ANOTHER MOVIE NIGHT

“Go see The Monuments Men,” said the message from Hallie. “Don’t read reviews, don’t talk to anyone. Just go see it.”

“But we’re watching the Olympics,” I wrote back. And I didn’t like to confess that we would be watching the Olympics for as long as they continued. We set the DVR to record each and every Olympics program, and with each day we were falling further behind.

Mike might have “fast forwarded” through the figure skating and ice dancing but tolerated it for my sake. On the other hand, I had to leave the room during “short track” speed skating which I found tedious to watch. In fact, I left the room quite a bit during the Olympics because I don’t celebrate the Olympic spirit when athletic endeavors might result in disability or even death. Athletics is one thing; taking deliberate chances is another. Also, as fascinating as races might be, I can’t remember the outcome, and that makes it a waste of time.

Anyway, Hallie followed-through on her suggestion the last week. “Have you seen The Monuments Men yet?” she queried.

“We’re still watching the Olympics,” I wrote back, hoping that I was keeping a certain tone of incredulity out of my voice.

 

Well, the Olympics have been over since last Sunday, but we still have programming to watch. I think we’re both tired of it, though. We’re beginning to watch other programs.

And last night, we did see The Monuments Men, which we enjoyed. Anytime the storyline is World War II, you know it will bring out issues and you’ll see the demise of characters you care for, but the theme of this movie was the importance of art to the history of a people and to civilization in general. The movie shows that much was saved through the efforts of a few men who cared. But, sadly, we know that so much was also displaced or destroyed.

By the way, there were about twenty cars in the theater parking lot and four of us watched this movie. I would not like to own this movie theater. We’re probably lucky that The Monuments Men was even shown in our community. KW

[The pictures depict the February sky over the last several weeks here in the Lewis-Clark Valley.]

CLEARING OUT

This winter I’ve been focused on clearing out – using up what’s on hand and replacing with fresh if need be. It’s amazing how things just sorta sit in the cupboard getting old, and it happens all through the house if I’m not on my toes.

Some things get old gracefully and it doesn’t matter if we hoard them. Case in point: candles. My mother was a candle hoarder and I guess I inherited that tendency from her. In fact, I still have some of her candles on the farm. I suspect Mother kept some candles as an emergency precaution against the time when she might be without electricity, and candles should always be part of our readiness plan. But rotation is good is every aspect of life, and this year I’m using my candles – tea candles, votive candles, pillars, tapers, jar candles, and decorative candles. I’ve made good progress in using up what I have on hand, and I will replace them.

Other things get old, too. My towels are rags before I part with them – likewise my sheets. Let’s not even talk about the underwear drawers. Then there’s Mike’s wardrobe. Identifying a box of rags in the attic years ago, Clint remarked that for Mike they would be everyday clothes.

More important is the food. I like to have staples on hand, but sometimes they stay on the shelf longer than I realize. This winter I’ve paid attention to expiration dates on cans and packages as I cook, and I’ve also researched my supplies and planned meals around goods that need to be used. I’ve combined partial packages of baking chips and dried fruits in cookies, and I’ve tossed a few things.

 

It’s amazing what gets old. I found a tube of toothpaste on the farm with an expiration of 2008. (I used it anyway – shhhhh.) But the winner is the jar of “IcyHot.”

Mike tweaked his back last week and when that happens, he asks me to massage it, and this time he made a new request – rub in IcyHot.

“I bet that stuff expired 25 years ago,” I said.

“1991,” he read from the bottom of the jar. We laughed –and used it anyway. He said he felt some “iciness” from it and my hand felt “icy,” but I suspect its effectiveness isn’t what it was prior to 1991. Yes, it’s on my grocery list. KW

[Photos: Nellie learned long ago that Mike drops Sugar Babies and peanuts on the floor in the pantry and volunteered to keep it clean. It's a job she performs at least once a day -- usually while I cook supper. If the pantry door is closed, she waits patiently for me to open it.]

TUDOR UPDATE: ARCHAEOLOGICAL ADVENTURE

Work continues at Hallie and Nick's vintage Tudor in Seattle.

 

The kitchen cabinet doors were beautifully primed.

 

And on Sunday, they decided to explore layers of kitchen flooring.

'70’s vinyl – Who could miss it?

 

And under the '70s vinyl, '30’s linoleum.

Have you ever removed -- or tried to remove -- linoleum?

I remember linoleum on the kitchen floor -- both at our family home in Orofino and on the farm. At the farm, the linoleum wasn't glued down, and when it was time to replace it, my dad simply removed the old piece and laid down a new one. Today we see that as less than ideal, but it worked in that place. 

Actually, when we remodeled the farmhouse, I would love to have had linoleum on the kitchen floor. It's available but expensive and we didn't go that route. KW

READING RECIPES

Have you noticed? The language of recipes is becoming archaic.

My mother taught me to read recipes.

Sugar meant white sugar unless brown was specified.

Flour meant regular white flour unless whole wheat was specified.

“To cream” meant to mix the shortening and the sugar together until well-blended.

Brown sugar was always packed – no exceptions.

Brown sugar meant “light” brown sugar unless dark was specified.

“T” meant tablespoon; “t” meant teaspoon.

Soda was baking soda. No one needed to tell you that.

Cinnamon meant “ground” cinnamon, unless otherwise stated. (The same rule applied for all other common baking spices.)

“Dry ingredients” were the flour, salt, seasonings, soda.

A “prepared pan” meant you “greased and floured” your baking pan.

“Grease” is shortening, like Crisco.

Always pre-heat the oven.

These terms were standard, Mother said, and what one needed to know in order to read a recipe. She also explained that the method of mixing ingredients was standard. If you had your list of ingredients, you could mix them even if you didn’t have directions. I don’t remember that it took a long time for me to learn this language. I was highly motivated to bake cookies.

The point is that you don’t need a lot of words in order to relate a recipe. In fact, I think it’s better if the language is succinct. If you have a question as you cook, a quick glance at the recipe reveals what you need to know. And when you go to copy a recipe, the standardized language makes it’s so much faster. But these days it’s different . . .

Recipes today – and recipes abound! -- are explicit and repetitive. Perhaps it’s a good thing. I’m sure it helps the novice. But sometimes I feel that the message of the recipe is lost in all the words. I just want a recipe “blueprint” and I don’t want to read all these words that I don’t need.

A couple of years ago I found myself laboriously copying recipes I wanted to try from online sites. It was taking me forever, and then reading the recipe as I cooked was a challenge. Then I realized that I actually “speak” the recipe language and all these words were unnecessary. I began to jot down the recipes using the language my mother taught me. After a brief listing of ingredients, I just make notes, such as:

375 – 8x8 prepared pan – 40-45 min.

What could be simpler?

[The top photo was taken at Thanksgiving, 1959.  Mother is in the foreground with my grandfather to the right of her. And yes, you can see me toward the back but leaning forward. The bottom photo was taken in the same time frame -- Mother in the backyard under the hawthorn tree. She loved the beauty of a snowfall.]

TUDOR UPDATE: KITCHEN CABINET DOORS

Cabinet doors sanded well enough to suit Hallie.















Cabinet doors sanded well enough to suit Nick.



They're working hard on their new home in Seattle's Ballard neighborhood. They won't move in for several weeks.

COMMON INTERESTS

Some years back, Mike and I attended a family wedding. We were sitting at a banquet table with other family members – and a couple none of us knew. Including that couple in conversation proved difficult. They were quiet; the rest of us were family and had plenty to talk about.

Naturally we didn’t want to be impolite. We wanted to include that couple in conversation if we could. Mike sat closest to them and kept trying. Occasionally he would ask them a question; the reply would be brief; the strain continued.

Finally Mike mentioned that he should check on Nellie, who was waiting in our vehicle, whereupon the man asked what kind of dog -- German Shorthair – and conversation opened up. He and Mike had an enthusiastic conversation about dogs and hunting.

“Finally!” commented my sister Joni, seated on the other side of me. “You can always find something in common but sometimes it takes a while. You just have to ask questions until you find it.”

We experienced that again recently. We attended a memorial service that included a luncheon. (And incidentally, we left our phones in the car, thinking that the most polite thing we could do.)

We knew the parents of the deceased but not many of the other guests. As we sat at lunch, Mike began a quiet conversation with the man next to him. An Idaho resident, he was an avid fisherman, he said, and had traveled Idaho to fish. Mike described the location of the farm. The man knew the Gilbert Grade. Did we have chukars on the farm, he asked. And then he said, “I also like to bird hunt. I have a German Shorthair.”

“I have two!” replied Mike. And the conversation took off. The man whipped out his phone and showed pictures of his dogs. (He has also had German Shorthair in the past.) Like Bess, his present dog is a talker, “verbalizing” over the activities of daily life.

 “I’d love to go,” he said, as Mike described some possible hunting excursions. As we took our leave, the man punched Mike’s contact info into his phone. I gave Mike a piece of paper from my purse to jot down the man’s number.

I suggested to Mike that he really should take pictures of the dogs with his phone – and then keep his phone on his person. There’s something about cell technology we just don’t get until we see it in action – and even then we forget. KW