The surviving members of Abba have got nothing to worry about. They can keep collecting their royalties over the next few decades, because it seems their music appeals to the new generation just as much as to the kids from the 70s and 80s.
Note: no toddlers or stuffed bunnies were harmed in the making of this video.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Rhubarb!
In case you've got rhubarb growing in your garden (or in my case, my mother-in-law sent a huge sack of the stalks home with Remi), here's a how-to guide for cooking them up.
1. Cut off the ends of the stalks. Here you see both uncut and cut to give you an idea.
2. Peel off some of the fibers by taking a knife and pulling up a bit of the ends. However, online I saw that not all methods call for this. I think it helps get some of the stringiness off though.
3. Cut up into pieces of about an inch or two long. Rinse once before cooking. Add water to cover the pieces and heat on high.
4. Cook until you can poke the pieces with a knife. Drain.
5. Basically just mash it up/stir it up. Add plenty of sugar to taste. It's totally sour without sugar! Serve with a yummy brownie that I'll give you the recipe for another time.
1. Cut off the ends of the stalks. Here you see both uncut and cut to give you an idea.
2. Peel off some of the fibers by taking a knife and pulling up a bit of the ends. However, online I saw that not all methods call for this. I think it helps get some of the stringiness off though.
3. Cut up into pieces of about an inch or two long. Rinse once before cooking. Add water to cover the pieces and heat on high.
4. Cook until you can poke the pieces with a knife. Drain.
5. Basically just mash it up/stir it up. Add plenty of sugar to taste. It's totally sour without sugar! Serve with a yummy brownie that I'll give you the recipe for another time.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Bits and pieces
As promised, here's a picture of the peony plant in bloom. It doesn't last long. Luckily I snapped a picture on Easter day because the blooms are already fading.
And a few things I wanted to share from my trip to the UK that I haven't yet gotten around to. Like this toy display from Boots, the upscale drugstore. I'm a bit disappointed at this sexist marketing. I'm sure they meant well, but since when are scientific toys only for boys?! Click to enlarge and see for yourself.
Here's a bridge named after my sister. Although she spells her name with a "y".
If you find yourself in Canterbury one day, I highly recommend a tour on the river. Especially the one by the company where handsome young English lads (click on the link to check them out) row you around while telling charming stories about the city.
We also experienced some of that famous British politeness. While waiting in line in Poundland, a new cash register opened up in front of me but I didn't notice. The young guy behind me said, "do you want to go to that one?" in such a polite and non-imposing way. Frankly, I'd forgotten what it was like to be in a land where people don't push and shove. I realized with a bit of shame that I'd just gone ahead when the register had opened up the day before in the same shop, not even asking the lady in front of me if she wanted to take it. It's something I would have done in the US, perhaps. So maybe there's no clearcut rule on this but it does seem the Brits are much more polite about these types of things.
Hard to believe it's already been about two weeks since our trip! Dad's now safely back in the US. It was great seeing him and I was glad for the company since Remi's been working like a madman in the garden center. Juliette still asks sometimes if we're going to see grandpa when I pick her up. Hopefully next year! Until then we'll remember the fun we had and plan on our next set of adventures. My mom should be coming in June so that's something to look forward to!
And a few things I wanted to share from my trip to the UK that I haven't yet gotten around to. Like this toy display from Boots, the upscale drugstore. I'm a bit disappointed at this sexist marketing. I'm sure they meant well, but since when are scientific toys only for boys?! Click to enlarge and see for yourself.
Here's a bridge named after my sister. Although she spells her name with a "y".
If you find yourself in Canterbury one day, I highly recommend a tour on the river. Especially the one by the company where handsome young English lads (click on the link to check them out) row you around while telling charming stories about the city.
We also experienced some of that famous British politeness. While waiting in line in Poundland, a new cash register opened up in front of me but I didn't notice. The young guy behind me said, "do you want to go to that one?" in such a polite and non-imposing way. Frankly, I'd forgotten what it was like to be in a land where people don't push and shove. I realized with a bit of shame that I'd just gone ahead when the register had opened up the day before in the same shop, not even asking the lady in front of me if she wanted to take it. It's something I would have done in the US, perhaps. So maybe there's no clearcut rule on this but it does seem the Brits are much more polite about these types of things.
Hard to believe it's already been about two weeks since our trip! Dad's now safely back in the US. It was great seeing him and I was glad for the company since Remi's been working like a madman in the garden center. Juliette still asks sometimes if we're going to see grandpa when I pick her up. Hopefully next year! Until then we'll remember the fun we had and plan on our next set of adventures. My mom should be coming in June so that's something to look forward to!
Monday, May 2, 2011
Hitting home
I must take time out to be a bit more serious in this post. At the risk of bumming you out, I feel it's important to talk about an event that has affected me, but more importantly thousands of people from my home state of Alabama. No doubt you saw the horrific images on the news last week of the damage that a massive system of extremely strong tornadoes created. When my clock radio woke me on Thursday, incidentally the day my dad was leaving, they announced the death toll, at that time about 50. Now it's officially over 200 with 400 still missing and probably feared dead.
This is another moment when living away from your home can be tough. Even though there are times I may feel downright European, I will always be true to my roots and any time I hear the name of my state on TV, my ears perk up. And though no wind came through my little city in France, I can still feel the force all the way from here.
I almost didn't want to go online and look at the images or watch the videos. But I knew I needed to. My mom sent me a link to a weather blog done by the weather man I grew up listening to. The videos of the destruction made tears roll down my face. Catki jumped up in my lap at that moment and I was comforted to pet his silky head absently as I looked at the aerial footage of neighborhoods that have been sadly reduced to splinters. I can't imagine how horrible the loss is for those people. A house is one thing, a family member can never be replaced though. There are too many sad stories that leave us feeling helpless.
I feel even more so being far away. As my sister said, it's survivor guilt. Somehow we feel guilty that we aren't affected. And we start to wonder why. Again, even if I'm not living there, I felt a twinge of guilt walking down the streets of my town on a deliciously sunny day, knowing that my apartment and family were safe, but so many others in my state were suffering. My US family, by the way, were luckily not touched either. Where they live was not as damaged though trees did fall down.
When you grow up in the south, you get used to the threat of tornadoes. At school we practice tornado drills in addition to fire drills. We would go into the hallway and basically get in a crash position, squatting on our knees, heads down, arms and hands covering our heads. I can remember many a time getting up close and personal with the school linoleum on these occasions. And as I'm a spring baby and that's often the worst season for tornadoes, there were a few birthdays we spent watching the weather or even heading down to the basement of huddling in the bathroom (supposedly the safest room of the house if you don't have a basement). It's not stuff to be messed with.
But we live with it, just as the Japanese and Californians do with the threat of earthquakes, and the coastal towns live with the ominous possibility of hurricanes. And so I'm reminded, once again, that life hangs by a thread and shouldn't be wasted on complaining about stupid things. Or that even though "there's hell on earth/ there's heaven, too/and not a second to lose" (Neil Finn, from the album Time on Earth). Maybe that, beside giving a donation, is the best way I can honor those who didn't make it or are grieving now.
This is another moment when living away from your home can be tough. Even though there are times I may feel downright European, I will always be true to my roots and any time I hear the name of my state on TV, my ears perk up. And though no wind came through my little city in France, I can still feel the force all the way from here.
I almost didn't want to go online and look at the images or watch the videos. But I knew I needed to. My mom sent me a link to a weather blog done by the weather man I grew up listening to. The videos of the destruction made tears roll down my face. Catki jumped up in my lap at that moment and I was comforted to pet his silky head absently as I looked at the aerial footage of neighborhoods that have been sadly reduced to splinters. I can't imagine how horrible the loss is for those people. A house is one thing, a family member can never be replaced though. There are too many sad stories that leave us feeling helpless.
I feel even more so being far away. As my sister said, it's survivor guilt. Somehow we feel guilty that we aren't affected. And we start to wonder why. Again, even if I'm not living there, I felt a twinge of guilt walking down the streets of my town on a deliciously sunny day, knowing that my apartment and family were safe, but so many others in my state were suffering. My US family, by the way, were luckily not touched either. Where they live was not as damaged though trees did fall down.
When you grow up in the south, you get used to the threat of tornadoes. At school we practice tornado drills in addition to fire drills. We would go into the hallway and basically get in a crash position, squatting on our knees, heads down, arms and hands covering our heads. I can remember many a time getting up close and personal with the school linoleum on these occasions. And as I'm a spring baby and that's often the worst season for tornadoes, there were a few birthdays we spent watching the weather or even heading down to the basement of huddling in the bathroom (supposedly the safest room of the house if you don't have a basement). It's not stuff to be messed with.
But we live with it, just as the Japanese and Californians do with the threat of earthquakes, and the coastal towns live with the ominous possibility of hurricanes. And so I'm reminded, once again, that life hangs by a thread and shouldn't be wasted on complaining about stupid things. Or that even though "there's hell on earth/ there's heaven, too/and not a second to lose" (Neil Finn, from the album Time on Earth). Maybe that, beside giving a donation, is the best way I can honor those who didn't make it or are grieving now.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
The day that will live in infamy
Thursday evening, a sunny Canterbury tavern. These two pints are for my dad and me. And they are well-deserved after the day we had spent. (For the record mine is a slightly alcoholic pear cider (yummy), dad's an ale.) Flash back in time to about four hours earlier. The scene of the crime (insert Law and Order bump-bump music here) was this peaceful medicinal garden on the grounds of Canterbury Cathedral. Or should I say formerly peaceful?
The victims, these mild-mannered visitors who seemed to be posing for some picture. I think they were part of a church choir.
The suspect (no, we know it was her!), this nearly three-year old who only moments before was singing and delighting visitors.
Until all he** broke loose. I had the bright idea to let her down to run around this lovely garden a bit. Which she did in the way only toddlers can, sprinting from her and there freely, grinning ear to ear. But we couldn't stay there forever. And she started darting under a little fence (the one seen on the right in this picture) and I feared she would get out of my reach. So I gently asked her to come on back and walk another way.
That's when she started screaming "no". And thrashing about. And turning wildly and slapping me if I tried to get close. Her hysterical screams breaking the calm of the gorgeous April day.
The choir crowd I'm sure was looking over and smirking or muttering, why can't they control that child. We tried everything in the book. From gently holding her arms back, to taking her into a quiet corner to calm her down, to a little pop on her leg to rouse her back into reality. And let me say I'm the type who reserves this for very bad moments indeed or when she's put herself into harm.
Nothing worked. We tried to put her back in her stroller (and it did take the two of us) but she started banging her head on the bar of the stroller. So I tried all of the above again. Finally I picked up my pride off the grass and held my squirming demon child and started walking. I motioned for dad to follow with the stroller. And we walked out of the courtyard and finally got her into her stroller and left the grounds. We're probably banished for life. She kept whimpering all the way back to the hotel.
And so over our pints and good English dinner, I asked my dad if I had ever had a tantrum that bad when I was a kid. He said yes, but luckily he didn't gloat. So this is your revenge day? I asked. Because earlier we'd been saying that one day Juliette would have a child and know what it was like to bear this kind of tantrum in public.
But seriously, people, I'm starting to think we've got a problem here. You know I love her to death, but when she's acting like this, frankly, I dislike her. And I'm mortally embarassed. It's one thing when she acts up at home and I can put her in her room. But in public, that's not possible. And she disturbs the peace and there's nothing I can do but leave.
Of course, afterwards she calms down, mutters sorry and things slowly go back to normal. But in the heat of it, nobody is happy.
Just before we left Dover to return to France, we saw a mom holding her screaming boy in the park. My dad and I exchanged glances. But we didn't judge her. We'd been there ourselves just a few hours before.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Dad's visit
Oops, Mega-oops
There was a bit of a snafu at the beginning of dad's visit. I had asked my friend Caroline if she could pick him up at the train station as I was working at the time his train was to get in. But I said I wasn't positive he would get that train. I wasn't clear enough though and Caro thought I was going to call her once I heard that my dad had indeed landed. Only my dad's cell phone wasn't working when he touched down. In the end he got his train, but no one was there to pick him up. No hard feelings if you're reading this, Caro. It wouldn't be the first time I get into trouble thinking people can read my mind. Remi can attest to that. But all's well that ends well. Seasoned traveller that he is, my dad remembered the way to my place (though he didn't have the key). He rested in a park in the mild weather until I got home (er, about four and a half hours after his train got in).
I'm dreaming of sleep!
Juliette would decide to go wacky in her sleep when dad arrived. Waking and crying like she was in a nightmare. Virtually inconsolable. Then the cat started jumping on the door handle of the hall to get into our part of the house! Two or three nights of horrible sleep for everybody until we finally, begrudgingly, put the cat in the living room with dad. Catki sleeps on the couch with him or goes on to the balcony, and things are quieter.
It wouldn't be spring without...
Another childhood illness. Juliette ended up having conjunctivitis Monday and as I figured the sitter wouldn't want that in her house, I asked dad if he could watch Juju in the morning. I got an appointment with the doctor at midday and now she's got her treatment under way. Dad is quite helpful holding her while I give her the nose spray, or vice versa. She's almost to the point of not crying. Which is more than I can say for last Sunday...
The mother of all tantrums
That would be the day Juliette decided to say no to every l-i-t-t-l-e thing in the world. And cry and whine and turn her body in every direction. It broke the calm of our Sunday walk along this charming canal in the Somme. I'm sure the fishermen nearby were angry that she was scaring off the fish. I've never seen that girl cry and pout so much in one day. But I'm reluctant to pop her behind just when she's irritated, and it's hard to find a good time-out place in the outdoors. I'm getting used to the stares we get in stores when she goes all Exorcist on us. Could it be that she's turned into a bad child? We're still working on the discipline. Here you see her posing charmingly just before the bottom fell out.
Off to England
So we'll try a ferry-crossing and trip to Dover/Canterbury tomorrow with the dadster and Juju. A quick day and a half to soak up some English culture, tea and jolly accents. More later.
There was a bit of a snafu at the beginning of dad's visit. I had asked my friend Caroline if she could pick him up at the train station as I was working at the time his train was to get in. But I said I wasn't positive he would get that train. I wasn't clear enough though and Caro thought I was going to call her once I heard that my dad had indeed landed. Only my dad's cell phone wasn't working when he touched down. In the end he got his train, but no one was there to pick him up. No hard feelings if you're reading this, Caro. It wouldn't be the first time I get into trouble thinking people can read my mind. Remi can attest to that. But all's well that ends well. Seasoned traveller that he is, my dad remembered the way to my place (though he didn't have the key). He rested in a park in the mild weather until I got home (er, about four and a half hours after his train got in).
I'm dreaming of sleep!
Juliette would decide to go wacky in her sleep when dad arrived. Waking and crying like she was in a nightmare. Virtually inconsolable. Then the cat started jumping on the door handle of the hall to get into our part of the house! Two or three nights of horrible sleep for everybody until we finally, begrudgingly, put the cat in the living room with dad. Catki sleeps on the couch with him or goes on to the balcony, and things are quieter.
It wouldn't be spring without...
Another childhood illness. Juliette ended up having conjunctivitis Monday and as I figured the sitter wouldn't want that in her house, I asked dad if he could watch Juju in the morning. I got an appointment with the doctor at midday and now she's got her treatment under way. Dad is quite helpful holding her while I give her the nose spray, or vice versa. She's almost to the point of not crying. Which is more than I can say for last Sunday...
The mother of all tantrums
That would be the day Juliette decided to say no to every l-i-t-t-l-e thing in the world. And cry and whine and turn her body in every direction. It broke the calm of our Sunday walk along this charming canal in the Somme. I'm sure the fishermen nearby were angry that she was scaring off the fish. I've never seen that girl cry and pout so much in one day. But I'm reluctant to pop her behind just when she's irritated, and it's hard to find a good time-out place in the outdoors. I'm getting used to the stares we get in stores when she goes all Exorcist on us. Could it be that she's turned into a bad child? We're still working on the discipline. Here you see her posing charmingly just before the bottom fell out.
Off to England
So we'll try a ferry-crossing and trip to Dover/Canterbury tomorrow with the dadster and Juju. A quick day and a half to soak up some English culture, tea and jolly accents. More later.
Friday, April 15, 2011
A day in the life
Last Sunday I brought my camera along to take pictures of the garden. But of course I couldn't resist snapping some of Juliette. Most of the time it's hard to get her to stand still. And when I take a look at what I've shot her hat is covering most of her face.
But I keep on snapping away and sometimes, despite the sun nearly obliterating my view of the screen, I get some good ones.
Here you see her "house" made of a big cardboard box that we cut a door and shutters out of. It suits her fine so I don't think we'll be spending 200 euros on some plastic thing anytime soon. Though a cute wood cabin might be nice one day.
The oilseed rape plants are in flower. That's the plant used to make canola oil. The farmers who've got fields around Remi's greenhouses decided to plant that this year. Of course we had to take advantage of all that gorgeous yellow for some photo ops!
Next to her French grandma's border of bulbs (and she still wouldn't let go of her juice bottle).
Washing the garden chairs with papa.
"Driving" the car as we loaded it up to go to great grandpa's.
Putting her special stuffed animal in a mini-chair at great grandpa's house.
Dozing in the car on the ride home (since she didn't really nap correctly in the afternoon). All in a day's work for a toddler.
But I keep on snapping away and sometimes, despite the sun nearly obliterating my view of the screen, I get some good ones.
Here you see her "house" made of a big cardboard box that we cut a door and shutters out of. It suits her fine so I don't think we'll be spending 200 euros on some plastic thing anytime soon. Though a cute wood cabin might be nice one day.
The oilseed rape plants are in flower. That's the plant used to make canola oil. The farmers who've got fields around Remi's greenhouses decided to plant that this year. Of course we had to take advantage of all that gorgeous yellow for some photo ops!
Next to her French grandma's border of bulbs (and she still wouldn't let go of her juice bottle).
Washing the garden chairs with papa.
"Driving" the car as we loaded it up to go to great grandpa's.
Putting her special stuffed animal in a mini-chair at great grandpa's house.
Dozing in the car on the ride home (since she didn't really nap correctly in the afternoon). All in a day's work for a toddler.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)