Why I love Chopsticks

NEGOTIATING REALITY

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I love chopsticks. Not the tune a lot of us learned to play on the piano when we were very young, but the eating instruments.  Not the plastic kind with ridges seen in budget Chinese restaurants that have red characters imprinted on them at one end, not the ornately carved ivory ones found in souvenir shops and at the backs of cavernous Chinese grocery stores and not even the high-style modernist ones found in hip stores selling food accessories for the high-end minimalist consumer. No, I love the plain, wooden, rectangular chopsticks that come in a snug paper wrapper that I learned to use about the same time I learned to bang out "chopsticks" on the piano.

Some wrappers have Chinese symbols or Japanese ones and colorful designs, and some don't.  When you slide them out of the wrapper and pull them apart, you're ready to go.

I use them for stirring vegetables on the stove (but not scrambled eggs), to eat cottage cheese and to stir fried meat and vegetables and bits of chicken both shredded and chunked, rice, frozen entrees and almost anything that does not need cutting or spooning to be consumed.  I use them to poke food to see if it's ready,  and I use them to eat pasta.  

And I don't know why.  How do you explain love?

I know it’s not because I learned to use them when I was little, when Sunday lunch was spent with my grandmother at Chinese restaurants.  We went to old style "Cantonese" restaurants before people became sophisticated about Chinese food and discovered Szechuan and Hunan and all kinds of other stuff and learned to order what they saw people of Asian descent ordering.

My grandmother always ordered "shrimp with lobster sauce" which is probably as close to what people eat in China as pizza is. My parents and I ordered all sorts of things. The chopsticks were one of the high points of the meal, but I left them alone the rest of the week.

I started to using them a lot in my 20s, when I first started cooking regularly, and some of it was Asian. But that's not why I love using them for everything I can.  It has something more to do with the taste of wooden chopsticks and their feel in my hand and against my teeth.  And it has something to do with their rectangular shape and unpretentious nature.  No one ever chose wooden chopsticks for a wedding registry. No one cares about how heavy they are, or if they're sterling silver.  I just use them and throw them out and get new ones. I know I should care more about wasting trees by using them, but I love them anyway.  And when I see them, I want to smile.

What Drives Me Crazy: Style Matters

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.Living in Paris for nine years made me very aware of style. When I first got back, I used to sit in the subway and edit people’s look (shorter hair, no bangs and a green blouse and lose the purple scarf … that kind of thing).

To be honest, I still do it sometimes. But how people dressed never drove me nuts.  It was just the occasion for a private, internal makeover game that the prospective beneficiary (or victim, depending on your point of view) never knew about.

Other pretty insignificant things really do make me crazy though: someone tap tap tapping with a pen or keys on a table when I’m trying to read or have a conversation nearby; an unsolicited robocall on my cellphone; being sent a chain email which says I must send it on to 10 other people to receive incredible blessings (or dire misfortune will befall me).

 But one thing that makes me crazier than the rest are the small, written grammatical errors in documents I see that are intended for public, or at least semi-public consumption.

You know the ones I mean: 

“He was there best man,” 

“John, whom had the highest sales this month excepted our congratulations,” 

“I have went to Bermuda many times.”

Sometimes I make this kind of mistake myself, and that makes me nuts, too. A lot of people probably think this is pretty trivial and maybe find me snobbish for cringing at it. But I think it matters.

I believe writing using a common standard is what lets us all understand one another. I know that English evolves and that there are some pretty arbitrary rules for standard English.  But knowing them and using them correctly is what enables us to communicate effectively, clearly and in a nuanced way across regional, cultural and national boundaries.

What got me started on this today was something I saw in a LinkedIn management group forum this morning. Someone in the group commented in a discussion about “going their.”  I mean, dude, really!! Do u think ur on Twitter? And yes, I know his browser might have finished his word for him, or maybe he forgot to review what he’d written, but just the same, it bothers me.

If you’re commenting on a discussion in some big-shot expert forum on LinkedIn, at least use correct English. You wouldn’t attend a business meeting in a crumpled suit with your fly unzipped, would you? To me, writing this way shows a similar lack of respect for the people you’re communicating with and for the English language.

English is a rich, subtle and flexible language, with a great ability to show things visually. To take just one tiny example, think about the difference between “go in” and “come in” and what your use of one or the other says about who’s where and whether one person is about to approach another. Not every language has that dexterity. And while other languages have their own glories, we should savor those of English.

But to do that we need to know how to use it.

Some people think writing in incorrect language just reflects the glory of the English language in all its diversity or folksiness. I think that’s absurd. If you’re writing prose for general consumption, especially for a business or professional audience, having people understand you trumps everything. Fiction is another story. (See for example, James Joyce and Vladimir Nabokov).

Willful ignorance of grammatical and stylistic rules weakens our ability to express our ideas with clarity, vigor and nuance. Writers who know the rules and bend or break them to their story-telling purposes are the exception that proves it. We all make mistakes with grammar at times, me included, but we can all use style guides (I like Elements of Style, by Strunk and White, but there are alternatives) and other on and offline tools that are available so we can use English more correctly and expressively.

And, of course, the best tool of all is a good book.

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NEGOTIATING REALITY: OR WHY I DON’T FOLD THE LAUNDRY

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By Nina Housman

When I first started to write this blog post, I thought the subject was too provocative. I think I still feel a little guilty that I don’t do it. After all, part of what I do is encourage people to practice self-discipline to achieve goals.

But, since choosing which goals we want to achieve is part of the joy of being a grown up, I decided to reveal my “dirty little secret”: I don’t fold the laundry. I just don’t like doing it.

If it needs to be hung so it doesn’t wrinkle, I do it (reluctantly, without joy and as slowly as possible). The rest of the stuff gets stuffed in drawers. Does it wrinkle? Not the sweaters, and I never really notice if my undergarments are slightly creased, although I have heard tales of people who (shudder) iron them.

Recently, I got this great idea, I’ll buy a set of large, attractive hampers with lids that can line my bedroom walls instead of dressers, and I’ll drop the laundry in there, nothing crumpled, everything gained. No fuss, no muss and attractive (to me) bedroom furniture at the same time!

So, why am I writing about this? No, it’s not because I want to share my deepest self or start a not-folding movement. And it’s not because I want to eliminate those prospective clients/employers/friends or suitors who would be horrified by my lack of laundry etiquette, although I might have done so.

But I did want to share something I’ve learned about reality: Sometimes, it can be negotiated. Examine your assumptions, and you might discover some ideas you take for granted that you don’t really believe anymore, just like I did. (Not folding  = being spoiled or lazy). Some of them might even be more important than how you treat newly washed clothes.

While there are some things I have to do even though I don’t like to because of the consequences in terms of health, housing, morality or legal problems (cleaning the house, paying the bills, etc.) and there are some I love doing (writing, cooking, traveling, etc.) there are a lot of things that I don’t like doing that are negotiable.

They’re the things I might be able to get out of, if I examine my preconceptions about what I should do or should want to do.

In this vein, I remember when my son was tiny and he lectured me because, according to Barney, the purple dinosaur on TV, I’d left the faucet turned on too long. I didn’t like his doing that.

I’m all for water conservation, but I didn’t want my behavior at home legislated by some imaginary being on television. And, similarly, we don’t need the things we do in our lives legislated by some imaginary rulebook that we’ve incorporated internally but which was originally written by our parents, neighbors, friends or employers. Even if the rulebook comes from ourselves, it’s a good idea to re-examine it from time to time. We change and so do our ideas and circumstances.

If you hate doing something or don’t do it well, maybe you don’t have to do it at all. Or maybe you can get away with doing it well enough to get by, and focus on spending time on the things that are important to you.

An ex-boyfriend used to say he wanted to do everything he did the best he could. He was shocked that I didn't feel the same way. Well, I don’t. I want to do what I love and care about the best I can. As for the things I don’t like doing, I’ll do them the best I have to or not at all, if possible.

Life is short. I don’t know about you, but if I don’t focus on doing the things I care about, I never seem to get around to doing them.

So go ahead, don’t fold the laundry, or vacuum twice a week, or read the right newspaper, or keep up-to-date, or shave or jog – or whatever else it is you don’t really want to do. As long as you’re willing to put up with the consequences, it’s OK. Go ahead and spend the time doing something you really enjoy, or doing nothing at all.

Now that’s a really revolutionary idea!

What Has Candy Dots, a Red Velvet Chair, Homemade Doughnuts, and a Plate Decorated with Loony Tunes Characters?

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By Nina Housman 

What has candy dots, a red velvet chair, homemade doughnuts and a plate decorated with Loony Tunes characters? Anna’s Country Store, in Fabius.

I landed there by accident while searching for the farm that provides my CSA share.  After turning around twice on a two-lane, 55 mile per hour twisting road, with fear in my heart and a cramp in my neck, I needed directions, so I went into Anna’s looking for help.

Joan is the proprietor.  She opened the place 15 years ago and added a back room full of antiques and collectibles on consignment five years later. (Anna was her grandmother, and photos of Anna hang on one wall).

Joan installed wood furniture as display cases, put personal mementos on the walls and provides many kinds of penny candy, grocery items,a deli, homemade cookies, cupcakes and doughnuts (fresh doughnuts are available weekends only). Joan says the people who work with her add a lot, like Marge, who does bakes homemade cupcakes, mops floors and more.

Prices are reasonable, with a daily lunch special, usually a hot sandwich, for about $3, which she explained to me is especially for the farm boys who don’t have much money. The subs and sandwiches are generous, reasonably priced: $5.25 or $6.50 for a half or whole sandwich/sub with veggie toppings among the freshest I’ve tasted. The dark chocolate truffles are melt-in-your-mouth good.

Joan says she keeps the store going because she’s found her place. If you drop by, you might find it’s one of your places, too. And by the time I left, Joan had asked someone for directions for me who turned out to be the owner of the farm I was looking for. So in addition to everything else, I even got what I’d come in for.

Anna’s Country Store, 7849 Main St., Fabius. Open seven days a week.

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