Memorial Day

Growing up, a lilac bush sat at the corner of our garage. The fragrance of lilacs always brings back a significant memory from my childhood. Each year, Mom would gather armfuls of lilacs to take out to the graves on Decoration Day (It wasn't called Memorial Day until 1968.)

It was something my family did. It was the only time of the year I remember visiting graves. There were two cemetaries we visited, one out the Lewiston Highway where there were the graves of my sister Linda, who died at birth, Dad’s parents, his sister Dorothy, his uncle Frank and some cousins. The other was in Albion, a small town nearby.

I especially remember the Albion cemetery. It was on, what seemed to me, a lonely hillside. It was old. Many of the graves seemed abandoned and the dates on them were from the 1800’s. Folks from my Dad’s family, uncles, aunts and cousins, were buried there. We would park on a narrow, winding dirt road that led part way up to the hilltop, gather the containers of lilacs and walk the rest of the way. I remember feeling an awareness of lives that had been lived fully before I was ever born. It was one of the first memories I have of personalizing history. Who were these people? What had they felt? What joys had they experienced; what tragedies?

We would quietly find the gravestones, dust dirt and leaves away and place the fragrant lilacs. Mom would explain the relationships between the names etched in the stones. I remember the sun shining and always a slight wind blowing there. I remember having a sense of my relationship to history. They were moments of my childhood in which the obsession with “I” began to fall away.

Mega Mansions & Trailer Parks

The engine of a plane is the backdrop of this moment. I live on an international airport with floatplanes leaving and arriving throughout each day, rain or shine. A number are private planes ferrying folks to their island homes in the San Juans. Cruising through the islands you see mega mansions on cliffs. Nice but complicated. I can’t imagine living in a huge dwelling. Boat living for twenty years does not have me longing for more space. In fact, if I moved, what would appeal would be something small and unusual. A loftish type existence sounds fun. Some place I could decorate interestingly, uniquely, with odd flare. I’m totally fascinated by vintage Air Stream trailers that people have gutted and turned into retro-fantastic dwellings. There are a few trailer parks around the world filled with these creations that are rented out motel-style. I’d love to have the luxury to redo one. Why not, a retro Air Stream near an ocean beach somewhere, or as an office?

As an undergraduate, I lived in a trailer in an actual trailer park that sat just off campus. I bought it for $1200. It was cheap digs and fun living. The “park” was inhabited by struggling students and a couple of resident older folks to whom we turned for sage advice or how-to stuff. I wish I’d taken pictures but don’t think I have even one. It was an evolutionary and “heady” time for me, just out of a divorce, back in college, discovering feminism and my intellect. With just a bicycle for transportation and then my first “solely owned” car, a VW Bug I got around just fine. A while back I found the website of a store I used to frequent and sent them a note about my memories of that time.

1974 to 1976 … Wow! A magical time in Moscow for me and many others. I lived in a small trailer at the base of the university and traveled by bicycle. Back in college after a divorce in my mid 20s, my passion and time were given to the also emerging University of Idaho Women's Center with Corky Bush, Trynn Speisman, et al. And, my mind was expanding philosophically and politically.

I came across your website accidentally while searching writer's guidelines (I've been a writer and psychotherapist for many years). I stopped and smiled. I have to share that a pleasant and powerful sensory memory kept returning 30 years later every time I entered the Puget Sound Consumer Cooperative here in Seattle, until it recently went upscale, alas. That memory was of The Good Food Store. They say the brain's hippocampus pairs emotion and long-term memory. Being on my own in 1974, discovering my sense of self and the impact I could have on social issues was so exhilarating. I read Our Bodies Ourselves and Diet For A Small Planet. I debated feminist issues and took whole foods cooking classes.

I've carried with me a recipe I learned in those classes during my time attempting the vegetarian life. I make it periodically (because I love it and also because it brings back good memories). Its taste and smells always take me back to Moscow and feminism and bicycles and warm soup enjoyed over engaging conversations.

Vegetarian Split Pea Soup

Ingredients
5-6 cups water
2 cups split peas
1 small onion, diced
1/2 cup pearled barley or rice
1 tsp. Salt
1/2 tsp. dill seed
1/4 tsp. each sweet basil, oregano, mustard powder, celery flakes and black pepper
1 moderate handful toasted sesame seeds

Instructions
Bring water to rapid boil. Add split peas and salt. Let boil 3 minutes or until soft but still intact. Add barley, spices and onion; continue to cook. After about 1/2 hour, add sesame seeds. (If untoasted, stir in a frying pan on stove top using high heat till they start to turn golden.) While simmering the soup be sure that heat is on medium or lower all the time; too high a heat will destroy the vitamins. Soup is done when peas are dissolved and grain is soft.

A Plethora of Pies

A friend just brought a gift of a homemade strawberry rhubarb pie. It tastes as good as it looks and was like a gift from the past. Pies and piemaking were an important part of my past. Not that I personally made pies but, as I grew up, they were the dessert of choice for all of my extended family. We had a rhubarb patch by the garage and a blackberry patch nearby. We took day trips enmasse to pick huckleberries in the Blue Mountains of nearby Idaho. There was always hot coffee and a piece of homemade pie to offer someone who stopped by just to say hi, and people did in those days. Every large family gathering boasted a plethora of pies from berry to lemon merangue.

How's the weather? Call a ham.

The sun is out in Seattle. We soooo want spring. Actually we so want constant warmth and blue skies. It has been off and on and iffy, cool and drizzly, then sunny and back to cool. I know, not a compelling way to begin a blog entry, the weather. It reminds me of a short foray I once made into ham radio. A guy I was with at the time was a bit of an electronic nerd (not meant derogatorily, he went on to own a cable TV company). We had an impressive, at the time, reel-to-reel music system, electronic chess and the aforementioned ham radio. I listened to it and considered trying to learn the Morse code but never did. In those days, learning to tap out code was required to become a “ham”. I remember feeling fascinated for a while listening to folks from all over the world chatting back and forth. I soon learned, though, there is a universal “ham” obsession with weather. Now, in many crisis, these folks have played impressive roles in lifesaving. Alerting to weather information at those times maybe critical. That said, it seemed like every time I heard “hams” chatting it was about the weather. How’s the weather? What’s the weather like there? I don’t know why I expected more esoteric banter, but I would have wanted to know more interesting things from someone across the world than the current state of their weather. “Have you given thought to Spinoza lately?” “What’s the state of mind/body medicine in your part of the world?” Ok, so I’m sounding a bit snobbish, but I never even heard them share a recipe! I know with new forms of communication available, ham radio has taken a very back seat. I’m sure ham aficionados are patient, though. The world one day may find itself with the scenario of communication satellites being obliterated; the world in chaos and once again the tapping of a simple mechanical key will become the lifeblood of communication. In the meantime forget the Internet when you want to know the weather somewhere in the world, call a ham.

Buttered Croissants, broiled lamb & a taste of India

Hot, buttered croissants with coffee have to be a top morning indulgence for me. I used to enjoy them only rarely as I had to go out amidst traffic and morning chill to get them, or remember them the night before and then they were day old. Trader Joe’s is now my hero. They sell packages of eight frozen mini croissants. You take some out the night before and let them “proof” on a baking sheet over night. Then you bake them till golden brown. They are perfectly flakey, and deliciously croissanty, if I may coin a word. I discovered them by reading through the Trader Joe’s crazy little opus that they publish regularly. It’s a store that has little gems of food items up and down the aisles. Sometimes, now, I take the time to browse more in Trader Joe’s. That’s how I found what’s now a kitchen staple, their Mango Ginger Chutney. It’s a great accompaniment to my Indian dishes and Hank loves it as a cooking sauce. He used it brilliantly last night over lamb chops. No, you won’t overtly taste the ginger, it’s just a delicious sweet sauce with some complexity.

His dinner was a definite winner. Broiled lamb chops with mango ginger chutney sauce, broiled giant scallops which benefited from the sauce, as well, mashed potatoes with butter and fresh asparagus. I’ve been spoiled this week as the night before we had liver slathered in onions along with mashed potatoes (thanks to a friend who recently fixed it and inspired us). We both love liver and onions but often don’t think to fix it. Hank went to three stores trying to find veal liver but had to settle for basic beef liver. It was good, though. He told the tale of asking for veal liver at the Metropolitan Market and getting an angry stare. They might want to inquire as to the politics of their meat salespeople. Vegetarians or PETA folks should be allowed to opt out.

Wednesday afternoon I was a little down and needed an Indian food fix, both the fun of preparing it and the interesting tastes. What did I have on hand…red potatoes, a head of cauliflower that needed to be used… I went to Google and typed in potatoes + cauliflower + Indian + recipe and came up with the following dish. I put it all through the ricer topped it with a little butter for an amazing taste not at all overtly spicy!

Cauliflower and Potato Curry

From: Lisa Corsetti http://www.ivu.org/recipes/indian-veg/cauliflower-and-j.html I buy most of my Indian Spices, like Garam Masala, at a local food cooperative (Puget Sound Consumer Cooperative in Seattle) that sells spices in bulk.

Ingredients:
4 Cups potatoes, peeled and quartered
1 small cauliflower, cut into florets
a pinch of asafetida (can be omitted)
3/4 tsp ground turmeric
1/2 tsp chilli powder
1 1/2 tsp ground cumin
3/4 tsp salt
big pinch of sugar
2 tomatoes, chopped (I used a can of diced tomatoes)

1 1/4 cups water
1/2 tsp garam masala

Instructions:

Add all ingredients to a crockpot and cook on low for approximately six hours. Mash together.
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Voila! Our Experience

We dined at a small French restaurant, Voila!, in the Madison Valley area of Seattle last night. We began with an hors d oeuvre of escargot and a salad. The Escargot was placed on French bread baguette rounds dripping with a garlic butter mixed with finely chopped parsley and basil. Hank is fond of the escargot; I loved the garlic butter mixture in which I dipped the French bread served at the table. The salad was three endive leaves topped with rough chopped endive, leeks and walnuts, finely chopped shallots, vinaigrette, and blue cheese chunks.

For the main course I ordered the Cassoulet topped with buttered breadcrumbs and Hank the veal liver. The Cassoulet wasn’t quite as good, I felt, as Café Campagne near the Pike Place Market but was tasty. (Leftovers brought home were even better the next day.) It had the requisite duck, pork and sausage (and I thought I tasted some lamb), Cannalini beans and, for texture and taste, the breadcrumb topping. I felt it had a stronger tomato base to the sauce than I prefer.

Hank’s veal liver was served in 2” medallions in a sauce consisting basically, he felt, of dark wine and onions. He didn’t like the sauce and wasn’t impressed with the dish in general. The meat was surrounded with a mashed and piped yams seasoned mildly and poorly. One taste that came through was nutmeg. The liver wasn’t overdone, but not impressive.

We finished the meal with coffee and Sambuca (they didn’t have our desired anisette and Sambuca doesn’t hold it’s own in the coffee as well.)

I believe I’m sounding like a bit of a snob here, The entrées were in the $15 range, less than Café Campagne, The small chandelier and candle lit interior was pleasant.

Hail Tupperware!

It just doesn’t seem possible that the last entry here was before Christmas. Hank’s been through a successful knee replacement and three weeks recuperation at his sister’s in Issaquah. Thanks Helen! Here it is, mid February, the sun is shining on a Saturday afternoon. I’ve been making Snickerdoodles for Valentine’s gifts to neighbors. A small gesture, but a good Snickerdoodle is always a treat. I spent the day cleaning out the refrigerator and then the pan hole. I suppose on a boat it’s more properly called the pan hold, but hey. Pans on our boat are kept in a hole. To clean it out you have to get on hands and knees and sometimes lay flat on the kitchen floor to reach the bottom. Today I purged pans. Actually mostly I purged plastic ware that sneaks into the pan hole. I had to rematch all the Tupperware and sundry lids. I have more lids than containers, as usual. Tupperware is like socks; for some unknown reason you are always losing the lid or its matching container.

I fondly remember attending Tupperware parties with my Mom. It was the 1950’s and in-home parties were a new source of fun. Mary Kay was probably still selling Fuller brushes while Earl Tupper started setting the pace back in 1945. I remember burping lids, nested bowls, those pastel colored tumblers and cereal bowls and the amazing deviled egg carrying container (this was an era before the obsession with cholesterol) everybody made deviled eggs. They were the quintessential hors d oeuvre.

Things have come a long way. The last Tupperware party I attended was a couple years ago. A very fun-loving single guy friend of ours was talked into throwing a Tupperware party. He hardly knew what Tupperware was but was up for fun. He invited 30+ people and just about all showed. People brought wine and hors d oeuvres and he’d arranged live music (a neighbor couple, he played piano and she sang French love songs and show tunes). The Tupperware Lady was game – she demonstrated mango salsa in the Quick Chef hand chopper (throw in a tomato, a mango, an onion, some cilantro some lime juice, a couple spins of the handle and Viola! salsa) Bowls of chips and salsa circled the room and I bought the Quick Chef. I also bought the Tupperware cutting board and the deli meat and cheese storer and I love them all! The more wine people drank the more Tupperware they ordered. Based on amount of sales the host ended up with just about every hostess gift available (I don’t think Earl Tupper thought in terms of Host gifts).

I still love Tupperware, especially because moisture is a boat dwellers bane and glass breaks no matter how hard you try to store it creatively. Ironically, when I was first invited over to my sister-in-law’s house some thirty years ago I took deviled eggs as an hors d oeuvre (I’ve found even in the ‘age of cholesterol’ whenever you show up with deviled eggs they get scarffed up quickly). She was ecstatic about the treat from her past. She went to a high cupboard and returned with a Tupperware deviled egg-carrying container. “It was our mothers”, she proclaimed, “and I am gifting it to you with the mandate that you bring deviled eggs to all family dinners!” Hail Tupperware, it connects us through the generations.