Longevity and Baked Salmon

Now is the time the various working parts of the body are starting to signal quitting time.  Bodies were simply not designed to last as long as we want them to last.  How long would be long enough?  My mother says seeing great-grandchildren is long enough for her; I always said to live to see grandchildren would be enough for me.  A neighbour living with cancer wanted to live till Christmas but sadly, did not make it.
I understand there are two things consistently found in people who live long lives....eating breakfast every day and taking naps.  I pick at this a little; what  exactly constitutes a breakfast?  Did they mean oatmeal or eggs or would just a slice of toast do?  I'm interested in this because I've never been able to eat soon after waking.  I can manage a small glass of juice and water or half an orange at most, then a cup of coffee.  I can't handle real food until about 10 am which coincidentally was recess in my work world. For most of my working life I would eat a Golden Delicious apple; in later years and up to now it is a Royal Gala apple. I still love my apple a day.
As for naps, sleeping in the daytime completely eludes me.  I will want to at times, even need to, but I can't.  I think I'm like a baby; I would have to be strapped into a car seat and driven around, then maybe I would nod off.
 I  seem to be out of luck with this, but then, I have lived to see my grandchildren  so....

Supper last night...This is salmon cooked my favourite way; baked in a 350 degree oven for about 15 to 18 minutes, depending on the thickness of the filet.  I used olive oil, lemon and onions and a bit of salt and pepper.  I made what I call a crunchy salad to go with it, one containing cut up broccoli and cauliflower.  I really like how easy a meal like this is to make. 

Ruffed Grouse and Making Left Turns

                                          Ruffed grouse in a backyard tree

They arrive every day and seem to be picking and tearing at the bark on this one very old tree; what they are finding I haven't a clue.

 

Years ago I read a  novel about a woman who did not want to make left turns when driving.  She would circle around, up one street, down another to enable this practice.  This involved elaborate advance planning and much examination of road maps especially when she had to go somewhere new to her.  I identify with her in that I don't like left turns either and I can add another thing I don't like...changing lanes mid-traffic.  I like knowing in advance which lane to take and then sticking to it.
I read somewhere I am being true to my gender in this preference; women are much less likely to change lanes as much as men.  I've also read that this lane-changing behaviour accounts for a significant number of accidents so women are being naturally and I think wisely, more cautious.  Caution on the highways is certainly a good thing.
If I had the money or inclination, an indulgence would be to have a driver.  I much prefer being driven than having to do the driving.  I was late in life getting my license, just over 30, and have never loved it, though I do like cars.     

Knowledge is Power or Not

Information is not knowledge..... Einstein

                                                                                                                                                                  I carry in my brain a ridiculous amount of useless information.  Odd bits and items that I read tend to stick; I couldn't tell you what I did last Thursday, but I can name the four Monkees and that one of their mothers invented White-Out, that sort of thing...yes, as I said, useless. 
Being a teacher, I felt it my role to pass along as much of this knowledge as I could.  I love the idea that someone could benefit from what I have learned or know.  It has been a learning process for me to understand not everyone wants to hear my tidbits of trivia.  In this way, I identify with the Dr. Spencer Reid character on Criminal Minds (not that I have an eidetic memory like he has); I mean  the way he gets cut off or the others say ' not now, Spence' when he is fervently wanting to share some facts or figures.  That has happened to me and I have learned to keep quiet often in social situations as a result.  I have especially had to practice staying quiet when I know someone is saying something incorrect.
 I think, like Spence, my intentions are good; I am trying to be helpful.  It is not about being boastful and there is a reason I know this.  I grew up with a younger sister who is Mensa smart and a younger brother who is multi-talented with academically gifted being just one of his talents.  I always knew what being really smart meant and I wasn't it.  As Confucius said real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance, and I have always been overwhelmingly aware of all there is yet to learn.  Sometimes when I was older, I would joke about being 'the oldest and slowest academically of three children'.  For the record, I am very proud of my sister and brother and love being in their company which is always stimulating and interesting.  Just cannot play Trivial Pursuit with them; when it's their turn, the game is over. 

Carrying Wood and Cranberry Jello

A famous Zen saying states "Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.  After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water."
I thought of this as the temperatures dropped again overnight and this morning the outside feels like stepping into your freezer.  While I am not chopping wood or carrying water, I am carrying wood and lots of it from the pile in the garage to the kitchen wood stove.   As for the enlightenment part, that has given me pause.  I wonder what exactly consists of enlightenment in this world.  If it can mean awareness and open-mindedness, I think I'm somewhat enlightened.  However, genuine epiphanies for me have been few and far between; and if it means sophistication or refinement, then I think I am smack out of luck.  How sophisticated or refined can you look holding an armload of wood chunks?

I've been meaning to share with you this recipe that did not quite work out for me and I share it because I really like the ingredients and it did taste good.  But I used substitutes which may have affected the outcome.
 The recipe was in O Magazine, November 2013 issue and it is Gayle King's Mother's recipe for Cranberry Jello.
You need 1 box strawberry jello, 1 can jellied cranberry sauce, 1 container frozen strawberries in sugar, defrosted, 1 or 2 apples cut into small cubes.  In a large bowl, add 2 cups boiling water to the jello, stir.  Fold in defrosted strawberries, including the syrup, and lastly, the apples.  Pour into a bowl large enough to hold it all or a Bundt pan.  Refrigerate until use. 
I substituted a number of things in this recipe.  I used the light version of the jello, the one with no calories; I also used non-sweetened strawberries and sweetened them myself.  Whatever the cause, my mixture did not set; it remained a floppy mixture that while it tasted good, it did not look that great.  I was not able to upturn it on a plate for a nice presentation.  However, maybe you could try it and stick to the original directions and hopefully, have success.

Praising Potatoes and Warm Potato Salad

With a birth name that should read "Murphy" and ancestors that hail from Ireland's County Kilkenny, I come by my love of potatoes honestly.  Spuds, taters, pradies- in all their forms taste wonderful to me.  I have had to train myself to not think they should be a part of every supper meal.

My grandparents always grew their winter supply of potatoes and housed them in a special cellar made just for wintering over their fresh vegetables.  When I visited them in the summer, they would have kept the smallest potatoes just for me.  I remember how enthralled I was by these potatoes, the size of large marbles, and would eat them up.  I also learned that the longer the potatoes were in the cellar, the sweeter they became.  Today, I like them cooked in many ways, but my favourite is baked and enjoyed with a little olive oil.

In his heartbreaking book Angela's Ashes, Frank McCourt tells about the little boys' hungry yearning for potatoes.  His description of potatoes, among other passages in the book, has stayed with me.  My ancestors left Ireland during the famous potato famines so I'm thinking they had similar feelings about potatoes when they became scarce.  I was particularly struck by the fact that oldtimers could smell the air above a potato field and tell if the potatoes were going to be alright.

Health experts seem to either love potatoes or hate them. Some are more concerned with what is done to the potato...deep frying, for example, or what we put on them...namely salt and butter, that changes their view. However, I just read of research that shows eating a potato is the best thing to ward of later hunger pangs so great for diets.

Last year I planted one box of Yukon Gold seed potatoes.  It was fun to watch them grow and we enjoyed them for many meals into the fall.  And yes, I loved all the little ones like marbles that seem to trail along the end of the roots.

Last night I made a warm potato salad to go with our meat pie.

I used red fingerling potatoes and added spinach, red peppers, a carrot, an onion and some fresh cilantro. Sometimes I add bacon pieces or prosciutto.   I used a mixture of apple cider vinegar, olive oil, a little sugar, and a little Dijon mustard as a dressing.   I always find I have to do a lot of tasting to get a mixture like this right. So good though especially on a cold winter night.

The Hill

Seeing grandson off to school this morning; backpack heavy but not with books.  It holds his lunch bag that contains food for two nutrition breaks (lunch and recess in the old days), bottled water and several juice boxes.  He also gets two servings of milk each day that his mother ordered and paid for.  Also in the backpack is a toy and a book for quiet time.  It all adds up.
I watch as he crosses the playground and throws the backpack onto a pile of others; a couple of boys and one girl run up to him and then they all head for the small hill the snow plow has deliberately built up for them in the middle of the playground.  Grandson loves this hill.  He has extra snow pants at school just for playing on this hill.  His mother also loves this hill because any morning he is slow to get ready she just has to remind him that he likes a few minutes to play on the hill before school starts, and this usually speeds him up.  Both of them severely lament the hill's melting every spring. 
I like the mixture of children attending this public school.  It's a small village, just over three thousand people but lately it has acquired a couple of swanky subdivisions.  However, a certain percentage of students are still bussed in from surrounding farms and smaller hamlets. So not all the kids have fancy backpacks or sport LLBean jackets or have Bogs on their feet. 
From this distance in the parking lot, I can still make out grandson, or at least I think it is him. There's a bunch of kids on the hill top, all of them mouths wide in glee as they leap and jump and roll down the sides. 
I won't let my mind think of how they could so easily get hurt.  No, I won't, not today.  I will choose to carry home with me today the looks of joy instead. 

Children and The Guilty One

I believe that children are the true miracles on this earth (and by extension I include all living creatures).  The idea of conception and birth, the whole concept of bringing forth a living being is monumental in scope and wondrous in its magic.  Children represent what is vital in the world, if gone cannot, like youth itself, be gotten back.
The whole idea of childhood, children, and other helpless creatures is an area I have to let my mind tread carefully in.  My experiences in the work world and what I read in newspapers and books have shown me the suffering and misery that some children endure.  Simply said, it is a realism that is hard for caring folks to bear.

This brings me to a book I read  prior to Christmas.  I've been meaning to tell you about it for awhile.

I enjoyed this book, The Guilty One by Lisa Ballantyne, very much.  In the beginning we are introduced to Daniel, a solicitor who specializes in family matters, and his latest case...an eleven year old boy is charged with the murder of an eight year old boy.  This story is one thread throughout the novel; Daniel's life as the son of a drug user and eventual experiences in the foster care system make up the other thread.  Daniel, as a young teen, winds up with a woman named Minnie, who literally saves his life.  Their story is beautifully told, heartbreaking and made me cry. 
You can check out more about Lisa on her website, www.lisaballantyne.com.

 Ahh, children, how they deserve and, sadly so many, still need our protection.