Pulling back

I had a full dance card but needed to step away from the floor

Check in

Movement

This photo captures some of the energy I’m feeling lately—scattered but ultimately nourishing.

When’s the last time you saw a tractor sprinkler, where the head chugs its way down a hose? I’m as scattered as those water droplets and as torn as the two-way arrow.

Western Seminary’s campus is at the eastern end of Hawthorne Boulevard. It was once Multnomah School of the Bible. Fran Gardner photo

A decision

Last week, I had such brave plans for the weekend. I had an overflowing list of events I wanted to attend: the Cathedral Park Jazz Festival, the Overlook Porchfest, the Gresham Arts Festival, various farmers markets. Not to mention the Portland Pride parade on Sunday.

I was looking forward to spending fun time on the bus going to Portland’s remote St. Johns neighborhood for the jazz festival, or to the North Portland Overlook neighborhood for Porchfest (musical performances and yard sales, what a combo!), or to downtown for the parade. I’d enjoy the crowds, the ambience. I’d have an opportunity to write poems for people, for free, something I haven’t done in recent weeks and that I miss.

So, what did I end up doing? None of it.

Instead I opted to stay home and let lovely, sunny, warm Portland days pass outside my windows while I sat at my desk, writing, or sat in my recliner, reading, or sat at my sewing machine, quilting.

Hibernating

I did not agonize over the decision to stay in. I just made it. I needed to slow down, to stop striving, to let experience slide in favor of reflection. I’ve been unusually tired, and because I am an introvert, crowds of people drain me of energy.

Dr. Me prescribed rest.

I did a few things that weekend. I spent an hour writing at a coffee shop close to my house. I went to church (also just a few blocks away) on Sunday morning and returned there at dusk for a meditative, relaxing, reviving Taizé service.

Plans and fruition

I had plans. Stay-at-home and get-things-done plans. Did I carry those through? Nope.

I didn’t read very much. I didn’t quilt very much. I did put in some good meditation time and took some naps. I watched some television and baseball, although I dozed off in front of the TV and lost track of the story line of the crime show I was watching.

I needed the time off.

Time expands

I thought I would do a lot of reading, but. I got no more done than the few dozen pages I usually shoehorn in before bedtime.

One of the books I am reading in tiny chunks is Oliver Burkeman’s 4,000 Weeks: Time Management for Mortals. This weekend, I read what he wrote about Hofstadter’s Law, which states that any task will always take longer than you expect. The law goes on in circular fashion to note a task will take longer even when you take into account Hofstadter’s Law.

I planned to steam ahead on a quilt top I’ve nearly finished. While the Padres played, with my tablet, set up near the sewing machine, I did some work sewing the blocks together with sashing and borders. But I got tired, and set the project aside unfinished.

I also planned to spend time making meals, but I didn’t cook much during the weekend. Robert and I “scrounged” for dinner, eating separately, leftovers or easily roasted vegetables.

The Dr. Me prescription

It’s done. I stayed home. I missed out on experiences I’ll never regain. I have some regret and lot of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). But it couldn’t be helped.

While I was at home, I still managed to waste time. Email held me in its usual stranglehold. Based on the recommendations of another Substack writer, I tried out a couple of dictation apps. I spent too much time trying to get them to work for me. Neither did.

I did engage in contemplation, meditating at home and at church, and meditatively rolling to church my wheelchair. These are the tailings of my weekend spent mostly inward and alone. I have FOMO. But I’ve regained my mojo.

Acanthus season

Acanthus are blooming. These are big plants. Common names include bear’s breeches (sometimes bear’s britches), oyster plant and sea dock.

Acanthus may be invasive, but I don’t see many plants in the neighborhood. It’s very hard to dig out once it’s established. Fran Gardner photo

Acanthus is rooted in history. A native of Africa, it grows around the Mediterranean, and its leaves are the motif that make Corinthian columns Corinthian.

You may remember from some school lesson the three orders of classical columns: Ionic, Doric and Corinthian.

• Doric columns are simple, just a round collar at the top. Many of Portland’s porches feature Doric columns.

  

• An Ionic column has a couple of scrolls as decoration. These columns grace the Multnomah County Courthouse in downtown Portland.

• The fanciest columns are Corinthian, featuring variations of acanthus. This column is part of the old Meier and Frank building downtown.

Finally, flamelike acanthus leaves top an urn outside the Royal Sonesta Hotel on Southwest Washington. The leaves emanating from the ram’s head are oak.

Fran Gardner photos

Poetry break

Pink and yellow sky

When the sky is pink
Birds carouse,
Tadpoles glisten,
Cattails flatten and burst. 
Seeds in the summer air— 
Cottonwood, dandelion, 
Milkweed and poppies. 
Fleas dance for joy. 

When the sky is yellow
Bruised clouds amass,
Hawks dip and wheel,
Rabbits seek shelter.
In groves the pecans crunch underfoot;
Rain holds its breath
Growing and regrowing
To come forth as hail.

I wander at dusk,
The sky rinsing before me,
Cleansing its palate
For the taste of the stars. 

Cooking

This item is about some cooking I did before the weekend when I decided to kick back, relax and do nothing.

Now that I am back home from four years in assisted living, I make meals. I put a lot of energy into dinner. I have a quiver of easy meals, but even those tend to get complex as I keep adding new ingredients and trying new flavors.

I make everything from scratch.

Chilies

One of the easier dishes that I prepare is a casserole based on the idea of chilies rellenos: roasted peppers stuffed with cheese and fried in an eggy batter. The casserole is less greasy and way easier than the “real thing.”

I couldn’t find the canned whole chilies I need for that recipe, so I bought some fresh Anaheims. I roasted them in the toaster oven till the skins were black, then put them in a paper bag to sweat. The skins slipped right off. It was easy! Maybe I’ll use poblanos next time.

The casserole

I found the recipe for “Rosemary’s Chilies Rellenos” in the October 1977 issue of Sunset magazine. It basically goes like this:

Layer the roasted chilies in a greased shallow 9x5 or 8x4 dish. Cover with sliced or grated mild cheese. Beat three or four egg whites till stiff, then fold in the egg yolks evenly. Pour the eggs over the cheese and chilies. Bake at 350 for about 20 minutes. (My pan fits nicely in the toaster oven.) The top will be nice and brown.

That’s all there is to it. Vegetarian, gluten free and keto friendly. Also tasty.

Cooking gets complex

My true penchant is for making complex dinners. A recent one featured seared ahi (yellowfin tuna), baby bok choy and miso soup.

This is how it got complex: I didn’t just fry the ahi, I marinated it beforehand with green onion, garlic, lime juice and tamari. I developed a sauce for the fish involving hoisin sauce, chili garlic paste and a few other things. Then I made a “simple” broth to braise the bok choy: bone broth I made from chicken backs I bought at H Mart, olive oil, toasted sesame oil, star anise, black peppercorns, a little Chinese cooking wine, tamari, garlic. (I forgot the fermented black beans again!). The miso soup featured fresh and dried mushrooms, ginger and green onions, more bone broth, red miso paste and soft (“silken”) tofu.

It was a good meal, and all the flavors meshed, but did I have to go to all that trouble?

Yes. Food is important to me. Fresh food and fresh flavors. And Robert appreciates all the effort I put in—and the results!

The dinner was keto, too, with negligible carbs except for the sugar in the hoisin sauce.

And in the end, I survived to cook another day.

Checkout

Over the years

I was looking for a quotation in the Jan. 10, 1938, edition of The New York Times when I came upon this obituary. The simplicity of the language moves me. Concrete words with few adjectives propel the story forward.

H. L. McLaughlin, 61, Active in College Point Politics

Henry L. McLaughlin, 61 years old, of 124-15 Fifth Avenue, College Point, Queens, died of a heart attack in St. Fidelis Roman Catholic Church, College Point, yesterday morning. He was stricken as he knelt at the 11:15 mass.

Ushers assisted him to the vestibule, and the Rev. Francis Bintner, curate, gave him the last rites. He was dead when an ambulance arrived.

The obituary notice also notes that McLaughlin was a foreman at the Lily Tulip Cup plant in College Point and that he left a widow (unnamed) and a stepson (named, Wilbur Brown).

Ghostly and far away

Trailings of melody follow my going
As I move down the pavement, open my ear.
Hearing the sighs of old conversations,
Harmonies spooling out, soft and yet clear.

Some call them ear worms, but they’re more evanescent.
Just out of reach, the chords unresolved.
Musical tension that tickles my senses,
Distant horns, sloughing notes, threads not evolved.

Sometimes I make music, sometimes I listen—
City sounds, nature sounds, bird calls, swishing tires.
It’s like an orchestra, our ears are vessels;
We hearken and dance as the rhythm requires.

Nonsense in rhythm

A reader of last week’s posting about nonsense children’s songs like “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt” reminded me about another song, sometimes called “The Spinning Song.” It starts “Saraspunda, saraspunda, saraspunda ret set set.” I immediately recalled the rest of it, though I haven’t heard it in more than 60 years.

Saraspunda, saraspunda, saraspunda ret set set
Saraspunda, saraspunda, saraspunda ret set set
Ah door ray oh, ah door ray boomday oh
Ah door ray boomday ret set set
Ah say pa say oh

I love the word “boomday.” It would be a good title for a Substack.

“Saraspunda, saraspunda” is one of the tracks on a recording called “Barney’s Favorites” from 1993. Barney, you may recall, is a purple dinosaur. I remember a nonsense song about Barney, to the tune of “This Old Man”:

I hate you
You hate me
Let’s go out and kill Barney.
A shot rang out and Barney hit the floor.
No more purple dinosaur!

“Barney’s Favorites” has loads of nonsense songs, too many to list the lyrics here. Recall the titles but don’t remember the words? You can look them up.

• Do Your Ears Hang Low?

• The Ants Go Marching

• Peanut Butter

• B-I-N-G-O

• Itsy Bitsy Spider

• Kookaburra

I wrote about another funny children’s song, “Little Bunny Foo Foo,” last August. The punchline, “hare today, goon tomorrow” is a real groaner.

Till next week

Thank you for subscribing! I love it when free subscribers decide to reward my efforts by upgrading to paid, but I value both free and paid readers. I just want to be read.

Till next week,

—Fran