Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Virginia Drivers, too
Go read Susan's post first. Mine is seventeen, but she got her license the same day. Neither coast is safe now.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
why do I keep reading these articles?
Via Elizabeth at Half-Changed World, I found this article on "breadwinner moms" in the New York Times. Unlike the author, Elizabeth's not seething at being the "breadwinner," and neither am I.
Over the 17 years we've been parents, Mark and I have split the "breadwinning" duties every which way. At first we both worked half-time, as graduate students. Then I worked full-time and he worked half-time. There have been years when I was the only income-generator, years when we split it, years when he was "at work" and I was "at home" (though I was on sabbatical, and still earning something, at the time). Over all the years, I've been frustrated on occasion, satisfied, scared, happy--but not because I was the sole earner so much as because I found the organization of work life non-conducive to family life. And I have one of the world's most flexible jobs, so whenever I complained (even to myself), I almost always countered that with the recognition that I have it, relatively speaking, easy.
As does everyone, frankly, who can afford to organize their family life around one income.
That said, what frustrated me about the Times article is, as usual, the lack of any analysis that goes beyond the personal. Yes, yes, we all have to renegotiate our roles. Mark has learned to cook. I still do laundry. He knows the teachers better than I do (though there have been years when I did). He has had to learn to live without the public identity that work confers, while I have brought our kids to class and skipped meetings so that I could get them to after-school programs. But the Times article seems to suggest--without coming out and saying it--that this whole renegotiation thing is doomed to fail because (you guessed it) women just want to be moms, and don't like giving that up. Well, pardon me for disagreeing, but that's just ridiculous. Women and men both want the public affirmation of identity that work can confer, and the private joys (and terrors) of parenting, and they want to be able to move between them more freely than they can now. (And not all women and men want the same thing at the same time.) Workplaces that don't provide childcare, insurance policies that are too expensive, pediatricians' offices that aren't open after school or on weekends, inflexible work hours--all these things are, for me anyway, far more of a problem than any "renegotiation" we've had to do.
Again, we're lucky. But if the lucky people don't agitate for change--after all, we have the resources--then it won't happen. When feminists said "the personal is the political" they didn't only mean that people would be individually renegotiating their marriage contracts. They meant--I mean--that our private choices have public implications (and vice versa) and that to ignore either domain as we work on the other will doom us to failure.
Over the 17 years we've been parents, Mark and I have split the "breadwinning" duties every which way. At first we both worked half-time, as graduate students. Then I worked full-time and he worked half-time. There have been years when I was the only income-generator, years when we split it, years when he was "at work" and I was "at home" (though I was on sabbatical, and still earning something, at the time). Over all the years, I've been frustrated on occasion, satisfied, scared, happy--but not because I was the sole earner so much as because I found the organization of work life non-conducive to family life. And I have one of the world's most flexible jobs, so whenever I complained (even to myself), I almost always countered that with the recognition that I have it, relatively speaking, easy.
As does everyone, frankly, who can afford to organize their family life around one income.
That said, what frustrated me about the Times article is, as usual, the lack of any analysis that goes beyond the personal. Yes, yes, we all have to renegotiate our roles. Mark has learned to cook. I still do laundry. He knows the teachers better than I do (though there have been years when I did). He has had to learn to live without the public identity that work confers, while I have brought our kids to class and skipped meetings so that I could get them to after-school programs. But the Times article seems to suggest--without coming out and saying it--that this whole renegotiation thing is doomed to fail because (you guessed it) women just want to be moms, and don't like giving that up. Well, pardon me for disagreeing, but that's just ridiculous. Women and men both want the public affirmation of identity that work can confer, and the private joys (and terrors) of parenting, and they want to be able to move between them more freely than they can now. (And not all women and men want the same thing at the same time.) Workplaces that don't provide childcare, insurance policies that are too expensive, pediatricians' offices that aren't open after school or on weekends, inflexible work hours--all these things are, for me anyway, far more of a problem than any "renegotiation" we've had to do.
Again, we're lucky. But if the lucky people don't agitate for change--after all, we have the resources--then it won't happen. When feminists said "the personal is the political" they didn't only mean that people would be individually renegotiating their marriage contracts. They meant--I mean--that our private choices have public implications (and vice versa) and that to ignore either domain as we work on the other will doom us to failure.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Glad that's over with
So, according to some guy I heard on the radio, today was the most depressing day of the year. (Hey, it was NPR! It must be true!) He explained that the Monday of the last full week of January is considered to be the most depressing day of the year. Christmas bills, cold weather (so I assume this is just in the Northern Hemisphere), and failed New Year's resolutions were listed as the causes.
So if this was the most depressing day of the year I'm in pretty good shape, because it could have been a lot worse. In fact, it was a perfectly fine day. The kids would have liked a little more snow--we had some freezing rain that postponed the start of school for two hours but didn't cause a cancellation. The power went out on campus after I'd taught my class, so I cancelled my office hours and came home to work in warmth and comfort. Tae kwon do class and dinner with a friend (twice-postponed already, so we were bound to make it happen) rounded out the day.
The happiest day of the year is supposed to be June 22, in case you want to make plans.
So if this was the most depressing day of the year I'm in pretty good shape, because it could have been a lot worse. In fact, it was a perfectly fine day. The kids would have liked a little more snow--we had some freezing rain that postponed the start of school for two hours but didn't cause a cancellation. The power went out on campus after I'd taught my class, so I cancelled my office hours and came home to work in warmth and comfort. Tae kwon do class and dinner with a friend (twice-postponed already, so we were bound to make it happen) rounded out the day.
The happiest day of the year is supposed to be June 22, in case you want to make plans.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Middle School
I'm just catching up with last Sunday's NYTimes, as usual at the end of a week. By the time I read it nothing is really news any more, but it's still interesting to see what was on the Grey Lady's mind earlier in the week. Last Sunday it was, among other things, middle school (or, preteens).
Where I live parents start obsessing about middle school when their kids are in second grade, if not earlier. It's playground talk, cocktail party chatter, coffee hour conversation. We have elementary schools we like, both public and private, and then the black hole.
Not really, of course. In fact there are lots of options here, which may be part of the problem. There are two small private middle schools with innovative curriculums, one for girls and one for boys, both encompassing grades 5-8. There are private K-12 schools, both co-ed and single-sex, that take in new kids in either 5th or 6th. There is a preK-8 Montessori school, where Mariah did 7th and 8th grade quite happily. (This one's very small and 7th and 8th meet together, with the same teachers.) There are a couple of parochial schools that run K-8 and seem to take new kids in pretty much whenever. There is an IB middle school within a larger public school. And there are a couple of "model" public middle schools, one within walking distance of our house.
So what's the problem? I think, as the article suggests, the problem is that there is no one-size-fits-all model for this age group (roughly 11-14 or so). In fact I'm not sure that 10-14 is even, really, a coherent "age group." Actually, I'm quite sure it isn't. Have you ever seen an 11-year-old boy stand next to a 14-year-old girl? They might be from different species.
The single-sex schools do a good job of serving a small number of kids. They are warm and friendly and, as I said, innovative. But they ask you to pull your kid from his/her familiar elementary school a year early, and a lot of kids (Mariah was one) don't want to do that. (They also don't have nearly enough spaces for the kids who want them, which is both their greatest asset--they have very small classes--and, for many, their greatest drawback.)
The other privates have their advantages and disadvantages: it's hard to break into a cohesive community (and, for the most part, these are) in pre-adolescence; they are expensive; they can be socially very exclusive for the parents as well as the kids. But they seem to do a good job educating the children who go there.
The public schools look like fortresses. There is no grass around them. Kids stand around on the blacktop during recess looking like convicts in a prison yard. Mariah spent a year in one and ran screaming in the other direction, to the touchy-feely Montessori school where the whole group went for a walk/run every afternoon. But some of her high school friends stuck it out and got a reasonably good education (including honors credits that transferred to their high school, unlike Mariah's), and appear to be well-adjusted kids. The IB program was new when Mariah was coming through, and she didn't want to be a guinea pig--but Nick has friends with older siblings there, and for all the problems the whole school-within-a-school model has, that's probably what we'll aim for.
What saddens me a bit is that a nice group of kids will be splitting up over the next few years. Some are already planning to head off to the single-sex schools next year. Others will start home-schooling, or go private, or choose one of the several different public schools. I know there's a great advantage to breaking up cliques and moving into new environments, but I'm wondering if age 10-12 is the best time to do that.
I have no answers, just questions. And worries. But since I have this conversation about once a week in various face-to-face venues, I'm also feeling a bit blase about it. It will work out, somehow. And I don't think the New York Times is going to make a bit of difference.
Where I live parents start obsessing about middle school when their kids are in second grade, if not earlier. It's playground talk, cocktail party chatter, coffee hour conversation. We have elementary schools we like, both public and private, and then the black hole.
Not really, of course. In fact there are lots of options here, which may be part of the problem. There are two small private middle schools with innovative curriculums, one for girls and one for boys, both encompassing grades 5-8. There are private K-12 schools, both co-ed and single-sex, that take in new kids in either 5th or 6th. There is a preK-8 Montessori school, where Mariah did 7th and 8th grade quite happily. (This one's very small and 7th and 8th meet together, with the same teachers.) There are a couple of parochial schools that run K-8 and seem to take new kids in pretty much whenever. There is an IB middle school within a larger public school. And there are a couple of "model" public middle schools, one within walking distance of our house.
So what's the problem? I think, as the article suggests, the problem is that there is no one-size-fits-all model for this age group (roughly 11-14 or so). In fact I'm not sure that 10-14 is even, really, a coherent "age group." Actually, I'm quite sure it isn't. Have you ever seen an 11-year-old boy stand next to a 14-year-old girl? They might be from different species.
The single-sex schools do a good job of serving a small number of kids. They are warm and friendly and, as I said, innovative. But they ask you to pull your kid from his/her familiar elementary school a year early, and a lot of kids (Mariah was one) don't want to do that. (They also don't have nearly enough spaces for the kids who want them, which is both their greatest asset--they have very small classes--and, for many, their greatest drawback.)
The other privates have their advantages and disadvantages: it's hard to break into a cohesive community (and, for the most part, these are) in pre-adolescence; they are expensive; they can be socially very exclusive for the parents as well as the kids. But they seem to do a good job educating the children who go there.
The public schools look like fortresses. There is no grass around them. Kids stand around on the blacktop during recess looking like convicts in a prison yard. Mariah spent a year in one and ran screaming in the other direction, to the touchy-feely Montessori school where the whole group went for a walk/run every afternoon. But some of her high school friends stuck it out and got a reasonably good education (including honors credits that transferred to their high school, unlike Mariah's), and appear to be well-adjusted kids. The IB program was new when Mariah was coming through, and she didn't want to be a guinea pig--but Nick has friends with older siblings there, and for all the problems the whole school-within-a-school model has, that's probably what we'll aim for.
What saddens me a bit is that a nice group of kids will be splitting up over the next few years. Some are already planning to head off to the single-sex schools next year. Others will start home-schooling, or go private, or choose one of the several different public schools. I know there's a great advantage to breaking up cliques and moving into new environments, but I'm wondering if age 10-12 is the best time to do that.
I have no answers, just questions. And worries. But since I have this conversation about once a week in various face-to-face venues, I'm also feeling a bit blase about it. It will work out, somehow. And I don't think the New York Times is going to make a bit of difference.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
finished object(s)
This is the Sophie bag from magknits, made about 1/3 larger (I like a big bag). I made it in less than a week, out of lovely soft malabrigo yarn from Uruguay. It smelled a little vinegary as I knit it--I assume they fix the dye with vinegar--but that washed out in the felting process. There's a stripe there of another random yarn out of my so-called stash, because I was afraid I might run out of the malabrigo--I think it worked out pretty nicely, though. It's a design feature, not a desperate attempt to stay out of the yarn shop.
In other news, I also finished a draft of my (somewhat) overdue paper today. And the semester hasn't even begun yet!
Monday, January 08, 2007
Knitting Content
Or, contented knitting? This is for Becca, sort of. Lately all I want to do is knit. Why do I love knitting, you ask? Well, there are many reasons. (How helpful that imaginary interlocutor is!)
1. It is not wasteful. You buy the yarn, you knit it. If there are leftovers, you can knit something else with them. (Yes, there is a stash, and yes, it is overflowing. But it will be knit into something, really.)
2. It does not go bad. For some reason all the avocadoes I buy, and some of the lemons, go bad before I cook with them. This does not happen with yarn, though it does on occasion go out of style.
3. It is very forgiving. Even if you have to start something eight times, you can always rip it out and start again. In fact some of my stash yarn is ripped-out projects. Lest you begin to feel that this is some kind of vicious cycle, be assured that it is not: every project I've knitted, even the ones I ripped out (probably especially those), taught me something. (My dissertation director said something like this to me about the various false starts on my dissertation, but I have yet to make any use of the things I learned about orphans during the unfortunate middle period of that project...)
4. You get nice things at the end of it.
5. It redeems all sorts of otherwise "lost time." I mostly knit while watching otherwise forgettable television, but also during unavoidable kid-related waiting times. It's (gasp!) better than a book for this kind of thing because you--or I, at any rate--are a little less likely to get lost in it. Also I get carsick if I read in the car, but not if I knit. [edited to add: this requires actually bringing the project along, of course. I was early to pick Nick up this afternoon and didn't have my knitting. Lesson learned. Maybe.]
6. Yarn shops are fun.
I'm sure there are more reasons, and I'm also sure that these are not terribly original. But I'm three pages into an overdue article (writing, not reading, alas!) and I needed a break.
1. It is not wasteful. You buy the yarn, you knit it. If there are leftovers, you can knit something else with them. (Yes, there is a stash, and yes, it is overflowing. But it will be knit into something, really.)
2. It does not go bad. For some reason all the avocadoes I buy, and some of the lemons, go bad before I cook with them. This does not happen with yarn, though it does on occasion go out of style.
3. It is very forgiving. Even if you have to start something eight times, you can always rip it out and start again. In fact some of my stash yarn is ripped-out projects. Lest you begin to feel that this is some kind of vicious cycle, be assured that it is not: every project I've knitted, even the ones I ripped out (probably especially those), taught me something. (My dissertation director said something like this to me about the various false starts on my dissertation, but I have yet to make any use of the things I learned about orphans during the unfortunate middle period of that project...)
4. You get nice things at the end of it.
5. It redeems all sorts of otherwise "lost time." I mostly knit while watching otherwise forgettable television, but also during unavoidable kid-related waiting times. It's (gasp!) better than a book for this kind of thing because you--or I, at any rate--are a little less likely to get lost in it. Also I get carsick if I read in the car, but not if I knit. [edited to add: this requires actually bringing the project along, of course. I was early to pick Nick up this afternoon and didn't have my knitting. Lesson learned. Maybe.]
6. Yarn shops are fun.
I'm sure there are more reasons, and I'm also sure that these are not terribly original. But I'm three pages into an overdue article (writing, not reading, alas!) and I needed a break.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Diamonds?
Queen Victoria celebrated her Diamond Jubilee after only 60 years on the throne, but I suspect that's because she knew she wouldn't be around for the 75th. Traditionally, though, a 75th anniversary is celebrated with diamonds--which, I'm sorry to say, I won't be giving my dad for his 75th birthday today. Caroline has already gotten the relevant historical context, so I'll just add my birthday wishes to hers--happy birthday, Dad!
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Best. Christmas. Present. Ever.
Mark and I gave Nick a ping-pong table for Christmas. It was Mark's idea, really; I was skeptical. This is a kid who doesn't have video games, and everyone he knows does, and I worried that this just wouldn't be--I don't know--exciting enough.
He's been at Mark since we got home to put it together (it was given as a promise, since we were at my folks' and it was too big to take with us), and today it was done. And after dinner we had a rousing game of doubles that had us all laughing hysterically--at one point I was in tears from the silliness.
We are terrible. Well, Mark's pretty good, and Mariah's ok, but Nick and I are hyperbolically awful. Still, even when you're awful you hit the ball occasionally and it goes--well, somewhere, and that's fun. There was more running after the ball and laughing than there was playing ping-pong, but you've got to start somewhere.
I haven't laughed so hard in weeks. Maybe months. It was great. I hope we do it often.
He's been at Mark since we got home to put it together (it was given as a promise, since we were at my folks' and it was too big to take with us), and today it was done. And after dinner we had a rousing game of doubles that had us all laughing hysterically--at one point I was in tears from the silliness.
We are terrible. Well, Mark's pretty good, and Mariah's ok, but Nick and I are hyperbolically awful. Still, even when you're awful you hit the ball occasionally and it goes--well, somewhere, and that's fun. There was more running after the ball and laughing than there was playing ping-pong, but you've got to start somewhere.
I haven't laughed so hard in weeks. Maybe months. It was great. I hope we do it often.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Embracing Mess
Penelope Green saves me from a doomed New Year's Resolution:
Mess is robust and adaptable . . . as opposed to brittle, like a parent's rigid schedule that doesn't allow for a small child's wool-gathering or balkiness. Mess is complete, in that it embraces all sorts of random elements. Mess tells a story: you can learn a lot about people from their detritus, whereas neat -- well, neat is a closed book. Neat has no narrative and no personality (as any cover of Real Simple magazine will demonstrate).
No narrative! That does it. Neat is out. (Now if I can just convince Mark...)
Mess is robust and adaptable . . . as opposed to brittle, like a parent's rigid schedule that doesn't allow for a small child's wool-gathering or balkiness. Mess is complete, in that it embraces all sorts of random elements. Mess tells a story: you can learn a lot about people from their detritus, whereas neat -- well, neat is a closed book. Neat has no narrative and no personality (as any cover of Real Simple magazine will demonstrate).
No narrative! That does it. Neat is out. (Now if I can just convince Mark...)
Monday, January 01, 2007
New Year's Column
According to Philip Pullman, "There are some themes, some subjects, too large for adult fiction; they can only be dealt with adequately in a children's book . . . . We don't need lists of rights and wrongs, tables of do's and don'ts: we need books, time, and silence. Thou shalt not is soon forgotten, but Once upon a time lasts forever.” In 2007, I want more stories to read, to share, to talk about, to teach. What about you?
Read the rest here, and leave me your suggestions as well!
Read the rest here, and leave me your suggestions as well!
Thursday, December 28, 2006
17 things...
...about Mariah:
1. She laughs when I try to be cool. (She rocks!)
2. She looks great, no matter what color her hair is.
3. She's brave enough to try different hair colors.
4. She gets amazing grades.
5. She's modest about that.
6. She can sing. Like an angel.
7. She finds books for me to read.
8. She reads the books I find for her.
9. She's patient with her brother. Mostly.
10. She's terrific with other people's kids.
11. She's the best babysitter on the block.
12. She loves chocolate almost as much as I do.
13. Nonetheless she can be restrained about it.
14. She has great friends--ones I'm happy to have over as often as they want to come.
15. She seems to be willing to hang out with her parents.
16. She can drive a stick shift.
17. She's seventeen today, and this hardly scratches the surface. Happy Birthday, again!
1. She laughs when I try to be cool. (She rocks!)
2. She looks great, no matter what color her hair is.
3. She's brave enough to try different hair colors.
4. She gets amazing grades.
5. She's modest about that.
6. She can sing. Like an angel.
7. She finds books for me to read.
8. She reads the books I find for her.
9. She's patient with her brother. Mostly.
10. She's terrific with other people's kids.
11. She's the best babysitter on the block.
12. She loves chocolate almost as much as I do.
13. Nonetheless she can be restrained about it.
14. She has great friends--ones I'm happy to have over as often as they want to come.
15. She seems to be willing to hang out with her parents.
16. She can drive a stick shift.
17. She's seventeen today, and this hardly scratches the surface. Happy Birthday, again!
Happy Birthday
Mariah turns 17 today, which is a greater shock to me, I think, than it is to her. Just this past week she has gone on her first college visit, driven an unfamiliar car, calmed her brother's night-time fears, and generally acted like the grown-up she is becoming. The night she was born she seemed calm and deeply curious--she lay in Mark's arms and drank in the world around her with her blue blue eyes. She is still curious, though perhaps not always calm.
She'll get a birthday with her godmother and family this year, as well as with grandparents; I'm glad she can do that, though I know she also wants a friend-birthday, and we'll probably try to make that happen as well. Before that, though, there will be creamy pasta with mushrooms and a very chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream--the girl has good taste, I'll give her that.
This is the first time I've ever blogged on her birthday, but it shouldn't, probably, be the last: happy birthday, Mariah!
She'll get a birthday with her godmother and family this year, as well as with grandparents; I'm glad she can do that, though I know she also wants a friend-birthday, and we'll probably try to make that happen as well. Before that, though, there will be creamy pasta with mushrooms and a very chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream--the girl has good taste, I'll give her that.
This is the first time I've ever blogged on her birthday, but it shouldn't, probably, be the last: happy birthday, Mariah!
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
now it can be told
I meant to post an "after" picture to match up with the Christmas Eve one, but with two dogs (my brother's) and two kids under five (my sister's) in the house, we made sure to keep the under-tree area pretty clean as we were opening gifts. It took hours, though, I tell you. And everyone is very happy now.
What I can show you today is my Christmas knitting.
Clockwise from top, just left of noon:
A maroon alpaca scarf for Mom, knit in a simple eyelet pattern I sort of made up.
A sideways knit scarf for my brother-in-law out of Paton's Rumor, an alpaca blend.
Slacker scarf for my older brother, out of a nice wool whose name I can't remember. Yes, I did finish it on the drive.
Edgar, for Mariah, out of a lovely hand-painted yarn. I finished that one Christmas eve.
A multi-directional diagonal scarf for my sister out of another lovely multi-colored yarn.
[edited to add:] Missing from this picture (inexplicably, because it's in an earlier shot, without the incomplete items) is the ribbed alpaca hat I made for Mark. It looks exactly like the one in the pattern, though, amazingly. I used the same colors and everything...
And in the middle, cupcakes from One Skein for my nephew, the hit of Christmas. So much fun. I can't wait to make more.
There was real baking, too, over the past couple of days, but that's for another time.
What I can show you today is my Christmas knitting.
Clockwise from top, just left of noon:
A maroon alpaca scarf for Mom, knit in a simple eyelet pattern I sort of made up.
A sideways knit scarf for my brother-in-law out of Paton's Rumor, an alpaca blend.
Slacker scarf for my older brother, out of a nice wool whose name I can't remember. Yes, I did finish it on the drive.
Edgar, for Mariah, out of a lovely hand-painted yarn. I finished that one Christmas eve.
A multi-directional diagonal scarf for my sister out of another lovely multi-colored yarn.
[edited to add:] Missing from this picture (inexplicably, because it's in an earlier shot, without the incomplete items) is the ribbed alpaca hat I made for Mark. It looks exactly like the one in the pattern, though, amazingly. I used the same colors and everything...
And in the middle, cupcakes from One Skein for my nephew, the hit of Christmas. So much fun. I can't wait to make more.
There was real baking, too, over the past couple of days, but that's for another time.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
one last Friday food
I made these rolls for Thanksgiving and a friend asked for the recipe, so here it is for posterity (or however long this thing lasts...)
Brown and Serve Rolls
Mix together:
1 cup warm water
2 envelopes (4-1/2 tsp.) dry yeast
let stand for 5 - 10 minutes
Stir together in a large bowl until shortening melts:
1/2 cu soft shortening (I used butter)
2 cu hot water
1/4 cu sugar (brown or white; I used brown)
1-1/2 cu powdered milk
1-1/2 tbl. salt
Add to the large bowl and beat together:
the yeast mixture
1 slightly beaten egg
6 cu flour (I used unbleached all-purpose flour)
1 cu toasted wheat germ
Once the dough begins to come together, turn it out on a floured work surface and knead for ten minutes, adding as much as 3 cu flour.
Place the dough in a large buttered bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and allow to rise for 1-1/2 hours. Punch the dough down and let it rise again for 45-60 minutes. After the second rise, shape the dough. I rolled it out to about 1/2 inch thick and cut small circles with a biscuit cutter, brushed each circle with melted butter and folded it in half, placing it fold-side down in a large glass baking dish (also buttered). You can find other techniques for shaping in any good encyclopedic cookbook (ie, Joy, Fannie Farmer, etc.). Once all the dough is shaped, cover the baking dish with plastic wrap and a tea towel and let rise until double--30-45 minutes.
Bake at 275 for 40 minutes.
Leave in pan for 20 minutes, then remove and let cool at room temperature. If desired, wrap and freeze some or all of the rolls at this point. When you want to bake them, thaw first, then bake at 400 for 7-15 minutes, depending on how big you've made them.
My recipe says it makes 8 dozen but I cut the rolls bigger and ended up with 4-5 dozen. Still more than enough for a feast!
Brown and Serve Rolls
Mix together:
1 cup warm water
2 envelopes (4-1/2 tsp.) dry yeast
let stand for 5 - 10 minutes
Stir together in a large bowl until shortening melts:
1/2 cu soft shortening (I used butter)
2 cu hot water
1/4 cu sugar (brown or white; I used brown)
1-1/2 cu powdered milk
1-1/2 tbl. salt
Add to the large bowl and beat together:
the yeast mixture
1 slightly beaten egg
6 cu flour (I used unbleached all-purpose flour)
1 cu toasted wheat germ
Once the dough begins to come together, turn it out on a floured work surface and knead for ten minutes, adding as much as 3 cu flour.
Place the dough in a large buttered bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and allow to rise for 1-1/2 hours. Punch the dough down and let it rise again for 45-60 minutes. After the second rise, shape the dough. I rolled it out to about 1/2 inch thick and cut small circles with a biscuit cutter, brushed each circle with melted butter and folded it in half, placing it fold-side down in a large glass baking dish (also buttered). You can find other techniques for shaping in any good encyclopedic cookbook (ie, Joy, Fannie Farmer, etc.). Once all the dough is shaped, cover the baking dish with plastic wrap and a tea towel and let rise until double--30-45 minutes.
Bake at 275 for 40 minutes.
Leave in pan for 20 minutes, then remove and let cool at room temperature. If desired, wrap and freeze some or all of the rolls at this point. When you want to bake them, thaw first, then bake at 400 for 7-15 minutes, depending on how big you've made them.
My recipe says it makes 8 dozen but I cut the rolls bigger and ended up with 4-5 dozen. Still more than enough for a feast!
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
the year in blogging: 2006
As seen on The Republic of Heaven and Raising WEG: the first line of the first post of each month:
I don't make new year's resolutions; they just make me feel inadequate.
Today's my day on the Literary Mama Anthology blog book tour.
It's the first day of Lent and I haven't decided what, if anything, to give up.
I have a confession to make. I was a mean girl.
We had a quiet weekend.
I should probably preface this recipe by noting that, at the end, I will just tell you to grill the chicken and leave it at that.
Did I already mention going to see The Break-Up while we were at the beach?
He shares a birthday with Francis Scott Key and Herman Melville.
We've had no phone or internet at home since yesterday afternoon, and no power on campus today, so I'm feeling a little out-of-touch.
[my lovely sister] Is in yesterday's NYTimes.
The headless wonder heads out for the night...
After all the posting last month I'm taking a brief break to work on some other stuff.
I don't make new year's resolutions; they just make me feel inadequate.
Today's my day on the Literary Mama Anthology blog book tour.
It's the first day of Lent and I haven't decided what, if anything, to give up.
I have a confession to make. I was a mean girl.
We had a quiet weekend.
I should probably preface this recipe by noting that, at the end, I will just tell you to grill the chicken and leave it at that.
Did I already mention going to see The Break-Up while we were at the beach?
He shares a birthday with Francis Scott Key and Herman Melville.
We've had no phone or internet at home since yesterday afternoon, and no power on campus today, so I'm feeling a little out-of-touch.
[my lovely sister] Is in yesterday's NYTimes.
The headless wonder heads out for the night...
After all the posting last month I'm taking a brief break to work on some other stuff.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Amazing
I almost titled this post "why I am amazing," but my early training in modesty kicked in and I had to change it. Still, I'm feeling pretty good. The grading is almost done (and I haven't yet resorted to this technique--alas, exams submitted online can't be thrown up OR down the stairs!), and I've made lots of treats today as well. (Baking is a wonderful procrastination technique.)
Here's the Christmas baking list. (Not all were made today...but I'm not sure I should admit how many were.)
Pumpkin Rocks (I threw caution to the winds and used dried cranberries, walnuts, andchocolate chunks.)
Mocha Butter Balls
Speculatius (Danish nut cookies from the old New Joy of Cooking [1953])
Brown Sugar-Pecan Shortbread Cookies (I'm pretty sure that's a TimesSelect link; sorry if it doesn't work for you. The recipe is from the NYTimes Magazine, 11/5/06, and it's really good. I didn't do the fussy roll, chill, trim, cut, bake routine; at Mom's recommendation, I just rolled the dough into logs, chilled, then sliced and baked later.)
Elevator Lady Spice Cookies
Amaretti (adapted from Donna Hay's Modern Classics, Book Two) (These are about the easiest cookies ever: almonds, sugar, a little flour, vanilla, and eggwhites. I added cocoa powder, too. Quick and tasty.)
Chocolate Hazelnut Biscotti (also Donna Hay)
Chocolate Truffles (Silver Palate Cookbook)
I haven't yet tasted the biscotti or the truffles, and the pumpkin rocks and mocha butter balls are almost gone. Still, there are enough for some gift trays and for us to keep some, too.
But now I'm beat.
Here's the Christmas baking list. (Not all were made today...but I'm not sure I should admit how many were.)
Pumpkin Rocks (I threw caution to the winds and used dried cranberries, walnuts, andchocolate chunks.)
Mocha Butter Balls
Speculatius (Danish nut cookies from the old New Joy of Cooking [1953])
Brown Sugar-Pecan Shortbread Cookies (I'm pretty sure that's a TimesSelect link; sorry if it doesn't work for you. The recipe is from the NYTimes Magazine, 11/5/06, and it's really good. I didn't do the fussy roll, chill, trim, cut, bake routine; at Mom's recommendation, I just rolled the dough into logs, chilled, then sliced and baked later.)
Elevator Lady Spice Cookies
Amaretti (adapted from Donna Hay's Modern Classics, Book Two) (These are about the easiest cookies ever: almonds, sugar, a little flour, vanilla, and eggwhites. I added cocoa powder, too. Quick and tasty.)
Chocolate Hazelnut Biscotti (also Donna Hay)
Chocolate Truffles (Silver Palate Cookbook)
I haven't yet tasted the biscotti or the truffles, and the pumpkin rocks and mocha butter balls are almost gone. Still, there are enough for some gift trays and for us to keep some, too.
But now I'm beat.
Monday, December 18, 2006
A Christmas Miracle: a tale in three acts
Wow, where did that last week go? (Don't answer that...the piles of papers on my desk tell the story.)
I've been wanting to tell this story since it happened, but it's been too busy until today.
ACT ONE
Our heroine, rushing as usual, decides to make a quick Target run on the way home from campus. It is a Thursday in December, mid-afternoon. The list includes band-aids, toilet paper, and compact fluorescent light bulbs; should be a quick in-and-out, with no Christmas shopping involved.
In the way of such things, though, it is not all that quick. The parking lot is crammed with other shoppers who in fact are Christmas shopping at 3:30 on a Thursday. And the clothing aisle emits its usual seductive aroma of inexpensive impulsivity. Despite the two pairs of jeans and two t-shirts that join the rest of the shopping list items in the cart, however, our heroine makes it through the store before 4. (As usual she skips trying on anything, trusting to Target's generous return policy.)
Purchases made, she returns home uneventfully, puts together some cookie dough to chill and bake later, cooks and eats dinner with supporting cast (spouse and younger child).
ACT TWO
After dinner our heroine leaves for choir practice. Eldest child has an unexpected ride home from school--where she's stayed late for her own choir rehearsal--so the evening's plans have eased. Halfway through rehearsal our heroine reaches into her bag for her palm pilot, to check a date for an upcoming event.
It's not in the bag.
The palm pilot is not only the repository of all date- and place-related information. Its case is also a wallet, containing credit cards of untold spending limits and over eighty dollars cash, following an ATM run the day before. This is serious.
The bag is floppy and things sometimes fall out of it. Maybe the palm pilot is on the floor of the car.
It's not.
Our heroine returns home after choir practice, ca. 9 p.m. A frantic search for the palm pilot throughout the house ensues. It is unsuccessful. Our heroine is dangerously agitated, slamming drawers open and closed, stomping up and down stairs. The supporting cast (now represented by spouse and older child, as younger child is already in bed) backs away. This can't end well.
ACT THREE
Realizing that she last used her wallet/palm pilot case earlier that day at Target, our heroine makes a desperate phone call. After waiting through a long recorded message and explaining her problem twice (once to the operator, and again to Guest Services), she is told to call back in thirty minutes, when the person with the key to the lost-and-found drawer will return. Assured that coming in to the store during the thirty-minute waiting period will not hasten the return of the keeper of the keys, our heroine hangs up and commences upon a tirade on the decline of western civilization, as evidenced by the failure of Guest Services to procure a key when needed. The supporting cast makes comforting noises but keep their distance.
Thirty minutes is long enough to roll and bake the chilled cookie dough. When the cookies are in the oven, the time appears to be up. Savvy now to the workings of the Target phone service, our heroine presses "0" at the appropriate moment and requests a connection to Guest Services, which is provided.
"Hello? My name is Our Heroine, and I think I left a black leather case--with a palm pilot in it, and some money--in the store, earlier today?"
"I think you did, honey. Let me check. Hold on."
Miraculously, Guest Services does not subject our heroine to holiday--or any--music on hold. On her return, she asks for a name again, then fills in first and middle when she hears the last name. The palm pilot is found! It would be too much to ask for anything to be left in the wallet; our heroine doesn't ask.
Target is open for another hour. It is ten minutes away. Our heroine rushes out the door, leaving instructions with eldest for cookie-removal. Guest Services has the wallet/case and more endearments. Our heroine doesn't usually answer to "honey," but it seems just right in the moment. She leaves, proffering grateful thanks. Once back in the car, she looks inside: all the money is there. The cards have not been moved.* A Christmas miracle, indeed.
The jeans and t-shirts don't fit and will be returned at a later date. The cookies are fine. All is well.
*In case you're worried that someone did get numbers and security codes from them, don't be: there's a fraud alert on my accounts anyway as a result of UCLA's recent data security breach.
I've been wanting to tell this story since it happened, but it's been too busy until today.
ACT ONE
Our heroine, rushing as usual, decides to make a quick Target run on the way home from campus. It is a Thursday in December, mid-afternoon. The list includes band-aids, toilet paper, and compact fluorescent light bulbs; should be a quick in-and-out, with no Christmas shopping involved.
In the way of such things, though, it is not all that quick. The parking lot is crammed with other shoppers who in fact are Christmas shopping at 3:30 on a Thursday. And the clothing aisle emits its usual seductive aroma of inexpensive impulsivity. Despite the two pairs of jeans and two t-shirts that join the rest of the shopping list items in the cart, however, our heroine makes it through the store before 4. (As usual she skips trying on anything, trusting to Target's generous return policy.)
Purchases made, she returns home uneventfully, puts together some cookie dough to chill and bake later, cooks and eats dinner with supporting cast (spouse and younger child).
ACT TWO
After dinner our heroine leaves for choir practice. Eldest child has an unexpected ride home from school--where she's stayed late for her own choir rehearsal--so the evening's plans have eased. Halfway through rehearsal our heroine reaches into her bag for her palm pilot, to check a date for an upcoming event.
It's not in the bag.
The palm pilot is not only the repository of all date- and place-related information. Its case is also a wallet, containing credit cards of untold spending limits and over eighty dollars cash, following an ATM run the day before. This is serious.
The bag is floppy and things sometimes fall out of it. Maybe the palm pilot is on the floor of the car.
It's not.
Our heroine returns home after choir practice, ca. 9 p.m. A frantic search for the palm pilot throughout the house ensues. It is unsuccessful. Our heroine is dangerously agitated, slamming drawers open and closed, stomping up and down stairs. The supporting cast (now represented by spouse and older child, as younger child is already in bed) backs away. This can't end well.
ACT THREE
Realizing that she last used her wallet/palm pilot case earlier that day at Target, our heroine makes a desperate phone call. After waiting through a long recorded message and explaining her problem twice (once to the operator, and again to Guest Services), she is told to call back in thirty minutes, when the person with the key to the lost-and-found drawer will return. Assured that coming in to the store during the thirty-minute waiting period will not hasten the return of the keeper of the keys, our heroine hangs up and commences upon a tirade on the decline of western civilization, as evidenced by the failure of Guest Services to procure a key when needed. The supporting cast makes comforting noises but keep their distance.
Thirty minutes is long enough to roll and bake the chilled cookie dough. When the cookies are in the oven, the time appears to be up. Savvy now to the workings of the Target phone service, our heroine presses "0" at the appropriate moment and requests a connection to Guest Services, which is provided.
"Hello? My name is Our Heroine, and I think I left a black leather case--with a palm pilot in it, and some money--in the store, earlier today?"
"I think you did, honey. Let me check. Hold on."
Miraculously, Guest Services does not subject our heroine to holiday--or any--music on hold. On her return, she asks for a name again, then fills in first and middle when she hears the last name. The palm pilot is found! It would be too much to ask for anything to be left in the wallet; our heroine doesn't ask.
Target is open for another hour. It is ten minutes away. Our heroine rushes out the door, leaving instructions with eldest for cookie-removal. Guest Services has the wallet/case and more endearments. Our heroine doesn't usually answer to "honey," but it seems just right in the moment. She leaves, proffering grateful thanks. Once back in the car, she looks inside: all the money is there. The cards have not been moved.* A Christmas miracle, indeed.
The jeans and t-shirts don't fit and will be returned at a later date. The cookies are fine. All is well.
*In case you're worried that someone did get numbers and security codes from them, don't be: there's a fraud alert on my accounts anyway as a result of UCLA's recent data security breach.
Monday, December 11, 2006
ant or grasshopper?
From yesterday's New York Times comes the word that guilt fades while regret at missed opportunities grows. In other words, I should be out Christmas shopping and having fun now instead of sitting at my desk trying to start grading? Or, hmm, would Christmas shopping not be fun enough?
Saturday, December 09, 2006
welcome, happy morning!
No, it's not Easter, nor yet Christmas yet, but weekend mornings, especially in the winter, are indeed happy. This morning Nick crept into our room at about 7:30 with the idea that we should have chocolate muffins.
Why, yes, we should.
Why, yes, we should.
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