This stuff is delicious! Following Kate's recipe, my first and second batch are now bottled (the first round nearly gone). I use a combination of black tea and pomegranate, so the color is a beautiful pink/red.
The basic recipe is tea, sugar, and SCOBY--the flavor depends on the kind of tea used. So far, I've not branched out beyond black and pomegranate, but Kate has done peach, orange, and even root beer.
While the tea is cooling, before you add the SCOBY, you can add whatever you like. Pam, following her son-in-law's recipe, has added ginger and jalapeño.
After the kombucha has fermented the second round, in tall air-tight bottles, I keep it in the refrigerator to stop the fermentation process and to keep it cold for drinking. I just discovered that the orangeade I bought at Sprouts (to use their bottles) is a delicious addition to a glass of cold kombucha.
This drink has a surprising side effect: it suppresses the appetite. Kombucha aficionados claim that it also builds a colony of probiotics in the digestive track. I can't vouch for that--but I take them at their word because I enjoy the taste and the effects of it so much.
The internet is a wonderful rabbit hole. Looking for tips on kombucha, I stumbled upon recipes for roasted garlic, which I'll be trying this morning. From there, I explored soups made in the Vitamix. And so it goes....
Monday, June 13, 2016
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Random--and not-so-random--Acts of Kindness
I've been inspired this morning by two telephone conversations, one with Pam, one with Mike.
Pam shared a story with me about her mother-in-law, a woman with whom she's been close for many years, even after the former husband is no longer in the picture. Every Sunday she writes her emails--and not just short cursory reportage, real letters. In between she sends her postcards and pictures of her grandchildren and visits her.
This morning, the mother-in-law called. She usually talks briefly on the phone "as if she's still being billed for long distance calls," but this morning she talked for twenty minutes, ending with "what she really called to say." Her friends are amazed that she and Pam are still close and that they communicate and visit so often. She wanted to express her gratitude for Pam's friendship.
Years ago, Pam was visiting when the mail came--a stack of junk mail. She resolved that day to be sure that her mother-in-law's mailbox often had real mail--and she's kept that resolution. Pam is like that. She's a real communicator, not a superficial one. She reaches out generously to her people.
Mike, too. He's spending two days helping a friend who had a bad fall due to vertigo. She can barely stand up, much less drive, cook, and clean. He's cleaned her entire house from top to bottom, refreshed the neglected kitty-litter boxes, and made meals for her. "She's in really bad shape," he told me. She can't go out to eat, and she can't stand long enough to wash the dishes. The saddest part is that she moved to Birmingham to be near family--and they are too busy to help her out.
Mike's main claim to happiness is what he can do for other people--whether it's building,repairing, cooking or cleaning. Yesterday he was in a funk himself. Then he got a call from his friend in Birmingham, put Mojo in the car, and drove there to help her get her house in order.
"If I can just help one person for one day, it makes me happy," he said.
Maybe, after all, that's the number one key to happiness for all of us--getting out of our own stuff and reaching out to somebody else.
I know I've often been the recipient of this kind of help and caring from my friends--a bowl of soup when I'm sick, a letter or card in the mail, and countless other acts of kindness. These are the things that, when you feel better, you never forget.
Pam shared a story with me about her mother-in-law, a woman with whom she's been close for many years, even after the former husband is no longer in the picture. Every Sunday she writes her emails--and not just short cursory reportage, real letters. In between she sends her postcards and pictures of her grandchildren and visits her.
This morning, the mother-in-law called. She usually talks briefly on the phone "as if she's still being billed for long distance calls," but this morning she talked for twenty minutes, ending with "what she really called to say." Her friends are amazed that she and Pam are still close and that they communicate and visit so often. She wanted to express her gratitude for Pam's friendship.
Years ago, Pam was visiting when the mail came--a stack of junk mail. She resolved that day to be sure that her mother-in-law's mailbox often had real mail--and she's kept that resolution. Pam is like that. She's a real communicator, not a superficial one. She reaches out generously to her people.
Mike, too. He's spending two days helping a friend who had a bad fall due to vertigo. She can barely stand up, much less drive, cook, and clean. He's cleaned her entire house from top to bottom, refreshed the neglected kitty-litter boxes, and made meals for her. "She's in really bad shape," he told me. She can't go out to eat, and she can't stand long enough to wash the dishes. The saddest part is that she moved to Birmingham to be near family--and they are too busy to help her out.
Mike's main claim to happiness is what he can do for other people--whether it's building,repairing, cooking or cleaning. Yesterday he was in a funk himself. Then he got a call from his friend in Birmingham, put Mojo in the car, and drove there to help her get her house in order.
"If I can just help one person for one day, it makes me happy," he said.
Maybe, after all, that's the number one key to happiness for all of us--getting out of our own stuff and reaching out to somebody else.
I know I've often been the recipient of this kind of help and caring from my friends--a bowl of soup when I'm sick, a letter or card in the mail, and countless other acts of kindness. These are the things that, when you feel better, you never forget.
Letting the Raw Side Drag
If you love words and enjoy knowing the meaning and etymology of phrases, if you're a language and grammar junkie, like me, check out A WAY WITH WORDS on National Public Radio. Martha and Grant are geniuses at tracking down meanings. http://www.waywordradio.org/category/episodes/
My daddy was known for his quips, some original, some borrowed. The ones he coined became part of our family's shared vocabulary. Every family has some of these, sayings that pop up in conversation and mean nothing to anyone who wasn't there. (This reminds me of the Sixties phrase, "You had to be there,"--which meant that whatever happened "there" is beyond verbal description.)
1.
Once, on a fishing trip, Will and my daddy stopped at a cafe where the coffee served was lukewarm.
"Could I have a hot cup? This one is cold," Lloyd said to the waitress.
"What should I do with this cup?" she replied--referencing the coffee she'd just served him.
"I don't care," he said. "Pour it out somewhere."
Occasionally, all these years later, one of us says "Pour it out somewhere," and it seems to mean something like this: "I don't care what you do with it" or "Duh!"
2.
"Let the raw side drag." I took this phrase to be a kind of general permission-giving, as in "Just do what you want, never mind what anyone thinks."
He said it to me once when we were taking a walk. "Linda, you're just letting the raw side drag." Since he said it with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes, I took it to be a kind of thumbs up for whatever I happened to be doing at the time.
Maybe I'll call Martha and Grant this morning, see if they know the etymology of "Raw Side Dragging." So far, the closest I've found is "Let the rough side drag" from a song by Jesse Montgomery:
Let the rough side drag
Let the smooth side show
While you pull that load
Everywhere you go...
3.
"Keep the main thing the main thing."
While he didn't make this one up, it was his favorite bit of advice for grandkids. He never actually specified what the "main thing" was--which I liked.
4.
Many American idioms of his generation are agrarian and practical sayings:
"It takes two to pull the wagon."
"He's the black sheep of the family."
"It's not worth a hill of beans."
"Look at her--living so high on the hog!"
My daddy was known for his quips, some original, some borrowed. The ones he coined became part of our family's shared vocabulary. Every family has some of these, sayings that pop up in conversation and mean nothing to anyone who wasn't there. (This reminds me of the Sixties phrase, "You had to be there,"--which meant that whatever happened "there" is beyond verbal description.)
1.
Once, on a fishing trip, Will and my daddy stopped at a cafe where the coffee served was lukewarm.
"Could I have a hot cup? This one is cold," Lloyd said to the waitress.
"What should I do with this cup?" she replied--referencing the coffee she'd just served him.
"I don't care," he said. "Pour it out somewhere."
Occasionally, all these years later, one of us says "Pour it out somewhere," and it seems to mean something like this: "I don't care what you do with it" or "Duh!"
2.
"Let the raw side drag." I took this phrase to be a kind of general permission-giving, as in "Just do what you want, never mind what anyone thinks."
He said it to me once when we were taking a walk. "Linda, you're just letting the raw side drag." Since he said it with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes, I took it to be a kind of thumbs up for whatever I happened to be doing at the time.
Maybe I'll call Martha and Grant this morning, see if they know the etymology of "Raw Side Dragging." So far, the closest I've found is "Let the rough side drag" from a song by Jesse Montgomery:
Let the rough side drag
Let the smooth side show
While you pull that load
Everywhere you go...
3.
"Keep the main thing the main thing."
While he didn't make this one up, it was his favorite bit of advice for grandkids. He never actually specified what the "main thing" was--which I liked.
4.
Many American idioms of his generation are agrarian and practical sayings:
"It takes two to pull the wagon."
"He's the black sheep of the family."
"It's not worth a hill of beans."
"Look at her--living so high on the hog!"
Saturday, June 11, 2016
Garage Sales
Suddenly, it's summer--sweltering hot and sticky, too hot to do anything outside after noon. Nevertheless, Kate and I had ourselves a super cool morning garage sale-ing. We came home with bags of Christmas ornaments for the kids, plants, pots, old-fashioned glasses with watermelons on them and a few more red plates to smash--when it gets cooler. This is a dusk project for sure.
Kate got the plum pickings--a tiara from a wonderful African-American woman named Verna who loved Kate. "That woman makes me laugh every time she opens her mouth," she said. At the next stop, we both loved a pair of bright red high heeled shoes, our size, but I don't wear closed-toe shoes, so Kate was the lucky buyer.
We had seafood enchiladas at Lisa's and then I came home and napped, then went grocery shopping. The main topic of conversation in grocery stores (and everywhere else) is the heat--as if we're all surprised when it arrives in its full glory.
Kate got the plum pickings--a tiara from a wonderful African-American woman named Verna who loved Kate. "That woman makes me laugh every time she opens her mouth," she said. At the next stop, we both loved a pair of bright red high heeled shoes, our size, but I don't wear closed-toe shoes, so Kate was the lucky buyer.
We had seafood enchiladas at Lisa's and then I came home and napped, then went grocery shopping. The main topic of conversation in grocery stores (and everywhere else) is the heat--as if we're all surprised when it arrives in its full glory.
Friday, June 10, 2016
Moon Pies and Mosaics
Two days ago, I found a box of six Moon Pies at Big Lots and decided to add one each to the welcome package for each of my grandchildren when they are all here together in August. I don't even like Moon Pies all that much, but somebody in my house of one ate every single Moon Pie, scraping out the marshmallow filling to balance the calorie intake, I'm sure. (Well, five; I gave one to the window woman at Whataburger when she gave me a free coke.)
Today, I went to three or four thrift shops and bought plates in bright colors, came home and whacked the heck out of them with a hammer. They are now in pretty pieces in a container, awaiting the day I will put them all together in a mosaic. Mike bought me a stainless steel piece of an airplane at YeYa's last time he was here and I'm going to turn it into a mosaic totem pole.
After all that whacking, I went--solo--to see Friends and Lovers, a movie that had gotten positive ratings, but which left me sleepy.
Today, I went to three or four thrift shops and bought plates in bright colors, came home and whacked the heck out of them with a hammer. They are now in pretty pieces in a container, awaiting the day I will put them all together in a mosaic. Mike bought me a stainless steel piece of an airplane at YeYa's last time he was here and I'm going to turn it into a mosaic totem pole.
After all that whacking, I went--solo--to see Friends and Lovers, a movie that had gotten positive ratings, but which left me sleepy.
Good things
1.
Yesterday, I got a downpour of good, starting with this note from Marcus' teacher to Day: "I wish you could have seen how Marcus reacted when he read a note of encouragement from Yenna on Monday morning. The way his smile grew bigger and bigger while reading that little note on the couch was priceless. It was the perfect touch to enable him get Passed Advanced on the Reading SOL earlier this week!" (The teacher had solicited notes from family to encourage these little guys on their SOLs--and I'd emailed one that she printed and gave to Marcus.)
Last weekend, as they were traveling to Georgetown for a day together, Day passed the phone around the car so that each person could say "I love you" to me. Marcus was last. He whispered, "Don't tell anybody but I love you more than anyone in this car does."
Love from a grandson can make a Yenna's day!
2.
I've been reminded that it's good to admit to the blues when they hit. We all have them from time to time--like colds, headaches, and allergies. What comes of telling the truth is that you find out people care, in so many different ways....
3.
Like these: a just-right-timed-and-content phone call from a friend, Kate coming over to make sure I'm okay (even if I wasn't at at home), Linda K. treating me to lunch at Zorba's, Mike saying, "Just say the word and I'll come," an email from California Linda including inspiring pages on depression from a new book by Marianne Williamson, and Pam joining me for dinner even though she'd already eaten! What a feast of friendship yesterday was!
4.
And like this: Charlotte called and said, "The rumor around town is you're not in the best place. I'm on your street."
So she came in, hopped on my bed with me, and we talked about melancholy and how it's okay to do nothing. I thought that was super cool--having a friend actually get into my rumpled bed and push back a stack of books, put her head on the pillow, and talk. "Maybe you should paint this room bright pink like the pink in that giraffe," she said, a comment that came out of the blue and made me laugh.
5.
I restrained myself from wading into maudlin sentimentality yesterday and writing that it would have been my 49th wedding anniversary yada yada yada--yay for me!
6.
This morning Gabi told me that in India when people are going through hard times, the whole family moves in for 40 days! If an aunt's husband dies, the whole family shows up.
The good thing about that story is that it illustrates the kindness and closeness of family; the scary thing about that story is that if it happened here, in my small house, where would I put them all and would I have to feed everybody?
7. Once again, Gabi did her magic on my neck and spirits--and I feel really good tonight!
Yesterday, I got a downpour of good, starting with this note from Marcus' teacher to Day: "I wish you could have seen how Marcus reacted when he read a note of encouragement from Yenna on Monday morning. The way his smile grew bigger and bigger while reading that little note on the couch was priceless. It was the perfect touch to enable him get Passed Advanced on the Reading SOL earlier this week!" (The teacher had solicited notes from family to encourage these little guys on their SOLs--and I'd emailed one that she printed and gave to Marcus.)
Last weekend, as they were traveling to Georgetown for a day together, Day passed the phone around the car so that each person could say "I love you" to me. Marcus was last. He whispered, "Don't tell anybody but I love you more than anyone in this car does."
Love from a grandson can make a Yenna's day!
2.
I've been reminded that it's good to admit to the blues when they hit. We all have them from time to time--like colds, headaches, and allergies. What comes of telling the truth is that you find out people care, in so many different ways....
3.
Like these: a just-right-timed-and-content phone call from a friend, Kate coming over to make sure I'm okay (even if I wasn't at at home), Linda K. treating me to lunch at Zorba's, Mike saying, "Just say the word and I'll come," an email from California Linda including inspiring pages on depression from a new book by Marianne Williamson, and Pam joining me for dinner even though she'd already eaten! What a feast of friendship yesterday was!
4.
And like this: Charlotte called and said, "The rumor around town is you're not in the best place. I'm on your street."
So she came in, hopped on my bed with me, and we talked about melancholy and how it's okay to do nothing. I thought that was super cool--having a friend actually get into my rumpled bed and push back a stack of books, put her head on the pillow, and talk. "Maybe you should paint this room bright pink like the pink in that giraffe," she said, a comment that came out of the blue and made me laugh.
5.
I restrained myself from wading into maudlin sentimentality yesterday and writing that it would have been my 49th wedding anniversary yada yada yada--yay for me!
6.
This morning Gabi told me that in India when people are going through hard times, the whole family moves in for 40 days! If an aunt's husband dies, the whole family shows up.
The good thing about that story is that it illustrates the kindness and closeness of family; the scary thing about that story is that if it happened here, in my small house, where would I put them all and would I have to feed everybody?
7. Once again, Gabi did her magic on my neck and spirits--and I feel really good tonight!
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Princesses, Barbies, Alice and Jerry, Dick and Jane
Cinderella Ate My Daughter by Peggy Orenstein critiques the influence of princess mania on little girls. To most of us who came of age in the 50s and 60s, the word, princess, is not complimentary. The first (of many) times a clerk at Lowe's or HEB called Elena ""Princess," I raised my eyebrows. Now I'm used to it. It has become (in the last fifteen years, according to this book) the normal way strangers address little girls.
This book reminds me of the feminist books we all read when we were rearing little girls. I refused to buy Barbies for Day (though one of her friends' mothers gave her one, probably feeling sorry for my culturally impoverished child.)
Cinderella Ate My Daughter is making me take a look back at the images that shaped me as child. Every child is a white flower, her world-view colored by the water in the vase that is her world. Children are not critical of that water, it's just What Is.
In the formative years of kindergarten and first grade, these illustrations and stories were my water:
This book reminds me of the feminist books we all read when we were rearing little girls. I refused to buy Barbies for Day (though one of her friends' mothers gave her one, probably feeling sorry for my culturally impoverished child.)
Cinderella Ate My Daughter is making me take a look back at the images that shaped me as child. Every child is a white flower, her world-view colored by the water in the vase that is her world. Children are not critical of that water, it's just What Is.
In the formative years of kindergarten and first grade, these illustrations and stories were my water:
We looked over fences;
boys climbed on fences.
Families had meals together.
The mother cooked, the father carved (in his suit, no less!)
Dick was funny, funny; the girls were his audience.
Girls played with dolls, boys played with airplanes.
Girls and mothers dressed up
and looked pretty.
Friday, June 3, 2016
Becoming Wise--by Krista Tippett
What are the questions we are asking on the road to wisdom? With what language do we ask the questions?
Krista Tippett has been interviewing wise people for years. In this book, she shares her insights about wisdom and talks about the kinds of questions that create real conversations:
"If I've learned nothing else, I've learned this: a question is a powerful thing, a mighty use of words. Questions elicit answers in their likeness. Answers mirror the questions they rise, or fall, to meet. So while a simple question may be precisely what's needed to drive the heart of the matter, it's hard to meet a simplistic question with anything but a simplistic answer. It's hard to transcend a combative question. But it's hard to resist a generous question. We all have it in us to formulate questions that invite honesty, dignity and revelation. There is something...life-giving about asking a better question."
Combative questions fill the airwaves in this 24/7 election coverage. Language of anger amps up the combative spirit of us all. The level of the language determines the level of the conversation, and lately, the level has been as low as any public discourse I've ever heard. Name-calling (liar, stupid, disgusting) doesn't allow for real conversation, only defensiveness. Heated political discourse leads to physical fist-fights and violence.
How important is precise and nuanced language? Krista Tippet says:
"Words matter....The words we use shape how we understand ourselves, how we interpret the world, how we treat others. From Genesis to the aboriginal songlines of Australia, human beings have forever perceived that naming brings things into being. The ancient rabbis understood books, texts, the very letters of certain words as living, breathing entities. Words make worlds."
In this heated political climate of 2016, I wonder what kind of world is in the making? When language is dull, flat, insulting and lacking in nuance, we have the linguistic equivalent of a stone wall.
Krista Tippett has been interviewing wise people for years. In this book, she shares her insights about wisdom and talks about the kinds of questions that create real conversations:
"If I've learned nothing else, I've learned this: a question is a powerful thing, a mighty use of words. Questions elicit answers in their likeness. Answers mirror the questions they rise, or fall, to meet. So while a simple question may be precisely what's needed to drive the heart of the matter, it's hard to meet a simplistic question with anything but a simplistic answer. It's hard to transcend a combative question. But it's hard to resist a generous question. We all have it in us to formulate questions that invite honesty, dignity and revelation. There is something...life-giving about asking a better question."
Combative questions fill the airwaves in this 24/7 election coverage. Language of anger amps up the combative spirit of us all. The level of the language determines the level of the conversation, and lately, the level has been as low as any public discourse I've ever heard. Name-calling (liar, stupid, disgusting) doesn't allow for real conversation, only defensiveness. Heated political discourse leads to physical fist-fights and violence.
How important is precise and nuanced language? Krista Tippet says:
"Words matter....The words we use shape how we understand ourselves, how we interpret the world, how we treat others. From Genesis to the aboriginal songlines of Australia, human beings have forever perceived that naming brings things into being. The ancient rabbis understood books, texts, the very letters of certain words as living, breathing entities. Words make worlds."
In this heated political climate of 2016, I wonder what kind of world is in the making? When language is dull, flat, insulting and lacking in nuance, we have the linguistic equivalent of a stone wall.
Thursday, June 2, 2016
Thursday, June 1: Monsoon Season in Texas
"We are never never going to see The Jungle Book movie,"
"Nathan and I think farting is hi-LAR-ious!'
"Why?"
"Because Nathan is very scared of it. I don't think Nathan is as brave as me. I'm very brave about Jungle Book."
Later in the day, "Would you like to go to see Jungle Book right now?"
Pause....
"Well, I don't think so because I am actually a little tiny bit scared of it."
 |
| Buying a popsicle maker, one for her, one for Makken-- and a patriotic headband |
 |
| Elena's painting of a roadrunner drawn by Joy |
"Nathan and I think farting is hi-LAR-ious!'
"Really? Do your parents think so too?"
"No, they think it is too much privateness....Do I have to say Excuse Me when I fart at Yenna's house because we don't have too many rules here?"
"I think it's a nice practice for good manners," I reply.
 |
| Look at that head on Kate's delicious peach kombucha! |
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Art and Craft Supplies
Today has been a good day, ending with a relaxing yoga class and Thai food afterward with Cecelia.
I told her she's glowing--looks like she's in love! She said, "Yes, I am. It's the art." She's taken five art classes recently and showed me the results on her iPhone. I was amazed!
I have enough art supplies to last me "til Jesus comes"--to quote my Aunt Audrey (though she was talking about shoes and clothes.)
I'd like to just take out all my paint, rubber stamps, and inks and start making things til I use them all up! When I look in my neatly organized drawers, I realize that supplies shimmer with potential. Without making a thing, there's something magical about the promise of all the things one could make, should one ever just start doing it and stop thinking about someday.
Paint tubes, bottle caps, beads, and metal findings; pretty papers, markers, and fabrics--I'm paralyzed by possibilities. They are, in themselves, beautiful. What if I mess them up? What if I use them and later have a better idea?
If I call it art, I'll be too intimated to make the first stroke, so I'll just call it coloring and playing with stuff and see what happens.
I told her she's glowing--looks like she's in love! She said, "Yes, I am. It's the art." She's taken five art classes recently and showed me the results on her iPhone. I was amazed!
I have enough art supplies to last me "til Jesus comes"--to quote my Aunt Audrey (though she was talking about shoes and clothes.)
I'd like to just take out all my paint, rubber stamps, and inks and start making things til I use them all up! When I look in my neatly organized drawers, I realize that supplies shimmer with potential. Without making a thing, there's something magical about the promise of all the things one could make, should one ever just start doing it and stop thinking about someday.
Paint tubes, bottle caps, beads, and metal findings; pretty papers, markers, and fabrics--I'm paralyzed by possibilities. They are, in themselves, beautiful. What if I mess them up? What if I use them and later have a better idea?
If I call it art, I'll be too intimated to make the first stroke, so I'll just call it coloring and playing with stuff and see what happens.
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