A PSA for aspiring Nobel Laureates (I'm looking at you, Cormac McCarthy)

About a week ago the Nobel Foundation announced the 2010 recipients, and the Nobel Prize in Literature happened to be awarded to Mario Vargas Llosa. He happens to be the first Peruvian to be awarded this award. I happen to have been reading his book Conversation in the Cathedral.

"That's very nice. He's a great author. But what are you getting at - that this has something to do with you? A Latin American author hasn't won the award since 1990 (Octavio Paz); it was time," you say. But a Peruvian? in the one year I happen to be living in Peru? and reading his book?

Let's continue.

About 7 years ago we were closing in on our first year in Chicago when the Nobel Prize in Literature happened to be awarded to John M. Coetzee. He just happened to be a professor at the University of Chicago at the time - the university just blocks from our apartment and the one to whom we had recently bequeathed our souls.

"Yes, but the University of Chicago can claim more Nobel Laureates than any other university." I know. It's awesome.

Now obviously I'm not the only factor considered by the committees in Stockholm. Nevertheless, we will likely be living somewhere new in the next year or so, and that seems to be a trigger of sorts. So, amass some frequent flyer miles and keep an eye on our profile - I'll try to keep it up-to-date.

And if you're still dubious: about a month ago I happened upon a short story entitled "The Solipsist" by Fredric Brown.

Hello Old Friend, no. 2

I was thinking that I could turn my previous posts Hello old friend and A High-Class Blog into Recurring Blog Features …Columns? Is that what they’re called? That seems excessive/inaccurate. We’ll go with the more vague Feature (I am The Archaeologist’s Wife afterall, and these are, ostensibly, field notes).

So, here is the second installment of Hello Old Friend, a new Seymour Chase Blog Feature:

The Archaeologist’s brother came down and stayed with us for much of May and a bit of June. It was great to have him around (please come visit us!!!). A couple days before he was scheduled to leave, we decided to get serious about site-seeing/Peru-experiencing/etc. So we crammed a bunch of museums, cathedrals, catacombs, historic districts, humungous fountains, and archaeological ruins into those last few days. I also arranged for us to eat this:

That’s a guinea pig – well, half a guinea pig; we weren’t that hungry.

It’s been 28ish years since I last saw the guinea pig at Mesa Montessori. I don’t remember its name (nor the gender). I don’t recall any tearful good-byes. Actually, I don’t think we ever really hit it off – no ill will or anything …I mean, I didn’t make plans to eat it someday. But that being my succeeding guinea pig experience, I could see how Mesa Montessori guinea pig might take it personally. I’m sure it envisions me saying “Hello old friend” like Hannibal Lecter said “Hello, Clarice”. But I swear it wasn’t like that. It’s just bad timing. There was a lot on my plate. It’s not you; it’s meat. (that last one was for you, Chris)

Now guinea pig (cuy) isn’t typical Limeña food. Lima is a great big modern city and Limeños are citified. It’s apparently one of the new gastronomical “it” places (that’s a thing, right?). But many Limeños were not always Limeños, and occasionally they long for the food from their previous highland home. So thus our opportunity to eat it.

Basically it tasted like chicken - like a chicken wing with the high bone to meat ratio, just a tad gamier.

I also gave a few pieces to Half-O. I figure it’ll be a good story to tell her when she gets older …and goes to preschool.

It's been 1 month: Slainte

We left Chicago on March 17th, and somewhere between Chicago and Houston I realized that I wasn't wearing any green. Immediately following that realization was gratitude that no one had tried to pinch me. Yes, I know I'm a 30-something mother and was en route to South America, not a small child en route to recess. Please recall that I had yet to sleep after days of sorting/packing/tossing/cleaning out our apartment. I was hanging on by a very thin, and hopefully green, thread.

In our own teetotaling way, I've made sure we celebrated St. Patty's Day each year. I don't have these freckles for nothing. In fact, we are all of Irish decent in our little family (though we also claim Scottish - I believe I'm both, but let's just say we're of the Gaels - throughout history people were moving all over those isles anyway). Half-O's name is Irish (Gaelic), plus she's got green eyes, a red tint to her hair, and thanks to the Lima sun, she's sporting a couple new freckles herself. But we didn't get a chance to do anything this year - not even wear green.

Then a week or so later I found this in our backyard:


Awesome, huh?! It's an honest to goodness 4-leaf clover (I promise it is not the kind I manufactured as a child by pulling apart one of the 3 leaves of a standard clover).

I was actually pretty nonchalant about my find. Half-O was the only one around, and she just discovered clovers in general, so is stoked on any leaf quantity. I assumed the good luck was meant for The Archaeologist's project and set it on a shelf in his office. Later that evening, though, I showed him and his Irish eyes were amazed. I guess I didn't realize how rare they are. I just looked down and saw it. I wonder if that's what it's like to be born into wealth - it's hard to appreciate the rarity - or perhaps it's an object lesson for grace vs. works. Anyway, thanks to Wikipedia, I now appreciate my 1 in 10,000 find.

I'm not familiar with the luck rules for 4-leaf clovers (Is it only good for one venture? Is there a time limit? Does it need to be on my person to bestow the luck? Can it extend to The Archaeologist even though I found it? It seems like immediate family would be covered), but we've been here for a month now and we've got a great little house, we've yet to get any food/water-born illnesses, I've yet to get seriously lost or be too seriously encumbered by my Spanish deficiencies, the weather has been great, there was a special when we got high-speed internet so the router was free, there's a radio station that plays 80s music all day long (from the U.S./U.K. - but a disproportionate number of songs from The Police/Sting), Half-O is happy, The Archaeologist is getting accolades left and right, and I have yet to burn myself even though I've lit an entire box of matches for the stove. So we truly appreciate the luck of the Irish and hope it continues.

Also, an update: I found ginger. It's called jengibre, and it was in the aisle with the baking stuff (e.g. cake mixes, yeast, vanilla extract). Additionally, I may have to devote an entire post to me and electricity - it's been like a non-montage version of discovering/developing a super power.

Hello old friend

I pretty much stopped drinking caffeine in January or February of 2008. I had a few sips while pregnant that year, and a few gulps the next - but that's it. Prior to 2008, however, I had a bottle or can or two a day. But we were in San Isidro again running errands - literally running ...well, walking briskly and doing a lot of it while carrying Half-O. We stopped in at this one place where The Archaeologist had some archaeology equipment to pick up. The proprietor is an expat from Florida - a very personable, chummy guy - who came out to meet Half-O and me and shoot the breeze a bit. Before much breeze was shot, he offered us something to drink, and we both gratefully said "yes, please." He came out with two bottles of Pepsi - two cold bottles of Pepsi. The Archaeologist thought he was going to get two bottles of Pepsi, but it was so nice and cold, and it had cane sugar instead of corn syrup. So I drank it down.

I should have titled the post HELLO OLD FRIEND!!!!, because I was jazzed the rest of the day. I drank it a bit before 5pm, and I was having a hard time falling asleep near 2am. Furthermore, I have been exhausted since getting here. It's like I can't catch up on the sleep lost that week before leaving. I've been napping while Half-O napped and falling asleep by like 9pm.

I haven't had any since. It'd be a shame to acclimate to such awesome artifical energy again. I plan to reserve this new power for special occasions.

Does anyone remember the movie Starman?

I saw it when I was quite young and may not have fully appreciated the real plot/subtext. So perhaps this analogy is off base (or unfair to Jeff Bridges' Oscar nominated performance), but nevertheless: I feel like Starman. I look like an adult human, but standard daily tasks keep giving me pause …sometimes long pauses - almost gratuitous pauses, like I’m exploiting your willing suspension of disbelief.

But here’s Exhibit A) A dinner I cooked for us and an archaeologist friend of The Archaeologist:



It’s not a fancy nor complicated dinner (and the above picture doesn't make it look too appetizing even). I’ve made it numerous times before, often as a last minute meal. But enter Starman. Starman circles the grocery store over and over as if mesmerized by the many aisles and raw meat. Finally deciding on chicken and peppers over rice, Starman is pleased with herself – she’s found food to make for dinner. She’s feeling more like a regular adult human until she realizes that the dish needs spices, and it turns out that very few of the spices have familiar names – return Starman. Let’s stare at spices for a while alternating between expressions of dumbfounded unfrozen caveman and Sherlock Holmes trying to glean some obscure context clue. Meanwhile, Half-O is oblivious and/or unsympathetic to the Starman syndrome – she hasn’t seen the movie and is sick of sitting in the grocery cart. So she decides to knock a bunch of little dishes to the ground so I could look like an awkward and apologetic mime in front of an unfortunate store employee who thankfully was willing to participate in a game of charades. Here’s the dish we took home:



It was only mildly chipped – unlike the other four that were smashed to smithereens. They were like $0.75 a piece. But convert that to the going rate for dignity, and it was kind of expensive. I’m the idiot that spends near an hour at the grocery store – a good chunk of that time staring at 5 shelves of spices – and has no idea what her child is doing. But also – who places a random stack of breakable dishes at the height of a child buckled into a shopping cart? Also, why did the U.S. have to go with pounds instead of grams? I think the Declaration of Independence, the subsequent wars/victories, the Louisiana Purchase et al, and prior to 2008, a dominant economy are enough to prove that we’re our own man. Having our own weights and measures just seems haughty at this point and is currently a bit of a hassle for me.

Oh – and as for the spices, I was hoping I got garlic, pepper, and ginger. I got garlic, pepper, and cinnamon. In my (re: Starman’s) defense, I don’t think the store had ginger. But, I figured ginger and cinnamon are kind of similar – both can be sweet but also have a bit of heat – so I used it anyway – just not very much.

Alright, now it’s time to cook the food. There’s some more pausing as Starman debates how best to clean the peppers – do I need to use bottled water? Is that a waste? Does the oil get hot enough to kill the germs? Then there’s the stove:



I don’t mind that it’s small. The height is a bit of a worry as Half-O can reach it, but she understands hot and steers clear. What summons Starman is that it requires that I light a match and hold that lit match near flowing gas in order to get a burner going. I realize this is not a problem for most people. I, however, have a slight fear of fire. Fire bad (sorry, I can't find the actual clip). I don’t think I lit a match until I was a teenager. But I did it, and then had to do it like 10 more times before the chicken and peppers were done as I kept turning off the gas when I was just trying to lower the heat.

So Starman made dinner, and it was good (we just had ice cream for dessert). I guess I should be glad that I didn’t have to begin my journey of discovery in the buff like Starman – customs would have been a bit more interesting. Do you think we would have been flagged, or moved right through since I clearly had nothing to hide?

A question for the ages

It was a little early for dinner, but we were at a mall with many eateries around and basically nothing in our fridge. This is still the first day in Lima. I was feeling a bit better about the whole living in a foreign country. I was also being comforted by the mall – actually, my distinct thought was that I wanted to live at that mall. As I went to ask The Archaeologist if he was hungry, I stopped. I should say this in Spanish – I can figure it out – this is what I need to be doing. So I gave my husband a pleased, what-do-you-think-of-this look and asked: You got a man?

Tienes hombre? Tienes hambre? So close.

"Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment"

So I got shocked trying to plug in the microwave at our new home. I can’t remember the last time I got shocked that badly. It went up my left arm to the left side of my face and brain. I guess I said “Whoa!” when it happened because afterwards Half-O kept saying “Mama whoa, Mama whoa.”

That was the first day in Lima. The Archaeologist had meetings; we were on our own. All the sorting, tossing, storing, packing, and re-packing was finished. We had left an empty apartment at 7am having not slept a wink – but it was empty; we had done it. Next: 17 hours of international travel with a toddler and excess baggage. Now that was done, and the never-ending list of things to do before we left the country had somehow ended. I was listless (and also very listless – I could have slept for a week if Half-O would have obliged), and in this listless state I thought: we’re living in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language and I don’t know a soul, and we’re going to continue to do so for a year. Please can I go back to sleep?

Why didn’t I ever question whether or not this was a good idea? I questioned if it was a good idea to bring Half-O down here, but never delved into my feelings on the subject, like – is this something I want to do?* What’s with this damn stoicism? It’s brought me nothing but trouble. And so on.

Half-O, on the other hand, was gleeful. She was running inside and outside without distinction, half-naked and getting grimier by the minute.

Then I got shocked. It was so jarring – shocking, really – that I couldn’t even get mad about it. I did decide we could do without the microwave until The Archaeologist got home. And as Half-O drank her milk cold, I also decided that I should view it as my own personal electro shock therapy. Snap out of it - we’re here; we’re fine; we’ll be fine. Plus the soda and bread are way yummier here.

I’ve had a few more issues with Peruvian electricity. None as severe as that first day, but I wish I had thought of another analogy.

Here's the culprit:

Both The Archaeologist and our landlady plugged it in with no ill effects.

Here's Half-O in all her grimy glory:






*The Archaeologist said he asked me, and I don’t doubt him. I must not have been listening. I must have been compiling that to do list.

The Seymour Chase Blog, An Introduction

Had I actually started posting on this blog when I first set it up (Oct. 2009), I would have felt the need to include a small plea to Mr. Salinger asking that he not sue me for a post title like that. He was a bit litigious, as you may know, and clearly the title resembles one of his works (of course, "Introduction" also resembles the beginning of many published works). Now that he has passed, however, the title seems more like an homage, and while I am a fan - Franny and Zooey are my favorites, and Boo Boo reminds me of my sister-in-law - I'm not really that kind of a fan.

I just like the name Seymour. My husband (The Archaeologist) does not. It has been emphatically vetoed for any of our children, and we don't have a pet, a boat, or an Etsy store, so I've yet to christen anything Seymour. In deciding to start a blog, it was an obvious choice. Plus, there's a fun little wordplay in there, and what would a Chase blog be without a little wordplay? With this blog you'll see (Sey) more (mour) of the Chases - just awful, right? So even though we're moving to another country for a year, many of you will be seeing more of us than you did when we were in the same hemisphere (well, we'll still be in the western one, just not the northern one).

And thus we segue nicely to the second part of this intro (I swear future posts will have more pics and less words). We're moving to Peru for a year. The Archaeologist has some research to do while our daughter (Half-O) and I (The Archaeologist's Wife) explore the ginormous city of Lima, documenting our adventures here. Here will be my field notes.