Regina Noctis

This has been the weirdest weekend. And it’s not over yet. We’ve got until midnight tonight for something else to happen.

This morning, the bells at the local Catholic church went off for Easter sunrise service, as I was starting to settle in to sleep. St. Mary’s is just the other side of our neighbor Les’s house, so the bells are very loud to us. I grumbled a lot until it was over and then shoved some pillows around to try and get comfortable. Which is when I heard the door to the house open and close. I figured no big deal, Mom must have just gotten up to feed the cats and let one of the cats in or out.

As I was starting to finally drift off to sleep, there was sudden shouting outside my window, a man’s voice, and footsteps running into the depths of the yard. I couldn’t make out what the voice was saying. I wasn’t awake enough for it to make sense. After the footsteps thundered past, however, I was thoroughly awake again. So I wandered into the house to find out what was going on. I figured maybe it was Mark, a family friend whose yard abuts on the back of ours, who sometimes comes by for a visit. He has a gate between his yard and ours, so he usually wanders through the back yard to come by. If it was him, I was going to have some choice words to share with him about shouting outside my bedroom window at six-whatever-the-hell-it-was in the morning.

When I got into the house, both Mom and Grandma were in the dining room. They seemed a little on edge, but I figured that they just hadn’t had their morning coffee yet. Everyone’s surly here until they have their morning coffee. Or, in my case, afternoon tea.

I asked what the shouting in the back yard was about, and Mom told me it was Gumby. All I could do was look at her. I was thinking, “This is it, living here has made Mom lose her mind. She’s telling me that a claymation character was shouting in the backyard. My, isn’t this going to be fun?”

I finally managed to say, “WHO??”

“Gumby. Melissa’s son.” Well, that I could accept a little better. Melissa’s the woman who cleans house for my grandmother, and I knew that she tended to name her children odd things.

“What the hell was he doing yelling outside my bedroom window at godawful in the morning?”

“Oh, the shouting was probably the cop that was chasing him.” This latest bit of information from my mom resulted, of course, in more staring, followed by a, “WHAT?”

I finally managed to get the story out of them. This Gumby idjit apparently went into the house, woke Mom up while standing over her bed, and informed her that the cops were after him and he was going to hide there, and told her not to tell the cops where he was. When she got up, he went from telling her to begging her not to turn him in.

The noise woke my grandmother up, who went and found the cops out front of the house. They’d seen him running in that general direction, and thought to stop him when he ran up the driveway from the back yard. Grandma told them what was going on. Gumby, meantime, jumped out of Mom’s bedroom window, bending half of the screen outward so it will need to be replaced (it’s seriously warped, and I don’t think we’ll be able to straighten it enough to get it back in place properly.) One of the cops yelled at him to halt, but he kept running, with the cop chasing after, while the other two went pelting down the alley between Les’s house and the church to cut Gumby off from that direction.

Mom and Grandma were both on edge. Grandma said several times that her nerves were shot, and Mom agreed that hers were too. Rather than nervous and/or scared, I, predictabley, was furious. Assholes breaking into the house and scaring my mother make me contemplate doing extremely unpleasant things to them. I used to be a pacifist, but the constant danger and insanity of my cousin has made me lose sight of that. Now, my protective reactions get aroused when something threatens Mom, and rage makes me want to hurt the asshole who did it. So, while Grandma and Mom tried to calm down, I paced around the kitchen, growling internally, and almost hoping the asshole would come back and give me a chance to show him why it’s a bad idea to break into this house. In painful detail.

Eventually, one of the cops came back by to take our statements. They’d been after him, apparently, for an outstanding warrant (for what, we don’t know.) They did manage to catch him. After Gumby ran out of our yard, he ran to someone else’s house, broke a window there, and jumped inside. That’s where they caught him.

After the cop had gone, I realized that there was no way I was going to be getting any sleep soon, which is typical when I’m thoroughly angry. I often don’t sleep at all if I’m angry enough. So, I made myself morning tea for a change, and said, “Happy Easter!” in my best ironic tone of voice. Which at least got everyone to laugh a little and helped drain some of the tension in the air.

This has been a very strange few days, beginning with the ATM incident on Thursday night. I think I’ve worked out why.

It’s those damn pantsless drunken Monkeys in LA. They probably whipped off their pants and ritually danced around the cockpunch and hot buttered ass to show me what happens to Monkeys who could have made it to the meetup, but didn’t cancel their plans to go to another part of the state instead. Cause you know, it’s all about me. Yeah.

Damn you, MofiLA!

Or maybe I just enjoy the image of dancing around pantsless. Who wouldn’t, with a nickname like that? Besides, I can tell he’d have good legs. ;)

I found out yesterday when John gets out of jail. He’ll be out on July 4. My grandmother, of course, wants him to come back and live here. Mom and I don’t want him here, especially if the house he co-owned with his ex-wife sells before he gets out of jail. That $20,000 or so that will be his portion of the sale will go right to a few stupid, useless things that he’ll late sell off for more money when he runs through all of it from the sale. But most of it will disappear into his veins or his lungs. He can’t shake the meth monkey on his back. In June, Mom plans to start the process to get the restraining order, and she knows very well that if she doesn’t, I will. For the time being, we’re just taking the breathing space and having a little vacation before we have to start thinking about the restraining order and the huge fight that it’s going to cause with my grandmother. She seems to think that if she lets him do anything he wants and mistreat everyone as much as he likes, if she sees to it that he never has to take responsibility for his actions or his debts, if she pays for everything for him and looks the other way, that somehow he’ll get better. I’m sorry, but methamphetamine psychosis doesn’t just get better because you hope it will. She refuses to see that. She refuses to see that the drugs have any connection to his problems at all. She’s convinced that all his problems come from his awful, traumatic childhood. One of the stories that she likes to relate as an example of how horrible his childhood was is that when he was small (three or four, I think) he saw a car that he was convinced was his dad’s. He ran after the car, but the car never stopped. His dad wouldn’t even say hello to his own son.

Yeah, yeah. Cry me a river.

I’ve tried to point out that a three- or four-year-old isn’t likely to tell cars apart very well, and that even if it was his dad’s car, he might not have seen John playing in the yard and then chasing after the car. But Grandma and my cousin are both convinced that it was my uncle, and that my uncle deliberately snubbed his son.

She also likes to believe that I had an idyllic time of it my entire life. Which is rather ironic, since John is such a poor baby because his dad wouldn’t stop and say hello, as compared to my idyllic childhood with my father sexually abusing me. But it does fit in with her desire to demonize me. I had this supposed privileged, idyllic childhood and have turned out to be such a horrible person for no real reason. Horrible, by her definition, being that I once told her that I was busy chopping something to explain why I didn’t answer a question she asked me the very second she asked it. Over the time since this happened, this has turned into a blanket statement that I’m too busy to ever talk to her, and therefor the assumption is that I hate her and treat her with irritation at best, and contempt and hatred at worst. Meanwhile, John is a poor hurt little darling who has some problems because of the awfulness of his childhood and needs to be coddled and protected, and everything he does is just a reaction to the truly awful circumstances under which he grew up.

Balls.

And this will be the last rant about my cousin (hopefully, assuming I don’t have my grandmother bring it up and push it until I’m angry and need to get it out of my system) until it’s time to start the process of the restraining order. I’ve enjoyed the vacation from John so far, and I intend to go back to enjoying that vacation now.

I’m sure you’re all breathing a huge sigh of relief that you don’t have to hear me rant still more about the psychotic cousin, at least for a while.

Make these first couple ahead of time. It’ll make your life easier if you do them a day or two ahead.

Berbere sauce

2 teaspoons cumin seeds
4 whole cloves
1/2 teaspoon cardamom seeds
1/2 teaspoon whole black peppercorns
1/4 teaspoon whole allspice
1 teaspoon whole fenugreek seeds
1/2 cup dried onion flakes
3 ounces red New Mexican chiles
3 small dried long hot red chiles, seeded
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 teaspoon garlic powder
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 cup salad or peanut oil
1/2 cup dry red wine
Cayenne pepper to taste (best to start with 1 teaspoon and add more if you want it hotter)

Mix together the cumin, cloves, cardamom, black peppercorns, allspice, and fenugreek seeds. Place in a small frying pan over medium heat. Stir constantly until they release their fragrance, about 1 to 2 minutes. Do not burn or discolor the spices. Cool completely.

Combine the roasted spices and all the other ingredients except the oil, the wine, and the cayenne, in a spice grinder or electric coffee grinder and grind fine in batches. This may take a few minutes. Keep your face away from the machine as it will release a very spicy aroma that may irritate your eyes or throat.

Place the spice blend in a bowl and add the oil and the wine. Add cayenne pepper to taste. Stir until thick and store in a closed plastic container in the refrigerator. Makes about 1 1/4 cups.

Spiced butter

4 teaspoons finely grated fresh gingerroot
1 1/2 teaspoons ground turmeric
1/4 teaspoon cardamom seeds
1 stick cinnamon, 1 inch long
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
3 whole cloves
2 pounds salted butter
1 small yellow onion, peeled and coarsely chopped
3 tablespoons peeled and finely chopped garlic

Measure out the spices on a plate.

Melt the butter in a heavy saucepan over moderate heat. Bring the butter up to a light boil. When the surface is covered with white foam, stir in all the remaining ingredients, including the onion and garlic. Reduce the heat to low and cook, uncovered, for about 45 minutes. Do not stir again.

Milk solids will form in the bottom of the pan and they should cook until they are golden brown. The butter will be clear.

Strain the mixture through several layers of cheesecloth placed in a colander. Avoid the milk solids and discard them.

Store the spiced butter in a quart jar, covered, in the refrigerator. It will keep for about 3 months under refrigeration. Makes about 3 cups.

Injera bread

This is an Americanized version of the traditional Ethiopian bread, using self-rising flour instead of the teff flour used in Ethiopia. I have not tried the recipe out yet either of the two times I’ve made Ethiopian food, thanks to arthritis ache after getting everything else done. Injera bread is often used as both plate and eating utensil. The traditional way to eat food in Ethiopia was to pull off a piece of bread and use it to pick up bits of the multi-dish dinner. By tradition, you are only supposed to use the right hand to eat with, the left hand considered to be “unclean.”

3 cups warm water
2 1/2 cups self-rising flour
3 tablespoons club soda

Put the warm water into a food blender. Add the flour to the water and blend, slowly at first, and then with rapid speed. You should probably do this in two batches unless you have a very large and powerful blender. A food processor will work too, but you must remember to scrape down the sides of the mixing bowls with a rubber spatula regardless of which machine you use.

Place the batter in a 6-cup bowl and stir in the club soda.

Heat a 12-inch electric frying pan, SilverStone lined, to 400 degrees. Using a ladle pour 1/4 cup of batter into one corner of the hot pan. Immediately tild the pan about to cover the bottom of the pan evenly with the batter. Cook, uncovered, until the top of the pancakelike bread is filled with holes and no longer wet. The edges should begin to curl just a bit. Remove quickly with your fingers and place the bread on a kitchen towel. Let it cool for 3 or 4 minutes as your prepare the next bread. Place the cooled breads on a plate.

Continue this process until all of the batter is used. Stack the cooled breads one on top of another and then cover with plastic wrap until dinner. The breads can be made up to 3 hours ahead of dinner. Makes 8 breads.

The traditional Ethiopian meal consists of many small courses. I’m giving you a number of dishes to choose from. You can either do the full-on multi-course meal, or Americanize it a bit by choosing one main course and a vegetable. This is what Mom and I usually wind up doing. Considering that making the berbere sauce, spiced butter, chicken, greens, and couscous (my replacement for the bread I didn’t make) took me 6.5 hours, I don’t even want to think how long it would take to make ALL this stuff for the traditional multi-course meal.

Lamb with cardamom

3 cups peeled and thinly sliced onions (use half yellow and half red onions)
1/2 cup spiced butter
2 pounds lean lamb, cut into 3/4-inch cubes
1/4 cup berbere sauce
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 teaspoon grated fresh gingerroot
2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 cup dry red wine
1 cup water
Salt to taste

Heat a large frying pan and saute the onion in 1 tablespoon of the butter, covered, until very tender. Use low heat so that the onion and butter are not browned. Remove from the pan and set aside.

Heat the pan again and brown the lamb over high heat with another tablespoon of the butter. You will probably need to do this in two batches. Set aside.

Place the sauteed onions, along with the remaining butter, in a heavy 6-quart saucepan. Add the berbere sauce, cumin, cardamom, ginger, garlic, black pepper, and wine. Bring to a simmer and add the lamb. Bring to a simmer again and add the water. Cook, covered, until the lamb is very tender, about 50 minutes. Stir several times.

If the sauce is not thick enough, cook uncovered for a few minutes to reduce and thicken the sauce.

Add salt to taste and serve. Serves 8 as part of an Ethiopian meal.

Spiced cheese

1 pound dry-curd cottage cheese or farmer cheese
2 tablespoons spiced butter
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
Black pepper to taste
Salt to taste

Mix all of the ingredients, being careful not to break uip the curds. Serves 6-8 as part of an Ethiopian meal.

Ethiopian lentils

I haven’t yet tried this one. The first time I made Ethiopian food, I hated lentils so it wasn’t even considered. I’m still not sure about lentils, but I like everything else I’ve tried so much that I’m thinking about trying this.

2 cups dried lentils, picked over and washed
6 cups water
3/4 cup seeded and chopped Anaheim green peppers
2 cups peeled and chopped red onions
1/4 cup spiced butter
1 tablespoon grated fresh gingerroot
2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
1 tablespoon berbere sauce
Black pepper to taste

Boil the lentils in the water for 5 minutes. Drain, reserving the liquid. In a 4-quart saucepot saute the Anaheim peppers and onions in the spiced butter until the onions are tender. Add the lentils, 4 cups of the reserved liquid, and the remaining ingredients and bring to a simmer. Cook, covered, over low heat 35 to 40 minutes, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking. Serves 6-8 as part of an Ethiopian meal.

Doro Wat chicken

1 whole fryer chicken (about 3 pounds) cut into 8 serving pieces
Juice of 1 lime
5 cups peeled and thinly sliced red onions (Red are preferred, but yellow will do fine)
1/2 cup spiced butter
1/2 cup berbere sauce
1/2 cup dry red wine
2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
2 teaspoons cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon grated fresh gingerroot
1/2 cup water
Salt to taste
4 hard-boiled eggs, peeled
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

Place the chicken pieces in a bowl and marinate for 1 hour in the lime juice.

In a heavy saucepan saute the onions in 2 tablespoons of the spiced butter. Cover the pot and cook the onions over low heat until they are very tender, but not browned. Stir them occasionally.

Add the remaining butter to the pot, along with the berbere sauce, wine, garlic, cayenne, and ginger. Add 1/2 cup of water and mix well.

Bring to a simmer and add the chicken pieces. Cook, covered, for 30 to 40 minutes or until the chicken is tender, adding more water if you need to in order to keep the sauce from drying out.

When the chicken is tender, taste for salt. Add the peeled eggs and heat through. Top with the black pepper and serve. Serves 6-8 as part of an Ethiopian meal.

Collard greens with spiced cheese

We have also tried making this with kale and turnip greens. Both turned out excellent.

The cheese
2 cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped
1/4 cup spiced butter
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
Salt and ground black pepper to taste
1 pound dry-curd cottage cheese or farmer cheese

The greens
2 pounds collard greens, rinsed, the stems trimmed off and discarded and the leaves chopped
1/2 cup water
1/2 teaspoon cayenne
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon peeled and crushed garlic
1/2 cup spiced butter
3 tablespoons peeled and coarsely chopped yellow onion
Salt to taste

Make the cheese: Saute the garlic in the spiced butter for a few moments. Add the cardamom, salt, and pepper. Remove from the burner and allow to cool. Stir into the cheese.

Make the greens: Cook the greens, covered, in a 4-quart saucepan along with about 1/2 cup water. Then add the cayenne, black pepper, garlic, spiced butter, and chopped onion. Cook, covered, until the greens collapse and then allow the dish to cool a bit. Salt to taste.

Drain the greens and place on a platter or on Injera bread. Spoon the cheese over the greens and serve, or you may mix them together before serving. Serves 6 as part of an Ethiopian meal.

Kifto raw beef

I haven’t yet tried this one. I want to, but since my grandmother has a problem with cooked red meat, I figure she really would hate this.

1/2 cup spiced butter
1/2 cup peeled and finely chopped yellow onion
3 tablespoons cored, seeded, and finely chopped green bell pepper
1/2 teaspoon peeled and finely chopped garlic
2 tablespoons seeded and finely chopped fresh hot green jalapeno peppers
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon grated fresh gingerroot
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground cardamom
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
4 tablespoons berbere sauce
2 teaspoons salt
2 pounds very lean ground beef

Heat a 10-inch frying pan and add the butter. Saute the onions, green bell peppers, garlic, jalapenos, cayenne, ginger, and cardamom for about 2 minutes, and then remove the mixture to a bowl. Allow to cool a bit.

Add the lemon juice, berbere sauce, and salt to the cooled vegetable mixture.

Mix the ground meat and the spiced vegetable mixture. Mound on a platter or Injera bread and serve. Serves 8 to 10 as part of an Ethiopian meal.

So there you go, a good section of Ethiopian recipes.

I was giving an idea of the various types of cuisine that either my mom or I cook, and it made me realize that I hadn’t cooked any Chinese food recently. I’m going to have to add that to the list of things to do soon, along with some Sri Lanka-style curry, some Tibetan food, and something from the south of Africa.

Once I thought of Chinese food, I knew exactly what I wanted to make, and now I’m craving it very much. Capital Sauce Pork Ribbons over Pot-Browned Noodles. I don’t recall what the direct translation of the Chinese name is for the pork (or, actually, what the Chinese name is at all) but I think the direct translation of the Pot-Browned Noodles is “two sides brown.”

That “two sides brown” is a perfect name for it. Long, thin Chinese noodles, parboiled until al dente, tossed with sesame oil, and then coiled into a hot pan with a little oil in it, spiralling from the center outward. Press it down, put a lid on it, and let it fry away for a few minutes. Flip it like a pancake (if you can. I generally can’t, and settle for a dual spatula method of turning it over) and put the lid on, letting it brown on the other side for a few minutes. And there it is, two sides brown and crisp, the middle the soft yellow-white of cooked noodles, and a lovely contrast of textures. Topped, usually, with long ribbons of pork that have been marinated and cooked velvetty, coated in a slightly sweet hoisin-based sauce, and long strands of very thinly sliced scallion that are barely heated through so they’re still crisp.

One of the advantages to this dish is that my grandmother will eat it. She’s decided lately that she doesn’t like red meat. Chicken is fine, fish is fine, but she dislikes red meat more and more. We usually cater to this, but sometimes we crave something else. She’ll usually put up with that to an extent, but she’ll only eat a bite or two of it, and that’s it. Since she doesn’t eat healthy all day – mostly, it’s Eggo waffles and ice cream that she eats nonstop all day – we sometimes have to push her to get some protien, fruit, and veggies in. For some reason, however, any of the Chinese dishes I cook somehow don’t count as meat, even when they are. She’ll dig into the pork ribbons just like the rest of us. The difficult part with that is that she doesn’t like rice, any rice. Plain steamed rice, Mexican sopa de arroz, even Rice-a-Roni, which she used to like well enough. So that’s when I started making the Pot-Browned Noodles, and now we can actually get her to eat.

The problem with all these musings about what to pick up tomorrow or the next day at the store is that remembering these dishes in some detail has succeeded in making me hungry.

This evening, while we were watching Arsenic and Old Lace, we began to hear the sound of a helicopter circling overhead repeatedly. This began around 7:30 or 8. We soon discovered that there was a police roadblock at the end of our street, which we could see clearly from our kitchen window, and another the opposite direction about three or so blocks away, bracketing us. Other police cars were cruising up and down our street, and the cross street where the roadblock we could see from the kitchen had been set up. Cops on foot were walking up and down the street, shining flashlights around everywhere with one hand. Most of the time, you could see from their silhouettes that they either had their hands ready on their guns, or weapons out. This is the second time in a month we’ve had this particular three-ring circus in our neighborhood, with the night I heard the shots and the car screeching away midway between. The cats had been outside, so we tracked them down and chased them back into the house. That was about when I noticed that the light to the storage room attached to my room was on and the door was closed. The storage room’s walls are yellow plastic, and the light in there glows through them.

If the light had been on and the door standing open, I wouldn’t have thought anything about it. My grandmother sometimes goes in there and forgets to turn off the light when she’s done. But every time I’ve seen that she did so, the door’s always standing open. We rarely close the door since my psycho cousin made his depredations on our things. Nearly everything that we owned, almost all the things that mattered to us that had been stored out there, he has already either destroyed or stolen and sold to buy more drugs. Nor is there a working lock on the door. There just wasn’t much point in closing the door anymore.

With the light on and the door closed, however, I began to make myself a mite bit paranoid. The PD’s flying circus made something only a tiny bit out of the ordinary into something that might have something to do with whoever the cops were searching for. I pointed the thing out to Mom, and got her a little paranoid about it too. We then talked each other out of our respective paranoia, figuring that someone who was trying to hide wouldn’t announce their presence by turning on the light.

Once we’d calmed each other down for the moment, I wandered away to wash the dinner dishes. And while we were at opposite ends of the house, we both began thinking about the storage room being closed again. We managed to restart the paranoia, and finally Mom went out and walked over to the roadblock. By then, the cops on foot had moved further down the block, and only two officers remained at the car. Mom explained about the storage room, and brought one of the cops back. We watched through the sliding glass door as he hollered through the door, banged on it, listened. For a moment, nothing happened, and I figured the cop was going to open the door, find the thing empty of people, and go back to his roadblock. But then, he took a couple rapid steps back and to the side, his hand going to the butt of his gun, and I wondered if maybe there actually was someone in there, or he’d heard something that led him to believe so. Finally, moving very fast, he threw the door open while standing to one side of it. Nothing happened. He looked around the side, and then went into the room. After a moment, he finally came back out, turned out the light, shut the door. No one there. After the little bit of dancing around he’d been doing, and all the paranoia before Mom convinced the cop to come and look, it felt very anticlimactic.

The cop stopped, eyed my bedroom for a moment, but didn’t go in to check it out, or my cousin’s bedroom either. He just headed back to his vehicle in the end. He stopped just long enough to advise us to stay locked up inside the main house. All he’d say about the three-ring circus was that they were searching for a “very bad man.” I wondered for a moment when Mom and I had taken a huge step backward into the first grade. It wasn’t just the phrasing, it was also the tone of voice.

And so the three-ring circus continued. I occasionally looked longingly at my bedroom. I’d left my smokes in there. But at least I had brought my book into the house with me, so I finally occupied myself with a bit of reading, interspersed with grumbles in the direction of the ceiling every time the helicopter passed over.

Finally, at midnight, the helicopter flew away. The roadblock remained, and cars continued to patrol the streets. This went on until about 1 in the morning, and then it was over. I have no idea if they finally captured whoever they were after, or they finally decided that he wasn’t in this area and went away to try searching elsewhere.

The cats had been thoroughly freaked by the constant loud noise. Whiskers was in desperate need of reassurance, and practically wrapped himself around my arm to keep me from leaving at one point. And Morris, cuckoo of a cat that he is, attacked inanimate objects like they were a threat. I don’t know about whoever the cops were after, but I do know that the piano bench, coffee table, kitchen chairs, chest of drawers, and scratching post aren’t going to step out of line again anytime soon.

I could be stuck in Hellano after all.

I stopped at the ATM to make a deposit, and the bloody thing froze as I was entering the amount I was depositing, with my session open and the card still in the machine. I couldn’t very well leave, since if it unfroze, my account would be sitting there, accessible to anyone who came along. There was no number on the machine to call about the malfunction, so I called home and had Mom look up the 24-hour customer service number for my bank.

After a long wait to talk to someone (the waiting time is three minutes, my ass!) I finally got them to contact their ATM division, who then tried to remotely reboot the machine. They said that there was a chance it would spit my card back out when the machine rebooted.

So I waited, and waited, and finally the reboot began. When it was complete, no card.

I called them back and told them this, and my debit card is now cancelled. The new one will arrive sometime in the next five to seven business days.

The car’s on empty, I’ve got no access to what small amount of cash is in my account, and so I’m not going.

Off I go, to the wild Bay Area.

Be returning home sometimes Sunday night.

Obviously, no LJ until then.

Be good, all of you. And if you can’t be good, don’t name it after me.

I have realized, as I plan to leave tomorrow for the Bay Area for the vacation half of my spring break, that I made some promises when at Jenna’s wake. I was reminded when mentioned that her fiance would like it if I cooked something while I’m there. He’s only heard about my cooking, he’s never had it.

And I suddenly remembered. I made promises to people that when I come up for spring break, that I’ll cook a dinner for them. When the promises started flying, said it was fine if they all came to her place and I presented dinner to everyone there.

So, calling all s. All s, please report ASAP. I will be leaving sometime later today, the 24th, to head up to the Bay Area. Optimum nights will probably be either Friday (not sure on this, since there’s supposed to be a trip to San Francisco on that day) or Sunday before I head back to Hellano, since those are the nights has off from work.

I also need to track down Gideon. Hopefully he’ll be at his home number now, rather than staying at friends’ places to avoid the memories.

And there’s one other, Johnno. Hopefully either the Goth Goddess or Gideon will be able to contact him, or give me a number to reach him.

Now I have to figure out what, exactly, I’m cooking to feed six adults.

I’ve noticed that more and more people seem to be playing with colored text in their LJ entries. Nothing particularly wrong with that, and I’m not about to tell anyone to quit posting in their space the way they want to post.

As the multicolored plague spreads, I’ve had to reach a decision for my own benefit and sanity. I’m just going to stop trying to read the ones that have colored text that blends too much with the dark steel-gray background on my friends list. I don’t need the headache and eyestrain, and with the rising numbers, it becomes more and more work to force everything into a level of contrast between text and background color that’s something I’m able to read. Doing so also adds to the time it takes for me to read through my friends list. Granted, my friends list is nowhere near as large and impressive as many of the people I’ve friended, but some of you people are pretty prolific. Not that being prolific is a bad thing. I like reading all y’all, or I wouldn’t have you on my friends list in the first place. What I do mind is the eyestrain, or greatly lenthening the amount of time I spend reading here when there are so many other things that need to get done.

Clicking on the individual entries to get to either the background color someone’s blog is in so as to make it more legible, or to the neutral LJ background for those who don’t force the comment page to follow their particular style, also doesn’t work for me. I use the option that forces all the entries I access through friends page into the same style I use. It’s nothing against anyone else’s color sense. It’s just that the particular combination of problems with my eyes that make glasses necessary also make my eyes very light sensitive. Bright often hurts, and some folks like bright colors. So, knowing not everyone has the same aesthetic or the same problems that lead to the decisions I made on color schemes and options in my own journal, it’s just easier on me if everyone else’s entries seem to have the dark background that I use. I also try not to interfere with anyone else reading the things I write – though I still have moments of being amazed that anyone would want to, considering how much time I spend ranting and whining about things – by forcing text to any particular color. While it might look perfectly good on my journal, it could give someone else the same kind of eyestrain I get, and I’m not going to do that to anyone. If I want emphasis, I’ll settle for italics, bold, underline, different font sizes, a lot of swearing, or some combination of the above.

I will admit that I had an annoyed moment a few days ago when I considered making this post with every line a different color, every color calculated to be unreadable against the background of one of the people who’ve done this. But really, what’s the point? It’s a dumb thing to do, just to try to make a point about how irritated I get and how much eyestrain it causes. It’s similar to pointing fingers, something I have no desire to do. Because, as I said, I have no desire to tell someone else what they can and can’t do in their journal. I’ve gotten offended at people who’ve done that to me. It’d be mighty hypocritical to do it to someone else.

I was telling about the lasagna we discovered. Here, for him, is the recipe. We have tried it both as the recipe stands, and with about half the cheese in the recipe. Our discovery was that with the full amount of cheese, you taste nothing but the cheese. All the other flavors are nearly completely covered up. I’d recommend cutting the amounts of the various cheese involved in half, but otherwise do the recipe as-is.

Sausage, Cheese and Basil Lasagna

Sauce:
    2 tablespoons olive oil

    1 pound spicy Italian sausages, casings removed

    1 cup chopped onion

    3 large garlic cloves, chopped

    2 teaspoons dried oregano

    1/4 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper

    1 28-ounce can crushed tomatoes with added puree

    1 141/2-ounce can diced tomatoes with green pepper and onion (do not drain)

    Heat oil in heavy large pot over medium-high heat. Add sausages, onion, garlic, oregano and crushed red pepper and saute until sausage is cooked through, mashing sausage into small pieces with back of fork, about 10 minutes. Add crushed tomatoes and diced tomatoes with juices. Bring sauce to boil. Reduce heat to medium and simmer 5 minutes to blend flavors. Season with salt and pepper.

    Can be made 1 day ahead. Chill until cold, then cover and keep chilled.

Filling:
    11/2 cups (packed) fresh basil leaves

    1 15-ounce container plus 1 cup part-skim ricotta cheese

    11/2 cups (packed) grated mozzarella cheese (about 6 ounces)

    3/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese (about 2 ounces)

    1 large egg

    1/2 teaspoon salt

    1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper

    Using on/off turns, chop fresh basil leaves finely in processor. Add ricotta, mozzarella, Parmesan, egg, salt and pepper. Using on/off turns, process filling until just blended and texture is still chunky.

Assembly:
    12 no-boil lasagna noodles from one 8-ounce package

    3 cups (packed) grated mozzarella cheese (about 12 ounces)

    1 cup grated Parmesan cheese (about 3 ounces)

    Nonstick olive oil spray

    Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Spread 11/4 cups sauce in 13-by-9-by-2-inch glass baking dish. Arrange 3 noodles on sauce. Drop 112 cups filling over noodles, then spread evenly to cover. Sprinkle with 34 cup mozzarella cheese and 14 cup Parmesan cheese. Repeat layering of sauce, noodles, filling and cheeses 2 more times. Top with remaining 3 noodles. Spoon remaining sauce atop noodles. Sprinkle with remaining cheeses. Spray large piece of foil with nonstick olive oil spray. Cover lasagna with foil, sprayed side down.

    Bake lasagna 40 minutes. Carefully uncover. Increase oven temperature to 400 degrees. Bake until noodles are tender, sauce bubbles thickly and edges of lasagna are golden and puffed, about 20 minutes. Transfer to work surface; let stand 15 minutes before serving. Makes 6 servings.

mentioned that she’d recently had Tibetan food, and what she described sounded so good that I went in search of recipes. So, for you, Miss Kitty:

Kopan Masala

A condiment, apparently, though no indication what it’s used for.

1/3 cup coriander seeds
1/4 cup cumin seeds
10 black cardamom pods, peeled
15 green cardamom pods, peeled
25 whole cloves
2 cinnamon sticks, broken up
1 teaspoon black peppercorns
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg

Combine coriander, cumin, black and green cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, peppercorns and nutmeg and grind finely, but not to powder, with mortar and pestle, rolling pin, coffee grinder or food processor. Store in airtight jar. Makes about 1/2 cup.

Momos (Tibetan steamed dumplings)

For the dough
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup water
For the filling
1 pound extra lean ground beef
1 onion, chopped
1/2 pound diakon, spinach, or cabbage, chopped fine
1 garlic clove, minced
1 teaspoon grated fresh gingerroot
2 green onions, white and green parts, chopped
2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, chopped
Salt to taste

Mix flour and water; kneed and form into a ball. Let rise covered with a wet towel or plastic wrap for 30 minutes.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil.

Cut dough into 12 to 18 pieces and roll into small flat circles

Mash together all the filling ingredients. Place a spoonful of filling in each dough circle, folding over and crimping to seal.

Place momos in a steamer and steam on high for 30 minutes.

Tibetan potato soup

1/4 cup butter
1 tablespoon fresh gingerroot, minced
1 tablespoon garlic, minced
1 cup diced red onion
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon Kopan Masala
3 cups mashed potato
4 cups water
1 cup diced tofu
1 cup spinach leaves, chopped
1 1/2 teaspoons white vinegar
1 tablespoon soy sauce
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons chopped green onion
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro

Melt butter in large saucepan over medium heat. Add ginger, garlic, and onion and stir-fry over medium-high heat for 30 seconds to 1 minutes. Add turmeric, chili powder, and masala. Stir fry 30 seconds longer. Add potato and mix. Cook, stirring, for 3 minutes. Add water 1 cup at a time, stirring constantly with wire whick to prevent lumps from forming. Stir until mixture is smooth. Add tofu and spinach. Mix well and bring to a boil. Add vinegar, soy sauce, salt, and pepper. Simmer 5 minutes. If soup is too thick, add more water. Add green onions and cilantro and mix well. Makes about 8 cups.

Shamday – Tibetan curry

1 small onion, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 small yellow onion, finely chopped
1 teaspoon salt
1 tomato, sliced
2 large potatoes, peeled and cubed
1 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 small packet of bean thread noodles
1 pound lamb, beef, or tofu
1 handful seaweed
1 teaspoon sesame oil

Soak the bean thread noodles and seaweed in cold water and leave for 10 minutes.

Fry the onion, garlic, and ginger in a deep saucepan until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the turmeric, salt, and sesame oil and stir to combine well. Add the diced meat or tofu and potatoes. Stir to combine. Add 1 pint of cold water and cook at medium heat for 20 minutes. Once the meat and potatoes are cooked, take the bean thread and cut into small pieces. Rise the seaweed. Add both to the curry, and cook for another 5 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste. Add the tomato and stir, serve immediately with boiled rice as an accompaniment.

Sha-Bale – Meat Pastry

3 medium yellow onions, finely chopped
1 tablespoon grated fresh gingerroot
1 tablespoon garlic, finely chopped
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon salt
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon sesame oil
2 tablespoons hot water
2 pounds minced lamb or beef
5 cups self-rasising flour
cold water

Add the cold water to the flour a little at a time until it forms a dough. Knead the dough for about 4 to 5 minutes. Form into a ball and leave to rise at room temperature for 30 minutes.

In a bowl, combine the hot water, chopped onion, oil, salt, spices, and minced meat. Roll out the dough as thinly as possible on a floured surface, and cut them into 4-inch rounds. Put 2 teaspoons of the meat mixture on a round and flatter it down a little. Put a second round on top and pinch the edges together tightly. Deep fry the sha-bale in moderately hot oil until the dough is crips and golden. Only cook a few at a time. Drain thoroughly on several layers of paper towels. Sha-bale can also be shallow-fried, but the meat mixture and onions must be fried seperately first. Serve the sha-bale with chili sauce.

Mar Jasha (Butter Chicken)

1 whole frying chicken, cut into serving pieces (approximately 8 pieces)

For the marinade
1 tablespoon tandoori masala
1/2 tablespoon garam masala (found in most Indian grocery stores and many supermarkets. Your own can be made using a combination of ground clove, cinnamon, and cardamom.)
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1/2 teaspoon cumin powder
5 tablespoons plain yoghurt
2 teaspoons salt
For the curry
2 tomatoes pureed in a blender
2 yellow onions, chopped
1 tablespoon grated fresh gingerrot
1 tablespoon garlic, forced through a garlic press
15 cashew nuts, ground into a paste
1 1/2 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons heavy cream
1 teaspoon chili powder

Oil for stirfrying

In a bowl, thoroughly combine the marinade ingredients. Place the chicken pieces in a large freezer storage bag (1 gallon size should work) and add the marinade. Press out most of the air, seal the bag, and turn several times to make sure the marinade coats the chicken. Leave to marinate at room temperature for 1 hour.

Heat 4 tablespoons of oil in a nonstick pan and in it fry the chicken for 10 minutes, turning occasionally. Work in batches if necessary. Remove the chicken and set aside. Add another tablespoon of oil to the pan, and in it fry the chopped onion until golden. Add the ginger and garlic paste and ry, sprinkling a little wter in now and then, until the oil seperates. Add the cashew paste, chili powder, and pureed tomato and cook for 10 minutes. Add the butter, and cream and stir to combine. Put the chicken into the sauce along with any juices that have collected on the plate, cover, and cook for an additional 10 minutes, or until the chicken is cooked through. Garnish with cilantro and serve.

Balep Korkun – Bread from central Tibet

2 cups flour (any kind of flour will work – wheat, all-purpose, or self-rising, for example.)
1 tablespoon baking powder (if you are using all-purpose flour only)
1 cup water

Mix flour and a little water well by hand. Keep adding water little by little, kneading well between additions, until you make a smooth ball of dough. Then knead the dough very well until it is flexible. Seperate the dough into four pieces and roll them into balls. Place the dough in a container with a lid, cover, and leave for fifteen to twenty minutes. Take one ball and place on a flat surface. Roll with a rolling pin into a round about 1/2 to 3/4 inch thick. Repeat with the remaining balls of dough.

Spray a nonstick skillet with no-stick spray. Heat the frying pan over high heat until hot, and then turn down the heat to medium. Put the bread in the pan and cover with a lid. Cook fifteen minutes over medium heat, turning the bread every four to five minutes so both sides cook evenly. Repeat with remaining rounds.

If you like, you can add a little butter or applesauce to the flour before you begin adding water for a special flavor.

More recipes can be found on sites listed here.

We had an Ethiopian feast tonight. It’s the second time we’ve cooked Ethiopian food, and since there’s so much to be done, the first time Mom and I split up the work. This time, Mom had a headache so I did it all, and I wound up spending 6.5 hours in the kitchen, with one short break.

I’d managed to smack my knee into one of the metal legs of my desk the night before. The right knee, the one that’s had a good deal of damage done to it several times in the past. The kneecap sits uneasily in its place, and takes a smack into a desk leg as an excuse to dislocate. Once the pain receded enough that the litany of “My fucking KNEE! Fuck you, you fucking fuck of a fucking desk!” could stop, I massaged the kneecap back into place (and what a skill to have picked up along the way, resetting your own dislocated joints.) I could move around on it, though I limped, by morning. The pain had settled by then into merely obnoxious when I put weight on it.

At noon, I started work on the berbere sauce and spiced butter, basics you need for many Ethiopian dishes. (And , it occurred to me to wonder how you deal with the number of dishes that use spiced butter, since you’re vegan. Do you just avoid those recipes? Or make a kind of spiced olive [or other] oil? After all, it’d be possible to substitute, I suspect. The milk solids are cooked out of the spiced butter, so it becomes a spiced yellow oil with a buttery flavor. I bet spiced avocado oil would work, since avocado has a buttery flavor.)

By the time I was done with the sauce and the butter, my knee was getting worse, and I was starting to get warning twinges from my arthritic joints. I took a little break to rest them, but I knew I couldn’t take much of one, since there was a lot more to do. Spiced cheese to make, greens to cook and mix with the spiced cheese, chicken to marinate and then cook with garlic, onion, berbere sauce, spiced butter, and red pepper. I completely forgot to boil the four eggs that were supposed to be added at the last minute to the doro wat chicken, but that turned out okay. I also wound up giving up on the idea of an attempt at making injera bread when it became obvious how much I was going to be hurting by the time all of this was done.

When dinner was done, I let the family know it was ready, and didn’t bother to eat. I just went out to my room to lie down and get weight off my joints. The pain killers and anti-inflammatory drugs weren’t able to keep up with how intense the aching had become. I could barely move from the waist down. I finally went in and tried a few bites, just to see how it all worked out, and then decided that all I wanted to do was lie down. I finally felt human again around ten, and had a cold dinner then.

And I still, at 4 in the morning, ache. It’s down to the kind of background ache I can ignore, but it’s there. Of course, I have at least some pain from the arthritic and damaged joints all the time, I’ve just learned to live with it.

And the part of all of this that proves I’m too much of a foodie to have much common sense is that I’d do this again, recent dislocation, arthritis aches, and all, because it all tasted so good, even cold.

Yeah, no common sense whatsoever.

Presenting

With such beautiful models, how could I go wrong?

At 6:30 in the morning, I was woken by what sounded like a series of horrendous banging sounds. I wondered for a moment who was trying to break down my door. It was followed by a loud and obnoxious buzzing, and I woke up enough to realize that the sound was coming from the opposite end of the room from the door. I’ve known for a while that the speakers on my computer were going to give up the ghost sooner or later. I’d been watching the way the lights flickered on and off, and figured that there was a short. I kept using them anyway. And at 6:30, they finally gave up. The only sound coming from them, if they’re on, is the loud and annoying buzzing.

A month and a half or so ago, my Mom’s TV finally decided to call it quits. We went out and got a new one, and we were going to get a stand to put it on. But the boxes were too large to fit in the car, which we’d taken instead of the van. The stand could be delivered along with the TV, but would have to be already assembled by us. The delivery men wouldn’t put the thing together themselves, and the new TV was too damn heavy for Mom and me to try and put it on the stand ourselves. Mom decided she’d take the van to the only local store here – K-Mart – and pick up a stand there. Guess what? They didn’t carry any. So, I volunteered my TV stand, on the understanding that we’d hit Bakersfield and get me one to replace it. It’s approaching two months now, and that hasn’t happened. So, my TV is not real useful right now either. It’s sitting in the middle of the floor. I could drag it back over to the wall and plug it in, I suppose, but with it sitting on the ground, I can’t bloody see it from anywhere in my room. Not that it gets any channels. No internal antenna, and I don’t have cable service piped out to my room. The only thing I use it for is to watch the occasional movie, but that’s not possible currently.

I’m not accustomed to this dead silence in my room. There’s usually music playing. But all noise-making devices are inaccessible in some way. I may be forced into singing opera again.

I grew up on fantasy written by Andre Norton. Her books about High Hallack, Estcarp, and Escore in the Witch World I devoured one after another in the 70s. Hers were the first sword-and-sorcery novels I ever read. Even when I began to move on toward other authors, I still went and dipped back into my favorites of her Witch World books, such as Year of the Unicorn, her Gryphon trilogy, and Warlock of the Witch World. When I began writing fantasy, horror, and sci fi stories around ages 7 and 8, my writing style was heavily influenced by her. I eventually found my own “voice,” but the earliest things I wrote were obvious knockoffs of Andre Norton’s style. Even to this day, though it’s quiet, there’s still some influence from her in my writing style. She was known as the Grand Damme of Fantasy, or the First Lady of Fantasy, with good reason.

March 17, Andre Norton died of congestive heart failure. She took her last breath in her sleep, in Tennessee, surrounded by people she loved and who loved her. It was peaceful. She was 93.

Requisat in pace.

I don’t know what the hell is going on out there, and how far away said whatever it is happened. There were what sounded like five shots in rapid succession – not right out on the street, but maybe within a couple blocks. Close enough, anyway, that I also clearly heard the sound of tires squealing and an engine revving as a car tore on out immediately after.

It’s rather surprising to hear it here, since we live one the “good side” of the tracks. The couple of times I visited friends on the other side of town, I halfway expected to hear sounds like that. The dividing line between the territories of two major Hispanic gangs goes right through the middle of that side of town.

I do admit to some curiousity, along the lines of, “Did I hear what I think I just heard? Maybe I should look and find out.”

But I think I’ll go with survival instincts on this one, in case it was what I think it was. I’m sure it wasn’t a car backfiring, not with the way it sounded.

Damn my curiousity.

Otherwise, it’s been a decent couple of days. With the psychotic cousin locked up, there’s very little to worry about. Even fights with my grandmother have disappeared, and she usually picks two or three a week with me, plus the occasional one with my mom. The vast reduction of stress seems to have ended even that now. Grandma doesn’t get stressed by the insanity of the cousin, and then take the mood out on everyone else. After all, it’s not safe to take it out on John. I’m finding that, after living on stress and anger for close to two years, the lack of it is enough to make me want to celebrate. It’s like I just won the lottery, or some other major positive event happened, instead of just things settling into a quiet, non-stressful routine. The worst I’ve got to worry about it finishing up my midterm projects this week, and that’s nothing in comparison to the stress level before. That’s a walk in the park in comparison.

Next week is spring break, and I’m probably making a trip up to the Bay Area during at least part of it. Among other things, and I need to do something about baking an Irish wedding cake, so we can test it out and see if that’s what she wants to have at her wedding. Of course, it’ll have to sit for a month after it’s baked before we can eat it. It’s got to soak up lots of brandy for a month.

Assuming any of us can leave it alone for an entire month, anyway. That’s going to be difficult. We want to try it now.

The recipe for the cake:

1lb 12oz currants
1lb sultanas
9 oz raisins
7 oz shredded almonds
7 oz glace cherries
7 oz peel, cut, mixed
1lb 3oz flour
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 teaspoons mixed spice
1 lb butter
1 lb brown sugar
2 tablespoons molasses
1 1/2 teaspoons orange zest
1 1/2 teaspons lemon zest
8 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla
4 tablespoons brandy

Grease a 12-inch (30 cm) tin and line it with three layers of greaseproof paper, extending about 2″ above the top of the tin. Then tie a thick band of folded newspaper around the outside of the tin to protect the edge of the cake from over cooking, and have a suitable sized piece of brown paper to put over the cake if it is in danger of overbrowning. Note: cake will done when a toothpick inserted into center comes out clean.

Mix dried fruit with halved cherries and the peel with a tablespoon or two of the flour in bowl.

In another bowl, sift flour, salt and the spices.

In a third bowl, cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add molasses, zests and vanilla.

To this mixture, add the eggs, one by one with a tablespoon full of flour with each and beat well. Fold in the fruit and remaining flour plus the brandy. Mix well.

Turn mixture into the prepared tin and smooth down with tablespoon making a slight hollow in the center. You may leave the cake over night or till ready to bake.

Pre-heat oven to 300 degrees F., (150 degrees C, Gas mark 2) bake cake in center of the oven for 1-1/2 hours. Reduce heat to 275 degrees F, (40 degrees C, Gas mark 1) for the remaining baking time (3 to 4 hours) or until the top of cake feels firm to the touch and toothpick comes out clean and dry. Watch cake as it bakes. Cover if it looks like it might overbrown.

Cool cooked cake in tin then remove paper and turn upside down onto a board. Make small holes into the cake with skewers and pour on some extra brandy.

When brandy is absorbed wrap cakes in double layer of greaseproof paper and then a layer of foil. Seal and store in airtight container and place in a cool place for at least a month. Cake should be finished at least two weeks prior to need so flavors will mellow. Ice with Royal Icing or Fondant Icing.

I have some questions about the “peel, cut, mixed” and the “mixed spices.” I would guess that the cut and mixed peel meant zest of some citrus fruit, but there’s already orange and lemon zest in the recipe. What they mean by the thing with the peel is a bit of a mystery, and if all else fails, I’ll leave it out. It might mean something like candied orange peel, and other candied peels if there are any (I only know about candied orange peel.) The mixed spices don’t specify which spices. My guess, and what I intend to try in the recipe, is a mixture of cinnamon, nutmeg or mace, and maybe a little clove.

It should be a fun experiment, anyway. And if there’s enough brandy soaked into the cake, I probably won’t care what the mixed peel is after a slice or two.

Or we could go with the alcoholic Italian cake I already know and love. Zuccoto. Four kinds of alcohol soaked into the cake, and a filling of layered whipped cream and bittersweet chocolate cream. Sometimes the bittersweet chocolate cream is also spiked, with chocolate liqueur. I haven’t forgotten the lightweight when we introduced him to zuccoto in Seattle. Though I admit I went a little overboard on the alcohol soaking that time. It’s not normally quite as alcoholic is I made it that time.

We got our next assigment in Intro to Digital Arts tonight, and did final critique on the last assigment, which was positive and negative space.

Forcing the students to critique is always a painful process. Not just in the class, either. We did the same in photography last semester, and the result was the same – a lot of silence, until the instructor starts prodding people in order to make them talk. I hate the critiquing. I don’t usually mind when it’s my wiork in the spotlight. I’m fairly confident about what I do, and I’m able to take constructive criticism without reacting as if it’s a personal vendetta. What I hate is being forced to talk about why I think something works or doesn’t, whether it’s an effective piece or not, and why. I tend to react on a very visual level, and it seems to be very disconnected from my ability to articulate. I can recognize something effective, and I know the principles behind why it works. And I know why something doesn’t work. But forcing that knowledge from the visual centers of my brain and into speech is extremely difficult for me to do. I’ve said many times that I connect through the eyes, and it’s in an entirely non-verbal way that I do. Putting words to the reaction brings a kind of non-physical pain with it if I’m forced to talk about why I do or don’t like something in concrete terms.

I generally try to handle the critiques by saying something minor and obvious that doesn’t take too much translating from visual to verbal early on, maybe during the first three or four pieces. If I do that voluntarily, the instructor will usually leave me alone and go bother someone else who has spoken less than I have. It doesn’t always work, but it’s usually effective.

Strangely enough, I can usually articulate with my own work why I approached something the way I did, what I think does and doesn’t work, where I feel I can improve, what principles of design were behind it. Once it gets past the visual and into the creative process on my own work, then there is some crossover toward the verbal centers of my brain. I can’t articulate like that when I’m doing the first rough sketches. It’s still too firmly seated in the visual centers then. But after I’ve worked and re-worked it for a while to get to the final piece, I can talk about it until someone’s ears fall off.

All of which may be related to why it is seriously difficult for me to ever learn anything by only reading. I’m a good reader. I have a huge vocabulary, good comprehension and decent retention, and I’m a fairly fast reader. But to really learn a process or new software, I really need to see it and sit down and use it. I can usually have a working knowledge of most software or a particular process in half an hour or less if I can just sit down and work hand-on. I think I need to see it in action, more than anything, for it to make sense to me.

This just reminded me of when I took the ASVAB in high school. I had no interest in joining the military. I mostly took it out of curiosity, and because it got me out of two classes I hated. I regretted it afterward, because I had recruiters calling me for months afterward. They really wanted me to join, because I scored somewhere in the upper 80s on the engineering section. 85 QT I think, but it’s been so long I can’t remember for sure. Minimum qualifying score for engineering in the Armed Services was something like 53 QT. I knew jack about engineering. My advantage was that I could see the parts they were talking about on the test. I could visualize, for example, which direction one gear would go if connected by the diagrammed belts and gears. Those spacial relationships were easy, because I could see them in my head as clearly as if they were right in front of me.

Related to the spacial relationships is the mental map I always seem to carry. If I’ve driven someplace once, I can usually find my way there again fairly easily, assuming that there hasn’t been a gap of a couple years between visits. I have mental maps of videogames too. Mom loves having me there when she’s playing a game I’ve played before. She doesn’t usually remember how she got to some spot she needs to go back to (because don’t almost all RPGs eventually make you return to areas you’ve visited before?) I don’t even need to see the screen if she’s lost. I just ask her to describe the screen she’s on, and then I can rattle off the directions for her without even bothering to look. I should have been around during the age of exploration. I would have made a great cartographer and explorer.

I find it rather ironic that I’ve had periodic aspirations toward being a writer, and yet process information and respond to things far more in a visual fashion than in a verbal one. Which, of course, is not to say that I’m not verbose when the mood strikes. Pretty much any post in this LJ that isn’t a meme will bear that out. But even when I’m reading, the visual thing will strike. I couldn’t begin to tell you how many movies I’ve seen or animations have created themselves in my head because of something I read. ’s Under Three Suns is proof of that. I’m still obsessed with the animation of the story that presented itself to me several years ago. I just don’t have the equipment or the skill to create what I envision.

It’s , the action figure!

(Also available in -with-one-hell-of-a-tan or -after-someone-snatched-him-baldheaded flavors. And though they got the name wrong, based on the infractions list, this would probably be me.)

I wandered around the house, trying to convince the mother and grandmother units that they wanted to go out to lunch with me. Nothing fancy, just Denny’s. I want a bbq bacon burger. Well, what I really want is a haystack burger from Coco’s. But Denny’s is what’s available. A bacon cheeseburger with an order of onion rings and some bbq sauce will get me all the elements of a haystack burger except the fried chile strips, so it’ll do.

While I was trying to convince Mom and Grandma to come with me, they passed on a bit of news.

Apparently, the night that John disappeared, he was out wandering the streets. Possibly with that air rifle, since it’s missing, and it would explain what happened next, which is that some cops stopped him. When they called in his name, they found the outstanding warrant for the assault on my mom from last December. When I went to the police station to talk to them about the situation with John and see what options were available to me, they’d told me then that there was no warrant out on him. It’d expired. Since his attack was treated as a misdemeanor, it had apparently had only a short expiration date. But it seems the warrant has been renewed since I had that talk with Hellano PD. So, John is in jail. Hallelujah!

By itself, the warrant won’t keep him in jail for long. But he was still on probation for the assault on his (now ex-) wife and drug charges. We’re hopeful that they’ll check the status of his probation, find out that he violated it, and that he will be in jail for some time to come.

Now I’m off to have that bbq burger to celebrate.

What a relief!

Sunday evening, after I finished up some homework, I wandered through the house. Psycho cousin John was inside, lying on the floor and watching TV. I left without a word and headed out to my room.

A couple hours later, I heard him leave the house and go out to his room. He was saying, “HOOOOoooome!” which he does periodically throughout the day, along with various other insane vocalizations. It’s like living in a psychiatric hospital, hearing all the strange noises he makes the entire time he’s awake.

After a brief spate of relative silence, I could hear him in his room, and I could hear him saying, “Shut up!” over and over again, something else he does when the voices in his head are being especially “loud.” Then that died down, and instead I heard him breaking something – again, typical. He constantly destroys things. A couple nights ago, he tore apart a flashlight and left bits of it scattered across the patio where I walk into the house barefoot in the morning.

After the breaking sounds, I heard footsteps cross the cement of the patio, and head off into the back yard, past my bedroom window, heading toward the garden out in the back forty. There were a couple scraping sounds as he passed. I keep my curtains drawn all the time, since otherwise he comes to my window and stares in at me at all times of the day and night, so I didn’t see him go past, but I assume it was him.

At 2 in the morning, my grandmother woke up and discovered the TV on and the nest of blankets John had left on the floor in the living room. She went out to John’s room to check on him, knocked and got no answer, finally went in and discovered that the room was empty. She saw that my light was still on, and came barging into my room without knocking, as she always does. She’s informed me on several occasions that I’m not allowed any consideration or privacy, and she’ll throw my door open without knocking whenever she pleases, and go through my things when it suits her. So, when she came bursting in at 2 in the morning, I didn’t say anything at first because I was restraining the urge to get angry about it. It does no good to get angry about it, it only provokes yet another useless fight that changes nothing.

My room is too dimly lit for her to be able to see much of anything in it, including me. So she looked around for a moment, trying to see if she could spot me. When she couldn’t, she asked if I was there, so I told her yes. She griped at me about the way I wasn’t yet asleep, and I reminded her once again of my sleep disorders and that not sleeping is not a choice I make, but something I have to endure. She said, “I guess.” She said it in her best “you’re so full of shit” tone of voice. I restrained the urge to yell, again, and just remained silent until she left. She’s always looking for a reason to be angry at me anyway, and if nothing else surfaces, she goes back to treating me like I’m choosing not to sleep at night so she can gripe at me about that. At the time, I didn’t know that John had disappeared, so I figured that the only reason she’d come out to my room was to pick a fight with me.

I finally managed to fall asleep around 5:30 in the morning, and woke at 10. Mom mentioned to me that John hadn’t been inside the house. She assumed he was shut up in his room. I told her that I’d heard him wandering around fairly late, and it was probably a safe bet that he’d been awake all night on a drug binge and was now sleeping it off.

At two in the afternoon, Grandma finally told us that John had disappeared last night. She’d been out to his room several times during the day to check and see if he was back, and he hadn’t returned. I told them then about the sounds I’d heard, and now that I thought about it, I never did hear him return after he’d headed out into the back. So, Grandma went out and wandered through the back yard and then out into my grandfather’s old vegetable garden, but there was no sign of John.

The yard and garden of this house are huge. The lot extends almost all the way across the block. The house on the next street over has a tiny little postage-stamp of a yard because of this. And our yard not is wide enough that it overlaps the yard of the house next door to the one immediately behind us. A friend of the family lives in that house next door, and he put a gate into the fence so he can come over and visit more easily. John has also been known to visit this friend of the family sometimes. Thinking that John might be over there, Mom tried calling, but they haven’t seen him at all.

When I got back from my class tonight, around 10 pm, I heard a strange dinging sound coming from John’s room. I mentioned it to my mother, and we went out there to investigate. John still isn’t back, and what I was hearing was his alarm clock. We unplugged it, and then noticed a couple things about the room.

A week or two ago, John acquired a rifle. Not a serious rifle, an air rifle. After shooting it in the yard a few times, he’d hung it up on his wall. And then he took a can of black paint and sprayed “AMBUSH” under the rifle. Tonight, the rifle was gone.

At some time after he wrote AMBUSH, John had added other grafitti to the walls. We don’t know what he did them with. It doesn’t look like any paint any of us have ever seen. What it looks like, actually, is dried blood, and none of us would put that past him. Mom and I looked at the way it was dripped and spattered, and the way it was painted, each stroke about the width of John’s fingers, or maybe just a little more, like he’d gone over it twice. There was also a piece of cardboard placed inside a wooden frame with the frame’s glass broken out – which may have been the destruction I heard going on – also painted in what looks like dried blood, sitting on a broken stool outside his door. That one says, “JESUS IS LORD.”  Not a surprising sentiment coming from him, since one of the voices in John’s head he believes to be Jesus. That’s the voice that most often tells him to do things.

It’s now a bit after 3 in the morning. John’s been missing for more than 24 hours at this point. I suppose it’s too much to hope that he’s gone for good. It would certainly save me from all the consequences I expect of getting a restraining order if he has disappeared and never comes back. And various wild theories about what happened and where he went abound. My favorite, currently, is that he succeeded in pissing off whatever people it is he buys his crystal meth from, and they have disposed of him for all of us. Or maybe he knows that he’s pissed them off and has run away before they can find him. In the last couple days, he has been experimenting with painting black on his face, like someone trying to cover the bright highlight areas so as to blend into the night better. And yesterday, he shaved off all his hair. Trying to change his appearance so he’s harder to find? Or just more of the usual insanity? Some of both? Who knows?

He’ll probably be back. I realized many years ago that somehow, I wound up as a character in a soap opera, no matter how much I’d rather not be in the midst of all this drama. And I doubt that whoever’s writing it is ready to retire to my character, or even background me and go bug someone else for a while.

Though I’d like out of this soap opera. A quiet, normal life would be heaven for a change.

I figure this soap has got to be called “As the Stomach Turns.”

Or maybe, “All my Brats.”