Entry #40

Entry #40

Thursday, February 9

1:00 p.m. Five vials of my blood are now resting on a tray in the local Quest clinic. That's kind of a lot, don't you think? The “vein technician” (blood drawer?) was really good, though. Ordinarily my dinky veins are poked and prodded until I'm black and blue. Today involved one gentle poke before striking it rich. I was impressed.

The technician wasn't wearing a name tag, so I asked her what her name was. She said it was “Kiska.” All I could think of with regard to this name was the word kishke, an Eastern European dish my grandparents used to serve. It's made of cow’s intenstine filled with some sort of paprika-colored stuffing. According to Wikipedia, “The name itself is Slavic in origin and literally means ‘gut’ or ‘intenstine.’”

There was no way I could tell Kiska what her name meant in Yiddish, but instead asked her how her mother arrived at this name (anything to get my mind off the blood spritzing out of my arm). She said that when her mother was younger, she wrote a paper on Alaska and the neighboring island, Kiska.

According to my Google source, Kiska is a part of the Rat Islands group of the Aleutian Islands near Alaska. The Rat group? Doesn't make the name Kiska sound any more enticing. On the bright side, she told me that she was happy to learn that her name means “kitten” in Russian, adding “No wonder I’ve always liked cats.”

Sadly, this feline-loving gal was misled. I just looked up the meaning of her name and in Russian it does not mean kitten or even cat, but pure, which isn’t bad. ("I've always felt pure," she might say.) It’s also a nickname for Katerina. So, while Kiska might be named for Alaska, it's no surprise that it's also of Russian origin, considering the proximity of Russia to Alaska (at least from Sarah Palin's house).

4:30 p.m. After school, I figured I’d come a few minutes earlier so the kindergarten kids could greet Izzie. Today they were especially excited to see her. Some of them said they’ve made Valentine’s cards for her, though I mentioned she might be tempted to eat them (she loves paper). At one point she stretched herself as long as possible so all the kids could pet her and rested on her side. One girl, whose native language is Spanish, said “I know why her name is Easy—because she’s so easy!” So far Izzie’s been called Itchy and Easy. Wonder what they’ll come up with next. 

Friday, February 10

9:00 a.m. Noah’s doing a science project and he wanted to do something involving baking. Last year, he baked four zillion cupcakes to see which brands rose the highest. Needless to say, Noah never wants to eat another vanilla cupcake in his life ever again. This year, he wants to do a similar experiment, only with baking bread.

After picking up a few varieties of yeast, he began the experiment yesterday afternoon. The timing wasn’t great, since the cleaning lady had just finished her twice-monthly scouring, but what’s a little flour here and there, right?

Baking bread is far more time consuming and complicated (if you’ve never done it before) than following a Duncan Hines’ recipe, but I had Noah follow the directions and proceed, with a little supervision from me. The results? Delizioso!

Both breads are almost gone already (the kids inhaled the first one fresh out of the oven, proclaiming it “the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life!”), so it’s not such a bad thing that Noah has two more rounds to bake.

If you’re interested in the recipe, I’ll send it your way. It’s called “Mountain White Bread” and has a touch of milk and honey in it. This is the Land of Milk and Honey, after all. Nothing like fresh bread, hot out of the oven.

At the breakfast table this morning, I opened up the HereHouston paper, to learn about the following Valentine’s Day events, some more repellent than others:

The Downtown Aquarium is having a special event, “Romance Under the Sea,” while the Junior League is holding a ‘new spring fashion event’ called "Giving Goes Glam: A Gorgeous Excuse to Do something Good.” Moody Gardens is offering several “romantic getaway packages,” including the Love Spell Spa Package and Couples' Champagne & Caviar Pedicure. (Can you imagine getting black fish eggs wedged between your toes? I don’t see the romance in this.)

We’ll likely be cooking dinner at home with the kids. Romantic, eh? The kids still enjoy this Hallmark holiday. For them, Valentine’s Day isn’t so much about love and romance as Sweet Tarts and chocolate.

Saturday, February 11

5:00 p.m. Noah and I volunteered for Operation Pets Alive! this afternoon, a non-profit animal rescue organization in The Woodlands. The event, held in front of Urban Outfitters at The Woodlands Mall, was a fundraiser of sorts, and there were only two puppies there for adoption, but they generated quite a bit of attention. One of them was named Pumpkin, the other, Kissy (you’d immediately find out why if you held her).

The first question passersby asked was “What kind of dogs are they?” I wanted to say “your guess is as good as mine,” though people really wanted a definitive answer. Part miniature pinscher, part chihuahua-dachsund with a little lab thrown in? Who knows? After awhile, I just said stuff like, “really sweet” or “very cute.”

Seeing how people treat dogs, especially puppies, is rather telling. The most gentle kids happened to be a group of middle school-age boys, who came up, sat down, and held the pups quite gingerly. A three-year-old girl, on the other hand, reenacted the role of Veruca Salt (from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), whining and crying until she was freed from her stroller. “I want a puppy. I want a puppy NOW!” Okay, not exactly, but pretty darn close. She did swipe the donation money from the basket before leaving, saying, "I'll take this!" The mom took the money out of the girl's hand and sheepishly placed it back in the basket.

After finding out that the pups were (allegedly) part miniature pinscher, one man asked if we were going to “cut off” its tail. “Hell no,” answered the volunteer who’s fostered the pups. “We’re not cutting off any tails.” The man’s daughter attempted to hold the puppy, grabbing it upside-down. Noah politely asked the girl not to pick up the puppy any more.

By the time we left, we were crisp-fried from sitting out in the sun and talking to countless strangers. The pups were crashed out, too. They’d had enough for one day and so did we. Still, as volunteer efforts go, holding puppies was definitely up there.