Temperature: Plummeting after double digits close to 20 °C/68 °F, and do you know how rare that is, in October, in Scandinavia? Getting more common by the year. (One of our neighbors is a dedicated gardener and has been keeping record of the weather for 30+ years. He said he has seen a major shift in the past ten years: winters are getting shorter and warmer.)
Eating: Salmon soup + Finnish rye bread, sooo good and a lunch favorite.
Drinking: Seriously eyeing that Glühwein from Tallinn. Just to ward off the cold, of course.
Watching: My son giving me the Paddington hard stare. "Are you going to fix this [climate change]?" Working on it, sweetie, I swear. Hard to make headway in this WIIFM climate.
Listening: To a lot of conversation and compromise when the time for half-assed half measures has passed. [Re: climate change]
Reading: Misogynation: The True Scale of Sexism by Laura Bates. Have questions regarding everyday sexism, the gender pay gap and/or inequality of the sexes? Have doubts about their existence? Feeling kinda certain feminism is an overreaction? Please read this book. From start to finish.
Thinking: You look drained. Yes, you. Are you? If so, please promise to get some rest over the holiday season. At the latest! Please? For me? But especially for your own sake.
Feeling: Like a White Queen courtier, asked to imagine as many as six impossible things before breakfast. How much BS are we supposed to digest on a daily basis from elected and self-appointed leaders alike?
Dita Parker
Wednesday, October 24, 2018
Friday, September 28, 2018
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
#MeToo has prompted countless men to ask their mothers, sisters, wives and friends if it's really as bad as they've heard, if all women have been harassed at some point. Say it ain't so. Can't, because it is.
Every single woman I know has been sexually harassed at some point. I've been hugged and kissed against my will. A stranger has groped my breasts, crotch, butt. I've been pushed against a wall while a man put his hands all over me as his friends egged him on and laughed. (Several people witnessed my distress as they walked by. And kept walking.) A man has torn at my clothes trying to rip my top off. (He spat me in the face when I told him off.) Strangers have assessed and commented on every part of my body. Asked for sex. Demanded sex. Tried to buy sex. Tried to force me into having sex. Implied rape.
Did I say or do anything? On several occasions. Did it make things worse? Every time. When women stop saying or doing anything, or never even dare to, it's because they know (or know that for someone) it only means more violence, verbal and/or physical. And when you're faced with someone much bigger and meaner than you are, a stranger or acquaintance, boyfriend or husband, whose current state of mind or history or sudden impulses you can only begin to guess, you're not looking for a witty or hurtful retort but a way out, preferably unscathed.
A male friend once wondered out loud how come the statistics aren't reversed, all things considered. Why aren't women killing men and not the other way around. In retribution. In self-defense. As a pre-emptive measure when the violence starts/escalates. I can't speak for all women, but I don't want a war. I don't want violence or vitriol. Or revenge. It doesn't help those men conquer their demons or stop what they're doing. It doesn't solve the problem. Yes all women, but not all men. Some men. I hate what those men did to me, not men in general. I have feared for my safety, even my life, but for every man that hurt me or humiliated me there are ten who would never ever do that to me, or any woman, who detest those men and their actions just as fiercely as I do.
Women of my mother's and grandmother's generation were told to suck it up. Boys will be boys, men are men, and women just had to grin and bear, smile and laugh along. Those who kicked a fuss were only asking for trouble, professionally and personally, so I've been told. Women were told to take it in stride/let it go/develop a sense of humor/think about their jobs and their future...and when they did take it up with the boss what the boss did in most cases was absolutely nothing, or s/he told them to take it in stride/let it go/develop a sense of humor/think about their jobs and their future...
So that's one reason it has taken so long, in case you've been wondering. No effect, no consequences, no comeuppance. If there was, it was usually felt by the girl/woman who dared cry foul. No more. Time's up. Time to stop shrugging it off, making excuses, protecting perpetrators, blaming the victim.
It's absurd to even have to say this, but I don't exist for a man's pleasure or entertainment. No one is entitled to my body. I'm not obligated to let men touch me when they feel like it, or take sexist shit from anyone. No woman is. But that's how we feel at times, too many times over the course of our lives. Like objects. Things. Public property.
Men know this. They know the difference between a sincere compliment (something you wouldn't mind men saying to a female friend or family member) and sheer crudeness (something you would definitely mind men saying to a female friend or family member). They know the difference between forced and consensual. They know the meaning of the word 'no'. Those who don't know? They deserve no pity or protection, they are responsible for their words and actions, and everything that follows.
This is not a war on men. Women don't want revenge. We want justice. Equality. Equal pay, equal opportunity. We want to be heard, taken seriously, believed when after perhaps decades of shame, pain and silence we dare utter the words, "You hurt me, viciously. I don't know why, and I can't forget. But I am not responsible for your words, actions or impulses, you are."
The times they are a-changing. Slowly but irreversibly. Finally.
Every single woman I know has been sexually harassed at some point. I've been hugged and kissed against my will. A stranger has groped my breasts, crotch, butt. I've been pushed against a wall while a man put his hands all over me as his friends egged him on and laughed. (Several people witnessed my distress as they walked by. And kept walking.) A man has torn at my clothes trying to rip my top off. (He spat me in the face when I told him off.) Strangers have assessed and commented on every part of my body. Asked for sex. Demanded sex. Tried to buy sex. Tried to force me into having sex. Implied rape.
Did I say or do anything? On several occasions. Did it make things worse? Every time. When women stop saying or doing anything, or never even dare to, it's because they know (or know that for someone) it only means more violence, verbal and/or physical. And when you're faced with someone much bigger and meaner than you are, a stranger or acquaintance, boyfriend or husband, whose current state of mind or history or sudden impulses you can only begin to guess, you're not looking for a witty or hurtful retort but a way out, preferably unscathed.
A male friend once wondered out loud how come the statistics aren't reversed, all things considered. Why aren't women killing men and not the other way around. In retribution. In self-defense. As a pre-emptive measure when the violence starts/escalates. I can't speak for all women, but I don't want a war. I don't want violence or vitriol. Or revenge. It doesn't help those men conquer their demons or stop what they're doing. It doesn't solve the problem. Yes all women, but not all men. Some men. I hate what those men did to me, not men in general. I have feared for my safety, even my life, but for every man that hurt me or humiliated me there are ten who would never ever do that to me, or any woman, who detest those men and their actions just as fiercely as I do.
Women of my mother's and grandmother's generation were told to suck it up. Boys will be boys, men are men, and women just had to grin and bear, smile and laugh along. Those who kicked a fuss were only asking for trouble, professionally and personally, so I've been told. Women were told to take it in stride/let it go/develop a sense of humor/think about their jobs and their future...and when they did take it up with the boss what the boss did in most cases was absolutely nothing, or s/he told them to take it in stride/let it go/develop a sense of humor/think about their jobs and their future...
So that's one reason it has taken so long, in case you've been wondering. No effect, no consequences, no comeuppance. If there was, it was usually felt by the girl/woman who dared cry foul. No more. Time's up. Time to stop shrugging it off, making excuses, protecting perpetrators, blaming the victim.
It's absurd to even have to say this, but I don't exist for a man's pleasure or entertainment. No one is entitled to my body. I'm not obligated to let men touch me when they feel like it, or take sexist shit from anyone. No woman is. But that's how we feel at times, too many times over the course of our lives. Like objects. Things. Public property.
Men know this. They know the difference between a sincere compliment (something you wouldn't mind men saying to a female friend or family member) and sheer crudeness (something you would definitely mind men saying to a female friend or family member). They know the difference between forced and consensual. They know the meaning of the word 'no'. Those who don't know? They deserve no pity or protection, they are responsible for their words and actions, and everything that follows.
This is not a war on men. Women don't want revenge. We want justice. Equality. Equal pay, equal opportunity. We want to be heard, taken seriously, believed when after perhaps decades of shame, pain and silence we dare utter the words, "You hurt me, viciously. I don't know why, and I can't forget. But I am not responsible for your words, actions or impulses, you are."
The times they are a-changing. Slowly but irreversibly. Finally.
Friday, August 31, 2018
Kiss me hard before you go
When in Scandinavia, do as the Venetians do: say goodbye to the summer and sailing season with a festival of water, fire and light. Why? Why not? We are all Europeans, some southern, some northern, all bound by a common history and traditions that know no borders. So that's what we did last weekend, the last summer weekend. Ate, drank and made merry.
Teetering on the northern edge of the globe as we are up here, the sun now veers away day by day as summer surrenders to fall. The mornings keep getting cooler and the nights darker, but the days still offer some warmth and light, and this child of the tropics is soaking up all she can get before it's irreversibly over. We sweltered May through July and many are relieved the heat has moved on, but I'd like one last sizzling smooch before we part.
Kiss me like you'll miss me, because I sure as hell will miss you, dearest loveliest summertime.
Teetering on the northern edge of the globe as we are up here, the sun now veers away day by day as summer surrenders to fall. The mornings keep getting cooler and the nights darker, but the days still offer some warmth and light, and this child of the tropics is soaking up all she can get before it's irreversibly over. We sweltered May through July and many are relieved the heat has moved on, but I'd like one last sizzling smooch before we part.
Kiss me like you'll miss me, because I sure as hell will miss you, dearest loveliest summertime.
Friday, August 17, 2018
Ain't nobody got time for that
Brazilians love their sweets really sweet. Like really really sweet. They also love lime. As an honorary Brazilian who happens to really really love lime, I give you a cut-a-few-corners key lime pie. Because Brazil. And lime. And all things sweet, summery and delish.
Crust:
16 digestive biscuits
3 tbs brown sugar
100 g unsalted butter, melted
Filling:
350 ml whipping cream
150 ml fresh lime juice
1 can sweetened condensed milk
Optional topping: strawberries and mini meringues
1. Crush the biscuits in a food processor, or bag them and crush with a rolling pin/large can or bottle. Add the sugar and melted butter. Press the mixture evenly onto bottom and up side of a circa 26 cm (~10-inch) tart pan. Bake the crust in middle of oven, 200 C for 8-10 minutes, then set aside to cool completely before adding the filling.
2. Whip the cream until a bit beyond the soft-peak phase. Combine the condensed milk and lime juice in a separate bowl, no whisking required. Gently add the mixture to the cream, no whisking required, really!
3. Once the crust has cooled, pour the filling evenly into the crust, cover with aluminum foil and chill in the fridge for at least 2-3 hours. If you do have time, let sit in the fridge overnight.
4. Optional: top with fresh strawberries and mini meringues (or with whatever you think goes well with lime!) before serving.
5. Enjoy!
Crust:
16 digestive biscuits
3 tbs brown sugar
100 g unsalted butter, melted
Filling:
350 ml whipping cream
150 ml fresh lime juice
1 can sweetened condensed milk
Optional topping: strawberries and mini meringues
1. Crush the biscuits in a food processor, or bag them and crush with a rolling pin/large can or bottle. Add the sugar and melted butter. Press the mixture evenly onto bottom and up side of a circa 26 cm (~10-inch) tart pan. Bake the crust in middle of oven, 200 C for 8-10 minutes, then set aside to cool completely before adding the filling.
2. Whip the cream until a bit beyond the soft-peak phase. Combine the condensed milk and lime juice in a separate bowl, no whisking required. Gently add the mixture to the cream, no whisking required, really!
3. Once the crust has cooled, pour the filling evenly into the crust, cover with aluminum foil and chill in the fridge for at least 2-3 hours. If you do have time, let sit in the fridge overnight.
4. Optional: top with fresh strawberries and mini meringues (or with whatever you think goes well with lime!) before serving.
5. Enjoy!
Tuesday, July 24, 2018
California dreaming
I'm in love! In love with a house. A house right up my alley. Well, not my geographical alley; my architectural slash decor alley. (I would add some color here and there, though. But that's just me.)
I've rooted for Reese Witherspoon since the 90's, so of course I watched Home Again. And was caught up in not the plot or characters but every minutia of that eponymous home. Can I marry that house? Is it for sale? Not that I could afford it. Can you? It's my birthday on Thursday. Just saying. Come on, a girl can dream, right? Besides, I sincerely doubt I'd enjoy living in L.A. Perhaps they could dismantle and reassemble the house someplace else? No? Damn.
I guess I'll have to settle for the island house in The Thomas Crown Affair (1999). I wouldn't know what to do with a castle, I have no interest in palaces or mansions. Give me that summer house and I’ll write happily ever after. A heck of a trek to the beach, but we'll chalk it up to daily exercise.
I've rooted for Reese Witherspoon since the 90's, so of course I watched Home Again. And was caught up in not the plot or characters but every minutia of that eponymous home. Can I marry that house? Is it for sale? Not that I could afford it. Can you? It's my birthday on Thursday. Just saying. Come on, a girl can dream, right? Besides, I sincerely doubt I'd enjoy living in L.A. Perhaps they could dismantle and reassemble the house someplace else? No? Damn.
I guess I'll have to settle for the island house in The Thomas Crown Affair (1999). I wouldn't know what to do with a castle, I have no interest in palaces or mansions. Give me that summer house and I’ll write happily ever after. A heck of a trek to the beach, but we'll chalk it up to daily exercise.
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