No New Year would be complete without collards and black-eyed peas. Eating these dishes on New Year's Day will bring you good luck in the upcoming year. And although I generally take some liberties with when, exactly, I eat this dish, eat it, I do. It is an old Southern tradition, born of slaves who were given this day off (I believe). Certainly, black-eyed peas, or field peas, or crowder peas, or whatever variety grows in your field, were considered slave food; collards are one crop that actually taste better when grown in the cold (something about the cold and the sugar in the rather bitter leaves). So, these two dishes came to signify money: the collards are green like bills and the peas are coin. And in America, lots of money = good luck.
I first heard about this tradition back in my North Carolina days. Wayne was not only a good cook, but he lived in a house with many people and they often had House Dinners. New Year's Dinner was a big one. It often involved people outside the house (like girlfriends, former roommates, coworkers) and it was my first real experience with collards and black-eyed peas.
Wayne was vegetarian, so I also learned how to cook things without bacon or ham -- quite a feat when you're talking about collards and dried peas. I really didn't like collards the first 5 or so times I had them; but I always had at least a bite or two for good luck's sake. I loved the peas, though. As a former Crook's Corner cook, Wayne always made Hoppin' John.
But this past year, I saw a Good Eats where Altan makes collards. Now, I'll do just about anything Altan tells me to; the man makes excellent food and even better television (two of my favoritest things in the world). Altan doesn't use ham -- he uses a smoked turkey leg. So while at the store yesterday, I took a walk down the meat aisle and although I didn't find legs, I did find wings. Here then, I would see if the smoked turkey could compare to a ham hock (it would certainly beat out the veggie version).
Let me just say, yes. By all means, used smoked turkey in your collards. Make a broth first -- boil the wing for 10-15 before adding the collards. (According to Altan, most people over-cook collards and release the stinky cabbage smell, 45 minutes should be enough to cook them.) Altan adds a teaspoon of sugar (which I tried), but no onion or red pepper. I skipped the onion (the onion for the peas already made me cry), but I did add a couple shakes of red pepper flakes. In went the collards and cook. Presto: awesome collards. I admit, I was lazy and skipped the tomato and green onion on the Hoppin' John. I did add cheese, though. It was a very good dinner.
I also made cornbread, although because my oven and refrigerator are stupid, the cornbread wasn't quite ready in time, and I was too hungry to wait. It was crazy cornbread, too. I forgot about the cornbread, so I only had enough cornmeal for half a batch. But I also didn't have sour cream, plain yogurt, or buttermilk and I have discovered the both biscuits and cornbread MUST have some acid or they won't rise properly. Milk is not enough. So I added some mayo. Why not? Also, black pepper and some shredded cheese, because, I currently have too much of it. And, the piece de resistance -- greased the pan with bacon grease. Yes. Good cornbread.
Now, I just hope that all the luck I rack up will cancel out the luck I'm bound to sweep away. I have stacks of paper and mail to go through, but the Chinese say you shouldn't clean anything in the New Year -- you'll sweep out the good luck with the bad. oops.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
There and Back Again: A Christmas Holiday
The trip back south was rather bland. Actually, the good times were good, but the driving was dull.
I made it from Portland to Roseburg on Thursday, stopping off in Eugene along the way to pick up M. Actually, it was a little rainy, kinda heavy at times when leaving Portland, but I survived. No hydroplaning, no washed out bridges, nothing crazy.
Then, M and I spent the night in Roseburg with Cialis. I don't think I've laughed that hard since the Fun Group was trying to make me squeak a few Christmases back. Except this time, I was adding more to the conversation. I can't breathe around the Fun Group. We told old jokes, made up new jokes, was "that group" of women at the Freddies. I even pegged my jeans, a la 1986, just because I could. Boy, was that ever a stupid look.
We stayed up late watching "scary movies" and drinking wine. Of course, the power started to flicker just as we started getting ready for bed. Nothing says, "You'll have nightmares tonight" like a power outage after a zombie movie. We got to bed so late, we didn't get up until late. I hit the road (after some yummy blueberry pancakes) around 12:30.
It was raining in Oregon, and it changed to snow around 3500'. Fortunately, it wasn't sticking. So, I went a little slow over the Siskiyou pass, but it turned back to rain at about 3700' on the other side (I-5 hits about 4200' over the pass -- highest point on I-5!) and then pretty much stopped precipitating at all.
I managed to stop at the TJ's along the way and was still home by 9:15. Not bad time.
I already miss Portland. I bought a fancy Bodum single-serving presspot travel mug and made some Stumptown coffee. It was almost like being back.
I made it from Portland to Roseburg on Thursday, stopping off in Eugene along the way to pick up M. Actually, it was a little rainy, kinda heavy at times when leaving Portland, but I survived. No hydroplaning, no washed out bridges, nothing crazy.
Then, M and I spent the night in Roseburg with Cialis. I don't think I've laughed that hard since the Fun Group was trying to make me squeak a few Christmases back. Except this time, I was adding more to the conversation. I can't breathe around the Fun Group. We told old jokes, made up new jokes, was "that group" of women at the Freddies. I even pegged my jeans, a la 1986, just because I could. Boy, was that ever a stupid look.
We stayed up late watching "scary movies" and drinking wine. Of course, the power started to flicker just as we started getting ready for bed. Nothing says, "You'll have nightmares tonight" like a power outage after a zombie movie. We got to bed so late, we didn't get up until late. I hit the road (after some yummy blueberry pancakes) around 12:30.
It was raining in Oregon, and it changed to snow around 3500'. Fortunately, it wasn't sticking. So, I went a little slow over the Siskiyou pass, but it turned back to rain at about 3700' on the other side (I-5 hits about 4200' over the pass -- highest point on I-5!) and then pretty much stopped precipitating at all.
I managed to stop at the TJ's along the way and was still home by 9:15. Not bad time.
I already miss Portland. I bought a fancy Bodum single-serving presspot travel mug and made some Stumptown coffee. It was almost like being back.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Food, Glorious Food
I have been happily eating my way through Portland. Breakfast has been high on my list, but there have been a couple of notable exceptions. To sum up my culinary delights.
On the first day back, I went to Toast (SE Steele and 52nd) for the pork belly. Oh, dear Lord, it is heaven in a slice of pork. This is nothing that could be described as "bacon". It makes me look back with even greater fondness on the Iron Chef Pork Belly Battle. I think I would have enjoyed that so much more if I had had some pork belly. Anyway, it's a thick-ol slice of, well, pork belly. Imagine a strip of pork roast surrounded on two sides by a strip of warm fat. Sounds gross if you aren't fond of things like homemade cracklins. If, however, you find fried chicken skin to be the best thing on the planet, well then, this meat is for you. As you bite into a piece, the warm grease explodes through your mouth with such an intense pork flavor, everything else on the plate pales in comparison. Mind you, the rest of the plate is tasty too. Comes with a couple of fried eggs and a homemade potato rosti (think hashbrown, but better), loving sprinkled with chopped, fresh parsley and served over a small puddle of balsamic reduction. Oh, with a bloody mary on the side that comes with homemade pickles (you know, cauliflower, okra). If you are, or are ever, in Portland: GO TO TOAST.
It started snowing, so then I opted for a walk to the Screen Door for some Saturday morning brunch. Screen Door (24th and E. Burnside) has the best biscuits and gravy in town. However, I opted for the special fried chicken cathead biscuit. The biscuit (as big as a cat's head) is split and topped with a spicy fried chicken breast, topped with sausage gravy, and served with potatoes or grits. I went grits. But I was sharing, so we also had a hash that was good -- there was horseradish in it -- and a smoked salmon omelet. Yum.
Once the snow cleared, it was off to Genie's (SE 11th and Division) for the eggs benedict. I've tried about all the benedicts in town, and Genie's wins. The Hollandaise tastes like butter. Seriously. It is velvety smooth, with a subtle lemon twist and the aforementioned butter. Ahhh. I can hear my arteries clogging from here. I forgot about the West Coast's penchant for undercooking eggs, so there were a couple of runny spots in the white of my eggs, but I decided to deal. I hadn't specified that I wanted runny yolks, but solid whites to the waiter. The potatoes are kinda whatever, and I got the end of a basket so they were all small and extra crispy, but it didn't matter. It was all about the muffin, locally made Canadian bacon, egg, and that sauce.
There was also a trip to Cricket Cafe at SE 32nd and Belmont. I didn't get the cricket omelet, that is hangover or trucker fare (a four-egg omelet with bacon, tomato, onion, cheese and the hashbrowns on the INSIDE, all covered with sausage gravy). I did have a delish sausage burrito, though. Nice interplay of eggs, sausage, and black beans. Good homemade salsa on top. Hashbrowns were a little greasy, but you can't always have it all.
This morning, after explaing to my dear friend CK that there is a Kettleman Bagels on this side of town -- just a few blocks from her house at SE 11th and Sherman, I had the best bagel in Portland. It might be the best bagel I've ever eaten. Now, I haven't been to New York on a bagel hunt, so I won't say that it's the best ever. But in Portland, they pass off anything round as a bagel, even if it's just floofy white bread, so these bagels really hit the spot. I have long said that Brueggar's sets the standard for all bagels: anything less than Brueggar's is NOT a bagel. Kettleman shows up Brueggar's. (The owner learned the trade in NYC, so don't fear, these are NYC bagels.) The only thing left to say is that in my Cali town, it's possible to go to a bagel shop that does not serve veggie, onion, OR herb cream cheese. I think that's against the bagel laws (although I haven't checked). So a crunchy on the outside, chewey in the middle everything bagel smeared with green onion cream cheese that hasn't had the life whipped out of it was very, very welcome.
Of course, I've been inhaling Stumptown coffee like it was going out of style, as well as any sort of micro IPA I can get my hands on. HUB (Hopworks Urban Brewery at SE 28th and Powell) definitely is good beer. Look for it. It packs a whallop, though, so beware.
Also on the list were the fish 'n chips at the Horsebrass (at SE 47th and Belmont). Everyone in there was smoking like it was going out of style (probably because as of January 1st, it will be out of style -- and against the law) which is a downer. I don't believe that anyone who say that the smoke is "part of the charm" of the Horsebrass is telling the truth; that lie gets passed around just to make you feel better for going. No, the smokers might appreciate the chance to smoke, but no one patronizes the establishment just so they can leave reeking like an old-timer at the Eagles Lodge. They go for the fish 'n chips. Solid cod, battered and fried served over homemade chips. Comes with slaw or a salad for a $1 more. And not so many chips, either. It's about the fish and the salad, with the chips just to make you feel good, but leaden with grease. Solid ranch (with the salad, of course -- but enough left over for the chips), too. Of course, sometimes the fry cook is off. It was pretty packed, so my fish were slightly overdone; but poorly cooked fish at the Horsebrass is well-cooked anywhere else. The fish was still hot and juicy, just a tad tough.
Tonight, though. Oh tonight. Going to Yoko's (SE 28th and Gladstone). Taka's tuna and the Poki roll. I might have to forgo my usual plain tuna roll in light of all that tuna. Tuna tuna tuna. Mmmmm.... Tuna. Yoko's is my favoritest sushi restaurant, ever. I do love some Sushi Blue in Raleigh, free birthay sushi is always welcome, and Mio Sushi is to raw fish what Brueggar's is to bagels, but nothing beats Yoko's. I love the tiny room with it's eclectic decor. I love the food. I love that you can wait at the bar next door and would call over the bar when your table was ready, but now they just call your cell phone.
And after the tuna feast of last night, I just want to say, "Yum". CK and I skipped the plain tuna roll for a spicy tuna roll, and added to the feast with some veggie tempura. (There is very little in this world that I do NOT like deep-fried.) We were sated, but not stuffed. It was about perfect. And Yoko's was playing Barry White on the stereo. Oh, my God. CK and I made some sweet raw tuna love at the sushi bar. Between the unfiltered saki, the interplay of tuna, rice, avocado, green onion, and soy, the hot, crispy fried veggies, and the sultry music, we were in heaven. And having considered it all, I think that while the pork belly delivers an immediate and gratifying taste sensation, tuna does that, but more. The pork will slow you down and put you to sleep; the tuna wakes up your brain and makes you feel alive.
For my last feat, I'll be doing a little happy hour at the Nite Lite tonight. (I think it'll still be happy hour.) It's been a favorite haunt of mine, and it'll be very comfortable to go back and hang there for an hour or so before heading out to a quality house party.
Happy New Years everyone!
On the first day back, I went to Toast (SE Steele and 52nd) for the pork belly. Oh, dear Lord, it is heaven in a slice of pork. This is nothing that could be described as "bacon". It makes me look back with even greater fondness on the Iron Chef Pork Belly Battle. I think I would have enjoyed that so much more if I had had some pork belly. Anyway, it's a thick-ol slice of, well, pork belly. Imagine a strip of pork roast surrounded on two sides by a strip of warm fat. Sounds gross if you aren't fond of things like homemade cracklins. If, however, you find fried chicken skin to be the best thing on the planet, well then, this meat is for you. As you bite into a piece, the warm grease explodes through your mouth with such an intense pork flavor, everything else on the plate pales in comparison. Mind you, the rest of the plate is tasty too. Comes with a couple of fried eggs and a homemade potato rosti (think hashbrown, but better), loving sprinkled with chopped, fresh parsley and served over a small puddle of balsamic reduction. Oh, with a bloody mary on the side that comes with homemade pickles (you know, cauliflower, okra). If you are, or are ever, in Portland: GO TO TOAST.
It started snowing, so then I opted for a walk to the Screen Door for some Saturday morning brunch. Screen Door (24th and E. Burnside) has the best biscuits and gravy in town. However, I opted for the special fried chicken cathead biscuit. The biscuit (as big as a cat's head) is split and topped with a spicy fried chicken breast, topped with sausage gravy, and served with potatoes or grits. I went grits. But I was sharing, so we also had a hash that was good -- there was horseradish in it -- and a smoked salmon omelet. Yum.
Once the snow cleared, it was off to Genie's (SE 11th and Division) for the eggs benedict. I've tried about all the benedicts in town, and Genie's wins. The Hollandaise tastes like butter. Seriously. It is velvety smooth, with a subtle lemon twist and the aforementioned butter. Ahhh. I can hear my arteries clogging from here. I forgot about the West Coast's penchant for undercooking eggs, so there were a couple of runny spots in the white of my eggs, but I decided to deal. I hadn't specified that I wanted runny yolks, but solid whites to the waiter. The potatoes are kinda whatever, and I got the end of a basket so they were all small and extra crispy, but it didn't matter. It was all about the muffin, locally made Canadian bacon, egg, and that sauce.
There was also a trip to Cricket Cafe at SE 32nd and Belmont. I didn't get the cricket omelet, that is hangover or trucker fare (a four-egg omelet with bacon, tomato, onion, cheese and the hashbrowns on the INSIDE, all covered with sausage gravy). I did have a delish sausage burrito, though. Nice interplay of eggs, sausage, and black beans. Good homemade salsa on top. Hashbrowns were a little greasy, but you can't always have it all.
This morning, after explaing to my dear friend CK that there is a Kettleman Bagels on this side of town -- just a few blocks from her house at SE 11th and Sherman, I had the best bagel in Portland. It might be the best bagel I've ever eaten. Now, I haven't been to New York on a bagel hunt, so I won't say that it's the best ever. But in Portland, they pass off anything round as a bagel, even if it's just floofy white bread, so these bagels really hit the spot. I have long said that Brueggar's sets the standard for all bagels: anything less than Brueggar's is NOT a bagel. Kettleman shows up Brueggar's. (The owner learned the trade in NYC, so don't fear, these are NYC bagels.) The only thing left to say is that in my Cali town, it's possible to go to a bagel shop that does not serve veggie, onion, OR herb cream cheese. I think that's against the bagel laws (although I haven't checked). So a crunchy on the outside, chewey in the middle everything bagel smeared with green onion cream cheese that hasn't had the life whipped out of it was very, very welcome.
Of course, I've been inhaling Stumptown coffee like it was going out of style, as well as any sort of micro IPA I can get my hands on. HUB (Hopworks Urban Brewery at SE 28th and Powell) definitely is good beer. Look for it. It packs a whallop, though, so beware.
Also on the list were the fish 'n chips at the Horsebrass (at SE 47th and Belmont). Everyone in there was smoking like it was going out of style (probably because as of January 1st, it will be out of style -- and against the law) which is a downer. I don't believe that anyone who say that the smoke is "part of the charm" of the Horsebrass is telling the truth; that lie gets passed around just to make you feel better for going. No, the smokers might appreciate the chance to smoke, but no one patronizes the establishment just so they can leave reeking like an old-timer at the Eagles Lodge. They go for the fish 'n chips. Solid cod, battered and fried served over homemade chips. Comes with slaw or a salad for a $1 more. And not so many chips, either. It's about the fish and the salad, with the chips just to make you feel good, but leaden with grease. Solid ranch (with the salad, of course -- but enough left over for the chips), too. Of course, sometimes the fry cook is off. It was pretty packed, so my fish were slightly overdone; but poorly cooked fish at the Horsebrass is well-cooked anywhere else. The fish was still hot and juicy, just a tad tough.
Tonight, though. Oh tonight. Going to Yoko's (SE 28th and Gladstone). Taka's tuna and the Poki roll. I might have to forgo my usual plain tuna roll in light of all that tuna. Tuna tuna tuna. Mmmmm.... Tuna. Yoko's is my favoritest sushi restaurant, ever. I do love some Sushi Blue in Raleigh, free birthay sushi is always welcome, and Mio Sushi is to raw fish what Brueggar's is to bagels, but nothing beats Yoko's. I love the tiny room with it's eclectic decor. I love the food. I love that you can wait at the bar next door and would call over the bar when your table was ready, but now they just call your cell phone.
And after the tuna feast of last night, I just want to say, "Yum". CK and I skipped the plain tuna roll for a spicy tuna roll, and added to the feast with some veggie tempura. (There is very little in this world that I do NOT like deep-fried.) We were sated, but not stuffed. It was about perfect. And Yoko's was playing Barry White on the stereo. Oh, my God. CK and I made some sweet raw tuna love at the sushi bar. Between the unfiltered saki, the interplay of tuna, rice, avocado, green onion, and soy, the hot, crispy fried veggies, and the sultry music, we were in heaven. And having considered it all, I think that while the pork belly delivers an immediate and gratifying taste sensation, tuna does that, but more. The pork will slow you down and put you to sleep; the tuna wakes up your brain and makes you feel alive.
For my last feat, I'll be doing a little happy hour at the Nite Lite tonight. (I think it'll still be happy hour.) It's been a favorite haunt of mine, and it'll be very comfortable to go back and hang there for an hour or so before heading out to a quality house party.
Happy New Years everyone!
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Some How or Other, It Came, Just the Same
Most of you (all of you?) might not know this, but I have intentionally separated myself from my family at Christmas. Before you freak out, hear me out.
I was married. We had some issues with my in(out)laws. We managed to mostly keep to what we (I) wanted for a happy Christmas, but it involved a lot of drama. (Ask me if you want the deets.) But we never (ever) made it back to Maine to be with my family. So, when I was divorced, I found myself in a strange position. I was, by all accounts, a worldly, self-acualized, independent woman who had not taken money from my parents in two (three?) years. I hadn't spend a holiday with them in just as long. To go home as the Youngest Unmarried Daughter just seemed like a giant step backwards.
That was the first year I spent Christmas with B. And if the skiing has anything to do with it, I made the right decision. (Rach -- you have some awesome friends that I still remember fondly, but the snow calls.) The next year, I recall, I spent with none of you. I was Hell bent on NOT establishing a Christmas tradition. Perhaps it was just all part and parcel of the self-centeredness that was my 20's (to be torn asunder by CJ's death), but I was establisng my own adult persona; it was very important to me.
So now I find myself separated [Rachel is so right] from my family on Christmas, and frankly (no pun intended), I don't mind. I have tried to be less selfish with my time and spend more time with my friends and family since those jealous 20s. Sometimes, however, it doesn't work out.
I spent so much time worrying about my flight that I was having no fun. Forget fun, I had no relief from my very stressful job. However, when I stopped trying to get to Bozeman, my whole vacation opened up. I wasn't checking NOAA every five minutes. I wasn't cruising the Alaska Airlines site every 30 min. I didn't care what Tri-Met had to say.
What I did have was three (four) offers of Chrismas that grew to six (seven). Anyone who knew I was "stuck" in Portland for Christmas immediately offered up their Christmas options. M invited me to Eugene, but with the horrible snow in Portland, I decided to pass on the drive. My Original Portland Friend (seriously, dude was the person who introduced me to kickball) was also stranded at the airport, gave me a ride home, AND told me I was welcome at Christmas. Others random people have invited me over to make sure that I'm not "alone."
What can I say? A long time ago I gave up on "the tree" and "the family" and I realized that I can survive. But I spent this Christmas with two people who have never been away from their families at all. They didn't know this until now.
Y'all might have never heard it, but the thing that I have loved about Portland is the people I have met, from kickball to climbling. This Christmas has only proved my experience; we came together to make a wonderful celebration for everyone. "Christmas came without ribbons, tags, packages, boxes, or bags -- but somehow or other it came just the same." It WAS Christmas, regardless of who was or wasn't there.
I can not say it any better than this: "Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more."
I was married. We had some issues with my in(out)laws. We managed to mostly keep to what we (I) wanted for a happy Christmas, but it involved a lot of drama. (Ask me if you want the deets.) But we never (ever) made it back to Maine to be with my family. So, when I was divorced, I found myself in a strange position. I was, by all accounts, a worldly, self-acualized, independent woman who had not taken money from my parents in two (three?) years. I hadn't spend a holiday with them in just as long. To go home as the Youngest Unmarried Daughter just seemed like a giant step backwards.
That was the first year I spent Christmas with B. And if the skiing has anything to do with it, I made the right decision. (Rach -- you have some awesome friends that I still remember fondly, but the snow calls.) The next year, I recall, I spent with none of you. I was Hell bent on NOT establishing a Christmas tradition. Perhaps it was just all part and parcel of the self-centeredness that was my 20's (to be torn asunder by CJ's death), but I was establisng my own adult persona; it was very important to me.
So now I find myself separated [Rachel is so right] from my family on Christmas, and frankly (no pun intended), I don't mind. I have tried to be less selfish with my time and spend more time with my friends and family since those jealous 20s. Sometimes, however, it doesn't work out.
I spent so much time worrying about my flight that I was having no fun. Forget fun, I had no relief from my very stressful job. However, when I stopped trying to get to Bozeman, my whole vacation opened up. I wasn't checking NOAA every five minutes. I wasn't cruising the Alaska Airlines site every 30 min. I didn't care what Tri-Met had to say.
What I did have was three (four) offers of Chrismas that grew to six (seven). Anyone who knew I was "stuck" in Portland for Christmas immediately offered up their Christmas options. M invited me to Eugene, but with the horrible snow in Portland, I decided to pass on the drive. My Original Portland Friend (seriously, dude was the person who introduced me to kickball) was also stranded at the airport, gave me a ride home, AND told me I was welcome at Christmas. Others random people have invited me over to make sure that I'm not "alone."
What can I say? A long time ago I gave up on "the tree" and "the family" and I realized that I can survive. But I spent this Christmas with two people who have never been away from their families at all. They didn't know this until now.
Y'all might have never heard it, but the thing that I have loved about Portland is the people I have met, from kickball to climbling. This Christmas has only proved my experience; we came together to make a wonderful celebration for everyone. "Christmas came without ribbons, tags, packages, boxes, or bags -- but somehow or other it came just the same." It WAS Christmas, regardless of who was or wasn't there.
I can not say it any better than this: "Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more."
Monday, December 22, 2008
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
Well, it looks like I'll be spending Christmas in Portland. After a rather quixotic, and long, trip to the airport this morning, my flight to Seattle was cancelled. It looked like maybe my flight to Bozeman was still on, but there was no way to get to Seattle to catch it. Planes have been grounded in Portland off-and-on since Saturday, so everything is super-packed. And, rumor has it that PDX has run out of deicing fluid; without that, no one is going anywhere on any airline.
I've already heard of some orphan Christmases, so I won't be alone. And all of your presents will be late. I can barely get to a post office, let alone know if the mail is actually getting through.
I've already heard of some orphan Christmases, so I won't be alone. And all of your presents will be late. I can barely get to a post office, let alone know if the mail is actually getting through.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Travel Update
So, for those of you who may not know, I had plans to drive to Portland on Monday to spend a week before flying out to see B&J. And then the weather hit. On Monday, I-5 was closed north of Yreka because Siskyou pass is at, oh, 4300 feet and it was a bit snowy. Up until I left on Tuesday morning (and so was unable to check CalTran info), chains were required on those last 10 miles of California. I hit the road anyway, prepared for the worst, but hoping I have a window of opportunity.
I make it though fine. No chains required. Roads clear. A little slush the last 10 miles, but soft, mostly-gone, and sand-filled slush. All fine. I think I've got smooth-sailing to Eugene. (Where I planned to spend the night, because even "clear" roads can develop black ice after sunset.) And then I hit the snow.
Ergh. Oregon did a bad job clearing sections of I-5. There was a good 10 miles worth of hardened ice about 30 miles south of Eugene (at Cottage Grove, if you're playing along on Google Maps). I was going a good 5mph. The last 30 miles, which should have been about 20-30 minutes worth of driving, turned into an hour and a half. And then Eugene roads weren't much better.
Now they're calling for more snow and rain today. I could probably make it through. Actually, I probably could have if I had left at 6am, but I was asleep at 6am. And the roads were crappy yesterday and it's been nothing but cold. The precip is due to start falling at any time, and I really don't want to get caught out in I-5 in nowhere-ville when it hits. Sure, I can drive in the stuff -- all those winters in Maine come in handy, but I also know enough to know that I don't have snow tires on my car, and that does make a difference. I also know that all the SUVers out there insist that they CAN drive in snow just because they have an SUV. I do have chains, and I do know how to use them, but they are a pain in the ass. And if I learned one thing from M&D (besides to watch out for the drunks and fools), it's that discretion is the better part of valor where snow is concerned; or, it doesn't take much to become a "fool" yourself.
So, I'm sitting in my friend's duplex in Eugene. (She is also a reader of this blog. Hey M! You're the best!) Gonna kick it here to today, see what tomorrow brings. NOAA is saying more snow, athough yesterday it was supposed to be clear tomorrow, so obviously the weather system is a bit fickle.
Well, at least I'm not sitting on my couch in Salinas. It's really boring there. And I am save and alive with no recent accidents to my credit. I'm just 100 miles from where I was planning on being.
I make it though fine. No chains required. Roads clear. A little slush the last 10 miles, but soft, mostly-gone, and sand-filled slush. All fine. I think I've got smooth-sailing to Eugene. (Where I planned to spend the night, because even "clear" roads can develop black ice after sunset.) And then I hit the snow.
Ergh. Oregon did a bad job clearing sections of I-5. There was a good 10 miles worth of hardened ice about 30 miles south of Eugene (at Cottage Grove, if you're playing along on Google Maps). I was going a good 5mph. The last 30 miles, which should have been about 20-30 minutes worth of driving, turned into an hour and a half. And then Eugene roads weren't much better.
Now they're calling for more snow and rain today. I could probably make it through. Actually, I probably could have if I had left at 6am, but I was asleep at 6am. And the roads were crappy yesterday and it's been nothing but cold. The precip is due to start falling at any time, and I really don't want to get caught out in I-5 in nowhere-ville when it hits. Sure, I can drive in the stuff -- all those winters in Maine come in handy, but I also know enough to know that I don't have snow tires on my car, and that does make a difference. I also know that all the SUVers out there insist that they CAN drive in snow just because they have an SUV. I do have chains, and I do know how to use them, but they are a pain in the ass. And if I learned one thing from M&D (besides to watch out for the drunks and fools), it's that discretion is the better part of valor where snow is concerned; or, it doesn't take much to become a "fool" yourself.
So, I'm sitting in my friend's duplex in Eugene. (She is also a reader of this blog. Hey M! You're the best!) Gonna kick it here to today, see what tomorrow brings. NOAA is saying more snow, athough yesterday it was supposed to be clear tomorrow, so obviously the weather system is a bit fickle.
Well, at least I'm not sitting on my couch in Salinas. It's really boring there. And I am save and alive with no recent accidents to my credit. I'm just 100 miles from where I was planning on being.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Random Musings
Today, about half of my students weren't in class when the bell rang. And it was a late-start day. You tell me where they were, if not in class. Well, two days before break, I wans't about ready to go through some big teaching lesson that I would just have to repeat for everyone else anyway. A few students did trickle in, but there were still 8 students missing. So I did a listening comprehension activity.
It sounds pretty baby. I read a story. They listen and draw pictures. However, my education has told me that many students struggle with that part of reading. They don't know that good readers create pictures in their head as they read. Listening is a standard, too. It's actually a fairly complicated task, when you think about it. Listen to a story. Pick out key images. Imagine what they look like. Translate that to paper. Keep on listening to the story. It takes some mental gymnastics. Of course, it wasn't super planned, because I had to scrap my lesson when half the class was missing at 9am.'
Of course, today was the day when my New Teacher Support Liason (or whatever) decided to come visit. (My students had, of course, wanted to do "nothing" today. Thank God I always refuse that offer.) Later, when I saw her, she made a short comment about their age. Like the lesson was too baby. F you, woman. I have students reading at a 3rd - 5th grade level. (Not all of them, but more than one.) Most are below grade level. So you tell me that baby is baby for kids below grade level? They NEED to be met at their level. (Teaching English Learners Lesson #37.)
Anyway. End of class, kid who transferred in a few weeks ago (something wrong with one of his other classes) with a 26% was wondering about his grade. Yes, you are still failing. Yes, your grade comes with you. So, why was he not doing work. I get my favorite response, "Ms. XXXXX isn't a good teacher." Ugh. I hate that for a few reasons. 1) I know there are students who say that about me (of course, they don't tell you someone else is bad when they think YOU are bad); 2) It absolves the students of all personal responsibility; 3) It's not very polite, respectful, or empathetic. I know this teacher is an intern, a wonderful woman, and doing her absolute best. (I know the same thing about myself -- except for the intern part, and I know some students think I suck. I don't, it's just a reality of being a new teacher.)
Anyway, after sorting through how her teaching style doesn't matter and not doing the work really only hurts him, he (and another kid hanging around) told me I was a good teacher. It's nice to hear from time to time. They think I make things fun and class isn't boring. I think that they bring that with them. I feed off of their energy. But if they want to think it's me -- OK! (I know, where is my "personal responsibility" speech now? Well, it's all about me, right? Right.)
Oh, and about the story. I took time at the end of class to walk around the room. I made myself check in with students who don't talk in class. I made them describe their pictures to me. Especially students who are English learners. In general, EL students do not talk enough at school. And one of my brats actually drew a couple of pictures. He didn't draw much, but it's the most work he's done in quite some time. But the lesson is too baby. Heaven forbid I let my students succeed at something.
What's that saying? Oh yeah -- Nothing breeds success like success.
(If you couldn't hear it in my typing, I'm totally being sarcastic there. Not the quote, that part is true.)
It sounds pretty baby. I read a story. They listen and draw pictures. However, my education has told me that many students struggle with that part of reading. They don't know that good readers create pictures in their head as they read. Listening is a standard, too. It's actually a fairly complicated task, when you think about it. Listen to a story. Pick out key images. Imagine what they look like. Translate that to paper. Keep on listening to the story. It takes some mental gymnastics. Of course, it wasn't super planned, because I had to scrap my lesson when half the class was missing at 9am.'
Of course, today was the day when my New Teacher Support Liason (or whatever) decided to come visit. (My students had, of course, wanted to do "nothing" today. Thank God I always refuse that offer.) Later, when I saw her, she made a short comment about their age. Like the lesson was too baby. F you, woman. I have students reading at a 3rd - 5th grade level. (Not all of them, but more than one.) Most are below grade level. So you tell me that baby is baby for kids below grade level? They NEED to be met at their level. (Teaching English Learners Lesson #37.)
Anyway. End of class, kid who transferred in a few weeks ago (something wrong with one of his other classes) with a 26% was wondering about his grade. Yes, you are still failing. Yes, your grade comes with you. So, why was he not doing work. I get my favorite response, "Ms. XXXXX isn't a good teacher." Ugh. I hate that for a few reasons. 1) I know there are students who say that about me (of course, they don't tell you someone else is bad when they think YOU are bad); 2) It absolves the students of all personal responsibility; 3) It's not very polite, respectful, or empathetic. I know this teacher is an intern, a wonderful woman, and doing her absolute best. (I know the same thing about myself -- except for the intern part, and I know some students think I suck. I don't, it's just a reality of being a new teacher.)
Anyway, after sorting through how her teaching style doesn't matter and not doing the work really only hurts him, he (and another kid hanging around) told me I was a good teacher. It's nice to hear from time to time. They think I make things fun and class isn't boring. I think that they bring that with them. I feed off of their energy. But if they want to think it's me -- OK! (I know, where is my "personal responsibility" speech now? Well, it's all about me, right? Right.)
Oh, and about the story. I took time at the end of class to walk around the room. I made myself check in with students who don't talk in class. I made them describe their pictures to me. Especially students who are English learners. In general, EL students do not talk enough at school. And one of my brats actually drew a couple of pictures. He didn't draw much, but it's the most work he's done in quite some time. But the lesson is too baby. Heaven forbid I let my students succeed at something.
What's that saying? Oh yeah -- Nothing breeds success like success.
(If you couldn't hear it in my typing, I'm totally being sarcastic there. Not the quote, that part is true.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
