Zora Travels

Here Comes the Sun

As you read the post, play this in the background.  And here's a cheesy timer picture from an hour ago with the kittens, Max & Sophie.

My next unit for my 9th grade students is This Boy's Life.  A memoir by Tobias Wolff that follows a young man through his adolescence in the late 50's and early 60's.  I am obsessed with this unit.  My first five weeks have been comparable to the recent scene with my nephew at the dentist's office.  My students are the reluctant child with fears and unclarity being dragged towards literature (x-ray machines and chairs with large lights and instruments of torture).  I am the dentist...looming large overhead, shining light into their weak literacy and prodding into their writing deficits.  Their lack of rigor, homework, and mental challenge in past English classes is as obvious as the softening enamel of a cavity.  Fillings are needed.  Painful but necessary.

My lollipop is their improved reading and writing skills. Most don't want it.

I am struggling with my job lately.  My 170 students are typical 14 year olds...complete with attitudes, reluctance to work, preference for texting and myspace and facebook.  Every day my mind churns and swirls with potential hooks and lessons and ways to bring them hungry to the feast of words and language that satiate my belly.

So this next unit is my focus...my pet project.  Hours pouring over the memoir, the key quotes, the "fun" projects that will connect my students to this era of Americana when fathers knew best and everyone had happy days loving Lucy.  All of these shows will splash during class to entice.  My mother is making cd's of 50's and 60's music to play at the beginning and end of each lesson.  Movies such as, The Wanderers, American Graffiti, La Bamba, and This Boy's Life will add to the historical context of the experience.

Can I find my rhythm again as a teacher?  Can I serve these students with integrity and still salvage my personal life balance?  Is it possible to leave work and the 170 personalities of my scholars in the classroom each night and weekend...without the need for a daily rant and then subsequent hours of tweaking lessons for the next day?  Losing the mere three hours each night with Daniel (who just finished his 2nd week at work) to the computer, textbook, and grammar websites.

Daniel must be tired of hearing me talk about education.  I would normally turn to my colleagues.  Voicing my concerns with fellow teachers at lunch and saving more pleasant topics for home.  But I'm at a new school.  Eating every day alone.  Adjusting my presentations after each period to maximize their efficacy.  Lorraine did help dry my tears the other day with some great advice but it has been five years since I taught this grade level.  I fear I am not doing it well.

But "Here Comes the Sun" is playing.  Negativity is a habit.  Too much focus on the daily "thisclasssucks,f_ckthis, thisisboring,Ihatethisclass" instead of the interested eyes and bright smiles of a few faces that sit in my classroom.  Hands that extend towards mine with eagerness and respect.  Laughter that spills when my geeky grammar jokes fly.

I am turning over a new leaf.   The old leaf is still just on the other side.  Semi-transparent and sharing the same veins...but I'm turning.  This is the only life I believe I'll live.  Before me lies a day that shall never repeat.  A chance to show more kindness, patience, and appreciation for what I have, what I've known, and where I'll be.

Today, I shall write letters to a few friends.  Ever since my sister-in-law, Kathy, sent me an article about how the time on the internet can affect the quality of relationships, I've been trying to reach out more in a personal fashion to those I love.  A facebook post cannot ever equate to a voice on the phone.  An email can never replace a letter sitting in your mailbox.  A snapfish photo album will never thrill the way glossy prints feel in your hands.

I'm going to preheat the oven.  A salmon-feta strada is soaking in the fridge (thanks for the recipe, Claire).  Daniel (currently taking notes at his first sailing course) will come home in a few hours to the aroma of eggs, cheese, veggies, and salmon baking in a casserole dish (thanks, Janette).  Fresh basil and parsley atop.  A glass of chilled wine.  A smiling wife.

Can you beat that?  Eggs, cheese, wine, and wife.

School Days

School starts tomorrow.  I often wonder if the students can see how nervous I am those first few minutes.  I stand at the door, smile on my face, shaking each of their hands, hoping that literature becomes their escape into fantasy....as it always did for me.  Teaching is a stage that I relish...yet every year my stomach flips and flops.  Tomorrow will bring 175 new faces into my life.  I'll struggle to learn their names quickly; they'll scramble to acclimate to the pace of my class.

My waking hours this last week were spent almost entirely in my classroom.  I'll try and load pictures of it tomorrow; however, just know it's beautiful.  It says to each scholar that enters, "Hey there, wake up, see the colors, be positive, and know that you're safe, respected, and going to learn."

Or, at least that's what I hope it says.  Some may see it saying, "Hey, I have a bunch of old posters and African cloth around my house, so, why don't I just throw it up in my classroom?"

**This is also the THIRD year that I thank my lucky stars for Daniel and his strong back and fierce work ethic.  He is the most patient mover and helped me put up Michael Jordan, Diego Rivera, college-banners, and Mardi Grass masks on my walls the other night until 9:30pm.

And during the hours that I'm not at school....I have spent time this past month doing some fun things:

• making turon (plantain egg rolls) with Ruffa, Cathy, and Daisy

• having bbq's with the neighbors

• riding bikes to sip cocktails by the water

• saying goodbye to the beloved NYC-bound Sara

• playing Taboo with Alexis, Graciela, and Daniel

• reading Julie's blog each day and crying with joy
• loving Claire's blog and aching to meet Veronica in person
• seeing my first Dodger game with Lorraine and Michael (go BLUE!)

And today....riding bikes to the marina for Julia and Julie and then a swing past the farmer's market for some peaches and figs.

Double smiles

 Some days I have the blissful opportunity to see some of the kids I love.  I get to hold them, pinch their cheeks, fall more in love with their squirms and curious glances, swipe velvety curls and hairs from their foreheads....just witness them growing.  There are countless little ones whose laughs, tears, coos, tiny toes, and slobbery mouths I adore...but few live down the street.  Yesterday was radiant with the giggles and acrobatics of both Tafari and Rafaela.

Little man, Tafari, crawled around on our (unusually clean) wood floor showing off his latest talent.  He was mesmerized by his mom's dancing ability and the large Filipino basket.  Ginny's dancing ability actually brought me with her to a tiny island off the coast of Guinea four years ago for a month of West-African dance & djembe drum lessons.  The drumming I quickly abandoned; however, the dancing I pursued with my concrete feet and confused hips for the duration (not that I didn't enjoy an unusually high number of luke-warm beers to keep me engaged).  Ginny; however, brilliantly twisted and jumped, catapulted her hips, swung her arms to symbolize the harvest, and stomped her feet in the pebbly sand....while small children holding baby monkeys chuckled and scrawny chickens with varying colors of yarn (to symbolize to which family they belong) scratched along the sidelines.

The evening held hours of enjoying the gummy grin of Rafaela.  Her tan cheeks and light wispy hair revealing the joys of summer sun.  I have watched her mother breastfeed seven children.  All of them turning towards Mara with absolute adoration; and after nursing, falling from the breast with a gluttonous glow and heavy eye lids.  It still never ceases to amaze me.  Just how perfectly wondrous the act of breastfeeding can be.  My friend, Claire, recently wrote this article on this gorgeous relationship.  And having had a mother who volunteered for La Leche League and many friends who proclaim breastfeeding as the ONLY way to go, her article gave me pause.

And while we're on the subject of babies....I apologize to all friends, acquaintances, and all those to whom I've asked the question, "So, when are you going to start trying?"  This question in its myriad forms, which I've asked a hundred times myself to newly weds, has been launched from the sweetest faces with the best of intentions.  It comes via email, facebook, phone call, wedding cards, and in person.  I recognize that my devotion and adoration of children, having started with my mom's in-home daycare at the ripe-old age of four and continued through constant babysitting and nanny jobs through college, has often given the impression that I would be pregnant with my first post-nuptial breath; but I need a minute.  A few minutes, actually.

This past year, although a bountiful year of experiences and obstacles to work through and strengthen my relationship with Daniel, has also been very stressful.  Dual unemployment was not our intended "2009 Plan," on the contrary, we had this plan in mind.  I am not ungrateful for a year to experience the humbling task of a budget, frank discussions on future, finances, and options...but I am also looking forward to a year with a full-time job.  A year with health benefits (that start August 1st)....and a year that I hope blooms with all of my loved ones in continued strong health, robust love, and a wealth of laughter and peace.  And of course, no more wedding planning.

I am keenly aware that during a recession, my obtaining of a job with great benefits, is a fortunate reality.  The 150+ teenagers in my freshman English class have started to form their predictable shadows in my mind, my dreams, and my nerves.  I am ready to plunge into lesson-planning.  Ready to finger, tab, take notes, and develop projects that squeeze the literary prowess from novels and enliven our classroom and enrich our discussions with their youthful voices and varied experiences.  I am ready again to be a teacher.

Wonderous Weekend

To set the mood - BEFORE reading this post, please listen to this in the background.

 

Daniel sits across from me now.  His freshly-shaven chin leans into his hand (wedding ring visible).  Soca music spills from his laptop and competes with Garth Trinidad's radio show.  Every few minutes he reads more reviews and suggestions for our trip to St. Lucia that begins tonight.  Turns out that we are visiting during Carnival.  Imagine our luck....the streets erupt with elaborate costume parades, steel drum competitions, and soca dance parties.  Near our resort giant leatherback turtles sun themselves on the sand...snorkeling in crystal clear water beckons...and cocktails, adorned with umbrellas and fruit slices, will flow freely from the bar....and back in our ocean-view villa our very own "private plunge pool" awaits.

I can't wait for our honeymoon....I'm abuzz with excitement.  My dad will enjoy our home while we enjoy the sun in the Caribbean waters.  Neither of us have ever been to this nook of the planet.  And although we're staying in a fancy hotel, you can't take the "hosteling/mosquito-net-carrying" mindset out of us...we have packed tupperware to scoop up "inclusive meals" and jaunt off on the bus into various little towns.  Towns that offer fish-frys from old men on the beach, dancing circles that erupt near local bars, Rasta food, and sand bars that allow for hours of simple sitting.

But before our feet trapse in the waters at Jalousie, I wanted to share just a few of my favorite photographs from the weekend....with a wee bit of storytelling.  The professional photographs from the artistic Noa should be available in 5 more weeks.  We can't wait to share them.


Courtney flew down with her son (and my Godson) Jonah for the nuptial festivities.  Here we are at the rehearsal dinner.  I forced myself to sit apart from her because we often get consumed in our own side-story, gossip, and inside-jokes (a growing repertoire since we were 9 years old)...but we often raised our beers toward each other, winked, and shared knowing glances.  For her to stand as my matron-of-honor, holding my hands in the bridal salon, spraying my shaking legs with cooling mist (thanks, Claire), and delivering the only speech of the night that made me cry....was an amazing gift.

Of course, the time with my nephew Sam has been incredible.  If only they lived down the street.  If only I always knew the pajamas that fit him, the book he loved most, the way he likes his fruit sliced, the songs he most enjoys...these little details I capture and relish in his presence...with heartbreak that they will soon change and I'll be once again just the  "Auntie Zora on the phone."

But this weekend, I knew the story.  "Dumbo" on page 233 of his Disney book.  Kathy, my other fabulous bridesmaid, holds a reluctant Becca.

And well, I know she's my niece, but seriously....is there ANY cuter than Becca-Bean-Bear?  I could hold her, sniff her neck, wipe her wispy hair from her face, watch her squish raspberries, blow bubbles with her lips, and dazzle me with her four-tooth grin all day.  I want to stop time when I look at her.

And this young man.  My, what a long journey it's been.  On the day he entered the world, I was anxiously awaiting his arrival along with Courtney's other family members.  We twiddled our thumbs, shot nervous smiles, and felt the sheer anticipation of this amazing boy.

His kind heart, outdoorsy spirit, and wild curls were a pure joy this weekend.  He listened to more topics (including me discussing bikini waxing, manny/peddys, bridal panic, and magic spandex underwear) than most young men his age should every have to.  He rode in the backseat of my car as we approached the wedding site...patient as I replayed my song for the day.

The rehearsal dinner was this golden evening when our two families, two sets of friends, gathered for a casual evening.  Lumpia and pancit were served while Bea (Daniel's Goddaughter & our flower girl) danced with Becca in the hallway.

And if only my immense gratitude for my mother could be captured in words.  Whether it be the ribbons dancing from flower balls, the bouquets and boutonnieres, the moss covered rocks, the shining vases filled with roses for Lola, the placecards swirled with calligraphy, the fountain bursting with succulents, the hosting of the rehearsal dinner, or the tugging of my magic underwear right before I walked down the aisle...she was my hero.  She is my treasured mother.

And she can sing, too.  Thanks to Ding & Daisy who brought their karaoke machine! (and to Daniela & Alyce for setting up the decorations!)

 

Days after the formal evenings...it was beach time!  Hours of sun-bathing, sandcastle building, and wave jumping took place.

 

Jonah also made an incredible friend in Eduard.  Another young man whose zest for life matches his own.

 

 

Sam is a blur in the midst of the men.  Shane, Daniel, John, and Steve all enjoyed watching him spin around the back yard.

 

We took a brief departure from our visiting family & friends and enjoyed a night at Crystal Cove.  Here is our first "vacation hand" picture.  Notice the rings!  It still makes me giddy to see it on his finger!

 

And with our wedding date inscribed in the sand, we bid adieu to the beach...at least for a few days...until we welcome the crashing waves once again on an island.

Friends & Loved Ones

These past several weeks have been rich with laughter, pain, tears, and excitement.  When the one you love the most loses someone who has so completely infused their life, personality, and family with strength, courage, faith, and kindness, it is difficult to watch.  Difficult to know what they need.  Difficult to temper your thrill of getting married, having a party, dancing a jig...with their knitted brow of grief, familial obligations, and respectful ceremonies that also need planning, thought, and an open heart.  May Lola Rose rest in peace knowing that her grandson is an incredible man, son, fiance and friend.  His love and that of his entire family was a beautiful embrace that kept her warm, comfortable, and secure until the end.  She knew she was treasured.

In these same two weeks that life has been experienced with many tears and also laughs, we have both enjoyed our Bachelor/Bachelorette parties.  Pics are above and below of these splendid days.

The Greeks

White clouds puffed and blue skies hovered above Downey today as Daniel & I attended the Greek Festival with my aunt.  My breath stilled as I entered the church.  Saints moved their eyes, intricately carved blond wood surrounded paper flowers, and vibrant colors splashed against pristine white walls.  The deacon explained the iconology behind some of the paintings and Mary's luminous blood red arms reached down from the heavens.  Lambs crackled and rotated on spits, coin-stitched scarves jangled past, and folk music blared from the stage as young and old clasped shoulders in a line dance.  The sun found my pale flesh inviting and soon painted warmth and pink across my back.  Styrofoam containers overflowing with lamb, feta chunks, tomatoes and dolmas coated the table.

And in the midst of our merry feast, three copies of our ceremony overview were dotted with olive oil, tzatziki, and scrawled notes.  We had come to the festival with our wedding officiant (my Aunt Pat) to plan the heart of the matter...to give thought to the thirty minutes that nestle into a musical sandwich and will solidify our union in marriage.  These are some of the most poignant and serious words that we'll ever write.  They are passages, vows, and promises that I'll make before family and friends...looking into D's giant cocoa eyes.  I hope I can speak.  I hope the tears don't fall so quickly that I can't muster up a voice. 

We also celebrated Mr. D's birthday a wee bit early with the largest margarita ever and scrumptious shredded wheat honey mounds (from the Greeks) and flaky cheese pastries (from the Cubans).  The evening rounded out with Mara's vegetarian feast, Beatle's ballads sung to accompany Alexis' wicked guitar, a cute cheribum baby kissed and cuddled, Cherry Garcia ice-cream, and the typing of this here post.

Fondue fingers

Last night in an elevator going down, after a fabulous evening at Melting Pot, Alyce made "fondue fingers."  Her graceful hands danced waves in the air and the movement captured the essence of our evening.  Four friends relishing a break in spring.  A much-deserved and pined for teacher's reprieve.

Yes, I'm always on spring break...but for my friends...their walk is lighter, banter freer, and we all can lose track of time on a Tuesday.

We had gathered in Pasadena to feast and drink.  We skewered bread and bathed the chunks in artichoke cheese with a hint of garlic; we boiled lobster tail, portobello mushrooms, and spinach ravioli in spiced broth; we swirled strawberries, and brownies, and cheesecake bites into a pool of milk chocolate.

Bellies grew under the forgiveness of bohemian clothes.  Wine flowed and conversations poured.

I adore the friends that I've made from school.  Women, who I respect and appreciate as teachers, have slowly blossomed in the garden in which I seek comfort and support.  Each unfurling another vibrant, strong, and jagged layer beyond the workplace.  It takes time and wine.  But around the table last night I remember thinking and hoping, "let this circle remain."  I looked at Lorraine and marveled at her gentle courage; at Sara with eyes alit about Catalina; at Alyce with her adventurous Puerto Rican agenda.  I sent Daniela a wish for the most amazing Hawaiian sunset that her and Hayes have ever seen.  There was abundant gratitude.

I've had friendships die before.  Painful slow deaths that grind to a halt after too many unreturned phone calls.  Horrendously abrupt deaths that knife into your heart with confusion, betrayal, and shock.  It remains a mystery how some of them ever came to be and how some now cease to exist.  One such friend from the "abrupt demise" category recently emailed.  She had heard that I was engaged and issued congratulations.  How do I respond to this email?  Her hatred was bitter and poignant eight years ago.  A fury that singed ties with nearly all of the other friends in the circle.

Forgiveness was difficult.  Apathy is the result.  Nostalgia rears up.

Oh, it would be nice to see pictures of the sons I know she's had.  I envision jet black curls that pile on their caramel heads.  Eyes kissed with curves and lilac mouths.  A lush blend of Vietnamese and Dominican hues.

But to reach out...to respond...means there is trust again. 

To not respond means that her email just sits in my inbox.  Her name staring back at me.

Circles in the Driveway

A few minutes ago, I walked in circles in the driveway.  The sunlight was bright and warmed the cracked concrete beneath my thinly soled slippers.  The orange blossoms perfumed the air....birds chirped high in the neighbor's tree.  My slippers scratched and shuffled around and around.  I just wanted to be outside.  Inside was a sick Daniel and a pot of boiling water.

I faced my biggest decision of the day.  Do I use the boiling water for tea and oatmeal....or microwave some black-eyed peas?

I went with the peas, black like my tea.

Sometimes I am unsure what to do with my day.  I've been a consumed teacher for almost nine years....forever lesson planning, always considering how better to reach (or smack) a student whose getting under my skin.  Cruising the internet for an invigorating way to teach character analysis or college requirements....sitting with stacks of essays or projects on my lap and marking them with a green or red (gasp!) pen.

But this year, I'm a sub.  A sub with no work in sight for the next few weeks.  I'm not a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom) or owner of my own business.  I don't tend a garden.  I can yoga and meditate and easily avoid daytime television...but some days I just want to go out and spend money.  Not that retail therapy is my norm, but it seems there are only so many walks, books, newspapers, blogs, journal-writing and scarf-knitting hours that one can pass.

Here's how I would spend a paycheck this afternoon, were we not saving each of my sub pennies for an ever-expanding wedding.  (If there are any more relatives coming from out of country/state, please tell us now....and "no, we don't mind if you don't bring a date"...they are, after all, random strangers to us.)

1. A 90 minute aroma therapeutic velvet massage from Cynthia at The Loft.

2. One vial of aforementioned aroma therapeutic oil to massage into my temples at night.

3. One pair of hipster shoes from organic cork-board spongecake at Oh My Sole.

4. A gigantic lemon tree from Armstrong Nursery.

5. Two bottles of peppermint shampoo and condition from an Aveda Salon.

6. One facial at the above salon.

7. One housecleaning visit from some brilliant woman who uses organic cleaning products.

8. One carwash (without scent).

9. One large bright orange La Creusset baking dish with lid (for casseroles and lasagna).

10. A fancy camera...one that can take pictures of my hands like this one.

 

Ah, that felt good.  Almost as good as actually buying the stuff. 

But what is on my plate, literally? This afternoon I shall receive crust lessons; for either savory or sweet.  Emmanuelle, one of my culinary heroes, has offered to school me on the essence of crust.  I must simply pack a bag with some Irish butter, whole milk, eggs, and a leek and walk the five blocks down to her picturesque street.  Once inside, gleaming wood floors and a wagging-tailed Taffy will greet me.

And what about all of you (I think there are 8 of you who read this blog)?  How would you spend your day or money if you had loads of time?  I do harbor, by the way, bountiful gratitude for my fortune at having this type of limitless time.

Now, back to my black bowl with a few beans left to scoop, a second cup 'o tea, and the newspaper.

*******

11:55am addendum:  I just read this article.  I am crying.  Daniel's scraping a black bowl for the last of his oatmeal.  He sniffles.  His scraping is annoying.  He wipes his nose and face with the cloth napkin and slurps his water.  I will always remember this quote from the writer:  "We are two, but we are one. And I love those numbers."

We marry in 105 days (yes, The Knot tracks this for me).

Making it to moussaka

"What will you write about on your blog tomorrow?" Haydar asked.

"That you asked me at 10:50pm about what I'd write." I responded.

There.  I said what I'd do and I did what I said.  I feel like Dr. Seuss.  My stomach is cavorting.  The teacher for whom I'm subbing today said, "Good luck.  They eat subs alive."

Nice.  I shall be consumed by 11th graders today.  Hopefully, they are quick and merciful. 

But how bad can watching a movie be?

We'll just have to see.  If I make it to lunch, I'll have a blissful slice of moussaka and the company of my German philosopher friend, Carlos, to enjoy.  There's something savory about a Greek pie, layered with lentils and eggplant, intertwined with a discussion of Schiller that keeps the body satiated.   

The Showers of March

It's a Monday afternoon.  I am fully-caffeinated and just finished uploading and captioning photos on Snapfish for two showers.  A baby shower and a bridal shower.  The baby shower was for Claire.....amazing, radiant, mama-to-be, Claire.  She has such an incredible group of friends....and at the risk of sounding odd ...I want them to adopt me.  She's cobbled together this group of women who whether flying in from New York, spilling stories with an Atlanta drawl, or rattling through a Dr. Seuss book, seem genuine, vibrant, and kind.  This circle of women surrounded her on Saturday, wishing her strength and love as a mother, promising to always support and nurture as friends, receiving henna tattoos and giving books and beads and hugs.  And not to mention the table spread with thousands of calories of cheesy quiches, cheesy grits, salads bursting with boysenberries and pecans, red velvet cupcakes swirled with cream cheese frosting and melons carved into swans (I claim the fowl sculpture). It was simply a lovely day...lavished in Venice Beach fog and ending with wine along Abbot Kinney. 

Parking was a nightmare but it forced a lengthy walk along the Venice Canals.  Who lives in these houses?  I wondered.  I saw a teenage boy sprawled out on an orange sofa in an enormous corner house.  He was reading a book.  I stood there pondering what life is like in a house on the corner of a canal.

And seriously, how does Lien walk in these shoes?  I don't have the guts to even consider these shoes.  Daniel eyes lit up when he saw this picture.  I promise some day I'll get some sexy heels and at least dangle them off my curvy feet before bed.

And the bridal shower...well, that was for me.  Claire, along with the other two bridesmaids, lives far away.  So, she conspired with Courtney and friends and family to hold this shower on the same weekend she was in LA.  Quite a thoughtful maid!  And it was with a butterfly stomach and a cute new dress that we drove down to my Aunt Barbara's seaside bungalow.  It was a day filled with sand storms and lilac roses; wild flower nests stuffed with French chocolate and cranberry-orange muffins; luxurious macaroni and cheese with buttery crumbs and truffles; Barcelona chocolate umbrellas and berry trifle with lemon curd; strong coffee sipped from delicate china cups and mimosas....plenty of mimosas.  And thank God for the alcohol because as much as I crave the focus and attention of students at the front of the classroom...it is quite different sitting at the head of a long table --- taking a funny quiz on Daniel, opening cards with sweet sentiment, receiving a cookbook from Claire filled with pages of recipes, photographs, and advice from all the guests and lovely gifts for both bedroom and kitchen.

I feel truly special...and the wedding feels within reach.  This was the first full-blown "nuptial related" event.  I've gone dress shopping with friends, discussed plans with many, but this day I was 100% bride-to-be.  And to my amazement and jitters...I also saw for the first time my new name all written out upon a card.  The loops of my new identity crawling across the paper.....Do I really have to use "Mrs."?

The women who gathered were from so many phases of my life....ranging from birth, to serving pie at Marie Calender's, to fearing the black boots approaching at 826LA, to dancing off the coast of West Africa, to teaching teenage pirates (lunch ladies shown here).  All women who exude strength, wisdom, and vitality.  It was nice being the center of attention....I suppose on the "Big Day" this will be the case once again.  I'll accept it, relish it, and try and be present in the moment....and hopefully have a few drinks!

And after a long weekend of showers and a counter filled with leopard-print lingerie, Croatian liquor, and an immersion blender....what did I do?  Well, I popped popcorn in our shiny new wok.  I may not yet be gourmet...but nibbling spicy popcorn and watching 1/2 of The Piano was the perfect ending to the weekend.