Thursday, March 08, 2007
Rocks In My Dryer's Works For Me: The Kitchen Edition
Several more themed editions are coming up.
I'm back, sort of...
The cranes are gone, the power seems to be steady (knock wood), and now I have several days worth of work to get caught up on, and I've got several offline projects underway...
Side note: When the fellow came to the door to tell us about the outage planned for the next morning from 6 to 9, I thanked him for the info, and he looked at me kind of funny, as if he doesn't get many thanks for delivering that kind of news. That's too bad.
I'm sure the power company knows that losing power for that length of time might mean more than inconvenience for some people. For instance, until quite recently for us it would have meant using oxygen tanks until the power came back on and we could use the oxygen concentrator again. As it was, my husband opted to go without extra oxygen for that length of time since he's generally strong enough to do that these days, without his oxygen levels plummeting. That's not to say I didn't have a tank ready and the oxygen meter on hand and didn't, like, you know, check on him now and then, as he slept. (Sorry, guys. It's a wife thing. Sometimes we can't help it.)
Besides which, silly me, I think simple manners require that you thank people for going out of their way on your behalf.
Anyway, I appreciate that they came to the door to make sure we knew what we would be up against. Not that we aren't prepared for that kind of emergency anyway, but it was nice to make sure we had everything lined up. Thanks again, OTEC.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
French radio dramas teach French, Polish, German
RFI's latest bilingual radio-drama set in a video game. Follow Eva on her mission to save the French Republic from time-terrorists. Will she be able succeed?
Eva finds herself in the midst of a huge explosion at the "Gare de l’Est" in Paris. A wounded man gives her a first clue: a series of numbers. She then finds an old book with the inscription: "La statue domine le mort mais la fertilité est retrouvée". What does it all mean? The gamer has to guide Eva through Paris, past its old booksellers, via the painters in Montmartre to the Père Lachaise cemetery. At her disposal is a magic taxi to speed her around the city. Then there’s the handsome Adrien, a fearless fireman. But hot in pursuit are the mysterious Blackhats. Will Eva complete her mission in time and save the French Republic?
every Monday at 12, 14 and 16 UT.
I found audio links, but only got a promo, but elsewhere on the RFI site I found a webpage for people who would like to learn French online. There are fictional adventures,"The news in simple French," tests, more.
And there I found the Mission Europe site (emphasis in original):
Immerse yourself in the world of languages with three exciting Mission Europe adventures. Mission Berlin, Misja Kraków and Mission Paris offer an interesting approach to language learning in 26 episodes. You experience three missions from the perspective of a computer player who joins virtual heroines on adventures in France, Poland and Germany.
In Mission Berlin, the player and the virtual heroine Anna fight against the enemies of re-unified Germany. In Misja Kraków, the player and Suzanna must halt the opponents of Poland's EU accession. In Mission Paris, the player and the heroine Eva compete against an enemy who wants to return France to the era of Napoleon III and restore the Second Empire. After you've successfully completed your mission, you are rewarded with insight into a country, its language and its culture. Choose an adventure and discover the French, German or Polish language. And remember: Danger is lurking everywhere.
Christians growing in Algeria?
Over the last 20 years I have had the privilege of covering stories of God's people in 94 countries. This was my first trip to Algeria, the fabled northwest African country bordering the Mediterranean Sea. My assignment that April 2005 was to report on the fastest-growing church-planting movement in the Muslim world.
My translator was a product of this phenomenon. On the way to my accommodations, Davy shared how he had loved to listen to Christian music on Radio Monte Carlo when he was a university student. Eventually, at his request, they sent him a copy of the Gospels. Reading Jesus' Sermon on the Mount made a big impact, especially the phrase "love your enemies."
Give me a minute. I've had a lifetime of thinking casinos when I hear Monte Carlo. This is rather unexpected, I must say.
Being openly Christian in a Muslim country isn't safe, however, as Meroff explains later in the article.
The high cost of following Christ means there are few nominal believers. Christians commonly suffer beatings, lose their homes, jobs, and sometimes their lives. Yet they continue to put themselves on the line, even giving their testimonies on television.
Hold on a moment while your hostess googles...
Ah, Radio Monte Carlo isn't broadcast out of the gambling center. It's actually... well, actually it appears to be several stations run by different organizations, broadcasting to and from all sorts of places: France, Monaco, Italy, Russia...
And the Arabic broadcasts originate from Paris, over Radio Monte Carlo Moyen-Orient, which is part of the Radio France Internationale Group? Am I reading that right?
Some Algerians have found Christ through broadcasts from Paris? Am I reading that right?
It certainly is an interesting world in which we live, no?
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Lunar eclipse tonight
A request to those of you in a good area for viewing: please keep the outdoor lights to a minimum, if you can. When I was in college, we set up on top of a several-story building to watch and photograph a lunar eclipse. Just as it started getting good, a couple of athletes turned on the floodlights for night playing at the tennis court. Which was situated at the foot of the building on which we were perched. Naturally.
I think we scared them silly with our howls of dismay (there not usually being people on the roof, much less in the middle of the night, much less howly people). When we got coherent enough to tell them why we were upset, they graciously tried to turn off the lights. But couldn't. The lights were on a timeset, and flipping the switch had turned them on for a half hour or hour or whatever. I guess the college had had trouble with people leaving the lights on, and so had opted for a system that turned them off after what was deemed a reasonable lapse of time under normal circumstances.
At any rate, we could sorta see the eclipse, but not very well, and forget using the more-sensitive scientific equipment we'd dragged up there. Bummer. :(
Friday, March 02, 2007
Oh, you're paying for it? In that case...
Hearing that J.'s experience was so close to ours made me think that there might be some of you out there who could benefit from something we learned along the way, his family and ours.
Long story short: When we staggered, weary and worried, into the medical supply store to arrange for an oxygen concentrator for home use, we ran into a problem. We didn't have insurance that would cover precisely that and we weren't on welfare of any sort and didn't intend to be if we could help it. And the rental fee for an oxygen concentrator was something like $380 or $385 a month. I forget the exact figure, but it was the straw that broke the camel's back; just enough to push us onto welfare, at least for the time being. We didn't want that. On the other hand we had to have supplemental oxygen; under the circumstances an oxygen concentrator was the difference between life and death. The lady watched us crumple in surrender to cruel fate, and then, taking pity, she said it might make sense for us to buy one.
We braced ourselves and asked how much that would cost.
She said we could probably find a refurbished one for around $500. Sometimes you could even find one for $450. Sometimes they cost something more than $500. They were in short supply, but she'd see if she could find one for us, if we wanted.
We wanted. Oh, how we wanted.
She came through for us, for what she'd estimated.
You read that right. To buy a used but refurbished and perfectly adequate oxygen concentrator cost us less than two months' rental fees.
J.'s wife's concentrator also cost him about $500. He'd had insurance, but the co-pay was high enough that it made all the sense in the world to buy instead of rent.
On a related note, when my husband was battling heart failure and pneumonia a hospital nurse told us that they'd ordered up a hospital bed for us to use at home. We asked how much that would cost. She gave us a variation on 'don't worry about that, dearies.' We told her we had to worry about that because we were self-pay. They obviously don't have a lot of self-pay patients; most folks apparently have insurance or government assistance or are deadbeats who have no third-party coverage but also no intention of paying their bills. After taking in that we really were people who paid their own way we got the information that as long as he slept at an incline we'd be all right. The point was that he'd suffocate and die if he tried to sleep without being propped up. A recliner would do nicely, if he could sleep in a recliner. And so we managed with a recliner, which we already had.
Cakes, decorated to the nines
No harm, no foul (just red faces)
Oh, good. I'm not the only human being who has a bad sense of direction and sometimes gets lost.
(Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought the AP writer seemed disappointed that both countries treated it as a kerfuffle and not a major incident worthy of "serious repercussions"? As if, perhaps, just perhaps, he/she felt cheated of a story he could really sink his teeth into? Heh.)
Monday, February 26, 2007
On bookplates
Taste testing a good book
Full article hereMy husband is reading "The Secret Garden" aloud to our boys. They are at the part where Mary Lennox has told Colin that she's found the garden his mother loved. It's an exciting moment. But the passage I'm waiting for is a few chapters on, after Colin has tasted his first breaths of fresh moorland air and Mary has grown strong running in the garden. It's just a detail, but my kids will notice it: a luscious description of roasted potatoes and eggs.
We have a tradition of trying foods from the books we read aloud. It started when we read Elizabeth Enright's "The Saturdays," and one of the boys asked, "What are petit fours?"
An answer, my husband and I felt, wouldn't be as good as a sample. So one Saturday we all sat down to tea and little cakes, iced in pink, green, and yellow. It was exciting for the boys to try a dessert they had learned about in a book...
That's my kind of tradition. :)
hat tip: Albert Mohler
Burglar's Bane snow
I couldn't help thinking that if I were a burglar or mugger I would have hated that snow.
Bread 'from scratch'
'Oh,' the young man said, perking up, 'What type of bread machine did she buy?'
'She doesn't have a machine. She made it by hand,' my husband informed the fellow. For which information he got something along the lines of a blank stare.
'Why would she do that?' the young man asked, when he got his voice together.
'Because it's fun,' my husband said...
Now, don't get me wrong. I don't think bread machines are inherently bad. If I get gimpier or my hands get to hurting too much, or I have to take on many more work hours, I might use one myself someday. And, if we ate a tremendous quantity of breadstuffs around here, I could see a bread machine might make sense, at least during more harried days and weeks.
But why in the Sam Hill, if you're able, would you let a machine have all the fun? (So to speak.) I ask you.
Perhaps too many of us in recent decades have been influenced by people who look down on housework, including cooking, as drudge work - but at the same time consider cooking, especially from scratch, to be the sort of thing that is beyond their capacity to learn. (Yes, I know that's a bit inconsistent, but people tend to be inconsistent, don't they? Or perhaps it's merely a variation on "sour grapes"?) And bread making in particular is often held up these days as Very Hard Indeed. Not to mention Something That Takes A Lot of Time. And also Somehow Different From Other Cooking. And, of course, Reported to Be Prone to Failure... especially if you aren't born with some vaguely mystical magical inner gift for cooking that some folks seem to think exists. (As if even the best cook around didn't have to learn to cook? Even, for all intents and purposes, learn to cook over and over again as he/she took on new types of food? Hello?)
Well. I'm prepared to be humbled a few times by batches that don't turn out (I've made three types of bread so far, and so far I seem to be having beginner's luck, but I'm not kidding myself that I know what I'm doing yet).
On top of that, bread making doesn't really take quite the time or effort that I'd been led to think it might. You do have to be around at the right times, but that's true of a lot of things. Including the average family dinner.
And it is fun. And a great stress buster.
So I intend to keep at it. I intend, in fact, to make up recipes until I invent a bread or two or three uniquely mine. Translation: I have a hard time sticking to recipes. I love to experiment in the kitchen. :)
(Did I mention that I'm prepared to be humbled by batches that don't turn out?)
Of course, you're visiting the blog of someone whose favorite classes in school included labs for chemistry and physics. People who love chem lab are naturals for cooking, I think, because cooking gives you the same sort of thrills and experience and feedback, and (barring the inevitable, occasional flubs) - tah dah! - you get to eat the results.
But, anyway, even for folks who don't like to 'invent' food, bread baking is fun, I think, and the most fun comes in the stages that people with bread machines cede to the machine.
The dough changes as you knead it. Very curious, that. And that going from a smallish solid mass to an airy largish mass during the risings (aka proofs) is interesting, too. And that whooshing sound that often happens when you punch the dough down? I kind of get a kick out of that. (I know, I know, I'm too easily amused. But there it is.)
Do you ever wonder (I do), how we ever got to this point? I mean, who in their right mind would have tried eating yeast bread in the first place? Really? I mean, if you were sitting around minding your own business and the dough you'd made for flat bread happened to pick up yeast from the air (which fact you wouldn't know, of course) and bubbled and expanded and smelled different from usual, would you turn to someone and say, 'Let's beat the air out of that and pat it into shape and see what happens?'
OK, maybe you'd do that. Maybe I'd do that. Especially if the food supply was tight.
But, when it bubbled and smelled and spilled itself out of a container or crept over the edge of the counter a second time, seeming strangely alive in an odd and unprecedented way, would you even consider trying to cook it and eat it? If you weren't crazy, I mean?
I'm glad our ancestors figured it out, and shared, and that cooks through the ages have improved our knowledge of how all this works. But I wonder - if I'd been at the front end of all this, with no one I trusted to tell me it was good that way - if I wouldn't have been scared of the stuff and thrown it away and started over?
Update: Melissa Wiley and her children are also beginner breadbakers, and they've got a bread blog - Peace of Bread - where they're collecting their successes, failures, recipes, notes, questions and answers. Check out, for instance, The Science of Bread.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Book note: 500 Time-saving Hints for Every Woman, by Emilie Barnes
British World War I records coming online
Service and pension records for more than two million soldiers who fought in the British army in World War I are being put online for the first time.
The documents provide a broad range of detail, from name and next of kin to wounds suffered and conduct record.
The release by the Ancestry website, working in partnership with the National Archives, is taking place in stages over the next two years.
The images are available to view on a subscription or pay-per-view basis.
All the records are already viewable on 28,000 rolls of microfilm at the National Archives in west London, but it is hoped the digitisation process will make them available to a much wider audience.
For an account from a man using newly released documents in a quest to learn more about a grandfather he never knew, see Uncovering the trenches, by Rob Liddle, BBC, Feb. 23, 2007.
New Zealand fishermen land a colossal squid that lives up to the name
In the linked article, the BBC provides a size comparison chart, using a London bus as a starting point. The squid is longer.
For those of you into specifics, the squid in question is said to be a Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni, and it was found in Antarctic waters.
An abundance of toes
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Woodlands Web
I expect I'll be spending a bit of time in the Guide to British Life, Culture and Customs section. Too fun. :)
They invite questions, by the way.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Book note: Around a Rusty God, by Augusta Walker
In a world threatened by war and famine, a little boy builds a frail security for his most cherished possessions, two spindly goats. Their world is China, but it might be anywhere, for this poignant story tells a universal truth about the way a child grows in maturity by taking care of something he loves.
After reading the book (condensed version), I will say that it's different from anything else I've read recently, and I don't mean that in a bad way. According to the write-up in this book, the author taught English at Lingnan University in Canton, China, from 1947 until 1950, when she was forced to leave the country. She has a distinctive voice and a gift of description, and the assuredness of someone who seems to have noticed a great deal.
I'd disagree a bit with the blurb, in that the story struck me less as being about 'a universal truth' than about the craziness and failings of humankind, some of it being funny, and some being sad, but most of it ringing true:
So Beng Gow became a goatherd. His mother never understood it, although she was always explaining it to people. All the women came with their babies tied on their backs to have it explained to them. A teacher at the Big School had heard about the virtues of her son, who certainly was not worthy of such fame, and went out driving one day to look for him. He found her worthless son sitting on a grave, minding the geese for Ah Lok, who was no account at all minding geese, and he drove her son away in the automobile to give him anything in the world he wanted. But her undeserving son wanted nothing for himself, only to serve the Gow Sow, and so he became the Gow Sow's goatherd, and was so self-denying that he would accept no more than five hundred yen every seven days.
Ah Lok's mother did not like this story, and she told one of her own. One day her son had been out obediently tending the geese, and Beng Gow, whose mother had no geese to tend, nor anything else, came along looking for something to do, and threw a stone and killed a goose. A teacher of the Big School then came by in an automobile and, taking pity on her weeping son, seized Beng Gow and took him to town to make him buy something for Ah Lok. But Beng Gow had no money, of course, so the Gow Sow bought the goats, and Beng Gow was being forced to take care of them for Ah Lok by way of payment until they were big enough to eat. As for the five hundred yen, this did not exist.
Everybody doubted both stories and modified them, and many versions were told. And indeed Beng Gow was not able to bring home the money very often, for the Gow Sow could not remember it. Sometimes he remembered and paid a thousand at once, and then Beng Gow's mother would buy a very large fish, which she showed to everybody as evidence of what she had told.
Neither mother is very close to being right in her version, by the way. Not by a long shot, actually.
A question: I was trying to find out more about the author, and haven't been able to scurry up much yet - but on various bookselling websites I've noticed several copies of a book called The Goat Boy by Augusta Walker, also from 1954, but published by Michael Joseph, London, instead of The Dial Press, New York. I'm guessing this is the same book, but I'm not sure. Does anybody know?
Book note: 24 Declassified: Cat's Claw, by John Whitman
But for those of you who "get" the Jack Bauer popularity, and can't get enough of his exploits, there are (did you know?), books, too. For instance:

24 Declassified: Cat's Claw
Clicking on the book cover will take you to Barnes & Noble.
Update: Oh, good. The show's executive producer says they'll be cutting back on torture scenes. I'm with Danielle Bean on this. Only, I'd add, "Yay, Mrs. Gordon!"
