Rothko chapel

Ever once in a while, I get a'feared that my children need more aculutating than they get from watching bugs bunny and so I up and do something right peculiar...

Like taking them to the Rothko chapel.

The Rothko chapel was conceived by noted Houston philanthropists Dominique and John de Menil who wanted a place where artsy contemplative souls of all faiths could get together and worship or meditate or wear all black and try to look cool while staring at canvases by Mark Rothko in a building designed by him.  I am sure that some art history major could explain this better than I, being an English major...not that you can tell by my propensity for slang, run-on sentences, and typos.  

I had never been to visit it, which is a shame for having lived here for 16 years.  So, I got us all dressed up, because, while I may not appreciate art, I do respect it, and I told the kids we were going to a place that was like a museum and church put together.

Annabelle was excited, because she loves museums.  We had been to the Prado exhibit at the MFAH a couple of months ago and she stared at each picture in the exhibit for some time.  She was particularly captivated by the lamb of God one by Zurburan and was deeply moved and saddened by the ones depicting the Crucifixion.  Artsy.  Contemplative.  Soul.

Tallulah informed me that she is afraid of dinosaurs, to which I reassured her, we weren't going to that museum.  

There is a park that surrounds the chapel and a reflection pool in front of it and it was a beautiful day to be outside.  And after we explored the park we headed inside and I told the girls we had to be quiet.

We walked into the chapel, which is the shape of an octagon and on each of the walls hang canvasses that are painted all black or black and brown.  Annabelle and Tallulah sat down and Annabelle looked around.  There were people sitting on benches in absolute silence, and some were kneeling on pillows in front of the pictures.  It was nice and peaceful, but to be honest, I am just not that deep of a person and am not really appreciative of modern art.  But, being the mother of small children, I do like quiet and the idea of having a place to sit and think.

And then my 5 year old, whose idea of "museum" and "church" are drastically different than what we were seeing had to point out that this emperor was a tad, well, naked.

"You mean we had to get all this dressed up for all this nothing???"

I stifled a laugh and began to point out how the pictures seemed to changed colors when a cloud went over head and how the room was the same shape as a stop sign, and how the doors seemed to be in a pattern.  I told her it was a place to think quiet thoughts.  And then she got into it, made herself comfortable on our bench and took it all in.

And there we sat, quiet and peaceful for a couple of minutes thinking quiet thoughts.  They were being more quiet than the hipsters who were whispering to themselves--they got shushed by the proctor.    And then I hear a soft, song...in a whisper... "and on that farm he had some sheep, e-i-e-i-o."

Apparently, Tallulah's thoughts lean towards the pastoral.

Then she does what she does in church, digs in my purse, takes off her hair bow and poops in her diaper, all at the same time.

I scooped her up and we hopped off the bench just in time...the proctor was heading our way.

great climbing tress in the park

my lovely girls

Never make stir fry from Iowa Girl Eats for a man who spent 8 months of his life in Vietnam

I would like to discuss today what I sadly feel is an acceptable form of bigotry that has recently cut me to the core--the belief among Asians that white people can't make Asian food.

Now obviously, you could write this off to Hyphen's super positive and life affirming personality. But the thing is, I know other Asians and they also share this belief, to wit:  My friend T_____.  The other day I was telling her about our food co-op and how we got daikon radishes and how I had no idea what to do with them.  One of the honky co-op members suggested, via our big tent page,  pickling them and putting them on a bahn mi (Vietnmese sandwich). My friend burst into laughter and said, I am sorry but I just laugh when white people try to make Vietnamese food.

Later, when I told H we had daikon, he said, "I guess we could pickle them and put them on a bahn mi"

Fast forward to tonight.  I found this great food blog called Iowa girl eats and I decided to make a stir fry.  Looked good.  I felt that H might have sustained an eye cramp from rolling them when he saw what I was doing.  He had about two bites and announced he might have to go back to work and taste something.  Annabelle refused to try it because it had tofu and Tallulah happily ate the rice and some of the broccoli until she realized how spicy it was and wiped her tongue with her hand and when that didn't put out the fire, wiped her tongue on her dad's shoulder (who I might add, was wearing a wife beater to the dinner table, but I digress)

I ate three helpings.  Because it was good.

It was better than anything we have had at Eastern, or North China (H's go to neighborhood places which are actually disgusting)  It was better than the time we had what I suspect was carp at that place out on I-10.    It was better than the boiled, cut up chicken we had at New Year's.  It was better than that god-awful pineapple chicken we got sophomore year in college from that place on broadway.  It was better than anything from dragon bowl where we ate with somewhat regularity, (which has closed, rip).  And most importantly , it was better than the quail eggs braised in soy sauce I had to try back in 2000, the year of the 15 New Year's dishes and the east meets west arroz con pollo that the dog wouldn't even eat back on 2001, both of those culinary disasters were made by Hyphen--you know--the Asian guy I live with.

I could totally see him ordering this from some take out place, bringing it home and when we realized it was a tad too spicy saying, in his sweetly apologetic way (yes he can be sweet, just not today) "sorry about the veg, babe, I thought the girls would like it because of the broccoli.  I didn't realize it would be so spicy."  And I would say, in my encouraging, I -love-you-and-am-just-grateful-you-brought- home takeout way "I didn't think it was that spicy, I thought it was great.  They are two and five, they think kraft singles taste good"  And then he would say "kraft singles do taste good," but again, I digress.  

My husband, though, is a food genius. And I am not being sarcastic when I say this.  He is truly a food genius and the entire upper kirby district of Houston would look remarkably different if it were not for his gastronomic acumen, and general intelligence. He doesn't believe this and would never want me to say it, but it is true.

One would think that someone who cooks Italian food like an old nonna, who can fry chicken that would make the South rise again, who can make a tomtillo sauce that can transport you to...well you get the picture...one would think that that person would not be blinded by this food prejudice.

And yet, there he sat.  In his wife beater, eating cuties for supper with the girls because one of the ingredients in  my stir fry sauce was peanut butter.

this was good and you can find it here

What happens in castroville... will not be broadcast over the internet

While I was home, I was using the computer and I noticed there was a little piece of paper stuck on it.  When I noticed it there the next day, I realized it was covering the camera, and so I said....

Me: "Is this covering your camera?  Do you think people are watching you?"

Mom (scandalized):  "you know they can do that, I read it on the internet.  They are watching you and then they broadcast you over the internet."

Me(wondering who this "they" is that I've been hearing about all my life) But all they will be seeing is a picture of you playing spider solitaire."

Mom (indignant):  "So ?  That is me playing spider solitaire and it is private and not for anyone else to see."

Sorry, They--my mom has outwitted you, once again....

what we've been up to

1.  Annabelle had a birthday party about a month ago.  She invited her whole class and her favorite friends from the neighborhood, and it has taken me a month to recover.  The theme was pippi longstocking bubble gum, because we love pippi and we have wanted to chew bubble gum since we were two, but bubble gum is for five year old girls, so we have been patiently waiting for 3 years.  We had a couple of party fouls on this one as we forgot to invite two people who are very important to us.  The friend who invited us to her build a bear party that gave us teddy, who we love and who goes everywhere with us, and W____A_____ who we have invited to every party since we were born, and for that, I am sorry.

the view from upstairs

5 year old girl

yeah, I made this, suck it mormon mommies

2.  Annabelle and H decided I wasn't busy enough, so they got me some chicks to take care of.....

3.  Tallulah continues with being terribly two

Don't jump on the bed, tootles

I said knock it off

Ok, I'll get the camera...

4.  Froberg farms

H sustaining an injury that he termed "migrant farm worker back."  I suspect the problem with his back is his front.

5.  Strawberry-Meyer lemon jam at Grandma's, and lots of fights, between me and my mom, of course

6.  Sprinkler cartwheels on St. Paddy's day

watch me

up and over

i did it!

me do one, too.

dat fun