what’s for dinner? chicken nuggets (for grown-ups)
Okay, its time for a break from all the esoteric stuff. I have another salad recipe to share!
Like most moms, I serve up frozen chicken nuggets with honey mustard every week or so for dinner (I know, I know, they’re mostly bread and preservatives, but my kids eat them and you have to pick your battles). In any given month, you will find several boxes in my freezer with 3 or 4 stray nuggets rattling around. But what’s a body to do with all those orphans? Stick ‘em in the toaster oven on 450 and turn them into tasty crutons for your grown-up spinach salad, that’s what.
Here’s the recipe:
cook to crispy 8-10 frozen chicken nuggets (we like Tyson’s “fun nuggets”)
boil three eggs
while the above is cooking (15 minutes), prepare …
a large bed of fresh, baby spinach
one orange, peeled and cut into bite-sized pieces
1/2 a red onion, sliced thin
3-4 oz. sharp cheddar cheese, cubed
after the eggs and chicken are finished cooking,
slice and combine with the rest of the salad
(you should peel the eggs first though ;))
pour over all:
poppy seed dressing (La Martinique brand) and a few shakes of red wine vinegar.
toss and serve immediately (while the eggs and chicken nuggets are still warm)
Let me know if you try it.
bon appetit!
2/26/2006
an empty verbal game?
On Friday, I shelled out some serious babysitting dough in order to attend an afternoon seminar at the UNC graduate English department. The name of the talk by Richard Begam (U Wisconsin at Madison) was ‘Beckett’s Kinetic Aesthetics.’ I have long been a Samuel Beckett fan (though I don’t claim to understand him) and I thought this topic sounded particularly interesting. Post-modernist/new historicist academic elite have spent the last umpteen years deconstructing literature by reducing it to the mere expression of two primal human urges (sex and hunger). In speaking of kinetics, I was hoping Professor Begam would bring a third possibly more necessary need to the dissecting table … the basic, human desire for movement.
But, alas, he did not. It was more of the same body talk … with a lot of show-offy “Look at me!” blow-hard questions afterward … however, I did discover something noteworthy (blog-worthy?) as I was reading around in the Beckett section of my Norton anthology afterward:
“Beckett’s work is always stripped, severe, grotesquely comic, and haunted by the theme of nonexistence. He seeks to represent the mind purified down to its last bitter, almost unbearably pure negation - and kept alive simply by the force of that negation.
Fastened to a dying animal, as Yeats said, the mind of a Beckett character seeks constantly to reassure itself of its own existence by developing a brilliant, sterile dialectic of its own. They [the characters] have stories to tell, and as long as they can keep talking, can keep some sort of empty verbal game going, they need not despair of their being.”
Ouch. Is this why we’re all blogging … to keep some sort of empty verbal game going?
Like Fat Charlie, sometimes I want to quit this game.
I read some more in Norton:
“But any sort of comfort or security beyond the absolute minimum eludes them. They take no action [except to hit the "publish" button]*, they preach no doctrine [aside from a doctine of one], they know nothing save their own ignorance [sad, but true], they are kicked and cuffed by society, they stink, they sulk, they snarl at their own disgusting condition [poor, poor bloggers]. And yet [don't you just love the AND YETS!?!] in some dark way, they represent mankind, ‘without the courage to end or the strength to go on’ - as the Beckett narrator of The End describes himself. In clinging to hopelessness as their one hope, they bear witness, as more comfortable folk could not, to the essential holiness of existence.”
*the brackets are mine
2/23/2006
Toccata in D minor
2/21/2006
truth or dare
2/20/2006
a tarheel born and a tarheel bred
Former Tar Heel, Blake Phillips Russell, just won her first national title (in cross-country).
Congratulations!!
We’re all proud of you, Blake.
Keep it rolling at worlds!!
2/19/2006
“My hope is for the heart to strive forever.” -Joan Benoit Samuelson
2/17/2006
KC and JP’s comment inspired (shamed?) me into ordering a pair of New Balance trail shoes whose profile reads:
“The New Balance 1100 ultimate trail running shoe developed for extreme off-road conditions.”
I wore them this morning on a pretty tame trail (hardly an extreme off-road experience) and I have to say I love them! It felt like I had fat mountain bike tires on my feet. I was able to cruise over ever bump and rock without feeling a thing. These shoes have some seriuos shock absorption. There is a velcro strip around the top of the ankle that seems gimicky, but it really does make your foot feel secure on the trail. It was designed to keep debris out - but, as I said, I wasn’t on an extreme trail so the only debris I encountered was some trail dust or maybe a blade of grass or two. Were I a princess, I might have felt that “pea” had it not been for my ultimate NB 1100’s.
So, JP and KC, I’m official now.
2/16/2006
a simple twist of fate?
2/14/2006
seen and known and safe
2/12/2006
quick race report
2/10/2006
4:10.9 ?
Tonight’s the night … well, one of two nights (there’s a final meet on March 4th at Va. Tech), where 43 3/4 year-old John Hinton will attempt to break the US National indoor record in the masters mile. Three weeks ago, John opened with a wire-to-wire leading 4:22; two weeks ago he dropped his time to 4:15 by battling some young whippersnappers whose pride wouldn’t let them lose to an “old guy.” Also, they were from State (booo … hiss!). If there’s a decent field tonight, and John doesn’t go out too hard (sub-60 is hamstring-risking territory for geezers) he might just sneak under that elusive 4:11.0 mark.
The current record was set by Bill Stewart way back in 1983. West coast masters’ phenom, Tony Young (for those of you who are internet savvy, on-line he is known as “The Old Man by the Sea”) is to John Hinton as Landy was to Bannister back in 1954 … two driven runners, living in separate spheres of the world, both trying to be the first to run the time.
But why should we care? Its nothing like the history-making battle over the first sub-4:00 mile. Times have gotten so fast in the last 50 years that there were 11 guys under four flat in one race alone last week (Reebok Boston). 4:11.0 is meaningless … or is it?
It means something to John … and to me who coaches John, and to all of John’s friends and fans who have followed his steadfast career. It means something to Tony not-so-Young and to all of his admirers who see him as a Quixotic symbol of striving. What sort of mad-man does all-out 300m sprints in his 40’s?!
In reality, only a handful of bystanders will even notice John Hinton’s race tonight. He will run along somewhere in the middle of the pack of college boy-wolves and will faithfully hit his splits . . . waiting, watching, moving up as need be. Around 1,100m, he will smash into that wall of pain (that is, oh-my-God, SO much harder when you are 40 than when you are 20 years old) and he may or may not break on through to the other side. But … and here is what matters, people … he will try.
4:10.9 means something.
Next is a podcast from John’s 4:15 effort two weeks ago. I recorded it in UNC’s “tin can” before, during, and after the race. I am embarrassed by my own screechy voice after the gun goes off, so you may want to fast forward from the 4:00-8:15 minute mark. The last 3 minutes are the best.
Interview with John Hinton [14:30]
2/8/2006
more tree art
Uwharrie gives out great awards, by the way. Above is a photo of one of tree platters from Seagrove potter, Michael Mahan, that is similar to the ones he was commissioned to make for the top prizes at Uwharrie (ours were square platters). Notice the trees etched, (carved? imprinted? What’s the proper term for this?) on the outside. I like what Mahan had to say about trees on his website:
“My latest work involves trees. I grew up drawing them. I’ve always loved trees, especially bare trees. Leafless, old trees. There was something mystical about a lone tree standing in a field of grass. I remember a tree in the Florida Keys, rising out of shallow water in some salty lagoon. It had died long ago, but its skeleton remained standing. The ancient Celts loved trees. They saw them as a source of wisdom and hope, an enduring link between the upper and lower worlds, a reminder of the eternal cycle of seasons.”
When I start getting all sentimental about trees, I am reminded of the only Dr. Seuss book I can stand to read aloud (that uber-rhyming drives me nuts): The Lorax. Remember, “I am the Lorax; I speak for the trees!”?
In no time at all, I had built a small shop.
Then I chopped down a Truffula Tree with one chop.
And with great skillful skill and with great speedy speed,
I took the soft tuft. And I knitted a Thneed!The instant I´d finished, I heard a ga-Zump!
I looked.
I saw something pop out of the stump
of the tree I´d chopped down. It was sort of a man.
Describe him?…That´s hard. I don’t know if I can.He was shortish. And oldish.
And brownish. And mossy.
And he spoke with a voice
that was sharpish and bossy.Mister! he said with a sawdusty sneeze,
I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees.
2/7/2006
way too ambitious
2/4/2006
Maybe next year.
My husband, Dave, and I just regained our crowns as Uwharrie Mountain Run 8-mile champions. Of course, we both know this is the wimpy race - Uwharrie also offers a 20 and a 40-miler. Entering the eight is sort of like choosing to race the fun run (with the wee ones) in a road race. On the ride back home after the race, we decided we can’t really call ourselves trail runners until we finish a race long enough to require a fuel belt. Also, we don’t have the requisite gear. Neither of us own trail shoes (much less trail racing shoes, like the new Inov8 that Dave’s friend, Jason, was sporting on the start line). We don’t own any shorts with fancy, secret compartments - nor do we have the goo to put in them. We’ve never purchased a powdered drink mix (unless you count TANG when I made Russian Tea for Christmas one year) and the only wick-away shirts we have are the ones we get in our race packets.
I guess we’re just a couple of leftover cross-country runners. Inevitably, every year one of us will throw out the idea of running the 20-miler. We’re warm and dry in the car, heading out of the forest, our bellies full of trail mix and fig newtons … and we remember those 20-mile runners still have a dozen hills left to climb. The 40-milers have 6 more hours of daylight to complete. “Maybe next year,” we say, but both know we’ll stick to the wimpy race.
When I asked Dave why he prefers the 8 to the 20 or 40, he said, “I’d rather run fast than far.” Ideally, I’d want to run fast AND far … but there just aren’t enough hours in the day. We had to be back home in time for our 8 year-old’s YMCA basketball game. It was picture day. I guess the most important qualification for being a hard-core trail runner is time.
Maybe next year.
2/3/2006
living in a mansion
I am currently indulging in this book by Judith Warner, whose subtitle reads, “Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety.” As my college friend from West Virginia used to say, “Ain’t that the truth?!” One passage, in particular, made it all the way to dog-ear status. My system of marking in books - NOT library books, of course - is complicated and revealing. If I haven’t fully committed to a line or passage, I will merely put a dot with my pen in the margin. I prefer to mark with pens, because in my house of kids’ homework there is seldom a sharpened pencil. Next is the dash, which means I may go back and re-read it later, but not necessarily. Another non-committal mark. Then there’s the decisive check. This signals a keeper, but not a quoter. After that is an exclamation point or the word “yes,” (also “No!,” which is actually a positive marking b/c the author stirred me up). I sometimes put people’s initials or names in the margin - as living examples of the vice or virtue described (or, simply, when a memory is triggered). Next is the bold, straight line drawn down the side of the margin selecting an entire paragraph. Definitely quotable material. I used to underline, but I think this makes the text look messy. I might underline just one word … like in Warner’s book I underlined “playpen” because its so controversial.
At the top of my rating system is the star - I gave up smiley faces when a friend teased me after borrowing one of my books. And above the star is the dog-ear. After I finish a book, I go back to the beginning and re-read every page that was dog-eared as a review, of sorts, and to lock in the information or inspiration I received. At the risk of revealing too much … 
… I should add, if I am reading without a pen, I will score the page with a fingernail. I then have to hold the book at an impossible angle while squinting with one eye to be able to find any of those marks.
So, now that you know my system, here is what I dog-eared in Perfect Madness:
“As the psychologists who treated them in the 1960’s knew, depression often is the province of women who make their kids thier life’s work. There’s something sad and scary about losing yourself, particularly when it stands your life’s ambitions on their head.
One woman I spoke with, a painter, whose dreams of a life as an artist had taken a backseat to her husband’s career, tried to articulate this. She was a person who’d pretty much had everything: a wonderful education, a wonderful husband, a nice big house, two children, full-time help. Still, she wondered, over dinner, why her life felt so joyless, where her life had gone, when was the last time she’d had a truly interesting conversation.
Of course, she said, bringing up her children was now her great creative act. It was the greatest creative act anyone could ever hope for really, and she wouldn’t give it up for the world, she said, but “What happens when you look back at these years and say, ‘Where is the body of work?’” she asked, her voice cracking.
There was a long silence then. The molding and making and sculpting and creating of the children’s lives did, of course, amount to a body of work, she said, gesturing elegantly. But then her hands fell flat to her sides.”
Being a runner has helped me with this mother’s dilemma. You see, there is no body of work for a runner either. Like motherhood, running is a transient art. That’s what makes it so beautiful if you ask me. I guess there are medals and trophies and record times to keep, but really the race is its own reward. That same friend from West Virginia also mused, “If I spent as many hours building a house as I have running miles, I’d be living in a mansion now!”
Ahhh, but I believe I DO live in a mansion, friend. All those miles helped build it.
And you can *STAR* that!!
2/1/2006
Powered by WordPress