mulberryshoots

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" ~ Mary Oliver

meltdown . . .

"madder than a wet hen!" (photo by M. Steverson)

“madder than a wet hen!” (photo by M. Steverson)

Are you old enough to remember the movie, “Network” directed by Sidney Lumet in 1976? There is a famous scene in it where the character played by Peter Finch yells out the window that “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!” LOL! That phrase exemplifies to me the quintessential adult meltdown moment. After all, we can’t really throw ourselves down on the floor like two-year old toddlers, kick and scream and throw toys around when we have just ab-so-lute-ly HAD IT!!!

How do I know? Because I just had a major meltdown myself a few days ago. Part of the context for how major it was, was that I had been harboring anxieties about my health which I had not mentioned to anyone while imagining alone all kinds of fearful things. This had been going on for a few months, making me ask myself why in the hell I was spending the “time I have left” the way that I was. It was also similar to Jennifer Lawrence’s character in “Silver Linings Playbook” where she yells at Bradley Cooper’s character saying, “Everyday I do things for other people all the time and then I wake up feeling EMPTY!!”

Okay. So here are some components of my major meltdown:
~ offering to help others but being rebuffed before it can even be discussed
~ feeling taken for granted.
~ other people’s agendas and priorities eating up my life rather than pursuing what is more important to me.
~ feeling taken advantage of, either due to thoughtlessness or neglect.

Dare I say that more women feel like this than men, most of the time? And that we do little about it but to shrug our shoulders and say, that’s just the way things are? I usually do that too, but the other day, a little thing happened that blew me away. I was surprised myself that I was so mad. And like some multi-layered fireworks that explode in the sky in burst after colorful burst, my meltdown anger did the same thing. It just went “poom!” “poom!” de “poom” “poom”! It felt really good actually when all those “pooms” were released out of my system.

Then I went to the doctor and things were not as bad as I thought. In fact the condition was not cancer after all but something pretty normal for someone my age. What a relief! In the meantime, though, I have basically redrawn my sense of purpose about what to do and how I really want to live. One of the things I have reinforced myself about is not to be so naive about other people, and to do what I want to, rather than (fill in the blanks.) I also found that since my usual defense mechanisms were shot to kingdom come, that I am more willing to speak my mind without being so deferential to everybody else’s agendas.

So, what do I think about meltdowns? I think they clear things away, like a visceral nuclear blast, for better or for worse. What was before is changed somewhat or a lot. Pent-up frustrations are released, or at least some of them. Are we like children, who soon return to the status quo, not really remembering the meltdown they just had a day or so ago? I don’t know, do you?

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As an afterthought, I thought I’d include this footnote about the origin of the term, “madder than a wet hen.”
“In the old south, after a hen laid her eggs she would want to sit on them until they hatch. Even if you gathered up all her eggs, she would still sit on the empty nest. So in order to “break her” and get her to lay more eggs, the farmer would lift her off the nest and dunk her in water. She’d then go right back to her nest, so this had to be done two or three times, after which she’d be mad as hell and start “fussing and scrambling about” Apparently this “broke her” and she’d start laying eggs again.” How do you like them apples?

“Basil Toutorsky” part 2 . . .

Basil and Maria Toutorsky, photograph courtesy of E. B.

Basil and Maria Toutorsky, photograph courtesy of E. B.

One of the first posts on this blog was about my piano teacher named Basil Toutorsky. He and his wife, Maria, were so kind to me from the time I was seven to about twelve years old. He took me under his wing and taught me piano technique, musicality and most of all, how caring humans can be towards others. Apparently, these values and qualities were imparted to other students who were also fortunate enough to meet Professor and Mrs. Toutorsky later in time. 

Living in this social media age, a few individuals commented about their own experiences with the Toutorskys. As a result, I shared a 26-page booklet of “Reminescences” about the Toutorskys that was sent to me from Johns Hopkins/Peabody Conservatory of Music about a decade ago when the Toutorsky Scholarship was still active. Now defunct, Johns Hopkins indicated they would still like to have contributions in Toutorsky’s name but that the monies might go for teacher salaries and the like rather than scholarships for budding pianists. Be that as it may (time moves on, doesn’t it?) a handful of us have been in touch with each other and shared fond memories of the Toutorskys.

One of them wrote to me recently and gave permission to include this remembrance:
Have I already shared with you how I collaborated with several friends to create a pleasant and safe walled garden behind the Toutorsky mansion for the Professor and Mrs. Toutorsky to enjoy, since by the time I met them, he was a bit unsteady on his feet and the neighborhood had deteriorated to become not all that safe for any vulnerable-looking older residents?

We had the existing garden walls raised and broken glass embedded in the top to make the space more secure, created formal garden beds and pea gravel footpaths, installed park beds, shade trees, bedding plants (perennials and annuals) spring bulbs, and even a central, lighted round garden pool with a gurgling jet fountain, complete with custom-cut limestone curbing stone. It was a lovely, peaceful, and safe haven for our dear friends which they both thoroughly enjoyed sharing with family members and friends.

When I was working outside Philadelphia and commuted back to my DC home on weekends, I usually stopped in to a well-stocked plant nursery along my route off of the Interstate to stock up with more plants for the Toutorsky’s walled garden. I recall how the toll gate attendants on I-95 near the PA-MD border always remarked on my ‘mobile garden’ because I had the back seat of my large company sedan loaded full with beautiful flowering specimens, such as Japanese anemones.

When I read this, I was touched by the breadth of affection this garden project represented for the Toutorskys when they were elderly. I’m thankful for the contributions this fellow and his friends made, way back then and also now, for relating it here. There may be so many more people scattered all over the globe with affectionate ties to the Professor and his wife. Truly marvelous, don’t you think . . . in the best sense of the word?

sticker shock . . .

May-July 2007 351_2Have you ever found yourself living through a period of time when everything seems to weigh down your usual optimism and enthusiasm? Sorry to say, that’s how I’ve been feeling lately for two reasons: negative things that occur outside of my control; and people who don’t change even when they say they will.

These two irritants can irk me on an ongoing basis although I should know better. It’s INSANE to do the same things over and over and naively expect them to be different from the way they always are. I KNOW THIS, but it can still be deeply frustrating.

Okay. So why am I writing this post besides complaining about stuff that is a pain in the butt? Because, as I was stewing away while waiting at a stoplight, I happened to glance over to my left where a truck had a sticker in the window that said:

“Don’t take life so seriously. . . It’s not permanent.”

Gotcha!

coming of age . . .

DSCN3921If you read a lot, you’re probably familiar with the genre category known as “coming of age” books. The characters in the story are usually young, for example, Francie in “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn” by Betty Smith or a little more off-beat, Holden Caulfield, hero of “Catcher in the Rye” by J.D. Salinger. As I continue to think about writing, I have been reflecting about what “coming of age” actually means. I think it means maturation, whatever that is; you know, teen-age struggles with identity, misadventures and finally coming to some place of realization the characters didn’t have before. Oh, really?

If my experiences count to me for anything, it’s the lesson learned that the journey never ends, and that in fact, it’s only the journey that matters, because there is no end. That’s a New Age message that spoke to some of us, a cultural voice a couple of decades old. Has it really been that long? In any case, we often hear that the present is all that matters and that the past and the future are a waste of time to spend thinking about. It makes life more do-able, at least for me, to listen and pay attention to what’s around me one day at a time.

So where am I going with this? I believe that we come of age as an ongoing process while we live, as a matter of fact, and that the concept is much deeper and broader than a briefly focused time during our adolescence or early adulthood or even adulthood–see what I mean? Just think about who we were ten years ago. If you’re anything like me and write journal entries, coming upon those scribbles years later, I often think, “OMG, who was that person?” And “Why did all those people/things matter that much at the time?”

In some ways, it’s heartening to read these scattered notes and realize how far life has come for me. Yeah, baby! I’m not as frustrated at some people anymore–either they have disappeared, things have resolved themselves or I’ve taught myself how to avoid conflict. Many of the things I wished for and sought after have either appeared in my life or have been forgotten altogether. Isn’t it great that “life is long”?

So, back to the concept, coming of age while we live, I know that I inhabit my world a lot differently than I did when the kids were growing up; when I was travelling and working 60-hour weeks in the biotech industry; or even now during the last couple of years when I’m able to explore and develop what I’m curious about. Coming of age to me is when you truly know yourself and like (most of) what you see (the inward compact with one’s spirit) and can enjoy each day as it opens and closes. Sometimes, I think that freedom from being tortured by “shoulds” and “should have beens” arrives by the time you turn fifty! Sad, but true. And great for all of us who make it to fifty and can just be ourselves, for better or for worse, . . . finally.

Things are still not under our control as much as we might like it to be. The world outside appears to be accelerating with weather extremes, political angst and fearful events. But if we feel at home within ourselves, knowing that we can make our place the way we want it to be, (even if it’s messy and the cupboards are bare) we’ve come of age.

What do you think?

pocketful of rye . . .

. . . rye bread dough risingA friend of mine, R., lives in a tiny row house near Regent’s Park in the Marylebone district of London. The door is painted bright yellow and there is a veritable garden on the front pavement and across the way, lined with trees in pots, flowers and other vegetation. Once, when I visited her, she served a small loaf of rye bread which had a tight crumb and toasted up beautifully with a crusty exterior and chewy insides. It was just right, spread with thin slices of pate, or sweet butter and homemade jam. Fruitlessly, I have looked for a loaf that resembles this memory a long time ago, and had given up finding such a tasty loaf of dark bread.
rye bread beg
Recently, my daughter, M., mentioned that she baked a spelt/rye bread from a recipe a friend gave to her awhile ago. Nigel Slater, a cookery maven from England also has a recipe for spelt/rye bread, this one with a little grated parmesan cheese added during the second kneading of the dough. Because the heat wave that we’ve had dispersed into drizzly rain and fog, it’s much cooler now and I thought I would weigh in and try my hand at making one of these loaves of bread. Nigel Slater’s recipe is given for two loaves and the ingredients are listed in metric specifications. I like to make one loaf at a time so I cut the recipe in half. Here are my approximate measurements converted from his:

Nigel Slater’s rye loaf: In a warmed bowl, combine dry ingredients:
1 1/2 cups rye flour; 1 1/2 cups wholemeal spelt flour; 1/3 cup white flour; 1 tablespoon (packet) of dry yeast; 1/8 teaspoon fine sea salt. Whisk these dry ingredients together to combine.

Heat scant 1 1/2 cups of water to warm but not hot; stir in 1 1/2 tablespoons of honey.
Pour water/honey into dry mixture and stir to combine. (Mine was a little dry when I added 1 1/4 cups of water so I added in a bit more, that’s why I increased the measurement from 1 1/4 to a scant 1 1/2 cups)

Reserve 1/8 cup of freshly grated parmesan cheese to knead into the dough after it rises the first time.

Pull and stretch dough while kneading for a good 4-5 minutes. Lightly oil a clean bowl and let the dough rise until it is doubled, covered with a cloth or plastic wrap. Remove the dough from the bowl, place on a lightly floured board and knead again, briefly, for just a minute or two, adding parmesan as you go. I patted the dough into a rectangle, sprinkled parmesan cheese with a spoon, folded it over into thirds, then over again; repeated twice.

Butter a bread pan and flour it, shake out the excess flour. Shape the kneaded dough into a loaf and place in the pan, cover and set aside for a half hour or so until it has risen again.

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Yes, I was surprised at this too but that’s the proper conversion from “220C, gasmark 8.”

Bake for 25-30 minutes until crisp on top. Remove from the oven, leave for 10 minutes, then lift out and leave the loaf to cool before slicing. To keep, wrap in foil or kitchen film and set aside. It will also freeze well.

. . .fresh out of the oven!

. . .fresh out of the oven!


So that’s tonight’s supper, along with a couple of croquettes of sweet potato, quinoa and cranberries that I picked up at Whole Foods yesterday. A small, crispy green salad would be good alongside.

after dinner postscript: next time, I would stretch, pull and knead the dough differently to incorporate more air into the dough during the first kneading step. Might also add a little more water too!

small wonders . . .

birthday tulips!Today, I was fiddling around with some photos in order to print some out and take along with me when I visit my daughter and her family in Minneapolis, a couple of weeks from now. What I had in mind was to print them out in smaller sizes, make a montage of them, print out the montage and frame it, thereby getting more images into one space.

On my HP printer instructions, it showed “contact sheet” as an option to print multiple small photos all lined up in rows. Not knowing how to input more than one photo at a time, I searched on online for help. Up popped various sites including ones for free software to make collages online, save and download them for printing. JUST what I didn’t know that I was searching for. So, a few minutes later, I downloaded “Smilebox” for a 7-day free trial ($3.+/month if you choose to subscribe afterwards.)

Much to my surprise, there were a myriad of collage formats to choose from–some marked “premium” which would be free during the 7-day trial. PLUS, my little collage could be set to MUSIC! ~ mine or theirs. I chose to upload the ukelele version of “somewhere over the rainbow” played by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. A piece of music that I uploaded for another collage was Steve Martin’s composition for banjo called “the great remember” in memory of Martin Short’s wife, Nancy. It’s a sweet little piece.

Anyhow, I’m excited about this little discovery and thought I’d mention it in a post today to share the first and second “pancakes” from this fun medium. And thanks to all the smiling faces in the collages for such good times that we have shared together!

Click here to see this small wonder that appeared out of the blue today! And here’s another . . .

Postscript: here is one that marries a poem by mary oliver with a prelude by Scriabin played by Yuja Wang.

fresh start . . .

DSC_0923
Made a smoothie for breakfast that tastes lighter than usual and is very refreshing:

Ingredients:
almond coconut milk
freshly squeezed juice from two navel oranges
fresh spinach from Idylwylde Farm (half a handful)
fresh parsley (half a handful)
fresh blueberries (a quarter of a handful)
frozen peaches (about 6 slices)
frozen banana (fresh, cut up and stored in freezer)
a large knob of peeled ginger root

Mixed in the Vitamix. Makes two tall glasses, one reserved in the fridge for later in the day.

This smoothie was markedly different from others that I have made so far. Adding freshly squeezed juice from two navel oranges to the almond-coconut milk base added flavor and resulted in lighter liquid content. Parsley and spinach were less dense greens than kale by itself. Plus, frozen fruit (peaches and banana) made the drink colder than room temperature smoothies of the past. The knob of ginger root was peeled and at least twice the size I normally use. It added zing and provided a clean aftertaste. Overall, this concoction was lighter in density, more flavorful and colder than normal: a keeper recipe to jot down in my food journal.

Last night, photos (shuffle) appeared on my Mac laptop while we watched the game (the Bruins made a stalwart effort tying the game at 5-5 but lost in overtime.) As the images came and went, I couldn’t help but notice how much older I looked a couple of years ago and even as recently as this last holiday season. In addition to growing my hair longer, I think I may have lost about twenty pounds these last six months because I feel/look much healthier/better.

Of all the things that might have helped, I think the little Oster citrus juicer has made the most difference. Whenever I find myself craving something to snack on, I juice up a pink grapefruit and two navel oranges. It is a refreshing drink that also satisfies my desire to eat something. Plus, I keep the fruit in the fridge so that the juice is nice and cold. Adding fresh juice to almond-coconut milk was a good experiment.

So, that’s today’s fresh start for the day.

game four . . .

ghiardelli 1So for game three of the Bruins Stanley Cup Playoff game against the Blackhawks, I made a “tarte aux pommes” with simple ingredients I already had on hand. In the Times today, there was a small photograph at the bottom of the front page showing what looked like a chocolate chip cookie. But this one had chunkier pieces of chocolate showing, not your usual Nestle’s semi-sweet chocolate chips that come in the ubiquitous dark yellow bag that nearly everyone buys to make that old cookie favorite.

The featured article about baking these cookies was by an otherwise erstwhile health food columnist, Martha Rose Shulman. It turns out she is a ghost-baker for baking cookery book authors. As you know from reading my food posts, we like eating rather spare, healthy cooking too.

Not today. The reason why the cookies caught my eye and looked so delectable is that the recipe calls for cut up bittersweet chocolate. So when I was at the grocery store, I bought two bars of Ghiardelli chocolate labeled “Intense Dark.” My first thought was to bake batches of the chocolate mixed individually and to compare the taste. But in the end, I cut up the chocolate, mixed both kinds of bitter chocolate together in the cookie batter and slid the baking pan into the oven.

Here they are cooling on the oversized rack that I’ve been hoping to use for some time.

. . . bittersweet chocolate chunk cookies cooling on the rack

. . . bittersweet chocolate chunk cookies cooling on the rack


Here’s also hoping that the Bruins win tonight and go on to win their game 4 on Saturday night to clinch the Stanley Cup. Because at this rate, all of the healthy eating influences in the last few months will have been obliterated by our cravings while watching the playoffs. I guess we could try carrot sticks or something but these bittersweet chocolate chip cookies are a lot more fun.

The true test is of course how they taste. I just tried my first one, splitting it with G. to see what they were like. I’m not really much of a desserts person myself, which is why these crisp, light cookies with dark chocolate are so delicious! They are a lot less sweet than ones made with Nestle’s semi-sweet chocolate chips. Moreover, the FLAVOR of the bittersweet chocolate is intensely enjoyable.

Here’s to the Bruins winning tonight!

supper . . .

It started to get hot today, the air conditioning kicking on when it reached 82 degrees. There was a strong breeze though and the humidity wasn’t that bad. For dinner, there was a pack of Bell and Evans chicken thighs that I rinsed in cold water this morning and then marinated in some Korean Bulgogi barbecue sauce. I left it covered in the fridge and then took it out mid-afternoon, turning the pieces over in the marinade and then covering the top with a plate.

I would have liked to grill the chicken on our little cast iron hibachi out on the back deck since it’s so warm, but some birds, (we think they’re robins,) built a nest in the alcove right under the hibachi. There don’t seem to be any eggs there to hatch, but the birds come in for a rest stop every once in awhile. (How would we like to be out in the pouring rain if we were birds?) Anyhow, that’s why the hibachi is out of commission, at least for right now.

. . . nest built under the hibachi on the back deck

. . . nest built under the hibachi on the back deck


So I took my rectangular grill pan and set it on two burners. I really like this piece of equipment because you can cook food quickly on it and it makes those nice grill marks on the food afterwards. All we’re missing is the flavor of mesquite. For our other course (remember, just two a meal,) I’ll pan fry some fresh spinach until it’s just wilted, turn off the heat, dress with a little organic Ohsawa soy sauce and a squeeze of fresh lemon juice.

Here it is: simple and healthy.

. . . teriyaki chicken and fresh spinach on the grill pan

. . . teriyaki chicken and fresh spinach on the grill pan

Oh, and apple tart for dessert while we watch the Bruins tonight.

. . . apple tart baked this morning

. . . apple tart baked this morning

tarte aux pommes . . .

. . . apple tart with preserve glaze on top (peach, cherry & apricot)

. . . apple tart with preserve glaze on top (peach, cherry & apricot)

I was knitting this morning when I remembered that game three of the Bruins/Blackhawk Stanley Cup Playoffs is on tonight at 8 pm. Since championship playoffs hold a heightened air of expectation, I usually like to have something to have on hand to munch on. If you’ve seen the movie, “Silver Linings Playbook,” you’ll remember the “homemades” and other snacks that were always prepared for each football game that Robert de Niro’s character would bet on to win.
apple tart 1
In any case, I wanted to make something with what I already had on hand: one Pillsbury pie crust in the fridge; three Granny Smith apples in the pantry and some peach/cherry/apricot preserves in the door of the fridge. I’m a fan of less crust, not more, so I’ve been making French tarts with thinly sliced apples, adapting Julia Child’s recipe but simplifying it with pre-made pie crust. These thin tarts are less mushy and require peeling only three rather than eight apples to fill a full apple pie. I butter the foil on the pan before unfolding the pie crust; then brush the crust with slightly warmed preserves on which to place the apples.
apple tart 2
After the apples are peeled and cored, they’re sliced really thin and placed in opposite facing rows, a small conceit that makes the tart look more fabulous than it deserves. Then I mix turbinado sugar (a heartier sugar) with ground cinnamon and nutmeg. Sprinkle the top of the tart, dot with unsalted butter, a squeeze of fresh lemon and then place into the middle of a 400 degree preheated oven for about 20 minutes.
apple tart 5
Not quite finished, I take the tart out of the oven and then gently brush the jam lightly over the top, covering the whole thing with a kind of fruit glaze. Back into the oven for about twelve more minutes.

And voila! as the French say–a nice apple tart from a mere handful of ingredients I didn’t even remember that I had on hand.

I think we’ll serve it plain in small wedges tonight but it’s also really good with Haagen Daz vanilla swiss almond ice cream. Or a small dab of creme fraiche, come to think of it. Fingers crossed for the Bruins to win tonight!
apple tart 6