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I don't remember who asked me about farmer's market start dates, but I know I said it was June. As it turns out, I'm only a little bit right: a bunch start in May, including Boston City Hall (May 21), Boston Dewey Square (May 21), Central Square (May 21), Copley (May 22), and Davis Square (May 23). Union Square starts June 9, still inconveniently on Shabbat. I don't know about any of the other local ones, though.
The improv dish I made for Shabbat turned out well (and kosher for Passover, if I want to recreate it this week): caramelized onions (for a couple of hours), then add a pound of ground buffalo, a bag of cranberries, a diced orange, and a tiny diced blood orange. This was all simmered together with a bit of water to prevent sticking, plus a goodly amount of freshly ground black pepper.
I'm still trying to get the photos from my trip off the camera. It's... non-trivial. The current plan is to go to a photo shop for help/suggestions (perhaps a local copy shop will have the right software?). Not that there's time to get this done before the seders, unless I'm far more efficient tomorrow than I have any reason to expect.
The satisfaction of getting the right things to the right people is not to be underestimated. Neither is the joy of making my space more usable by the decruftification process.
The power of the written word is impressive. In Israel, a couple of hours online immersed in English rather than having Hebrew flowing around me shifted my brain more monolingual for a while. Reading a bleak book set in winter makes me colder. And reading an Israeli novel (in translation) today meant that I was a bit off-balance to find myself at home in my usual (Boston, consumerist, default Xtian) place when I ran errands tonight.
Which makes me think of a conversation with a friend the other day, about the nature of memory. Zir makes mental pictures all the time, while I realized that though I think of myself as a visual learner, I almost never do that; it's mostly tied to words, words I've read, words I've written, not pictures. I remember pictures/photos/art I've seen well enough, but I don't make pictures in my head automatically.
The improv dish I made for Shabbat turned out well (and kosher for Passover, if I want to recreate it this week): caramelized onions (for a couple of hours), then add a pound of ground buffalo, a bag of cranberries, a diced orange, and a tiny diced blood orange. This was all simmered together with a bit of water to prevent sticking, plus a goodly amount of freshly ground black pepper.
I'm still trying to get the photos from my trip off the camera. It's... non-trivial. The current plan is to go to a photo shop for help/suggestions (perhaps a local copy shop will have the right software?). Not that there's time to get this done before the seders, unless I'm far more efficient tomorrow than I have any reason to expect.
The satisfaction of getting the right things to the right people is not to be underestimated. Neither is the joy of making my space more usable by the decruftification process.
The power of the written word is impressive. In Israel, a couple of hours online immersed in English rather than having Hebrew flowing around me shifted my brain more monolingual for a while. Reading a bleak book set in winter makes me colder. And reading an Israeli novel (in translation) today meant that I was a bit off-balance to find myself at home in my usual (Boston, consumerist, default Xtian) place when I ran errands tonight.
Which makes me think of a conversation with a friend the other day, about the nature of memory. Zir makes mental pictures all the time, while I realized that though I think of myself as a visual learner, I almost never do that; it's mostly tied to words, words I've read, words I've written, not pictures. I remember pictures/photos/art I've seen well enough, but I don't make pictures in my head automatically.