The double entendre

This story makes me smile every time I think of it.

When I was in high school, about 3 million years ago, there was this band called Rhythm Corps.  And they had a song called Common Ground.  And I liked it, so I wrote it down, so that the next time I went to Harmony House, I could see if they had the cassingle (kids: it was like a cd with one song on it that you could rewind with a bic crystal pen).  I left said piece of paper on my dresser.  Right out in the open.  No big deal.  Unless you're a teenager, with a piece of paper on your dresser that says Rhythm Corps, Common Ground.  And there's a form of birth control called the Rhythm Method, and the local crisis pregnancy center is called Common Ground.  And your Gram sees the piece of paper, and about has a coronary, but doesn't want to say anything, because she doesn't want you to feel as though your privacy is being invaded.  Even though the paper was right out in the open.  That is some serious restraint, on her part.  And trust.  And respect.  And, when she finally said something, we had a very long laugh over it.  For about 20 years.

This was also about the time she started telling me that the best form of birth control was holding an aspirin between my knees.  She told me that for about 20 years, too.

To see the awesomeness of late 80s hair (and a chicken?!)  click below:

Rhythm Corps - Common Ground
(Seriously, why is there a chicken in this video???)


Can we meet on common ground
Are our views so far apart
That there's no room to be found

Can we speak without a sound
Of a world gone quite insane
Can we start settling down

I'll not play the scene
Where the threats start flying
You'll not have to scream
Cause we're not that stupid

Can we meet on common ground

Can we meet on common ground
Are your walls all brick and stone
And far from tumbling down

Can we seat ourselves around
A table for awhile and talk
Like friends we have found

Well, all that's plain to see
While the brats start blighing
You'll not have to dream
Of a peaceful oneday

Can we meet on common ground
Tell me, tell me, tell me
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa

Can we meet on common ground
Are our views so far apart
That there's no room to be found

Can we speak without a sound
Of a world gone quite insane
Can we start settling down, yeah

I'll not play the scene
Where the threats start flying
You'll not have to scream
Cause we're not that stupid

Whoa, can we meet on common ground
Can we meet on common ground
Can we meet on common ground
Tell me, can we meet on common ground 

The Demons Within

No one can possibly know what it's like to be inside these walls, inside this skin when the demon inside of him takes over,  When he rants, and raves, and screams, and slings hateful, hurtful words, and then falls in a  sobbing heap in my lap asking for forgiveness.

"He seems so...normal" they say, those who don't know, who don't understand that he's no less "NORMAL" than any of us, his struggles are just different than many the rest of us face, because he struggles every minute of every day to fit into these paradigms that have been set of "acceptable", so that heads won't turn, and eyes won't roll, so that people won't huff, and stare.

And so here I sit, with this broken heart as he tells me that I don't love him, and I'm the worst mother ever, that I never liked him, and I don't even want him, and I long to scream back "YOU ARE WRONG!"  and I want to allow my hurt to fall in on itself, and take me right along with it, like a roly-poly curling itself tight into a ball, showing the world nothing but it's protective shell and holding the hurt and fear it feels inside itself.  I wish nothing more than that when he finally comes to me with words of apology and regret, and I hold him tight and stroke his flaxen hair, and tell him that it all ok, that it was ok, that it didn't hurt, that it didn't break my heart just a little each and every time.

I should be grateful, I know, that he "seems normal", and more than anything, that I am the safe place where he can let it all go, I just wish it didn't come with such a toll....

Getting tarred with the same brush

Today, I had an epiphany, of sorts.  It's been coming on awhile, really, this slow arrival of consciousness.  When I was young, and Gram was worried about with whom I was spending my time, she would say "Carrie Anne, don't get tarred with the same brush".  Let me explain.  Back in the days of tarring and feathering, if you were standing too close to the offender, you, too, would end up with tar and feathers on you. 

Lately, I've been reflecting very much on the amazing people in my life.  I wonder how I got so lucky, to be surrounded by these giving, smart, gracious souls.  I think about the breadth of time that these friendships cover, some since I was just five, some a few weeks or months new.  Each one has a generosity of spirit, a flair for life, a respect for living things, and a sense of humour.  These are the people who I can laugh with, and cry with, the people whose fear I can feel, and whose hurt I would take away in an instant if I had the power.  They are the moments that make up this crazy wonderful life that I'm living.  And today, when I was wondering how I got so lucky, it dawned on me that they just might feel lucky to have me, too.  And so, once again, Gram was right.  This is my tribe. 

(courtesy of Google images, The Hives)

Waste not, want not

Gram was raised during the Depression.  A lot of great stuff came from this, like neat ways to reuse stuff, before it was cool and called "upcycling".  But, some of it just made sense, and laid the foundation for greater things later on.  Like soup.

When you roast a chicken for supper, eat what you will that night, strip any other meat you'll eat off the bones (perhaps a chicken salad, or tetrizzini?), and put the carcass, skin, and remaining meat into a zipper-style freezer bag or one of those ice-cream buckets from that awful sherbet with the handle, or a tupper-ware like container (you get the idea) in the freezer.  When you peel or trim carrots, onions, celery, or any other veggie, throw the trimming in the bucket with the bones.  When the vessel is full, turn it out into a stock pot, add water, salt, a few allspice, copious amounts of garlic, and the lid.  Bring to a boil, and reduce to a simmer.  Gram simmered her soup for a day or two, on low, on the stove, on the back burner.  So, that's how I do it.  When it's done, strain it through a colander, portion it out in freezer safe containers, and there you go- no more broth in a box.  Oh, and feel free to add more onions, or celery or the like to the stock if you think it needs it, but when you're done, strain all of those veggies out.  At this point, you've cooked all the nutritive value out of them, anyhow.  Provided you used only bones, and not meat, you could grind everything and put it in your compost pile if you have one... (I've been known to give the meat scraps to the dogs).

Oh!  And if you want just a little stock for thinning gravies and such, fill a muffin tin with stock, then pop it in the freezer.  When it's all frozen, run warm water over the tin, pop out the "pucks" of stock, and store them in a zipper freezer bag or plastic container.

By the way, here's the recipe for the best roast chicken ever.

Gram's Roast Chicken
an iron skillet large enough to hold the chicken
a chicken, the best quality you can afford- and keep in mind you're getting 2-3 meals at least out of this bird, so even if you're paying $15 for an organic roaster, you're still doing ok
garlic, about 4 cloves (or to taste)- preferably organic and fresh
a yellow or white onion- preferably organic
a lemon- preferably organic, if not, well washed

a coupla tablespoons of cornstarch

preheat the oven to 450F
lightly oil the pan with olive oil
Rinse the chicken and place it breast up in the skillet
cut the onion and lemon in half
peel the garlic and
squeeze the juice for half of the lemon over the chicken, and shove the lemon inside the chicken, followed by half the onion
flip the chicken over, breast side down
squeeze the other half of the lemon over the back of the chicken
shove the other half of the lemon inside the chicken, followed by the other half an onion
scatter the garlic around

shove the whole thing in the over at 450F for about 15 minutes to seal the skin
after 15 minutes, add a little water to the pan, and turn the heat down to 350
cook for about 15 minutes a pound, until the temp measures 165F on a meat thermometer
pull the chicken out, put it on a platter to rest, and put the pan on the stovetop on medium heat
add a cup of water or so and perhaps a little wine, some salt and pepper, and use a whisk or fork to deglaze the pan
mix the cornstarch in a  few ounces of cool water, and add in
just keep stirring

while the gravy is thickening, you can cut up the chicken
dump any leftover juices into the gravy
sing or hum
have a glass of wine

we always have this with smashed potatoes, and green beans

Every potato is a decision

This last Christmas, my sister in law, Peach, made me the most wonderful art.  It said:

  

 

 On the back, it said: 

"Every potato is a decision.  What does that even mean?  I think it means that 

sometimes grandmothers say things that make sense to them, and even 

make sense to us for fleeting moments but in the end the meaning is meant

to be mercurial.  When you look at this I hope you think of the generations

of our family and how it has changed and where it will go in the future.

Because she's right.  Every potato is a decision."

Ok, I'll admit, I had to look up mercurial.  Don't bother, I'll give it to you, courtesy of Google.

mer·cu·ri·al  

/mərˌkyo͝orēəl/

Adjective

(of a person) Subject to sudden or unpredictable changes.

Now that that's out of the way, here's the story.  When Papa was in Marine boot camp, there was another soldier who couldn't make a decision to save his soul.  Well, this isn't a fabulous trait to have in a combat situation, where decisions need to be split second and right.  So, the CO put him on KP duty, sorting the bushels and bushels of potatoes.  When he went to check on the young man, he was in a state of despair sitting on a chair in the kitchen, surrounded by potatoes.  When the CO asked what was wrong, the woebegone fellow wailed "Every potato is a decision".

This story seemed to come up every time there was a big decision to be made.  And at the time, it seemed to make sense.  Though, out of context, there almost seems to be no point, so I think Peach was spot on with the mercurial descriptor- it means what it needs to mean when it needs to mean it.

This seems like an excellent place to share Gram's potato salad recipe

Potatoes- organic russet seem to work the best, I estimate about half a pound of potatoes per person, because everyone eats a lot of this
Onions- organic, sweet, like vidalia, I'd guess one medium onion to 2 pounds of potatoes
Celery- organic, I guess about one medium rib per 2 pounds of potatoes
Hard boiled eggs- locally farm-raised if possible (have I mentioned checking out your local farmers' market?) one medium egg per pound of potatoes.  Even if you don't like eggs, try it this way, first!
Mayo
Yellow mustard
Salt
Black pepper

A large stainless steel mixing bowl, and I mean BIG (I guess glass would work, too.  I'm just going with what Gram had in her kitchen)
A medium size stainless mixing bowl
A large pot for Boiling the potatoes
A large colander for draining the potatoes
A paring knife, and a cutting board
A grater
A glass measuring cup
A spatula

In the measuring cup, mix some mayo and mustard, until it's about the colour of a buttercup.
For reference, that would be like this:

 (thanks, Google Images)

Add salt and pepper to taste

And maybe a touch of vinegar, probably cider, if you have it and want to 

I'd say you want to end up with about half a cup for a couple to few pounds of potatoes.  You can always make more.

Peel and cube the potatoes (or don't peel them.  Gram did, but I like the skins.  Or, you can compromise and peel stripes).  When I say cube, I mean 1/4" cubes.  It makes a difference.  It does.  Put them in plenty of water as you cube them to keep them from turning brown, and to release a bit of the starch..  I just fill the pot about half way with cool water, and use that.  When all of the potatoes are cubed, pour off the water and add new, and then put them on the stove to boil.  Enough water to cover the potatoes to let them move a bit, and a cover.  Here's a Gram tip- root vegetables need to be covered when being boiled,  Stuff that grows above ground does not.  Don't ask why.  It's just so.  Once the water gets going, keep a close eye, if the potatoes get too soft, they will all go to mush.  

While the potatoes are cooking, finely dice the onion and celery, and put it in the medium bowl.  You can also peel the eggs, and grate them over the celery and onion.  If you're not an egg-lover, use a fine grater.

Once the potatoes are JUST fork tender, drain them, quickly rinse them with cold water to stall the cooking process, and then dump them in the large mixing bowl.  Add the celery/onion/egg, and the dressing.  Mix well with the spatula.  If it looks like it needs more dressing, make some more.  This is not vegan, or paleo, or low carb.  HEY!  It is gluten free.  And damn good.  Especially when still slightly warm.  I'll be honest, I can't remember what else we ever had on potato salad night.  I guess burgers might be a good idea.  Or, just potato salad.  Anyhow, make extra, because you'll want more for tomorrow.

Wanting memories...

I don't know what the appropriate Mother's Day tribute is to this amazing woman.  I could wish for a chance to tell her how grateful I am, how every day, I hear her lessons in my mind, hear her words coming out of my mouth, feel her life-force in my veins, and her love so deeply in my soul.  I could hope to tell her that the sound of birds, the smell of a maple blossom, the warmth of a kitchen feel like her arms around me, and her voice in my ear whispering, "I'm still here".  I could tell her that the miss is visceral, but so is the presence, and I am simultaneously sad and overjoyed.  I could say thank you.  I could say "I love you".  I could say "I'm sorry I was a teenager".  I could say "please, just one more day in your kitchen".  Those are things I could have done.  But could have dones, and could have beens are just regrets.  So instead, I will tell my children that the sound of birds in the spring, and the smell of maple blossoms, and a warm kitchen remind me of my Gram.  I will tell them how the new hope of Spring smells and feels, and share it with them.  I will teach my children her lessons, "with one hand we wash the other", "every potato is a decision", "don't get tarred with the same brush", and "no one has dominion over your mind".  I will teach them to be fair, and to consider others as well as themselves.  To live a life of kindness, and wonder in all things.  To treat yourself, and everyone else with respect.  To be ladies, and gentlemen.  To never date someone not worthy of being married to you.  I will teach them to be generous, because you never know when you will need the kindness of someone else.  I will teach them about kiss-me-quicks (those dips in the road that make your heart skip a beat), and how you can suck the sweet nectar out of a purple vinca blossom.  I will teach them to respect nature, and everything the earth gives us.  I will tell them stories about being in her kitchen, and cooking at her side, and how "we learn to do by doing".  I will teach my kids to sew, and to mend, and "as ye sew, so shall ye rip".  I will teach my children that I am with them ALWAYS, and they are loved WITHOUT condition.  I will tell my children "thank you", and "I love you", and "I'm sorry".  I will give my children one more day.  So that one day, when I look back, not only will I have paid homage to a beautiful soul, I will hopefully have given that same gift to my children, and many, many years from now, they will hear my whisper in the wind, and my heartbeat in the raindrops, and they, too, will know.

Sweet Honey in the Rock - Wanting Memories (click)

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world
Through my own eyes
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world
Through my own eyes

You used to rock me in the cradle of your arms
You said you'd hold me til the pains of life were gone
You said you'd comfort me in times like these
and now I need you
Now I need you
And you are gone

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world
Through my own eyes
Since you've gone and left me
There's been so little beauty
But I know I saw it clearly through your eyes

Now the world outside is such a cold and bitter place
Here inside I have few things that will console
And when I try to hear your voice above the storms of life
Then I remember
all the things that I was told

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world
Through my own eyes
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world
Through my own eyes

I think on the things that made me feel so wonderful when I was young
I think on the things that made me laugh
made me dance
made me sing
I think on the things that made me grow into a being full of pride
I think on these things
For they are true

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world
Through my own eyes
I thought that you were gone
But now I know you're with me
You are the voice that whispers all I need to hear

I know a please, a thank you, and a smile will take me far
I know that I am you and you are me and we are one
I know that who I am is numbered in each grain of sand
I know that I've been blessed
Again
and over again

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world
Through my own eyes
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world
Through my own eyes

Snapping Beans

I remember sitting in Gram's kitchen, while she sat on the ladder, snapping beans.  The "ladder", really wasn't a ladder at all, well, not a ladder proper.  It was one of those kitchen chairs where the seat flips up, and there's a step ladder underneath.  But, anyone who ever spent any amount of time in Gram's kitchen knew exactly what the ladder was.  And she'd snap beans, first the ends into a stainless steel bowl, and then each bean, into one inch pieces, into the old aluminum colander.  It seemed to me that the bean snapping often happened early in the day- enough light through the windows that the lights in the kitchen were off, but still early enough the the sun hadn't crossed the roof to bathe the room in dusty sunlight.  There always seemed to be so.many.beans.  And it was just the three of us at supper, she, Papa, and I.  The colander was full, even with the number of beans I'd steal, and munch on while we chatted.  I don't remember the conversations, not in detail, but they were easy, and comfortable, not like old slippers, because they never felt worn, but comforting, and familiar, yet still fresh- like biting into your favourite apple in the fall- crisp and new, but known and welcome.

There are so many things about that kitchen I wish my own children would have know- the gold loop carpet, and light green counter tops.  The avocado appliances, and warm maple cabinets.  The wooden table, with 3 chairs and a ladder.  The way it smelled, from morning 'til night, the way it FELT.  It really was the life force of that big old house.  Or maybe it wasn't the room at all, but the woman in it.

Fresh Green Beans
2# or so fresh green beans, whole, organic of possible (have you looked to see if you have a local farmers' market?)
a stainless steel bowl
a metal colander
a pot large enough to hold the colander over about 2" of simmering water
a person, with whom to chat, or not
a problem to solve, or not
a child or two, to snitch beans, or not

snap the ends off the beans, and put them into a small stainless steel bowl (compost, chicken food, or, save in a zippered freezer storage bag for making soup stock)
snap the beans into 1" pieces over the colander
rinse
place the colander over a pot with a few inches of water in the bottom
bring the water to a boil, toss the beans over in the colander with a large metal spoon a few times until they are vibrant green
remove from heat and serve (we always ate them plain, but you could add butter, or olive oil if desired)