'round and 'round the National Christmas tree

This past weekend we took a little trip downtown to see the renovated atrium of the American History Museum and the National Christmas tree on the White House grounds. It was a fun trip which included an episode of getting very hungry, leaving all of the food I had brought in the car (which was several blocks away), and then insisting I had to eat 2 street vendor hot dogs to hold me over (while Jess only consumed one). I'll tell you, those dogs are twice as delicious when it's really cold outside and you're mildly famished. Anyhow, the tree was a sight to see. And as we came upon the sight, it began to snow (something that hasn't happened much in the area this year). We couldn't have asked for a better holiday night.

Makin' it big, like Jodie Foster

This past week a new employee at work told me I sounded like Jodie Foster. I must use my low, take-me-seriously-even-though-I-look-young voice at work.

Did someone say Christmas Time?

I hope all had a grand Thanksgiving. We sure did - full of family conversation, turkey & pie, and smooth airline travel. We missed the Chicago airport fiasco by a hair (thank goodness!). This time of year is always superb.

Now on to having a Holly Jolly Christmas. What makes this "the best time of the year" for you? For me it's gathering with family and friends for conversation and traditions, lighting a fire in the fireplace, listening to Christmas tunes from my childhood, singing and kisses underneath the mistletoe, feeling the spirit of Christmas, enjoying hot chocolate, looking at Christmas lights (it's neat to see them from an airplane), and riding in the car with the heat on full blast.

This week I got a flu shot

From what I hear, it's flu season. This year I got a flu shot and getting the shot wasn't all that bad. That's a big statement coming from a girl who, on many occassions, has been told by nurses, "you need to relax."

In 7th grade, a new requirement was passed by the state health department: all kids entering middle school had to have their MMR shots renewed and for convenience, a health clinic would come to the school and provide the shots. I remember bringing the note home to mom, while she read it I asked, "Does this mean I have to get a shot?" "Looks like it, she replied." I hadn't set foot in a doctors' office since kindergarten and my memories about that visit weren't so good.

I went with my older brother to our pediatrician's office. He had to get shots to play high school football, I had to get them to enter kindergarten. "Don't worry," he assured me, "it doesn't even hurt. I'll get my shots first and you can watch me, it will be painless." I believed him and eagerly watched as the nurse rubbed his arm with alcohol and placed the needle in his deltoid. He calmly said, "Gee, that doesn't even hurt. In fact, that feels good." But his face did not match his words and he winced as the nurse pushed in the shot stopper. If my tough older brother winced, how could I handle such a thing? I was terrified and at that moment I began to cry. Through many tears, the nurse managed to get the shot done. I left the office with a puffy, sad, face, but luckily, I thought, I'll never had to do that horrifying thing again.

But now I was in 7th grade, and I did have to do it again. I walked up to the nurses station, hands trembling, heart thumping. The stress was really killing me. I pulled up my sleeve and winced prematurely. The nurse grabbed my wrist, "We can't give you a shot if you don't relax." My friends were in line behind me, everyone was watching, they all knew my fear. So I suck it up and got the shot. It wasn't all that bad.

So when I got the flu shot for this season, I told myself it wouldn't be all that bad. I told myself it wouldn't even hurt. Heck, it might even feel good to know I was lessening the risks of getting the flu this season. I pulled up my sleeve and winced as the nurse pushed in the shot stopper. The nurse didn't even have to tell me to relax.

Signage II

About a year ago, I posted a witty statement that was published on a church marquee near my house. Now it's that time again. Time to share another one of this marquee's statements. I must admit, I look forward to driving past the place, just to catch a glimpse of the message. Here's this week's:

CH CH

What's missing?

U R

You've got to be quick to be on this marquee committee.

Man's Search for Meaning: A Review

What's this book about anyway? Right? If we haven't read the book, we've certainly heard about it. Is it religious? Is is like a Doctor Phil book written in the 1940s? Can I get through the 150+ pages without falling asleep?

Viktor Frankl was a psychiatrist who survived the Auschwitz and Dachau concentration camps. Before he entered the camp, his work on logotherapy had already begun. While in the camp, his research for logotherapy continued. And when he was freed, he shared his theory of logotherapy with the psychologic community. In short, logotherapy is man's search for meaning. Frankl argues that when individuals find meaning in their lives their tendency toward certain negative behaviors can be alleviated if not cured. He gives several examples of how, within and without concentration camps, this finding of a purpose serves as the means to survival. While he concedes that a finding of a meaning is not a "cure all", he has found that it is a "cure many" and that finding a meaning makes life for an individual better.

One of my favorite paragraphs speaks of love. He explains that while in the camp, he would often have conversations with his wife in his head. What would she say? How would her face appear in reaction to an answer? What kind of questions would she have? During the course of this imaginary conversation, he'd finish a hard day of work with cold, swelling feet, hardly noticing the horrible situation he was really in. He states:

"...my mind clung to my wife's image, imagining it with an uncanny acuteness. I heard her answering me, saw her smile, her frank and encouraging look. Real or not, her look was then more luminious than the sun which was beginning to rise...A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth - that love is the ultimate and highest goal to which man can aspire...The salvation of man is through love and in love."

Is love like that for you? I hope.

The Joy Luck Club Book Review

I've heard that this book was "really good" for several years, but only just got around to reading it. While I found it to be good, I wouldn't say really good. Yes, the story telling was superb as the cultural divide between mothers (who had lived in China and immigrated to the United States) and their daughters (who had grown up Chinese-American) was explicated. However, I couldn't help but be disappointed in the lives of the daughters in the stories. While the mothers battled through massive trials and great humility, the daughters tended to be a little mean-spirited and their adult lives were filled with empty accomplishments and incomplete goals. This book certainly does provide intriguing stories, interesting cultural observations, and a poignant ending. I guess I just wish there was more of a hope or happiness mixed among it all.

I tried to read Pride & Prejudice

But when I tried, I found that it was so similar to the movies I've seen, I couldn't go on. I'm one of those people who, if I already know the story, I can't read the book. I also can't read books more than once, even if I forget them, because as soon as I get into the book, my memory tends to work again and I remember everything. I'll give P&P another try, maybe I just need a bit more time between seeing the movie and trying to read the book. Is there a Jane Austen movie that hasn't been made into a movie? If so, this would be the book for me!

So why "boiled pizza"?

In celebration of my 100th post, here's a good story.

Many of you may have looked at this blog wondering why it goes by the name of "boiled pizza." This wonderment would make a lot of sense, seeing as when I happened upon the actual dish of boiled pizza, I was in awe myself.

Now when I created this blog, I was trying to think of all kinds of clever and unique names. I thought of a few, one of which was 7 of 9. This, of course, because I'm the 7th of 9 children and I thought the name unique. However, when I googled "7 of 9," I found that a character on the Star Trek Voyager went by such a name, and, well I got rid of the name idea very quickly.

As a senior in high school, there were three kids left in my parents' home. Me, the oldest of the three, and my younger sister and brother. Because my mom and dad were used to cooking and buying for a large family, we always seemed to have leftovers in the fridge. However, since we all grew-up in a big family, we weren't used to eating the leftovers. This put us in the predicament of lots of food going bad.

Now my father is a great cook. He can make the juiciest London broil steak, the most satisfying salad, the creamiest clam chowder, and the most delectable eclairs with professional, chef-like ease. He's extremely creative and talented. He started cooking at a young age for his family and he's gotten better and better over the years. Usually on Sunday he would prepare dinner and typically the meal was a real treat.

This Sunday wasn't any different than another. "Don't fill up too much on breakfast," dad warned us, "I'm working on making an excellent lunch." As lunchtime approached, we could smell a splendid Italian aroma filling the air as we heard dad cutting food, stirring mixtures, and taste-testing his creation. By the time he called us to the kitchen, we were very hungry and had high expectations.

"What did you make?" we asked.

"Just try it," he answered. And we weren't a bit apprehensive, that is, until we saw the dish. My sister was served first, then me.

"What is this?" I inquired as I looked into the pot. It looked like nothing dad had created before. "Is this the pizza from a week or so ago?"

"...uh...yes."

"That pizza was kind of old."

"Don't worry. I boiled it within an inch of its life," dad explained, hoping to assure us that he had taken all precaution to rid the food of any possible bacteria or mold.

"What?" we all responded, "You cut up and boiled the leftover pizza!?!" Looking closer, I noticed the other ingredients, "And that's the leftover chicken from yesterday and the pasta dinner from a while back."

This was when mom came into the kitchen and voiced her surprise, "You boiled the old pizza? And now we're eating it?" My sister looked up from her plate and stopped eating. "We can't actually consume this," mom continued, "We've got to throw it away. In fact, we've got to throw the pot that it was cooked in away." Dad was shocked that none of us, not even mom would support him with his creative, mix-all-the-leftovers dish. He had made things from leftovers before, but he had never gone as far as boiling baked food. He must have seen the humor in the situation because he began to laugh. We all did. If you could have been there in the kitchen that day, you would have laughed too. My sister sitting in unbelief that she had actually swallowed some of the stuff. My brother eating the only prepared lunch item dad hadn't pulled from the fridge, frozen spinach. Mom looking at dad, still, in unbelief. And I, staring at the mixture in the pot.

We ended up having toast for lunch that day and threw away the deceivingly aromatic dish.

So that's why this blog is named "boiled pizza," because I'm positive this story and the name is unique, plus, just thinking about it makes me smile. Thanks Dad for sanitizing the dish through boiling, but thanks mom for insisting we throw it away.

Sometimes...

...I just want to buy a Ford Crown Victoria so I'd never have to worry about getting pulled over by any law enforcement crew. At least, that's what I tell myself would happen if I got a Crown Vic.