some of us just take it too darn far.

Therein lies the irony: To have, to hold, to feel good for a moment, to become overwhelmed with, to fret over, to get rid of. To replace. The cycle really is endless - that is, until the end of funds or life..

Day by day, as I am faced with caring for my stuff, I pause to take stock. I have every intention of cutting back and simplifying. But how? Perhaps it is more important to ponder the question of 'why'.

Understanding WHY I/we (note: this is where I involve you, dear reader) need more stuff is a big step towards achieving, if not the ideal of Simper Living, at least a reasonable goal of Less Stuff is More. Such a learning process, this.

Taking baby steps, we move slowly. Distractions, numerous falls and even going backwards is part and parcel of the process. Yet one step at a time, we edge towards our purpose.

WHY requires taking pause each time before considering something else to add to our stuff. It behooves us to ask ourselves whether this or that new thing fills some void, improves our lot in life or makes us more at one with the universe. Will our friends enjoy us even more because we've got more stuff? (Some will, but those are friends we might also consider purging.)

WHY is a valid question. We should ask it now and again.

I am proud to make the statement that I am not the shopper I once was.
Hallelujah for that.

Purchases and acquisitions of late tend to be only what is needed to extend and enrich my current hobbies/interests (I must confess to having far too many hobbies) or to replace something in the house that is oft-used and now worn out. Case in point: my vacuum cleaner. The one I have is a cheapo which now sports a duct-taped electrical cord. The vacuum spits out more dirt than it sucks in. Moreover and much more alarmingly, there is a distinct smell of burning rubber that emanates from the machine when it's been on for more than 5 minutes.
I asked WHY and the answer is 'The damn thing is broken. Get rid of it and buy a new one.' Not the most philosophical of WHY questions, but practical is applicable as well.

It's recently occurred to me that I possess an organizational skill that has proved somewhat counterproductive to effective purging. It is the ability to tidy, stash and stack to the point that a lot of stuff looks like not-as-much-as-all-that. This has to be kept in check in order to achieve the state of simplicity which still eludes me.

Accumulation of stuff: links like this and this are terrific reality-checks.

** Collections of pretty dishes, yarn stash, paper-crating supplies and a plethora of cooking utensils are not to be considered excessive. Ahem.

go dhani go

the latest from Dhani Harrison.

Little Ringo is 69 today!

Happy Birthday, Luv.

Still Life

the 2006 film by Jia Zhang-ke.
Life and times during the creation of the Three Gorges Dam.

Things hoped for in viewing the film: a statement on the rapid industrialization of China, great visuals of the Yangtze River landscape and transformation of what once-was to what-will-now-be and insight into the lives of displaced locals.

Subject matter very solid and the film delivers visually.

Acting and direction, however, left me looking around my living room for
something more interesting to do....like dust the furniture...
or stare at a cobweb on the ceiling.
(If one of the main characters ceremoniously filled her water bottle again after the first 4 times, I was gonna run
screaming... then again, it could be that I totally missed the metaphor.)

One word movie review: BORING

new artsy photographer on the rise

Here is a photo taken by DollinkGranddaughter LBPS.

When: June 2009 (LBPS was 22 months old at the time)
Subject: Grappa
Camera: G-Ma (aka MiNo)'s Canon Digital SLR

No computer image manipulation, save for size reduction for blog.

plucked from the plethora ...

... of 'Michael' articles and videos offered up by the media these last few days ...
this one by TIME music critic Josh Tyrangiel comes closest (thus far) to expressing some of my own reflections on
Michael Jackson: Performer Extraordinaire.

For me, over and above the weirdness he lived - the music truly defines the man.

Included in this video are snippets of my fave MJ tunes.
Those with a beat that 'You can't not move to'.

Crank the speakers.
Get a grooooooove on.

So much of Michael Jackson's music is magic that flows through to the core.
I dare ya to steady your booty.

Photo of young MJ from this website:
- Also check out the photos of young female celebs.
Appreciate that celebrity is
more often than not - cultivated from 'just us normal folk'-

musical interlude

Ode to Betty Crocker's Chiffon Pie

Yesterday, I made a Lime Chiffon Pie.
Clearly, doing so was a step in the opposite direction of my current return to better-eating-and-exercising-for-health program.

Five steps forward, three steps back. A reasonable forward and back motion considering the challenging times. (liken it to the status of our personal finances...).
Ahem and Amen.

Anyways.
Armed with a recipe for Citrus Chiffon Pie from my Betty Crocker ** cookbook, and four fragrant limes, I assembled the ingredients to make a frothy tangy and a wee bit sugary pie.

To my thinking, 'chiffon' is Pie Lite, and this I maintained as rationale for making a dessert with just two people in mind to eat it. This was my first attempt at a true chiffon pie. Not one of the Cool-Whip + Jell-o Instant Mix variety - though that combo of chemicals does yield a convincingly tasty (albeit too sweet) version of the real deal. Nope - my chiffon pie will be made from scratch or not at all.

~ Citrus Chiffon Pie ~
from the Betty Crocker Picture Cookbook
1/2 c. sugar
1 envelope unflavored gelatin
2/3 c. water
1/3 c. (fresh-squeezed) lemon, orange or lime juice
4 egg yolks, slightly beaten
1 T. grated lemon, orange or lime rind
4 egg whites
1/2 tsp. cream of tartar
1/2 c. sugar

Blend sugar, gelatin, water, juice and eggs yolks in saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until it boils. Add rind. Place pan in cold water, cool until mixture mounds slightly when dropped from a spoon. Fold into a Meringue of egg whites, cream of tartar and sugar. Pile into a cooled baked pie shell. Chill several hours until set. Serve with a generous amount of whipped cream.
P.S. If you aren't adverse to the idea, a teeny
tiny drop of green food coloring can
be added during the mixing. I dipped the very tip of a
toothpick into green food coloring and that
was just enough for a visual hint o' lime.

Some folks shy away from uncooked meringue (you can substitute pasteurized dried egg white), but I am OK-fine with it. I have little fear of the traditional Caesar salad made with raw egg, and have consumed my share of the Original Orange Julius (remember those?) drinks with raw egg added for extra protein. The eggs I used for this pie were washed/scrubbed after they were laid by a duck - by the name of Mavis. (No, Mavis didn't wash the eggs - her owner did). In the future, I'll be using egg white substitute for this pie - so no one freaks out about eating uncooked egg white. OK? OK.

** The Betty Crocker New Picture Cookbook (1961, 5 - ring binder edition).
(consider this a temporary link ` until the book sells for $325)

Walking down Memory Lane with Betty C....

On many a Saturday morn in the 1950's and 60's, my Mom and I could be found boarding the Powell-Mason cable car for a ride downtown. We'd spend the day browsing department stores, always with a stop for lunch at the JC Penney cafeteria (chicken pot pie!) or Woolworth's lunch counter. Mom and I weren't shopaholics, therefore never went on crazy shopping sprees, but there would always be a few sensible and/or novel, purchases made by day's end.

At age 12 or so, I was developing an interest in the alchemy of food. Particularly fascinating was the notion that certain combinations of flour, liquid, leavening and flavors - mixed, then baked in the oven - would result in a variety of yummy things to eat. We didn't bake in our home, but I did learn something of cooking and baking 'American-style' by way of junior high school Home Economics.

Not only educational, but lots of fun - were the hours I spent in Home Ec class kitchenettes. It was like playing house. Each mini kitchen was equipped with a small sink, refrigerator, stove and oven. There was a table and four chairs. Shelves of plates, drawers full of utensils.

Until cooking class, I'd not actually prepped food using measuring cups, baking pans, rolling pins, cookie cutters. Rubber spatulas! Waxed paper. Crisco! I could hardly wait for my turn at sifting flour and wielding a rotary beater...

Well then - back to the bit about shopping with Mom.
We were perusing the book department of The Emporium on Market Street. Mom must have taken note of how I lingered over the display of Betty Crocker cookbooks, for she asked if I was interested in owning a cookbook. That cookbook. Who, me - own a cookbook?!?

Being a public library kind of kid and getting my book fixes on loan, I didn't actually own many books. I agonized over the decision, since the cookbook was less practical than say - underwear, pajamas or school clothes. Those were the type of things Mom and I would typically shop for. The book was also a bit pricier than non-essential knickknacks we'd sometimes consider on our shopping trips.

What to do. What to do.

For want of something new as well as novel (pun intended), the cookbook won out. Mom paid, handed it to me and I walked off cradling, like a newborn babe - the bag which contained my very first cookbook, ever. Once home, I ceremoniously removed my prized possession from its bag and pulled off the shrink-wrap plastic. I then smelled the book before proceeding to flip through every slick page, taking the time to savor each recipe, drawing and photograph. Wow.

Since the acquisition of that first cookbook, there have been many added over the decades. I now own more cookbooks than any one person could use in a lifetime. So stated, in my recent Urge to Purge extraneous personal belongings, I've since gotten rid of a few. Just a few. At best, getting rid of cookbooks seems a little unpatriotic.

The Betty Crocker Picture Cookbook, binder style, circa 1961 - remains a favorite.

With over 45 years of use, my very first cookbook, ever shows inevitable signs of wear and tear - emphasis on tear. It's actually fallen apart several times. The last repair was done with filament tape, which is neither acid free nor archival. This is a tough-ass cookbook. A survivor.

And now it's ready for another 45 years.

This IS fast becoming a food blog, is it not?

Bloody Beets

(great photo of beets is from this wonderful website)

Yes, I know. Another food post. You must understand, when it comes to sharing the joys of food, 'I Can't Help Myself'.

Today's food topic of choice: beets.
Fresh beets.
Earthy rough and seemingly tough-skinned beets.
Unbelievably tasty beets.
Bloody beets*.

At the beginning of the 1970's, when I was going through my first 'fresh and organic please' phase of food thought, processing and eating - a good friend and I became obsessed with fresh beets. Up until that time, my buddy and I had not tasted a fresh beet. We'd only ever experienced the rather insipid canned variety.

L and I cooked and ate together often, and one weekend we planned a simple supper of a main course salad, to be served with a loaf of crusty San Francisco sourdough bread. We'd already shopped for the bread, which was so aromatic and fresh (hot from the baker's oven) that we wisely decided to buy two loaves - one to eat while preparing dinner, one to eat with the meal.

Back in L's tiny apartment kitchen (OK, we dug into the hot bread on the way home), we happily set to work, chopping off the pretty green beet tops, washing both root and tops, then setting the big fat roots to a boil. Forty-five minutes later, after plunging the cooked roots in cold water, we were able to slip the skins off with ease. The raw leafy beet tops we'd already sliced and mixed in with organic lettuces. All other ingredients were at the ready for assembly of the salad.

The skinned beets were cool to the touch, yet let off a bit of steam upon being sliced with one of L's sharp kitchen knives. The aroma that reached our nostrils was like an earthy perfume. L and I looked at each other and smiled. Taking in the rich deep color of the beet slices, we smiled again. Both of us not only appreciated, but knew how to coordinate a meal using complementary flavours as well as combining food to create pleasing color combinations at the table. We were, to be sure, self-professed foodaholic / 'aestheticians'.

Let's see....varied greens of the lettuces and avocado, the clean yellow and white from the boiled eggs, sassy pink of shrimp meat, a sprinkling of browny green from toasted pumpkin seeds - and now a lusty red from freshly boiled beets: the salad will definitely look appetizing. To be certain that the addition of beets to our composition was not an error of judgment in flavor, we each grabbed a slice off the cutting board for a taste test.

OMG.
The firm slice of beet yielded to the tooth, yet maintained a wonderfully crisp bite. Flavor-wise...ooooooh....such a natural sweetness that defies addition of seasonings or dressing. In appearance, sliced beets offer a subtle variation in texture with their built in 'rings' - so it looked pretty too.

L and I were instantly enamoured of 'cooked beet au naturale' and decided that the sliced orbs deserved presentation in a pretty bowl of their own - separate from the salad.

The two of us sat down and proceeded to (very giddily) devour a generously sized salad with all the fixin's, fragrant crunchy sourdough bread and all four of the very large, unbelievably delicious beets.

Though I still, on rare occasion, partake of beets from a can and/or at a restaurant salad bar - those overcooked, squishy and relatively tasteless roots cannot compare to the royal taste treat of freshly cooked beets.

Beets: boiled, roasted, raw.
Eat 'em and weep...tears of joy.

Food post in the not too distant future:
The Sensational Savoy (cabbage).
I know y'all can hardly wait.

* L and I called each other in a panic the next day. Both of us feared (erroneously) that we might require hospitalization. From that point on, we referred to our beet eating initiation as Bloody Beets. Oh what fun!

New fave bread

I am a huge fan of BREAD - and typically adopt one type of bread or another as my current 'fave' (read: once chosen, I tend to overeat it).

My fave bread of late has been Trader Joe's Cranberry Walnut. I can sit and eat an entire loaf of this yummy bread in one sitting, and it's become more like a dessert bread for me. Delicious when mounded with gobs of soft butter, I'd say it can be downright deadly.

Not so with Mestemacher bread.
A little goes a long way to satisfy both the palate as well as the bread addiction.

A package of Mestemacher pumpernickel bread resembles a brick doorstop and weighs just about as much.
A thin slice of the bread is dense in texture, dark in color and tastes a bit sour.
Very satisfying.
Even a half slice.
I've been eating it toasted - sans butter - totally plain (can you believe?!?).

Not trying to rush through this loaf, but at the same time, am very eager to try other 'flavors'.

Mestemacher.
A healthier (?) bread alternative (?).

I hope I hope I hope.

Chinatown My Chinatown

Chinatown, My Chinatown.
Written in 1910 by a couple of white guys - who, I have no doubt - were not from Chinatown.

Taking into consideration the political-social atmosphere at the time, the words to the song probably typifies how outsiders viewed American Chinatowns. It was 1910 - to be sure, plenty of **** going on in and around the Gilded Ghettos. People didn't get it. They still don't, but that again is another post for another day.

One has to wonder if Chinatown residents were bemused and/or chagrined by the inane lyrics of 'Chinatown, My Chinatown', which, to my thinking - greatly serve to perpetuate the exotic myth of the Mysterious Orient ... more so in the early 1900's - when the enclave of Chinatown was viewed as a world very much apart.

Maybe no one paid attention to the words.
They were probably much too busy bop bopping to the catchy tune to take note.

I grew up in San Francisco's Chinatown.
We didn't live deep within the bowels of ChinatownMyChinatown, though my Mom did - back in the 20's, 30's and 40's. The rental flat of my youth was located on Mason Street (major claim to fame being that the Powell-Mason cable car line ran right in front of our building). We bordered North Beach and Nob Hill, but 'three blocks up' from Grant Avenue was Chinatown all the same.

As a kid, one of my elementary school teachers at Jean Parker School had the lot of us Chinese-American kids (our school's student population was close to 99% A.B.C.) sing the refrain of 'Chinatown My Chinatown' for a school assembly. Now, that must'a been cute...or patronizing.... or exploitative...acccch....no matter...

At home, my Mom hummed this song with her cronies for a lark. Heck, Mom and I even sang it together a few times.

So - in spite of the politically incorrect lyrics, I do hold a bit of a fond memory.
Go figure.

Now here's your chance to sing-a-long.
Go ahead - - - put that in your 'pipe' and smoke it.

P.S. .....'wing wong'......now that'sa T-A-C-K-Y.

skip skip skip to my lou

The other day I saw a (nicely dressed, tidy and fit-looking, middle-aged) man skipping down the street. It was a sight to behold. Kinda neat-o.

Children often skip, but adults tend not to. Or do they?

When was the last time you skipped (not school, not work, not TV channels, not dessert and definitely not rope). I haven't skipped like a kid in at least a decade. Maybe two. Perhaps I'll give it a go when next I'm out walking on the track and there's lots of room for me to stumble and fall...

Apparently, there are some heavy duty adult skippers out in the world.
Check out this article about the founder (of the above skipping movement).

more what's not to love...

...about wikiHow?!?

This recent wikiHow post offers super fun craftiness and is oh-so-practical:

What with rubber thongs aka flip flops aka zories selling at ridiculously high
prices, it really makes sense to try constructing them yourself - from an old yoga mat, yet.