It's what's in the middle that counts...

Married for 70 years, Bob and Viv were synonymous with one another.  He passed in September and since then, her days have been punctuated by missing him.  

My grandmother, Vivian (Vavala) Talbot, passed on Wednesday, February 17, 2021, from a short illness.  As we prepare for her funeral services, my days are spent thinking of her.  As with my grandfather, her presence in my life had been constant.  From the moments of my childhood to the very most recent visit when she reminded me that I still hadn't taken that table from the laundry room, my thoughts have been flooded with memories of her. 

One of four siblings, she grew up in Fall River.  She attended Durfee High School; graduating with the class of 1943. She worked retail before marrying my grandfather and becoming a homemaker from that point on.  

Never one who seemed to like cooking, she did so until my grandfather retired.  And, then, he took over.  He was better at it than she, but she knew how she wanted things made, and would often direct from the living room.  A few things I always enjoyed, though, were her butter and egg pasta (my childhood staple), zucchini and summer squash sauté (also with eggs), potato salad (never too much mayonnaise), and her graham cracker pudding dessert.  She introduced me to butter sandwiched between graham crackers; maybe not the healthiest choice, but it brings me a quiet comfort on the days I cave in, and make myself a few.

During much of our childhood, we spent school vacations with my grandmother.  When we were very young, she would say, "Let's start the show", and we would enter the room to this made-up song of hers.  She would sing, and we would dance...and, then we would all laugh, and do it all again!  Sometimes my grandfather, a traveling box salesman, was able to stop in for lunch. On these occasions, he often brought home McDonald's...we would fuel up for more playful shenanigans with cheeseburgers and milkshakes.

My grandmother's days working retail always seemed to stay with her.  She kept up with the latest styles, creating classic ensembles for church on Sunday, holiday gatherings and other family events. She enjoyed shopping as a past time.  And, if you knew the shopping scene in the late 80's and early 90's; Filene's, Jordan Marsh, and more locally, Silverstein's, were the places she liked best to shop.  Having never gotten her driver's license, my grandmother relied on my grandfather for her shopping excursions. And, for sure, she made a day of it. He, bringing a book, would sit in the car and wait for her, while she shopped.  Many times, she had me in tow, and we would shop together.  I would get a new spring coat, a bathing suit for summer, pants, or a dress for an upcoming holiday...oh, and that mini skirt in 8th grade that she somehow convinced my father was not that short. I don't know what she said, but it ended up in a box wrapped up, and in my hands for my birthday in 1989.  

Later when I started dating, she had many heartfelt conversations with me.  One thing she mentioned to me at the time?  "Mothers and their son's are very close.  So, remember that!" At the time, I shrugged, I kind of felt both parents would be equally close to their son(s), but now, with two son's of my own, I understand what it was that she meant.

For many things, she was all business.  She took things seriously as a matter of safety and decorum.  Ever worried about her loved-ones being alright, she relied on her rosary to calm her, with prayer offerings being a source of comfort in an uncertain world.  

When my first son was born, she and my grandfather watched him for two days a week.  They were all business about that, too.  I would get a full report of his day each time I would pick him up.  As a new parent, I found my relationship with my grandmother strained in those days.  We argued about ways of parenting/raising children, because you know, my way was just, well, not the same as hers.  

It is with great reverence that I say we could argue.  We could be on completely different pages, have a passionate discussion and still remain loving and kind when it was all said and done.  I learned with her, that I didn't have to agree;  nor she with me.  At the end of it all, there was just love, and the end of discussion.  Nobody had to win, nobody had to be right.  It was just all out in the open for each of us to know.

Certainly, more than anything,  my grandmother liked to sit and talk.  She liked to talk about everything.  But choose your words wisely.  There was little that didn't give her cause to tell you how to do things differently.  I write this with a smirk on my face because any one of her grandchildren and elder great-grandchildren can tell you a "Gram-ism", for sure.  Sometimes you countered her gram-isms, sometimes you didn't; it was always dependent on if you wished to jump down that particular rabbit hole or not.  And, let me be perfectly clear, I write this in the sense that I will miss hearing all of them.  It always made for lively conversation, and she found much enjoyment in that.

2020 ended with the passing of my maternal grandfather and 2021 has begun with the passing of my maternal grandmother.  While our visits with my grandmother have been sparse these last few months; what with my own family in Covid quarantine for basically the whole month of January,  I am grateful for the moments we did have, in what we didn't realize, were her last months.  As it was at my grandfather's passing, it remains to be said, it is one thing to understand that we are all mortal beings, but it is quite another thing to comprehend that a life force from my lifetime is no longer present here on earth.  

From a song my Grandmother would sing after the "Happy Birthday" refrain at every birthday: May the dear Lord bless you, May sweet Mother guide you, May they both love and keep you, Grammy dear... 

I am hoping, with all my heart, that Gram is somewhere with her "Rock of Gibraltar", and that Bob and Viv are once again walking arm in arm.  

Let me tell you about a man...

 “To take each moment, and live each moment…let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.”  

Let me tell you about a man who brought peace to my earth.

My grandfather was a man of simple means.  He lived for days spent with his family, took pride in his job and used his spare time to help others.  He spent his working life as a corrugated box salesman, engineering boxes (and, as he would say, from corrugated fiber-board, not cardboard).  His packaging needed to protect the product so that it could safely get to its destination.  He valued his clients needs and wished to convey that in the way he protected their product.  After his retirement from J&J Corrugated Box Co., my grandfather volunteered at Perkins’ Institute for the Blind. He spent his volunteer time assisting to make manipulatives to suit the various needs of students attending Perkins.  Once again, his box-engineering skills came in handy, this time helping to provide learning accommodations to children.

Left fatherless at the tender age of two, my grandfather, one of thirteen children, had several older brothers that were able to fill the role of “father figure”.  He had many stories of his childhood.  All of which I enjoyed hearing him tell repeatedly.  One of my favorites, an itemized list of what he would find in his yearly Christmas stockings, always sounded magical to me.  Hearing him tick off each treat, item by item was to witness him reliving the joy of those boyhood days.  I remember marveling how getting an orange or two at Christmas was special...because in the 1980’s we had them all the time.

As I grew, and attended elementary school, my grandfather would take my brother and I to Toys R Us for good report cards.  My mother insisted that he keep a $10.00 limit for both of us.  Once at the store, one of us would inevitably select something before looking to see that it was slightly over the maximum.  He usually played by the rules and redirected our eyes to something within range.  But maybe, just maybe once or twice, we may have been a dollar over.

Fast forward a bit to my high school years and I am wearing a back brace to treat scoliosis.  For two years I had to wear that brace for 16 hours a day.  For this reason, I needed to be picked up from school in order to get home in time to put it on.  My grandfather picked me up on his designated days to get me home in time, but not before stopping at Friendly’s for ice cream.  Now, at this point in my life I wish I could remember what we talked about.  However, it’s the feeling of sitting across the table from him, eating ice cream, that still warms me now.

Spring ahead still further, and married with my own children, my grandfather would prepare dinner every Sunday.   We would go to visit with my mother and because of this, my grandparents, too.  The rotation of menu items was always pretty reliable, too.  As the time approached to return home to prepare for another work/school week, I am pretty sure he always strategically asked if our boys wanted an apple, cut-up.  They always said yes, and it always kept us there a little longer.  Only then while they were eating their cut-up apples would he say, “Bag Night!” and produce a bag with snacks for the school week. We ended up with so many bags of goldfish at one time, that I would end up bringing bags of goldfish to my students at school.  His snacks purchased were provided to many.

While there was not a thing that my grandfather wasn’t interested in talking about, it was his interest in what the kids had to say that I have always admired.  Infant, adolescent, or teen, he was all ears.  Infant crying? He listened.  My grandfather would walk that baby around until either they were happy and smiling because he had appeased their boredom, or they were found sleeping in his arms because the rhythm of his walk and hum had acquiesced their fight to stay awake.  Adolescents could always find him interested in the games they were playing.  He was ever open to allowing kids the ability to explore, whether it was creating rivers with the hose in a pile of sand or listening to them belt out tunes on a keyboard or guitar, for example.  I think of him fondly as a pied-piper of sorts; at any family gathering, they simply just gravitated to him.  Children, one and all, felt his genuine love.

His unconditional love spanned his lifetime.  As a father, a grandfather, a great-grandfather, a friend, volunteer and community member.  What I didn’t know as a child, I realized as an adult.  It was his sense of wonder that I admired all those years.  His ability to value his conversations with children just as much, if not even more so, than those with adults.  And, no matter what age he was, he was never “too old” to play.

One of the last things I was able to do with my grandfather this summer was play “Go Fish”.  Because of the dementia he no longer remembered that he had been an avid card player throughout his life.  Often getting together with extended and immediate family alike for game nights,  with cribbage and pitch being some of his favorites.  He never knew that I always watched him shuffle and cut the cards with awe: He was so fast and the cards blended together so crisply. But, on that day, I had to teach my grandfather how to “Go Fish”.  As I fumbled to shuffle the cards with lone cards falling out of the stack, he marveled at how I did it, “Wow, you’re good at that”....I had to pause, take a breath, and thank him.  Even at that point in his sickness, knowing he no longer knew me as his granddaughter, his supportive nature rallied on. 

That single phrase in that moment reminded me of the pride and love I have felt from him all the years of my life.  We played through the game as best we could, with me letting him win.  Upon winning, he gave “the” smile and a chuckle.  The smile that I only ever associated with love and genuine joy.  The very same smile that could light up a room of people.  It was the same one used to greet friends, family and strangers, alike. It lit up his eyes, as he would extend his hand in greeting to those he first met or was seeing again after some time.  It was contagious. Because of it’s sincerity I don’t think there was anyone who didn’t feel that he valued them.

These are just a few memories of mine.  His presence in my life has been a veritable axis for 43 years. Through his actions and the way he lived his life, he has modeled that the energy one uses to sow discord is just as easily done to sow peace.  And, he did so as a man of simple needs, who lived for days spent with his family. He understood that the ability to project peace, faith, forgiveness, support, and love just to name a few, were all powered by one’s ability to smile and mean it. He lived each moment of his life as a joyful participant, ever thankful to have had the chance to play. 

Can you tell these peas are fresh?

Lately, I catch myself mumbling to the flowers as I walk around the garden.  A global pandemic, and human reaction to it, continue to plague my thoughts.  The indignance of others, paired with misinformation, leaves me baffled and feeling helpless.

And, when the mumbling begins, out to my gardens I go.  I daresay, my flowers get a "petal" full.  But, while I "talk" to the flowers, I examine what's blooming, check for the presence of pests, and I consider and plan future landscaping maitnenance.  For instance, examination of this Sugar Snap Pea plant made me aware that there were finally some pea pods for picking. However, some little green aphids had also found the pods available for snacking on.

Continued rambling from one garden to the other, brought me to realize that the deer had eaten most of the flowerheads off my Perennial Sweet Pea.  Not producing anything edible to humans, but in the pea family also, the Perennial Sweet Pea is high on my list of floral favorites. As a teen, a lone bike ride brought me to an abandoned house.  Peppered along a rock wall were these lovely blooms that I had never seen before.  Finding their brightness and beauty among the disregarded remains of a once loved home reminded me of how in the presence of disarray some forces, like the Perrenial Sweet Pea, will continue to persevere.   Later in my thirties, I happened upon a roadside plant stand.  There among the garden-variety daylilies and hostas were a few plastic pots of Perennial Sweet Pea.  After placing my money in the honor system lock box, I returned home with all of the Sweet Pea plants there were to purchase.  My excitement over finding these plants was comparable to one who may have found treasure.  For to me, their presence in my gardens was certainly one to be treasured. 

Finally, my walk around the yard ended with my gaze falling upon the clover studding the lawn.  Having read this article on the American lawn a while back, I have come to reconsider the general maintenance and use of our own lawn.  We wait longer periods of time to mow it, for instance.  This allows for clover flowers to bloom.  In my second year of keeping honeybees, I have found that a lawn studded with dandelions and clover is not a bad thing, nor is it something I wish to use chemicals to annihilate.  Clover, I learned from a quick Google search, is also part of the Pea family (Fabaceae).  The Enclopedia Britannica states that the flowers are highly attractive to bees (as I have observed), and clover honey is a common secondary product of clover cultivation. 

I was surprised from my search to learn that the clover was, in fact, part of the pea family.  At first glance, the flowers look nothing alike.  Or do they? In photographing the clover flowerheads, it became obvious to me that each individaul flower in the sphere displayed many of the same characeristics of the larger flowers pictured above.  

My walk around the gardens didn't begin with the intention of connecting one plant to another.  It started as a diversion.  One that would "change the subject" in my brain so to speak.  If anyone watched "Family Ties" in the 80's, you may remember a certain family dinner where Mallory's boyfriend ends up in a heated argument with her father.  Eliese, the mother, in trying to change the subject, exclaims, "Can you tell these peas are fesh?" 

Thank you, peas.  I no longer remember what I was mumbling about.  

The Lesson of the Lilac

It has been a few years since I have written anything but lists: To-do lists at work, grocery shopping lists, and lists to remind me of errands that need to be done, just to name a few.  And, 2017 was the last time I wrote anything on this blog. 

What has finally brought me back to the blog-writing fold?  In a nutshell, March 13, 2020.  School closure, among other things, in Massachusetts due to the global pandemic of Covid-19.  Working from home and trying to continue the school routine remotely has proven to be quite an experience.  I recognize that at this point in my life, with my own kids the ages that they are, this unprecedented situation has been easier on me, than say, if they were both five years younger.   

But this post, as you have probably noticed, is most certainly not dated, March 13, 2020.  It took two months for me to even begin to formulate my thoughts.  Broken bits of observations, fragment phrases, disgust (and laughter) for social media posts, and the list goes on (as I mentioned, I have come to like writing lists).  Singular emotions, one after the other: hope, sadness, disappointment, patience and thankfulness all occurring like a wheel let loose down a hill.

After about a month of processing it all, I decided to take out my camera to capture some images of emerging flowers.  This hobby, in and of itself, is not new.  And, at some point, I hope to start using the photographs to guide me as an artist. But until then, I will work on building my library of images.  In any case, on April 14, 2020, I deemed the lilac buds worthy of a photograph:

If I had known then, what I know now, I should have taken the picture of the lilac branches on that day in March.  What began then with tiny leaflets protruding from branches, led to tiny clusters of buds in April to burgeoning flowers in May.  Now, on May 20, 2020 the scent of the lilacs has begun to permeate the backyard with it's delicate scent.  After a couple of weeks, the scent will dissipate, the flowers will wilt, and dry up, leaving the tree to prepare it's flower heads for next year.  It may or may not be commonly known, though, that the lilac prepares its' flower heads for the next year once the current year's flowers have expired.  To ensure that the tree produces an abundance of flowers in the following year, it is important to clip off the spent flower heads from the tree soon after they expire.

I speak for myself when I say that the lilac tree brings me something of an ethereal calm.  The scent transports me to yards of my past; to quieter times? Maybe.  To moments of joy? Definitely.  And, amidst the unrest created by many during a global pandemic, I need to find my calm.  I look to the lilac (and many other flowers) to bring me some peace, and an opportunity to reflect inwardly on the processes of life and humanity. 

At this point, I could quote Ecclesiastes, "for everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven", but that is understood, and even perhaps a little cliche.  The lilac flower certainly has it's time to be born and it's time to die.  That in and of itself, gives me pause to challenge my notion of patience, and what it means to patiently wait for something, to be rewarded with its presence, and then disappointed to see it go.  In addition to the cycle of the lilac flower's lifespan, it is the idea that with help, the lilac tree will be better than it was the year before, each year after.  It is the patience found in caring for something else, even when you don't know if your efforts will in fact be worth it.

And, I think the lesson of the lilac, at least for me, is a timely one.  I am embodied with the faith that the lilac will be better, because of my efforts to assist it.  Just as I believe in the efforts of the many to do what is right for the greater good.  And, while we don't always see the benefits right away, over time, with patience and perseverance, the reward will arrive and we will be all, as one, the better for it.

When thinking about goats...

I love finding new food products.  Such a simple statement; but it is actually one that is loaded with appreciation for the conceptualization and realization of an idea. It is hard to know where the idea started without talking to the creators of a product.  I know I have my own foodcentric ideas that involve me baking up a product worthy of a specific niche.

Keeping that in mind while I change course a bit, I will start by saying, three years ago, I acquired chickens.  Chickens, regardless of whether you choose to consume them for meat or not, provide a person with an equally useful product; that being the eggs that they provide daily.  The statement that chickens are a "gateway" farm animal is true; at least from my perspective. No sooner were my hens pecking their way around the yard, than I began to envision what other animals were possible for keeping on our 1.3 acre lot.

Goats were, so I read, an animal that could be kept on just such a plot size; and I had particular interest in Nigerian Dwarf goats, to be specific.  For to me, the smaller the goat, the more that could be allowed on my property...yes? So began my quest to find reasons for goats; other than just having goats. Through further research, I learned that Nigerian Dwarf goat milk has a higher fat content than other goat's milk, while goat's milk in general has a higher fat content than cow's milk.  Nutritional benefits of this fact, aside, and there are many, I began to think of things to make with goat's milk.

During my time spent deliberating over what I would do with goat's milk given the opportunity to keep goats, I came to the realization that making caramel from goat's milk would be a food product adventure that I would be interested in embarking on.  With that said, it never fails to inspire me when I find a fellow human being carrying out a plan of action that I covet, as well.  Let me introduce you to, Big Picture Farm.  Before anybody thinks I am looking to create a business, however, I am not.  Any product I am interested in making, on the size property we currently own, would be for personal consumption only; and of course to share with family and friends.

But, to see people creating a product that is lovingly made and packaged with such detail and homage to the animals responsible for providing one of the main ingredients, is a thing to be savored.  Let me tell you, I took my time relishing the packaging, and the story of the animals provided within the packaging.  And, just when I thought I couldn't be any more impressed with a company for the love of their product, I folded back the white parchment paper to find that they had printed the faces of some of their goats on the chocolates themselves!

As you gaze at these chocolate-covered caramels, there is no way you are picking out a caramel to eat without finding the picture of "your" goat on the enclosed "who's who" goat brochure packaged along with the caramels.  My eleven year-old son picked his caramel based on which narrative he enjoyed the most.  This is, I will say, tough to do given the fact that every narrative within the brochure does a fantastic job of personifying each goat pictured on the chocolates.

But, enough about the packaging and presentation.  The caramel, though, "How was it?" you ask.  It was soft and sweet; with just a touch of that goat's milk "tang". Goat's milk does, in fact, have a tang or twang, what ever one might call it, that characterizes it differently than cow's milk.  But, considering the health benefits of goat's milk, a person should feel all the better for eating one of these chocolate-covered caramels.

In closing, I would recommend purchasing these slightly pricey caramels as a treat to yourself (and your family, if you are willing to share).  And, I don't mean "slightly pricey" to be taken as a complaint.  With what the owners of this company are doing, I can appreciate the reason for the cost. It just means that they will be all the more enjoyable after showing some restraint between purchases.

Product Placement for the Win

Amazon.com knows what I like.  You know how they are.  They create lists of items that you might like based on other things you have previously purchased. They use your buying habits as a way of convincing you of other things you "need". And, most of the time, I am pretty good at resisting their suggestions.  Not so, however, in the case of this handy Glide-A-Scoop Ice Cream Tub.  Having recently pinned several "No-Churn" ice cream recipes to my "Sweet Tooth" board, I realized Amazon was cheering me on from the kitchen sidelines with their strategically placed suggestion to buy this item.

Let me be perfectly clear, though, this ice cream tub does nothing special.  It doesn't have insulated sides that cause the ice cream to freeze while sitting on the counter.  There is not a single affiliation with the Zoku to be found here.  It most definitely does not churn the ice cream for you.  It holds ice cream. That's it.

With all of that being said, the Tovolo ice cream tub was delivered to my home in Prime fashion, where it then sat on my counter for a week.  I found myself moving it from one end of the counter to the other, as it repeatedly got in the way.  But, keeping it out was my way of reminding myself to make some No-Churn ice cream happen; sooner than later.

Finally, after an entire work week went by, my weekend aspirations included filling my Tovolo ice cream tub with some ice cream of the cookies and cream variety (click here for recipe).  Try cutting up 20 Oreos and not stealing a morsel or two.  I may have had to add in extra cookies to make up for lost bits.

In the end, this no-churn ice cream stuff is serious business.  Seriously good, that is.  Having used a Cuisinart ice cream maker in the past, this no-churn method is far easier, with maybe a bit more patience required because it has to freeze 4 hours before eating.  We pulled it out of the freezer a little over three hours in; it was soft, but still very yummy.  However, I would wait the full four hours if serving in ice cream cones.

My boys, nine and twelve years-old, are anxious to experiment with different mix-ins. And, really, that's the best part of cooking and/or baking; the memories made toiling over different recipes, waiting together to see how it comes out, and then enjoying (or in some cases, ditching) the results of our efforts.  It is a process of discovery that is made more delectable by the fact that the product can be consumed.  In those circumstances where the results go awry, the process was not a waste, but a chance to make observations and inferences about what to do differently the next time.

I guess this ice cream tub holds more than just ice cream, after all. We may need to add, "easily store a fraction of scientific process and a handful of memories" to the product description.

A Whole "Latte" Lavender to Talk About...

Phenomenal Lavender is what one would call the particular plant, pictured below. And, true to its name, it has been a "phenomenal" addition to my flower garden. Beautiful plumes of heavenly scented purple flowers adorn frosty grey mounds from early summer to early fall.  That very same aforementioned frosty, grey foliage remains "evergreen" even through our New England winters. Because of it's decidedly exceptional garden performance, it would be safe to say, that this plant is certainly a fan favorite of mine.  

I did have ulterior motives for planting it, however.  Besides loving flowers, and all the visual stimulation they provide, I have been in search of plants that assist in my "homesteading" efforts. By that I simply mean, I now place greater emphasis on acquiring plants that are not merely ornamental. With the area of land that we have, I am hoping to landscape with what is not only pleasing to the eye, but what also provides something to harvest.

So then, cue "Phenomenal Lavender".  Originally, my interest in planting lavender developed from the thought of possibly harvesting it for use in soap making,  Of course, I was also aware of it's uses in baking, but I was not immediately drawn to the possibility of using it for such.  My association with lavender and food consumption stopped at Cupcake Wars.  I mean, how many episodes had I watched where one of the challengers used lavender either in the cupcake batter, the frosting, or both?!  Lavender, it would seem, is a pretty common placed ingredient to be found in the Food Network pantries, but not so much in mine...

...that is until a spur of the moment trip to Pink Box Desserts in Dartmouth, Massachusetts, where I experienced the delight of one of their honey lavender macarons.  Not expecting to get too excited about it, I took the first bite with little to no zeal.  Looking back on that moment, I am surprised by the lack of interest I placed in this little morsel.  After all, I love to bake, and I appreciate the efforts of professional bakers so much so, that I usually leave said bakeries with more than I should.  But, it was my two boys of 9 and 12 that actually convinced me to buy a few for "taste-testing", during this particular visit.  In the moments leading up to buying an assorted half dozen, I believe the thought, "How good can they be?", actually went through my mind!

From that pivotal moment at Pink Box Desserts when I acquiesced to the idea of lavender in my food, to me cutting and hanging lavender to dry in my cool, dry basement, I have been on the lookout for ways in which I could consume more lavender .  I have accumulated a few shortbread recipes, and most recently the above pictured Lavender Coffee Latte recipe.  Pictured with a tablespoon or so of my own dried lavender, I was excited to be able to try this recipe.

Granted, I did not get my steamed milk and honey mixture to froth as it is pictured in the book. I overlooked a step, which is definitely why the milk froth fizzled out to what you see in my cup pictured on the left.  My love for this cup of coffee does not, however, match my love for the macaron.   The floral, and almost medicinal flavor of the lavender did not hit it off for me paired with coffee. This is not to say I won't try this combination again, in fact, I didn't even like coffee the first time I tried it.  And now, we are two coffee beans in a pod...

I will be planting more lavender in the spring.   And, drying more of it, also.  If the coffee and lavender thing doesn't work out for me, cookies are next in line...