Sunshine

There is a picture of me as a child, about four years old, sitting on our avocado-colored linoleum kitchen floor, surrounded by kittens, with a huge smile on my face. The perceptive among you may see an animal lover. Apparently you should also see a sucker for stray cats and dogs.

Saturday morning began with a predawn trip to the airport to send John off to Spain. When I got home I rummaged through the garage for some odds and ends and began setting up for the neighborhood garage sale. The day went well: I brought in over a hundred dollars and managed to only spend five at my neighbor’s. (I couldn’t believe she was selling a hand-thrown gorgeously glazed vase for only $2!)

Just as I was packing up for the day, marking “Free” on a few remaining items, my neighbor appeared holding a mewing, shaking, skinny black kitten. “One of our customers found this wandering in the street. KK, this one has your name written all over it.” This is the same woman who saved my life two weeks ago. I growled.

I refused. I resisted. I swore. I begged and pleaded. And now there’s a black cat sleeping in John’s bathroom.

The neighborhood kids named him Sunshine, and I call him Sunny for short. He’s got Annie, Piper and myself all spellbound. He gallops across the wooden floors; he spins, lunges, and practically flies when he’s attacking a string or a ball with a bell in it. And then he curls up in my arms, purrs so loud you can hear him across the room, and falls asleep with his feet sticking up in the air.

Of course John has no idea there’s a cat sleeping in his bathroom. I wonder what he’ll think when he reads this.

Running for (not from) a Wedding

It’s time to get in shape. To stop fooling around. To burn off this belly and slim down that rear end. (In a massive Freudian slip John called them “chubby cheeks” when he swears what he meant to say was chilly cheeks. He’s still suffering for that one.) The reason for all this? I’m getting married in three months and I have bought myself a stunning, slinky wedding dress. The kind that doesn’t look good with bulging bellies and butt beneath it.

My first step was to lay in all the right equipment. I went to the running store and bought two new pair of shoes. It’s best to rotate them you know, a different pair every day. During my running hiatus my old pair were co-opted for gardening. Then I bought a couple of pretty running outfits and a variety of new socks. I am on the way to a new me, I felt. But first, I needed a stop at McDonalds for a quarter-pounder combo meal, supersized. And of course, after that I needed a nap.

Later this afternoon I put on all my new gear. I had forgotten how good new clothes make a girl feel. I’ve been so busy buying things like a maid, wedding invitations, a new bathroom and termite tenting that I forgot all about the power of clothes shopping to lift one’s spirits. Anyway, I got decked out in over a hundred dollars worth of sparkly, scientifically engineered fabrics and went for a run. A whole mile and a half.

But I’ve got to start somewhere. BTW I found a simple little internet site that lets you chart your progress and keep you motivated. http://www.presidentschallenge.org/index.aspx Remember the President’s Physical Fitness Program that we participated in at grade school? Well, it’s still around. And now they have a website for grown-ups.

It may be a long road getting back into shape, but it’s worth it. I feel wonderful when I run. And it (like the internet) can be addictive.

More Disjointed Ramblings, Forgive Me

Hector Berlioz arrived today, or rather his six CD compilation of orchestral words did. Hector himself hasn’t been with us for the last 100 years or so. When I opened the box and started leafing through the notes I was struck, not by any profound understanding of his music, but by his hair. How can you not love a guy who looks like this? (Perhaps he was the Lyle Lovett of the nineteenth century.)

Hector has kept me company this morning as I made my way through some sequence and series problems in calculus II. For some strange reason I find working math problems consoling. If she were still here, this would be the day that my septuagenarian French neighbor and I would go walking. We would discuss the events of the week, national, global, neighborhood and personal. I would tell her that

- If everyone we’re inviting comes to the wedding, we’ll have 300 guests. While I fret about the cost, John just smiles and says, “These are the things in life worth spending money on.”

- I’ve designed the invitations, picked out a wedding ring, hired the bands, caterer, florist, and baker, and bought my dress. All that’s missing are the photographer and tuxes - in other words, John’s responsibilities.

- John will be out of town for the entire month of May.

- The dishwasher is broken and needs to be replaced, and if John thinks I’m waiting until he gets back in town to buy a new one, he’s got another thing coming.

- The most brilliant looking orioles have started visiting my bird feeders.

- Annie had another seizure this morning, poor dear.

- Olga, the housekeeper, is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Although, after our wedding, I should probably start saying that John is. (We marvel at the way she folds our t-shirts in to perfectly flat, uniform squares. It’s a mystery how she does it.)

- I succumbed to my mother’s pressure to register at Williams-Sonoma. I find it almost impossible to register for our wedding since we’re both in our 30’s and have been living together for years. But I indulged my wish list with some Riedel crystal. (My girlfriend AMQ and I bought some last year and I love treating myself to glass of wine in it when I get home at night.)

- Yesterday I thought I’d need a glass of wine to get through my calculus class. I kept saying, ‘There’s no crying in mathematics.’ Although, I’m not really sure why, I seem to remember plenty of crying in my mathematical studies.

- I discovered a website called zillow.com that overlays the price of properties on top of satellite images. Try it to see how much your house is worth (and that of your neighbors!)

- We’ve finally hired a contractor to redo our bathroom and scheduled the termite tenting. I like him, AND he knows how to use email!

- I tried to watch the film at our neighborhood’s independent movie theater this week, but I found it too sad and left after 10 minutes.

- The college had a book sale yesterday and I picked up five books for five dollars. Most are about Java programming, but I did manage to get Wuthering Heights and a novel by Nadine Cordimer that takes place in South Africa. (Giselle, my neighbor, would recognize this author, even though I don’t.)

- Texas Monthly is one of my favorite magazines, and I make a point of reading all of the articles written by Skip Hollandsworth. This month he’s written about a charming, modern-day cattle rustler. The pictures in this article alone are worth the price of the issue, especially that of the Texas cattle ranger. He stands strong, imposing and mean looking next to a broken fence, wearing his starched blue jeans, star-studded belt, crisp white shirt and blue neckerchief, white Stetson, silver badge and a gun on his hip. Did you know that the state of Texas had a separate law enforcement agency, begun in 1877, to arrest a cattle thieves? Me either. Sometimes it’s hard to believe this is the same state that’s home to NASA, Neiman Marcos, South by Southwest and the tallest state capital in the country. Even though I’m from there, sometimes I hardly recognize it.

- I’m trying to pick out the symphonies we'll attend in the 2006-2007 season, but it’s been tricky to manage it with John’s directive, “It can’t interfere with football season.” I call him part of the burnt orange lunatic fringe.

- The new KPBS catalog came yesterday and I’ve circled all the must-see programs for the month of May.

- A&E is still running Nero Wolf mysteries on Saturday nights and I try to record every one. God bless Rex Stout, whom I discovered in college. I just love him. Isn’t Archie grand? And the orchids! The weather is so amazing here in SoCal that my neighbor grows them in her front yard. (Sickening, I know.)

- Some people find it strange that I keep a globe in my bathroom. My mother for one. But I can’t count the number of times I’ve been reading a history book in the tub and needed to look something up.

- This weekend I must plant the oregano, basil and Gerber daisies I’ve raised, AND get ready for our neighborhood garage sale.

- I seem to have recovered from my internet addiction. So my days are more balanced now, but I can’t say they’re as much fun!

- Best of all, my friends AMQ and Steve are in town!

In between my ramblings Giselle would comment on what’s she’s read in the New York Times and the Los Angeles Times this morning. She’s a voracious reader. Then she’d tell me about yoga and any treats she may have bought at Trader Joes and Whole Foods. We’d talk about her children and grandchildren. We’d talk about gardening, books, movies and music.

I think I’ll go write her a letter.

Skeletons in the Family Closet

D taught me how to twirl. We made up a routine to “It’s an itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny yellow polka-dot bikini.” B sewed me my very own Raggedy Ann doll. C put my hair up in the latest styles. I was the youngest of the four grandchildren, all of us girls. By the time I was five my cousins were in high school. On a few special occasions I got to spend afternoons at their house, and at Christmas they’d give me enchanting presents; I was thrilled by the fact that these beautiful, mysterious, exotic teenagers selected something just for me. Perfectly focused images hang suspended in my mind. I remember staring awe-struck at their endless drawer of barrettes, at the maze of bottles in their shower and at their long, golden, and womanly bodies as they sunbathed. One Christmas they bought me a life size crib for my favorite doll. It was beautiful, pink and had rollers on it. My baby and that crib went everywhere with me, from room to room, so that dolly was never out of sight. As a child I was aware that my family didn’t spend a lot of time with my aunt and uncle and cousins but I never questioned it.

When I was eleven or twelve my parents finally explained it to me. Uncle G had helped himself to funds from the family run business. Dad agreed never to tell Grandpa about this embezzlement if Uncle G would agree to give up his share of the business.

And so it is that my Aunt claims we robbed her children of their inheritance. I wish I could tell you that our family run business turned into an icon like Hilton Hotels or Ford Motor Company. Instead it was simply a struggling mom-and-pop that was slowly put out of business by superstores like Wal-Mart.

This past year we buried my grandmother. Grandpa passed on two years before. And once again we were all together. Huddling around the gravesite we quickly became reacquainted. My magnificent teenage cousins are now middle-aged with children in college. Uncle G is almost a splitting image of Grandpa. And Aunt J has the exact same bouffant hairdo as before but now it’s grayish white instead of black. We reminisced a little, especially about the drawer full of love letters we found in grandma’s dresser, which she refused to let us read. I’d like to read them now, but they seem to have been lost.

As we left the funeral that day I realized that a chapter in my life had closed. That was the last time all of us will ever be together.

Two days ago my mom called to say that my Aunt and Uncle are contesting the will. I guess that chapter isn’t quite closed yet.

Math to Wow Your Friends - Part II

There is a building not too far from campus that looks like this

and at closer inspection like this

which raises an almost infinite number of questions.

In addition to all of the questions you have about the artist and the owner of the building and the painted guard and the little brown squirrel, you’re probably also wondering what pi and Pythagorean’s theorem have in common (besides the fact that you were made to memorize both in school.)

You may remember from Math to Wow Your Friends - Part I that most types of numbers can be written as a fraction or ratio and hence are called rational numbers.

The number pi, however, is irrational. It is a never ending, never repeating decimal that cannot be written as a fraction. Other numbers, such as the square roots of primes, are also irrational.

The first Greek mathematicians were happily devising geometry without any notion of irrational numbers until they tried to apply Pythagorean’s theorem to a very special triangle.

Pythagorean’s theorem tells us how to calculate the hypotenuse of a right triangle given the lengths of its two legs.

Let's use it to find the hypotenuse of this triangle

So, in other words

This is exactly what the Greek mathematicians did. Then they tried to write the square root of two as a fraction. And that is where they got stuck.

They could not find a way to write the square root of two as a fraction, so they were compelled to prove that it couldn’t be done.

Here is a simple, elegant proof that the square root of two is irrational:

First, we’ll assume that it CAN be written as a fraction, and see if this assumption leads to a contraction. If it does, we will have proven our point.

Assuming that the square root of two can be written as a fraction, we can write

where a and b are whole numbers (and b isn’t zero, since it’s impossible to divide by zero.)

We can re-write this as

and by squaring both sides we can write
Now comes a bit of logic. Think about perfect squares like 4 and 9 and 16 and 25 and 36 and so on and the number of prime factors each one has. Here are several perfect squares broken down into their prime factors.

4 = 2 * 2

9 = 3 * 3

16 = 2 * 2 * 2* 2

25 = 5 * 5

36 = 2 * 3 * 2 * 3

and so on

Do you notice that each perfect square has an EVEN number of prime factors? Try some more on your own if you’re not convinced.

Back to our equation

b-squared must have an even number of prime factors and a-squared must have an even number of prime factors.

But the 2 on the left of the equal sign means that the left side of the equation has an ODD number of prime factors while the right side of the equation has an EVEN number of prime factors.

If two numbers are equal they will have the exact same prime factorization. Since the left side of the equation and the right side of the equation don’t even have the same NUMBER of prime factors the two sides of the equation cannot be equal.

This is a contraction. And that means we have proven that the square root of two cannot be written as a fraction and is therefore irrational.

Oh, and by the way, the squirrel says:

“I love you Mary!”

Evolution is a bulldozer disguised as a stationary bike.

--Tom Robbins

Spring Cleaning of the Mind

Don’t worry! Not another word, or even letter, about the insidious horror that is housework will these fingers type!

The taxes have all been paid, the IRAs contributed to, and the sun did come up today after all. Now that that weight and worry has left my mind it’s time to clear out the rest of the cobwebs and start exercising that lazy financial muscle.

Yesterday I gathered up all of my savings – a 401k here, a 403b there, IRAs all over the place, a money market, a savings account and even a $100 savings bond I was given in grade school. My financial advisor calls me a closet saver. I started each of these accounts with some fantastic savings intentions only to have my efforts dwindle over time. On my recent quest to corral these misplaced nuggets I discovered that some accounts had been managed aggressively, some very conservatively, and others not at all. Some laid languishing like an old car up on blocks in an overgrown southern yard. (Catch the Tom Robbins influence?) Now the light is shining on these formerly hidden treasures, and they’re all being coaxed into respectable growth. Thank goodness.

How else are John and I going to be able to afford that super deluxe RV we plan to drive across the country during our retirement?

Think I'm kidding? I guess you’ll just have to keep reading my blog to find out. Hey, what do you think we’ll have instead of blogs by the time we retire?

Easter 2006

Ah Easter, a time of renewal and rebirth; yellow chicks and white fluffy rabbits; daffodils, tulips and lilies; pastels galore; and even a little chocolate.

My Easter included three days of antibiotic by IV, taxes (refunds are an urban legend, right?), eating left-hand-made lasagna, and lying on the couch reading while keeping my chew-toy-of-a-hand elevated.

On our one foray out that didn’t involve the doctor’s office, we discovered a wee little bookstore tucked into the folds of a shopping corner. And in one dusty little cubby-hole it had novels for sale for ninety-three cents. I bought an Alice McDermott, which I realized later I had already read, and John picked out Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas by Tom Robbins. That was the perfect Easter weekend read. And by the way, The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri is excellent.

I wouldn’t say I’m a BAD driver

I’ve never caused an accident, and I’ve never received more than a parking ticket or occasional speeding ticket. But I’ve had plenty of adventures behind the wheel of a car.

One of my earliest driving memories is sneaking into my parents bedroom where they were both asleep, silently opening the cabinet where they kept the keys, tiptoeing back to my room, lifting the screen off my bedroom window and climbing out into the night. It was about midnight, I had never driven before (if you don’t count sitting on my mom’s lap as a child and steering us down an old country road), and I was wearing nothing but a blue teddy and a blue jean jacket. I slid into the station wagon, turned the ignition and as quietly as possible made my way down the driveway. I didn’t know where the lights were, so I made the first few miles driving twenty miles an hour guided by nothing but the moonlight. By the time I made it out of the neighborhood and onto the big farm to market road, I’d found them. Ten minutes later and I was outside my boyfriend’s house. I can say that all ended safely and well; two hours later I was back in bed as if nothing had ever happened. The next day, though, my Mom with a wry smile on her face said something about needing to better secure our windows.

My very first car was a 1968 Dodge Dart given to me by my great aunt. When I got the car in 1989 it had 38,000 miles on it. My great aunt drove it to the store and back and church on Sundays, literally. She kept meticulous records of each time it was serviced and every drop of gas that was added. In fact, when I got it, it still had the original factory plastic wrap on the seatbelts in the back seat. Most important to my parents, however, was that it was big and safe. Its lack of power steering and power breaks strengthened my arms and legs and it provided plenty of protection. One evening I was waiting to take a left turn, against traffic, on a busy rural highway, into the school parking lot. I was rear-ended by a car traveling 40 mph. That car was crumpled straight up into the driver’s seat; my rear bumper had a small v-shaped dent. The Dart car served me well. But the insurance company decided not to pay to repair it, and I moved into the realm of more modern machinery.

One weekend during college my girlfriend and I decided to take a road trip out of town. She drove and sang and talked and looked for music, all at the same time, and almost missed our exit. When I pointed this out she veered for the turn, just yards from the highway railing, at 60 mph on the elevated exit lane. Her little Nissan Sentra swerved straight toward the left hand railing, and then once she corrected it headed straight toward the right side railing. Time slowed to a crawl as I watched this scene play out before me. We alternately headed straight toward the left then the right railing, all the while several stories above the highway. I felt my heart stop. When my girlfriend finally got the car under control, we continued on, neither of us talking, until she said, “Wow, I handled that really well. Maybe I should go into trauma medicine.” A few hours later I got my voice (and heartbeat back.) Today my girlfriend is an excellent doctor.

When I moved to California, I promptly took my signing bonus down to the BMW dealership and bought myself the fastest, sleekest Z3 on the lot. It’s a silver convertible with black leather seats with seat warmers (once you try them you can’t go back), extra wide tires and an awesome sound system. This was to compensate myself, I reasoned, for the insanely long hours I worked at my new job. The best part of driving this car was when I left the office late at night. To get home I had to make my way around a three-lane highway onramp that circled 270 degrees. Imagine taking that curve at night, with the top down, the stereo blasting, and the road wide open for miles ahead. Each night I’d take it a little bit faster, the cool air whipping my face and hair, shouting out the lyrics to my favorite song. I never got tired of that road.

Ah, the memories.

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For those of you concerned about my cat inflicted wounds, my index finger is out of commission and hurts like HE**. Call me, I could use the sympathy.

Karma's a Bitch

Various friends and relatives have made it abundantly clear that they regard my new housekeeper indulgence with a mixture of jealousy and outright contempt. I’ve gotten used to the shunned phone calls, the unreturned emails, and the shouts of “I hate you” on the other end of the receiver. But today the cosmic pay-back for my loose lips (and fingers) occurred in earnest.

The morning started as usual – coffee and breakfast outside in the courtyard, a glance at the morning paper and a doze in the shade. Later I let the kids enjoy a romp in the (mostly) enclosed courtyard while I slipped inside for a quick peek at the internet. Five minutes later I discovered Piper sitting just two feet outside the courtyard near the breach in the fence that runs along the top of the wall. Then on my way through the house to reach her new perch I heard Mini, her nemesis, attack. It was an awful sounding flurry of cat hisses, growls and screeches accompanied by flying fur. It was so loud my neighbor came outside to inquire. She chased off mean, grey Mini and I went to collect Piper. However, Piper, traumatized by this attack on her coddled and comfortable in-door-only existence, was traumatized, and she regarded me as another attacker. While hoisting her out of danger and back into the safety of our yard, she gnawed my finger to the bone. But she was safe, and that was all that mattered.

Until I saw the copious streams of bright red blood flowing down my hand and onto the path at my feet. My vision got blurry, I started seeing black and I just barely made it over to my neighbor’s house before fainting. My stoic (and extremely medically handy) neighbor picked me up off of the sidewalk, cleaned, soothed and bandaged my wounds and got me back to the house where Piper was sitting serenely on the bed as if nothing had ever happened.

Now I sit here one tetanus shot and antibiotic’s course later typing this with one hand while my other hand rests elevated and swollen behind a mass of white gauze.

I had no idea that hiring a housekeeper could be so dangerous. I will try to be more careful about any future indulgences. (Or at least more secretive.)

The Video of Our Times

Tonight I was lying on the couch reading The Economist (as an AMP is wont to do on a raucous spring break night) when a slight, almost hidden little article caught my attention.

First, watch this, something I am forever grateful to Mel for turning me onto.

Now, read this, from The Economist

HUANG YIXIN and Wei Wei, two students at the Guangzhou College of Fine Arts, were hanging around their dormitory last summer and decided—as one does—to turn on their webcam, put on their Houston-Rockets jerseys and lip-synch a few of their favourite songs by the Backstreet Boys. They uploaded the clips to Google Video, a free website full of such stuff. Their grimaces are over the top, self-consciously ludicrous. And they became famous almost instantly.

Astonishingly famous. Almost every Chinese internet user under a certain age has seen the “Back Dormitory Boys”, [and now, so have you! what would you do without Mel and me?] as they are now called. Web forums discuss their private lives. National radio and television shows have hosted them. Even their roommate, just visible in the background playing computer games, gets celebrity treatment.

Last month, a media company in Beijing called Taihe Rye hired Messrs Huang and Wei to continue their lip-synching, for cash. Song Ke, the boss, says that he has already placed his clients in a television commercial to be filmed next month for Pepsi Cola, one of China's largest advertisers. The plan, says Zhao Qian, another manager at Taihe, is to put the Back Dormitory Boys together with their idol, Yao Ming, a Chinese basketball prodigy who plays centre for the Houston Rockets. Messrs Huang and Wei will thus join the company of such global celebrities as David Beckham, Ronaldinho Gaucho and Janet Jackson as a public face of Pepsi in China.

To some of China's professors and cadres, all this is further confirmation, if any were needed, that the country has taken a worrisome turn. They had barely recovered from Sister Lotus, a young lady who published provocative photos of herself online in order to find love only to find fame instead, at least until the government censored her. Then came that other grassroots celebrity (also a Taihe client), Li Yuchun, a boyish-looking girl who became champion on “Super Girls”, a television show that lets viewers vote for their favourite star, who also unleashed potentially worrying amounts of enthusiasm for voting. And now the Back Dormitory Boys. The phenomenon indicates a modern social illness, says Pan Zhibiao, who is vice-president of the Guangdong Provincial Society of Aesthetics, and thus, of course, an expert in such matters.

You Go Boys!

Oh let me count the ways that I am in heaven

I am presently sitting outside (reclining actually on my oh-so-soft and comfortable chaise lounge) on the patio of my courtyard in beautiful sunny SoCal. Not a cloud in the sky, a mere 73 degrees, Annie at my feet and Piper smelling the new blooms on our tropical plants. All while typing on my laptop and sipping a delicious beverage. This is after a refreshing hour of driving around in the convertible singing "This is the best day of my life," my own personal ditty.

Why is that? you ask. Because while I am luxuriating, basking in this wonderful life, someone else is cleaning my house. I do believe the house has never been cleaner. The hardwood floors gleam, as do my windows, and the sinks, bathtub and bathroom floors. Not a spot of dust, nor even a stray hair. (Which is saying a lot living with Annie and Piper.) The wood furniture is infused with orange scented oil, and the beds are plump and inviting with sheets smelling of springtime.

Life is good. Very good indeed.

Two Delicious Recipes Even an AMP Can Make

For years I've looked for a scrumptious muffin recipe. Now I've found two. Both are from a terrific website called Epicurious, which hosts a collection of Gourmet Magazine and Bon Appetit recipes that have been rated and reviewed by hundreds of cooks. These two recipes are so good, I just had to include them here - with my own notes and suggestions of course. Enjoy!

Coconut and Macadamia Nut Banana Muffins
Notes:
This recipe will make about 2 dozen muffins. I halved it using 2 eggs and 2 bananas, and it turned out great.
If your macadamia nuts come salted make sure you use unsalted butter and omit the salt.

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon double-acting baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 sticks (3/4 cup) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
3 large eggs
1 tablespoon freshly grated lemon zest
1 1/3 cups mashed ripe banana (about 3 large)
3 tablespoons sour cream
3/4 cup chopped macadamia nuts
1 cup sweetened flaked coconut, toasted lightly and cooled

Into a bowl sift together the flour, the baking powder, the baking soda, and the salt. In a large bowl with an electric mixer cream the butter with the sugars until the mixture is light and fluffy and beat in the vanilla, the eggs, 1 at at time, the zest, the banana, and the sour cream. Add the flour mixture, beat the batter until it is just combined, and stir in the macadamia nuts and the coconut. Divide the batter into well-buttered and floured muffin tins and bake in the middle of a preheated 350°F. oven for 35 to 40 minutes, or until a tester comes out clean. Remove from the pans and let them cool, right sides up, on a rack.

Mix-It-In Muffins
Notes:
This is a delicious basic muffin recipe that you can turn into any style you desire. For example you can mix in
- 1 chopped banana and 3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips
- 1 cup toasted almonds, 3/4 cup dried cranberries, and 1/4 teaspoon almond extract
- 1 cup chopped drained canned pineapple and 1 cup sweetened flaked coconut
- 1 cup chopped dried apricots and 1 tablespoon poppy seeds
- or anything you can thing of

The dough is rather dry, but don't be fooled. The muffins turn out moist and delicious.

If your family can't eat all the muffins the morning they're made, consider halving the recipes because their taste and texture the second day is no where near as delicious as the first.

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter
1 cup sour cream
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 400°F. and butter twelve 1/3-cup muffin cups.
Into a bowl sift together flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Melt butter and in a small bowl whisk together with sour cream, egg, and vanilla. Stir butter mixture (and additional ingredients; see note, above) into flour mixture until just combined. Divide batter among muffin cups and bake in middle of oven until golden and a tester comes out clean, about 20 minutes.

Makes 12 muffins.

Enjoy. If you try these, let me know what you think!

Life is Good

I feel healthy and rejuvenated
The sun is shining, the flowers are blooming and the birds are chirping
Annie is at my side
And best of all John is home from a week abroad

I also feel fine because I

Hired a maid. You must pause here to reflect on how outrageously, gloriously happy that makes me. Only another woman with the same German-inherited and inescapable fastidiousness and cleaning compunction would understand.

Signed up for yoga classes. My septuagenarian French neighbor says those aren't a luxury but rather a requirement. She's been going every Monday morning years. I will try to catch up.

Saw Marvin Hamlisch in Concert. He's absolutely one of my favorites. And as if that weren't enough, our symphony's director announced that he will be our new principal pops conductor!

Bought a stunningly, breath-takingly beautiful wedding gown. It also, unfortunately, took away a lot of my pocketbook.

There you have it. Four things to make you happy when you’re feeling down.

The truth is I had a bit of buyer’s remorse after plunking down the hefty sum for that wedding dress and couldn’t help feeling a little disconsolate.

I think I may have to go clothes shopping to cheer myself up, she says with wink!

What’s an anemic to do on a rainy day but sit on her couch and read, between naps, that is?

Today’s treasure is Interpreter of Maladies, a collection of short stories by Jhumpa Lahiri. This is Jhumpa’s first major work and all the more astonishing for it. (I will be buying her second book from Amazon as soon as I'm finished here.) The stories involve people in India and America across generations in different stages of life and love. They include a mix of servants, co-workers, arranged marriages, adulterers, precocious children, struggling immigrants and other lonely souls. I think I smell a curry cooking as I read! Each chronicle is captivating, thought-provoking and entirely different from the previous ones. In each I’ve gathered insight into unique and interesting people, become sympathetic to their causes and curious about their lives after the stories end. In other words, I HIGHLY recommend it.


Tired of reading about reading? New, non-literary posts coming soon. I promise!

Four-legged Kids, Anemia and a Southern California Weekend

I found out that my exhaustion was, in fact, not internet related but rather due to the iron deficiency known as anemia. (I guess those late night meals of grilled cheese sandwiches and fries just weren’t doing the trick after all.) So, apart from a trip to Einstein Bagels, this bod has been firmly planted on the living room couch for three solid days. Friday and Saturday were mostly spent sleeping, but Sunday I was awake enough to savor 4, yes FOUR, episodes of Veronica Mars and enjoy several lovely all-beef meals prepared by John. What would I do without him? Here’s a picture of me and the kids and the ronunculus John bought for us.



Okay, it’s a picture of my elbow and the kids, but trust me, after three days on the couch you wouldn’t want to see me anyway.

Rainy Day Reading Recommendations

During our recent rainy days I’ve had ample opportunity to catch up on my reading, and I though I’d share a few of my discoveries with you.

My favorite books are the ones that transport me to new places or different times or introduce me to new people and experiences. That's what each of these four books do.

Fiction

Intuition by Allegra Goodman

In her latest book, Allegra explores the dynamics of a group of hungry post-docs, careful, plodding researchers, complacent technicians, and fame-starved scientists all working together in a biology research laboratory in the shadow (literally) of Harvard. The plot evolved rapidly and kept me in suspense, but I think the book’s main strength is its rich and intricately developed characters. Though I had no particular interest in reading about laboratory life when I began the book, by the time I finished it I felt as though I’d been immersed in today’s scientific research culture and as though I understand people who previously seemed foreign and impenetrable. Now that is the sign of a good writer, one who makes you enjoy reading about something you’re not even interested in.

Tip: Keep your dictionary handy for this one! Allegra is a vocabulary goddess.


Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

In the opening pages the narrator, a ninety year old man explains that he will present the story of his life through the memories of his relationships women, or the lack thereof. It’s an enjoyable book, each page revealing a new facet of the story and punctuated by Gabo’s colorful language and descriptions. His fanciful words and unique turns of phrase are a delight to encounter, but in the end I feel let down by this narrator who doesn’t provide the richness I expect from Garcia Marquez. By the end of the book I’ve certainly learned something about the story teller, his long life, and his struggle for love, but I haven’t been transported to his land or time or actually met any of the people that he so vaguely introduces. And the story on its own, without the abundance of this context, is interesting but not compelling.

By contrast Garcia Marquez’s first installment of a three part memoir Living to Tell the Tale is hauntingly real. Though I read it over a year ago I still reflect in wonder at many of his adventures. My memory of them is as bright and clear as if I were actually there, and Gabo seems a person I have actually met. My advice: read the memoir not the novel.


The Space Between Us by Thrity Umrigar

This is a thought provoking book centered around the stories of love and loss of two very different families in present day Bombay. Two grandmothers separated by education, income and caste, one the other’s servant, and yet friends, struggle to make their way through life, each with her own shame and her own burdens. This book explores the complexities of relationships between servant and mistress, husband and wife, children and parents, wife and in-laws in modern Indian culture. Though parts of the story strain credibility and though the writing tends toward prosaic, the subject and the questions it inspires are intrinsically intriguing. Thrity’s book gives us a fascinating glimpse inside India and a colorful tapestry on which to view the human condition.


Non-Fiction

Synthetic Worlds: The Business and Culture of Online Games by Edward Castronova

Excellent book. Review coming soon!


Dear Readers - please tell me some of your favorites. I desperately need a new book to read!

Thank God for Bob

When I walked by the kiosk on our campus quad and saw that it was stacked with books that had Dick Cheney’s face and the words ‘Son of Satan’ on them, I knew I was in for a treat. I just didn't know how delicious it would be.

Bob is one of my calculus students and a person who makes me roar out loud laughing. Some might think him a strange fellow with his dry, self-deprecating humor, his imposing height, his somewhat stand-offish demeanor, not to mention his Lyle Lovett inspired hair. I know I did, but that was before I had the pleasure of getting to know him.

Bob saw the pamphlets lying on my desk. The students who ran the kiosk had tried to get me to donate to their Hate-All-Republicans-Love-Only-Lyndon-LaRouche cause. I told them I’d think about it if they gave me some of their reading material. And I could see Bob eyeing them.

“You ever heard of this guy?” I ask.

“Yeah, he’s been running for president every year since about the time Nixon was elected.”

“Humm. I must have missed him,” I said.

“Is he out of jail?”

“What?”

“Yeah, he seems to spend a lot of time in jail. Gosh, I thought this was your politics.”

“No, I just picked them up for laughs,” I admitted.

“I’m a closet Republican myself. Being in California I have to be careful how loudly I say that.”

“The fact that you read the Wall Street Journal every day kinda tipped me off,” I told him.

“Really? I’ve been trying to cut back on news. My mom says I become depressing to talk to the more news I watch.”

“I know exactly what you mean, it’s so easy to get sucked in to cable news shows."

“Oh, I’m not addicted to cable news. It’s C-SPAN. I used to watch the Senate for hours on end. But now I'm forbidden."

“Don’t you hate it when your mom takes away your C-SPAN?” I teased.

This conversation, this Bob, is just too good to be true. I never know what he's going to say. But whatever it is he says it with an impassive face, drooping eyes and a somewhat nasal intonation, which somehow makes it even funnier. I stuck the LaRouche magazines in a big envelop so no one would see him with the scandalous material. “We’ll compare notes at class,” I told him.

A couple of hours later I caught up with Bob outside our classroom. “I felt like I had to read these by flashlight under my bedcovers so no one would see me. You’ve got to read the stuff on Lagrange.”

“The mathematician?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yeah and the Fundamental Theorem of Algebra. You’ve got to read about how it can be used to explain something or other about existential societal influences.”

Once I recovered from this gem I asked him about the sections that compare Republicans to Hitler.

“Oh, I always like those. It’s usually the sign of good and logical intellectual argument.”

We talked and laughed for several more minutes.

Tonight when I got home I asked John if he’d ever heard of Lyndon LaRouche.

“Yeah. He’s the perennial candidate for president from the Libertarian party. I like him. He’s the only presidential candidate I’ve ever sat in a room and had a conversation with.”

You Deserve It Too

Reader: So, AMP you say you deserve it. You say you’ve earned this fabulous southern California lifestyle with the great weather, the beaches, and the ocean. Not to mention the fabulous fiancé and the cush job. Tell us, what exactly did you do to deserve it?

AMP:
I worked 18 hour days for 2 years straight
I took calls from Japan at midnight and from Europe at 5am
I spent over half my nights alone in strange hotel rooms
I flew to England, Germany, France and back all within one week
Over and over again
I lost so much weight I dropped below 100 pounds
I aquired raccoon-like dark circles around my eyes
I lost my mind and then got it back again
I met interesting, amazing people whom I was too exhausted to appreciate
I developed a most discriminating taste in sushi
I accumulated an obscene amount of frequent flyer miles
And I made a hell of a lot of money
But most of all,
I gave up my sanity, my health and 2 years of my life for something that really didn’t matter

Readers, I hope you find something that makes your heart soar and your mind thrive. I hope that you find happiness in your life. That you set your priorities right. That you might learn from my mistakes, because you deserve it too.

One Gardening Adventure at a Time

During our recent rainy days while I was tucked snuggly under a blanket reading a book, my garden was springing to life. Our front yard turned green under my watchful eyes, but the back yard did so in secrecy. To my surprise and horror, my vegetable garden and flower garden from last year have re-seeded. Lettuce is growing not only in the garden and but also in the path. Tomato plants are making their way up in both the vegetable garden and the flower garden, and weeds are lush and green throughout. Pink and white cosmos have shot up in the cracks in the sidewalk and my oriental poppy plants are now the size of bushes. Daisies, bachelor buttons, sages, sunflowers, California poppies and more form a soothing expanse of yellows, oranges, pinks, and blues. It’s a beautiful southern California gardening cacophony. Our problem here is not how to make something grow, but how to make what you actually want grow. But these gardening adventures would have to wait, our weekend was designated to the front yard.

Our goal is to transform the yard from an English cottage type to an open and relaxing courtyard that will complement our Spanish style home. We’ve already cleared the space and leveled the ground, planted a privacy hedge and some palm trees - you should see the way I handle a pick-axe, installed a huge three-tier fountain, and bought a half ton of flagstones for a meandering path. This weekend we created that path. We set each of the stones, we pulled the weeds caused by the rain, and we mulched.

Mulching was indeed a new gardening adventure. The city recycling center lets you take away all of the dark brown, finely decomposed treasure you can carry. We watched spellbound as a bulldozer filled John’s truck bed to the brim with the stuff. Then we shuddered at the realization that what took the bulldozer mere minutes load would take us with our shovels and buckets hours to unload. John helped pass the time with his rendition of such gardening classics as “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the comin’ of the mulch…” and “Swing low, sweet shovel o' mulch, coming for to carry you home…” Eventually, we conquered the challenge.

The result of all this hard work is both aesthetically pleasing and acutely painful. The front yard looks good, but John and I are in dire pain. Yesterday I could barely lift my arm to write on the chalk board, and John said he had trouble raising his diet coke can to his mouth.

Luckily, the forecast for this weekend calls for rain.