Why Cooking With Oil Is Bad For Your Health

I'm not entirely stupid--I've read lots of nutrition articles and watched loads of Food Network shows. I know as well as the next guy that cooking with oil is not the wisest nutritional choice. But I completely disregarded this knowledge two days ago when I decided to make my kids scones for breakfast. Scones! What a perfect Spring Break treat!

Mormon scones aren't like the baked scones that the rest of the world enjoys. Ours are really just deep-fried roll dough, served with honey butter. Mmmmm--so tasty. I'd never made them before, just tasted them, but on a lazy spring day with a chill still in the air, there was no time like the present.

Now I'm no expert in cooking with oil. I've made egg rolls a few times and done corn tortillas for enchiladas, but I don't even do fried chicken. I've never owned a deep fryer and bake french fries in the oven. Oil scares me a bit--so unpredictable, flammable, and painful. But what's the worst that could happen? I'm always careful in the kitchen.

Apparently, not careful enough. I made a few scones, and they turned out great. At some point I must have hit the pan handle with my elbow or something. Oil splashed on my right hand, and as I jumped back it somehow ended up soaking the sock on my left foot. The pan didn't fall off the stove, and I did manage to turn off the gas burner before we all blew up, but I'm still not sure what actually happened there. I poured cold water over my hand, but the sock was still burning into my foot. I managed to rip the sock off, and had Kitty Boy drench a dish towel in cold water that I could put on my foot. I was screaming hysterically while simultaneously teaching Kitty Boy a whole new vocabulary. Well, he says I was--I'm sure he's heard it all before in middle school. Elvira said all she could hear was "Oh God!!! The pain!!!!" combined with incoherent animal sounds. I remember thinking, "Oh poor Joan of Arc!!! What a horrible way to go!!!"

Tinkerbell handed me a paper bag because I was hyperventilating, and one of the kids called Sweetie. I had the car, so his secretary ran him home even faster than I usually drive. We headed up to Instacare where they treated my many 2nd and 3rd degree burns. Wrapped up like a mummy, I headed home with pain pills and a sheepish expression.

What a moron. I know the difference between a healthy breakfast and a non-healthy one, yet I chose the latter and lived to regret it. I'm through with oil. Enchiladas will be made with plain tortillas, not cooked in oil. Egg rolls are right out. Scones--well, they're still yummy but so not worth it.

I've unwrapped my hand, and while it looks a bit scary I needed to let my fingers bend. Hopefully there won't be any scarring. My foot might have a bit of nerve damage, but thankfully it's just on the top and not the bottom. Probably a little scarring on it as well, but I'm more of a running shoe girl as opposed to sandals so who really cares? In the end, I think I got very lucky, and just as importantly I've learned a valuable lesson.

The ironic thing is that I've been watching Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution for the past few weeks, and really shouldn't have been thinking of feeding that to my children anyway. Lesson learned. Onward and upward.

Another Reason To Love Knitting

I was on the Mason-Dixon knitting blog today and found the coolest videos. The first is a Belgian natural gas commercial, and the second is how they made it. Knitting is freaking cool, I'm telling you!

The Appeal Of Knitting

I first learned to knit when I was about 11. Back in the day, my church's weekday religious program for children divided the girls from the boys when we turned 10 so we could have a class that was more relevant for our own interests, or something like that. No idea what the boys did, but we did a lot of crafty things. I learned to embroider, knit, crochet, and babysit. Surprisingly, all of these things came in very handy for me (you were expecting me to say something snarky, weren't you?). I took to the needlework like a duck to water, and never looked back. Over the years, I've added cross-stitch, smocking, needlepoint, needle tatting, hardanger, Swedish lace net darning, Swedish huck embroidery, rug hooking, sewing, quilting, and beadwork to the original three skills, as well as a little jewelry casting, leatherwork, and woodcarving. Each has its allure, but I think I love to knit the most.

When I was growing up, my mother always had some kind of project going. She did a lot of needlepoint and introduced me to most of the needlework forms I acquired over the years, but no matter what she was working on, she always had a knitting project. I can still hear the "click click" of her metal needles as she sat in our big brown chair making a sweater for Emily or a pillow for my bed. Both my grandmothers knit and crocheted, and I always had one-of-a-kind sweaters, slippers, hats, and mittens. Since we usually lived so far from my grandparents, wearing something they made connected me to them, and them to me I hope.

I hadn't knit in years, but after 9/11 I picked it back up again. I was horribly stressed at the time, and essentially I just wanted my mommy. After mastering a few dishcloths, I started a sweater for Elvira. It turned out pretty well--at least both the sleeves were the same length, albeit a bit short. I have knit while learning how to shoot Elvira up with insulin in the hospital, while waiting for my husband to come out of major eye surgery, waiting for Tinkerbell to wake up from a medical coma, listening to doctor after doctor go over our family's health histories and say, "Wow, that's really unusual! How interesting... Hey Joe, come take a look at this file! Would you consider being part of a study?" I've also knit while waiting for concerts to start, kids getting their braces off, waiting in line for all the "Harry Potter" and "Twilight" movies, watching baseball games, and yes, even in church.

But my favorite knitting memory was just over a year ago when I was home in St. Louis. Emily, Suzy, Mom and I were all watching "Mamma Mia"--and knitting. One of the best things in life is watching my mom watch a movie. Her face is so beautifully expressive, and she has the most wonderful laugh. Whether she's watching "Tom and Jerry" with Tinkerbell, "Mamma Mia" with us girls, or "Muppets Take Manhattan" with all of us, I would rather watch her than the movie anyday. I adore my mother, if you can't tell. There we were, me working on a sweater for a friend's baby, Emily working on a sweater for Elvira, Suzy just learning to knit, and Mom working on a sweater for herself. Click, click, click, the occasional curse word, and singing Abba songs. Then Dad got out of bed, shook his head at us, and asked us to keep it down. A happy, happy memory.

Tinkerbell had a Destination Imagination competition in Salt Lake on Saturday. When we were done, we headed over to Blazing Needles, which is the loveliest yarn store I've ever visited. Last summer I mentioned a moleskine project I was embarking on, and I was finally able to meet Laurie, the talented and versatile woman who is upline from me in the exchange. She was teaching a class there that afternoon. The store was filled with people, some in Laurie's class, a couple of women just hanging out knitting with a dog at their feet, Chris winding customer's skeins of yarns on the amazing swift they have, Cynthia popping around to show me things, an expectant couple looking at yarn for baby sweaters. The sun was coming in through the windows, lighting up the yarn in the bins. The yarn! Wool, silk, cotton, cashmere--handspun, hand-dyed, hand-painted, you name it. So many pretty little scarf pins, lavender sachets, books, leather project bags, just more than I could ever list.

But it was the feeling in the store, more than the goods, that made the biggest impression. There is such a comaraderie and sisterhood in knitting. The two women at the table were friends, though maybe they met through the store. One is an advanced knitter and the other just a beginner. They wanted to see what I picked out, and hear about a book I recommended. I looked at their projects and pet the sweet labradoodle that was recovering from peritonitis. Laurie and I had a big hug, Tinkerbell made herself at home picking out a project for herself, and there was a faint smell of tea from the mugs a few people were sipping from. I hated to leave.

My friend Pat, who currently lives in London, and I have talked about opening a yarn (or wool, as she says it) shop someday. We also want to write a book together. How lovely would that be? Surrounded by gorgeous fibers, creative customers/friends, the scent of lavender, and warm tea. I don't think we'd have to worry about writer's block at all.

National Day of UNPLUGGING: March 20

I need this soooo badly. Constantly worried about when my stupid Farmville crops will need to be harvested. Was it 1 hour or 50 minutes until my tika masala kababs were ready on Cafe World? Facebook has taken over my life, and I'm taking it back!! I deleted ALL my games this morning. I've tried to take breaks from Farmville before, and didn't have the strength :) But this time is different! After giving up cable (and living to talk about it), I don't miss it at all. I do watch the odd show through our digital conversion box every so often, like "Biggest Loser" and "Who Do You Think You Are?", but that's about it.

But it's not enough.

I love the concept of Shabbat. At sundown on Friday the Sabbath starts and is ritually observed until sundown the following day. Peace, family, tradition--very appealing concept. In our faith, the Sabbath is observed on Sunday, so I'm unplugging Saturday evening at sundown.

Anyone with me?

Let's Take This Party Inside

Well, I'm a little sick of blogging. I'm tired of my own thoughts, bored with everyone else's, and just kind of over the whole thing at this point. I'd rather go back to neglecting my journal, quite honestly.

I'm taking this baby private. I really don't want to be "out" there anymore. At least not right now. Not sure how the whole "private thing" goes, but look for me to disappear in the next little bit unless you know the secret password. But first you have to send me your email so I can invite you. If you know me, you probably know my email or are a friend of mine on Facebook. If you don't, leave a comment so I know how many of you are out there. If there are a lot of you, I'll think about just staying public. If there are only a few, then I'm going private.

Thanks!!

Tongue-Tied

I want to talk about something really important to me, but I can't.

Well, I could, but I really can't. Well, I guess I can, if you want to get technical about it. I could open my mouth (or type with my fingers) and say whatever I want to. But I shouldn't. I shouldn't so much so that I might as well say I can't.

There is a furious debate going on right now on a certain blog about the author's post on feminism. She expressed her opinion, which, of course is her right as an American to do, and should be her right no matter where she lives. Whoops, I'm saying too much. I'm starting to sound a bit militant, aren't I? Let me try again.

Some women in the blogosphere believe they are not feminists. That's their right, of course. Their god-given right to believe whatever they want to. And their American right to say it in their blog. Never mind that women all over the world don't have that right. Never mind that after campaigning for family members and begging for votes, even being able to cast your own, you are in a minority in the world. Never mind that you can make money off your readers by having ads all over your blog and then collect a pretty little check made out to you that you then deposit in your own personal checking account. All that aside, to say that equality has done nothing for you, as this particular blogger said in her post, leaves me speechless and yes, tongue-tied.

But I really shouldn't talk about all of this, because one might infer from my comments above that I am a feminist, and that might be detrimental to both me and my family. The fact that people assume we're Democrats in the most Republican county in America has caused us no end of unwanted attention. I can only imagine what being a feminist or having a feminist wife would do to us when one works for one of the most conservative religious universities in the country. Oh, whoops, no I don't have to imagine it because I know. It can get you fired. Or blacklisted. I would really hate to give off that impression, because I love my husband. So I can't say anything.

I also can't talk about the fact that the religious youth group that my daughter attends when I successfully coerce her into going by assuring her that I'm sure they'll do something worthwhile, interesting, and relevant this time, took the girls to try on wedding dresses last week. Never mind the fact that these girls are 16 and 17 years-old and it reeks of polygamist child-brides to me. Never mind that I'm so incredibly thankful that I didn't even try to get her to go so she was not exposed to it. Never mind that, though a few of the parents were horrified, the leaders themselves saw nothing wrong with it. Apparently it was to give them "something to look forward to." I suggested they try on caps and gowns, because my mother always said "first things first." Then I suggested that they take the boys to price out engagement rings if they wanted to continue with the culture shock theme. The leader was not amused.

Never mind the fact that after 20 years of living in this place I still feel like I live on another planet sometimes and am ready to scream my lungs out but nobody who heard me would care one bit. One might assume that I spend hours deprogramming my children after being exposed to such activities and ideas, but then one might also believe that try as I might I just can't buy into the cultural ignorance of many in the predominant faith in my particular area. One might then assume that I'm so fed up that I'm ready to turn my back on my faith and so many of its ignorant and frankly, foolish, members.

But then one would assume incorrectly, because I can differentiate between doctrine and culture.

I know that where I grew up, in lands far away from here, that I was not subjected to stupidity at the level I have seen in this place. I know that there is not such a sense of religious entitlement within my faith elsewhere, that many people, and not just women, are aware of inequality in the world and realize there is a long way to go still. I also know that even in my own family there are huge divergences of opinions on politics and yet we still love each other passionately and will protect one another's right to believe what they want.

I also know that I'm not alone. There are others here. Thinking, feeling, intelligent women and men who read and study real issues. The cautious ones talk about it in hushed tones. The rash ones shout it to the heavens. But they are talking and voting, and I don't feel so alone sometimes.

I wish I could talk about it all, I really do.

I just can't. Yet. But someday I can. And then all the thoughts that have been collecting in my head and heart all these years will come pouring out. I can't guarantee that they'll be interesting or even valid at that point, but I will be free to speak my mind without any thought of repercussion to me or my family, either economically or socially.

Lord help us all.

Blank

What to write. What. To. Write. WhAtToWrItE...

I haven't been too busy to write. I just haven't had anything "grab me" and beg to be written about. A few random thoughts, but nothing that could become a stellar essay. Not that I'm in the habit of writing "stellar" essays, come to think of it.

Some random thoughts.

Why do people continue as Education majors after working in our After School Program (ASP)? Wouldn't that be a huge deterrent--sort of like "Scared Straight" for the primary set? (Note the lower case 'p' as opposed to upper case. Used as an alternative to 'secondary' rather than an LDS church auxiliary. Just thought I'd point out that random little thing)

Why is it that once I'd finally chosen something to get my Masters in, made contacts, and had enthusiastic and positive feedback from said contacts, I realized I could probably never a) find a job in this market (both economic and geographic) and/or b) never find a job in this market that would allow me to see my family on a daily basis? That, my friends, is called 'cruel irony.'

Why is it that once I'd finally settled on my backup plan and chosen a different career to pursue, the necessity of taking Math 110--for the 4th time!!!--would become brutally obvious? This time I have to get an 'A' in it, which is alternately terrifying and hilarious. College Algebra is a huge challenge for me. I've always felt that math is like liquor--best to stay away from the hard stuff. Looks like I'll be drinking alone--again. (You know I mean "math" when I say drinking--don't scare the neighbors)

I have a big scar on my face from an accident when I was 11. I've had plastic surgery, so now it's not too noticeable. I think plastic surgery is fabulous, and I would love to have more done. Just thought I'd share.

Sometimes people think I'm weird because I live in Utah and hate guns. The very sight of one makes me want to pass out. There's a reason for that, and it might become a blog post someday. Or maybe not. (Just to clarify, people DO think I'm weird because I live in Utah, but I was trying to point out that in a state with a very high gun to possessor ratio, hating guns is the weird part, not that fact that I live here)

I love to read, but I'm a little overly critical with the books people recommend. This does not explain why I loved the first couple of "Twilight" books so much. The last two, not so much, but with the first two I was a little scarily obsessive. I'm much better now, and back to my nitpicky self. So over it now. Pretty much.

I like to knit, too. I knit during my "downtime" when I'm playing the piano for the little bits in church on Sunday. I tell people it's to keep my poor fingers warm back in my cold corner. Really it's because I have a LOT of downtime and I can at least keep my mind occupied while the kids scream their heads off. (To be fair, it's really only a few spoilsports who do the screaming, but they give their peers a bad name by association)

I wonder sometimes if I have ADD. I've joked about it for years (SQUIRREL!!), but sometimes I think I do. I wonder if a person can train themselves to develop ADD just by living a chaotic life? One would surmise then, that by streamlining and simplifying said life, the ADD could go away. That assumes that my first supposition was correct, and I'm only supposing at the moment. I could be supposing erroneously. Hupidubidu!

Worth the month-long wait between posts?