a few crumbly biscuits

the power of suggestion

"We finished the oysters and moved on to an enormous salad. It had every expensive green known to mankind, nuts, berries, and a delicious dressing made with champagne vinegar and olive oil that Matthew whisked together at the table . . . . The next course was a stew, with chunks of meat in a fragrant sauce. My first bite told me it was veal, fixed with apples and a bit of cream, served atop rice. Matthew watched me eat, and he smiled as I tasted the tartness of the apple for the first time. 'It's an old recipe from Normandy,' he said. 'Do you like it?'"

"Marthe pulled more items from her tray--a silver place setting, salt, pepper, butter, jam, toast, and a golden omelet flecked with fresh herbs."

"Marthe stepped out of one of the kitchens, flour covering her arms up to the elbows, and handed me a warm roll fresh from the oven."

"Plates full of food came and went--everything from wild mushroom soup to quail to delicate slices of beef."

I am embarrassingly susceptible to descriptions of food in books. I've been enchanted lately by Deborah Harkness's A Discovery of Witches, which includes enticing passages detailing delicious-sounding delicacies. One of the characters, Marthe, is a housekeeper/cook who is wonderfully cozy and grandmotherly (despite being a vampire). She brings the heroine endless cups of tea and the most sumptuous food. Today I read about how Marthe handed her "a plate with a few crumbly biscuits studded with nuts," and the next thing I knew, I was making these scones.

I want Marthe to move to Boston and take care of me.

at leisure

vacation

I am taking next week off, which makes today the first day of vacation, one of the very best kinds of days there is. I love how the beginning of a vacation is simultaneously relaxed and yet filled with possibility.

I'm simply staying here in Boston, but homebody that I am, staycations (what an annoying but efficient word) are one of my favorite kinds of vacations.

I have a couple of home projects to work on. The first, which friends have already heard me talk about with an enthusiasm observed only among the organizationally obsessed, is the Great Book Clean Out and Cataloguing Project. I plan to actually give away some books. Really. I've even started a pile. The crowding in my bookcases has left me with no choice.

The second project was instigated not by me, but rather by the rod in my closet on which my clothing formerly hung. Essentially a wooden dowel, about the diameter of a broomstick, it unexpectedly and dramatically broke one recent afternoon. My clothes were deposited noisily (poor Isabel was terrified) and haphazardly onto the closet floor. Digging through the heavy heap the next morning for a skirt, I told Isabel sadly, "This is no way to live." Clearly, the universe has decided that it's time to clean out my wardrobe.

Other plans for the week: Starting on a recently acquired introductory book on digital photography, in hopes of overcoming my secret conviction that cameras, like cars and computers, work by magic. Seeing a movie with friends. Taking Izzy for follow-up labs and a blood pressure check (all routine - happily, she's doing great these days). Taking Izzy and Maisie for walks in the back yard. Getting my hair done. Catching up on sleep. Reading, reading, reading.

It's going to be grand.

bummer

the grant score

Back in February, I submitted a grant application after pouring months of thought, effort, and time into it. This was a reflection not of my stupendous work ethic but rather the type of grant, which requires intense work on the part of anyone who prepares one. Since then, I've been waiting and waiting and waiting for the score from the grant reviewers. Today I found out what it is, and - sob - it's not good enough to be funded.*

I'm still learning how the whole federal grant-seeking process operates, but basically, it goes like this. You wrack your brains for months to come up with a decent research idea. You read and think and write and think some more and rewrite and re-rewrite. You talk to many people, some of whom generously give their time to help you with the thinking and writing. Meanwhile, the grant deadline nears with a snowballing speed that must echo the approach of execution day for death row inmates (okay, I exaggerate, but just a little). Finally, you submit the grant, filled with a mixture of wonder that you got it done; despair because you know it's flawed; and tremendous, joyful relief that you don't have to think about and work on it anymore, at least for a few months.

And then you wait and wait and wait for the first feedback you'll get from the reviewers, which is a score. That score gives you a rough sense of whether your application is likely to be funded, falls on the borderline, or doesn't have a prayer. (Alternatively, in some cases, an application isn't scored at all - say, if the reviewers believe the topic is a poor fit for that particular research institute.) However, no absolute score cut-off is used in determining which applications are funded; instead, the decision is based on a combination of the score and the number of other applications and the amount of available research money. (In the current funding climate, even an amazing score is no guarantee.) And that decision, as well as written comments from the reviewers, comes after you wait some more.

So I'm in the waiting some more stage, but now that I know my score, I wait with a sense of resignation. I'm like the ice skater who bobbled the triple Salchow and knows she can't possibly be in the running for a medal. I'm cringing at the thought of reading the reviewers' feedback but also eager to do so, hoping it will help me to prepare a better application next time.

I'm disappointed but not devastated. I don't advocate pessimism, but in this case, I think expecting the worst did soften the blow a bit. You see, after I submitted the application, I wrote and submitted a few other, smaller grants, proposing different but related projects. In doing so, I realized (painfully) the ways in which this initial, bigger grant was indeed flawed and might have been stronger. I've been awaiting the score with trepidation and am therefore relieved to finally know, even though no miracle occurred and my score wasn't unexpectedly great.

I'm already starting the brain-wracking-for-a-good-idea process again. I'm aspiring to write something more catchy, more savvy, less flawed next time. I am a hopeful pessimist.

(photo by Renaud2, on Flickr)


*For my fellow academic researcher friends who know the scoring system: The score is a 55.

aidan the (school) boy

first day of preschool

Aidan the Boy attended preschool today for the first time ever!

We've been excited about his starting because he hasn't had regular opportunities to socialize with kids his own age. Because he has a speech delay (specifically, in his ability to articulate certain sounds), we've also figured preschool would provide good opportunities to talk with people outside the family.

We've wondered how he'd take to school, however, because, well, he hasn't had regular opportunities to socialize with kids his own age or to talk with people outside the family. When my mom asked a few weeks ago if he was excited about starting, he informed her that he was shy. Which is basically malarkey, but still, we've wondered how he'd do in a classroom full of kids, away from Sachi all day.

The verdict? He loved it! So much that he didn't want to go home and is already talking about wanting to go back (he'll be attending on Tuesdays and Thursdays).

Maybe he'll take after his Auntie Mari and end up going to school for 24 years.

(photos by Sachi)