The Dash

Here's a little something I got from Jon Moore way back in the day. It's a little poem that gets you thinking without squashing your optimism. Wherever you are, whatever your aspirations, this poem is for you. Maybe you've traveled the globe, maybe you want to see the seven wonders of the world one day, or maybe you have no desire to ever leave the comfort of your hometown. Regardless of who you are and what you believe, just remember that you only have one shot on this planet as you, so make the most of it!

THE DASH

I read of a reverend who stood to speak

at the funeral of his friend.

He referred to the dates on her tombstone

from the beginning...to the end.

He noted that first came the date of her birth

and spoke of the following date with tears,

but he said what mattered most of all

was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time

that she spent alive on Earth,

and now only those who loved her

know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own;

the cars, the house, the cash.

What matters is how we live and love

and how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard,

are there things you'd like to change?

For you never know how much time is left.

(You could be at "dash mid-range.")

If we could just slow down enough

to consider what's true and real,

and always try to understand

the way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,

and show appreciation more

and love the people in our lives

like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,

and more often wear a smile,

remembering that this special dash

might only last awhile.

So, when your eulogy is being read

with your life's actions to rehash...

would you be pleased with the things they say

about how you spent your dash?

Paris, Je t'aime

Well, here you have it. This is most likely the last part of my and Natalie's winter holiday in Europe, seeing as though my footage of Versailles is lost in tape land. 

Reflections on Paris

Ah, Paris. Where to begin? It was so much fun and so surreal. Everything there was so large, old, and more opulent and lavish than anything I have ever seen. I found the atmosphere of Paris to be something of a slight contradiction.  It is tremendously romantic, with couples canoodling and the buildings exuding a warm peach glow, thanks to the smog and sunshine. But at the same time, there is an undeniable harshness to the city; people don't look at one another on the street and they walk around with sullen faces. I almost felt like it wasn't okay to be happy. And, Paris is really dirty.  

However, Paris had its lovely little quirks too. I could always hear the soft hum of a motorcycle. I always saw someone jogging-no matter the hour. And 95% of the time they were jogging slower than I was walking...I have no idea how they got anywhere! Shops closed in the early evening--how refreshing to see that the French value life outside the workplace. Also, there were condom dispensers on many streets; Paris is definitely a city of safe love.

Natalie and I visited so many places I don't even think I can remember them all now! Notre Dame was cool inside and the view from the Sacre Cœur was ah, out of this world! The Musée d'Orsay had many a cool piece of art and is really neat because it is an old train station. I lack the ability to adequately describe Versailles, so I won't bother trying; it is just something you simply must see with your own eyes. We saw the Arc de Triomphe: massive. The Tuileries and the gardens at Luxembourg were both beautiful when frozen and snow-covered; I can only imagine how exquisite they are when the flowers are in bloom! Oh, and of course we visited the Eiffel Tower, which is surprisingly large, and we took half a billion photos. Always fun. 

The Louvre was rather overrated. However, it was amazing to see hallways lined from floor to ceiling with artwork, and the architecture/moldings of the Louvre itself were far and away the most beautiful things to look at. The dungeon area was pretty neat-o too, and haunted. But, at least now I can say I've seen the Mona Lisa--which let's get real, is why everyone goes there anyway.

  

My favorite place we visited was L'hôtel des Invalides. Back in the day it was a veteran's hospital, but today it is the museum of the French Army...yawn. BUT, once again, the building itself is gorgeous, and at night the chapel glows gold. The chapel is absolutely stunning inside as well, and it holds Napoleon's extremely large tomb. 

I loved being able to speak the language. I remembered way more French than I thought I would, and I loved understanding tidbits of conversations and making sense of the noise. But mostly, I'm glad I knew French so I could order our daily dose of bread from the local boulangeries.  Two baguettes, four croissants, and two pain au chocolate. Dip any of that in Nutella and you are in heaven. Natalie and I lived off that for our entire stay, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. Seriously, fresh bread--croissants no less!--is one of the best things ever. Just thinking about all that deliciousness has made me hungry, so now I gotta go eat! 

A Traveler's Song

Title: I Must Belong Somewhere

Artist: Bright Eyes

Album: Cassadaga

Do you ever look at your life and think to yourself how you are exactly where you should be? How, whether good or bad, it makes total sense that you wound up where you are? I often find that my life has this way of serendipitously placing me right where I need to be in every chapter of my life.  That's what this song is all about: wherever you are is where you belong. In our world people have various lifestyles depending on their location, circumstance, luck, and misfortune; instead of judging those who live alternatively to ourselves, why don't we embrace people for who they are? After all, you would not be where you are if others were not where they are (how's that for a horribly vague sentence?!). Who knows how the heck we got here on Earth, perhaps by a miraculous molecular reaction, perhaps by God, or perhaps merely by happenstance--which just might be the most magical explanation of all. So take a moment to pause, absorb your surroundings, and embrace the perfection of your existence. Carpe Diem.

Art is Life

Here are a few photographs from my 25-print 5x7 black and white photography piece titled An Occurrence.  The piece follows a Subject on a journey.  When displayed properly, the prints create a free-flowing-map-type-thing that loosely forms various paths, all of which lead to the same three final photographs.  The map begins at eye-level and ascends--so the display is totally lost through the blog format!

My intent was to show that depending of where you begin, a different journey awaits you, but ultimately you reach the same destination.  The repetition through the similarities in the photos evokes the idea that in your life you may revisit certain places, but these places always feel slightly different to you because time changes you.  The ambiguity resulting from the openness of the Subject's journey reflects life and the murkiness of our own personal journey.

Chicken Fried Steak

I love Paula Deen.  She is absolutely hilarious, and I admire how she manages to incorporate mayonnaise into virtually all of her savory dishes. These days, her cooking shows are my distraction of choice if I reach for the TV remote.

Recently, Paula was fixin' to show us how to make yet another Southern favorite, chicken fried steak. It was not until recently that I even knew what exactly this is--I was always slightly perplexed as to how you would fry steak in a chicken--and now that I know what it is, I'm still baffled. And intrigued.

The concept of deep-frying steak seems rather silly to me. After all, a bite of prime rib might just be one of the most succulent things to touch the taste buds, so why would you take something so perfect and plop it in the deep fryer? Well you wouldn't, because it turns out that a really tough cut of beef is used instead...but that's just a minor detail.

I sat there and watched Paula fix her meal, which no doubt made her salivate. And I still think the whole concept of deep-frying steak is an overindulgence of the deep fryer, but you know what? It looked kinda good. Good enough that I think I have to try it, whenever I make it down South. I just hope curiosity doesn't kill this cat!

What's Cookin

Mix some flour, baking soda, sugar, egg, vanilla, oil, and various types of decadent chocolate together and voila--you have Laura's Super Chocolaty because I love Chocolate Chocolate Cake.  It's rich and oh so delicious. And depending on your mood, it's small enough for one or big enough to share!  

Why You Should Visit Upstate New York...or any Countryside for that Matter

The highlight of my childhood summers was when my mom, sisters, and I would pile in the car and make the eight hour drive to Boston, New York, to visit Gramma and Grandpa. I would always be so excited for the car ride and I would want to leave as early as possible; I suppose my excitement for my escape to the countryside blurred out the memory that eight hours is an extremely long time to sit in a car, no matter how early you leave! Katherine and I filled the time by planning skits to perform for our favorite audience upon our arrival--I even recall a tiff or two over who would use Grandpa's cane as their microphone. No doubt the infamous phrase "are we there yet?!?" spewed from our mouths many a time--our poor mother!--but once we reached Genesee Road, we knew we were getting close. If we were lucky, Mom would speed over the rolling hills of the road so we could get butterflies in our tummies. Eventually we made it to Back Creek Road, and arrived at the cozy one-story house Grandpa designed and built with his own two hands.

Their estate was magic. The smell: fresh, thick, grass, pine, and rose. There was no internet and they had cable only so they could watch CNN--which to the eight-year-old me was worse than no TV at all--so us girlies found better ways to amuse ourselves.  We often made the short walk down to the creek, where we loved to splash around in the summertime; if we made it to the other side, a treasure of fresh clay awaited us. I learned to drive on Grandpa's John Deer tractor, which I would race across the luscious green lawn, much to Gramma's worry and dismay. Gramma always had tasty treats for us to eat--chocolate chip cookies, sweet rolls, hello dollies, apple pie--you name it, she'd bake it. In the evening we watched the deer cross the lawn on their way to the creek for a nightcap. And of course there was plenty a game of Pinochle, the most amazing card game ever.

Aunt Judy lived roughly twenty minutes down the road, so obvi we saw her a lot too. We always passed my favorite barn en route--a red building with a hodge-podge shackled roof. Thinking back on it, the roof was probably mix-matched because the farmer slapped on any shingle he had, unable to afford a uniform roof. After all, this was not a super wealthy area, but one of modesty and simplicity. But to me, the imperfection of the barn made it the best barn ever.  

At Aunt Judy's we played with her dog Daisy, ate more delicious home cooked food, and of course played even more Pinochle. Aunt Judy's 4th of July family picnics were one of my favorite things--burgers off the grill, fresh corn on the cob, and a bunch of my mom's crazy old Polish cousins mingling and reminiscing.

We almost always went fruit picking at least once during our visit, which I loved. Depending on our mood, we would go strawberry, blueberry, or cherry picking. It was such a novelty to me--picking the fruit yourself for the pie you were going to make that night. And I'll never forget how thrilled Gramma--a farmer's wife--always was to be out in the fields picking fruit. Honestly, few things taste as delicious as a ripe cherry five seconds after it's been plucked from the tree.

So find a way to escape to the countryside, wherever you may be. It just might be the most therapeutic experience you have.  The countryside is humble, lush, and beautiful. Goodness knows I miss it.

Pillow Chat with Laura and Nat

What's Cookin

I'm channeling Betty Crocker and the domesticated 1950s suburban housewife with this tiny tasty treat: Pineapple Mallow Pie.

Invisible Bags

I recently read something a dear friend of mine wrote about the personal meanings we impose upon ordinary objects.  How it's strange the way even the most mundane of items can be infused with the deepest of memories.  This concept is undeniably true...it's like structuralism for inanimate objects rather than words.  And it got me thinking.  

An object, for the sake of fun let's say it's a blanket, to an untrained eye appears to be nothing more than tatters tied together begging to be thrown out.  The eye doesn't realize that it kept the monsters from creeping out from under my bed at night, that its cool, soft texture calmed me whenever I ran it through my fingers, that it wiped away countless tears, that it traveled with me to far away lands, and that amazingly, despite its inanimate label, it somehow manages to love me unconditionally.  I suppose there is a kernel of truth in that old cliched saying, "one man's trash is another man's treasure" after all.  I definitely think that each person has their own language of object-memory association, and this language of emotion is one of the most complex out there. 

I decided to psychoanalyze myself, as I often like to do, and try to become aware of the meanings and memories I associate with objects in my everyday life. 

There is a big green mug with a picture of Goofy--your favorite Disney character--on it that I bought for you when I went to Disney World in the 8th grade.  Every time I use it I remember that your response was, "When am I ever going to use this.  Like I need another mug.  What a waste of money."

When I see the bright striped tie of yours, which is sprinkled through many pictures in the apartment, I remember your comment "I have so many ties already, why do people keep buying them for me?"  Another reaction to a present I got for you.

When I see one of the miracle blade never-dulling knives, I remember how you bought this expensive set of knives for Mrs. Smith--the mother/wife of the family you so obviously wish was your own--ages before you gave them to Mom.

Every morning when I boil water for my coffee in the fish kettle with the bubbly spout we bought for Mom one Mother's Day, I remember how you made me cry in the store because you told me the kettle was ugly and that I was silly for liking it.  I must have been six or seven. And Mom loved the kettle.

These memories haunt me, plague me, are embedded in me.  And I think I officially spend too much time in the kitchen.  But I use the kettle.  And I drink from the mug--I suppose as a way of defiance, a way of survival, a way of perseverance.  But I will always have those memories, so long as I have a mental image of those objects.  And that is my baggage.  Baggage I carry with me everywhere, every moment of every day.  Baggage that affects the way I see the world, the way I perceive people, the way I think and the way I feel; for good and for ill.  Try as I might, these memories follow me everywhere I go, and I have no doubt they will venture to the opposite side of the world with me too.

Perhaps forgiveness would lighten my load.  Forgiveness might rid me of these constant reminders of your condescension, negativity, and disinterest.  I've tried that before, many a time, but I always reached the same result: my blanket absorbed my tears and my load got a little heavier.  And I am not a big enough person to open myself to you again.  Not now anyway. Maybe not ever.  

People rarely realize the impact they have on others.  How, despite their arbitrary origins, words and things and memories really have epic significance.  I wish with all my heart that I could trade in all my baggage associated with you for one memory of love.  But I cannot, so I do my best to simply move forward and try my damnedest not to let my load weigh me down. 

Bienvenue à Paris

At long last we've made it to the most romantic city on the planet!

LOVE

Ah, Stephen Colbert, you are one of my heroes. Not for this interview in particular, but because you are A-mazing, intelligent, courageous, hilarious, brilliant, and you constantly dare to push the envelope.  And I love you. And you're funny. And I love you. Did I mention you're funny?

However, I do not love your website, which won't let me embed the clip on my blog for some annoying reason, leaving me no option other than a hot link.

For Michael Klein

Now that you have vowed to read my blog, I am giving you un petit gift: a super yummy recipe to add even more scrumptious delight to your newfound life of vegetarianism!  Careful though, the glaze is super sweet, so I'd maybe taste it as you make it and only add as much of the syrup as you need.  And I promise it's not even that difficult to make!  Also, be sure to check out the Vegetarian Times website, because I don't think they have made a bad recipe...ever.  And yes, that's where this one came from!

Fiery Tofu with Red Chilies, Orange, and Ginger

18 oz. extra-firm tofu, drained and halved lengthwise

1/3 cup orange juice

1/3 cup lime juice

1/3 cup pure maple syrup

6 small dried red chiles (such as chile de arbol), divided

4 large garlic cloves

2 Tbs. minced fresh ginger

2 Tbs. orange zest

3 tsp. canola oil, divided

1 medium onion, sliced (1.5 cups)

2 Tbs. chopped cilantro

1 Tbs. low-sodium soy sauce 

1. Line plate with paper towels.  Place tofu on paper towels, cover with more paper towels, and top with another plate and heavy can.  Let drain for 15 minutes.  Cut tofu into 3/4-inch cubes.

2. Meanwhile, blend orange juice, lime juice, maple syrup, 3 red chiles, garlic, ginger, and orange zest in bowl.

3. Heat 2 tsp. oil in large nonstick skillet over high heat.  Add remaining 3 chiles, and saute 2 minutes, or until toasted.  Transfer to plate.  Add tofu to same pan, and saute 10 minutes, or until golden brown.  Transfer to plate with chiles.  

4. Add onion and remaining 1 tsp. oil to pan, and saute 5 minutes, or until onion is golden and beginning to soften.  Return tofu and chiles to pan.

5. Stir in chile sauce, cilantro, and soy sauce, and reduce heat to medium.  Simmer 20 minutes, or until onion is very tender, liquid evaporates, and sauce coats tofu, stirring occasionally.  Serve over brown rice if desired.

Walkabout

Back in the world of Accidental Enlightenment, our wandering Gulliver Banick has just befriended a thirty-something Australian on a "walkabout."  What exactly is that, might you ask?  Well, Banick describes it as follows:

The custom of walkabout, an Aussie adaptation of an unpronounceable Aboriginal word, was hardwired into every youngster's brain during his or her teenage years.  It basically involved traipsing about in a gypsy, nomadic fashion for up to several years, and taking in the larger world.  Schools could wait, and employers could go hang themselves.  But of course, those institutions understood--they were once young Australians (and New Zealanders) too.  For an Aborigine, the journey may have consisted of hundreds of miles out into the barren, orange Outback.  For modern-day white kids, it meant Europe, Asia, North and South America, Africa, Antarctica, lots of islands, and the stars and planets, if they could get there.

Wow, a country that values experiencing other cultures and absorbing other world views, rather than instilling a sensibility of indomitable cultural superiority (which, let's be honest, these days isn't even so much the case)?  How fabulous!

Think about it.  The Australians have walkabout.  Europe has the gap year.  And what do we Americans have?--oh that's right, a semester abroad.  Maybe we really just love the idea of multitasking, but I think this whole study abroad thing evolved so as to give young Americans a small opportunity to stretch their wings while keeping them right on track to grow up on time (roughly, May of their 22nd year).  

Hmm, I must be digressing or something because it is starting to sound like I have beef with Americans studying abroad, which is absolutely not the case.  In fact, I don't necessarily have beef with anything, more of just a saddening confusion.  Why is it that in America traveling has shifted into this column of "something to do in my leisure time with my extra capital" instead of into the arena of "world travel is an integral part of my life?"  

Whenever I tell someone about my plans to travel extensively over the next year or so--I suppose in the Laura version of a walkabout--the reaction consists of some variation of "wow, that's really great, good for you," but the tone remains the same: one of surprise and awe.  As though my travel plans, in place of finding a "proper" job, are a rarity.  I don't know, perhaps they are.  But I wish they weren't. 

This is not to say that Americans don't travel, and I am not trying to shed a superior light upon myself in an attempt to appear more cultured.  I simply feel that on the whole, our culture does not place significant value on experiencing new things.  And that is a tragedy. 

A Day in Seattle

Excuse Me While I Stand on My Soap Box

Katherine and I were out walking on a beautiful spring evening a few days back when she said to me, "Mike and I have our theories about you...I don't understand how you can watch that show, it makes me want to throw up."  She would be speaking about The L Word, a really amazing TV series that apparently makes me a lesbian for liking.  

In December, when Donna was looking at the DVD cases she said to me, "I dunno Laura, are you gonna turn into a lesbian on me?  You like this show, you like that music...I think you might." What an asinine thing to say!  First of all, I would not become a lesbian, I would simply be a lesbian.  After all, you don't decide to be straight, do you? Second, you don't have to be gay to enjoy music produced by lesbians--I just happen to like the syncopated tambourine and vocal harmonies of the Indigo Girls.  Nor do you have to be gay to enjoy The L Word--I love the show because of the complex and sophisticated stories it tells, not because it has steamy sex scenes.  

And I know there is this little joke about my "girlfriend" from freshmen year, but she really wasn't my girlfriend...after all, I've seen The L Word, and we never did anything like that.  Not that it would matter if we did because WHO CARES?!  Love is love and if two people find it with one another, regardless of their sex, why should we deny them happiness?  Simply because more often than not we are miserable in our own lives, and misery loves company?  Weak Sauce.     

Milk, the recent movie where Sean Penn plays Harvey Milk, a gay politician in San Francisco, happens to be my favorite movie of this year--does that mean I'm gay?  I also interned at The Ellen DeGeneres Show; good thing I was only there for one semester, otherwise she may have turned me gay.

Then there is my Dad, who the other week was talking about Carl's daughter, a tween applying to GA, my high school.  I guess she went and interviewed there and really liked it (which makes her crazy mind you), but Carl is concerned because GA now has a gay/lesbian support group.  He finds it an issue that a school have a place where confused and ostracised students can meet and find solace and protection from closed-minded people?  Ludicrous.  

Now, Carl happens to be a deeply religious man, so his problems with homosexuality go all the way back to the Bible.  And you know what, that's fine, he doesn't have to agree with that lifestyle.  And, if gay people really are just a bunch of immoral sinners, then they won't be joining Carl in the hereafter anyway, so why not just let them dig their own grave to darkness?  

If I were Carl, I'd be more concerned about my daughter befriending the rich socialite druggies who use their parents' money to get loaded every weekend.  That is something that could actually be harmful...a gay support group? Not so much.  The reality of the situation is that GA most likely formed this gay/lesbian support group because students felt the wrath of disapproval from all of those people like Carl, who find difference concerning and damning--despite the whole God-loves-everyone bit--and incidentally are kind of the root of suffering for the gay youth.  Oh irony, how I love thee.  

However, I'm allergic to Republicans, so maybe I shouldn't talk.  Although, I think you can make a stronger case for the harm they have caused our society.

Trekking...From the Comfort of My Couch.

I watched Globe Trekker yesterday, and where do you suppose they were trekking this week?--New Zealand!  How scrumptiously convenient.  Everything oozed raw beauty; the two dudes divided and conquered all the highlights on both the North and South Islands, giving the viewer ample opportunities to sit, stare, and wonder why the heck she is living anywhere but there!  The program most certainly jump-started my desire to bite the bullet and actually apply for my visa; it's now officially on my To-Do list, right under my taxes (need I say ick?). 

Basically, anywhere you choose to venture in New Zealand will reward you with epic landscapes of either lush greens or desert browns, depending on the climate.  And, it's really cool because the weather in certain parts of the big NZ is known for its ever-changing nature, and it is entirely possible to experience all four seasons in one day!  And the best part is that there is no one there--New Zealand is still one of the least populated places on the planet.  

Of course the program included a journey on the Milford Track--the most popular walk in the world.  The footage from the guy's trek on the Track was some of the most exquisite stuff I've ever seen and I simply MUST go on that hike.  Like now.  I've climbed Half Dome twice, so I think that makes me somewhat prepared for the 18ish mile Track...hopefully.  You must make reservations to walk on the Milford Track--often at a minimum of six months in advance!--not only because you need to make reservations at the huts along the way, but also because they do not allow more than 40 hikers on the Track in one day.  This almost insures that you won't see anyone else along the trail (plus it's a one-way road), and this lovely little feature makes it even easier to commune with nature.  

Take me to the mountains mate, I really wanna go hang out with some sheep.

London!: Europe Part III

Here's Part III of the European Adventure, and if the title isn't an obvious enough indicator of the location, we're in London! 

I Can't WAIT to be on the Road Again!

My recent adventure to Seattle reminded me how badly I want to road trip across America.  It is something I have been wanting to do ever since I was a teenager, and it officially is something I must do very very soon.

There is something so singularly wonderful about driving down the highway, the windows down, the Earth's breath blowing my hair, the sun shining, the music playing, and nothing but miles and miles of road ahead of me.  I feel very much at home on long car journeys--perhaps from all those trips to Gramma's in my youth--and love waking up super early, getting a yummy coffee, piling into a car and hitting the road...the anticipation never fails to excite me.  

It wasn't until I drove to Seattle that I realized just how long it had been since I'd spent any decent amount of time in my car.  These days I walk pretty much everywhere, and believe you me I do not miss the car-driven lifestyle of Southern California, but it was still refreshing to have someplace exciting to drive to.  Plus, Jazmine is a stellar travel buddy, except for when she goes all diva on me and decides to malfunction.  What a lovely treat to reconnect with my wheels; our last trip together was when I moved from LA to Portland, a two-day drive that turned into a one-day-17-hour-marathon in an attempt to beat Mother Nature and her snowstorms, which culminated with me going temporarily insane when I got stuck in standstill traffic on hour 16 (sorry Natalie!).  

But yes, this road trip.  My initial plan from way back in the day was to venture to every single landlocked state; having recently bought a super-amazing-laminated-folding-map and measured the milage on it, I now see how beyond impractical an idea that was.  My country is just too huge.  So, where to go?  Well, I really really want to go to Colorado because I have never been and hear it is absolutely beautiful.  Apparently Michigan is sublime in the summertime by all those lakes.  And I kinda really wanna drive through Kansas just to see what the middle of nowhere looks like.  Oh, and I also want to go to Austin and explore that country known as Texas.  Then there is the Grand Canyon which is a must at some point in my life, but it's boiling in the summer and there are a bazillion and a half tourists there then...and I don't really like people that much.  And I also sort of just want to get in my car and start driving and see where I end up.  Who knows what will happen, but as per usual, my desired destinations have no real form of proximity to one another, which is bound to make any form of planning a mathematical and cartographical nightmare.