Couldn't Have Said it Better for Myself

Colony With a Conscience
By KENNETH T. JACKSON
This republic owes its enduring strength to a fragile, scorched and little-known document called the Flushing Remonstrance.

www.FlushingRemonstrance.org

Not too bad now, don'tcha know?

OK, here we go, the thrilling report of my trip to Minnesota, making 2007 my most stateside well-travelled year, having slept in 8 states, including my two home bases and an upcoming trip to DC. At the very least, I can check MN off my list!

I've gotten in the habit of writing down my first impressions, which usually just mean what strikes me about the people in the airport. Here's the short list:

• White
• A couple embracing as their adopted Asian kids frolic
• On signs, 'bus' is translated into Chinese, 'limo' is translated into Japanese
• More white
• Smiling Sudanese ladies serving me at Starbucks
• Rubbery jaws moving beneath layers of white fat

Here are the spectacular surroundings outside my hotel. Yup, suburbs is suburbs, no matter where you go. I snapped this shot to illustrate the pile of snow.

Plane travel is abominable nowadays. I used to look forward to the thrill - flying! - but now I feel like a cow in an industrial feedlot. Only they don't even give you food anymore! The thrill is gone. Still, even though I was seated next to a large gentleman in seat B, and had big mouths behind me, I was excited to get out of town for a bit, see the work my company does, visit a dear old college pal, and, as a treat, stay in a hotel.

That latter element was a bit of a disappointment: the place was not as glamorous as their website boasts, and the rooms were the typical low-ceiling, stucco, white light and darkness dwellings. I drowned my sorrows in walleye, the sweet pike found in Minnesota's 10,000 lakes.

One of the hotel perks was a heated, indoor, square pool, decorated with silk birds of paradise (silk flowers are apparently required in every hospitality establishment in the state.) I took some midnight dips, swimming in circles like a captive seal.

Both days of the trip were spent on tours of the programs and in meetings with regional directors and other executives. Apart from being exhausting and informative, I did get to have a couple of nice lunches- I never expected to be eating so much seafood in the Midwest. No thrilling pictures to share, but here's what passes for the outdoors around MN office parks: ye old atrium.

The highlight of the trip was a chance to catch up with the ever-enjoyable Brian Heller, one of my closest friends from college and as hilarious as ever. We sampled some authentic, Minnesotan Tex-Mex cuisine. I rose early on the second and final day of the trip to get to the little fitness center in the hotel, where, while watching the news, I confirmed that the weather is a focal point of Minnesotans' lives. During one weather report, a map appeared with several single-digit numbers on it. I assumed they indicated regions, until I realized they were the temperatures. December 7th and it's 3 degrees already? Not too bad, your typical local might chirp. Minnesotans have a reputation for being very nice, despite the weather. It's warmer in Boston- what's our excuse for being so cold?
Brian and I had some desserts at this Perkins, the Friendly's of the Midwest, (it was literally the only thing open at 10 PM on a Thursday) and I returned the next morning for breakfast. As I was tucking into my gingerbread pancakes, an elderly man on crutches tumbled right on top of me. I shrieked involuntarily, until I realized he might have been harmed more than I was. the entire restaurant stared. I scrambled to help him up, and babbled, "I'm from New York, I thought I was being attacked!" Scandinavian-looking businessmen in the next booth smiled.

With all the business stuff to do and limited hours in the evening, I didn't even set foot in Minneapolis proper. A shame, as it doesn't look like a bad town and there are cool things to do. But will I ever go back to visit if it's not on someone else's tab?

At the very least, I was able to get a glimpse of the men's room where the honorable Senator Larry Craig was arrested. That is, I'm pretty sure this is the one. But even if I'm wrong, I'm willing to bet that the real one looks a lot like this.

um....um.....um.....

So which is worse, having too many things to do and not enough time to do them, or having just enough things to do and plenty of time to do them? For years I've wanted more time to pursue my various pursuits, and within months of finding that time, I'm squandering it. What is it about the winter months that just hits like a ton of bricks? It's all I can do to drag myself to my daily activities, but I can't get up the energy to pursue the numerous extra-curriculars I'm passionate about. Heck, even a blog post or two would at least be productive procrastination! I have so many little things drafted offline, and I haven't even gotten around to putting up some pics from my exciting, all-expenses paid trip of a lifetime to my company's corporate headquarters in suburban Minneapolis. Just think of what you've been missing.

One of the joy's of part time work is the increased amount of time you get to spend at home. But it has it's downsides. When I was a full time worker bee, home to me was the place of leisure and comfort, dreams and romance (that is, dreaming about romance; little actual romance occurred). But here I need to devote my home time to work, or at least to activities that might eventually become income producing (such as singing, grantwriting, and maybe, just maybe, real writing.) But what a change when the purpose of your home becomes multi-use! How can I work when there are so many windows to stare out of, so many magazines to read, and so much putzing to be done?

Lose too much energy in the home and Father Time spends his day taunting and mocking you. Each hour starts out harmless enough, a young 6, an adorable 10. Soon enough you're facing the unruly teens, the hour seems like it's slipping away by 21, and by 33 you're not even on talking terms. The hour trudges on to middle and then old age, only to die and leave with nothing but his ever-agin offspring. And there you are, still chewing your breakfast.

So we have an ebb, and maybe just by doing this little bit of "work" right now, I'll boost myself into a flow. But right now it's only 4:30. And gloomy. And soon it will be night. But wait, that reminds me of something. The luminous work that I'll be performing in less than a month. There's some inspiration. Another tune I'm working on lingers as well:

Must the winter come so soon?
Night after night, I hear the hungry deer
Wander weeping in the woods.
And from his house of brittle bark
Hoots the frozen owl.
Must the winter come so soon?
Here in the forest, neither dawn nor sunset,
Mark the passing of the days.
It is a long winter here.
Must the winter come so soon.

— Gian Carlo Menotti from Samuel Barber's Vanessa

How cool is this? Photos from Florida

Gastronomie de Cambridgeport

Since moving into this big, beautiful Victorian, with its big beautiful kitchen, I have been bitten by the Julia Child bug. Finally, after six years of living in small places, I have enough counterspace to cook decent meals. And generate photgraphic evidence. Bon Appetit.

Clafouti! Say it out loud, it's fun! With Maine blueberries and local peaches.

I was inspired one day in September to go home and make a leek souffle, or Lauchauflauf, as I first learned the dish. Having four roommates reminded me of my semester in a Wohngemeinschaft in Germany, where I shared a hallway with up to 20 people at one point. This is a nice dish to share.

Insalata caprese with green zebra tomatoes, and a heaping serving of nostalgia.

The green zebras didn't taste as nice a few weeks later, when I bought them after a cold snap. But the main course was successful: rock Cornish game hen basted with soy and honey, and roasted sweet potatoes, onions, and delicata squash braised with cider.

And just last night I pursued my squash romance with something I called a "concoction." Ground turkey with yellow pepper, white wine, sage, and rice, served on a custardy baked kabocha squash. The plates were quite heavy!

It looks like a pine cone, or a mathematical conundrum, but I just found this odd veg at the farmer's market down the street. It tasted much like a cauliflower.

Ohmygod, he's going to eat it!??