Mother Badger, circa 1930
Mother Badger was e-mailing her heart out to me on Friday as the Limes Appreciation Day Circus rolled on. In addition to other things, she had this to say: "I have been thinking about blogs. Pepys diary written centuries ago is still part of literature because it so reflected what was what in those days. I am wondering if blogs aren't going to be in the future (if saved archivally) be history as well. I like reading early diaries and how people lived and thought in earlier days." What does anyone think? Are we doing a baby boomers' written time capsule? Will someone read our words some day and laugh at how quaint we were with our communication devices and our 2009 sensibilities?
And that's as energetic as my head is going to get today. It's a lovely, rather lazy Sunday. The wind screams on and it will be very warm, but still not triple digits. I have enjoyed grinding the coffee beans after the walk and just generally putzing around my home in which I do not spend enough time. Today is "hair" day - every 4-5 weeks I go for the best razor cut in the valley, "half way across town", but a much shorter distance than I will walk on December 6th with TeamPrevention.
I eat oddly. There is every reason for this, and it will be blogged about sometime, but I don't eat like most people eat and I don't eat very much food at all. I have a lot of trouble getting in one quarter of the protein I need, and especially now that I'll be training. (Well, I guess I am training.) There's a recipe from Prevention that I read and thought would be interesting. Tried it out on the Badger who declared it amazingly good. I'd made it for him many, many times before I ever took even a nibble. Amazingly good doesn't even begin to describe it! This is likely what I will serve at the imaginary dinner party referred to in my blog's masthead.
Mustard-and-Brown-Sugar-Rubbed Salmon
2 tablespoons organic dark brown sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground sea salt or kosher salt
Freshly ground pepper to taste
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon dry mustard powder
Salmon fillets, skin removed
1 teaspoon extra virgin olive oil
Press the side of the salmon that had the skin on it into the sugar mixture, coating it evenly. Heat the olive oil in non-stick cookware over medium flame. Cook until the rub dissolves and slightly darkens - don't let it burn! This usually takes about 4 minutes. Flip the fish and cook for about 1 minute more. The brown sugar caramelizes and turns into a shiny glaze. The taste is amazing and it's amazingly simple to make. Think "candy on salmon".
I think we're havin' the salmon today. I'm thinking I'll have some, too.
In my ears right now: Dwight Yoakam, "I Sang Dixie"
Why I like it: I like anyone who gets that crack, almost crying, in their singing voice. Waylon Jennings, Patsy Cline, Lucinda Williams, Roy Orbison . . . Dwight . .
Something that charmed me today: Christine was cutting my hair and I was chattering about the marathon. No look of disbelief crossed her face at all. She clearly thought my doing that was within the realm of possibility. She said, "I'll come to the finish line, find your guys and wait for you."
Something else that charmed me today: Sometimes Mother Badger gets busy or doesn't feel like e-mailing, or maybe she just has nothing to say. But we've been e-mailing a lot for a couple of days and she began some discussion about some venerable things and some of her travels and reading. She posed a trivia question to me. She had to provide a hint before I could grasp onto a pretty logical answer. She is 82 (and sharper in some ways than I am). She is so bright and creative and so full of life. She has (still) a good, curious mind. She is a card sharp who plays against others online and likes to find a poker table from time to time. Her mother lived to the age of 102. Mother Badger is probably looking to do better!
Random impressions, opinions and ruminations from a woman who would really like to invite EVERYONE over for a good meal, a glass of wine and passionate conversation, but the dining table only seats so many . . . .
My Favorite Bit of Paper Cup Philosophy
The Way I See It #76
The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating - in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.
The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating - in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Slow and Easy Sunday and Mother Badger's Musing
Labels:
blogging,
marathon,
Mother Badger,
music,
TeamPrevention,
training,
venerable things
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From the library realm, there have come articles written on the issues of the archival of websites, news sites, blog sites, etc. It's a real conundrum.
ReplyDeleteOne example is that Local libraries keep "vertical files" of local personalities, for instance, local authors. Early writings and manuscripts would be kept, journal articles, etc. With so much dynamic content online and subject to disappearance (what happens if/when Google pulls the plug on Blogger??) technology isn't necessarily the archivist's friend. How do we keep a history if the record keeps disappearing?
Websites morph and change -- it's not like the old Sears and Roebuck that one can keep on the shelf and peruse years later. Websites are just gone. It's not like in my Gramma's time when she saved every Life mag. she got. Things disappear instead of being set onto the shelf.
Twitter is another great example. The national ALA conference had a dynamic presence on Twitter...one librarian wrote of the difficulty in finding any archives of the conference a mere three weeks after it was over. What happens to a Tweet over time???
I guess I fear for more of a loss of history....
A Tweet? In one ear and out the other... In the meantime, let's make each moment count as if there will be no others.
ReplyDeleteL,
ReplyDeleteIt seems not uncommon for women to experience a unique rapport with other females. I feel deeply nourished by time spent with my few, dear women friends. I believe we need each other in ways that a man cannot fulfill. I have gravitated toward the stories of women more than toward those of men, but for me, that is not to say that we are the more interesting species. I find men fascinating and adorable and I like the challenge of trying to fathom the world of Mars once in a while. Oh my goodness, Mars is the god of war too. Hmmm, could that explain the far-too-common, but not universal of course, pugilistic tendencies in a portion of the human male population?
P.S. I think you would enjoy tweeting. I have a twitter account. It really helps a writer hone the art of pithiness!
Terry
I took a day off blogging folks. It was a slow, easy day and I wasn't looking to exercise the brain much. Mother Badger will be pleased her comments brought out such reactions. Yes, she reads my blog.
ReplyDeleteOB,I'm not QUITE ancient, but I feel like my old father crabbing about the loss of everything. Is everything disposable? I hope not!
Terry, sometimes I like the Venus/Mars thing, the wave and the cave . . . but recently I read something that really did it for me: it was a short article that talked about women talking/communicating to build rapport and men talking/communicating to report (facts). I mused on this awhile and then something struck me. A man I've known for many years and whom I know well and deeply writes e-mails, blogs and even (still) the occasional card or letter. I cackled out loud to think how many times I've seen him end a message with "that's all there is to report!" Resting my case . . .
I don't think Twitter is for me. OB commented on my first post about these almost frenetic little bouncings off of one another (Twitter, TMing). I don't do pith. I haven't mastered it. I don't like to feel like moving pieces in a pinball machine. I'd rather stay a little longer, commune a little more deeply. And yet, oddly, I admire people who come in and say in two sentences what it would take me paragraphs to say.
It takes all kinds to make a world. I'm glad of that.