Instead of cookies at the open house...

Papa always told me...

"... If you marry that good-for-nothing bum, you won't have a pot to pee in."


Papa wasn't thinking of home improvement projects, but there it is.

The Cheesecake-to-Chard Challenge

And now, another installment in our continuing series on the Rienstra family table. Deb's three years of researching the politics of food for her English 101 classes continues to incur collateral damage at home. That is to say, the Rienstra children are suffering from a more and more severe shortage of hot dogs, pop-tarts, and cheez-its. Meanwhile, they are opening the fridge to find it stuffed with things like kohlrabi and organically raised eggs.

So today we will address directly the commonly perceived relationship between the yumminess and health benefits of food. Everybody knows that the better something tastes, the worse it is for you. Scientifically speaking, as yumminess increases, mortal danger also increases. Likewise, as nutritional benefits increase, alas, so does yuckiness.

This is the perception. But is this really the case? A close examination of the following chart reveals a couple of outliers:


Blueberries, for example, rank high on the yummy scale and have also recently been proven to cure major diseases and promote the development of superpowers. On the other end of the scale, lots of fast food products are both disgusting and fatal.

It is possible, of course, to strike a strategic balance. Note, for example, the dish at the precise center of the chart. The classic American tuna casserole with broccoli has been shown in scientific studies at major research universities to balance taste and health in perfect equilibrium. The tasty cheesy sauce, though a little fatty, can be counter-balanced by whole-wheat pasta; the health benefits of the omega-3 oils in the tuna and the roughage in the broccoli can be yummied up with crumbled potato chips or fried onions layered on top of the dish.

Nevertheless, perhaps we need to change our misconception about yumminess and health. In an effort to do that at our house (and also to promote the development of the local foodshed, know our farmer, and build community with crunchy granola types), we have purchased a share in a CSA farm. That means we paid in February for a share of a local farm's harvest from June through October. So now, every week, we bring home several grocery bags (the re-usable kind, of course) full of green stuff like this:



We're trying to eat, in other words, as much as possible in the upper left quadrant of our chart. And perhaps to coax some things in the lower left quadrant into inching upwards. It turns out, for example, that Swiss chard, if prepared correctly, falls higher on the yumminess scale than we thought.


So Rienstra children, take heart. You may dip your kohlrabi in some standard American super-processed, corn-byproduct-infested, overpackaged ranch dressing. At least, for now...

The Pitter-Patter of Little Paws

It's been a whole week now and we're still giddy with the excitement of adding a new member to the Rienstra family: an adorable little canine fuzz-ball. Yep, last Monday we adopted a puppy.

She is a yellow Lab on the mom's side, and on the dad's side... well, let's just say there's a suspicion a Retriever was involved, but as sometimes happens with these situations, no one's entirely sure. Whatever stock she's from, she's loaded up with the "cute" gene.

Though I was initially lobbying for some clever/geeky professor-type name (Ophelia or Egeria or something like that), wiser family members insisted on something plainer. After much palavering, we settled on Maizey, not after the illustrated mouse, but as a nod to our alma mater.

So far she's super sweet and gentle, at least most of the time. She does have what we call her "crazy Maizey" moments, especially late at night, when she bounces around, chewing anything small, clamping onto loose socks and thrashing them into submission. But as a typical puppy, she also has her "lazy Maizey" times when she curls up in her crate -- or in someone's lap -- and nods off after a loving look and a little lick on the cheek.

We don't have much animal experience, but we've puppy-proofed the house, are reading lots of relevant books, and projecting our best calm-assertive energy.

Welcome to the pack, Maizey!

Elephant Seal Sweet Potato

Embrace Your Inner Geek

A normal Saturday night around here most weekends involves one or more of the following elements:

1. Driving back and forth to an indoor soccer game. Or two. Or more. At different fields.
   
2. Scrounging around in the cupboard and the back of the 'fridge to find something random for supper.
3. Contenting ourselves with whatever crapola happens to be on TV 'cause we're too tired to do anything creative and soul-nourishing.
4. Laundry--always the laundry.

I'm proud to announce, however, that last Saturday, we did something utterly wild and crazy: we had a party. Yup, it's true. With friends and party food and the whole bit.

Admittedly, this was a party with a geek quotient that was off the charts, but this will surprise no one. The occasion was the news that Ron passed his Ph.D. comprehensive exams, as described in the previous post. So naturally we invited people who would appreciate such a geeky occasion and who would consent to play games fitting to the day.

For instance, we had a "name that dissertation" contest. We divided into four groups and handed out a list of theological and academic buzzwords. Each group worked the jargon, and now Ron has four excellent dissertation titles to choose from. See the poll on the sidebar and cast your vote for your favorite!

Personally, I prefer the one about "post-post-post emergent nuhomiletic," but that's because my group, which included Jenny "Slash" Williams and Laura "Orthoparadox" Keeley, lovingly crafted it.

We also played "Liturgical Balderdash" -- a worship-wonk version of the game "dictionary," wherein Ron gave us obscure liturgical terms and we came up with proposed definitions.

Never mind what these words really mean (look 'em up if you must know). Here are some highlights culled from the group's suggestions.

Thurible -- adj. When the Maundy Thursday service goes south (speak with a lisp to get the full effect).

Synaxis -- noun. The mathematical calculation of snacks needed per person during fellowship time, taking into account hunger, need for energy (in terms of sugar), mood of hungry people, length or sermon, bitterness of communion wine, etc.

Insufflation --noun. The heavy sigh made by long-suffering congregants when the sermon is insufferable (this never happens at our church, Jack. No worries). It could also mean the sharp short inhale when the pastor makes an unexpected reference to sex (this -- maybe).

So all in all, the party was a success. The kids were having their own geeky fun downstairs playing "Settlers of Cataan"(the apples don't fall far...), but let the record show that Miriam and Lynnae hung around with the grown-ups, and they also gave every indication of enjoying themselves.

Let the record also show that while I refrained from switching loads during the actual party, I nevertheless still managed to get some laundry done on Saturday night.

How Do You Measure Mental Focus?

Jacob and I were arguing the other day about whether or not Jacob should spend his own money to buy a Wii. For those of you blessedly ignorant of the gaming console world, the Wii is a loathesome, evil box of devil-spawn that people willingly spend hard-earned money on and invite right into their living rooms to emit death-rays in their direction. At least, that's what I was arguing. Jacob was arguing that it would afford harmless amusement with which to pass a few free hours.

In an effort to make my devil-spawn argument more persuasive, I tried to explain to Jake that if he spent x minutes per day playing video games, he would have x minutes less to do other wholesome, productive things like practice his violin, do his homework, juggle a soccer ball, do our taxes, etc. I also tried to argue that playing video games actually has a deleterious effect on one's ability to concentrate. It actually makes you dumber, in other words. Not having any hard scientific evidence for this readily to hand, I decided I could at least sound scientific, so I posited a new unit of measure: the concetron.

The concetron is a measure of mental focus. "You'll use up concetrons you could be using on something else!" I argued. Jacob was willing to concede this point. "You'll reduce your concetron capacity!" I persisted. This one he was not willing to concede.

Actually, the whole Wii argument was just a casual hypothetical on his part. What he really wants is a laptop someday. However, the idea of the concetron has caught on in our family, and we have since had even more heated discussions trying to determine...

1) How do we define the base unit of 1 concetron? Is it, say, the amount of mental focus required to recite your address? the Gettysburg address?
2) Are there different kinds of concetrons? or can you divide a given activity into a concetron distribution chart? So, to play the piano requires a certain number of concetrons for the physical movements, a certain number for musical expression, etc.
3) If we define concetron capacity as the amount of concetrons one can expend (and is that the right verb?) in a given amount of time, then can certain activities increase or decrease one's concetron capacity? If so, how?

I swear we spent 20 minutes driving in the van one day arguing over this stuff with great passion and not a little rancor.

One thing we agreed on was that we run out of concetrons by the end of the day and have to replenish them through sleep. I plan to use this excuse to avoid helping the kids with homework after 9 p.m. (Sorry! Out of concetrons!)

So if you are a scientifically minded person, and you have suggestions about this, let us know. We're particularly interested in designs for a Star-Trek-prop-style piece of headgear that could measure concetron output.

If, on the other hand, you would like to argue for the benefits of the Wii, get thee behind me.

Word of the Day

As the youngest member in family of rather effusive talkers, Philip has always had to fight for his right to be heard. Once, when he was around three, he interrupted an adult discussion in in the front of the car by pointing to himself and calling out loudly from his car seat: "HELLL-LLLO! Can I have some talk back here?!?"

Philip also has a terrifically fertile imagination, so that in his head he's constantly inventing new playground games with complex rules, or devising plans for world conquest as the superhero Captain Fire. And of course, he loves to share these plans with the family.

In detail.

Amazing, non-stop detail.

So it doesn't surprise us that these days, in the car or at the dinner table, if someone should give the conversational floor to Philip, it's not likely to be relinquished anytime soon. This is only partly because he has something to say -- it's also because he simply wants to give his parents and siblings payback for all the years he had to sit quietly, listening to all their talk.

Hence, the word for today, to describe these occasions when Philip makes a parliamentary power grab using his gregarious gift of gab:

Philibuster
phil·i·bus·ter fil-uh-buhs-ter -noun

Bizarro World, Act II

BIZARRO WORLD
a screenplay
(cont'd)

Act I
Act II

Scene: Large suburban grocery store. RON has stopped his half-full cart in the produce section. He tests a few melons for ripeness before picking one and putting it into the cart. He checks his watch, and begins quickly pushing the cart from the produce section toward the dairy section. He gets his cell phone from his pocket and dials.

RON

Hi honey, it's me. I'm at Meijer getting some food for tonight and I have 20 minutes to kill before I have to pick up Jacob from soccer. Is there anything you need me to get?

DEB

Hmmm. Milk?

RON

Duh. Already got it. Anything else?

DEB

(pause) Not that I can think of.

RON

Hey - you seem distracted - what are you up to right now?

DEB

Just doing my share of the work of the family.

RON

(Puzzled) OK. I'll see you later tonight.

Cut to closeup of DEB as she puts away cell phone. Slow zoom out as we see her in a local hardware store, with a selection of plumbing parts (specifically, toilet parts) atop the counter between her and the store clerk. The clerk is finishing drawing something on a piece of scrap paper.

DEB

(Pointing to the drawing) So I need to put the rubber washers on both sides of the tank to get a tight seal?

CLERK

That's right. You'll use this brass nut. Then you'll put the tank back on the bowl and reconnect the water supply to this.... (tech talk fades as camera zooms out further)

Fade out

Fun with Food

Get thee behind me, Fat

Thou shalt place outside thy door a vat of fat. And this shall be a sign unto the angel of heart disease to pass over thy house. Purge thy dwelling of saturated fat (polyunsaturated is OK in smallish amounts) and purify thy house. Set outside your dwelling, then, the vat of fat to signify your purity, so that you may be holy and live long in the land. - Hezekiah 12:33

It all started years ago, when I (Deb) read the book Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser. And now we've come to this. Quasi-biblical rituals designed to appease the diet gods. Well, that's what it looks like, anyway. What really happened is that reading Fast Food Nation caused me to give up fast food (not a big sacrifice for me) and then to become more interested in the politics of food. That led me to design my English 101 class this year around the topic, and that led to further reading and many research papers on the topic from my students.

That all led to inviting my honors English 101 class for dinner on Friday last, with the students bringing various foods, both virtuous and un-, to share around. One pair of students brought banana wontons, which required deep frying, and that led to a pan full of hot oil set outside the door to cool, which I of course promptly forgot about for a couple days. So the quasi-biblical ritual was not intentional. But there it is.

All this study of food politics has brought about, as I call it, "collateral damage" in our household. In other words, we are actually eating healthier these days. We've been especially fond of the "super foods" concept, which involves emphasizing those foods that are especially high in all kinds of invisible, magical nutrients like betacarotenes and flavonoids. They also taste good.

We're not "food nazis" by any means. But here's some recommended reading, with the warning that you may find yourself, someday soon, carefully perusing the sweet potatoes at the local farmer's market. And putting pots of oil outside your door.

Eric Schlosser, Fast Food Nation
Michael Pollan, The Omnivore's Dilemma
Michael Pollan, Unhappy Meals
Bryant and Anna Lappe, Grub

Sweet Potato Sunrise

There's a frustrated artist in the family.

UPDATE: "Dad! It's a sun-SET!"

Stuck inside...

It's a bit cold around here lately. The temperatures are supposed to reach all the way to +5° degrees later on today with the promise of sunshine; right now it's -10°F, with windchills in the -20 to -30 range. Yeesh.

Plus about a foot of snow.

So we've been stuck inside for the whole weekend. No events Saturday, Church canceled Sunday, and school shut down today.

I actually got out of the house Saturday -- doing quite a bit of shoveling, trying to keep up with the three types of snow we have in Michigan: Falling Snow, Blowing Snow, and Drifting Snow.

But on Sunday, I didn't shovel even once. Why? Because all my neighbors -- members all of the brand-new Christmas-present snowblower club -- seemed to be competing with one another to see who could do more good deeds by blowing the drives of the block's less fortunate. I guess they were feeling either very full of love for their fellow human beings, or guilty for not going to church, and thought that blowing the driveways of those who hadn't yet was a way for them to earn God-points. I'm not complaining. :)

So we had a very restful Sunday afternoon. We read, played and listened to music, and the boys enjoyed quite a chess tournament, using their favorite alternative chess pieces. I'm hoping for more of the same today.

Food Art

Others make beautiful truffles. But come Christmastime, me and my son, we prefer fudge.

And the best part -- at least artistically, if not gastronomically -- is greasing the pans with butter.

Carving our favorites

The boys designed and carved their own Jack-O-Lanterns this week in anticipation of tomorrow's festivities.

Miriam had lots of homework to do, and so didn't participate; but she found pleasure later on in her own sort of carving.

Ron Goes Archetypal

"Normal people could not kill Humbaba. That's why this is a task for heroes like us. The people will revere us for doing this deed. " -- the Epic of Gilgamesh

Whenever Ron completes a long, difficult, intellectual task--such as, for example, finishing his last course paper--some weird power comes over him. His eyes turn fiery and he gets the urge to ... cut down trees.

Bizarre? No, he's just getting in touch with his inner Gilgamesh. Fortunately, his wife understands him because she has read the story of Gilgamesh and his hairy friend (or second self, depending on how you read these sorts of things) Enkidu. In one of the main episodes in the Epic of Gilgamesh, the two friends tromp off into the forest to conquer Humbaba, a sort of scary nature demon dude.

"Enkidu finds his voice, 'Finish him, Gilgamesh. Do it quickly, before the Gods consult each other. Remember, how the people will honor us. They will forever remember us as the slayers of Humbaba and the emancipators of the Evergreen Forest.'"

After a dramatic battle, full of snarky dialogue between Humbaba and his two challengers, the friends finish off Humbaba and cut down the Cedar of the Forest. Out of this they make something civilized: a big door. So I guess Gilgamesh and Enkidu are the first strip-mall developers of the ancient Near East.

So when Ron gets this urge to conquer Humbaba, I just let him go with my blessing. Surely, the neighbors will honor us and remember him as the emancipator of the Rienstra's overgrown backyard.

After conquering Humbaba and cutting down the Cedar of Mulford, my modern-day Gilgamesh had fun with the neighbor's chipper, creating bushels of mulch. He piled it all behind the garage in and around our composter. Now if you were a small rodent, you would take one look at this and say to your mate....

"Baby, we are movin' on up! Look! A five-star, high-rise rodent Marriott. Woot!"

(Of course, they don't know the ancient myth of the backyard neighbor cats of doom. Their loss.)

A Lived-Out Parable

Whoever said the Bible's agricultural metaphors are out of place in our post-modern world?

cf. Luke 13:6-9

Equity

You know how there's that point in the life of your mortgage when you're finally paying more towards equity than you are toward interest? When you turn the corner and feel like you are really beginning to reap the benefits of your investment?

Well, we're a long way from that point with our real mortgage.

But I think we may have reached that point with Miriam. Here's what I mean: for the past few weeks she has stood up at the conclusion of our end-of-the-meal prayer and made her way into the kitchen. Then, un-urged and even un-asked, she will turn on the water and begin WASHING THE DISHES!

The first time she did it I asked her who she was and what she had done with my own daughter. Now we still make that joke, but she just rolls her eyes and keeps scrubbing. And she does a good job of it, too -- probably better than I'd do.

Oh yes, life is lush.

Now if we can get Jacob and Philip to do the yard work I could become a man of letters and leisure.

Grand Garage Gin-Rummy Give-Away

How did this happen? How did we move from our house in G.R. to a smaller place in L.A., and then return to the original home only to find that all our stuff won't all fit in the house any more? I mean literally, it won't fit.

I am now in the second week of sorting through stuff and putting those items which we no longer want into a grand give-away pile in the garage. The stuff here isn't crap, it's just, well, to paraphrase the name of a local second-hand store, it's just crap to us. Two very nice sets of cross-country skis and boots, for example. Or a "vintage" Sony Walkman, circa 1984. Or a genuine vintage stereo cabinet, circa 1955. We've also got three boxes of theological books I don't want any more (Mary, want any more conversation partners?); a color TV; lots of kitchen, workbench, and babyroom stuff.

Anyone want to lay claim to the lot of it? We're giving it all away for free -- but the catch is that you have to take the whole pile. No picking and choosing. It's kinda like playing Gin Rummy and picking up a very large discard pile for the sake of a few cards you can genuinely use. If you've ever played, it's actually not a bad strategy...

Home Chaotic Home

We have landed. It's good to be back in Michigan, but we are still in the throes of chaos after several days and it's wearing on all of us. Even after moving six times in three years, I am still amazed by the sheer amount of work it takes to put together a household. And the emotional ups and downs of moving, for all of us.

Small problems seem overwhelming: the air conditioning blew out yesterday, we do not at present have a dining room table or chairs, Miriam found bugs in her hair, and our perpetual question: in which d*** box will I find the [fill in urgently needed item here]??

People ask, "So are you settled in yet?" Uh... never mind.