roll is roll is roll

Last night, I went to a sushi cooking class. I've been eating so much of it, and we've been liking it so much, that I wanted to learn the secrets of making sushi rice and turning out delicious maki at home.

The instructor began with a lesson on making the rice. This turned into an exhortation to everyone in the room to get a rice cooker, for god's sake, except to me because, obviously, I already have one.

So, then, the rolling. Put the mat in front of you, put the nori on the mat, smush the rice on the nori like you'd smush shortbread into a pan, put the goodies inside and then...

Use the mat to roll. Give one good roll, a squeeze to make sure everything stays in and then, holding the mat with one hand and pulling while using the other hand to crimp and keep things stuffed inside so nothering falls out, kind of zip the mat to roll it up*.

I don't know if I described that well, but let me tell you this: watching him, I had, as they say, a great big fucking aha moment: Rolling is rolling! I can do this!. At this point, as I sat smiling, watching the chef and oh so pleased with my understanding, he said, "Let's just say that there may be, um, something in your past that will help with this, and that I'll know it when I see your rolls."

Well, friends, let's just say that I made the prettiest rolls in the room.

*imagine rolling a joint with a dollar bill and a pencil, and you've got it.

double edged needle

I went to the library to donate blood today. I thought it's, you know, one of those things a person should do. But I'm kind of scared of the whole thing because, when I was 19, I went to donate blood with Alan and Dave, and the phlebotomist pierced my vein and left me with a 5-inch navy blue hematoma that lasted for weeks.

I got there, and they gave me a whole bunch of stuff to read, and it turns out that I am forever ineligible to donate blood because, when I was 26 and had mono, I also had hepatitis and, apparently, that puts you on the DQ list for life.

So, on one hand, I would have liked to help. On the other hand, I am kind of relieved at being able to cross "donate blood" off of my list of Things to Feel Bad for Not Doing.

who you calling a shrimp?

Here's another of my new sneak-spinach-into-your-family dishes. This one's a little chunky for Emily, but she makes do.

they're good for your heart, you know

I've been beaning to tell you all about my super-fast, super-easy new recipe for burrito filling. It's so so so good. We eat it, with tortillas (ours are whole wheat), cheese (cabot 50% cheddar), rice (brown) and sour cream (fat free) almost once a week these days and, seriously, I can get dinner on the table fast than the rice can cook. It's also good just on rice, or in quesadillas, or whatever. Of course, the kids won't eat it yet, but they'll come around. At least Emily is willing to let me chop spinach into her cheese quesadillas these days. If you try it, let me know what you think.

still on a mission from god

Surprisingly, the doorbell rang at about 7:20 last night. Before we even knew who it was, over the protestations of her parents, Emily jumped up and opened the door. You'll never guess who was there.

As Andrew explained to Emily that it is completely inappropraite for an eight year old to open the door to strangers while her parents are yelling "No! No! No!," I spoke to the pair of very White young men, in their very black overcoats, standing on my stoop.

"Gentlemen," I said, I have a long history with Mormon missionaries and, while I wish you luck, and I know that you are far from home and not talking to your mamas, I cannot invite you in. We're just finishing dinner, and I'm cutting some cookies right now. If you'd like a snack, I'm happy to give you one but, other than that, I have to send you on your way."

Elder Whatever (Elder! That cracks me up!!) said that he didn't need a snack, that he hoped that my history was a good one, and then, before they left, asked if there was anything that they could do to help our family.

That was the point when the little devil on my shoulder said, "Ask them to come back tomorrow to clean up the entire winter's worth of dog shit now uncovered by the thaw and stinking up the backyard."

But I didn't.

(Thanks to Alan for the hilarious image, by the way. It's from postsecret, which is totally worth a look.)

news flash: temperature in hades drops alarmingly

Seriously, just when you think you've seen it all...just when you're sure you've got it all figured out...just when you kind of make a little bit of peace with the fucked-up-ed-ness that is your family life...

Your parents make it all weird again.

But this time -- hold on to your hats -- it was in a good way. The lead in is long, and boring if you're not part of my family, and barely worth telling. All you need to know is that there was a thing, and another thing, and someone did something, and someone didn't do something, and there was a lot of gossip and sniping and snarking to be had. My mom was in on it and I, of course, had called and told my dad. So now they were both shooting all they had at a shared target. I mean, it was the same mutual enemy as ever, but they both had pretty valid reasons for some fresh antipathy.

My dad called me to ask how the story ended, but I didn't know, so -- feeling flush with the excitement of seeing them both (together! at grandma's birthday! and grandchildren handoffs! amicable! chatty!) in Florida -- I conferenced in my mom. My dad, cheerfully impressed with the very 21st century technology of the whole thing, went with it and, next thing I knew, I was hosting a conference call with my mom and my dad for the next 53 minutes and 12 seconds. They talked to each other about the story and the players involved, and people's bad behavior, and other people, and, you know, fat people and homely people and poorly dressed people and, of course, the ever-popular Dead People.

And the rhythm of it all was so familiar to me, and so wonderful. It was like when you taste something that you haven't had for so long and, until you're eating it again, you've forgotten how much you love it. It was so great that, most of the time, I just listened. I didn't talk much at all. (shut up. it's true.)

I couldn't believe it, really. Fifteen years later, and things were, you know, normal. And different. But ok. They're both fine now, and it's not like all of their stuff never happened, or like the stuff at the end is forgotten, or maybe it's even not really forgiven, but just kind of over, and put away.

For a little while today, I had two parents at once. It was such a treasure, such a gift, such a decadent and unimaginable luxury. I am overwhelmed with gratitude -- to who? my dad? the universe? time, which really, I guess, does heal everything? -- just thinking about it.

magpie convention

Ok, so I don't have a coterie of friends at my elbow like Carrie Bradshaw. But, this week at least, I'll have something better.

I'm off to Florida in the morning (at 5 am....I don't know what I was thinking!) for a week in the sun with my mom and sister. Other grandparents, eager to see the kids, will be having them for overnight visits (overnight! the luxury!), and we will be taking our newly-slimmed asses for hours and hours of shopping pleasure. We'll eat lobster, and generally have ourselves a wild rumous.

Except for the part about actually, you know, spending three hours with my kids on a plane, I can't wait.

The magpie picture is courtesy of my sister who took this on her recent trip to Australia.

hey, girlfriend!

Last night at about 9:45, Andrew came upstairs to find me crying in the family room. Not sniffling, mind you. Crying. Why? Who knows, exactly. Everything. But what brought it on, what often brings it on, was Sex and the City.

Andrew thinks it's bad for me, Sex and the City. Too much New York. Usually I watch, hooting, "Pascalou! Honey? Did you see?!? That's Pascalou she's in front of! Oh, I love Pascalou. Remember that time we went there for dinner?" Or, you know, something like that....bemoaning the loss of the cherry blossoms in springtime, decent restaurants, taxis, something to do.

Last night, though, it wasn't New York I was mourning. Or at least, I wasn't mourning it most.

I don't know exactly what happened. Charlotte had a miscarriage and Carrie went over, and her friends rallied around her. And I just so missed the time in my life when my friends were close by. The years when one friend was three blocks away and another just a cab ride across town. The years when we were married (phew!) but didn't ahve any kids. When our families were shoved so rudely to the periphery, when all we had was each other, and money, and time.

These women (registration required) have it. In spades. In Manhattan. Sadly, membership is closed. Unsurprisingly, I am contemplating offing one of them for her spot in the lineup.

Overachiever that I am (I am! My yoga instructor called me that yesterday! I think it's a good thing to be called, but I worry that she didn't mean it that way.) I want that medallion.

what the hausfrau saw

Yesterday afternoon, I was driving back from the coffee shop in the tiny town a little way away. On my left was the river; on the right, a row of houses. Traffic coming toward me had stopped, and I realized that cars were allowing pedestrians to cross the road. I stopped, too.

It was an elderly couple, maybe 75 years old or so. They were dressed exactly alike in black shoes, bright red pants and robin's egg blue coats. Their gaits were alike, and their hair was the same color white.

Then I realized it wasn't a couple at all. It was two men. Brothers. Twins. Elderly twins, dressed identically, making their way across the street like a pair of ducklings, turning up their driveway and going home after their afternoon walk by the river.

Twins can be some weird shit, man.

and the winner is...

...kareng!

And it wasn't even close. Karen went an impressive 18 out of 24, missing only Best Picture (very few got that one!), original song, sound mixing, and the three short film categories. Her parents' tuition money was well spent.

Karen, take your pick and let me know.

poke, poke

Hey, kids -- only two days until the Oscars! Don't forget to submit your entry!

Lisa, Adam, Karen, David, Alan...this means YOU!

Cookies are at stake here, people!