Archive for May, 2002

May 05 2002

Cinco de Mayo

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Happy Cinco de Mayo, todos! This holiday is celebrated in Mexico and Mexican communities in the spirit in which we celebrate the 4th of July, although it’s not Mexican Independence Day. This holiday is more along the lines of Bastille Day in France, celebrating the Mexican victory over the French at Puebla, Mexico in 1862. The French had invaded Mexico, and on this day, a Mexican army of 4,000 defeated a French army of more than 8,000. They were joined soon afterwards by an American army which helped the Mexicans to expel the French forever, so it was a joint victory. And like our 4th of July, it’s a day of national pride.

And in family pride, my brother Jonathan was voted a full member of the Albion Little River Fire Department on Friday!! I’m so proud! And while I’m bragging, I’ll tell you that he also got the highest score in 15 years when he took the test for driving the big firetruck. He wasted no time after getting voted in on Friday, since he answered a call on Saturday about 5 miles south on Highway 128, driving the big red truck. And what do you know? When you honk the horn on a firetruck, people pull over in a hurry, the way they should anyway. Way to go, bro!

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May 03 2002

Schizo fridge

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This morning’s soundtrack: Elvis Costello’s Get Happy. The fact that all the music I have on minidisc is at least 15 years old makes me feel old myself. Maybe the music of one’s youth always sounds best. And with my short attention span and hair-trigger boredom reflex, songs that are 3 minutes or less are perfect. No long guitar solos for me.

With one thing and another, John didn’t have time to do a love/hate this week. Instead, I will reveal the schizophrenic contents of our refrigerator.

It appears that one’s upbringing, however resisted at the time, can still have lasting effects. Indeed, one often reverts to the very things that were rebelled against. My parents limited how much TV we watched, so we basically didn’t watch any, except when we were at friends’ houses. We lived in the country and played outside a lot, and when we were inside, we read or our parents read to us. Our cottage in Maine, where we spent the summers, didn’t have a TV or a phone, just a radio. I never got used to violence on TV or in the movies, so I still find it shocking and upsetting and often can’t look, though my tolerance level has risen since I married John.

Whereas John stayed up late watching horror movies with his father, with the condition that he had to be able to get up and go to school the next day. If he couldn’t, even once, no more late-night movie festivals. This turned out to be good practice for getting up very early for work as a grown-up. And he can watch (and read) scary and disgusting and horrifying things that would give me nightmares. It’s the early conditioning, I’m convinced of it.

The same goes for food. Just think of Proust and his madeleine. At my house, Dad made a great dinner every night, and we always ate together and talked about our day. I also learned which forks to use and so on. My parents gave us whole grain bread, no soda, no junk food. So at my friends’ houses, I loved eating Wonder bread, potato chips, cake made from cake mix, and other delicacies that could not be found at our house. But as an adult, I wouldn’t dream of eating that crap. For a few months, I worked across the street from the Wonder bread factory, and the smell was quite vomitable, as Peter Lorre would say.

But John was raised on and still loves that crap. So our refrigerator has a split personality:

Suzy
Alvarado Street bakery multi-grain bread (with the cute kitty on the label).

Sugarless jam (usually marmalade).

Odwalla tangerine juice when in season.

Fruit (strawberries, grapes, etc.).

Variations of mustard: Mendocino mustard, Maille dijon with tarragon, seedy Grey Poupon, Dijon with cassis (blackcurrant).

Cornichons (tiny French pickles).

Liter bottles of Calistoga sparkling mineral water, various flavors (lemon is my least favorite). I really do think I drink enough water every day. And I buy organic wherever possible. Hey, my father got DDT banned. I was brought up to be environmentally conscious and can’t help myself.

John

White bread (not actually Wonder bread, but Wonderbread-esque).

Creamy peanut butter.

Aerosol cheese (but to be fair, he also has excEt 5 year old Canadian cheddar).

Stashes of Canadian delicacies (Crunchie bars, Maltesers, Coffee Crisp, Aero bars — further proof of early conditioning). I never got a taste for cheap, waxy milk chocolate as used by Cadbury and Hershey. Give me Baci or Valrhona or forget it. Milk does not belong in chocolate.

French’s squeeze bottle bright yellow mustard; Heinz ketchup (secretly lusts after green squeeze bottle ketchup).

Vlasic pre-sliced dill pickles.

Soda (ginger ale, Coke, Lemon Pepsi, Dr. Pepper), never diet. Ever.

You may be wondering why we refrigerate bread. I have one word for you: Jack. If we leave it out, anywhere within jumping distance, she’ll tear open the wrapper and eat it. Yes, just bread. And yes, she is a cat.

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May 02 2002

London shopping

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Although our trip to England is still a few months away, I have already started my shopping list. For some reason, there are wonderful things that can only be obtained there, or in Commonwealth (or formerly Commonwealth) countries. So on my annual visits to London, one of my first stops is always Boot’s, where I can (and do) get:

My favorite French mascara (in brun &eacutecorce, or en anglais, bark brown — everything sounds much, much better in French)

My favorite French eye cream (it really works — “promises kept” is their slogan, and they aren’t kidding).

Blackcurrant flavored glucose tablets for my diabetic brother-in-law (why is blackcurrant not a popular flavor in the US when it is so utterly delicious?).

Not to mention:

The magic pain reliever Aspro Clear, tablets which you put in water, where they become a fizzy, lemony drink which zaps headaches.

Paracetamol (UK version of Tylenol) with codeine, available over the counter. Codeine content about half of what is in France, though.

The magical Waspeze, which quells the itchiest itch and the bitiest bites.

Fortunately, all of these items are small, so they fit into my carry-on bag. And if you’d like some of these luxuries, or others not listed, e-mail me and I’ll mail them to you from London!

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