Month: September 2024

Yesterday

Posted by

5

Two days ago I tripped over this recipe from the New York Times for an apple tahini tart. I wondered what tahini could possibly be. That thought led me down the rabbit hole of reading and cooking. It is my favorite sort of hole to fall into. I can be lost for hours.

Tahini is merely toasted sesame seeds and some oil. I found a recipe and method for making my own from scratch. When I was finished the product had the consistency of peanut butter and a similar albeit milder flavor. I should back up a bit. After reading the entire NYT recipe and how to create my own tahini, I looked through my larder. Low and behold I had everything except for apples. (Apples generally do not last long in my house.) Off to the store for more on Sunday morning I went.

I made the tahini on Saturday and refrigerated it overnight. On Sunday I made the pastry and placed it in the refrigerator as directed to rest a couple hours while I went to the grocery store to find apples. IGA had Pink Lady apples just as I had hoped for when reading the recipe. (I become ecstatic when I can find all the exact ingredients to make a new recipe the first time.)

When I made the tahini sauce by mixing the tahini with the other ingredients I covered it with a piece of waxed paper to keep out any small fliers that seem to appear when I bring in tomatoes from the small garden we have. I asked Cheryl (I could feel her nearby.) where did you put the rubber bands? I could use one to put around the top of this container of sauce. I found the Rubbermaid leftover tubful of rubber bands that I had recovered from her office several months ago and carried it from my office into the kitchen. When I opened it to find a suitable elastic band I found also a note from Cheryl.

A yellow post it note was wrapped around a flash-drive with the message “Sr. Pat” and a crossed out phone number. The flash-drive contained a video file that our grandson Max had put together some time ago. That video is a collection of early Christmas videos that his Dad made twenty years ago. I could not watch it all the way through until today when I could give myself time to react to the memories.

October is tomorrow and this is the time of year when Cheryl would start agitating to decorate for Christmas and I would resist (because I did not share her enthusiasm.) She sent me a message. “Christmas will be here before you know it!” she would say (and was saying this time.) I would argue that it is ONLY October. Thanksgiving has not happened yet! Today I argued that I had to finish this tart first!

This will be the first Christmas without her. I miss this discussion. I wonder how I will react to that fact in a few weeks. I wonder how I will react to the first Christmas without her in a few months.

Yesterday I put the flash-drive aside to finish assembling the the tart. Here is the end result.

I took it to my son’s house to consume after the football game. I will keep this recipe to do again with other fillings.

Tahini Apple Tart By Andy Baraghani Published in NYT website Sept. 16, 2024

For the dough
  • 1½ cups all-purpose flour, plus more as needed
  • 1 tablespoon sugar
  • 1¼ teaspoons kosher salt (such as Diamond Crystal)
  • ¾ cup/170 grams unsalted butter, cut into small cubes, chilled
  • Ice water, as needed
For the tahini spread
  • ⅓ cup tahini
  • 3 tablespoons sugar
  • 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
  • 1 large egg
  • ¼ teaspoon kosher salt
Assembly and filling
  • 2 pounds crisp, tart apples such as Honeycrisp or Pink Lady (about 6 medium apples)
  • 1 tablespoon cider vinegar or lemon juice
  • 3 tablespoons sugar, plus more for sprinkling
  • 1 teaspoon ground cardamom
  • Heavy cream, for brushing
  • 1 to 2 tablespoons white sesame seeds
  • Vanilla ice cream, whipped cream or crème fraîche, for serving
  1. For the Dough: Whisk together the flour, sugar and salt in a large bowl. Dump in the cold butter and toss until coated in the flour mixture, separating any pieces that stick together. Use your fingers to smush and flatten each piece once.
  2. Drizzle ¼ cup ice water over the flour mixture. Repeatedly run your fingers through the mixture, as if rummaging through a drawer, until combined. The dough will start out looking dry then become very shaggy. Transfer to a clean work surface and use your palms to knead the dough together, forming a ball with no dry spots. You may need an additional tablespoon or two of ice water to help the dough come together, but even then it will be shaggy, not smooth or shiny.
  3. Wrap the dough with plastic wrap and use your hands to flatten it into a round disc about 1-inch thick. Chill for 2 hours or up to 3 days.
  4. Lightly dust a clean work surface with flour and roll out the dough, turning it to prevent it from sticking between rolls, into a 14-inch round. Gently gather both ends of the dough and transfer to a parchment-lined baking sheet. Refrigerate the dough while you make the sesame spread and apple filling.
  5. For the sesame spread: Whisk the tahini, sugar, butter, egg and salt together in a medium bowl until smooth. (You can make the sesame spread 5 days ahead; just bring to room temperature before using, so it spreads easily.) [Ask Cheryl where the rubber bands are located.]
  6. For the filling: Heat the oven to 375 degrees. Peel, core and thinly slice the apples (see Tip). Toss the apple slices, vinegar, sugar and the cardamom together in a large bowl until the sugar feels like it has dissolved.
  7. Remove the dough from the fridge and plop the sesame spread in the center. Use the back of a spoon to evenly distribute the sesame spread, leaving a 2-inch border. Arrange the apples on top in whatever manner you like. Fold the edges of the dough over the apples to form the crust, then brush the dough with heavy cream and sprinkle with sesame seeds and more sugar.
  8. Bake on the bottom rack for 40 to 50 minutes, rotating the pan halfway through, until the crust is deeply golden brown and the apples are tender. Let cool for 20 minutes before slicing and serving with the topping of your choice.

I often bake bread in a convection bake and I started this tart in a convection oven. I got used to doing this in our old house. The temperature is uniform in a convection oven. After the first twenty minutes or so I rotated the cookie sheet that I had put the tart onto. I also changed the oven setting to bake from convection bake. I gave it a few minutes over the allotted time. As you can see from the photo it needed perhaps a short time under the broiler to get that golden brown color. I chose not to burn it.

David and I both pronounced it excellent.

Carpe Diem.

Astral Planes?

Posted by

2

I have been reading a lot about death lately. Looking for something else in my little office, I rediscovered a book by Robert Fulghum entitled From Beginning to End, the rituals of our lives. It seemed to fit with my overall end-of-life curiosity and reading I have pursued of late so I placed it on the table near where I often sit to read in the evening. I have not re-read it yet. I have many of his books. I may re-read all of them eventually.

I did not think much about death before these past few months. I am driven in this direction because Cheryl is gone. When she was alive either with me or comfortable in the memory care section of Bridgeway Pointe, I searched for information about her condition, how to help, how to react, how to, what if, generally I was hunting for the manual. I became very observant while she stayed at BP. The other day I looked back through my journal. I read this entry: “Thursday, April 18, 2024: (after several notes) – I think today I see that Cheryl is close to death. Her eyes are receding into their sockets. Often her right eye does not open. Her voice is almost gone. – (list of vital signs)” Reading this several months later brought me to the realization that I anticipated her death many days before it occurred. This notation was 3 days before.

Jodi Picoult in her novel The Book of Two Ways which is about an egyptologist turned end-of-life doula, the main character in her role as doula helps the dying to transition. She also helps the caregiver(s) after the death. Being an end-of-life doula is a real occupation. Had I known there existed people who did this sort of work I would have tracked one down to help me and Cheryl (but mostly me.) In the characters role as egyptologist she delves into ancient Egypt, their gods, belief structures and spells and rituals. In 1500 BCE these guys were concerned with the resurrection of the spiritual body and the immortality the soul. The rituals of helping the soul to transition into the after-world are captivating to me. I still hunt for the manual.

I want to know what is next. I write that thought with the realization that I cannot know what is next. Even so, right now, it is a strong desire. I found a book called “Life after Death”. My first thought was “Aha! There is a manual!”

Deepak Chopra in his book Life after Death writes, “Soul bonds occur on the astral plane just as they occur in the physical world. Relationships in the astral plane mean that you are vibrating in concert with someone else’s soul and therefore feel a heightened sense of love, unity and bliss. … When the disembodied soul tunes in to the frequency of a loved one back on the physical plane, that person may feel the presence of the departed…” I sure hope that is what is going on when I feel Cheryl near me.

I long to hear, strain to hear her voice. She knows what is after this physical life. It is very hard to hear what she is saying to me from that higher plane.

I have so many more questions. I could not ask Cheryl about what is next. I think she knew but was unable to tell me what she knew. It was not until after she left this plane of existence that I realized I still had questions. She gave me little hints. I did not recognize those for what they were. Many months before she left, she spoke to me about not being here for her next hair appointment. Her timing was off a little but I remember at the time thinking, you are wrong dear. Most smart men know that their wife is rarely wrong.

“… I went in seeking clarity

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains
We go to the doctor, we go to the mountains
We look to the children, we drink from the fountain
Yeah, we go to the Bible, we go through the workout
We read up on revival, we stand up for the lookout

There’s more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
(The less I seek my source)
Closer I am to fine …

Songwriters: Emily Ann Saliers / Amy Elizabeth Ray

Carpe Diem

Empathy and Other Thoughts

Posted by

4

Empathy is at the core of activism. These words were spoken by Steve Hartman in his piece that is presented on CBS Mornings. If you have not watched any of these videos take some time to do so. Steve and his children do a good job of presenting kindnesses that folks do for one another. (https://www.cbsnews.com/feature/kindness-101-steve-hartman/)

Empathy is simply awareness of the plight of others. In current times the political realm uses the term woke and uses that word as a pejorative. There is nothing wrong with being an empath even though some would have you believe otherwise.

At the height of our political season, in among all the name-calling, empathy for others healthcare situations seems lacking. Pick a topic; reproductive rights, gender affirmation, restroom use, pharmaceutical costs, mental health, insulin prices, Affordable Care Act, weight loss or gun rights – all have become political. There is emphasis without empathy.

At the same time regular people simply trying to get along in life in poor situations in other countries are disparaged for wanting to come to the United States. As Pres. Reagan called it, the shining city on the hill. We are fortunate. We are here. On the south there is a river, a desert, a fence, a wall to keep people out. There is also overwhelming empathy for those coming here by many who live nearby and border patrol officers. Walk-ins sit and wait to be picked up. And others attempting to become our leadership are denigratory in their depiction of the reasons for the migration and are actively contemptuous of those coming here.

There is little empathy displayed by some of those vying for great office. Leadership without empathy is elitist.

Altruism in leadership produces consequence. Without it another guy is merely getting financially rich by gaming the system (whatever that means). Altruism and empathy are not manifest by tearing down and name calling. Altruism and empathy are manifest by describing policy gaps and ways to correct them. (Holy Cow! I fell down the political rabbit hole.)

If I learned anything by being care partner to Cheryl, it was altruism and empathy. (in addition to love, sympathy, emotional comfort and a vast range of other emotions) Of course, she was my whole focus while she was here. Now that she is not I see other self serving ideas and effacing attitudes towards others that are pervasive in our culture. I had to put her comfort first. Comforting others without being intrusive is part of my new “more”.

“Me. Me. Me.”, he said. There is no grace in focusing on yourself above others.

If our culture emphasized empathy, altruism and an outward view towards the greater good, what heights could we achieve?

Carpe Diem.

Grief and Sharing

Posted by

1

I recently asked to be a part of and help with a ministry at our church called GriefShare. It is a support group for those of us dealing with the loss of a loved one. Mother, Father, Sister, Brother, Son, Daughter or Friend – Any or all of these losses in life. They are common and expected but not hoped for losses and we grieve.

I do not know what I am hoping to gain from this experience. For me, having spent a great part of the past few years caring for Cheryl, it may simply feel comfortable to help others.

The program itself which has a website and an abundance of videos and formal presentations seems to be aimed at guiding the participant toward some stable existence without whoever has left this existence. In many ways much of that journey occurred with me while Cheryl was struggling with her Parkinson and her accompanying dementia. I purposely try to remember things we did before her Parkinson. Sadly, perhaps because those are are farther in the past or perhaps because the Parkinson and dementia were so overwhelming during the past six years or so, this memory exercise is hard. I still make the effort.

It is not so much that I want to forget the past few years but it is very important for me to remember the fun we had for the few years prior. Those are the years when we hiked in parks and through the woods. Those are the years we out bid everyone for overnight hotel stays. Those where the years when we hopped in the car suddenly on a weekend and drove to Illinois because a grandson was coming. Those where the years we hopped in the car and drove to Indiana because a granddaughter was coming. Those are great memories. And when I purposely think about those times I do not see her deathly ill face.

Cheryl still lives in me and I do grieve for her but I think the long time we had with Parkinson and cognitive issues (I think) helped me to come to terms with her eventual death. She was very much not the wonderful person I spent fifty years of my life with during the last six or so years as she drifted deeper into dementia. I have written this before to myself but I am happy for her that she is gone. She is in fact not suffering anymore.

And with that thought I do wish for her to be here with me. Happy. Disease free. Without encumbrances. Without walkers and canes and wheelchairs. I wish she was her slightly overweight but curvy self wishing to lose a few pounds by doing water aerobics. I wish, I wish, I wish.

I have let her go but I still grieve for her and will always. How can I not?

GriefShare emphasizes that grief is a journey. Life is a journey too. I use a picture of us that my daughter took of us just a few years ago as we walked back to our spot after completing a fund raising walk for Parkinson research. I still use it and another version where Cheryl is ghosted. We are still journeying through life. She is still with me. I hear her admonish me for being a stinker because I am upset about something, usually a trivial something maybe yelling at another bozo driving along. She would tell me to calm down while she was still riding with me physically She is still traveling life with me even though she is not here. I still talk to her. I think of grief as a nuance to life’s journey.

Grief will always be there. My sister died in 2008 of MDS a form of blood cancer. My father died a few months before that in 2007 of colon cancer. My mother died in 2016 of old age. My brother died in 2020 of heart failure. Grief will always occur in life. It is one aspect of the journey.

At this stage of my life I search for purpose. A few years ago as Cheryl’s situation worsened I convinced myself that my purpose was to take care of her. That was true but I am beginning to think that there is more. I am wondering what that more is.

Carpe this Diem and all the more you are given.

Love is in the Bin

Posted by

4

Girl With Balloon

By Dominic Robinson from Bristol, UK – Banksy Girl and Heart Balloon, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=73570221

This picture gives me writer’s cramp (whatever that could be.) The image is powerful by itself. The other graffiti merely enhances the photo.

As I work my way through this early period after Cheryl’s death, I notice that poetry, music and simple art speaks to me internally. This piece by “Banksy” who is a mysterious graffiti artist in England is one of those. Recently another version of the image is in the news in a smash and grab robbery story. I was reminded of this image that I saw somewhere some time ago. This image is from 2004 well before Cheryl’s Parkinson appeared. She was passionate about deep water aerobics then. Life was good. We were good. The kids were good. The world was just plain good.

Another version of this same image was sold at Sotheby’s and shredded at auction. Its name was changed to “Love is in the Bin” and it was sold for 18 million pounds.

There is something philosophical about spending a very large sum of money (made of paper) on an artwork (made of paper and wood) neither of which will survive very long in the big scheme of things. So much in life is fleeting and impermanent.

I wish I had 18 million bucks and could buy back a healthy Cheryl.

I wish for a lot.

Carpe the fleeting Diem

The Walk and Fundraiser

Posted by

0

On Sunday September 8th the Rev It Up for Parkinson Walk/Run/Bike occurred. My daughter contacted a friend of hers who does silk screening and had special T-shirts made.

This year has been special in many ways.

At the beginning of the year Cheryl was in a memory care facility and was also being cared for by Queen City hospice. On April 22nd, she left this life for another.

She missed her 75th birthday by a couple weeks. I made no note in my journal about her birthday. I was down on that day. It was only a few days after I buried her.

I think about her often. Little things will go by in the day and my first inclination is to look over where she should be – in her chair at home, on the passenger side of the car, in the kitchen – to ask her about what she thinks or how she feels about it. Whatever it is.

My birthday came and went. I went to visit with my sister. I wanted to see her but I also think I did not want to be without someone on my birthday. Birthdays were a big deal to Cheryl and she made everyone around her understand why that day was important.

Our wedding anniversary came and went. I wrote her a letter. Writing it seemed to help me a little.

This walk/run was a favorite fundraiser of hers. I felt a little lost on Sunday. Last year she was unable to get moving to be there for the walk. Our family went without us. Over time Parkinson’s disease will peter you out.

I purposely work to remember her before the disease petered her out.

Afterward I used part of the afternoon to ride my bike for a bit. I thought about how she would have wanted to be with everyone. I thought about what a loving and kind person Cheryl was. I thought about how she would try to (her words) make sure everyone was satisfied and doing well.

I think that I was not doing well. I had not thought about that until my sister called in the evening to chat about how it all went. We talked for a while. I told her it was good and it was fun. I was at my son’s house and he had just asked me if Mom had ever actually walked the whole walk. I said no and was in the midst of memories of us walking when we used to hike. I had some videos of Cheryl on my phone and was looking at her Parkinson stride when my sister called.

Thanks, Joyce. I needed you right then and did not know it.

Carpe Diem

Poetry – And Other Thoughts

Posted by

1

Thinking all the way back to high school, I have had a fascination with poetry of all sorts. I credit Fr. Averbeck and his English Literature class for this fascination. His love of Shakespeare and poetry came through when he taught. The school was re-organizing the scheduling for many classes and trying to fit as much as possible into the school day. Eng. Lit. was merely thirty minutes long. It was the best thirty minute block of time in my day.

Poetry invokes a picture which develops into an emotion and a feeling which awakens other senses. Smells erupt and colors appear as you let the words tell the story of the author has penned. The picture may be very different from the words. The picture may be very much like the words. Listen. You will see it.

With Cheryl gone, I find myself reading more and reading poetry out loud. I am surprised sometimes at the involuntary emotion that sounds in my voice. I am not surprised at the memories that are awakened by various poems. This one – Casey at The Bat – is sort of corny, and yet, my voice always wavers and most times tears well up in my eyes. It takes me to a time when our youngest child had to memorize a poem in grade school. His intention was to find a short poem. I challenged him to commit to memory “Casey At The Bat”. I will learn it with you. It became a dinner time thing.

I would say, “The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day, the score stood four to two with but one inning more to play.” We traded lines back and forth. When he recited the poem in class for the rest of the students and his teacher, he told me one of his classmates asked him, “Did they win?” I laughed. He went on to tell me it was the longest poem anyone recited.

Those are good memories. It should not be surprising to me that tears of nostalgia appear in my eyes. 

Casey at the Bat
By Ernest Lawrence Thayer
A Ballad of the Republic, Sung in the Year 1888

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that—
We’d put up even money now with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey’s getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile on Casey’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt ’twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey’s eye, a sneer curled Casey’s lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped—
“That ain’t my style,” said Casey. “Strike one,” the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted some one on the stand;
And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, “Strike two.”

“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn’t let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip, his teeth are clinched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.

Copyright Credit: n/a

I love that poem. I can hear the crowd and smell hotdogs. But mostly I can see Scott as a young boy stretching his arms and growing into himself. This effort by Thayer is an ode and tells a story. Many poems that I read are more prayerful and and paint a much different picture and evoke a feeling of calm. Some can enrage. This one brings with it family time.

Carpe the Labor Diem