Good and Evil, Right and Wrong, Black and White

Peter Singer, the author of such classics as Animal Liberation and The Ethics of What We Eat: Why Our Food Choices Matter, wrote a very powerful book in 2004 called The President of Good and Evil: The Ethics of George W. Bush. Over and over, President Bush has embraced not only the ideology of cut-and-dried moral thinking but its rhetoric: "We are in a conflict between good and evil, and American will call evil by its name," the president said in 2002. Our "moral nation" would go to war (literal and figurative war) with "the axis of evil."

For him, "moral truth is the same in every culture, in every time, and in every place." And rather than using evil as an adjective and then condemning behavior, Bush has a tendency to use evil as a noun--as Singer says, "as a thing, or a force, something that has a real existence apart from the cruel, callous, brutal, and selfish acts of which human beings are capable." This is not a way of talking about ethics that fits in easily with the diverse modern secular world.

Singer's book is an extended discussion of Bush's own moral philosophy. The author contrasts the president's views on stem-cell research to his position on capital punishment, questioning what the "sanctity of life" actually means to Bush. If you say you care about the legions of children living in poverty, is it ethical to cut services in order to pass tax cuts for corporations? Singer has a knack for contrasting policies that really highlight large moral inconsistencies such as the rhetoric about free trade versus the reality of massive subsidies to industry. The importance of both family and states rights--except in the case of gay marriage. Or--perhaps my favorite: having a brief but messy affair with a presidential intern and lying about it versus lying about why the nation should enter a very long and messy war.

Singer speculates that the president might well be stuck in "conventional morality," the characteristic of teenagers, in which simple moral rules constitute one's moral outlook, and the idea that such rules might conflict hasn't sunk in yet. At the very least, Bush has not thought through the complexities of the issues he is called upon to deal with.

As reviewer Colin McGinn summarizes, "The conventional view of George W. Bush is that, while he is a man of marked intellectual limitations, he is governed by a consistent set of deeply held moral convictions. Singer's book refutes this comforting myth. Bush is a man of sporadically good moral instincts, perhaps..., but he sways inconsistently and opportunistically in the political breeze, and has no idea how to make his beliefs fit coherently together."

* * *

Coming up soon: a review of Glenn Greenwald's 2007 book A Tragic Legacy: How a Good vs. Evil Mentality Destroyed the Bush Presidency

The Philosophy of Fair Isle

I recently started my first big stranded project: Philosopher's Wool "Color Your Own" cardigan in the Fall colorway. My hope was to make my way through the sleeves before the heat set in enough that I wanted a lighter project.



Well--one week later and they are both done! Fair Isle knitting is incredibly addictive and it just flies--at least when it is knitted with worsted-weight yarn.

But now...

I'm hesitating about casting on 200 stitches for the body....

I currently have way too many projects on the needles and keep finding excuses not to do such extensive counting. Hrmph.

But I'll screw my courage to the sticking place (yes--I just saw the Folger's amazing Macbeth)and pull out the long needles, the black yarn, and several markers to mark my progress. Wish me luck.


Project Spectrum: Fire

Growing Your Own--just a little...

Due to my long lingering case of croup, I have not done a whole lot of anything--blogging, cooking, knitting, gardening, even reading. But last night we ate the first fruits of this season's garden: a sprinkling of herbs (chives and parsley).



We wilted some baby spinach, sauteed some mild fish, and put together a light sauce from fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice boiled down with butter. The little home-grown herb garnish was just the right finishing touch.

And while the grapefruit juice was reducing, I took the highlighter to the seed catalog and dreamed of the last freeze date.

juxtaposition

David and I received a thanks for our donation to Doctors Without Borders today, with this amazing photograph on the front. There is something about the combination of poverty, tradition, deep pride, beauty, and plastic that just hit me in the gut. I can't even break apart what I feel.

Homegrown Revolution

Isn't it incredible how dangerous the act of creating can be?



As these inspiring gardeners say, when you produce your own food and are able to separate from the commerical food supply, you are in danger of becoming free.

Plague

After one post on pain and the next on fear, I suppose you must really be craving a happy post--but unfortunately, I am living in the house of the plague.

For a week I've been coughing my little head off--apparently with the croup. (Did you even know that post-toddlers can get croup?)

Just as I did when I had asthmatic symptoms or whooping cough or what have you when I was a little girl, I've spent an enormous amount of time in the steam of a hot bath. Can't wait to see the water bill.... But the steam really works, at least for an hour or so. And now I'm taking oral steroids, too. (I asked the resident doc if I could go to the olympics and he said not this week--due to the cough, not the drugs.)

David came home from work last night feeling very ill himself--possibly the flu?--and is asleep upstairs. At least he gets an adult illness....

Our son is still healthy and has been making us endless cups of tea, repositioning our pillows, and getting pretty bored. Luckily, our friends have been looking after all of us and entertaining him occasionally. He is a pretty amazing kid who doesn't need much to be happy.

Although I still bark quite a bit and my head is too cloudy-headed to do any significant work, I'm starting to get a little better, I think.

Upcoming: a series of posts on unconventional revolutions, a series of posts on the ways people have imagined life in a chaotic future, and a picture-heavy post of me modelling my still-as-of-yet-unseamed-but-still-lovely aran cardigan.

"In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning"

--F. Scott Fitzgerald in The Crack-Up

Son and I enjoyed watching the DVD How Art Made the World last week. One of the most fascinating parts included a discussion of the power of images that tap into the the fear of death.

In the DVD, the presenters were talking about very early art--but when I looked further into a research study cited in the documentary, I came across the extensive work of Sheldon Solomon and Jeff Greenberg. Although in the film they do not explicitly discuss the manipulation of fear in modern politics, their larger works do.

Their book In the Wake of 9/11: The Psychology of Terror explores the way that terrorism, by tapping into our deep fear of death, destabilizes society in a way far greater than the actual threat itself.

It is because of our anxiety about our own deaths that we reach out to strengthen our relationships with people with like minds. That could be all for the good--but what is far more pronounced than our efforts to create community is our efforts to conceive of people with whom we do not share a world view as our enemies. In a time of peace, we might be able to coexist happily, but in a time where the threat of death looms, we feel we must fight the opposition. And to fight that opposition, we feel we must have a parent-leader whose rule is not challenged.

We've seen how the Bush administration has recruited that natural process in order to support his own ends and his own position of power. Making sure the American people stayed in a state of fear allowed him and his cronies to avoid any significant opposition from his people.

The researchers from the Art documentary looked at campaign rhetoric as well. As one summary of their study said, "In one experiment Greenberg and colleagues ran during the 2004 campaign, volunteers who completed a questionnaire that reminded them about their own inevitable death (how thoughts of their own death made them feel and what they thought would happen to them physically after they died) expressed greater support for Bush than voters of similar leanings who were not reminded of mortality. The researchers also found that subliminal reminders of death increased support for Bush (and decreased support for Kerry) even among liberals."

Even Newsweek knows this stuff. In an article that ran only two months ago, they showed that the manipulation of fear was by far the most effective kind of political rhetoric--and they showed how all candidates were using it, even those who explicitly condemned it. They end their article saying that "a candidate who neglects the fear factor should have a concession speech ready to go."

* * *

As I packed my bags to return to the DC area from NC, I turned on the television. Not having television at home, I am always stunned by the intense images and messages that most people have targeted at them every day. (In yesterday's post about pain, I did not think about how much pain Americans see every day, acted out before them on the screen.)

Hillary Clinton's new ad--about who you want to answer the emergency phone at 3am when your children are sleeping--was playing. As opposed to the old Mondale ad saying exactly the same thing, Clinton's ad adds the deeply emotional overlay of protecting our own personal homes and our families. At home, we have a mother checking on her children. In the White House home, we have a national mother taking care of her symbolic children--us. (I guess I do prefer this image to yet another patriarchal leader--but good grief....)

I am overwhelmed, disappointed in her in a way I never thought I would be. Clinton did not get my vote in the primary, but I've always said I would be quite happy to vote for her and work for her in the general. I would be absolutely thrilled to see her as the next president, if she became the Democratic nominee.

I suppose I still will be, but her abuse of the fear card worries me tremendously. Talking about security is clearly important in this campaign, but what Clinton has done in not straight-forward talk. Instead it is a calculated strategy. She and her handlers must have read that Newsweek article.

What makes me so upset by this ad is that I see it as the first act that will tear down the Democrats. Yes--Clinton and Obama have criticized each other before, have sniped at each other, have done some of the preliminary work for the Republicans in all sorts of little ways. But this feels very different, very large.

I also wonder if the ad will backfire even if Clinton does get the nomination. If McCain were to say the same about her, what would the answer be for most of America? I'm not sure I want to know that answer. (Um... and this tactic didn't work out so well for Mondale...)

Instead, I want a president who will try with all of his or her might to keep that phone from ringing.


* * *

"One of [Bill] Clinton's laws of politics is this: If one candidate's trying to scare you, and the other one's trying to get you to think; if one candidate's appealing to your fears, and the other one's appealing to your hopes; you better vote for the person who wants you to think and hope." --Bill Clinton, 1994

* * *

So that does it. I'm putting Fear on my "Do Not Call" list.

Pain

I spent the past few days in North Carolina, enjoying the beautiful spring temperatures and flowering trees that seem to have popped up there.

Last Thursday evening, my cowriter and I gave a book reading and a signing in Durham at one of my all-time-favorite bookstores (after prepping for it over gelato at the incomparable Francesca's.)

The next morning, the two of us headed over to Chapel Hill for a conference on Civil Rights and the Body. For two days we listened to the papers of many young scholars--about the pleasures of the body, about gaze, about illness, about violence. Our paper was the final one of the meeting.

It felt so...good? comfortable?...to be with other scholars who are also enmeshed in horror. So often we as a society--or possibly we as a species?--shy away from this kind of intense focus on difficulty and pain. Here I was with others, equally obsessed with racial violence and its very specific affects on individual people. Many of us spent a lot of the weekend on the verge of tears about our own projects and about other people's work.

I sometimes wonder how people who deal day after day with immediate pain in others incorporate it into their lives. How do doctors, for example, handle having patients who are dying or who are in intense pain? Clearly, being on the fringes of violence or illness is nothing at all like the pain felt by the actual victims and patients--but on the other hand, the historian or the social worker or the doctor or whatever is supposed to leave the archive or the office and go back to the perfectly normal world where there is no space carved out for their own emotional devastation.

I raised this question with a few of the other historians there, joking that my next project will be on the history of birthday parties or something. One, who studies lynching and Jim Crow violence, told me that after his lynching book, he wrote about utopian communities. This kind of change is something in our bodies calling for self-preservation.

* * *

I returned home with a big sleep deficit and a massive sore throat. Now, instead of obsessing about the violation of people's bodies in history, I'm thinking about phlegm. Cough, cough.

Dipping Pretzels

Son and one of his pals had a blast dipping pretzel sticks in melted chocolate:



Note to self: don't let chocolate harden in glass bowl before washing....


ABC-along

Tearing up the calendar

While we were out of town for the last few days, I kept some notes about my days and considered posting them to fulfill my duties for Blog 365. But I'm hesitating. I've really had no problem posting something every day--but often it is stuff I really haven't thought through enough to post, or something that feels more like a waste of everybody's time (the writer's and the reader's time) than a real post. Sometimes I've been really busy and probably should have put other priorities over the blog, but did not because of the 365 challenge.

There are times when blogging regularly pushes me to think more. But there are other times when it pushes me to wrap things up before I have had quite enough time to prioritize them.

So I am hereby quitting Blog 365 and while I intend to hold myself to writing something every day, I probably won't post all of it. Good luck to all of you who are sticking with it!

Mountains

David and I have joined a group of friends who live on a farm in the peaceful hills of Pennsylvania for a book group. In preparation for our first meeting tomorrow evening, I spent much of this snowy afternoon reading Mountains Beyond Mountains: The Quest of Dr. Paul Farmer, a Man Who Would Cure the World by Tracy Kidder.

What a powerful book!

I think I'll be writing more about the main thrust of the book soon, but right now I'm stuck on a different part:

There are times when Kidder shows stories that portray Farmer is an arrogant and judgmental man, although the author never seems to say it directly or to take responsibility for casting that vision. In fact, he presents some very difficult-to-handle situations and then essentially justifies the decisions Farmer makes, even though the stories also make Farmer look bad. (I'm thinking especially about his relationship with his wife and daughter here--but it is certainly true at many other moments.)

He (Kidder) also seems overly concerned (at least at times) about whether or not Farmer likes him or approves of him. It is an odd narrative voice occasionally, one that casts the author as a central character in not just the search for the story but in its emotional pacing.

Have you read this book--or another by Kidder? What do you think?

Obamania

Today's message:

"Barack Obama bookmarked your website."

Check out what he can do for you!

Then, brush up on your vocabulary:

Onward Ho

Tinked back several rows to fix a mistake I couldn't even figure out how I made--and then dropped down one cable to fix a miscross several rows further back. (There is something incredible about making such a dramatic change by just dropping then picking back up a few stitches.)

I'm back to where I was--and on the verge of finally finishing this interminable sleeve. I'm chaining myself to this project very effectively still, despite some intense itchiness to cast on something--anything--new.

The Last Piece

Finally knitting the last major piece of the Vickie Cardigan. The back, the two front halves of the cardigan, the first sleeve--and now I'm nearing the end of the second sleeve.

Next: seaming, picking up stitches for and knitting both sides of a button band, knitting the collar, and blocking.

The goal: wear the finished sweater to a conference and a book signing at the end of the month.

Or knit at my knitting group tonight, make a massive mistake, and tink back row after row....

Warmth

Today started out as a beautiful day, a harbinger of spring.

The first yellow crocuses are popping up on our hill. The sun was shining. We decided to go to the park for a picnic.

We packed blue cheese and crackers, vegetable salad, seltzer and grape juice and took off for the park.

On our way, the clouds started looking a little gray.

By the time we spread our feast out on the wooden table, it looked ominous. And after just one bite, raindrops began to fall, the wind was gusting, and the temperature plummeted.

I am in need of Spring.

The Pharmaceutical Cocktail

When the hospital staff brought me meals, they always included cans of Sustacal. I never drank the stuff, but my friends and family helped me build a massive pyramid of the unopened cans. It definitely had the cheerful feel of a frat boy's beer-can decorations.

To honor this ridiculous memory, David brought me a bottle of a competitor's beverage last night.

Now, celebrating 15 years of freedom from the hospital, I've cooked up a new way to get my liquid sustenance:



(Now what I really want to know:
Will anyone reach this post by Googling "Brandy Ensure Cocktail"?)

New, Blank Pages

Fifteen years ago today, I spent twenty-something hours in surgery.

Now, every year on my anniversary, I feel that I have been given an extra day-- a day of luxury, a day to really live. Last year I cast on a new project in cashmere yarn.

And today: well, nothing much today, but I prepared for a celebration with friends tomorrow. Old friends are coming for brunch and brand new friends are coming for dinner.

Every year it feels like a new opportunity, a clean start. I realize that this day is closer to New Year's Day for me than is the first of January or Rosh Hashanah.

"We walk forward into new, blank pages of days on which we can write a fresh story."
--Stuntmother

Chicken Soup with Rice

I sometimes wonder if I've signed up for too many little blog games. Well, perhaps I can sometimes combine them. How about an alphabetical local meal?



We stuck a still-partly-frozen stew chicken from our local meat supplier into the slow cooker and covered it with water along with a bit of locally-grown onion. About 18 hours later, the stock was thick and smelled wonderful.

When dinnertime rolled around, we added some leftover local rice (well, at least it was local where it was bought) and assorted root vegetables, as well as salt and pepper.

* * *

In February it will be
my Snowman's anniversary
with cake for him and soup for me
happy once, happy twice,
happy chicken soup with rice!

--Maurice Sendak

Valentine's Day

Handmade Love:










* * *

Now this is a winner:



And check out some of these wonderful presidential valentines, too.

* * *

While you're planning your VD celebration, don't forget to check out Greenpeace's Eco-Sex Guide.

C is for Cormo

Cormo is an Australian breed of sheep--a cross between merino and corriedale and then developed for a very soft, easy-to spin fiber.

Tune in next time for the continuing adventures of Angora, Bombyx, and Cormo. Where will they go? What will they do? Can they even get along with each other?



ABC-along

The Coming Anniversary

Last year I celebrated my not-quite-Ides-of-February anniversary week by giving the details in a which-is-the-true-story contest.

Sharing the real story with new friends is often difficult. So often people respond with fear or pity. Both reactions feel very uncomfortable. But NOT telling people feels like I am lying or at least hiding some important part of myself.

Since last year I've become friendly with a set of people with whom I have not yet shared this story. One of my goals for this week--a week I always spend contemplating what this anniversary means at this point--is to figure out how to share it without making it seem like a bigger deal than it is.

Clearly it isn't going to be as straightforward a process as I would like it to be, given that it is even hard to refer to it in writing. And writing, at least for me, is a lot easier than talking.

The Birth of the New

David and I were founding members of a local parenting group. The group, based on the ideas of attachment parenting, had a crucial role in our development as a family. Although we still consider ourselves attachment parents and still intend to be part of the group, both of us decided not to run for the Board this year and to retire as group leaders. Our relationship with our almost-nine-year-old son has changed radically over the years. Although ideas about respect for each other are still at the core of our parenting, breastfeeding, co-sleeping, and baby-wearing no longer are particularly relevant. Increasingly, I feel old and unable to suggest anything other than, "I know it seems hard now, but just wait a few years...."

The leaders of the group have been remarkably stable over the years. Of the 9 people on the board until last night, 8 have been there from the beginning. But yesterday, so many new people agreed to become more active that many of us felt able to step back. Three of the originals stayed on, but six new people have stepped up--and several have spouses actively involved in the group as well.

Those of us in the original group were remarkable similar in both our styles and in our parenting beliefs. Many of us were friends from beforehand. All 10 of us were partnered and had our partners also on the board (in other words--there were only 5 families on the board).

The new crop of 9 leaders are from 9 different families--and there are a lot of disagreements and differences. Leadership is not going to be as easy or as straight-forward. But the potential for creativity seems higher than ever.

I was afraid this group might only exist because of the desires and work of our own leadership. And here it is now, something much bigger. Incredible. Yes--some are worried that conflicts in the new crop of leaders may be hard to slog through. But I have faith in the power of consensus to bring forth from difficulties a newly strong organization.

I feel like a parent watching my child grow towards maturity. I remember what my mother said when she saw me in my prom dress, waiting for my date to escort me to the school dance. She was looking at me--absolutely baffled--and I asked what was wrong. She answered (unable to censure herself) that she was suddenly seeing me as an adult--pretty immature and silly-looking, but at the same time an absolutely beautiful independent being.


* * *

A new friend just had her third baby--a little girl-- yesterday. Paul, the father, wrote an amazing birth story and shared it with us today. They had quite an eventful morning! Although the new mother planned to have the baby at the hospital, she had a very very fast labor and delivered in their home bathroom before the paramedics arrived. All are well and looking beautiful.

Reading the birth story aloud with David and Abe made us all laugh and cry--and remember how wonderful our own birth experience (also at home) was. There is nothing quite as amazing as suddenly having a new person entering your world.

Dreaming of the Growing Sun

The wind chill is 5 degrees below O, but Spring has arrived on our kitchen table--at least that paper version of the season:



And with it, thoughts of our tiny backyard filled with purple okra, yard-long green beans, round yellow carrots, a hundred kinds of basil, and a thousand types of lettuces. And don't forget the myriad tomatoes....

And although my dreams are a bit over the top given our space, I'm still way behind many of the dreaming gardeners out there. Check out the Growing Challenge, the Victory Garden Drive, the 100 Foot Diet, and Kitchen Gardeners International. What inspiration (and what knowledgeable help) there is out there!

365?

Today is the first day since I signed up for Blog 365 that I have really not felt like posting. At some point the whole enterprise seemed like a really good idea. Not nearly always, but often, writing a blog post makes me think a bit more coherently about what has gone on in my day.

I don't even remember what has gone on in my day today. I'm behind on work, behind on pleasure reading due for a book group which meets tomorrow night, even behind on knitting.

The good news? David used his hand-me-down steam cleaner to get the bathroom and kitchen looking spiffy. What a way to cheer up your mate!

Last-Minute Shabbat Grocery List

A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, a Bar of Organic Fair-Trade Dark Chocolate--and Thou.

--Omar Khayyam

Making Faces

Son loves to decorate rice cakes by spreading them with peanut butter then adding raisins, dried apples, and coconut. If you were making a face, what would you add?

Blue Knitting

Berroco 'Bama?

Let me say first that I am a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat and will happily vote and work for either Clinton or Obama. I can also say I am often frustrated or disappointed with both of the candidates. I loved the populist rhetoric introduced in the race by Edwards--but if he had been a serious contender, I know I would have had my problems with him, too.

Here in Maryland, we have our primary next week. I think I'll be voting for Obama--and not only because his name sounds like the yarn.

I was born and raised a liberal white southerner and I am very excited about the possibility of some southern states moving from red to blue. This kind of move could pretty much assure a Democratic victory in November.

McCain, the likely Republican nominee, is pretty weak in a lot of the South. Although he is a warmonger military supporter and that works in his favor in the South, his more moderate social views make lots of traditional southern republicans not especially like him.

On the other hand, Obama is getting large percentages and large turnouts in the South among Democrats. The key to winning those states is significantly upping the number of supposedly "unlikely" voters--and he's been doing it in the primaries. Young people and African Americans have been galvanized to go to the polls in numbers seldom seen.

And Independents may be less likely to vote for McCain if Obama is their other choice.

Clinton, I don't think, has the ability to make the move from red to blue happen. Her biggest strength is in traditionally Democratic states--states any Democratic candidate will take.

So right now I'm imagining a Obama-Richardson ticket.

BUT...

...if y'all can come up with the right knitting yarns for the other candidates, perhaps I'll change my mind!

Hoppin' John

In almost a New Year's Day reprise, we made local Hoppin' John and collards.

Both the rice and the crowder pease were bought and grown in South Carolina near where my parents live. Although the beans are so fantastic and flavorful they need nothing more than a smidge of salt, this time I seasoned the Hoppin' John with some bacon from a nearby Amish farm.

The collards were from our local farmers market. I sprinkled my greens with hot pepped vinegar--which we put up during the summer with our own homegrown red peppers.




David and Son decided to do an interpretive dance of our menu:

C is for Cabled Cardigan

Well--the consequences of blithely knitting away on aran cardigans in the car is that Mistakes Are Made:



The section along each side of the back is a 4-row checkerboard. And the edge section for the front? 2-row moss.

When I realized the mistake after finishing the right front, I decided to do it again for the left side. Because it contracts more than the checkerboard, the fronts seem much shorter than the back--but I think this will block out without a problem.

Now the question is, what should I do on the sleeves? Right now I am planning to switch back to the checkerboard. Any votes?

But then, you know, I plan to knit in the car today. Maybe I'll do one of each....


ABC-along

Unraveling's International Pajama Day is here!

We are celebrating the day by snuggling together on the couch with our feet up on the coffee table...



...reading books...



...and having Mimosas, made from oranges we bought in Florida and leftover champagne.



Now THIS is the life!

Are My Hands Clean?

In honor of St. Brigid's day, something a little different:



Are My Hands Clean?
Lyrics and music by Bernice Johnson Reagon, 1985
Performed by Sweet Honey in the Rock
Live at Carnegie Hall (You can hear a clip here.)


I wear garments touched by hands from all over the world
35% cotton, 65% polyester, the journey begins in Central America
In the cotton fields of El Salvador
In a province soaked in blood,
Pesticide-sprayed workers toil in a broiling sun
Pulling cotton for two dollars a day.

Then we move on up to another rung—Cargill
A top-forty trading conglomerate, takes the cotton through the Panama Canal
Up the Eastern seaboard, coming to the US of A for the first time
In South Carolina
At the Burlington mills
Joins a shipment of polyester filament courtesy of
the New Jersey petro-chemical mills of
Dupont

Dupont strands of filament begin in the South American country of Venezuela
Where oil riggers bring up oil from the earth for six dollars a day
Then Exxon, largest oil company in the world,
Upgrades the product in the country of Trinidad and Tobago
Then back into the Caribbean and Atlantic Seas
To the factories of Dupont
On the way to the Burlington mills
In South Carolina
To meet the cotton from the blood-soaked fields of El Salvador

In South Carolina
Burlington factories hum with the business of weaving oil and cotton
into miles of fabric for Sears
Who takes this bounty back into the Caribbean Sea
Headed for Haiti this time—
May she be one day soon free—
Far from the Port-au-Prince palace
Third world women toil doing piece work to Sears specifications
For three dollars a day

My sisters make my blouse

It leaves the third world for the last time
Coming back into the sea to be sealed in plastic for me
This third world sister
And I go to the Sears department store where I buy my blouse
On sale for 20% discount

Are my hands clean?

Real Dirt

Last night during our champagne and pizza, the three of us watched the DVD The Real Dirt on Farmer John. What a wonderful little movie!

The film talks about a fascinating farmer, John Peterson, who does everything a little bit differently--and ends up running an enormous CSA on an organic farm. He also wears boas around his neck while he rides his tractor and frolics through his fields in a bee costume with his girlfriend. Great fun--but also a piercing discussion of the difficulties of farming across the last few decades.

One of the best things about the film is the early footage. His mother ran her handheld movie camera from the time her children were quite small growing up on the farm that Farmer John now runs. He took up the filmmaking talent and recorded all his hippie college friends partying and celebrating in the barns and fields. A bit after college, he made a short documentary about his own difficulties and about the pressures on farmers in general at the time. He chronicles his own depression and its changing meanings over time. And from the beginning of the story until its current happy ending, it has all been chronicled on film. Pretty amazing to see.

John Peterson also has out a great cookbook celebrating his farm. Check it out!

Tonight:

a night for sitting on the couch knitting...



...with champagne and pizza.

My New Album

...at least according to this meme:

REDETERMINATION: Of the Greatest Virtues

* * *

What to do to make your own album:

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first article title on the page is the name of your band.

2. http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

3.
http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/
The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

Take the picture, add your band name and the album title, and post.

B is for Bombyx Silk

Bombyx is "cultivated" silk--that is, silk from domesticated silk worms usually raised indoors and hand-fed--as opposed to the wild Tussah silk.

What I have here is silk noils. Noil is the short fiber (or snarls) left over after processing the silk fiber. It is super cheap--basically because it is just waste fiber. It gives sort of a nubbly tweedy look to yarn.

For my continuing alphabetical fiber game, I plan to combine this with Bombyx with Angora. Kind of a crazy combination--but that is exactly the point of this ABC fiber adventure. Stay tuned!

ABC-along

Home Again, Home Again...

...and eating our normal diets--but tastier!

Yesterday we went to the local farmer's market and picked up an absolutely incredibly assortment of local mushrooms from the vendor we call "the mushroom lady." We sauteed them in local butter with salt, pepper, and dried tarragon. Yummy.

We served the sauteed mushrooms on top of non-local brown basmati rice cooked with non-local chickpeas as well as onions bought at the farmer's market. On the side? Very old broccoli that was well past its peak. (At least it was still moderately green.)



So a lot of this meal was not local, I guess. But the ingredients which were not local were items that travel well without refrigeration and can be shipped in bulk: rice and beans. If we are going to eat foods from elsewhere, eating things that do not require airplanes and refrigerators is certainly more sustainable.

I love cooking easy vegan meals. (Yep--this one is not vegan because I used butter--but if you want to make it vegan, just use olive oil....) Although we do eat meat, dairy and eggs, I'm drawn very much to the vegan ethic--not due to animal rights as much as to the arguments of Frances Moore Lappe (Diet for a Small Planet) who explores the impact on the world's poor of raising grain to feed animals rather than people.

Come to think of it, that is precisely the reason I am committed to buying more sustainable grass-fed meat from local farms. Although a diet high in meat products (even responsibly-produced meat) is not truly sustainable, raising animals on a diversified farm can contribute to the productivity of the land. (Cough cough, *manure*, cough cough, rather than synthetic fertilizers.)

Feeding grain to animals that do not naturally eat grain is bad for animals, bad for humans, and bad for the planet. On the other hand, raising cows on land that cannot grow grain or vegetables easily is an active plus. I still have a lot more learning to do about this issue. Any sources to recommend?

Thinking about what Lappe says about the wasteful system of raising corn to feed to cows rather than people makes me wonder what she would say about raising corn to feed cars rather than humans. (I keep waiting for the bumper sticker that says "No Food for Fuel." I'll put it right under the "No Blood for Oil" sticker I have hypothetically stuck to my forehead....)

That was quite a digression from the recounting of our menu, wasn't it?

For dessert: grapefruit we picked up at a grove stand in Indian River on our drive north from South Florida.



Makes up for the dead broccoli....

The Wild Life

I always love walking the nature path at Wakodahatchee Wetlands. Interestingly, Wakodahatchee is not just a place to view wildlife but a water treatment facility. Very cool.

Some of what we saw:

Pirates are Cool

How did I miss this?

Gifting

Midsummer

Here we are in South Florida, slogging through steamy wet days, and seeing on the television that the rest of the nation is in a deep-freeze. Here in the land of Eternal Summer, it is hard to believe. Perhaps because I grew up in a relatively warm place, cold weather enchants me--but only up to a point. This has been a lovely respite, but I'm ready to head back to the frozen tundra of DC.

* * *

Son just learned through email that he received the part of Lysander in Midsummer Night's Dream. He is crushed, although many actors would be thrilled. The part is large and the character has a lot of really great lines--perfect for hamming up. But my 8yo is absolutely disgusted with the idea of playing a lover.

As is common in Shakespeare plays, there is a "play within the play." In that one, a young male character is assigned a part and responds, his voice full of hope, something along the lines of "What part is Thisbe? Is that a wandering knight?" The director responds that it is a young female, and the actor is highly disappointed.

I suspect that my own young actor would find the part of a woman vastly preferable to the part of a lover!

Albuterol

The Songs of the Seven Dwarfs
as sung by The Asthmatics:

Just whistle while you breathe,
da da da da da da wheeze...

*Puff*

Rain

Although we had great plans to go to a nature preserve today, the weather has been too cloudy and full-out rainy for anyone to really get excited about going out. We sat on David's parent's screened-in deck and read, spent some time getting to know their friends and neighbors, and managed to fit in a few rounds of shuffleboard between waves of storminess.



Tonight, David and I plan to go on our annual date and leave our son with his grandparents. I think they might corrupt him with a Disney movie....