My search for grace and meaning after a former care partnering life with a wife who suffered from Parkinson's disease and dementia giving her a confused and disorienting world.
It just is harder. Several times over the past few days I have been blindsided by my own emotions. A hymn in church, a song on the radio, a picture on the Frameo, a note in a Christmas card, any of these and all of these bring to mind memories of glad tidings gone by. If I am completely honest with myself, I started it.
A good friend asked what my favorite song/hymn was and I responded “Hallelujah” and could not immediately remember Leonard Cohen wrote it so many years ago. It was often used in the closing scenes of the show “Criminal Minds.” It is a haunting tune, at least it is to me. I think the rendition that is used on the show is the one by John Bon Jovi. I am unsure of that fact but it haunts me and reminds me of Cheryl and our younger times together.
When that happens I just let it roll over me. It is disappointing that Cheryl is no longer with me but we had a great life together. More than fifty years of love, children, busy, travel, learning, excitement, anguish, grace, parties, dinners, Christmases, Easters, egg hunts, summers and summer vacations, it was a wonderful time. We argued too but we never took that to bed with us. She supported me and I supported her.
Today as I put my last stamps on my Christmas messages I set Spotify to play “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen. After that it wandered off to play a not so random collection of songs from various albums. Yusaf (Cat Stevens) started playing and suddenly I was 25 again. It is interesting to me how that happens. Cheryl has long hair and the kids are little. Yusaf is gray these days, as am I.
And though you want to last forever; You know you never will; (You know you never will); And the goodbye makes the journey harder still – Cat Stevens “Oh Very Young”
It is good to remember those times we had.
Time only moves forward. The Christmas greetings are in the mail.
The bear got his hat out yesterday. Maybe his friend the elf will show up and help celebrate soon.
On this day, however, this day before Thanksgiving Day I am thinking about our life, Cheryl’s and mine, and what a gift it was to us. Tomorrow is the day to count blessings and be thankful for what we have. For me I am also thankful for what we had.
I do not have Cheryl with me any longer but what I have instead is the knowledge that she is not suffering with Parkinson and dementia. I am thankful for that knowledge.
I do have three well educated and successful children who have built successful careers. All of the grandchildren in all of the families are healthy and happy. Some have moved into careers themselves. Some are still figuring it out for themselves but they are all self reliant. Their parents are excellent teachers. I am thankful for the family Cheryl and I made.
I do have my own health. My knees do not hurt constantly like other friends that I have. My hips do not hurt when I walk like others that I know. I was still able to hike four miles up and down the face of a wooded cliff-side in Kentucky. (My legs complained a bit afterward but the bourbon worked. I bought real hiking boots when I returned home.) In the summertime I spent many days riding 15 – 20 miles on my bike. (I am not fast but I can keep up 12 – 15 mph for long stretches. I am not in a hurry. I like to look around me while I ride.) I would like to lose a little weight but my physic will probably never be like what I was at twenty-five now that I am seventy-five. I am thankful for my health.
My sister and I have become much closer. Only she and I are left from our original family. She and I are both widowed and that is sad but it seems like we lean on each other a bit and that is helpful to both of us. I am very thankful for our relationship.
I am thankful for all the help we received from friends and family this past year as Cheryl’s health rapidly declined. I am thankful to all the kind folks at Bridgeway Pointe and Queen City Hospice that took care of Cheryl as she faded. Thank you all.
I am thankful for new friends and old friends who have helped me through the past year.
I am thankful for kindness in the world.
I am thankful that mom taught me a few basic cooking techniques when I was younger and I did not realize she was doing it.
I am thankful that I like to cook and that I like my own cooking. (See the physic comment above.)
I am thankful that things always seem to work out.
I am thankful that I am getting better at staying in the present and not experiencing anxiety for the future. This quote from Matthew pops into my head sometimes (it is true!) when I think about what comes next. [“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin.”] I thank Cheryl for teaching me this concept of staying present and Mom for pointing out self-reliance goes hand in hand with that.
Mom left me with a gift that I will always be thankful for. I wrote this paragraph sometime ago: At the very end of her life my mother awakened for a few minutes as I was sitting with her in her room at Bridgeway Pointe which is an assisted living community where she lived out the last fifteen months of her life. When I walked into her room Mom was quietly dozing in her bed. I sat in the usual chair I sat in and waited to see if she would awaken. It was after her dinner time and she often took a nap after dinner. After a few minutes, maybe half an hour, she woke up and looked over at me. She did not have her glasses on but she said, “Paul, is that you?” I replied, “Yes it’s me.” And then she said something that I was not expecting. She said, “Thank you for all your help.” After that she dozed off again. It was the last conversation I had with my mother. She passed away a couple days later. It still makes me cry.
I am thankful that I was helpful to Mom. She acknowledged that to me. All I could say to her was, “you’re welcome.” And I sat in her darkened room as she dozed off again.
We should always be thankful for what we have and what we have had and what we may be given. When someone is helpful to you, acknowledge it and say thanks to them. (Do not whine about it if they are unhelpful – reread the Matthew quote.)
The holiday festivities are here. The Grief Share topic is “how to survive”. Last year was hard enough. Am I expecting it to be harder? I do not know.
This particular weekend has been and is still a busy one. For some simply being busy helps with grief and I suppose that may be true for me too. Fewer folks showed up for the holiday grief share program. Perhaps that is because they are busy with Thanksgiving planning. Perhaps many simply do not want to think about it. I was not thinking about it until the opportunity arose to attend this special group.
This will be the first Thanksgiving Day – which by the way is my favorite festivity – without Cheryl being physically here. Last year she was not mentally here. I do not expect to not be sad and I will not apologize for feeling that way.
When the carpet cleaner folks are finished today I will decide where to put the Christmas tree. And after I make that decision I will get it out of the box and put it up. I did not do that last year. Perhaps I will start a new tradition this year and place the tree in a different spot. Cheryl will argue with me in my head. I look forward to it (the arguing).
Do not be a curmudgeon, Paul. Try your best to be if not happy, at least, up beat. When we gather this year let’s talk about the good times. I remember a Christmas Eve a long time ago when she insisted that I open her gift to me after we had come home. I wanted to do was go to bed and sleep after a night of celebration and maybe a little too much alcohol. She had made me a shirt. She was so proud of it. Those are the experiences that I want to remember. (I do not remember what I gave her that year.) I was then and am still now impressed with her ability as a seamstress. That is only one of my favorite memories.
Another more recent memory from maybe three years ago, she said to me, “Get your music machine out and turn on Christmas music.” She means Alexa. I cringed when she told to do that. I think I grumped a little too and then I went to get the hockey puck I move around to listen to music. A Christmas song or two in among others is okay. WARM 98’s idea of solid Christmas music, old, new, good, bad, chipmunks, Benedictine monks, rock and roll, country-western, some group of nuns, Bing Crosby, etc. a few years ago lost me as a listener. That was not a big deal to them since I rarely listened to their station. Five weeks of Christmas music is agony to my ear. I feared the worst was going to happen – Christmas carols from Halloween to Christmas. There would be no “Monster Mash”. I said loudly, “Alexa, play Christmas music!” Off we went into the holiday season. Cheryl insisted on making cookies that day and I helped her. (I wish I was not so reluctant to do so that day but that day is history.)
Cheryl often told me a story about peeking through the keyhole of the doorway to the living room and seeing all the toys around the Christmas tree. The keyhole got dark and the door flew open. (Uh oh.) There is more to the story and I wrote it down somewhere. I may spend the rest of the day looking for where I put it.
Smile!
Be thankful for what you have been given! Carpe the Holidays and Carpe this Diem and all the rest you are given.
Listen with your heart. It is quieter than your mind.
Listening to my youngest son talk to his oldest son lightens my heart. They have common interests in sports. I do not have a strong interest in professional sport. Those are merely noise off to the side of the snacks and other refreshment.
Many years ago I listened to my father when he told me, you should always listen to the other guy even if you think he is a jerk because he might have a good idea. Dad rarely expressed his judgment of others. He also understood within himself that listening does not happen while one is talking.
Mom had a phrase that I remember from childhood. She used to say, you have to pull up your own socks. I do not know where that came from but I took it to mean that one should seek help from others when necessary but it is up to oneself to get up and move on from any difficulty.
Today I am listening to my heart. I believe I need to listen to that part of me. How do I feel about all that has unfolded in my life. Political noise has had no effect on that. Life and living with Cheryl for three quarters of that time has. She has made me a better man. But so has listening to Mom and Dad and listening to my son’s conversation with his son. So has listening to my heart. In a lifetime of conversation, real conversation, and listening to others in my life, I have concluded that only I can pull up my own socks. And as I write this I think about the times I pulled up Cheryl’s no slip socks (her name for them) in the evening and put her pajamas on her to prepare for bed. She would not accept my help to do that in the morning when she got up.
Last week I retreated from the every day so that I could listen to my heart. I find that to be easier and more fulfilling if I distract myself after awhile with some occupation totally diverse to a previous concentration. This method has worked often for me through life. (The mantra is “sleep on it.”) A book of fiction or movie that has no moral to convey, a romantic comedy will do this for me. The distraction refreshes. I can look for help where I can find it but only I can pull up my socks.
I have been listening to the Grief Share videos purposefully for several weeks. I find myself talking and commenting to the various experts and listening to the people relating their grief story. There is a yin and yang to it all in my thoughts. I resist experts telling me what wine pairs well with what cheese. Occasionally, Dad will say be quiet and listen. (Maybe not often enough do you talk to me, Dad.) So, today I will listen with my heart.
I will remind myself that my concept of God is not the same as other’s concept of God. It is important to see past the literal when reading the Bible or the Quran or any religious text and just listen. Listen to your heart. Meditation an eastern concept helps with this. Prayer a western concept helps with this. Keep an open mind. Be still and just listen. Read Siddhartha. Be still. Listen.
She did it again this morning. At least that is what I thought when I found most of my ingredients out to remind myself what I intended to do today.
A couple years ago, when Cheryl was struggling physically more with Parkinson and her struggle with the dementia aspects of it was taking away her ability to follow simple directions, she coerced (maybe too strong of a word) me into helping her make cookies. I did not want to do it at the time.
Once or twice these were Snickerdoodles. And a couple other times we made chocolate chip cookies, the recipe is on the two pound bag of Nestle’s morsels. “You have to get the yellow bag!” she said to me once when I when I returned from the store by myself in the midst of the COVID pandemonium and price-shopped for supplies. “Those won’t work.” I was disheartened. I had purchased the store brand of chocolate chips. I argued my case for twenty-two milliseconds before realizing that there was no point in contesting the issue further. I returned to the store for the correct chips (“Morsels! It will say morsels on the bag. The bag is yellow.” She spoke to my back as I left.)
I can hear her voice. Little stories like this help me to recall her voice.
Yesterday, because I could avoid it no longer, I went to the grocery to restore my larder to its previous vigor. At the beginning my list had only two things, dried cranberries and raisins. Both of these I add to overnight oats which has become a new favorite breakfast treat. I have a pint Ball jar that is just the right size to contain a half cup of rolled oats, a cup of milk and whatever else I put in with those usually raisins or craisins some honey and chia seeds to set in the fridge overnight. I have also added at times cocoa powder, cinnamon, cardamon, vanilla or tahinni and used brown sugar instead of honey. This mixture goes well with my assembly of the coffee in the evening as well as drinking the coffee in the morning.
While putting all away I discovered that the bag of dried cranberries that I purchased would not fit into my quart jar I use to save dried fruit. Alas, some remained in the ziploc bag that only zips most of the time. I left them on the counter to become a healthy evening snack near the apples and bananas.
After preparing some lunch I hunted for some sweetness to satisfy my heritage and hit upon spreading the Nutella look-alike I purchased at Aldi sometime in the past on a saltine cracker and sprinkling cranberries on top. That tuned out pretty good. (If you are not a believer, try it.) I realized that I was inventing a variety of cookie – biscuit or digestive to the Brits out there – and heard Cheryl say, “You could try making a chocolate cookie with stuff in it.” I blame Cheryl when I hear these inventive thoughts about cooking. She was not very inventive with ingredients but very inventive with technique.
I launched myself into search for a basic chocolate cookie that I could modify with extra ingredients. Below is the final product:
2 C. all purpose flour
2/3 C. powdered cocoa
1 tsp. baking soda
¼ tsp. salt
1 ½ C. white sugar
1 C. unsalted butter
2 large eggs
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 C. chocolate morsels (in the yellow bag)
1 C. dried cranberries
½ C. smashed walnuts (crushed in the bag but I smash them further)
I creamed the butter, eggs, vanilla and sugar for a bit. Whisked the flour, salt, soda and cocoa together in a separate bowl dry and then dumped them into my mixer. (I bought a new mixer recently. It has extra paddles.) After a bit of mixing I tried out my folding paddle and dumped in the rest of the ingredients.
Bake in a 350F (177C) – medium oven 8 to 10 minutes. This lump of cookie dough makes about 4 dozen if you use a teaspoon from your table wear set to scoop and spoon some on to UN-greased cookie sheets like I did. (My mind always wants to grease the cookie sheet and Cheryl always tells me, “No!”)
After 8 minutes on the timer, I rotated the cookie sheets in the oven and added 4 minutes to the time. This worked for me because I dislike (maybe hate) chewy soft cookies. There is something special about just the right crunch that makes me smile.
Cheryl! You turned me into a cookie recipe experimenter. It is all your fault. (Dammit.) I love you and you are right. These are good. The tricky part will be spreading them out in my eating habits. I have eaten three while writing this story. They go well with coffee.
In future experiments I may try crushed peanuts and raisins. GORP cookies sounds good to me.
I wonder which wine pairs well. Pinot Noir? Chardonnay?
A conundrum. There was a big one there in the gap. It was begging to be eaten before I took this picture and I obliged.
Carpe Diem. (life is better with cookies and chocolate)
The gentleman said as a response to an unknown question in an advertisement about a medical institution. I was watching the morning newsy program(s) and thinking about the day. It is a concept that many, myself included, wish for. The hope is that a higher power, a greatness, a consciousness greater than one’s own will take care any difficulty and fix it whatever it is. Is that realistic? What about self reliance? All of this became too hard to think about, so, I awakened the New York Times Wordle game page and did it for a minute or two of distraction.
I inadvertently touched the archive button which I had paid no attention to previously. I found that it would let me go back and work on incomplete games. (down the rabbit hole I went) November of last year was when Cheryl moved to Bridgeway Pointe in the memory care section. There were a half dozen incomplete puzzles. I kept going backward in time working puzzles and thinking about what was happening in our life.
I got to my birthday in August of last year (2023). I did not finish the puzzle that day. I cannot recall anything about what went on that day. Perhaps it was merely another day filled with Parkinson. That goes without saying. The beauty of a journal or a blog is that often I have noted what happened on a certain day in the past. From my blog/journal:
—
That day I wrote about our day. Cheryl was struggling.
—
I am not surprised that I cannot remember my birthday last year. The event itself was unimportant to the task of keeping up with her Parkinson and her dementia. Perhaps one day an oncology style doctor will emerge to straddle the care complexities of PD, dementia and dying which no doctor seems to be able admit is the prognosis for this damnable combination of symptoms and inabilities. The phrase – no one dies from PD, usually you die with it – is very much a distinction without a difference. In fact it might peg the meter on my bullshit detector.
Perhaps next year I can recall what I did this year for my birthday and smile instead of cry.
It has been six months today. How are you in your new existence? I have to admit to myself that I still miss you greatly. You were so much of my life how can I not?
I wrote on my blog (I am sure that you read it.) about my own personal “If Only”. If Only is the title of the next section of the Grief Share series. I have not watched the video yet but I will later today in preparation for helping Sr. Janet tomorrow.
In case you forgot, here is what I wrote the other day:
If Only
There is no percentage in “if only”. None. Although many of us spend considerable time with if-only style thoughts. If only I had completed (insert item here) I would be (insert perceived superlative or horror here). If only I had asked (him, her, them) about the consequences of (this, that , those) we would be (better, worse, still wondering). One can go anywhere with a good if only.
There is no percentage in it. Nothing is gained by speculative thought and other attempts to predict present out comes from “if only I had”. Additionally there is no real risk except perhaps diminishing self worth. God (or whatever one’s concept of God is) as the eternal knows the future and needs no predictors. Past, present and future is the same to the eternal.
Fuzzy philosophy there but what-iffing your past actions does not help today’s actions.
Grief Share talks about this in long winded generality. The “if only” that I deal with often when it jumps into my head is why could I not see that she was moments from leaving this existence when I kissed her good night the evening before she died.
This is my “if only”. What would be different today if I had sat up with her as she took her last breath? I will never know.
If Only.
At the time I was experimenting with prose poetry in a way. You know what a corny poet I am. I still have those old letters we wrote each other in high school. I have yours and mine because you never threw anything away. Neither did I. Those notes are special to me. Not long after you died, I read some of them and thought that I should put them together and match the dates. I did not. Much like looking through old pictures (I found the packets from our trip out west with the kids.) I look through your letters and then find my reply. Good heavens, I was smitten with you back then.
I am smitten with you now as I think about those days and the life we had together.
A fellow blogger wrote this comment to me: “I was with my dad in his final hours, lingering long. My older brother wondered aloud if he was hesitant to leave while I was there, as if to protect my sensitive soul. When I went home to sleep, he went on to eternity.
I wrote back: “ … And that is what I tell myself. My father (I think) waited until Cheryl and I left to eat a little lunch. When we came back – Dad was gone. I simply did not want her to feel abandoned. I think that is the source of my sadness when it pops into my head. — and this thought and how it affects me is what I will think about today as I walk and try to enjoy this beautiful Autumn day in Ohio. Those thoughts make it all about me and I do not want to feel that way. At other times I think Cheryl hung on as long as she did because she wanted to be sure that I would be okay. That was her personality. (that thought also makes it about me.) Today is Monday. Cheryl died on Monday April 22. Six months ago today. I think I am missing her a little more today. Thank you for reading and your comment. It is a comfort.”
Do you remember that? We went to be with Dad that day at Hospice and we went to get some soup in the little lunch room they had there. That is a vivid memory of mine.
I can still see Dad’s gray face. I can still see your gray face. I can still see Mom’s gray face. I can still hear the silence when Laura stopped breathing.
Even when it is expected, death is unexpected. If you had wanted me there to be with you that morning and could not wait any longer, I apologize for not getting there to be with you. Please do not think that I abandoned you. If you knew when I was coming that morning and did not want to upset me with your silence, thank you but I was upset anyway. (pretty sneaky, girl)
I miss you today. I am going to take a walk in the sunshine and think about it all.
If you are allowed to, save me a seat next to you. We will talk more when I get there.
friday comes with cool
sun peeks higher in the sky
autumn is awake
she speaks in my head
often with her quiet voice
our love continues
this day Cheryl is
this day memories of us
happy memories
Haiku form – 5 : 7 : 5 – is a favorite poetic form to me. Real poets, I do not consider myself a real poet, are able to paint a picture, elicit an emotion or start a meditation with seventeen syllables. Distilling feelings and ideas to their basic form. I have noticed in myself that many times words do not work. The search for a word with the perfect nuance of what I feel alludes me often. Perfection at reading what is not there is not my strongest ability.
And yet, funneling feelings into seventeen sounds is sometimes satisfying.
Meditation (I use that word instead of prayer) comes in many forms to me. Today it is distillation of thought into seventeen bits of non-prattle.
abracadabra in mind appears some pictures our happier times
grieve companion lost happy memories abound love is present, found
Thinking about Cheryl today as I write about our life with its past joys and wonderful trips and the sadness and struggles near the end has pushed me into haiku today. Waiting to see what the rest of the day brings and the realization that existence takes care of itself without my help is comforting.
I really enjoy playing this game from the New York Times. It gets me to think beyond what I perceive.
One of the words today was “shiva”. To me in my environment in my meager knowledge of the world, other cultures, other traditions, “shiva” says mourning and is part of Jewish faith tradition. I am also a poor speller. That shiva is spelled with a h on the end. It can also be something that one does in a cold late Autumn drizzle while waiting for the bus if you are located in the part of New England where the r is often dropped at the end of the word. These two thoughts in combination led me to type shiva into Google’s AI driven (assisted?) interface.
The Hindu god of destruction appeared with a picture. All became clear. Before I returned to the NYT Games page to search for the rest of the connections to shiva, I spent some comfortable blissful time reading about Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. (Creator, Preserver, Destroyer) I play this game every morning but I do not always finish it because I become impatient with myself and the search for the connections. Patience is a virtue that has to be practiced often even in small ways to become comfortable. And I am not a keen observer of pop culture. Some connections are those kind.
All of this came while I am baking another new recipe and became distracted with thinking that Carl Sagan had written a book called Connections but his book is actually entitled, “Cosmos Connections”. I used to have it somewhere. His show from the 1980s is called simply Cosmos. Astronomy, planets and stars and night time sky phenomena also fascinate me. Oops I have fallen down another rabbit hole but it has led me to thinking about Cheryl. Or maybe the smell of baking has caused me to think about her.
Cheryl at the very end of her life became enamored with the moon and its phases. A couple times sitting with her in the evening in front of our home watching the moon and airplanes and the international space station go by, I saw the wonder in her eyes and voice as she marveled at the bigness of it all and the smallness of us. These little snippets of lucidity appeared at random. I think she was sensing something that I could not.
I miss that and I miss her. I am glad that our connection is so strong. I am glad that she leaves me little messages around when I hunt for things.
Carpe Diem… (I’m sure you can smell it. Banana Nut bread)
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.]
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.
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.
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.
Adjunct_Wizard 