Seriously good chard

A few days back, or whenever it was I posted the news that my chicken and sumac onions were featured on Food52, my friend Mina told me that sumac was fabulous on sauteed spinach. I love sumac and I love spinach, so naturally I immediately bought some greens and planned to prep them like she'd suggested. 

Giant, waving bunches of ruby-stemmed chard were on sale at the market, and as chard doesn't ever make your teeth feel furry as spinach can sometimes do, I went with it. 

That evening, a simple saute of olive and garlic, sumac and lemon juice, chard stems and leaves gave way to a beautiful, can't-stop-eating-this side. 

Recipe posted! Feel free to sub spinach, kale, arugula, a blend...

An honest take on current events

What is happening in this country? Why are we allowing ourselves to devolve into craven, feckless idiots with no eyes turned toward the future? 

1. Look at Baltimore, and the tragic, though in my opinion the rage is totally understandable, reaction to yet another killing by the police.

Freddie Gray, a young, asthmatic black man chased by the police for as yet unknown reasons, is said to have been having trouble breathing when first pinned down. He also had a leg injury or sustained one during the pursuit. Yet he was put in leg irons, placed in a police van, not buckled into his seat, and by the time he arrived at the station, he had a severe spinal cord injury, a crushed voice box and was unable to talk, walk or breathe. No, it does not appear that any one police officer used excessive force, but the police van in which Gray rode was driven by officers familiar with the "rough ride" concept, a way of driving that results in passenger injury. 

The Baltimore police department has acknowledged that Gray was not given medical attention in a timely manner "multiple times" during the course of his time with them. It is clear that Gray died from the spinal injury he suffered while in the van. So, do the math. Either he was beaten or driven to death and the police are culpable. 

We just watched, literally, Walter Scott be gunned down. He was unarmed and running away.
We've buried Tamir Rice, a twelve-year-old, shot to death in a park while playing with a toy gun.
We've buried Eric Garner, the Staten Island man choked to death for selling cigarettes on a street corner.
We've had to watch as a 73-year-old insurance executive moonlighting as a reserve deputy shoots a man, Eric Harris, to death when he mistakes his gun for his Taser. As Harris lay dying, the other cops cuffed him anyway; when Harris said "I'm losing my breath," a cop replied, "*(&(^ your breath."

This egregious, dismissive violence is almost too much to bear. Except bearing it as a stunned observer is easy when you consider the families and communities and senses of self and identity torn apart by these killings. Imagine what they are going through. How they must feel.

Not all those killed were law-abiding citizens, but none deserved to be murdered at the hands of rabid, ill-trained gun-slingers.

We have got to deal with racism, police misconduct and utterly wrong-headed gun laws.

2. Look at Kansas, as it pushes ever backwards in time and civilization. Women's rights to decide what THEY do with and within their OWN bodies are being taken from them at an increasingly vociferous rate and using a disgusting, dramatic marketing campaign. Stupid Brownback, already a titan of failed tax policy, has renamed Dilation & Curettage, dismemberment abortion. And, because he's so keen on celebrating his ban against it, he's taken to a publicity tour of Kansas, reenacting the bill's signing in three different high schools with giant posters of fetuses behind him. Terrifically appropriate, yes?

I happen to be pro-choice, and though I wish everyone were, I'm certainly not into taking away your right to not be. That's what pisses me off about these stringent, ideological bills; they take away the rights of many on behalf of the beliefs of not as many. 
*See also, terrible inaction on behalf of climate change because of lobbyists and their ilk.

3. Let me also issue a brief statement against the recent spate of ultra-Orthodox Jewish men who believe they cannot sit next to a woman who is not their wife on airplanes; men who have refused to sit down unless the women are assigned new seats.
Men, this is YOUR issue, your very narrow and strictly-defined religious prohibition. YOU go find a new seat. 

We're not hearing each other, seeing each other, sitting next to each other for pete's sakes. We're running pell-mell into partisan, one-dimensional silos; we're moving further and further apart, away from science and fact and modernity, and the outcomes aren't looking good.

4. Nepal. I am just stunned by what a tragic disaster the earthquake and its many aftershocks continue to be. Send prayers and vibes and money, whatever you can. 

Separating the curds from the whey

This morning, I logged into a private Facebook group and found my first free-write prompt. I'll be doing this every weekday for the next fortnight, and I'm burning with anticipation. I've cleared much of my calendar during this time, so that I can fully immerse myself in this small group session entitled Blossom. 

The name seems so apropos of everything right now. Of the determined flowers budding and blooming despite an elusive spring. Of the clouds of pet hair swirling at my ankles no matter how often I vacuum, winter coats shedding away in preparation of warmer temperatures to come. Of the bubbles of promise I see atop many a vista and even in the challenges that motherhood so often pitches forward.

This time of year is so busy. School is starting to draw to a close -just over a month left!- and it seems we've been celebrating something for weeks now and have weeks of the same ahead. Celebrations are the best sort of living, so I certainly don't begrudge any of that happy goodness, but they do keep the dance card full.

In such a whirlwind, I feel indulgent taking -making!- this time for a pursuit without an end goal, and yet, maybe that's all the more reason to simply say yes to an opportunity that spoke deeply to my soul.

Yesterday, on the way home from the boys' swimming lessons, we tried to visit a farmers market off our usual course. We were foiled from every angle- no parking, a bathroom emergency, two broken ATMs. I gave up and drove us home in a frustrated snit, irritated that something the boys both wanted to do with me was being snatched from reach.

But once home, Jack decided he'd rather go on a bike ride with Tom, and Tom had just gone to the ATM so could give me some money, and Oliver said he really wanted to go back to the farmers market. So we all did all that, each what we wanted, and it was wonderful.

As Oliver and I approached an impressive cheese stall, he said, in between giant bites of croissant, "Let's get a weally stinky cheese here!" Everyone around us smiled and softened, warmed by a little boy loudly crying out for a relatively unusual six-year-old's snack.

I burst with pride, and we tasted with abandon, ultimately buying four hunks of lusciousness with varying degrees of stink.

Last night, I grated some atop a bowl of sauteed greens, warm tomatoes and roasted asparagus just grown and picked at a friend's parents' farm (A of the tubs of tomatoes last summer fame). A and her husband came for dinner Friday night, to talk tomato canning (because how better to deal with a billion pounds of freshly-picked tomatoes) and catch up, and brought with them said asparagus. 

We shared a meal, some wine, stories and tips. I served dessert, her husband the next day left a shade-loving plant on our porch because I'd mentioned our yard was not on the receiving end of rays.

Kindness and connection blossom and spread in the friendliest sort of viral ways. In unexpected ways and in unexpected places. Especially if you let them.

beauty and growth in unexpected places 

beauty and growth in unexpected places