tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93071992012-02-13T10:08:45.494-08:00TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.comBlogger691100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-57135127202406835282012-02-05T16:56:00.000-08:002012-02-05T16:56:16.561-08:00

From "Pouregon.com"  I am not the person you'd expect to protest Valentine's Day.  I love love.  I'm all about love, strong love, unconditional love, love-you-to-the-bitter-end love.  Therefore, I'm exactly the type of person you'd expect to protest Valentine's Day, a hollow day, a day of fake kisses, forced "I love yous," a day void of flavor or depth.  If that sounds harsh to you, if you

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-53446022993737559482012-01-05T19:27:00.000-08:002012-01-06T11:26:18.708-08:00

Last summer, I shared with you my "mystic" movie picks.  This December, we had a long winter break, so I made time to read a little and watch a few films.  (If you're a vegan-reader, the vegan one will be obvious by its title; you can skip ahead to the end!) Harold and Maude Separately, in the same week, two colleagues of mine, told me that Harold and Maude is their favorite film.  I said, "

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-8788058032090581182011-12-27T16:39:00.000-08:002011-12-27T17:32:05.736-08:00

Nikki McClure's "Invest."  One of my favorite artists, Nikki McClure, had a retrospective art exhibit at the Oregon Craft Museum this fall.  While reading about the exhibit, I learned that McClure and I are about the same age and have dedicated the same number of years to our careers, 15 years to art for her, 15 years to teaching for me.  I wondered:  what if I spent the next fifteen years

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-2710749037159424822011-12-06T08:23:00.001-08:002011-12-06T08:26:01.239-08:00

I am caught up in finals and cannot pull my mind away from grading.  Alas.  I drafted a story for you about cell phones, but it seems bland.  Then I thought I'd write about The Muppets but I need more time.  So...I'm typing this lame excuse.  I won't blame it on computer problems, car trouble, chaotic life forces working against me...truth is, I really gotta go read some stacks of essays. A stack

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-78136272190109991122011-11-29T08:41:00.001-08:002011-11-29T08:55:14.415-08:00

Did you all have a good Thanksgiving?  Our long weekend was a little too good--I'm having a hard time getting back into my routine.  I want to keep eating vegan pumpkin pie for breakfast and sleeping in!  Nevertheless, I have a few posts brewing... Maybe some thoughts about our Thanksgiving vegan pumpkin pie taste test. Definitely some thoughts about the new Muppet Movie...  I'll add a "part two

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-80833341573903506112011-11-21T07:04:00.001-08:002011-11-21T07:47:24.046-08:00

Order this cute coloring book from Thora Thinks.  While driving to work last week, I heard about a show on Nature about a man who lives with wild turkeys for a year.  I haven't seen it yet, but my dad was speechless, saying only that he'll never look at turkeys the same way again.  I wasn't surprised. This summer, I visited my friends' farm.  They raise animals for meat, so it may seem

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-50167051363690419022011-11-14T06:42:00.001-08:002011-11-14T07:21:45.523-08:00

You know how in Harry Potter they use Sirius Black's house as a hideout and the house unfolds from within a length of row houses?  There are twelve stoops and front doors, and then two start to slide apart and reveal a thirteenth home.  Well, that happened to me this weekend. Walking around the city with good friends on Sunday, we ended up window shopping along a funky street lined with art

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-86843431868384884042011-11-09T08:18:00.000-08:002011-11-09T08:18:33.681-08:00

Now that I'm mostly out of my cooking/baking slump, I'm marveling over familiar recipes all over again.  Last night, for example, I made dinner for my writing group.  I knew I wouldn't have much time, so I chose something simple, Dreena Burton's Teriyaki Quinoa (from Eat, Drink, Be Vegan) and steamed collard greens.  I worried it would be too plain for guests.  I also wished I could serve them

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-86563455302663706372011-11-04T21:01:00.000-07:002011-11-05T09:35:23.332-07:00

Update:  A dedicated blog-reader (insert heart here) did some research into how cacao beans are harvested.  If you want to be more informed that I am (and you should be), check out this article by John Robbins (the hero of vegans, the son of Baskin Robbins fame).   I'm excited to learn that the VeganMOFO site (veganmofo.com) is going to continue even though the daily blogging challenge

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-11296304197891723502011-11-03T09:02:00.000-07:002011-11-03T09:02:28.785-07:00

Woohoo...I just read that veganmofo.com is going to continue weekly posts and updates.  That motivates me to commit to an idea I was mulling over for this blog...  First post should be ready soon, maybe tomorrow....  Please come back soon! 

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-27134235948460337552011-10-31T08:08:00.000-07:002011-10-31T19:00:03.009-07:00

VeganMOFO brought back my cooking and baking mojo, which long ago dwindled to apathy and convenience.  It might be too soon to say this, maybe I'll be back to nightly take-out next week, but if this weekend is any indication, it's blue skies ahead. On Saturday, after convincing myself to get up for yoga because I could take a nap later, I not only had a great yoga class, met my man for

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-7002201056600071482011-10-28T09:34:00.000-07:002011-10-28T09:47:06.862-07:00

Food is not really on my mind at the moment, but maybe I'll find a way to make it relate.  Instead, I'm thinking about some stories students told me this week, stories about their lives, and for the last day or so, I've been musing about the power of decisions.  I mean, all the little, teeny-tiny choices we make every day.  They add up over time.  And what they add up to is...well...I think what

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-75435168859165515532011-10-27T09:30:00.000-07:002011-10-27T09:30:57.675-07:00

Kate Allan at The Spade and Spoon nominated me for a Liebster Award.  According to her colorful blog, "liebster" is German for favorite, beloved, or dearest.  The idea is that you nominate a few blogs you like that have fewer than 200 followers.  Then, when you're nominated, you nominate a few others in turn.  So, here are a few of my favorites: I have been reading Vegan RD for a few years

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-16099256614324880932011-10-26T08:13:00.000-07:002011-10-26T08:13:47.177-07:00

No pictures, so imagine this:  A nice, rectangular cut of bread rounded like a camel at the top.  Maybe I'm stereotyping toast, but that's what it looks like.  Why is store-bought bread a two-humped camel, but all the bread I've made from scratch is one hump?  Anyway...back to my word-photo: You see the cut of bread, now make it perfectly toasted on both sides--not brown but deep gold.  Now,

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-65673371748998362532011-10-25T08:41:00.000-07:002011-10-25T08:42:27.280-07:00

When I first became veganish, I felt euphoric all of the time. I felt like Popeye (minus all the violence and weird diction). I felt so powerful, so invincible that I was deeply shocked and disappointed when I eventually caught a cold. I thought that could not happen with so many dark, rich vegetables and tangy fruits buzzing about my body. Alas, I guess we're all still mortal. Now, a

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-42376577129763459902011-10-24T07:02:00.000-07:002011-10-24T07:02:43.567-07:00

Friday's post was about letting myself binge only on homemade sweets and savories (and so far, so good), but I'm trying to make ALL of my food from scratch.  It still sounds silly saying that, like it's a big deal.  But...take out is convenient.  Restaurants can be relaxing.  Plus there's that other thing, oh yeah, work.  Saturday night, after dinner with our friends, I managed to whip up

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-22823008287199582082011-10-21T07:57:00.000-07:002011-10-21T07:57:49.657-07:00

It's Friday!  I wrote yesterday about not having enough food prepared for the day (thank you Heather for being gastronomical twins with me!).  When I got to my office, I found three, yes THREE, raspberry-oat bar things wrapped and set on my desk.  Did someone read my blog that early in the morning?  I asked around and figured it out, Mr. Davis.  Apparently, he has a source at a local bakery that

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-12605608704742007282011-10-20T07:21:00.000-07:002011-10-20T07:21:31.782-07:00

 My guy's prepped veg--notice the garlic and Veganomicon ... It's Thursday morning as I write this, and I have no idea what I'm going to eat today.  We started the week in abundance.  On Sunday, I made three huge lunches out of quinoa and a variety of leftovers that we took to work this week while my man made Veganomicon's Jumbalaya, which has been our dinner every night but Tuesday night. 

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-60923138360367455332011-10-19T08:01:00.000-07:002011-10-19T08:01:40.017-07:00

Twice now, during VeganMOFO, we've eaten dinner at Marco Polo in Salem.  This picture is from a few weeks ago when we and my parents celebrated our wedding anniversaries--they are just three days but nearly fifty years apart.   My man first discovered Marco Polo when the restaurant opened.  He and friends would eat there then hang out for hours, either studying or avoiding studying.  They got

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-51172733719596455862011-10-18T08:07:00.000-07:002011-10-18T08:07:35.023-07:00

On Sunday, we ate breakfast at Screen Door, a restaurant that specializes in southern cuisine using local northwest ingredients.  I'd walked by and read the menu a few nights before, and I saw a tofu scramble, so I knew one vegan option existed for me for brunch.   When we finally got seated after a long wait--one we were prepared for because it was such a nice day so we sat outside and I sipped

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-74623375178532474472011-10-17T07:45:00.000-07:002011-10-17T07:45:26.419-07:00

Camel Pose Life caught up with me this weekend.  Long naps appeared like black holes in the middle of each day.  Saturday, I went to yoga in the morning, and something wild happened in camel pose.  Coming out of it, I nearly passed out:  everything went dark, electricity prickled my skin, and I got totally nauseous.  As awful as that sounds, I think it was good, like an exorcism--something

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-38531661295563885492011-10-14T10:22:00.000-07:002011-10-14T10:22:10.597-07:00

If you don't live in Portland, you may not know Sweet Pea Bakery.  It's part of the vegan "mall" in SE Portland.  (Next door to Sweet Pea is Herbivore, the awesome graphic art, clothing, accessory, and book store for vegans.)  Sweet Pea is all vegan cupcakes, cookies, cakes, sandwiches, soup, cocoa, and coffee.  However, on Sundays, from nine to noon, there's a buffet, all-you-can-eat brunch,

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-17469772223962834092011-10-13T09:00:00.000-07:002011-10-13T09:00:37.468-07:00

After the moderator asked his uncouth question of the two authors speaking at "Read My Lips," the audience had a chance to ask questions.  A woman with red hair and a scowl asked the two slender food writers on the stage, "How do you keep your figure?"  Both women had already described in-depth research behind their books, which included eating many different foods and dishes.  So the question

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-13388425936343155582011-10-12T07:51:00.000-07:002011-10-12T07:51:29.272-07:00

This weekend, I attended Wordstock, a huge literary event for writers and readers in Portland.  You can hear your favorite authors read, you can attend writing workshops, and you can pitch your ideas to publishers and literary magazines.  It's not really a writer/reader's dream because you're lumped in a convention center with all these other people who are, well, you:  same loves, dreams,

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-83178337557296362192011-10-11T08:23:00.000-07:002011-10-13T08:17:55.516-07:00

Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks" After the perfect cup of dark hot chocolate from cacao Saturday night, we went to the symphony, still feeling like characters in an old-fashioned movie.  The gold and mirrors of the Schnitzer concert hall kept us in character, and the music kept me enthralled.  Still, we had one last thing to do before our cinematic evening ended.  Pie.  We needed to find a

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-82622561412206764382011-10-10T07:41:00.000-07:002011-10-10T07:42:37.640-07:00

cacao drink chocolate @ The Heathman With tickets to the symphony from a friend this weekend, we decided to go all out.  We ate dinner at Dragon Fish in the Paramount Hotel.  They have just a few vegan things, but they are amenable to leaving out meat and adding in tofu.  The grasshopper sushi role has edamame in it and comes with a pine nut sauce.  That sounds weird, but it's so good.  The

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-74462700148423516552011-10-06T21:42:00.000-07:002011-10-07T06:36:26.276-07:00

Friday--the end of the first week of VeganMOFO.  I want to celebrate and say, "I did it!  One week of daily blogging!"  But, truth is, I have no idea what to write for this post!  I thought this challenge would help me "mine" each day for stories and ideas.  It might be doing that, but it's also forcing me to loosen up--no time to draft and revise...I just gotta get something ready to publish

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-68796504103113445512011-10-06T08:39:00.000-07:002011-10-06T08:39:36.303-07:00

Okay, that title is a bit misleading. You know the old saying for crafty folks and artisans: measure twice, cut once?  Well, this is sort of the same idea...about being resourceful and provident.  I mentioned in my first post for VeganMOFO that I've not been particulary motivated to cook or bake lately. Well, this last weekend, partly because it's fall now, it's colder, the nights start

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-5259522993796479632011-10-05T07:30:00.000-07:002011-10-05T07:30:19.009-07:00

It wasn't the pressure of VeganMOFO that got me into the kitchen, although it helped.  My man wasn't going to be home until 8pm on a Friday.  Too late to go out because I was too hungry to wait for food.  I wanted something ready so we could eat as soon as he walked in the door.  Besides, I'd bought ready-made pizza crust almost a week earlier and still hadn't used it.  Plus, earlier that day

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-14767529199436978302011-10-04T08:13:00.000-07:002011-10-04T08:16:59.730-07:00

(This  is Gazpacho soup I made from backyard tomatoes a few years ago.) So, here it is:  my man and I do not really like soup.  Any time we put it on our list of meals for the week, it never gets made.  The thing is, we actually do like soup.  It's just that, we think we don't.  I mean, when you come home after a long day, it's dark outside already, you're hungry, and you want to use your

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-28508295958741190282011-10-03T07:30:00.000-07:002011-10-03T20:48:42.591-07:00

Talking Broccoli designed by MyZoetrope, a blog I've followed for years.  Super cute artwork.  Well, blog-readers, something I did a couple of weeks ago, before school started, before I had papers to grade and 100+ enthusiastic students to visit with each day, I committed to VeganMOFO.  Now, that VeganMOFO has started, as of Monday, October 3, I am wondering if I can do it.  What is it?

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-58602568418724804602011-09-22T19:58:00.000-07:002011-09-22T19:58:01.367-07:00

Some Muppet memorabilia decorate my office, and when people notice, I explain that my admiration is for Jim Henson, the creator of The Muppets, for his inventiveness, his imagination, and his boundless creativity.    This is true but only part of the story.  The stuffed felt and foam creature menagerie make me deeply happy.  True, I grew up watching The Muppet Show, but nostalgia is not

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-36655375981071629122011-07-19T15:37:00.000-07:002011-08-09T16:35:42.545-07:00

Here are some beautiful, transformative films. Procure a good meal and some dessert and cozy up to the screen. Bab'Aziz: The Prince that Contemplate His Soul I loved this film so much I watched it twice in a row, which is a good idea because it's a poetic film that weaves a few different tales together. It also leaves you feeling calm and peaceful and hopeful about life. The main story is

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-226793483134587282011-07-18T16:46:00.000-07:002011-07-19T14:27:03.059-07:00

Mary Oliver said that when ready for real work, the writer "understands that solitude is the necessity and leaves friends, and workshops, and handbooks, and heads for it [solitude], diligently and resolutely." I'm really good at heading for solitude, but no writing gets done. All day today has been silent solitude, but these are the first words I've written (it's 5pm). Mary Oliver also says

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-46536378947795033532011-06-27T15:02:00.000-07:002011-06-27T16:21:55.720-07:00

I finally read Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke. To my surprise, it related as much to conscious living as it did to writing.This terrifies me, but it is so true: "Ultimately, and precisely in the deepest and most important matters, we are unspeakably alone..." He calls the young poet's worries about life, "beautiful anxiety." How can anxiety be beautiful? I am working hard

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-38665319741115495692011-05-08T22:09:00.000-07:002011-05-08T22:10:59.440-07:00

A few weeks ago, I was walking alone on a silent, nearly-abandoned, low-tide beach, no wind, silence, some sun. A green bottle glimmered. I walked toward it wondering if I should leave it to turn into highly coveted beach glass or pick it up to recycle. When I was close enough, I could see something white coiled in the neck of the bottle. A message.I found a message in a bottle. Just like that.

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-8939621198026929572011-04-19T11:57:00.001-07:002011-06-27T15:02:24.986-07:00

Last week, my creative writing students and I joined some Horticulture students for a talk with Gary Nabhan, a scholar visiting the college. I wasn’t sure what to expect at this talk and worried that my writing students might get short-changed since Nabhan’s books are mostly about plants, food, and global warming. What I didn’t expect was to be re-inspired about art and creativity and deeply

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-15354680908752608612011-03-31T18:35:00.000-07:002011-03-31T19:05:23.931-07:00

I am completely caught up in listening to the novel The Elegance of the Hedgehog on CD. Have you read it? I find myself wanting to cultivate a "life of the mind" as one of my students calls it (thanks Junda) like the concierge in the story and to keep a sassy-smart, sattirical journal like the little girl (whose name keeps escaping me). This book makes me want to find beauty in the simple objects

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-48754487558908773882011-03-24T17:26:00.001-07:002011-03-24T17:39:58.658-07:00

Recently, I had the wind knocked out of my sails.No need to go into the details, but some things got to me, and for a few days, I found myself trying to get through the day without a shred of confidence, with a steady stream of negative thinking and catastrophizing, and with a strong desire to stay in bed all day and let the world go by.I wasn't depressed. That's different. I was knocked down.

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-14341547079312210052011-02-20T10:52:00.000-08:002011-02-20T16:21:08.822-08:00

Oh, dear blog-readers. I am embarrassed to post anything at this point. Why have I not posted? I've had grand ideas:---a witty piece about the history of pie crust spliced with the triumphant story of my very first homemade crust.---an essay about my literature students' public library exploration and the thrill of the library directors who came to hear the students' presentations (plus a whole

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-83876983690491371832010-11-20T17:37:00.000-08:002010-11-20T17:39:15.641-08:00

When someone asks you for money, do you give it? I’ve heard that it’s bad to give money, that a handful of change enables the person to buy drugs. I give money anyway. Not all of the time, but sometimes. Once during early winter, a man sat outside Safeway covered in a black, wool blanket. He sat still, so hauntingly silent, dirty, and diminished I was sure he was near death. He simply let

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-85229385619939204522010-09-26T13:42:00.000-07:002010-09-26T13:44:20.936-07:00

Last year, as I geared up to return to teaching, I wrote about William Stafford’s belief that giving a student encouragement is poison. This year, I’ve come across a similar quotation three different times. It basically says that “extrinsic motivators” like grades damage “intrinsic motivation.” In other words, learning something in order to earn a grade or praise or a dollar diminishes internal

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-79548290657516719682010-08-06T16:59:00.000-07:002010-08-06T17:00:11.082-07:00

For my mom’s 72nd birthday, I wanted to make a special dessert—something she’d not yet had, something sweet but healthy, something we could talk about later.The “Lemon Berry Cream Pie” from Terry Walters’s Clean Food looked perfect—lemon is a lesser-known love of my mom’s (always in dark chocolate’s shadow), the cream filling used silken tofu not dairy fat, and lemon cookies made the

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-4240864250238871962010-07-12T15:35:00.000-07:002010-07-12T16:19:56.738-07:00

I keep writing journal entries about practice, and I’m hoping I can pull them together here because I’ve come to an interesting place. I used to loathe the idea of practice as much as that bumper sticker "live for the journey, not the destination." Rubbish. I strived, strained, and sacrificed for the destination. The journey was to be endured, survived, not enjoyed.Now, however, I think “journey”

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-37075211656359686192010-06-18T13:31:00.000-07:002010-06-18T14:11:30.597-07:00

“Anything we fully do is an alone journey.” --Natalie GoldbergIt’s my first day of summer vacation. I slept in, made a fancy breakfast, then went straight to the desk to write. By 12:30, I felt restless and anxious. I could feel it slinking in and hovering close—loneliness.I think this is the plague of anyone creative; building or making things with your own hands and mind takes time alone. I

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-61581779910652462962010-04-02T13:55:00.000-07:002010-07-12T16:21:36.889-07:00

Giving up sugar hurt as much as I’d feared, taught me empathy I didn’t know I needed, and led me to a life-change I need and dread.I gave up sugar for the month of March because of a tradition my man and I invented eight years ago when I yearned to be a vegetarian. A friend suggested we cut meat for one month to see how it felt and to explore new foods, so we invented “Meatless March.” Just

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-90331258433038161722010-02-02T19:50:00.000-08:002010-07-12T16:22:07.032-07:00

A few years ago, a student wrote an essay titled "Eating Your Pet." It was about raising cattle for meat, getting particularly close to one cow but not having much trouble eating that cow's meat. The entire class reacted to the title of her essay. I still remember the shrug of hershoulders and the no-nonsense, "What? That's what she's for."My pet, I've recently learned, is eaten as terrapine soup

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-23847137345313041632010-01-24T21:01:00.000-08:002010-02-28T15:35:05.118-08:00

Since the end of December, I've been in a funk. Totally lacking any motivation. I have desire-a-plenty, just no get-up-and-go. Oh, the things I imagine I'll do: revise my book, update both my blogs, add hand-drawn pictures, crochet the sweater I bought yarn for back in November, edit my colleague's book that I've had sitting here for two weeks, oh--make and mail cards for the new year/Martin

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-82601148889326759302010-01-05T15:19:00.000-08:002010-02-28T15:34:43.091-08:00

Some of you who visit me on Facebook or live with me (one man with infinite patience and one temperamental turtle) already know that I had a truly crappy start to one of my winter term classes yesterday. Some of you also know that I am home sick today, and until about one hour ago (crossing fingers) was a snotting, drooling, hacking mess of a human. Now that the pressure in my head has receded (

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-39759932116080863852009-11-22T20:05:00.000-08:002010-07-12T16:22:57.934-07:00

Before I became vegan, I thought I did not like squash. I had no idea how many varieties of squash existed. I’d simply had a few—acorn squash, spaghetti squash, and pumpkin—and found them too stringy.This is absurd. Just imagine if I treated the rest of life the way I treated food. Paying attention to the way I approach food has taught me a lot about how I approach everything else in life. Who or

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-74714722004647159512009-11-08T18:26:00.001-08:002010-03-19T18:02:43.270-07:00

I'm trying to write a short piece about gratitude for a reading we're doing at school soon. At the same time, as we continue to defend the arts and humanities at my school, it's art that comes to mind when I think of gratitude. Why? I guess because it's something I've taken for granted. My parents are artists. The smell of paint thinner is as nostalgic to me as chocolate chip cookies. Although

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-85233803315556025262009-10-23T13:47:00.000-07:002010-03-19T18:03:48.918-07:00

This is my long-time pet, OB (or Obie). She's a box turtle. We've known each other for at least 15 years now. I think of her when I practice yoga each morning because there's a pose that means "turtle." It's a strangely peaceful pose, legs under arms, head resting on heels, all tucked away and private. I also think of her because it's taking me so long to practice back bends without my teachers'

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-34467237868999861952009-10-11T09:57:00.000-07:002010-03-19T18:05:35.660-07:00

Two weeks into fall term, and I've managed to stay true to my datebook-managed personal goals, but just barely. Less yoga last week than my goal, posting my blog on Sunday instead of Friday, succumbing to so many chocolate chip cookies on Friday that I lost count (seven???). Even so, work and personal life are managing to co-exist, each one giving a little here and there. I'm tired, but not

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-45101146458554157962009-09-25T16:06:00.000-07:002010-02-28T15:31:50.200-08:00

After only three days of in-service (faculty meetings, pep rally with the college president, technology workshops...), it hit me, that familiar feeling I thought I'd permanently severed from my life. It ached like a phantom limb.For the first two days, I arrived a little late, which I'd never done before; wore shorts, which I'd never done at work before, and carried nothing with me, no notebook

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-18263956094766313902009-09-11T14:12:00.000-07:002010-07-12T16:23:19.067-07:00

image of orangetteand her husbandfrom the kitchnTo understand the novelty of my experience in Seattle over Labor Day weekend, you have to know that I have never been "in," as in in-the-know, in the latest scene, in the latest fad. When friends reminisce about their first punk rock band, their favorite 'zines, their best skateboard stories, all I recall from the same era is doing homework after

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-75009940803345603572009-08-28T11:02:00.000-07:002010-02-28T15:31:20.787-08:00

There's no more denying it--the dark mornings almost too cold for the thin patchwork quilt, the need for a headlight for my bike ride to yoga in the morning, the return of the fuzzy gray hand-me-down sweatshirt, and the dreams...the teaching dreams: me, late to class, running through humid bogs and thick swamps (so common on dream campuses, not so common on real campuses), then detoured through

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-68845366197582771012009-08-16T17:34:00.000-07:002010-02-28T15:30:56.177-08:00

So, I'm reading A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg, the author of the popular Orangette blog and new owner of a pizza restaurant in Seattle called Delancey. I should be jealous--really jealous. In her early twenties, she quit grad school after spending delicious time in France, and decided to start a blog (when blogs were new), to write about food (when the food craze still felt underground). Her

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-87943214695043845282009-08-06T15:18:00.000-07:002010-07-12T16:23:37.264-07:00

At my Culinate Blog, I just wrote about making my first 100% raw dinner. Read here for the whole story. (Yes, I'm revisiting "raw" even after this persnickety post and this one about going raw for a week.)In addition to using our first harvest of homegrown tomatoes, I got to crack open a coconut for the first time! Have any of you done this before? As you read in my earlier post, it takes a dude

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-52299970814813493642009-07-22T10:20:00.000-07:002010-07-12T16:26:06.002-07:00

Not only do I get to tour Bob's Red Mill on Friday and write an article about it for NW Veg e-bits newsletter, but today, my husband is finally sleeping after two and a half years of exhaustive, high-pressure work. Today is the second day he's slept in! Why is he finally sleeping in? Because thanks to our generous and inspiring friends, we just spent two and a half weeks in Hawaii. It was hard to

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-18798789722797976332009-07-16T22:31:00.000-07:002010-07-12T16:23:53.991-07:00

Look at me! Sipping coconut juice right out of the coconut!I'm sad to admit that the first time I wondered about eating fresh coconut was when I watched a season of Survivor. The castaways survived by gathering giant, green coconuts, slashing them open with a machete, drinking the juice, and then eating thick scoops of white flesh. I always thought I didn't like coconut--envision the green and

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-63447852945149513262009-06-19T14:45:00.000-07:002010-02-28T15:28:35.639-08:00

Hello, faithful readers! I've been struggling this week...tired again, unmotivated, blah, blah. While wallowing in Slothville yesterday, however, I finished reading William Stafford's You Must Revise Your Life. Something Stafford wrote reminded me of one of my last days at school last year before leaving for sabbatical--a day I care not to repeat.Desperate to convince an audience of academic

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-77085995118818039342009-06-04T15:19:00.001-07:002010-07-12T16:24:20.936-07:00

David Carradine died today (NY Times; BBC News), and as a tribute, I wanted to post my story about how his role in my favorite childhood TV show, Kung Fu, provided one of the original inspirations for my veganish life today.I’ve been trying to figure out why and how I became interested in vegetarianism in the first place, how and when I first learned the meaning of the word. Why did I get

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-27935412964662758992009-05-28T18:13:00.001-07:002010-07-12T16:24:33.875-07:00

What makes us like one food and not another? Taste, texture, smell, appearance, cultural and social customs and taboos, and so much more. But, what makes one eater try an initially “ick” food more than once while another eater won’t try an unfamiliar food in the first place?Food scholars describe ominvores as having both a fear and a curiosity about new foods. Since most anything we can put in

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-64453307681381578532009-05-15T15:36:00.000-07:002010-02-28T15:26:30.336-08:00

Okay dear readers, I'm going bonkers. I quit coffee and all caffeine, see Views from the Carrot Condo, as yet one more step in my quest for ENERGY, and yet, I'm still tired! Today, so tired that I actually fell asleep while putting my veggie plants into the ground. Flat on my back, on top of prickly gravel, between the Carrot Condo (the tall raised bed) and the Lentil Rental (the little raised

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-14253921484462255592009-04-28T14:24:00.000-07:002010-02-28T15:26:02.274-08:00

I'm quitting coffee. As most of you know, this is a HUGE deal for me. Aside from the withdrawals, which you can read about at Culinate, coffee is tradition for me; it's family and culture--heritage. I hope I can get to a place where I can drink a small cup now and then because then I'll still be able to commune with my mom and dad over a cup, get mooshy-romantic over a cup with my man, and dream

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-20631591002644888352009-04-22T10:46:00.000-07:002010-02-28T15:25:02.792-08:00

“Through practice, he radiates goodwill, friendliness and compassion. This knowledge . . . gives him boundless joy, harmony and peace.” --Light on the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali by Iyengar.As I tucked away my yoga mat after class Saturday morning, my yoga teacher, Casey, pointed to it and said, “Taking that with you?” He knew I was heading out of town for a few days. “Yes,” I replied, but I meant a

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-75965628897699493152009-04-17T18:58:00.000-07:002010-07-12T16:25:02.789-07:00

The label “vegan” engenders enough of a reaction from others that I usually avoid the word. Reactions range from one person pushing himself in his desk chair back away from me and raising his hands in a “whoa” gesture; to kindly but wrong assumptions revealed when a colleague starts to offer me a piece of chocolate and says, “Oh, wait, you don’t eat this; you have such a pure diet”; to the

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-77759908120082336062009-04-01T19:43:00.000-07:002010-07-12T16:25:20.589-07:00

I put the container of soaking groats on top of the coffee maker this morning before I left for yoga. They'll still be raw, but they won't be refrigerator-cold like yesterday. (That's because the coffee maker was on of course, and yes, I drink hot coffee just before I eat my raw breakfast. I wouldn't have dared take on this challenge if it threatened my coffee habit.)Halfway through yoga practice

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9307199.post-48000733519074195092009-03-31T11:28:00.000-07:002010-07-12T16:25:33.408-07:00

I brazenly accepted a challenge to "go raw" for a few meals this month. After dragging my feet for a couple of weeks, I rejected the first raw "uncook" book recommended to me because I could not get over the author's claim that a glass of fresh squeezed juice would make a bountiful breakfast. I'm a big eater, and juice is not a meal.I've been "veganish" for three years. I embraced the new food

TRISTAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08853869119941426545noreply@blogger.com1