It's all about the cream...

Alright. Vegans! Lactose-intolerants! Adventurers! Listen up! If you haven't already heard, the next best thing in a recipe when you can't or would rather not use cream is CASHEWS.

Is that weird? Yeah. But, in celebration of our Earth Week(s), we created an asparagus bisque and a fantastic banana rum cheesecake with NO dairy whatsoever.

You really have to try it to believe it. I recently picked up Tal Ronnen's THE CONSCIOUS COOK where I learned to make this miraculous stuff. Take some raw cashews (as much as you need for your chowder or what have you, cup for cup, for which you would like to substitute the dairy) and soak them in water overnight in the fridge. Next day, drain the water, rinse the cashews, then add cashews to enough water to cover them (for thick cream) or to cover them over by an inch (for a thinner cream) in a blender. Blend very well. Voilà! Cream.

Look here:

Before: Soggy Cashews and Water

After: CREAM

LOVELY, FLUFFY, CREAM

For those of you who need to ask, "Why not just use regular cream?" this entry is not for you. Those of you who need substitutes, care about cutting back on dairy, or just like to experiment in the kitchen, this is tasty, easy to make, and a perfect substitute for several cream-requiring favorites. Tal Ronnen's cookbook has several appetizing suggestions, including a sweet whipped cream for desserts... I think I might be addicted.

No brilliance today. I'm just going to go dream about cashew cream.

Does Earth Day really matter...?

...Guess that's up to us.

It's the 40th anniversary of Earth Day and a call to be more conscious of how hard we tread upon the face of old, generous Gaia...

There are several sort of pointless holidays in my opinion. I've never been a big fan of Easter or Valentines' Day... but, Earth Day actually could mean something more to me and my loved ones. Some of us have been talking about creating new traditions that would make Earth Day something to which one might look anxiously forward... like Christmas, only, it's not all about you or budgeting an absurd number of gifts for every person you know. Instead, we remind ourselves to waste less, to live simply, to respect other living things and the laws of our complex ecosystem.

One day's not enough, so, like a 12 Days of Earth Day or what have you, my companions and I have decided to stretch out the festivities over the next week or two. To start things off, Anya and I took her kids to the Virginia Living Museum in Newport News to engage more closely with several wild animals. It's a little sad to see birds that only stay behind that fence because they can no longer fly... but it's heartening that they are protected here at the museum. It was probably a rough day for these injured critters... lots of schools seemed to have the same idea as us and brought kids by the bus load. 5th graders everywhere... yelling, tugging, Oohing and Aahing, getting "grossed out," etc. I think it was making the animals (and Anya's kids) sleepy, cranky, and it inspired a great desire in the animals (and me) to hide in the shade.

Still, we learned a little about rooftop gardens (makes your house sort of resemble a Hobbit hole... what could be better?), we observed the sorts of fish that swim in the Chesapeake Bay, met an extremely large lobster, and walked the nature trail viewing foxes, wolves, eagles, ducks, and turkeys while warming ourselves in the spots of sun peeking between the first bright green leaves of springtime. On top of it all, I was introduced to the work of the late Charley Harper.

(from http://elphicks.files.wordpress.com)

I'm so very behind... this man popularized a sort of... I guess they call it "minimal realism" movement. As you see, his images are pretty simple... but there's something about that, the organization of the bright colors and images... nuanced but clearly recognizable creatures and feelings the artist associates with them. I particularly like the above image, titled Wrenovation... Mr. Harper clearly had a sense of humor, but perhaps, also a love and respect for animals and an acknowledgment of every human's intrusion upon Nature.

(from http://www.iconoclasteditions.com)

I just like the owls. They remind me of families... the ones we choose or the ones into which we were lucky (some of us) to be born.

(from http://anniestreasuretrove.files.wordpress.com)

This collage just gives you another feel for his simple, yet lively critters, crawlers, and swimmers. Anya and I had to talk each other out of buying most of the remaining prints framed for sale in the gallery. It's a neat room... they have wooden tables prepped for making "rubbings" of Charley Harper animals and other games for kids while the adults scan the artwork. Very clever... lots of genuine fun. Couldn't help but smile at these images that remind us of what makes animals fascinating... how different, and yet, how similar to us they sometimes seem.

We left the museum, put the kids down for a nap, and discussed the next move from here to celebrate Earth Day/Week(s). We're going to cook a new recipe with local produce, plant in the garden, maybe make cards out of recycled paper, attend a children's fair for Earth Day after we shop at the Farmers' Market, see the new Disney nature film (Oceans... the trailer to which was what triggered my vegetarianism...), and perhaps go to the Mount Trashmore event May 2nd (Everyone seems to celebrate Earth Day whenever they want... the event is another Family Fun with Awareness sort of... thing).

There's a part of me that still hears the Lorax crying into my ear... there's always a little bit more that I could do that might make more of a difference. Check for ways to better conserve water, work more with my own pitiful porch garden, find some way to drive less (yeah... not likely with the sorry excuse for a public transportation system here in Hampton Roads), change out my cleaning supplies with less harmful or homemade solutions, etc. But, I started this entry by saying that I'm trying to create traditions... and, maybe, as these traditions of visiting animals, cooking meals, attending outdoor fairs, or reading a new book on the subject (still working through my copy of DIET FOR A SMALL PLANET by Frances Moore Lappé)... maybe each year, I'll be reminded to do one or two more things that change how I use Earth's resources.

Because, I guess it really matters to me not to contribute to the eventual destruction of the planet. We could wait many generations for the sun to swallow us, or we could be truly foolish and wasteful and blow ourselves to kingdom come... wipe out the only intelligent life we know anything about in the universe.

No. Not me. I'm doing the best I know how.

Review: Leave Your Supper, Leave Your Sleep

(From Amazon.com - Go there for the album or to hear the first song- Good video)


I had a silver penny
And an apricot tree
And I said to the sailor
On the white quay

'Sailor, O sailor
Will you bring me
If I give you my penny
And my apricot tree

'A fez from Algeria
An Arab drum to beat
A little gilt sword
And a parakeet?'

And he smiled and he kissed me
As strong as death
And I saw his red tongue
And I felt his sweet breath

'You may keep your penny
And your apricot tree
And I'll bring you presents
Back from the sea...'

O the ship dipped down
On the rim of the sky
And I waited while three
Long summers went by

Then one steel morning
On the white quay
I saw a grey ship
Come in from the sea

Slowly she came
Across the bay
For her flashing rigging
Was shot away

All round her wake
The seabirds cried
They flew in and out
Of the hole in her side

Slowly she came
In the path of the sun
And I heard the sound
Of a distant gun

And a stranger came running
Up to me
From the deck of the ship
And he said, said he

'O are you the boy
Who would wait on the quay
With the silver penny
And the apricot tree?

'I've a plum-coloured fez
And a drum for thee
And a sword and a parakeet
From over the sea.'

'O where is the sailor
With bold red hair?
And what is that volley
On the bright air?

'O where are the other
Girls and boys?
And why have you brought me
Children's toys?'

-Charles Causley's Nursery Rhyme of Innocence and Experience

This poem is the first of many wonderful verses that many of us perhaps have forgotten or have never heard featured on Natalie Merchant's most recent project. She's been quiet for seven years, preoccupied with being a mother, but on April 13th, she released an incredible album titled Leave Your Sleep (The title is borrowed from the irreplaceable Mother Goose).

What she has done is collected 26 poems and set them to music. The first song was inspired by Charles Causley's haunting lesson of honor, gratitude, and the weight of death. She wrote a sad, sea song complete with fiddles and pipes, capturing the old sound of sailors from the mid-1900s. This song was enough to drag me tearfully into the rest of the album...

I suppose, honestly, this music is the dream of many of us less gifted English majors... to somehow describe what it is about a poem that moves us so much with something better than critiques and pointless phrases of adoration. Natalie Merchant has taken it upon herself to make these verses sing... to add more flesh, more dimension, than the mere superfluous words of other writers.

She predominantly chose simple, quick poems, some even just silly. Most of the poems were written for or about children in one way or another. This doesn't rob from the the greatness in her mission to thank these deceased artists (save one) for the treasures they left behind. I like the quote she borrows from Causley himself: The mere fact of a poem appearing simple in language and construction bears no relation whatsoever to the profundity of ideas it may contain.

Only a few of these songs are really going to get stuck in your head. This is a far removed work from her days of 10,000 Maniacs or the late 90s hits like Kind and Generous. She has collaborated with the words of others offering to the lyrics only her genius for mixing sounds, genres, and music styles to evoke a time or feeling for each poem... as well as her unique voice that gives the feeling her heart must always be lodged in her throat. Aside from the mournful sea shanty, she plays with old brassy jazz themes for Bleezer's Ice Cream (by the living Jack Prelutsky) or the reggae/R&B gut tickling music for Topsyturvey World by the fascinatingly strange William Brighty Rands. These songs are all like little paintings- take time to observe what's going on...

There are two versions of this album available, that I know of... the double disc edition I have or a single cd with selections from the entire work. I don't think, however, that once you are exposed to the first disc that it alone is enough. Even with all 26 songs, I'd like to hear more... not only the fun sounds she put together on this eclectic collection, but the terrific research she includes covering what connects her to each poet. She doesn't pretend to write complete biographies, but she offers enough details to demonstrate who these people were and what it is about them that made them irresistible subjects for Merchant. The double cd collection is really worth it to have this tiny hardcover book of research, her admiration for these writers.

Two of my favorite stories about the poets themselves concern Rachel Field and E.E. Cummings.

Field wrote a lovely little poem called Equestrienne about a precious little girl in a pink dress learning to ride a horse. The poem is very simple... Really just a portrait of youthful, sprightly femininity. What makes it heartbreaking and poignant, however, is to know of the poet's life. She adopted a little girl she named Hannah at the age of 40... and only had seven years with her before Field died from a cancer operation complicated by pneumonia. She left her husband and little girl only the precious little poems and her several novels (one that was later made into a movie called All This and Heaven, Too starring Bette Davis).

E.E. Cummings also has a tragic little girl story... he loved a woman who left her husband to be with him. Cummings and this woman had a child, but the woman found herself another lover and took her child with her. Though Cummings was reunited once or twice with his daughter after she had grown, he insisted on maintaining emotional distance, apparently never allowing the young woman to refer to him as "Father," only Estlin. So, with that knowledge, when we read his seemingly silly poem maggie and milly and molly and may, especially the lines at the end ("For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)/ it's always ourselves we find in the sea"), it breathes life and understanding and, better yet, maybe some empathy for these quiet, socially unacceptable souls we rarely have the chance to get to know while they live.

There are so many stories... I could go on for many more long, LONG paragraphs... from the song of courage written by Ogden Nash for his daughter Isabel to the contented musings of the spinster Laurence Alma-Tadema never far from the imposing glare of her writer father... I could relay the tales of giants who regret eating little boys, to the blind men trying to tell each other what an elephant is, to whales who steal your aunt's nighty to warm up by her fire in the night, to my favorite Bleezer flavors of ice cream (I'm torn between Avocado Brussels Sprout and Butter Brickle Pepper Pickle)... but, I'm going to be corny and tell you that it's really worth experiencing yourself.

I am completely consumed in the fables and voices Natalie Merchant has assembled. This work is haunting, gorgeous, and often playful. The education she offers along with the poetic elegance is invaluable. You'll want to read the stories and poems as you listen to the music... and you'll long to know more about the poets, their work, and even Natalie herself. In a small but largely giving gesture, Natalie Merchant has rekindled the spark of curiosity in a society that thinks Wikipedia knows everything...

One song I do have to share is my favorite. Like most experiences in reading poetry, who knows what it is about a particular poem that moves us? That something which becomes a part of what makes our souls make sense to ourselves? I close this review with a link to listen to Natalie Merchant's rendition of a poem written by one of the great, lost Who Knows? Poets.

The King of China's Daughter

Memories of Weeks Past: Part One

"Love is as strong as death..."
-Eckhart von Hocheim, or Meister Eckhart

***

On "Laundry Day," I tend to dress up. All the reasonable clothing usually needs to be cleaned, so, I looked through my available garments and put on my sea foam green skirt and my favorite white and pink lucy T-Shirt. I needed to pick up a few things on my way to Anya's place, so, I drove out to the Fresh Market. I enjoy this particular grocery, and I tend to amble, to wander, to smell and gaze at all the marvelous fruits, veggies, baked goods, etc.

I came across the condiments and such... and when my gaze fell on a certain display basket, my eyes started to well up with tears. Mister John used to bring me those same large pre-made packages of sugar for my coffee... for that one horrible year, he tried what he could to keep it sweet. It's been less than a year since he died... but his presence is still greatly missed.

Then I decided on a whim to visit the Coffee Beanery in the same strip. I haven't been there since I attended the Lutheran Church on Jamestown Road... my last visit was a year and a half ago. I had a craving for an Iced Fudge Ripple. I walked in and passed the older people who have time to sit in a coffeehouse at 12:30 on a weekday. When I reached the counter, a young man greeted me.

"Is that an origami crane you're wearing on your necklace?" he asked me.

"Well, yes it is," I said... and not knowing where to go from there, I eyed the large silver pendant hanging from his neck. "And you're wearing an 'Om.'"

"Yes, I am," he grinned and added in a cheeky lilt, "Gee- looks like we know how to identify shapes."

I had to agree. This whole exchange was sort of silly. "I'm a yoga teacher, so, I don't see them often," I added guiltily.

"People ask me all the time why I wear the number 30, teasing me that I don't look 30."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

It was like we had been friends for years.

These two tiny incidences seemed like signs (I know... that's rich coming from the girl who doesn't know if she believes in Gd). There were stories that I needed to share.

***

On March 18th, a dear old woman passed on in her sleep. My dear mother-in-law, Joyce, had lost her 93 year old mother, Pearl.

We flew out to Michigan on a Saturday night and met with most of the family. I saw faces swollen with tired eyes all over the room. This typically rowdy, lively group had turned the volume down significantly. However, laughter was not completely absent. After I helped Joyce clean up her kitchen, I was shown Grandma Pearl's great gift to her children and grandchildren.

Grandma Pearl had some time to consider her passing, so she thoughtfully collected all the cards and letters her family had sent her over the years and placed them all in individualized envelopes. Some of the grown children shared with us the contents, the memories, the stories attached to the mementos. It was a quiet, but warm celebration of Grandma Pearl's life, of how much she meant to everyone.

The next morning we drove out to the funeral. Not a dry eye in the house. So much choking emotion infected everyone. For those who wished to see her, the casket was open behind a curtain. We walked back to say, "Goodbye." It seemed like the coffin was approaching us faster than our feet could carry us towards it. It's always a strange thought, looking at a body emptied of its soul... I couldn't help but wonder if she was going to sit up and tell us to stop crying. She just looked like she was sleeping.

The service seemed short... but that might have been because I was so caught up in the eulogies. Joyce was first to speak... the youngest of Pearl's three children. Of the many moving things she mentioned in her eloquent speech, the idea that stuck with me was the notion of time. She said that most people, upon hearing that Grandma Pearl was 93 when she died, all said things like, "She lived a full life," or "At least you had so much time with her." Joyce relayed, in a more touching way than I can say here, that 93 years just wasn't enough with her mom. The eldest grandson echoed her sentiments.

I so very much admire the Jewish rituals surrounding the death of a loved one. There are few simple tasks that are done when someone dies. I can remember when my mother's mother died, a lot of what made it harder than the mere loss of a dear woman was not knowing what to do with myself. My grandmother donated her body to science, so, even at the memorial, there was no part of her in the room. No pictures, no urn of ashes, nothing. Not even in gathering those sorts of things, of visiting her coffin, could we just "do something" to help us move forward.

In the Jewish tradition, one family member elects to host "shiva," or, to open their home every night for a week for the mourners. The community brings food and offers condolences. The family takes some time off to go through the motions together.

But, that takes place after the funeral. Immediately after the service, everyone goes to the graveyard together for the ritual that strikes with the most potent sting...

Typically, Jewish people are buried. After the coffin is lowered into the ground, everyone who chooses takes a turn shoveling dirt into the grave. The sound of the earth hitting the wood of the coffin is so... final. So loud. What makes it brilliant, to me, is that one participates in putting that person to rest. Everyone takes responsibility for letting him or her go.

It was so sad. Not just because we were surrounded by heartache...

We learned that, in the obituary, David and I were listed among Grandma Pearl's many grandchildren. This family has accepted us unblinkingly... we are one of them from here on out. They see us twice a year, if we're lucky, but we're family. I began to feel like I had lost a grandmother, too. I'd seen her three times in the past two years, but, I was her grandchild, and, while throwing dirt on her coffin, I felt the hollow spot in my heart that would always miss her and all that I would now never have the chance to know.

***

On March 2nd, a boy I knew in high school took it upon himself to ride a bus into the heart of San Fransisco, and jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge.

I didn't learn about this until April 16th. The funeral was to be the next evening. A precious voice from my past, who will never be completely silenced, gave me the news and asked if I would be willing to go to the service.

I ended up feeling relieved that I went. Our friend had only three representatives of his generation, of those that might know who he was in the world, not as a son, brother, or uncle. The mother sat with her daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren... the father sat in the pew behind her with his wife. That precious voice from my past... we'll call him E... we sat alone in the third pew with a slightly obstructed view of the table where our friend's ashes and photos were placed.

I cannot express how horrible this experience was...

E was asked to deliver the eulogy. He wrote furiously in his pocket notebook during the first ten minutes. The service started with a recording of John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy," followed by several lip-service prayers recited by the kindly lady pastor... who clearly didn't know our friend well. I tried warning E about how many prayers or hymns he had left to compose his thoughts. As he was introduced, I squeezed his hand and he left the pew to take his place behind the pulpit.

I did not envy him.

He hadn't seen his friend in some time... had lost a little of their contact in recent months. He carried that heavy, hard guilt of wondering if there was something he could have said or done... what if he had checked his Facebook page the day before... or called him... or anything? Would this unthinkable, waste of life have still occurred?

I was immensely proud of his speech. He talked about what his friend had meant to him, of course... How much this young man had contributed to his life... but, he also made a point to express that, as far as we know, life is not eternal, and our friend knew that. So, if that friend were here to express any last words of advice, E was sure that he would tell us all to let go of our resentments and bad blood. It's not worth it. Our time is limited, so, we need to make the best of it and take care of each other.

I have almost never seen E shake so much. I began to feel horrible. I haven't seen our late friend for... well... maybe 10 years. Wonder how he would feel to know that I was among the mourners at his memorial service... that even someone who hasn't seen him in so long would wish that he had walked away from the ledge. That people in his family, divided by more than pews, would all have so much love that belonged entirely to him... that they might take his advice. At the end of the service, the mother turned to her ex-husband and said, "Thank you for giving me our son."

E and I sighed together... trying not to lose it. After 6 years, we fell into place with no effort, no negotiation. It was as though no time had passed.

I had a chance to think about it more the next day... E and I explained away our friend's reasons for doing what he did... maybe in an attempt to make it okay...

...but it's not okay.

I've decided I'm downright pissed off.

I do not recommend speaking ill of dead, but this did not have to happen. There was nothing wrong with him that there wasn't enough love in that room alone to help him through it. While I hope he's at peace, I also hope that I'll have a chance to slap him on the Other Side... to demand an answer for why he would do this to all of us... to reinforce to him that he was special to someone.

***

So much unexpected sadness.

***

Dedicated in loving memory
to
Grandma Pearl
and
Seanny