Sunday, January 04, 2009
Spirited Recollections - Turning the Page on 2008
Technically, it’s been a week since I last posted - that’s about as long as I like to let things sit around here at the hut. “Technically,” I go back to work tomorrow after a month off doing the bonding thing. Technically, this has been a really memorable post-xmas/chanukah holiday season for a whole mess (or “passel") of reasons. Let’s enumerate!
Holiday Spirit 1: The Spirit of Parking Hell
I’d taken Z with me to Trader Joe’s - our local branch, which I believe is their #1 busiest and more profitable location, and which I’m sure has among their worst parking lots. Still, I found a space that fit the car and Z and I did pretty well with our hunting and gathering, despite a madding crowd that packed the store to the wainscoting with foodlust and pre-holiday-party-hosting anxieties. But when we got back to our car with a big cart full of groceries, we discovered that our erstwhile parking lot neighbors had absconded, and had been replaced with others who had parked very close to us indeed. I’d backed into the space so the cart had to squeeze between my car and my neighbor’s for maximally convenient loading of our groceries into our trunk. This meant I had to fold in the side view mirrors on both cars. Then I threaded the cart between the cars, unfolded the mirrors out again, unloaded the cart, and briefly considered actually returning the cart to its appointed place before realizing that Z and I had both had enough and TJ’s actually had people on staff who did cart retrieval for a living. I therefore left the cart behind the car and turned my attention to getting out of the lot. Traffic precluded my immediate exiting, however, so I was sitting and waiting when a TJ’s staff drone clumped up toward us. This individual was clearly not having a good day. She was scowling, her stringy hair fell over her face, her clothes didn’t seem to fit very well and her overall personal presentation was that of a person who devoutly wished to be elsewhere. With no discernible glee, she spied the cart behind my car and forced her way back to retrieve it. Turning it around, she bumped my back bumper, but hey, that’s what bumpers are for. However, she made no effort to fold in the side view mirrors as she jammed the cart back up between my car and the one next to mine - she just pushed for daylight regardless of, for example, the scraping sound resulting from the cart dragging along against the rear quarterpanel and doors of my car. Once she’d finished abrading the finish on the Subaru and was shoving the cart joylessly back to the corral, I popped my head out to see the damage: a few scratches on our already-worn paint was all she’d done. I suppose a really good wash and wax would mostly fix it, if I ever gave the car such luxurious treatment. I considered shouting after her broad, bitter ass, to berate her for her thoughtless ineptitude - but I didn’t do it. She was already obviously mad enough at the world, and getting into a shouting match with her in the parking lot wouldn’t have fixed my paint or changed her attitude. My holiday gift to you, sullen Trader Joe’s worker, is this: letting you get away with scratching my car. I didn’t have time to wrap it for you but frankly I’m not sure even now that you’re worth it.
Holiday Spirit 2: The Spirit of Getting Away with Infractions
It was nearing dusk of New Year’s Day and Zach had not yet been outside, so I bundled him up and drove him to a playground. On the way back we stopped to get some ice cream, waffles, and Golden Star Sparkling Jasmine Tea at Whole Foods (the only place Golden Star is currently available to me). Driving back to our neighborhood in what was now the full dark of evening, I pulled over to let Z check out some lights atop a mysterious nearby building, and took a call from Kelly - could I pick up some chinese food if she called in an order? Of course I could, if that meant I didn’t have to cook supper that night, so I gladly drove out to Ton Kiang and started trolling for parking. Forty minutes later, I was still driving in circles and my patience was seriously frayed. Z was telling me he was hungry and dizzy and tired of driving around, and it looked like things were getting worse, not better. I was willing to walk several blocks to get the food but I had to consider Z’s willingness to trek, which was limited and getting limiteder. Finally, I was about ready to throw in the towel, drive home, drop off Z and the ice cream, and then walk the 10 blocks back to the restaurant, when on the very block where the restaurant was sited I saw a space open up at the corner. Well, it was “space,” if not “a” space - a bit of curb painted red but long enough to hold my car while we ran in, got food, and ran back out again. I was at the breaking point and so I made the easy, wrong decision: I parked in an illegal space. We trotted down the block to the restaurant, only to learn that our food wasn’t ready yet. We sat and waited. And waited. Fifteen minutes went by, very slowly, before they called me up to pay and take my supper home. We left as quickly as we could but as soon as we hit the street I saw what I had dreaded: two cops standing at my car, using flashlights to read the VIN number and look for anything out of place “in plain sight.” I grabbed Z around his waist and ran down to the scene of my indiscretion with him in tow, to the apparent amusement of the cops. “Am I too late?,” I breathlessly asked. Z just turned his big dark eyes on them and looked cute. “No, but you ought to know better,” the big cop told me. “I do, I do,” I assured them, unfolding the story of driving for too long with a hungry anxious child, of what I was up to, the whole megila. I guess I was pretty pathetic, or convincing, or karmically tuned or something. I didn’t get a ticket, though I’d earned one. I guess I got away with something, but I’m not about to try it again anytime soon. San Francisco, that was a really welcome holiday gift. Thank you.
Holiday Spirit 3. The Spirit of Pyrotechnic Celebration
This is a short one: On New Year’s Eve we went with our visitors - Kel’s sister and her family - to Baker Beach to watch the sun setting on 2008. As the sky went pewter and heavy clouds scudded along in skyborne reflection of the breakers and swells at the mouth of the bay, obscuring the headlands and the towers of the big orange bridge, I pulled out a long-stockpiled box of sparklers. Little Zachy and littler Nate were suspicious and a little nervous about the playing with fire aspect of our celebration, but we eventaually got our respective three-year-olds to hold lighted sparklers for a few minutes, shedding bright motes against the encroaching darkness of a year on the wane. By the time we left, sand in our shoes and mist in our hair, the last day of the year had clearly transitioned to the last night of the year - but against the lids of my eyes when I closed them, I could still see the awed and excited faces of small children as they waved the flame-encrusted wires at a future that surged toward us with every wave that broke on the dark beach. After keeping those silly sparklers for at least a couple of years, I can unequivocally say that there was never a better time or place or way to set them off.
Holiday Spirit 4. The Spirit of Gorging and Consumption
While the guests were in town, I was privileged to cook: stewed chicken with smoked paprika, braised short ribs, baked beans with molasses, breaded and fried brussels sprouts, and deep-fried potato cakes filled with seasoned beef and onions. I also was the beneficiary of Kel’s finally busting out the old gingerbread recipe her high school chum had given her, and which she’s never since made till this year - needless to say, it was immeasurably better than the dry, flavorless stuff we’d gotten commercially (and that, till then, I’d thought had been pretty good). Oh yes, I also whipped up a very tasty little cherry-cranberry cake, on a whim, and a big pitcher of homemade horchata. Kel had heard about some holiday cocktails that sounded festive, and wanted to try one that was horchata-based - but it didn’t appear to be in the cards for us to get out to the Mission district to get the key ingredient. But wait - it’s made out of rice, right? And we had rice, so what was the problem? Answer: THERE WAS NO PROBLEM. This was a really easy and fun recipe that impressed the normally-implacable Kelly to such an extent that I recommend you try it yourself:
HORCHATA LIKE TU MADRE SHOULDA MADE IT
Blend a cup of rinsed long-grain rice in a blender with a cup of water, until the rice grains begin to break up. Dump it into a bowl and add four more cups of water; let stand for three hours (minimum) at room temperature. Strain the ricewater into a pitcher and discard the rice. Stir in half a cup of milk, 1/2 tablespoon vanilla extract, 1/2 tablespoon ground cinnamon, and 2/3 cup granulated sugar. Chill, stir it all up, and serve proudly! Our suggestion: it goes very well with vanilla vodka....
That’s probably enough for new, recap-wise. I’m still working on some photos for those of you wondering about the Korea trip but for now I’m down to my last day hanging out with the family before I return to the beige splendor of my cube and the thrills and spills of riding the bus to work. If I’m lucky I’ll have time to write up some stories while I commute. Lately, time has been the thing I’ve had least. And mine, right now, is up. Goodnight!