Ian's Champuru Thanksgiving Pie

This pie is a modified mixture of recipes from Edmond's Cookery Book (the NZ cooking bible) and www.joyofbaking.com. We made it for Thanksgiving on Thursday in place of a pumpkin pie, because there are no pumpkins here right now (out of season perhaps?).

Sweet Shortcrust Pastry
1 and 1/4 cups flour
90g butter
1/4 cup sugar
1 egg yolk
1 and 1/2 tablespoons water
1/2 cup pecans
1/2 cup crushed gingernut biscuits

Sift flour. Cut in butter until it resembles fine breadcrumbs. Stir in sugar. Add egg yolk and water. Mix to stiff dough. Chill for 30 minutes. Toast pecans in oven and chop. Take chilled dough and roll out to line a 30cm pie pan. Press crushed gingernut biscuits and chopped pecans into base and return to refrigerator while making filling.

Filling
3 eggs
2 cups mashed sweet potato
1/2 cup cream
1/2 cup light brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated ginger
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon salt

Mix all ingredients. Pour filling into pie base and put in preheated 190 degrees C oven for 45 minutes to an hour. Pie is ready when crust browns and knife inserted into the pie comes out almost clean.

Serve with vanilla ice cream.

Mere Starbucks

Saturday was a milestone in my barista growth.

One stumbling block I have dragged along over my first two years as a Starbucks employee, as I sit in the comfy chair with my latte, has been a lingering doubt that I asked for a job with impure motivations. Did I actually want the job, or did I just want to sit in the comfy chair? Of course, now that I am in the comfy chair, I am happy to have the job, but then I find myself wondering – is it a latte I hold, or just an empty cup? And if it is an empty cup, then am I justified in being here at all?

On Saturday I went to a nearby village for a Starbucks conference, which encouraged both current and prospective employees to ask lots of questions about the company and its ethos. My epiphany occurred as one of the team leaders gave a speech about a section of the handbook covering hiring, which states, “continue to work our your employment with fear and trembling.” Incidentally, that was written by a former Robert Harris employee who enjoyed getting Starbucks workers fired, but later became one of Starbucks most well renowned managers after a remarkable meeting with the CEO.

It turns out that there are actually three processes of employment. The first is justification, where you actually get hired. The second is sanctification, where you learn the ropes and work for the company. And the final stage is glorification, when you retire and get to meet the CEO. I realized that, as long as I kept worrying about justification, IM-ing the CEO every few minutes to check if I signed the contract in the right place, I would perpetually hinder my sanctification.

The CEO, who is a remarkably patient man, explained by showing me a picture of myself in a box underground. One of the unique aspects of Starbucks is that, while many cafes wait for employees to come to them and then put them through a rigorous selection and examination process, the CEO of Starbucks actually searches for employees himself and hires anybody who is willing to be a part of the company. The situation wasn’t about whether or not I had done enough to dig myself out of the box, because I was unable to do that anyway. All I had to do was express willingness to be out, for whatever reason, and trust that the CEO would dig me up. Which is what he did.

So, now I have that wonderful assurance, I can get on with my work.

Metaphorically yours,
Ian

Things my students said to me this week...

1. Mum?! ...Oh! (smack on head) I mean, Mrs. Laidlaw!

2. Miss, are you American? Do you live in America? (Yes, I commute every day in my private jet.)

3. Miss, have you ever been abroad? (This was after the fact that we had established that I was an American.)

4. Kid: I wish I lived in America.
Me: Why?
Kid: It's so much better than over here.
Me: How do you know that if you've never been there?
Kid: From TV. And movies.
Me: What? TV is baloney. You can't believe half of the things you see on TV.
Kid: (Gasp) Mrs. Laidlaw! That's a dirty word!
Me: Huh?
Kid: You can't say that! We British love our television! Don't you dare talk bad about television!

5. Mrs. Laidlaw, are you American? Do you know anyone famous?

6. Kid: Mrs. Laidlaw, do all the people over there in America think we're posh?
Me: (pausing in case this means something different in British English)
Sorry, what exactly do you mean by that?
Kid: I mean, do they think we're really snobby and stuck up?
Me: No. Why? Do British people think Americans are snobby and stuck up?
Kid: No! Americans are like "Yeah man!" (in an a faked American accent complete with mock gang hand gestures)

7. Miss, my friend says she saw this movie last week called "(fill in name)" and you look just like the lady who played in it. Was that you?

8. Mrs. Laidlaw, what's it like in America? (How do you start to answer that?)

9. Kid: Miss, where do you come from in America?
Me: I'm from Indiana.
Kid: Oh, is that where Indiana Jones is from?

We don't need no education,
Kristy

Paradise Found

It didn't really come as a surprise. We had so little work that we were forced to whit away the hours reciting Milton and reminiscing about those brighter days in Prague. Sweet Prague! Days filled with incense and art, and the lady who brought us the freshly baked cheese that we fed to the children. But not so, gloomy England! Your waters bitter and baguettes stale. On this bleak Friday afternoon, our team leader gathered us around and told us, since it hadn't been as busy as they anticipated, they were not going to ask us to come back next week.

Incidentally, at 11am that morning, they had a two-minute silence for Remembrance Day. And how were the beginning and end of this solemn period of mourning marked? With a lone trumpeter on the green? With the release of two doves? No, not with anything so crude and inappropriate my friend. The commencement and conclusion were indicated with nothing other than the gentle shriek of the klaxon fire alarm.

However, I do have good news. And what is my good news you may ask? And very well you may, for I do have good news. This is my good news, the news which I am about to give, which is mine. In a somewhat ironic development considering that I was just working for a stock broking firm, I have been offered a permanent (which is not to say "eternal") position as a counsellor with a national charity organisation established to provide assistance to people who are unable to escape from debt. Needless to say, I am very excited about this opportunity since I will be able to deepen the counselling experience I gained in Okinawa and help people who are in real need. I feel very fortunate to have been offered the chance to do something I am so passionate about and to earn a living (albeit a meager one) doing it.

The job starts on December 5. I will try to find some temporary work to fill in the three weeks before that date, but even if nothing is available, it is wonderful to know that we have the security of a regular full time job approaching. I wonder where it will lead?

Yours somewhat fictionally,
Ian

You believe my lie, I'll believe yours

I’ve been thinking a lot about money lately. It’s not unusual considering that I am temping at a multinational stock broking firm.

An excellent book I recently read (An Introduction to Postmodernism) defines the workings of the modern economic system as consensual mutual deceit. Shares are offered by companies to support their growth and development, but are bought and sold by people who only care about a company’s wellbeing in terms of how it impacts on their profits. In other words, it is a system where people support other people for the sole purpose of supporting themselves.

“How can these monsters so recklessly gorge and sustain evil empire!” the indignant cry. But is this culture of fraud limited only to the financial sector?

Let’s say you are hungry, so you gallivant off to the supermarket to acquire some soup. Browsing the stocky isles, you spot a can of crème de cheval and hastily make your way to the checkout, clutching it wearily to your breast. The checkout operator, Hannibal, flashes a toothy smile and, clenching the can in his clammy hand, swipes it swiftly twixt the light and the steel. You pay with ten minutes of your life in the form of a few small bits of metal, and hail the bus with the advertisement for the new Ralph Fiennes movie back to your home.

Your purchase supports the soup company and Mr. Hannibal, but you do not buy the soup for that reason. You are only driven by a desire to sate your own hunger. Mr. Hannibal smiles at you, not because he likes you, but because his supervisor told him to and he wants to keep his job so that he too can buy the soup of his dreams. The supermarket monitors your purchase so it can stock more of what you want to make you happier, and even though you know the supermarket doesn’t really care about your happiness, you respond as if they do if it gets you more of what you want. The bus driver drives you where you want to go because it’s in his contract to do so, and you consent to the requirements of the bus because you can’t ride it if you don’t. The advertisers promote Ralph Fiennes because they were paid to, and Ralph Fiennes pretends to be somebody else to entertain you despite the fact that he doesn’t even know you are watching, and you consent to the deception in order to be entertained.

This is what you get when you mess with,
Ian

Three things I like about the U.K.

1) Chimneys like in Mary Poppins.
2) People calling each other "duck."
3) Cups of tea.


Ian

Catch 22

Exciting news! Ian and I have left the valley of the unemployed and are making baby steps of progress towards real permanence here (but don’t worry Mom and Dad, not permanent permanence.) We were worried that if we couldn’t “make it” here during the six month trial period, we might have to relocate again and start the whole process somewhere else. I wouldn’t say we’ve “made it” yet, but getting that first job has been a big step for both of us, and we are feeling pretty excited in a, “Let’s go see a movie and eat Chinese food” sort of way.

Now for the grotty details. Ian started work last week as a Customer Service Representative at an international stock-broking company called T.D. Waterhouse. Sound impressive? I thought so, too. He says it’s a fancy way of saying he answers the phone to change passwords that are actually numbers and not words for angry people. It’s not exactly his dream job, but we’re grateful for the money. (And now we can pay our Council Tax bill!) He’s got another interview lined up, more job applications to submit, and is busy volunteering, so he is perched and ready for any Refugee work-related action that might pop up.

Meanwhile, I have been buried in the paperwork of bureaucracy. Every time I thought I had all my t’s crossed and i’s dotted to line me up for work, the teaching agencies would come back with one more thing for me to do. The final state I found myself in was something like this:

Teaching Agency: Great, we’ll go ahead and put you on our calling list after we process A and B. That should take a few weeks. Do you have a National Insurance Number, by the way?

Me: Not yet. They said I needed to find a job first.

Teaching Agency: Ok, call them up and try to get one now. For the time being, ask for a temporary number. Then we’ll be able to process the rest of your application.

(I call National Insurance Number people)

Me: Hi, I’ve just found work and I need a National Insurance Number.

NIN Person: Ok, you just need to bring in X, Y, and Z papers and proof that you’ve started work or of the exact date you will start work.

Me: Ok, well, I can’t exactly get that because the teaching agency can’t write proof of employment for a certain day because of the nature of supply teaching. They have no way of knowing what is going to come up, and technically I won’t be employed until the day I start working. But I am theoretically working for them now. Will that work?

NIN Person: (getting frustrated) Well, you have to have proof of the date, otherwise you’ll have to cancel your interview! You can’t have a number without it!

Me: (whimpering) Ok. I’ll ask them. Can I have a temporary number for now?

NIN Person: Well, temporary numbers don’t exist.

Me: What? Everyone gets them. My husband just got one a few days ago.

NIN Person: Yes, we do give them out. But you can make up any number you like, really, because technically speaking, they don’t exist.

Me: ???

(Back to Teaching Agency)

Me: I couldn’t get a National Insurance Number because they said I need to prove that I have a job first. Will you a letter for me?

Teaching Agency: No, we can’t write you a letter. You can’t have a job without a National Insurance number.

So, I was feeling pretty frustrated by now with this catch-22 (which, coincidently, is the book I’m reading at the moment). Since my National Insurance interview is in two weeks, I’ve been feeling bound and determined to produce some sort of proof that I had work. Even if I had to drop the whole teaching idea for now and get a temp job, at least then I’d be able to get that stupid number and get teaching work later. Then, on Tuesday afternoon, aliens invaded and disrupted the bureaucratic order. For some reason, I got a call from the teaching agency saying that they had found a job for me, and could I start on Monday. I was completely shocked, of course, because I thought they had a billion steps to get through first before I’d even be eligible for jobs. I don’t have any idea how this came about, but I’m just glad that I have work teaching English and music now for three weeks, AND I can prove to the National Insurance people that I’ve already started working and secure my precious number.

In other news, I tried pomegranate and raspberry juice today. It was gross. But maybe you’ll be proud of me to know (and maybe you don’t really care, but I’ll tell you anyway), that I thought of the poor family with no goat in Africa and I gulped it all down anyway.

Employably,
Kristy

All you really need is miso soup

Cheesy Kristy thought for you: The other day I was sitting on our couch looking out from our second story flat window when I saw an older gentlemen getting into his car. Initially I felt envious when I saw him sit comfortably inside his shiny Toyota and enjoy his Coca-Cola and Subway sandwich. Then I realized that it could be possible that he was eating in his car at dinnertime because he might not have a family to go home to and eat dinner with. Although I’m sure it’s probably more likely that he was just hungry or busy, it is possible that he has hardships I can’t see. I guess you never can tell what the states of some people’s lives really are, even if they appear to be well off, successful, or even happy. I might not have a job or much money or stability at the moment, but I have been feeling warm and fuzzy like a Hallmark greeting card about the things I do have. I’m incredibly blessed with an amazing family and extended family, I’m happily married to a wonderful guy who loves me, I have friends who are some of the most inspiring people I’ve ever met, I have experienced the reality of God’s love in my life… and that’s just the beginning of a long list of things. I have little money, but I am so rich! So hooray for all the good things in life! (Ian would somehow add food to this list, too, I think.)

All you need is love,
Kristy

Of goats and lip-gloss

After giving/throwing away most of our belongings when we left Okinawa in what we have come to call “The Big Purge,” followed by our job-less arrival here in the U.K. where our yen and American dollars have been squashed by the strength of the British pound, we have found ourselves living a very frugal and minimalist existence. Even though this has been a bit rough on our over-inflated capitalist egos, we have really learned a lot about being thankful for the little things and how to be happy without money. I have harkened back many a time in the past few months to the story of our friends Max and Aidy in Okinawa and how they were so poor when they were first married, they didn’t even have a stove and had to gather wood and cook over a fire. We are a long way from experiencing poverty, but the reality that there are so many people in more dire financial circumstances than us has really caused a revolution in my thinking (and hopefully my actions) about how I view and treat poor people. I think it’s also changed my thinking towards who I view as rich. I was recently shocked to learn the average income in the UK puts you in the wealthiest 2% of people in the world! (I imagine this is similar in other wealthy western countries). I used to think that people like Bill Gates, basketball players, or even Bob Rhorman (Indiana reference for all you Hoosiers!) were the rich people, but now I see that even being “middle class” makes me a rich kid in the eyes of the world.

Anyway, the moral of the story is… When I have started to envy people with money to blow on Starbucks and potato chips (our day’s budget consumed without thought or care), I am confronted with the realization that they are me. Now on the other side of the glass, I see a glimpse of what homeless and jobless people might see when they look at us (all blame shifting, finger-pointing, and cynical observations on how we view them aside). I can just imagine what a starving family in Africa might think of people who spend 15 quid on a five-color set of lip-gloss at Boots that will probably end up being misplaced, unused, or forgotten about in a matter of time. (Maybe something along the lines of, “You mean, all it does is change the color of your lips? Why? I could buy a goat for that!”) I don’t want to become a soapbox preacher or an activist on the subject, and sadly it’s something that I’ll probably end up forgetting the poignancy of at some point, but I do hope personally that this experience has opened my heart up in a new way towards understanding people. Experiencing a taste of hardship has hopefully given me a practical course in compassion.

Be constructive with your blues,
Kristy

How not to start a friendship

My error was born upon an attempt to instigate conversation with a person I had just met who said they were interested in visiting New Zealand. "Oh, do you like tramping?" I asked, thinking she might like to see the photos Kristy and I took when we walked the Kepler Track (which is probably going to be one of those things we only do once and yet go on and on about like a hamster on a wheel every time the family comes to visit).

Her mouth dropped open. She seemed shocked and echoed my question back at me. My move.

"Uh, tramping. Do you like ... tramping?"

There was an uncomfortable pause as she processed this and I wondered what the problem was. "You mean, like prostitution?"

Now it was my turn to be shocked. I tried without success to elucidate the connection. "Prostitution?" I echoed back (has anybody else tried to start a friendship this way?).

"Yeah, like a tramp."

"Oh."

So, apparently the acceptable terms here are trekking, hiking, or backpacking. Absolutely not tramping. It is not advisable to say "I hear the Queen likes tramping," or, "would you be interested in some tramping," or, "everybody in the office is going tramping this weekend." And I thought coming to England would spell the end of these kinds of misunderstandings.

Ian