Wednesday, 15 June 2011

Unora le place şpaga

During break time at obedience school, two dogs were talking. One said to the other... "The thing I hate about obedience school is you learn ALL this stuff you will never use in the real world."

Unul dintre motivele invocate cel mai frecvent pentru care oameni care iubesc căţeii nu au un căţel acasă este "nu aş avea timp să mă ocup de el". Este un argument perfect valabil şi nu aş încerca să conving pe nimeni că se înşeală în această privinţă. Fiecare îşi cunoaşte programul, stilul de viaţă, limitele, iar părerea obiectivă a altuia despre ele foloseşte cam tot atât cât o lecţie de zbor unui pui de struţ.

Nu am spus niciodată despre mine că aş iubi câinii. Nu am crescut cu un căţel în familie ("erau destui microbi şi fără să umplem casa de păr sau curtea de grămăjoare calde") şi nici nu mi-am dorit cu adevărat unul. Ne-a adoptat un motan la un moment dat ("Pit. de la tâm-pit", pentru că a răsărit sub Tâmpa într-un moment t... aiurea) şi m-am crezut cat person pentru că îmi convenea de minune neatârnarea lui. Venea şi pleca după chef, se descurca de mâncare şi fără noi, nu ţinea morţiş să-l băgăm în seamă şi apoi mi-a asigurat intrarea la facultate (altă poveste, altă dată).

Ca să fiu perfect sinceră, oamenii cu câini mi-au părut din totdeauna mai degrabă suspecţi, în cel mai bun caz uşor excentrici. De fapt erau invizibili dacă nu-i cunoşteam, iar prietenii cu câini îmi creau un oarecare disconfort, de genul celui pe care ţi-l poate genera o rudă sau cunoştinţă pronunţat habotnică. "Da, interesant, mulţumesc, dar nu cred că mi se potriveşte."

...

(Fragmentul lipsă descrie în mare amănunt cum am ajuns nu numai să "iubesc căţeii", ci şi să împart casa cu unul. Istoria acestei convertiri este însă bine cunoscută oricui ajunge să citească postul. Ca orice prozelit care se respectă, nu mai sunt în stare să rămân într-o conversaţie mai mult de zece minute fără să aduc vorba de Sun.)


Aşa am ajuns să descopăr cam cât de mult timp liber am de fapt. Ieşitul la plimbare, un fleac. Mersul la veterinar, nici o problemă. Cumpăratul de mâncare, suplimente, jucării, accesorii - la pachet cu pipi în casă, ros pereţi, pantofi, plintă şi fiecare altă clipă dulce de bucurie fără sfârşit. Dresaj de companie la Ringstar Club, cursuri de Agility cu Clubul Câinilor Utilitari - cireşe super coapte şi zemoase pe un tort überdelicios.

"Delicios" e un cuvânt cheie în toată povestea asta. Abundă netu' de explicaţii despre "positive reinforcement training", care se bazează pe food treats şi physical affection ca primary incentives. Apă, paie şi bătaie? Sigur că funcţionează şi ele, dar eu am timp să fac chestii pentru Sun care îmi dau o satisfaţie uriaşă, pentru că el însuşi e o răsplată pe patru picioare, 24/7.

Iată deci unul dintre aceste lucruri: recompensa pentru dresaj. Am cumpărat "Educ" de la Royal Canin (la 5 lei punguţa cu fo' 20 de hapuri cât moneda de 5 bani, bune şi cică sărace în calorii). Am trecut şi prin cubuţele de caşcaval sau polonezi (aka recompensa de urgenţă, se întâmplă, deşi am într-adevăr foarte mult timp liber). Nimic nu bate însă ficatul de vită. Care nu depăşeşte 12 lei/kg la piaţă, se procesează în vreo două ore şi acoperă necesarul pe vreo două săptămâni (un kilogram, adică).

Procesul tehnologic e simplu. Am găsit foarte repede pe in-ter-net o sumedenie de reţete propuse de alţi demenţi ca mine şi m-am tot jucat cu ele, până când am ajuns la una care nu dă greş pentru noi. Aici începe abia partea interesantă a postului.

Ingrediente:
Ficat şi / sau inimă de vită
Apă
Supă de carne sau usturoi (opţional)


1. Se pun vreo 2 litri de apă la fiert într-o oală mare (cu sau fără nişte supă de carne şi sau usturoi pentru gust, după cum aveţi sau poftiţi)
2. Se taie ficatul în felii de vreun centrimetru grosime.


În faza asta javra se va fi pus deja în poziţia pe care nu o va mai părăsi, pentru că întotdeauna pică ceva pe parcurs.


3. Când apa a dat în clocot se adaugă o jumătate din ficatul feliat şi când clocoteşte din nou se lasă la fiert cinci minute (până când nu mai iese sânge din ficat).



4. Se aşează feliile fierte pe şervete de hârtie şi se lasă la zvântat zece minute. Între timp intră la fiert a doua porţie de felii de ficat. Se preîncălzeşte cuptorul la 150 grade.

5. Se taie feliile fierte în cubuleţe mici (în funcţie de patruped, lui Sun îi ajung de până în 1 cm cub) şi se împrăştie cât mai aerisit pe hârtie de copt.


Acum atenţie că nu bate cu poza: dacă le băgaţi la cuptor în tavă vor mai lăsa zeamă şi va dura mai mult până se deshidratează cât trebuie. Prefer să pun tava goală pe nivelul cel mai de jos al cuptorului şi să aşez hârtia de copt cu ficaţii pe grătarul cuptorului, un nivel mai sus. În felul acesta, aerul circulă şi usucă mai repede ficăţeii.

6. Se coc la cuptor o oră, după care se scot, se răscolesc un pic şi se mai lasă încă 30 minute ca să se usuce uniform.


Da, o oră şi jumătate durează numai coptul. Ai răbdare.

Rezultatul este o recompensă din ficat de vită deshidratat, suficient de moale (dacă le lăsaţi mai mult la cuptor, se vor usca de tot; avantajos numai dacă purtaţi recompensa în buzunarele hainelor şi nu vreţi să le impregnaţi cu o aromă irezistibilă şi de durată).


Ta-daaa! Şi iată rezultatul degustării:

Saturday, 8 January 2011

something old, something new, something simple, something blue

It was late November 2010 when the phone rang. The voice at the other end of the line told me that careful analysis had established my mobile phone subscription rate to be inadequate as compared to my actual needs. And that I could get more time, free mobile phones and greater satisfaction by paying less. I said yes before they had a chance to hang up. Two days later I had a small package in my hands, containing a shiny, new, small, non-smart mobile phone with enough battery left to try out for a couple of days.

Now, you have to understand that I was happy to begin with. I already owned a good phone, top of the class, a technological icon that catered to my mobile communication, time management and entertainment needs and beyond. It was smart, stylish and reliable. It served me well and supplied my occasional technical challenge fix. I neither needed nor wanted to downgrade.

So here was this shiny new garden-variety thing that I had paid nothing for and that was worth a bit more than just that (relatively speaking). It rang when someone called; it allowed me to call others and to send and receive messages. It had Sudoku. And to top all this off, its battery charge seemed to last forever (relatively speaking, again). When it comes to anything with rechargeable batteries, I am a compulsive geek (they who know me will shoot knowledgeable grins about other multiple manifestations of my geek freak, but they're welcome to it): I. Must. Format. Battery.

I therefore decided to use the plain new phone and deplete its battery before charging it for the first time. I took the SIM card out of my "old" state of the art smart phone and stuck it in the new toy, where it stayed for almost three days. During this time, I went about my business as usual and thought no more of it until.

Until I realised I liked that modest thingy. I was happy to have it in my pocket, to hold it in my hand, to hear it ring and be surprised about who's calling (hadn't bothered to import contacts), to text and yes, to pass idle time playing Sudoku. As soon as I realised that, it also occurred to me that I DIDN’T MISS MY iPHONE. I didn’t miss emailing and browsing the web every quarter of the hour on the hour, living on FB, checking the weather, updating my calendar, playing videos, following news, hunting for new utilities and games, looking up latest developments in arachnid mating strategies or substrate water proofing technologies; I didn’t miss the perks of being the proud owner of the most coveted mobile communication gadget in existence at that time.

Overly analytic and speculative as I also happen to be, I thought I’d think about this strange turn of taste in me. What had happened? How could I not miss my iPhone? What was it about the new phone that outshone the wealth of options I had had before? Could it be the mere fact that it was brand new and shiny? Hardly. A scratched and tattered iPhone is still many times more stylish than any other brand new mobile phone. Could it be the interface that reminded me of earlier days? :/

So what could it be?

I was toying with these thoughts, leaned against a shopping cart in a supermarket queue when it hit me. The realisation was unexpected and very fulfilling. I must have looked rather silly standing there with a liberated smile on my face, playing Sudoku. But I was really happy: I had been struck by a life changing thought. I knew why I preferred that nothing to write home about little mobile over my iPhone.

It was simple, easy to understand, deal with and use, unassuming, straightforward, ordinary, unsophisticated, unpretentious and rudimentary (all and any of these at any time); it gave me the essentials we expect from a mobile phone and nothing else. And in doing so, it relaxed me. I could be myself with it, I didn’t need to learn anything in order to use it, it didn’t challenge me and it worked just fine with me the way I was. It gave me peace and time to contemplate and be myself. It was the surprise farm holiday of the overworked urban iPhone wielding working girl cum wannabe high roller. It was basic and it worked.

The battery died out eventually and I eagerly resumed using the iPhone, with a fond memory of the experience, an improved understanding of our occasional need for simplicity and peace, as well as the pleasant tickle of knowing I can enjoy that kind of relaxation again whenever I choose.



PS I keep the phone that triggered this experience around, but I haven’t yet tried to use it again. Especially since I have upgraded to the latest iPhone...
(I do recommend someone carry out a survey among iPhone and other high end smart phone users to explore their desire for less complex mobile communication technology and the dynamics thereof. It may provide interesting insight into the workings of the 21st century human mind and our adaptive behaviour in general).

Thursday, 11 March 2010

You asked me to enter, but then you made me crawl...

The Private Lives of Pippa Lee
Where the Wild Things Are

I've learned a lot about guilt and anger lately. We can build so many wonderful, great things with guilt, it's amazing. Just as amazing as how much we can tear down with anger. I know I can. In between Pippa Lee and Max you can imagine a life of me. Others are equally torn, but sometimes they are saved from our eyes by their softer tempers.

I almost guilted myself into a life of serving someone who seemed to have the stuff of good kings, without bothering to look and see what their stuff was really like. Because I thought I was a fuckup and that there could be no higher kindness than for them to take me into their world and mold me into something acceptable. Funnily enough, the thought of devoting my best years to a carefully assembled pretty picture makes me very nostalgic. Quiet little tragedies have always turned me on. Perhaps it's genetic, perhaps it's tales of lives passed down among generations, perhaps it's just romatic crap.

Fortunately for me, I also have my wild things. I felt Max more deeply than I could ever feel Madame Bovary. Helpless rage and constant self-induced disappointment have been there for me so many times. I have always lost something to them, yet kept going back. Naturally, the price of what was lost went up with passing years. Adults don't always get second chances. There was no loving mum to feed me chocolate and to fall asleep grateful of my return when I last came back from the island.

I came back to my life and found it was empty, only to slowly discover that it was not. It seems richer than ever now. Guilt and anger don't dance with each other in endless circles any more. They have taken their rightful place in cute snapshots on my wall and I wave at them sometimes and smile. They are as much mine as the desire to be happy and the strength to make that happiness real. Their use to me is great from where they are now and I will always be thankful for what they taught me.

PS ... or did I?

Friday, 29 January 2010

Quatre plaisir par jour au minimum!

What better background to make a list of enjoyable things to do every day... According to Evelyne Bissone Jeufroy, "S’accorder, chaque jour, au moins quatre petits plaisirs, cela paraît si facile que l’intention fait sourire. Et pourtant… Un grand nombre de personnes n’arrivent même pas à en dresser la liste quand on le leur demande ! Or le plaisir nous recharge en énergie. Il dynamise. Il chasse la fatigue. Il calme. Il permet de guérir. Il redonne de la joie. Il reconnecte au corps, aux autres et au monde. Et il est une voie d’accès à la spiritualité."

Thursday, 28 January 2010

The (most beautiful) serenity prayer


God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.



Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.

Amen.

--Reinhold Niebuhr