Death by Burpies

Crossfit, our method of fitness training here in Chiang Mai is certainly keeping me sore and exhausted. Right now the tops of my shoulders complain to me as I type, agitated after our sledge hammer swing workout yesterday. The title of this post is affectionately (not) named after Tuesday's workout where we did burpies (a combination of a jump/squat/pushup) until we just could not do them anymore. The rest of our Crossfit craziness has included regimens of max push-up and pull-up tests, squats, rowing and tire flips (yes, you read that right, the giant 14 wheeler kind!).

The exhaustion that I am experiencing from crossfit paired with everything that has overwhelmed me thus far is settling me into a nice routine of lots of sleep, regular eating habits, and of course school. It's strange to me that this out-of-the-ordinary time in my life is bringing me so much regularity and consistency day to day. Wake up 6:45 am. breakfast at 7, school at 8, home at 5, shower, dinner, homework, bed. Living with an 8 year old has definitely helped :)

I wanted to get a quick post in before we leave for our retreat this weekend with school, but I'm using ISDSI internet which is sadly not fast enough for a picture upload. Here's an update from this weekend and I will post pictures later!

On Sunday we made a family trip to Mae Rim, a rural suburb outside of Chiang Mai where Khun Me grew up and visited her family's rice farm. This was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life so far! Being there reminded me of a mealtime grace my family used to say, I think it is a Vietnamese poverb/prayer or something:

Heaven, please make the rain fall,

So that I may have water to drink,

So that I may plow my rice fields,

So that I may have my bowl of rice,

and my fish in great slices.

Standing out in the middle of the rice field was like experiencing the essence of the prosperity of humanity. Rice is symbolic (especially in Asia, but really worldwide) of success and community surrounding food. In Thai culture, if someone wants to ask you to share a meal, they ask: "Have you eaten rice today?" People here don't go one day without having rice. Being surrounded by kilometers of rice I could feel the core of food culture in Thailand, seeing earliest growth stages of what people survive on, thrive on and share together here in Thailand: the foundation of livelihood! The fields were a patchwork of rice beds, stitched together by raised paths, weaving through the sprouting plants. We were surrounded by foggy mountains, spitting rain came now and then as thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sun peeked through the stormy clouds. Standing out in the middle of it all on the narrow path was surreal, comforting, I felt strangely at home. Everything was peaceful and saturated with promise: the promise of prosperity!

300 Steps to Doi Suthep

Craziest looking fruit, crazy name too: Gnuee (said in bottom of throat with chin sticking out)> words verbatim from my notebook

The flesh of the fruit appears

... and it gets eaten- delish! Photo credit: Rita <3

My room!!

I locked my host mom in the kitchen! That is my “lede” for this post. I was sitting around idly before dinner (as usual… I haven’t figured out how to help in the kitchen yet) but thought I would extend my nightly offer for the 6^th night in a row. Khun me politely declined (as usual), so I tiptoed away to do… nothing, trying not to give off too much of disappointment.

I’m learning that there is a lot of harm in trying too hard not to make mistakes. When you try too hard, embarrassing situations seem to find you even more scar-ingly than you expect. I work myself into a big hole of embarrassment, where my desire to apologize, communicate, or just prove that I’m not as clumsy and forgetful as I come off, overwhelm me in an exasperated heap of silence. There is a point where there is no use making excuses, no use apologizing for a 87^th time, and no use saying it will never happen again, because of a deep fear/certainty that it will.

The previous day, Khun Me had grabbed my arm and pulled me over to the sliding door that I had left open a few inches and closed it tightly. “No snake, no mosquito” she had said, and I had pounded my head against the wall that I had neglected to do something as simple as close the door all the way. Well, back to me walking out of the kitchen: walking away from her in her apron and cooking cap, feeling disappointed and unhelpful, that moment of being taught to close a door tightly was fresh in my head. Wanting to remind myself (and others) that I really am a good house guest, I left the kitchen, and shut that double door tight, as tight as it would go, jabbing the stick we use to lock up at night through the two meeting handles. I brushed my hands together as I walked away, not one mosquito could get through that door... and neither could a human. A few minutes later I heard banging and my name being called, more muffled than usual behind the closed doors, and everything terrible came washing over me. How do you explain why you to put the stick through the handles of the kitchen door locking your host mother inside? I certainly don’t have the Thai vocabulary for that.

I am realizing other things about myself, too: I think of myself as neat, but stood for a few minutes in my room one day, putting myself in the shoes of a host. I am disgusting. There was hair all over the bathroom floor, my suitcases lay open on the ground, only half unpacked next to my giant armoire, my bed was unmade, and all of my personal belongings were in messy piles on the floor underneath the windows. I did a quick clean up, and hope to get better at putting my stuff away! This evening after I had gone in my room, Yod came up the stairs calling my name, so I came out to talk to him. “Excuse me Charlotte, I have to tell you something” he said, and came over to my door. “Don’t slam the door like this,” he said, pulling at it forcefully, “Turn the handle like this and then close” he scrunched up his shoulders and cocked his head poised for a perfectly silent door closing. We had already been warned at school not to “slam” our doors because Thai people think of Americans as noisy. I don’t know why this couldn’t just stick in my head. The Thai word for foreigners is “farang”. When Khun Me talks about the foreign teachers at Yod’s school, she turns her nose up, and pinches it. Yikes. But, for as many mistakes as I make, I put that much more effort into my Thai, so that when we can actually communicate with one another, all of my positive qualities will overshadow these circumstances! Khun Me is very kind, and though I think she understands, I can't help but feel stupid most of the time.

This weekend I want to make homemade pizza for my family. They said someone made it once before, but the crust was too hard, so I am on mission soft-crust. We were supposed to go shopping today for the ingredients and make the pizza for dinner, but by the time we were done with the bathing suit affair it was 5:00pm and Yod had tutoring at 6, so we didn’t have enough time. We came home only to find that Yod’s tutor had canceled, so we went our for pizza… the exact kind they LOVE. I think it is called like the Pizza Palace or something, but they tell me it is “same same Pizza Hut”, and it pretty much was. They were so excited to go, and enjoyed the food so much, I don’t have the inspiration to try to out-bake the processed food perfection. The pizza had like a velveeta coat instead of tomato sauce, then cheese, and then ham, pineapple, and shrimp on top. Not what I personally would have ordered, but it was pretty heavenly, the way that kind of food can be. It was also the first time I had eaten something so familiar since leaving home, so that felt good too.

This week I was definitely feeing the “W”’s that are embedded within the overall W curve of study abroad emotions. There were highs and lows, my low being on Wednesday when I felt like I had no friends, was never going to be able to remember even one word of Thai, and that my host family hated me. But then on Thursday did a complete 180, loving school and friends, and forgetting my Thai notebook in my carpool’s car but coming home with Thai spilling out of my mouth, not even wanting or needing it at all (Hallelujiah, my brain works! Just some minor technical difficulties). Another high came on Friday when we climbed a nearby mountain to visit the Doi Suthep Temple on top. Even though I was sweating barrels and it rained and was suffocatingly hot at the same time and mosquitoes ended up smushed dead into my sweat, it was breathtaking and I got blessed by a monk and a white cotton bracelet for good fortune and happiness. I’m feeling its blessing already :) There is a soft rain outside, kissing my room with cool air… hopefully it will take me less than a sweaty hour to fall asleep tonight!

xoxox

That "filmy" looking layer on this picture is a massive spider web, I hope you can see it...

Chiang Mai <3

The mosts sustainable lunch box... purple sticky rice, chicken and pumpkin greens wrapped in a banana leaf, with a little banana leaf packet of chili paste for flavoring

One of the temples in the temple complex

Doi Suthep

The inside of Doi Suthep

ISDSI! we signed our names on the piece of robe for visitors

Lam Yaiy in Chiang Mai!

We have had a nice, lazy weekend and tomorrow starts school! I bought two uniform shirts yesterday at the market when we went to visit Khun Paw (my host father) at his clothing store in the market. All of the clothes are made by hand! In Thailand all female students wear white button down shirts and black skirts, so I got some spiffy looking button-downs.

Dahlroudee making the Lam Yaiy muffins!

This morning I spent about an hour reading to Yod from Sleeping Beauty so he can get better at his English. Because I don’t understand enough Thai to help cook or do much else, it felt good to really be able to be a part of the “exchange” aspect of being hosted by a Thai family. Khun Me and Khun Paw are very focused on Yod’s schooling: he has Chinese and Thai every weekend, and occasionally English apparently! While we were doing that, Khun Me and Dohlrudee were busy in the kitchen making me “Welcome to Chiang Mai Muffins” I learned when they were ready. 

Khun Me waiting for the muffins to bake <3

I also learned that I am supposed to eat the majority of the 32-muffin batch. I’m glad they are absolutely delicious (or “a-loy” in Thai)! I have already had 6 today so I’m off to a good start :). They told us in orientation that Thai people are especially attentive to our small behaviors. If we take a bit more of something than something else, they immediately assume that it is our favorite food and bring it out every meal. Trying to be overly thankful and praising of everything they feed me, this hasn’t worked out for me too well, and I can’t remember how to say “I’m full” so I have eaten A LOT, not know how to say no. For example, we had papaya last night (delicious), and tonight a heaping plateful was placed directly in front of me for dessert. Already having stuffed my face with dinner I only ate a few pieces and I think they were disappointed. Another example: I slept around 12 hours both last night and the night before, so they shooed me up to bed tonight at 8:00 PM because I need to get up around 6:30 AM tomorrow for school. It is nice to be taken care of, but I wish I could communicate more!

Lam Yaiy muffins!

This is what the fruit Lam Yaiy looks like

I want to blog a bit more about the amazing food I have eaten, and I hope to have more pictures soon! The muffins were incredible, “Muffin Lam Yaiy”. Lam Yaiy is this peculiar little fruit I was introduced to yesterday. It is a round piece of fruit flesh encased in a hard covering that you crack open with your teeth. You then pop the white fruit into your mouth and remove the center seed. It has the texture and taste of very ripe cantaloupe. There were chunks of it throughout my muffins! They were really delicious. We do have rice with almost every meal, and I really enjoy it. For breakfast we have “Chao Tom” a soupy rice with carrots, cilantro, and bits of meat or shrimp, usually left over from dinner. We also had that again for lunch. For dinner tonight we had Pad King (I felt so happy when I recognized this as sounding like something in a Thai restaurant), which was like vegetables and meat in a ginger-y sauce, a vegetable tofu soup that I can’t remember the name of, and a fish/vegetable dish as well. It is all really amazing!

Chaow Tom (breakfast, and occasionally lunch)

Siblings... for a while :)

Yod and I both go to school tomorrow. I can’t understand much of what he and his parents say to one another, but I can tell he rules the house! He is quite a character. We went swimming again today, and played chopsticks on the piano, and had a lot of fun reading sleeping beauty! Thanks, Jordan, he really is like the little brother I never had :) More soon!

Pomegranates... ?!?

OOkulele

The garden

Just swingin'

Our not-real-at-all elephant

Khun Paw!

Saw-ad-dee-ka!

This is not the Wai, it is our "Thailand is HOT! Picture"! From left to right
Dalrudee, Yod, Me

Saw-ad-dee-ka, or, hello, good morning, good evening, goodbye, I greet you with this! As I greet you, I put my hand together in front of my chest with my elbows to my sides and bow my head slightly. 

I regret not being able to blog before my fourth day in Thailand as this will make for a long post! There isn’t much to say about my journey over except that it was LONG. I wrote in my journal at 5:15 AM on August 15^th at the JFK Airport:

"I fee kind of like a machine… I’m doing things that are so familiar to me, going through security, planning my hydration and pee breaks, in such a way that I have created an illusion for myself that I am going somewhere familiar. It doesn’t seem foreign or surreal, and most weirdly it doesn’t feel like a big deal! It just feels like another day with the TSA".

At that point I had been awake for over 20 hours, staying awake through the night until my 6am flight. Let’s just rhyme and have a good time. Staying awake really numbed the novelty and anticipation of my departure. I didn’t have a restless night's sleep or an early wake up, I simply lived through the day, and at the end of it left my house… for 6 months. 34 hours later, I was in Chiang Mai, Thailand!

After a short orientation with ISDSI (International Sustainably Development Studies Institute), I was super excited after we were told that ISDSI is basically Montessori School for College students. WOW. ISDSI and Montessori is all about experiential learning… activating all five senses in a first hand encounter type of environment. I was a Montessori student when I was younger, and learned how to pour, measure, mix, build, read and label fish by the time I was 4 years old, all by learning through doing. I am really, really enthused for what is to come during my time as a student there.

I’m really glad I didn’t blog last night because I think I would have terrified myself, and all of you. My journal reads: 

My host families house :)

“Today was absolutely insane and I’m so tired I need to go to bed right away. I’m so frustrated with myself because I can’t remember anything my host family tells me. I think my host brothers name is Yod? Or something? And the housekeeper is either Pajan or Pajin, I can’t remember which, and I don’t remember what I should call my host mother and father Jan Ma? Jan Pa? Yod’s friend is with us and she keeps laughing at me when I try to say thank you. It just won’t stick in my head! Their house is like a palace! It is enormous, and as you walk through there are a series of shoes you must wear for each room. I think I wore a total of four pairs of ‘indoor shoes’ from room”.

Yod, me and Dolrudee in a telephone booth in Chiang Mai while exploring the markets

The shoe craziness still makes me smile and “thank you” is still my hardest word (and I need to use it so often, darn it!), but I have  much more faith in myself. I can’t say that my Thai got better today, but I did come to terms with how difficult it is going to be to learn. I have absolutely no natural ability at this language whatsoever, but it is because the words and sounds have no roots to words or sounds I am familiar with. Now I understand why everyone coos over romance languages… they really are easier. Corrections to last night’s journaling: My host brother’s name is Yodbourdin (Yod for short) and he is eight years old. He is absolutely precious and speaks English so I have been doing ok on the communication front, even if it is through translation. I just love the things that he says like “really please very much” and “did you have really a fun time today?” and he is so welcoming and enthusiastic that I am living with them, and that make it really fun. 

Swimming!

His friend, Dolrudee (that took me a few hours to remember) is spending 2 nights with us, and we can’t really talk much. She is 9. The poor things spent 2 hours with me this morning fter breakfast, teaching me words (numbers, body parts) and shaking her head at my horrific pronunciation while Yod was in Chinese lessons. I thought she hated me, but we went swimming today (where she was the one needing help, so we bonded), and she loves my Ukulele (ookalele in Thail). I still think she thinks I am an absolute moron. Jun (hoon) Mee and Jun Paw are my host parents, and they are lovely, warm and patient. There wasn’t a moment today where I felt alone, lost or in the dark. We went to get a cell phone, had ice cream, went to the market and went swimming. They are wonderful!

"Wang, sin, saam, take your marks... BEEP"

I am really in high spirits about everything and can’t wait for tomorrow to start… I think we are going on a adventure. Right now I am going to go practice the words that I learned so I can talk to Dohlrudee tomorrow!

Last Day to be 19

Today is officially the one year anniversary of my blog! Pomegranates and Passersby, happy one year old birthday (gave her a little makeover to light things up). Today is my last day to be 19. As I wrote last year, my mother always reminds me of this just a few days before my birthday, usually in her high squeaky voice while she squeezes my shoulders... I know she doesn't want it to happen either. And tomorrow, without fail, at the end of the day when everyone has their feet up, kicking back for the evening, she will ask me what it feels like to be 20 years old. And, without fail, it will probably feel the same as 19.

For some reason, thinking about turning 20 makes me queasy, puts my stomach in my mouth and gives me a slight chill like I'm going to start sweating. Birthdays are a funny thing... I always roll my eyes at people who whine and complain and act dramatic about turning one year older, thinking that I never want to be that person or act that way about my aging, but today is the first year that I've wanted to. I think a little part of it is because it is frightening to finally feel subject to the passing of time. But the comforting thing is knowing that there's so much more of it to come. The other piece is not feeling old enough or qualified enough to be a 20-year-old. But that's how it goes, usually the people you look up to don't feel mature and accomplished, they feel just like you. It's our same self day after day, year after year, not changing all that much.

And, no matter what, as old as I feel or feel like I should feel, I'll always be young to someone... 

What is old anyways? Scrapping that word from here on out :)

Lily and Frances, on the last few miles of our hike.

So, a year in review: started it in Vancouver with a homemade strawberry shortcake for breakfast and a blog to write, and ending it coming out of the 100 Miles of wilderness in Maine after 10 days of backpacking with my sisters. We didn't get eaten by bears, but we did see a Moose!
Honestly, 19 has been a little insane. I think I maxed out on my busy, and as a result, I will spend the next few years as an un-obligated person.

But the best part of being 19 was just finding out more about myself... living each day and not regretting any of it. Understanding how privileged I am, becoming closer to people I aspire to be like, beginning to dream about what I want my life to be, getting closer to my family, traveling to unbelievable places and seeing my wishes and dreams come true, but most importantly watching my hard work pay off. I'm ready to own my 20's!

Guate, Aguacate!

Today has been one of those days where I have had very few moments of feeling good, or warm and fuzzy inside. Basically, it was a stressful, sad, frustrating day, and that emotional state caused other stressful things to happen piling everything on top of itself to make a big day of yuck.

The highlights: the family goes to EMS to buy our 40 freeze dried meals for our backpacking trip. Frances and I share a shopping basket, and I leave it in the middle of the women's clothes section on the floor, meanwhile my mom checks out and we don't realize we don't have any food until we try to pack later that evening. I drive all the way back, lose my wallet, find it again, and on the way home see a dog wandering down the road. Somehow I decide it would be a good idea to help this wandering dog (an example of how my stress was clouding my rationality) and it begins to attack me! I was attacked by a dog! No cuts or bites thank god, otherwise I would have rabies needles in my stomach right now, but it charged me 3 times on this road that is in the middle of nowhere, crashing into me with its shoulder and snarling at me. I just started screaming my head off, not that anyone could hear me, but then a man drove by and rolled down his window.
"Are you ok?"
"Um, yeah, I just stopped to help this dog, but it's attacking me, so I think I'm just going to leave"
"Uh, I think that's a good idea"
"Yeah, ok, thanks"... I leave and just go home, slowly backing away fro the dog and jumping in the car. And life goes on. It was really weird to be charged by something, that is just a weird feeling, and gives me the shivers to think back on.

But all of this is ok, because now I get to blog about Guatemala. I have been looking forward to this/trying to do this for 2 weeks since I got back, but haven't had an ounce of energy left after 12 and 14 hour work days on Camp Roxaboxen, our homemade day camp. Now I have no choice because we are leaving tomorrow for 10 days in the wilderness of northern Maine to backpack on the Appalachian Trail! So, no more internet for a while.

I went to Guatemala!!!! It still makes me smile so much to think about... not only all of the fun that I had but I smile because of how small my world was before I went and how much more I feel as though I understand after coming back. And I smile because I got to hang out in the house of one of my closest friends from K College, Luisa, in her home country, something I had never thought I would be able to do. I never thought I would be able to experience her family life like I m able to with my other friends, but I did!

One thing that I now understand more about, is what it is like to be a speaker of a second language. Communicating was definitely the hardest thing for me on this trip. I thought I spoke spanish... took it for my whole life, took the AP level my senior year... but I don't. I was so lucky to be visiting my friend Luisa at her home and hanging out with her family, and my experience was invaluable because of this. She was infinitely kind, always making sure I understood what was going on, and catching me up in conversations. But I was in a hard place because I knew the words for simple things that I wanted to say, but when I tried to say them I was suddenly paralyzed, blubbery and clumsy. I felt so incapable. It was really hard not being able to easily say exactly what I wanted to say when I wanted to say it. Especially when I was having incredible new experiences... I just couldn't formulate sentences that would do justice to my emotions, and because it felt useless to say something in English, I would often just not say anything. Ugh, it was s crazy and hard, I have compiled a list of some things to keep in mind when learning a new language that I want to remind myself of for Spanish, and also Thai soon!:

1) Don't try to directly translate between languages. Many times I would ask Luisa how I could say a certain colloquial phrase from english in spanish, and she would suggest a very simple word that I kew how to use, but hadn't connected as a synonym. I wish I had focused more on absorbing the pattens of the language, and trying to repeat them in the context of things I wanted to say. I wish I had acknowledged earlier that spanish is its own pattern and sequence of words and phrases that have no orientation around English whatsoever. We can translate to draw connections, but sentence structure does not match.

2) Just go for it! So many times I felt myself recoil when I started to tell a story, or say something complicated that I was unsure about, because it felt weird to hear myself say new words in a new language. But it couldn't have sounded weird to them, because I was using words that are familiar to them... so what if they are in a jumbled mess, saying them in a jumbled mess is better than being too scared to say them at all for fear of being wrong. I now know that I sounded stupider kind of fizzing out and shying away from saying something rather than saying something incorrectly but with confidence and charisma. Making mistakes is the only way to learn, and luckily for me I was always being corrected :)

3) There is a certain part of our second language that we will never understand. Language is something that socializes you, and establishes a network and foundation off of which many hoer "slang" or "colloquial" phrases are built. Being on the receiving end of so many phrases and words that strayed from the unrealistic rigidness of my spanish education gave me so much perspective with which to think about the English language and how many small phrases or groups of words we just throw around, but that don't have any structural significance, only social significance. But so, so many people who speak English as a second language participate in these colloquialisms! This is mind blowing to me, and incredibly impressive! It represents an incredibly literate level of proficiency in the language, a level that I feel will take an eternity for me to get to in Spanish.

Gosh, there are so many cool things to write about... I wish I could make this post 100 pages long... maybe I can add later...

The highlights were definitely getting to see Luisa's neighborhood, school, and country. We also went to Peten, the northern region of Guatemala and saw the Mayan Ruins there... wow. They were absolutely mind blowing, and so HUGE and old! We went to Antigua, the colonial city, and Panajachel, a lake surrounded by volcanos. The last thing we did was spend the weekend at an amusement park in the south, I forget the name :( but it was super, super fun, like a resort, except way nicer and way less crowded than anything I have seen here! I was definitely in a winning situation getting more value for my dollar down there, because everything was so cheap.

Oh, and the FOOD. Oh man, I don't even know where to start... well maybe with the avocados, and mangos, and pretty much every other "tropical", as they were known to me, fruit that I got to eat and try. I loved the amount of coffee we drank (pretty much with every meal), and all of the staple foods (eggs, beans, plantains, tortillas <3). There was a lot of salt, and lemon/lime, but these foods just make your life better. To be honest, I really, really enjoyed everything that I ate. It was all just so different. For example, if I cookie was sweet it had a different twinge of sweetness than I am used to. My degree of familiarity with everything that I put in my mouth was just far more removed than I am used to. For example, plantains are everywhere, you eat them with everything, and I had barely heard of them before. It took me a while to really be able to imagine what it would be like to eat them every day, but for someone who that is all they know, it sounds so weird not to. I LOVED the meat. Life lesson #43: season your food (rarely happens in our house). Marinate it, shake something on top of it, or put sauce on it, but season it... it's so much better!

Finally, I feel as though now I truly understand the meaning of culture. Culture has been so ambiguous for me in my life, and in the communities I am a part of... my family and region does not really have a culture. In Guatemala, the culture was so real and strong, I feel like only now do I understand more about what culture is, even though it seemed to be such an elementary concept. It can be as simple as tradition, food, and historical influence over the trajectory of a society and how culture developed from that, or religion, but it can also be the way people relate to one another. Everyone in Guatemala was so warm and compassionate, always incredibly polite and friendly, even when interacting with other strangers. Being a part of such a warm environment really gave me a change of heart about the way I relate to people around me, especially my family. It's the difference between independence and interdependence. I want to set more of an exempt of interdependence in my life, and create stronger every day bonds with people I care about.

As Luisa told me, and I agree, it was so SO good to do this before study abroad, and in such a warm, supportive family environment!

Things I want to remember:
-That I want to go back
-That culture is such a strong, real thing, and I want to experience it more!
-That the little things matter so much more than the big ones

"When I'm around people I love and I want to socialize with I get his high... I feel emotionally charged and excited to hang out with them"

This is something I think a lot if people experience and I love Allison Tinsey for putting words to it.

Allison wore Rayban Wayfarers before you were a hipster. She's pretty awesome... Happy Birthday <3

It's been a great day all around... one of those days where I could't possibly do everything I wanted to, but still got a lot of awesome stuff done, like went to class, had lunch with my birthday friend, booked a flight to Guatemala, gave a presentation, passed on my Farms to K responsibilities, ate dinner with the coolest women on campus, made a frickin awesome cake, and ate it to celebrate Allison. Now I have to go and write about my journey confronting my racism. Maybe you can read it when I'm done... we'll see.

How Deep is Your Oil Well?

"Everyone has their own reservoir. Some are just easy to tap into, more surface-dwelling. Others you need to drill really deep to get to the oil. See for me, I would say I'm pretty close to the surface, but for some people it takes a lot of drilling to get deep enough... that's where the alcohol comes in. I think we should live with the friendly instincts of drunken people all the time."
-Emily Rose Walsh, Surface Dweller (she thinks that makes her sound like a hobbit)

Yes, we used photo booth, don't judge- we didn't have any pictures together!

SO TRUE. Gotta love her.

My Ice is Melting...

I'm excited to speak to this title both literally and figuratively... ahh metaphors...

So, MY ICE IS MELTING! Literally. But it's the coolest ice ever... its coffee cube ice. I'm back at Waterstreet (can you tell this is where I'm the most productive? [at blogging])... just sippin' on my "Daily Special" (what I get ever time I come which I love because
a. it's different every time
b. it's always so much better than anything I could have picked out for myself
c. It's only $3.00!)
Today that daily special was iced coffee with coffee cubes in it. Yes, that's right, ice cubes of frozen coffee... what intelligence! Ice ruins every drink... lemonade, ice tea (the most anxiety-causing drink ever, because its hot and then you add ice and it just basically becomes water- too stressful), and coffee!!! BUT, now that I have finished all of the actual coffee in my cup, and the ice is sitting at the bottom, it is slowly melting so every 5 minutes I have a new puddle of coffee in the bottom, instead of weird coffee-tasting water. Genius!

And... on a sadder note... my ice skating ice in my life is also melting. Today I drove away from tryouts for the 2012-2013 Synchronized Skating season... something I never thought I would do when I started this sport. I will be studying abroad in Thailand next year! Although it hasn't really hit me yet, this is a real turning point in my life. Skating has defined who I am: my individuality, my schedule, the person I have become, and my physical fitness. It has kept me from so many other things I have wanted to do, caused so many heart wrenching sacrifices, but has been such a positive influence on my emotions and sense of contribution to a team environment, my microcosm for the larger world.

Synchronized Skating is more than a sport, it's a lifestyle. It has shaped the way I live, how I act, and who I spend my time around, and has been everything I need until now. But I think I'm ready for something else. I'm ready to take on the world, starting in Thailand. I'm ready to use all of the hours and hours of energy that I disciplined myself into improving my skills and taking tests towards something else- maybe changing the world?

I can attribute most of my emotional development to Bronco Skating, and Precisely Right, the most supportive team atmospheres I could ever have asked for during those five years in my life, bringing myself to a place where I can be selfless, supportive and understanding of what I like to think is anyone I encounter. I have a good start on my six pack, some decent guns in my upper arms, and lifelong friends. Skating has shown me discipline, and the true meaning of being a champion. It was never for the medals, or for being the best, it was for coming the farthest, for giving it my all. Who knows what will happen from here... I feel kind of empty, but there are pitchers and pitchers of other fulfillment waiting for me to fill this void.

Courage, passion, hard work... that's what it's all about, it doesn't take much else to make yourself proud.

Waterstreet Wonders

So, this is the wonderful woman sitting next to me at Waterstreet Coffee Joint in Kalamazoo, MI. We have the same shoes.... they're like my most comfortable pair, but I don't wear them that much because, well, I'm not like her. When I describe them to people I always say you would find them in a "Hearthsong" or "Acorn" catalogue, or on a sixth grade teacher who wears brooches and has a sweater for every single holiday.

I feel really sketchy having photographed the innocent people having coffee next to us, but you just don't see those shoes every day! It was actually my best friend Jordan who pointed them out to me, only because I have analyzed the fact that I own them over and over again. I bet this lady knits, maybe she is a librarian... I hope she has grandchildren! Most of all, I hope those shoes reduce her risk of arthritis or osteoporosis.

Life is good, I'm loving being back in Kzoo, and making friends two generations older than I am because we have the same shoes.

Caps Off to Capitalsim?

Greetings from Jupiter Island Florida!

I love my grandparents more than anything in the world, they're sweet, respectful, transparent, and want what is best for us and are willing to support us though whatever, whenever we need them. My grandfather worked exceptionally hard for what he has, and they are living, what many would call "The American Dream". My grandfather is an entrepreneur who built his life's work to support his family off of the free enterprise system in our "exemplary" and standard-setting country. This was all made possible by his ancestors who worked hard in agriculture building their income into family money that would then be passed through the generations in order to support our younger family members as my Grandfather's parents did for him, as he has done for my father, and as my father will do for me. Not to mention all of the cultural capital and high family expectations that have helped each new generations to achieve the success of or predecessors. This is the privilege that I come from about as watered down as I have ever looked at it, and it evolved into a massive "mind ^&%$".

Edward Cutahee Steele <3

It started out with a simple question: "So Charlotte, tell me about your frustrations with our agricultural system?" Wow. I didn't know where to start... and I certainly had not summed up everything I had learned in college thus far for someone... ever... so I was pretty uneloquent...

Naturally I started talking about corn, then CAFOs, then high fructose corn syrup, then "sustainability" and soil erosion, and then cheap food and McDonalds, and then food access, childhood obesity, diabetes... everything.

He came back with: "But then how do you explain all of the successful athletes and long-living people that we have today? Many of them are from black families that probably ate McDonalds (arg). If all of this food is bad for you, how do you explain all of the medical success we have today?"

And there it began, his perspective of success versus my perspective of failure. I was sweating now... started talking about how medicine and food are evolving simultaneously, and how its all very complicated and different for different generations.

"But really its not complicated, as the world evolves, we will be able to solve all of these problems through science. Are you saying that the food that you go to buy in a grocery stores isn't good for us?"

Well no, but it could be a lot better. I am not denying that grocery stores have evolved into enormously plentiful ways to access food... (ahhhh I wanted to start talking about food waste and portion size, and just go nuts but I had started backing down...)

"It's also really important to remember that the free enterprise system is driven by people's ability to choose what they want to buy and exercise their purchasing power, if this is what people want to eat are you saying we should take that away from them?"

From here I started talking about what people want to eat versus what they are able to eat and financially able to afford... but was realizing how socialist and ignorant I was sounding which made me feel smaller and smaller :(

And to top it all off we started talking about the disparities of capitalism, and how I wished that every baby had equal opportunities in this world, because a child's resilience is largely determined by their family situation, but of course our family situation is largely determined by our ancestors.

The fuel for all of my grievances

"So if you work hard and get A's and another student is getting C-'s do you think that for both of your amount of effort you should each get B's?"

And then I said yes and I was afraid because I didn't want to insult his hard work. I told him we need more scholarships, that student loans surpassed credit card debt, and he said that we have so many more scholarships than we did 50 years ago, we are doing so well. It was a constant battle for his appreciation of everything that he didn't have before, and my skepticism and dissatisfaction with everything we do have. Is it possible that as skeptics we have lost sight of everything we have to be thankful for? But who am I to say that... I have everything I need.

So there I was (feeling ignorant and selfish, realizing I have taken my entire life for granted) arguing my liberal-arts-student perspective staring across the table at him, someone who looks back on the way our country has grown with wonder and awe, resulting in his 100% faith and endorsement of the system.

I was feeling ashamed of the lack of consideration and education I have had about seeing the world from his point of view, and confused about if I still believe in mine... it was so hard to have a mirror held up to my liberal-arts-student face. What is this even called anyways? Talking about capitalism? free enterprise? the agricultural system? our country's system? But for me, its talking about life, and its really hard. Will I ever get better or smarter at this?

A snapshot of food handling in the Steele family household... this is what I came home to today.

Writing about writing...

For those of my followers, (maybe they are imaginary?) who are reading this out of context, I am now going to write and reflect about my writing.

Writing about food seems fairly easy. Finding the right language to use in order to provoke the same feelings in someone else that I experienced myself was incredibly challenging. Writing for this class really illustrated for me the power of words and using effective language to provoke mutual connotations and feelings surrounding food. Everybody eats, and values their eating experience very individually, but through all of our writing assignments I began to value more importantly the power of communication and unification through food, and to be consciously growing my capabilities of articulating my experiences with food. It was striking to me how plain this seemed in our readings. There were many sentences that made me want to jump up and down because I felt such a connection with a moment or scene in a story because of word choice. Setting out on our writing assignments, I wanted to create those moments for my readers.

Transporting someone else through food is challenging, especially when it is through our own personal experiences. The authors we read were admirably well-versed and polished in their communication of such universal feelings surrounding food. I often feel as though food is such an internal experience, it is difficult to reproduce that for someone else as something that will be mutually meaningful. Reading the works of others helped to infuse these skills and understand the potential for my writing. However, it was surprisingly hard to find just the right word or phrase, and many times it took more than one try… coming back to the piece after taking a long break. But other times in the moment, the language just came to me. Most of the time it was born from saying something out loud that sounded right or got a positive reaction from someone else. My primary struggle was definitely finding the right words to use.

After I had patched together what seemed to be some language we could work with as a class, I was always struck with how much my organization needed rethinking after a workshop. As with many drafts for my other classes I felt as though during the first draft I was able to get down raw ideas that would build the framework for my final draft. Playing with structure and organization was FUN! Again, I really felt like I had a lot of power to be really careful about how I conveyed what I was talking about to the reader… deciding how to open or close a piece, and deciding if certain parts should go together. I felt that the organization of my pieces set a rhythm and cadence to the flow that translated into the pace and climax of the concepts for the reader, and these qualities enhance the ideas as they are presented. This segment was an important part of my revisions.

Finally I am infinitely more comfortable using a journalistic style: short paragraphs, fluid changes in subject or idea throughout a piece, and finding my identity or voice within a piece. Through our three forms, memoir, personal essay and criticism and laboring over each, I realize how much of a process my writing became. Though process seemed overwhelming, by the end of the quarter I saw it as an opportunity to improve… even if only by a few words with each read through, every time I looked at a piece again I would get a new idea or gain insight from a new angle. There were many things the words said about one another when they were in close proximity, shedding light on unexpected angles of my experiences. In a way I don’t think I could ever really feel like a piece was perfect, but I felt as though some of them came pretty close.

The Day Julia Child and I Became One [final]

“Don’t crowd the mushrooms! Otherwise they won’t brown!”

I could here Julie Powell in a scene from the movie Julie and Julia, teaching herself out of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French cooking. I looked down at the mass of mushrooms on the cutting board, envisioning the sin I was about to commit. I carefully cooked them in small batches, and they quickly browned into utter perfection.

So there I was, trying to emulate my own fondness for Julia Child, Julie Powell style- by cooking her recipes. It was not as picture perfect as I had imagined it: I was wearing her signature strand of pearls underneath my lumberjack flannel with bunchy corduroys. The cookbook was faded, the pages thick with wear but sturdy and informative. My library copy was perched above the mess of activity with worn sticky notes marking the pages of attempt: the oh so famous Boeuf Bourguignon, always declared in a deep boisterous voice (which I did my best to imitate), Artichokes with Hollandaise Sauce, Rice Pilaf, Rockfort Cheese Quiche, and of course, Chocolate Souflee. These recipes are signature of Julia’s life’s work, and I wanted to capture the essence of Julia in my “perfect meal”. To me, the perfect meal means seeing every dish from start to finish, communicating a labor of love. The fact that these particular recipes have represented these things to so many people around the world made it even more meaningful.

Julia Child is legendary among aspiring American cooks. Her recipes represent many characteristics of perfection: that of a mastered elaborate, intent, and genuine approach to “French” cooking. To me, Julia Child represents the perfection in cooking as an art because she shares her love: she has not only mastered recipes that connect people around the world, but dedicated much of her life to sharing them.

Though I normally value buying foods that support the local community and were sustainable in their production, for the preparation of my Julia Child meal my first priority was to follow her directions exactly, buying the ingredients that she specified. I was prepared to venture outside my local comfort zone if it meant a more successful execution of her expertise. However, this did not change my grocery shopping approach: local businesses first, were I found grass-fed beef, eggs and butter, and commercial grocery stores for all that remained on my shopping list. Procuring ingredients was nothing short of a Grocery Store tour through Kalamazoo: The Park St. Market, Meijer, People’s Food Co-op, Sawall Health Food, and D&W. It turns out artichokes are hard to come by in the middle of winter, and Roquefort Cheese can only be found at D&W. Nonetheless, I found all of my “French” ingredients in Kalamazoo, Michigan.

Although I tried to channel every aspect of Julia, her charm and her methods, certain parts of the meal resorted to conventionality as opposed to her manual, old-fashioned impressiveness. I couldn’t help but use the microwave, and lacked ramekin cups for the Chocolate Souflee, so I scrounged up a collection of matching school-cafeteria mugs. I was nervous about the risk of using the misshapen, tall porcelain for something so testy, but, I conquered a souflee, beautifully, successfully, and without ramekins!

The Hollandaise Sauce was the most intensive: not a second to breathe in the whole recipe, and so many opportunities to blow the whole thing. Hollandaise sauce requires consistent attention: constant whipping for 20 minutes or more. It is basically butter, with egg yolk and flavored with lemon. The idea is to heat the egg yolks, but not cook them, constantly aerating them with a vigorous whisking motion. If you are to stop or slow down, the eggs will scramble or curdle, ruining the sauce. I alternated whisking with one of my housemates, thinking of Julia Child’s man biceps and determination to persevere through any recipe. I learned that Hollendaise Sauce is justanother food myth: “impossible” in perception, but like poaching an egg, if you follow the directions it turns out just fine.

The most useful tool in the kitchen ended up being our onion goggles, as onions were used in almost every dish! The cooking was intensive, and time consuming, taking nearly five hours of straight mixing, prepping, baking and warming of finished dishes. The countertops were covered in dirty bowls abandoned in the midst of time-sensitive recipes. As we were mixing the last of the souflee, my housemates descended upon the kitchen, diligently picking up the slack on dishes that had accumulated. Once the souflee was in the oven, and the artichokes were on the table I was stunned by the resonating stillness of the previously kinetic meal, after constant chaos, it was finally time to eat.

The most important ingredient to a fantastic meal is an appetite, which everyone brought to our 9:30 PM meal. The artichokes were a tease for growling stomachs, so little meat with each bite, but the Hollendaise Sauce was hypnotic, sending each of us into a trance. Next came the Bouef, Rice, and Quiche. The quiche was punchy and strong with flavor, and light like warm cheesecake. The Roquefort cheese transported us beyond the simple idea of quiche, to impressively French technique and ingredients. The Pilaf was nothing more than rice cooked in onions, and of course, butter. It was the perfect counterpart to the melting, flavorful beef and vegetables that had soaked up red wine and herbs for the past four hours. The flavors communicated the design behind the recipe: the fusion of so many flavors into melt-in-your-mouth meat. The souflee followed, the most impressive of everything, with homemade whipped cream on top. Not only were they saturated with delicious chocolate, but they did not collapse!

There are strange expectations that come with preparing such a labor and love infused meal, the moment of enjoyment was more statically climactic than I had expected. Like everything edible, the food came and went. But for all that I put into each dish, I wanted more than just the hour that passed surrounded by exquisite flavors and people I love. The time the food spent in my mouth was not extensive enough to celebrate the process of the meal. But the memories and skills that I learned will remain… and I’ll probably make it again.

The Day Julia Child and I Became One

“Don’t crowd the mushrooms! Otherwise they won’t brown!”

I could here Julie Powell in a scene from the movie Julie and Julia, teaching herself out of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French cooking, as I looked down at the mass of mushrooms on the cutting board, envisioning the sin I was about to commit. I carefully cooked them in small batches, and they browned in no time.

The book is faded and loved, the pages thick with wear but sturdy and informative. My library copy was perched somewhere mess-free like a hymnal on a music stand. It had already taken a heart-stopping fall coming out of the grocery store where I had carefully been scouring for ingredients, saved by the bottom rungs of the cart from falling into a puddle. My worn sticky notes marked the pages of attempt: the oh so famous Boeuf Bourguignon, always declared in a deep boisterous voice (which I did my best to imitate), Artichokes with Hollandaise Sauce, Rice Pilaf, Rockfort Cheese Quiche, and of course, Chocolate Souflee. I far from mastered French Cooking, but wanted to capture Julia, and the essence of her work in my “perfect meal”.

The perfect meal to me includes insight, dedication, care and connection with ingredients and labor, it means seeing every dish from start to finish, communicating a labor of love. I regret not having more time to dedicate to the warmth and wit of her teachings, carefully outlined in each recipe of every kitchen tool and every cooking method.

Procuring ingredients was nothing short of a Grocery Store tour through Kalamazoo: The Park St. Market, Meijer, People’e Food Co-op, Sawall Health Food, and D&W. It turns out artichokes are hard to come by in the middle of winter, and Roquefort Cheese can only be found at D&W. It was overwhelming to traverse through Kalamazoo and realize the scarcity of some of my ingredients during a heavy school week.

Although I tried to channel every aspect of Julia- her charm, her ways and her methods, certain parts of the meal resorted to conventionality as opposed to her manual, old-fashioned impressiveness. I couldn’t help but use the microwave, and desperately lacked ramekin cups for the Chocolate Souflee, so I managed to find a collection of matching school-cafeteria mugs in our eclectic collection of school-provided kitchen supplies. I was nervous about the risk of using the misshapen, tall porcelain for something so testy. But, I conquered a souflee, beautifully, successfully, and without ramekins!

The Hollandaise was for sure the most intense: not an unoccupied second to breathe in the whole recipe, and so many opportunities to blow the whole thing. I was riding on the inspiration of my two sisters, who had successfully made the sauce before. Hollandaise sauce requires consistent, muscled labor: constant whipping for 20 minutes or more. The bulk of it is butter, with egg yolk and flavored with lemon. The idea is to heat the egg yolks, but not cook them, constantly aerating them with a vigorous whisking motion. If you are to stop or slow down, the eggs would scramble or curdle, ruining the sauce. I alternated whisking with one of my housemates, channeling Julia Child’s man biceps and ability to keep up in a male cooking class. I persevered, though, and learned that Hollendaise Sauce is another food myth: “impossible” in perception, but like poached eggs, and seeding pomegranates, if you follow the directions it turns out just fine. This world famous sauce was the reason for four of the four and a half sticks of butter used in the entire meal.

It was not as picture perfect as I had imagined it: I was wearing pearls, but underneath my lumberjack flannel with bunchy corduroys, and the most useful tool in the kitchen ended up being our onion goggles, as onions were used in almost every dish! The cooking was intensive, and time consuming, taking nearly five hours of straight mixing, prepping, baking and warming of finished dishes. The countertops were covered in dirty bowls abandoned in the midst of a time-sensitive step in a recipe. As we were mixing the last of the souflee, my housemates descended upon the kitchen, diligently picking up the slack on dishes that had accumulated. Once the souflee was in the oven, and the artichokes were on the table I was stunned by the resonating stillness of the meal, after constant chaos, it was finally time to eat.

There was much laughter around the table of eight girls, but mostly starvation, with a late dinnertime. The most important ingredient to a fantastic meal is an appetite. The artichokes were a tease for growling stomachs, so little meat with each bite. It was the first time many of my housemates had even seen an artichoke. I gave a classy demo about how to scrape the bottom of the top layer of the leaf off with your teeth. Next came the Bouef, Rice, and Quiche. The rice and quiche were for the vegetarian. The quiche was punchy and strong with flavor, and light like warm cheesecake. Not being a fan of “stinky” cheese myself, I was reluctant about the flavor but loved the idea of the authenticity, and was pleasantly surprised. The Pilaf was nothing more than rice cooked in onions, and of course, butter. It was the perfect counterpart to the melting, flavorful beef and vegetables that had soaked up red wine and herbs for the past four hours. It was more of a stew than I had imagined, and to be honest I wasn’t that impressed with the idea of Beef Stew for dinner, but the flavors communicated the art and skill behind the recipe: the ability to infuse so many flavors into the perfection of good quality meat. The souflee followed, the most impressive of everything, with homemade whipped cream on top. Not only were they saturated with delicious chocolate, but they did not collapse!

There are strange expectations that come with preparing such a labor and love infused meal, the moment of enjoyment was disappointingly anticlimactic. It was surprisingly hard to configure the timing of warming each dish, so many of the courses were lukewarm, a quality which undermines all of the care, and precision with which they were made. I’m not saying it wasn’t good, but it’s hard to justify 5 hours of work for one hour of enjoyment.