Basil Tomato Sauce

The moment canning tomatoes arrive at the farmer's market in large boxes, I begin dreaming of canning sauce.

I tried out a recipe for basil tomato sauce this year from Ashley English's Homemade Living: Canning and Preserving. I've yet to actually taste said sauce but if the smell that filled the house while it simmered is any indication, this is going to be amazing on pasta. I bought a small farmer out of all of his Roma tomatoes picked up an onion from another stall, and was given a lovely bunch of basil by a professor in my department. I love the idea of these materials coming together to become sauce. 

After peeling, before simmering and an attack by the immersion blender. Meaty deliciousness. 

And the simmering continues. I am always a little shocked by how quickly tomatoes simmer down, especially as they simmer for the second time. The smell, however, continued to be amazing. 

Oh, yes. Little jars of summer sunshine ready for the winter. I can't wait to get into these when the temperatures drop.

I am continually amazed by the reactions I get from people when I stop to buy canning supplies. In preparation for this canning excursion, I stopped at the local hardware and bought new jars. The lovely woman behind the counter, to her credit, asked me what I was planning to fill them with. This is normally a conversation about what my wife will fill them with, which always makes me giggle a bit. After explaining my plans for said jars, she commented that I was really young to want to can. Unsure what this means, but entertaining nonetheless.

More canning adventures to follow. I still need tomatoes in their own juices for chili and would love to can some apple butter. After my quals defense, of course.

They Tend Not To

I had the opportunity to watch a dear, dear friend defend his dissertation yesterday after watching him write furiously all summer. It was amazing. He was amazing. His work was powerful and meaningful and, well, amazing. It makes me excited to begin my own work in the fall. Oh so much to do before that happens, though. Decisions. Writing. Ugh. 

At a soiree afterward, I saw another dear, dear friend who is returning to her classroom today, teaching fourth grade after being a reading specialist for several years. She was relating an exchange she had with a researcher at a conference she attended this summer, during which the researcher shared that "lots of PhDs want to return to the classroom, they really do, but they tend not to." 

Just something that has been marinating in my brain the last few hours. 

I Wish I Had Said That

"The working-class children we once were are in our bodies, even though we have moved on. We occasionally still feel physically uncomfortable in some privileged social settings, keen to escape rather than engage, afraid that we will be exposed as imposters when we make some kind of verbal or physical wrong move." (Comber, B., Thomson, P., & Wells, M., Critical Literacy Finds a "Place": Writing and Social Action in a Low-Income Australian 2/3 Classroom)

Linky Love

I love Detroit. I love it even more when it is written about in a positive light.

Why would you need a college degree? I bet he's got a degree, though...

This reminds me to revisit the plagiarism policies in my syllabus.

I kind of all sorts of love it: Transgender camp.

I enjoy this more than I should:

The Fall of the House of Whelmed

It wasn't until this morning, as I listened to this song in my car after seeing Liz and Don off on their multi-state adventure, that I broke down and cried. It's not that moving has been hard - physically tolling, yes, but really nothing I haven't done before - but that this last year has been so good. It's hard to imagine it ending. Even writing this now in my new bedroom, filled with boxes waiting to be unpacked, my brain thinks I will eventually go back to Clark Street. My gosh, that's melodramatic.

Regardless, I am all moved into the new digs. My roomies are diligently working through their first weekend of qualifying exams while I'm attempting to be quiet while unpacking. I'm being partially successful.

I was brutal with this move, culling the collection of stuff in ridiculous ways. I'm a sentimental hoarder: I keep things because someone made it for me, bought it for me. Items that I don't use but hold onto because I feel I have to. My fourth move in as many years and enough was enough: I dropped two carloads of things at Goodwill, which, judging from the line of cars at their donation door, had a very good day today. So much schtuff.

Schtuff that needs to be unpacked. I should go do some of just that.

Nothing Rhymes with Orange

I've noticed I have a bit of an orange obsession going at the moment:

The first tomato from the plants I bought back in May. Delightfully orange and delicious on a sandwich. This could also be considered more red than orange. I'm claiming it as a hybrid of the two.

A stack of fat quarters from my local fabric store. Orange seems to be the dominant color - who can resist Heather Ross? And imagine my delight when I found some stray Hope Valley! Slowly but surely collecting a full set of fat quarters from that fabric line. The orange basket weave might be one of my favorites ever. 

Zinnias from the Farmer's Market. These are a little bittersweet as they remind me that summer is coming to an end. However, this also means that sweater weather is close and, really, who can resist how cheerful they are? 

Small Graces

There's nothing better than a cup of coffee (much milk and some sugar added, please) and a morning project. Other things I've enjoyed this week:

(1) I've been tutoring in the public library for a few weeks now and it's totally reminded me how much I love teaching. I can't imagine not doing it and am kinda freaking out about not having a group of undergrads in the fall. After a tutoring session on Tuesday, one of the librarians approached my table, patted me on the back, and told me, "I love watching a great teacher. You do such a good job with these kids."

(2) The Lizard Ridge seaming is almost done. So freaking close. Then to knit on the edging, block, and use. Once the fall sets in, that is.

(3) I've been packing boxes for about two weeks now. Moving is sad, especially when you've been lucky enough to have an amazing set of roommates. It is also filled with possibility. I'm trying to dwell in that possibility. I'm also attempting to clean out some of my crap. How did I collect so much stuff?

Of Pickles and Pick-ups

Last weekend, Sarah and I began the yearly tradition of putting up some of the local produce for the winter. Every year it seems we can a little more, try a few more techniques. This particular summer we decided to give pickles a go. During my recent trip to Michigan, my aunt gave me my grandmother's recipe for bread and butter pickles, a deliciously sweet and tangy condiment that immediately evokes memories of summer for me. We canned pickles last Sunday, working in shifts in her kitchen.

Perhaps a sign of the general number of projects I'm working on at the moment, but I realized that I was sans wide-mouth lids on the way to Sarah's house. The jars clinking together in my backseat would do little good without lids to seal. After calling to inquire about other items, I stopped the Kroger, which does a fairly good job of keeping a variety of canning supplies on their shelves and well stocked at that. While reaching for said lids, a mustachioed gent, whose cart contained three cases of jars, asked if I canned. What proceeded was a fifteen minute conversation about supplies, recipes, and the personal preferences of canning. It was his first time canning, having found a bumper crop of cucumbers in his garden, and he would spend the rest of the afternoon turning them into pickles. I told him of my own impending pickling of the cukes.

"That's cool. I wish I had someone to can with so I could ask questions. Hey, do you think I could have your number in case I don't know what I'm doing?"

I wrote my number on a scrap of paper, wished him the best with his canning adventures, and didn't realize until I reached the car that I had just given out my number in a grocery store. Strange.

He called the next day; all of his jars sealed and lined up on his shelves, as were mine.

Lizard Ridging Along

Prior to leaving for the weekend, I spent a few nights weaving in and trimming the ends from the Lizard Ridge blocks. A few episodes of Mary Tyler Moore a night and it was done rather quickly. Brainless activity. That's a beautiful thing. I even started sewing them together but, after a weekend away, ripped it out last night and started again.

Part of the glitch was how the blocks were laying. I was seeing one of the cast-off edges and it just bothered me to no end. I also wanted to think of a way to seam as continuously as possible. I took a note from quilting and chain-pieced the bottom two rows of blocks together. It's a little awkward to handle, but I like the idea of stitching together all the horizontal seams in one general movement. It's also turned out to go a little faster than I thought it would. I pieced the first twelve blocks together in the course of two episodes of Family Guy.

I'm unsure I'm in love with the gray as a border, but I'll have to wait and see what it all looks like put together. I refuse to pull any more sewing apart so the gray stitches, they stay.

Note To Self: Qualifying Exams

Our department allows us to write our own questions for our qualifying exams. While I thought I had prepared adequately for them, I wanted to quickly jot down a few thoughts about the process so that, should I ever find myself working through the same process (hopefully from another perspective), I have some insights into how to make it a better process for all. 

Throughout the thirty days, organization was key. The above? It's what somewhat worked for me: piles of books based on what conceptual material they were dealing with, a file jacket with articles organized in file folders along the same lines, and a Mendeley database. Toward the end, it did get a little dicey, but I'm unsure any organization system can survive me caught within the violent thrust of a deadline. 

When composing these questions, I was primarily concerned with the material to be covered within them. I should have paid attention to the products that were expected as well - I was constantly struggling a workshop question that I really had no clue what was actually expected of me. I did too much and fear I did none of it very well at all. (This fear has since been disbanded. It was fine - just not as complete as I would have perhaps liked.) 

Set realistic guidelines for how you will spend your time with your questions. I thought I would work through one question a week but spent the first week reading. That killed my week of revising, really, but I had the opportunity to cover a lot of material I hadn't covered in my coursework. It forced me to shift my plans, though. Also: make sure you know how and in what format your committee wants your materials. 

I keep thinking of these exams, this body of writing as a beginning point for the work that will begin in August, a space to begin thinking about the ways in which the kiddos and I will engage in making meaning through technology. It doesn't have to be perfect but I need to know what those spaces are where I have no covered something. For me, this is an undertheorization of power, a generalized sense of identity, and an awkward wielding of standpoint theory. All things I will read up on and form opinions of before my defense. It doesn't need to be perfect. Just workable. 

Above all: if you're in the middle of your exams: breathe. What you have learned will come together in surprising ways. It's do-able despite seeming totally ridiculous while you're within them. 

Linky Love: Gratitude, When Video Games Attack, and Quilting Crushes

Every once in a while I run across a blog that completely captivates me. Leah Dieterich's THXTHXTHX does just that. Her daily notes of gratitude often make me pause to consider my own state of life, usually accompanied by a giggle. Yes, a giggle. 


The roomies and I are selling our Wii soon but I kind of want to keep it, if only to play this game. 


Speaking of video games, when Pixels attack! 


I missed the golden age of Domino magazine, so I'm thankful some of the archives are being made public. One can never have too much aesthetically pleasing house porn to procrastinate to. 


In the midst of packing, I find myself in this very predicament. 


I could spend hours on Google Maps. Luckily, the Huffington Post has collected the most bizarre and strange photos for my, and your, entertainment. 


I really must read more about the man behind Charlie Brown. 


Everything about her is just lovely: her fabrics, her inspiration, the tools she uses. Denyse Schmidt, I think I have a little of a crush on you. 


And, lastly, chucks tend not to fit me very well as I am afflicted with the WIDE feet but I might have to suffer for a pair of these. 

Life, Post-Quals

Quals were due Friday. By 11:59pm at the latest. Due to a formatting snaffu - and I mean a formatting snafu of the oh-crap-what-just-happened-why-did-my-computer-suddenly-turn-off sort - they actually didn't get turned into until 12:20am Saturday. Twenty minutes late. Crap. Regardless, they are in, my computer is still functioning (although I'm beginning to question the stability of Mendeley), and the rest of the summer can begin.

I somewhat expected that moment where I hit the send button to be something like a fireworks moment, the pure oppression of thirty days of intense writing to be lifted from my shoulders. Perhaps it was the last minute insanity of reformatting 93 pages of writing or just sheer exhaustion, but I honestly didn't feel a thing. Nothing. Not even an itch in my nose. Rather, I packed up my materials and went home to sleep.

I awoke the next morning and was instantly filled with dread: all 93 pages of dangling participles and incomplete sentences. Over the course of the weekend, I slowly talked myself into knowing that, while not the written masterpieces of my life, these essays weren't the messes I was making them into. These exams, they are works in process. Breathe. Relax. Read a non-acadmic books. (This, by the way, is amazing. I've always loved McCracken, but her writing here is beautiful and painful and optimistic and enjoyable. I devoured it.)

The weekend was spent catching up on life, all the errands that didn't get done while in the midst of writing. Planning projects. Running miles. I'm exhausted, still sleeping at least eight hours a night. Rare hours of sleep for me. Yet, surprisingly, I find myself ready to jump into the next phase, the planning of my research, the launch of my study.

I think this is as close as I have ever felt to being an adult.

Random Happiness

Walking back to my car after yesterday morning's meeting, I happened by some knit graffiti. Multi-colored, it made me ridiculously happy despite the stress of the week. 

Last Lizard Ridge Block

Every night during this qualifying exam process, I have been spending that last hour of my waking day in front of the television and knitting. It gives me a chance to think about the progress of the day (never enough) and plan for the day to come while creating something I can hold in my hands. That's the thing about qualifying exams: you exert so much energy on them but never actually produce anything, at least until you print it out. I haven't printed anything out yet, primarily because I'm avoiding any and all editing until closer to Friday, when these writings are due. 

Ah, but I digress. That picture above? That's my last Lizard Ridge square. Two years later and all the blocks will be knit. Well, knit soon enough. I'm hoping it will be done by Friday. That would be two large projects off my hands by the time 11:59pm rolls around. 

Seven Days

I've been working nonstop on qualifying exams for twenty-three days now. I will turn them in next Friday and hope they are solid enough to promote me from doctoral student to doctoral candidate. Fingers are crossed, breath is being held. That's not to say the entire twenty-three days has been nothing but work - there have been moments of respite, like Wednesday's bowling challenge. The Dissertators and the Qualifying gathered for an afternoon of throwing heavy objects down a lane in hopes of causing some mass destruction. It was therapeutic and definitely more of a metaphor for the moment than I would like to admit.

I've the outlines of my questions done. The major readings I need to do are complete. Now to thread together all the snippets of what I've written and smooth it over into something readable. It can be done. There is an end point at which life will resume.

To remind myself of that, a list of what I'd like to complete before the summer is over, post-qualifying exams:

Craftiness
* Clara's holiday gift. Lots of sewing involved in this one... hopefully the month of July?
* Finish my Lizard Ridge. This has been the knitting project that never ends, but I am a block and a half away from my thirty. May the massive amounts of sewing and knitting edging begin! So close!
* Begin the zig-zag quilt. I've had this stash of Hope Valley for a bit now and am itching to actually do something with it. I love the zig zag tutorial and think it will be somewhat doable. At least more doable than the last zig zag quilt, which I still need to pull apart and either make into something new or turn it back into a quilt. One that doesn't look like the person sewing it was on crack.
* Maybe even finish a wedding afghan. Especially since the wedding's already passed... I have a year, right?

Leisure
* Read at least three books not related to school. I'm thinking this, this, and this should be delightful.

This is, of course, ignoring the fact that I have (a) 2 classes to finish by the first week of August and (b) have to move out of the House of Whelmed by the end of July. (This last point has me a little verklempt.) I'm going to think that there is all the time in the world to do these things. Don't try to convince me otherwise.

Yes. Now must go write. Dialogue and teaching. I'm so sick of writing about dialogue and writing at this point... but I will finish it today, finish the second question tomorrow, and write through the workshop leading up to Friday's turn-in date. Doable, yes?

I've come to the following conclusion: had I to do it over again, I wouldn't come to graduate school. I wouldn't pursue my doctorate. I would remain in my classroom and teach, reading and writing in the hours afterward. It's an uneasy conclusion to arrive at, especially since my institution has been kind enough to support me during my time here. Please don't confuse this as being ungrateful; I'm not. I am unsure that what I gained is more valuable than what I gave up. Damned hindsight.

I've been working at a local elementary school as a reading teacher the past few weeks, working with a small group of students before school lets out for the summer holiday, and am reminded of the rush when that certain circuit connects in a child's brain. Suddenly, the symbols on the page not only make sense but they mean something. I've missed these tiny epiphanies. I've missed the social-ness of teaching. Being a scholar is such isolating work. I am not an isolated person.

My qualifying exams begin in three days. Thirty days, three questions, sixty pages. I keep thinking about the whole experience, wondering why the hell I'm doing this to myself.

Note To Self: On Your Birthday Eve

Dear Self: 

Do you remember your tenth birthday? It was cool yet sunny and your aunt showed up totally sloshed, shoving rolls of quarters attached to mylar balloons into your hand before she exclaimed in her slurred speech that you were growing up so fast. It wasn't until she went into the house that it hit you, the sadness, in inevitability of time. Never again would you be a single digit. There would always be a number in the tens place. I think this fed into those years of agonizing over leaving for college yet we both know how quickly you packed your bags when the time came. 

I feel like 29 has the possibility of being that kind of year, filled with grief over the steady passage of time. This 28-year-old is worried, quite honestly, that 29 will be hard. There will be lots of writing, more hard work to be done than hours in the day, and the potential to uproot everything and begin somewhere else. Again. 

It will be okay. Remember that you always seem to work your way through the chaos and emerge standing, albeit slightly bruised sometimes. Be risky. You play it too safe - you know this. Just not too risky. (See how hard this is!) Be kind to yourself. You always instruct others to do so yet rarely follow the advice yourself. Guard yourself against cynicism. I can feel it creeping in. Battle against it. That's not who you are, it will not be who you become. Don't borrow trouble. You cause enough on your own. Love, you jackass. It's not as though you have a finite amount of the stuff. 

May 29 be a good year. 

Be Well, 

You 

Exhausted

I taught today.

My children's literature class started this morning. At nine o'clock in the morning, seven undergrads and I began talking and thinking about children's literature and will do so for the next three weeks. It's the first new class I've taught since my first year and, risking sounding like a geek, I find the search for readings and experiences exhilarating. But exhausting.

Add to this class working at a local school as reading support. Three afternoons a week, I get to go hang out and first graders and figure out the mysteries of learning to read. I've missed teaching, actually working with a kiddo and figuring out what will work for them. Yes, it's frustrating and chaotic and messy, but golly do I miss it.

Today I got to teach twenty-one-year olds about the Puritan tradition of children's literature and six-year olds about the multiple sounds C makes. I am exhausted but I taught my ass off and it felt freaking amazing.

Grad School = Running

The House of Whelmed has been abuzz today in anticipation of this afternoon's graduation. Hair was curled, make-up was applied, those fancy doctoral robes were ironed. It was quite a production, really; a flurry of activity for a quick mention of one's name and a walk across the stage. Anne commented this morning that this was probably the first time she has walked throughout her entire doctoral program. Not walk in a physical way, but walk as in taking a moment to really exist in the moment without having to worry about what project was next, what papers needed to submitted to what journals, where those articles were. We have all been running through our programs, filling our summer schedules with classes, our spare moments with transcribing, even our sleeping hours are occupied with dreams of coding and theory. Yet I'm unsure that I would have it any other way: yes, there are moments of exhaustion, of physical pain, but there are moments where the simple joy of the metaphorical run are breathtaking.

The Last Friday of the Semester

I submit Boston Terriers as the most adorable dogs in the world. Seriously, who could resist loving that mug? 

I digress: the semester, he is done. In larger news, my coursework for my doctorate is done. This last revelation hasn't quite settled in my brain yet and probably won't until I've worked my way through quals in June. I am so close. To what, I am unsure, but I am close. 

It just hit me: the semester ends in two weeks. Drat, drat, drat. How did I get here? 

I'm struggling against myself as I work to finish up classes, draft my quals exam questions, and prepare to teach class this summer. This last part is a new addition to my summer docket: a three-week course on children's literature in the elementary classroom. This is the class I've been lusting after since I arrived in Indiana and I finally get to teach it. Twelve sessions. Three weeks. It begins in three weeks and I still have this semester to wrap up. 

I imagine there being some all-nighters in my general future. Overall, this isn't a horrible thing. 

In other news, dang is it beautiful outside. 

Weekend Away

Saturday in Detroit. Book sale at the Detroit Public Library and an afternoon wandering around The Henry Ford. Brilliant, I tell you. Brilliant. 

Herman Miller Goodness

I'm trying to zip through the week, which is a tricky proposition. I try to live in the moment, to expand my hours as much as possible, but with a trip back to Michigan in the plans for the weekend, I want Thursday afternoon to be here NOW. I haven't seen my best friend Candice since Christmas and we are planning a weekend of lounging, sight-seeing, and general tomfoolery.

I'm overly excited about heading to the Henry Ford, literally just a hop, skip and a jump away from Candice's house to see the Good Design: Stories from Herman Miller exhibit. I'm a sucker for HM, a Michigan company whose plastic-molded chairs and futuristic office furniture are celebrated for their mid-century aesthetic. I will, one day, own a circular oak table surrounded by white plastic-molded chairs with Eiffel bases. It's a goal.

As I researched the exhibit in an attempt to plan out our weekend, I came across The Print Gallery, another Michigan company with a unique Herman Miller connection. Since 1970, Herman Miller has been hosting a summer picnic for their employees and commemorating them with annual posters; The Print Gallery has been given permission to sell prints of these visual delights. They are so summery, so bright and cheery, yet still full of the aesthetic one would expect from Herman Miller.

All images: EverythingArt.com

These are some of my favorites and with decent pricing (from $45 for recent posters to $250 for limited editions), I think I'm making one of them my "congrats, you survived another semester" present to myself. Now if only I could finish writing all the papers that need to be turned in before that happens...

Lists rather than actual posts.

I've been meaning to post for about four days now but haven't seemed to find the time. As such, I have a ton of stuff in my head that I need to get out, which will result in the following list:

I have the best roomies ever. This past week was filled with anxiety and woe as I had... 

...a keynote address to give on Friday. Don't I look all scholarly-like? I was asked to give the keynote at a small conference here on campus, the only directive was to make it inspirational. When I signed on, I figured I could pull it off without a problem. Only when I realized the Dean of the School of Ed was last year's speaker (and my course supervisor and on of my teacher heroes was the speaker the year before that) did I start falling apart a bit. As I wrote last entry (which also consisted of a list - let's hope this is not a habit I'm starting here), who am I to give this talk at a conference about exemplary? Crap. So I avoided myself all together and talked about my kids, our time together, and how important they are to me still. I talked about exemplary work in college as a contract for future exemplary work, binding them to providing students with thoughtful, deliberate instruction while still being aware of who their students are as people. Reviews have been positive, which is good. (Notes to self for future speeches, should I ever be asked again: you over-plan. Remember thinking you had about ten minutes of dead air time so you hurried up and wrote more? Yeah, don't do that. You forget that people need time to laugh, time to think. Oh, and just put notes on your PPT slides. You are not a reader of the screen. You know this, trust yourself.) 

I finished Sweater Quest, by the hilarious Adrienne Martini, a week or so ago and it inspired me to try knitting socks again. My first summer of knitting, about two years ago, I managed to work my way through a sock from the top-down, which was an unnerving project - what if I run out of yarn? what if they don't fit? OMG, WHAT AM I DOING!? Not a pleasant project. So for two years, I've had this skein of Harry Potter sock yarn in my stash, taunting me (particularly because I had to search high and low and across three states for the blasted thing). Using some mad Google skills, I located some tutorials (here and here and here for those interested) and cast on. A little over a week later, I've a sock! And it fits! No pictures, though... I'm trying to wait until I have them both done... It could be a while. 

Mmmm... a quilt top. It's so much better than the first one. The seams on this one (kinda) match up. This is a good thing, no? 

Okay. I feel better. Now to finish taxes, figure out why my data set is out of numerical order, and plan for tomorrow's class. Perhaps all of this can be done out in the sun, yes? 

April, I am so glad to see you.

My friend Mark and I used to email each other every Sunday with our three highs of the week, three lows of the week. I'm unsure when we fell out of the practice, but I think it might be an easy way to get myself back into the writing here as the four drafts I've been working on just aren't anywhere near publishable. So, without further fanfare: 

Highs: 

* Today, while teaching my undergrad class, we all sang "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" as part of a phonics activity. 21-year-olds singing this little ditty just makes all the planning worth it. 

* I ran into a good grad school friend I hadn't seen in a while at the grocery today - had a chance to catch up and make plans to get together for coffee later in the week. 

* This book is slowly but surely bringing me back to something resembling academic life. 


Lows: 


* Writer's block. I'm giving a keynote address at a small conference on Friday morning and am struggling. The last speaker was the Dean, the year before that was the Director of one of the programs at the school. I am simply a grad student - what can I possibly say? 


* It's the first humid day of Spring, which is giving me a massive headache and a premature desire to turn on the air condition. Will take two aspirin and wait it out. It's too early for the A/C. 


* I'm struggling with some big life decisions, which sucks. I mean, good because I have options, but the actual figuring out of those options sucks. Hardcore. Like a Dyson.