School Days

This week  I began my new part-time career as a substitute teacher.  I say career because being a teacher, even part time, is more than a job.  Way more than a job. You are responsible for educating and caring for a room full of children that are complete strangers to you, and you to them.

On Monday, I taught "Reading", a class to help 6th graders who struggled with the reading on the FCAT to 3 classes totalling 64 six graders.  I never had to take the FCAT so I had no idea what to expect as far as curriculum  I received the assignment the night before so I didn't have much time to reflect on the students either, except for the obvious preteen angst I would be up against combine with the substitute teacher get out of jail free card they would be waving in my face.

School started at 8:45 and ended at 4 pm.  My first class came to me before lunch, as in 4 minutes before the lunch bell.  I had to march them to the cafeteria.  They lined up and we set forth down the hall, when suddenly one of the boys sprinted back to the room.  I raced after him while the class continued on without me.  He left his brownie in his backpack.  My heart was racing.  The kids were not supposed to be alone in the halls.  Hurry up kid.  I kept saying in my brain.  Finally he gave up searching his backpack.  We caught up with the class and marched to lunch. It was a rough start.

After lunch, they came in like a tornado and raged for the entire 1 1/2 hour time block.  Stuff flying all over the room, note the chinese star above. 

I was mocked. Openly defied constantly.  Completely disrespected.  Lied to.

"What is that?  Food?"  

"We are allowed to eat in here."

"Well, last class I busted someone for eating.  He was keeping it on the down low, which if he was allowed to eat he would have done it openly.  Put it away."

"No."

"Put it away, or I throw it away."

"Fine. Ugh. Someone said you were nice?"

I stood my ground.  I was firm.  I yelled.  I even sent someone to the office.  But it was insane.  Such a rush. What went down in that class room left me in shock.  I was giddy after class, like I had just been skydiving or something.   God help us if this is the state of the next generation coming down the American public education pipeline.   They are buck wild.

The Butter Song

Weekends are good for love songs.  Actually, any day is good for love songs...except for maybe Monday.  This is a blog about the infinite happening of food in life, and a few weeks ago a song about butter rocked my world.  Balthrop, Alabama, a ten piece+ band, including a visual artist illustrating each song live, refers to themselves as a small township. A brilliant witty auditory landscape if you ask me.  My friend Jimmy Saal, producer of Atypical Arts Presents brought Balthrop, Alabama from Brooklyn to Jacksonville.  Big thanks to him.  There is no better gift than being introduced to wonderful new music.

This particular night was special because it was Chef and I's first date night in the big city by bicycle.  We rolled down to grab some mediocre sushi, and then cruised to Five Points Theater  to celebrate its final show before renovation.   The opening act was this gorgeous sassy sweet soulful southern lady named Valerie June.  Chef and I both developed a crush mid set.  Then came Balthrop, Alabama.  In the middle of the show someone appeared with a piece of cardboard ripped from a box that had the words "The Butter Song" scrawled across it in blue marker.  The phrase alone brought joy to my heart, and as members of the audience began to chant the phrase...well this is what happened next.

The lyrics speak for themselves...but you have to listen to the music here

The Butter Song

I was always trying to find the butter knife

you were always trying to find the butter

you and me we should be together

And then you could find the butter knife

and I could find the butter

you could be my pretty wife

and I could be your lover

try to be a little more PC

don't mean to be gettin' so greasy

but I am gonna cover your butt with a big stick of butter

I was always trying to find the butter knife

you were always trying to find the butter

you and me we should be together

and then you could find the butter knife

and I could find the butter

I could your pretty wife

and you could be my lover

try to be a little more PC

don't mean to be gettin' so greasy

but I am gonna cover your butt with a big stick of butter

and the butter

and the butter knife

ran away

and they lived happily ever after

and so should we

I was always trying to find the butter knife 

you were always trying to find the butter

you and me we should be together

and then you could find the butter knife

and I could find the butter

you could be my pretty wife

and I could be your lover

try to be a little more PC

don't mean to be gettin' so greasy

but I am gonna cover your butt with a big stick of butter

That last line cracks me up.  No pun intended.

Creepy Meals

My daughters received these in their trick or treat bags.  They were individually wrapped and labeled "Creepy Meals" with no nutritional information.  The man who handed them out was in is sixties, red complexion, white hair, yellow grinning teeth.  Grandfatherly in a truck driver sort of way.  He seemed really proud as he dropped them into their baskets, and we thanked him and wished him a happy holiday.  And I made a mental note that as soon as we got home I would remove them and throw them away.  Take a closer look.

 

Miniature gummy fast food, combined with human body parts.  Of all the candy, of all the glorious candy in the world...why this?  I just had to share these little culinary curiosities.

Completely unrelated, I have started writing a novel two days ago.  You know, because I have nothing else to do.  It is National Novel Writing Month and I decided to go for it.  55,000 words in 30 days.  Hundreds of thousands of writers all over the world are pecking away like kamikaze typists.  In two short days I have squeezed out 20 pages during nap time, after bedtime, and even at the gym.  Don't ask me how.  I have wanted to write a novel since I was eleven years old, and now with two kids, in school, with a part time job I have finally decided to make the time to do it...or find the time in the little cracks of daily life.

I am  a woman on a mission, so forgive me if my posts in the next three weeks are short.  Wish me luck. 

Tricky Lil' Corn

I say it every year.  I love Halloween.  What is not to love.  Candy corn alone is reason enough.  I waited until yesterday to buy my annual bag and now there is no turning back.  What is candy corn?  It is exactly what you might suspect...sugar, corn syrup, water, fondant, marshmallow, and yes...wax.  I think the wax is what I love the most about it.  The pliable texture it brings to this little iconic candy that is over a century old.  Supposedly 9000 tons of it is sold in America each year, enough to circumnavigate the globe over 4 times if laid yellow head to white toe.  Did you know that the yellow part was the top of a candy corn?  Tricky little treat.

Speaking of corn...we went to the Conner's Farm for their annual corn maze...well actually we just go for the corn pool.  You have to swim at your own risk.

This year I am a little behind the ball.  I just bought my pumpkins today, with a plan to carve them tomorrow while Chef is watching his annual college football game...UGA vs. UF.  It is an excuse for me to make this dip.   Or maybe I will be good and make some kale chips...to dip with.  Long ago, in Scotland, young folks would be blindfolded and go pick kale from the garden on Halloween. They would lay the uprooted plants by the fire and the read them for signs of what their betrothed might look like.  Shriveled and puny, or tall and supple.  The more dirt on the root ball would mean the larger the dowry.  Then they would be tacked in a row over the front door and each visitor that night would be identified with the mangled plant that resembled them most.  

Something about that tradition makes me really happy.

Happy Halloween!  Get your trick on!

Fall Gardens

Sunday afternoon I began our fall garden at home.  Florida may be a place where people come to die, but when the rest of the east coast is witnessing the glorious moribundity of fall, here in Florida there is a rebirth after the dog days of summer.   French radishes, golden beets, red beets, fennel, broccoli raab, romanesco, butter lettuces, leeks, romaine, kale, Brussels sprouts, cilantro.  We started hundreds of seeds, most of which leftover from the restaurant garden, and by Wednesday some had already begun to sprout.

72 hours.  Spindly stalks stretched their way through the darkness lifting their tiny leaves into the warm fall sunshine.  It always blows me away when I think of plants moving on their own accord.  Their pace is so remarkable, their steady slowness is constant and unwavering.  Everyday, all around you, plants are on the move...up, down, reaching, bowing, opening, coiling, closing.  All this motion is so slight it is barely registered by the human eye.

We are a lot like plants.  We all have dormant seeds with huge potential sleeping inside.  Sometimes a catastrophe triggers our inner seed to sprout, and sometimes the awakening is due to nurturing intent.  But I dare say that for many of us our seed just remains asleep, and we dream of it on occasion. 

Lately though, it seems like all over the world seeds are starting to sprout. Egypt, Libya, Tunisia, USA, Chile, Britain, Greece,  the list goes on and on covering every continent.  People in their own ways are unfolding their hearts and minds to a brighter future.  The ways people bring their seedlings into the light are infinite...like the complexity of humanity...but one thing is certain - no matter what your potential is, in order for it to be met you have to dig in to dig out.

Besides, it is always fun to get your hands a little dirty. 

The Pursuit of Happiness

In searching for my video clip for last week's post I came across this image.  In the first days of Occupy Wall Street as the activists marched down Wall Street power lunchers at the Cipriani Club 55 enjoyed the spectacle from the club's balcony, champagne and cocktails in hand.  This video has understandably bothered many people because it seems to define the attitude of Wall Street.  We are untouchable from our perch, and we know it. Cheers.

I went online to read more about the Cipriani Club 55, and I found this description on their website:

The Club will provide you everything essential to live the good life.  The on-site Cipriani Clubb 55 is the natural extension of your professional and social life; an outstanding restaurant, a proper bar, a stylish and complete library, a traditional barber shop, a discreet business lounge, a full-service spa, a billiard room, a state-of-the-art screening room and Cipriani boutique.  The 24 hour concierge service, carried out by the best professionals in New York, will make the world become small and easy.  We like the pursuit of happiness for all our customers.

I love this.  Particularly the last two sentences.  The world for the top 1% is delectably small and easy.  

Last Saturday, my daughters and I went to Occupy Jacksonville.  It was their first experience as activists and it was open and welcoming.  

There were hundreds of people there representing a big world that is far from easy.  Elderly people, professional people, college kids, families, homeless people, the whole gamut. We came out in the middle of a tropical storm in solidarity with our fellow Americans.  The rain held out for us...it was that perfect windy tumultuous weather that adds a spark to the air before a storm.  City council member, Don Redman, tried to shut the gathering down, but the police would not engage...probably because of the 48 officers that had been laid off the week before by the City.  And besides...we were just private citizens peacefully enjoying a day at a public park.

Many people have asked me lately why did I go to Occupy Jacksonville?  What is this movement about.  And ironically enough I think I found my answer in the luxurious description of Cipriani Club 55 that echos our very Declaration of Independence.

The Occupy Wall Street Movement is about the pursuit of happiness.  My two favorite Founding Fathers, Ben Franklin and Thomas Jefferson declared it an "unalienable right" for all Americans in the Declaration of Independence.  Most of us find ourselves today playing by the rules, doing what our parents did to get ahead and provide us with a better life, a happier life, but our own government no longer protects or even recognizes our unalienable rights.  This is because our legal system is held in the iron grip of Corporate America.  Since corporations were given personhood in the 1800's their unalienable rights just seem to grow over the years while ours diminish.

But they are not human beings, they are entities created by human beings.  Like robots.  They do not have one heart, corporations are comprised of millions of hearts.  The hearts of those that work to make them successful, and the hearts of those who support them as consumers.  The fastest way to the human heart is through the stomach.  

Starve the beast.  Buy local.  Support small business, not Big business.  Put what little money you have where your mouth is...because to the Wall Street Club money talks.    

Oh and share this with folks if you find any truth in it.   We all need to keep the dialogue rolling.

Dining at Occupy Wall Street

Have you ever been to a protest?  Well, if not...you should.  It is one of our most important rights in this country, the right to peacefully assemble, and if you have never exercised it take the time to do it at some point in your life.  It is a right that creates real change.  Change you can see and feel, not just change you can believe in.  And, exercising your right to assemble is more empowering than you can imagine...the sense of freedom and community combined is electric.

In college I went to more protests than I can count.  WTO, IMF, FTAA, Iraq War...if I had a ride I was there.  The thrill of activism made me feel more alive than anything else. I was tear gassed in Quebec City and made the cover of many national papers in Washington DC.  During both circumstances I was not doing anything unruly, just standing there peacefully...okay maybe I did raise my voice a bit, but I was just excited.  Peacefully excited.

As I read about the patriots assembling in NYC, I thought to myself...who is feeding them?  At all the protests I have attended there have been makeshift soup kitchens organized by various organizations like Food Not Bombs or food camps set up by the organizers of the action.  In my experience there was a lot of vegetarian stews, beans, and rice.  Fruit. Bread stuffs.  And looking back the food was always served on real plates with real silverware,  and a three sink wash basin was there for washing.  You can't exactly protest environmental degradation and be using paper plates now can you?

After a day of walking miles of city blocks and standing on your feet for 12 hours straight food takes on an entirely new meaning.  As Chef says, hunger is the best sauce, and let me tell you vegan stew never tasted so good.  But the folks in NYC that are striving to wake up the nation they have a different menu all together.  It is NYC, dining destination of the world.  According to this article, the charity of supporters has dished out some pretty great grub.   Local restaurants have opened their kitchens so activists can cook the food for the hundreds of people gathered, an estimated 200 pizzas a day are delivered to the food camp,  giant six foot subs, and even fruit bouquets from Edible Arrangements.

There is one pizza place in particular, Liberatos Pizza, that has lost count the number of pizzas it takes to Zuccotti Park, and even has a special discount for a pizza fittingly dubbed the "Ocu Pie."  People from all over the country and the world have been ordering pizzas from this place to be delivered to Occupy Wall Street.

We all have different comfort levels when it comes to activism, but I think we call agree that our fellow Americans striving to bring real attention to our plight as the 99% struggling every day in the richest nation in the world just to make ends meet are doing us all a big favor.  Huge favor. 

To better understand their message, because lets face it the corporate media is a joke, go here.  Please, check it out because this is as real as apple pie.  As real as the on-going revolution in the Arab world.  In fact on October 6th Occupy Washington DC begins.  And if you go the the 99% tumblr, and it moves you to buy a pizza for your fellow citizens give Liberatos a call at 212.344.3464. 

Take time this week to help feed liberty.

Oh, and share this post wherever you can.  Every little bit of solidarity is worth its weight in freedom.