We Do Still Live in America, Right?

Click this text to read a news article about opposition to mosques that aren't near Ground Zero.

This makes me so many different kinds of sick. In this day and age, I should not have to make an accounting of all the reasons how this goes against everything this country is actually about. So I won’t. And, further, I don’t know if it’s more troubling or more comforting to remember that this kind of xenophobia has existed since the founding of our country anyway (anti-Catholic, anti-Semitic, anti-Mormon).

Then there was the polite yet firm debate I had with my wishes-she-were-as-liberal-as-she-thinks-she-is grandmother yesterday. It was spurred by her “innocent” mention of some controversy over a young Muslim woman who was told she couldn’t wear her “burqa” while working at Disneyland (she used the word burqa, which is telling, because the young lady in question doesn’t wear a burqa, she wears a hijab) Her rhetorical question: “Why do Muslim women insist on coming here and wearing those awful robes that are so obviously foreign and “un-American” when they know it’s not what we do here.” (Subtext: …because it makes me uncomfortable). My left leg was bouncing pretty frantically as I tried to phrase my responses as diplomatically and calmly as possible, but it’s hard to be diplomatic when the other participant in your conversation doesn’t admit that she’s actually saying what she’s actually saying.

Me: “So you think people who come here should conform to our styles of dress. Is conformity an American value?”

Grandma: “No, I didn’t say they have to conform. They just should realize that when they come here they should behave like Americans. They shouldn’t wave their flag around and refuse to give up the customs of their home country.”

My non-rhetorical response to her original question: “They come here and dress that way because it’s part of how they practice their religion, and we told them that they may freely practice their religion here. It just so happens that this particular Islamic dictum has a very obvious physical presence. We don’t tell Christians they can’t build their churches with giant crosses on top that can be seen for miles around, do we?”

Her argument boils down to: This behavior (wearing a hijab, niqab etc) makes me uncomfortable, so the other person should stop it. Never mind that this behavior has absolutely no direct effect on her and it in no way threatening, dangerous, manipulative, or coercive, it’s just so “in her face.” This is plainly ludicrous. I hope she comes to realize it someday. It’s hard to teach an old grandmother new tricks, and she’s got some pretty ingrained habits to break. I wish her luck with that.

And I hope this country can get its head out of its ass.

The Most Isolated Man in the World

This article is cool. It also presents an interesting ethical dilemma, which my linguist friends especially will appreciate. This man is the last living member of his tribe, his people, his culture. He is the final repository of all their history, traditions, folklore and language, and he has no one to share any of it with. The Brazilian government has taken the most humane course of action, one that must have involved some will power, by pointedly not disturbing him, and allowing him to be the initiator of any contact. And yet, when he finally dies, he will take with him all the cultural knowledge he has. That strikes me as extremely tragic, and something to be avoided. Except that I don't believe we have a duty to preserve this information at the expense of destroying this man's way of life (observer's paradox extraordinary), even though it would be another addition to the Library of Human Experience. But that's just the problem: we wouldn't be doing it for him. There is no one in the world who can use his knowledge beyond him, so gathering it would be purely to make ourselves feel more like the Lords of the Universe we perceive ourselves to be. We can sit in our leather chairs and gaze lovingly at the handsomely bound volume on the shelf, but to forever taint the nature of this man's world would be nothing beyond selfish.

What My Students are Watching

Another beautiful week in Idyllwild, and that means another video for you all to watch. This video is just so much fun! We show this clip in animation class after working on walk and run cycles, which are tricky but essential in character development. These bunnies have a run cycle as well, with each position represented by a different model. This is discussed in the “Making Of” segment of the video. They also talk about designing the characters (bunnies) before ever animating them. In our class, we strongly encourage the students to model their characters and their movements, because a well-executed animation depends on this solid foundation.

We're having a great class this year. There are only six students, and they are thriving under our less-diluted attention. Their work is wonderful! There's a crying banana that just makes me want to rip my heart out and a trampoline in another clip that looks too fun to not be real. I hope I can figure out some way to post a few examples online.

How to Do Stuff: Cooking Lavender Creme Brulee

This is part 3 in (what has become) my occasional series, "How to do Stuff," (part 1 being "How to Spend a Year in Australia" and part 2 being "How to Replace a Broken Car Window"). Today's installment: Lavender Creme Brulee!

I got to taste this astoundingly delicious concoction at a friend's wedding in June, and when the opportunity arose a couple of weeks ago to actually make creme brulee (my first time), I insisted that it be with lavender, just for kicks. Here's what you need:

• Just over 1 quart of heavy whipping cream (40% if you can get it)
• The yolks of 6 eggs, at room temperature
• 1 cup of sugar
• 1 packet of vanilla sugar
• A whole mess of lavender (I had a mixing bowl full of it)

Step 1: Soak the lavender in the cream for a couple hours, at room temperature. This step is done to taste, but remember that the baking process will further enhance the flavor. Once you can taste the lavender in the cream, you're good. I helped the process along by squishing up the lavender a bit with a potato masher, because I was worried there wouldn't be enough flavor. The bonus I got for my squishing efforts was the little pieces of lavender floating in the cream afterwards, which was just adorable, so I left them in.

Step 2: Separate the yolks from 6 eggs, again at room temperature. There is no picture of this. This was my first time separating eggs, so it was a little scary. My word of advice: be careful not the let the yolk get punctured by the sharp edges of the shell. Don't get too happy with the flipping back and forth, this will lead to yolk breakage. Ack!

Step 3: Cream the yolks and all the sugar in a mixing bowl. Use and electric mixer and blend and blend and blend. Do this until you can't see the individual grains of sugar any more. It will take more than 10 minutes, so be patient. The result will be super-fluffy and you will be pleased.

Step 4: Bring the lavender-infused cream to a boil, remove from heat, and let sit for 15 minutes. Doesn't "lavender-infused cream" just sound romantic and delicious? I feel like I work at some upscale restaurant, even though this all happened in my friend's kitchen.

Step 5: Combine the cream and eggs/sugar mixture slowly. Be sure to do this a little at a time while constantly stirring. We don't want the cream (which is still pretty warm) to cook the eggs at all, so it's important to keep the stuff moving.

Step 6: Fill your ramekins nearly to the top. This recipe filled up eight of these, which are about a pint each. So cute!

Step 7: Place the ramekins in a roasting pan filled with enough water to go halfway up the sides of the ramekins. This step allows the creme to bake evenly and not scorch on the edges.

Step 8: Bake for ~45 minutes, or until the cream is set, but still trembling in the middle.

Step 9: Remove from oven and chill in the fridge ~2 hours. This step is done when the custard at the center of the dishes is firm to the touch, but has about as much give as the flesh on the underside of your arm.

Step 10: Sprinkle each ramekin with a light dusting of sugar (baking sugar works best) and melt it with a torch. This step can be repeated if you like a really thick brulee crust (like I do!). I used raw cane sugar for this step, which tended to burn before it even melted. It smelled like marshmallows.

Step 11: Enjoy! You're ready to eat as soon as the melted sugar on top hardens. Break out your teaspoon and get cracking! Ahh, this reminds me of one of my favorite movies: Amelie.

My taste-testers said they found the lavender flavor too strong, though I liked it. Evidently, lavender is a mild anesthetic, and eventually it will numb your taste-buds. The first bite is still fantastic, though! I will infuse the cream a little less next time. My next attempt at flavor-infused creme brulee will be with roses, which sounds exciting. I'd also like to try clove and lemon.

What My Students Are Watching

I'm here in Idyllwild for the summer teaching computer animation to high-schoolers. My co-teacher and I like to show the kids animated clips to inspire them and as examples of how to employ the techniques we're teaching them. Over the course of the next few weeks, I'll post these here, too, so you can all enjoy them. We try to find fun, accessible stuff they'll enjoy. Today's installment is the first video we showed: "Robot Chicken Star Wars: George Lucas at the Convention." Though apparently crude, the folks who worked on this know what they're doing, and they have employed a barrage of classical animating techniques in a pretty sophisticated way. Watch the way George pulls back before dashing into his run. So Looney Tunes! More in a few days. Happy watching!

In The Place of the Family Ghosts

Mt. Hood as seen from "The Ridge"

Sometime during college I heard a statistic regarding the provenance of the various undergraduates at UC Berkeley with me. Inevitably, I will misquote the exact figure, but let's say that something over %50 of the students there had at least one parent born outside the United States. While this great melting pot/tapestry of a society we live in is both made more beautiful and strong by this fact, it actually puts me in this very boring-sounding minority: both my parents, in fact, all of my grandparents, were born in this country. And even when we do trace my roots back to Europe, I come from decidedly white stock: England, Ireland, Norway. Incredibly, this has given me a bit of an inferiority complex. I can't talk about learning recipes from the far-away country where my grandmother grew up (unless you count Nebraska), and my heritage doesn't include any stories about the "old country" as it were. Maybe it's because I live in California, the melting-est melting pot of them all, but it makes me decidedly weird to be able to say this: not only were all of my great-grandparents born in this country, but most of my great-great grandparents were as well! (I think one or two may have been from Canada, but I'm not sure at this point when the "Canadian line" met up with the American side).

Years ago I decided to start thinking about this as the cool fact it is, rather than something to be ashamed of. And, it is definitely a privilege to also have access to names, photographs, and even biographical information of ancestors of mine going back six or more generations. My great-great-great grandparents on my father's side were Remembrance and Katherine. What names! On my mother's side, my uncle has traced our family back to the Revolutionary War, when two brothers, William and Robert, were on opposite sides. William was a loyalist, and eventually fled to Canada, where his descendants stayed for a while. He is the brother I'm descended from. A loyalist to the crown!

Slightly more recently, a young Norwegian man named Lewis Anderson was pretty much kidnapped by his sisters and brought to live in north-central Oregon. He met a girl named Carrie, and together they built a homestead in a place called Pleasant Ridge and raised four children: Oscar, Lambert, Mabel and another girl whose name starts with E. Mabel is my great-grandmother. She married Samuel Meeker and their children were Helen, Doris and Earl. Earl married Mary Alice and they are my grandparents. All of this happened up on Pleasant Ridge, surrounded by scrub oak woods and wheat fields. This past weekend, I had a chance to see where I came from. And, looked at the right way, it's as amazing as anything else.

The "A-Frame" and in the distance, a barn

Lang's Pond

The diversity of flora on Pleasant Ridge

At the Anderson Homestead

Of course, the very most wonderful fact about this whole story is that Lewis and Carrie Anderson (again, my great-great-grandparents) built a homestead on Pleasant Ridge. There was nothing there but pine trees and views of the mountains, but like all those folks you hear about on the Oregon Trail, they built a life from almost nothing. Besides their house, they had a barn, a granary, various sheds (to my left in the picture), a root cellar and a blacksmith's forge. They cleared their land, farmed it, raised four children, and set events in motion that lead directly to me typing this today.

Anderson Homestead, pond in the distance

The best part of my visit was visiting this old piece of land, which has belonged to my family for over 120 years (the construction date on their house says 1895, but I know they lived there for 5 years before it was built).

Lambert Anderson's House

Lambert's house is reached via "Library Road" going southeast-ish from the original homestead. It's still standing, but that could change any time now. Inside, one can still find remnants of carpet, linoleum and their window coverings. It's like archaeology! Lambert would be my great-great uncle, so I am not his direct descendant. Lambert's wife, Edith, kept lots of books, and the children on the Ridge would walk to her house to borrow them, so she was the local librarian of sorts, and that's how "Library Road" got its name.

Lambert's Barn

Lambert's Barn

View of Mt. Hood from Lambert's Home

So here I am, exploring the land my family has owned continuously for five generations. We were treading paths followed by the childish feet of my own grandfather, who is long ago passed. The land was farmed by my great-aunts and uncles. They saw these gorgeous views, which have not been (nor, I hope, ever will be) obscured by modern buildings and highways. They breathed this air. And, looking out on all this, I could feel that there were ghosts there. They weren't mean or scary ghosts; they weren't even the kind of ghosts that try to influence the physical world. But they were there. The air around me was pregnant with history and memory. There was a kind of vibration, an energy, just outside my ability to feel it, reminding me that this is where I come from. This is my heritage. This land. The people who poured their whole lives into it that their children and children's children might go on to live and thrive and produce me.

Anderson House (built 1895)

Here's the house that Lewis and Carrie Anderson built. My grandfather donated it to the city of The Dalles as a permanent museum (to avoid its being burned down in a grass fire). Most of the inside is decorated based on educated guesses and some help from my great-aunts when they were still living. However, the spinning wheel inside did belong to my great-great grandmother, Carrie, which I find just splendid.

Tearing Down the Duck Blind

Since the land is still farmed, some real work must still be done. The trip involved a great deal of reconnaissance of the hundreds of acres of property, checking on wheat crops, trees stands that my uncle hopes to harvest for timber, and dealing with the consequences of hunting (see photo above). This structure is built next to a pond so "hunters" can shoot elk and deer from the trees when they come to drink. Not very sporting! My brother tore it down using mostly a pry-bar and his biceps.

Cousins, descendants of the wheat farmers (six others not pictured)

Mine is the first generation of my family since before the turn of the century to not grow up farming wheat on Pleasant Ridge, near The Dalles, OR. As a child, I heard stories from my mother about driving the hay trucks and being out next to her dad riding on the combines. Though the land is still farmed, my mom and uncle lease it to someone else and get a part of the profits from the sale of wheat or barley.

I stand to inherit part of this land some day. I have a lot of choices about what I can do with it. My cousin has some land, but she doesn't farm it and instead gets a little money from the government to do nothing with it and allow it to go back to its natural state (pine forest). I could build a house on it, but not a farm. I won't pretend that I could somehow manage a fully functional, self-contained farm. Or, like my mom and uncle, I could lease the land to someone to grow wheat. At the very least, I would love to continue the tradition of having this land to come back to. The memory and knowledge of the place are only kept alive as long as we have interest in them, and I don't intend to squander the remarkable gift of history my ancestors have left me.

Excursions in Car Repair: Day 2

I successfully replaced my car window! I'm not going to pretend it was easy, but from start to finish the whole thing only took an hour. Take heart everyone! If your windows aren't automatic, you too can replace them if they break.

Step 1: Remove the door panel. Most of the panel just snaps off around the edges. There is one screw to be removed which holds the interior door handle in place. The door handle is also attached to a metal bar that actually controls the latch mechanism, so it has to be gently eased off. The window roller is the most difficult thing to remove. It fits over a smaller knob and is secured a piece of metal sort of like a paper clip. (Listen to that! I don't know ANY of the real terms for these things! It all sounds so vague and non-descript.) The window knob is just jimmied off with a flathead screwdriver by pushing on the "paper clip" until it releases.

Detached Door Panel

Step 1a: Remove all glass shards from the door frame. There were still a lot of glass fragments along the frame creases where the window had been and in the tracks the housing runs along. The bottom well of the door interior is also full of glass shards, but I had to leave those, because I didn't have a shop vac.

Step Two: Expose and remove door innards to reach window housing. The interior of the door is sealed with a sheet of plastic and this black, gummy stuff. This part is just pulled off. On the bottom right of the door, there's a polygonal piece of metal (which appears to serve to direct function) which has to be detached. Once this is done, you can see the track and housing for the window.

Door Innards

Here are two close-ups of the window housing itself. The screws fit into two holes at the bottom of the window glass. On the right side of picture (a) you can see the track that the housing moves on as the window is raised and lowered. In picture (b) you can see the cable that the rolling mechanism is actually winding when the window is raised. The screw in picture (a) was very tightly attached, and I ended up needing pliers to loosen it first. My little Phillips head was not offering enough torque.

Window Housing (a)

Window Housing (b)

Step 3: Clean the new window glass. My piece of glass was filthy from its time spent in the salvage yard. I didn't think to take a picture of the glass before it went into the door, though.

Step 4: Insert glass into door. I started this step with the housing rolled all the way up, thinking it would be easiest to line the holes up this way. It turns out that the dimensions of the glass and window frame don't really allow this, so after about five minutes I realized it would be easier if the window was rolled all the way down. This allowed me to gently lower the glass into the door and settle it into the housing. The glass is just the perfect width, so it doesn't really take a lot of effort to get the bottom centered properly with the screws. The glass very naturally wanted to slide into the side tracks, and a few gentle-but-firm pushes lined the screw-holes up perfectly. Putting one screw in helped, too. At the bottom of the picture (d) below, you can see where the window has been fitted into the housing.

Newly Installed Glass (c)

Newly Installed Glass (d)

Step 5: Reattach door panel. This was just a matter of doing everything in reverse. The plastic covering of the innards stuck right back onto the gummy black stuff, and I think I reattached the window roller properly. It hasn't fallen off yet! There were a couple of non-essential pieces I left off, and they're still waiting in my cup holder. Since I will have to remove the door panel again when I finally vacuum out all the glass inside, I will put those piece back on then. Here's the finished work, good as new:

Finished Door with Window and Panel

And there you have it! Do not be intimidated. All you need to affect this repair for yourself are Phillips and flathead screwdrivers, maybe some pliers, and a little bit of moxie. I am proud that it cost me less than $20 ($17.42 for the glass plus $2.00 for admission to the salvage yard) and an hour of my time to get this done. Not only is it inexpensive, but it was very enlightening and empowering. Not very messy, either! The other victims of the burglar paid $150 or more for this repair, but here I am, out less than 20 bucks plus with the added knowledge of how a car window works. I am delighted.

Peace, folks!