Birthright? part II

How many people see creativity is their birthright? Who assumes it is forbidden fruit, out of reach, not there for people like them? Who feels a creative moment must be stolen when no one's looking, especially when no one's looking?

I think creativity IS our birthright. There are so many ways to be creative, not just the arts. We all have certain gifts. Some lucky dogs have the means to develop those gifts. Some poor souls don't, unless by some inexplicable act of cosmic grace they are presented with an opportunity and run with it. This is the stuff of legend. 

Others do not get an opportunity, for an infinite variety of reasons. Then there are people who have the means but waste their talents.  Why? 

You say with blinding arrogance "Why didn't they pick themselves up by their own bootstraps?" Really? You know that's physically impossible, right? Show me a successful person and I'll show you a person who had some sort of help along the way. Even if it was only a teacher who encouraged you, an employer who took a chance and hired you, a grandmother who whispered affirmations in your ear. Or maybe you're one of those lucky dogs who ran smack dab into that inexplicable freaking opportunity referred to above? 

Still, I'm writing from privilege, aren't I? There are places where hope has no home. Try to imagine. Little wonder that there are so many angry, bitter people. What a sinful waste of talent exists in a world of haves and have nots.  

Is it naive to hope for a world where each and every one of us could expect to reach our creative potential? Of course it is. But still, I hope for that better world. 

Birthright? part I

I'm in the midst of a New Yorker article about Emma Thompson and I need to come up for air. It's one of those articles so dense and chewy you never want it to end. 

Thompson has had a full life, complete with joy and sorrow. She's bright, articulate, hard working, funny, creative; absolutely amazing, really. What strikes me is how matter-of-fact she is. What she is missing is anxiety, the absence of which is stunning. 

Emma's had bad things happen, everyone has. She reacts appropriately to any given situation, then moves on. I could be wrong, but I don't think she has spent significant time cowering in the recesses of her psyche, damaged and anticipating the worst. How did she escape that? Or does she just do a good job of hiding that part of herself? 

Perhaps it's that she was born into a family of actors? She had parents who valued intelligent expression, encouraged an appreciation of comedy, and were of reasonably comfortable means. They were supportive of her. Having "enough" money helps. Knowing one will have the means to achieve a dream IF one has the talent must be comforting. Creativity would seem like your birthright. My shoulders relax just imagining.  

And I begin to think.

Sigh

Another ridiculously heartbreaking Florida election cycle, and then a late season hurricane two days later.  Need I say more?  

Hungarian Goulash!

My brother, Big D, came for dinner last night.  He was on a business trip and stopped over to visit. We grew up in a super ethnic enclave in South Bend, Indiana, with a Hungarian bakery, businesses, etc. Our church was Our Lady of Hungary, which offered the early morning mass in Hungarian. My four younger siblings went to Our Lady's parochial school. Although we are not that ethnicity, growing up there introduced us to an amazing Eastern European cuisine. Of course I made Hungarian Goulash for dinner. It was fabulous.  Here's the recipe:

INGREDIENTS:

3 pounds beef, I use thick cut of lean beef, like round

1 onion, sliced

2 – 3 cloves of garlic, split in two

3 Tablespoons paprika (Hungarian sweet style - see photo)

1 small can of tomato paste (6 oz equals 170 g)

4 - 5 potatoes, peeled. Cut into 1 ½ - 2 inch chunks

5 carrots, scraped and cut about an inch thick

bay leaf

hot water - almost to a boil

salt, pepper

PREPARATION: 

Cut excessive fat off meat and cut meat into 1 ½  to 2 inches cubes.*  

Roll meat cubes in mix of flour, salt, and pepper to coat. Brown meat in skillet. Transfer browned meat to slow cooker.  

While browning, put a  3 qt. (2.8 liter) pot of water on stove to heat. 

After removing meat, pour some heated water to the skillet, and stir in a bit of salt/pepper/paprika to flavor the juice in the pan.  

Add 2/3 can of tomato paste to the rest of the water left in the heated pot, and stir. Add salt/pepper/paprika.

Add both skillet juice and tomato paste/hot water over the meat in the slow cooker - enough to fully cover the meat and make it soupy.  

Add sliced onion, bay leaf, and split garlic pieces. Add another tablespoon of Hungarian paprika. Then cover and simmer on low for 6 hours in slow cooker.  

Add carrot pieces about an hour after you put the meat in the cooker.  

Add potatoes about an hour after you add the carrots. 

Salt and pepper to taste.

I confess I probably use more than 3 TBS

New clothes

I've been on a spending spree since warm weather clothes went on sale. I wear warm weather clothes for at least 10 months of the year, so fall sales are when I buy! 

I desperately needed new t-shirts. I tend to wear clothes until they fall apart. Not out of any philosophical imperative, but because I am lazy and I hate to shop. Plus, I'm uncomfortable with new clothes. Unless they are 100% perfect in my eyes and on my body, I tend to let them hang in my closet and "age." Sometimes they never get old enough. It's weird, I know. Just one of my many charming neurotic quirks.  

Consequently, when I find something I like I usually order more of them. I just ordered a t-shirt I quite love, so I ordered two more. All in the same color because that was the only one left in my size. I toy with the idea of wearing a standard uniform for the rest of my life. This shirt and a pair of cropped jeans would do.

It's such a great shirt.  I felt comfortable in it immediately.  

My messy closet.  The first one on the left (navy blue) is the one I just ordered three of.  The red shirt has been hanging in there for at least 4 years.  I've never worn it.  The blue flowered shirt have been aging for over a year.  

Birthdays

When I was a child in the 1950s, and a tween/teen in the 1960s, birthday celebrations were low key. In my family you got a homemade cake, and your favorite meal. Candles were lit, the song was sung, and one felt special. We didn't get presents. That probably sounds harsh, but it didn't feel that way. Being acknowledged was enough. It's all about the food, y'all!   

My childhood birthday meal was always stuffed cabbage with mashed potatoes, and a white cake with vanilla frosting. I'd still choose that as my birthday meal if cake was a requirement. 

Now I'd prefer fruit pie, or hey! maybe pecan pie. However, our Orlando area grandkids prefer white cake with vanilla frosting, so that's what I ask for. With vanilla ice cream, for crying out loud. One really must have a decorated birthday cake with lit candles when children are present. When they grow up and there is no longer a need for candles or cake, I will demand pecan pie. Or maybe peach. Cherry?  

Last year my daughter and husband asked what I wanted as a present. I replied "BBQ potato chips, a whole bag all to myself." They laughed, but I wasn't kidding. If I could have a whole bag all to myself, I would be so freakin' happy. I hate to share, don't you?

What would you like to eat on your birthday?

Tremen State Park, NYS

I just returned from a fairly short visit to the Finger Lakes region of New York State.  Ithaca to be exact.  I wasn't there long enough to see everyone I love, which is always hard.  One day we went to Upper Tremen, a spectacular section of Tremen State Park.  It's one of three amazing State Parks in Tompkins County, NY.  Here are some photos you may enjoy.

 

Ian

We are safe and sound and lucky as all get out. My heart goes out to all the people who weren't lucky. What devastation this hurricane has brought to parts of the Gulf Coast! 

My husband is taking the plywood off the outside of the bedroom window and I write this. Soon I'm going to drive over to our daughter's house (about 15 minutes away) to see if they got their power back, or if they want to come and stay with us until they do. Yesterday they said no. Since I haven't heard from them today, my assumption is their power is still off and their devices have run down. Surely young N will want to spend a day watching TV and playing video games? 

Their power went out for them about 11:30 pm as the storm hit Central Florida hard late Wednesday night. Ten year old N sent me a text after midnight with only one word, "Grandma." I didn’t read it when he sent it because I was asleep. Saw it about 1:30 am when I got up to check on things. Broke my heart.

Laundry and all that

I'm sick of doing laundry. Every single week, you know? It gets old. I don't mind organizing laundry and putting loads in the washing machine; however, I hate taking the clothes out of the dryer and folding them. Then you have to put them in the right drawers or closet! There's no end to it.  

It could be worse. When we still worked I ironed my husband's shirts every weekend. It was a labor of love. I never enjoyed it. I remember a professor whose wife refused to iron his shirts. Instead of ironing them himself, he wore them wrinkled. It isn't that I wasn't sympathetic to his wife, she was a working woman. I knew my husband would do the same. No way was I going to let him go to work looking rumpled. My choice.   

Retirement is a simpler life. Better in so many ways (e.g., t-shirts). I guess I shouldn't complain. In fact, writing this pet peeve post means I'm going to go get the sheets and jeans out of the dryer, where they've been sitting for 3 days, quietly waiting.  

And it seems we might have a hurricane hit Florida next week. I really should do as much laundry as I can before the power goes out.  

Don't judge me unless you've folded fitted sheets

Dreaming

A commonly repeated theme in my dream life is signing up for classes and then just not showing up.  For some reason, I don't take the trouble to drop the classes, I just stop going.  Sometimes (in my dream) I wonder if I should just show up for the final exam, but I've never read the materials.  It's very unsettling.