Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Tuesday Garden Update: July 26

At the start of July, I vowed that I would make a picture each week to accompany a Tuesday blog post about my garden.  Last week’s pictures never made it into a post because I was distracted by the horror of the RNC spectacle.  But I was out in the garden every day and in last week’s photos I can see all the evidence of the harvest soon coming my way.



Over the weekend, two of the largest tomatoes came ripe.  And with them, we’ve officially entered the delicious tomato portion of our summer.  


This week, the garden is a reflection of the past week’s sunny heat.  More tomatoes are on their way to ripening.  My zinnias have buds that hint of flowers and bouquets in my future.




Gardens are lessons in patience and careful effort.  They are a reminder that Mother Nature will not be rushed and that good things come to those who wait.  


Monday, July 25, 2016

Charmed

I’m a perpetual re-reader of books, seizing up one of my favorites whenever the mood strikes me.  This month, I picked up Charms for the Easy Life by Kaye Gibbons.  The book was first published in 1993 and I read it for the first time in 1994. It’s the story of the Birch family and its three generations of determined Southern women.  On my first read, I most identified with the youngest member of the family, Margaret.  She’s the narrator and a smart young woman who is finding her way in the world of 1930s Raleigh, North Carolina.  In 1994, I was 25 years old and living in Nashville, Tennessee, sorting out my next move in life.  I felt like Margaret and I had a great deal in common.

The novel is sentimental but not cloying, thanks to the humor that runs throughout the story.  Re-reading the book this summer, at the age of 48, I found myself identifying less with Margaret and more with her mother and grandmother, two independent women in an age when independent women were something of a rarity.  Like Margaret’s mother, Sophia, I’m the mother of an indulged only child.  Like Sophia, my life is shifting as my child prepares to head out into the world on his own.  Reading the novel found me thinking about the changes I’ve experienced in the last twenty-plus years.  I’m as fiercely independent as Charlie Kate, Sophia, and Margaret.  In some respects, it’s easier for me to be that way.  But though we are more common in the 21st century than the 20th century, we independent women know that there are still plenty of unspoken rules about what we can say and what we can do.  There are expectations about how we are supposed to think about our place in society; our accomplishments can still be grudgingly honored or ignored all-together.  We're supposed to ignore that.  In this way, I expect that the Birch women would find themselves right at home in 2016.

The South is practically a fourth character in the novel.  When I first read it, I was living in the South myself and I very much desired to stay there.  A job would ultimately take me to the Midwest in 1994.  I’ve lived in the Northeast since 2002, but I’ve never lost my affection for the South.  The only time in my life I’ve ever been homesick was in 1997, when I spent my last summer in Nashville and reconciled myself to a life lived outside of Dixie, at least for a while.  I’ve not yet returned to the South but this reading of Charms for the Easy Life found me homesick for the South and all of its quirky charms.  

A familiar book is a companion throughout life, offering comfort and lessons in equal measure.  Fittingly, this Kaye Gibbons novel is a charm, if not for an easy life, then at least for a thoughtfully-considered one.  I’ll take it.




Sunday, July 24, 2016

Home Sweet Home

Later today, JT returns home.  He’s been gone two weeks and both Lucy the cat and I have missed him something fierce.  Only one of us has stood in his bedroom and cried in a forlorn fashion, perhaps because the other of us has to work and run the household even in the boy’s absence.  But man, have I felt Lucy’s angst.


Hurry home, sweet boy.  Your squad has missed you.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Grand Old Shouting Match

The first election to which I paid close attention was in 1984.  That year, I was 16 year old and excited at the prospect that the first woman might be elected Vice President.  I worked for the campaign that fall; I believed in the ideas of Walter Mondale as much as I was excited to have a woman on the ticket.  On election day, I was crushed when the returns poured in and Ronald Reagan won a landslide re-election.  My dad likes to joke that only I and Walter Mondale thought he would win that year and that even Mondale knew better in his heart of hearts.  That’s probably true.  But even though my candidate lost, I woke up the next morning still determined to believe in something greater than myself.

I was struck by this as I caught shards of the first day of the GOP convention on Monday night.  For the most part, it was a spectacle of disorder and attacks on Hillary Clinton, with nothing in the form of pro-active ideas or policies.  We know that the Republican party wants to win the election and control the Congress.  But we don’t know what they will do if they prevail.  They have a quasi-leader; but they lack leadership.  

I’ve cast many presidential election ballots since 1984.  I’ve always been blessed to truly believe in the candidate for whom I voted.  I’ve never cast a hold-your-nose or better-than-the-alternative presidential vote.  I’ll happily vote for Hillary Clinton this year.  She’s not perfect; no candidate meets that test.  She is experienced, smart, passionate about the needs of children, and level-headed.  As president, she will serve this nation well.  I know this because that’s what she has done for the last thirty years.  She wants to lead and she knows how and why she will do it.  I’ll take that over invective and accusations any day.

Monday, July 18, 2016

Still Living in Hope

This morning, I heard an NPR story about the Republican National Convention that opens today.  The interview featured Republicans in various stages of enthusiasm about their presidential candidate.  But most of them, like Paul Ryan, can’t seem to bring themselves to speak affirmatively of Donald Trump.  Instead, they say that they prefer him to Hillary Clinton.  Though I couldn’t disagree more, I feel sorry for these voters.  For all of my life, I’ve been blessed to cast presidential votes for candidates whom I actually believe in.  I’m not naive about politics or our American history, but I believe in the promise that lies at the heart of our Constitution.  That promise is more important than ever this summer, even as it it seems more elusive than I’d like. 

In a nation that feels fragile and tense as a result of gun violence at the hands of the state and our fellow citizens,  it seems especially risky to open a convention built around the idea that we should elect Donald Trump to become our next president.  The man is a thoughtless spectacle.  His rhetoric has never seemed unifying or inspiring, two things this nation badly needs right now.  He seems as self-absorbed as a middle schooler, a comparison that is gravely unfair to middle schoolers.  I won’t watch the nightly speeches at the convention, though I will read about it and listen to to much of the NPR coverage.   I’m hoping that I won’t recoil in horror as the speeches unfold, but that seems an over-optimistic stretch.

When it comes to most things in life, I live in hope.  Politics is no exception.  That attitude has nearly always worked out for me, though I suspect that the GOP convention is looking to test my patience on that front.

Saturday, July 16, 2016

Blueberries

It’s been my experience that once I make that first batch of summer jam, the impulse to can more things grows stronger.  It’s like my inner Laura Ingalls can’t be stopped.  JT’s favorite jam is blueberry and the stack of fresh New Jersey blueberries at my local market was more than I could resist.  Just like that, four cups of blueberries became five jars of jam.



There are charming labels to mark the completed project.  They come from an Etsy shop, of course.


The completed jars were lovely to behold.


One of the jars headed straight for the fridge for eating later this summer.  The rest will be stored in my cool basement.  Come cooler weather, JT will heap this jam on homemade biscuits.  For all of his life, blueberry jam will taste like home.  


That’s pretty sweet.

Thursday, July 14, 2016

On Two Weeks and Sixteen Years

Each year, JT spends two weeks of vacation time in the company of his other mother.  It’s a strange transition for me to go from 24-hour duty to no child responsibilities at all.  I usually enjoy the first 48 hours of my house staying clean.  As I adjust to the odd quiet in my home, I think about the future as well as the past.  

For a bit, I’m at sixes and sevens when the boy is absent.  The time feels different.  These days, I wonder if this is what it will be like when JT leaves for college.  When he was younger, college seemed so far away.  But this summer we’ve started to visit schools and talk about it in a way that is no longer unreal.  My nephew C is getting ready to move away from home and start college in the fall.  More than anything else, that process has set JT to thinking about his next steps.  Suddenly, life as a mama with an empty nest feels less like a distant prospect and more like a distinct possibility.

So two weeks are now less an apparition in our usual life but a preview of what will soon be the story of my days.  Weird.  Quiet.  It feels untethered to be without responsibilities.  Sure, the laundry is caught up and the food bill is dramatically reduced.  But the sound of a 16 year old moving up and down the stairs has faded and I find that I miss it.

The cats feel his absence as much as I do.  Lucy is troubled, standing in the doorway of JT’s bedroom and looking at me like I’ve really screwed something up.  Tiger, pretty needy in the first place, follows me around begging for extra time in a comfy lap.  It’s like the three of us still think that this little boy is the center of our universe.


Reality is that the boy at the center of our world is well on his way to adulthood, more a man than a boy.  


He makes the journey with our love overflowing from his pockets.  I won’t say that we don’t miss the little boy.  We do.  But we’re excited to see what he will do in the world.





Tuesday, July 12, 2016

Tuesday Garden Update: July 12

After a truckload of sunlight and heat last week, Mother Nature sent us bountiful rains to start the weekend.  The garden is loving it.


There are tomatoes growing like mad.


Zinnias are coming along nicely.


There are hot peppers about ready for picking.


Fertilizer has been added; next up is a little 3:1 water/nonfat milk treatment to treat blight.  I await a bountiful harvest of flowers, tomatoes, squash, peppers, and basil.


That’s happy!

Strawberry Jam

One of my local produce markets smells like ripe strawberries when you walk in the front door.  That’s the official cue: the jam season is upon us.


T and I piled our cart full of strawberries and lemon and set to work on Sunday and Monday  We make a lemon berry jam that is delicious.  Last year, we made more than a dozen jars and we ran out at Christmas.  This year, we plan to have even more jam at the ready for gifts.  


By the time we finished on Monday night, we had 23 jars of lemon berry jam just like these two jars.


Homemade jam is delicious.  Come a cold day in December,  this jam thick on a slice of bread brings back the delicious taste of summer.  That's happy!

Sunday, July 10, 2016

Requirements of July

In a regular event of the summer season,  rarely get past the 4th of July without making up a batch of homemade potato salad.  I use my grandmother’s recipe —— chilled potatoes and hard-boiled eggs, a small amount of diced Visalia onion, dollops of mayo and mustard, and salt and pepper.  I’ve never known the amounts, so I play that by ear.  It sounds simple but it is well beyond delicious; the only potato salad that I truly love.  This year, it was present for our 4th of July celebration.


That could only signal one thing: macaroni salad was next.


My version is a variation of this Pioneer Woman recipe.  Mine includes green onion, fresh red pepper, diced carrots, and black olives.  


I use the PW dressing, sans pickle juice and with a bit less sugar.


I let it set in the fridge for a few hours and then we gobble it up.


Summer tastes delicious!