VARIOUS, DAMMNED AND SUDDEN

Kindergarten Horsey © 2012 Ignominia

Walking to town I pass by the local Kindergarten where I notice that they are refurbishing the playground. A week ago they had uprooted the old wooden toys: a rocking horse and a see-saw laid abandoned in the parking lot.

From a distance I see that they are laying the grass. Jubilant I take it to mean that they are laying carpets of already sprouted grass that only need to consolidate its root systems with the ground below. The method is brilliant allowing to have the instant gratification of a lawn of thick grass, without having to wait weeks and without the inevitable dirt patches created by the rain drowning or washing seeds away.

Upon closer inspection however, I realize that the "novelty" imported from the States is Astroturf: That plastic surface with which for decades Americans have lined pretty much everything they could: stadiums and sport arenas, private gardens and the odd trailer living room. 
Recently it had disappeared as out of fashion, only to reappear on the the playgrounds of Italian kindergartens. 

I don't have kids but my heart weeps for them. It is true that I live in the Tuscan countryside where local kids have plenty of access to real nature; be it the chickens and rabbits raised by grandparents, the fields and woods surrounding our little towns, or the Fauna (wild boars, deer and porcupines) that that can be seen sometime almost in town when there is food scarcity up the mountains. 

I reason that if they are substituting grass for Astroturf here in the boonies there is a very good chance that this ugly practice is well advanced in "modern" bigger cities. It's used in order to save... what? Gardening labor? Irrigation water? Mower's fuel? If these are the reasons, then why not use a layer of bark chips: it's clean, it mulches and composts into the soil and it does not hurt if a child throws it at another as gravel would (which BTW I would prefer a 1000 times to plastic). 

Astroturf © 2012 Ignominia

To confirm that my reasoning is correct the next day I find an article that reiterates that children allowed to play with dirt (and those exposed to pets and farm animals) are healthier and have fewer (or no) allergies than those kept in Spic & Span conditions; germs from dirt ingestion (yep, eating dirt) help form stronger anti bodies  than those developed in children raised under bell jars.

I wonder if over protection is also the reason why Italian men (only the mamas' boys let's be clear!) are more often than not hypochondriacs? Or if  it is the reason why you can't open a window on overheated and stuffy (i.e. smelly) public transportation without someone to complain about the spiffero? (spiffero being a popular fear inducer in little children, who imagine it a kind of genie able to penetrate houses from unclosed windows or doors left ajar, ready to slew them with all sorts of ills .. until later when they learn it's just a draft).

If a microscopic drop of rain falls from the sky you'll see umbrellas opening in unison everywhere, their opening thumping sounds mixing with people cries of "Piove! piove! " (It rains)" as if for a deluge. 

Same reason maybe why in Spring or Fall, no matter if the day is balmy you'll see only foreigners in short sleeves and sandals, while Italians will keep their scarves and coats on, sweating like hogs for fear of catching a chill if they should take off the extra garment. Italians fear all elements; rain, wind, heat, and blame them for all illnesses. Colds and flu are caused by getting you hair wet, for walking barefoot, for dressing too lightly. Back aches for getting uncovered at night, especially in Summer when one  is sweating.  Drafts are dangerous and any sneeze means you are catching a cold. Children are wrapped in cocoons like mummies, allowing no sensory development or stimuli and I wonder if they'll grow into independent people able to leave the nest in the future...

How do these men compare to the Primitive Men who lived in wind and rain, half naked and starved? The so called Primitives were the ancestors that led us to become who we are now. 3000 years (not all of them primitive) where mankind went from mere survival, to flourishing exponential progress, from the cave to the Moon and space travel. Times in which we did our best to overcome, subjugate and destroy all traces of our old selves, in the need to avenge our early powerlessness, in and the desire to forget an existence that is so alien to the way we live now.

I admit it is a masochistic exercise to regret and mourn discomfort, cold and hunger, but our detachment from our animal side is also wrong and dishonest. To get so soft, so weak and make it a point of pride makes me sad. 

§§§

Luca, the owner of the ambulant Rotisserie, wants to move to Santo Domingo from where his recent business associate and life companion comes from. I understand it to be a case of "Neighbor's grass is greener" or simply another Italian lamenting the state of the country by threatening to leave.
My first thoughts are: if his companion immigrated here, no matter how exotic and idyllic Santo Domingo sounds for being part of the Caribbean Islands, my bet is that life over there may not be that great.

Knowing nothing about the place I study the issue on line,  discovering that it  shares the same island with Haiti, hence by logic I guess the two countries must have a similar economy. Actually the Wikipedia article claims that SD better off and shows strong economic growth. The Wiki author seems starry-eyed and flattered by the number of multinational corporations that have already placed their big paws on the country's economy. Many of the names of banks and enterprises are better known to South American readers: I only recognize Carrefour, Citibank... and IKEA: they have IKEA in the Antilles! The cogs and wheels of my imagination screech and grind uneasily to almost shut-down at the idea of Dominican people -whose culture I assume to be closer to Haitian's Voodoo and Jamaica's Reggae- living in houses furnished in the minimalist look of Scandinavian Design (even though I realize IKEA has very little Scandinavian left and also that I may be nurturing a clichè).

On the Wiki page I compare the 5 lines dedicated to the country's economy with the 2 long paragraphs with sections and sub sections expounding on the Dominican Freeway and Public Transportation systems. The disproportion in focus makes me ask: who wrote this page? Maybe the Dominican Economic Development Agency aiming to paint an efficient and progressive portrait of the country in order to attract more of those Multinational Corporations and Banks and more tourists whose ideal of travel is just changing climate and time zone while keeping the same comfort and amenity-filled standards they have at home.  

Maybe... mulling it over the article seems more the work of a proud Dominican citizen, one who longs to see his or her country join the ranks of the second world -if not yet of the the first.

 

found on line

But... if Luca, the Rotissere, thinks of truly emigrating to Santo Domingo, does he think to retire and live off his Euro savings, the exchange rate good enough probably to guarantee a good life in the second world; or does he think of moving his van -with the rotating grill and frier for potatos and polenta- to the Antilles, to start allover with a new clientele?  

But the thing that I want the most to know is: where, on Market Tuesdays, am I going to buy my roast chicken?

LURKING SOUP FOR A DRAGGING DAY

Lurking Soup © ignominia 2012

I like food, it is always comforting. Even when it’s not your best meal it is a finished, complete task you can start and finish on your own. 

 

Do you have just few ingredients? You don’t need zillions to make something to eat. 
Alone and with only half hour to spare? You don’t need someone to get back to you, to wait for a confirmation call or long processing time that will drag on and on until its completion will be anticlimactic.

  

You crack an egg in a pan with a teaspoon of oil and in 5 minutes you eat it, it’s that simple.

So today, after a meeting that postponed the issue to an undefined date, followed by writing e-mails that will require more e-mails, I opened the fridge and decided to warm myself up from a pissy day, with some soup.

Nothing much, as the photo will confirm, just something warm and finite for a day that drags on.

Got some broth that I make with vegetable scraps collected when cleaning veggies: the tough ends of leeks, the outsides peels of onions, the “fingers” of fennel bulbs (they look like Mikey Mouse gloved hands don’t they?), the carrots lurking in the fridge’s bottom drawer, celery leaves or parsley stems, the odd misshapen potato and any cheese crust you get. I keep them in the freezer in a bag to which I add from time to time. Sometimes the back and neck of a chicken end there, the odd bone, mushroom or the squeezed lemon rind.  When big enough I throw the contents in a big pot, cover with water and after it boils I let it simmer for 15/20 minutes. Once cool I filter it with a fine mesh colander and freeze in mason jars. Forget Campbell!

So with the quart jar I thawed last night, when the sky was darkening and promising the much needed rain that fell today, I heated a cup of more of the broth and when it boiled I added two handfuls of pastina (thin or very small pasta made just for soups), a piece of bouillon or salt to taste (try black salt, a naturally low sodium pink seasoning found in Middle Eastern or Indian stores) and a spoon of thinly sliced fresh scallion (white and green bits) that are ubiquitous in the stores here in Spring.

That’s it!  A very basic LURKING SOUP