An owl sits beside my chair and whispers in my ear
Who-who could that be knock, knock, knocking
Who-who could that be here
It’s nothing but the North Wind blowing, blowing at the pane
Blowing cinders down the flue, tugging at the vane
Come out, come out, come out and play
He howls at the door
I’ll lash you with a lock of hair and beat you ‘til your sore
Come in, come in, come in and play
I answer to the door
You bluster, blare and bellow but you’re wind and nothing more
As much as I had visions of raising my children without television, we are a family that loves our movies. I can hear my mother's tisking tongue and see her wagging finger in my mind when I think of how many movies Rowan has seen in his short two and a half years of life. He was sleeping in my arms at our local drive-in his first summer, nursing and dreaming while my husband and I enjoyed the season's blockbusters. Maybe his love of movies happend by osmosis. I've been reading a series of theortical/spiritual books that suggest what a mother thinks while she's nursing has an affect on the life of the child. Yikes! Whatever the reason, Rowan absolutely adores a good film.
We took him to see Monsters vs Aliens in 3D on opening night. (That's Rowan's "date" Ava on the left looking at the camera and Rowan on the right enthralled by the screen. We double family dated with some close friends who have a 4-year-old and a 1-year-old.) On all counts, it was a great movie and everyone thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
Then, of course, I had to keep thinking about the damned movie. It was so made for parents my age. Anyone who grew up watching the GenX classics featuring motley outcasts who save the world/get the girl/get the guy/make the team/etc., etc., etc., will appreciate the underlying symbolism and messaging. From cookie-cutter references (the suburban hometown party, the evil alien destroying his own world to create one populated entirely by clones of himself) to mindless government gags, it's like one big inside joke created by a bunch of powerful geeks. Despite the big wigs not marketing it as a "strong girl" movie, the protagonist is definitely Ginormica and the storyline centers around her literal and metaphorical metamorphasis from shallow girl "living the dream life" to confident freak finding her way in a world that finds her simultaneously amazing and revolting. Sounds about right to me.
I'd like to see it again when I'm not balancing a rootbeer float with one hand, pushing Annie's cheddar bunnies and Twizzlers on the 1-year-old to keep him quiet with the other hand, and keeping an eye on Rowan's reaction to the 3D.
This weekend we accidentally rented a dubbed Chinese Disney flick called The Magic Gourd. But the psychological seisures I gave myself after thinking too hard about this one is a whoooole nother ball of yarn. Let's just say it veered into musings on how The Magic Gourd would be a great example of how one might make a film for children about a boy's battle with schizophrenia. Oy vey! Where do I get these things?
My first encounter with Vandana Shiva was in a prickly senior-level women's studies class in college. On our reading list, Ecofeminism by Shiva and Maria Mies. I didn't like it. The amount of metaphor was unbearable at the time. It crashed around the data in the book, drowning any hope of a really solid argument, I thought, in a sea of "female hormones."
I've grown to better understand the value of methaphor. And temper my hair-trigger judgement with a willingness to hold that with which I disagree in the same hands I hold that with which I do agree. Turning things around and appreciating how they hum to me. Or don't.
And I've run into other facets of Vandana Shiva over the years, finding clear and true notes in her writing and speaking that ring in accordance with my heart. Her work at Navdanya is both an expression of the failings of our global food system and the hope that can still be found in our land, our seeds, and our farmers. It was a treat and a pleasure to meet her in person at a small gathering at the Rodale Institute last week.
I think it's time a reread Ecofeminism. I have a feeling I might come away with a very different message than I did those many years ago.
"Mama, you scared the Think right out of me."
"I scared the what out of you?"
"I was thinking and you scared it right out of me! Now I can't remember!"
"Don't worry, honey. We'll get your Think back as soon as we get in the car."
***
"Is your Think back yet."
"Yes, mama. Thank you."
When we first moved into our house three years ago, one of our neighbors reminisced about the teaberry she used to collect en masse in the forest just up the hill outside of town. Teaberry, also known as wintergreen, is native to Pennsylvania and is a popular ice cream flavor that, I belive, you can only find in this keystone state of ours. (It also happens to be one of my favorites--in the top four along with vanilla, coffee and rum raisin.) Pennsylvania is also the birthplace of teaberry gum which, like violet candy, can be an acquired taste.
Little did we know that after three years of trecking back and forth just where the neighbor indicated, that we would suddenly discover a patch of teaberry carpeting the floor of the wood. What a tasty surprise!
We came wholely unprepared for wildcrafting, so we just took a sample and committed to memory the location(s) of the larger villages of the creeping evergreen.
This was also the maiden voyage of my first crotcheted hat. Since I could not for the life of me figure out any of the crotcheted hat instructions on paper or online, I made it up. It's a little short and it certainly "breathes" (ie. has a pretty loose knit), but I really like the shape.
I can almost believe there are little pointed ears hiding under that blue yarn.
Sleepy dog face (photo courtesy my lovely husband).
Hot Faux-fee (coffee subsitute made with all milk like hot cocoa...Mmmm!).
Blanket forts ('nuff said).
Lily of the valley soap by Kappus (a breath of spring in the dead of winter and the only brand I've found that actually smells like it's namesake).
I recently wrote to some friends that I am both a feminist and a domestic goddess, and that I don't consider myself an oxymoron. Rowan agrees. To make room for his dinosaur magnets, he amazingly moved my "righteous babe" into a position of feminine power. Yes, Rowan, "F" is for female, ferocious and frugal.
And what is more frugal than a warm bread pudding studded with plump, sweet currants and glittering with coarse sugar? It seems, since I've been making bread regularly (well, at least once a week), that there is always a stray crust or leftover heal gone dry. Last week I made biscuits to go with a big pot of pea soup from my mother-in-law, and doubled the batch. Usually, they would have been devoured in short order (drizzled with honey for breakfast), but we had a busy weekend out and about and Rowan has discovered the delicious simplicity of the egg, requesting them "dippy" just about every morning.
What to do with a stack of bicuits just this side of hockey puck and four dry heals of bread? Bread pudding of course. And you wouldn't believe how wickedly buttery bread pudding can be until you make it with biscuits.
In what food category would I file bread pudding? You name it, so it be. Breakfast, mid-morning snack, lunch, afternoon tea, desert, midnight comfort. I wouldn't go so far as to suggest you eat it as a main course for dinner, but I could envision a version of bread pudding that would leave that stuffy old side of stuffing with his tie askew and his hair rumpled. Hmmm....Do I smell a new Thanksgiving tradition?
(Interested in the bread pudding recipe? Leave me a comment and I'll email it to you. Warning: the measurements are inexact, but the finished product is addicting.)
The letter "F" also stands for fast and I've discovered a new favorite go-to cake recipe that stands up to being fiddled with (I can never leave well enough alone). Based on the Lightning Cake recipe from the Joy of Cooking, it is quick, easy, and deliciously dense. Apparently it's a German Blintztorte. I almost love saying "blintztorte" as much as I love eating this lovely cake. I probably should have saved it for Valentine's day, but who knew it would turn out so pink? Not I.
Almond Raspberry Blintztorte
2 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
16 tablespoons (2 sticks) unsalted butter
2 cups sugar
6 large eggs
1-2 teaspoons almond extract
1-1/2 cups frozen raspberries
Butter and flour a bundt pan. Pre-heat oven to 350-degrees F.
Whisk the flour, baking powder and salt together in a small bowl. Beat your butter until creamy then gradually add your sugar and beat on high until lightening in color and fluffy in texture. Beat in eggs one at a time and then add the almond extract. Stir the flour mixture in until smooth then gently fold the raspberries in just until evenly dispersed.
Spoon batter into your bundt pan, smoothing out the top, and bake for 35-45 minutes--until a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean. Let cool on a rack for 10 minutes before unmolding. Dust with powdered sugar for a less-sweet version or drench with your favorite glaze or icing.
Serves 8-10
