In the past, if I wanted to try a new cookbook, I'd just order it from one of my favorite online stores, but ever since I started working part time, I've had to curb a few extraneous expenses. This isn't a bad thing at all, since I've actually found more enjoyment out of working my way through cookbooks I already own, exploring the wealth of recipes on the internet, and now, checking out new cookbooks from the public library. Fresh from the Vegetarian Slow Cooker by Robin Robertson is currently sitting open to page 124: No Hurry Vegetable Curry, which I plan on putting together tomorrow morning. This cookbook is full of some amazing looking recipes that I can't wait to try out. It is due back to the library on November 6, which gives me just a few weeks to try the 10 recipes I've flagged.
One thing I'm not quite sold on yet is the technique of pre-cooking some of the veggies before they go in the crockpot. The book says it really enhances the flavor, but realllllly? The thought of cooking onions and carrots tomorrow morning makes my stomach turn. Sure, I could do it tonight, but the whole idea of the crockpot is to plop everything in, flip the switch, and walk away...like a skilled villain in a good action movie, without the shards of glass and screaming...
Anyway, I am looking forward to tomorrow night's dinner of vegetarian curry with garlic naan from Trader Joe's. After all, this whole exercise is being performed so I have something to scoop with my naan!
Who else cooks a main dish to accommodate the bread?
Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Non, je ne regrette rien
"No! I will have no regrets." These words, sung by Edith Piaf, ring in my ears like both a ballad and a battle cry. You see, since the days when I was but a child myself, I have known it to be true that I have no desire to have children. What I have not always known is why, and consequently, I have not always embraced the thought.
When I was young, my wild imagination let my dollies act as friends, and when playing house, the coveted position of mother was never sought. I wanted to be an astronaut, a doctor, a pharmacist, a scientist, or perhaps, Annie Oakley. I was a happy child, full of giggles and mischief, independent and strong-willed, but sensitive, nonetheless. There has always been within me a love for animals, nature, and humankind. I read wondrous tales of heroism and adventure, and longed to resemble my great-grandmother, Clara, in any way. She passed before I had a chance to meet her, but the stories of her are grand, and the letters she left behind tell of a woman with spirit, ambition, intellect, sensitivity, style and class.
For so many years it was hard to recognize what kind of woman I had become, for my focus was on defending my position to not have children. I struggled with the concept and found myself trying desperately to want to raise a family. The comments and criticism that came with my attestations left me angry, hurt, and confused. Even more harmful than that, especially when I was seeking acceptance and trying to fit in with the adult world, was the stinging realization that I was not, and could not be, normal. I was asked by strangers when I would get married and how many children I would have, to which I could not tell a lie. It would have been easier to smile and answer with a socially acceptable response, but lying to others for the purpose of being accepted made me a traitor to myself. So many times I was asked, and so many times I asked myself, "What kind of woman does not want to have children?" It was as if I were a serpent-haired monster, a baby-eating devil. For more than a decade, without knowing the answer to the question, I was discontent, defensive, and robbed of certitude.
Today, I am a woman who closely resembles her great-grandmother, albeit with a bit of a learning curve in the disciplines of style and class. What I have found within myself is contentment in knowing the answer to the question: that one can possess the qualities that would make them a good parent, but that does not, by any means, require them to become one. Without children, I am able to give my time, love, and attention freely to those in need. My life is simple, serene, fulfilling, and genuinely beautiful. Non, je ne regrette rien!
When I was young, my wild imagination let my dollies act as friends, and when playing house, the coveted position of mother was never sought. I wanted to be an astronaut, a doctor, a pharmacist, a scientist, or perhaps, Annie Oakley. I was a happy child, full of giggles and mischief, independent and strong-willed, but sensitive, nonetheless. There has always been within me a love for animals, nature, and humankind. I read wondrous tales of heroism and adventure, and longed to resemble my great-grandmother, Clara, in any way. She passed before I had a chance to meet her, but the stories of her are grand, and the letters she left behind tell of a woman with spirit, ambition, intellect, sensitivity, style and class.
For so many years it was hard to recognize what kind of woman I had become, for my focus was on defending my position to not have children. I struggled with the concept and found myself trying desperately to want to raise a family. The comments and criticism that came with my attestations left me angry, hurt, and confused. Even more harmful than that, especially when I was seeking acceptance and trying to fit in with the adult world, was the stinging realization that I was not, and could not be, normal. I was asked by strangers when I would get married and how many children I would have, to which I could not tell a lie. It would have been easier to smile and answer with a socially acceptable response, but lying to others for the purpose of being accepted made me a traitor to myself. So many times I was asked, and so many times I asked myself, "What kind of woman does not want to have children?" It was as if I were a serpent-haired monster, a baby-eating devil. For more than a decade, without knowing the answer to the question, I was discontent, defensive, and robbed of certitude.
Today, I am a woman who closely resembles her great-grandmother, albeit with a bit of a learning curve in the disciplines of style and class. What I have found within myself is contentment in knowing the answer to the question: that one can possess the qualities that would make them a good parent, but that does not, by any means, require them to become one. Without children, I am able to give my time, love, and attention freely to those in need. My life is simple, serene, fulfilling, and genuinely beautiful. Non, je ne regrette rien!
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