In defense of my hunting husband (who provides all our red meat) and on behalf of all my friends who cringe when they see email from me during hunting season (what dead animal will be pictured next?), I had to tell the world that I draw the line at eating roadkill.
I just finished Mika Brzezinski's book, All Things at Once, a memoir that I picked up to read about balancing work and motherhood. Turns out I had more in common with Mika's mother than Mika (MSNBC host of Morning Joe - had to look that up as I don't get cable). Mika's dad was Jimmy Carter's national security advisor so the family moved to the Washington, D.C., area where her mother tried to balance her individualism and art with a political husband and three teenage children.
Her mom's art medium was wood sculpture so she must have been pretty handy with sharp instruments. One day before an upcoming DC dinner party, her mom was driving to pick up Mika at school when she came across a dead deer on the side of the road. "Naturally, she got out to check if the carcass was still warm. It was. So she started hacking it up right there...Some guy in a truck pulled over and helped her, and they ended up splitting the deer, and she brought her half home in the trunk of her car, thinking about how she might prepare it for her guests. To her, this was normal... Mom was a wonderful, resourceful, and courageous cook, and she especially like to cook venison, so she counted herself lucky to have stumbled across this great find. It was like winning some wild-game lottery... When (the guests) sat down to dinner, they took turns marveling at the venison... They wondered aloud who the caterer was, and where my mother got her venison. Mrs. (Pamela) Harriman was just bringing her fork to her mouth when my mother blurted out her response. 'Oh,' she said, 'I found it on Old Dominion Road. It had been hit by a car just moments before I pulled up! Isn't it wonderful?' ... She went on with her story, as mouths dropped all around the table. 'I couldn't believe my good luck,' she continued. 'I gutted the thing right there, and skinned it, and brought the best part home for my guests.' ... What happened next was like a spit take scene from an old Honeymooners episode. Pamela Harriman--midbite, midsentence--spit her mouthful on her plate and turned ashen white. This proud, grand, refined woman, who had been married to Winston Churchill's son, who had dined at the finest restaurants and banquets and receptions all over the world, who would go on to become the U.S. ambassador to France, was simply aghast. And my mother, God bless her, couldn't understand the commotion. The story made the gossip section of the newspaper. Something about the Brzezinskis serving roadkill."
No way would I do that for a deer, but an antelope or an elk, well, I guess I better say, "never say never." But I'll wait until after dinner to reveal my sources!
Wednesday, February 24
Did you know ...
Did you know that you can get music on the internet?! Wow, that's what everyone has been talking about! I'm not a big music person, as in I can listen to the same CD for about six months without really noticing, but setting up radio stations on pandora.com is way fun. Brian and I had to laugh at ourselves pulling up all our favorite old songs on lala.com until way too late the other night. Guess we really had been living in the dark, or rather, the silent ages.
Monday, February 22
Connected
Whew, connected again to the outside world! The day after I send out an email announcing my blog, my computer gets a virus and dies. But now I'm typing away on a shiny new laptop. The printer is still in a box and I have programs to load, but I'm loving the sound (old speakers never worked on hand-me-down desktop) and the
HD screen (my old monitor, from the local community college give-away pile, was an antique)!
HD screen (my old monitor, from the local community college give-away pile, was an antique)!
Friday, February 5
Netflix
Did you know that if you accidentally return a personal DVD to Netflix in the little white sleeve you will NOT get it back? Turns out they will give you $9.99 in credit for the loss of you DVD which is awfully nice considering I have no idea what DVD I returned. So if their system doesn't catch it, someone out there is going to be expecting an Al Pacino cop thriller and may be getting Thomas the Train instead!
The scary part to me is that I thought I checked the DVD to make sure I was returning the right thing. Just like I thought I made scones correctly the other day and after cooking them and taking the first bite determined I forgot the butter. Or three weeks ago when I carefully paid two bills on line and then forgot to enter it in my check register and only just now caught as I balanced my checkbook (thank you Quicken). And I'm not currently nursing a baby or working outside the home! Kudos to all you women who work hard at home and the office and still remember to pay your bills on time, send birthday cards, return library books, bring all the right gear to ski lessons and pick up your children at school! Way to go!
The scary part to me is that I thought I checked the DVD to make sure I was returning the right thing. Just like I thought I made scones correctly the other day and after cooking them and taking the first bite determined I forgot the butter. Or three weeks ago when I carefully paid two bills on line and then forgot to enter it in my check register and only just now caught as I balanced my checkbook (thank you Quicken). And I'm not currently nursing a baby or working outside the home! Kudos to all you women who work hard at home and the office and still remember to pay your bills on time, send birthday cards, return library books, bring all the right gear to ski lessons and pick up your children at school! Way to go!
Wednesday, February 3
Beautiful Things
And another quote from Anthony Doerr's memoir, Four Seasons in Rome: On Twins, Insomnia and the Biggest Funeral in the History of the World
"The Natural History, the umbrella pines, Borromini's Sant'Ivo, the question of starlings, and the questions of fatherhood—my interest in them all rotates around one question: If we creatures are on earth only to extend the survival of our species, if nature only concerns itself with reproduction, if we are suppose to raise our kids to breeding age and then whither and slide toward death, then why does the world bother to be so astoundingly, intricately, breathtakingly beautiful?"
I thought of this yesterday while skiing on a track at the local golf course through a lightly falling snow. I could only see the snowflakes when they were little flecks of white against dark evergreens. Looking up to the white sky they were invisible and looking down against the white snow they disappeared again. Only by looking straight out towards the trees that flanked the greens did the spiraling flakes appear. Next summer these flakes will turn the fairway and the surrounding mountains green and lush. So if it's just water storage, why does it arrive in tiny floating sculptures, each a unique creation never again copied? Because there is a God who shares His creativity with us and allows us to join Him in creating words and art and children and beauty.
O Lord my God, you are very great; you are clothed with splendor and majesty. He wraps himself in light as with a garment; he stretches out the heavens like a tent and lays the beams of his upper chambers on their waters. He makes the clouds his chariot and rides on the wings of the wind. He makes grass grow for the cattle, and plants for man to cultivate-- bringing forth food from the earth: wine that gladdens the heart of man, oil to make his face shine, and bread that sustains his heart. from Psalm 104
He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. Ecclesiastes 3:11
"The Natural History, the umbrella pines, Borromini's Sant'Ivo, the question of starlings, and the questions of fatherhood—my interest in them all rotates around one question: If we creatures are on earth only to extend the survival of our species, if nature only concerns itself with reproduction, if we are suppose to raise our kids to breeding age and then whither and slide toward death, then why does the world bother to be so astoundingly, intricately, breathtakingly beautiful?"
I thought of this yesterday while skiing on a track at the local golf course through a lightly falling snow. I could only see the snowflakes when they were little flecks of white against dark evergreens. Looking up to the white sky they were invisible and looking down against the white snow they disappeared again. Only by looking straight out towards the trees that flanked the greens did the spiraling flakes appear. Next summer these flakes will turn the fairway and the surrounding mountains green and lush. So if it's just water storage, why does it arrive in tiny floating sculptures, each a unique creation never again copied? Because there is a God who shares His creativity with us and allows us to join Him in creating words and art and children and beauty.
O Lord my God, you are very great; you are clothed with splendor and majesty. He wraps himself in light as with a garment; he stretches out the heavens like a tent and lays the beams of his upper chambers on their waters. He makes the clouds his chariot and rides on the wings of the wind. He makes grass grow for the cattle, and plants for man to cultivate-- bringing forth food from the earth: wine that gladdens the heart of man, oil to make his face shine, and bread that sustains his heart. from Psalm 104
He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. Ecclesiastes 3:11
Sunday, January 31
Sundays
Did you know that it takes 107,000 frequent flyer miles to fly from Montana to London? I am 77,000 miles short. Do you know why I know this? Because it's Sunday afternoon ... in January ... in Montana. And there are four people in my house rattling around in about 300 square feet. So I am looking up how far I can get on my meager miles.
When my husband and I are feeling sorry for ourselves, we think we might as well live in a one-room shack in a third-world country with kids and chickens underfoot. Except we're nothing like that for a million reasons, not the least of which is that there are way more toys than chickens spread across that 300 square feet. I wonder if the kids will still want to play at our feet when we live in more than 900 s.f. (really), in which case, why bother heating and maintaining 1000 more square feet? Or will they actually play in the family room while my husband and I read the paper two whole rooms away in the living room or even in, be still my beating heart, a dining room?
When my husband and I are feeling sorry for ourselves, we think we might as well live in a one-room shack in a third-world country with kids and chickens underfoot. Except we're nothing like that for a million reasons, not the least of which is that there are way more toys than chickens spread across that 300 square feet. I wonder if the kids will still want to play at our feet when we live in more than 900 s.f. (really), in which case, why bother heating and maintaining 1000 more square feet? Or will they actually play in the family room while my husband and I read the paper two whole rooms away in the living room or even in, be still my beating heart, a dining room?
Friday, January 29
New Parents in a Foreign Land
From Anthony Doerr's memoir Four Seasons in Rome: On Twins, Insomnia and the Biggest Funeral in the History of the World
"Maybe being a new parent is like moving to a foreign country. There is the Before and the After, an Old Life and a New Life. Sometimes we wonder who we were before. Sometimes we wonder who we are now. Sometimes our feet get tired. Sometimes we find ourselves reaching for guidebooks.
We are humbled over and over—humility hangs over our heads like a sledgehammer. Oh, your novel got a nice review? That's great. You can read it after you scrub the feces out of your child's pajamas. Oh, you think you've been here long enough to barter at the street markets? Guess what, you just spent 8 lira on three plastic clothes hangers.
Every few days there are moments of excruciating beauty. We are simultaneously more happy and more worn out than we have ever been in our lives. We communicate by grinning and pointing and waving food in the air. We don't sleep as well as we used to. Our expectations (today I might take a shower; the #75 bus might actually show up) are routinely dashed. Just when we think we have the system (two naps a day; Shauna finds a rosticceria with chickens on spits that is open on Sundays), the system collapses. Just when we think we know our way around, we get lost. Just when we think we know what's coming next, everything changes."
Isn't that a beautiful description of parenthood? I haven't lived a foreign country but when I came home with a new baby I might as well have been sent to Mars! No amount of 21st century preparation (read the books, take the classes, search the web) provided any guidance on how to really live with a tiny being that didn't gain weight or sleep or speak up about how to fix it. I remember the biggest difference between baby #1 and baby #2 was that I knew we would all probably survive those early months of baby #2 - the first time around I absolutely did not know how it would all work out. And now, sometimes, I feel like an expert - at least with my two children - until the system collapses and everything changes ... again.
"Maybe being a new parent is like moving to a foreign country. There is the Before and the After, an Old Life and a New Life. Sometimes we wonder who we were before. Sometimes we wonder who we are now. Sometimes our feet get tired. Sometimes we find ourselves reaching for guidebooks.
We are humbled over and over—humility hangs over our heads like a sledgehammer. Oh, your novel got a nice review? That's great. You can read it after you scrub the feces out of your child's pajamas. Oh, you think you've been here long enough to barter at the street markets? Guess what, you just spent 8 lira on three plastic clothes hangers.
Every few days there are moments of excruciating beauty. We are simultaneously more happy and more worn out than we have ever been in our lives. We communicate by grinning and pointing and waving food in the air. We don't sleep as well as we used to. Our expectations (today I might take a shower; the #75 bus might actually show up) are routinely dashed. Just when we think we have the system (two naps a day; Shauna finds a rosticceria with chickens on spits that is open on Sundays), the system collapses. Just when we think we know our way around, we get lost. Just when we think we know what's coming next, everything changes."
Isn't that a beautiful description of parenthood? I haven't lived a foreign country but when I came home with a new baby I might as well have been sent to Mars! No amount of 21st century preparation (read the books, take the classes, search the web) provided any guidance on how to really live with a tiny being that didn't gain weight or sleep or speak up about how to fix it. I remember the biggest difference between baby #1 and baby #2 was that I knew we would all probably survive those early months of baby #2 - the first time around I absolutely did not know how it would all work out. And now, sometimes, I feel like an expert - at least with my two children - until the system collapses and everything changes ... again.
Thursday, January 28
Secrets to Succeeding at Skiing with Kids
Before my husband and I had children, we went skiing. We went from lying in bed to standing on skis in an hour flat– plus or minus driving time. We got up, got gear, got parked and got skiing with, in retrospect, laughable ease.
Then we had kids.
Now our ski season begins in September, on that first cold morning when someone needs a hat. Then someone else needs mittens. Then begins an annual inventory of all things wintery, of coats and snow pants, neckgaters and goggles, helmets and skis, boots of all kinds – snow boots, downhill ski boots, cross country ski boots, ice skates, snowshoes – and sleds.
So here are some secrets to snowy fun that I've learned somewhere between the minivan and the mountains.
Secret #1: Follow the child's lead. If your child is more interested in eating snow than sliding down it, maybe that should be the big achievement of the day. So relax, count snowflakes, throw snowballs, and try not to think of the time, money and effort it took to get there.
Secret #2: You set the tone, for better or worse. That's why it's okay to throw snowballs, especially at dad. While searching for ski gear in the fall, practice saying, "Isn't this an adventure?" Or, "Whoa dude, that was a really cool wreck!" And, "Let's see how long we can stand on one ski while waiting in this lift line."
Secret #3: Sleds, or how to actually get a Sherpa's worth of gear to the chairlift. Before children, I didn't give a moment's thought to walking a quarter mile across a parking lot and stomping up stairs to the ticket office. Then I had to get a five and a three-year-old from the car to the lift … by myself. How? A sled. A cheap sled … because you're going to leave it in a snowbank by the chairlift until the end of the day.
But first, pile skis into sled, pile duffle bag/backpack on top of that, and pile children on top of that. Pull sled across parking lot. Stop for a snack. Finish expedition through parking area. Reach the lodge steps. Unload children. Balance four little skis in one hand and take smallest child in other. Shepherd bigger child in front of you and tackle the stairs. Drag empty sled behind you with your teeth. Put it all down to purchase tickets. Pick it all back up to continue to staging area. Stash sled. Then go throw snowballs and follow rabbit tracks in the snow.
Secret #4: Glove gators. I saw these little fleece gizmos in a gear store and ran right home to make my own. It's a tube of fleece with a thumbhole that goes over mittens and jackets sleeves to cover that crack of skin in between. They keep snow out and mittens on.
Secret #5: Quit before the crying. Do not continue until children (or parents) are crying. Always quit at the halfway point of the energy so that there is still some left to return home on. It's sort of like flying to the moon and not saving some fuel for the trip home. If you pass the point of no return and are still on the slopes with a kid in a total meltdown, you'll wish you were on the moon where there are no witnesses.
Secret #6: And finally, as with any outdoor activity with children, the more the merrier. Other kids and/or grandparents promote more playfulness and just enough competition to help everyone go a little faster and a little further. Lots of prep work, especially the night before, also increases the merriness for everyone. Though there are times I wish for the simplicity of skiing before kids, I treasure the sight of my two kids gliding down the bunny hill holding hands and laughing together. Someday, hopefully, they will be hauling their own little ones up the hill to ski with me!
Then we had kids.
Now our ski season begins in September, on that first cold morning when someone needs a hat. Then someone else needs mittens. Then begins an annual inventory of all things wintery, of coats and snow pants, neckgaters and goggles, helmets and skis, boots of all kinds – snow boots, downhill ski boots, cross country ski boots, ice skates, snowshoes – and sleds.
So here are some secrets to snowy fun that I've learned somewhere between the minivan and the mountains.
Secret #1: Follow the child's lead. If your child is more interested in eating snow than sliding down it, maybe that should be the big achievement of the day. So relax, count snowflakes, throw snowballs, and try not to think of the time, money and effort it took to get there.
Secret #2: You set the tone, for better or worse. That's why it's okay to throw snowballs, especially at dad. While searching for ski gear in the fall, practice saying, "Isn't this an adventure?" Or, "Whoa dude, that was a really cool wreck!" And, "Let's see how long we can stand on one ski while waiting in this lift line."
Secret #3: Sleds, or how to actually get a Sherpa's worth of gear to the chairlift. Before children, I didn't give a moment's thought to walking a quarter mile across a parking lot and stomping up stairs to the ticket office. Then I had to get a five and a three-year-old from the car to the lift … by myself. How? A sled. A cheap sled … because you're going to leave it in a snowbank by the chairlift until the end of the day.
But first, pile skis into sled, pile duffle bag/backpack on top of that, and pile children on top of that. Pull sled across parking lot. Stop for a snack. Finish expedition through parking area. Reach the lodge steps. Unload children. Balance four little skis in one hand and take smallest child in other. Shepherd bigger child in front of you and tackle the stairs. Drag empty sled behind you with your teeth. Put it all down to purchase tickets. Pick it all back up to continue to staging area. Stash sled. Then go throw snowballs and follow rabbit tracks in the snow.
Secret #4: Glove gators. I saw these little fleece gizmos in a gear store and ran right home to make my own. It's a tube of fleece with a thumbhole that goes over mittens and jackets sleeves to cover that crack of skin in between. They keep snow out and mittens on.
Secret #5: Quit before the crying. Do not continue until children (or parents) are crying. Always quit at the halfway point of the energy so that there is still some left to return home on. It's sort of like flying to the moon and not saving some fuel for the trip home. If you pass the point of no return and are still on the slopes with a kid in a total meltdown, you'll wish you were on the moon where there are no witnesses.
Secret #6: And finally, as with any outdoor activity with children, the more the merrier. Other kids and/or grandparents promote more playfulness and just enough competition to help everyone go a little faster and a little further. Lots of prep work, especially the night before, also increases the merriness for everyone. Though there are times I wish for the simplicity of skiing before kids, I treasure the sight of my two kids gliding down the bunny hill holding hands and laughing together. Someday, hopefully, they will be hauling their own little ones up the hill to ski with me!
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