Mission Statement for a Better Future

I haven't had much time to clear my head and think. Events, both domestic, personal and international, are coming too fast to really contemplate them and their connections.

I made one revelation this week, however. I was explaining to a dear friend of mine (who shares a name with a great Wes Anderson female) why I want to be a journalist. It's been something I've been considering since the untimely death of James Folley. 

Internationally stationed journalists are predominately freelancers, people who go to far off and oft dangerous locales not only on their own dime but at their own risk. Some do it to get the break-through story. Some do it to travel. Some do it for the love of writing. I have decided that I want to be a journalist in order to teach. Today, the average news consumer half-retains an evening program's "A Block" (a.k.a. everything before the first commercial break). That information has been tailored to (a) fit the time limits, (b) be digestible to the everyman, and (c) get out fast. Journalists and their companies alike compete with social media scourges that have the potential to add fuel to the fire. There isn't much time to investigate a story for a few minutes before it has exploded across Twitter, Facebook, what-have-you. We miss a lot of vital information. I miss a lot of vital information.

Anthony Bourdain wrote "I remember the moment I first realized I've been living my whole life in black and white. It was like discovering a color I never knew existed before". The moment I heard this in the very beginning of Parts Unknown Thailand, I knew I had felt it before. I am a huge proponent of knowledge and consider teachers on par with the divine. With so much misinformation and lack of understanding in the world, it seems my only path is to give people that awe-inducing moment. I want to be the bringer of the revelation. I want to teach by understanding and communicating the truth as people see it. 

Understand this: fact is one thing. Perspective is another. What you and I see are likely to be vastly different. There is beauty in acknowledging that truth. Some say they do, but even I question if I do understand what I just wrote. We would like to put opponents immediately on our "enemies list" and deepen the "us versus them" divide. If we persist in this worldview, we will never know a solution to any crisis or conflict. It makes the checkpoints to success denser in numbers and increasingly difficult to pass.

I would like to fill that chasm in a little in my life time. I would like to be the modern Dame Freya Stark; I would like to think she would agree with her contemporary, T.E. Lawrence, who wrote to his parents from Karkemish, "Foreigners come out here always to teach whereas they has much better learn".

Eliminate the assumptions and guesswork, a relationship becomes easier. If people went knowing their intention was to whole-heartedly learn, to not judge until saddled with enough information, the world might back a little off the edge of destruction.


I felt the need to write tonight and this is what has spewed forth. I don't know if this is a particularly noble cause, but it doesn't matter. Knowledge is power, and its pursuit is what drives me. I figure if I can put that energy into something mildly beneficial, I could get through to someone somewhere.

Maybe I'll find what I'm looking for spring 2015. I'll take a trip and have the chance to write lengthy, literary journalistic piece(s). All the best to hope, I guess.

CLE

Observation

I feel the need to write, but not about anything that's currently trending. 

This evening, the nightly news made a point to mention the Kurdish forces in their blurb about the ongoing ISIS conflict. It was reported that Iraqi and Kurdish forces are sharing bases in order to jointly halt ISIS fighters. The dispute between the Kurds and the Iraqis was briefly alluded to. 

While this story has been pushed to the background with the revelation of situations of Ferguson, Missouri, I see this tidbit as potentially important. The act of cooperating is progress here - or at least it is in my mind. A common enemy is the most potent of binders. ISIS falls into that role. My question: Can the conflict with ISIS bind the Kurds and Iraqis, potentially changing the way both groups interact - especially when Iraq begins to reconstruct, should the fighting end anytime soon?

Thoughts are welcome.

Best,

C.L.E

Media-Literacy and Integrity (Among other things)

note: I do not claim any allegiance to any journalistic, international, or governmental entity. I myself claim to be an observer and skeptic. Interpret the following as you will.

I consider myself an advocacy for media-literacy. In fact, I'm pretty much an advocate for literacy of all kinds. Understanding what the hell is happening is the first step towards analyzing and/or solving said thing (if said thing is bad...). At least in my book.

In light of recent and horrific current events, I find myself struggling to keep up with the facts as much as the perspective diaspora. Truth: the world would not function if it weren't for varying views of this semi-aquatic space-ball. Still, it seems opinions are interfering with the facts in a "religiously secular" kind of way.

At today's end, I find myself with a massive headache induced from both staring at my computer screen reading articles and the amount of information to be processed. I don't pretend to comprehend the "mini-war" (Jeffery Goldberg, The Atlantic) in Gaza, the politics surrounding the downing of Malaysia Flight 17, or what stick has made it's home in certain heads-of-states' posteriors. I do try, however, to put the pieces together.

On some level, media perpetuates a lack of understanding in it's viewers. Viewers are consumers. It makes sense that what is consumed has been tailored towards those consuming. Last week, I had a pretty heated soliloquy in the car (my father as solitary witness) about the lilting bias of news reporting on what would devolve into the latest Gazan-Israeli crisis. The United States, to my knowledge as a born-citizen, is a supporter of the Israeli state. If this is so, why does American news outlets appear to dispel negative views of Israel. Wouldn't logic state that a country's media supports what the government supports? Or rather, the government represents a collective consciousness?

In the most extreme of categorizations: the illogic of reporting with a negative-slant towards what policy-makers deem as all good and well can be subordinate; the logic of mutual support between media and politics can verge on propaganda. The questions that remain are (1) where does the US fall on the spectrum and (2) how does this affect the comprehension of viewers?

To this writer, the news and the government seem to be divided on hot-button issues. This seems to vary by outlet and issue. Regardless, this indecision is what makes us great and very, very confused. Being able to foster a wealth of viewpoints and the discussions thereof shows that viewers care about that media-literacy I mentioned in the beginning. On the other hand, the surge of op-ed writing - some with rather dangerous notions (I cite this morning's Wall Street Journal debacle) - in conjunction with global news organizations makes for tough or slow-going for anyone trying to discern fact from agenda.

While watching the news tonight, I realized this and had to write it. Note that this is fly-by writing and unedited beyond word choice and redundancy. Anyone who wants to discuss this piece, feel free to contact me. I am always a fan of more knowledge, and more articles in my queue to read.

CLE

Back From the Dead with an Agenda

"London Skyline" by kyarithe (artist)

Have you ever had one of those weeks were all you do is reevaluate your life's decisions? Those teensy bits and bobs that have so far faded into the woodwork and been long forgotten (no matter how integral to your person they are)? 

It's been one of those in suburban Philadelphia, persisting to the near 2 month mark. June, July, and I'm fairly certain August will amount to much of the same. All inter-cranial analysis aside, I feel like I've grown up some. Especially in terms of how I was going to approach specifically this blog when I decided to return to it (if I ever did). Out of unfocused wanderings occasionally emerges a worth while existence. Don't get me wrong, I'm not there, but I think I'm close. 

Now exists solid proof that no part of high school is particularly fantastic (I'm talking pure academia folks, brick-and-mortar white tower and all). I think people grow up when they know what they want to do, what makes them happy or fulfills their life in some way. Thus ends my waxing-philosophical, I swear. I've decided to write about what I find interesting, whatever that may be, in the hopes that one day some teenager like myself may find such a trove of useless knowledge. We can hear about Kim Kardashian and whoever the heck else during the primetime television hours. Where else are you going to read about James Joyce's daughter or pre-war Canadian postcards or an animal that is not a cat?? 

Case in point: I don't see myself being a teacher in the conventional classroom sense, but I do love telling people things. I talk a lot, like anybody would if raised by my family. I figure I should put my vast depths of random interests to good use. So, expect no true theme. Expect digression and a little niggling feeling of "what the hell". 

I hope it works out.

CLE

Recommendation of the Week: Stuff You Missed in History Class by HowStuffWorks.com (podcast for total history nerds)

Reconfirming Life

Exam week has come and gone -  in all technicality. I have been mis/fortunate enough to have two sit-down exams and a host of turn in projects.

Here's the short-list of what I've accomplished in the last week:

1. A website on Afghanistan, like the whole she-bang, for history (Click Me!!)
2. A four page paper on James Joyce's poem, "A Flower Given to My Daughter"
3. Maps showing the London settings in Great Expectations and Mrs. Dalloway
4. Journalism profile on my friend (really, I tried to make it about Syria... I might post it. It's gonna need a lot of revising though!)

That's the short list. Rest assured, the fair few of you, I will return as soon as... As soon as I get the time. Which will be soon - hopefully!

For now, enjoy Gustav Klimt's Allegory of Sculpture.

All the best,

Carie L.

Letter to Readers

Hello! I am your friendly blogger, Carie, here with a special announcement.
Because of the impending doom that is the end of the school year, I will be on temporary hiatus through the first week of June.
This is kind of a half-assed affair here. If I get the time and am so inclined, I will perhaps post something. Not that I post regularly or anything, but just fair warning that it could be a fair few weeks before something appears again.

Thank you so much and I hope you all stay sane!

CLE
p.s. I have a new favorite artist: Edmund Dulac.

Edmund Dulac; Illustrations for the Rubaiyat (1930s)

Vignette: Stars

      Ophelia by Frances McNair       

         Okay... look up, now.
I had never taken someone to this part of the city; specifically this level of the city. Penn's Landing is one of those places that doesn't look like much during the day. But at night, it lights up like a beacon of all that is good and hopeful in this world with pubs starting parties and bringing people to dance in the street, down sidewalks, through lanes packed with cars. Little lights dance across the Delaware River  and dance on the tide like will-o-wisps. In summer, the feeling of being on top of the world elates itself, coming to life with the subtle heartbeat thrum of music eking from restaurants, clubs and apartment complexes. Now, here I was removed from all that, sitting on the rooftop with a man I had only known for two years.
  "You're not scared of getting caught?" Ben asked, quietly watching a few cars parallel park.
  I shrugged. "I know the landlord. He wouldn't call the police unless some dumb kids decided to play ninja."
I paused, closing my eyes. A smile settled on my face as a warm breeze rushed between us. I let my hair rest between my shoulder blades, watching Ben peripherally. "Ian and I used to watch the fourth of July fireworks up here... I realize the irony in my telling you this, don't worry."
   "Why bring me up here?" Ben placed a loose arm around my shoulders. There were plenty of reasons: to show my dear friend from across the pond the best view of Philadelphia; to be nostalgic, to feel something vaguely romantic... The list could have been longer but, truly, there was one concrete reason. Why else would you go to someplace beautiful on a dark summer night?
  "Come here." I directed, walking to the middle of the roof and sitting down. I patted the ground next to me and Ben mimicked my actions. "Close your eyes"
He did as I asked, and I pushed him slowly onto his back with a soft hand. I let him settle a moment.
   "Okay. Now, look up."


{Author's Note: Real quick, I promise! This is from a set of about 20 vignettes I am doing with four characters: Ben, Lila, Ian, and Amie (the narrator). It's for my writing seminar, which I am currently not doing the greatest in, but I felt like sharing this nonsense with you! Sincerely, CLE}

A Little Excerpt

Yesterday was warm and sunny, perfect mid-April weather. Today was the exact opposite right down to each clammy, damp raindrop. As I am officially done with today, I have devoted a good chunk of time to reading and scribbling in my notebooks. One of said notebooks - a lovely blue number with the London skyline screen printed on the front - is used only for vignettes and short stories. Just like my tripartite string of memoirs, I will post one every so often. 

Give the blog character, y'know?

CLE

P.s. To you all who read this, I am very curious about why you continue to read (if some of you are regulars anyway). How on Earth do people find things so deeply buried in the bowels of the interwebs?

-------------~

The November sky was gunmetal-grey and tinged with lavender; the mass of clouds covered what was surely a spectacular sunrise. Waves pushed up the shoreline lazily, a strange cobalt blue that receded fully from the pebbles each time. It was not the first time either of them had snuck out at four o’clock to watch the sun come up. At least twice a week - there was a schedule set in advance, altered when necessary - Emanuel and Oliver would sit side-by-side where the beach met grass, mostly in silence. Books were allowed, but only if they were read aloud. Sleeping was prohibited, much as it was even in the most stale lecture halls. Sometimes they talked, but conversation was sparse or heavy with accompanying drowsiness.

Emanuel was wrapped in her uncle’s army jacket. She’d probably stolen it out of her father’s closet the night before and would absolutely be yelled at for it when she returned it the following Saturday. No matter how much she moaned about it, the girl loyally returned home every available weekend. To Oliver’s mind, it was something akin to self-induced torture; she had a martyr complex, but God help the person who even alluded to the fact. He was damned if he was going to bring it up now, when she was happily leaning against his shoulder. Well within their senior year, Oliver still harbored affections for the girl snuggled into him. He had never told her, never admitted into anything. Things had changed this week, however, when Emanuel announced her determination to finishing her schooling in the United States. She loved Cornell and Columbia Universities, but often joked about how she didn’t have a shot in hell for either. He hadn’t thought much into it, thinking he was just going after his brother to Trinity - and for what, he didn’t know.

Oliver felt the weight lift off his right side, glancing over to see Emanuel staring bleary eyed out to sea. Rays of the sun caught on the fleeting strands of red in her dark hair, making it light up copper. She was porcelain doll pale with exhaustion, but an untrained eye would not have noticed this. Emanuel wore a touch of lip gloss - something not oft seen in these early hours. She preferred to apply her makeup on the bus, saying "It steadies my hand better". Oliver shrugged at this because he really did not care. His dad told him: "Women'll do wha' women'll do. There's no point in tryin' to keep 'em from wha'ever 'tis they're gonna do". The older man could not have been more right.

The sun finished it's promenade into the center of the horizon line. The sky was harvest moon orange, weak and warm. Emanuel reached down, fingers disturbing the pebbles' peace. Oliver did the same, but eventually tossed an unlucky stone into the steely waters.

"I wonder if we're closer to the Channel or the North Sea..." Emanuel murmured.

"I'd say we're in both, if that makes sense." Oliver slurred a reply. His jaw had yet to get into shape for the day's worth of talking.

Emanuel nodded in agreement. "The North Channel, then?"

"The North Channel it is." And she grinned that bloody brilliant grin at him. Oliver felt his heart tug but stayed where he was. He willed his brain to keep control, maintain as well as it had all the days until then. He half-heartedly returned the gesture, but it felt disingenuous.

III. Affairs of the Southern Holiday

 Despite being a Pennsylvania-raised Yank, I was born in Virginia and deem that close enough to claim Southern citizenship. It’s not a very well kept secret that Sarah and I could join the Daughter’s of the Confederation, if we ever felt crazy enough. My grandmother, a born and raised Tennessee woman, would be happy enough with our becoming Kappa Deltas in college – my mother affectionately calls them the “crappa deltas” because “it takes one to know one”.

            One does not truly understand life below the Mason-Dixon line until one has fully grasped the love of pie. Tarts are for sissies; pies mean business. Pecan pie is not the same without Karo syrup and you never chince Lemon Chess on sugar. Humans with aversions to anything full-fat, sugared and rich, be gone!

A blender is an odd thing to use for pie making. I have had this thought every Christmas Eve-eve for as long as I can remember. Big holidays equal Grandmother Frances’ Fudge Pie. I should correct the name, considering she was my great-grandmother, but I am my mother’s daughter when it comes to terms of address. Besides, Frances always seemed more like a grandmother than my own with her long silver hair perpetually tucked into a French twist and her Sunday-morning robin’s egg blue bathrobe. Fudge Pie is a time honored tradition. If one does not fulfill this one simple task at each year’s Eleventh Hour, expect both daughters to rain holy-hell and rebel-yells upon the kitchen.

            Our family rarely travels for extended-family Christmases; mostly because we have realized how insane our cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters are. Eddy crazy is a lot different than Dunlap or Johnson crazy; they don’t mix very well either. My grandmother is primarily skilled in the arts of homemaking and knows how to put people to work. Mom knows that I can’t stand any of them – my aunts that only ever talk about clothes and makeup, my uncles who won’t converse with a teenage girl because “what do you know?” -  so she brings me to our kitchen safe-haven.

            Making chocolate pie in an eggshell-white kitchen is a scary endeavor. Grandmere was an interior designer at one point and fell in love with china blue and white Ming dynasty pottery. She’s very proud of her collection, so I refrain from divulging the birdhouse and a few vases’ secret origins (that is,  a reproduction factory on the outskirts of Hong Kong. National Geographic did a spread in 2009). It is an honor to be trusted with Grandmother Frances’ sacred pie. The ingredients stack on one another in the blender vessel in the adult culinary version of bottled sand art; dull Dutch-processed cocoa congealing by the creamy yellow egg yolks about to seep down into the crumbling sugar wall protecting the sleepy layer of baking powder, cream of tartar and a pinch of cayenne. The cayenne is an illegal addition, but only if Grandmere and Mom find out.

            “Good night nurse!” Grandmere exclaims as the blades whir to life. The brown and white stripes twirl into Mississippi mud sludge. Two pale pie skins sit in twin porcelain molds. The mud fills each two-thirds of the way up. When the pies are unloaded from the oven (a solid hour and fifteen minutes later at this altitude), Grandmere will use another one of her nutty expletives to express her amazement.

“Day-law!”

            “Well, I’ll be hopping!”

            People of a certain generation have strange things to say when they are amazed. Grandmere doesn’t swear and could write a dictionary of her substitutes. They come out at the dinner table during dessert, where all fourteen of us plus her nasty little dog will sit in too-close quarters. My sister and I have an unspoken claim on the two chairs at the farthest corner of the dining room table. Miraculously, we can still hear Grandmere complementing her daughter on the crust and cream and filling.

            “Kristen, you are a master!”

Apparently the “pie incident” in The Help hadn’t ruined her love of the brown pie.

Brown Butter Pecan Pie

¾ cups light corn syrup

¾ cups sugar

3 eggs

1/8 teaspoon sea salt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

3 tablespoons honey

½ cup unsalted butter

1 cups pecan pieces (plus extra whole nuts for top)

Your favorite pie pastry

1. ·         Roll out pie crust in an 11 inch circle and lay it in a 10 inch pie pan. Crimp the edges and preheat the issues to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Melt butter and let cook until the color of toffee. It should smell vaguely like roasted nuts.
2. ·         In a large bowl, combine corn syrup, sugar, salt, eggs, vanilla and honey. Mix well. Stir in melted butter and pecans. Pour the mixture into the pie crust.
3. ·         Arrange the whole pecans in concentric circles on the top of the filling. Bake the pie for 1 hour and 15 minutes, rotating halfway through cooking. Crust should be brown and pie filling bubbly. If the nuts on top start to get too dark, cover with aluminum foil.\
4. ·         Serve pie warm with vanilla ice cream. This is not the place for whipped cream, sorry.

II. Ice Cream

Google's 2011 First Day of Summer doodle by a Japanese Artist        

My sister hovers behind me when I do anything in the kitchen. We have just gone through the summer of the ice cream machine. The pair of us jokers, unbeknownst to our parents, spent mornings concocting flavor combos and afternoons churning the products away. Her masterpieces were chocolate-hazelnut, crunchy peanut butter, and a pretty pink raspberry. My personal bests were basil-mint, chili pepper - cocoa, and ginger tea sorbetto (a deeper flavored, slower melting sorbet). A self described "piss and vinegar" person, I have an affinity for anything with kick - sour and spicy, bitter and burn. Mustard, malt vinegar, siraccha, and ginger beer are God's special way of telling me he loves me. Life's perfect accessories to anything.

At 9 am I plopped a groggy Sarah down in a chair and told her to peel the hunk of ginger I had found in the freezer. She lifted a scrap of peel to her tongue, touched the tip lightly to the golden pulp and instantly recoiled.

"How do you eat this stuff?" She demanded.

"It's good for you and it makes ginger ale." I replied flippantly. My sister has a small sweet spot for pop, something neither of my parents indulge. Ginger ale and Dr. Pepper have the winner seats. Sarah screwed up her face, resembling someone in between a rock and a hard place.

"Fine, I'll try it..." She concedes, still glaring suspiciously at the root. "If I don't like it, I can have a milkshake for lunch."

"That is so not happening."

"Yes it is."

"If you absolutely, one hundred percent hate the stuff after I'm through with it, I'll make you macaroons for your birthday in the color of your choice."

To be certain, I spent the weekend of September 27th mixing up a batch of candy floss blue French style macaroons with blackberry filling. Because I love my sister and keep my promises, no matter how ludicrous they appear in a rear-view mirror.

You could say Sarah is picky. I, however, have personally witnessed the girl eating and enjoying beef tongue at a Kennett Square restaurant. Tell me how many 13 year olds would venture to that?

Simple Strawberry Ice Cream

1 pound strawberries, diced

½ cup sugar

1 ½ cups heavy cream

1.  Put the strawberries in a bowl and toss with sugar. Set them aside for 1 hour to allow juices to come out. When the hour is over, put all the contents of the strawberries, sugar, and juices into a food processor. Process until smooth.
2. With a mixer (standing, electric, and hand mixers are all fine), whip the cream until soft peaks form. Gently fold the strawberry mixture into the whipped cream.
3. Transfer mixture to a loaf pan or a freezer safe bowl. Freeze for 3 to 4 hours, stirring occasionally as it freezers (I suggest on the 45 minute to 1 hour mark).
4. Before serving, let the ice cream sit at room temperature for 15 minutes or until scoopably soft.

The Gluten Free Bend

Or why I am not a fan of spring break.

Fear not, dear readers. I am not a new proponent of the gluten free lifestyle. My mother is, no matter how her attachment to bread wavers. So, in an act of helping her help herself, my sister and I threw out all of the bread/wheat-food-stuffs in our home. We have been going without for 2 weeks now and it has been a long two weeks.
So, I've taken to research and experimentation to make the switch painless. Well, as painless as going cold-turkey can be... My new concoction is a pan of the thickest brownies ever. They are so darn chocolaty they made my ultra-hormonal fourteen year old sister's head spin. Here they are, for all to enjoy!

Hormonal-Cure Brownies
(recipe - adapted - courtesy of Free Range Cookies)

3 ounces semi-sweet chocolate, melted
1/2 cup oil
1 cup sugar (raw, coconut, or evap. cane juice)
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 Tbsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup almond meal/flour, packed
1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp espresso powder
1/4 tsp baking powder

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line/oil/flour-oil an 8x8 baking pan.
2. In a medium bowl, combine chocolate, sugar, eggs, oil, and vanilla extract. Be careful: it might seize on you!
3. Add almond meal, cocoa powder, salt, espresso powder, and baking powder. Combine thoroughly. AT this point, if you like nuts or extra chocolate chips in your brownies, you may add them.
4. Spread batter into pan and bake for 30 minutes. Cool completely before cutting (keeps the edges nice).

Tell me internet, what do you do on Spring Breaks?
Me: anything that keeps me from going bonkers while having very limited time outside the house (can you tell that little bit bothers the hell out of me?)

All warmth, especially to those still with snow.
CLE

I. Experimentation

[This is part 1 in a tripartite memoir-style piece I wrote for English class. There are recipes included!]

One of the many joys in cooking is experimentation. It is hard to achieve such status as "experimenter" - jumping through the hoops of learning craft and flavor combinations and methodology and the best of the best - but my father has. He's a closet foodie; he can’t resist the new, the interesting, or the different but . My sister and I are not picky eaters, not by virtue of being “good kids”, but because my father would dare us to consume all matter of “squiggly bits” and scary sounding dishes, like keftedes and caciao e pepe (meatballs and pasta, respectively).

Like father like eldest daughter, but I am marginally more open about the passion-borderline-obsession. My sister likes baking, which is my mother's mastery, but I have taken to my dad's style. Mostly because I can stand to look at, let alone touch, raw meat. Mum can't get over that - sometimes I'll pull a groping maneuver on a piece of beef, just too hear the reaction I liken to cats vomiting underneath drapes.

There's a short list of things I am good at making: bread, mozzarella cheese, hummus (by American standards; I know people who say otherwise), tortillas, and several kinds of alcohol. My summer science project was figuring out the science behind brewing beer, which was then related to yeast-air production in bread. It’s all very clinical sounding, but not relevant beyond "I did it because I could".

The newest fad in our kitchen is Limóncello. It is a sweet Italian liqueur made by soaking lemon peel in vodka for three days to create alcoholic cordial, then mixing it with simple syrup. I've never had a taste, but the smell is enough to go by. The drink we serve in shot glasses (traditionally doled out in miniscule flutes by people classier than us) is meant to be glacially cold. You do not let it linger in your glass. If you do, you run the fine line of enjoying melted lemon sorbet with a jet-fuel kick, or the liquefied remains of lemon gummy bears.

Dad and I joke that you could sneak this stuff anywhere. It is the exact color of Lemon Pledge wood cleaner, and maintains that integrity unless you open the bottle. Our clear jars have a permanent home in the depths of the outdoor freezer. When we got the unprecedented temperatures this winter, we kept a few bottles in the snow bank that rose up to the window by the dining room. It's earned the affectionate moniker "yellow snow" from my sister.

It is a late spring to summer drink that would offend anything outside of white-fleshed animal friends. Chicken, shrimp, crab, all kinds of fish, and (oddly enough) paper thin slices of beef. I don’t claim any dietary restrictions – vega-whatzit or pesce-whozit – but I definitely favor mild, versatile chicken over all else. My dad taught me how to debone and butterfly a chicken when I was ten. We looked ridiculous: the pair of us in our Sunday best (Dad had some good sense to make me wear an apron); a tiny girl with a thick French braid on a step-stool, knife poised in Julia Child’s “confront the bird” stance. I see my mother at the kitchen table, balancing her check book and fooling herself into thinking she can ignore the presence of fleshy-pink, semi-firm chicken meat.

My dad spent many irritable hours in high school choir, thus knowing many obscure pieces from musicals long since dead. Occasionally, he becomes the Modern Major General chasing the Pirates of Penzance, knowing everything about animals, vegetables, and minerals. My mother sticks solely to the vegetables.

Catalan Chickpeas with Tomatoes and Almonds

2 (14oz/400g) cans chickpeas, drained

1/4 cup (60ml) extra-virgin olive oil

1 large onion, peeled and grated or finely minced

1 can (14oz/400g) plum tomatoes in juice, preferably Italian, drained and chopped

pinch sugar

pinch saffron threads

3 large cloves garlic, peeled and coarsely chopped

1/3 cup (50g) lightly toasted almonds

small handful flat-leaf parsley, chopped

1 1/2 cups (325ml) chicken or vegetable stock

salt

juice of 1/2 lemon, or to taste

1.  Try the chickpeas - if they're not completely soft to the bite (and canned ones rarely are), bring them to a boil in lightly-salted water and cook them until they are, usually about 10-20 minutes. Drain. 
2. In a heavy frying pan, heat the oil over medium-low heat and sauté the onion until it is golden brown and very soft, about 25 minutes. Add the chopped tomatoes and sugar, letting them fry until they melt into the onions and form a paste, about another 10-15 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat.
3. In a large mortar or food processor, combine the saffron, garlic, almonds and parsley and pound (or pulse) to a thick paste. Add a little water if necessary to keep things moving. Add the paste to the onion mixture along with the stock and the chickpeas. 
4. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and simmer until the liquid has reduced to a thick sauce, about 10-15 minutes. Season with salt and lemon juice to taste. Serve hot or at room temperature; you'll find that this dish keeps developing in flavor the longer it sits.

Character Questionnaire of Doom

Google Doodle for Charles Dickens' 150th birthday

Okay, it isn't all that intimidating - really. I promise.
Being someone who writes mostly fiction, visualizing a character in your head can be very easy or very hard. It honestly is a multi-variable equation, with factors like how much stress one is under and school work and how much sleep one's gotten in the past week... so on and so forth. When I get in a pinch, I like to use character "checklists" and such to help. So, I wrote an 7 section questionnaire of the most vital questions in my mind.
Granted, this isn't everyone's priority list. If you've hit writer's block of any sort, this might be a nice exercise to do as you pass the time. Maybe it will help and idea strike. I don't know. If you have any questions that you think should be added, post them in the comments and I'll check them out!

CLE

I. Body & Appearance

1. Describe character's height and build - like "heavyset", "short", "rangy".
2. How old are they?
3. Describe their posture - do they carry themselves well or do they slouch
4. How is their health? Any illnesses or conditions? Physical or mental disabilities?
5. How do they move (walking, running, dancing, whatever)?
6. How attractive is this character physically? How do they perceive themselves?
7. Describe their complexion - skin color and texture.
8. Describe hair texture, color, style, &c.
9. What color are their eyes (be specific/accurate)?
10. Any other noteworthy features? Scars, tattoos, beauty marks, dimples, &c...
11. What are their chief tension centers?
12. What is their wardrobe like?
13. Do their clothes fit well?
14. Do they dress the same for their job as they do in their spare time? How does it change?

II. Speech

1. What does their voice sound like?
2. How do they speak? Do words flow easily or do they hesitate?
3. Any distinct accent or dialect? Pronunciation quirks or verbal tics?
4. How many languages do they speak? Include fluency levels.
5. Do they languages switch in certain situations? Which ones?
6. Are they a good impromptu speaker or are they more thoughtful?
7. Eloquent or inarticulate? Under what circumstances might this change?

III. Mental & Emotional

1. How intelligent are they? Book smart or street smart?
2. Do they think on their feet or do they deliberate?
3. Describe their thought process. Is it logical or intuitive? Idealistic or practical?
4. What kind of education have they had?
5. What are their areas of expertise? Is their anything they want to learn more about?
6. Easy one: Introvert or Extrovert? (Writing their personality acronym works too!)
7. Describe their temperament: even or moody?
8. How do they respond to new people and situations?
9. How do they react?
10. Fight or flight?
11. Describe their sense of humor: jokes, puns, gallows humor, pranks, &c...
12. Diagnosed mental disorders: how do they deal?
13. What moments have defined them as a person?
14. What do they fear?
15. What are their hopes/aspirations?
16. What is something they don't want anyone to know?

IV. Relationships

1. Describe their relationship with their parents.
2. Do they have siblings? Describe the relationships with them.
3. Which blood relatives are they close to? Is their anyone they can't stand?
4. Any unrelated people that they consider family?
5. Who is their best friend? How did they meet?
6. Any other close friends? Describe them
7. Do they make friends easily or not?
8. Which is more important: friends or family?
9. Are they single, married, divorced, widowed? Have they been married more than once?
10. Are they in a romantic relationship with someone who is not their significant other?
11. First crush? Latest crush?
12. What do they want in a partner?
13. Do they children? grandchildren? How well do they relate to them? Do they want any?
14. Any rivals or enemies?
15. Sexual orientation? Where do they fall on the Kinsey Scale?
16. How do they feel about sex in general? How important is it?
17. Turn-ons? Turn-offs? Bedroom habits?

V. Beliefs

1. What is their astrological sign? Do they fit the type?
2. Are they religious, spiritual, both or neither? How important is it to them?
3. Do they have moral/ethical codes? How did that start? Does it compromise and how?
4. How do they regard beliefs of others?
5. What prejudices do they hold? Are they irrational or have good reasons?

VI. Daily Life

1. Financial situation: rich, poor, in debt, comfortable?
2. What is their social status? How has it changed and affected them?
3. Where do they live? It is their castle? Do they share it?
4. What do they spend money on?
5. What do they do for a living? Are they any good?
6. Hobbies and interests: How do they spend their free time?
7. What are their eating/drinking habits?

VII.Associations & Favorites

    * This section is for what you associate with a character, what they associate with the topic, or simply the character's favorite. Section totally up for interpretation.

1. Color?
2. Smell?
3. Time of day?
4. Season?
5. Book?
6. Music?
7. Place?
8. Substance?
9. Plant?
10. Animal?

A Quick Poem, Devised in Biology Class

It's been a tough week and I was just not cut out to withstand this morning's double-period biology class. So, I spent most of the "work period" we had writing - and writing mostly poetry. I love reading poetry, I actually find it fascinating. When I am forced to write poetry, however, the pair of us become oil and water.

You get the picture, so I'll move on.

Talking To a Thirteen Year Old 

    (dedicated to my sister, a little long for 13 now)

Was I yelling?

Sorry, but 

Deaf sheep in Scotland

Would hear me

If I was really yelling.

I hope you all have a lovely week; that is all.

Best,

CLE

Lemon Chess Pie

I wish I had a picture to show you this beauty of confections; but alas, I wasn't into taking pictures of my food the last time I made this. First things first: the "chess" part has absolutely nothing to do with knights, bishops, or checkerboards of any kind. It actually comes from an 17th century English term for any pastry made solely with sugar, butter, and eggs (all the important things, that is). The concept migrated to the Southern United States at some point and has resulted in the very pies associated with pie-dom itself -specifically the Pecan Pie.
If you haven't heard of pecan pie, I hope you find yourself a recipe - Quick.
Regardless, my great grandmother apparently had a recipe for a Lemon Chess pie that has gone uncovered for who knows how long. My family being from Tennessee, we are intimately acquainted with the glories of the Smoky Mountains, Benton's country hams, and Blackberry Farms. I don't want to bore you all by waxing romantic, but Blackberry Farms is a place to be reckoned with. It is a legitimate farm nestled in a valley in Tennessee's eastern mountains and is within perfect distance from the best farms in the area. Needless to say, the food is fantastic and the scenery is swoon-worthy.
Of course, I have their cookbook! I'd be a fool to not want to know what the man behind the counter does to make everything so amazing! There is just the right amount of lemon to off-set the inherent richness of the basic chess filling. And, there is no need to worry about a crust; the cornmeal rises in an even layer with crunch akin to those strangely addictive lace cookies (the caramel ones that the elderly brought to the Christmas parties of your childhood). Thus, I present to you - Blackberry Farm's astonishingly amazing Lemon Chess Pie*.

Lemon Chess Pie
recipe: Blackberry Farm, Tennessee

4 large eggs
1 1/2 cups sugar
8 tablespoons melted unsalted butter
1/3 cups cornmeal
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
Zest of 2 lemons
Pinch of salt
Pie pastry (your choice)


1. Place pie dough on a well floured surface and, using a rolling pin, roll it out into an 11-inch circle, 1/6 of an inch thick. Place dough in a 9 inch pie pan. Press into pan and trim if necessary. Refrigerate until needed.

2. Preheat oven to 325F degrees. In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs until frothy. Whisk in sugar, butter, cornmeal, lemon juice, zest, and salt. Pour mixture into the chilled pie shell.

3. Bake with pie pan on a baking sheet for 25 to 30 minutes, or until an inserted knife comes out clean. Allow pie to cool to room temperature before refrigerating until serving time (at least 1 1/2 to 2 hours). Serve with blueberries - I prefer blueberry coulis, but melted blueberry jam/preserves work just as well.

Happy eating!
CLE
*That was totally waxing poetical/romantic, I know. I just didn't want to fix it because it's true...

Things Grandmere Did Not Teach Me

1. Browned butter makes pecan pie transform into gastronomic gold.
2. Playing old jazz music and dancing in bare feet makes being in the kitchen more fun - especially in a sundress in summer.
3. Sponge curlers don't actually curl your hair and you shouldn't wear Merle Norman lipsticks until you're at least 35.
4. Being angry is okay.
5. Being uncomfortable is okay.
6. Wanting to be left alone is okay.
7. Getting the professional kind of help helps sometimes.
8. Men can fix their own dinner plates, help cook it, are perfectly capable of washing dishes and listening - I don't care who you are or where you're from.
9. The Great Santini is remarkably sad and should be read by more people than Pat Conroy fans.
10. Days where you don't get dressed, put on makeup, or leave the house are good days to spend with your mum - even in spirit.
11. How to good and proper miss somebody - whole-heartedly and occasionally to music.

C.L.E. 1.27.2014

Things Grandmere Taught Me

1. Food made with love and purpose always tastes fabulous.
2. Fussing over your hair, hat, dress, and lipstick is a good way to stall the made rush to church (and let certain people get their minds right about going).
3. A lady knows exactly how to use an iced-tea spoon and can get through a whole get-together without (a) clinking ice cubes in her glass or (b) letting the conversation drop for more than a breath.
4. Playing music is a gift, regardless of one's skill.
5. It's puh-cawn, not pee-can. Remember that now.
6. "Day-la" and "Good-night nurse" are things ladies say when they're surprised, happy, shocked, disappointed, angry, dismayed, or need a way to say "good Lord" in front of polite company.
7. Lunch is not complete without I Love Lucy reruns (promptly at 12:30 pm) and pimento cheese on saltines.
8. Every building and painting is beautiful. No buts, young lady.

C.L.E 1.27.2014

Life 2014

I honestly don't know where to start, so I think I'll just type whatever pops into my head first. I apologize for the digression I am most known for...

I think at this point, I may actually have my life back - the end-of-semester work slam had come and gone, the exams themselves are history, and all I have to worry about is exactly nothing. It has been a thought in the back of my head that I should start this thing up again and keep at it. So, here I am - redeeming myself.

In other news, I have more places for you all to access me. Keeping with my love of listography, I present one quickly-crafted list with bonus links!

1. OrchidScript on Tumblr

2. Archive of Our Own (for all your fanfiction needs)

3. FanFiction.Net - TheLondonTeaCozy (dinosaur-old work)

I'll keep a page that permanently houses all these and future houses. 

My tastes have changed a little in the last year - mostly from living on a dorm with 30 + girls. Not only will I be prattling on about my life, apologizing for not updating or posting quick stories, but there will also be photography, recipes, and all kinds of reviews ranging from books to movies. I also would like to do little profiles on cool proper nouns - like a full post on things I find interesting about Aberdeen, or T.S. Eliot. If you want me to highlight a certain proper noun - post it in the comments or come pester me on Tumblr, which will function as my pretty things, questions and quick thoughts house. 

I know it has been a while and I apologize for that, but I promise that I will prove I am alive more than previously exhibited. 

Thank you to all you readers and happy 2014!

谢谢

Carie Lea