I spend about 95 percent of my time around kids, and this somehow does not make me a kid myself. In fact, I am most decidedly NOT a kid. At work, I am the one telling people to stay on task, pay attention, turn things in, sit correctly: “mmmnnnnmmnnaaammmna” (that was Charlie Brown’s teacher’s voice).
Summertime is coming and with it maybe some vacation time. For me, one of the hardest parts about traveling is packing.
Tapatío hot sauce has a prominent place in my kitchen, a place of honor on the table held by no other item. Even salt, pepper and butter have taken a back seat to my favorite food addiction. My kids would probably argue that ketchup is more important than Tapatío, but I have to disagree. Nothing else gives food that special kick.
Names are so important. From early childhood I imagined what I would name my own child. I always loved naming my stuffed animals. In fact, in kindergarten I had a whole fleet of them named Stephanie — if it was a good enough for one, it was good for everyone.
When studying the effects of globalization on indigenous people in Costa Rica we can see a YouTube video comparing an environmental landmark before and after a new industry comes in.
This evening, when my mom rattled the popcorn box to get the chickens to come a-running in, Dani (who is also the best layer) did not come home.
I think it was just that the loud music and swirling lights and crowds all created an experience that was overwhelming for a more reserved student like me.
Remember mixed tapes? To paraphrase the Beastie Boys, one of my favorite bands, you need a good mixed tape to get you in the right mood.
At a recent lunch my colleagues and I turned to the subject of our favorite old TV shows. We all reminisced quite happily about “The Cosby Show,” “Leave it to Beaver” and “Three’s Company.” We decided our favorite blonde was Chrissy; we felt sorry for Janet; and Jack Tripper was a ridiculous overactor. We all absolutely loved “The Cosby Show,” mainly because Bill Cosby is hilarious. I remember looking forward to it every Thursday night. And “Leave it to Beaver” pretty much still makes us feel inadequate as mothers.
Food has changed a lot since I was a kid, especially the availability of different types of ethnic food around Walla Walla.