Eugenious

So, there’s this 8 Things Meme traveling around the blogosphere — a lower-stakes chain letter, in essence, with no dismemberment or bankruptcy as a consequence of inaction. Eric brought it to my attention, and, since then, I’ve seen it on quite a few blogs. I don’t think I’ll be tagged by anyone anytime soon, since, well, I think it’s just my immediate family that reads my detailed musings about my toddler, and none of you have a blog that I know about. So I’m going to tell you about myself, untagged though I may be.

1. Although Lara Croft: Tomb Raider was perhaps the worst movie I’ve ever seen — the only movie I remember thinking I should just walk out of — I’ve gotta admit that being called “ABSOLUTELY the most living version of Lara Croft I know” feels like a croissant fresh from the oven — warm, yummy, and just a little flaky (Thanks, Mac!). Yeah, no double-Ds or mile-long legs here, but Lara is smart, strong, and sexy, everything I’ve always wanted to be in a pistol-packin’ video game heroine.
2. I started my first quilt in 1992. My goal was to have it finished by 1997. I designed it and bought fabric, knowing absolutely nothing about quilting. I still know nothing about quilting. I cut, pieced, and hand sewed maybe nine squares for that quilt in the attic of Mizpah Springs Hut; those squares have seen many years of dusty closets. The dark green and dark purple fabrics are great, and I’ll have nine nice pillows someday. As for my wedding quilt, I just gave all of the squares to Aunt Sheila, who offered to put them together for me (Hallelujah!). She said to Mom, “Julie does know that it might take me a while, right?” I got married in 2001; you don’t know “a while” until you come talk to me and my amazing powers of procrastination. I have so many crafts and projects running around in my head (and in my closet, my garage, on my drawing table . . . ).
3. I’ve never read Catcher in the Rye, Don Quixote, The Jungle, Moby Dick, any of Mark Twain’s novels, anything by Leo Tolstoy, Edith Wharton, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Fyodor Dostoevsky, James Joyce, or, undoubtedly, many other authors who’ve written classic works of literature. That’s not to mention the countless books in the environmental canon I’ve still to read: Arctic Dreams, each and every sentence of Walden and A Sand County Almanac, anything by E.O. Wilson, David Quammen, Peter Singer, Al Gore, David Suzuki, Jared Diamond, Rick Bass, or Robert Michael Pyle, for the short list. Upon re-reading these lists, I’m surprised rogue lightning hasn’t struck me down. Educated? Who am I fooling?
4. I have run three marathons — Marine Corps, Big Sur, and Avenue of the Giants — all embarrassingly slowly. Of course, that was before I was bionic. I’ll run a sub-four hour marathon in this lifetime, but I’ll never qualify for Boston.
5. I’ve visited 45 of our 50 states. I still have Texas, Oklahoma, Nebraska, North Dakota, and Michigan to go. Just picked up Alaska this month! Our friend, Amy, made it to all 50 some time in the last couple of years. I’ve also visited twelve countries: Canada, Mexico, England, Ireland, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Italy, Portugal, Thailand, Australia, and New Zealand. That leaves just 181 for me to visit. Chile, Peru, Spain, Scotland, all of Scandinavia, and Tanzania, you’re next! And I’ll be 77 by that time.
6. While I think that parenting is the most important job I’ll ever do, I’m still embarrassed to say “I’m a Mom” when I’m asked what I do.
7. I have wanted to get a Ph.D. in Geography with a paleoecology focus since 1998. I don’t want to be a professor, so what am I going to do with a Geography Ph.D.?
8. I’ve never really understood the appeal of live music, which is why I don’t go to many concerts. Oh, I’ll buy tickets for Ani or the Indigo Girls if they’re in town. I also happen to be a big fan of the Clumsy Lovers, I’ll follow Laura Kemp around like a puppy, and I’ll even try a new band like the Weepies if they’re recommended. But, in general, it just seems so expensive and temporary to see a concert when I could buy the CD and listen to it again and again and again and again.

What are YOU lookin’ at?

Much to the surprise of some of our family, Chris and I chose to rent an SUV (what?!) — and they don’t make hybrids in Alaska — while we traveled north of the 60th parallel. And, boy, let me tell you, it was the right decision. Since Chris and I are — how do you say? — CHEAP, staying inside just doesn’t cross our minds. When you travel, you sleep in a tent. Right. That works well most of the time. When it’s pouring along the gravel Denali highway, and sleeping in a tent would mean setting up your flimsy nylon sack in a mud puddle while the hunters in their 25-foot motorhomes watch Dock Dogs as they put away their Sloppy Joes, it feels good to nestle into a dry sleeping bag in the Durango and fall asleep reading John McPhee. I never thought I’d come to appreciate my 18 MPG vehicle so much.

And, in full disclosure, we did actually sleep in a bed one night. Seward, Alaska has a nice, little hostel, the Moby Dick, across the street from an even nicer B&B, Ballaine House. Unfortunately, the Bed and Breakfast’s five rooms were already taken for the night. Some night, Chris and I will stay in a B&B. We’re only 34, after all. We just became adults, what, yesterday? Are you even allowed to spend the night in a B&B before you’re 35?

I predict that we won’t post much in August. I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows last week, so that’s my excuse. Courtney told me that she started the series in January after I’d said, in response to her admission that she’d never read any Harry Potter books, “I’m sorry.” I still feel that way, so go find some used Harry Potter books, and start reading. They’re worth it.

My Gramma Jo would have celebrated her 94th birthday last Thursday, the same day Sylvan turned 22 months old. When Gramma passed away in June of 2005, then Sylvan was born three months later, constitutionally unable to stop moving or to allow the adult holding him to stop walking, bouncing, or dancing, my Mom said, “Hmm, sounds like Gramma Jo.” Since Sylvan started walking, then running and dancing and hopping and twirling and wrestling, he has delighted in the world and protested very little. Gramma danced into her last year of life, and she certainly wouldn’t let any of her sisters get away without a quick partnered shuffle-step at a family reunion or birthday party.

We joined Netflix last week, after the only good, independent movie rental store in town shut its doors unexpectedly. Our television has lived in the garage since we moved in, so it’s only been turned on for some Olympics footage, a PBS Yosemite in winter special, and each summer season of “So You Think You Can Dance.” Thus, we’ve missed the good TV along with the barrels full of dregs. So, the first DVDs in our Netflix queue? The full 86 episodes of The Sopranos.

We’ve watched four so far. I’m glad my Italian heritage bypassed the north Jersey printed short suits and (at least recent?) mob ties, and I’m thankful that Gramma spoke like the true Italian-American that she was. Listening to Tony and Carmela Soprano say “stroy-a-del,” “mootzarell,” and “pro-jhoot,” just like Gramma, makes me want to correct my Americanized culinary language and tell it like it is. When I worked in Manhattan, I regularly bought “stroy-a-dels,” or sfogliatelles, at Bruno King of Ravioli on 8th Avenue in Chelsea. One day, the man behind the counter said, “Who taught you how to say that? That’s not how you say it.” Chastened, I started calling the pastries “sfoy-a-tella,” at least similar to Wikipedia’s pronunciation of “sfo-lyah-TEL-e.” But, after hearing Carmela say exactly what my Gramma used to say, I’m sticking to my guns. “Mootzarell,” here I come!

Uncle Eddie would be so proud. This cheesecake is super, but the cherry sauce is too sour, although I’m sure we won’t have any difficulty polishing it off. Note to self: sour cherries need LOTS of added sugar. When the peaches come in, I’ll attempt Uncle Eddie’s peach-blueberry pie. Now if only I could make chruschiki.

Doesn’t this just make a tasty picture? It tasted pretty darn great, too. Courtney said, “You MADE that? I thought you bought it.” The recipe came from 101 Cookbooks, a website to which Diana pointed me. Some of the site’s recipes involve too many items I’d never find in my kitchen, but some of them are quite simple and delicious.