Norman

It was with sadness that I read that Norman Borlaug has died. There appears to be no memorial or celebration of his having lived planned. There are more human beings alive today because of him than any other person that I know of. Lister, Salk, and Borlaug. It is a short list of individuals that humanity owes great debts to. We celebrate the lives of those that have brought us war, disease, and famine. Generals and leaders that plunged us into strife and turmoil. There should be a celebration of the lives of the righteous outside of Israel. If I just say Norman, who do you think of?

Meatballs

Yesterday I made Swedish Meatballs again. They came out even better than before. I think that the secret is making the meat mix really runny before cooking them and using beef stock and chicken stock in the sauce. I gave most of them to the man downstairs as I have seen him cook and almost all of what he makes is based on Hamburger Helper. I don't understand that as he is French. His heritage is French but he is as old Yankee as the Pepperidge Farm guy. The Indian is crying on all of his nickels. I will make the meatballs again soon as I have plenty of sauce left over and simply need to defrost the meat.
The weather is incredible here. It is a classic New England September. The Mother bumblebee is still visiting the nasturtiums each morning. The little ones have gone somewhere else but she will be around next Spring after her Winter sleep. The geese appear to have all passed by as I no longer hear their honking in the morning. The tomatoes have exhausted themselves and there are just a few small green ones on the vines. The herbs and chard and spinach and beets are loving this weather, as is the gardener. Ericka's cherry peppers are doing well and I have some mystery peppers that I don't remember planting. I think that they are Poblanos.
My old nemesis is back and it is time to let him know that he is no longer welcome. It is time to "Ease on down the road.",

Taking a Breather

This morning was a morning for taking a breather. I stood on the porch at seven o'clock and noticed that I could see my breath in the coolness. At first I thought that it was the coffee but then I noticed that a cool mist was condensing into cool droplets from the sky. Fall is here, in all of its many forms, and it has been long awaited.
I should have anticipated the breath as last night I got up and put a blanket on the bed about 3 A.M.. It was so nice to finally be sleeping under a blanket again, feeling the warmth and comfort it gives to bones that have traveled too many miles. Soon a blanket will be on the bed and one will be on top of that one. I will slide between the blankets, surrounded by their restoring warmth, and feel the coolness of the room on my face.
After putting the blanket on the bed, I lay awake for a while just enjoying the feeling. Thoughts started slowly ambling into my mind. This happens often, they are not really thoughts they are more like dreams that occur while I am awake. They all seemed centered around when I was nine years old. They are not really dreams but more like dusty rememberances. They are full of the same things that have occurred all through my life. There is a parade of triumphs and failures and things that might have been. The times of a boy, busting out with energy, looking for a peer to discuss them with and finding none. Busting out with the energy to begin life's journey but not knowing which way to go, not being capable of or wanting to set out as he knew his only peer was at home.
Home, there is a concept for this season of chilly days. Home, where you come in from the cold and there is a warm meal and a warm Mother who is cheered to see you, cheered to provide that warm meal, and loves you for what you are, not what you could be. Home is where you go where they have to take you in. They take you in because of the heartstrings that reach from them to you.
The blanket is a poor substitute for the warmth of a family but it will have to do. Flannel sheets are like the slice of warm apple pie, prepared by loving hands, that finished the meal. It has been a life lived not wisely but with great optimism and still is. I would give up a lot to have one more slice of that pie

Cool

It is cool this morning. I woke up at 4A.M. and noticed that the sky was clear and it was cool outside. Fall is coming and the days of hot spiced apple cider and cinnamon doughnuts will soon be here. Then will come Thanksgiving, the only stress free holiday. Stess free because the turkey is always the right size and the right color and you don't have to save the tags.There is no superstition involved, no remembrance of sad things, no begging and pleading. There is just being thankful. Thankful for peace and harmony and shelter and sustenance and stuffing and gravy. All of this because my grandparents left behind the deprivation and bleakness of Europe and came to America. Thank You.

The Roots of Sadness

Sadness is an old and unwelcome friend. I think that Scandinavians may be plagued by it more than other people. It flits in and out of our lives with no invitation.
This morning started out with no sadness but no elation either. I was sitting by the window watching the flights of geese pass low over the house, flapping their wings furiously and chatting to each other. Each morning there are more and more of them, sometimes several V's of them one after the other. I am in the front room rather than the porch because my friend the humming bird has evidently left on his annual vacation.
Then it hit. One lone goose passed overhead, honking mournfully, and headed south. I wondered why he was alone when so many of his fellows were around. I have read that when a Canadian Goose loses its mate, it will stay in the area and probably never mate again. The sadness of his situation slowly crept over me.
I wondered why I was so sad for the goose. Something else had prepared the way for the sadness. My youngest daughter celebrated her wedding day this past weekend. I was unable to attend due to financial and physical limitations on travel. I realized that this was what had prepared the way for the sadness. I miss seeing her, I miss seeing all of my cherished daughters.
Lately I have been reading Hesiod. I was supposed to read his work in High School but I didn't. I wish I had. If there was ever a formula for happiness, he gave it. It is simplicity and makes sense to me today. It probably wouldn't have when I was younger. Hesiod must have had an advance copy of Proverbs. I have done most of the things he recommends, especially the part about the cask and the lees. It would be hard to put aside enough food for a year but I have enough for at least two months. Hesiod's comments on government are especially relevant to America today.
Whenever you undertake a journey seeking an answer, you will meet a Greek who is coming back. The sadness has dissipated, books have always been my refuge. I will find something to do today. There is not much left to do as yesterday I made a spaghetti sauce with sausages, the day before I cleaned the kitchen floor, and the day before that I cleaned the oven. I had to clean the oven, there was only room to bake one cupcake in it and I want to bake bread. I need to find a crock to make sourdough starter.

Wants versus needs

As things stand today, I have everything that I need. I have freedom from pain, I have a full belly, and I have a warm place to sleep. What else can a human being need? There will always be wants but they are very few. Below wants are things that I would like to have. Yesterday I saw two things that I would like to have.
The first like to have is the stockpots in the little store down the street. The store used to be owned by two French ladies so those stockpots have seen a great deal of use. The store is now owned by a man from India. The stockpots have accumulated a layer of dust. I asked if they were still used and the answer was yes. Disappointed, I noticed that they are all aluminum so my disappointment went away. I choose to not use aluminum or non-stick cookware. I have cast iron and enameled cast iron and stainless steel. The cast iron only needs to be rinsed out, the enameled cast iron can be cleaned with baking soda and an empty onion bag, and the stainless steel can be cleaned with an SOS pad or some 0000 steel wool.
Walking back to where I live, I chose a different route from the way that I usually go. There it was, something old and something blue. The top of it has faded to grey, it is very close to old age, and its pants are riding high. This is a match made in heaven. I will not say what it is, as I learned as a boy to never let anyone know that I wanted something, so I can avoid disappointment. So it is not a need, will not be a want but it is firmly in the "I would like to Have" category.
I have all that I need, I have very few wants. the would like to haves float in and out of my life. Still? I am very fortunate. My needs are small, my wants will remain as wants, and the would like to haves change each day and are not necessary. I am very fortunate. Still?

V is for variety

The variation of seasons is one of New England's most endearing qualities. That variation is about to come awake again as the Vs of geese are passing overhead, honking out their harbinger of Fall. The mornings are cool and the days are full of warming sunlight and merry little breezes. I am looking forward to the cool and shorter days.
Summer is lingering, the humming bird still inspects all of the nasturtiums each morning, and the herbs have found new spurts of growth. The tomatoes are tired and are burying themselves in new foliage, much like an old man's nose and ears do. The peppers and sage and basil and tarragon are looking forward to coming inside for the Winter. The herbs will have a wonderful Winter on the windowsill that the airconditioner now dominates, once the machine is moved to the floor of the sunniest window and the only window that is wide enough to accomodate it. It will serve as a table for the seedling trays. The peppers will be hung upside down, pots and all, in the spare room that is the darkest and driest room. Next Spring they will be put outside to revive and produce even earlier.
A large flock of geese just dropped onto the soccer field across the street for breakfast. All of the honking stops once they have landed. They have a long journey ahead of them, all of the way to Chesapeake Bay, where they will be invited to dinner.
The cycle of the seasons turns again as the wheel of life turns in its endless procession of birth, youth, maturity, and age. The peppers are lucky. They will see a new season of growth and fruiting. Mankind is lucky, because they do not have to go through the uncertainty and insecurity of youth more than once. There is a word that describes this but I cannot remember it. Good, that means that it did not make much of an impression on me.
I have had my youth and fruiting and maturity and now I look forward to the end of the cycle, sitting by a sunny window and watching the chickadees and Juncos squabbling over the abundance of seed spread on the snow. Where the humming bird will go I don't know. How can such a tiny dynamo get too far? It will, even the Monarch butterflies are able to take on an overwhelming journey. Adios butterflies!
I just remembered the word, inferiority complex. Those little grey cells are not dead, they are just a little slower than they used to be. So am I.