News Flash:
Rhubarb is not a Hamptons affectation!

Another one of my wrong ideas has been completely blown out of the water. I always thought that rhubarb, and the miracle of eating these unpalatable stems was an affectation of well heeled Eastern people. I don't blame all that much on Martha Stewart, but I have to confess that it is based solely on her reverence for this strange vegetable that I formed these wrong conclusions. My friend Sid (who LOVES rhubarb) informed me of my mistake when she described her Midwestern childhood filled with rhubarb desserts. I will freely admit that I had my suspicions of it all the way up until I put a finished bite of this rhubarb crisp in my mouth.

Now I get what all the fuss is about. Rhubarb isn't about to replace potatoes on my favorite vegetable list, but DAMN! It's good!

Here's Sid doing all my work for me. That's what I love about good friends. You can shamelessly put them to work making you garden beds and crisp. This stem of a vegetable has turned out to be so good it almost makes me think I should grow some cardoon. Anyone had that before? It's like artichokes without the good part.

Dominique-I'm so sorry, now there's competition for my little patch of sour stems, but I think there might be enough for us to share.

Look what came in the mail! Life changing pins from Pam at Pam Kitty Morning. I have to admit that my current pins are about a hundred years old and about as sharp as the President.* One thing I have learned from twenty years of sewing is that fine tools make the difference between entering your sewing room with a light step, brimming with creativity and the drive to see your ideas through versus: wanting to smash your sewing machine into a brick wall and then wear the parts around your neck on a string as a macabre battle trophy like a bunch of dried scalps.

I'm pretty excited to try these babies out. Plus, I find the glass heads so irresistibly dainty! Thank you Pam!

Sometimes I want to say things about my own town and some of the interactions with the people in it. I've learned to really look deep inside myself before I report on anything that might get people's backs up or hurt any one's feelings and to control my innate desire to unravel my life with enemies.** It's killing me to not be able to discuss a particular interaction right now that is hovering right on the end of my forked tongue.

Incidentally, Sid tells me I don't say nearly as many questionable things as I think I do on this blog. She may be right about that, but I can't help but shiver with the memory of my ENORMOUS shame at hurting someone local by pointing out how different they are from me in a rather dramatic way, and then, as if that wasn't enough, I go to other people's blogs and inflame the tender feelings of other people's readers. However, being accused (yesterday) of saying "the most cracked out thing" someone has ever heard was actually kind of cool. The anonymous person who said it did so with so little venom, and admitted to being experienced in making cracked out statements themselves that I found I really liked and respected this person. Still, I mean, I'm shaking some people up around here, at least a little.

But that's not ever my intention. I'm not a shock jock. Firstly because I'm not a "jock" at all, and also because that expression always reminds me of Howard Stern who I think is just a gross individual, and who managed not to shock me with his divorce and subsequent dating of a blond, big boobed bunny who most likely didn't start off adulthood with blond hair or big boobs.

I found out yesterday that one of my new card lines, Snow and Graham, is already being carried by Mes Amies up the street. I actually asked the rep more than once if she was sure that no one else in my town was carrying this line. She swore up and down and seven sins to Sunday that no one was. So why should I feel so guilty? As though I had committed some crime? I'm tired of working so hard not to step on other store owner's toes in this way. I mean, I have no desire to repeat merchandise, nor to step on any one's toes. I much prefer to encourage good will and camaraderie with everyone on third street. But I'm tired of making so many efforts and still getting stung and feeling like it's all resting on my shoulders.

I hope more of the store owners on Third street bother to come and see what I'm carrying in my store. So it's a two way street. I was glad to see Naomie from Mes Amies come down to visit, but of course I now feel like scum because of the whole "Snow and Graham" snafu. Plus she informed me that she used to carry the "My mother's buttons" line for a long time (though not now). This tells me we have similar tastes. How much crossover can there be between our stores when hers is a clothing store and mine in a home and personal accessories store?

It makes me want to produce all of my own merchandise so that this will never happen again.

Having a store downtown is a way more political and touchy business than I would ever have imagined. So many mines in the road, so many eyes watching your every move suspiciously. So many people waiting to see if you last or close. Who knows what's in all of their hearts?

Actually, I have to say that there are a few store owners who have been above and beyond helpful and friendly. People who have inspired in me, not a sense of obligation to respect them, but the desire to work with them towards common goals as store owners in a small town. It's never easy being on the bottom rung of a hierarchy, but when you are, you need some allies and I 'm happy that I've been blessed with a few of those!




*My ability to censor my censoriousness is deeply impaired by too little sleep.
**This is more of an exaggeration than a flat out lie.

Rhubarb Central

I picked the first harvest of rhubarb for Dominique. 1 1/2 pounds of it. As i cut the stalks I could smell the slightly acrid juice of it on the air. I could also detect, just under that slightly poisonous fume, a little hint of why people eat it: a little refreshing tangy whiff similar to a citrusy celery. (I say that as though it made sense.)

While I'm still not convinced that I'm going to enjoy eating this strange plant, I will confess that it was satisfying to hold the stalks in my hand, there was a weight to the smooth stalks that spoke of substance. Not only that, but they are undoubtedly pretty to look at. The plant itself is quite handsome, so I don't mind having it reside in my garden permanently. I partly respect this plant in my yard because Ken and Betty Meyers planted it here. They are the couple who had this house built. They and their three children are the only other people who have ever lived in this house. I enjoy that. When I see that rhubarb pop up I think of them and the meals they might have eaten with it. I'll take care of it for them even if I don't acquire a taste for it myself.

Besides, Dominique and Lisa E. both like it and I love to give my friends good stuff from my garden.

Yesterday was a mixed collection of hours in which I spent much of it in a very dark gloom. I went to work with a densely heavy heart because I let myself look up information about the war. But before I say anything else about that, I want to say that a customer bought two big Easter Baskets, and the last small one!! It makes me so happy that my baskets have not gone to waste. I really enjoyed planning them and putting them together.

I have a piece of information which many of you may not be aware of: The U.S. government has made it illegal for Iraqi farmers to save their own seeds. It may seem like a small little detail of no consequence when considering how many of their people we have already killed (a nebulous number, as I found out). Who cares about some seeds? What the law requires is that the Iraqi people buy all their seeds from approved U.S. sources. Want to guess what the approved sources are? Not from Seeds Of Change, that's for sure.

They are only allowed to buy seeds from those companies who sell seeds that cannot be legally saved. Those companies (huge corporations, if you weren't aware) who can sue you for letting a volunteer grow in your yard without paying for it. Seeds that are "protected" by law. Here's one link if you want to read more about it. If you do a search, you can find a lot of sources reporting on this one. Take your pick. It's not liberal hyperbole.

There is a whole lot more to this post that I have saved separately because I know no one will thank me for saying what's in my heart right now. I know that if I publish it people will be angry, indignant, hurt, and I will undoubtedly have to hear tirades that will make my heart even heavier than it already is.

Here is what I must say:

My country is not speaking for me. The troops are not speaking for me. Bombs and violence do not speak for me. Also: don't anyone tell me that our country is killing people on my behalf. Perhaps they do it on their own behalf, maybe even on yours, but not mine. My country has no right to involve my name in actions like this. I am a different kind of American.

I speak for myself. That's the kind of American I am.

Let them eat rhubarb!

I have never eaten rhubarb. The fact that the leaves are poisonous makes it seem like one of those dangerous foods that I tend not to eat because I DON'T LIKE TO VOMIT TO DEATH. I'm trying to think of what other foods I might eat that require a lot of preparation just make them palatable. Hmmm. At the moment I can't actually think of any. However, we have a huge established patch of rhubarb. When I say huge, I probably really mean adequate for a family of four who loves rhubarb. So to me it is huge. It was established by the couple who lived and gardened here before us. Now, I don't plan to rip this plant out because even if I don't eat it, it is actually quite handsome.

It just seems that here's a source of food in my yard, free food, that some people (mostly Easterners in the Hamptons who live pretty close to Martha, I suspect) get excited about. Seems I should acquire a taste for it. And I'm sure that somewhere in the world someone is starving who would love the chance to macerate this bitter stalk in a pound of sugar to feed their starving children. Who am I to waste this food opportunity? So I will troll through my many cook books to see what promising recipes I can find.

My good friend Dominique and her husband Stephen came over for dinner last night. She made a gorgeous Greek salad, I made fresh pitas, hummus, and grilled eggplant. I could eat that every day and not get tired of it. I made that feast knowing that it was in no way in season. I've been pretty good this winter about not buying tomatoes, avocados, or eggplants. Which is hard since those are some of my favorite foods. I just couldn't resist. Partly it was the amazingly warm weather we had yesterday. So soft and early summery, it kind of got into my blood a little and made me crave summer food.

While I was making the pita (a tutorial will be posted soon because making fresh pita is absolutely worth the effort) my mom and I were talking about how unseasonal this meal was and what we would be cooking if we were to make a strictly seasonal meal right now. Luckily the local asparagus is up and being sold at our health food store for WAY cheaper than at Safeway. There's a lot one can do with asparagus. Making food is one of my favorite things to do. I miss having the time to think out meals, to plan them, to spend time looking through my considerable cook book collection for inspiration. I really enjoyed making pita again. I don't ever buy store bought pita. Why? Because it is dry and as flavorless as Pamela Anderson.

I first had fresh pita in an Arab restaurant in Israel with my father and my step mom Miri. It was an exquisite experience. When I found a recipe for it in Deborah Madison's cookbook "Vegetarian Cooking For Everyone" I had to try it. It's easy and the only difference between her pita and what I had in Israel is that hers has a portion of whole wheat in it to make it just a little more wholesome.

In this modern age of hyper parenting Philip and I have a parenting style that has landed us under some heavy scrutiny and shock from our parenting peers. One thing we discovered early on is that some parents think children will murder each other in the sand box if allowed to use real spades to dig. We have always let Max handle the real thing when we felt it wasn't acutely dangerous. There is always the chance that he will bludgeon himself to death with the adult sized broom, or commit matricide with the metal dinner fork we let him eat with. We always figured that the sooner he learns to respect the real accoutrements of living, the sooner he will not always be in such constant danger.

We did put baby locks on many cupboards, but refused to put one on the toilet. There have been times when Max has had to learn the hard way that razor blades are not the same as Hot Wheels (this very frightening moment of discovery was as much a surprise to us as it was to him. In our defense, we did make quite a lot of effort to remove all super dangerous objects from his reach, we missed the blades. I promise you I kind of wanted to do myself a harm for having not seen them hidden underneath the cotton balls.) Anyway, we have let him have a pocket knife for the last couple of years because his best friend Sam got to have one and so Max felt the universe would not keep spinning unless we let him have one too. We didn't see the harm because he was never allowed to use the actual blade without close supervision. For two years we've had not a single incident with it.

Until last night. I forget most of the time that he even has the knife. He decided that, like all normal North American boys, he really needed to carve himself a hunting spear out of a big stick. I watched him walk off with the knife and stick in the direction of his dad. I didn't see him again until he came into the kitchen with a kind of stricken look, holding his index finger closely against his bloody shirt. The cut turned out to be very small. But extremely painful. He didn't cry or make a big fuss but just told me he really needed a band aid.

In the bathroom I asked him to rinse his finger under cold water and then dry it so we could put some ointment on it and bandage it. He did as I asked but just when he was trying to dry it he started to look really unsteady. I could see his eyes lose focus. I knew immediately that he was passing out. He started to crumple and told me he felt really weird. I got him in my lap immediately but it took at least ten minutes for him to stop being dizzy and disoriented. Poor wee mite.

How weird is it that this boy who has seen more blood come out of his own body than anyone aside from hemophiliacs would get woozy at the sight of one little cut on his finger? I have to say that it kind of made me hurt to see him passing out. My little boy. Looking so helpless. I think we're going to go back to the doctor (not because of this incident) because he's got dark circles under his eyes and is still looking super pale. We've been giving him his vitamins most days. But I'm worried. Seeing your kid look so vulnerable tends to bring up waves of other more opaque worries.

Shouldn't he be looking better since his intake of high fructose corn syrup has been greatly reduced? (Snyder's mini pretzel cheese sandwiches are a fantastic alternative to Ritz Bitz because they have NO sugar in them and minimal preservatives. I'm not saying this is great nutrition, but at least it's better.) I've been so focused on getting my mom in a better situation that I have just not been paying as much attention to Max's health. I mean, he's seemed fine. But how long have the dark circles been back?

Oh well. At least we're not Scientologists. If anyone reading this happens to be one, I'm so sorry. I mean, if it works for you that's great. I just figure that if there's any alien in me, I'm pretty happy keeping it there. Plus: purification with oil? Anyone ever heard of a little religious cleansing called the "Inquisition"? I distrust the whole idea of "purification" especially if forced on an individual for any reason. I haven't figured out what the pay off with this cult is yet. I mean, with Christianity there's the whole opportunity to go to heaven instead of hell. What draws people to a religion made up by a science fiction author? What has he promised this group of people who drink oil to purify themselves and attract all kinds of celebrities? (A ritual in which you are forcing your body to eliminate with unnatural and unhealthy force seems awful and destructive. I don't even know if this is really something they do. I've only heard reports. But I never trust any religion that encourages regular enemas as a spiritual cleansing act. That's just disgusting.)*


*By the way, I am genuinely fascinated by all manner of religious weirdness that I don't understand. If there is a Scientologist that wishes to tell me what really goes on under all the secrecy, please fell free to enlighten me. Just know that I stand firm, immovable, I will not convert. However, I am always open to seeing a different side of things. Because my negative attitude about this religion is based on what very little is leaked out to the public. The very fact that so little is revealed to non-followers makes me extremely suspicious of it.