It's Chili Time!

The leaves are turning, and the air is crisp in the morning. I love fall! And what I love about it even more than changing leaves and crisp air is the food. I love fall baking, cinnamon, nutmeg, anything with pumpkin in it. I also love that the slight chill in the air means that it's time for hearty soups and chili.

I have a big pot of George's Chili simmering on the stove.
George is my wonderful Stepdad who I adore and who makes killer chili.

Brown and drain ground sirloin
Chop one medium onion
Chop one clove of garlic
Chop two large jalapenos
Chop one bell pepper
Add crushed tomatoes
Add chili beans medium or hot
Add chili powder
Simmer for two and a half hours

What follows are several chili based meals we've made with George's Chili.
Chili with a side salad and a baguette
Chili on mashed potatoes
Chili with cheddar and sour cream
Chili with a grilled cheese sandwich
Chili and cheddar smothered hot dog
Chili on scrambled eggs

At the beginning of each semester I reel from run-ons, grow faint from fragments, but more than that is the ship of despair launched by the lack of imagination, the lack of interest and the lack wonder. I want to ask, "Why are you here?"

I know, they've been told a college degree will lead to higher pay, that it's all about some future job. I think this is where we steer them wrong. College should be less about the job and more about learning, discovering, mastering. It should never be about the end but about the process.

I'm new to teaching, and after four semesters I'm thinking about walking away. I feel disheartened, and more than a little hamstrung. When did grammar become so outmoded, so yesterday? My guided curriculum has weeded out as much grammar and writing that's possible in an English class. What do I teach you may ask? Watered down critical thinking and watered down semiotics, how to read your textbooks without really reading them. My students, zero attention span, zero tolerance for anything unrelated to that future post college job, how do I help them jump ship from degrees=dollar signs to real learning? I think these courses are failing them, which means I, in turn, am failing them.

When I was in high school, I was told college wasn’t for me. Specifically, I was told my ideal job would be mortician. The test my high school advisor gave me, which supposedly matched personalities to jobs, couldn’t have known that in the fifth grade my class took a tour of Steinke’s funeral home, and when we arrived at the embalming area I passed out. The test also told me that the military might be an option. I chose the military, but with an eye on the prize, money for college. Regardless of whether or not college was for me (there was no way to pay for it at the time), I wanted it. I was thirsty for it, and when I got it, it was everything I wanted it to be, terrifying, challenging, exciting. I wanted to know everything.

It’s not important to know everything now. It’s more important to have an opinion, or better yet, it’s more important to have someone else’s opinion. I remember my first moment of triumph in college, shaking with nerves but entering class discussion anyway, being part of that exchange of ideas and wading chest deep in the text. It was thrilling. I thought THIS, this is learning. If my students can’t find it on Google or Wikipedia, it’s not worth knowing. If I want their opinion, I can count on receiving any number of random opinions copied from CNN, late night talk shows, random pop stars, various friends and relatives, and anyone with a blog, a MySpace or Facebook page, or Twitter account. They don’t need to know stuff or have an opinion because all of that is just a click away.

My students are all involved in the arts: fine arts, photography, animation, etc. and that these students lack imagination disturbs me. Yes this is a core course, a writing course, but they come at my courses with the weariness of factory workers five years from retirement. They shun freedom and crave parameters. Give them the opportunity to choose their paper topic, and they freeze. I get a chorus of, "What do you want us to do?" They want me to tell them what to write, how to write it, and if possible they would like me to write it for them. The irony is that when they have parameters they completely disregard them or claim they don't understand them. They never ask questions.

I take that back, they ask one question. What's my grade? They want to know because grades=degrees that=dollar signs.

My students consume their courses like the good capitalists that they are. Why should courses be different than anything else bought or sold? They want it cheap and fast. Getting their money’s worth isn’t about acquiring knowledge, but about acquiring that piece of paper at the end. We’ve convinced them of that. A college degree equals a better job and more money. No one ever says going to college is this amazing opportunity for you to try things on, to explore, to learn, to discover your passion and nurture it. We’ve made it about the money, and so it’s about the money.

I didn't anticipate the soul sucking after effects of teaching.

Found!!!!!

Guess who strolled back into the yard just now! (3:28 a.m.) I have no idea what happened, why she jumped out of the window or where she went, but I just heard her lovely basset-like bark in the yard and I flew out of bed and there she was at the door. We have informed her that she is grounded for life. Thank goodness! Any idea how to keep a Houdini dog from escaping? She eats airline kennels for breakfast (metal ones too, so no kennels.) Any advice is welcome.

Missing!!!!

REWARD!!!

Her name is Chloe. She is eight years old. She suffers from extreme separation anxiety. No questions asked. We just want her back.

Size Matters: Madness at the dog park, or Who Made You Queen of the Dog Park?








Steph and Chloe hit the Bullshead dog park today after dropping me off at work. We take Chloe there often because of the proximity to work. The park is split into two sections, a big dog area and a small dog area. Until today Chloe has been able to enjoy the benefits of being neither a big or a small dog. She's a basset hound/retriever mix weighing in at 35 pounds. She's stout and strong and while she shares some characteristics of the retriever, her attitude is all basset. She spends her time at dog park and on walks with her nose firmly turned to the ground. She's easy going, but standoffish. Typically Steph and Chloe going to the dog park is not really note worthy, today however, Steph called immediately after with a truly bizarre tale.

Chloe has never really had to pick a side of the park. She enjoys small dogs and is not an exuberant greeter. Her trend is to do a casual sniff and greet then mosey around the edge of the park and occasionally yodel to the prairie dogs on the other side of the fence. And while she enjoys small dogs, she also has many buddies of the XXL persuasion.

Today when Steph and Chloe entered the dog park (on the big dog side) she was approached by a woman wearing a humane society t-shirt who was very nervous and concerned about one of her dogs (she had two malamutes). She said it was big dog play time and pointed out that Chloe had short legs and should therefore be on the small dog side. Steph, not really wanting a confrontation, said that that was where they were headed.

When they were preparing to leave a little while later she was hoping this woman was already gone, but there she was hovering near the divide of big vs. small dogs. All the other big dogs and owners were completely cleared out, and she stood there peeking over to the small dog side. As soon as Steph and Chloe crossed into the big dog side this woman came up to them, offered to carry our dog to the other gate, and then tried to pick her up.

I completely freaked out when Steph told me. I can't believe a complete stranger would try and pick up our dog. She's not tiny and she's not light, and she wasn't having any of it. She barked at the woman and backed away. Steph told her that if she was worried about her dog, then her dog was the problem. She also told her that technically Chloe is not considered a small dog and is in fact ten pounds over the small dog limit. Then more madness from this complete stranger.

She tried to talk to Steph about how she had volunteered for the humane society and had learned some things about dogs and how they have teeth (really? news to us!), again Steph said if she was worried about what her dog might do to another dog at the dog park, she was the one with the problem. Then she made it seem like Steph didn't care about Chloe's well-being or her dog's well-being...she said she just wanted to have a relaxing time at the dog park, as if it was Steph's fault that she couldn't....as if Steph and Chloe didn't also want a relaxing time at the dog park.

Madness really, all of it, as none of the dogs behaved badly according to Steph. (Chloe was not remotely interested in her dogs, which is not unusual for her.) And I can only imagine the reason the entire park was cleared out by the time Steph and Chloe were ready to leave. And I can't imagine how the dogs could relax at all with this woman on the verge of a full on meltdown. The thing is that I am somewhat sympathetic with the idea of not really knowing what your rescue dog has been through, what might or might not be an issue.

Chloe's full story is one for the ages. Rescued from the pound after two previous "incarcerations", she came to us with crippling separation anxiety (a complete surprise to us at the time, though in hindsight it shouldn't have been surprising at all). There were vet visits, behavior experts to our house, everything short of an exorcism was done to help ease her blind panic at being left alone. After many years of working with her, and by years I mean 6 years worth of working with her, she has settled down. Aside from this one thing (and it was a big thing for awhile) she is perfect for us, sweet, loving, and her personality is very matched with Steph's which is even funnier if you know Steph. When we are out and about at some of our usual places people recognize Chloe before us. Even at her standoffish best she makes an impression. My point, in a long, rambling way, is that Chloe is intrepid, and is also kind of a rock star, but also that being responsible for a dog that has "issues" is also incredibly stressful.

That said, if she was worried or nervous about how her dog would act around a smaller dog, there are all kinds of things she can do to be smarter and safer. A muzzle comes to mind (though I'm not sure about this, not being an expert in this maybe someone else has a better idea), and I know for a fact that there are classes that can help address issues of dog on dog aggression. But the bottom line is that the responsibility is still on the dog owner. You can shout to the rooftops that you're concerned, that your dog may or may not have issues, but your dog's actions are still your responsibility. Telling people there is a potential problem doesn't make the problem go away either.

Taking your dog to the dog park involves risk. We've seen dogs get into it over something or other. We've seen people do some not smart things in the dog park i.e. fast food eating with children, or the Three Dog Bakery birthday cake for "Fido". That said, we have personally never had a confrontation or issue until today. And as much as it was bizarre, it was also ridiculous and upsetting that a complete stranger would label Steph as a poor dog owner and our dog a problem when clearly the problem was hers.

Working my way out of a funk: getting dirty, growing things, feeding people.

After talking with a friend of mine who is the garden coordinator for Hope's Half Acre, I jumped on board as a volunteer waterer, weeder, and all around garden helper. I was in a funk at the beginning of the summer and this was just the thing to do to work through it. I love gardening, and since my home garden mostly consists of potted plants and vegetables, it felt good getting my hands in the dirt. It's hard to describe exactly what it is, that hour or so weeding and watering, the sun on my back, sweating, dirt under my nails, my mind clear and focused on the task at hand, the camaraderie of fellow dirt worshipers. As part of Project Share, the garden provides fresh produce for Albuquerque's working poor and homeless, an added bonus that our hard work and enjoyment does some good.

I'm posting pics, a list of what we would like to do, and some things we need to do them.


Fall Planting, what we need:
1 yard of compost
truck to move compost
volunteers (we need folks to help shovel, weed, plant, etc.)
seeds (greens, anything food related that can be planted in fall)
handymen/women (we need folks that can build wood frames)
lumber (preferably 2x4 or 4x4)
straw




Flowers and herbs along the front fence:
perennials that attract bees and humming birds
herbs: basil, thyme, rosemary, lavender, mint.

WHAT WE'VE GOT GROWING RIGHT NOW

tomatoes

onions
kale
eggplant
squash
zucchini
corn
peppers
beans

If you want to get in on the action, contact me at donnatellanutella@gmail.com for the time and location.

We almost hit two boys on Central.

Two boys made it to their bus on time but nearly lost their lives. We were driving down Central singing to Duffy’s “Mercy” and thinking about chocolate shakes. Our original plan was to hit the Route 66 Diner because a diner and a shake seemed just the thing. We arrived and got seated by the cashier who, he informed us, would also take our order. We waited happily anticipating shakes, talking about our day. After about twenty minutes we realized he had taken the order of the two women sitting behind us who had just arrived. Then he checked on the couple behind us with the mega banana split. Steph gave me this look like, “What are we invisible now?” We decided that since he didn’t bring us anything but menus, we would head to Flying Star instead. We liked their shakes, and we were pretty sure that we wouldn’t be ignored. For a change we decided on the one downtown since we were already headed in that direction. I thought why not, change of scenery. I think we’d been to that one once in the entire time they’ve been open. Then we almost hit two young school aged boys (late grade school/early middle school) crossing Central to catch the 66 bus. And by almost hit, I mean we seriously almost hit them. We saw them in the island median waiting for traffic to pass. We were going the speed limit. What we didn’t notice was the bus at the bus stop on our far right. They took a chance and with no warning for us, darted across Central. Steph slammed on the brakes swearing in a loose, panic stricken stream of profanity ending in something like a prayer. The boys were oblivious, triumphant, the fasted kids on two feet, freakin’ Superman had nothing on them. They were not at an intersection, there was no crosswalk. One minute they were standing in the median and the next they were right in front of us. I know they know better. I know their parents would be horrified.

For two shaky hours that followed I know both of us were running what if scenarios through our minds. And after two shaky hours a brief thought, a flicker of a remembrance of the delirious exuberance of youth translated into a full on reminiscence of every stupid, nervy, and potentially life threatening thing I ever did as a kid growing up in rural Indiana. It really is the same everywhere, rural, urban, there are things to be tried, limits to test, risks to take. We took them with railroad tracks, “borrowed” cars and country roads, water towers, bridges, the river that ran through town. I remember doing nearly the same thing on my bike, racing through an intersection without stopping, causing a series of cars to slam on their brakes. It was so close I thought I could feel the press of a bumper against my leg as I flew past, and as I parked my bike in the rack outside the library my legs shook so hard I could barely stand. And then with a little distance, the slam of adrenaline, I imagine that once they were on the bus and on their way home it hit them too, the wild luck of it all. Of course in my case, pulling that kind of stunt meant that someone was going to (and did) call my mother.

There are so many stories, and yes, there were a few stunts I truly regret. But when I think about the best part of growing up, many of these times, the stupid, impulsive, dangerous ones are some of my best memories, filled with a kind of wildness that I will never recapture, the kind of freedom I still dream about, and the kind of daring I wish I still had.

Mamma Mia!

In this dreadful post graduate school quest for a real full time job with benefits, in this soul sucking, incredibly demeaning time, there is Mamma Mia! A summer movie that is what summer movies ought to be, sweet, fresh, funny, surprising, and surprisingly beautiful; I’ve seen it three times, once for every week that it has been out at the theater. My plan is to keep on going until I decide to run away and start my all girl band, or I get a real job, whichever comes first.

The first time Steph and I went to see it we met up with a couple of other similarly minded girlfriends: enjoys musicals, must love ABBA, be willing to embrace silliness. It all made this movie going experience as fun and memorable as it was meant to be, in my opinion. Several of us decided that no matter what, out of respect for other movie going patrons, we would quash our boisterous singing of the ABBA über pop, or at the very least, we would keep it to a minimum. A week before the movie opened it was all ABBA all the time in preparation. We burned up ABBA Gold, singing Waterloo while doing the dishes, weeding the garden to Fernando, spinning around the floor with our broom while belting Dancing Queen. We loved Muriel’s Wedding, and we knew this would be more…much more. We were ready. And we weren’t disappointed.

I have a confession to make. I love Meryl Streep, and I knew she could sing, so I was excited to see her in a musical. I also love Pierce Brosnan, who should probably never sing, but I wouldn’t have wanted him any other way. How he has changed for me over time. From my teenage years completely hooked on Remington Steele, to Bond, James Bond, to Julian, the Assassin on the verge of a nervous breakdown in The Matador, and now Mamma Mia! The cast of Mamma Mia! is fantastic. And I have to say, as much as I love Meryl Streep, Julie Waters is my girl in this movie.

So our first showing we laughed so much, deftly hummed our favorites under our breath and full on laughed, deep, belly shaking, and in some cases hiccup inducing laughter. We, unbeknownst to us when we took our seats, managed so sit in the rowdy section. It was exactly what I needed that day. It was obvious the women behind us loved ABBA, and the movie, and they were not shy about expressing it. I went home, made a mojito and jumped back into the fray of job applications. But before we left the theater I said let’s see it every week that it’s open in the theater. Everyone nodded; we were on an ABBA/Mamma Mia! induced high.

The following week proved even more stressful than the last, a round of applications out and barely a nibble, personal writing projects sliding into disrepair if not out right neglect. We needed ABBA and we needed it now! Another weekend matinee, this one packed with women and girls. It was a rowdy bunch, just our type, laughing out loud, singing along. A woman my age was on my right and sang every song to her daughter. They walked from the theater hand in hand swinging their arms, their walk more a bounce than a walk really. It’s what this music and this show does if you let it. It fills you up with positive, dare I say, vibes.

We went back again today after a week of interviews, and a teaching demonstration, my first (terrifying!) It was a more subdued group at the theater this afternoon, with the exception of a contingency of women sitting behind us, who, like us, had seen the movie before and were ready to have a good time. How we always manage to land in the rowdy group I’ll never know. Mostly folks my parent’s age and older attended this afternoon, though there were still mothers and daughters dotting the theater. The effects were the same for us, happiness, laughter, how could I love it more each time I don’t know, but I like the way it makes me feel. Watching the happy, bouncing, theater goers streaming out to hit the bathrooms or the exit, I know it’s not just me.

I know I’ll own this movie. We own a bunch of movies that we watch over and over again for reasons that only make sense to us, Finding Nemo, Love Actually, any of the Harry Potter movies, Under the Tuscan Sun, Miss Congeniality one and two, The Jane Austen Book Club. Whatever we’re missing at a given time, hopefulness, a sense of innocence or wonder, love, laughter, these movies provide it. They knock us out of our funks, brighten our days, motivate us to try, to care, to love. They dare us to laugh until soda comes out our nose. We watch them in p.j.s while eating junk. We don’t care. It’s comforting, and sometimes it’s just what we need.

People might question the idea of paying even matinee prices every week to see the same movie. But in a time before the multiplex choices were limited, people went to see their favorites over and over again because they weren’t available on high definition blue ray disc. They weren’t available for home viewing at all. Movies got people out of the house, sometimes out of the heat. More importantly, they got people together.

And when I own my high definition blue ray disc of Mamma Mia!, and I curl up in my favorite pajamas with a bag of gummy worms, I’ll think of the rowdys we laughed with, the mother who sang to her daughter, the senior citizens who went for Meryl Streep and left the theater with a bounce in their step.