I Share, Therefore I Am

 I pride myself on the fact that I don’t go around railing at the younger generation’s softness. You’ll never hear me say “In my day, I walked twos mile to school in my bare feet,” (though it’s true). Nor do I worry about handing over our world to a generation, who when ordering morning coffee say, without a hint of self-consciousness, “ I’d like a Venti, sugar-free, non-fat, vanilla soy, double shot, decaf, no foam, extra hot.” I know enough smart, curious, caring and generous ‘young people’ to make me very optimistic.

However, I read an article in last weeks’ Globe and Mail that makes me worry for them ­­– and myself.

Seems that MIT clinical psychologist Sherry Turkle believes that our mobile Internet age has produced narcissistic, ‘digital natives’ who expect continuous connection, and experience profound discomfort in those rare moments when they are alone, or between ‘correspondences.’

“We’re relying more on more on Facebook, e-mails and Twitter,” she says in her new book Alone Together; Why We Expect More from Technology and Less From Each Other, “because in a conversation, you have to deal with people.” She says we used to call that ‘getting to know someone.’

Ironically, using technology’s instant speed and response possibilities make us more demanding of each other, she continues, but “what we’re expecting back is not necessarily depth but velocity; we’re expecting back shallow and we’re expecting it back fast.”

Enough about Dr. Turkle for now. Let’s get back to me for a moment, shall we?

When my husband was in hospital, my daughter bought him a game called The Art of Conversation. It’s a deck of cards, and on each card is a list of possible conversation starters, like “The most positive person you have ever known or met?” or “The worst meal you’ve ever been served in a restaurant.”

The card that got the most conversation going was “Who would you prefer talking to on the phone rather than e-mailing?” When my turn came to answer, I heard myself saying, “Usually, no one,” I can’t be bothered half the time. I’m tired, or busy, too worried about the kids or have other things on my mind. In an email, I can get to the basics – make plans, relay important information or send kind wishes. All of which I can do without having to really ‘engage’ with anyone.

Since I value my relationships, I don’t see my response as a positive. When and why did I start turning off?

Turkle, founder and director of the MIT Initiative on Technology and Self, describes a younger generation compelled to answer their phone, keep up with Facebook accounts, tweet their every sneeze, and respond immediately to friends’ sneezes.

“Technology is making it uncomfortable for young people to be alone. In between waiting for that text back, you’re very vulnerable. You look for response as validation. It’s impossible not to be continually sharing what you’re feeling.”

Turkle calls narcissism a self-love that is so fragile, it needs constant support. “We’re not teaching ourselves to feel okay without constantly reaching for something. We can’t not have that constant validation.”

Which brings me back to me again. What is this blog other than exactly what Turkle is referring to. I’d be lying if I said I was only doing it for the love of writing or to keep a record of my thoughts. While those things do mean something to me, I still check back more than I should to see if someone left a comment. I want feedback. I want validation, and I want it NOW.

In the ‘old’ days, I’d write a magazine article (or the like). My editor would (maybe) give me some positive feedback, and if I were lucky, really lucky, I’d read a Letter to the Editor about the article in the next issue. That’s just the way it was. At best, I felt good about what I had written. Self-validation I believe we called it.

But no more. I don’t have that disciplined self-restraint like I used to. Within seconds of going ‘live,’ I fell into the trap technology allows for immediate response. My expectations have completely changed. I’ve become unsettlingly hungry.

What’s next for me? Could I become another Sally Field, who in her acceptance speech at the 1984 Oscars gushed thankfully to the world, “You like me. You really like me.”

Dear readers, you will get back to me on this, won’t you?

Happy Sn(app)s

I keep telling myself I don't need an iPhone or Blackberry, but honestly, my so-called need is based solely on the cost of using them. Unfortunately, my needs and desires aren't necessarily in sync about the phones. I see how much fun people have with their little devices, and it makes me want to come out and play, too.

Nevertheless, I have a nice, little free cell phone and a $35 a month Koodo plan, so why complain. Why? Because the phone's cover is cracked, it doesn't tell me who a missed call came from, but most importantly, it takes lousy photos.

I didn't know this until last week when I was with my sister and we were both taking pictures of my husband lying in his hospital bed. Hers looked good. Mine didn't. 

Before then, the only time I used my phone was to take pictures at a Black Eyed Peas concert. I pulled out my phone and right then and there taught myself how to take a picture of Fergie and will.I.am, just to let my teenage daughter know that yes, her mother really was at a Black Eyed Peas concert, but more importantly, was having a ball. Unfortunately, the only thing that showed up on the screen to show her were flashes of pyrotechnics on a black background.

Not surprisingly, the lighting conditions for my sister and me to shoot in the hospital were nearly as bad as the Air Canada Centre. My photo of my husband came out dark, fuzzy and worthless. My sister held up her iPhone, snapped away, and her images were fantastic. "Send me copies," I asked, forlorn.

That's when I decided I wanted an iPhone (or more likely, a Blackberry because it's Canadian). I love the possibility of taking decent shots, anytime and anywhere, without lugging a camera around with me.

I'm a lapsed photographer who has yet to make a successful conversion from analog to digital. It's mainly because I photographed only in black and white with an SLR, and for some reason, I haven't had good luck with b&w with my new digital point and shoot. Actually, who am I kidding when I say 'for some reason?' The reason is clear. I haven't sat down and mastered all the camera's buttons and settings and whatnots, all of which probably have some useful purpose if I were to use them.

But let's not digress. More on mea culpas at a later date.

I haven't yet acted on buying a new phone, but I got a step closer this weekend when I read about some new photo apps for SmartPhones which allow you to take pictures that give the warm, fuzzy feels of good 'ole analog prints. 

One of the apps let you choose different lenses, film stock and flashes. Another gives a Polaroid treatment to your photo and gets you to shake your iPhone to develop the picture (how much fun is that?). One lets you turn landscapes into miniatures, and another lets you choose filters for special effects. 

Of course I haven't tried any of the apps because I don't have a phone to use them with. But I've looked at the websites, and if the companies offer what they've promised, I think you'll have fun trying one or all of these.  Who knows, maybe before long it will be "we" instead of "you" who will be enjoying these happy sn(apps).


http://shakeitphoto.com/
http://hipstamaticapp.com/ 
http://tiltshiftmaker.com/
http://www.nevercenter.com/camerabag/

Care for a glass of Chardonnay with your Tapioca?

A hospital in Indiana is reportedly thinking along these lines, probably in response to grumblings from patients about lousy meals they're getting there.

It's not a bad idea, of course, but perhaps hospital dieticians could make a few adjustments to the food before getting their patients inebriated, which, they undoubtedly hope, will reduce  the number of complaints.

My husband was in hospital for a week last month, and with each meal delivery, whether breakfast, lunch or dinner, we were amazed at how reflective the food was of the country's culinary tastes circa 1955. 

Desserts included, yes, watery tapioca pudding; syrupy fruit salad cups, pears in syrup, vanilla pudding and strawberry ice cream in little dixie cups. 

Main courses of meatloaf, stew or chicken were accompanied by white rice or instant mashed potatoes (though one night they came flecked with brown things which may have been potato skins). Lunchtime sandwiches were laden with some indistinguishable spread we assumed was either tuna, salmon or liverwurst. Carrots and green beans were remarkably (and properly) crisp, but utterly tasteless. With his eyes closed, my husband would have absolutely no idea what he was eating. The good news is that white bread has now been replaced by brown (though no fiber sightings were reported).

I know hospitals try to make foods simple, cheap and easily digestible. Fair enough. It's a tall order to do that and make them interesting, but really, improvements could be made, I'm certain. 

My hunch is this:  a consortium of hosptals went to Costco (or its equivalent), in 1962, made an enormous cost-saving bulk order of foods, put them in storage, and are still working their way through them until it's time to go shopping again. What other reason could there be for serving such processed, sugary, and I would think, unwholesome Anglo-only foods. Nostalgia?

Armchair Travel and Art

While other people were leafing through garden catalogues this winter, deciding which heirloom tomato or radish seeds to plant in spring, I wiled away my hours making choices of a different kind. There wasn't a night I didn't hit up Trip Advisor, Farespotter and selloffvacations.com, in search for the perfect (and cheap) sun and surf vacation for my husband and me.

This is what I told myself: it will be good for my husband to take a relaxing (and restorative) holiday when he comes out of the hospital after the"procedures" he will be undergoing to correct a congenital heart condition (should it be of any interest, it's hypertrophic cardio myopathy).

Since neither of us are really the beachcomber kind of vacationer, I was looking for something with a little more oomph than an all inclusive somewhere. Eventually I found it. In the Dominican Republic.

From January through March each year in the Bay of Samana, 3 to 5 thousand humpback whales return to give birth and mate for the following year. "Listen to the male humpback's solitary courting song," a website told me, "and witness incredible displays of flippering, tail lobbing and breaching by the most active species of whale in the Atlantic."  Frolicsome males vying for the attention of demure females also caught my attention. I was ready to book.

My husband's procedures were considered successful (yeah!), but the cardiologists needed to keep a close watch for one week in the hospital. A few days in, I realized I'll have to watch the humpbacks frolic some other year. We're not going anywhere soon. My husband needs to take it easy.

Ok, fine. No problem. So each night after I came home from the hospital I again hit up my trusty travel sites, this time looking up something in late April.  In no time, I had another plan. We'll go hiking in England when the fields are covered with bluebells and wild daffodils. Before long, I narrowed down the search to the Cotswolds, found the perfect stone cottage to rent for a week and a cheap flight to London. My husband loved the new plan.

But the cardiologists didn't. They highly advised we don't go anywhere for at least a couple of months, then pointed out that we're not eligible for medical travel insurance for three months after my husband's discharge. That brings us to May 1. And as anyone who lives in our northern climes knows, spring will have just come our way.  I wait all winter for May to come. The last thing I want to do is leave when my spring bulbs are just pushing up and the white-throated sparrows are singing outside my window.

So that's that for this year, I decided. I'm happy my husband's doing so well and ll have to find another way to explore the world. Lo and behold, I found it.  

I'll be visiting all the great museums of the world right here at my desk through Google Art Project.  www.googleartproject.com, the results of a partnership between Google and some of the greatest, most well-known museums in the world. Using Streetview technology (like Google Earth but better), I can visit the halls and collections of Versailles (and its gardens!), the Uffizi Gallery, the Tate, MOMA, the Met and Smithsonian...

I can zoom into Boticelli's Birth of Venus in Italy, and the  brushstrokes of a Van Gogh in Amsterdam. Once you go to the site, there are explanatory youtube videos waiting to give you a guided how-to tour of the site. The quality of the images you'll find are staggering.

But before you head off to Rome or Copenhagen,  I encourage you to look at some wonderful artwork being created in the here and now, by a friend whose work I am shamelessly promoting because it is so good, colourful, fun, charming and creative.  

Feel free to tell me if I'm wrong. But to do so, you have to go first to frankmeyerart.com   Then you can tell me if I gave you a bum steer.

Squeeze Me

I bought my first fine art photograph in 1976 for $75, a princely sum at the time, so much so, I paid for it in three installments. The image, by photographer Volker Seding, is a still life of a china water pitcher, two lemons, and a half-full water glass artfully arranged on a linen tablecloth. 

The photo's exceptionality comes from Seding's delicate hand-painting of the lemons in a rich yellow, and the water pitcher in a pastel blue, layered onto a black and white photograph. The lemons initially drew me in.  


I am not alone in my fondness for lemons. They often appear in Dutch Old Masters paintings as a symbol of life, sweet in appearance but bitter to taste. In the Court of Louis XIV, the women of Versailles used lemons as we use lipstick, biting into them to make their lips red. 

But let's forget the lipstick and symbolic underbelly of the lemon. They were made to grace food, and that's where they shine (other than in my photograph), magically transforming food from the acceptable to sublime.

Preserved lemons are a staple condiment in North African cuisine, and halved lemons are omnipresent in Greece alongside fried, broiled, or poached fish, calamari, mussels, and grilled lamb, chicken, and kebabs. 

But the fruit comes into its true glory in lemon meringue pies,  curd and the French Tarte au Citron with its tangy filling and tender buttery crust. However, none are as delicious as the first and only cake made by my husband one year on my birthday in the form of a dense, moist lemon pound cake drizzled with lemon syrup.


Lemons are often on my mind, but my thoughts turned to them today because I just learned of photographer Volker Seding's recent death. 

Perhaps it's an odd way to pay tribute to an artist, but I'm doing so with a recipe for a delicious Greek lemon soup (thanks Oprah) and kindly thoughts.

Avgolemono Soup

• 1 quart chicken broth , preferably homemade
• 1/2 cup orzo or long grain rice
• 2 large eggs
• 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 1 lemon)
• 1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
• Sea salt and freshly ground white pepper , to taste
• 2 tablespoons chopped dill or parsley

Directions

In a large saucepan, bring chicken broth to a boil. Add orzo; cover, reduce heat and simmer 10 minutes, or until orzo is al dente. (If using rice, add another cup of chicken broth. Simmer according to package directions, or until grains are tender.) Do not drain; set aside.

In a bowl, beat eggs until thick. Whisk in lemon juice and zest. Gradually add 1/2 cup hot broth from saucepan, whisking constantly. Add 2 more 1/2 cups of broth, whisking after each addition.

Pour mixture back into saucepan and reheat, stirring with a wooden spoon, until egg cooks and soup slightly thickens. Do not boil, or eggs will curdle. Add salt and pepper to taste, then sprinkle with dill or parsley. Serve hot or cold.

Snow Arrives (on silent feet)

The media pundits prepared us for the worst. "Snowmeggadon!" is coming, they said. Beware of tomorrow's Snowpocalypse! Watch out, Stormzilla! is on its way.

Taking the warning to heart, and before the snow even arrived, the public school board announced "All Toronto schools will be closed tomorrow." Well, tomorrow has arrived. And guess what. It snowed here. OMG, Snowapalooza!

You'd think we were in Miami or something. This video says it all.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyZcwnO794k

Great Mid-Winter Meal in a Bowl

In his recent book, In Defense of Food, Michael Pollan wisely advises: "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." He also warns us to stay away from manufactured foods that have more than six ingredients, especially ones we can't pronounce.

Fortunately, this is not a problem for me, especially in summer. Nothing I love more on a hot day than a Greek salad (with extra feta); warm strawberry/rhubarb pie or fresh-grown tomatoes drizzled with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, fresh basil and kosher salt.

But in winter, something about the cold makes me crave foods that bring me comfort, and a slice of cool watermelon, as beloved as it is on smokin' hot day in August, just doesn't do it for me on a frigid January night. I need something, well...with a little weight to it.

So I thought of something else Michael Pollan advises: "Don't eat anything your great-great grandmother wouldn't recognize."

Unfortunately, I never met my great-grandmothers. The only thing I know is that they were poor and lived somewhere in Eastern Europe, maybe Russia. Still, I decided to imagine what comfort food they might have whipped up mid-winter that fit Pollan's requirements. And bingo! It's the cabbage borscht my mother made every winter which I now make for my own family.

I never before counted the number of its ingredients or plant content, but somehow, I think Pollan would approve of the surprisingly easy and delicious, thick, sweet and sour soup. I even think he'd agree when I tell you not to stint on the sour cream when you serve it.

My Mother's Sweet and Sour Cabbage Borscht

The ingredients and cooking times are approximate. My mother never wrote anything down. Play around with the recipe until you get it right. You'll know when that is.

1 large jar of sauerkraut (no cutting cabbages!)
3 onions, cut in quarters
1 - 2 pounds short ribs, "flanken" or stewing beef
2 large cans tomatoes
10 peppercorns, crushed
a big handful of brown sugar (to taste)
sour cream

In a large soup pot, cover the meat with water, bring to a boil, then simmer until the meat becomes soft enough for you to pull it apart.

Put  the sauerkraut in a colander and rinse lightly with water (this step is important) to remove some of the brine. When rinsed, add it to the pot along with the cut onions, cans of tomatoes (with the liquid) and crushed peppercorns. Break up the tomatoes into pieces so they don't remain whole. Cook together for 1/2 an hour or more to blend the flavours and cook the onions. This is a thick meal-in-a-bowl soup, but if you need more liquid, add water (or another can of tomatoes if you like).

Now is the time for seasoning the soup to give it the great sweet and sour kick. Add the 'big handful' of brown sugar or to taste (it may need  more than you'd think).  The soup should have a nice strong pepper hit to it too, so you may want to add more pepper. Play with it to suit your own taste.

Serve hot with a big dollop of sour cream on top and thick slices of pumpernickel bread slathered with sweet butter. Have a bowl of sour cream on the table, just in case. Enjoy!

I'd love to know what your favourite mid-winter comfort food is