...at the Copacabana Fort, where the wind was just strong enough to make me happy I was wearing my favorite sweater. And there, among other things, we ate cassoulet and watched cancan dancers, who are unfortunately, not all that scandalous anymore.
I think I am entering a French phase. The last time I was "into" French food was about 14 years ago, when I used to drag dusty culinary tomes home from the library, pondering the possibility of convincing my family to allow me access to the kitchen, where I dreamed of dismembering ducks into hearty patês, rolling out floury, delicate pastries, and beating chocolate and dozens of eggs into rich petit gateaus the size of a child's hand. (Or Texas. I like chocolate.) It didn't go over too well in my Midwestern family, and I pursued other culinary interests.
But today, I'm feeling the need for a good French meal. Or a month of them. Herbes de Provence, some good cooking wines, and a selection of root vegetables and dried beans may just make up the rest of my winter pantry. Where to find the herbs is another matter...in South America, I can't see too many people wanting to cook with lavender. Care package, perhaps???
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Corrosive
Yes...that tanker is driving around pointing out that its contents can burn craters into thumbs. Pass with caution...
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Deadly Traffic
Monday night, Rio. Some criminals park their car on the elevated highway, blocking off the access ramps and creating a traffic jam. As they rob cars, an off-duty policeman pulls out his gun. Bullets flying, the commuters throw their cars into reverse or just jump out and begin running in the direction where it seems the shots aren’t coming from. There is chaos. The attack is in front of the Federal Police building, and the shooting causes agents to come out to see what’s going on. The original policeman who reacted to the situation was shot and killed, one innocent driver was hit in the face and is on a respirator, the bullet unable to be removed from her eye until her condition stabilizes. One of the robbers was grazed and is now in custody. The others got away.
Rio de Janeiro is nervous, more nervous now than ever. This makes more than 4 civilian woundings or deaths in the past two months in car-related assaults. Involving police as the prime suspects in the deaths. A gentleman was killed a few weeks ago when a police officer saw a suspicious situation and decided to shoot first and ask questions later. The suspicious situation? The driver was being carjacked; police's actions killed the driver. The carjacker, yet again, suffered only mild injuries. Headlines are still mourning the three year old boy who died recently when the police misidentified both the color and make of the car they were chasing and machine gunned a car containing a mother, her 9 month old son and the toddler. She had pulled over to let the police car pass by--it was blaring its sirens, and traffic law dictates that civilian cars must give way. The police took it to be a threatening gesture. Miraculously, the mother and the baby survived with minimal injuries, but now face the horrifying loss of little João Roberto.
There are more. Suffice to say, one gives thanks to God both in coming and in going anymore. And even passengers pay close attention to the roads. That’s why, when three cops sauntered up to my bus this morning and took advantage of their free passenger status, we were all a little edgy. More so when just three stops down, in front of two favelas, they stood up and began banging on the door. The driver let them out and we watched warily, with trepidation, as they crept alongside our bus, hands to their weapons, scuttering across the road to another bus stopped at the red light. Darting looks all around, one of the officers banged on the darkened bus door until it opened and they disappeared inside. It took us all a moment to understand what had just happened, let the adrenaline rush subside. I began to giggle, nervously. This was no attempt to catch a suspect they’d just seen cross the road. This wasn’t a blitz. This was three overweight police officers trading a worn bus for a classier one with air conditioning.
After all we’ve gone through as a city these days, that made me laugh. A tiny example of low-level corruption, entitlement and fringe benefits. Laugh, and cringe as well, wondering what’s going to become of us if these drastic social problems aren’t brought into some kind of order. When the police start to use their brains to think, instead of their trigger fingers. When civilians don't have to feel like prisoners, safe only within their own walls...
Rio de Janeiro is nervous, more nervous now than ever. This makes more than 4 civilian woundings or deaths in the past two months in car-related assaults. Involving police as the prime suspects in the deaths. A gentleman was killed a few weeks ago when a police officer saw a suspicious situation and decided to shoot first and ask questions later. The suspicious situation? The driver was being carjacked; police's actions killed the driver. The carjacker, yet again, suffered only mild injuries. Headlines are still mourning the three year old boy who died recently when the police misidentified both the color and make of the car they were chasing and machine gunned a car containing a mother, her 9 month old son and the toddler. She had pulled over to let the police car pass by--it was blaring its sirens, and traffic law dictates that civilian cars must give way. The police took it to be a threatening gesture. Miraculously, the mother and the baby survived with minimal injuries, but now face the horrifying loss of little João Roberto.
There are more. Suffice to say, one gives thanks to God both in coming and in going anymore. And even passengers pay close attention to the roads. That’s why, when three cops sauntered up to my bus this morning and took advantage of their free passenger status, we were all a little edgy. More so when just three stops down, in front of two favelas, they stood up and began banging on the door. The driver let them out and we watched warily, with trepidation, as they crept alongside our bus, hands to their weapons, scuttering across the road to another bus stopped at the red light. Darting looks all around, one of the officers banged on the darkened bus door until it opened and they disappeared inside. It took us all a moment to understand what had just happened, let the adrenaline rush subside. I began to giggle, nervously. This was no attempt to catch a suspect they’d just seen cross the road. This wasn’t a blitz. This was three overweight police officers trading a worn bus for a classier one with air conditioning.
After all we’ve gone through as a city these days, that made me laugh. A tiny example of low-level corruption, entitlement and fringe benefits. Laugh, and cringe as well, wondering what’s going to become of us if these drastic social problems aren’t brought into some kind of order. When the police start to use their brains to think, instead of their trigger fingers. When civilians don't have to feel like prisoners, safe only within their own walls...
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Waste Less Recipes
I found a recipe in a women’s magazine here that looked so interesting I had to try it. Well, sort of. It called for green bananas, which I didn’t have, and cheeses and spinach, which I’m also out of. So I went out on a limb and altered the recipe to suit my needs.
The recipe comes from an article about environmentally friendly eating. As many of us just don’t have the funds to eat organically, and local foods aren’t always an option, one of the best ways to eat to “save the planet” is to waste less. This recipe successfully accomplishes that.
You see, you’re going to be eating banana peel. So wash your bananas well before you use them. If you go for green bananas, I think they need to be oven-cooked with skin on for about 10-15 minutes so as to be soft enough to mash. Or you can put them through a food processor.
The flavor of this dish, in spite of the cloves and nutmeg and banana, isn’t overly sweet. It reminds me of the savory/sweet Italian contemporary dishes I like: pastas with cream sauces, toasted almonds, etc… It’s also pretty filling and can be made entirely vegan, for those who so desire. Just substitute oil for the butter and soy products for the cheese and cream.
p.s. I know this sounds weird, but I am eating it as I type and can assure you, it’s worth a try! Anyone out there have other ‘waste less recipes’?
Banana Gnocchi
For one:
one banana, slightly green
banana peel, diced
½ T cream cheese
4 T flour, corn meal
cloves, pepper, salt, nutmeg
1/4 to 1/2 cups watery tomato sauce
1/2 small diced onion
1 T butter
cream
Mash banana and mix with cream cheese, salt, pepper, nutmeg to taste and about 4 T flour (some can be corn meal). Roll into small balls and put in greased pan, cook until browned on bottom, flip, cook some more!
Brown onion in butter and add finely diced banana peel when onions become transparent. The banana peel will oxidize when you cut it, but changes color in the pan. Don't be afraid! Add spices to taste, then about 1/4 to ½ cup tomato sauce. Cook for a few minutes. Add a touch of brown sugar if the sauce is bitter/acidy. Add cream to taste. Serve hot over the gnocchi.
p.p.s. After licking the plate clean, I am now ruminating on the possibility of banana almond/walnut/pecan gnocchi (minus the salt) with a chocolate sauce and fried banana peel chips...oohhhhhhhh I'm going to get fat! (But with no shortage of potassium!)
The recipe comes from an article about environmentally friendly eating. As many of us just don’t have the funds to eat organically, and local foods aren’t always an option, one of the best ways to eat to “save the planet” is to waste less. This recipe successfully accomplishes that.
You see, you’re going to be eating banana peel. So wash your bananas well before you use them. If you go for green bananas, I think they need to be oven-cooked with skin on for about 10-15 minutes so as to be soft enough to mash. Or you can put them through a food processor.
The flavor of this dish, in spite of the cloves and nutmeg and banana, isn’t overly sweet. It reminds me of the savory/sweet Italian contemporary dishes I like: pastas with cream sauces, toasted almonds, etc… It’s also pretty filling and can be made entirely vegan, for those who so desire. Just substitute oil for the butter and soy products for the cheese and cream.
p.s. I know this sounds weird, but I am eating it as I type and can assure you, it’s worth a try! Anyone out there have other ‘waste less recipes’?
Banana Gnocchi
For one:
one banana, slightly green
banana peel, diced
½ T cream cheese
4 T flour, corn meal
cloves, pepper, salt, nutmeg
1/4 to 1/2 cups watery tomato sauce
1/2 small diced onion
1 T butter
cream
Mash banana and mix with cream cheese, salt, pepper, nutmeg to taste and about 4 T flour (some can be corn meal). Roll into small balls and put in greased pan, cook until browned on bottom, flip, cook some more!
Brown onion in butter and add finely diced banana peel when onions become transparent. The banana peel will oxidize when you cut it, but changes color in the pan. Don't be afraid! Add spices to taste, then about 1/4 to ½ cup tomato sauce. Cook for a few minutes. Add a touch of brown sugar if the sauce is bitter/acidy. Add cream to taste. Serve hot over the gnocchi.
p.p.s. After licking the plate clean, I am now ruminating on the possibility of banana almond/walnut/pecan gnocchi (minus the salt) with a chocolate sauce and fried banana peel chips...oohhhhhhhh I'm going to get fat! (But with no shortage of potassium!)
401
Four hundred and one posts since I started this blog--I think a little celebration is in order! I'll have strawberries for breakfast...on the porch in the sun...
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Visa
Well...it looks like my visa was extended until July of 2009. Good news...now what I'm supposed to do with this information, I don't know. It looks like another trip to the Federal Police is in order...and, dear readers, pray that someone would take pity on me and GIVE ME MY IDENTITY CARD ALREADY! It's been three years. And I still can't open a bank account, or pick up my own mail at the post office, or sign up for a cellphone plan because I don't have my Brazilian mark of the beast. (Just kidding. Slightly.) It would be nice if they would remember they've had my paperwork and somewhere in the realm of R$300 floating around...and sent it to the printer so I too can carry around a laminated piece of yellow paper. Please????
Thank you Jesus for the renewal. I wasn't looking forward to packing up all my books just yet...if ever!
Thank you Jesus for the renewal. I wasn't looking forward to packing up all my books just yet...if ever!
Friday, July 18, 2008
It feels like vacation
if for no other reason than that I had a good meal and am not in the Zona Norte but am looking out at the ocean and a luscious full moon. My dad is visiting (whoohoo!) and arrived early this morning. My home is simply not equipped for two people, and my foam mattress on the flimsy particlewood bed wouldn't have been remotely comfortable for my father. (He's already having difficulties with the taxis. They were never intended for people with legs. Okay, people over 5'2".) So we're staying in a hotel, with air conditioning and a little balcony that gives a side view of the ocean to one side and the brightly lit favela crawling up a mountain on the other side. I am excited to have breakfast here, both because it is the best meal of the day and because there will be no dishes for me to wash, no pint-sized cockroaches to shoo away from my drying rack, no trail of ants running away from some inadvertently dropped crumbs. The pink house seems to sprout insects overnight; no matter how clean I leave things, there's always a little visitor hanging around.
The hotel, in such situations, is like a mini-vacation right there.
But also, I forget how fun it is to show someone else around somewhere you love. How your eyes are opened all over again to tiny wonders, how new questions arise that you'd never thought of and don't know the answers to, how you see how much you've changed without realizing it. And how, maybe, you're really pleased with some of those changes.
When I moved to Brazil, I was terrified of the "big" city. I didn't know how to do anything on my own; I was shy and self-conscious. Asking for help, directions, etc...all too much for me. Thankfully, that changed. Independence found me. I began taking more risks, trying new things, doing stuff alone. And I discovered that I love the city, the pulse that begins in the crisp of the morning, when the sky is still foggy with sleep and only the most dedicated workers are catching the first buses of the day...until late in the evening, when party-goers mix with the trash-pickers and pocket-pickers to wander the paving stones under hazy yellow streetlights. I love the smell of jasmine that lingers on my street at night, the friendliness of strangers, the availability of red meat and fresh-squeezed orange juice. There are things I hate: trash, oppression, people like the man who gave me a prostitute pick up call on the street tonight, grabbing my hand as I walked down the street and dragging his finger over the palm of my hand. (He received a very ladylike gesture in return...)
But on the whole, I love the city. And am happy to be sharing that love with someone else, even if they'll never share the same passion. That's okay...we're just being who God created us to be. And that, too, feels like vacation. But that is a subject for another posting...
The hotel, in such situations, is like a mini-vacation right there.
But also, I forget how fun it is to show someone else around somewhere you love. How your eyes are opened all over again to tiny wonders, how new questions arise that you'd never thought of and don't know the answers to, how you see how much you've changed without realizing it. And how, maybe, you're really pleased with some of those changes.
When I moved to Brazil, I was terrified of the "big" city. I didn't know how to do anything on my own; I was shy and self-conscious. Asking for help, directions, etc...all too much for me. Thankfully, that changed. Independence found me. I began taking more risks, trying new things, doing stuff alone. And I discovered that I love the city, the pulse that begins in the crisp of the morning, when the sky is still foggy with sleep and only the most dedicated workers are catching the first buses of the day...until late in the evening, when party-goers mix with the trash-pickers and pocket-pickers to wander the paving stones under hazy yellow streetlights. I love the smell of jasmine that lingers on my street at night, the friendliness of strangers, the availability of red meat and fresh-squeezed orange juice. There are things I hate: trash, oppression, people like the man who gave me a prostitute pick up call on the street tonight, grabbing my hand as I walked down the street and dragging his finger over the palm of my hand. (He received a very ladylike gesture in return...)
But on the whole, I love the city. And am happy to be sharing that love with someone else, even if they'll never share the same passion. That's okay...we're just being who God created us to be. And that, too, feels like vacation. But that is a subject for another posting...
Monday, July 14, 2008
New phone stuff
I have a new mobile number, which I am not going to post on my blog, but if you want it, just email me.
I'm testing out a service called RebTel, which promises free or cheap international cellphone calls. I'm signing up today and going to make a few calls...a friend was recommending the service to me this weekend, so we'll see how it goes.
I'm supposed to be studying for a test, writing a paper, editing The Cry, doing financial stuff and preparing a lesson for the streets tonight. And I need to see my landlord about a breaker that blew out in my house this weekend...Monday is getting off to a rapid start. Maybe too fast, especially given the great weekend I had...
I'm testing out a service called RebTel, which promises free or cheap international cellphone calls. I'm signing up today and going to make a few calls...a friend was recommending the service to me this weekend, so we'll see how it goes.
I'm supposed to be studying for a test, writing a paper, editing The Cry, doing financial stuff and preparing a lesson for the streets tonight. And I need to see my landlord about a breaker that blew out in my house this weekend...Monday is getting off to a rapid start. Maybe too fast, especially given the great weekend I had...
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Thursday musings
Before I settle down for a late-night study session, I thought I'd share a few notes from my side project at work today. When I wasn't giving lessons, I was working on a creativity project and filling out a goals worksheet.
I learned a lot about myself by being honest and answering the questions with the first thing that popped into my head.
There are questions like:
*Make a list of 10 things outside your control that you worry about so much that you can't even bear to talk about them anymore.
*Make a list of 10 people you admire. Make a list of 10 people you'd like to talk to over the next 12 months. Is there a common denominator?
Almost all the things I worry about are dependent on the actions of others, a factor I cannot control and therefore, should excise from my valuable time. I was shocked to realize that almost one-third of every day is spent sleeping. (I knew it, in my head, but when it came out in a pie chart, those 8 hours actually loomed over the rest of the shadowed areas!) With a third of the day gone, there's no time for needless worry.
And the people lists? There are common denominators. The people I admire and also need to talk with in the next year are primarily women, who work in some kind of creative field or are the creative muse types, and you come away from an afternoon with them feeling like you could conquer the world. Sadly, there are few males in the list, which indicates a serious lack of inspiring, intellectually stimulating male friends in my life. Not to be surprising, given where I find myself, but still, saddening. I love the friends I have, but feel like something is missing.
As I mentioned to a friend the other day, it is difficult to find friends of that sort in Brazil when one's work hours are spent with adolescents on the street and children of drug dealers in the slums. And all your nights are filled with graduate class work. Perhaps I can start haunting art shows...just as soon as this degree is finished!
I learned a lot about myself by being honest and answering the questions with the first thing that popped into my head.
There are questions like:
*Make a list of 10 things outside your control that you worry about so much that you can't even bear to talk about them anymore.
*Make a list of 10 people you admire. Make a list of 10 people you'd like to talk to over the next 12 months. Is there a common denominator?
Almost all the things I worry about are dependent on the actions of others, a factor I cannot control and therefore, should excise from my valuable time. I was shocked to realize that almost one-third of every day is spent sleeping. (I knew it, in my head, but when it came out in a pie chart, those 8 hours actually loomed over the rest of the shadowed areas!) With a third of the day gone, there's no time for needless worry.
And the people lists? There are common denominators. The people I admire and also need to talk with in the next year are primarily women, who work in some kind of creative field or are the creative muse types, and you come away from an afternoon with them feeling like you could conquer the world. Sadly, there are few males in the list, which indicates a serious lack of inspiring, intellectually stimulating male friends in my life. Not to be surprising, given where I find myself, but still, saddening. I love the friends I have, but feel like something is missing.
As I mentioned to a friend the other day, it is difficult to find friends of that sort in Brazil when one's work hours are spent with adolescents on the street and children of drug dealers in the slums. And all your nights are filled with graduate class work. Perhaps I can start haunting art shows...just as soon as this degree is finished!
Monday, July 07, 2008
For the Portuguese speakers...
I posted on my other blog today. I'll try to be more regular about those posting from now on...
Sunday, July 06, 2008
The Tuberculosis/Pneumonia/Whydon'tyoujustdie Virus
It started on Tuesday.
I was sore, so sore, and blamed it on the twenty pounds of groceries I'd lugged for five blocks to the children's project early that morning. So it seemed heaven sent that my physical therapist session was scheduled for that afternoon, and that we were just doing massage and acupuncture. (Sometimes, having rheumatoid arthritis is kind of rewarding, in a twisted sort of way. Physician mandated massage being one of the perks.) My body was really unresponsive to the massage; the doctor even asked me if I was anxious about anything in particular. It took forever to relax, and the acupuncture hurt! But I kind of shrugged it off. If I'm anxious about anything, it's what shoes I'm going to wear to the wedding on Saturday...
But Wednesday was worse than Tuesday before the massage, and I was beginning to think that my doctor had stuck me with an acupuncture needle in the wrong spot or something, because my whole body was achy. And then I started coughing.
Thursday morning, I woke up and went straight to the doctor. Fever, achy body, vile cough from the bowels of somewhere not nice. He promised to make me better by Saturday. Saturday. The day I'm to be a bridesmaid at a wedding I've been looking forward to for over a year. I religiously took the medicines he prescribed, even though the shockingly pink pills tasted like they'd been coated in dog saliva. I spent all day in bed. I ate bland soup. I cried. Some friends came over in the evening and brought me supper. It was good, and I ate almost all of it, even though I had to stop at intervals for horrific coughing fits.
Friday morning I woke up with a fever of about 103 degrees. I spent most of the morning taking the fever down with ancient Tylenol that I dug out of a shoebox and a wet handkerchief that I hung over my burning eyes. I painted my nails in bed and let them dry, one hand at a time, as I checked my temperature every fifteen minutes. I debated whether or not to go to the rehearsal dinner for the wedding. But I started feeling better. I even went out in the afternoon to return something for a friend. So when I weighed my options, I decided I was getting better. I bundled up in my nicest, warmest clothes for the rehearsal dinner. I took a taxi. All was well with the world. By the end of the night, I was feeling super. 100%.
And so on Saturday, I woke to blue skies and a manicure appointment. I was feeling good. No fever. While getting my fingers painted, I start to feel kind of woozy. And then nauseous. Then...are my legs really shaking like that? Can I have some water? Can I lie down a little? My manicurist friend looks at me and says, "Girl, you're not going to this wedding! Look at you!" When I stand up to go to the bathroom, I'm all wobbly, like someone who has just drunk six caipirinhas in a row. I collapse on the couch and swallow my tears. My cellphone has all of R$2.60 in credits remaining. I call my friend: I can't come. I can't be your bridesmaid. I'm sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo sooooorrrrrry.
The rest of Saturday is kind of a blur. I had a fever the whole day, went to two hospitals, had blood drawn, x-rays taken, slept at a friend's house, threw a feverish temper tantrum at the unfairness of it all...
Everyone has been so good to me. I hate viruses. I hate pink pills. But you people? I love you.
And today? I am feeling much better. God willing, I'm going to eat some leftover wedding cake tomorrow. Because I know the nicest bride in existence.
I was sore, so sore, and blamed it on the twenty pounds of groceries I'd lugged for five blocks to the children's project early that morning. So it seemed heaven sent that my physical therapist session was scheduled for that afternoon, and that we were just doing massage and acupuncture. (Sometimes, having rheumatoid arthritis is kind of rewarding, in a twisted sort of way. Physician mandated massage being one of the perks.) My body was really unresponsive to the massage; the doctor even asked me if I was anxious about anything in particular. It took forever to relax, and the acupuncture hurt! But I kind of shrugged it off. If I'm anxious about anything, it's what shoes I'm going to wear to the wedding on Saturday...
But Wednesday was worse than Tuesday before the massage, and I was beginning to think that my doctor had stuck me with an acupuncture needle in the wrong spot or something, because my whole body was achy. And then I started coughing.
Thursday morning, I woke up and went straight to the doctor. Fever, achy body, vile cough from the bowels of somewhere not nice. He promised to make me better by Saturday. Saturday. The day I'm to be a bridesmaid at a wedding I've been looking forward to for over a year. I religiously took the medicines he prescribed, even though the shockingly pink pills tasted like they'd been coated in dog saliva. I spent all day in bed. I ate bland soup. I cried. Some friends came over in the evening and brought me supper. It was good, and I ate almost all of it, even though I had to stop at intervals for horrific coughing fits.
Friday morning I woke up with a fever of about 103 degrees. I spent most of the morning taking the fever down with ancient Tylenol that I dug out of a shoebox and a wet handkerchief that I hung over my burning eyes. I painted my nails in bed and let them dry, one hand at a time, as I checked my temperature every fifteen minutes. I debated whether or not to go to the rehearsal dinner for the wedding. But I started feeling better. I even went out in the afternoon to return something for a friend. So when I weighed my options, I decided I was getting better. I bundled up in my nicest, warmest clothes for the rehearsal dinner. I took a taxi. All was well with the world. By the end of the night, I was feeling super. 100%.
And so on Saturday, I woke to blue skies and a manicure appointment. I was feeling good. No fever. While getting my fingers painted, I start to feel kind of woozy. And then nauseous. Then...are my legs really shaking like that? Can I have some water? Can I lie down a little? My manicurist friend looks at me and says, "Girl, you're not going to this wedding! Look at you!" When I stand up to go to the bathroom, I'm all wobbly, like someone who has just drunk six caipirinhas in a row. I collapse on the couch and swallow my tears. My cellphone has all of R$2.60 in credits remaining. I call my friend: I can't come. I can't be your bridesmaid. I'm sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo sooooorrrrrry.
The rest of Saturday is kind of a blur. I had a fever the whole day, went to two hospitals, had blood drawn, x-rays taken, slept at a friend's house, threw a feverish temper tantrum at the unfairness of it all...
Everyone has been so good to me. I hate viruses. I hate pink pills. But you people? I love you.
And today? I am feeling much better. God willing, I'm going to eat some leftover wedding cake tomorrow. Because I know the nicest bride in existence.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
OOOOOH YEAH!
Quer dizer: Passei!
In this list of pronounceable and unpronouncable names, you will find mine. Not in the Intermediate. Not in the Intermediate Advanced. But yes...way down there at the bottom. Oh yeah. Not too bad for someone who quit every language course after three or four weeks.
I'm pretty happy, as you can tell.
In this list of pronounceable and unpronouncable names, you will find mine. Not in the Intermediate. Not in the Intermediate Advanced. But yes...way down there at the bottom. Oh yeah. Not too bad for someone who quit every language course after three or four weeks.
I'm pretty happy, as you can tell.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)