Johnny's Garage

Susanna Photos

2012-01-28T19:03:00.000-08:00

OK, so I didn't finish any of the summer/falls stuff, but I'm going to. Really. I promise.

Let's start with a couple of photos of the Good Ship s/v Susanna.

That's her, in the foreground. There's another boat right behind her, with a green and white spinnaker, named Gentian. We're in the Deer Isle Thorofare, in Maine. We're winning. :-)

In harbor, near Camden, ME.

My Mom, in 2009, I think. She was never happier than aboard Susanna. Sleep well, dear.

On the flatbed which brought her from Maine. That's another story in itself, as she's almost 14 feet tall, and if they couldn't have kept her low, we would have needed to send a pair of escort vehicles to move power lines to let her under.

In the water at last, in Ventura.

And finally, ready to go.

I've sailed with my brother a couple of times now, once just the two of us, and it is a lot of fun. But boy oh boy, am I glad it's him thinking about taking care of her and not me! It's a LOT of work.

OK, one down, a few more to go.

Chili con carne for a Super Bowl crowd

2012-01-26T07:16:00.000-08:00

So, a week from Sunday, 1/2 the country will eat itself into a coma, while watching grown men hurl themselves around a field. I will be one of them, rooting with my wife for the Giants :-)

Before that, however, we will host a tailgate party, and this is part of what I'm cooking up.

Chili for a small crowd.

Makes about 4 quarts, easily doubled or tripled.

Base:

1 large yellow onion

1 head garlic

1 large can diced green chilis, hot or mild

3 bottles or cans dark beer, like Negro Modelo

3 # ground beef

1 large or 2 small cans diced tomatoes (I use the fire-roasted ones for more flavor)

Spices:

10-15 dried Ancho Chilis, prepared as below (most authentic, most delicious and most time consuming)

2 packages Carroll Shelby's Chili fixings (my favorite, easiest, flavorful, straighforward)

1/4 - 1/2 cup Penzey's Chili 9000 mix (tasty choice, order now)

a large amount of your favorite chili blend (most comfortable)

(if you are using the Anchos, you will also need 2 tsp cumin, 1 tsp ground coriander, 1/4 tsp cinnamon, 1TBS dried oregano, and 1 TBS adobo seasoning)

2 whole Habanero peppers

2 TBS creamy peanut butter

1/4 cup masa harina (corn flour for tortillas, which comes with the Shelby mix, but is available at most supermarkets in our area.)

For Serving:

Red skin or dry roasted peanuts

Chopped jalapenos

Chopped habaneros

Grated cheddar cheese

Sour Cream

Chopped red onion

Chopped cilantro

Corn and/or flour tortillas

Taste the beer. Seriously, just taste it. You'll want to know later how much to add.

If you're going to go whole hog and make the chili base from scratch, start by heating a large skillet over med-high heat, and toast the ancho chilis (not the green chilis!) a few at a time until they are browned. Remove them to a plate and let cool, then cut them open with a pair of scissors, and remove some or all of the seeds and veins, which is where the heat is. Put the prepared chilis in a bowl, and cover with warm water to soften, 30 minutes. Then puree the chilis in a blender, adding more warm water if necessary to get a thick sauce. Strain the mixture into a bowl, stir in the spices and set aside.

Taste the beer again. Make sure you have at least a 1/2 bottle left or open another.

Finely chop the onions and garlic, and saute the onions in peanut oil or vegetable oil over low heat in a dutch oven or large pot until very soft, 15-20 minutes, then add the diced green chilis and the garlic and saute until very fragrant and softened. Remove the veggies, and add 2 TBS oil and turn the heat to high. Brown the meat in batches, removing it when ready and adding the next batch, taking care not to burn the pan. When all the meat has been browned, pour in (up to) 1/2 bottle beer, and scrape the pan to get up the flavorful bits that stuck to the bottom. Let the beer cook for a bit to burn off some of the alcohol, and then add the meat and veggies back to the pan and stir to blend. Add the chili and its spices if you're going that route, or the packaged spices, and stir well. Add the tomatoes, and stir again. If the chili looks thick at this point, add a can or two of water (if you use the Shelby's, you will need the water.) Lower the heat to medium and bring to a simmer, then turn the heat right down, add the peanut butter and stir until blended, and then drop in the whole habaneros, which will add a lot of flavor, but not a lot of heat unless they are cut open. <--- WARNING

Now, put the whole thing in a 250 degree oven for 4-6 hours, which makes sure nothing burns. You could use a crock pot, or a flame tamer and leave it on the stove, but whichever way you cook it, you do need to check a couple of times for spiciness, and fish out the habaneros if the chili is getting too hot. Use the beer to cool your mouth.

When the chili has cooked for a couple of hours, taste for salt by spooning out a couple of tablespoons, and adding a little salt to that first. (Salt changes the way food tastes, so it's best to check on the side before adding it to the whole pot.) Now you can mess with the flavor by adding more spices, a little brown sugar, etc. The chili should cook for at least 4 hours. There will probably be a puddle of red oil floating on top: don't get rid of it! Or, at least not all of it, because it's where a lot of the oil-soluble flavors are! Instead, mix 1/4 cup masa harina with enough COLD water to make a thin, pourable batter, and add 1/2 slowly to the chili. Mix well, and add more if it's not thick enough.

Done. Now open another beer (you did save ONE, didn't you?) and enjoy. If the chili will be served cool or at room temp, it will SEEM less spicy, but the next day your lower body will know exactly how spicy it was, so be careful.

Bonus tip: when you chop spicy peppers, you inevitably get pepper juice on your hands, which is tough to get off before you do something silly like pick your nose or go to the bathroom. So, before you have an emergency which will cause your spouse/friends/rommies to fall around the room laughing at you, when you are done chopping the peppers, rub a teaspoon or two or vegetable oil on your hands, and thoroughly rub the oil in, paying special attention to the places that the pepper juice could get into. Then wash your hands well with soap and hot water, and still be careful for a while. (Until your next shower, anyway.) OK? OK!

A Motley Fool is still a Fool

2012-01-25T16:32:00.000-08:00

God, it hurts to give the idiots any link love at all, but if you are using Motley Fool as a tool to help you learn to invest, you deserve all you lose.

http://www.fool.com/investing/general/2012/01/25/what-were-154-million-apple-fans-thinking.aspx

The basic idea is that you should wait to buy a new product until just before the new one comes out, thereby saving yourself some money. It apparently has never occurred to this fool that if everyone did that, there would be no new products.

And he proudly calls himself Aristotle. Un-fucking-believable.

A little Sunday Funny

2011-12-04T09:02:00.001-08:00

From Roger Knapp's "Jokes of the Past Weeks":

A newly discovered chapter in the Book of Genesis has provided the answer to "Where do pets come from?" Adam and Eve said, "Lord, when we were in the garden, you walked with us every day. Now we do not see you anymore. We are lonesome here and it is difficult for us to remember how much you love us." And God said, "No problem! I will create a companion for you that will be with you forever and who will be a reflection of my love for you, so that you will love me even when you cannot see me. Regardless of how selfish or childish or unlovable you may be, this new companion will accept you as you are and will love you as I do, in spite of yourselves."
And God created a new animal to be a companion for Adam and Eve. And it was a good animal. And God was pleased. And the new animal was pleased to be with Adam and Eve and he wagged his tail. And Adam said, "Lord, I have already named all the animals in the Kingdom and I cannot think of a name for this new animal."

Go on, go to Roger's site to read the rest. You didn't think I'd spoil the ending, did you?

Love and laugh's to all.

A non-Thanksgiving recipe

2011-11-23T11:19:00.001-08:00

While everyone's getting ready for the big day, making all the usual stuff, I tend to be thinking about what I can cook for the day before and the day after, especially things that don't't involve cranberries or stuffing. This is this year's effort. If you have questions, I'll do my best to answer.

Tuscan Chicken and Sausage Stew.

Feeds 4-8, takes a couple of hours, including cooking time. Great with garlic bread, side salad, etc.

1 cup diced shallots
4 cloves garlic
1 15-oz can cannellini or Great Northern white beans
1 whole chicken, cut up, or 8 chicken thighs, skin removed if desired
1/2 - 1 pound italian sausage, cut into bite-size pieces
1-1 1/2 cups dried small pasta, aciuge di pepe or orzo or similar
3 TBS olive oil
Pinch red pepper flakes to taste (Aleppo pepper works well, too)
1 tsp dried italian seasoning, or Penzey’s Tuscan Sunset
3 TBS tomato paste (about 1/2 little can)
1/2 cup dry red wine
1 14-oz can chopped tomatoes, or 1/2 large can of peeled tomatoes in sauce, chopped
3/4 cup chicken broth
1 small head bok choy, or small head escarole, or 4 cups baby spinach, trimmed and chopped into bite-size pieces, optional.
1/2 cup grated Pecorino or Parmesan cheese.
Preheat oven to 300〫

Season chicken with salt and pepper, then brown in a large pan or dutch oven with olive oil, in batches if necessary. Remove to a platter, cover. Brown sausage in same pan, breaking up as little as possible. Add to chicken platter.

Reduce heat to medium, add shallots, garlic, red pepper and herbs; cook, stirring until shallots are soft, about 5 minutes. Add tomato paste and cook, stirring, until brick red, about 1-2 minutes. Add wine and deglaze pan, then cook until reduced to syrupy texture.

Add beans, tomatoes and chicken broth, bring to boil. Return chicken and sausage to pan, with all accumulated juices. Put pan in oven, cook 45 minutes, until chicken is fully cooked. (Or cook on stovetop 20-30 minutes.) You may need to skim fat from the pan at this point.

Add pasta, and cook on stovetop until pasta is done, adding broth or water as necessary. Add greens if using, and heat through, about 4-5 minutes. Ladle into bowls, and top with cheese.

How many children do you have?

2011-11-17T20:29:00.001-08:00

How old are your kids?

How do I answer such an innocuous question?

Often, I can't . Or sometimes I just start crying. Which is really difficult for people in the grocery store, who think they're being nice (which they are: they have no idea what a can of worms they're opening.)

Sometimes I answer, "I have 2 living children." Which is just begging for a question I don't really (or really don't) want to answer. Sometimes I ignore it, and answer something else. Sometimes I pretend I never buried 2 kids, and answer "Two", which leaves me feeling like Judas.

6 months after Alysia died, I found an old friend online. When he asked me about kids, I couldn't answer. A year has gone by. Now what do I say when I try again to reconnect?

Four. I fucking well have four kids. Just because you can't see two of them, doesn't mean they're not there.

But I still don't know how to answer.

It's not up to us

2011-11-14T12:17:00.001-08:00

to decide when others are ready to heal.

"There will now be a decade or more of criminal trials, and perhaps a quarter-century or more of civil actions, as a result of what went on at Penn State. These things cannot be prayed away. Let us hear nothing about "closure" or about "moving on." And God help us, let us not hear a single mumbling word about how football can help the university "heal." (Lord, let the Alamo Bowl be an instrument of your peace.) This wound should be left open and gaping and raw until the very last of the children that Jerry Sandusky is accused of raping somehow gets whatever modicum of peace and retribution can possibly be granted to him. This wound should be left open and gaping and raw in the bright sunlight where everybody can see it, for years and years and years, until the raped children themselves decide that justice has been done. When they're done healing — if they're ever done healing — then they and their families can give Penn State permission to start."

Right to the point, and right on.
http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7233704/the-brutal-truth-penn-state

Death and Living

2011-11-09T16:05:00.000-08:00

I posted a quote on my facebook status:

"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand... there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend, some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold." Frodo Baggins, "The Lord of the Rings"

A friend posted a reply:
"There is no going back, only moving forward. Not always easy, and healing nonetheless."

Another friend said, "One day you will notice that acceptance has replaced today's grief, and that you are fully engaged in this day, this life."

I love my friends, and I have to disagree with them. This post is my reply. It's far to long to go on facebook, and I wanted time to think before I answered.

Some background on the original quote, for those who haven't memorized large portions of the book or movies. Frodo, a hobbit (who is an avatar, essentially, for everyman), inherited a ring of great power and evil. He undertook the year-long journey to destroy it, nearly dying in the process, and at the end of the story is once again living in his old home. But not everything is the same: HE is not the same, and so everything around him is different. His wounds pain him, the memories of death and dying haunt him, the burden he bore changed him fundamentally, and while he knows that what he did was the right thing, he also paid a dear price for doing it. In time he realizes that he is permanently changed, damaged beyond repair by the events of the journey.

Joy and I decided over the summer to let our daughter watch the Lord of the Rings, and that I would watch it with her, to answer the inevitable "WTF just happened!?!" questions, and to pace it. So we watched the extended versions, all 13+ hours of it, in 3 chunks over 6 weekends. And I was struck once again at how sad a story it is. No one is unchanged, nothing will remain the same, some things better, others worse, everything different. And that quote just jumped out at me.

This is what I was trying to say: that no matter what, there are things from which there are no return. Acceptance is wonderful, healing is necessary, but neither healing nor acceptance change the raw facts, nor do they magically wash away the pain. Ask a man who has lost a limb, and they will tell you of acceptance and healing, and of the fact that there is never a moment when they are what they once were. It is the same with the loss of a child: it is fundamentally a different experience from other losses. I can speak authoritatively from my own experience, as in the last 4 years I have lost a step-son, both my parents, one of my sisters, and yes, my daughter. There is simply no comparison, and if you have not gone through it, you cannot comprehend the difference. I could not, when my beloved wife lost her oldest son Sean, at the end of 2007. I knew Sean well, loved him dearly, had been his step-father for nearly 20 years. I had held him when he cried, knew as much of him as any parent could of a teenager who had grown up. And still, it was a qualitative difference when Alysia died.

What I am saying is that the common notions of healing and acceptance don't cover the right ground: they are orthogonal to the pain, a separate part of the Venn diagram.

(If you are interested in a couple of different views of death and dying and grieving, I highly recommend Pema Chodron's book, "When Things Fall Apart" and also "A Year to Live", by Steven Levine. When my stepson Sean died, I found work in those books that I could take on to understand myself better. I have returned to them many times since.)

I have been having harder days, now that we have begun our Christmas preparations, always a special time for family, and one of Alysia's favorite times of the year, a time to be with family and connections. Alysia is very present in my life, as are my Mom and Dad. But just because the times are harder doesn't imply that I am not accepting of the reality of my life: sometimes accepting reality can be quite painful. When Ramesh Balsekar's son died, a disciple informed the father, who dropped to the ground weeping. The stunned acolyte stammered, "Master, haven't you told us that this is all illusion? Why do you weep?" The master turned gently to the man, and answered, "Yes, this is indeed all illusion. And this is the most painful part." Illusory or not, accepting or not, pain is there. I believe we must accept the pain as well as the joy, with the knowledge and understanding that it all ends eventually.

And moving forward? Towards what? We are in the day today, I am who I am today, my pain and my joys are real now. To believe that acceptance will come tomorrow is to NOT live today, with whatever is here. I have spent much of the last 40 years learning to be present, and I thank whatever deities there are that I did so: I think that otherwise, the pain would have unhinged me (further, OK?). Same for Joy: losing 2 children, less than 3 years apart, and she's still standing. Why? Preparation in the form of meditation, therapy, whatever you want to call it. We are sometimes miserable, often happy, excited by our children, loving both the living and the dead, just making it through. So don't worry when I get a little dark: it's just another part of me, needing expressing.

At the end of the summer, I went to a retreat at the Omega Institute, in Rhinebeck, NY. I had discovered that my grief had begun to harden, to stagnate. I really have no other words for the feeling of stiffness in my metaphorical heart, my 3rd chakra, so that'll have to do. Eventually I figured out that I wanted to do some type of retreat, but had no idea where or when. My wife asked me what type of retreat I thought would be good for me, and I answered, "Music and silence." The next day, an email link from Deva Premal and Miten (singers and writers of wonderful mantra music) led me to a weekend retreat of chanting and silence.

I sang, I danced, I chanted, I did everything but sleep for 3 days (well, OK, I did sleep a little.) It was one of the most intense, painful, hopeful, joyful, special times. At some point in that wonderful, magical time, I realized that I would always have the pain of losing my daughter in my heart. At the same time, I understood that this wouldn't block the way for me to have a wonderful life: I could go forward with both feelings simultaneously, embracing them both, however painful it was. This was both the beginning of my healing, and of my acceptance. But it also was the beginning of understanding that the pain would never really leave, even if there were days that I would pay little attention to it, for there is a piece of me that I willingly gave up, and now can never reclaim. So all joy is tempered by the knowledge of my loss. And all hardship is also tempered by the understanding that I can survive regardless.

Love to all, Yogi

Out of the Mouth of Babes, Part 2

2011-11-09T15:20:00.000-08:00

So, we're driving somewhere, me, my wife and our daughter, when we hear piping up from the back seat,

"You know what I want? A Brazilian blow job."

"Uhhhhhh..OK? What's that, honey?"

"That's where they do some fancy hair-drying thing to make your hair all cool."

"Right. Got it. Brazilian blow OUT."

"Is there a difference?"

It means something different when >I< say it, that's for sure.

Out of the Mouth of Babes, Part 1

2011-11-09T11:58:00.000-08:00

So, we're sitting at the dinner table, finishing up, when our daughter announces, "When I grow up, I want a condom."

Crickets.

Finally, I ask, "What do you want to do with a condom, honey?"
"Oh, decorate it the way I want to, get some furniture, a dog, have all my own stuff."
"Oh, you mean a >condo
"Yeah, won't it be great!"

Yes, darling, it really will be. But I'll miss the Gracie Allen moments.

Good days, and Bad Days

2011-11-02T20:26:00.000-07:00

The path of grief is not straight, nor does every person walk it the same way. Some days are easier, others difficult.
Today, we bought Xmas decorations. Alysia always loved the decorating of the house and tree for the Fall holidays, it didn't matter which one: Christmas, Thanksgiving, Hannukah, whatever. Presents, she loved indeed. and I loved giving them to her.
And now that is no more. and I still decorate, and I still buy presents, and I'm sure I'll be OK, eventually, but today is a Bad Day.
I'll talk to you all soon.

Look! Cats! And Dogs!

2011-10-27T07:28:00.000-07:00

Well, while I try to get the pictures of Susanna and Provence together, here are a couple of shots of the other residents of Casa de los Muertes.

First, please meet Gracie Anne Whitesocks. Don't be fooled by the pose, she's not really thinking.

Gracie

Next is Memo, senior cat present. She inherited the title from Gus, who is no longer with us in body.

Don't mess with me.

Now, the youngest member of the menagerie, Seymore Catz


I'm not sleeping, I'm planning an ADVENTURE!

And finally, though not completely, Tucker the Australian Cattle Dog, with Pi (3.14 times a normal cat.)


We're not related, just buddies.

Not present during this photo shoot were Nyx, the queen of the night, and Oliver, the dog with no brain.

Now that I've figured out how to add photos to the blog, next time should be easier, right? RIGHT?

We can hope.

Stay well, peeps.

Am I a Sick Puppy, or what?

2011-10-26T16:03:00.000-07:00

So, there's this story in the news about a man whose mother's ashes were stolen from his car by mistake.

http://www.ktla.com/news/landing/ktla-stolen-ashes-woodland-hills,0,7165807.story

My first thought was to call them and offer some of our children's ashes. You know, because we have extra.

My second thought, and the one my wife came up with as >her< first thought when I told her about this, and she stopped laughing at my first thought, was that we still have some of her father's ashes, would that be OK?

We're obviously in serious need of help.

I still think it's funny.

Interlude: Susanna meets the Pacific Ocean

2011-10-18T22:28:00.001-07:00

While I finish more posts about our trip to Provence, here's part one about an old friend.

Way back on 1968, while we were living in Italy, my parents bought a boat. Typically for my father (my adoptive father: my biological dad had died 4 years before, and my mother had remarried in 1967), the boat was beautiful and seriously impractical. That was my dad to a tee: always the esthetics mattered most.

Susanna was (and is) a gorgeous wooden sailboat, built in Venice the year I was born, 1957, at the D'este shipyards from a Laurent Giles design. If you are a wooden boat fanatic (there are no other types, from what I know) you will know who and what I'm talking about. The rest of you should just understand that it is meaningful to us weirdos, kind of like owning an original Carol Shelby Cobra. She's 48 feet overall and 10 1/2 feet wide. Supermodel thin, that is; almost anorexic. She's also deep, at 7 feet 9 inches of draft, and the combination makes for a couple of things. First, she's fast: we've legitimately seen 9+ knots, which is Usain Bolt speed for a wooden. Second, she loves to dip her rails under any serious wind, making life somewhat wet for all aboard. Third, she's totally the wrong boat for a family, unless you figure that the 2 boys (my brother and I) would sleep up front with the anchor chain, and everyone else gets a 1/2 twin-size bunk. Which we did.

You just kind of get used to it, and we sailed her all over the Med until 1973 or so, when we shipped her to the US. My parents had split up by this time, and my mom wanted to sail. (Although the marriage lasted less than 5 years, they remained best friends and frenemies to the end of their lives last year.) My mom and occasionally my dad sailed the east coast for the next 35 years, until shingles put an end to Mom's summer sailing. I was an occasional guest, mostly for races: the boat was too cramped both physically and emotionally for me to spend a lot of time on her. But my brother loved it, and went many, many times.

When Mom died, she left the boat to the three of us brothers, two of whom (me and our older brother) gave our share to YB (I don't have his permission to use his name yet.) The reason is that, while any boat is a hole in the water into which you throw money, a wooden boat is also the nautical equivalent of a Brazilian mistress: demanding, exciting and highly impractical. And OB and I just couldn't deal, each for our own reasons. So YB ended up with the boat. Which was fine with him, he loves her and couldn't wait to bring her out to SoCal and go sailing. Which he did, and here are the pictures to prove it.

So Susanna is now in her third ocean. We'll see how long she can stay: the area isn't great for cruising, in that there are few destinations nearby, and long trips up and down the West coast are or can be a real ordeal. But for now, she's in Ventura, and we've already been down to Catalina and back, and it was a great trip.

Pastis

2011-10-05T00:41:00.001-07:00

Well, it turns out that sleeping through church bells is harder when you haven't been up for 24+ hours. Last night's sleep was, shall we say, compromised by the incessant "tolling of the iron bell" (as Roger Waters once called it, and that is what they sound like), and so we didn't get up for the Monday market outside our front door particularly early.
But soon enough, we found our way the block and 1/2 down onto the main street, which was now filled with stalls and people, from one end to the other. We took one look at the chaos, and decided that we needed more coffee. But when we sat down, I noticed that the man next to us, middle-aged, good-looking-in-a-"I'm a typical french farmer"-way, had a glass of rosé and some pastis.
Now, I'm a big fan of pastis, and ouzo and all such anise-flavored liqueurs, a taste I acquired when I was a teen-ager in Greece, during the summer I turned 16. I spent a good portion of it working in a boatyard on the island of Syros, and everyday when we finished, the whole crew went to the bar for drinks and meze (snacks). I discovered that I had a huge tolerance for alcohol delivered in this form, which isn't actually great until you learn to handle it, which took a while. But once I did, it became my competitive drink of choice. Remember the scene at the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark, where Karen Allen is drinking with the Russian soldier, and drinks him under the table, only to get up and go back to work as if nothing happened? (I heart me some Karen Allen.) That's me. So, don't challenge me, OK? Or you'll be tasting black licorice in your sleep.
ANYWAY, I ordered a pastis, Joy got some coffee, and we watched the show for a while. Amazing what a little alcohol in the morning does to your disposition.
Eventually we went browsing through the stalls, admiring the cheeses, the cured meats, the handbags, the leather goods, the fresh vegetables, just an amazing amount of things to look at and touch and talk about. I keep trying to use the French I remember, and the stall owners are great about helping me out. It is a fact of French life, apparently, that everything comes with a lesson, an explanation or some conversation, and because I'm in the right frame of mind (i.e. not in a hurry), this seems wonderful.
We gather enough goodies for lunch, and head back to the apartment with some salami, some brie and banon cheeses, bread, ham, olives and wine, and just enjoy the shit out of it.
Lunch over, we head out to see what there is to see, and end up in a little town called Beaumes-de-Venice, which literally means "Canals of Venice". Except that here it doesn't, as Beaumes in Provence means "caves", like for storing wine, and "Venice" refers to the old name of Provence, Comtat Vennaissin, or the country of the Popes. Oh well, it's so pretty no matter what it's called, and we drive and stare.
We stop for a short wine tasting at a local vineyard, where Marina, the proprieteur, chats with us about our trip and her recent 6-week tour of the US. She's really fun, mid-30's and so excited about their wines; she and her husband have owned the vineyard for about 5 years, and are changing the way muscat (sweet) wines are made here, so that they have more acid, rather than the cloying sweetness that is usual for this type of wine. We buy a bottle, and head out, smiling.
A couple of hours driving later, we're back at the house, and take a break before dinner. It seems that that's all we do, isn't it? Eat and drive, eat and drive, and drink more wine.
Yep. That's why we're here.

Location:Bedoin

Sunday is funday

2011-10-04T14:19:00.000-07:00

Since we got to bed not too early (ahem, midnight) we slept in until around 10AM, which is unheard of at home: the dogs and cats just won't put up with laziness like this. Well, fuck 'em, we're on vacation and the dogs are at dog camp, being treated like kings, I mean, come on, treats, walks, someone to THROW THE BALL, NOW, HUH, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!!

Excuse me.

Anyway, we get up and fart around figuring out what we want to do, which is go get coffee and croissants, but it's a bit late, so let's just get dressed and head out to explore, but look, there's a cafe so let's sit down and

slow down, (phew)

and have the coffee and realize that we're in a foreign country, we have no plans, no one to meet, just the two of us at whatever pace we want to set.

OK, then. Wow. Relax, what a concept.

Looking through our guide book, the increasingly indispensable Cadogan guide to Provence, we find that there's a market and some antiques over in Isle Sur la Sourge, about 20 minutes from us. Want to go? Sure, even though we really don't get the whole "fill your house with the stuff other people don't want, especially if it's old and kind of beat up", but we love to look at it and chose not to take it home.
Whatever floats our boat, you know?
Anyway, we head over, using maps instead of GPS, so that we can begin to learn the area, and drive through this incredible countryside, just beginning to show autumn in the browning leaves of the grapevines. Bright blue sky, warm and happy, we drive the narrow roads, pulling over as necessary to let the impatient few past.
Eventually, we reach the town, and park in a sort of random mass of vehicles. Serious, people, lineups aren't your strong suit, I get it, but still, it looks like you all spilled hot coffee on your laps and then just got out. So we just pull in and stop, and get out and walk to the market, which is almost over, as it's now 12:30 and they end at 1, but who cares, we're here to enjoy , which we do, browsing among the sellers of linens, and trinkets and antiques and Jesus there's a lot of stuff!
Are you hungry? I am.
So we find a place that has a table left, even though by the time we get there it's almost 2, and they're running on empty, but a kind waitress takes pity on us, and we sit in the shade and order wine and salads and just take in the town. (Pictures are coming, I swear.)
Lunch over, and the wine finished, we head out for more exploring, and poke our heads in random shops. Many aren't open (it's Sunday, after all), but some are and we enjoy looking at bunches of stuff we don't usually see, linens, and soaps and wood bric-a-brac, and tourist crapola, but DIFFERENT crapola that at home, so it's fun. Joy finds a table cloth that she takes a fancy to, so we buy that, and a few trinkets for loved ones, and eventually find out way to an ice-cream shop that makes unreal apricot and lemon sorbet, and then sit by the stream and watch the ducks dive for invisible fish and tidbits. Soon, we head back, and unload our loot, and take a nap. (That's when I posted the previous post.)(I don't nap)(usually.)

After nap and showers, we're ready for more, so we go out looking for dinner! Now, I don't speak French, really I don't. I'm fluent in Italian, because I grew up in Rome, and kept it up over the years, so I have a good accent and a firm grasp of the grammar, but French I have to fake. Well, I seem to be doing OK, because I can make myself understood pretty well, and it gives me such a thrill to be able to ask directions or about the menu, or really, anything. It's really cool, and I'm happy that I had all those French lessons in high school, even though I hated them at the time. But it's been 35+ years! Anyway, we stumble though the menu at a lovely outdoor restaurant call Le Gouses D'ail, or the Garlic Cloves. We eat and drink and eat some more and drink some more until we're stuffed and drunken again, but this time the car is already at home, so we stagger home, and sleep it off, and next thing you know, it's 6:30AM, and the church bells next door are ringing, every freaking HOUR, twice.

WTF is with THAT, anyway? Is it really neccesary to ring the chimes twice each hour? Plus the little Bong on the 1/2s? I've got to find someone to ask. Maybe tomorrow.

Location:Bedoin, France and Environs

In the air tonight

2011-10-02T10:41:00.001-07:00

So, having "won" a week's stay in Provence at our Spring Gala (which, if you know school auctions means "I paid full price for it and maybe a bit more"), Joy and I decided to use it and take a real vacation for the first time since we got married. We're had weekends away, but going somewhere, just the two of us? Are we really allowed to do that?

Hell, yes.

So, after my dad's death in May, I got on it and booked us via air and train to a little house in a little town in Provence, called Bedoin. About 90 minutes from Marseille, close to Peter Mayle territory, it's on the foot slopes of Mount Ventoux, which you have seen if you watch the Tour de France. It's not too imposing, until you try to ride up it, which I'm not going to, ever. Reason? No wineries or good restaurants, which ends that discussion.

Anyway, we hopped an Air France flight to Paris, which was pretty good: plane was clean, seats were comfy, food was mediocre, but it was still actual food, and the cabin staff was friendly, which is what i had found when I flew to Milan in May. I tried out my 35-year-old, recently revived french (thanks, Rosetta Stone and Pimsleur) and they pretended I was making sense, which was great fun.

We got to Paris around 11AM, having napped overnight, and headed for the TGV to Avignon, something I have wanted to do since the train went into service in the 80's. Nice ride you got there, mes amis. Smooth, fast, still can't understand the conductor for shit, but maybe it's time to get my hearing checked since everyone else seemed to have no problem. Got into Avignon around 5, and picked the wrong side of the train station to look for the car rentals. 15 minutes later, we found someone to ask (still in French) and walked back through the train station and, voila, the car rentals appear. Thanks for nothing, Garmin (which is a whole 'nother thing I'll tell you about some other time, when my blood pressure is lower. Grrrr.) 30 minutes later, we're on the road to Bedoin, and by 7:30 we're there. By 8:15 we're having a slow, relaxing dinner. Get ready to be hungry:Apperitifs: pettillant de Maison, sparkling wine with a dash of limoncello (lemon liqueur) and a splash of grenadine.Veloute of white beans with scallops and chorizo for me, tortilla wrap of spanish ham and cheese for JoyLasagna of eggplant and lamb for Joy, wild boar stew for me. Mmmmm, carnivore. Wild blueberry tart for Joy, and pain perdu with carmel for me. Plus 1 each 500ml bottle of local red and white wine. Glad we didn't have far to go, as the wine went where wine always ends up and we still had to shoe-horn the car into the "garage". Which we did, and not to much cursing, as it was after 11.

A long day, but all worth it. Can't seem to post pictures from my iPad yet, but I'll suss that out and then, watch out! Or I'll put them on Picasa and post a link. We've had the day out today, and now we're off to dinner, so further posting will happen later or tomorrow.

Moving right along

2011-10-02T09:45:00.000-07:00

Well, life continues here at Casa Clusterfuck, with more dead bodies lining the floors and walls. Let's give a big hand for a life well lived to Uncle Jerry (my father's oldest brother), Aunts Judy and Ann, and my step-sister Susie. Bringing the 15-month total to 7.Jesus.I try to not dwell too much on this round, because I'm already swimming as fast as I can. But there's no doubt it affects me deeply, even though I was not as close to these folks as my parents (duh.)So, here's to being alive and doing my best to enjoy the rest of my life. I "won" at a school auction, a week at a house in Provence (if you know school auctions, you know I paid full price for it, but the school got the $) and Joy and I are now here in a small town called Bedoin, near Carpentras. I'm going to try to keep a little log and post pictures etc.Stay well, peeps. I lean on you all more than you know.

It's all fun and games until someone loses

2011-07-22T20:13:00.000-07:00

a camera, and then it's fun and games with no pictures.

We were out at Salt Pond Park today, swimming in the little lagoon and then in the sheltered area next to the reef, so I decided to use the camera mask that our niece's company makes (that's a plug, folks for a good product put out by great people, and yes, I'm biased.) The water was too turbulent to take pics, so after a bit, I got the idea to sit on the reef and film the waves coming over the top as b-roll (film to tie the more important bits together). Unfortunately, a large wave broke over me, the camera and the reef, and tore the camera out of my hand, breaking it lose from the snorkel as well, and vanishing it under the foam. We looked for about an hour, but no luck. Some friendly folks came to help, and we eventual figured that it was swept out the narrows to the other side of the reef. No-one was willing to go get hammered by the reef break, (smart people!) so I'm afraid the mask lies 2 fathoms deep. I hope someday it will surface.

But we got lots of great shots over the last few days, and downloaded them as we went, so we didn't lose anything except today's few reef pics. As soon as I upload a couple of short videos, I'll link to them. In the meantime, stay well, dry and don't let go of your camera.

Sometime Saturday

2011-07-16T20:10:00.000-07:00

So, Thursday went, Friday was busy and now here's Saturday. Wow. It's not easy to get caught up on the day if you get behind, especially when Stuff Happens. So, here are some late weather reports:

Thursday. Paul, Danna and Dakota came in yesterday, so today we started Being In Kauai with them. Unfortunately, it didn't last long, as around noon, we were all on the way to the beach, when Danna tripped, smacked her head on the stone and, long story short, ended up spending the afternoon lying down, then the evening in the emergency dept., getting tests and eventually being told that she had a mild concussion, and got sent back to us, at 10PM. I had the kids at the beach for, I don't know, 3 hours or more, with the 2 12-year-olds sitting at the break and letting the waves crash down on them, filling their swim suits with sand. >I< went swimming, not being that fond of sand in the shorts. We ended up getting reasonably good Hawaiian style chinese food to go, and hanging out in the apartment until the others returned from the ED. Then bed.

Friday was pedicure day for my ladies, so they took the AM to go get their feet prettied up. Ana got her toes painted turquoise crackle, and Joy chose pink. Then lunch and HELICOPTER tour: YAY. (Doc's OK for Danna.) An hour around the island, amazing. It's always such a strange feeling when the copter starts to lift: just a little unsettling, and exciting at the same time. Then, up and away, and out to the coast, down to the south side, LOOK at the waves, the fields, the canyons. The high point is entering the crater, and seeing the old volcano. The pilot kept pointing out where this or that movie was filmed (a lot of Jurassic Park, among others), but I really just wanted to look. The view from above is so different than when I'm driving, that besides just an orientation, I feel like I get better context for why things are where they are. Anyway, I loved it, and so did everyone else. Dinner at a local Mexi-waiian restaurant, and bed.

Today, we left "early" ro head for a farmer's market all the way at the south shore, because we're almost out of pineapple. We're been eating one a day, along with mangoes, papaya and anything else that grows locally. But we found a market just outside Lihue, and stopped there. A good choice: plenty of variety, including the elusive white pineapple, but also jams, honey, a puerto rican taco (!) and chocolate-covered bananas, which were favored by guess who? Not me, I was saving myself for shave ice after lunch. After about an hour, including buying some local jams to send home, we headed out thinking we would just see what we found on the way south. 30 minutes later, we're eating Brick Oven pizza, and burping garlic. OK, off again, this time stopping at Hanapepe, the artist's area, as it were, full of incredible art work, and an old aquiantance who, 3 years ago, had taught us how to do paper marbling. She wsn'tin, more's the pity, but we saw her partner and sent word, and we'll be back in a few days, as Salt Pond park is nearby and that's a spot not to miss.

Off again south, this time to Waimea, and the Kauai Granola shop, where I waited at the car (the shop defines "small") while the others drooled over chocolate macaroons, cookies and granola, and then to my reward: Jo-Jo's Shave Ice. Watermelon and pink lemonade over macadamia nut ice-cream for me, lots of other choices for the others. The place looks like an old changing room, but they are at least minimally sanitary (gloves, etc). And certainly delicious. Then back to the apartment, and change to swim, while I update here. I'll post photos to Facebook as well as a few here if I can figure it out. If you want, send me a friend request (John Beaty) and then if I know you, I'll OK it and you can see the rest of the family. I'm still a little freakedout by facebook's willingness to "share" in everything I post, so I'm taking it slowly.

Off to swim now, then dinner at the hotel. This is turning into a food blog iof sorts, but there's notmuch I can do about it just now. I want to write about totems, and mementos of my parents and daughter, but that will have to wait til later.

Wednesday Weather

2011-07-13T12:52:00.000-07:00

The early morning sun comes over the hills from behind, and lights the houses and buildings across the harbor, reflecting warm light onto the water in front of us. I sit on our lanai, warm in the gentle breezes, and watch the surfers waiting. Joy calls them "wave worshippers", as they all face the harbor mouth, waiting for the right wave to take them for a ride. We cannot see the harbor mouth from here, so it looks like they are just staring out into the ocean. I understand them, as I, too, stare into the distance, waiting for something.

A passing shower is welcome. As it crosses the harbor, a double rainbow appears in the rain. I think of a story line: what if the gold and leprechauns were real, and protected under law? You might have mercenaries trying to kidnap them, only to be surrounded in turn by Special Ops, kind of a riff on the opening of Men In Black. What would we do if there really WAS an unlimited supply of gold?

Anyway, the fruit we bought at the farmer's market on Monday is almost overripe this morning, but still delicious, so that's breakfast. I check my email, send replies as I can, (sending is spotty for reasons I don't grasp at all, receiving is easy) and read some AM blogs (Hi DaisyFae!) Yesterday's emotional uproars are past, today is another chance to relax the walls that have bound my grief at home. I said to my therapist, "Someone needs to drive." Here, not so much, so I can risk lowering the barriers a little more. The result is sometimes difficult, painful, probably not fun for those around me. I thank my wife endlessly: she's also still hurting, and now has a husband who is not on an even keel. But she forgives my transgressions, and I try not to make things harder on her than I have to. 25 years later, we're still strong.

Our son Paul, his wife Danna and their son Dakota are coming in a couple of hours. That'll give my daughter someone to play with other than me, which is good for us both. And we're always happy to see the kids.

Tuesday weather

2011-07-12T09:52:00.001-07:00

6:30AM

The roosters have been at it for a while. They don't get the whole "crow at dawn" thing that the rest of the world lives with, so once they start, it's pretty much "game on" for the rest of the day, which makes staying in bed an exercise in pillow diving. After a bit, I get up and push the GO button for coffee, wipe down the outside table and fire up my email. Nope,no further missives from my current tormentor, who had been filling my mailbox with multi-page screeds about the evils of aspartame, the FDA's jihad against raw milk ("the most wondrous food on the planet"), and anything Dr. Mercola writes. I finally ask him to just take me off his list, as my delete key is wearing unevenly.

Ahh, coffee. The harbor is cool and tranquil, a few early surfers and paddle boarders dotting the water. Not much surf this morning, so the hard-core dudes aren't anywhere to be found, but the long, slow, low rollers give the less-practiced some space to work out without feeling pressed to take a wave they're not really comfortable with.

The tug heads out from the breakwater, out of my view, reappearing a few minutes later with a barge and another tug. Everything from cars to toilet paper comes by boat, so the arrival of a barge full of containers is a little bit of excitement, and the docking is met with a flurry of activity. Many of the containers are marked "Matson", the last US shipping line. Funny, my old comp sci professor at Sonoma State worked for Matson 30 or more years ago, and helped design the software they still use to decide which container goes where for best balance and ease of unloading. Joe was a good egg, funny and interesting and loved to teach, especially the intro classes.

I'm joined by Joy, and we sit in the soft morning air, sipping coffee and listening to the surf, but eventually the call of the Kindle becomes too strong for her, and she picks up her "trashy romance novel" (the only thing you should read on vacation), and I start writing. Later today we'll head out to Poipu, maybe or Waimea, and hunt around. Or maybe just hang in the ocean or by the pool. Tomorrow the other family members come, so it will become less private. For the moment, Ana dreams on and we enjoy the peace.

My father's passing

2011-07-11T12:33:00.000-07:00

I know I said I wanted to move forward. To do that, I have to clean up a little old business. So, I wrote this while I was in Milan, just after my father's death. Now I can move it out of drafts.

I love you, Paramo.
---------------------------

Hi mates.

The phone call from my sister was brief: our father was in hospital, condition bad but cause still unclear. Maybe a stroke? A CT scan was scheduled, but the 9 hour time change made for difficult and frustrating communication. A couple of hours later, the news of a cerebral hemorrhage, and his deteriorating condition made it clear I would have to leave my wife and daughter, just one day after the 1-year memorial for our daughter and fly to Milan to be with my sister Daniela, and Iaia, my father's companion, and stay until things resolved, one way or another.

I left California Saturday at 3:30. I slept on the long leg from LA to Paris, which undoubtedly contributed to my feeling of lightheadedness when I had to change planes. The airport in Paris is always very bright, but it seemed even more luminous in my state. 2 hours later, 15 hours after leaving California, I was in Milan.

During the flight from Paris to Milan, I tried to meditate some and succeeded in feeling somewhat more settled by the time I landed. I was met by my father's niece, who hugged me tightly before rushing us to the hospital. My stress grew again to match hers, and by the time we got there, through the traffic around the Pope's visit and the usual chaos of Milan, I was very tight and felt completely muddle-headed.

When I got to the hospital, many friends and family were already there, having kept watch over my father for the past day. I greeted them, some of whom I had not seen in 20 or more years, and then made my way to Paramo's bedside around 4:30. (Even though I was adopted when I was 9, I have rarely called him "dad", first just calling him by his given name, Marco, and later the name he had been given by our guru.) I spoke gently to him, letting him know I was here, and held his hand. After a bit, the doctor on duty came in, and we spoke for a few minutes about his thoughts and findings, and prognosis. My sister had copies of the CT scans, and I could easily see the blood, filling an area the size of a woman's fist, deep in his brain, near the medulla. Completly inoperable. All signs were poor, and shortly his breathing became less steady.

After about 30 minutes, my sister decided to go shower and change, as she had been there for more than 20 hours. Since I was still wound up, I told her to go, and that I would stay, and call with any news. I spent a few minutes with his friends and Iaia, his companion of 22 years, just standing by the side of his bed, and saying the things one says when there is not much to say. Then, I sat down in the lone chair by his side and took his hand. At first, I tried to pour some energy into his body, to see if that would help, or put a ring of light around him, but within a minute or so, I became aware that I wasn't centered enough to do anything useful, so I concentrated on becoming centered and then asking him what he needed from me. As I settled myself, I thought that what he needed was permission, so I said, "It's OK, Paramo. it's OK. Go and be with Bhagwan and Ramesh. We're going to be fine." There was no immediate response, so I just continued to hold his hand and stay centered, holding a ring of pink light around all of us. Within a couple of minutes his breathing changed, and became very soft and light, and his heart rate, which had been quite high, began to drop. A few more moments, and it became obvious that he was going, and the nurses and doctors came in to see what they could do, as the alarms were going off. We had insisted on a "no interventions" instruction (not easy to do in a catholic country), so, after they checked, they left again, and Iaia and I resumed our places, with me sitting by the bed, holding his hand lightly. Less than 5 minutes later, less than an hour since I arrived, he let go of his last breath and lay still.

We stayed like that for a few minutes. My sister, still dripping from the shower, came in and took her place by the bed. We reached out and the three of us held hands, and kept contact with my father's body. Finally, we asked the doctor to remove his oxygen mask, and left the room, so they could take care of any final medical business.

When they were done, we went back and Iaia and Daniela fussed a little over his body, smoothing his hair, and "taking care". We waited for the team to come and take his body for refrigeration, and, somewhat less than 3 hours after arriving in Milan, we left the hospital, to go change and meet for (what else?) drinks and dinner. After all, we're in Italy, one of the most pragmatic countries in the world.

With love from Yogi

Trying to Move Forward

2011-07-10T20:58:00.000-07:00

Life has been really sad and chaotic, these last several months/more than a year. Starting with Alysia's death in April 2010 (which is so unreal to write, I can't believe it still), followed by my mother's passing in November, my aunt in February and my dad on the 1st of May. My head spins, and I am so overwhelmed by the emotions that I can barely think at times.

At other times, life just moves on. Aliana has moved from 6th to 7th grade, we are dear friends with Alysia's partner Katherine, and my little nuclear-type family seems to be holding together, something I have worried about. Until today, every time I tried to write, I would just begin to cry. And then I couldn't go forward.

A couple of days ago, I was talking with my sister Fran, who encouraged me to write from Hawaii, where I am now. Just write weather reports, if you can, she said. It will open up another channel. And so I am sitting here in our apartment in Kauai, uploading photos to Facebook and thought I would try to just post something to move my mother's photo out of the top spot.

Paul and Danna and Dakota will be coming on Wednesday, and we'll be together here for 10 days or so, then Joy and I get 4 days just the 2 of us. Yay! Anyway, the weather is good, cloudy but warm and humid. We got here Saturday, I've been swimming twice with Aliana in the ocean, and tried body-surfing a couple of the larger waves. Now we're off to dinner.

Judy

2010-11-13T16:28:00.000-08:00

My Mom is in the Hospital, since Monday. Not looking good at all.

She's a wonderful person, and I love her dearly.

Go gently, lady. Fare well.

Alysia's Moving

2010-11-13T15:50:00.000-08:00

Hey there.

I've started a blog for all things Leeshie over here.

Eventually, that's where most things Alysia will go. Probably some Sean as well.

Stay well,

Yogi

Beloved Alysia
6/13/89-4/29/10

Daughter and Friend

Not Yet

2010-08-18T11:38:00.000-07:00

They tell me that there will be a time when missing you
is not like a burning in my chest.

That there will be a moment when life seems normal again,
and some day I will remember you more as a photograph than a memory.

I'm told that life will be fun, the shadow will lift, the strange feelings of lack will pass.

I know we'll meet somewhere.

That your laugh and quick smile will once again light my day like a lightbulb.

I'll feel your presence behind me, a quick tap on my shoulder to ask "What'cha doin', Dad?"

And your voice will lift my heart again.

But not yet.

How long must I wait?

Ashes to Ashes

2010-07-19T15:26:00.000-07:00

We are struck by the sense of finality.

There are more things yet to be done, but this is the end of one arc.

A lifetime in 20 years, now reduced to memories on a table-top.

Mementi Mori.

From dust you came and to dust you are returned...

Would that you were, indeed, the phoenix.

Grief

2010-06-28T06:08:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, it creeps up on me, starting with just a little thought in the back of my mind, like a loose thread on my sweater catches my eye and I brush at it. But it doesn't go away, and without thinking, I pick it up and pull and now I have a mass of yarn, and a hole in my heart.

Sometimes, I am caught by an unexpected encounter, and the grief rises within to choke me.

Sometimes, it comes from nowhere, just taking over, washing over me like the heat from an open oven, leaving me burnt and hurting.

In the early morning, drifting in and out of sleep, good memories mingle with pain. It isn't long before I'm driven from my bed. But where do I go?

During the day, there are endless tripwires of familiar items, moments of recognition which used to be moments of joy and anticipation, now pitfalls to be avoided, lest the grief incapacitate me in a sudden rush. How can I move from my chair, knowing that this is there? How can I sit, knowing it will come anyway?

In the evening, all my routines invoke memories. Can I face them one more time?

At night, I know the memories and the grief will find me. Who wants to go to bed when this waits for you?

How can I love the ones I love, knowing that they are not the one I loved? This is the most unfair thing.

My ability to love freely is gone. It is now guarded, fenced in, fearful. I am afraid much of the time.

Sometimes it feels like my skin will burst from the pain. Medication, drugs, alcohol all wear off, leaving me feeling worse than before, yet wishing again for the brief respite they brought. But the increased pain warns me off, and I am left without outside defense against my grief.

I will not go through the rest of my life numb and chemically diminished. But I don't think I will ever again be who I was.

Seasons of Love

2010-05-04T20:37:00.000-07:00

To my dearest daughter.

What's the measure of a life?

2010-05-04T07:49:00.000-07:00

Alysia Danielle Delgado-Parmley Beaty

June 13, 1989 - April 29, 2010

Rest in Peace

10,979,337 minutes

20 years, 10 months, 15 days

a little sister, a big brother

2 parents

a beloved partner

friends

a puppy and a cat

a guitar or 2

rockband genius

a smile from ear to ear

tattoos

more friends

memories left behind

touches on the heart of all who knew her

Read This and Weep

2009-09-03T12:10:00.000-07:00

distributorcap NY: Because It Wasted Bullets

MSNBC, WW2 and Buchanan

2009-09-03T10:45:00.001-07:00

Over at MSNBC, Pat Buchanan has decided that Hitler was simply misunderstood: he didn't REALLY want to start a war, he was FORCED to by England and France, who wouldn't give him lebensraum (expansion room) otherwise. Umm, fail.

Never mind that Austria wasn't actually a place for Germany to expand its population into, but a very good strategic base for attacking Russia (which Germany did immediately following its invasion of Poland). Never mind that Germany had brought its economic crisis on itself by aggressively building up its military capacity, in violation of the treaties it signed at the end of WW1. The way Germany went about its "expansion" was, in effect, as if the US had decided to fix its economic problems by nuking South America.

What part of "Exterminating 6 million Jews" is excusable for any reason? Forget Stalin (who Buchanan offers as a "he did it too, so what's the fuss?"), or any other psychotic dictator. Under what circumstances is it acceptable to commit genocide?

None. Any other answer labels you as sub-human and unworthy of civilized discourse.

Please go to MSNBC and tell them how you feel.

Prayer for agnostics

2009-08-31T20:41:00.000-07:00

Thinking about the folks around here: so many are hurting and full of sorrow and loss. I'm not much of a praying Yogi, but I came across this in the files and felt a resonance, so I want to share it with you all. Be well.

Verbal prayers make sense, I think, if you know in advance that talking to God is like talking to your dog. You say human words to your dog, but he pretty much ignores that in favor of how you smell. Similarly, whatever divinity there is hears your words of prayer but very likely ignores all you say in favor of the aroma of your heart: your kindness, your compassion - for both your own poor soul and for your have-not brothers and sisters in the world. But the words of your prayer do matter to you: they give shape to your thoughts; they warm and give color to your soul and spur you to a focused listening.

William Cleary, Prayers to an Evolutionary God

We're OK In Altadena

2009-08-30T21:28:00.000-07:00

Hi all,

Sorry for the lack of stuff, but we've been busy, what with the pool and all, and now Mother Nature is busy making sure we respect her. For the most up-to-date info, try the LA Times web site. There's a map showing where the fire is and which way it's heading.

Here's a picture from Mt. Wilson Observatory, from about noon today.

If you click on this, you should get a Google map. Click on the lower yellow area (Altadena) a few times to zoom in, until you can see Lake Ave. We are down Lake, near Woodbury Rd., so we're not in immediate danger. We spent the day collecting files and such, in case it gets more urgent. Tomorrow we'll test out how the animal carriers fit in the van, to make sure we're ready.

Otherwise, we are fine. I'll post pix of the finished pool as soon as I get them off the camera.

Stay well, now.

It's full of stars!

2009-06-28T08:45:00.000-07:00

It's a hole with a pipe. What's that pipe doing in there?

Oh, fill it with steel, maybe it'll look better.

More steel.

Anyone need some leftover sheetrock? And who ARE those masked men?

We didn't know what to do with all the pipes, so we put them here.

Hi Mom!

Look, ma, no crack!

Ready for the deck! Can we swim yet? Why not? I wanna swim!

Phil and Maria Luisa already want in.

Now, where did I put that septic tank?

Perfectionitis in the Produce Dept.

2009-03-19T15:36:00.001-07:00

Over on Tigers and Strawberries, Barbara and her commenters are having a good old time talking about frugality. In an aside, Barbara asks,"What is it about American’s quest for “the perfect—-fill in the blank with the name of a fruit or vegetable?” This quest for perfect produce is what has led us to beautiful but tasteless Red Delicious apples, huge, perfectly smooth skinned pumpkins with watery, tasteless flesh and giant, sweet-smelling strawberries that taste like styrofoam. It is all a passel of aberrant behavior on the part of food marketers and people who eat with their eyes, not their mouths–in other words, they want food that is pretty rather than food that tastes good." Let me take a stab at answering that.

Think for a moment about a produce section: bins and bins of produce, each offered at its own price. There is no way to tell within a bin of, let's say, Pippin apples, which are good and which are not, unless 1) someone has shown you how to tell, or 2) you've eaten enough to have learned how to tell except by looking for whichever ones are less "damaged", except by looking. Rooting through a bin of Russett potatoes, it is an intelligent choice to only take those which are perfect-looking, because why would you take a different one if it is not cheaper or better in some way? My point is, when there is a choice between good-looking and not, it is a rational choice is to take the best looking.

But Yogi, you say, what if the best looking isn't the best tasting? My answer is, when you don't know how it tastes, you go for looks. And now the grocers are left with bad-looking (but perfectly good) produce that they have to sell at a discount or toss. Their rational response is to only buy what sells, yes? And so on up the chain. When you match this with the agribiz push for monoculture, you end up with the modern-day produce dept. To blame this on consumers who are simply trying to decide what to buy for dinner is to miss the essential point: why do they not know better?

The answer is in the pattern of immigration and movement: when people move out of their native zones, they no longer know what is the standard for selection. Over many, many years (about 5 generations, at this point, maybe more in some cases) their reliance on visual cues for produce selection combines with the other rational choices to give us what we see now. When I moved to NY 10 years ago, I was appalled by the low quality of produce, and lack of selection, particularly varietal selection. I literally didn't know what type of lettuce would be best, out of the sorry selection I was offered. I found out quickly, because I have cooked for years and am passionate about it, but our housekeeper at the time was Guatemalan and there were many things in the anglo market she would have had to guess at. Conversely, when she took me to the local hispanic/latino markets, she had to show me how to choose chayote and such, as I had no clue. Migrants (whether immigrant or not) often had no choice but to choose with their eyes. I'd also like to point out that even now, in my 50s, I still can't always get a great watermelon. But I can afford to toss it if it's really bad. Many people can't.

2009-02-25T07:28:00.000-08:00

Another video

2009-02-16T16:33:00.000-08:00

Hey there. Had a good Valentine's Day? Me too.

Now that that's out of the way, here's video you should watch, courtesy of the site The Reality Based Community: Jayne Torvil and Christopher Dean, skating for the gold at Sarajevo, in 1984. If you haven't seen it, you're in for a treat. If you have, it's great revisit.

Hope you all are the same...

Hmm.

2009-02-05T10:05:00.000-08:00

A couple of times in the last few days, someone has described someone else as "Christians", meaning that they are honest and fair-dealing. In one case, the person was referring to themselves.

I don't think they hear the inherent bigotry of that. Or am I just being sensitive?

How's about YOU put your life on display, Jackson?

2009-02-04T06:24:00.001-08:00

Lots of talk about the mother of octuplets here in SoCal. The most charitable thing I can say to the folks who are having a problem with this is, "Who the fuck made you arbiter of all that's good and holy?"

Really, now. Why are you so upset? She made a choice that you wouldn't have made, fine. I get that. But why the hating? She's not on public assistance, she's not asking you to baby-sit, you're not responsible for the baby's college funds, so what's the problem?

I think some people just can't get their heads around the possibility that someone might raise their children differently. One lady in the NY Times comments said something about taking the kids to soccer practice and the like, and doesn't seem to get that not every family is into the same sort of yuppie child-rearing. The Bad Yogi gets fish-eyes from some people because he and DW insist that YD not have a completely full day, every day of the week, and weekends too. Our opinion is that she needs down time and so would not be well served by being entertained 24/7. I imagine the lady in question is going to be in the same boat.

To me there's a distinction here between thinking that she made a mistake (personally, I think she's not terribly intelligent, but so what?) and dumping on her for what are supposed to look like moral reasons: It's not fair to the kids!!! I call bullshit. Many kids are still raised without being kept busy all the time, and they can learn to be self-directed, if they are not simply handed the remote. But there is the "idle hands make devil's work" meme running through our society, and I think that this is a major part of what;s going on.

Anyway, my prescription for these people is, Sit down and have a nice cup of Shut The Fuck Up.

Get 'em out, NOW

2009-02-03T10:08:00.000-08:00

So, a few of the nominees have turned up with tax issues and the like, and are withdrawing. Good. Anyone in this day and age who didn't pay the nanny tax and still wants to be in public office is too stupid to be considered.

Folks, this isn't rocket science. These people KNOW that they are going to be scrutinized to the n-th degree. If they STILL can't get their shit together, they don't belong in public office. And if they are Democrats, that's fine with me: we need to clean house.

6 weeks later

2009-01-28T19:22:00.001-08:00

Not that I'm counting or anything. And it's not for lack of something to say; maybe TOO much, really. So, when in doubt, fall back on what you know: in my case, that would be food.

We're trying to change the way we buy, cook and eat, so that there's less waste, better choices, not defaulting to eating out just because we didn't get it together to start something before it's late and the kid needs to eat. Also maybe eat less, but not a god-forsaken diet. Quick, stop me before I start to foam at the mouth about the diet indusdflsdkf;a {crash, bang, silence.}

{Deep breath}
Where were we? Ah yes, cooking and eating. As part of the changes, we're trying to get dinner on the table by 6 so that we're done before 7. That way, we're not trying to get YD into bed at 8 with a shovel or a bat. So, tonight I got it together enough to have 4 chicken thighs thawed by 5pm and started rooting around in the fridge for the rest of dinner. Hmm, science projects. After arm wrestling some dying cauliflower, I found a few things that were at least marginally edible. We ended up having chicken in chinese sticky sauce, caesar salad for DW and me, broccoli for YD and some pasta. Not bad for 50 minutes. I liked the chicken well enough to write down what I did, and for a wonder the caesar wasn't too sharp, but still mouth filling. Here's the recipe:

Sticky Chicky

4 chicken thighs, bone in, skin optional
3 T hoisin sauce
3 T Pepper Jelly (mild or spicy, your taste)
1 t powdered ginger
1 t garlic powder
2 t dried lemon peel
2 T cider vinegar (or just enough to thin a little)

Oven to 350˚
Cover a small baking dish with foil and spray with cooking spray or a little plain oil (I use a toaster oven for this dish. For all small chicken dishes, really.) Put chicken on tray skin side up, then put in oven for 10 minutes to start cooking. Meanwhile, mix other ingredients in small bowl or measuring cup. After 10 minutes, flip chicken and brush the glaze on thickly. Repeat in 5 minutes, then after 5 more (20 total: pay attention!), flip over and brush on skin side. Wait 5 minutes and brush on glaze one last time. Cook 5-10 minutes, or until you just can't wait any longer. The dripping glaze will have congealed on the foil and become dark on the chicken when it's done. We serve 3 with this.

OK? Now, since you've been nice enough to read this far, I won't bore you with expositions on whether anchovies belong in caesar salads (they do) or about coddling eggs (your choice, I don't bother.)

A couple of notes: Soon we will have my herb garden and I will NEVER run out of fresh ginger again! In the meantime, powdered is a barely acceptable substitute. And I had only enough garlic for either the caesar or the chicken. The caesar won.

Now go eat!

Something happy

2008-12-07T16:03:00.000-08:00

Lazy bugger that I am (really a BAD Yogi), it took something truly wonderful to push me back to blogging this weekend.

Spend the 5 minutes to watch this video. Seriously, ignore the name, watch the damn video. Then share it with others.

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Here's the iTunes link.

A Must-Read

2008-11-21T08:37:00.000-08:00

If you don't regularly read Real Live Preacher, you're missing out on some truly fine humor, discussions, and great writing in general. RLP has a new post up today which is a shining example of his writing. You owe it to yourself to go check it out.

Web -2.0 Customer Service

2008-11-20T17:40:00.000-08:00

If you want to see how to make sure your company is seen as uncaring, overly concerned with how things are said rather than what is said, and generally acting like a 15-year-old entitlement teen, have a look here. The original posts, which were on someone else's blog here and here, will give more context, as will the final 2 posts in the thread. Read it and weep, then try to find another company to bankroll.

A Simply, Marvelous Turkey, Modified

2008-11-20T07:58:00.000-08:00

Over at the NY Times food blog, Mark Bitten has an unbelievably wonderful recipe for cooking turkey. Not your usual way at all, he browns the thighs and breast separately, and then roasts them in a medley of vegetables, which keeps the skin crisp while cooking the breast and thighs perfectly. A bonus is the dish of roasted vegetables on the side.

Yesterday, I went to make turkey for our main meal (heading into the holidays, I like to practice before subjecting my ~~victims~~ guests to my new ideas) and decided to use Mark's recipe. Problem was, I only had 90 minutes, not the 3 hours he called for. Undeterred by this, I went ahead, making some changes on the fly, and ended up with an even better version, for us, at any rate. We got 3 cups of unbelievable gravy and made stuffing to boot! So here's my version (all ingredients remain the same from the original, but I bought a boneless breast and unwrapped it, rather than boning it myself. I did bone out the thighs.):

Simple Turkey and Gravy, adapted from Mark Bitten

Turn the oven to 425°.

Soak the dried mushrooms in 1/2 cup hot water, or just enough to cover. Coarsely chop 1/2 pound each carrots and celery, and one medium yellow or white onion. Microwave the carrots for 3 minutes in a little water to get them started. Add them to the onion and celery, with the cooking water. Sauté these in 1 T olive oil.

Meanwhile, in another pan, sauté the pancetta until it starts to give off some fat, then add the sausage and cook until both are well browned (breaking up the sausage if you used bulk). When the meat is browned, add to the vegetables and continue to cook until they are soft and beginning to brown. Chop and sauté the fresh mushrooms in the sausage fat, then add to the vegetable mix. When the dried mushrooms are soft, drain them, reserving the liquid, mince them and add to the mix.

Brown the turkey in the pan you used for the sausage, adding the remaining 1 T olive oil. Brown the thighs first, and reserve them, and then the breast. When the breast is browned on all sides, turn off the heat to the pan and leave the breast there, covered, until needed.

Now, in a roasting pan, spread the vegetables evenly, and place the thighs in the corners on top of the vegetables, skin side up. Strain the mushroom water over the vegetables, adding enough hot water to the pan to bring the level up to 1/2 way up the side of the thighs (I used about 3 cups) and cover the pan with foil. Cook for 30 minutes, then uncover and add the breast to the center. (Don't wash the pan!) Raise the oven temp to 500°, and return the turkey to the oven, roasting until the meat is cooked through and the skin is dark brown and crisp, about 15 minutes.

Remove the turkey to a serving plate and cover loosely with foil. Pour the vegetables and their water through a colander set over a bowl to catch the liquid. Reserve the vegetables. Degrease the liquid and make gravy with most of it (in the same pan you used for browning the meat), saving a little to moisten the stuffing if you're going to have it, and adding water as necessary to thin the gravy. Then, either put the vegetables into a serving bowl if you are going to serve them as is or mix them with a bag of stuffing mix. Moisten with the remaining juice and serve!

Cue the (Right Wing) whining

2008-11-14T14:03:00.000-08:00

Shorter Ron Prentice: We cheated you fair and square, now shut up and like it.

The backers of the despicable Prop 8 have a message for you: If we don't like something, we can speak out, but you can't. Apparently, the idea is that once you have stolen, er won the battle, you never have to deal with it again.

Tell you what, Ron: you get your minions to completely stop harassing women at Planned Parenthood, and stop trying to repeal Roe v Wade, and maybe we'll cut you some slack in this. Otherwise, please sit down and have a nice cup of Shut The Fuck Up.

A Soft Opening

2008-11-12T13:09:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Johnny's Garage, home of The Bad Yogi. Here I putter around, muttering to myself about people, politics, food, and anything else that catches my eye. Polemics, pejoratives, pea soup, and many things that don't begin with the letter "p" are all presented for your examination and, I hope, enjoyment.

I am a long-time liberal, both socially and economically. This doesn't mean that I have stopped thinking. There are many "liberal" ideas with which I simply don't agree (i.e. gun control), and many "conservative" ones with which I do (I'll think of them in a minute, I'm sure). Actually, most of the "conservative" ideas that I agree with turn out to be "liberal" in origin. But I try to keep an open mind, just in case a good one comes along. And when my fellow liberals show up with their heads rectally compromised, I will point that out, too. Equal opportunity polemicist, that's me.

I love to cook and eat. This explains why I live in a garage. No, wait, that's not true. But I do love to cook and eat, and I love to talk about cooking and eating. The Garage is located in Pasadena, CA, which, for my foreign friends, is north Los Angeles. While many consider Pasadena to be a culinary wasteland, I disagree: it is, at worst, a culinary battleground, with the war being between the chains taking over Old Town (Hooters, Melting Pot, Cheesecake Factory etc) and the local eateries fighting back. Also, within reach of the Garage is the new Chinatown (Temple City, Arcadia, Monrovia etc.) and a vibrant Lebanese community on Washington Blvd. There are many eating adventures to be had, and I plan on having them.

I am married (20+ years!) to DW, and we have a Son, and Elder Daughter, and a Younger Daughter, as well as a smattering of brothers, sisters, grandchildren and the like. They may or may not show up periodically. That's kind of up to them. However, our 2 dogs and 3 cats WILL make appearances from time to time. You have been warned.

Please feel free to comment. While profanity is certainly acceptable, excess use indicates a certain intellectual laziness, and will be commented on. If it gets boring enough, you'll be sent to time-out. Ditto for personal attacks: if you can't figure out how to disagree with someone without calling them names, please return to High School, where you will fit in much better. But strong disagreement is always welcome, as is strong agreement: I intend to have great discussions, and that entails strong emotions, usually.

Now, I'm off to think of my next topic.