tollipop

in the car on the way to cello class this morning

 

Izzy (reading Whitefoot the Woodmouse to Caroline):

Whitefoot believes in getting the most from the present.  The things which are past are past, and that is all there is to it.  There is no use in thinking about them.  As for the things of the future, it will be time enough to think about them when they happen.

Izzy (pausing):  Whoa, that is one smart little mouse.

::moment of silence::

Caroline (piping up from the back seat):  Izzy, I don't hear the story.

Izzy:  I'm still reading it.

Caroline:  No, you're not.  You're thinking about it.

haribo makes children happy

 

Pursuant to the two comments I received regarding the goodness that is Haribo (it only takes two comments to inspire a whole new post...do you see the power you hold in your hands, dear reader?!), I felt compelled to share with you my latest discovery: Haribo's Saure Pommes.

They are shaped like french fries. 

How am I going to sleep at night, knowing there is a factory somewhere in Germany churning out saure pommes by the metric tonne, each one dusted ever so lightly with illegal powder, smug in the knowledge of its infinite power over me??

my happy place

   

When my little brother comes to visit, we do four things.  Eat.  Cook.  Talk.  Watch movies.  Sometimes we go for late night runs, but it is so hot at the moment...I think I would rather eat.  And watch movies.

Today we visited an international market.  Dear reader, an international market for me is like a Wonka bar, a library, and fresh finger paints all wrapped into one.  It's an amazing place to linger, wonder, marvel, and dream.  There are Greek honeys.  French honeys.  German honeys.   About forty thousand types of soy sauce, fish sauce, shrimp sauce and oyster sauce.  Pickled beans, pickled cabbage, pickled feet, pickled everything.  Tiny jars filled with tiny fish, all neatly pressed together and staring through the glass.  Peppers, pimentos, olives of every hue and size.  Teas from India, Swiss jams, clouds of saffron, dill. 

 So many wonderful things to eat!  So many lovely and mysterious packages!

 

I like to visit each section and imagine myself from one culture to the next: a freshly conjured curry from Pondicherry, puddings and biscuits fit for a queen, curious packages of sea weed from Korea, ropes of Mediterranean pasta.  In each scenario, I am the sultry heroine with mad cooking skills.  It makes me smile.  I think it makes my heart beat faster.

 

Anything that comes in such a pretty pink package should be purchased, no questions asked.  The lifetime supply of rice noodles is merely a bonus. 

 

And oh, the many items I have no idea how to identify or use!  I secretly watch the other shoppers, sometimes even follow them, people who look as if they know exactly what they are doing and where they are going.  People who, unlike me, can read the labels of everything they put in their cart.

Oh well, they will never know what it is to be surprised by their purchase.  Never underestimate the element of surprise, dear reader.

 

With each visit Caroline laments the fate of this fine fellow.  What is to become of him?  Has he any fortune?  Any connections?   How relieved she is to see him holding up well, all things considered.  I haven't the heart to tell her it is a cold, cruel world for a lobster trying to find his place in high society.

 

Did I tell you the best part?  That every corner of this vast planet offers its own array of sweets, delicacies of such mystery and intrigue as to exert a hypnotic effect upon the human mind? 

 

The terrible ecstasy of narrowing down one's choices.  Oh, to be stuck between chocolate filled panda biscuits and Haribo's sour gummies. 

I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be. 

new sweets for the candy dish

 

In honor of my little brother coming to spend a few days with us, I decided to fill the candy dish with one of his favorite treats. 

 

How long did they last?  Here it is in cold, hard math: the speed of Caroline times ten sticky fingers.

what do you do when it's too hot to go outside? pretend it's not.

 

All week long the girls have been asking me to take them on a hike.  On Saturday afternoon, when intelligent people were holed up in meat lockers and getting brain freezes from Slurpees, we decided to give it a go.

 

The desert is not without its flora

 

and fauna...this fellow being of a decidedly ascetic persuasion.

 

Discovering the world's biggest lizard and debating whether or not to poke it with a stick.  Apparently a review of wilderness safety (also known as common sense) is in order.

 

Despite the heat, it was a wonderful adventure, one that we plan to do again soon.  Next time, however, we will roll out of bed long before the sun mounts its usual offensive, or at least before it requires us to try so hard to pretend it's a beautiful day for a hike.

let's talk kheer

 

I know, I know, dear reader.  You are going to tell me I already wrote about rice pudding.  Yes.  But I did not write about kheer.  Just say the word with me.  Kheer.  Isn't it awesome?  Isn't it zen?  It's half my name, by the way.

I have been thinking about Indian food lately.  How I wish I could bathe in it.  How I wish I could sleep upon sheets of naan.  How I love words like korma, masala, and vindaloo.  How I also love the word Pondicherry, but that has nothing to do with food unless you count the Prince of Pondicherry, who commissioned Willy Wonka to construct for him a palace of chocolate.  That guy was my childhood hero.

These are the thoughts that occupy my head, dear reader.

Anyway, about the kheer.  I prefer to think of her as the capricious cousin of rice pudding.  The small town girl who got out of Dodge and never looked back.  Now she speaks seven languages, could pass as a citizen of twice as many countries, and is never seen without a flawless application of dark khol eyeliner.  Only a total clod would call her rice pudding. 

Here is the recipe I used.  I can't say I followed it religiously, but that should come as no surprise.  For starters I didn't have any rose water.  To be clear, I do have both roses and water...is it possible to simply mash them together?  That sounded too easy.  Too cloddish.  I'm surprised I didn't do it.

I went light on the cardamom and did away with the toasted almonds altogether.  It really bothers me when a recipe asks you to fiddle your head off over some ingredient that's hardly a major player.  I mean, certainly--I will wash the rice.  The rice is major.  I will even use it to build a tiny replica of the Taj Mahal if the recipe tells me to do so.  But the almonds?  Come on.  Let's not get so self-important over a couple of measly nuts.

As usual I made more than the recipe yielded.  Instead of a half cup of rice, I used three.  Dear reader, I am happy to announce, were it necessary, we have enough kheer to fill the Ganges River. 

Listen, it was all a calculated move on my part.  This is summertime, the girls are home, and the words I'm hungry fall like dulcet tones upon my ears about a thousand times a day.  For the rest of the week, whenever one of my angels comes prowling into the room and fixes me with a ravenous glare, I plan to hold up my hand and say, Talk to the kheer.  It's going to take them at least that long to excavate the bottom of the bowl.

château de ma soeur

 

By far one of the highlights of Izzy's music camp was the chance to see her cousins.  I love this picture because it very much resembles me and two of my sisters at a similar age...how strange is that?  I also have one more little sister, who now has a baby girl of her own, and a dear sister-in-law who has several beautiful girls...I daresay we could put them all together for a more complete flashback into time. 

But I digress.

 

Let's get to the real point of this post, which is to give you a small peek into the wonderful world of my sister's home.  It's like chocolate for the eye--everywhere you look there is something exquisite to behold.  And each object boasts a journey, a thrilling story, one that usually goes like this:  Someone was giving this away, or I found this in a pile of discarded trash, or an old lady paid me to take this off her hands...

It really is amazing, Marina, how you do this.

 

I want to tell you all her secrets, but seriously, it's like being in Willy Wonka's factory and I am a very loyal Oompa Loompa.  I hope she shares them herself some day.  She is the girl who decorates on a shoestring budget, sees potential in objects no one else would notice, visualizes entire rooms starting with one small idea, believes in nomadic furniture, paints, strips, varnishes, does it herself, uses what she has, saves, does her homework, stays focused, waits and plans, gathers and collects, and ends up with a masterpiece that comes straight from the heart.

 

This is one of my favorite rooms in her house.  It reminds me of what would happen if Marie Antoinette had a super hip, stylish, creative great-great-great-great-great granddaughter (there should probably be a few more greats in there)...

 

I think I shall take tea in the house of mirrors.

 

I love that there is so much of her in this room.  Some people have amazing homes, but the work and ideas are not always personal and therefore can never resonate with as much feeling.  I have noticed that each of my sisters has a canvas (or two) upon which they create beauty...for Marina, among other things, it is definitely her home. 

let's talk mango lassis

 

It's summertime.  You have a big bowl of mangos.  You wonder if anyone will knock on the door and offer to cut them up for you.  You wait.  It doesn't happen.  Now you have to make your own mango lassi.

 

You assemble the usual suspects:  mangos, plain yogurt, milk, sugar.  Just to be fancy, go for the cane sugar, which would probably make your ancestors laugh.  How times have changed!

 

Add the ingredients to the blender, but proceed with caution!  No matter how quietly you work, expect your child with the wolfish capacity to overhear even the slightest kitchen activity to come bombing down the stairs and ask if you are making cookies.  Tell her no, you are making lassis.  She decides to stay regardless.

 

It's not like you have a choice.  Give the little beggar a drink or expect to have her snapping at your ankles.  And now the waiting begins...

 

Does she like it?

 

Oh, happy day, yes!  The lassie approves her lassi...

 

right down to the very last, appallingly suctioned drop.

*****

Dear reader, just in case you are foolhardy enough to request the recipe, I used this one...the results were divine, but the next time I concoct a lassi (which will be soon), I plan to make a few adjustments.  The current recipe yields a rather thick, yogurty drink.  My new ratio would go like this:

2 mangos chopped, half cup yogurt, 1.5 cups milk, add sugar to taste.

I'll let you know if anything changes.

what they don't tell you about suzuki week

  

Armies of hobbits rallied to defeat the Dark Lord Sauron.

 

Izzy launched a quest for the perfect bow hold.

 

There were good guys,

 

and bad guys.

 

Damsels waiting to be rescued...

  

and dragon-slaying uncles who were more than happy to oblige.

*****

Dear reader, what can I tell you about Suzuki week?  It was phenomenal.  Watching Izzy take on such a demanding schedule and actually revel in the experience was amazing, humbling, and a source of pure joy.  The teachers were incredible.  Pictured above is Robert Richardson of Brandon, Manitoba...a brilliant guy and as you can see, never a dull moment in his class.  Izzy made lots of sweet little friends, some of whom stayed in the same hotel with us, so there were many pool parties and impromptu room visits.  As you may imagine, this was the type of "vacation" one needs another week from which to recover...but it was all amazing, all good, all very much a gift to us both.

Beyond the camp itself, it was wonderful to visit with my family.  We saw uncles and aunties and best of all, cousins!  I have a special treat for you, dear reader...I took a few pictures of my Design Sensei sister's house and will share them soon.  Unfortunately, we got together as the sun was setting so I could only snap a few, but trust me, they will not disappoint.  

I sometimes ask myself why we devote so many resources to this musical journey for our children.  It is a lot of work, a lot of sacrifice, and we don't always feel up to the challenge.  The Suzuki method teaches you are not producing musicians but rather building bonds of love, nurturing your children, etc., and that music is almost like some inadvertent bonus to the process.  Yeah.  Some days I can see that.  But there are other days, too.  Oh my, yes.  Let's keep it real, Suzuki parents.  

I don't know.  I suppose only time will tell, but the past week was one huge nurturing moment for me and Isabella, and I think we both caught a glimpse of where this path is taking us. 

                                    It was pretty amazing.

and the winner is...

 

Mary Patricia!  To be clear, dear Mary Patricia who penned the following verse:

I think what Jiu Jiu is really thinking is, "I eat my peas with honey, I've done it all my life. It makes the peas taste funny, but it keeps them on my knife!"

Congratulations, Mary Patricia!  We are simply swooning with delight!  Please let's get together and exchange mailing addresses and the like...I'll be sure to send off your package of goodies as soon as I possibly can.

To everyone else, thank you for playing along! I do so enjoy your comments and kind words and wish there was a way to send everyone home with a prize.  Perhaps karma will intervene and bring you something lovely...a good book, a good drink, the best conversation ever.  It also never hurts to look out the window and see Mr. Darcy crossing the moors, chest heaving, toiling under the suspense that he is about to confess his deepest and most ardent feelings unto you!  In lieu of the Tollipop girls, I wish you all of the above.