NE Arizona March 2011

Once we crossed into Arizona on Interstate 40 heading west, the signs along the north side of the road were relentless. Some were weathered and decades old. Others were brightly printed in high contrast, new and appealing. Nearly all attempted to draw travelers into a variety of unique shops where handmade art, pottery, and jewelry awaited. Our family has driven this route at least five times in the last 10 years and in all those times, we’ve maybe stopped at one of these draws. I would love to pull over more often, honestly. I picture eager vendors and beautiful work in many cases, although I have an equal imagination for dingy, tape-plastered front doors, non-communicative clerks who wish for a more distinctive way to make a living, or items that look like a thousand I’ve seen before. My personal visuals have nothing to do with this region of the country, necessarily, but more to do with the hundreds of stops I requested as a child to wander through “destination” souvenir shops or gift venues of my own choosing. They can all look fairly much the same, if you think about it.

But here, in the land of petrified wood and native hand crafts, the draw for me is particular. I know little about these cultures of the Hopi, the Navajo, and the other ancient tribes who've lived within the boundaries set, and in most cases, whittled down and re-set, for them years ago. I have wished it were different, but without an “in”, my own European forbears and early (persistent) government policies pretty much ruled out a long-term connection to peoples whose more fertile lands were coveted and stolen outright. Clear separation followed near-total decimation. The legacy determined 150 years ago has made my generation the worse for it, no question.

We drive rapidly past these vast and scrubby lands, dry sage and grasses under a vast blue sky. Away from these easy pull-offs, deeper into the “reservations”, are communities and families, cultures of beauty and rhythm, depth and history. Around them, boundaries have been etched with fences, emotions, economics. Overgrazed land, few opportunities for satisfying, creative labor, the distractions, perhaps, of a larger culture's things and lifestyle held largely out of reach, but made to seem desirable. How does any of this figure into the idea of a land of opportunity? Of forward motion for any of us? Were I to stop, would my ripple be any more than that of a small flat stone skipped across the surface of the cool, deep sea of these peoples?  I sigh feebly, knowing I need a higher education even on how to move forward with these thoughts.  

One particular sign makes me ask myself. just how many years has it hung to the north of these speeding cars headed west to warmth and adventure? If the native, handmade wonders – the turquoise, silver, vessels and kachinas, stone pendants and intricate sand paintings do not entice – consider instead the offer of a broad array of ancient, stony tree trunks, or better yet, in this land of mystery, one can’t do better than to find a piece of reality from beyond our own atmosphere.  In this case, this sign that made me ponder longest was a blur of peeling paint proclaiming a whole new world of wonder:  “METEORITES 50% OFF”.

For how many has that claim been nothing more than another flaking, plywood distraction against the multi-tiered mesa horizon?

How many have stopped to see a chunk of the heavens come down to earth? 

lil' Muncher

Sorry for the distortion, but this is a photo of Lil' Muncher in an isolation vase. It's not a friendly, neighbor-type of fish. He's a green puffer. Little dude, maybe an inch and a half long at the moment. Middle kid purchased with her father a couple of nights ago because "it was cool" and drew their attention from the cat litter aisle. So, into the community tank it went before bedtime. Spiffy color. Very exotic. Look how its eyes kind of swivel. Ooh, yeah, and it moves forward, backwards, sideways. Very cool.

I get online after those light go out...something in me says "freshwater?" that doesn't sound right. So I become  educated and find out that yes, some puffers are. Some are brackish water creatures (a mix of salt and fresh) and some are pure salt water. That's pretty neat, too. I read on.

Sharp teeth. ... "It should be fed snails and unshelled shellfish (such as crab legs, mussels etc.) regularly, in order to maintain its sharp teeth."  In all the tanks I've kept over the years, I've never had a swimming member who came with a warning over "sharp teeth"... But, cheap pet stores will tell you (or in this case, not tell you) anything to make a sale.

Intolerant ... "the green puffer is not a particularly good community fish. It will often harass and nip the fins of tankmates" ...


Crushing ... "interesting adaptations. They are one of the few fish that can actually blink or close their eyes, which only serves to add further charm to what is already a fish with bags of character. ... beak-like mouth parts, ... used to crush shelled invertebrates, the favorite food of most puffers." 

A few of these words get my goosebumps rising, and I print out the descriptions for the kid to read at breakfast time. I fall asleep with brief, mostly happy thoughts of the albino loach, the long-finned black angelfish, the cute little African frog.

First day - no big deal. Mom's overly concerned internet research is skimmed. It's fine, Mom, see for yourself. Work ... school. Mom and Dad head out on the second evening. 


Second night? Big deal. I get a text from 45 minutes away that at home there's a "life and death" situation. Middle kid's favorite loach has now been munched (well, I can last almost a whole day before I get really hungry, too!). Tail fin nibbled down to nubbins, side fins no where to be seen.

Lil' Muncher is moved out of the group home. I'm trying to figure out if I'm up for this. Do I ask the dad to return said "community" fish? I read online again... "Tetraodon fluviatilis is a true brackish species. Despite this, it's often seen for sale in freshwater, but should be acclimatized to brackish if it's to survive long term."


The long term part keeps me re-reading. Brackish tank would be needed. What am I thinking? Long-term? This would make tank number three and it'd only have one little mean, prima don(na) fish in it. Well, with snails and other little crunchies to keep someone's sharp teeth from over-growing.

What to do?

Why am I even contemplating keeping this thing?

Neurotoxins ... "Many parts of the body of puffers contain the deadly neurotoxin tetrodoxin. This is the same poison found in the notorious blue-ringed octopus. ... no known antitoxin and to humans it is over 1000 times deadlier than cyanide."


This is crazy. Back it must go. But what really ticks me off is that some un-informed pet merchandiser will keep it listed as a freshwater/community and some other people's fish will suffer, and ultimately, so will the little green meanies. I'll send along a print out of the condemning descriptions. They will have to scrape up some kind of conscience, I suppose, to make it right.


Thanks to the folks at http://www.seriouslyfish.com for giving me some important info -- that wasn't in my books -- right when I needed it!

Oh, did you notice bit about the "third tank" up there? "First tank" is a different story. Has something to do with a bargain-priced goldfish that turned out to be a large-edition pond koi. Or something. I'll have to tell you that one another time.

Mr. Balloon Man

I have never thought much about "balloon men" before. Until last night, anyway. There was a largish ballpoint pen drawing on youngest kid's left palm. I asked to see it. She showed me. What I saw as a happy little face with a tuft of hair on its ovalness had something else -- an elongated vertical line coming out from its base. The line went all the way down her inner arm to her elbow. Now, notes of what to remember to bring home from school I have seen. Someone's telephone number, I've seen that too. This was totally new.

"And this is?"

"Mr. Balloon Man. I can tell him my problems."

"I see!"

And off she went with her confidant.

So I thought about this. Mr. Balloon Man is just an ink pen away. Who have I been pulling aside lately to tell my problems to? To whose have I listened? I can think of a few, both ways. And the past weeks I've been feeling low with weighty thoughts from a couple of worlds on my heart...uprisings in Egypt, Tunisia, Lybia. Regular folks protesting and chanting for their freedoms. In Lybia the battle has become militarily heavy-handed. Bloody sacrifices for freedom. Our own citizens in the U.S. battling for workers' rights in Wisconsin and elsewhere -- the brave ones standing up for what's right and what's just. The fuel of freedom-wishes coming to flame in the streets. I cheer with you people, pray for your safety, and am grateful for your sacrifices. But my prayer is for change without violence.

Then just a few short days ago, Japan suffered terribly when the 8.9 magnitude earthquake hit and tsunami quickly followed. Thousands confirmed dead, more homeless, living out of public buildings, their regional nuclear power plants heating up, burning, leaking radiation. I think of dear ones still struggling in Haiti, their earthquake woes continue after more than two years. Then today, an hour ago, I got the news that another beloved child has died -- a 9 year old in the outer circle of our family's circle. The inner circle of that family's circle. I feel that wound deeply, it is raw each time, as I have been lost in that dark inner circle before myself, as a mom.

All of it can be so overwhelming.

And when I hold my thoughts at arm's length long enough, I can acknowledge my own balloon man. Mine can seem invisible till I see him in someone else's eyes, or in another person's pain. Very present. Willing to listen, needing to be listened to. He doesn't exist to make the problems disappear, but to give me perspective on what matters in the long run, and to find relief in dumping them in his lap for a while. There are problems that can be resolved when I, balloon man, and others team together. This can take a very long time, longer than my lifetime, but is, as some say, "doable". I must keep taking "look up" breaks in times like this when the weight of human existence keeps pushing me down. Lie on my back and look at the clouds, maybe, whether they're white or gray or orange.

Hmm.

Have you ever noticed how often, in Curious George stories, there seems to be a balloon man? How we could all use one in our corner, on our street, when we're looking for a fast, upward escape.

Melting pot of Mennonite Cookery

A little gem of a book is the Melting Pot of Mennonite Cookery, which my husband brought into the marriage (lard is a common ingredient - it's comic relief as much as anything). A classic for its little summaries of history of various Mennonite peoples and their immigrations to the North American continent. Following each brief history of ...

Chapter 1 - Pennsylvania German/Amish Mennonites

Chapter 2 - South German Pioneers in the Prairie

Chapter 3 - The Coming of the Swiss

Chapter 4 - Swiss Galician Mennonites

Chapter 5 - Swiss Volhynian Mennonites

Chapter 6 - The Hutterites

Chapter 7 - The Netherland Mennonites

Chapter 8 - The West Prussian Mennonites

Chapter 9 - The Polish Mennonites (broken into Michalin and Ostrog, even!)

Chapter 10 - The Russian (Low German) Mennonites

...are collections of culture-specific recipes for foods like "Church Cookies", "Berry Sturm", "Weisse Pfeffernuesse", "Cornmeal Mush", "Rode Kool", and "Bobbat with Sausages" - and a description of daily life for families in various locations of resettlement. In many cases, these dear folks were escaping wars, or conscription into wars (these are people of peace, remember -- no killing for the followers of Christ, who set an example of brilliant, Creator-directed, non-resistance and the unifying of people from all walks of life), and carried with them their old world recipes for low-budget, sustaining provisions to their new homes and farmlands.

It is here that I went searching for something akin to a simple, fried bread that a woman at our church had made to share with our family on summer nights when we'd get together to munch on ripe watermelon and have seed-spitting contests across the back yard. (Keep your toes behind the edge of the patio. If your seed passes the sand box, you've got real skill!) When those nostalgic, food-related urges hit, you've got to follow 'em, right?

So far I've tried three of the eight (six if you don't count those labelled only as "roll kuchen") cross-cultural recipes for "crullers"... You know I'm serious about my gustatory research when I make a special trip to the store to purchase three large cans of solid Crisco (yikes!) ...

I'd say the "Swiss Galician" recipe gets closest to my taste bud memory, so far. (I'll keep you posted.) What I thought best, though, was when my Mom said she'd try to connect with the source who'd been the maker of the perfect watermelon complement from my youth! Here's hoping!

Modern life continues, with a more standard fare till that day when I delve into a series of things-fried-recipes again. And thanks to the dear women of the Bethel College (KS) Women's Association for the production of this book back in the early 1970s. Quite the chore! So, thank you, Honora, Mildred, Clara, Helen, Neva, Alma, Grietje, and friends. For the history, and for the classic, old-world eats.

P.S. Anyone wanting the instructions for "Sill-Flaesh" (head cheese), let me know. All you need is "a cleaned pig's head, ears, and nose -- with a little of the rind" and a vinegar brine soak for 2 to 3 days. Sounds fairly easy, really, if you've got a thick crock the right size, but I won't be trying it.

Plaid versus Plaid

I would have a picture of this, except that I'm not as "in your face" as I would have needed to be to procure one. Large 5-inch wide bands of bright aqua and coral on top, colors against a light cream background. That was the jacket. Black-backed plaid on the bottom - the slacks, and bright but skinnier bands of red and green crossing through it. After a momentary shock, I found myself smiling 'cause what the world needs now, besides love, sweet love, is a few more folks willing to put themselves out there with color. (Matching schmatching - they were both plaid, weren't they?) This picture, and glimpses of a few other folks that came across my natural viewfinder at the grocery store, made it a very worthwhile side trip this afternoon. A little dose of life in the not-so-big city, and I am reminded that I'm glad I'm here. Got any good visions of life from your neck of the woods, lately? ;)