Tag: homelife

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Home Life

Cabin Fever

Garden in Winter

My to-do list has grown since retiring from my transportation career in 2009. The number of items on it was supposed to decrease yet it’s not.

After retiring that July 3, I engaged in life outside home in a way I hadn’t in a long time. I joined groups working on social issues. I joined the boards of some of those groups. I had a measure of freedom to pick activities from the broad palette found in a region with a large University town and Iowa’s second largest city. Almost ten years later I view that first retirement as a failure. I left a career and job but didn’t stop working.

This time, beginning with leaving full-time work last March and taking my Social Security pension, it is different. The stress of living paycheck to paycheck is relieved yet the to-do list sits quietly, awaiting action. I can’t get started and each day becomes a challenge to gain impetus on it. Why? I blame it on cabin fever.

“Retirement” is a story we tell ourselves in order to live. When I write, “career in transportation,” it stands for working 25 years in a series of jobs in that field. I worked to provide financially for our family. In quiet mornings of 2019 that narrative is stripped away leaving me mired in passing time. I have to work through it and get on track.

Part of the challenge is awareness. I’m of an age where every path chosen, every task undertaken, means another is pushed aside, maybe never taken up afterward. Perhaps it’s always been this way and I didn’t see it, wouldn’t acknowledge it. Choices made now have a different meaning — the bucket has limited capacity to hold our tears and sweat and I must choose carefully.

Of course that’s also some bullshit. That the door leading to the garage needs painting doesn’t go away. It will take several hours with buying supplies, prep, undercoating and finish. It can be fit into my schedule adding something positive to the quality of our lives. We only ever have the moment in which we live. There is no bucket of tears.

If I’m feeling cabin fever, not to worry. I’ve arranged start dates at the farms, and warmer weather will spark work on the garden. As warm as it’s been, I could work in the garden now, removing the weeds and fencing, organizing the plots. However, cold weather is coming, I hope. Once it gets below zero for a week, there is winter pruning to do… then a burn pile… then before you know it, back in the swing of things.

If we stay busy, cabin fever disappears. Our only challenge is to get started.

Categories
Home Life Kitchen Garden

Winter Soup to Relieve Punk Times

Garden in Winter

The end of year has been punk times without relief.

Some blame it on social media.

Social media users post they need a break. They want to cleanse their mind of the drivel, hostility and tumult often found in feeds they scroll.

How is “cleansing” possible? Social media is an addiction and once hooked, that’s it. Few want to make a permanent break from social media, so what’s really the point of a cleanse? A better idea is to exercise moderation when using social media. I think the ancient Greeks said something like this.

Some blame it on our president.

Sequestered in the White House, his spouse in Florida with their son, a phone nearby, he waits for Democrats to call. The current stalemate is the president’s doing, so why would they call? He lashes out with ill-informed, ill-mannered tweets. I don’t know anyone who would object if he took a break from Twitter.

Relief from punk times can be found in getting busy. Today I made a hearty winter soup.

Butternut Squash and Turnip Soup

  • One medium butternut squash, peeled and cut into half inch cubes.
  • Two large turnips peeled and cut into quarter inch cubes.
  • One cup thinly sliced celery.
  • One cup medium dice onions.
  • One quart tomato juice.
  • Vegetable broth to cover.
  • Quarter teaspoon each of ground nutmeg, allspice and coriander.
  • Teaspoon ground cinnamon.
  • One large bay leaf.
  • Salt and pepper to taste.

Cover the bottom of a Dutch oven with vegetable broth and add the celery and onion. Stir until the onions start to soften. Add the turnips and squash. Add a quart of tomato juice and spices with vegetable broth to cover. Bring to a boil then reduce heat to a simmer and cook until the vegetables are soft. Remove and discard the bay leaf. Use a blender to smooth the mixture and serve with a dollop of sour cream and finely chopped parsley or chives.

Warm winter soup to chase away these punk times.

Categories
Home Life

Winter Rain

Raindrops

We have yet to see our first winter snowstorm. Some of my neighbors would be fine if temperatures never got below freezing. As a gardener, I know the value of a long, deep freeze in killing insects, and enabling tree pruning the way I learned it at the orchard.

I relish a couple of cold spells each winter.

It’s raining now and expected to continue all day into tomorrow. The forecast has snowflakes coming, but that is laughable with all the heat in the ground. Maybe by Monday conditions will be right for some to stick. For now, we have winter rain.

Aside from a couple of errands, the next five days are clear to plan 2019. Maybe the rain and snow will precipitate some brilliant ideas on how to spend time. In some respects, there is not that much to plan.

Financially the only decisions are whether and when to move to full retirement. For the time being, a couple of days at the home, farm and auto supply store is useful, and the income finds a home every month. How the money is spent was predetermined by household decisions already made. Every bill payment is known, with anything left at month’s end going against debt. The main calculation is developing an escrow system that accommodates property taxes and several other categories of expense to even them out over the year.

The garden almost plans itself. Seeds have mostly arrived and how the seven plots will be planted consists of a vague notion to rotate different varieties of vegetables among patches of sunlight. As a soil blocker at the farms, I’m well in tune with which seeds need to be planted when, and like always, will follow their schedule. I have enough fertilizer for most of the first planting, and expect to use the spade and rake method for planting. I no longer dig up entire plots for planting, but narrow strips. The purpose is to preserve soil structure. Based on tomato production last year, it’s a viable method. Some thought will go into the garden, and it will require only a bit of energy to finalize it.

In the end, our financial picture and food ecology will take care of themselves with a combination of experience, habit and awareness to new opportunity. What’s left?

That’s what the next five days will determine.

Categories
Writing

Overcoming Inertia

Book Bench

When I left full time work March 16 I had no expectations.

After all, there was work at two farms in spring and early summer, and fall weekend shifts at the orchard, all to keep me busy. That’s along with two days a week at the home, farm and auto supply store.

Once the farm work ended in October, my outside work schedule left me with five days a week at home. I didn’t know what to do.

I continued my habit of reading and writing in early morning. I read more full length books than I have in years. With my Social Security pension our household income rebounded to a livable amount. Our garden was the best ever and the extras from barter arrangements made a reduction in grocery expense possible. We cooked more meals at home and ate better quality food. The sum was that if I continued that direction, I could get by, and live well, but it wouldn’t be very good for my life in society. I’m not ready to settle into an easy chair and kick back during my remaining days.

I’m okay with slowing down and taking stock. It’s a luxury many people don’t have. It is time to overcome the inertia that’s settled in since October and get to work. The challenge is picking a couple of meaningful goals and bringing a reasonable level of focus to them. That’s where I’ve been stuck for a couple of months.

If I were to get a legal pad and write down tasks needing done it wouldn’t take long to fill several pages. Filling time and making lists is not the point. Finding meaningful work is the goal, work meaningful not only to me but to those around me. That is a harder planning session.

That’s where I land after 50 years of applying my driven personality to society in the workforce. What I do next is more optional than it has been since I was a teen. It will be work and I want to make sure it is the right kind of work for a sixty-something.

The remaining December days are a perfect time to set course for 2019 and beyond, and so I shall.

Categories
Home Life

Christmas 2018

Holiday Greeting – 2018

Best wishes to readers during this time of striving in a world where peace is elusive.

It’s 32 degrees in Iowa. During a tour of the yard and garden it looked like the kale might recover, but only if there is a warming spell. That’s a lot to ask on the fifth day of winter. We still have fresh in the ice box and a dozen packages in the freezer. Kale is never in short supply in our household.

We miss our daughter at Christmas. When she left home, she really left, first for Florida, then Colorado, and back to Florida. I liked Colorado better because we could leave in the morning and arrive in time for supper. Not so with Florida which is a 23-hour drive to where she does work she loves.

Since graduating from college she spent one Christmas at home, in 2010. Over the years, her absence changed things. Her job requires her to work on the holidays so we developed new patterns.

One by one, old Christmas family traditions peeled off until the holiday became centered around food and phone calls. We continue to have a bowl of chili on Christmas eve and will fix a special Christmas dinner, although the menu isn’t quite planned. We have a lot of turnips and joked serving turnips would be like getting a lump of coal in our stockings. With the right recipe, though, they might make a valued new tradition… or maybe not. Whatever personal traditions we may have had were sanded off in the woodshed of time, so anything goes.

There is redemption in the calm quiet of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. It is a chance to save ourselves from errors made while living in society, to ask forgiveness from those we’ve wronged, to chart a new course through the coming years. There is hope.

My Christmas wish is for peace on earth. It is elusive, yet hope springs, and we believe it within our reach. I hope it’s within reach. I plan to work toward that end.

Best wishes to my readers for a Happy New Year!

Categories
Kitchen Garden

Very Late Fall Cookery

Garden and Farm Vegetables

With winter solstice tomorrow afternoon, it’s getting late to be calling this autumn.

There are still fresh vegetables in the ice box and plenty of ideas for what to do with them. On Monday and Tuesday I binged on YouTube videos about street food in Pakistan and India, which led me to make a batch of egg fried rice.

To begin, I am shocked by how much oil or butter is used by these street vendors. It is well known that restaurateurs use a lot of butter in cooking. Eating in diners accepts a high level of saturated fats in food. But these videos? Oh My God! A quart of vegetable oil? Two or three cups of butter? It’s enough to give a person a heart attack… literally.

In an American home we don’t use so much cooking oil yet there are lessons to be learned here. I got out the wok and spent about half an hour prepping vegetables.

I found parsley, carrots, onion, celery, turnips, kale, collards, garlic, fennel and leeks and diced them up for stir fry. There was about four cups of leftover, cooked rice, enough to use four eggs.

If I keep making this dish I need to work on seasonings. I was tempted to add red pepper flakes to the oil in the beginning but resisted the heat to see what the other flavors would lend to the experience. I kept it simple with salt, ground black pepper, ground cumin and smoked paprika. It was good without hot peppers. 

Egg Fried Rice with Local Vegetables

The rest is pretty easy. Place about four tablespoons vegetable oil in the wok and heat to temperature. Add vegetables one dish at a time in cook’s order (those needing most cooking first) reserving the parsley for finishing. Sauté and stir constantly until the vegetables begin to soften and add the eggs. Street vendors crack eggs directly into the wok, but I beat lightly in a dish and added them all at once. Stir constantly until the eggs begin to cook. Add the cumin and paprika at this point and incorporate. Add the rice and stir until the eggs are cooked and everything is incorporated and heated evenly. Add parsley and serve. Made four generous portions.

The kitchen was filled with the aroma of chopped fennel all day. In the finished dish it added a brightness that’s hard to describe. Stirring constantly helped prevent the eggs from creating a crust on the bottom of the wok and made cleanup easier. If I were to serve this as a side dish I’d reduce the number of vegetables to basic aromatics and some greens, maybe add some pine nuts. Stir fry is a flexible dish that can use up what’s on hand.

As fall turns to winter egg fried rice helped transition from ice box to pantry for food sourcing. I felt I learned from the experience of making it. In our kitchen, that’s what cooking is all about.

Categories
Living in Society Social Commentary

Christmas is Coming

Christmas Lights

It’s been seven weeks since the end of apple season, now two weeks until Christmas. The glow has come off holiday seasons.

It’s not that I’ve become all grinchy, hidden away in a darkened lair while neighbors illuminate their homes in festive lights. I don’t know what it is but last year we didn’t even open the holiday decoration boxes and this year likely won’t either. It makes the clean up easier and there are no young children and few family members with whom to share our traditions. People turn inward this time of year and so shall we.

We make home made chili on Christmas eve and serve it with cornbread. There are special recipes and sparkling apple cider. Christmas day we’ll fix a dinner with elements of what we had for Thanksgiving — sweet potatoes, wild rice, farm vegetables, a relish plate, and a source of protein. There will be leftovers. It will be tasty and traditional.

I know what to do to make it through the holidays — contact friends and relatives and plan for next year. Write a budget, get organized for tax season, plan the garden. The world starts shutting down Christmas eve and there will be time for a long winter’s nap… or two. Time to spend writing along with restlessness and resting for what’s next in 2019… a long walk on the lake trail.

My disconnect from Christmas began with military service. The first year in Germany, no one even knew I was there except for the battalion commander’s secretary and my family. Without a telephone, before the time of personal computers, I spent the holiday alone and that broke me from family traditions. By the time New Year’s came, other officers realized I was there and tried to include me. It felt ersatz and futile.

There was a resurgence of Christmas spirit with some joyful times when we married. Even in our decoration-less home with just the two of us the day is special. That will be enough. We’ll miss having our daughter with us and will think of her as Christmas day turns to night. One year she worked the park’s fireworks display as families gathered on streets of make-believe. Someone has to make holiday memories for night visitors.

Today I return for a shift at the home, farm and auto supply store. With five days off work I’m getting cabin fever and that will dissipate as morning turns to afternoon. Socialization at work is a main reason to stay in the work force while I can. Soon the Christmas merchandise will go on clearance with bargains to be had. I might bring something home. Who knows whether our holiday lights will even work after so long in storage. I might even use them again this year because hope remains. It’s the season of hope.

Categories
Kitchen Garden

Lazy Vegetarian

Home Made Veggie Burger

We are an ovo-lacto vegetarian household, although Morningstar Farms makes me a lazy vegetarian at home.

In our ecology of food we still purchase mass-produced, vegetarian burgers, recipe crumbles and chik patties. It’s an easy dinner to warm one up, prepare a couple of side dishes, and call it done.

I came up in a household where variations of hamburger played a number of roles. Mother made burgers, chili, taco meat, meat loaf, meatballs, and many other dishes using various cuts of ground beef. To a large extent, our current use of meat substitutes is to evoke memories of that long ago childhood.

A couple of homemade vegetarian burger patties wait in the freezer, and I look forward to finding or inventing a recipe that hits all the notes of satisfaction. Maybe then we can quit using outside products. In the interim, manufactured meat substitutes create a predictable, inexpensive, convenient source of food comfort.

I recently read Anthony Bourdain’s book, Appetites, in which he wrote about hamburgers. I don’t know if he approved of manufactured burgers, but using inexpensive buns from the wholesale club, I took his written explanation and videos and made a hamburger sandwich that proved to be quite delicious. A burger and fries (made from local potatoes parboiled and frozen after harvest), with home made dill pickles, is my go to dinner when my spouse is working. The manufactured burger patties fit the recipe just right.

I mentioned the Bourdain story to a friend. His response? “You do know he committed suicide?” Guess I’m not too worried about that possibility. For now, meat substitutes remain in our food ecology.

Tradition and memory play a role in our food culture. It wouldn’t be that difficult to figure out the nutritional content of food products and construct a generic meal designed to meet nutritional needs. The dialectic between nutritional science and memory waxes and wanes, and a desire to serve memory seems unlikely to be suppressed. As Chef Matt Steigerwald said, “Food is important.” I submit a corollary, “Food we grew up with is also important.”

I’m not really a vegetarian, except at home where I am a lazy one. From time to time, at social events, or when I’m in a hurry, I’ll eat something containing meat. Suffice it that the industrial meat complex is not sustained by my meager consumption of its products.

When I worked a summer job at a meat packing plant, one of the measures of our work among summer help was whether or not we’d eat what we made. That depends, I said. We made things like fertilizer, rendered lard, chitterlings, organ meat and other exotica which haven’t had a place on my plate ever. Back in the day, when I was single, I occasionally bought white bread, packaged bologna, and yellow mustard to make sandwiches, although those seem like ancient times. There were enough FDA inspectors around the plant to engender a feeling that the food products were safe to eat. I’m not sure that remains the case and my exposure to it is minimal.

It doesn’t seem human to be regimented or formulaic in the kitchen. If it were, why wouldn’t we have a home robot prepare all our meals? I’m no robot and flourish in an environment where each kitchen session is a blank slate. There are also times when a burger, fries and a dill pickle make me feel like home. That has little to do with nutrition.

Categories
Home Life Kitchen Garden

Tofu Mole – Not a Recipe

Mole and Adobo Paste

I found jars of mole and adobo paste in the pantry. They expired a long time ago but that didn’t stop me from re-hydrating a jar with home made vegetable broth and making a dish with tofu.

Using prepared mole paste makes the process easy. Layer drained and washed black beans, cut corn and cubes of firm tofu in a casserole. Next, pour mole sauce all over and bake in a 375º oven until thoroughly heated and bubbling, about 35 minutes. Top the casserole with sliced green onions and fresh cilantro if available. Spoon the mixture on brown rice to make a satisfying meal.

This is not a recipe as there is no intent for readers to prepare the dish. I’m capturing a moment in time. I’m not even sure I will make Tofu Mole again once the jars of paste are used up.

It’s another idea on the current excursion into Mexican flavors. It is all uncharted territory and that makes the journey engaging.

Categories
Home Life

Where Music Lived

Showing off calluses on my fingertips Photo Credit – Mike Carron

During the last couple of decades the role of music in my life diminished. There was no plan, it happened on its own, without a recognizable nudge.

My guitars and banjo are tucked in safe places around the house, protected from the elements, largely unused. I sold my Telecaster to long-time friend Dennis. It has been a long time since anyone used the piano in the living room. My shelves of vinyl, cassettes and compact disks gather dust. Since the budget cuts on public radio, I can’t find a station that plays music in a range of eras and styles. In the car, my presets are country and classic rock. For the 25-minute commute to the home, farm and auto supply store I can stand them, mostly. The last musical concert I attended was a Celtic guitarist at the local library. I follow him on YouTube and that’s where I do most of my home music listening today.

It wasn’t always so. In first grade I served as emcee for a variety show at Sacred Heart Catholic School. I wore a bow tie and rehearsed my lines carefully. There were words I never heard before in the script. I introduced performances by my classmates, then wanted to perform.

When we moved across town in 1959 I took piano lessons at the grade school. I practiced in the upstairs gymnasium which also served as an auditorium, my rendition of Brahms bounced off the walls of a large, empty room at the end of the school day. My neighbor, a couple grades ahead of me, was a guitarist and played a concert for us graders before he left for high school. I thought he was cool, and he’s now one of the few people I know who make a living as a singer songwriter.

By eighth grade I was playing guitar. On a snowy day the year the Beatles came to America Mother took me to the King Korn stamp store where she traded books of stamps for a Kay guitar. I played my first concert of folk songs in eighth grade along with some neighborhood friends.

In high school, I took guitar lessons from the late Joe Crossen who played in a rock and roll band. After that, I tried to learn classical guitar at university but my fingernails weren’t good enough to make it work. After leaving Davenport in 1970 I felt music would be part of me. For many years it was. I don’t know what happened. This is not a lament or dirge. I accept life as I find it while imagining the future as it should be.

The other day Jacque and I were listening to different versions of The Dutchman, a ballad by Michael Peter Smith. We listened to his, Steve Goodman’s and Liam Clancy’s versions and it became clear Smith’s phrasing and tempo made the better experience, evoking an emotional response. We talked about the song which has been a favorite since early in our relationship. It was surprising how good Smith’s version was, when we’d only paid attention to Goodman all these years.

I’m awake early this morning, tapping on the keyboard. My sister in law stayed over last night after a brunch with friends in the Quad Cities. I don’t want to wake the house and keep the music turned off. Neither do I use headphones because I live in the moment at my desk. If there are noises in the house — the water softener cycling, someone walking to the bathroom, the washing machine running — I want to hear it. No muffled reality for me.

I don’t know about music any more. Every so often I find a song I like and listen to it repeatedly for a while. Then I get over the infatuation. What I mostly want is a feeling I should play music again. It’s not there yet. It may never be. I have a hard time visualizing it.

I remember traveling the Mediterranean coast with a young student from Germany in the 1970s. We had Eurail passes and rode trains from Barcelona, Spain to Genoa, Italy, playing guitars in our youth hostels until the host reluctantly said it was getting part curfew. I played lead to his rhythm and vocals, it was life as good as it gets, fleeting, transitory, in the moment. That can’t be captured again in the same way. Despite years and neglect, music can live within us. At least that’s my hope in late autumn.