That Kind of Witch, Too

"I am not THAT kind of witch," was to be today's proclamation, after I declared yesterday that I am a witch.  And certainly there are lots of kinds of witches I am not.  I am not a magical being (at least, not beyond being a living loving human, which is, in itself, pretty spectacular magic).  I do not cast spells.  I do not wish ill on others.  I'm not a midwife.  I'm not Wiccan.  I'm not an herbalist.  Much as I'd like to, I can't fly, and I have no particular affinity for broomsticks.

But beyond a lifetime of interest in celebrating the seasons and the moon (and Glow Year and Star Year), often right on the pagan holidays, I'm now 33 years into the same Halloween costume, "a witch with a day job". I've always taken photos of fungus, I take great pride in the cakes I bake and I love serving glowing kitchen magic.  I'm those kinds of witches, too, and I haven't even mentioned the herbs, or the roots, or the flowers.

Unbothered by Witch of a Mother

Ohio in July

Kangaroo Jedi

Pomegranate Almond Cake-- Symbolic and Tasty

Nine Layers for 9th Birthday
"Just bake 5 and cut them in half before stacking" said his uncle

7 in July

Almost a Hummingbird

Apparently my Mother-in-Law Knows
(she made this for my birthday)

Some lists after a month and 5,200+ miles (plus a quick plane trip to Florida)

My thoughts on real issues related to our recent travels (i.e. witches, immigration, and travel itself) are still fermenting, just like the kimchi I intended to make with the daikon and Napa cabbage I bought Saturday.  So, here are a few easy to assemble lists.

Providence

States visited: 19.  Two to four new ones for me (Rhode Island and Connecticut were entirely new, but I had previously turned around after accidentally crossing a bridge into Maine previously, and had spend many hours at the Miami airport, but not outside it).  The Mister and I are both officially at 49 (with Hawaii left for him and Alabama for me), although I don't think either his Anchorage airport adventures nor my Hawaii and Alaska travels at under a year count.

Capitols observed from the interstate: Oklahoma City, Topeka, Des Moines, Lansing, Boston.  Capitols observed more closely (from the outside): Madison, Providence.

Hartford, evidence with the legs of Nathan Hale

Capitol entered: Hartford.  I think my mother is still winning this competition. I lost an advantage I had with Richmond, Dover, and Annapolis two years ago and this trip she and Dad added Albany, Hartford, Providence and Harrisburg.  They are planning a trip to Bismark and Pierre in September, so until I go to Juneau, my only remaining edge will be Raleigh.

Boats ridden: a bunch.  I think that's a separate post.

Good friends and good relatives seen:  Also a bunch.

Fingerprints to show I was inside in Hartford

Pies eaten: Only 4 (?).  Grape from Naples, NY in Rockport, MA.  Rhubarb (good flavor but lacking crust) and Oh No! (chocolate pecan) in Fremont, Indiana.  Strawberry Rhubarb in Princeton, IL and Triple Berry in Pella, Iowa.

Gelato eaten:  Lots, in Newport, RI, Portland, ME, Rockport, MA, and twice in NYC.  Pistachio plus another flavor every place.  Plus frozen custard (Wisconsin and Illinois), and local ice cream (MA, NJ, PA and a soda fountain in Moline, Illinois).

Baseball games attended: 2.  Newport Gulls taking on the Plymouth Pilgrims and the Cleveland Indians beating the Detroit Tigers 10-0 after a rain delay.

Gully, the Newport Gulls Mascot

Musicals seen: 2.  Spongebob Squarepants, the musical, on Broadway.  A Year with Frog and Toad in Princeton, Illinois (I know the host family of the music director for the latter, and they got us great seats).

Interesting Food Eaten: Sri Lankan on Staten Island, Eritrean in Portland, Banh Mi in Syracuse . . . and so much more, which I suppose, is tied up with my thoughts on immigration, travel and "Americans" watch this space as fermentation happens.

Waiting out a rain delay

Indians won. Dianthus and I waited for the 11:30 fireworks.

All Sorts of Foolishness

So it wasn't snowing, but it was very cold hunting eggs

Should you have been directed here by my annual letter of the first of April, of course you know that most of it is true (insects, broken wrist, grandparent visit, KU lost, teacher strike, summer travels, study about white privilege at church, witch ancestors) but the amusing details are not (today's snow, asparagus pee genetics, new dessert investigation) and of course there does not exist a June 31, but the Lek Off (a real word for prairie chicken mating dances) and the leeks in the plumbing are now classic and need to be re-used.  At least I'm amused as I repeat myself.

Energy so great it can't be captured in focus
(or something like that)

If you are here for a witch year update: here's a quick one.  I didn't do anything special for the second blue moon of the year, except for re-reading on the setting of dates of Easter and Passover.
I find myself considering many of my necklaces and scarves to be witchy and feel special when I am wearing them, although none of them is new or newly symbolic to me.
I've spent a great deal of time with my familiar, a white cat.
The Mister and I saw magical plants in California over spring break, including coastal redwoods, horsetails, and manroot (Marah, which interested me because it appeared to be closely related to the the squirting cucumber, Cyclanthera, that I study, and which must be useful to witches, because how could "man root" not be).

At magical Muir Woods

I've contemplated more of what it means to be a witch in other cultures as I read the excellent Dovekeepers by Alice Hoffman and A Star Touched Queen by Roshani Chokshi.  More on those someday (and let me know if you've read either so we can talk

Aster's Pinewood Derby Car
Altogether a different kind of foolishness

Manroot

Manroot Flowers

Golden Gate Bridge in Background

).

Obligatory Autumn Catch-Up

Or maybe I'll just post a photo of a leaf with galls, Aster and Dianthus with one of their cousins, the tarts I made for a Fall Festival and a ninja and a pumpkin with a moldy carved spaghetti squash.

Somehow, there are no pictures of soccer season, a very long rag-weed allergy season, bed bugs, clogged dryer vents, the 1,000 plants where I expected 300, or even the third grade choir concert.

Yes, one costume is the same as last year, and yes, they have grown (compare here).

(Just a Little Bit on the) Passing of Time

Ten years ago (10!) I wrote (on this very blog) about my elder niece starting kindergarten.  It stunned me then, that she could be that old (or rather, that I could be that old), just as it stuns me now that she is starting sophomore year as a student at my high school.  Ten years ago I wrote that the kid born the day Dirtdog walked into Physical Science S and sat next to me, despite all of the pleading in my head for him to choose any other seat, could legally drink.  Now that kid would be 31.  Had the Dirtdog-Sparkling Squirrel mating happened, and the Dirtdog-Sparkling Squirrel progeny mated at that same young age-- Dirtdog and I would be grandparents now-- OF ONE OF MY NIECE'S CLASSMATES. (Needless to say, Dirtdog, our parents, our fictional progeny, and I are all much happier that did not happen-- but wow-- grandparents of a high school sophomore [which of course, my parents are, but they seem to be better equipped to take their granddaughter to field hockey practice than I would be]).

Sophomore in high school and 50-year-weds (and the rest of us)

Kids are growing up.  Parents are growing up. People married 50 years ago have been married for a very long time.  Time is passing.  Nothing insightful here; every once in a while I just need to step back and wonder how it keeps going by.

First day 1st and 3rd grade

A representative sample of candles

Waiting for the sky to go dark.

1:06 in the afternoon.  About 20 minutes after above photo.

Apropos of not much:  the eclipse was crazy.  We had missed meetings with friends, we had debates about exactly which small country road we should park on, we had cloud cover, we had rain and grumbles about how we could have watched it rain without driving a long way.  And then evening birds emerged in the "twilight" to eat the evening insects.  And it got dark.  Crickets started chirping.  And it got darker. And it was an amazing event to witness with friends on a muddy minimal maintenance road in rural Kansas, even with the clouds.  I'm making my way to totality in 2024 and hope you join us.

Why I Don't Teach Summer School and Why I Am Going To Kansas

Every summer I get asked some version of, "Why don't you teach summer school?" especially if it is known that summer school pays well relative to college teaching overall.

There's a practical work-related reason: As a field biologist I need to do research in the summer should I want to publish original science and have a chance of advancement in my field.  But anybody paying attention knows that I have not been spending most of the summer analyzing data, and in fact have steered clear or my office even when I have been in town.

Sometimes I'll mention needing a break, and anyone who has taught will relate to this, and more so if I mention the other kinds of activities (like re-painting my cabinets or going to the dentist) that I can only do in the summer.

If I mention my kids, most people will gently nod, "Oh, of course, your kids won't be little forever." That's completely true and I love traveling and baking and experiencing day-to-day life with Aster and Dianthus, but honestly I took off on an 8 week road trip (after a two week trip to Ecuador) in the summer of 2007, long before I had kids (and yes, you can read about those trips on this blog), so it is not just my kids.

Part of the reason I don't work in the

summer is my parents and my in-laws.  All four of them are healthy people around whom it is fun to be (that awkward sentence brought to you by my parents' voices in my head who still believe in not ending sentences with prepositions) and that won't always be the case (the healthy part).  As I was weeping about aging the other day, The Mister pointed out, "That's why we aggressively spend time with our parents and make sure that the boys really know their grandparents."  The ability to meet family in Yellowstone or Vancouver or Hilton Head or Tuscon (not to mention at their houses in Kansas and Colorado)  is a great reason not to teach summer school.

But kids and parents are not my main reason not to teach in the summer.  My main reason is because, much as I love my job (and most of the time I do), it is not all I want to do with my life.

I'm still surprised by the surprised reactions I get when I go out of my way to have fun rather than to work more.

My friend J, undergoing chemo to keep ovarian cancer at bay, and her new husband JR, undergoing radiation for cancer all over, get similar reactions when because they have a costume box and dress-up at the drop of a hat.  Some of their relatives act confused by how willing they are to have fun.  Based on conversations with them, they dress up, try new artistic endeavors, re-paint furniture with bright colors and explore herbal cocktails because it is fun.

I'm confused as to why this surprises people.  It's not a secret that our time here is limited and that possessions do not lead to happiness.  That seems to be repeated in most every thoughtful self-help book I've ever seen, not to mention religious practices and, well, common experiences. I am very fortunate to be in a position where I do not need to spend every moment working for survival.  I've been given an opportunity.  I'm not going to squander it.  

My family is driving 389 miles tomorrow in order to see a full solar eclipse on Monday and drive 389 miles back on Monday evening.  I'm really really hopeful that it will be an amazing experience to watch the stars come out at one in the afternoon.  But even if clouds obscure the dark side of the moon as it passes between us and the sun, and there will be another total solar eclipse closer in 2024, it will be worth the craziness of making alternative assignments for the first day of class, because it will be an adventure with friends, and if we are all here in April 2024, then I'll be up for a second once-in-a-lifetime eclipse adventure.

Just today I asked someone to cover my classes then.

[Waterfall images are completely gratuitous, by the way, and since I am up late writing disconnected thoughts, I should mention that they Mississippi kites were lining up and acting very unsettled this morning  (and very loud this evening) perhaps they are leaving early this year.]

Birthday Pie's da Bombe*

"A" Pie

Aster is now 6 and Dianthus is now 8 (and this blog is 10 and a half!).  Aster requested a lemon meringue pie for his birthday and Dianthus wanted a version of a charlotte royale after we told him that it was sometimes called "brain cake".

New 6 year old expression?

Rolling his own cake

Extra whipped cream and chocolate served sauce on the side

Baking notes:  The lemon meringue was from Kate McDermott's The Art of Pie using the Magpie pie crust.  I've settled on both as excellent.
The charlotte royale was inspired by the Great British Baking Show (here's Mary Berry's recipe and lots of images).  I had a recipe for "Scarlet Empress" in the charlotte section of the showcase cakes of Rose Levy Beranbaum's The Cake Bible, which Aster and I started to follow.  However, we did substitute cherry preserves for the raspberry in the exterior jelly roll.  Then we filled it with cherry ice cream instead of making a Bavarian cream.  The chocolate cake (from The Cake Book, my go-to cocoa and hot-water based chocolate cake) was an addition after we realized that there was no way that one recipe of biscuit roulade would be enough for both the side rolls and the base.  This was my first rolled cake, and the very light dry cake (eggs beaten separately, no butter) made for easy rolling (it is included in the cookbook just for that reason) but was not the tastiest cake (unlike the chocolate base, which is).

*This clever title is probably not funny unless you know that 1) a bombe is a term for a molded layered ice cream or cake and ice cream dessert (see Brownie Bombe  and Ina Garten's Ice Cream Bombe) and 2) in the mid 1990s, "da bomb" was used to indicate something great.

None of it Hubig's

The Mister and I prepared for our recent excursion to New Orleans by watching Anthony Bourdain talk about food in New Orleans which led to watching the HBO series Treme*.  From Treme I learned about Hubig's Pies, little fried hand pies available at convenience stores, which helped everyone feel back at home after Katrina, and immediately added them to my list.  Alas, the Hubig bakery burned down in 2012 and is not being rebuilt, so I did not have a Hubig pie.  But I did have some great ones.

Our first night we ate the best piece of pecan pie I have had (and I don't say that lightly) at Brigtsen's  (actual pecan pie recipe here).  Somehow placing the slice of pie in a pool of caramel sauce enhanced it and didn't make it too sweet.  It was the perfect conclusion to a near perfect meal including sweet breads, soft shell crab, rabbit, and oysters.

Our third night we had a disappointing chocolate pudding pie after an otherwise phenomenal meal that included head cheese, crawfish pie, boudin balls, and oysters at Cochon.

Somehow the day in between included neither oysters nor pie, although it did include two variations on sno-balls (not the same as a snow cone), one after kayaking on Cane Bayou and one as a bonus course in the homage-to-foods-New Orleans tasting menu at Coquette.

I did not see them until the airport (and after I had bought the boys over-priced pralines), but once I identified them, I knew I had to carry home the Haydel's New Orleans Hand Pie Hubig replacement (although Haydel's are baked and not fried).  We split the cherry and the coconut cream six ways when we returned, and they were tasty enough, although nothing for which I will return to New Orleans.

7, 45, 5  May 20, 2017

Also, upon our return, Aster and Dianthus presented me with a birthday chocolate tart with a pistachio crust baked by my mother and then my mother and I celebrated Mother's Day together a week late by baking a rhubarb pie (following the Magpie crust and the Art of Pie filling thickened with a little tapioca).

So I'm another year and seven pies wiser (and experienced in all kinds of things, from packing by candlelight under a tornado watch to kayaking to changing transportation plans because of the Lee statue coming down in Lee Circle) than I was last week, and my small basement tornado shelter has now been used (by my parents and my sons).

It's a good adventure.

Rhubarb from Colorado May 2017

I plan to use this photo of my lovely mother
for the People of Pie series, but just in case I never
post that series, you can see how great my mother is.

*I am aware of the irony/condescending privilege/silliness of learning about tragedy, resilience and  and soul from watching an HBO series before a three day trip with every meal planned out. None the less, I appreciated the town a great deal more from having watched and learned.

Altogether lacking replication

Much of the discussion on the CHASA Facebook group (Children's Hemiplegia and Stroke Association; chasa.org) centers around expectations and behavior.  All of the parents want to know what will happen with their children-- will they walk?  pee in the toilet? pass third grade?  fall in love? play an instrument? keep a job?

Hunkering down with grandparents and stuffed animals
as tornado sirens roared

Every time their child does something unusual, they want to know if it is, in fact, unusual, and if it is a result of the brain damage.  And every time someone asks, "Does your hemikid* do X?" a bunch of parents respond, "Hey, wait, my kid also does that.  I thought he was the only one," and after a bunch of similar responses, someone will invariably add, "but my neurotypical child also does X.  I don't think it has anything to do with hemiplegia."  And the thing is, we don't know.

Aster has some unusual behaviors.  Sometimes I look at him and think, "your are one weird little dude" and when a CHASA parent posts a link to a British list of frustrating behaviors of kids with hemiplegia (found through HemiHemp here) I can read through the whole list and nod because my kid is exactly like that.  I can point out that the adult I know with mild cerebral palsy has always had unusual behaviors.  But then she is a PhD biologist and the child of academics-- there was no way she was growing up normal.  And there are my "neurotypical" son, husband, brother, and brother-in-law: "Whoah, there are some weird dudes**"  "Insult to brain" in infancy-- genetics -- environment-- we are never going to tease those potential causal factors apart.

So I guess I have two points.  One is that unusual behaviors, especially regarding impulsivity, moodiness, and challenges with social cues are common in children who have survived strokes.  These behaviors may be caused by, or in addition to, issues they have from physical problems (more pronounced fatigue, spams, pain and lack of sensation, constipation, poor balance, early arthritis and joint issues).  You might not think that a long ago brain injury that only seems to affect movement in one limb would have anything to do with outbursts after dinner-- but if somebody has been working harder just to walk, struggling mightily to keep up because they can't write quickly; holding pee all day because they are embarrassed to ask for help with the snap on their pants; and have an itchy foot from sand that got stuck in the brace; it's not terribly surprising whether or not the brain damage affected executive function.

The second is that we don't need to know causes of behaviors in order to treat each other compassionately.

If all life is an experiment, it is a really poorly designed one with no control and poor replication.


*"Hemikids" was the original name for the organization, and children with hemiplegia are still sometimes referred to as hemikids.  It still makes me giggle because, while I know they are half goat, I do want to know what the other half is.

**Mother and mother-in-law-- your kids and grandkids aren't exactly normal. I, for one, think that is a very good thing.

Unable to Put His Foot Down

Last spring at White Sands, these tracks stunned me.

Of course I'd seen Aster walk, so I knew how much time he spent on his toes.  But there was something about seeing the trail of evidence that stunned me.  The kid did not put his right heel down.

This time last May I was in Colorado for his gait analysis.  They hooked him up to fancy computer equipment and had him walk with electrodes on in front of a blue screen.  They concluded that he didn't put his foot down.  I refrained from mentioning they could have just laid out some mud or sand.

White Sands "Gait Analysis" March 2016

Before gait analysis, May 2016

Purple Flower 

May 2016