Month: December 2011

lunch money

[A post-in-progress, as some of the accompanying photos are locked in my phone and will require a consulting teenager and some new skills to unlock, while others are trapped in a camera that is out of batteries, plus this report will be written in installments, lest I go on and on and on.] This was a non-food vacation, which is fine, even with an obsessive feeder and eater like myself. But it was a non-food vacation in one of the richest food mines known to me personally, which is kind of like torture–in the sense of the word that we the fortunate employ when we say “torture” and we don’t mean “torture,” not at all. Kind of like when we say we are “starving,” when we mean it has been a while since breakfast. In that sense, it was torture. In that sense, I was starving. Which of course I was not. The thing is, in my family of origin, mealtime rules. We can plan this or that activity, yes, but will we be back …

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like lemmings

Going to the Davis Farmer’s Market is not a good way to foster fond feelings about living in New England in the winter. In New England, the farmer’s markets close in October, because there isn’t anything left in the ground to eat. We eke out a few holiday markets in November and December, at which it is possible to score some excellent turnips and Brussels sprouts and lots of jam and socks and maple syrup, maybe the odd remaining apple or pear. Out here in California on Christmas Eve, the market was a preposterous cornucopia of fruits and vegetables. It was like visiting another planet. Planet Food. I stopped to admire the Meyer lemons at one booth, thinking about the space in my luggage that had been vacated by some holiday gifts and about the small amount of cash in my wallet at that moment. I put two lemons on the scale. “Let’s see, at two dollars a pound that would be…” began the nice man behind the table, peering at the digital display, but …

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just plane food

We don’t take airplanes very often. Maybe if one does, the changes in the air travel experience are not as obvious. For us, it is kind of like seeing the holiday card photo of a family we aren’t in regular touch with–when a year goes by in between encounters, certain changes in personal style stand out. Enough has been said elsewhere about the insults of the security process, I reckon. Let me just add that I have had a vision of the future, in which airports are full of travelers in backless hospital johnnies, because I think the fact that your backside is covered as you shuffle along being glared and yelled at is about the only remaining shred of connection to personal dignity remaining. Oh, wait. Yesterday in the airport I had a body scan. So I suppose booty coverage has already entered the departure lounge. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. A zillion years ago, back when you could take a really BIG bottle of lotion on the plane to keep your face …

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