Sunday, August 12 – Saturday, August 18
The week in Technology vs. Washing My Freakin’ Hands: I like technology. I’m not great at it, but I think it’s neat. Sometimes when I’m holding my phone and looking up some obscure movie actor who appeared on an episode of Love Boat, I feel like I am in control of some kind of black magic. Of course, not every step into to the future works for me. Case and point, the over-designed and under-whelming Dyson hand washer and hand dryer in one. I mean I get it. Wash in the middle, spread your hands and dry them. So, I put soap on my hands and came in from the side and not the front and, well, there was a lot of soap blown into the sink and I had to try again. I’m sure the engineers call that user error, but I call it human nature. The best technology doesn’t fight human natures it incorporates it. Or maybe I’m just cranky!
The Week in Long Beans, Short Story: In the summer I shop at Findlay Market’s farmer’s shed where I seek out locally grown produce. Most of the tables are pretty straight forward in their selection. But some of the younger, “hipster” farmers are striving to bring more variety to the table. One of the tables I always look at is a small table run by one guy who runs his organic farm nearby. He always has something I’ve either never seen, or only seen on the internet. And about every week I say, “what’s that…and what do I do with it.” And about every week he says, “Well, I just snack on it. Just dip it and eat it.” I love his beautiful enthusiasm and short answer. It takes a minute for the conversation to get around to how I cook what he grew. This week, these long beans (which I have seen but never used) ended up in a stir fry and the purple okra (which I didn’t know existed) got pan fried with a hot pepper and onions as a side dish.
The Week in Simple Tributes: On my morning walk downtown I walked under the expressway on the east side of town, and against one of the support pillars was this candle tribute to J. I mean, I really have no idea what went down here. Maybe it was a lighthearted evening and J was there to celebrate. Or maybe J wasn’t there and his friend(s) needed to have some closure. Or any number of scenarios. It does make me think about who goes to a parking lot in the middle of the night, purposefully, to do whatever they do. Living downtown, where it’s possible stumble on someone’s life choices keeps me mindful of where other people are coming from.
Nothing Ever Happens on My Street 