I was in a baking mood this afternoon, so I whipped up a couple of pies, two pumpkin, the third, a cranberry raisin concoction.
This last one was from a recipe my dad had sent me years ago. If I remember correctly, it was somewhere in the middle of a long letter he'd written while stranded on a train out of New York City back home to White Plains during a huge blizzard in February, 1977. He was getting his Master's at Union Theological Seminary, part of Columbia University, and had gone in that morning, only to discover that the blizzard had caused classes to be canceled. The letter was ten or twelve pages long, describing the train ride home, the other passengers, and more. If I remember, it was also in this letter that he described his classes, and one professor who made an impression on him as being especially intelligent and thought-provoking - a man Dad predicted would most likely go far. (The professor was Cornel West; Dad was right in his assessment.)
Getting back to the pies: Dad was a good cook. I take after him when it comes to cooking. He loved cooking, as do I. Dad got his love of cooking from his dad, my grandfather. When my dad's parents came to visit for the weekend, Mom knew better than to get in the kitchen to do more than the occasional meal, as well as washing dishes. Dad and Grandpa would each try to out-do the other when it came to cooking.
Mom's side of the family was also known for their exploits in the kitchen - but not the way Dad and Grandpa were. Mom's mom was a really good cook. Grandma could whip up a really good full dinner without a second thought. It was the rest of the family whose cooking skills were a little sketchy.
Now, don't get me wrong. Mom could cook up a good spaghetti sauce, a really good marshmallow-fruit salad, and other basic meals. But in her book of essays, titled The Color Chartreuse Etc., Mom mentions that her side of the family had questionable cooking skills. In the essay "Cooking Runs in The Family - But Not Far Enough!", she describes her dad's attempts at making oatmeal for Mom and my uncle when Grandma was sick. (Hint: It deals with breadcrumbs being stored in an oatmeal box.) In Grandpa's defense, his vision was a little less than stellar.
Whenever I cook certain recipes, I'm reminded of family members no longer around. The cranberry pie, hot chili, and French onion soup remind me of Dad; scrambled eggs with sour cream in it, Dad's Dad; Dad's Mom's mac and cheese; chocolate cream pie (the first time I made it, my brother was the only one who could stomach it; G. was brave!). Then there's my ex's chili, Mom's marshmallow - fruit salad - which also brings memories of the time Mom had gone out after fixing a ham and marshmallow - fruit salad, leaving my sister and me as the only ones eating (if I remember right, there was almost no salad left when Mom and G. got back to the house; A. and I did enjoy it, though!), and more: a veggie dish my daughter made for her family's first Thanksgiving here in Florida, lasagna (my oldest son comes to mind, as well as when I fix his BBQ Gluten recipe), my second husband, P., loving my spinach quiche (as a Marine, he showed that real men can love quiche!), and many other foods.
Originally, I'd planned to make several homemade soup recipes so I could photograph them for my food blog.
(Another memory - Mom made homemade soup maybe twice a month, serving it out of a huge white soup tureen, a large white soup ladle resting in a notch on the side. Dang, I loved those soups, and dearly miss Mom whenever I make homemade soup.)
But having made the pies is fine, too. The soups can wait until tomorrow.
I love cooking, and the memories it brings.
Showing posts with label White Plains New York. Show all posts
Showing posts with label White Plains New York. Show all posts
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Best laid plans of...
Q: How do you make God laugh?
A: Tell Him your plans.
Yesterday was one of those days where it seemed nothing was going as planned, or, at least, not much went that way. At this point in my life, I should be used to that. You go and make these great plans - or maybe some mediocre ones, but plans, anyway - and the universe and God laugh.
Several of the artists who'd had studios at Salt Creek Artworks were having an open house at their new studios/buildings. Salt Creek Artworks closed last year; it's a rather long story, but the punchline is that the economy didn't help. There were meetings with the city of St. Petersburg in the hopes of finding a place where the core group could stay together in one place. There were several members who, for whatever reason, wouldn't be making the move with the group. One artist moved out of state; another lived in Tampa and, when it became apparent that Salt Creek would close, decided to stay closer to home. The reasons for leaving the group were as varied as the people drifting off. It wasn't that they didn't care, but, perhaps, that some of them cared too much and found the displacement too painful.
Disclaimer: I had had a studio for a little over a year at Salt Creek Artworks, from February, 2011 until April, 2012. I started out in a huge studio, replete with shelves in one corner for holding supplies, lights, and ceiling fans. The studio had no heat or air conditioning, but that didn't bother me. In many ways, it reminded me of my Grandfather's radio repair shop in White Plains, New York, which folded following his death in the mid-1960s: It was part of a warehouse, had cement floors, and a very cool, funky feel that encouraged joy in one's work. At one point, I'd planned to leave Salt Creek, but found that one of the other studios had become available. It was literally right around the corner from the huge one, was somewhat smaller, had air conditioning and heat, one good-sized window to the outside, and brightly painted lime-green-and-white walls. It was directly across the hall from Herb Davis, a friendly, laid-back painter. Herb usually had a radio on in his studio while creating; the low hum of voices during the talk shows, as well as the music, was somehow comforting. Most of the other artists were cool to be around - busy with their work, but always friendly, with that interesting way of looking at things that helps when one is creating.
See? There's the plan-thing. I hadn't meant to drift off into Salt Creek memories, but anyone who's ever been associated with it will understand. But back to the plans for the day...
I'd planned to have a yard sale the first half of the day. I had tons of stuff to get rid of, and figured I could use the money. I'd actually been threatening to have it for several weeks, but always managed to find a way out of it: M. started work, so I'd have no one to watch the sale while I went to put up signs, J. tends to sleep days and stay awake nights, the weather wasn't quite right, or I was just plain not into it. After all, I really don't mind going to yard sales (I love 'em), but I hate having them. You've got to set up tables, or whatever you're placing the stuff on. (Let's face it, we've all seen yard sales where people simply put their stuff on the ground - piles of clothes, tons of knick-knacks, dishes, etc. - and you're expected to bend over and pick through that pile of stuff from the ground; no thanks.) Then you cart all the stuff out, and hope you don't forget to bring something out that you've really wanted to get rid of for months (but you always forget something, anyway), price them, then wait for people to show up and either buy everything or s-l-o-w-l-y drive by while you mutter, "Stop, stop, stop, come back and buy something" under your breath. Then, when you're finished, you have to put whatever is left over back into the boxes, etc. that you carried them out in, put them away, put the tables away...It's really a pain, especially if you haven't sold that much.
As it turned out, J. had changed his sleeping cycle a few days before, so I figured he'd be up by 7:30 or 8-ish. So, right after M. left for work, I showered, put a load of laundry into the washer, then told J. to get a move on it. He let out a groaned okay, then, apparently, went back to sleep. After I'd gotten the tables and stuff out to put the yard sale stuff on, I made sure he was awake, since he'd need to watch the yard sale while I put up a couple of signs.
We kept at it until shortly after noon; by then, we'd had enough. Very few people were stopping, or even driving by. One neighbor who always stops by all neighborhood yard sales (he and his wife apparently sell stuff on Ebay or at the local flea market) mentioned that at most of the yard sales he'd stopped by that morning, he was either the only person there or one of only two.
"Usually, yard sales are packed, especially if they have signs up," he commented. "The ones I went to today were dead!" That was encouraging!
On the plus side, we made $10. On the down side...$10! (Anyone who's ever had a yard sale knows that good ones bring in good money.) We packed up everything...
I'd also planned to go to the two grand openings/open house last night for several members from the Salt Creek group. Two of the artists are in a place they've named Works in Progress Art Studios and GGallery, located at 24 - 22nd Street South in St. Pete, while several others are at Arts Central at 2109 Central Avenue in St. Pete.
When I first learned that Salt Creek Artworks would be closing, I'd started video taping the building, artists, the meetings to find a place for everyone...the whole "we're losing this really great place" experience. I'd planned to give the artists (those who wanted one) a copy of the DVD, as well as Salt Creek's owner. I'm still working on it...but one of the artists from Works In Progress had asked if I'd bring over a DVD with what I had so far so that it could play during the grand opening. I'd said sure, that'd be great and started looking over the stuff I'd filmed. While I had looked through the tapes months ago, taking copious notes on what to use, what wouldn't be used, and what might be used as filler, I wanted to find the right stuff to put together. I'd already put together a short piece, but wanted something better.
So, after the yard sale, I started working hard at putting together a second piece to hand to C.D. at Works in Progress. One of my possible rides wouldn't be able to help out, as she had to work; another couldn't do it, either. In short, four possible rides were all unavailable.
I called C.D. up and explained, then offered to finish putting together something, posting it online, then sending her a copy of the link. "That'll work," she agreed. "Too bad you couldn't make it, though. Call me next week, okay?"
So I went to work, and spent several hours putting together something decent, and definitely a lot better than the one I'd already posted online. I was really happy with the way things were progressing with it, even though it was taking hours to put it together.
Then M. called. He'd gotten off work, and was going to take the buses home. (It takes at least three buses for him to get home from work.) He planned to take two particular buses; pulling up the schedules online (which meant ignoring what I was putting together), I noticed that doing that was pushing it just a tad. Heck, it was majorly pushing it, since the last bus would arrive where he'd get off the second bus theoretically one minute after he got off; any hold up or delay on that second bus, and he'd have to wait over an hour for the next bus. But if he took this other route, he might have to wait half-an-hour for that last bus, but there'd be less chance of missing connections.
"No, it'll be okay," he assured me. Except that, of course, it wasn't. He missed the last bus...All told, there were numerous calls so I could check another bus schedule, another this or that...All the while, I was saving my work on the Salt Creek thing...up until that last call. At that point, I accidentally hit the X in the corner of the film program...the X that means you've closed the program...the program, along with the work that I'd spend hours on and hadn't posted anywhere.
I couldn't yell at M. I understood his panic. I was a little panicky, too, envisioning all sorts of stuff: accidents, a police cruiser pulling up to see if I knew M., the whole bit. It was getting dark out, M. has no night vision, and he doesn't move terribly fast. So, was I worried? Heck, yeah!
He finally made it home safely, apologized for the panic, the work, etc. He also mentioned that the next Saturday that he has to work, he'll take the buses I suggested.
So much for plans... :)
A: Tell Him your plans.
Yesterday was one of those days where it seemed nothing was going as planned, or, at least, not much went that way. At this point in my life, I should be used to that. You go and make these great plans - or maybe some mediocre ones, but plans, anyway - and the universe and God laugh.
Several of the artists who'd had studios at Salt Creek Artworks were having an open house at their new studios/buildings. Salt Creek Artworks closed last year; it's a rather long story, but the punchline is that the economy didn't help. There were meetings with the city of St. Petersburg in the hopes of finding a place where the core group could stay together in one place. There were several members who, for whatever reason, wouldn't be making the move with the group. One artist moved out of state; another lived in Tampa and, when it became apparent that Salt Creek would close, decided to stay closer to home. The reasons for leaving the group were as varied as the people drifting off. It wasn't that they didn't care, but, perhaps, that some of them cared too much and found the displacement too painful.
Disclaimer: I had had a studio for a little over a year at Salt Creek Artworks, from February, 2011 until April, 2012. I started out in a huge studio, replete with shelves in one corner for holding supplies, lights, and ceiling fans. The studio had no heat or air conditioning, but that didn't bother me. In many ways, it reminded me of my Grandfather's radio repair shop in White Plains, New York, which folded following his death in the mid-1960s: It was part of a warehouse, had cement floors, and a very cool, funky feel that encouraged joy in one's work. At one point, I'd planned to leave Salt Creek, but found that one of the other studios had become available. It was literally right around the corner from the huge one, was somewhat smaller, had air conditioning and heat, one good-sized window to the outside, and brightly painted lime-green-and-white walls. It was directly across the hall from Herb Davis, a friendly, laid-back painter. Herb usually had a radio on in his studio while creating; the low hum of voices during the talk shows, as well as the music, was somehow comforting. Most of the other artists were cool to be around - busy with their work, but always friendly, with that interesting way of looking at things that helps when one is creating.
See? There's the plan-thing. I hadn't meant to drift off into Salt Creek memories, but anyone who's ever been associated with it will understand. But back to the plans for the day...
I'd planned to have a yard sale the first half of the day. I had tons of stuff to get rid of, and figured I could use the money. I'd actually been threatening to have it for several weeks, but always managed to find a way out of it: M. started work, so I'd have no one to watch the sale while I went to put up signs, J. tends to sleep days and stay awake nights, the weather wasn't quite right, or I was just plain not into it. After all, I really don't mind going to yard sales (I love 'em), but I hate having them. You've got to set up tables, or whatever you're placing the stuff on. (Let's face it, we've all seen yard sales where people simply put their stuff on the ground - piles of clothes, tons of knick-knacks, dishes, etc. - and you're expected to bend over and pick through that pile of stuff from the ground; no thanks.) Then you cart all the stuff out, and hope you don't forget to bring something out that you've really wanted to get rid of for months (but you always forget something, anyway), price them, then wait for people to show up and either buy everything or s-l-o-w-l-y drive by while you mutter, "Stop, stop, stop, come back and buy something" under your breath. Then, when you're finished, you have to put whatever is left over back into the boxes, etc. that you carried them out in, put them away, put the tables away...It's really a pain, especially if you haven't sold that much.
As it turned out, J. had changed his sleeping cycle a few days before, so I figured he'd be up by 7:30 or 8-ish. So, right after M. left for work, I showered, put a load of laundry into the washer, then told J. to get a move on it. He let out a groaned okay, then, apparently, went back to sleep. After I'd gotten the tables and stuff out to put the yard sale stuff on, I made sure he was awake, since he'd need to watch the yard sale while I put up a couple of signs.
We kept at it until shortly after noon; by then, we'd had enough. Very few people were stopping, or even driving by. One neighbor who always stops by all neighborhood yard sales (he and his wife apparently sell stuff on Ebay or at the local flea market) mentioned that at most of the yard sales he'd stopped by that morning, he was either the only person there or one of only two.
"Usually, yard sales are packed, especially if they have signs up," he commented. "The ones I went to today were dead!" That was encouraging!
On the plus side, we made $10. On the down side...$10! (Anyone who's ever had a yard sale knows that good ones bring in good money.) We packed up everything...
I'd also planned to go to the two grand openings/open house last night for several members from the Salt Creek group. Two of the artists are in a place they've named Works in Progress Art Studios and GGallery, located at 24 - 22nd Street South in St. Pete, while several others are at Arts Central at 2109 Central Avenue in St. Pete.
When I first learned that Salt Creek Artworks would be closing, I'd started video taping the building, artists, the meetings to find a place for everyone...the whole "we're losing this really great place" experience. I'd planned to give the artists (those who wanted one) a copy of the DVD, as well as Salt Creek's owner. I'm still working on it...but one of the artists from Works In Progress had asked if I'd bring over a DVD with what I had so far so that it could play during the grand opening. I'd said sure, that'd be great and started looking over the stuff I'd filmed. While I had looked through the tapes months ago, taking copious notes on what to use, what wouldn't be used, and what might be used as filler, I wanted to find the right stuff to put together. I'd already put together a short piece, but wanted something better.
So, after the yard sale, I started working hard at putting together a second piece to hand to C.D. at Works in Progress. One of my possible rides wouldn't be able to help out, as she had to work; another couldn't do it, either. In short, four possible rides were all unavailable.
I called C.D. up and explained, then offered to finish putting together something, posting it online, then sending her a copy of the link. "That'll work," she agreed. "Too bad you couldn't make it, though. Call me next week, okay?"
So I went to work, and spent several hours putting together something decent, and definitely a lot better than the one I'd already posted online. I was really happy with the way things were progressing with it, even though it was taking hours to put it together.
Then M. called. He'd gotten off work, and was going to take the buses home. (It takes at least three buses for him to get home from work.) He planned to take two particular buses; pulling up the schedules online (which meant ignoring what I was putting together), I noticed that doing that was pushing it just a tad. Heck, it was majorly pushing it, since the last bus would arrive where he'd get off the second bus theoretically one minute after he got off; any hold up or delay on that second bus, and he'd have to wait over an hour for the next bus. But if he took this other route, he might have to wait half-an-hour for that last bus, but there'd be less chance of missing connections.
"No, it'll be okay," he assured me. Except that, of course, it wasn't. He missed the last bus...All told, there were numerous calls so I could check another bus schedule, another this or that...All the while, I was saving my work on the Salt Creek thing...up until that last call. At that point, I accidentally hit the X in the corner of the film program...the X that means you've closed the program...the program, along with the work that I'd spend hours on and hadn't posted anywhere.
I couldn't yell at M. I understood his panic. I was a little panicky, too, envisioning all sorts of stuff: accidents, a police cruiser pulling up to see if I knew M., the whole bit. It was getting dark out, M. has no night vision, and he doesn't move terribly fast. So, was I worried? Heck, yeah!
He finally made it home safely, apologized for the panic, the work, etc. He also mentioned that the next Saturday that he has to work, he'll take the buses I suggested.
So much for plans... :)
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