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Today is a difficult day, on a variety of levels, even for us, far away. We have sort of cringed from excess sympathy, as our voices immediately mark us as American, and with the news blaring September 11, 9/11, the tragic events of, almost round the clock, we don’t want to attract excess interest. As it is, we’ve only just discovered that we’re singing The Battle Hymn of the Republic at a concert next weekend, in part to mark the occasion (not our director’s choice) of ten years after many died, and for the deaths of the many, so many more were arranged.

In spite of its wrongheadedness, it is not hard to love one’s country. After travel, it is harder to love one’s country to the exclusion of others. Earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis, floods; we have all suffered. Regime change, war, brutality, starvation; so, so many have died in the last ten years. In this world we have so much pain. Are we today all Americans? Can we be, tomorrow, all Iranian, or Egyptian, or Afghan, or Norwegian, or Libyan, or Nigerian, or Japanese? Today, we will meditate on perspective, and balance. In the name of perspective, then:

Notes from the Other Side

~ Jane Kenyon

I divested myself of despair

and fear when I came here.

Now there is no more catching

one’s own eye in the mirror,

there are no bad books, no plastic,

no insurance premiums, and of course

no illness. Contrition

does not exist, nor gnashing

of teeth. No one howls as the first

clod of earth hits the casket.

The poor we no longer have with us.

Our calm hearts strike only the hour,

and God, as promised, proves

to be mercy clothed in light.

Pax

You’ll forgive us if we stray from merely reporting on our lives sometimes to just giving you a taste of what we’re thinking about. These days, now that D.’s Big Paper is done (mostly – the supervisors are still reading it one last time before it goes to committee), he still finds that he tends to think in… er, paragraphs. He reads widely and thinks a lot, and generally confines himself to sharing articles and thoughts with T. — and now you.

Aren’t you lucky?

So, we happened across an article entitled, “Going Godless: Does Secularism Make People More Ethical?” Awesome title, and certain to grab attention. Go away, now, and read it. Then we’ll discuss.

  *hums Jeopardy! theme*

OK, good, you’re back. The gist of the piece, for those people who apparently cannot follow directions (shame, you non-readers), is a discussion of religion in various places, the fact that many religions are losing adherents, and the question of whether or not rejecting organized religion makes one more ethical. The article explores a report made by The Institute for the Study of Secularism in Society and Culture at Trinity College, Connecticut.

The upshot of the study from the Institute: no, rejecting organized religion doesn’t make one more ethical at all, or at least that hasn’t been proven. It’s not a cause/effect issue. However the study directed up researcher Barry Kosmin did find that the secular people polled were more ethically inclined than the religious people polled. So, what is it about the “secularists” which caused them to be more ethical? Perhaps it’s their having actually thought about what makes something “right” or “wrong.” Belief, after all, doesn’t constitute “knowledge” – case in point: just because you believe in UFO’s doesn’t make them real, does it?

Perhaps critical thinkers (regardless of whether they be atheist / agnostic / religious) are more ethical. Maybe those who actually consider whether something is right or wrong are more ethical because they have gone beyond the “belief” stage and into the “knowing” stage of personal knowledge: they have gone through a process of reasoning, which is different from just believing something. Now, granted, you don’t want to reason your way through something like gravity – you’d better just believe in it, or you’ll be broken and bruised before you know it. Somethings do require belief – but maybe we believe strongly in gravity because we’ve seen some small examples of its truths. Does that follow in religious or secular thought?

When you’re a child, you have to take everyone’s word for how the world works. Whether it’s your schoolmates or your parents, pretty much everyone who sounds like they’re an authority is, at least for five or ten minutes, believed. However, as an adult, many people struggle with the idea of accepting the opinion of some dudes (yes – they were all men) who wrote several thousands of years ago about how they felt the world should work — and many times advocating stoning for those who didn’t agree. Should adults – religious or non – accept anybody’s opinion on what is “right?”

Maybe… no, actually. Surprised? You might be, considering that many of you know us to be religious people. However, if you, like everyone else on earth have a.) freedom of choice, b.) the ability to think, you can think things through and weigh all of the possibilities, and come up with your own opinions. Whether that makes you a “secularist” or not, well, maybe that’s entirely a matter of labeling. After all, religious people can read and study and still think for themselves.

Despite the study, maybe there isn’t such a gap between “religious” and “secular” people. Some religions ask people to believe things which are untrue or which just aren’t ethical by any meaning of the word — as a matter of belief. Consider the ministers, who, each time there’s a natural disaster, bring up some weird correlation between that nation and somehow displeasing God. Really? And where is their proof? But their members are expected to believe without any facts… and often they do, going along wholeheartedly with disparaging a people who are already beaten down and suffering from fire, earthquake, tsunami, or floods. That we don’t agree with the blind-belief thing doesn’t mean that we endorse disbelieving in God – not by any means – but it sometimes seems like those of us who believe in thinking as well as God are vanishingly few.

The study lists secular beliefs as things like believing in supporting the environment, treating people of different gender and ethnicities with kindness beyond tolerance, and opposing war. One really weird thing the study noted is that many secular people have more knowledge about religious beliefs than religious people. …hm. Which reminds us of a quote:

They’re trained to believe, not to know. Belief can be manipulated. Only knowledge is dangerous. – Frank Herbert, Dune Messiah

To recap: We believe in God. However, we believe that ethics should be considered, contemplated, and should be coherent. Does that make us “secularists?” Or simply thinking human beings? It just doesn’t seem very wise – or Godly – to fear thinking. But for some people, the very idea spells t-r-o-u-b-l-e.

And that’s our thoughts for a Friday afternoon.

Now, talk amongst yourselves…

-D & T

Back in April, T’s buddy Leila the Great raved quietly about a quinoa dish she’d made, that her honey, Josh, wouldn’t eat, because of the little tails. T. was dismayed by this, because she disliked quinoa for the same reason, plus a few reasons more, but she hates agreeing with Josh about anything, so decided that this attitude simply would not do. She took it upon herself to buy a several small bags of quinoa and get to know it.

Well. It was a good idea, anyway. But, after maybe one stir-fry meal where we used it as a rice substitute, it sat in its sealed little container and stared at us. And we …looked up at the ceiling and whistled.

Enter better weather, months later, and a plethora of avocados, pear tomatoes, and Salad of Bounty items. Enter a serendipitous the-cupboards-are-bare supper, and voilá – a stupendously tasty Salad of Excellence ™ (not to be confused with the Bean B. Salad of Awesome ™ ). We scarfed up our dinner salad, then got up early to try and recreate it to send off for D’s lunch. Salad of Excellence ™ is never quite the same twice, but chunks of avocado, corn, tomatoes, cilantro (or coriander, if you’re Scottish), and beans (we’d prefer pintos or black, but had kidney on hand) are the main notes. Add chunks of cheese, grilled asparagus tips, tangy green olives, charred summer squash, or julienned green beans. For those in need of more “padding” to this single-dish meal, don’t forget to chop your lettuce (cabbage? greens?), sliver your carrots, and other basic salad fare to stretch the dish. Another trick is in the dressing – we use plain vinegar, olive oil, mustard, and Thai green curry paste. The flavored vinegar we chose specially from our local Asian market to add a touch of sweetness – it contains pineapple juice!

One trick that people who try quinoa might not know is that before cooking it, it’s best to let it soak for fifteen minutes, drain and rinse it, and then cook it. Quinoa has a strongly grassy/grain-y smell, which can be off-putting. Soaking it will dilute some of that smell, and reduce the soapy, bitter flavor of the saponin which is naturally present on the grain. Soaking away the saponin will help you digest quinoa, otherwise it causes lower GI irritation, and acts as a laxative… This is good information which would have helped us get along with quinoa a lot sooner!

Hot quinoa and cool veg, or cool quinoa and hot veg – either way and any way, this is a tasty salad, mixing the strange protein-laden South American grain with the best summer produce you can find. And there are plenty more quinoa recipes to try, like pancakes, muffins and crumbles! We tried it as a breakfast cereal on our chiropractor’s suggestion with a little butter and a squidge of maple syrup. It tastes surprisingly good – like waffles.

It’s a triumph for healthy heating!

…T’s just glad to go back to disagreeing with Josh.

Last night we saw animals going by, two-by-two, and in herds of seven…

After one of the “driest April’s on record” in the UK (to which we said, “REALLY!???” Apparently it’s true. Central England birding societies claimed people should flood their gardens with hoses so that swallows had mud to build nests. It was never, in Glesga, anyway, that warm or dry…!), it rained almost daily through the month of May, and is well on its way to deluging through the month of June — with sporadic hail, and what T. swears was slush the other day. Welcome to the lake! At least it sounds like a summer destination…

People are CRANKY, hilariously so. We always talk about the weather in Glasgow, but now it’s devolved into swearing about the weather. What’s amusing is that people are making up one-liners and pithy little asides — and even as they’re being cranky, they’re making us smile. The minute the sun peeps out — and it tends to do that first thing in the morning, and last thing in the early evening — there are fifteen people running into the crescent park, tossing down their disposable bbq’s and filling the air with the smoke of their burnt offerings. Eventually, the rain gods will be propitiated…

Meanwhile, the flowers have given up on waiting and are bursting forth at last. We have some stupendously bright poppies in the Kelvingrove Park promenade area. Whoever is responsible for changing the plantings each year should go on our Christmas list. The flowers have been wonderful every year, but this year is especially fine. We have never seen poppies so bright or so big! (No, it has nothing to do with the extra rain.)

The world seems brighter because D. is so much better. T. opened the last can of pumpkin in celebration. (Yes, she actually shared her pie. She was that happy.) He is making up for lost time and working hard every spare moment on his big final paper. So far with not a lot of direction, as it appears his supervisors are both concurrently on holiday. However, D. merely is continuing to make the expansions and adjustments he noted that were missing in his first draft — as those edits are approved, he can’t go wrong.

In more work news, D’s company is being sold. Again. Apparently it happens every three years, and makes sense to the owners/shareholders — somehow it makes them all more money. D. was hired on almost four years ago, right after the last sale went through, and missed the time of panic and chaos that went with it. This time, all i’s were dotted, all t’s were crossed, and everyone was pushpushpushpushed into making themselves look as good as possible on paper and otherwise. D. took as much pushing as he could, and then retired to his “home office” to work, but at last the nonsense is over, and his department has received a commendation. (Yay!) That sort of thing doesn’t make much sense to T., but she’s glad it’s over, since that, on top of everything else, has been more stress than D. really needed, just recovering from being so ill! Meanwhile, T. finally has finished the edits for Book #3, and that is off to copy editing at Knopf/Random House. Book #4 is in the queue with the editor, and #5 is in that mid-revision stage where T. sighs a lot and groans about Why Did I Think I Could Write Science Fiction. She spends a lot of time Googling NASA and reading up on the statistics of newly discovered planets. (This may or may not help.)

Things are continuing to wind down — as we reach midsummer, we have to start seriously focusing on, “Okay, what next?” D. has so far sent out twenty+ resumes to various companies on the North American continent, and we’re eager to begin hearing back from them.

Job-hunting remains a supremely vexing, highly amusing exercise. With the plethora of job sites around, it’s easy enough to do all of this from the comfort of one’s own home, and then the groans and sarcastic mumblings are that much more fun. D. kept a tally of those recruiter words that he hates — passionate (one ad managed to use the word SIX TIMES), dynamic, fast-paced, amazing, innovative, thrilling, fun, high-end, top-flight, agile, amazing, awesome, live-and-breathe your work, trendy, hip, and the phrase, “we get it.” Technology positions – whether in the academic realm (we did find a few of those) or just in the business environment, are detail-oriented, precise, maybe even painstaking. But passionate? Dynamic? Hip? Trendy? Really??

Seriously, though: does one often feel that one’s job is amazing and dynamic? Are you passionate about the top-flight place where you work? Does your boss “get it?” Do you live and breathe whatever it is you do in your fast-paced, amazing office, doing whatever, which is both thrilling and innovative and any of the other adjectives which would mean that you’re successful in the baffling dot.com boom/recruiter parlance? Except for T’s eldest sister, who loves her job, and whose boss is a seventy-year-old nun (this does not mean she is made of spun sugar, people, just that she’s straightforward and amusing), most people don’t have this glorious relationship with their workplace. (At Big Sister’s office, they even get a dog. That’s probably both hip and trendy. Nun bosses: who knew!) At this point, we’re merely praying for something which is reasonably stress-free, pays decently and doesn’t suck up D’s whole life.

D. is finding it hard to remember life before working and going to school full time. Once upon a time, he used to play the violin, draw on a scratch board, knit, bake, sketch, skate, cycle, swim, garden… you know, live? We’re grateful to our friend AB and others for dragging us to concerts and plays and trying to help us remember to make time to live a balanced life — it will be easier once we get away from having to worry about That Huge Paper…! Two weeks from this Friday, he turns it in…

Many of you have asked us where we’re off to next, and we’ve concluded that what’s important to us right now is perhaps not so much a familiar place, but a place that’s a little closer, thus the continent switch. For all we know, we could still end up in Hong Kong or something, but our aim at this point is to put a little less travel time between us and our nearest and dearest. We’ll see how that goes.

The season of celebrations has arrived – in spite of the weather – or, maybe because of it – there are parties all over. D. discovered a great little pub down an unexplored side street when his office had a going-away party for a mother-to-be, and is planning to drag T. over for their “skinny French fries! Real ones!” (She is resisting thus far, arguing that her life has been better with no French fries, because she refuses to eat the thick-cut chips people restaurants seem to prefer here, but D. is insistent. She may have to cave.) A chorus friend is departing for Tanzania, another friend for Germany. Many farewell celebrations are planned, and it’s almost more difficult to see friends go, not knowing where we’re going, but we’re glad that so many people already have a “next destination” planned.

The first of our summer weddings will be celebrated this Friday. Our darling Axel is marrying his Minnesota belle (Sadly, she is not from Lake Wobegon, but we can pretend), and we’re on work detail to man the cameras and capture the event for posterity. This is so much better than being a mere guest. T. has “martha-ing” in her genes, and finds it hard to just sit still in a floofy dress in the middle of strangers anyway, so now with a camera in hand, the Hobbits practically have press passes. We can hang with the caterers and snitch food, and run around paparazzi-ing everyone.

Our last wedding is in July, and T. plans to get a professional henna-ing job done on her hands, and is getting a specially made wrap from India. Neither the first nor the last wedding is going to be in English, which will be interesting, but we’ll be glad to celebrate with our friends as they embark on their hopeful life journeys.

Well, that’s the news from Lake… um, the West End of Glasgow, where the men are fair – pale, poor lads, since the sun refuses to shine – the women are stuffed into “jeggings” and teetering on cobblestones in high heels, and all the children are in wellies and colorful raincoats, watching the animals go by toward the Ark…

We love the BBC Weather icons (the sun/cloud/raindrops icon is so classic — and classically indecisive — that people have had T-shirts and bags made) and their banal Radio 4 descriptions of how the forecast is shaping up. We have snickered for months about the alleged “Wintery Mix,” which is apparently what the confused state of rain/sleet/hail/snow/rain again is supposed to be called. Spring — which it seems we’re finally having, despite a “Wintery Mix” just at the beginning of this week — is affording us new things to amuse. We snorted the other day to hear 35 mph gusts of wind described as “fresh.” When there’s a vent to the outside right behind your bed, however, one must disagree. In particular, we disagree because the pigeons nesting in the vent disagree so loudly… MAN, we wish those birds would finish with the eggs already and GO AWAY.

Anyway.

As with the tidbit vs. titbit controversy, wherein we received an email from someone we actually thought to tell of their typographical error – briefly, until T. used her mad OED skillz – the word “worthy” was another thing T. thought she ought to warn someone about… then she looked it up.

One of the definitions of “Worthy,” sez the OED, is “showing good intent, but lacking in humo(u)r and imagination.” Soo, when T. saw the word in a children’s book review — “Emotionally charged, this is a wonderfully touching story which never slips into worthiness” she thought the writer had meant, wordiness or …SOMETHING else.

Nope.

Right, then.

We’re off this morning for a short, slow walk — short, yet slow, so we don’t overtax newly energized muscles — and to brunch at our friend C.’s house, where we’ll just chat and catch up with thoroughly unworthy topics, and hope the wind isn’t too fresh on our way home…

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And though we didn’t get to say it last weekend when it was all going down, The Hobbits are officially proud of their wee-tall Little, D’Nic, who last weekend graduated from high school. The Hobbits also send good wishes and their presence in spirit to their sister Bulia, who graduates from nursing school next weekend. We’re proud of you two, and all others of our circle who are moving on to the next phase of their existence. Unlike what all the graduation speakers will try to tell you, the world is not your oyster (what does that mean, anyway? That it’s something you can gag on with salt and lime juice?), and you cannot do “anything” you please now – not just because of the present economy, but because the world never works that way. Individual excellence often depends on teamwork. We look forward to cheering you on as you do as you’re intended to do in this world, which is to find your place in the madness, put your skills and talents to work for the whole, and thrive. Here’s to being part of the team, peeps.

While others concerned themselves about being taken up from the Earth, we spent our weekend in more mundane pursuits. First, we rested up. Next, we rehearsed. Finally, we regaled our audience with our best performance, ever — and our last official performance of the year.

And then The City of Glasgow Chorus went home and fell down.

T. forgot to take a shot of the Stage Door entrance, which clearly says BBC above it, which was a small thrill for her. Apparently the Beeb uses the building to record concerts for radio. What was once the site of a candleworks — thus the name of that area of the city, Candleriggs — the City Halls/Fruitmarket area is now all things gentrified and nice, full of little shops and restaurants, and no whiff of tallow — or fruit. We didn’t have time to do much exploring, however! We were signed in, and hustled up to the sixth floor for our three hours on the stage.

While the rehearsal was long and basically boring and filled with bits that had nothing to do with us — any full dress rehearsal tends to be, and why does one never remember to bring a book to these things?! — the concert itself was all things lovely and gorgeous. A young violinist, whose father sings with us in the chorus (he was so proud he was practically vibrating) played the romantic Vaughn Williams tune, A Lark Ascending and brought down the house. She’s in the last moments of her last year as a student at the Chethams School of Music, and is off to the London next year, to take the world by storm.

Most of our soloists are students from The Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, and are up-and-coming professionals. This time our singer was Brazilian-born baritone, Michel deSouza, who was just amazing, and also quite resplendent in his tux and tails. (T. imagined him singing in The King & I, because his delivery in the Belshazzar piece was very lordly — reminiscent of Yul Brenner.) Mr. deSouza clearly enjoyed himself; even during rehearsal both the chorus and orchestra smiled as he emoted dramatically and sang. Honestly, next time we do this, someone needs to suggest costumes.

The Scottish Festival Orchestra, which is T’s favorite orchestra, is made up of all of the best professional musicians from the various orchestral groups throughout Scotland. It is, for that reason, so very good, and they’re also a lot of fun to work with, unlike some orchestra groups who seem to see the chorus as a horrible encumbrance they’re forced to endure. Also, they have great cellists, who saved our semi-chorus from going slightly flat in an unaccompanied section by very quietly drawing their bows across the bass note — and voila, the entire semi chorus re-tuned. (A great save, which may have even been written into the music, but probably was not.) Amended, 6/1: Apparently El Maestro reads this blog, and argues that the semi-chorus actually wasn’t flat, and the cellists came in, right where they were supposed to. We accede the point, and maintain that the Festival Orchestra still has the best cellists, ever.

Another thing T. was excited about was the number of women in the orchestra and in the brass, who, while sadly not pictured, were stationed along the sides of the room in their own little balcony – which made their voluntaries ring out very nicely. Aside from the usual section of female flautists (what IS IT with that?! How does an instrument become so gendered? Parents: encourage your girls play the French horn and the bassoon, the cymbals and the trumpet. Please. Enough with the girly flutes.), there were myriad females on all instruments, including a lady trombonist and a silver-haired lady on percussion. (She does a fabulous buzz roll on the snare drums. The entire percussion section got quite a workout during the Belshazzar.)

The acoustics in the City Halls are very live, which was a real pain whilst rehearsing; we could not hear ourselves over the orchestra — we actually felt rather painfully deafened. However, once the hall was filled, we heard ourselves just fine, and believe that the audience even heard a word or two. As always, singing with no electronic amplification is a tricky thing, and very reliant upon the room and the crowd, but it worked out fairly well this time.

Afterward, T. stripped off The Blouse of Purple Hideousness (We note El Maestro seems to have no opinion on this one. Hmph.) for the last time — with a sad little pang, and many sighs of woe from her section — and we staggered home. A stagger it was; D. overexerted himself just hanging out through the rehearsal and into the performance — a full seven hours, and T. sang so loudly in the final chorus she had spots swimming in her vision and the room darkened alarmingly. (It was also overly warm in the choir stalls.) We were both well and truly ready to go home and crash, but were awakened early Monday morning. Now, usually our morning wake up comes from The Ring-Necked Pigeons From Hades, they who have chosen to nest in an old chimney stack, and we can hear their mad cooing down the vent into our bedroom, which is right behind the bed. This time, however, our early wake-up came from The Wind From Who Knows Where, which rattled through said vent. ::sigh::

Monday’s day long gale force winds rose and rose, getting to just above 70 mph. at times. Eventually, the winds shut down the train system throughout the city, due to branches on the lines and random flooding. Meanwhile, planes were already grounded (or headed that direction) due to the Icelandic volcano ash. D’s coworkers were shooed out of the building at five minutes to five, in order to catch the last moving conveyances going anywhere.

“Scotland cannot take any weather,” one of D’s coworkers sighed. Well, that’s not exactly true. Scotland can take any weather just fine, as long as everyone goes home and sits tight and stays off the roads and the trains. Then, everything’s great.

It seemed a good evening to go home and make soup. And oat bars.

Monday was D’s first day at work on his new schedule, which gives him a day on and a day off, in order to see if the cataclysmic weariness he experiences can’t be coped with in that way. So far so good – we have had nine days in a row with no falls or mishaps or calls to EMT’s. Sometimes in the battle of What We Want to Do vs. What The Body Says We Will Do, the body wins, and so we learn to take it easy and listen when the body says “I’m too tired to keep going.” Epstein-Barr or mono, or whatever this is, really humbles and focuses a person. Meanwhile, we’re still awaiting the lab results, which should probably come in on Wednesday of this week (or we’re going to go and storm the lab), and D. is working on his departmental presentation. After this week, he’ll know how much revision he has left on his dissertation (or, if you’re a UK citizen, his PhD thesis), and the date for his oral exams will be set. We will finally have a clue about the time frame for what we’re doing next.

It’s funny — and a bit alarming, when one first learns to play chess — how often one move from one’s opponent can put everything in jeopardy. A quick defensive move, castling, leaping in with one’s knight or bishop — and sometimes the danger is averted. Sometimes. But in the field of identical black-and-white squares, it’s hard to see where the danger is coming from, and one mistaken move can result in a checkmate – a disaster from which there is no recovery.

At the moment, that’s a bit of what our lives feel like. We haven’t posted on this much, because really, ailments are simply not that interesting, and whining isn’t good reading. However, we thought we’d provide a little update for the concerned.

A bit of background: through the extended winter of this year, D. has been ill off and on, first with a pneumonia, then with a terrible reaction to the antibiotic he was taking, and later, he had a build-up reaction to a different drug — and a little over a month ago, he decided to stop taking anything, and go with herbs (milk thistle is an amazing thing, and is used by doctors in Germany to heal the livers of those who have mistakenly eaten poisonous mushrooms). Unfortunately, some damage was done; it appears that he has had some liver toxicity from the drugs and after a lot of throwing up, we thought he’d be better. Not yet. Many blood tests and trips to the doctor later, we’re still exploring his baffling list of symptoms (which include no appetite, sudden low blood pressure and fainting, and the ability to fall into a horribly deep sleep for two-three days straight) and have narrowed his problems down to various disorders, including Hepatitis A (the aforementioned inflamed liver), Epstein-Barr’s disease, or mononucleosis.

Right now, our American audience is wondering why we don’t know yet for sure. Well, that’s because labwork can take up to two weeks here. The cuts that have been made for the good (debatable good, some say) of the financial big picture here have been to the NHS, and so lab tech jobs have been cut. A lab procedure that might take thirty-five minutes is delayed because there aren’t enough hands on deck at present to deal with it. (This was explained to T. by someone who works for the system.) We are having to have patience, D. is working when he can, and we’re balanced on the keen edge of faith and frustration, learning to change our expectations of what we can do and where we can go, setting aside all but the most crucial appointments (we’re SO grateful D. was able to turn in his dissertation draft, and he’s writing out his oral presentation for the 26th, in case someone else has to read it for him). We are learning to breathe through the panic, to celebrate the moments of normalcy, to restructure expectations, and to cope. (For all our friends to whom we owe notes or packages [Jac, G, & C, your little packet of odd bobs is still sitting by the door, and Tony, the fedora-wearing paper doll is still in process], we apologize. We haven’t forgotten you!)

Since the weather has decided to reprise November’s greatest hits (hail, wind, rain and sleet), we don’t feel like we’re missing too much not being outside. D. is under orders not to exert himself, so walks are limited to right out front in the garden, and across the street to the herbalist. T. bakes and cooks to temp D.’s disinterested appetite, and we’ve come up with some really tasty oat bar cookies — which sadly have no recipe at present, but we’re going to try making them again this weekend, and we’ll write down what we do!

T. attended a concert with a friend on Sunday and was amused to hear a group from the Bay Area! The Kronos Quartet plays experimental classical, Mexican folk, and South Asian music, and it was an unique experience to hear them. (A few of their songs sounded like the violin equivalent of crickets, tree frogs, and cicadas with drums, rattles, the odd mandolin riff and snatches of digitally sampled voices. Really avant garde stuff.) One of the musicians was an old faculty member from Mills College in Oakland (T’s alma mater), proving the musical world is indeed very, very small.

Speaking of music, Sunday is the City of Glasgow Chorus’ final concert of the official season. D. will be unable to stand throughout the full two hours, but has his ticket and will be sitting in the audience with friends, front and center. How we wish some of you could be there, as we sing in the gorgeous City Halls. Belshazzar’s Feast is the Biblical story from whence we get the phrase “seeing the writing on the wall.” It’s a dramatic and overwrought piece of music wherein the choir gets to shout the word “Slain!” and lament with all the skill of a Greek chorus, whisper, and sing in eight parts. It’s fast, dissonant, challenging, and strangely gorgeous. Really do you could be in the audience.

Meanwhile, we carry on, as the icy wet Spring gives way to warmer weather. We’re hopeful that a solution to our current difficulties is only a week or two away. We’ve met some kind and conscientious folk who are working with us, and we’re grateful for understanding professors and flexible bosses.

It is a game of strategy, this life, and we’re playing as wisely as we can. We’re planning for our next move. D. has gotten some job nibbles from British Columbia, and so we’re looking that direction — but that’s all so far in the future. Right now, our focus is keenly pared down to essentials — getting through a day with no major mishaps. Do keep us in your thoughts as we figure out what’s going on, and we hope that things are going well with you.

Obviously a personal blog can be whatever one wants to be, but we do strive to keep this from being too political, religious (although spiritual is fine), or filled with the ideological soapboxes atop which we climb and expound. However, we do have our yearly “support kids, books, and reading” commercial that we’d like to reprise if we may. If you’re not a reader, look away…

T. is involved with Guys Lit Wire, a blog dedicated to finding literature of all sorts for boys, in response to the cries from teachers and studies which screech that “boys don’t read.” Made up of teachers, librarians, and booksellers, this team blog is all about the books, and every year, does one charitable function in the form of a Book Fair to get the word out about kids and teens in need.

Last year the Guys Lit Wire community donated some 772 books – their entire wish list – to Ojo Encino Day School in the Navajo Nation, and Alchesay High School, on the White Mountain Apache Reservation. This year, the focus school is in our nation’s capitol.

You’d think being in D.C. would mean that a school was well-staffed, well built, and primed to turn out America’s finest scholars. Yeah. You’d think. I was a little shocked at what I saw of Washington D.C. when I went to the ALA Convention last summer. That inner city poverty thing is alive and well. A few blocks away from the White House, and the sidewalks aren’t even as nice any more. Why is GLW interested in D.C.? Because Ballou Senior High School – a school with over 1,200 students – has 1,150 books in their library. Not even enough books for every student to read one, despite the American Library Association suggested ratio of 11:1 for books to students in American schools. 1,150 books! And you know many of those are dictionaries, reference books, and the like. But, alas, the D.C. district isn’t a state – it has no representative in the House or the Senate, recall. If there’s nobody beating the drum to care about kids and literacy, they’re not getting anything other than the bare minimum. Emphasis on “bare.” Which is the exact description of their library bookshelves.

Fortunately, there’s us. And the Guys Lit Wire Book Fair. As happens every year, the librarian at the school is polite, but slightly skeptical, afraid that nothing WILL happen. Other people have tried to help, given well-meaning stacks of books – in duplicate – without asking what the students readers want and need. Guys Lit Wire is different; we’ve asked. And the list is up.

– from organizer Colleen Mondor, author and book reviewer: “For those of you who have been with us before, the drill is the same. Go to the Powell’s web site. In the upper right you can click on “wish list”. On the next page you will be asked to enter the email address for the friend’s list you are looking for (you might need to scroll down a wee bit to see this prompt.) Enter our email: [email protected]”

There are 900 books on that school’s wishlist. We want to give that many, and more. Read the rest of the Fair details, and see the video the librarian made of the school’s EMPTY SHELVES @ Guys Lit Wire. And, think about the impact of just one book, and what just one book has done for you.

This month in the U.S. is National Mental Health Month. One of the many cures that we Hobbits have found to work, over and over again, when we are stressed and losing our minds is to concentrate on the struggles and troubles of others. While not downplaying the reality of our lives, we often ask ourselves, “Are armies encamped on our streets? Are people going door-to-door arresting dissidents against our government? Are flood waters rising even now and lapping against our doorsteps? Do we have a roof and food and a place to sleep tonight? Then, are things really so bad?”

Please, if you can, look outside of yourself and your own troubles this month, and bolster someone else. Participating in the Guys Lit Wire Book Fair is but one of many supportive options, and a place to start. Thanks.

That is all. You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

Okay, granted, just because one has turned in their full first draft of their dissertation doesn’t mean that all of the work is done. Just because one has had that All Important Chat with one’s editor about one’s revision, and has the hope of actual money changing hands (Authors get paid so erratically. Do not attempt this profession if you’re actually into making money or don’t have a sugar daddy with a PhD and a penchant for genius in your back pocket. N.B.), the work is not yet completed.

However, the projects are done enough for government work. That is, done enough for the moment. In a few weeks, the pressure will start up again…(The oral dissertation presentation before the external examiners and the entire department takes place the 26th. T.’s freelance editor is tapping her foot for the science fiction manuscript due the end of May, and her middle grade novel is coming up for editorial review via committee. Notice the groups of people passing judgment around here?)

…but, for now, there’s apple tart.

We wish that we could point toward some noble impulse like Making A Healthy Dessert in the formation of this dish, but alas, it was more along the lines of O Noes, We Bought Braeburns, And They Were Overripe, And All The Apples Are Getting Mealier, Except For the Pink Ladies, Which We Have Scarfed Down, Yea Verily.

Generally, T. makes sauce out of the various Varieties of Apples Which She Will Not Eat, of which there are legion, as she tends to stick with Gala, Pink Lady, and ripe Braeburns. D. keeps bringing home different varietals to try, and she tends to turn up her nose, dry or sauce them, as this really isn’t apple season at all… but apple season never really ends in Scotland.

But we digress. Badly. The point was the tart. Which we pulled together because we had geriatric apples around the house. Okay, not too-too geriatric, we aren’t talking withered flesh and wrinkles here. Just… older apples which were slightly softening.

You may wonder why we are talking this through, instead of putting down a recipe… well, we have a sneaking suspicion that you already know: there IS no recipe for this tart. We just… dumped it all in a springform. Here’s our best guess of what we did. We started out by:

A. Thinly slicing the apples. We left on the skin, because our Mama would be Saying Things if we did not. We used 2 Tbsp. of orange marmalade and coated the apples. If you don’t want your apple tart tasting orangey, use apricot preserves for this, which will allow the apple flavor to shine through. Only apricot-ly.

B. We took one cube of plain, silken tofu, and, with a stick blender, combined 1 Tbsp of almond extract, 2 Tbsp of water, 2 Tbsp. white sugar, and 1 Tbsp of cornstarch into a smoothly blended whole. You can substitute lemon juice for the water, or add 2 tsp. of freshly grated lemon zest to give your creamy faux custard a lovely scent.

C. In another bowl, we combined 1 Cup of porridge oats — which means they’re practically instant, they’re so over-parboiled, and we use them for nothing but baking, because they make GLUE if you try to eat them, and we have zero idea how people here cook them without that happening. We prefer plain rolled oats — 1 Cup AP flour, a pinch of salt — well, we forgot that, but please don’t you forget —1 Tbsp. ginger, 1 Tbsp. brown sugar, and 4 Tbsp. of olive oil. Feel free to use butter or margarine, but we tend to make crusts with olive oil because then we can say that Pie Is Healthy. It’s a lie, but it works for us. We cut this oat-flour-oil mixture up with a fork, until it clumped a bit, then moistened it with a scant teaspoon of water. It formed a dry crust, which we pressed into the bottom of a springform pan and baked for 10 minutes at about 350°F/160°C.

D. Once the crust was baked, we poured on the tofu mixture, and layered the top of our custard with apples, and an additional 1 Tbsp. of sugar. The last bit of sugar is to assist in the caramelizing of the apples; technically one can leave the custard under a broiler for a minute, but as our broiler tends to make things go up in flames, and the foam from the fire extinguisher somewhat ruins the delicate taste of food, we skipped that bit and just baked it for 35 minutes at about 350°F/160°C. /p>

The trickiest thing was putting together the springform. Seriously. All tarts should be this quick and off-the-cuff. Our next attempt at this will include salt (cough), more spices in the crust – possibly just using gingersnaps and oats pulsed in a food processor with a little bit of olive oil would work – and the aforementioned lemon zest AND lemon juice. We’ll also likely experiment with an orange tart. Imagine thinly sliced clementines or oranges in marmalade, and maybe adding a bit of creamed cheese to the tofu mix, to make it more like a baked cheesecake…

Baking: the best thing you can do, when crises arise, and you need distraction.

If you are stressed, here is a way to de-stress. First, find a good and dear friend whom you have met in person but once in your life for the space of thirty minutes in a Starbucks on a layover in Seattle. Next, have your good and dear friend unexpectedly surprise you with a doll of you and your beloved.

(If you find you cannot manage this, take a moment to wonder why you cannot do something so simple. Then, look at our dolls.)

(Yes, that’s a camera that Baker doll has. He multitasks. And Author has tiny books. Please fall on pillows during the tremors from your Cute Overload.)

Then, take said dolls on a tour of your house, and put them in all sorts of ridiculous positions. Then, realize that you’re actually playing with dolls, when your two hundred page revision and/or the first draft of your PhD dissertation, the culmination of the last three years of your life in this damp and green country is due on Friday.

Oh, great. Now you’re stressed again.

(Okay, not really. You’re still playing with your dolls.)

This photograph of Author & Baker is from the doll maker’s Flickr account. Our thanks to her for such a lovely gift. Do check out her other story dolls, and her Etsy page.