A Precious Little Bundle of Xanax

Do you ever find yourself feeling at all grumpy?
Your toes are cold, your hair's not right, your tummy's gotten lumpy.
Maybe your friends are far away or your family's all mad,
Your circumstances are a bust and generally make you sad.

Perhaps you've lots of work to do which you would rather not
(and procrastination can be fun, but leaves you feeling taut).
Your mind might simpuhly be caught in a nasty, grumpy snow
Where even nice things make you scowl -- I know that feel, bro.

But don't despair, you angered or annoyed or ill-provoked,
Lift up your heavy drooping eyes, forsake your lack of hope!
For there was n'er an ailing heart which could not be made better
By a tiny Scottish pony, in a Scottish pony sweater.

Or maybe two:

Pictures discovered by Tom here, who then emailed them to Mercina, who emailed them to me, who shared them with you because I'm kind and want you to have pretty things.

A lot can happen in a year...

Last night, I was grumbling about the frigid state of my flat (which has since been fixed) when I had to stop myself. A year ago today, it seemed unlikely I would see the next morning, let alone the next year. But I am here. I am so very alive. I am singing. I am in love. I know how very blessed I am to be alive.

I am so deeply grateful for the family who decided that their loss would mean life for me and others in situations all too similar to my own. The presence of mind and generosity of spirit to think of others while walking with those you love through their valley and shadow of death is the definition of charity. It speaks to a deep understanding of the nature of life, love and renewal and a kindness that pushes me forward each day.

So on this special anniversary, I share this video with you. I gave this talk late last year. It's a different story than I usually tell, but I hope the idea is one you'll pass along. Thank you all for your love, for your support and kindness during this journey. I hope it continues on for many, many years and decades to come. But regardless of its duration, I am so very fortunate to have people like you who have supported me through it.

Lots of love,  

America on Parade

Obamas, you so sassy!

It was cold yesterday. Very cold by DC standards, and yet Premal and I—and about a million of our fellow Americans—braved the elements for nearly 8 hours. Why, you ask? Well, because it was inauguration day and my brother got me tickets, and if I had tickets I was going to go goshdarnit. By the day’s end we had seen more uniforms than I knew existed, watched a herd of young unicyclists wipe out before our eyes, we had been accosted and held prisoner by sadistic police from the MPD (Sgt. Trainor, badge #S950—just in case you were curious), I cried at least 6 times and none of us could feel our toes. Oh, and we also saw the president. 

All in all, I’d call the day a success. 

(L) Pre-parade (R) post-inauguration

Fist-pump for Joe Biden

A sampling of the sartorial sensibilities of our armed forces on display

 

Scenes around 1600 Pennsylvania Ave

bits and pieces....

After a raaaaaather ungraceful departure from our beloved Mile High City, and a hiiiiiighly eventful road trip (possibly involving a 2-a.m. lecture from an Iowa State Patrol Officer who felt compelled to make me sit in his cruiser for 20 minutes for driving six miles above the speed limit, an exploding trailer tire, and a 160-pound Mastiff named Levi), my little family and I are once again ensconced in our wee corner of the ghetto. We rolled in Tuesday night, and I'm still trying to conquer this:

Yikes.

Let's think about something more pleasant, shall we?

Much better.

 Did I tell you about the awesome Christmas brunch I made? It appeared to me this afternoon in a flashback vision when I momentarily lapsed into a bit of I-Don't-Think-I-Was-Cut-Out-For-This-Whole-Cooking/Cleaning/Diaper-Changing/Unpacking-Endless-Boxes-of-Supposedly-Educational-Toys Depression. And, I will confess, remembering that delicious holiday triumph brought me hope.

These sweet faces help, too. Also Phineas (whose absence from this picture is in no way an indicator of deficient parental affection).

Perfection is a strong word, but I can't think of a single thing I would change about that morning meal. Obviously, the company was superlative. But the food wasn't too shabby, either -- it was scrumptious, balanced, and came together pretty easily, even in my less-than-well-rested state. And nothing was particularly seasonal, so I might make the exact same thing for breakfasts all year long. Maybe tomorrow....

I used a recipe from Ina Garten's latest cookbook for lobster potato salad and made a couple of wild mushroom quiches -- all of which were pretty fantastic, (if I do say so myself). Then I set out some fancy olives, cheese and jam, as well as ephemerally delicious lemon cake Mercina made for Corban's birthday the night before. But the yogurt was really the best of all. And so simple, I'm not sure I could even call this a recipe.Whatever. Yum.

Spectacular Yogurt

In fancy glass dish, layer together:

  Noosa honey yogurt*

cut strawberries

raspberries

blackberries

pomegranate gems 

chiffonaded mint

Top with an abundant drizzle of good honey, some lemon zest, and a generous sprinkle of salted pistachios.

Ta-da! That's it! It will blow your mind. Now, if only organizing my house were that easy....

*Noosa yogurt is a Colorado product/religious experience. It's available pretty broadly in CO, but you might need to search a bit to find it elsewhere. You will not regret the effort. Unless you become totally addicted and have to break up with all your other yogurts in favor of this spendier, fattier version. If you don't want to risk that, get a nice Greek yogurt and spike it with some honey, lemon zest and juice to make it extra tangy-sweet...

 

Definitely one of the very best things I have ever made in the kitchen.

Five Reads!

Here's a little January confession: I am the reason you're reading this on January 19th rather than two weeks earlier. I am the weakest link, the flakiest pastry. I actually wrote a relatively punctual review for a book I love, my "go-to" guide for human relations. But then something happened and I never hit the send button. And it sat in my draft folder for days and days while I got swept up in moving and managing and life in general. This episode of absent-minded delay is not isolated, so perhaps it's a sign. I just ordered Procrastination: why you do it, what to do about it NOW. Someone wise once told me I would love it. But I never got around to reading the thing....

New years resolutions are often as much about picking yourself up when you fail as they are achieving goals. Someone who did this over and over again was Harry Truman. McCoullough's book on him is the definition of a seminal biography. I read this when I lived in Budapest. I found myself cheering for Harry in his success, rooting for him through his failures and agonizing with him through the challenges of life. It's an old fashioned rags to riches story that plays out over a lifetime of achievement. It's a biggie, but a goodie and worth every page of the read. BONUS: If you finish it by the end of 2013 and tweet it at us, I will mention your accomplishment in a post. 

While designing a course on practical ethics in medicine, Premal stumbled upon the work of Dan Ariely, a behavioral economist at Duke University. We quickly became obsessed with the man's ingenious studies on human nature and the insight they offered into our own habits. Last year we read his book Predictably Irrational (and watched his TED talks, AND listened to segments on various NPR podcasts) which focuses on the way we think we make decisions and contrasts it with what's actually going on in thesr crazy ol' noggins of ours. This year I'm incredibly excited to read Ariely's latest book The Honest Truth about Dishonesty. This time he's back at it explaining the insidious ways dishonesty creeps into our daily interactions and effects our friendships, workplaces, politics and economy. If that's not some serious(ly interesting) food for thought in this new year, then I don't know what is!

I'm pretty good at making hyperbolic statements about other peoples' politics. Really, scary good. I can easily argue that my view is the right one and that anything different is, well...wrong. Last year I read Jonathan Haidt's book The Righteous Mind. It gave me some insight into why I argue so convincingly about things - sometimes things I haven't even thought about - and, more broadly, why people think the way they do. Haidt gives a compelling explanation for why political leaders fail to cooperate, why people quickly assume the worst about the motives of their fellow men, and why we believe the things we believe. I'm not sure I agree with all of Haidt's assertions, but a lot of them are compelling and he's a tremendously engaging writer. I hope that his insights will encourage me to be slightly more tolerant and understanding of other people's beliefs this year....Maybe.

Two words: Mind Palace. It's a crazy beautiful place where absurd things are always happening, and it helps you remember whatever you want. 'But Glorianna! A thing so fantastical must be restricted to only the very cognitively wealthy among us. I could never afford a Mind Palace of my own!' That's what I thought at first too, but Moonwalking with Einstein not only elaborates on how you invest in one (or a couple dozen) of these remarkable structures, but does so within a charming narrative that makes you believe you can do anything -- or at least, perfectly memorize two stacks of random playing cards in a very few minutes. With this book's help, I've resolved to stop being the schmoe who forgets everyone's name and pretty much everything else important I ever knew or needed to remember. Join me.

Cowboys vs. Priorities

Upon my arrival at Yale twoish years ago, I attended a dinner for new transfer students. Along with me and Mercina, there were about 20 other kids in attendance -- including a couple of guys hailing from Deep Springs College, located on a ranch in the smack-dab center of Twenty-Five Miles Away from the Nearest Gas Station, California. During any given academic period, the Deep Springs student body is comprised of ~25 students who administrate the college at every level - from herding/killing/preparing/ food to cleaning to programming telephone lines to admitting new students to determining their own curriculum. These tasks are paired with rigorous intellectual ribbing in the form of extensive reading and heated small classroom discussion. It's only a two year program, so a lot of kids end up transferring when they finish there. I have lots of other cool stuff to say about Deep Springs, but this is already shaping up to be a long post; you can read more about it here or here.

Now imagine that this mule is several different mules, and they're all actually post-adolescent human males.

Anyway, upon hearing of it, I immediately adored this school on the range; I was also wracked with passionate feelings of 'why I no go theeeeeeeeeere?!?!?!?'. This is where I should clarify that when I mentioned the 'guys' at the transfer dinner, I meant actual males. This is not due to the fact that no sassy Deep Springs CoEds felt like migrating out East that year, but rather because the school has a strict "Must hold at least one Y Chromosome for admission" policy. Yes, Deep Springs is an all male college. A really, really cool all male college. In Almost Nevada, California, The West, USA.

Well, this fact made me a little sad, but I also understood why it was a fact. Girls change dynamics for boys (just as boys change dynamics for girls),* and sometimes it's best to hold the estrogen in a kick-@$$ pot of cowboy stew. Brewed fresh every semester in Far Enough into the Desert that No One Can Hear Your Weird Taste in Music, California. In fact, after pondering the peculiarly fulfilling intellectual and social experiences I've had in girls-only institutions, I down-right appreciated the gendered exclusivity. I came to admire the crazy old coot who established a place where young men-folk could be manly and responsible and do their larnin' without anything to disturb their chest hair-y, fart fueled Feng shui.

A good man chair for any gender-themed apartment

But alas -- only a few short months after hearing about Deep Springs/pestering my little brother Zenith to attend so I could lasso donkeys vicariously through him -- I learned that the board of this wondrous frontier fairy land was planning to open its application to women. Not only this, but the announcement (as well as its subsequent withdrawal due to legal issues concerning the terms of the college's trust) inspired a crop of condescending articles tsk tsk-ing the college on its no-good-sexist-jerk-who's-threatened-by-my-ovaries policies. This bothered me, and crystallized a problem I had been noticing for awhile in the woman's rights movement.

Ahem. Excuse me. . .  just a moment. I'm just going to. . . Can you scootch over a little? Super. Thank you so much. I'll just set this up riiiight here:

Ok. Great. Hi. I love equality. I think it's mad groovy. Women in the United States have done a really excellent job making up for progress lost to centuries of repression and sexism. Serious kudos to us! We've done so well, in fact, that we're surpassing our male counterparts in a lot of historically significant ways. Of course, there's still some shtuff we've yet to gloriously vanquish, but we shall doubtless feast on the ambrosial flesh of total conquest in good time, my splendid Amazons.  But I forgot my initial point. . . sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes. Unfortunately, this sweet, sweet progress sometimes neglects the fact that girls are not the only important people. Equality is not a competition. That wouldn't make any sense. Equality is getting the same treatment as everyone else. There's no use in opening doors for women if it means slamming them in the face of someone else. This is why it pisses me off when feminists get self-righteous and cranky over something as noninflammatory as a men's college. Not only does it not really matter, but it's an actual double standard (hello, Wellesley?). If you want a crazy wicked cowgirl (or cowboy/cowgirl) college, then go endow your own in All I Can See is Grass, Montana. But this is not about colleges -- however rural or gender segregated they may be. This is about women not 'progressing' so far and so quickly in our own goals that we steamroll the prerogatives of everyone else around us. Furthermore, human rights (including those of women) can't afford to get bogged down in such whiny non-issues when there is still much crummy stuff going on in general. There are much more important things to be indignant about. Like, go bother some sex traffickers. Those guys really suck. Ok? Ok. Bye.

*I recognize that boys like boys sometimes, too. I don't know how that changes dynamics in single-gendered settings, but I'm cool with it if they are.

Last week I did something amazing....

The last week brought with it some interesting changes for me. First, I was told it was time to stop listening to Christmas music (worst.day.ever.). Then, I left my beloved Colorado to start a new semester of school in dismal New Haven (also pretty lame). But before any of that nonsense, I did something really amazing. I recreated one of my all-time favorite Hungarian treats. It's called turo rudi. It's amazing. Those of you who don't already know/love turo rudi may not understand, but it's actually a deathly serious subject. For the realz. In the last three years, at least three people have been shot by people attempting to steal these babies. And, to be perfectly honest, I'm surprised it was only three....There's something seriously addicting about that sweet Hungarian turo (kind of like ricotta) dipped in chocolate.  "Cheese dipped in chocolate? Yikes! That's not the most appealing prospect!" If you're thinking this, you're wrong. It is the *most* appealing prospect.

Unfortunately turo rudi can't be purchased stateside. Neither can turo. But I was having some serious cravings, and those details were not going to stop me. So I spent a couple of hours working to concoct something that would resemble my beloved treat. The result wasn't perfect, but it was pretty darn good.

-------------------------------------------------

Ingredients:

Ricotta

Cream cheese

Goat cheese

Cottage cheese

Lemon juice

Lemon zest

Vanilla extract

Powdered sugar

Ghirardelli semisweet chocolate chips (or any good chocolate which hardens well)

To get the desired consistency, I let the ricotta and cottage cheese steep in cheese cloth the night before my turo adventure began. The next morning, I mixed equal parts cottage, cream, and ricotta cheese in our blender. I added some powdered sugar (to taste), lemon zest, a tiny bit of lemon juice and a few drops of vanilla. The result was uber tasty, but too smooth for my purposes. I dumped everything out and added some more steeped ricotta and cottage cheese. It had to be solid enough to mold, so I added a little more powdered sugar, too. I still wasn't wholly satisfied with the consistency, so I threw in some goat cheese. The mixture was really tasty, but still a little too liquid-y to be dipped in chocolate. Instead of adding more sugar, I used an ice cream scoop to spoon the mixture onto a cookie sheet (covered with parchment paper) and froze my little globs. It took about an hour for the patties to solidify. After they froze the real magic started. I dipped each one in melted chocolate and waited for them to harden. And oh snap were they good!

I wish I had pictures, but they were all gobbled up before I had a chance to photograph them.... Kimber wasn't totally convinced that the goat cheese was a good call, but I'll leave that up to your discretion.