Smoked Salt

This is the pizza I made for dinner.  The crust was Portland Pie Wheat and John tortured it into fitting the pan-- there was cursing.  I brushed it with olive oil and layered on the potatoes (beautifully cut by my very simple Swiss mandoline).  I crushed five cloves of garlic together with Salish smoked salt, using my Alaskan cutter thing (an uloo?), sprinkled that over the potatoes and added chopped fresh rosemary.  It cooked about fifteen minutes and tasted great.

This is the first time I have used smoked salt.  John said that it smelled like the house was burning down.  From what I have read on the internet, smoked salt is very useful in dishes like vegetarian bean soup where the salt replaces the flavor meat might otherwise give.

It has been an adventuresome week foodwise.  I finally prepared fresh fava beans for the quinoa, roasted cauliflower and fava bean salad recommended by Martha Rose Shulman and I also baked four beautiful cippolini onions.  Last night I made a mushroom, green pea and basil risotto and I liked it much better than the tomato and eggplant one I made last week.

My day felt unproductive because I twice drove my neighbor, Wayne, on his errands.  Firstly I took him to the town hall because there was a mix-up with his tax bill-- something outlandish like their thinking he had land in Florida-- John and I both told him to stay calm about it but calm is not in his nature.  Then we had to make his customary round of Hannaford, Dollar Store, Key Bank and Jack's Grocery.  Fortunately I also dashed into Hannaford and mailed an Amazon book at the post office so I made the most of doing my good deed.  It occurs to me to wonder if I drive him because I am a nice and kind person or because I am unable to refuse.  But why should I refuse?  He has no car, poor health, few resources and the need to go places.  I have a car, enough money, "free" time and a desire to earn good karma.  That being said, I AM unable to refuse.  The other morning I was deep into the garden, wet from a drizzling rain and covered with dirt.  I said "I really don't want to stop and go uptown-- I would need to change my clothes, etc."  He responded, that I didn't even need to get out of the car.  As always he insisted that he "wouldn't hold me up"-- just wanted to go to Hannaford, etc.

R.I.P. John Humphrey

John T. Humphrey died 12 August 2012

This picture of John might have been taken 100 years ago-- he could easily pass for one of his own ancestors.  My memory of him is much less formal-- blue jeans and a sweater.   John was a sweet and gentle man and very capable both in his genealogical work and with his hands.  My husband, John Langhans, worked with John H. to make bookshelves for me at NGS and I remember that we once met him running on the bicycle path along the Potomac.  He was the same age as I and certainly seemed the picture of health and vitality.  It is my understanding that he had no warning of the stroke that would take his life.  While we lost touch after I left NGS and Arlington, I thought of him from time to time and was much saddened to learn of his unexpected death yesterday. 

My brother, Brian Smith: 1949 - 2004

An early picture of Brian with Lois - taken by Rebecca Lepkoff

Brian wall boarding the guest hosue at Tucker Hill Road Norwich

The last picture of Brian and Dereka together - June 2004

Brian with his two children - he was in his last days

Brian died eight years ago today and my heart still aches.  Life ends but love lasts forever.  

On the bicycle again, finally

Haven't ridden for weeks-- before Cold River Camp Joan and I were walking the trail along the lower reservoir in Belfast-- it is only two miles out and back but there are several short steep ups and downs.  Now we are planning a multi-day ride in northern Maine and I need to harden up my butt.  So today I did what John and I call "the classic".  It is about 21 miles, and goes Perkins, Woods, Route 52, Edgecomb, Tufts, Jesse Robbins, Pitcher, Poors Mill, Shepard, Head of Tide, Kaler, through Belfast and home on Route 1.  It is finally cooler today and I had no trouble with it.

Stopped in Belfast on my way home to take a look at the HMS Bounty, now visiting town.  The mist makes it look particularly wonderful-- it is a replica built in 1962 for a remake of the movie and is much larger than the original.  John and I thought of taking a tour but it was $10.00 each and we decided against it.  This misty picture is more evocative for me than trudging around the ship with a mob of people-- and it surely was a mob-- Belfast looks like Bar Harbor these days with the streets full of tourists.

This is the eggplant and tomato risotto I made for dinner-- actually this is what is leftover from what I made.  The recipe is from Martha Rose Shulman and the New York Times.  I am devoted to the gorgonzola and walnut one that I have been making so it is hard to adjust to something less kick ass but John and I agreed this was very good.  Not so beautiful, however-- for beauty it would be hard to do better than this salade nicoise made by Liz Fitzsimmons on Monday last.

A Day of Elvis

Under the auspices of Senior College, Neil Harkness presented an all day program on Elvis-- I was troubled lest I feel drowsy as I so often do at lectures but I needn't have worried this time-- between the songs, video clips and photos, I was riveted.  I was about 9 years old in 1956 when Elvis came into focus for me-- I often stopped at "Bunny" and "Ginger" Knight's home on South Hill on my way home from school, and there I could watch American Bandstand.  It was through bandstand that I learned his birthday-- January 8th-- and I thought of it every year thereafter, most particularly the year that my daughter Margaret was born on that same date-- Nothing that I planned, I hasten to add-- she was due to be born on March 15th!  Later I remember the teen trauma that surrounded his induction into the Army and the great romance with Priscilla Beaulieu.

I might have been hard pressed to list a dozen Elvis songs, so I astonished myself as I remembered the words of piece after piece-- it was like some kind of muscle memory-- the first few notes brought the memories flooding back.  Like my week at Cold River Camp, the experience was bittersweet, the years  fading away until I realized that I am now one of the "middle aged matrons" and blue-haired grandmothers" who formed his fan base in his last years.

I listened to one disc of Adam's Curse but decided that Sykes was providing more detail that I need so I switched to The Hypnotist's Lover.  Finally had a success with fava beans.  Got them fresh at Chase's Daily and followed the many steps necessary to get them ready for a salad.  Time consuming but as most people say, they were worth the trouble.

Catching Up - Again

Eliza and William in Belfast

Catching up not really possible...a week with Eliza, Michael and William here in Maine.  A week in Greenfield with Eliza and William.  A week at Cold River Camp with John and the Merritt/Langhans'.  A camera that under exposed all the pictures.

William at 85 Harrison Ave, Greenfield

The complete grandmother-- body and soul.  "Gaga" loves "Wilkie" and he loves her back.  Being around a nineteen month old changes everything but we had a very good week in Greenfield while Michael was in Maine teaching at the Maine Media Workshops.  William spent three days at his day care while I gallivanted around western Massachusetts and on the Saturday off we went to New Hampshire. 

In the meantime, John had a nice week in Maine eating the luscious raspberries on whose behalf we have been waging war on japanese beetles.  We seem to have been the victors in the struggle.

Despite my feeling that I had no time for myself recently I did manage to read a good number of books.  In my quest to read all of  Ruth Rendell/Barbara Vine, I listened to Asta's Book and reread A Sight for Sore Eyes".  That means I have read or reread 19 of her books (not counting any Inspector Wexford) and have about the same number left to read.  Rendell started publishing in 1965 and is going strong.  She has published a novel under each of her names in 2012 and a Wexford in 2011.


I also finished, finally, Dicken's Our Mutual Friend.  Thus far I have read eight of Dicken's major novels and have six to go.  I read three Susan Hill Simon Serailleur mysteries, and  Karin Slaughter's Fractured.  Climate seems to have a big effect on whether I like a book-- Karin Slaughter writes about Atlanta and her characters are always dripping sweat and chafing miserably in the heat.  Susan Hill's books are set in England where it is usually cold and rainy and I feel much more comfortable.

William was the youngest camper but not by much.  The camp was full of three generation families and that meant lots of children-- there was a just two, a nearly two and a four year old and lots and lots older.  I wanted desperately to hike the Baldface Circle but it was hot and humid every day and the 3-4 mile hikes we did seemed like plenty to me.  The Maine Chapter of the AMC plans a fall weekend at CRC and I will have a much better chance of making the hike in cooler weather.  John did it and was the oldest of the group--- he had no problem.

The hike I did not take

My hikes with Eliza and family were the Deer Hills, Mt. Crag, Blueberry, Black Top, Sabattus and the Deer Hill Spring.  CRC is unsettling to me-- Our first year there was 1982-- 30 years ago--  Eliza was not quite one, I was young and relatively slender.   Admittedly the chamber pots with which we were supplied in the first couple of years have disappeared, as have the old fashioned bowl and pitcher washing sets, but otherwise CRC has changed little in the intervening years-- the lodge, the dining hall, the bathrooms, and the cabins are much the same.  Now I am stout and matronly and fit nicely into the group of grandmothers sitting on the porch knitting-- the passage of years is tough to take.

Perhaps it was a desperate grab for youth that made me participate in a contest to guess the number of items in this candy jar.  My guess of 213 was the nearest to the correct count of 217 and the booty was mine.  Another highlight of the week-- thankfully there are no pictures-- were my several trips down the rock slides in the Cold River.  I had done it years ago but the river is aptly named and I was certain that my days of sliding were long gone-- seized by reckless impulse, however,I plopped in with my clothes on and had a wonderful half hour.

William's idea of a toy is an iPhone, an iPad, an iPod, a camera or my headlight-- any of which he invariably prefers to the kind of toy tractor visibly neglected on the porch behind him.  Of great interest to me is that he clearly understands the different purposes for which those items are used-- never confuses a camera with a phone for example, or a phone with a remote.  He can activate the iPad, swipe to unlock and select a game icon flawlessly-- and he knows how to go to the Netflix icon and watch a video to his taste.  Scary.

Just a touch blue...

Ivan and Annie in Jamaica VT August 2011

My brother's son and his long time girlfriend are getting married tomorrow in Vermont and none of the Smith aunts have been invited.  Only his half sister has been invited-- that is to say only his half sister has escaped the wrath of his mother.  Since Brian died almost eight years ago, I feel this might be a good time to bury the hatchet but I guess not...  I thought I was okay with being excluded and am surprised to find myself feeling sad.  I have thought of them often today and will do so again tomorrow but I won't have much leisure to fret.  Eliza and I and Baby William (I should say Toddler William) are scheduled to drive from Maine to Greenfield and a six hour drive with a 19 month old is enough distraction for anyone.

 
Soon William will be writing a blog of his own.  He is already an adept at the iPad-- turns it on, swipes to unlock, chooses Chuzzle and dabs madly at the game-- or he chooses Plants vs Zombies and makes monster noises while the zombies have their way with the plants.

Today marks two years since I made the decision to become a vegetarian and this picture says why.  I always enjoyed eating meat and probably still would but factory farming is appalling and I cannot let it be done on my account.  Not eating meat has been much easier than I expected it would be-- wish I could be as successful with other dietary restrictions!
John periodically suggests that I might eat local meat raised more humanely but the longer I avoid meat the less I want to go back to it.

This is only the third (or fourth) double pinochle I have seen in all my years of playing.   Michael got it the other night here in Northport.  We played two rounds on each of two evenings and I had only one hand good enough to bid on--  I got aces around and lots of hearts.