Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Beans


There is a scene in the 1950 movie, Cheaper by the Dozen, where all the kids go to the beach for the summer and all they can afford to eat is beans.Jeanne Crain gets invited to a barbecue where they are having steaks, it seems the beach neighbors have less kids and are rich. I felt sorry for Jeanne, her family was eating cans of beans, think of the fun they could have had making them from scratch!

My mother born in the late 20’s, serving in WWII as a Wave, was no stranger to beans. There were seven children in her family and she was the third youngest. She grew up eating hot soup to cool off in the summers in Detroit. She ate so much bean soup that she became a connoisseur of bean soup. In fact she was a decent cook, could not make a decent chicken soup but could not mess up bean soup.




 Grandma 
   Grandma Florence 

It was a Navy bean or sometimes a green split pea thing she made. She also made a great chili, with beans. In some circles that is unheard of, of course I grew up thinking the meat was the extra thing. Beans and peas really are botanically classified as fruit.

When she retired and moved to Las Cruces, New Mexico, she continued with the bean thing, one of her regular charitable acts was to donate huge bags of dried beans to the food pantry there. Did I mention my mother’s last name wasBien?

When my children were small, I took them out to see her. She took us to the local grocery store and my five year old son was enjoying looking at the beans. He told her that he loved black beans….I thought she was going to cry. She bought him a can and when we did not end up using it for a meal, she mailed it in a box to him, just in case he could not get a can of black beans where we lived.

Anyway, my cupboard is full of dried beans, canned beans and indeed, a virtual variety of beans. I regularly cook up bean things. I recently made some great white lima beans with diced chili’s and tomatoes. I just made a batch of homemade chili this week to die for with pinto beans in it. I then cooked up some black-eyed peas with turkey broth, onions and a big dash of lemon juice for dinner one night.

I don’t know if I am in love with the idea of the process, picking through the dried beans, rinsing them, soaking them for hours and watching them eat up the water, or finally simmering them into submission. In a pinch opening a can is just as fulfilling.

Turns out this food that some used when money was tight, is a pretty yummy gourmet option after all; part of the Mediterranean Diet, they take the place of meat rather easily and are healthy for you to eat.

Thanks, MOM.

Copyright 2010 SheilaTGTG55
 

Monday, September 24, 2012

Two Bowls of Rice



bowls
 
Things of beauty
meant to hold
more than
image
 
Things of beauty
meant to be
a thing
of substance
 
How is your beauty
filled or empty
air or rice or
both
 
Given when full
 beautiful when
empty
hunger avoided
grace defined
 
Like us
things of beauty
each meant to be
of substance
 
Giving
Receiving 
Thankfulness 
 
 
 
Copyright 2011 by SheilaTGTG55 

To Serve



little girl 
 
 
Picture from a pamphlet booklet called
Great Photographs of WORLD WAR II
Selected by the Editors of The Reader's Digest 1964
 
 TO SERVE
 
Dedicated to every service man and woman who leaves a child at home. In loving memory of my parents who both served in WWII.
 
 
War is a treacherous thing
There is so much at stake
while the enemy marches on
my baby girl first wakes
silent in the slumber
she tosses not at night
early in the morning
she wakes easy at first light
while I am away from her
I am confident in knowing
every single day out here
is one more she'll be growing
in the midst of all this
dark
this gloom
this horror
she will play with her little bear
in her crib
while it is
snowing
I will march with my buddies
over hills and forests
beaches, mountains
jungles, desert sands
to reach the battle at
hand
her little lips will kiss goodnight my
lovely wife's sweet cheek
and in my dreams I dream of them
while the enemy is beneath my feet
I will walk and run and jump
I will hang my weapon
at my side
my silent stalking in the night
to hear her rattle tinkle
light
I will march on and feel this pain
because I know
it is not in vain
for there she sleeps in warmth and comfort
for which I have bought and paid
for each and every day of peace
someone once has paid
 
I know I will be going home, I have known it for awhile
I will be greeted so fast and sweet,
by my growing, loving child
 
 
 
For every father separated from his little girl
I cut the journey right in half, and separate the  hell
I bless you on your journey home
I wish you all that's well.
 
 Copyright 2010 by SheilaTGTG55
 
 
front 
 
This is a re-post of my Veteran's Day Blog on 11/11/10 

Bakery & Bistro, Deli Delicacies YUM!


Deli Delicacies

Bakery & Bistro in Lakeland Florida


Yum
When we first came to Lakeland to bring our daughter to college her freshman year, we visited this deli/bakery. I never forgot it. On our visit last week to Lakeland, we returned to this wonderful place. I had never stopped thinking about it.  

wow cake 
This year the sample cakes that line the small dining area were different. I especially like the details on this one. I thought it would be unique for a bridal shower. 

3 cakes 
Here are some nice designs in  more traditional shapes. 

under the sea 
This cake really attracted my attention! I love pearls and enjoy looking at them whenever I can. If I was going to have a special cake, especially in Florida, I would love to have this! 

three cakes 2 
The cake in the center here, looks very much like one that a cousin had at her wedding this summer. She had a movie kind of theme. 

yellow cake 
Yellow is a favorite color of mine, and this cake seemed especially beautiful and cheery.
 When you walk into this place, you are struck by the warmth of it. The wonderful smells of sugary goodness, the kind smiles you are greeted with and also the virtual smorgasbord of eye candy! The deli salads, the sandwiches, the hot foods, the cakes, the pies, the cannolis...
You see why I wanted to come back. Now that I have been there again, I might be able to stop thinking about it!

Ode to Sweet Things

The smile on your face
betrays your delight,
you smell the fresh
baked goods,
the baker was up all night!
It is morning and time for a break,
a hot cup of coffee and
a sugar filled treat.
No one can tell you,
that even this is not
as sweet as you really are,
nor certainly as "hot"...

Special thanks to my dear husband for taking me back there for a lovely, mini cannoli!


Copyright 2012 by SheilaTGTG55 

 The wedding cake is a tradition that began in the Roman Empire. At the time, it was a loaf of bread that the groom broke over the bride's head as a symbol of his dominance in the marriage and over her.[dubious – discuss] The color of the cake is typically white to symbolize purity. The action of the bride and groom cutting the cake is meant to symbolize their first joint task in married life. The gesture of feeding cake to one another is a symbol of the commitment the bride and groom are making.
One of the earliest forms of the wedding cake is the French Croquembouche. The legend of this cake says that a pastry chef, visiting medieval England, witnessed their tradition of piling sweet rolls between the bride and groom which they would attempt to kiss over without knocking them all down. The pastry chef then went back to France and piled sweet rolls up into a tower to make the first Croquembouche.[2] From Wikipedia

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Secrets of an Antique Desk


About 25 years ago an unassuming piece of family history migrated into my husband's possession. Probably more by default than by gift. When we married,  we lived in a home that we purchased but had been my husband's  Uncle Harold's. In the basement was a kind of drop top desk with a bevel glass door to a side bookcase. It was in oak, a warm light oak that my husband favored. It had some of it's hardware removed, and seemed to be in the stages of being re-finished by the time we came to have it. He respected it greatly as one would any piece of handicraft of a now deceased relative. His uncle had owned it, but his great grandfather, Ernst, a cabinet maker had made it. He was a cabinet maker in Chicago and built items for the Potter Palmer mansion among other homes. He was a very fine craftsman and this desk was built by him. 

couple 
Ernst & Augusta shortly after arriving in America from Mecklenburg Schwerin Germany 1884 
His Uncle Harold was the one who started trying to refinish it. We eventually bought some chemicals and thought of finishing it, but never did. Somehow the piece was beautiful as it was. At first the desk seemed to be empty. After some years my husband discovered a secret drawer. It might not have been a real secret drawer, just something that had stuck perhaps. It was filled with family pictures, some notes and negatives. Some of it seems interesting and important. We were thrilled to see it. Uncle Harold had been corresponding with some relatives and been sharing genealogy information. I never met Harold when he was alive.  
ernst 
Ernst later in life. The cabinet maker. 
The negatives that were found by us 25 years ago finally got to reveal their story last night. Through the wonder of computer programs and patience, some the negatives were able to be scanned and we were able to create pictures out of them. They revealed some interesting things about the family. The stories from my husband's long deceased father were able to provide a narrative with some of the pictures. 
 Some of the most interesting show a remarkable connection to our lives today. Here are a few of those pictures which represent some of what our family does even today. We do automotive repair and some antique automotive restoration work.
car
This was Aunt Minnie's husband's new car. 
car 2 
This was his first car. 
car3
The first car was stolen, wrecked and later recovered. 
car 4 
These are damage pictures. 
car 5 
Note the fine garage, lighting, ceiling detail, the car in the back.
We put the damaged car around 1904 - 05. The "new" car was probably in the 1920's. If you can identify any of the cars, send me a message. We thought the earliest was an American LaFrance Company car type. We are not sure, but that seems to be part of the story. We could not read the wheel hub marking clearly, we could make out "American" and possibly "Company". 
Enjoy the secrets of the antique desk. There will more coming....

Copyright 2010 by SheilaTGTG55 Words & Pictures
  

Friday, September 14, 2012

Her



her
Posing For The Life Class
From Pen Sketch by Ella Modrakowska,  Philadephia, Pa. 
 Ella's work was purchased and used as print demonstrations by the Inland Printer company in and around 1902. She is listed in the Artist's Bluebook, Ask Art but there is no information other than birth and death and last location of New York. She is associated as the author of a  Hungarian book printed in Munich in the 1920's on Kitty Starling, London Darling, which appears to be a book containing print poster examples of this dancer by numerous artists.

 Her
Her body tones
and fired in servant phase
she is standing
on her
own grave
her  life
no more meaningful
her sin
her wage
the poor woman
whose life was
limited
a domestic
breaking free
silken skin
and red knees
scrubbing her
life
no man's wife
her arms strong
her life
gone wrong
born wrong
born a woman
born wrong
born without power
without voice
a poor woman
a man's
were she rich
it would be the same
her cage then
perhaps silk lined
she stood naked
either way
with no voice
with no say
who will take us back, then who
she covers her eyes
with her hand on her hip
her voice now silenced, her rage yet keen
will we tumble back down into
the ravine
or will we stand
and conquer again
her strength rebuilt, her courage redoubt
a fortress she has built
we will defend
we will cleanse fear and
we will fight!

 It makes no sense what is happening politically today, in our nation. Misogynists will not rule this land. We need our anger, we need our fire to stand firm on issues of women's reproductive rights, otherwise, we have no life. Controlling our reproduction has allowed us to participate more equally in the work force, to lose that, we are looking at just the beginning of our losses. Who does this serve? What is the purpose? This is a free nation, we strive for equality on all levels. We women are not chattel of any man or any CHURCH.

Copyright 2012 by SheilaTGTG55 
I have written about my antique desk and the picture treasure trove within before, including this print of an ink drawing. You can read all about the discovery here:

Thursday, September 13, 2012

In The Twilight



sunset
 Lake Vermillion, Minnesota
 In our lifetime most of us have had the opportunity to meet many people, and to experience many things, including the swiftness of life. 
We have suffered the pains, and reveled in the joys of life. For most, our passions and our exploits are known in many cases only to ourselves, or those close to us. Who can know how struck we were with a sunset, the very first time we saw one? Unless we tell, who can know our wonder at our first kiss, our first embrace? Even the difference from the first one and the one that meant the most to us, that means the most to us?
All the intimate moments in a life, the collective loveliness of an existence,are bound only by the way we remember it, how we saw it.
Each life is a manuscript of living, breathing, dreaming and reality. Pain and sorrow, are burdens that most humans will carry at some point. Hollow genuflection to kings and idols might take place too. In the essence of each of us, we carry all the tools to begin a smile, to shed a tear, and to form an existence.
As we rocket through our time, we sometimes do not see all the nuances that make us, we sometimes do not acknowledge the possibility that we are raw clay and we have been in some ways molded. We are. We are spun into something that is a product of our origins, our families, our mentors and tormentors. Along the way we are taught and we teach. We meld into one being and yet grow continually. Do you ever wonder that our existence must end? Do we somehow become too filled up?
While the sun was setting this summer on Lake Vermillion, I was recounting how many times I had seen it there, and realizing that perhaps it had not been enough, I began to furiously snap pictures of it as it waned. Why had I done this? To recall it's beauty, to know at some level that I may not return, to acknowledge it's influence on my life?
In all of it, I am grateful. I spent my honeymoon there and I took my family there. I gave this sunset to my husband for our 25th anniversary. I could have gone other places, but going anywhere else would not make the point, I was showing my love and gratitude for a good man, a good marriage. He loves this place.
It is not hard to think of things to be thankful for at Thanksgiving. If you sat down right now, you could write a list. Even in the most difficult situations, there is something. I watch people in the habit of missing what they once had, who they once had, sometimes with great and terrible sadness. I can appreciate what they are thinking, but I also know that having that, even though it is gone, might have been better than never having it. There is an opportunity to be thankful.  Thankful to have known that person, thankful to have loved them, thankful to have had the opportunity of that job, or whatever it was now gone. In the end, we are the sum of many parts, the being which evolves from experience and can only embrace change. We cannot control the outcomes of our lives anymore than we can control the sunsets in them. We can only look upon one, and appreciate it in the moment of its revelry.
Copyright 2011 by SheilaTGTG55 

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

A Swan Dive, 9/11


I just picture it as a play, how it would be staged and how the feelings of those who were terrified would be portrayed. In the movies, on the screen; it is still too distant. We saw too much of it replayed over, and over, and over. We analyzed it, the footage spoke volumes, and it flickered by so quickly. There were not hours to be in it, only hours to recover from it.
Picture this on stage, where the special effects are limited, where you are brought into the personal moment of the man, woman or child about to be facing such a horrible and untimely fate. Would feeling this event again make it seem more real than a distant memory? The wounds are still fresh; it is not yet healed for many.
The shock to the system has not dissipated for some. 
So many theories, so little time, but look; look stage left. There, it is the first tower going down. The man in the street is running; the smoke, the haze, the swan dive in the distance over. The eyes of the man on the street looked up, he stood and raised his face and cried out. He watched the man on the fiery building reach his arms out, poised not frantic, accepting the air, swooshing. You cannot see that it is off stage. You can only hear something. Something muted that is a terrible reality.
They did say goodbye. It was caught in their throat; it was expressed in the wind. The running man, now fearing more terror.
He wakes from his ten year nightmare.
He walks to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of scotch.
It is time somewhere in the world to drink.
He has moved around enough in the last ten years trying to finish his life, with just one night not thinking about what he saw. He wonders what spirit is within him that wants to be released. He is a survivor. Too many were not.
His wife was not.
She was off stage left.
He was in the street.


We remember 9/11.


Copyright 2012 by SheilaTGTG55 


Monday, September 10, 2012

What I Learned as a Substitute Teacher



As a recent college graduate I was living in an apartment in a small town. I had numerous jobs to keep myself in that apartment. One was as a substitute teacher.

It was a small grade school and one of the regular teachers had an emergency appendectomy operation. I was selected to sub for  a two week minimum, as that was the expected time the teacher would need to recover. The principal greeted me warmly. I was young and had a lot of energy. He smiled and told me the basics. This was a class of very lively kids, as I recall now they were second graders. Old enough to know what school was, have a clue about behavior and know right from wrong. Basically.

The principal had one slightly ominous warning. "If they step out of line once too often, send them down to me and I will take care of it." Well, I did not think this was anything I could not handle. I had enough experience as a child myself in the Catholic school system to have an idea of what kids were not supposed to be doing and what might be done to get them in line.
   
The first day the principal dropped me off at the class room and introduced me to another teacher who had been holding down the fort.  Moments passed and she, who was probably about 40, brown haired with glasses,  and wearing a matronly combination of polyester said, “Good Luck, you will probably need it!” To be honest, she said that with a mixture of humor and pity. I was confused to be sure. I had no real concept of children not behaving for their teacher. So I set out to get acclimated. As the teacher exited, she gave me one more parting shot. “I will be right next door, if you need me.” Well, okay. I was going to forget that right away. I would handle this. I would not need to call out the troops.

So, she left shutting the door behind her. They all sat there looking at me and then like a switch was hit, it was a shouting, laughing, chuckling free for all. Desk, who needs a desk when you have the aisles to be in? The excitement and sounds kind of reminded me of a Christmas tree lighting count down or the demolition explosion of a very large building. Probably more like the building.

Papers flying, yelling etc. desks moving, I never knew that quiet to chaos was such a short road. I decided that I had a couple of ways of dealing with it. One was to try and get them to be quiet by calmly calling them to order, and starting the lessons. Well, that was not destined to work. I tried it. They could not hear me above the din. Obviously they had had a substitute before and knew perhaps the younger they were, the more they thought they could manipulate them. I decided to go for the theatrical, intimidating approach. I used this approach many times later in my life to call order out of chaos. It works best on small children and sheep like adults.

I had sat down at the desk in the hopes of calming them, you know, show them what to do. That did not work. So I stood up and very loudly cleared my throat and in about two octaves louder than my normal speaking voice, I told them what they needed to know.

“Look, I definitely am a two cup of coffee person. To be here on time today, I missed a cup." Holding up a cup of coffee, I began my speech, “This hot beverage makes me able to cope with just about anything. Since I missed a cup earlier, this is also a problem for you.” Quiet overtook them. Wait for it, big dramatic pause, I continued, “If you will sit down and take out your books, we can begin our lessons.” That was all it took. Authority, coffee, and a bit of old fashioned fear. I am sure the principal never realized he was giving me a prop when he had offered me a cup of coffee at our early morning introduction meeting.

At that moment in time I guess I was establishing my parenting style. I have always used humor, humanity, vocalizations and reality to be a parent.



Grammer School Kids  
Grammer School Kids

Apparently this classroom was filled with students who were considered in the system as behavioral disordered or learning disabled with some normal over flow kids. Back in this time it was all rather new, the labeling and diagnosing.  

As the days went on with this group, they found me to be someone who was just a little different. If they did not behave, I changed their seats. You wanted to sit in the back of the room not the front. I would bargain with them on who could move back and when. In all of this chaos, learning did take place, there was some order. What threw the whole thing off was gym class. They had to physically leave this classroom for the gym and myself for another teacher. In this case they were marched out of the room by me and into the hands of the gym teacher.

One day, a boy who was already racking up the negative check marks pulled the last trigger of his demise. Yes, someone who went too far got sent to the principal and they had to have their mom called. Mom had to come in to check out the situation.

On the way back from gym one day he started to unbutton his shirt. Well, not so bad you might say, except he was naked under that shirt and while he was working to get it off, I was working verbally to get him to keep it on. He had it off one shoulder, and out of his undone pants. No amount of suggestion, mention of the principal was going to do it for him. Suddenly, he pulled his gym shoe off, and lobbed it. Well, he accidentally hit me in the chest. Frankly, it did sting a bit. I said, okay, you are now done. Tears, wailing, I didn’t mean it, etc., came next. In front of the other kids, it was after all a teachable moment; I told him that when you do something you have been told not to, you had to accept the consequences.

Now it is true that no one told him not to throw the shoe and hit someone with it, namely me, but the shirt issue and other behavior led up to the final consequence. Your mom comes to school. When she got there it was her, me and the principal. She pleaded for her sons behavior to be excused.

I suddenly felt a twinge of guilt, the shoe didn’t hurt that bad, maybe he was hot after gym, that’s why he was disrobing. The mother pleading was scarcely what I had expected. Her fury was directed at the school, me and the principal. Her anger directed at us was painful.

She was a thin woman seemingly about 30 something.  I think she must have been here before. The mother and the principal both looked at me as if to say, well, its okay now right? I found that strange. I said what happened and that was it. I would not take it back and I could not. 

What would he learn if I said it was all a mistake? The other children who had become unruly had stopped when he threw the shoe. For them it was a moment where they would forever know there were ramifications to your actions. Seven is supposed to be the age of reason. That means you know the difference between right and wrong, you learn the first of many steps in controlling your behavior so that you can function in what is after all a civilized society.

So here is where it all begins. Responsibility.

The rest of the sub assignment went off without a hitch. I was a much beloved teacher after all. I received several notes and hugs the day I left. Many years later I wore a suit that I had worn on that last day. In the pocket was one of the notes I received, from a little girl. Hers was very special. She had drawn a picture of a flower.  She told me I was the best teacher ever and she loved me. Right back at you Kiddo!

Copyright 2010 SheilaTGTG55