The car thermometer read 21F and there was a stiff wind, no doubt dropping the perceived temperatued into the teens. And what did we do? We went for a nature walk! We headed to a local nature and science center and spent half the morning running around the castellated playground. Not to worry, as we were fully coated and mittened and hatted. Though, I could've used a scarf and Mama forgot her hat and mittens. The new family rule is you have to wear hats and mittens if it is below freezing. Otherwise, I'm not really a good judge of when you need what winter apparel (and the whole coat process is slowing down and throwing off my whole morning departure routine). Obviously, neither is Mama.
After playing in the castle--and on the very cold metal slides--we took a walk down to the pond. On the way, we must have seen the world's fattest squirrels. Bud thought one was a raccoon! We also saw chickadees, sparrows, a blue jay, and a cardinal at the center's bird feed area. We walked around the frozen pond on the boardwalk, recalling what Sid the Science Kid had said about water turning into ice when it is cold (and how it turns back to water when it is warm). We also imagined all the frogs sleeping in their burrows, just like Felix on Miss Spider. We even found a spot where we could throw rocks onto the frozen surface of the pond and watch then skid all the way across. The kiddos were also able to lean over and touch the ice, which Mama then broke with her foot to demonstrate why you never try to walk on ice. They were fascinated with the 1/4" thick chunks, which they also threw across the pond. We also found a few spots under a bridge where the water was still running.
It wasn't an entirely outdoor experience though because there was a program in the afternoon. We saw (and were able to touch) snakes, turtles, a dragon (bearded, which they liked and feared less than the turtles!!), a bunny that sat in Sis's lap twice, and a bird that laughs. The bunny was so soft and warm, quite opposite of the snake, which I reluctantly stroked trying to encourage the kids. Didn't work, though.
We had lunch out--the first restaurant meal in something like 6 weeks, which they really seemed to appreciate. And, having spent some of the morning discussing what various creatures eat, we imagined which animals would eat plates of what, such as "who would eat a plate full of flies?" A frog! Then we tried to guess what each of us would most like to have on a plate. They chose pizza for me, pretty accurate. Which is why we were there in the first place. At least I got to choose where we ate: Sis wanted to have a picnic outside at the castle.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
I Heart Art
It looks like it's Valentine's Day at the Met. They've got a new exhibition entitled "Art and Love in Renaissance Italy," complete with paintings by Titian from the Prado. While the review in the NYTimes suggests that the show is inconsistent, I still think it sounds like a perfect way to warm up this winter (complete with 16th-century pornography!). Or to celebrate our impending nuptials. Whadya say, hon?
A Desk of One's Own
I have a new desk.
Well, not "new." I found it in someone's garbage about a year ago (yes, I am occasionally a dumpster diver; this was on the curb of a big house nearby. I'm always shocked what people throw away, especially with a Goodwill not too far away). It's a beautiful wooden desk with cubbies that has been thoroughly cleaned and been in our entryway and now bedroom. For awhile, Mama was storing her stuff in it, but it wasn't really working for her. Or for me, because even when it was hers, I would sit here during rest time and work on the computer. So, yesterday, I traded her my coveted downstairs letter sorter hanging on the wall for the desk. She gets downstairs storage and easy access and I get to have the space where I actually already work. It's a perfect solution.
I have always loved my desks. From the yellow one with three big drawers and a thin drawer at the top, to various dorm desks, a few cheap pressboard office supply store desks, even my huge, L-shaped, ultra-modern (and not very me) IKEA computer/dissertation desk that is currently in the basement, I love sitting at and organizing and working at my desks. My office desks have been pretty great too, from the one in the basement of the museum in Chicago (which was my first) to the one overlooking Central Park from a 19th-century mansion to the last one, again in a basement, complete with bookshelves, drawers, bulletin board, and cubby walls in my own huge office space (which served a double function as the museum's art studio and later housed my assistant at her own desk near mine). And now I have a desk again; I had put the IKEA one in the basement with the end of the dissertation project and the beginning of the baby project. Why did I need a place to write? But with the blogs, the job search, and the possible job, I'm so glad to have a desk again. I've put my knick-knacks on it, put some office supplies in the drawers, purchased a desk tray and am extremely happy with the result.
While I won't equal Judith Shakespeare's or even Virginia Woolf's writings at this desk, it is mine and already feels like home. I think I must have missed having a desk, the first time in some 35 years. I'm looking forward to spending my rest times here. It's kinda like coming home to the old me.
Well, not "new." I found it in someone's garbage about a year ago (yes, I am occasionally a dumpster diver; this was on the curb of a big house nearby. I'm always shocked what people throw away, especially with a Goodwill not too far away). It's a beautiful wooden desk with cubbies that has been thoroughly cleaned and been in our entryway and now bedroom. For awhile, Mama was storing her stuff in it, but it wasn't really working for her. Or for me, because even when it was hers, I would sit here during rest time and work on the computer. So, yesterday, I traded her my coveted downstairs letter sorter hanging on the wall for the desk. She gets downstairs storage and easy access and I get to have the space where I actually already work. It's a perfect solution.
I have always loved my desks. From the yellow one with three big drawers and a thin drawer at the top, to various dorm desks, a few cheap pressboard office supply store desks, even my huge, L-shaped, ultra-modern (and not very me) IKEA computer/dissertation desk that is currently in the basement, I love sitting at and organizing and working at my desks. My office desks have been pretty great too, from the one in the basement of the museum in Chicago (which was my first) to the one overlooking Central Park from a 19th-century mansion to the last one, again in a basement, complete with bookshelves, drawers, bulletin board, and cubby walls in my own huge office space (which served a double function as the museum's art studio and later housed my assistant at her own desk near mine). And now I have a desk again; I had put the IKEA one in the basement with the end of the dissertation project and the beginning of the baby project. Why did I need a place to write? But with the blogs, the job search, and the possible job, I'm so glad to have a desk again. I've put my knick-knacks on it, put some office supplies in the drawers, purchased a desk tray and am extremely happy with the result.
While I won't equal Judith Shakespeare's or even Virginia Woolf's writings at this desk, it is mine and already feels like home. I think I must have missed having a desk, the first time in some 35 years. I'm looking forward to spending my rest times here. It's kinda like coming home to the old me.
Confession Time
I lied.
I told everyone that we couldn't go to playgroup this morning because someone was coming to look at a leak in the basement.
That wasn't true.
We have a mouse.
Well, probably actually more than one.
But I am embarrassed to admit it.
I am already ashamed of and sensitive about my housekeeping skills.
But the appearance of mice makes me feel worse.
Of course, I've been told that the appearance of mice does not necessarily indicate dirtiness.
But I don't think I believe it. Because I know we are guilty of not being neat and clean all the time.
We first started noticing that soemthing was amiss when the cats quit coming upstairs in the evening and overnight. We would find them in the morning huddled in front of the cabinet underneath the sink. Obviously they could hear, see, or smell something that we couldn't. Now, we've had a mouse or two before, usually in the spring, usually one that we have trapped in the basement. It's an old house with no doubt lots of ways for mice to get in and it does get cold outside. So we looked for droppings, but didn't find any and so put down baking soda to see if we could find any tracks.
Well, two nights ago I found droppings and tracks. The cats' vigilance had paid off; we had been clued into our problem. But instead of our usual traps in the basement, we decided to call in our pest control people who came this morning. It's not a huge problem, he said, but it's good that we called them so they can seal up holes and the like before we have a real little colony. He also suggested we get rid of all the cardboard boxes in the basement so they can't nest. Now, most of you haven't been in my basement, thank goodness (and those of you who have made fun of my basement stairway have no idea what lies below; let's just say we value family time above organization) but I bet there are 100-plus cardboard boxes of books, holiday decorations, childhood memorabilia, clothes, housewares, and other crap down there. We would love to finish half the basement but there is a lot of stuff to move, and we haven't had the money or incentive to declutter. Until now. I think we'll be spending a lot of our evenings in the basement cleaning, transferring things to plastic bins, and hopefully not coming across too many mice.
And the kiddos. They of course are now aware of what's going on because I couldn't tell them it was a leak in the basement if the man and I were looking under the sink and behind my stove. At least the nice man said he was going to put the mice in a field instead of send them to their deaths in little wire traps (I know, I know, I'm a vegetarian and I should use humane methods but I want them out now and none of the humane methods--glue traps, peppermint oil, cohabitation--work). But Bud wants to name the mice. Sis wants to call ours the "mouse house" and feed them cheese. I tried to explain that real mice aren't all that nice and that they are eating our food, and then Bud got worried and asked if the mice had angry faces. Oh, boy. First the damned turkeys, and now the mice.
So there, I told you. The kids would have anyway so I might as well beat them to it. I'm coming clean. And am cleaning. I guess that makes it a win-win situation. Just, please, don't tease me.
I told everyone that we couldn't go to playgroup this morning because someone was coming to look at a leak in the basement.
That wasn't true.
We have a mouse.
Well, probably actually more than one.
But I am embarrassed to admit it.
I am already ashamed of and sensitive about my housekeeping skills.
But the appearance of mice makes me feel worse.
Of course, I've been told that the appearance of mice does not necessarily indicate dirtiness.
But I don't think I believe it. Because I know we are guilty of not being neat and clean all the time.
We first started noticing that soemthing was amiss when the cats quit coming upstairs in the evening and overnight. We would find them in the morning huddled in front of the cabinet underneath the sink. Obviously they could hear, see, or smell something that we couldn't. Now, we've had a mouse or two before, usually in the spring, usually one that we have trapped in the basement. It's an old house with no doubt lots of ways for mice to get in and it does get cold outside. So we looked for droppings, but didn't find any and so put down baking soda to see if we could find any tracks.
Well, two nights ago I found droppings and tracks. The cats' vigilance had paid off; we had been clued into our problem. But instead of our usual traps in the basement, we decided to call in our pest control people who came this morning. It's not a huge problem, he said, but it's good that we called them so they can seal up holes and the like before we have a real little colony. He also suggested we get rid of all the cardboard boxes in the basement so they can't nest. Now, most of you haven't been in my basement, thank goodness (and those of you who have made fun of my basement stairway have no idea what lies below; let's just say we value family time above organization) but I bet there are 100-plus cardboard boxes of books, holiday decorations, childhood memorabilia, clothes, housewares, and other crap down there. We would love to finish half the basement but there is a lot of stuff to move, and we haven't had the money or incentive to declutter. Until now. I think we'll be spending a lot of our evenings in the basement cleaning, transferring things to plastic bins, and hopefully not coming across too many mice.
And the kiddos. They of course are now aware of what's going on because I couldn't tell them it was a leak in the basement if the man and I were looking under the sink and behind my stove. At least the nice man said he was going to put the mice in a field instead of send them to their deaths in little wire traps (I know, I know, I'm a vegetarian and I should use humane methods but I want them out now and none of the humane methods--glue traps, peppermint oil, cohabitation--work). But Bud wants to name the mice. Sis wants to call ours the "mouse house" and feed them cheese. I tried to explain that real mice aren't all that nice and that they are eating our food, and then Bud got worried and asked if the mice had angry faces. Oh, boy. First the damned turkeys, and now the mice.
So there, I told you. The kids would have anyway so I might as well beat them to it. I'm coming clean. And am cleaning. I guess that makes it a win-win situation. Just, please, don't tease me.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Wish Me Luck
I've lined up some professional references and have started editing my most recent resume (which I had tidied up for a museum job this summer so it has to be reconceptualized) and am actually going to apply for a couple of adjunct positions at local colleges for the spring or summer. Just to teach a class or two, probably introductory survey. The timing has to be right, the money more than I made ten years ago without my Ph.D. I haven't taught in a lecture hall in years but lectured extensively at my four museum positions. It's kind of exciting, kind of scary. But let's not count chickens or move carts in front of horses. Let's just revel in the moment as I consider reentering some semblance of my former professional life. And if I end up not getting one or not taking one I get, just the act of thinking about it has been so good for me.
Which is why I'm in the process of starting a whole new blog, one of art and museums, a more career/professional/academic one which I will premiere probably in January once I've written (and actually edited) several posts.
Which is why I'm in the process of starting a whole new blog, one of art and museums, a more career/professional/academic one which I will premiere probably in January once I've written (and actually edited) several posts.
Reverberations
As I've said I've been singing Les Mis in the car the last few days, crying as I go. Yes, I am PMSing. But, I've also radically altered how I see this musical. Once, for me, it was a love story, requited and unrequited; I wasn't that interested in Valjean's personal, spiritual journey. But now, I also see it as a story of parental love (which is why I'm crying as Fantine gives Cosette away in the beginning and Valjean says goodbye to Cosette at the end; but I don't really like Cosette. That "Castle on a Cloud" song grates on my nerves.).
But in the end, it's a story of spirituality and religion, of Valjean and Javert, morality and righteousness.
And all I keep singing is "to love another person is to see the face of God."
Was Victor Hugo a Unitarian Universalist*?
I might actually have to read the novel (please, oh please, tell me the line is in the book and not just the musical??)
-=-=-=-=-
**Nope, because they were separate religious movements in the 19th century. But he did abandon Catholicism for a more liberal spiritualism according to Wikipedia.
But in the end, it's a story of spirituality and religion, of Valjean and Javert, morality and righteousness.
And all I keep singing is "to love another person is to see the face of God."
Was Victor Hugo a Unitarian Universalist*?
I might actually have to read the novel (please, oh please, tell me the line is in the book and not just the musical??)
-=-=-=-=-
**Nope, because they were separate religious movements in the 19th century. But he did abandon Catholicism for a more liberal spiritualism according to Wikipedia.
Good Luck
A shoutout to Mrs Teacher, whom I saw at Starbucks today studying for her bio exam. Good luck! Let's have coffee when you're not studying . . .
A Secret Dream
I've been listening to musicals these last few days (after several days of listening to Bob Marley with the kids), mainly Passion and Les Miserables, mainly in the car, where I can sing my heart out with impunity. See, I always wanted to be a Broadway star. As long as I can remember, I loved playing musicals on my record (then tape, then CD, now MP3) player and singing along as if I were the actress. Guinevere in Camelot, Liesl in Sound of Music, Laurie in Oklahoma, any of the women in Carousel and Fiddler on the Roof, the Narrator in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, the cast of Chorus Line, Evita, Christine in Phantom of the Opera, on up through Into the Woods, Secret Garden, Rent, Titanic, Ragtime, Jane Eyre, Lion King. And today, Les Mis (either Fantine or Eponine, never Cosette!) and Passion.
Of course, I never had any real professional aspirations. I wouldn't even join choir in junior high because someone told me that you had to sing in front of the class alone. I did muster the courage to try out for my high school's rendition of Fiddler but didn't make it (my best friend at the time did, though). I'm what you might call an enthusiastic singer, best around campfires and in groups. I was a great Girl Scout. I was in a woman's chorus in Chicago, which accepted everyone and didn't care that I wasn't an accomplished singer. I loved all the folk and world songs they sang. And I'm just learning to sing along with my church's hymnal. See, I can't read music and so unless I know a song already I can't sing it. I don't have to know it very well because I'm great at making up lyrics and coming up with rhymes on the spot (I get this skill from my mom, who rarely remembers lyrics correctly but is great at ad-libbing). Besides, I'm naturally an alto who desperately wants to be a soprano, so I'm not too particular about maintaining my key.
Which is why the car is the perfect place for me to sing, with or without the kids who as yet think I'm a great singer. I don't tell them otherwise, as I believe for a non-professional like myself it's the passion that counts (besides, they are too young to learn that typical adult complex of "I'm not a good ______."). What do they say in Chorus Line? "What you lack in talent you sure make up in volume!" Just don't laugh if you see me belting my solo at the stoplight. I'm having a grand time, living a childhood dream, in my mind, which is sometimes the only and best place.
Of course, I never had any real professional aspirations. I wouldn't even join choir in junior high because someone told me that you had to sing in front of the class alone. I did muster the courage to try out for my high school's rendition of Fiddler but didn't make it (my best friend at the time did, though). I'm what you might call an enthusiastic singer, best around campfires and in groups. I was a great Girl Scout. I was in a woman's chorus in Chicago, which accepted everyone and didn't care that I wasn't an accomplished singer. I loved all the folk and world songs they sang. And I'm just learning to sing along with my church's hymnal. See, I can't read music and so unless I know a song already I can't sing it. I don't have to know it very well because I'm great at making up lyrics and coming up with rhymes on the spot (I get this skill from my mom, who rarely remembers lyrics correctly but is great at ad-libbing). Besides, I'm naturally an alto who desperately wants to be a soprano, so I'm not too particular about maintaining my key.
Which is why the car is the perfect place for me to sing, with or without the kids who as yet think I'm a great singer. I don't tell them otherwise, as I believe for a non-professional like myself it's the passion that counts (besides, they are too young to learn that typical adult complex of "I'm not a good ______."). What do they say in Chorus Line? "What you lack in talent you sure make up in volume!" Just don't laugh if you see me belting my solo at the stoplight. I'm having a grand time, living a childhood dream, in my mind, which is sometimes the only and best place.
New Foodie Website
Check out Cookstr, the new foodie website profiled by the NYTimes a few weeks ago. It's got lots of "names," such as Nigella Lawson, Jamie Oliver, Alice Waters, Mollie Katzen, just to name a few, with thousands of their recipes and lots of pretty pictures. I haven't spent too much time with the interface but the content looks intriguing.
I'll probably be using their poached pears in chocolate sauce by Jean-Georges Vongerichten and Mark Bittman (though I should note that when I searched "pears helene," which also has chocolate, it didn't appear--though I know that it is there--because I didn't use accent marks. They need to fix that.)
-=-=-=-=
Poached Pears in Chocolate Sauce
Yield: 4 servings
Cooking Time: 20 minutes, plus cooling time
Ingredients
4 pears (about 6 ounces each), preferably Anjou
3¼ cups sugar
2 vanilla beans
½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder, such as Valrhona or Hershey’s
½ cup heavy cream
Directions
Peel and core the pears. Combine 2½ cups of the sugar and 5 cups water in a saucepan large enough to hold the pears. Split the vanilla beans the long way and scrape out the seeds; add both seeds and pods to the water. Turn the heat to medium-high and bring to a boil.
Add the pears and adjust the heat so that the mixture bubbles, but not too vigorously. Cook for 8 minutes, or until a thin-bladed knife inserted into the pears meets with little resistance. Let the pears cool in the liquid for 30 to 60 minutes (do not refrigerate).
Meanwhile, combine 1 cup water with the remaining ¾ cup sugar in a small saucepan; bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Turn off the heat and whisk in the cocoa, along with the cream. Return to very low heat and cook, stirring, just until thickened slightly. (This can be made several hours in advance; keep at room temperature, then rewarm gently.)
Serve the pears with the warm chocolate sauce spooned over them.
The pears should be large and just about perfectly ripe before cooking. To judge ripeness, gently squeeze their "shoulders," which should yield to your touch.
The easiest way to core a pear is with a small melon baller, digging up from the bottom. An ordinary teaspoon works almost as well.
Notes
If you are not going to cook the pears right away, once they are peeled and cored, drop them into a bowl of cold water mixed with the juice of a lemon to keep them from turning brown.© 2000 Jean-Georges Vongerichten and Mark Bittman
cookstr.com
I'll probably be using their poached pears in chocolate sauce by Jean-Georges Vongerichten and Mark Bittman (though I should note that when I searched "pears helene," which also has chocolate, it didn't appear--though I know that it is there--because I didn't use accent marks. They need to fix that.)
-=-=-=-=
Poached Pears in Chocolate Sauce
Yield: 4 servings
Cooking Time: 20 minutes, plus cooling time
Ingredients
4 pears (about 6 ounces each), preferably Anjou
3¼ cups sugar
2 vanilla beans
½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder, such as Valrhona or Hershey’s
½ cup heavy cream
Directions
Peel and core the pears. Combine 2½ cups of the sugar and 5 cups water in a saucepan large enough to hold the pears. Split the vanilla beans the long way and scrape out the seeds; add both seeds and pods to the water. Turn the heat to medium-high and bring to a boil.
Add the pears and adjust the heat so that the mixture bubbles, but not too vigorously. Cook for 8 minutes, or until a thin-bladed knife inserted into the pears meets with little resistance. Let the pears cool in the liquid for 30 to 60 minutes (do not refrigerate).
Meanwhile, combine 1 cup water with the remaining ¾ cup sugar in a small saucepan; bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Turn off the heat and whisk in the cocoa, along with the cream. Return to very low heat and cook, stirring, just until thickened slightly. (This can be made several hours in advance; keep at room temperature, then rewarm gently.)
Serve the pears with the warm chocolate sauce spooned over them.
The pears should be large and just about perfectly ripe before cooking. To judge ripeness, gently squeeze their "shoulders," which should yield to your touch.
The easiest way to core a pear is with a small melon baller, digging up from the bottom. An ordinary teaspoon works almost as well.
Notes
If you are not going to cook the pears right away, once they are peeled and cored, drop them into a bowl of cold water mixed with the juice of a lemon to keep them from turning brown.© 2000 Jean-Georges Vongerichten and Mark Bittman
cookstr.com
Is Hope Contagious?
Yesterday at Chinese class, the little four-year old sitting next to us was wearing a private school nametag. And she wouldn't take it off, so proud was she of her name emblazoned in marker on the white sticker, with the brand name of the prestitigous school elegantly inscribed at the top. Her dad kept asking her to take it off--because, well, we wouldn't want to gloat, now would we?--but she refused. She's four; she gets it. What's the point of going to one of those schools if you don't let everyone know?
I've been following the lifestyle pages' reports of where the Obamas will be sending their little girls--which tony Washington private school will be able to boast of their enrollment? Georgetown Day? Sidwell? Why do I even know the name of that school? Oh, wait, that's where Chelsea Clinton went. It comes at a time when my friend who is moving to sub-suburban (i.e. not near Atlanta) Georgia is researching schools and tells me that my town's schools get lower grades on the website than those in her new part of the world, which I find great for her and depressing for us (given that we are in one of the richest states in the nation).
But I found hope it the pages of the NYTimes this morning, on Sandra Tsing Loh's blog; she's one of the education writers. And she too is contemplating schools, public policy (or lack thereof), and the Obamas. Her kids go to school in L.A. where budgets and bureaucracy are depressing. But she finds hope in the coming era, even for oft-ignored education, which has taken an even further backseat during this economic crisis. She writes:
"The time is perfect for an American renaissance revivifying this most Jeffersonian of ideals — quality public education, available for all — where an educated citizenry is the heart of a thriving democracy. . . . With any luck, in the next generation, the meritocratic dream conveyed in the ascension of Barack Obama will not hinge on a lucky jaunt at the Punahou School but will be entwined in a narrative that reflects the triumph of public school, a fought-for hearth in which burns the essential goodness, fair-mindedness and optimism of America."
I hope so. We desperately need it. But at least for now, my kiddos marched off to school this morning proud to be seen in their matching school logo shirts.
I've been following the lifestyle pages' reports of where the Obamas will be sending their little girls--which tony Washington private school will be able to boast of their enrollment? Georgetown Day? Sidwell? Why do I even know the name of that school? Oh, wait, that's where Chelsea Clinton went. It comes at a time when my friend who is moving to sub-suburban (i.e. not near Atlanta) Georgia is researching schools and tells me that my town's schools get lower grades on the website than those in her new part of the world, which I find great for her and depressing for us (given that we are in one of the richest states in the nation).
But I found hope it the pages of the NYTimes this morning, on Sandra Tsing Loh's blog; she's one of the education writers. And she too is contemplating schools, public policy (or lack thereof), and the Obamas. Her kids go to school in L.A. where budgets and bureaucracy are depressing. But she finds hope in the coming era, even for oft-ignored education, which has taken an even further backseat during this economic crisis. She writes:
"The time is perfect for an American renaissance revivifying this most Jeffersonian of ideals — quality public education, available for all — where an educated citizenry is the heart of a thriving democracy. . . . With any luck, in the next generation, the meritocratic dream conveyed in the ascension of Barack Obama will not hinge on a lucky jaunt at the Punahou School but will be entwined in a narrative that reflects the triumph of public school, a fought-for hearth in which burns the essential goodness, fair-mindedness and optimism of America."
I hope so. We desperately need it. But at least for now, my kiddos marched off to school this morning proud to be seen in their matching school logo shirts.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?
We played Thanksgiving dinner all day today. And I was thrilled to see them getting excited about this holiday; so thrilled, in fact, that we even practiced Thanksgiving by making a real pumpkin pie. Throughout the day, Sis and Bud set the table with cloth and plates and then laid out a delicious spread of "first vegetable soup." Even Amy the Bunny's baby chair was set with tasty vegetables. I was invited to share the holiday meal.
And then the Great Turkey came to dinner. Sis would rush out of the playroom and come dancing back to us with one of our decorative, festive, Pilgrim-dressed play turkey waving in front of her face (These are now Mr. and Mrs. Turkey; we used to laughingly and lovingly call them, pre-babies, Butch and Femme Turkey. I'm just not up for explaining that to the kiddos, so our turkey family, at least, is traditional). We were encouraged to stand and cheer, then to invite the Great Turkey for dinner.
Because, as all of you know, you have turkey for Thanksgiving dinner.
If you don't get it, substitute the word "friends" for "turkey."
It's like something out of Charlie Brown, an odd confluence of the Great Pumpkin and Santa Claus, but using the mascot for this holiday. I always did think it was sick that we use the sacrificial animal of the holiday as its symbol. Well, this year it has gotten worse. Sis thinks the Thanksgiving turkey is coming for dinner. And Bud's right there with her, dancing with the Great Turkey. I'm a vegetarian, so I'm not going to eat turkey--do we really need it? How do I tell them that the turkey is the main course not the honored guest? (I know, I know, just one more example of how squeamish and naive Americans are so far removed from their food sources. I can't transcend my culture in all things, people.)
Especially because Sis asked me, "Mommy, what is the difference between a farm turkey and eating turkey?"
I think it just became my least favorite holiday.
-=-=-=-=-
Libby's Famous Pumpkin Pie
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
2 large eggs
1 can (15 oz.) Libby canned pumpkin
1 can (12 fl. oz.) evaporated milk
1 unbaked 9-inch (4-cup volume) deep-dish pie shell
Whipped cream (optional)
MIX sugar, cinnamon, salt, ginger and cloves in small bowl. Beat eggs in large bowl. Stir in pumpkin and sugar-spice mixture. Gradually stir in evaporated milk.POUR into pie shell.BAKE in preheated 425° F oven for 15 minutes. Reduce temperature to 350° F; bake for 40 to 50 minutes or until knife inserted near center comes out clean. Cool on wire rack for 2 hours. Serve immediately or refrigerate. Top with whipped cream before serving.
NOTES:1 3/4 teaspoons pumpkin spice may be substituted for the cinnamon, ginger and cloves; however, the taste will be slightly different. Do not freeze, as this will cause the crust to separate from the filling.
FOR 2 SHALLOW PIES: substitute two 9-inch (2-cup volume) pie shells. Bake in preheated 425° F. oven for 15 minutes. Reduce temperature to 350° F.; bake for 20 to 30 minutes or until pies test done.
FOR HIGH ALTITUDE BAKING (3,500 to 6,000 ft.): Deep-dish pie- extend second bake time to 55 to 60 minutes. Shallow pies- no change.
back of the Libby's pumpkin can
And then the Great Turkey came to dinner. Sis would rush out of the playroom and come dancing back to us with one of our decorative, festive, Pilgrim-dressed play turkey waving in front of her face (These are now Mr. and Mrs. Turkey; we used to laughingly and lovingly call them, pre-babies, Butch and Femme Turkey. I'm just not up for explaining that to the kiddos, so our turkey family, at least, is traditional). We were encouraged to stand and cheer, then to invite the Great Turkey for dinner.
Because, as all of you know, you have turkey for Thanksgiving dinner.
If you don't get it, substitute the word "friends" for "turkey."
It's like something out of Charlie Brown, an odd confluence of the Great Pumpkin and Santa Claus, but using the mascot for this holiday. I always did think it was sick that we use the sacrificial animal of the holiday as its symbol. Well, this year it has gotten worse. Sis thinks the Thanksgiving turkey is coming for dinner. And Bud's right there with her, dancing with the Great Turkey. I'm a vegetarian, so I'm not going to eat turkey--do we really need it? How do I tell them that the turkey is the main course not the honored guest? (I know, I know, just one more example of how squeamish and naive Americans are so far removed from their food sources. I can't transcend my culture in all things, people.)
Especially because Sis asked me, "Mommy, what is the difference between a farm turkey and eating turkey?"
I think it just became my least favorite holiday.
-=-=-=-=-
Libby's Famous Pumpkin Pie
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
2 large eggs
1 can (15 oz.) Libby canned pumpkin
1 can (12 fl. oz.) evaporated milk
1 unbaked 9-inch (4-cup volume) deep-dish pie shell
Whipped cream (optional)
MIX sugar, cinnamon, salt, ginger and cloves in small bowl. Beat eggs in large bowl. Stir in pumpkin and sugar-spice mixture. Gradually stir in evaporated milk.POUR into pie shell.BAKE in preheated 425° F oven for 15 minutes. Reduce temperature to 350° F; bake for 40 to 50 minutes or until knife inserted near center comes out clean. Cool on wire rack for 2 hours. Serve immediately or refrigerate. Top with whipped cream before serving.
NOTES:1 3/4 teaspoons pumpkin spice may be substituted for the cinnamon, ginger and cloves; however, the taste will be slightly different. Do not freeze, as this will cause the crust to separate from the filling.
FOR 2 SHALLOW PIES: substitute two 9-inch (2-cup volume) pie shells. Bake in preheated 425° F. oven for 15 minutes. Reduce temperature to 350° F.; bake for 20 to 30 minutes or until pies test done.
FOR HIGH ALTITUDE BAKING (3,500 to 6,000 ft.): Deep-dish pie- extend second bake time to 55 to 60 minutes. Shallow pies- no change.
back of the Libby's pumpkin can
Visiting an Art Museum with Children: I Spy
Going to an art museum with children? Try playing "I Spy." This game allows kids to adapt a familiar game to an often unfamiliar setting. It also gives them a way to look at art by helping them locate ordinary objects. Finally, it encourages close looking at a single work of art. You can play this game with almost any genre, style, or period of art. Seventeenth-century still lifes feature wonderful foods and objects. American nineteenth-century landscapes allow discussion of weather, buildings, and land features. Portraits from any period contain interesting clothing, settings, and objects.
Start the game by reminding kids that this is a game for eyes only, not pointing fingers. Then pick a painting (though this also works with most sculptures) and have someone start the "I Spy" game by locating an object and waiting for others to spot it. The "spotter" can then spy the next object. You can also start with a question such as "What do you see?" and then follow that up with "What else do you see?" For many children (even young ones), identifying the objects can be a jumping off point for deeper discussion of what is happening in the painting. Later, with some children, you can ask questions about time and place, as in "Do you think this peron lives here now?" or "Do you think this is a picture of our hometown?" Follow it up with "what makes you say that?" which encourages supporting evidence for an answer.
If you are familiar with the museum or have a quick eye, you can enter an entire gallery asking children to find a particular kind of work of art, stating something like, "I spy a moutain," and letting the kids search the whole room. This works best in small galleries with few other visitors. An offshoot of this would be a treasure hunt, a very standard museum field trip activity.
But that will have to be another post.
Start the game by reminding kids that this is a game for eyes only, not pointing fingers. Then pick a painting (though this also works with most sculptures) and have someone start the "I Spy" game by locating an object and waiting for others to spot it. The "spotter" can then spy the next object. You can also start with a question such as "What do you see?" and then follow that up with "What else do you see?" For many children (even young ones), identifying the objects can be a jumping off point for deeper discussion of what is happening in the painting. Later, with some children, you can ask questions about time and place, as in "Do you think this peron lives here now?" or "Do you think this is a picture of our hometown?" Follow it up with "what makes you say that?" which encourages supporting evidence for an answer.
If you are familiar with the museum or have a quick eye, you can enter an entire gallery asking children to find a particular kind of work of art, stating something like, "I spy a moutain," and letting the kids search the whole room. This works best in small galleries with few other visitors. An offshoot of this would be a treasure hunt, a very standard museum field trip activity.
But that will have to be another post.
Bon Voyage!
Gommie is on her way to a four-day vacation in Savannah and Charleston. She and her Mah Jong buddies are celebrating a significant birthday with the trip, a new tradition for them (I think they've also done Door County and St. Louis for others. Where will you go, Gommie?) Have fun, Gommie! We look forward to hearing all about it.
Mommy Come Lately
By definition, I'm a mommy blogger. I am a mommy. I have a blog. I post about my children and my experiences as a mommy. But I don't consider myself a Mommy Blogger, one of the connected members of the mommy blogger community who keeps up with happenings and information via other mommy blogs, Twitter, and the like. I read my friends' blogs and I post mine because I like to share experiences with people I know. I'm not dissing the Mommy Blogger community, far from it, I just see myself as outside the main part of it (mainly because of time constraints) while empathetically watching it from a distance.
Which is why I'm only just learning from the NYTimes blog Motherlode about the Mommy-Motrin PR disaster that happened this weekend. Apparently, Motrin ran an ad about babywearing (that's slings, folks) and how it is trendy and can cause back pain. I quote it from the NYTimes here:
"Wearing your baby seems to be in fashion. I mean, in theory it’s a great idea. There’s the front baby carrier, sling, schwing, wrap, pouch. And who knows what else they’ve come up with. Wear your baby on your side, your front, go hands free. Supposedly, it’s a real bonding experience. They say that babies carried close to the body tend to cry less than others. But what about me? Do moms that wear their babies cry more than those who don’t. I sure do! These things put a ton of strain on your back, your neck, your shoulders. Did I mention your back? I mean, I’ll put up with the pain because it’s a good kind of pain; it’s for my kid. Plus, it totally makes me look like an official mom. And so if I look tired and crazy, people will understand why."
Well, folks, the Mommy Bloggers went nutso, offended that Motrin would ridicule, in its own attempts to be trendy, the very personal and some would say sacred art of babywearing. What is amazing as blogger Belkin points out is how the companies (I think it was an external creative agency) behind Motrin and the ad were clueless about the maelstrom developing on the internet over the weekend after the ad appeared. Only now have they pulled the ad and apologized for its offensive content. They really must be fools to have thought that ad would fly; someone wasn't doing their homework. Didn't they learn from the Pampers disaster earlier this year, when that company invited Mommy Bloggers to a conference but wanted them to come sans children?? The clout of Mommy Bloggers is intense. I mean, even in my little group, mommy-ord-of-mouth really has an effect. I'm sure moms have always had this kind of local clout, anyway, but with the internet it is fast and national
All I have to say to Motrin's ad execs, if you think wearing a baby causes back pain (and I tried it but could never manage carrying two that way), try pushing a full double stroller around. Mommywork just hurts sometimes.
Besides, I take Advil.
Which is why I'm only just learning from the NYTimes blog Motherlode about the Mommy-Motrin PR disaster that happened this weekend. Apparently, Motrin ran an ad about babywearing (that's slings, folks) and how it is trendy and can cause back pain. I quote it from the NYTimes here:
"Wearing your baby seems to be in fashion. I mean, in theory it’s a great idea. There’s the front baby carrier, sling, schwing, wrap, pouch. And who knows what else they’ve come up with. Wear your baby on your side, your front, go hands free. Supposedly, it’s a real bonding experience. They say that babies carried close to the body tend to cry less than others. But what about me? Do moms that wear their babies cry more than those who don’t. I sure do! These things put a ton of strain on your back, your neck, your shoulders. Did I mention your back? I mean, I’ll put up with the pain because it’s a good kind of pain; it’s for my kid. Plus, it totally makes me look like an official mom. And so if I look tired and crazy, people will understand why."
Well, folks, the Mommy Bloggers went nutso, offended that Motrin would ridicule, in its own attempts to be trendy, the very personal and some would say sacred art of babywearing. What is amazing as blogger Belkin points out is how the companies (I think it was an external creative agency) behind Motrin and the ad were clueless about the maelstrom developing on the internet over the weekend after the ad appeared. Only now have they pulled the ad and apologized for its offensive content. They really must be fools to have thought that ad would fly; someone wasn't doing their homework. Didn't they learn from the Pampers disaster earlier this year, when that company invited Mommy Bloggers to a conference but wanted them to come sans children?? The clout of Mommy Bloggers is intense. I mean, even in my little group, mommy-ord-of-mouth really has an effect. I'm sure moms have always had this kind of local clout, anyway, but with the internet it is fast and national
All I have to say to Motrin's ad execs, if you think wearing a baby causes back pain (and I tried it but could never manage carrying two that way), try pushing a full double stroller around. Mommywork just hurts sometimes.
Besides, I take Advil.
In My Bookbag
I just returned a few books to the library, cookbooks I barely managed to crack open much less cook from. I had long wanted to peruse Bittman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian and Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone but both are a little too involved for me right now: too many ingredients, too much prep. I need Fix It and Forget It Vegetarian/LowFat/Healthy. That doesn't really exist. I also took back Frozen Assets; no, not about the current state of the economy, well, not specifically--it's about cooking meals for a month all at once. And all I can say about economic cooking is that it doesn't seem like it would taste very good at all, so maybe you're saving money because you just won't eat. Finally, I returned Nathan's Jewish Holiday Cooking. Okay, right, I'm not Jewish and thus don't observe the holidays but I love Nathan's sociological/anthropological approach to food, the way she records cultures (Ashkenazic/Sephardic/Jews in Delhi/Americanized Jews/you name it). I read her columns in the NYTimes every year during the High Holidays and always find something worth trying. This is the one cookbook I had that I actually read some of; her introduction to Jewish cooking and the Jewish dietary laws or kashrut in the beginning were enlightening, even though I had a grasp of some of them already.
So what am I reading? I am in the middle of Unredeemed Captive about the effects of the Deerfield Massacre on a particular family while also illuminating the colonies and colonial period as a whole. It's at times pedestrian but the story is fascinating and the research sound. I just rediscovered my unfinished George Eliot bio which had been in the car when the tree fell and will get back to that soon.
And then I'm also revisiting Fulghum's Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned In Kindergarten. I had loved this book when it came out in 1990, despite the fact that the author was a minister; I was more judgmental and closed-minded back then. Well, now I've learned that he is a UU minister, which tickles me to no end, and I'm enjoying the book again, having found it at a bookstore closeout sale. While his essays are shorter than I remember, and I now long for more explication, I am still inspired by his message. I think there are at least two more in the series; I wonder if they are at my mom's house, on the bookcases upstairs (hint, hint). In case you don't know the book (and I thought everyone had seen the poster, at least--it's on the walls at my PT office), I'll include his famous list here.
Most of what I really need to know about how to live, and what to do, and how to be, I learned in Kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sandbox at nursery school. These are the things that I learned:
Share everything.
Play fair.
Don't bite people.
Put things back where they belong.
Clean up your own mess.
Don't take things that aren't yours.
Say sorry if you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush.
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life.
Learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing
and dance and play and work every day some.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you go out into the world, wath for traffic, hold hands and stick together.
Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the plastic cup?
The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
Goldfish and hampsters and dogs and cats and even the little seed in the pastic cup~they all die. So do we.
And then remember the book about Dick and Jane and the first word you learned, the biggest word of all: LOOK.
Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The golden rule and love and sanitation.
Ecology and politics and sane living.
Think of what a better world it would be if we all ~ The whole world, had cookies and milk every afternoon and then lay down with our blankets for a nap.
Or if we had a basic policy to always put things back where we found them and cleaned up our own messes?!
And it is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out, it is best to hold hands and stick together.
Robert Fulghum, Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten
So what am I reading? I am in the middle of Unredeemed Captive about the effects of the Deerfield Massacre on a particular family while also illuminating the colonies and colonial period as a whole. It's at times pedestrian but the story is fascinating and the research sound. I just rediscovered my unfinished George Eliot bio which had been in the car when the tree fell and will get back to that soon.
And then I'm also revisiting Fulghum's Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned In Kindergarten. I had loved this book when it came out in 1990, despite the fact that the author was a minister; I was more judgmental and closed-minded back then. Well, now I've learned that he is a UU minister, which tickles me to no end, and I'm enjoying the book again, having found it at a bookstore closeout sale. While his essays are shorter than I remember, and I now long for more explication, I am still inspired by his message. I think there are at least two more in the series; I wonder if they are at my mom's house, on the bookcases upstairs (hint, hint). In case you don't know the book (and I thought everyone had seen the poster, at least--it's on the walls at my PT office), I'll include his famous list here.
Most of what I really need to know about how to live, and what to do, and how to be, I learned in Kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sandbox at nursery school. These are the things that I learned:
Share everything.
Play fair.
Don't bite people.
Put things back where they belong.
Clean up your own mess.
Don't take things that aren't yours.
Say sorry if you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush.
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life.
Learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing
and dance and play and work every day some.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you go out into the world, wath for traffic, hold hands and stick together.
Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the plastic cup?
The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
Goldfish and hampsters and dogs and cats and even the little seed in the pastic cup~they all die. So do we.
And then remember the book about Dick and Jane and the first word you learned, the biggest word of all: LOOK.
Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The golden rule and love and sanitation.
Ecology and politics and sane living.
Think of what a better world it would be if we all ~ The whole world, had cookies and milk every afternoon and then lay down with our blankets for a nap.
Or if we had a basic policy to always put things back where we found them and cleaned up our own messes?!
And it is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out, it is best to hold hands and stick together.
Robert Fulghum, Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten
Let It Snow!
We woke up to snow this morning, actual big snowflakes not little, tiny flurries. Nothing stuck but we enjoyed watching it fall in the sunrise sky.
And then we went outside and danced around in our pajamas and socks, celebrating the first snowfall.
Because, sooner or later, it will be winter and the snow will stick. I need to stock up on cocoa, marshmallows, and popcorn for when it does.
-=-=-=-=-
My Hot Chocolate
4 cups milk (rice milk and soy milk will work as well)
¼ cup cocoa powder (Droste)
¼ cup sugar (or slightly more)
1 teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch salt
marshmallows
Combine all ingredients and heat until warmed through. Serve with marshmallows and popcorn. Delicious!
And then we went outside and danced around in our pajamas and socks, celebrating the first snowfall.
Because, sooner or later, it will be winter and the snow will stick. I need to stock up on cocoa, marshmallows, and popcorn for when it does.
-=-=-=-=-
My Hot Chocolate
4 cups milk (rice milk and soy milk will work as well)
¼ cup cocoa powder (Droste)
¼ cup sugar (or slightly more)
1 teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch salt
marshmallows
Combine all ingredients and heat until warmed through. Serve with marshmallows and popcorn. Delicious!
Monday, November 17, 2008
How to Visit an Art Museum with Children
Thinking of taking your kids to an art museum? Want to make it as successful and happy a visit as possible? Whether you are a seasoned museum-goer or a novice visitor, the tips below will make taking children to the art museum a joy:
Before You Visit
Before You Visit
- Plan a short visit--a few galleries, one exhibition. An hour is usually more than enough and about all a preschooler can happily handle.
- Visit the museum's website to see if they have any children's materials (most do--and I have written many) to help you prepare or to complete there. Call to ask if you can take pencils (never crayons or pens) and paper into the galleries. Most museums I've worked at get edgy about children with art supplies unless in a program accompanied by staff members.
- Eat beforehand. Because you can't snack in the galleries. Even cheerios or sippy cups.
- Discuss the rules. Try to phrase them positively, such as "look with your eyes not with your hands" and "use your inside voice." Museum behavior is not the modus operandi for most children but knowing what to expect--and keeping it short--helps.
During Your Visit
- When you arrive, find a map and locate the bathrooms, cafe, and shop.
- Depending on how your kids do in shops, go there first to look at the postcard display. Let the children choose a few postcards they like and use those to guide your visit. Some museum maps have pictures and you can use those instead.
- Review the rules.
- Introduce your child to a guard. I always explain to my school tours that guards are there to protect you and the art. And if you get lost, they are in almost every room and can help you out. Most guards are glad to say hello.
- Let the children lead the way.
- Talk. It's okay to talk in a gallery. Comment on what you see, ask open-ended questions (what do you see? what do you think is going on?).
- Embrace the family (or one-on-one) time. Avoid programs the first time, until the kids are comfortable in the space, unless your child really thrives on group activities. Tours especially often require quiet, still, attentive behavior which can be difficult for little ones. And programs for kids in the galleries can be overwhelming to a newcomer (or difficult for a family depending on the age span of your children).
- Take a break midway--outdoor sculpture gardens are ideal for getting the wiggles and giggles out.
After Your Visit
- Don't forget what educators call the "follow-up activity." Do something based on your visit: draw a picture inspired by those you saw; make a collage with your map, tickets, and postcards; look at other, similar works of art in books or on the internet.
- Discuss, discuss, discuss: What did you like? What didn't you like? Tell family and friends.
- Plan your next visit!
For more ideas (and there are several lists of tips on the web), see this interview with Jean L. Sousa, head of Family Programs at The Art Institute of Chicago.
Love Cupcakes, Eat Often
Miss T and I had an awesome time in NYC on our cupcake tour, but not because of the cupcakes. Most of the places we visited were pretty standard and unimaginative; we were looking for cupcake creativity. What we found did not match what Miss T creates (you should be proud, Miss T--yours are better than the best we found in NYC). But we didn't let that hamper our good time, especially because we also managed to shop at a few other stores, including Balducci's, have tea at the iconic British shop Tea and Sympathy (where I had scones and tea and Miss T ate--get this--Spaghetti Os on toast!), and finished off the tour by sitting on a comfy couch and sipping deliciously rich hot chocolate at Chocolate Bar in Henri Bendel overlooking 5th Avenue. I include my thoughts below and look forward to Miss T's more professional opinions.
- Buttercup Bakeshop--Because this was near Mama's old office, I have had many of their cupcakes before--Lady Baltimore, German Chocolate, Lemon, Devil Dog, Red Velvet--and was excited that they were on our list to visit. And they didn't disappoint! While there isn't much seating or space, the staff were friendly and the cupcake variety inspiring. Indeed, it was my favorite cupcake stop of the day. I had a delicious almond-y Lady Baltimore, with merengue-coconut topping and a cherry, my favorite. I even bought the cookbook so I can try making some myself.
- Cupcake Cafe--the other place I had been before, this cupcake place is in new digs across the street from its former hole-in-the-wall locale behind the Port Authority. The detailed, accurate, floral decorations on the cupcakes, made with this delightfully colored frosting in many shades, are simply gorgeous. The frosting is very buttery, not very sugary. And the cupcakes were standard chocolate or vanilla, with a few different buttercreams, so not very adventurous. I had vanilla/vanilla, but it was so cold that it tasted like the refrigerator; the one Sis ate at home--chocolate/chocolate with pink tulips--was better because it wasn't ice-cold. The urban eclectic space--the best space and decor of the four shops--certainly added to the enjoyment of otherwise standard tasting but beautiful cupcakes.
- Magnolia Bakery--Eh. Yes, yes, I know, it's famous from "Sex and the City." Too urban hip for me, with its young NYU see-and-be-seen crowd gathering outside (because there is no seating) to inhale the rather standard chocolate and vanilla cupcakes with buttercream frosting. No real taste adventures; nothing big in the decoration department. I read on the menu that you can order special flavors, if you are going to get a dozen. I didn't, and so had a chocolate/chocolate, which I took home and didn't even finish (and Bud had a pink-frosted chocolate cupcake, the closet to strawberry I could find; he quit halfway through). Best thing about it? Well, there are two: I love the "I [cupcake] NY" t-shirt even if they made it in sizes that only fit young NYU students (and Miss T!); and I'm glad the former owner was successful enough to leave and open Buttercup Cafe!!
- Babycakes--This was the vegan/hypo-allergenic bakery on our list, having been featured everywhere for its gluten-free, low glycemic fare. I had seen Erin McKenna the owner/baker on Martha Stewart and in several magazines. Of course, wth the kids having had allergies, I was familiar with these kinds of treats, in theory. Most of the gluten-, egg-, dairy-, and soy-free cakes and cookies I had made or bought were mediocre to inedible. But Babycakes's sweets were definitely edible, even good. Well, good enough. There is nothing that mimics the crumb of flour but they do a good job of creating a lighter, cakey baked texture, not the dense, gritty cornbread-like cake I often managed to make. And the frosting--which is palm oil based (she finally released a recipe of the frosting, which is a real jewel if you need a dairy-free one and don't want to go the Crisco way)--is very good. Period. I enjoyed my GF lemon cupcake, well, as long as I had frosting left. There was a little sadness for me that we hadn't been able to get such cakes for Bud and Sis when we needed them. Even with the familiar retro, 50s chic decor, I didn't feel comfortable there, especially with aforementioned Erin frosting cakes in the visible, tiny kitchen without any air of warmth or welcome. Miss T even tried to engage her in conversation without much success. And we were obvious cupcake fans. Oh, well. I recommend it if you need vegan or hypoallergenic--you'll be in heaven. And there is a cookbook coming out, which I wish I could've had three years ago.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Mission Statement
In every museum I have worked, the creation of a mission statement and our adherence to it has been central to our activities. To guide the path of this blog, I include here my working mission statement:
As a museum professional with experience heading departments of education in New York City and as an academic art historian with a Ph.D. in nineteenth-century British art focusing on the representation of the art public, I am committed to the study, investigation, and enjoyment of works of art and the museums that protect, research, and exhibit them. Through this blog, I will
As a museum professional with experience heading departments of education in New York City and as an academic art historian with a Ph.D. in nineteenth-century British art focusing on the representation of the art public, I am committed to the study, investigation, and enjoyment of works of art and the museums that protect, research, and exhibit them. Through this blog, I will
- Encourage the exploration of art and museums with children, their adults, and other audiences;
- Share my knowledge, interests, and experiences of art and museums;
- Invite others, both professionals and nonprofessonals, to share their knowledge, interests, and experiences of art and museums;
- Provide related news, information, resources, and links.
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