William the Orange keeps watch at our hotel in Amsterdam (2018). One can dream.
Well, here we are, another Thursday. I am starting to use these Thursday posts as markers of time passing, like slashes on a tree to mark time when stranded in the jungle (we just binged season 3 of Alone on Hulu – 10/10 recommend).
This particular Thursday post is accompanied by a fat cat from Amsterdam. Two years ago right around this time, I fell in love with an orange cat and a city, and I despair of seeing either ever again.
Ah, well. Here’s some stuff for you. Read it all, click selectively, or ignore it. Up to you.
Among the best things I have read is this quote from a lovely, long recommendation list of things to read, watch, and do during quarantine:“…the concept of “guilty pleasure” is banned, canceled, absolutely not relevant. Nothing is guilty — any pleasure to be found in this time is to be seized and celebrated!” I love that and wholeheartedly agree.
Missing your office noises? Not me, but if you are feeling lonely without the clicking of your officemate’s laptop keys, try this website of virtual office noises.
Finally, if you have not already seen this, go ahead and click to see John Krasinski’s new Project Some Good News (episode 1 and episode 2). I have already known he was a good guy, but this new project is beautiful, surprisingly not saccharine, and pretty much exactly what we need right now: some good fucking news. Spoiler alert: if you are a fan of Hamilton, start with episode 2.
I dare you to make these and then argue with the title of this blog.
If you are just here for the cookie (and I don’t blame you), you can find the recipe on Smitten Kitchen. Everyone knows the best chocolate chip cookies are crispy and chewy, and that’s exactly what I searched for and exactly what I got.
Of course, these use my gluten-free flour blend, and I used a mix of regular and mini semisweet chips. Also, because I am sheltering in place on my own, I baked half of the batch only. The rest I scooped into individual cookies with an ice cream scoop and am freezing. Pop a cookie onto a baking sheet and bake it up whenever.
For those of you who are here for cookies and the rest of the blog, keep going.
“You need not leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. You need not even listen, simply wait. You need not even wait, just learn to become quiet and still, and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you unmasked. It has no choice; it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.”
Followed by this from Paul Éluard: “There is another world, but it is in this one.”
If ever there were a book for our time, it is this one.
We are all (most) of us, sitting, and some of us (like me, now) solitary. I am waiting, I guess, not exactly solitary, and there might be the problem. With our shithead of a president failing to lead (or demonstrate his ability to be anything but the inept moron and terrible person he is), infections and deaths rising in what I believe are falsely deflated numbers, and people feeling the sting of isolation for two weeks (official two weeks isn’t even close here in Maryland – we have only been under stay-at-home orders since March 30), we are still filling up our time and mental space with what we used to do, only now it’s online.
Certainly, we mourn the freedom of movement we used to have, but whenever you get too down in the mouth about that, imagine you are in prison right now, and your prison has just been issued stay-at-home orders for two weeks, and your home is an 8×10 cell that you share with another person who is not of your choosing.
But I digress.
The point is (and for the chocolate chip cookie people who stayed, I know. Sometimes it takes a minute to get to the point. But I usually make it there eventually), once we come out of this, if we have not gotten quiet, and still, and solitary, what will we come out to?
I think one positive part of this (if one could spin anything to be positive) is that the terrible, anti-functional parts of life in the U.S. have been laid bare. Too many people are one paycheck away from disaster.
Our hospitals are not equipped for large-scale disasters. Our healthcare system essentially ensures that the poor and the brown among us will die from lack of care or be destitute following the minimal care they receive.
The entire country feels this lack – witness, among other things, the rabid clearing of all toilet paper from stores and the hoarding of everything from masks to hand sanitizer to, of all things, flour and yeast. It is a true thing that when our survival is threatened, grasping for things we can hold (e.g., toilet paper) provides us with a feeling of stability.
Someone on Instagram wrote that they thought rationing (as in World War II) would be better because then at least you would be guaranteed your carton of eggs.
We have no guidance, no leadership, no calls for coming together at the federal level (including the laughable federal “stimulus” package that bails out the few large businesses at the expense of the small and of individuals. And the people who pick our vegetables and toil in the fields? They are fucked.). In Baltimore, and in my neighborhood, there are community resources being made available for those who are suffering, and I have seen beautiful examples of people helping each other.
But on the national level, Congress and the Shithead-in-Chief are pointing fingers and worrying about whose fault it is, still propping up big corporations that can absorb the shock better than the little guy, and probably scanning the globe for a war that might pull us out of what looks to be headed in the direction of the Great Depression, part deux.
If we think we can emerge from this pandemic the same as we went in, we are mistaken. We cannot compare this pandemic to the flu in the sense that most of the world had no idea the rest of the world had the flu, too. The name “Spanish flu” was coined by Spain because they thought they were the only ones who had it. With the internet, we are so globally intertwined that it is impossible to ignore the shuddering halt to which we have come and the consequences. I don’t think as many people in the U.S. have ever thought about the term “supply chain” as much in the history of this country.
I don’t want to be the same. I want our whole country to not just stop and be quiet but to listen and be still, to evaluate which parts of the old system are good and valuable and which parts we can discard like so much rubbish.
I think it’s obvious that we have reached late-stage capitalism and that center cannot hold. Note: if you click no other links in this post, click the late-stage capitalism one. Jesus.
I think it’s also obvious that our healthcare system is unutterably broken. We have been looking at this pandemic not as a public health issue with the potential to ravage the country but instead as a drain on resources, the same drain that occurs when uninsured people are forced to avoid going to the doctor until they end up in the emergency room. Healthcare is the privilege of the wealthy; this was clearly illustrated for me when Idris Elba reported receiving a COVID test in the earliest days of the pandemic because he had been in contact with a person who tested positive.
Pause here to give props to Larry Hogan, the Republican governor of Maryland (I am a raging liberal Democrat who did not vote for him) who saw this coming in January and took some steps to get ready. Not enough, but more than the federal government who knew for sure it was coming and ignored it.
WE CANNOT BE THE SAME COUNTRY COMING OUT OF THIS.
We cannot allow the same inequity to persist. We cannot choose corporations over people. We cannot allow our elected representatives on both sides of the aisle to get away with lip service and pandering this election year.
Personally, I think the changes we need to make to emerge better from this pandemic are too sweeping and too hard for the small-minded people in power to comprehend. States seem to be doing a better job on their own (most of them, except for these nine states, plus Georgia).
I despair of any resolution to this. We are too big to not fail, it seems.
As I write this, I hear a peal of laughter from my neighbors down the street. They do still get together outside but no longer huddle in a close circle with their children ranging ’round. The chairs are there, the kids are out, but they are a studied six feet apart.
The wisdomkeepers might say that things are unfolding as they must – that this is part of the revelation (which, as my book points out, has a curious Latin root word that means “to veil.”
I feel like the world is actually rolling freely, unmasked, at our feet, if not in ecstasy but then certainly with wild abandon. If there is another world in this one, now is the time it will reveal itself, I think. Perhaps we are not quiet or still enough to notice yet. Perhaps we never will be.
It may seem silly, but I miss David Foster Wallace nearly every day since he killed himself on September 12, 2008.
I “met” him first through his novel Infinite Jest, a 1,100 page tome with 150 pages of endnotes (give or take, depending on the edition you have).
I read this book three times.
The first time it took me three weeks, as I was taking notes, writing down vocabulary lists (for real, and I am an English major), and looking up definitions. I also referred when necessary to the endnotes DFW created, including the complete movie catalogue of one of the characters (with plot synopsis and everything).
It’s the kind of brain-based focus that has not really occurred in my life for the past several years.
The next two times I read Infinite Jest, it was for the simple pleasure of winding myself up in his beautiful prose. His complex characters, modeled on real life people, perhaps, or mostly on autobiographical bits of himself, are deep and complicated and sometimes downright unlikeable.
The plot unfolds at a snail’s pace, which explains the book’s length, but every word feels necessary and in service to the larger purpose. I read it as a marathoner might pop out and jog a quick ten miles – to keep my intellectual muscles strong and engaged and with a type of joy that comes from already knowing what happens. In this way I could gather the little pebbles I missed along the way (which happens quite a bit, as I may already be a little senile, the most burnt out non-potsmoker one might meet).
Few books have called to me in the same way before or after. I don’t know what it is about the reward you get when you need to spend more effort on something to truly understand it. Infinite Jest was not an easy read any of the times that I read it. I read it at times when I was most preoccupied in my life (grad school, with a newborn, and when I started my school), almost as if the action of reading such a book pulled me out of the foggiest parts of my brain and made me sharpen my gaze, like honing a blade.
Sometimes, though, this steel-sharp focus is counterintuitive. Sometimes simplicity is what we really need.
Simplicity does not equal stupidity, although one could be lead to believe otherwise by the current state of everything in the U.S.
Simplicity can easily be achieved by allowing whatever is to be whatever it is without wallowing in it or reveling in it or otherwise complicating it with interpretation and reaction. Seems easy enough, right?
In another part of my life, I am a 500-hour certified yoga teacher, and one of the texts we studied during my training was The Splendor of Recognition. This is a study of 21 Tantric sutras (which, disappointingly, DON’T MENTION SEX EVEN ONCE).
Side note: One of my main issues with spirituality in general is that language is inadequate for its discussion, so I will keep it to a minimum here.
The Splendor of Recognition posits that not only are we in the universe, but the universe is also in us. All we need to become as limitless and boundless as the universe is to recognize that truth.
The best part is that once that recognition happens, it’s always there. There is no backsliding. So you can still do the things you love (like drink and have sex and whatever else it is that you love) without thinking that your soul is in jeopardy. The universe springs forth from the heart, and you can dive into it whenever you want.
This is, of course, deceptively simple. It’s not so easy to truly believe that you are in the universe and the universe is in you. And we are all of us human beings (I think), and human beings like to react and interpret and make it ALL ABOUT OURSELVES. That’s the rub.
Putting up summer produce, however, is about as simple as it gets, and it’s also meditative as hell for those of you that wish to skip sitting down and thinking about nothing (HA. Good luck with that.) for 30 minutes a day.
In just three hours, I canned 13 pints of tomatoes, three 1/2 pints of cowboy candy, and an experimental quart jar of sauerkraut.
Some things that made this so simple:
I didn’t make more work than there had to be. The standard way to skin tomatoes is to boil a huge vat of water, plunge the tomatoes in there, and then plunge them in an ice bath to easily remove the skins. This is 100% effective. You know what else is 100% effective? Using a box grater. I turned 16 pounds of tomatoes into pureed tomatoes in less than 20 minutes by cutting off the stems, cutting the tomatoes in half, and rubbing them on a box grater until all I had in my hand was a little wisp of skin. Simple, and no messy boiling water or skinless-tomato chopping.
I used what I had. I had six cups of jalapeños, some sugar, and some vinegar. This is perfection for cowboy candy (recipe below).
I just thought about what was happening in front of me. For three hours, all I did was cook and can. I didn’t worry about the fact that I have not yet found mercenary writing work to replace the writing job that ended two weeks ago (I am for hire – FYI.), or about the dog who may or may not (but probably does) have an ear infection, or the kid many thousands of miles away, studying in France until June 2017 (2017, people. TEN MONTHS.).
I just grated tomatoes, chopped jalapeños, sterilized jars, and massaged cabbage.
You, too, can live simply.
Cowboy Candy (a.k.a, Candied Jalapeños)
Note: This makes three half pints but can easily be doubled. You can also mess with the ratio (1:2 vinegar to sugar) just a bit and make an even two full pints. #YouAreTheUniverse
Ingredients
1 cup apple cider vinegar
2 cups sugar
1/2 teaspoon celery seed
2 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
4 cups jalapeños, sliced about 1/4″ thick (more or less)
Method
Before beginning, make sure you have your canning jars are ready to go. “Ready to go” means washed in hot soapy water and sterilized. You could kill many birds with one stone by washing them in the dishwasher right before you begin. Then they are clean AND sterilized. Otherwise, clean by washing by hand and then sterilize by submerging jars in boiling water for five minutes.
Remove with tongs, and for fuck’s sake be careful. That water is boiling.
If you are planning to be legit and can these to last for a year, use new canning lids and dip them in the boiling water for a minute. Set all of this aside.
In a large pot, combine vinegar, sugar, celery seed, and jalapeños. Stir to dissolve sugar over medium heat, then bring to a boil. Boil gently (not a rolling, vigorous boil) for five minutes.
Add jalapeños to the pot and simmer for five minutes. Try not to inhale the steam coming off the pot. You will be very, very sorry if you get a lungful of that, and you may cough until you puke. I did not, but this is also not my first rodeo.
Use a slotted spoon (or a fork or whatever is handy) to remove jalapeños from the syrup and pack into jars. Don’t push too hard, but make sure each nook and cranny is filled.
Return the syrup to a boil, and boil for six minutes.
Ladle HOT SYRUP into the canning jars, leaving space at the top (about 1/4″ or maybe a little more if you are making pints.).
Wipe the rims of the jars and place lids on top, screwing the metal band of the canning lid until it is just a little tight (not all the way – canning books sometimes call this “fingertip tight,” which I think is super odd, but whatever makes you happy).
At this point, you could let these cool on the counter before placing them in the ‘fridge and then waiting at least three days to start eating. This way, they will last about two weeks.
If you want to get old school, bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil (the same pot you sterilized the jars in) and place your jars in that pot of boiling water for 15 minutes (with at least an inch of water covering the top of the jars) before removing them to a counter. Let them sit, untouched, until completely cool. If you hear a little “pop,” your jars have sealed and will be good on the shelf for a year.
If you don’t hear the pop, and the little button in the center of the lid still moves up and down, they have not sealed properly and should be placed in the ‘fridge. You could try to re-process, but that’s a pain in the ass and completely unnecessary since you will be eating all of these pretty much ummediately anyway.
Recipe notes:
Botulism is NO JOKE, but canning is not actually rocket science. I was trying to find a solid guide to link to, but honestly, lots of them are either trying to sell you something or to not get sued (that’s the USDA canning guide). A can lifter is helpful, as is a wide-mouth canning funnel (but strictly speaking neither are necessary). You do not need a special pot or anything fancy. The Serious Eats guide to canning is pretty good for method, and it links to the sites trying to sell you something or not get sued so you can make up your own mind.
Slicing jalapeños is also no joke. Wear gloves if you are very sensitive (which I am) or cheat (as I did) and just hold on to the stem while you slice them. If you touch the juice of the jalapeño, wash your hands immediately. Do not touch your face or, heaven forbid, go to the bathroom. #YouWillBeSorry
You can submerge a towel or a wire rack in the bottom of your pot of boiling water before you place your jars in the pot. This will keep the jars from dancing around and potentially cracking.
I cook when I need to be the universe. If you require some simplicity, what do you do?
