India on the corner

I stopped by a place in town yesterday called Taj Mahal.

Yes, I'm very much still in Virginia, USA. This was a grocery store, not the overly-famous masoleum from all the postcards. I wonder if it irritates Indians to have that rather johnny-come-lately building, lovely as it is, be all that most people picture when they think India.

When I stepped inside, a tall man in a turban strode towards me, a Sikh, I am sure. A wave of fragrant spices filled my senses. I told him I had come for chana flour. He swiftly took me to its place of honor upon the shelf.

How I longed to linger, to pick up the boxes and bags of mysterious things that were emanating these delicious odors, and to read the labels and just wander around. But as usual, I was due home and could not.

As I cradled the bag of chana flour in my hands, for a moment I listened to the chatter in Hindi of the other customers, wishing as I so often have for the superpower of understanding every world language.

The chana helped me complete a delicious recipe for deep-fried string beans. As I sifted together cumin, carom, ginger and the other ingredients, home in my own kitchen that night, the sweet, spicy fragrances filled the air and gave me a peek into the pleasures of that faraway place.

Quote of the day

"I wouldn't exactly call you a liar honey but oh, how you prevaricate!"

-- Line from some old '40s song.

Sharing our space

It hurts my heart every time I pass the dried-up remains of a certain turtle, on the shoulder of a certain stretch of I-95 that I traverse daily on my way home.

It takes a long time for a turtle to grow to large size. I wonder how long this one had lived before it met its demise on this unforgiving freeway. I wonder, too, if its ill-fated decision to try to cross the freeway was motivated by the recent obliteration of the adjacent forest to create yet another useless new development to put money in somebody's pocket.

I read a bittersweet column today by a resident of my city, offering ways that we can -- having stolen so much from nature -- give a little back. Poignant was her depiction of the annihilation of a large meadow near her home where killdeer birds once nested. It is now eye-sore sprawl and roadways.

We have claimed so much of the earth as our own -- cleared it, paved it, spread buildings across it. We never consult the previous occupants, whether plant or beast, as to their opinions in the matter. In some cases, we don't even regard the feelings of the human occupants. Ask any Native American, or the Bikini islanders, or the descendants of the Appalachian mountain folk driven out by 20th-century government decree, or the victims of that pernicious evil called "eminent domain."

Can we ever say enough is enough? Can we please just assess what we already claim as ours and clean it up and deal with it more efficiently? Can we accept as a fait accompli what we have done in the past and have the decency to wreak no more misery upon our beleagured world?

Can we end our addiction to destruction,and once and for all declare that what little we have left in a natural state should stay that way? There are thousands, perhaps millions of acres of so-called brownfields, homes standing empty, poorly planned industrial complexes. Those are ours. Let's clean them up and make no more.

If I ruled the world, the bulldozers would grow cobwebs and rust away, damn them all! No bloated developer would ever again waddle onto the edge of a woodland with his golden shovel and his Jabba-the-Hutt grin, announcing yet another gas station to go up where birds once sang, unless and until we had fixed the messes we have already made.

And even then, the lousy ogre would have to move every single plant on the site to another location at his own expense, even if he had to get down on his hands and knees with a trowel to do it. And if a single birdnest or rabbit burrow were found it's sorry Charlie, take your blueprints and stick em where the sun don't shine.

My kind of yum!

How about a two-egg, venison, feta cheese, tomato, hot pepper, cumin and paprika omelette for breakfast?

Won't find that at Denny's.

Nice way to start my morning.

A good day to all.

Morning!

6 a.m. Up, not willingly.
Sweetie gets the bathroom first, a Lady's perogative. I check my Facebook account. Get annoyed because I am still blocked from adding friends because I have "added too many too fast," which according to the gods of Facebook, constitutes abuse.

6:30: Bathroom is mine. The usual.

6:45: Out and have a little breakfast of toast with homemade fig jam. Forget until an hour later and far away when I am writing this post that we have orange juice in the fridge, too. Put eggs on to boil for our lunches.

Give the cockatiel her breakfast and medicine -- flaxseed oil and powder for her achy little old joints. Listen to the weatherman gloat that the temperature could reach 101 degrees this week and it will most likely never, ever, rain again here.

Venture outside into the already murderous heat and put the sprinkler on the potatoes. Wonder for the 4,359th time why I am still using the busted-up old plastic sprinkler that requires being held in place with a stick and a rock and never remember to get a new one.

7 a.m. Help my Beloved with a few things that She needs done. Trek outside again to move the sprinkler onto the okra. Curse the fig tree for still being covered with hard green fruit that is determined never to ripen. Feebly attempt to uproot some tenacious wire grass that is thriving amidst the wilted flowers.

7:30: Fifteen minutes late leaving for work. Contemplate for the 4,359th time that I ought to start getting up a half-hour earlier. Reject the notion for the 4,359th time.

Sink into the blissful air conditioning of my car and immerse myself in a Dvorak violin concerto performed by Sarah Chang. Listen to the announcer inform me that 19th century violinists found this piece too difficult. Think to myself, they never asked a Woman. You want something difficult or impossible to be done, and done well -- ask a Woman to do it.

Please stand still sir, so that I may more easily choke you. Much obliged.

Civilization is built upon the premise that harmony can be created by suppressing the urge we feel to squeeze the throats and punch the faces of the incredibly annoying, obtuse people we encounter in our daily activities and leaving the task of punishment to others.

Such a blissful ideal is rarely met. The stupid are rarely punished. That is why people go camping to get away from it all. Or take drugs. Or go insane.