Whew, final presentation done!
I never worried about tests and projects when I was in school back in the Dark Ages (i.e, 1960-80s). But I have been losing sleep for a week now rehearsing and rephrasing and reorganizing my discussion of what I finally titled "Taming the Chocolate Monster: How Sweets Fit into a Healthful Diet."
Of course, with a rainbow of fresh fruit (and vegetables!) and a big packet of raw cacao, how could I lose?
Well, I could've panicked when the Vita-Mix motor blew away my notecards listing the nutrition information I'd carefully prepared.
Or maybe when the end of my 45-minute presentation came somewhere around the 30-minute mark. That's the editor in me, always making it shorter, clearer, more concise.
But I'm pretty sure my fellow chef students and the instructors were too busy salivating over the Cuisinart full of Cherry-Choco Energy Bars.
The reality is that it doesn't take much time to make absolutely delish healthful stuff, and if you fill it full of good stuff, people won't want more.
So, since you couldn't be there to sample, here are the two recipes from the presentation:
Chocolate Super Smoothie
A variety of superfoods combine to create a tasty and healthful morning start or midday energizer. And no one will know there’s spinach in it!
1 cup almond milk
½ cup (about 10) pitted cherries
½ cup blueberries
1 medium ripe banana
2 cups spinach
1 stalk celery
2 Tablespoons cacao
2 dates (to taste)
Combine all ingredients in blender and blend until smooth.
By Kathy Leftwich, adapted from incrediblesmoothies.com
Makes 1 large smoothie (2 servings)
Cost breakdown:
Almond milk from 1 cup (5.5 oz.) almonds @ $6/lb =$2.06
Cherries: ½ cup (2.75 oz.) @$4/lb (.25/oz) = $0.69
Blueberries: ½ cup (2 oz.) @ $3/dry pint (8 oz.) = $0.75
Banana: 5 oz @.69/lb (.04/oz) = $0.20
Celery: 1 stalk of about 8 per head @$0.88 = $0.11
Spinach: 2 oz of 8 oz. box @ $4 = $1
Cacao: 2 T (1 oz.) @$18/lb = $1.12
Total (2 servings)= 5.93 or $2.96 per serving
Cherry-Cocoa Energy Bars
Loaded with protein, fiber and healthy fats, these bars make a delicious and satisfying on-the-go treat.
1½ cups pitted, dried dates
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/3 cup whole chia seeds
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
1/2 cup almonds, toasted and chopped
1/2 cup walnuts, toasted and chopped
1/2 cup dried cherries
Purée dates in food processor until a thick paste forms. Add cocoa powder, chia seeds, cinnamon, cloves and extracts. Pulse until well combined. Add almonds, walnuts and dried cherries; pulse until well mixed.
Spread large sheet of wax paper on work surface. Transfer date mixture to wax paper, and press mixture into 1/2-inch-thick rectangle. Wrap tightly in wax paper, and chill until firm (note: I didn't do this for the presentation and the bars tasted more like brownies right out of the oven!). Cut into 8 bars.
By Kathy Leftwich adapted from dramaticpancake.com
Makes 8 bars
Cost breakdown:
Dates: 4 oz. @ $5/lb =$1.25
Cacao:1/3 cup @ $18/lb = $2.75
Chia: 1/3 cup (2 oz.) @$9.99/lb = $1.25
Cinnamon: ½ tsp. @$1.25/oz. = $0.10
Ground cloves: ¼ tsp @2.50/oz = $0.10
Vanilla: ½ tsp @ $2/oz. = $0.25
Almond extract: ¼ tsp.@ $2/oz. = $0.12
Almonds: ½ c (2.5oz.) @ $6/lb. = $1
Walnuts: ½ c. (2 oz.) @$9/lb = $1
Cherries: ½ c (2 oz.) @ $13/lb = $1.60
Total: $10.17 /8 servings =$1.27
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Sunday, May 12, 2013
How things happen
What a week!
Our Bauman kitchen (housed in the beautiful downtown First Congregational Church) buzzed with excitement as we moved into the Animal Protein portion of the curriculum, but what we were learning was only tangentially related to the noteworthy events.
On Monday, after a lesson on fish, we celebrated two birthdays with an extracurricular dessert that blew me away: Sublime Pie, made without sugar, dairy or wheat!
Let me add here that this program has consistently amazed me with the flavors of foods I thought I didn't like, From an early kale dish to a cilantro-based salad dressing to seaweed, I have opened my mouth and mind in so many ways. This pie was just the latest taste-bud-expanding experiences. Here is the ultra-simple recipe our lead teacher, Chef Matt Morrow, adapted from (as he put it) some Australian guy's cookbook on raw food:
Photo by birthday girl Brandi MacKenzie www.BeBeingBecome.com
Sublime Pie
Crust:
3/4 cup macadamia nuts
3/4 cup pecans
3/4 cup dates, pitted and quartered
1 vanilla bean pod, ground
1 tsp. salt
Grind all ingredients together in a food processor, then press into a springform pan. (This super-simple crust could be used in any dessert application.)
Filling:
5 to 6 ripe avocados (yes, I meant avocados)
1 to 1.5 cups dessicated coconut
3/4 cup fresh lime juice
1/2 to 3/4 cup agave nectar or pure maple syrup
Mix all ingredients together in the food processor, tasting for flavor balance. Pour into the prepared crust and freeze for several hours.
~~~~~
Two days later, after a flight of fancy with chicken, we encountered the irresistible opportunity to hear foodie hero Michael Pollan (The Omnivore's Dilemma, Food Rules, etc.), who was promoting his new book, Cooked, at the Boulder Bookstore just a few steps away. The question of whether to interrupt our class schedule to hear him was really no dilemma.
The choice became even easier when the local bookstore provided free tickets to the event, which popularity prompted to move to... yes, indeed, the First Congregational Church, just upstairs from our kitchen. We had suggested that we cook him lunch, but the handlers thought there would not be enough time, so we continued with class -- it was lamb day -- and adjusted the schedule to fit the lesson and get the stews cooking before heading upstairs for the lecture.
Pollan is, quite simply, who I wish I could be. He investigates a subject thoroughly, no, exhaustively, visiting places and people that know about the subject and generally immersing himself in all there is to know about it. Then he writes approachable, readable, engaging prose that conveys all that he learned.
And he seems to be a genuinely nice guy. We learned this when he came downstairs to visit with us in the kitchen. Having been told his schedule was tight, we hurriedly prepared a "to-go" container of our lamb stews that had been simmering. No, he wanted to sit and enjoy his meal (a habit that seems to be fading into history). While the class confronted The Lamb Chop (and seven people on a siz-burner stove), Pollan chatted with staff and enjoyed our stews before popping into the kitchen for a photo op. (Sorry you had to run off, Michael, the lamb chops were delish.
Our Bauman kitchen (housed in the beautiful downtown First Congregational Church) buzzed with excitement as we moved into the Animal Protein portion of the curriculum, but what we were learning was only tangentially related to the noteworthy events.
On Monday, after a lesson on fish, we celebrated two birthdays with an extracurricular dessert that blew me away: Sublime Pie, made without sugar, dairy or wheat!
Let me add here that this program has consistently amazed me with the flavors of foods I thought I didn't like, From an early kale dish to a cilantro-based salad dressing to seaweed, I have opened my mouth and mind in so many ways. This pie was just the latest taste-bud-expanding experiences. Here is the ultra-simple recipe our lead teacher, Chef Matt Morrow, adapted from (as he put it) some Australian guy's cookbook on raw food:
Photo by birthday girl Brandi MacKenzie www.BeBeingBecome.com
Sublime Pie
Crust:
3/4 cup macadamia nuts
3/4 cup pecans
3/4 cup dates, pitted and quartered
1 vanilla bean pod, ground
1 tsp. salt
Grind all ingredients together in a food processor, then press into a springform pan. (This super-simple crust could be used in any dessert application.)
Filling:
5 to 6 ripe avocados (yes, I meant avocados)
1 to 1.5 cups dessicated coconut
3/4 cup fresh lime juice
1/2 to 3/4 cup agave nectar or pure maple syrup
Mix all ingredients together in the food processor, tasting for flavor balance. Pour into the prepared crust and freeze for several hours.
~~~~~
Two days later, after a flight of fancy with chicken, we encountered the irresistible opportunity to hear foodie hero Michael Pollan (The Omnivore's Dilemma, Food Rules, etc.), who was promoting his new book, Cooked, at the Boulder Bookstore just a few steps away. The question of whether to interrupt our class schedule to hear him was really no dilemma.
The choice became even easier when the local bookstore provided free tickets to the event, which popularity prompted to move to... yes, indeed, the First Congregational Church, just upstairs from our kitchen. We had suggested that we cook him lunch, but the handlers thought there would not be enough time, so we continued with class -- it was lamb day -- and adjusted the schedule to fit the lesson and get the stews cooking before heading upstairs for the lecture.
Pollan is, quite simply, who I wish I could be. He investigates a subject thoroughly, no, exhaustively, visiting places and people that know about the subject and generally immersing himself in all there is to know about it. Then he writes approachable, readable, engaging prose that conveys all that he learned.
And he seems to be a genuinely nice guy. We learned this when he came downstairs to visit with us in the kitchen. Having been told his schedule was tight, we hurriedly prepared a "to-go" container of our lamb stews that had been simmering. No, he wanted to sit and enjoy his meal (a habit that seems to be fading into history). While the class confronted The Lamb Chop (and seven people on a siz-burner stove), Pollan chatted with staff and enjoyed our stews before popping into the kitchen for a photo op. (Sorry you had to run off, Michael, the lamb chops were delish.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Moving On Up
Moving On Up
I've been idle on this forum for the past four years and am now moving in a new direction, both professionally and bloggingly. Quite honestly, I felt that sending my random thoughts into the blogosphere for various friends, relatives and spammers to enjoy was at best irrelevant and somewhat like masturbation, pleasuring only oneself.
Now that I have decided what I want to be when I grow up, I see more purpose in sharing my "wisdom" with the world. I cannot take full credit for this inspiration. Dave Carson, a noted Boulder architect and member of my beloved Community UCC, suggested that I share the process of going back to school to learn a new trade. That still seemed like the above-mentioned self-pleasure, but many others have asked how I am enjoying the classes. My standard reply is that, even after nearly 40 years of playing in the kitchen, I did not know how much I didn't know about food.
And so, after having people clamor for the recipes of two things I made for said church, I decided to revive my dormant blog and share some of my journey of becoming a Natural Chef through Baumann College. The program is focused on nutrition and eating well, that is, the way nature intended us to eat. The basis is SOUL food: Seasonal, Organic, Unrefined, Local. (I got 1 point off my homework on that question because I said the S was for Sustainable, which I think it also needs to be.)
The program is about 5 months of thrice-weekly classes, and we are about six weeks into it, having learned some foundations like knife skills, sanitation measures and tons of other useful stuff. What has impressed me so far is how little we know about what we put into our bodies.
In the name of efficiency and good ol' American capitalism, food has strayed far from being something to nourish and truly feed us. So often now, we look for the fastest way to get something into our mouths/stomachs, not paying much attention to where it came from and how it got here. The processes and additives turn what we think is good food in something akin to poison.
The best example is a yummy, seemingly healthful protein bar I used to enjoy. The second ingredient is something called soy isolates, which I recently learned in class is created by a process so lethal that the factory workers are allowed to spend only a few hours in its presence, and then in full hazmat-type garb. And this is from a company called Nature Valley!
I could (and probably will at some point) fill these columns with the horrors the food industry is literally shoving down our throats, but the good news is that it is not so hard to go back to our roots (really!) and make food that does nourish, not poison.
Here are two examples from class:
Olive Tapenade
1 cup mixed olives
1/2 Tablespoon capers
1 garlic clove, crushed
1 Tablespoons parsley
2 Tablespoons olive oil
Put everything except olive oil in a food processor or blender. Pulse it a few time until everything is finely chopped. Add the oil and whir it around a bit. Serve with whole-grain crackers or veggie slices. You can doctor it up to fit your tastes and what's in the pantry. In my last batch, I also used some olives and artichoke hearts from the grocery olive bar, sun-dried tomato pieces and a splash of balsamic vinegar. It disappeared in a flash!
Even faster on the hoovered scale was the trail mix balls I adapted from the school's Vital Snack Bar recipe. I think I used too many nuts so they just would not become bars, so I rolled them up and pressed in the nuts that fell out. Feel free to play around with these ingredients, using different nuts, seeds, spices, or dried fruit. The original called for Maca powder, which I couldn't find; protein powder, which I don't usually care for; and coconut, which some don't like.
1 cup lightly toasted nuts
1/2 cup medjool dates, quartered
1/4 cup dried cherries
1/4 cup dried figs
2 Tablespoons cocoa or carob powder
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ground cloves
1 Tablespoon orange zest
Water as needed
In a food processor, grind nuts to finely chopped. Set aside in a separate bowl.
Put dates, cherries and figs into food processor with the cocoa/carob powder, spices and zest. Pulse to blend into a thick paste, adding tablespoons of water as needed to make it come together. Add nuts back in and process until it forms a ball. Press mixture into a 9x13 pan (use a smaller pan if a thicker bar if desired). Allow to chill for about an hour, then cut into bars.
I am excited to share my love of food and talent for writing with my friends and random folks who happen upon this. I'd love to hear your comments!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The mother of all illness
If there is anything worse than being sick, it is being a mother and being sick.
You see, moms do not get sick days. Kids still need to be fed, watered and refereed no matter how much you want to stay in bed. Which is a real dirty trick, because who do you think makes most moms sick?
I thought the worst moment was when my 7-year-old-- in the last gasps of this horrible, energy-sucking bug -- called out to me -- in the beginning throes of "who ran over me with a truck?" -- to ask for a foot massage. Yeah, kid, I'll get right on that.
But no, there was worse, much worse to come. The day we sent said 7-year-old back to school, I get a call mid-morning from the other child's school: "Mom, I really don't feel so good." Somehow, suggesting he bike home didn't seem very nice. The question for the ages: Who picks up your sick kid when you too are sick? And would the middle school staff care if I showed up in my jammies?
Those little varmints, though, are young and resilient. So, when the kids insisted (at 7 am) that they were well enough to hunt for the springtime cache of sugar, I played along then burrowed back into my comfy den of covers.
The worst, though, is the perky folks who call in the middle of the day, expecting you to be just as perky. Conversations generally go like this:
"Croak," I say into the phone.
"Oh. did I wake you?"
"No, there was just a strange ringing in my ear." Then coughing that should produce at least part of a lung.
"OK, I won't bother you." As if you didn't already.
So, although I suspect this is actually a sinister plot between my waistline and my wallet to keep me from gorging on post-Easter chocolate bargains, I am doing my best to get through this. In addition to the home Easter ritual, I've managed to conduct a neighborhood Easter egg hunt, celebrate two birthdays (including homemade dinner and cakes) and weather a daylong church retreat, mostly without a voice. I will not let this thing get the better of me. Give me some telemarketers to torture and some of our pharmaceutical industry's best efforts and I'll be up by noon in no time.
I have to, my birthday is next.
Epilogue: It can get worse and it did. Being sick on one's birthday is totally not fun.
Bullying this swine of a flu bug gave me enough energy to make a semblance of a celebration. One of our favorite restaurants shares its founding with my birthday so I felt an obligation to partake of the $19.94 lobster special, and my sweet, caring and extremely patient husband produced my favorite cake.
It's just not the same with a cough syrup chaser.
You see, moms do not get sick days. Kids still need to be fed, watered and refereed no matter how much you want to stay in bed. Which is a real dirty trick, because who do you think makes most moms sick?
I thought the worst moment was when my 7-year-old-- in the last gasps of this horrible, energy-sucking bug -- called out to me -- in the beginning throes of "who ran over me with a truck?" -- to ask for a foot massage. Yeah, kid, I'll get right on that.
But no, there was worse, much worse to come. The day we sent said 7-year-old back to school, I get a call mid-morning from the other child's school: "Mom, I really don't feel so good." Somehow, suggesting he bike home didn't seem very nice. The question for the ages: Who picks up your sick kid when you too are sick? And would the middle school staff care if I showed up in my jammies?
Those little varmints, though, are young and resilient. So, when the kids insisted (at 7 am) that they were well enough to hunt for the springtime cache of sugar, I played along then burrowed back into my comfy den of covers.
The worst, though, is the perky folks who call in the middle of the day, expecting you to be just as perky. Conversations generally go like this:
"Croak," I say into the phone.
"Oh. did I wake you?"
"No, there was just a strange ringing in my ear." Then coughing that should produce at least part of a lung.
"OK, I won't bother you." As if you didn't already.
So, although I suspect this is actually a sinister plot between my waistline and my wallet to keep me from gorging on post-Easter chocolate bargains, I am doing my best to get through this. In addition to the home Easter ritual, I've managed to conduct a neighborhood Easter egg hunt, celebrate two birthdays (including homemade dinner and cakes) and weather a daylong church retreat, mostly without a voice. I will not let this thing get the better of me. Give me some telemarketers to torture and some of our pharmaceutical industry's best efforts and I'll be up by noon in no time.
I have to, my birthday is next.
Epilogue: It can get worse and it did. Being sick on one's birthday is totally not fun.
Bullying this swine of a flu bug gave me enough energy to make a semblance of a celebration. One of our favorite restaurants shares its founding with my birthday so I felt an obligation to partake of the $19.94 lobster special, and my sweet, caring and extremely patient husband produced my favorite cake.
It's just not the same with a cough syrup chaser.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The Beguiling World of Blogs
For a medium that I didn't know existed a year ago, the blog seems to be occupying a lot of my attention lately. Not my own, as you'll notice from the weeks between my posts.
Everyone these days seems to have something to say in a blog. If I read all the ones I'm asked to, I'd never get anything done. Many of my colleagues in Boulder Media Women regularly post very interesting insights and information on blogs but I'm a bit afraid. How much more can my brain hold? How will dinner get made?
But I really should not expect anyone to read my blog if I don't read theirs, right? So I occasionally dip my toe into the blogosphere to see what others have to say. The latest was by no means a colleague, though, and I'd be floored if she ever read my blog, but I admire this writer and I was curious about the topic, so Anne Lamott's latest post on Salon.com drrew me in. And my worst fears were realized.
First of all, I could very easily spend 18 hours a day reading the musings of such talented and insightful women. My kids would go hungry (once the Tostitos ran out) and the laundry would pile to the ceiling (in the unlikely event they remembered to change clothes).
Secondly, I want to write like this woman, so I really should read everything she writes.
The third, and most profound, finding was that the blogosphere has truly made some strange bedfellows. At some place on most web pages are ads that attempt to tie in with the topic of the page. At the bottom of Anne Lamott's Salon.com post on the Republican vice-presidential candidate were links to electric candles, a psychotherpist in Fort Collins and a system "guaranteed to improve my income."
As Dr. Phil likes to say, "What were they thinking?!"
Now, to some extent, I can control what appears on my page with the tags I give my post, so in addition to the real topic of this post, I'm going to do a test and see what shows up if I put something totally outrageous. So make sure you look at the bottom of the page for the Google ads. This should be fun!
Everyone these days seems to have something to say in a blog. If I read all the ones I'm asked to, I'd never get anything done. Many of my colleagues in Boulder Media Women regularly post very interesting insights and information on blogs but I'm a bit afraid. How much more can my brain hold? How will dinner get made?
But I really should not expect anyone to read my blog if I don't read theirs, right? So I occasionally dip my toe into the blogosphere to see what others have to say. The latest was by no means a colleague, though, and I'd be floored if she ever read my blog, but I admire this writer and I was curious about the topic, so Anne Lamott's latest post on Salon.com drrew me in. And my worst fears were realized.
First of all, I could very easily spend 18 hours a day reading the musings of such talented and insightful women. My kids would go hungry (once the Tostitos ran out) and the laundry would pile to the ceiling (in the unlikely event they remembered to change clothes).
Secondly, I want to write like this woman, so I really should read everything she writes.
The third, and most profound, finding was that the blogosphere has truly made some strange bedfellows. At some place on most web pages are ads that attempt to tie in with the topic of the page. At the bottom of Anne Lamott's Salon.com post on the Republican vice-presidential candidate were links to electric candles, a psychotherpist in Fort Collins and a system "guaranteed to improve my income."
As Dr. Phil likes to say, "What were they thinking?!"
Now, to some extent, I can control what appears on my page with the tags I give my post, so in addition to the real topic of this post, I'm going to do a test and see what shows up if I put something totally outrageous. So make sure you look at the bottom of the page for the Google ads. This should be fun!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
A Matter of Convention
The only game in town last week was the amassing of Democrats in Denver, so missing the opportunity to comment on it was just, well, unfathomable.
Unfortunately, I must plead exhaustion. The effort of getting two kids ready for school, arrangements made for after-school pickup and dog-sitting is usually enough to occupy my day but add in getting to the bus and the Pepsi Center by 10 am to ensure entrance, then working at a fairly regular pace for 8 hours before heading home to get everyone ready for the next day.
Nonetheless, I did it, not wanting to miss the chance to be a part of this history-making event. I just didn't get around to writing about it for a while.
My DNC experience began a few weeks ago when I was notified that my skills would be of use in the public affairs division (and here I thought politicos tried to keep their affairs private). The next email informed me that I was to be part of the Talking Points crew, so I conjured visions of grandeur as one of the people to decide what conventioneers would be talking about.
That little bubble burst on Saturday, the pre-convention volunteer orientation day. The reality was that I would be stuffing envelopes with DNC-provided "talking points" and likely delivering same to delegates. Oh well, at least I'd get to be a part of the action. And we were promised that entry to the highly coveted Obama acceptance speech would be allowed for any who desired it.
Even the promise of such a coup (shared by 75,000 of our closest friends) began to lose its sparkle Sunday afternoon when the reality of the whole DNC situation came crashing down amid protesters, long and unshaded lines of people and many, many riot-gear-clad police. In short, lots of people wanted to get in to the Pepsi Center and the security detail wanted to be veeerrryyy careful about who those people were and what they brought in with them.
Amid this chaos, though, occurred a truly remarkable event. As I stood with a colleague in the noonday sun awaiting our chance to pass through the magical portal to political paradise, I noticed a man wearing a shirt proclaiming his press affiliation, Cox Newspapers. We weren't doing a lot else, so I asked him which of the Cox Newspapers he worked for. He replied Dayton and asked if I, too, worked for Cox. I noted that I once had, many moons ago. At that point, he extended his hand and introduced himself as Jeff Bruce, once my boss in Austin, Texas. For the rest of the day, my brain trilled out the Disney song, "It's a Small World."
Close encounters of personally and world famous people were sparse after that in part because I moved to another assignment, vaguely known as Press Distribution. It entailed transcribing the many, many speeches of the convention from the Teleprompter (i.e. type large enough to be read across the room) to single-page reproductions of what the speakers planned to say. Verbatim. Even if it wasn't all that accurate. Or grammatical. I had to restrain the editor in me from making Al Gore just a little more comprehensible.
But I was able to see some bits and pieces of the convention, much of it on the monitor in our work area. And The Big Speech, of course. As promised, we were awarded entrance to the Invesco event, complete with our own American flags and Change placards to wave at appropriate moments. Even the trudge through some very questionable parts of Denver was worth the effort. There were, after all, more than enough police -- we would be safe.
In fact, that would be my only complaint: There were too many uniformed personnel making a little bit too much of a show of force. It was quite surreal to walk across Speer Blvd. in the middle of the morning rush hour without even glancing at the traffic light because the intersection was barricaded. Being "wanded" while walking over Cherry Creek seemed extreme, and the corps of officers marching down 16th Street one afternoon looked a little too much like my idea of Germany's SS. In all, though, it seemed to me that Denver did an admirable job.
Unfortunately, I must plead exhaustion. The effort of getting two kids ready for school, arrangements made for after-school pickup and dog-sitting is usually enough to occupy my day but add in getting to the bus and the Pepsi Center by 10 am to ensure entrance, then working at a fairly regular pace for 8 hours before heading home to get everyone ready for the next day.
Nonetheless, I did it, not wanting to miss the chance to be a part of this history-making event. I just didn't get around to writing about it for a while.
My DNC experience began a few weeks ago when I was notified that my skills would be of use in the public affairs division (and here I thought politicos tried to keep their affairs private). The next email informed me that I was to be part of the Talking Points crew, so I conjured visions of grandeur as one of the people to decide what conventioneers would be talking about.
That little bubble burst on Saturday, the pre-convention volunteer orientation day. The reality was that I would be stuffing envelopes with DNC-provided "talking points" and likely delivering same to delegates. Oh well, at least I'd get to be a part of the action. And we were promised that entry to the highly coveted Obama acceptance speech would be allowed for any who desired it.
Even the promise of such a coup (shared by 75,000 of our closest friends) began to lose its sparkle Sunday afternoon when the reality of the whole DNC situation came crashing down amid protesters, long and unshaded lines of people and many, many riot-gear-clad police. In short, lots of people wanted to get in to the Pepsi Center and the security detail wanted to be veeerrryyy careful about who those people were and what they brought in with them.
Amid this chaos, though, occurred a truly remarkable event. As I stood with a colleague in the noonday sun awaiting our chance to pass through the magical portal to political paradise, I noticed a man wearing a shirt proclaiming his press affiliation, Cox Newspapers. We weren't doing a lot else, so I asked him which of the Cox Newspapers he worked for. He replied Dayton and asked if I, too, worked for Cox. I noted that I once had, many moons ago. At that point, he extended his hand and introduced himself as Jeff Bruce, once my boss in Austin, Texas. For the rest of the day, my brain trilled out the Disney song, "It's a Small World."
Close encounters of personally and world famous people were sparse after that in part because I moved to another assignment, vaguely known as Press Distribution. It entailed transcribing the many, many speeches of the convention from the Teleprompter (i.e. type large enough to be read across the room) to single-page reproductions of what the speakers planned to say. Verbatim. Even if it wasn't all that accurate. Or grammatical. I had to restrain the editor in me from making Al Gore just a little more comprehensible.
But I was able to see some bits and pieces of the convention, much of it on the monitor in our work area. And The Big Speech, of course. As promised, we were awarded entrance to the Invesco event, complete with our own American flags and Change placards to wave at appropriate moments. Even the trudge through some very questionable parts of Denver was worth the effort. There were, after all, more than enough police -- we would be safe.
In fact, that would be my only complaint: There were too many uniformed personnel making a little bit too much of a show of force. It was quite surreal to walk across Speer Blvd. in the middle of the morning rush hour without even glancing at the traffic light because the intersection was barricaded. Being "wanded" while walking over Cherry Creek seemed extreme, and the corps of officers marching down 16th Street one afternoon looked a little too much like my idea of Germany's SS. In all, though, it seemed to me that Denver did an admirable job.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
My Special Power
For many years, I have had the sense of being a bit different, maybe even special.
Not just the uncanny ability to find the one misspelled word in any printed piece, but something more. A trip to the local gargantuan-goods store helped me put my finger on it. Yes, the simple purchase of a garden hose helped me to see what it is that sets me apart.
Actually, I began to get suspicious earlier in the year with the purchase of yet another outdoor utensil, a power snow shovel. That was in March, reportedly Colorado's snowiest month, yet subsequent to the purchase of the shovel (at a bargain 75 percent off), it did not snow enough to even merit opening the box.
Similarly, the purchase of the garden hose to perk up my withering landscaping resulted in the first measurable rain in our neighborhood in at least a month.
Conversely, all I have to do is carry an umbrella to ensure no one in my party will get wet. Leave it at home and it will pour buckets.
It's truly a special power. Now, all I have to do is figure out how to harness this for the greater good. I am hesitant, for example, to work in the campaign of my preferred candidates for fear it will jinx them.
I'm thinking perhaps I'll start with my kids. If I do not even buy broccoli, will they suddenly decide they must have it? Or maybe it won't work in the reverse. I have to do something that turns out to be wasteful or useless. Well, that describes most of what I do with my kids, in their view at least.
Maybe I could join the armed forces just so the war will end? Unfortunately, I don't think there's much call for out-of-shape, middle-aged women in today's Army.
For now, I'll stick to ferreting out misplaced apostrophes and improper uses of "which". Heaven knows, everyone finds that pretty useless.
Not just the uncanny ability to find the one misspelled word in any printed piece, but something more. A trip to the local gargantuan-goods store helped me put my finger on it. Yes, the simple purchase of a garden hose helped me to see what it is that sets me apart.
Actually, I began to get suspicious earlier in the year with the purchase of yet another outdoor utensil, a power snow shovel. That was in March, reportedly Colorado's snowiest month, yet subsequent to the purchase of the shovel (at a bargain 75 percent off), it did not snow enough to even merit opening the box.
Similarly, the purchase of the garden hose to perk up my withering landscaping resulted in the first measurable rain in our neighborhood in at least a month.
Conversely, all I have to do is carry an umbrella to ensure no one in my party will get wet. Leave it at home and it will pour buckets.
It's truly a special power. Now, all I have to do is figure out how to harness this for the greater good. I am hesitant, for example, to work in the campaign of my preferred candidates for fear it will jinx them.
I'm thinking perhaps I'll start with my kids. If I do not even buy broccoli, will they suddenly decide they must have it? Or maybe it won't work in the reverse. I have to do something that turns out to be wasteful or useless. Well, that describes most of what I do with my kids, in their view at least.
Maybe I could join the armed forces just so the war will end? Unfortunately, I don't think there's much call for out-of-shape, middle-aged women in today's Army.
For now, I'll stick to ferreting out misplaced apostrophes and improper uses of "which". Heaven knows, everyone finds that pretty useless.
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