Saturday

My Saturday brought together some of my favorite preoccupations: food, clothes, and music.

First: my love of quinoa, an amazingly healthy and tasty grain (it's actually a seed, but that's another story.) Here's a new recipe I've improvised. I had it for lunch today.

Lemon Almond and Herb Quinoa
1.5 cups quinoa
3 cups vegetable or chicken broth
chopped herbs (I used rosemary, tarragon and thyme)
1 cup chopped veggies (I used carrots, but zucchini, asparagus, etc. will work)
a large shallot, minced
a small handful of almonds, chopped coarsely
olive oil and/or butter
1 tablespoon lemon juice

Saute shallot in 2 tablespoons of olive oil at medium heat. When shallots start to soften, add veggies and saute until tender. Add quinoa and mix thoroughly to coat each grain of quinoa. Add broth. Cook on medium heat, covered, until quinoa becomes fluffy, about twenty minutes. In the meantime, toast the almonds in a small amount of olive oil, just until you smell a toasty smell. Mix the almonds, herbs and the lemon juice into the quinoa, heat for another minute or two to reduce moisture, and serve.

Second: my new jeans. I buy 75% of my clothes at used-clothing stores like the Crossroads Trading Company and the Buffalo Exchange, but jeans are tricky. Repeated trips to my used-clothing haunts were not yielding anything but Old Navy jeans and tiny acid washed flares. So I hit J.Crew with a gift card my mom got me for Christmas and snagged the jeans below. Now I'm ready for spring.



Third: my new favorite song, which I listened to five times when I got home. Every now and then I find a song I love so much that it brings me great joy, and I listen to it over and over until I learn all the words. I might even listen to it so much that I get sick of it. As you must have guessed by now, most of the songs are about death, broken hearts and rebellion. Past songs have included:
Confeso, Amalia Rodriguez
Romulus, Sufjan Stevens
Clandestino, Manu Chao
The Greatest, Cat Power
Paper Planes, MIA
I Know No Pardon, Vetiver
Back to Black, Amy Winehouse
(not to mention the entire recorded output of Led Zeppelin)

This month's favorite is She Sends Kisses, by The Wrens. I found an adorable claymation video of it on YouTube. Check it out! It might become your favorite too. Maybe then we can scream the lyrics together like I do at home.

Adoption

I have the feeling that some people read this blog mostly for the adoption stuff. In that respect, I feel like an author who insists on focusing on a dull subplot, while her readers hanker for the juicy parts.

When our adoption in October didn't work out, it had a huge impact on me (and on both of us). I think many people waiting to adopt keep their desire for a child right in front of them, and wait very actively. The only way I have been able to protect myself from the sadness is to get on with life, and put adoption on the back burner. T was telling me the other day how he always looks at babies when he's out in public. I have gone in the opposite direction. I avoid babies. It's hard to feel my desire to become a parent right now.

I think that's one reason people give up on adoption or fertility treatments and decide not to become parents. They assume because they don't feel the desire for a son or daughter, that it's no longer there. I know that my desire is still there, because every time I'm asked to make a wish, a successful adoption is the first one I think of. Every time I'm part of a serious conversation about dreams and hopes, the kind of conversation that puts you in touch with your better self, I feel the desire come out of hiding.

On a day to day basis I check Statcounter to see who's been looking at our adoption website, read our adoption agency's message board to see how the other wanna-be adopters are doing, but I don't think about it that much. Even though the chances are, logically, that it will happen within a year. I'll be utterly surprised when it does.

And just to advance the plot, we had an adoption contact, one that could have turned into a match, a few weeks ago. But it just didn't feel like the right fit, mostly because the woman who contacted us was only one month pregnant. I didn't feel I could handle that long of a wait, and I was also aware of the statistics that say that a long match is more likely to fall through. It was nice to have a possibility to think over, but sad to let someone down, which is something we've had to do twice now.

See why I haven't written any adoption posts lately? I feel like I should be upholding the spirits of people who are waiting to adopt, or educating people who read this blog about the wonders of open adoption. But right now I'm in no position to be a spokesperson. I'm just someone who's slogging along.

Shuffling

A very sweet colleague of mine, who works at Apple, offered to order me an iPod Shuffle with his friends and family discount. I know I'm the last one on earth (the privileged Western "earth," that is) to have such a device.

This little player lets you load 240 songs. I've spent a few hours today scouring my iTunes and CD collection for my absolute favorites. I thought it would be fun to share the first ten songs that shuffle to the surface, no matter how embarrassing or obscure. Most of the artist links will take you to a performance of the song.

"You fixed yourself, you said, well never mind. We are ugly but we have the music."
Chelsea Hotel No 2, Rufus Wainwright. I've long loved songs about dramatic, tragic lives and lost love, tossed off with nonchalance. This Leonard Cohen cover pretty much epitomizes the genre. When Leonard Cohen wrote this song, which is about Janis Joplin, he became enraged when his publicist was so unchivalrous as to share the back story.

"Well nobody made this war of mine."
Mysteries, Beth Gibbons & Rustin Man. I love Portishead, but I love Beth Gibbons' solo album even more. This song sends me into a metaphysical swoon, with its lyrics about life as mystery. She's playing my song, because I think several times a day about how I'm alive right now, and how amazing that is.



"Memories mar my mind."
Love is a Losing Game, Amy Winehouse. More tragedy. Sometimes I wonder about myself. Why do I love Amy Winehouse, who is an utter wreck, with such great fervor? I'm a highly responsible taxpaying citizen, practically a teetoaller, and I have a tendency to run from drama. Yet I'm convinced there's a tiny little Amy Winehouse inside of me, who is demanding sensation and colorful madness.

"You were quicker than they thought. You just turned your back and walked."
Still the Same, Bob Seger. I've already dealt with my strange love of this song here.

"That money pump of power knows. The best defense is attack."
I Am the Law, Jon Langford. I've long had a crush on Jon Langford, because in my alternate, Amy Winehouse-ish mental world, I am drawn to drunken, larger than life outlaw/artists (but they have to be funny and self-deprecating.) This song, which is about the uses of power, totally rocks in a leftist sort of way. MP3 available here.

"Come to the fireworks, see the dark lady smile."
Burn It Blue, Caetano Veloso and Lila Downs
Caetano Veloso is another leftist musical hero, and he sings like an angel. I'm actually a little ambivalent about the slightly generic romanticism of this song, but I love Lila and Caetano's voices together.

"In the morning when you finally go, and the nurse runs in with her head hung low."
Casimir Pulaski Day, Sufjan Stevens. Sufjan Stevens is all about goodness, and living in a carefully controlled moral universe. This is very appealing to me, because I grew up in a very religious family, where it was believed that the smallest actions were making a splash in god's universe. This song seems to be about a chaste romance between the singer and a young girl who is dying in the bosom of her strict, religious family, and it's lovely and very philosophical.



Petit Pays, Cesaria Evora. I'm all about the lyrics, and Cesaria is singing in Portugese, which I don't understand (though I know she's singing about her "little country.") But when it comes to Cesaria, I don't need lyrics. Her voice contains the beautiful melancholy of living, and it soothes my soul. I saw her play once at the stunning Kimmel Center in Philadelphia, and she was a stolid, barefoot presence, who seemed drenched in fatalism.

Samba Tranquille, Thievery Corporation. The first thing I ever liked about the Thievery Corporation was their name. This instrumental makes me feel like I'm in the dark, looking at city lights in the distance. MP3 available here.

"Is it a memory, or are you calling from somewhere?"
Do You Think About Me, Waco Brothers. I've always thought the Waco Brothers, one of Jon Langford's bands, were kind of mediocre, but I love this song, which energetically asks a straightforward question that I've had from time to time about past loves and lost friends. MP3 available here.

There's my 30 minute soundtrack. How about you?

Festivities

We celebrated T's birthday today.

First, the birthday person relaxed in his bathrobe with his beloved laptop.



Then we joined Margaret, BZ, Max and Aiden for some East Bay baseball.

My two favorite teams, the Indians and the As, were playing. Sadly, the Indians lost, 6-1. They are my first priority (I'll save tales of the Indians-directed fanaticism of my youth for another post.) T, however, had no preference, so he was not at all disappointed in the outcome.



We continued celebrating over dinner at Spork, a Mission District restaurant that replaced a dreary KFC not too long ago.

Dining at Spork is much more like dining at Design Within Reach than dining at KFC. And I mean that as a compliment. There is no chicken at all on the menu. I love the place. Everything I've tried at Spork has been delectable, especially the chilled asparagus salad and the airy dinner rolls. Here's the swordfish dish that I had.



The most quirky thing thing about Spork is not the sporks, or the teeny-tiny hamburger cookies they give you with the check: it's the fact that they don't serve tea. I love tea. This time, I asked them, hey what's up with the tea thing? The waiter told us that when they first opened, elderly people came in for the first seating and dawdled over their after-dinner tea for an inordinate amount of time. So they just took tea off the menu. That struck me as a bit unkind, plus I've never really seen an elderly person in Spork.

The birthday person had the steak, and the grilled strawberry salad, and finished with beignets, served with a rather fancy silver spork.

Happy birthday, T!

Walking

I'm lucky enough to live in a neighborhood I love, the Mission District. I've lived here for almost fifteen years now. And I'm even more lucky, because I work there too. I'm one of the 2.5% of Americans who walk to work. Google Maps told me that it's .9 miles each way. Ah, built-in exercise!

My route is a little different each day. Here are some things I saw today.

Spring in flower form outside of Bi-Rite. I think I've been underestimating pink all these years.


An enigmatic sign.


Valencia Pizza and Pasta displays the day's specials.


A mysterious lady with enormous teeth lives in this abandoned convenience store.


The Homestead, where I used to hang out alot when it was Dylan's, admonishes its customers.


Some very friendly graffiti.


What is going on back there?

The War Works Hard

Today at my fellowship, one of the other fellows (she's from the Middle East and was educated in Iraq), read this poem to us. She wanted to share it with us as a reflection on the war in Iraq, which has been going on for five years now. Sadly, it was written during the first Gulf War. Now I want to share it with you.

The War Works Hard
How magnificent the war is
How eager
and efficient!
Early in the morning
it wakes up the sirens
and dispatches ambulances
to various places
swings corpses through the air
rolls stretchers to the wounded
summons rain
from the eyes of mothers
digs into the earth
dislodging many things
from under the ruins
some are lifeless and glistening
others are pale and still throbbing
it produces the most questions
in the minds of children
entertains the gods
by shooting fireworks and missiles
into the sky
sows mines in the fields
and reaps punctures and blisters
urges families to emigrate
stands beside the clergymen
as they curse the devil
(while the poor remain
with one hand in the searing fire).
The war continues working, day and night
it inspires tyrants
to deliver long speeches
awards medals to generals
and themes to poets
it contributes to the industry
of artificial limbs
provides food for flies
adds pages to the history books
achieves equality
between killer and killed
teaches lovers to write letters
accustoms young women to waiting
fills the newspapers
with articles and pictures
builds new houses
for the orphans
invigorates the coffin makers
and gives grave diggers
a pat on the back
paints a smile on the leader’s face.
It works with unparalleled diligence!
Yet no one gives it a word of praise.

By Dunya Mikhail
Translated by Elizabeth Winslow and Saadi A. Simawe

A Vacation at Home

I've been working way too hard lately. I love my job, but I was starting to resent how hard I was working. So I decided to take Monday off.

I went shopping for recycled clothing at Crossroads Trading Company and the Buffalo Exchange. As usual, I found lots of Anthropologie stuff for 20% of retail, which makes me feel like rubbing my hands together with glee. Ha! Ha! Republicans! I'm wearing your beautiful clothes and you didn't get a cent!

I had a chai and read a great book called Fieldwork at Morning Due.

I got a pedicure in Noe Valley, to go with my new sandals.

I ran into Steve, Allan, Jessie and Mona, just walking around in the sunshine.

It's things like sunshine, used clothing, red toenails, random encounters, and good stories that make me feel lucky to be alive. I'm happy.