we're all mad

 I think this is the week that all the academics and teachers (many of whom are also wrangling childcare and other responsibilities while trying to work) have collectively agreed to be done. Like, end the semester now, whatever. I've seen multiple posts from friends and on social media where everyone is just basically so over this semester.

This, my friends, is burnout. Welcome. We are all here with you.

With burnout comes potential grumpiness and bad decision making (or both). I sent out a grumpy email and am now dealing with the fallout, which is real fun, especially when it elicited anger back, etc etc. We're all mad, and I'm mad at myself, mad at being expected to manage other people's emotions, and just mad at the circumstances that are making it more and more challenging to work without overwhelming amounts of stress and anxiety.

Which reminds me, I need to call that therapist. I've picked one, though! So, progress.

So, I'm just trying to manage what I can control for now and be chill and exercise and play with my kids. Today, the baby fell asleep like this in the crib, which is hilarious:

I suspect he was sitting up jabbering and just fell asleep. He's like that--note the tiny foot poking out of the crib bars. He often falls asleep wedged in a corner, but I'm grateful that he sleeps significantly better than the first kid--and he's started sleeping very long stretches at night, including one night where he slept straight until nearly 6am without waking up to nurse. I think, I hope, a pattern is emerging and that by the time he's one, he's sleeping through the night (and maybe we can move him into brother's room and get our room back!).

I also am in the process of baking a chocolate pear cake and am about to go run. I've also even, magically, made some progress on writing this week, and am planning to try to catch up a bit before next week to be able to take a break. Luckily, for me, the end of the semester is always a bit easier than the middle, so most of my time is being spent doing what I enjoy: working with students on their writing and learning. (Admin tasks, on the other hand...)

Anyway, so that's what's going on--I'm grumpy and trying to manage it because we've got a lot more of this to go.

(re)learning spanish

I'm falling into several pandemic stereotypes (ahem, all the pandemic baking), but the latest is starting to learn Spanish. Well, relearn, since I have a BA in Spanish, but I could probably barely survive if I was dropped into a country where only Spanish was spoken. I have the base skills, but they are rusty, rusty, rusty. So, to the free language learning software!

Ideally, I'd find several native speakers and practice with them. I've always been a shy Spanish speaker, however, likely because I don't like failing at things, and learning a language requires you to make lots and lots of mistakes. And speaking a language means you don't get to revise what you say, and as a fast speaker of English, I don't like that very much--my Spanish language skills would never allow me to speak or write as easily and fully as I could in English. However, it's something I'm working on (purposefully doing things I'm not very good at), and I really would like to feel more comfortable with speaking Spanish if I needed to or wanted to. And just remember what it's like to be a learner.

Perhaps in some future semester, I'll sign up for a language class, though I'm not sure what language class I'd choose, and they'd probably be annoyed with me if I signed up for a beginning level class only to discover that I'm not precisely a beginner. So, if I can refresh my skills to a certain level, then perhaps I can sign up for a conversation class at some point and immerse myself in that learning experience. 

I wonder if they'd let me skip the placement tests if I showed them my undergraduate transcript? Or perhaps I should just find a conversation group that happens on campus, once we are free to leave our homes without fear of adding to the massive spike in COVID cases in our area...like, when there's a vaccine. I have an eye doctor appointment in a few days, but I'll probably cancel it because I can make do with what I've got. I'm just too nervous, and there's way too many people not wearing masks.

time for a therapist

 I keep meaning to contact my university's EAP to talk to a therapist--the past months have had lots of change (even good change, like a baby!), stress, and anxiety. The election sparked a lot of that, to the point that on election night, I was in a really dark place, wondering if I could live another four years with the daily onslaught of awfulness (and I recognize my privilege here--I can't imagine the stress and anxiety that marginalized individuals and communities must be suffering).

So, it's been on my to-do list, and yet...I have not yet made the call. This week, I realized I may no longer have a relationship with one of my siblings (who was really the only one I interacted with regularly), and work stuff is...work stuff. We are being furloughed, and I'm feeling the weight of trying to get all my students through my class while they are also shouldering a lot, not to mention the various challenges of working in a large department with all its messiness and conflicts.

It's a lot.

On the upside, I basically took this morning off because I had to run up to campus after I got the Very Threatening Interlibrary Loan Email (if you know, you know), and I had some other books they wouldn't renew for me, so we excitedly loaded up the car (ha!) and headed to campus. I got my books and dropped them off at the library, then we ran by one of the local coffee shops for to-go treats. Then we spent about 45 minutes playing in the sunshine at the train depot grounds, while the baby napped in the car seat. It was cold, but the sun was shining, and we could see the newly snow-covered mountains. It was glorious.

I also had a good class session with my core group of students who show up to ask questions and talk to me about their projects, which was a good reminder that I love teaching, especially when I'm just giving the students space to explore something interesting and learn what they want.

But, I promise I'll call the EAP tomorrow. I think it's time to make sure I'm taking care of my mental health as best I can right now.

diverse prosperity

 Recently, I was made aware of a flaw in my thinking about moving toward equality and supporting BIPOC people. That flaw was deficit thinking, something that comes so easily when we position BIPOC folks (particularly Black folks) as disadvantaged, poor, and marginalized. I wasn't even aware of how much it was influencing how I talked or interacted with folks until I was made aware of the concept of white saviorism and started seeing how I perpetrated those attitudes.

I'm still learning and working through that as I learn to be antiracist (lifelong work, I now know). But one antidote has been following successful, prosperous BIPOC folks on social media and reading books about and by prosperous, successful BIPOC folks. These aren't stories of individuals who were saved from the inner city through education and a nice white teacher; these are stories of people who are successful and educated and live in nice homes. They don't need anyone rescuing them or framing them in deficit ways or pitying them for their impoverished existence. Instead, they are humans doing human things, and though they may encounter racism and sexism and other biases, they are in the world living full, rich lives. Stories have power, and if I only read the stories that align with stereotypes, then I'm missing out on the full range of powerful stories that convey a diversity of experience and worldview and understanding.

I guess what I'm trying to say is as someone who came from a very impoverished background, I would be frustrated if my life's story was reduced to that, and what I'm trying to do is read a range of stories from all kinds of folks to continue learning and undoing and relearning and using that to inform how I think and engage and teach.

personally responsible

 Yesterday, I got into a fight with a sibling related to the election. In a comment, they remarked that they believed in personal responsibility, which got me thinking about how problematic that concept is. When you are successful and you believe your life to be a success solely due to your own hard work and sacrifice, then you do not like the idea of someone getting something that they didn't "earn." You, in fact, are aggrieved by this. And you think any politician who has plans that will give people things they didn't "earn" is a socialist, so you fundamentally misunderstand several concepts.

But...we don't earn all the things we get, even our own success. In my case, I went from a poor, working-class background to having a PhD and a fairly comfortable life, in part because I don't have student debt (nor does L) and I was able to make enough money to stay out of credit card debt. At first glance, it looks like I earned everything I currently have--but, it was a mixture of hard work, sure, but also fate, circumstances, luck, and not having to work against things to succeed. No one ever told me I didn't belong in academia, which happens to PhD students all the time who have more talent and ability than I do. I had a supportive adviser who made it easy for me to get a job, versus advisers who actively block or prevent talented people from getting published or getting a good job. I didn't have debt from undergrad because I had scholarships and federal financial aid back in an era when Pell Grants were higher and school cost less. L doesn't have any school debt because he earned a lot of academic and state scholarships, and he came from a family who was able to support him in various ways and encourage him to pursue higher education as a given. I had people encouraging me to go on and do good things instead of doubting me or writing me off as just another poor kid from rural Arkansas.

I think about all this, and while I did work hard, I didn't have to overcome biases and circumstances that many others do. And what the new administration wants to do is ease or erase many of those barriers to help all have access to a good life, rather than funneling wealth and power into a small group of people. Corporations accruing more money isn't done from the hard work of the owners and/or CEOs--it's built on the back of their workers, who are often treated badly or compensated poorly. Those same corporations build their power and success using systems in place--and then manage to avoid paying any taxes. The rich get richer while the poor get poorer, and upward mobility is stagnant. Communities suffer to pay for a few to prosper. Making those folks pay what they should have been paying all along and working to uplift those who are working very hard isn't undermining "personal responsibility" or giving someone something for nothing--it's aiming to erase the years of inequality that have blocked people from prospering, from living a good life. And we can't ignore the ways that white supremacy is all over this concept of "personal responsibility" because it seeks to erase the ways that systems, structures, and policies have made it fundamentally more difficult for BIPOC folks to prosper, despite all the hard work, talent, and intelligence in the world.

Anyway, that's what's on my mind. The fight took a particularly nasty turn when I, unthinking, commented about this sibling getting a government check (like me, they are employed by the government), and they took it to mean that they didn't work extremely hard to earn what they have. I don't deny that--I just think it's contradictory to say the government shouldn't work to support people when you are a part of that government structure. Ultimately, I attempted to apologize despite being verbally abused in a way that no person should have to endure from anyone--let alone a sibling--so I'm sitting here, living the schisms that have been exposed by four years of unrelenting attacks and reductionist thinking and white supremacy. 

I'm hopeful for the future of our country, as long as we keep doing the work, but I'm not so sure about the fate of my familial relations.

waiting and waiting

Like all 4 of my readers, we are waiting for the 2020 presidential election to be called. It's looking GREAT for Biden, and I'm over here waiting to crack into my fancy beer and party party party. Even though it's going to be a slog until January, it feels like something huge will be lifted. My screen time tells you how much I've been checking the news apps and calming my anxiety by playing Spelling Bee and solving the crossword.

Little work has been accomplished this week, and that's ok.

However, I have to reckon with the fact that most of my family (at least 2 brothers, both parents, likely several extended family members) voted for the orange menace, who, in addition to failing to take decisive action to mitigate the cornovirus (leaving millions sick and 200,000+ dead) also is a racist, homophobic bigot. I keep seesawing between wanting to burn all those familial bridges in a true scorched-earth fashion to contemplating buying copies of So You Want to Talk about Race and How to Be an Anti-Racist to send in the Christmas boxes (along with lumps of coal). We white folx have got to deal with our shit before we bring down the whole country in a misguided attempt to preserve the white supremacy that harms ALL of us.

In the meantime, I'm making a homemade pumpkin spice latte, eagerly refreshing the New York Times app and Twitter feed, and trying to get a little work done.

Back to it!

the doomscroll effect

 It's five days until voting ends (though who knows how long until we know the results of this intense election), and I'm finding myself seesawing between hopefulness and despair. Despite reducing my use of social media (to the point where I deactivated my FB account), I feel the urge to check the news regularly on my phone and look at Twitter occasionally--hence, the doomscroll reference.

On the other hand, some days the articles I read give me hope: despite the intense polarization of partisan politics, Biden is up in the polls. But, we are all scarred by 2016 where a Clinton presidency seemed a sure bet. It was so hard to go to bed that night 4 years ago, when it seemed unlikely that she would win, so I'm trying not to feel too hopeful, especially given the ways the current administration has created a weirdly rabid following who can't see through the bullshit.

Anyway.

One thing that's also giving me hope are the many many Biden signs I see in my neighborhood. Sure, Boise is the blue dot in a generally red state, but it's still reassuring. I go for walks, and I see a Biden/Harris flag flying, a homemade Biden/Harris sign, and lots of yard signs popping out. They far outnumber the other signs, and that makes me feel slightly more optimistic.

This sign was hilarious because it's calling out sign stealers. Also, there's another Biden/Harris yard sign right across the street, so ha!

This flag makes me so cheerful every time I walk by it because it's so in your face in a way I'm not necessarily used to seeing from Democrats.

Anyway, at this point, it's all about finding a little peace and hope where I can. Even if we win, I recognize that things won't magically be better...but at least we'll be on the road to repairing all of the harm of the last four years. And I've found a new level of engagement with politics that I hope to hold onto because we cannot get complacent.

unfortunate events

 It's day 3, and my bathroom now merely smells like an overzealous user of cologne instead of a mall full of Abercrombie and Fitches.

Friday, when I was rustling around in my cabinet for a hair tie, I knocked a vial of cologne, which fell straight into the sink, cracking and immediately spilling half of its contents down the sink before I could snatch it back.

I'd bought this cologne 7 or more years ago when I decided I wanted to try wearing a little bit of something scented. I would use a drop of the cologne, otherwise it would be far too strong. Then, when I got pregnant in 2016, my nose no longer could stand any kind of fragrance or scent, so I hadn't really used it, but I couldn't bring myself to give it away or throw it out.

I threw the broken cologne bottle in the trash, where the fragrance wafted through the halls, and then hid back downstairs. Meanwhile, the fragrance that spilled down the drain was permeating the bathroom. Thus, where we ended up: attempting to disperse strong fragrance with the help of the vent fan, an air purifier, and an open window.

The fragrance lingers on.

-----------

Yesterday, we took a trip out. While we are still cautious--likely more cautious than most folks, who seem to be returning to normal--we are trying to find ways to balance our caution with being hemmed in and frustrated with being home all the time. So yesterday, we decided to pick up lunch and run some errands. I needed to drop off letters I wrote for the Big Send (from Swing Left) and mail a few packages.

I walked into the lobby, and quickly calculated that it wouldn't take too long, so I quickly got into line (and was next). (I'd use the automated postage center, but it doesn't allow you to send media mail so the packages would be far too expensive to send otherwise). Unfortunately, when I looked to my left, a woman without a mask was standing, waiting for something. She seemed to be trying to stay away from folks, but the fact that she had no mask was initially troubling. But then she started sneezing. At that point, I was committed and nearly done with my task, but ugggh.

Then, a dude walked up with a mask below his nose. Meanwhile, the clerk started adjusting her mask.

I'm a committed rule-follower, so all of this was really hard to handle. Then layer in the fact that these behaviors actively put everyone around them at risk...well, it made my brain break a little.

Ultimately, I was in the post office for very little time (less than 10 minutes), but it felt like forever, leaving me with the feeling that my hands were filthy. I don't have OCD or anxiety disorders that connect with contamination or fears of germs, so I definitely sympathize with folks who are likely having an even harder time right now with everything.

Now I just feel like hiding in my house for always, especially since the weather changes plus the strong fragrances wafting through the house has me sneezing.

PUMPKIN-SPICE EVERYTHING

I'm a sucker for pumpkin, pumpkin spice, and all things that signal the advent of fall. Traditionally, I even have a few PSLs (or, my new love for last year, the pumpkin spice cold brew, which I couldn't have much of since I was incubating a human and they sort of frown on drinking too much caffeine. Although, one supposed issue with excessive caffeine consumption in pregnancy is a smaller baby, so apparently I didn't drink too much because he was a chunker). Or the cheapskate's version of a PSL, which is brewed coffee with a pump of pumpkin-spice syrup and cream. Anyway, the pandemic means I'm avoiding things like coffee shops, and if we opt to pick-up coffee, we want to support our local coffee shops instead, so no PSLs here.

However, I can make my own PSLs without having to worry about the 'rona. This past weekend, the weather turned of cold, with gray skies and rain and everything. Nearly overnight, the trees responded to this signal to either drop their leaves or change their colors, and the rain washed away the lingering smoke from the fact that the entire West is on fire because of the potent mix of climate change, mismanagement, and other problems. But I digress. For me, though, this was also a signal to initiate pumpkin-spice season.

First, I thawed out a container of pumpkin puree in the freezer, and since it was a little thin, I cooked it down a bit (this has been the best trick for making homemade puree work the best in recipes, and the flavor is fantastic!). After it cooked down and cooled, we took some of it to make vegan pumpkin waffles (from this book), and then I made my favorite pumpkin spice syrup from Oh She Glows, and pumpkin teff pancakes from this book. Oh, and I of course had to whip up some pumpkin spice to pop into my Trader Joe's jar that I've been reusing because making a spice blend is super easy and cheap.

These recipes, combined with the cooling weather, made me feel peak cozy. The pumpkin spice syrup is tasty, and you can change up the levels of spicing as you like--I added ground ginger, which ended up a bit heavy, so I added more cinnamon to offset it, and it was great. I also like adding a bit of cardamom. And you can use the pumpkin syrup in more than just coffee--I toss some on yogurt as a snack, and I used it on my pumpkin teff pancakes this morning. The preschooler also likes it with warmed milk to make a steamer for a no-caffeine pumpkin-spiced delight.

I think 2020 is the perfect year to just fully lean into the world of pumpkin spice, and I plan to do so with no hesitations.

sourdough weekend

In this week's episode of the Great British Baking Show, during Bread Week, the contestants had to make two loaves of soda bread. Peter, whose brother is gluten intolerant, decided to make his gluten free, and Paul Hollywood complained that it was dry, stodgy, and gummy--and I was like, yeah, it's gluten-free bread.

Honestly, if gluten didn't make my entire digestive tract want to avenge itself on me, I would eat it and be happy. I've been gluten free now for more than 8 years now, and I only sort of miss it when I see the things that you can never make with gluten-free flours (oh, ye laminated pastries!). However, one thing I have managed is delicious bread.

This bread is so good, at least when fresh, that when I served it to friends at a pre-pandemic, pre-baby dinner party, they scarfed down most of the loaf. Unfortunately, gluten-free bread is tastiest on its first day of baking, and if you buy it in the store, it's already old and thus dry as the toast you have to make it into to make it palatable.

This bread is a sourdough. When I was pregnant last winter, after the fall semester concluded, I set out to bring a new creature into the house (other than a baby), a sourdough starter. Made up of water, brown rice flour, and time, my sourdough starter began its life, and I began my pursuit of the perfect loaf.

This obsession carried me through the pandemic, ensuring we had bread to eat on a regular basis that didn't have to be procured from the grocery stores we've been avoiding except for a restock every three weeks or so. It's also fun. And now I have two starters--a multigrain one (usually teff, sorghum, and quinoa flour but it varies depending on what I have on hand) and a brown rice one.

Currently, my go-to recipe and technique is from Naomi Devlin, who has a great sourdough course. Devlin, a UK-based cookery teacher, has been experimenting with gluten free and actually has been teasing me with the promise of laminated, flaky pastry to tempt me to buy another course from her. Her recipe and methods also informed my other go-to book, Aran Goyoaga's Cannelle et Vanille, which is just a marvelous cookbook.

Anyway, I had neglected my starter for a few weeks as I have been immersed in trying to keep up with my classes while working from home and being the primary calorie source for a rather plump baby, so I decided to bake two loaves--a boule and a sandwich loaf, just to see.

I'm still working on the right temperatures for everything. Our oven is obnoxious and doesn't keep good temperatures and heats all wacky, so it's a bit hard to pin down. This time, I think I ran the oven a bit too hot to start, since the boule got a bit darker faster than I would like, but overall both loaves were lovely. The preschooler happily eats it with salted butter and the grape jelly L made with grapes from the community garden.

While gluten-free bread can never fully stack up to the ease and simplicity of a wheat-based loaf, I'm glad I've found a good approach to bread that isn't stodgy, dry, and gummy.

Pandemic Diaries, May 2020

 Early in quarantine, I jotted some notes:

May 9

Life as a parent of two  young children while a pandemic rages on around us: Well, this is not how I thought I'd be spending our spring and summer with a new baby.

Today: L goes to the farmers' market to get produce and plants. If this were last year, next year, we'd all go--I can see it. The preschooler running up to the granola seller to get a sample, then begging L for a bit of pastry, asking me to buy him a popsicle. Me, wearing the baby on my chest, perhaps stopping to nurse or to sit and eat my own treat or sip my coffee. L darting through the market because he hates standing still, choosing plants for the garden and veggies to eat. We meet friends, we wander blissfully.

But, no.

Today, he went to the drive-thru farmers' market pick-up. He had ordered ahead, reserved a slot. Mask ready, he loaded the groceries and went to get other produce. He washes his hands in the kitchen sink when he returns, carefully counting and lathering thoroughly with the castile soap we made a few years ago. The kids and I stay home, yet another day out of many. It's now and tomorrow and many months ahead of us.

May 10 (Mother's Day)

Today's human contact: Zoom barre3 with my local studio. I don't like my video to be on when I'm working out, so I wait until the end to turn on my camera, to connect with the studio owner or others in the class. It's Mothers' Day, and I relish the hour where I can move my body freely, even as I am still recovering from the baby's birth.

My present from L was not only a nice bag of goodies from the local bookstore but also a way to support that bookstore in a pandemic, which is a sign of how we are making choices these days, trying to keep our communities alive and thriving.

I had a long video call with my mom, and it ended with us talking about racism. I have hope that maybe she won't vote for [UGH], maybe. Or at least she doesn't buy into his crap. I can hope, which is all we can do in these horrible, strange times.

May 16

One day, I couldn't get the image out--a cup, filled up with steaming coffee; a waiter coming by to pour. They did not have gloves, a mask, a fear of a virus (or of transporting one). No, just the simplicity of pouring and drinking, paying, tipping, enjoying.

So today, I ordered coffee and pastries from one of my favorite local coffee shops for pick-up [ordered and paid online! the convenience!], the pleasure of a well-made cup of coffee ours once again. We took it to The Depot to enjoy in the spring sunshine. Though a bit chilly, I was warmed by the pleasure of such a small semblance of normalcy. The baby sat in the carrier he's been in just a few times; the preschooler ran wildly through the grass and clambered on rocks, pointing out the water, a ball he found, the fish, the bubbles.

I know we must continue to isolate, but we are seeking out safe ways to feel less restrained, to lighten the weight of isolation and loneliness. 

October in a Panic

In a text with my mom, I told her how old the baby now was (hint: not so tiny), and she remarked about how time flies. And part of me was yes, absolutely, it does seem like just yesterday that the second child was born--but it also seems like 100 years ago and in a different age because it was a pre-pandemic (or BC--before corona).

Also, I suspect this next month is going to drag until we find out the results of the election.

I revived this blog in part because I've been enjoying a friend's sabbatical blog, and I realized  I missed writing that wasn't creating content for online classes or sending notes to my senators for them to ignore. But I also wanted to revive a space to just...talk about things I think are interesting and to find joy in writing again.

Today, the air is filled with smoke, and so we are inside. It's likely the last warmer day for a while, but I don't mind the impending cooling weather because it'll remove the smoke (I hope) and it means I can wear sweaters and give into my pumpkin-spiced desires. I'm trying to find the joy where I can, in writing and in pumpkins, so that I can focus on the things that are currently going well instead of the impending sense of doom or the moments of panic I keep experiencing.

I have these moments of panic because our country is a dumpster fire being presided over by a white supremacist and our democracy truly feels threatened. My poor students are just trying to hang on, and I'm spending all my work days just trying to help them learn and reassure them that I'll accept anything they want to turn in but having so many of them fall behind. The work I want to do--research, applying for conferences, applying for sabbatical, applying for grants--is constantly on the back burner as I dump all of my time and energy into teaching and service.

But, in a Zoom call with friends on Monday, I was reminded that the doom cycle isn't always productive. We could spend all the time bemoaning our current fates--and it's ok to do that sometimes--but one friend also reminded me that things are not all bad. And it was a good jolt out of the doom cycle and focus on negativity. I'm healthy, my family is healthy, I'm employed, I have sufficient money to donate to the preservation of democracy and help those in need, I have work I love and is meaningful. And, better yet, weirdly the pandemic has been helping me connect more to those who are far away, who I haven't connected to in a while, like the two friends on my Zoom call Monday, or the two friends I Zoomed with over the weekend, or the people I call on the phone.

The pandemic helped me get over my reluctance to call people on the phone, a major achievement!

So, yes, it all sucks, but there are also some bright spots, like the promise of cooler, cleaner air that is coming soon, the waft of fall on the air, and the impending pumpkin-based delights that the weekend will bring. And this blog will likely cycle between the doom and the joy, depending on what I need or am interested in, but hopefully it'll also be a space to just connect again with things that I enjoy and people who matter to me.

Community

When I started telling people I was pregnant, I realized I was both forming and joining a new community: the community of moms. I loved it--women whose children were adults to those who had smaller ones were eager to welcome me, sharing their experiences, and reminiscing about what it was like for them to be a new mom or to raise a kid.

This notion of community is one that has driven much of my life. One reason we decided Boise would be a good fit was the potential for community--I saw how I'd be friends with so many people from my department and that there would many others who would let us be part of their home. Now that we've been here a year, this is definitely the case.

Yet, joining new communities doesn't mean I have to leave the old ones behind. We are making new friends here, but we are also still rooted in our community in Fayetteville. We spent most of June there, celebrating weddings, our new baby, and enjoying the friendships we've had for a long time.

I love being part of a number of communities, be they academic, family, or friend-based. These communities are notable for the mutual support they provide and the joy they bring. And now we're jumping into a new community of parents, and I'm excited to see what we discover.

Times are a'changin'

My last post was all about resolutions. Little did I know at the same time (well, I did know, but it was very early) that I would be going through a major life change--that I would be having a baby this year.

Now it's July, and I'm in my 28th week (the start of the third trimester). Pregnancy has been fascinating as a physical and emotional (and feminist!) experience, and I'm enjoying this time for sure. Currently, I'm feeling my baby move around (s/he seems to respond more and more to noise, touch, etc--was stretching along with me in prenatal yoga this morning!). I'm also at the point where it seems my body changes at an almost daily rate--the week-to-week growth is definitely noticeable.

2015 (and 2016) have been times of change: I started my first post-graduate school job in 2015, which I love, in a new city in the West, which I also enjoy. While I definitely miss my AR friends and family, we are making new friends and connections in Boise. After nearly a year here, it's been a positive change, and the baby is adding yet another good--but BIG!--change to our lives. We are now considering buying a house just to really throw a wrench in things (ha!).

I'll talk more about some of my thoughts on pregnancy, pending motherhood, academia, exercise, feminism, and more in future posts.

no resolution

I opted to skip new year's resolutions. I never really have--I'm always thinking about ways I can be better, happier, healthier, etc. But this year...I'm just over it. I accomplished so much in 2015, yet expended too much energy fussing about the weight I gained, finding myself in a place where I would resolve to eat better and workout more, only to fail again and again.

Not. Fun.

So my resolution, one I marked down while I was enjoying my barre3 studio time in Fayetteville, was to be kind. Be kind to myself, be kind to others. This sense of kindness means that I won't beat myself up. It means I'll focus on nourishing myself not punishing myself, seeking out connections with people I enjoy, and best of all, stop ignoring all of my successes and seeing only what I perceive as failure.

Thus far, this no-resolution resolution has served me well. I feel happier in my own skin and more content--and, it turns out, I'm nourishing my body with delicious food and running and friendship. And if I can maintain this focus in the midst of the next semester, then I know I'll be onto something far more important that a resolution that fades after the decorations get put away and the glitter gets swept into the trash.

hey, it's 2016!

January is the traditional time of reflection and contemplation, and I realized I'd done some of that in my head but not out loud. So here I go--

2015 was a wild whirlwind of things for me. I graduated, got a job, moved across the country, started the job, and concluded my first semester on the tenure track. Crazy! And now that I've looked at my teaching evals, I see that it wasn't too bad in terms of teaching either.

We spent the remainder of the old year and the start of the new back in Arkansas. Oh, how lovely it was to visit old friends, see family, and generally relax with people who love us dearly. I got to spend time with a friend planning her wedding, which was a treat and an honor.

Back in Boise, we're finding a niche for ourselves as well. We have friends, and my goal for the new year was to quit hiding from my pretty awesome running group--while I am often tired when it's time for the group runs, I realized that maybe I was avoiding them because I was feeling intimidated or something, which was just silly. I ran with them on Thursday and Saturday, and they were happy to see me and to see L.

We've also made a lot of friends within my department. In fact, I had the chance to go on a writing retreat in December and to have people in our new community over for Thanksgiving dinner. The last few months have felt like we do in fact belong here. And it doesn't hurt that it's such a great place to live.

While we were back in Fayetteville, people kept asking me how things were or how I liked my new home. It felt artificial, a bit, to gush about how awesome things are but 1.) I'm a pretty positive person, and when I feel content and fulfilled, I tend to ignore the ugly things and 2.) Things really are great. Ultimately, I didn't want to come off as trite in response to the question, but I stand by the answer. Things are great. And I think they'll continue also being challenging, interesting, exciting, and maybe sometimes mundane. And that's just fine with me.

manly meat-eating

Eating meat, some have noted, is a way of asserting masculinity. After all, some men may not cook at all, but they certainly won't hesitate to fire up a grill and burn some burgers into little hockey pucks or dry out some chicken (what L refers to as crimes against meat). In his book Cooked, Michael Pollan pointed out the male-dominated nature of meat-cookery, demonstrated most fully by barbecue competitions and the enthusiasm by which most men exhibit at the chance to eat, say, a steak. There's probably a reason some men I've encountered are horrified by the thought of being a vegetarian, and why more women then men are willing to adopt that lifestyle.

Of course, there are exceptions, but in a culture that values cisgendered expressions of identity, meat-eating becomes a way for (some) men to perform masculinity or assert their manliness through their food choices.

I set up this background to talk a bit more about the latest cooking memoir book I've sped through: Jared Stone's Year of the Cow. Here is a book that meets the requirements to belong to the genre I've been examining, yet he's the first male writer to be added to that list.

Of course, however, his foray into an overwhelmingly woman-dominated literary genre is by buying a whole cow and writing about how he cooked it and the impacts it had on his family.

I mean, just look at how the reviews discuss his book:

A high-octane, thinking-man’s account of one guy’s quest to find meaning in life by cooking a grass-fed steer. The food descriptions and recipes could tempt even a vegan to order steak. You’ll never look at feedlot meat the same way.”— Steven Raichlen, author of the Barbecue! Bible cookbook series and host of PBS’s Primal Grill.

I mean, "high-octane" and "thinking-man's"  and all that celebrating of meat. It fairly screams masculinity at the top of its lungs. And of course, Stone is a writer interested in domesticity--he talks about the delicious food he cooks, he shares his family life with his readers as he and his wife strive to raise their growing family in a high-pressure, busy, hectic world, and he gives recipes to celebrate the extraordinary cow he has purchased.

But some of the similarities with these the types of memoirs written by women fall away under closer examination. Stone focuses a lot of the book to talking about his health and to physical achievements like running barefoot and climbing a mountain. He talks about his career and other pursuits. He cooks a whole cow, for god's sake. While the memoirs written by women also frequently employ a gimicky catch in a bid to grab readers' attentions (and it works well enough, even for me), the focus on meat is one that marks this book as particularly and distinctly masculine.

Which isn't to say that women can't write books about meat--after all, Julie Powell wrote Cleaving about learning butchery. But there it's a foray into a unusual place for women, and she connects her exploration of this world of meat with the challenges to her marriage. (Excuse me while I go download this book to read--the critics eviscerate it in their reviews. I wonder why?)

Stone doesn't ever dig as deeply into these personal relationships. There's not a lot about his past--a theme that features prominently in the memoirs I've been reading--he doesn't talk much about how he fell in love with his wife (another common theme in other cooking memoirs), and there's not really much of a quest for home. He could have talked about the impact of his cooking a lot on his marriage, the ways that the cow alters his relationship and domestic responsibilities, any of these things...yet, a lot of the book is dedicated to his pursuit of better health.

Ultimately, Stone writes an engaging book that reminds readers that our food choices matter. And I think it is an interesting enough book to include in my research as I examine the gendered nature of these kinds of books and what they say about gender roles in cooking, in domesticity, and in the consumers of these texts.

why the strange font choice?

If there's one thing I can't seem to get past, it's the fact that this book I just finished is making strange use of italics. Here, let me show you a picture:

What on earth is going on here? Why does each section and each chapter title have one letter italicized? Why would someone do that to me? Don't they realize I'm teaching a document design course, and even if I weren't, I'd still find it alarming?

Here's the deal: given my puzzling over the damn font, I focus on that in my discussion rather than telling you about this vaguely interesting book I just finished. I say vaguely interesting because it's enjoyable, but much like the wine I'm currently enjoying, it doesn't stand out in my mind like the magnificent Poor Man's Feast. Daaaaaaamn was that book was good.

I digress.

Sasha Martin sets out to tell the motivations behind her blog, Global Table Adventure, and ends up telling us the story of her rough and fractured childhood. When her mother is compelled to give them up to be raised by friends who seemingly have a more stable home, it sets off a series of tragedies, not to mention the fear and uncertainly young Sasha experiences. She begins to find her way through cooking and eating, rooting her to the happier moments of her poverty-stricken childhood, where pouring cranberry juice on cereal became a treat, not a moment of desperate necessity.

These stories are compelling, and she weaves the recipes and food memories of her young life and her growing up, marriage, and the birth of her daughter. In her later discovery of a measure of happiness and successful relationships, she begins cooking the world, an act that brings her back to the past, joyful and painful memories alike.

Overall, Martin's book has memorable moments and interesting stories, and it ends full of optimism and joy, not to mention some tantalizing recipes, like Cambodian Grilled Eggs that L and I are fascinated by. But it's the strange font that I can't get out of my head. Perhaps I shall inquire of the publisher or the author why they chose to format the titles like that...