Kitchen at Home

Mattbites had a link to Table Fuel, in which a post asked for kitchen tales, and then yesterday Tea asked where her readers get their love of food, sort of broadened to include when/why people learned to cook (or maybe that was just in the comments). For some reason I was thinking about these two things together and somehow they sounded like similar questions. I was going to post a comment to Tea's post, but the more I thought about it the more it seemed like I was going off on a tangent.


I didn't learn to cook until after college, and even then was much less than skilled. When we were growing up, No did the cooking that Mom didn't do (French toast, baked chicken, and pumpkin pie), and when I was in college the only dish I made was one we called "Cats and Dogs," which was rice combined with drained canned kidney beans and thawed mixed vegetables. Jujubi and Phil were excellent cooks (bean soup, moussaka, enchiladas) and there was always the dining hall. When I lived with Shobi-wan, she did the cooking, including a spinach mushroom crepe that I liked despite the fact that I didn't like spinach in those days.


When I worked as a residential counselor at Harry's Mother, meals were important. We would house up to ten angry, sad, confused, struggling, and/or relieved teenagers at a time in a beat-up but clean house with old couches and chairs in the parlors and four plastic-covered mattresses to a bedroom. These youth were in transition, some returning home and some going to family friends, other relatives, or the non-custodial parent by the end of the ten days. It was important to the agency and important to the house staff that the house seem as cozy as possible (which indeed it did, especially when it was full).


One way this was done was to serve a regular dinner every night, with all the youth and the two evening staff (and maybe the Crisis Intervention Specialist, if for some reason he or she was around at dinner time) at the table together. The youth selected chores and helped with either prep or clean-up (but weren't allowed anything more dangerous than a cheese grater). I don't remember most of the meals we served there, but a few in which I was involved stand out.


One was a meal that was a disaster during a really frustrating shift. I was working with another substitute residential counselor, and he was new to the agency and new to RC'ing. His intentions may have been good but he was a terrible RC that night. The house was full of energetic, pre-supper teens and my partner spent an hour reading "the log," which could be interesting but wasn't all that necessary. I was in the kitchen trying to think of something to make out of the rather depleted stores in the pantry and as this was before I really knew how to cook I couldn't invent something. I wound up serving corn dogs and boxed mac and cheese (what a yellow dinner that was!). That wouldn't have been so bad except that we had only six corn dogs, and the next day the youth, rightly so, complained to the House Manager. I explained to her that I didn't really know how to cook and because of my colleague's choice of priorities had had to supervise all the youth while I was trying to prepare dinner.


A successful meal happened during a break-up. I was pretty depressed and was barely eating when at home, and I had been elected to prepare a meal for eleven other people. I found a box of matzo meal in a cupboard (something that would never get used at the house) and decided I could make chicken matzo ball soup. I'm not sure what inspired me to do this; there must have been chicken broth in the pantry and leftover chicken in the fridge. I made a big pot of soup and made enough matzo balls for everyone to have three (I've always been a fan of crowded soups). I explained that they were eating chicken soup with dumplings and the youth - excuse the pun - ate it up.


One Saturday when I was working Crisis Intervention I knew that of the two staff members, one couldn't cook at all and the other was really sick (but since she couldn't find coverage had come to work anyway - that's a different story). I was thinking about what I could throw together quickly, since obviously dinner prep was going to fall to me and I had to be able to drop everything to intervene in a crisis if I got paged.


I received a call from a parent who had hosted a graduation party for her son. I think she knew about us because her son's friend had stayed with us once. I was really happy to meet her at the office and pick up the leftover food: A six-foot submarine sandwich and a four-pound tub of potato salad. I thanked the mom profusely, and everyone, not just the RCs, at the house was enthusiastic about this picnic meal on a hot June day.


I have always had a sense that food is home and the kitchen is the center of the home. I think this is because it's where the food and drinks are and where (for a lot of us) someone who loves us was while we were growing up. We made cakes with Nana there, we did our homework there, we painted or played with Play-Dough there, and in a lot of homes, kids usually enter through the back door, which always seems to lead to the kitchen. I think the entity that was Harry's Mother felt that it was important to provide as ordinary but tasty and filling meals as possible so that it wouldn't feel like an institution. With a regular meal time, served family-style, and (most of the time) decent food, we made Harry's Mother homey, even if it wasn't exactly home.

Four Years Ago Today

I still remember the sound of the first impact, though I have no memory of the second one.


The car wreck gave me a lot of opportunities to experience kindness at the hands of strangers, first and foremost the fellow who ran up to tell me that I would be all right and that emergency vehicles were on the way (it turned out that a CHP officer had witnessed the whole thing, and was on the radio immediately). He dug out my cell phone so I could call Zirpu and tell him I was okay but had just been in a serious accident. I figured that the part I would want to hear first was "I'm okay" so that's how I started out.


I'd been at a training at Fresno Pacific University and one of the ambulance drivers called the financial aid office to contact someone at the training. Someone I barely knew at the time came to the ER and stayed with me until Zirpu arrived three hours later. We just talked, but it was really comforting to have company in that crowded ER. I had no idea how badly injured I was; I expected I would be back at the office the following Monday, and instead I was out for six weeks.


Unfortunately I don't remember the kindnesses as much as I remember the unpleasantnesses. I won't even go into how difficult it was to get straight answers from the HR office and from anyone at two of the three insurance companies I had to deal with, and what an ass the orthopedist was.


Years after working in drug treatment I got really clear on why people would self-medicate. I was angry all the time, irritable even before I started withdrawing from Vicodin. The Vicodin made me feel better; the pain went away and everything else went with it, too. What a relief, to not feel angry.


I struggled a lot with feeling like I ought to feel grateful that I hadn't been injured worse when I was feeling really angry that I had been injured at all due to someone else's error. Fresno PD wrote on the report that an "unsafe left turn" was the cause of the accident (as if there is any other kind of left turn when rolling on the highway at 65 mph). The other driver reported that she lost control of the vehicle, but I know what happened was that she yanked the wheel to the left when someone took the spot she was planning to merge into, because that's happened to me.


Four years later I can tell when the weather is changing and I am really careful about my back. I'm stronger than I was before, because physical therapy led me into weight training. I'm a cautious driver (Zirpu would say too cautious), and I plan to never return to Fresno.


I also consider myself blessed.

Applesauce!

In April I posted some pictures of the apple blossoms on the tree in our side yard.


We have apples now! You can't really see them because the sun was on the west side, but they are there, all over the tree. I wonder what kind they are? They do turn red, eventually.





Zirpu climbed a ladder and picked the apples he could reach. The tree is unfortunately tall and he's talking about trimming it way down. You can imagine how I feel about that!

Later we made applesauce in the crock pot. He cut up the apples, and I added cinnamon, sugar, and some water. The house smells apple-y.

Quiet Day

Zirpu left for work before I was really awake this morning. He doesn't usually have to work on Saturdays, but they had a colo move scheduled this weekend so after a week away I still am not seeing him.


I woke up after thirteen hours of sleep and had bird-in-the-nest for breakfast, along with some bacon Zirpu purchased while I was gone (he also purchased a ten pound bag of beans for which I am still waiting a reasonable explanation). I did laundry, caught up on the episodes of As Time Goes By I missed, read my book, and set up the tents we took to Colorado so they could dry.



The last time I drove to Cabinstock with The Killer Lady we drank so much "coffee with" that when I got home I had to purchase some Irish cream-flavored creamer. We ran out of Bailey's early in the trip, and this time I'm waiting for the CD by Johnny Half-Song's band to arrive so I can listen to him anytime.


It seemed very very quiet. I realized that it seemed quiet because I've been surrounded by music and people since midday last Thursday, and even alone in my tent the river was plenty loud.

Hi Honey, I'm Home

When I was in Colorado and people were getting ready to leave the Cabin, I started handing out my cards. I ordered cards from VistaPrint a few months ago and have handed out a few, or written notes on them. I used to like having business cards but when I stopped having a business I stopped having cards, too. So I got free ones, with my favorite John Lennon quote on them as well as my phone number and email address. Zirpu encouraged me to include my blog address, so I did. By that time I'd been writing here for a few months and was feeling okay about sharing the blog.


So now a bunch of these guys (hi guys!) have this URL. I don't know if they will read this (hi guys!), though at least one of them said he would. I'm feeling a little exposed... I guess because there's a whole slew of things I think and write about that I've barely discussed with my Colorado crowd (hi guys!). Well, we are old friends anyway. It'll be good to know each other better.


Stupidly, I didn't collect as many email addresses as cards I gave out. That means that they will have to email me first (hi guys! Hear my request?). Then maybe we can have some between-Cabinstocks conversation.


I am having a very difficult time typing this. I think that I'm starting to have some motor skills difficulties since I've been up since yesterday morning. I slept in the car but it wasn't exactly "good sleep." When The Killer Lady and I arrived at the Cabin last week we were both awake for hours, even after sharing a bottle of wine. A couple showed up with some very energetic pugs, so I think maybe we soaked up some of the canine energy.


I'm going to take a nap. I haven't seen Zirpu yet - we got here at 830 this morning and he'd already left for work. He tells me he plans to be home around seven, but has to work tomorrow. I've noticed he left his wedding ring on the bathroom counter so maybe he's out visiting his other wife.

Almost Heaven

Friday, July 20

The Killer Lady and I drove straight through and arrived about 23 hours after we left - including stops for dinner in Placerville yesterday, breakfast this morning in Grand Junction, and driving around in circles in Aspen to get to the grocery store.


Being on a road trip reminds me so much of all the other road trips I've been on. I've never done this route before, through Nevada. The Killer Lady (who has incredible endurance and drove the entire way with only a 40-minute nap at a rest stop around 730 this morning) and I got a big kick out of the signs for Wendover, that told us how far away it was every seven to ten miles. Wendover straddles the NV/UT border, and boy was that obvious: We went through after midnight and half the town was bright with Las Vegas neon and the other half was black.


Our favorite sign was the one that warned us, "Stay Alert! Lane Shifts Ahead" - only because we'd been on the road for hours and were not being warned to stay alert because we were in a car. Heading out of Aspen and over Independence Pass the signs told us to "Avoid Broken Windshields. Obey Speed Speed Limits." I guess punishment is terrible and swift in the Rockies.



Saturday, July 21

I don't know if it is exhaustion or just "is" but it's been tough so far, being here, thinking about Phil. Both The Killer Lady and I pretty much arrived in tears with the pain of wishing Phil would just walk in the door and say, as he used to, "How's it hanging?" The fifteenth anniversary is bothering The KL as much as it is bothering me. We keep looking at each other and asking, "How is that possible?" In 1992 I knew that someday this day would come. I'm still so sad about his being gone, and I'm surprised in a way that I still miss him so much.

Here is a test to find whether your mission on earth is finished: If you're alive, it isn't.

~ Richard Bach, Illusions.

Mrs. P wrote in an email that Cabinstock is a great legacy Phil left us. It's started me thinking that maybe his mission on earth was to organize this annual event that has created sort of a community. We wouldn't have met each other any other way, let alone remained friends for so many years, without Cabinstock.


Sunday, July 22

I suggested that we rewrite "When I'm Sixty-Four" so it's about doing Cabinstock in the future (I'll be 64 in September of 2032!). The Killer Lady and I helped, but Spudwhip really ran with it. I have the chord notations but I'm not going to include them because I know they won't format correctly. Y'all know the tune, anyway.

Note: There are a few inside stories, but the only one I'm going to comment on is the dry compost toilet, which requires some good use of the Kegel and suchlike muscles.

"When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now

Will you still invite me to the Cabinstock?

Tunes and hooch still served on the rock?

If we play on till quarter of three, will you scream for more?

Will you play for free here, still be a tree here, when we're 64?


You'll be older too

And if you say the word, I could tent with you.


I could be handy, mending a tube

When your amp is gone

You could drink tequila by the fireside

Monday morning, whimper and hide.

Doing a keg lap, smoking some weed, who could ask for more?

Split pee and poop here, fall off the stoop here, when we're 64.

Every summer we will storm the Cabin by the river with a keg of beer

Three vacation days...

Guitar on your knee

Singin' through the haze

Send me a flyer, drop me a line, at least by May or June

Indicate precisely when the dates will be

Yours sincerely, Mister Bony.

Scrape up the money, scrape up the time, scrape me off the floor

Huevos and beans here, measure your penes here, when we're 64.

Drown in the creek here, still be a freak here, when we're 64.

Soak up the scene here, play key of Gene here, when we're 64!"

Monday, July 23

The music starts one piece at a time and adds up. We have lots of guitars this year, a washtub bass, an electric bass, harmonicas in the major keys, a fiddle, and a drum kit. Lots of voices, of course, including mine.
















The music is hella loud in the Cabin. We've been in and out because of rain. I asked SRV Rick if the music is louder than in years past, but he said no. Guess it's my old ears!

This photo is from the first night when most people - and the PA system - hadn't arrived yet. Kid Paully and SRV Rick are picking up where they left off last time.




Tuesday, July 24

I am really in touch with the fear-is-part-of-anger thing today. Spudwhip and The Killer Lady crossed the river and on the way back, The KL lost her nerve and was pulled downstream by the current. Spudwhip grabbed her, but then he started down the river too, and Shawnee, who'd gone with them into the water (but not across the stream), lost his balance when he grabbed Spudwhip and the three of them headed downstream.


The KL went down the river once before, in 1995, when she lost her balance, and I was just filled with dread about their crossing back. I have this sense of everyone else positioning themselves along the rocks in various places, as if we all expected someone to head downstream. It was like we were Team River and were taking our places. Johnny Half-Song and I stood near the confluence of the river and the creek, and when I saw them coming toward me reached out for the three of them. For less than a second all five of us thought they were going to make it, but they didn't. Johnny and I didn't want to pull too hard because we didn't want to go in the river also. Shawnee said he saw how quickly I was moving; I don't remember moving at all. I didn't realize I was wet up the chest until I dashed in the Cabin to get towels and heard my sandals squelching on the carpet.


Shawnee and The KL came up against the first big rock and were able to climb out; Spudwhip went around to the next one and was also safe. All's well that ends well but I was furious. I had to hide on the next-door property to sob for two minutes to get it out of my system. The KL was abashed, and quietly took the lecture the OG gave her. Shawnee was pretty calm, smoking a cigarette afterwards - he said he figured that they would get out. Spudwhip was jacked up on adrenaline and I just wanted to smack him. I felt like he didn't really understand that the OG and I were angry that he put himself and The KL in danger, even though he apologized for scaring me.


Spudwhip brings the mama out in me.


Wednesday, July 25

Yesterday was a long day. It felt like several days in one, in fact. The morning was full of people packing up their vehicles and leaving, and there was music. Johnny Half-Song, Marko, and Spudwhip played some of Johnny's original tunes until some kayakers appeared. All the times I've been to the Cabin, this is the first time I've seen kayakers. Marko says this stretch of the river is famous for kayaking and the Cabin is called "the crooked cabin" in kayaking guidebooks.


We had the swimming in the river incident, and more music. The OG and Shawnee played some CSN, and the OG taught me the secret parts of "Teach Your Children."
After dinner those of us who hadn't left had a long talk and Marko played his fiddle in accompaniment to the OG's guitar and voice. When I went back to my tent, I was exhausted.


Today has been very low key, as Marko, the OG, Shawnee, and BJ were gone by early afternoon. The KL and I took down our tents very quickly, thinking it was going to rain, but so far it hasn't. Looks grey and gloomy, but we're still at the Cabin and The KL has built a nice fire.


Thursday, July 26

I'm reading Three Cups of Tea. It's about a former ER nurse/mountain climber who builds schools all the non-controlled, high-altitude parts of Pakistan. Each chapter has an epigraph, and I adapted this one from "The Warrior Song of King Gesar":

This beautiful and splendid land
With snow-covered rock mountains, cold-crystal streams,
Deep forests of aspen, pine, and spruce,
Is as much my body as what you see before you here.
I cannot be separated from this or from you.
Our many hearts have only a single beat.

We're Off!

The Killer Lady and I are heading out today for The Cabin. We're taking the northern route through Reno and Winnemucca in Nevada, Salt Lake City in Utah, and Glenwood Springs and Aspen in Colorado. Google says it will take 18 hours and nine minutes. There's nothing like driving cross-country to make you realize how truly large the United States is. Growing up in San Francisco, the borders were always far away but almost always cultivated. There's a whole lot of nothing but plains and mountains in the distance out here.


I think I've been having trouble sleeping because I'm excited about the road trip and seeing old friends I haven't seen, for the most part, in five or more years. Work has been tiring but I've been having trouble settling down in the evening, and then I've been waking up early in the morning. This morning I dreamt that the Killer Lady and I were at The Cabin and I had slept through the whole trip!


The Cabin has no Internet access so I will be offline until after the 27th. I plan to write everyday, in longhand, in a notebook (how old-school is that?). In the meantime, have a lovely rest of your July.