In the spirit of "Why Not?" and "I love the U.S.A.," Carrie and I will depart tomorrow on a road trip.
Carrie got a job with AmeriCorps, planting urban gardens or something dreamy like that, so I'm tagging along on her cross-country move. The road trip has us seeing lands we've only read about or seen in movies like Twister and river rafting movies (can't remember the name...maybe "A River Wild"?) - Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma, Colorado.
We depart from Tallahassee on Monday or Tuesday, with no real plan other than, "We really want to see some cool scenery and go to some awesome national parks."
The tentative plan is Tallahassee --> New Orleans --> the Ozarks --> across Kansas --> south Colorado --> the Rockies --> Denver...and then I head to Chicago while Carrie trucks on through to Cali.
Hopefully there are lots of wifi hot spots so that I can post fun photos and musings from the road.
Alongside Grandpa Jim, the fish fry old hand, Grandma Bernie was the casserole and cake queen. The duo's cuisine was Southern, exclusively.
I have memories of Grandpa pushing a raw oyster and saltine cracker pushed down my gullet when I was just old enough to stand. And I remember Grandpa didn't like going to restaurants. Almost every weekend when I was a little kid Grandpa would drive to our house with a van full of 70s-colored, mismatched Tupperware containers. Grandpa carried in his gnarled hands plastic pails full of ambrosia fruit salad (a syrupy mix of fresh fruit, fruit cocktail, coconut and plumped raisins) he had spent hours cutting and preparing, cooked down collard greens, cornbread, fish he had caught and fried the day before and a bushel of oysters to pry open. The process of preparing and eating oysters suited Grandpa's temperament. They required patience; Grandpa was so very patient. Grandpa would sit quietly alone on the deck with tobacco, rolling papers, an ashtray and a lighter not too far away, cross his thin legs and sit for hours smokin' and shuckin'. He'd sneak a few oysters for himself, but mostly he'd arrange them on several pans for everyone to eat. When Grandpa was done everyone knew what to do without instruction. I brought spoons to put in all of Grandpa's Tupperware, Dad brought plates, a box of saltine crackers and ketchup, Mom brought out the casserole dish of mac-n-cheese, Uncle Tom brought a pitcher of sweetsweetsweet tea. Grandpa wouldn't eat any other way, I realize now. Grandpa must be hee-hawin' all over heaven, considering my diet now consists of Grandpa's favorite foods.
"Grandma Bernie knew how to cook, too," mother reminds me.
Grandma Bernie was, they say, pretty famous around Plant City, Florida for her baking skills. She entered the Plant City Strawberry Festival Cake Contest - and won. I can remember eating soooo much of Grandma's legendary pink strawberry cake when I was young. After Grandma died, the strawberry cake wasn't made much. Until...one day, during my senior year of high school, the tradition was reinstated. Mom asked me casually what my favorite cake was. Without hesitation I responded, "The super sweet strawberry one."
Now, just when the produce stands are exploding in strawberry!, THE cake is baked.
Some notable strawberry cake appearances in the last few years:
-Mom brought a strawberry cake to Tallahassee (a 4 hour trip just to deliver the cake!!!) and we had a picnic at Lichgate
-I made one for my college roommates
-I made one to accompany the other pastries and cakes at Stephan's Marie Antoinette party
-I received a picture while in India of my niece chowing down on strawberry cake
-I made one for some friends at the farm just last week (it was fitting that one of my jobs that day was to pick and package strawberries)
The cake has a life of its own. I have to make it every year, whether I consciously decide to or not. And when it gets eaten, a picture must be taken. It's like the gnome in Amelie that gets its picture snapped throughout its world travels.
Considering the sustainableorganichealthyunrefinednaturalnotransfatnoanimalproduct world I strive to live in, I've committed an atrocious, but necessary act. I've adjusted Grandma's recipe a bit. Bon appetit!
Grandma Bernie’s Award-Winning Strawberry Cake
--with a few Leah
adjustments--
3 c. self-rising flour
2 c. sugar
3/4 c. oil
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 tsp. lemon zest
1 ½ c. finely chopped strawberries (fresh or frozen)
4 eggs, beaten [VEGAN: appropriate amount of ENER-G egg replacer]
*Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Lightly butter [VEGAN: Earth Balance] and flour three 8-by-2-inch round. Tap out excess flour and set aside (I used a bundt pan).
*In a large bowl, stir flour, sugar, oil, strawberries, vanilla, lemon zest, and eggs/egg replacer.
*Divide batter between pans. Bake until light golden on top, about 28 minutes. Rotating the pan halfway through helps to bake evenly. (If using a bundt pan, it takes a few minutes longer for cake to bake).
*Transfer pans to a wire rack to cool 10 minutes. Invert cakes onto wire rack. Re-invert cakes and let them cool completely with the top up.
*Cover with frosting and refrigerate.
__________________________________________________________
Strawberry Buttercream Frosting
2 boxes confectioner’s sugar (more or less)
1 c. butter, softened [VEGAN: Earth Balance]
¾ c. finely chopped strawberries
*Beat butter with mixer about 2 mins. or until creamy. Add sugar and strawberries slowly and beat until desired consistency. Depending on how juicy the berries are, add more sugar if too thin and more berries if too thick.
May Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, fix this economic recession.
Check out these pics from the Indian party hosted by me, Saiju and Stephan. F-U-N!
http://picasaweb.google.com/saijug/MalluParty?authkey=bYhoSqo5J-s#
"Let's wait until this dance is over," she bargained.
"I came with my wife, but I haven't seen her all night!" he hollered as we dosadoed.
I had no idea what was happening for about 5 calls. I laughed to take the focus off my awful coordination and inability to remember which way was left. The caller basically tells you what to do and with whom. Before the dance begins, there's a walk-through. You hear all the dance moves a called will use in the upcoming dance and the caller, from the stage, makes sure the dance will be successful. Then, tune up your fiddle because it's time for the real thing.
Sadly, a wonderful friend, Trey Hayworth, was killed Monday while cycling around Tallahassee, Florida.
http://www.tallahassee.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080819/BREAKINGNEWS/80819003/1001/RSS
The intersection where he was killed is perhaps the most heavily traversed path for cyclists in the small college town of Tallahassee. A friend, Stephanie, was hit around there about a year ago and broke her arm. Even I've had some close calls around this area, as I took it daily to and from work.
Trey made the summer of 2007 idyllic, sunny, clear for me.
It was a summer that felt like one long day in the park.
We biked around with our bathing suits always poking out of our shorts just in case a pool popped up and fresh fruit warming inside our backpacks, laughing, eating yummy food, coordinating who was having the next all-veg. potluck dinner, teaching each other how to make Kombucha, how-to this, how-to that, teaching each other how to smile a lot and be nice to the world. Trey pointed out the beautiful things in nature, in people. On our group afternoon rides Trey was the smiling protector. Trey always took up the "caboose" role, watching for cars, kindly advising me to not ever blow through that red light ever again, pushing people to wear helmets, pushing us to bike farther and to bike as transportation. No distance was unbikable for him. He inspired me to bike to buy groceries, to school, to work. This was the summer when I realized, I know how I want to live my life. Trey (and friends) showed me this.
And now he's showing me that bikes are underdogs, always.
There was a memorial ride on Wednesday and the placement of a Ghost Bike, a white bike set up forever at the site of the crash.
I'll be going back to Tallahassee soon and I would love to get all the cyclists in Tallahassee - the commuters, the college kids, the cool kids, the uncool kids, everyone - to bike more safely by calling major attention to ourselves. Otherwise, we're just monochromatic nothings on the road. In the past we've tried to be aggressive, calling attention to ourselves in the worst of ways by jumping cockily in front of cars, yelling at drivers, riding on roads where we know drivers never follow the speed limit. I think it's time for yellow/green safety vests, reflector tape galore, bells, helmets, lights, practicing proper bike rules, smart aggresiveness, etc.
I'm in the US now. The center of Florida, to be exact.
The journal entries have slowed, as has the way of life, the communication cadence and the street traffic.
A war hero came home:
I was greeted at the Tampa Airport by 10 family members. I stepped off the tram in my white and blue saree and heard whoops and yelps and saw banners decorated in red, white and blue. Everyone was patriotic to the max. I felt like a war hero coming home - and I'm sure that's what all the onlookers were expecting. In a way, little Leah came home from a battle (with a few badges of courage).
The transition to the American lifestyle has been easier than expected. It helps that my parents have been amazingly amazing. Mom and I are girlfriends again. Dad and I sit outside and do sudoku all day long to beat the Florida heat. I'm enjoying roaming around the big house, unpacking my suitcases and whipping up food in the fabulous kitchen. Not having a kitchen/eating out for a year makes you appreciate kitchens. And I like being anonymous here. I can ride my bike to the store with little hindrance. Agh! Except when I parked my bike outside a store and came back to find watermelon-scented bubble gum adorning my tires, seat, handle bars, chain, brakes. I hate that person.
I like it here, however, I am easily annoyed by how Americans over-communicate. At the store the other day, I counted 8 thank-yous exchanged between the cashier and a customer. Why is this necessary? In a parking lot, an older man literally cupped his hands and bellowed, "Good morning t'ya," to me. I was clearly out of earshot. At the dentist office, a woman 6 seats down in the waiting area started reading her magazine outloud. I begged her to stop. She begged me to tell her what I thought about the magazine story. Exercising, 2 teenage boys ask me how I'm doing as I jog by. I ask them, "Why are you talking to me? I'm exercising." Megan suggested I enjoy the fact that I'm capable of communicating here, as opposed to hearing a bunch of babble when I was in India. That's good.
A bonus was attending a wedding a few days after I arrived. It was fun to be able to compare Hindu weddings to American ones. I view everything here with a sort of anthropological wonderment. I hope that continues! It's as if I haven't lived here 22 years of my life.
Lucky for me there are Indians everywhere! A few in my neighborhood actually. When I walk by I want them to acknowledge me, so I raise my tail feathers in hopes they will recognize an Indian flare about me, but then I remember they're not from India. They're from America and probably have little connection to the place I lived and love.
So, India taught me things (see below list. Oh! And add Megan's "Making lists is therapeutic" to the list), most importantly my next step in life. Where is Leah going now?, one may ask. Well, Leah's on her way back to Tallahassee to take a few Science courses. Then she's going to apply for Nursing School. That's right. Nurse Leah.
Listening to Indian music – the softness of traditional tablas to screeching Bollywood soundtracks – and every feeling I’ve ever had in India is coming back.
Wow. I’m really sad to be leaving (understatement of the year).
Songs in Hindi, the language my brain is most familiar with, though don’t really understand, the Punjabi beats, the poing sound of drums, the synthesized electric guitar, the “Heys!” thrown in every song, the tit-for-tat male-female song format…oh oh oh oh oh oh oh. My heart sings India. India sings Shania Twain.
India. This beautiful muddle.
Some things I’ve learned:
*Immediately learn how to say “Hello” in local language and use it often
*Be cute, be yourself to make up for your linguistic or cultural deficiencies
*India is more expensive than anyone ever told me
*India’s both the most opulent and poor nation
*One can quickly break free of cultural programming (what’s right/wrong, dirty/clean, pretty/ugly)
*Naivety is a hindrance and a blessing
*Travel more!
*English-Indian hybrid language
*Intimacy is different for Indians. Hospitality means friendship whereas conversation means friendship in the West
*I don’t understand India
*Don’t trust electronics bought for 1/60th of the real price
*Color appreciation
*The efficiency of a bucket shower
*How to be less germ phobic
*How to solve anything using the contents of my backpack
*How to bargain in the market
*How to poorly wrap a saree
*How to live happily without a dishwasher, refrigerator, ice, air conditioning, shower heads, hot water, toilet seats, washing machine, car, debit cards, good chocolate
*Reiki healing techniques
*10-minute headstand
*Beaucoup vegetarian food is a luxury
*I’m addicted to tea
*How to cook a few Indian dishes
*Follow your intuition
*How to be assertive
*”You’re looking fat” is an acceptable Indian greeting
*The benefits of a rock hard bed
*India knows how to party
*Indians know how to be families
*A little Hindi, a little Malayam
*How I want to live my life
*How much I love life
*How to peel mangoes
*BRAT (Bananas, Rice, Apples, Toast) = diarrhea remedy
*How much I don’t like skipping Thanksgiving & Christmas with the family
*Never bring light-colored clothes traveling
*Earplugs can save your sanity
*Sleeping pills from the chemist can save your sanity (use sparingly, folks!)
*Don’t do anything you don’t want to do
*The beauty of the imperfect
*The rediscovery of leisure reading
*How to make international calls
*The power of things
*Mantras
*The Indian head bobble
*How to improvise a sacred ritual
*Educated Indian children are smarter than me
*How to drive on the left side of the road
*Asian geography
*”Bullshit peoples” = dummies
*How to forget how to spell in American ex. recognise, glamour, flavour, theatre
*Bollywoods are cheesy, but entertaining
*I like South India more
*Carry stickers or bindis for children
*How to condense a suitcase over and over and over and over
*How to live in the moment, the past and the future pleasantly
*How to communicate without speaking
*Traveling alone can be the most self-strengthening activity
*I’m brave
*I’m strong
*I’ve got problems, but I can deal with them
*Fruit and vegetables taste better in India
*Say “Police” if anyone’s bothering you
*The world is smaller, but also more confusing
*The world is different from what American media says
*Get health insurance
*Not to be surprised upon hearing “arranged marriage”
*Tibet’s problems
*Northeast India’s problems
*Kashmir’s conflict
*The BJP, a religious nationalist political party, buys lunch for people’s votes
*How to place an Indian by her accent or wardrobe
*Respect everyone in everything you do
*Elephants and peacocks are magical
*I like Aamir Khan
*Journaling and blogging are therapeutic
*Massages are Necessary Maintenance
*The downside to being a transient
*I’ll probably think about value in rupees for a few months
*How to network unashamedly
*India’s impressive for such a young country
*I don’t like cold weather
*Monsoon season is for real
*India is referred to as Bharat or Hindustan in India
*Basic knowledge of Hinduism, Sikhism, Tibetan Buddhism, Catholicism, Islam, village religion, Jainism, Zoroastrianism, Sufism
*The Himalayas are still growing
*Take a nap whenever you get the chance
*The incredible luxury of having the seat next to you empty
*India will be okay
*The future will be okay
*Leah’s okay
A Political Scientist wannabe writes…
“He would remember that instant during which Kashmir had seemed to great and alien for his Western mind to understand, and the sense of urgent need with which he had drawn his own experience around him, like a shawl. Had he been trying to understand, or to blind himself to his failure to do so? Did the mind discover likeness in the unlike in order to clarify the world, or to obscure the impossibility of such clarification? He didn’t know the answer. But it was one hell of a question.”
– Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown
After learning more about Kashmir I have the need to add to or revise my previous statements about Kashmir. Or to just throw some facts and non-facts out under the improvised title, “Leah doesn’t really know anything about Kashmir but wants to.”
In the recent past Kashmir was a land ruled by Kashmiriyat, Kashmiriness, not religious differences or Islamic ideology: “To be a Kashmiri…was to value what was shared far more highly than what divided.” Hindus v. Muslims is a creation of Islamic extremists. Kashmiri Muslim women never wore veils, Kashmiri Hindus ate meat, village leaders were Hindu, Muslim and Jewish secular KASHMIRIS. Although in the more distant past Muslims had persecuted Kashmiri Hindus, enlightened leaders later strengthened communal ties, rebuilt temples and schools, reduced taxes and discontinued the killing of cows to make amends.
In the 1960s the United States and Saudi Arabia supplied weapons and money to Pakistan (and Afghanistan and Israel and Filipino Catholics, etc.) to fight Soviet-supported nations, like India.
After the India-Pakistan Partition in 1947 Pakistani fighters entered Indian Kashmir and created chaos. The Indian Army stepped in to protect Kashmir and fight Pakistan and armies need land to operate, right? So, the Indian Army (forcefully) possessed land from Kashmiris, depleted resources and killed “accidentally.” The Indian Army felt highly unappreciated by Kashmiris and began to come down hard on Kashmiris who disrespected or acted subversively.
The Kashmir Liberation Movement was born to fight both Pakistan and India in a 3-way war. Neither Pakistan or India gained anything in the wars and Kashmiris never got the election they had been promised at Partition.
The Liberation Movement was initially comprised of Kashmiri, both Hindu and Muslim, youths. It split into 2 factions, an extremist pro-Islam group (supported by Pakistan and international jihadists) = LeP, and a pro-Kashmiri group = JKLF (Jammu Kashmir Liberation Front), and the ideology of Kashmiriness faded. The Indian Government viewed “all Muslims as terrorists” and began regular sweeps of villages and created extensive suspect lists. Kashmir became a land of poverty, oppression, fear and uneasiness. Hindus and Muslims became political and reached far back into history for reasons to be against each other; Hindus reminded each other of the Mughal atrocities and Muslims reminded each other of Hindu’s “ungodliness.”
Elections were finally held in 1987, but they were rigged. More Muslim Kashmiris joined the LeP. The LeP, with lots of funding and training, forcefully imposed Taliban rule in Kashmir, fueled the anti-Hindu sparks and out-fought the JKLF.
In the meantime, the Indian Army killed hundreds of thousands of Kashmiris. The LeP killed members of the JKLF. The LeP copied suicide bomber tactics. Everyone was killing everyone.
In a time of rising religious-inspired violence, there was a mass Hindu exodus – 350,000 or so. The Indian Army, 600,000 strong in the region, did nothing to help the inter-Kashmiri violence. Some say the Army was more apt to sit back and watch the two insurgency factions obliterate each other.
And now, even with Hindus mostly “cleansed” from the area, there are still Hindu pilgrims who visit their homeland or holy sights in Kashmir. The recent Amarnath conflict (when I was in Srinagar), some suggest, was supported by Pakistan and Saudi Arabia to reignite the causes that were beginning to fade from Kashmiri consciousness, to awaken the feelings that had been put away for a few years.
What’s my point? The Kashmiri question is one hell of a question.
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