knock on that

Recently I came across a recipe for pesto that doesn't presume ownership of a food processor: How to Make Pesto Like an Italian Grandmother. It's totally worth all the chopping -- I've already made it twice. Just basil and garlic and pine nuts and parmesan. Simple but oh so tasty.

On Wednesday, D. and I found ourselves snowed in. I'd left my car at work the night before and got a ride home from my boss, knowing that the snow was going to be bad and not wanting to face digging my car out of a snowbank first thing the next morning. I planned on taking the bus to work instead, because bus service is never, never canceled. Except this time it was -- even the busses couldn't cope with the twenty inches of snow we got. So instead of going to work, I made pancakes.

I almost never make pancakes. I just used the basic recipe from Joy of Cooking, except that the recipe called for melted butter, which I didn't have. So I used melted coconut oil. When I whisked the coconut oil in with the cold eggs and milk, it immediately formed thousands of tiny little globules -- kind of bizarre to look at, but these pancakes turned out to be delightfully fluffy and flavorful, and I think it was because the coconut oil blobs formed little pockets in the batter as the pancakes cooked, before melting and oozing their coconutty goodness into the pancake. Highly recommended.

I had a misadventure on Friday evening: on my way out of the parking lot leaving work, I hit a bicyclist. She was biking on the sidewalk, coming up on my right. It was pitch dark outside, and I didn't see her at all. I just heard a horrifying ka-thump as I pulled out into the street. I jumped out of my car, and there on the sidewalk behind me was a tumbled over bicycle and a woman screaming bloody murder. Turns out neither she nor her bicycle appeared to have suffered any serious injury, since in the end (after I called 911, and the police came, and paramedics came and left) she got back on her bike and rode away. Thank God.

I have weirdly mixed feelings about the whole thing. I'm pretty horrified that this happened, and very, very sorry. And I'm enormously relieved that the woman was alright -- probably bruised and shaken, but basically unharmed. But underneath that, I can't help but be irritated about the whole thing too.

For one thing, people who ride on the sidewalk have always driven me crazy, because it gives other cyclists a bad name and because it's unsafe. So there's that point proven. Some idiot might just come along and hit you.

Also, I'm saying "I hit a cyclist," but I'm not entirely sure it wasn't vice versa. When I went out to look at my car the next morning, in the light of day, there wasn't any sort of scuff or smudge or smear in the dirt on the front of my car (which I haven't washed since maybe September). I think it's entirely possible that she's the one who hit me. That would also explain why she and her bike were so undamaged.

Mainly, though, I'm just very glad that she was okay. Mad as hell, but okay. Given how much worse it could have been, I was happy to get yelled at.

I just read a thread on a community message board posted by some dude who was all baffled that someone was offended when he made a comment on his blog making fun of Sarah Palin by saying something like "her advisor must be her retarded baby." His defense was, since he's referring to her actual mentally-retarded baby, how can this be a slur?

By the time I read this, there had already been a lot of discussion. My favorite point made was, dude, whether or not it's technically a slur, it's not cool to make fun of someone by using their disabled child. Duh, right?

There was a lot of talk, from the guy who posted and from other people chiming in, about how this world is just getting too caught up in political correctness. The guy also mounted the defense (which I've heard others make) that he makes insensitive jokes about everyone, so he's clearly not biased toward any group in particular -- which is basically saying, I'm not a prejudiced asshole, just an asshole in general. Man, if that's your attitude, maybe you should rethink how you're engaging with the world, or at least, don't act surprised when people call you an asshole.

I got to hang out with my almost-7-year-old nephew all day yesterday. My dad brought him to town. We all had breakfast together, then Dad parted company with us for a few hours to go fulfill some professional whatnot.

First J. and I walked down to the lake. He fell in and got his pants thoroughly wet, but fortunately it was very warm and not a bad day to walk around in damp pants. (He definitely did not want to go to a laundromat to dry them out.) Then J. got in a good workout throwing rocks at other rocks, while I observed his technique and made sure no passers-by were in danger. Next J. collected a bunch of sticks to put together for a raft, which I wove together. We later procured some string to secure it. Not very seaworthy, but perhaps an interesting piece of wall art?

I also got J. a plastic robot ball toy thing that caught his eye, which had to be rolled along the ground or thrown at the ground in order to get it to pop apart into full robot form. This we did on the lawn at the Capitol, because where else? We gave the toy a rest for a little while, though, to wander around the inside of the capitol and then check out the observation area overlooking the city.

We met back up with Dad, and the three of us went to lunch at a Greek restaurant, which J. thought he wanted although wasn't so sure when we actually got the food. Then Dad and I talked J. into going with us to the Children's Museum, but he was not impressed, so we cut out of there after a pretty cursory tour through the exhibits.

After a stop at a toystore where J. acquired an amazing little vibrating bug toy, we headed back to my apartment so that J. could show me his current favorite computer game, Monsters vs. Aliens Tower Defense. While he played and explained strategy to me, I tried not to fall asleep where I sat. That kid wore me right out.

Kids generally agree that a lot of homework is bogus. I personally had a hard time getting motivated to do math homework, and I always felt that the number of problems assigned was really unnecessary. If I don't know how to multiply two-digit numbers within the first ten homework problems, doing another thirty isn't going to help me; and if I can show in the first ten that I know what I'm doing, then why should I have to do another thirty.

People don't usually think of doing homework as a life skill. Washing dishes, for example, is a chore with a pretty obvious practical application. What does homework teach? I think it teaches a person how to assign value to an otherwise valueless task, in order to reap a not-so-tangible, not-so-immediate reward.

I'm thinking of this because I've noticed that some of my clients have trouble doing the homework I give them. And in the context of my work, this really creates problems for people -- say, when someone forgets to bring in crucial documentation, or doesn't complete paperwork, or fails to make timely payments on their court-ordered obligations. These problems don't become tangible until the client is dodging a warrant or sitting in jail, wondering how this all went so suddenly wrong.

I had a conversation with my mother a few days ago about my new job, and how one of the difficult things about it that I wasn't really anticipating is that it's really hard to talk about work. For the most part, I can't say much to the friends who would really appreciate it; and of the friends I can talk to, they mostly don't get it. The difficulty of working in a very small practice is that I have fewer coworkers to safely commiserate with -- but at least I have a few!

So that's a roundabout way of saying, this is partly why I haven't been writing much the past however long. Most of my brain is taken up by things that I can't talk about, and I find myself struggling to find safe ground for writing that's also interesting. If I were cooking more, I could talk about food. If I were going out more, I could talk about hilarious misadventures. But mostly, I go to work, then go home and do the couch potato thing.

This weekend I went to a coworker's wedding, in a more rural small-towny area about 2 hours northeast. The drive was lovely, with autumn colors starting to pop out here and there, and the weather was just about perfect. The wedding itself was completely lovely -- all the hard work they put in really paid off. And the dessert bar (in lieu of one big traditional cake) was killer.

This morning, David and I went with some friends to La Brioche for breakfast. I have mixed feelings about that place. Mostly, it's excellent. But sometimes they do things more pretty than good. Like their tea service: when you order tea, you get an individual full-size antique-y teapot filled with hot water, a cup and saucer, and a single tea bag containing fair-trade organic tea. While this makes for a charming arrangement, (1) the water isn't hot enough if it's been sitting around in a teapot waiting to be brought to the table, (2) one tea bag isn't nearly enough for a 4-to-6 cup teapot, and (3) if I've already ordered my choice of tea, why don't they just prepare it for me? Why do I have to add the tea bag to the water? But it is a cute place, and the food is mostly excellent -- good enough that it's worth putting up with lousy tea.

I drove out to Target this afternoon to pick up a new toothbrush holder -- something that wouldn't shatter all over the bathtub when accidentally knocked from the sink, not that I did that with the last one, ahem. It has been quite chilly all day, but beautiful, with a melancholy touch of autumn in the air. I love this slanting late-afternoon sunlight, and cozy long sleeves, and hot chocolate with a hint of cinnamon.

Our apartment is a bit of a disaster. No comment on whose fault that is. But I've been thinking lately that it'd be nice to have people over for dinner, and it's hard to do that when the place looks like it's been infested by gremlins on a bender. And this is getting to be the perfect time of year for amazing end-of-summer slow food. I'm thinking maybe some summer squash lasagna and a bottle of red wine, shared among friends along with a lot of laughter and good conversation. Who's in?