Seventy

Cruising into a new decade?

I celebrated my 70th birthday last month. Seventy. Seven-zero. Who thinks about turning seventy, at least much before they are 69?

When she called on my birthday, my friend Becky asked if I was saying the number out loud. (She celebrates her 70th birthday this week.) Hmmmm. It did kind of stick in my throat temporarily. Like a new year or a new address, seventy takes getting used to.

I am trying to wrap my head around this number. Honestly, I find 70 to be something of a surprise. How did we get here, I asked Becky? I don’t feel much different from my 50’s. I suppose it’s another riff on “where did the years go?” (The week before my birthday, Steve and I celebrated our 45th anniversary and the week after our son celebrated his 40th birthday — talk about being gobsmacked by ridiculous numbers!)

In my family, we own our age. We celebrate with parties and cakes. Although since my birthday comes on the heels of the holidays and in the midst of what my mother used to refer to as the “January festival,” I am increasingly inclined to let it slip by. Not because I dislike birthdays (the other option is not at all appealing), but really because the month is just. too. crowded.

This year, however, the question of celebrating or not celebrating isn’t the issue, it’s the number. It’s potentially intimidating!

But, it turns out, seventy is sort of trendy.

“Inside the List” in Sunday’s New York Times Book Review, makes the same point. Nancy Pelosi was just re-elected as Speaker of the House of Representative. She’s 78. In January Glenn Close won a Golden Globe for Best Actress. She’s 71. Jessica Benett’s essay in the January 8 Times, “I Am (an Older) Woman. Hear me Roar” ticks off the names of a number of women and even more statistics that support “our” growing power.

As Mary Pipher points out in “The Joy of Being a Woman in Her 70’s“, “There is a sweetness to 50-year-old friendships and marriages that can’t be described in language. We know each other’s vulnerabilities, flaws and gifts.” That was the lesson of my 50th high school reunion, where one friend pointed out that it’s oddly comforting to be with these people who had shared so much of our daily lives, often from kindergarten or first grade all the way through high school graduation. We weren’t all best friends, or even friends for that matter, but we were classmates. In it together.

Pipher believes that some of the strength and resilience of our older selves is credited to “a shelterbelt of good friends and long-term partners.” I second that.

There are losses, some expected and some not. When I mentioned to my family doctor that I had suddenly and unexpectedly lost a dear friend, he gently pointed out that I was getting to an age when that would happen. When my friend Barb’s mom passed away a few months ago, I realized she was the last of “that generation” in my life. My parents and in-laws, along with the aunts and uncles and family friends that made up that generation that provided the buffer between us and mortality, have been slipping from lives for some years now. It is what it is.

But life goes on. I have been blessed with grown up children who are fun and interesting, a pair of grandsons to keep me on my toes, and a wide circle of interesting friends. Steve and I are planning some new travels once his chemo is in the rear view mirror. I have always been a glass-half-full kind of person.

Perhaps as Steve says, 70 is the new 50!

Thanks for stopping by. See you next time!

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What I’m keeping in the New Year

I know. I’ve been missing for awhile, but now I’m back. And I’ve been thinking, where to begin?

My husband had unexpected surgery in mid-December. (Think Ruth Bader Ginsburg. And this is a guy who does not smoke, never worked in a coal mine or the chemical industry. His cancer was found as accidentally as RBG’s.) This was discovered very early, and Steve is making a phenomenal recovery. That’s most important. But our holiday took on a new shape. (Remember last year when I wrote this post about flexible holiday traditions?) There was no annual holiday open house and my traveling wineglasses stayed in storage. I never did send Christmas cards. Instead of the merry chaos of Christmas morning in Ohio with our grandsons, our daughter stayed in Chicago with us and we FaceTimed the rest of the family. (We also laughed, cooked, and opened presents.) It was simpler, and frankly I wouldn’t have had the energy for our usual festivities. It was a different Christmas, but certainly not a bad one. Sometimes you just need to roll with it.

What I’m keeping in the New Year

Moving on, I am admittedly abysmal at New Year’s Resolutions. It isn’t just that I don’t keep them, I sometimes forget what they are! So this year I thought about what I would keep in the new year, rather than what I would change.

My “theory” is that you/I can come up with great ideas, improvements, interests or even skills any time during the year. And when they work for us, we should keep them. So, without further fanfare, here are my first five “keeps” for 2019:

#1 This Blog. Although I have been known to lapse a bit at writing, I’m not even close to giving it up. This is so much fun! I love my readers and I love writing. And, of course, it turns out I always have something to say! Steve and I are working on a few more travel posts (How I wish I was on the Riviera now. It’s so cold here). Then there’s some cooking and some reading. And sooner or later, there will be spring and a whole new season aptly named “gardening.”

#2 While I’m in an electronic mode, I’m also continuing with Instagram. I just genuinely enjoy this. Admittedly, I have curated my feed to things I like — food, travel, decorating, gardening and books. (And I suspect the abiity to curate what you see may be the attraction for me!) But, I have made a number of IG friends, some who share wonderful bits of history or books in their feeds, others who share the highs and lows of their gardening, decorating and cooking efforts. Look for more about them in an upcoming blog post. (Follow me here.)

#3 Traveling more and keeping it personal. Some of our best times in France (and travel tips) were the result of locals and other travelers. Rick Steves says it best here but learning to travel with an open mind and heart is so much more rewarding and fun than worrying about the best table at a restaurant or what constitutes a 4- or 5-star hotel (which in Europe at least will not be the same as it is in the states anyway!) I’m not big on checking places off a bucket list, but I do want to meet the people and see how they live,

#4 Closer to home, I have a confession. I honestly don’t like to clean house and so for now, I’ll keep my cleaning lady. Sometimes I think it’s just the two of us here, I can certainly make the time, I should save the money and do my own cleaning. But the truth is, I just don’t like to do it. And she is much better at this than I am.

#5 I’m trying my best to keep up with my book groups, as well as things that pop up on my own “reading radar.” Have you read Educated by Tara Westover? It’s Tara’s personal memoir of growing up on an Idaho mountain with her survivalist family. She was homeschooled for most of her life but eventually found her way to BYU, Cambridge and a PhD from Harvard. (If that doesn’t entice you to pick up this book, I’m not sure what will.)

That’s the high and the low of my keepers for 2019. What about you?

Thanks so much for stopping by. I look forward to seeing you next time!

Living in history

This is how it happens: people, places, or simply the tide of current events sweep by and my innate geekiness about history and American government go into overdrive. This week it’s the passing of Senator John McCain.

I first visited the U.S. Senate on a family vacation to Washington, D.C. in 1963. Back then when you took the Capital tour, you got to spend several minutes sitting in the visitor’s galleries of the Senate and the House. The Senate was in session the day of our tour. As President of the Senate, Vice President Lyndon Johnson was presiding, and as one Senator (I have no idea who) was holding forth on the floor, Senator Everett Dirksen of Illinois (who was Senate Minority Leader and represented our own state of Illinois) approached Johnson for what appeared to be a congenial conversation. Were they trading D.C. gossip or negotiating the advance of the president’s agenda? I have no idea.

What we saw was a Republican (Dirksen) and a Democrat (Johnson) deep in conversation. I have never forgotten that picture.

Fast forward to 1970, when I was spending the third term of my junior year in college (along with 24 other classmates) in Washington D.C. Nixon was president. The war in Vietnam raged on, as did the protests, including Kent State. It was an exciting time to be a student in D.C.

As part of our political science seminar, we had passes to the House and Senate Galleries. My roommate sister Danielle and I were unabashed government geeks. We had agreed that if we were near the Capitol and saw the flag flying over the House or Senate (indicating that body was in session), we would always stop. We saw some interesting speeches and began to comprehend how those bodies worked on and off the floor. One day we visited the Senate and found the chamber to be relatively quiet. We sat briefly and were thinking of leaving when Danielle noticed the Press Gallery suddenly filling. Then senators started coming in and Senator Margaret Chase Smith of Maine asked for the floor, where she firmly but politely (as only the Senate can do) chastised President Nixon for publicly claiming her support for Supreme Court nominee George Harold Carswell. She had not offered her support, Nixon was being presumptuous, and she was voting against Carswell.

When the Senator concluded her comments, the press rushed out as quickly as they had rushed in. We knew we had witnessed a bit of Senate drama. Senator Smith was a Republican (and a woman) who stood up to the Republican president. Her position was not partisan, it was what she thought was right for the country.

Which takes me back to John McCain. I think he might be irreplaceable. Who else can step into McCain’s role of courageous, maverick conscience in the Senate? Who else is going to weigh what’s “right” over political expediency?

Let me be clear. I never voted for McCain, and I had issues with some of of his politics. But I deeply respect his lifetime of service to the country. His willingness to work across the aisle, to listen to the other side, to move graciously forward whether winning or losing, are characteristics we sorely need but seldom see.

The realist in me understands that this is part of the ebb and flow of our history. My friend Nancy wrote a great post here on Jon Meacham’s book, The Soul of America: The Battle for Our Better Angels. Meacham’s point is that our country has weathered incredible low points, then our “better angels” help us pull together.

I hope those angels arrive soon. In the meantime, I’ll add Meacham’s book to my growing must-read list.

I’m so glad you stopped by. See you next time!

 

A family footnote to history

This “avenue” of live oaks at Boone Hall was planted by the second generation of the original family. The plantation is privately owned and has been the setting for a number of movies, including “North and South.” The original house is long gone and the current house, though lovely, dates to the 1930’s.

Once in a while, if you are really lucky and paying attention, personal history meshes with the broader picture.

Our family recently spent our annual “beach week” at Kiawah Island, South Carolina. At the end of the week, when everyone else had left, Steve and I decided to linger a few more days in Charleston.

Charleston is great for history geeks like us. Although we have made annual trips there for decades, there’s always more to see. (Last year we went back to Fort Sumter, here.) This time around we decided to drive to Boone Hall Plantation, home of this legendary Avenue of the Oaks (Trust me, it’s this stunning, although the plantation was a bit of a let-down). Getting there took us past Fort Moultrie, on Sullivan’s Island, where we stopped to explore a family footnote to history.

A bit of background

Constructed to protect Charleston Harbor, Fort Moultrie was still unfinished when it was attacked by British forces in 1776. After a nine-hour battle Revolutionary forces led by William Moultrie turned back the British and Charleston was spared. The fort was seriously neglected in subsequent years, but when England and France went to war in 1793, the U.S. determined to tighten waterfront security and a second Fort Moultrie was one of 20 new fortifications. The second Fort Moultrie was destroyed by a hurricane in 1804. Congress next ordered a third Fort Moultrie, this time built of brick, completed in 1809. In 1860, Charleston Harbor was protected by Fort Moultrie, Fort Sumter, Battery Johnson and Castle Pinckney. In December the Federal Garrison abandoned Fort Moultrie for the newer Fort Sumter. A few months later, Confederate troops shelled and captured Sumter. The rest is Civil War history.

Getting personal

In 1936 Fort Moultrie was the first place my father-in-law, a newly-minted ROTC officer from the University of Georgia, was stationed. (By then the fort had been equipped with more modern weapons in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, then largely disarmed after WWI. It continued, however, to play a key role in coastal security.)

This was the office of the Quartermaster (note the sign).  We think that since my father-in-law’s duty was largely administrative, he could have worked here.
This was the Commissary, though it’s hard to see the sign over the door.

We shared this bit of personal history with the Park Rangers there, and they enthusiastically pulled out some photos of the facility in that era and directed us to the few remaining buildings, some still bearing their Army signage but now converted to high-end condos. My father-in-law would be so amused. In his day it was just a hot, humid post. I think of him walking the streets of what must have been a tiny town in a swampy backwater. Lou was from New York City. Even after those years at the university in Athens, Georgia, Sullivan’s Island must have seemed the ends of the earth.

It’s amazing to think that one army installation was repeatedly called into service for more than 175 years. At some point it changed from an Army fort to an Army/Navy reservation and encompassed most of Sullivan’s Island. Fort Moultrie was decommissioned in 1947 and turned over to the National Park Service in 1960.

We’ve spent so much time in South Carolina without really exploring this exact area. Our visit on this occasion as somewhere between accidental and spontaneous, but I’m so glad we got to look at this piece of the past.

Thanks for coming along. See you next time!

 

The heart of a garden

Sometimes writing a blog post reveals more to me than it does to you. That may be the case here. I started out to write about “Getting my spring on” and how nice it has been to get back outside after a seemingly endless winter. But as I typed I began to see that for me, this year, “Getting my spring on” meant a whole lot more.

Forget lilacs and peonies. One of the sure signs of spring here has always been moving the wicker sofa from the family room (where it “winters”) back out to the porch. Then we bring up the wicker rocker and side tables from the basement and the chairs that fit around the dining table out there, and life is good. This is where we eat most of the summer, have drinks with friends, read the paper, check our email, plan our day over coffee.

But the best way for me to get my spring on is digging in the dirt. It’s creative to coax color and texture from seedlings and soil, to pick the right plants for the right spot, to pair colors and textures for the best effect. But it’s a lot more. Planting, pruning and even weeding has always been therapeutic for me, as I think it is for many others.

The power of digging in the dirt

One of my “renovated beds,” with new lilacs and transplanted daylilies.

Gardening is a nurturing process, caring for the plants while enjoying time outside, being nurtured by nature. This is a lesson I learned from my maternal grandfather, who always had a garden. I’m sure the vegetables began as a depression-era effort to supplant the family budget. Grandpa tended the garden; Grandma canned. This morphed into a larger “victory garden” in World War II; it was one way they could support the war effort and I suspect it kept them busy and managed stress while sons, nephews and friends were scattered around the globe.

In addition to the tomatoes, beets, beans, carrots, and more, there were always flowers: geraniums, dahlias, phlox, marigolds. (Thinking back, I wonder how he squeezed so much into that tiny, 25-foot Chicago lot!) Happily he passed that gene on to me! (This totally skipped my mother, whose garden was limited to whatever Grandpa planted for her and that was totally lost on my father, who efficiently mowed down more than one rose bush without recognizing what it was!)

This year I have found my garden to be especially nurturing.

I wrote a few posts ago about suddenly, unexpectedly, losing a very good friend. Her death left me reeling and I was unable to come to terms with it until I got into the garden. I am sure time itself had something to do with it, but the simple tasks of raking and cleaning up the beds, of digging up the weeds and dividing and transplanting some perennials, of dealing with the life of the garden, brought me some peace. (This would be easily explainable if she was an avid gardener, but it’s actually her husband who has a green thumb and has mentored my gardening efforts. Sherry just loved flowers and and for her the garden was a natural source!)

So, this is the year I discovered that gardens also yield comfort.

Daylillies and coneflowers last summer.

I am, however, still left with lingering weeds, the purple coneflowers gone wild, daylilies desperate for division, herbs that need tending and some ideas to renovate tired beds. After assuming I had finally nailed the basic landscape at our house, the light conditions abruptly changed. The large ash tree that shaded our front yard fell victim to the dreaded ash borer. Not only do we miss the shade, but a bed with a number of shade-loving perennials was totally crisped last summer. In the back yard we had a bank of upright arborvitae along the southern lot line. They threw a lot of shade, but they got way too big, and then damaged by a heavy snow a few winters ago. We had them removed & replanted that area with hydrangeas last year. It looks terrific, but it’s pretty sunny now. (Aha! A new gardening opportunity!)

I’ve now spent some time moving things from sun to shade and shade to sun. (I think of this as the gardener’s version of tweaking bookshelves or furniture arrangements!) I’ve also spent two fun mornings at my favorite nursery, searching out replacement plants. I can’t wait to see how this all works out. And I’m feeling a little more at peace with the world each time I dig in the dirt.

These are the challenges gardeners relish and the rewards they reap!

Thanks for stopping by. See you again next time?

Grief in the Facebook age

One of the best friends I’ll ever have died two weeks ago. Just died.

She had been diagnosed with a serious condition about ten days before, one that would require medication and some lifestyle changes, but it would be manageable. Her death was shocking and hard to wrap my head around.

It still is.

I was unprepared, as were all her family and friends, but I was equally unprepared for this loss to be shared so widely on Facebook. Although we were among the family and friends her husband called, it took only a few more hours for her passing to appear in a Facebook feed (as had her illness earlier).

Of course, social media being what it is, and Facebook being Facebook, many people began expressing their condolences electronically and the family graciously responded. I’m sure they greatly appreciated the emotional support.

I don’t know how I feel about this.

Death is personal and private. I don’t use the same terms to describe Facebook.

Is it good that social media makes it so easy to quickly send a few lines of condolences or do our friends and family deserve something more personal? At least of course with Facebook, the comfort and condolences and even memories are shared. (That may not always be the case with well-intentioned cards and notes.) But it still seems just a little weird to me. I pretty much think of Facebook as the happy place where we post pictures of a new baby, a new graduate, a vacation. And if we have to post something more serious here, is there a way to whisper? Do these people follow up in a more personal way?

In my book, the friend who held my hand after cancer surgery and helped me empty my mother’s apartment after she died deserves more than electronic condolences. There should be hand-written notes recalling her larger-than-life personality, her sense of humor, even her preoccupation with air conditioning and avoiding frizzy hair (I think the two are related.) This is the friend who always, always used cloth napkins and with whom I shared the traveling wine glasses. She loved her iPhone, but it never replaced a hand-written note.

I suppose I should admit to a few disclaimers here. I’m sure many who responded electronically, also did so more traditionally. I’m certainly not accusing anyone of a major breach of etiquette. In fact, I’m blogging about this. 

Is this a generational thing? I think not. Even my daughter, who manages social media for a living, was uncomfortable with the way this worked. (My friend would have thought it just fine. I’m the one with the problem here.)

The real issue is that Facebook, texts, tweets, etc., are the only way some people are now communicating. Is that modern or a just an easy shortcut? Are they hiding? Writing a note, calling on the phone, or (Mercy!) showing up at the door with a cake or a casserole may seem old-fashioned, but is it more thoughtful?

Life is so much better when we reach out, live in the moment, actually shake hands. (And lately I’m all about living in the moment.)

I’m anxious to hear what you think of this. Some people agree with me that it’s awfully impersonal; others concede that it’s efficient in our modern world. Am I just being an old lady? Is Facebook okay for news like this or do we need a more personal approach?

Cooking from the book

If you follow me on Instagram. you already know how excited I was when my copy of The Cook’s Atelier Cookbook arrived. The Cook’s Atelier is the cooking school I attended last spring in Beaune, France. I wrote about the one-day workshop, here, meeting Marjorie, her daughter Kendall and the rest of the class to shop the local market for ingredients, returning to their 15th Century atelier, and preparing and sharing a remarkable French lunch.

Like that day, this cookbook is much more than recipes. It’s a thoughtful treatise on French culture, particularly in the Burgundy wine country. Ex-pat authors and cooks Marjorie Taylor and Kendall Smith Franchini share their love and appreciation of all things French and the challenges of defining a business based on their passions for cooking and wine and then launching that business in their newly adopted country.

Not only is the food scrumptious, so are the full-page photos!

First, this is a lovely book, beautifully printed on heavy paper. (So French, I’m sure.) The photos are stunning, and document every aspect of their life, from the delicious food, to the countryside, the Beaune market, the local vendors they have come to appreciate and depend on, the elegant simplicity of their shop, kitchen and dining room, and, of course, the family at the center of it all. (If you have been to their shop, then you know the integral role played by Kendall’s husband Laurent and how sweetly their two young children occasionally appear in the shop or kitchen).

Butter. So quintessentially French on its own, but then there is clarified butter, compound butter, buerre noisette. So much to learn!

Lots of cooks, restaurants and foodies publish cookbooks. There seem to be at least one or two new ones each week. But few spend time on technique and ingredients (well, maybe the likes of Alice Waters and Julia Child). The Cook’s Atelier Cookbook stands far above these latest publications. Charming sections tackle the French larder, cooking tools, burgundy wine, the French cheese course, and traditional cooking techniques like frenching and tying a rib roast and trussing poultry. Recipes are grouped by season and compiled into menus, something I especially appreciate since I am notoriously uncertain about what really goes with what. In short, this is a cookbook you can truly learn from in addition to finding great recipes.

So, you may ask, what have I made? I’ve been making the French butter cake since I took the class. It’s simple and delicious, two prerequisites for French cooking. I’ve also prepared the grilled veal we made in class (and practiced the sauce technique with a few other cuts of meat).  Now I’m working on the green garlic souffle. (Mine tasted delicious, but the presentation needs work. See below!)

Tasted delicious, but the presentation needs work.
What we made in class, served in these wonderful, individual copper pots. I need more practice!

I have added pastry tips and disposable bags to my kitchen equipment and tested them last week on gougers and madeleines. Next up? Coq au Vin. Marjorie and Kendall use white burgundy instead of red, and I can’t wait to try that.

Gather ingredients first!
Gougeres, dainty pastry puffs flavored with gruyere and served warm with an apperitif. I’m practicing my pastry bag skills for these.
Madeleines, best served slightly warm after dinner.

What have I learned? Quite a lot. Fresh — which means seasonal — ingredients make a difference. Ask the butcher for help. Make sure you understand the recipe before starting. Gather all tools, prepare pans, and measure ingredients before cooking. Have fun. The story in my kitchen and yours is the same as the story in theirs — it’s about the family and friends around the table.

I couldn’t resist showing you a few more pages from the book. The photos are really beautiful. The first is their teaching kitchen and a corner of their shop where they sell their own lovely line of copper pots, along with kitchen tools and a carefully curated selection of wine. Below that is another shot of the book.

 

As I was writing this post I went back to the original from last June after my class there. In it I said I was smitten. Yikes! I am all over again. To learn more about The Cook’s Atelier, you can visit the website at www.thecooksatelier.com. The cookbook is available wherever books are sold, including Amazon.

Thank you so much for stopping by. I’ll see you again next time.