24 days later

So there was a massive tornado where I live. The deadliest tornado in the country since 1925. You might have heard of it or seen one of the 2,610 Youtube videos of it like this or like this.

A bunch of people have written about it. There have been multiple calls to share storm stories via Alabama Public Radio and in print. The University of Alabama writing folks have already put out a book about it. They are excellent writers doing what they do best. Many excellent writers have written about the tornadoes. But I do not want to read any of it.

A bunch of people have taken pictures. Immediately after the tornado, cars drove down my street (in the "affected area," which means destruction zone) holding iphones out the windows, driving slowly as though in a parade. Families walked past our house pointing with their cameras at pines slicing living rooms in half. Photographers with their $2,000 zoom lenses seized on images of what, just an hour before, had been places called homes. Places where a couple would no longer snuggle in bed together, a dog would no longer gnaw a chew toy, a toddler would no longer beg her mother to read her just one more bedtime story. I do not want to look at pictures like this and I do not want to take them.

I took two pictures at the insistence of my mother. One is of the currently uninhabitable next-door-neighbor's place, in the middle stage of removing trees off of their roof and car. (My mother asked for a frame of reference for how close we were to destruction. Our place is miraculously, thankfully, fine.) The other picture is of the donation center set up on a destroyed Church of Christ foundation about 1/4 mile from our house. It's where we've been donating peanut butter, loaves of bread, water, diapers, tampons, cat litter... I wanted to remember that place, and I wanted to remember their kindness and gratitude and the fact that these Christians were doing and not saying. Not one of them tried to recruit us to their church or preach to us.

I took both these pictures about a week after the tornado. I felt a little like I was doing something wrong. Like I did not want to be seen taking them.

I understand that documentation is important, and I've been wondering why, especially as a writer, I've been so resistant to be a part of it at this moment. Something about it, perhaps how easily it can turn from Earnest and Necessary Documentation to Touring Someone's Devastation, is uncomfortable.

I've only drafted several poem scraps since the tornado. I can't escape the idea of tall trees being scooped up and thrown down through roofs and windows like massive and deadly pick up sticks all around me. And I can't escape hearing on talk radio that people were found wandering the streets in shock, with one or more limbs severed from their bodies. Images like these have shown up in my poems and will probably persist for a while. The poems are huge scribbly messes that, at least right now, I have no desire to clean up or send out for publication.

As far as writing about the tornado directly, I've wondered if I ever would, or how long it would take me. It's been 24 days today. I don't know why I'm writing this now... perhaps because I'm sick for a week and I'm bored. But I wouldn't say I necessarily felt a sense of urgency to write this. I wasn't compelled to write this.

I have felt compelled, though--every day--to tell my husband how much I love him. I have felt visceral solar plexus necessity in that. The sheer urgency in that. I have felt the urgency to tell my cats, who were scared of the LED camp lanterns we carried to light the way in our home, that things are going to be OK. And that I love them. To tell the post-tornado abandoned newborn kitten we found in our driveway that he's going to make it and that I love him. And most of all, to watch the ultrasound video of our 25 week old fetus over and over again, and to tell whoever's in there how much we love them.

This is what feels natural and comfortable to me. This is what I've been compelled to do.

New food pt. 2

Ok so this type of food is not new to me. And if it were, I wouldn't admit it because what kind of wackadoo has never had lettuce? But self-made carrots and lettuce is new to me.

Remember early October? That's when I planted these. Mostly on a wing and a prayer. (I just can't use/hear that phrase without thinking "Whoooo could it be? Believe it or not it's just meee...")

I worried over them. Were my lettuces too close together? Did I do a sufficient tilling job to avoid corkscrewed carrots?

Apparently all they needed was about 5 months of neglect and coldness. That might qualify these for the most emo veggies I've ever grown.

Actually, this haphazard arrangement kind of looks like the "$100-but-specially-made-to-look-like-I-cut-it-myself" emo hairstyle of lettuce. I call it "The Jared Leto-ce" (Anybody? Jared Leto? Lettuce? ...Maybe it would help to imagine the pot's wearing eyeliner.)

Rest assured, though; Jared Leto-ce has plenty of friends...

One of which is the cutest, tiniest, adorable-ist, "awww"-inducing carrot of all time. Are you ready?

In addition to the "first" of growing these, this is certainly the first time I've referred to a carrot as "cute." I mean, it's just so darn cute--it's toy sized! If the five year old me encountered such a cute carrot, my Jem doll would be in for a real treat!

A rare occasion on which I am not furious with squirrels

Right now I'm on a quick break from doing this: 

Lemme tell ya, it's a blast. In fact, I'm sure you're feeling a little bad about hanging out in your nice comfortable house denying yourself the pleasure of digging rows. So, you know, if you felt like you needed to come over and get in on the party, I'd let you join. Cause we're friends and I'm generous like that. 

Anyway, normally squirrels and I don't get along. When they root up my garden or steal birdseed (which is ALL THEY DO IN LIFE), I curse the day their deceptively cute rodent mother birthed them into this world. 

But a moment ago I found this, and I have to admit I kind of liked them a little bit for it. I can feel that like quickly fading... but it was there for a moment. And it was bizarre. Almost as bizarre as the fact that people are now willingly paying money to see Charlie Sheen rant at them live. 

Pee-can. 

Spring and all

Here's what I think about spring: when I lived in MA for a few years, that's when I realized that I had never really and truly appreciated spring. See, in MA you start seeing daffodils in the grocery store right around St. Patty's Day (even though there may be a blizzard on St. Patty's Day) and that means winter is almost over and soon it'll be snow-free and things are going to be slushy and muddy but generally gorgeous and awesome!

Having grown up in and now returned to the Southeast, I realize that daffodils say something entirely different to me than they did in MA. Here, they say something like: Hey guess what? It's kinda nice weather now even though your car's yellow from pollen, but soon we'll once again journey through 5 relentless months of the most unbearable, humid, make-you-want-to-rip-your-skin-off-because-it's-so-damn-hot summer known to man! 

So, yeah, basically I now think of spring as the singing telegram dressed in bright happy colors who rings your doorbell only to serenade you with a dirge of the death-that-is-Summer.

 But, still, there're a few nice things about spring, I guess--

Baseball spring training & forthcoming actual baseball.

Vegetable garden planning.

Pine Warblers at the feeder. 

(All my photography attempts at these guys thusfar have failed.) 

Plus, a whole house that smells like this: 

Thank you to whoever lived here before and planted hyacinth!

By the way, if you are one of those Spring Lovers, The Art of Doing Stuff has some great porn for you.

Food porn for southerners & other folks who like good stuff

My husband makes the best biscuits in the world. That is not a euphamism for anything.

If you want to make the best biscuits in the world, you can too. But I can't tell you how, because I don't want the Cooks Illustrated people to sue me. But if you go here, you can learn how.

Here's what the best biscuits in the world look like. Do you have a drool rag handy?

Winter fragments

1/ I love my husband with all my heart. Really I do. But sometimes it's nice when he's away for the weekend. There's that sweet, familiar "I miss you" feeling... plus I actually get stuff done.  My relationship with the internet's pretty much like that. It was nice to take a little break from it while visiting family at Christmas, but it sure is great to be together again.


2/ How to start the perfect Christmas: Have your husband, Santa, or anyone else besides you, make delicious Bloody Marys for the whole family.

Here's Mr. K&G's lovingly and meticulously perfected special recipe for spicy Bloodys. (It'll help you start the perfect New Years day too.)

A beverage that comes with snacks--
can't beat it!

Fill a cocktail shaker halfway with ice. Add four shots of V-8 Spicy formula. Add one shot of vodka. It doesn't matter what kind. Then add about four dashes of Tabasco sauce, about two dashes of Worcestershire sauce, a couple shakes of garlic powder, a couple shakes of celery salt, a couple grinds of black pepper, and a little lemon juice. Shake it up, strain it into a highball glass, add a celery stalk and a lemon wedge to garnish, and make your hangover go away.

If you're wondering how to end the perfect Christmas?: Go see The Fighter with a belly full of turnips and pumpkin pie--and with no one else in the theater!


3/ The day after Christmas it snowed in South Carolina. Let me repeat that: Snow in South Carolina! We don't see too much legitimate snow in the South and never this early, so it's especially magical when we do.  I remember as a kid getting so thrilled over the tiniest little 1/4 inch of icy, wet "snow" (that was probably more like sleet) and this time the feeling was no different. Except this snow was real--official, dry, fluffy, snowball fight-ready, crunch-under-your-feet snow.

My mom and I put a sweater on the dog and took him into the back yard. He was scared at first, and then realized how fun pushing a gross old tennis ball around the fresh clean snow with your nose can be. We walked around the yard, played with Simon, and delighted in the puffed-up flashes of scarlet from a handful of cardinals watching us from snow-lined pine branches. It was just us--My mom and me and the snow, our faces turned, mouths open, catching big fat snowflakes on our tongues. It was one of my very favorite moments of the year. Really, it was one of my very favorite moments ever...

Snow is for gettin' goofy. 

There is a season, turn turn turn(ip)

Of the hundreds of dishes at my family's Thanksgiving spread, one of my very favorites is my Mama Jo's turnip greens. I appreciate them more after living in AZ and MA, where for some weird reason, bitter greens aren't all that popular like they are in the south. (Wake up, people! Southerners know food! It's not by accident that Paula Deen is the Fairy Godmother of America's Growing Waistlines.)

Anyway, in honor of those tasty greens, and to celebrate the only successful crop to come out of my garden, I present you with the life cycle of the turnip:

1) Pre-plantation: Get all irritated because the only two home and garden stores in your town do not have seeds even though it's fall harvest planting time. Then, order them from a less stupid company.

2) Life is given: The seeds are planted and dazzling in their cuteness. (Holy crap! I made life! BEHOLD MY POWER!!!!! )

Soon, a little metal stake with two big dangling CDs grows alongside the turnips. A one-sided relationship forms in which the CDs get nothing in return but the turnips are protected from the sparrows who are notorious wusses when it comes to sparkly moving things.

3) Turnips continue to take take take. Meanwhile, the preemie carrots develop an inferiority complex and ultimately give up on life. Even though you sang "Carrot Suicide, Don't Do it!" to them.

4) "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

 5) Life is taken, or I brought you into this world and I can take you out!: Turnips are beheaded. And at the prime of their garden domination at that. The devastation.

6) Broken dreams. And turnip parts. All over your cutting board.

7) Turnip purgatory: cast iron skillet, sauteed onions, (fake) bacon, olive oil, salt, pepper, chili flakes, a little sugar, and a little veggie (or chicken) stock.

8) Rebirth! As something delicious! Hallelujah!



You can make and destroy your own turnips too! It's easy! But heed these tips:

*Harvest greens a little earlier than you want. It's really fun to watch them morph into hedges, but by the time they're that large, they'll be more bitter.

*But, if they do happen to be bitter, there's stuff you can do: a) simmer longer--the longer you cook, the less bitter; b) add a little sugar; c) throw in a potato. (Potatoes are renowned in the culinary community for their ability to turn vegetable frowns upside down.)

Some people get Spring Fever.

It’s that time of year when people who live in parts of the country that don’t produce the most brutal summers ever start talking about stuff like “hanging on to summer” and “relishing the last little bit of the summer season.” Some lady on NPR was trying to tell me some nonsense like this and I think I said out loud to the radio, “WHAT?! YOU ARE CRAZY!”

See, in The Southland it is blazing. And I don’t mean “uncomfortable.” I mean blazing-saddles-95-degrees-and-humid hot.* Which is one reason I am not “cherishing what remains of summer” but doing more like “trying desperately to escape what seems to be summer’s never-ending deathgrip.”

Pretty sure this is totally fake. 

Aside from how wonderful it will be to not feel my guts being slow roasted inside of me every time I go outside, I’ve got Fall Fever for lots of things. I get Fall Fever the way everybody else gets Spring Fever. I can! not! wait! And here’s why!—

not getting destroyed by mosquitoes (as much)

open windows

knitting with really thick wool yarn

pumpkin everything

jeans, sweaters & my orange-flamed cowboy boots

no longer having to see girls on campus walking around in jean diapers

orange mums & changing leaves

butternut squash 

70% off Halloween candy on Nov. 1

Thanksgiving, the best holiday ever

What do you love about fall? 

*Can you guess what's on the horizon? Here's a hint: 

Come back to me, autumn! I promise I'll be good to you! 

Partially vegetarian shrimp & grits on the fly

I'm doing a lot of whipping up tonight. Whipped up a blog, then whipped up a fancy dinner in honor of the blog. I think the word "grits" is like that "bloody mary" game where if you repeat it (type it) so many times it absolutely has to materialize. 

There are tons of variations on the Shrimp and Grits theme, but I like to improvise, and just happened to have some good fixins on hand tonight. If you don’t like measuring or planning ahead, but do like delicious calories (I mean, um, energy), read on friend, read on…

Grits:

Follow grits instructions. Do not use instant grits. As anyone who’s ever seen My Cousin Vinny knows, “no self-respecting southerner uses instant grits.”  (In this context, the word “southerner” means “human.”)

Add salt, butter, and a little cream or milk and stir. (Stir a lot and vigorously to keep grits from sticking to the bottom of the pot. This is the exercise portion of the meal-making.)

Shrimps, etc:

Pan-fry one diced bell pepper, onion and bacon bits* in a couple tablespoons of olive oil and/or butter until translucent. (This is the semi-veg part. Bacos are remarkably bacon-free, but if you want to use real bacon, you can. Just don’t tell me or Wilbur about it. (I think of bacon, but not shrimp, as "meat" because of how shrimp don't have feelings. Nor can they charm spiders into writing ad copy for them.))

When veggies are translucent add shrimp. You know how to cook shrimp, right? Just don’t go crazy and overdo them.

Don’t forget to salt & pepper. Why not throw in a little paprika too?

Deglaze with white wine and cream. Yes, more cream. (I mean, really, it’s not like you’re making shrimp and grits everyday. Go ahead & getchur cream in there.) 

"I take pride in my grits." 

Throw it on top of your grits and eat out of your fanciest bowl. If you have scallions around, those are pretty on top.

Do not leave unattended around cats or anyone else with good taste.

Enjoy your world peace carb zen high!

*I don’t measure stuff, but if you’re into that kinda thing, I’d say about 1 small bell pepper, ½ white onion, 2-3 tbsp bacos, 6 shrimps/person.

Why kittens & grits?

The short version:

I’m from the south, live in the south, and have two orange cats, Doug and George.

The funner version:

So when I was brainstorming blog names, I had some thoughts: 

a) It should not be a line from The Big Lebowski (this was a challenging obstacle for me).

b) It should not contain any combination of the words “asian” and “spicy.” (I want y’all to be able to safely search for me at work), and

3) Since I’ll probably mostly blog about stuff I like, maybe the name should indicate some stuff I like.

Hence, Kittens & Grits.*

Interesting...

I mean, I don’t need to tell you how awesome kittens are. They’re squirmy and mew-y and then they grow up to be 16 lb. furry things that warm their butts on your computer while you’re trying to type lesson plans and then they somehow manage to delete your very important work files with their enormous cat butts and then you have to spend all day recovering files while they put in a full afternoon of snoozing and looking cute and innocent. What’s not to love?

And grits—well, as a South Carolinian, I never met a grit I didn’t like. I mean, who doesn't love a grit?! They’re delicious! And I just love the way the word “grits” feels in the mouth the exact same creamy kernally way grits actually taste...

Ok, so, in general, I guess I like making things. Other than grits, here’s what else I make:

poems

knitted things

cookies

messes in the kitchen

puns of all skill levels (mostly low to intermediate)

my family smile

my students do the reading

mosquitoes not be alive anymore

vegetable plants do their vegetabling

margarita glasses become empty

fun of those girls who wear opaque leggings with nothing over or under them

fun of my cats

love, not war

Things you will probably won't read about me making include:

the bed

the matheletes team

dairy products (I’m sorry but I think you “homemade yogurt makers” foodie types are a little nuts)

So, if you’re really into those last few things, well, you still should keep coming to my blog, but, you know, just change your interests so they're better.

Finally, I’d like to add that the most important thing I learned when naming this blog today is that there are NO GOOGLE IMAGES OF KITTENS AND GRITS TOGETHER! I take the fact that I have stumbled upon the ONE THING the internet DOES NOT HAVE to be a sign of huge success. Huge. 

 *My cats don’t actually eat grits, and I don’t actually eat cat… although I do often day dream of delicious ways of making Doug’s life serve a greater purpose, especially when I’m trying to ignore those 5:30 am “WAKE UP I CAN SEE THE BOTTOM OF MY FOOD BOWL!!!” meows.