Stocking up

The day before Thanksgiving, I stopped at Mike’s Truck Garden (a fruit and vegetable stand in Fulton, CA).  I’d seen low prices advertised on local apples the week before, and wasn’t surprised to see the place mobbed the day before the holiday.  I picked out some apples and a few winter squash, got up to the cashier and he said “the total is $4.44, which means it’s $2.22 for you today.”  And then I understood why the employees were saying “have a good holiday, see you in the spring” to everyone:  it was the last day of the season that they were open, and no matter what you purchased that day, the entire bill was half off.  Score.

I got in my car, drove around the back, and decided to park again.   This time, I brought in my shopping bags and got a cart.  I bought many packages of bulk food (nuts, seeds, trail mix, candy for Christmas stockings, etc), more apples and assorted squash, red peppers, green peppers, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, yams, cilantro, parsley, radishes, cauliflower, kiwi, lemons, limes, oranges, onions, green onions, red cabbage, green cabbage, grapes, spinach, green beans, and swiss chard.  My total was $80.46, so I paid $40.23.

I would have bought more, but I was mindful of what I could use for Thanksgiving and in the immediate future, and what I could preserve.  My  instinct (that I had to suppress) was to “rescue” as much of the food as I could.  (I think I could be an obsessive harvester/gleaner if I ever have a garden.)

When I got home, I called my mother, and asked her the best freezing method for much of the excess.  In my childhood, we had large gardens and numerous fruit trees, and we rarely, if ever, used “store-bought” frozen vegetables or fruit.  Every year, we dried culinary herbs, canned tomato sauce, applesauce, and assorted jams/jellies, and stocked the freezer with large quantities of tomatoes, green beans, peas, peppers, corn, peaches, and blueberries.   My sister and I were always being sent to the basement to retrieve items from the two massive chest freezers.

So I spent all of the afternoon before Thanksgiving (and into Thanksgiving day, as well) washing, cutting, and storing vegetables and herbs.  In the week and a half since then, my roommate and I have used all the fresh things, and I take pleasure in being able to pull a ziploc full of clean, ready-to-use cilantro from the freezer when making guacamole.

It turns out that it was an exceptional way to honor Thanksgiving.  At the most basic level, I am grateful for access to plentiful food and to have the money to purchase it, and for the means to preserve and appreciate it.  It also connected me to my family who I was missing  over the holiday.  My mother sent me the following email late on Thanksgiving eve:

I hope you got all your food “put up”.  I was smiling most of the evening thinking about you doing that and enjoying it.  It always brings back a warm glow of home and gives such pleasure.  Enjoy, enjoy.

Related gleanings:  Last week, a story was circulated about 40,000 people showing up at a farm in Colorado to glean the fields after harvest.  Also, as most of us are aware, a lot of food banks are low this year.  If you have the means, consider donating food, time or money to one near you; a good organization is Feeding America (formerly known as Second Harvest).

 

whirlwind tour, stops 3 & 4

Continued from prior post…

Stop 3: Warren, Ohio, Aug 4-7. My mom, sister and niece had joined me in Baltimore and they participated in some of the Goucher weekend festivities, and then we all drove back together to Ohio on Monday, Aug 4.

That evening, we were to visit my uncle who lives out in the countryside near where I grew up (in northern Trumbull County – land of farms and the Amish). My sister and I were both exhausted and didn’t want to go, especially after a five-hour road trip from Baltimore. But we all went, and I was so happy that I did. The purpose of the visit was to see family and to fish. My aunt and uncle have a large garden, a fenced pasture where my uncle currently keeps two small calves that he will either have butchered or sell, and a well-stocked pond. My uncle reminds me of my grandfather as I knew him: gentle, patient, observant, and in tune with the ecosystem of his land.

I had never fished. My uncle just kept making the rounds, baiting everyone’s hooks (I quickly became brave enough to do it myself with worms, but the maggots still kind of grossed me out), and I sat and watched the surface of the pond. It turned out to be the best way to relax after nearly five days of non-stop socializing and travel. We were there before dusk, and stayed until the sun dropped below the horizon. I’ve been realizing lately how much I miss the land and space of my childhood, and being closer to nature in general. This was a great fix: sitting around a pond, talking and learning about fishing, listening to the crickets, watching the birds and bats, and watching the sun set over the fields. I caught two small blue gills and a 21” catfish, which were all thrown back…for now. Until my uncle and aunt host their next fish fry.

The remainder of my Ohio visit included a birthday excursion (my entire family is Leo) to see the Broadway touring show of Mamma Mia (which I wrote about previously), a party that I hosted for my local friends, and cleaning out my mother’s garage!

It was great to see old friends on Wednesday night: Chris, Karyn & their daughter Emma (who is 3 and I met for the first time); Becky, Doug & their kids; Barb, Melinda, Lana, Eric, and Christine. It is always difficult to find the time to see friends when I am in Ohio, so I was especially grateful that so many of them made the effort to drive in on a weeknight from Cleveland and Akron.

My sister and I planned to tag-team my mom, and on Thursday the three of us cleaned out her garage, the last “problem area” in her home that is currently up for sale. It was a Herculean task, but one day of hard work and trips to recycling and Goodwill gave my mom a garage with double the space and a clutter-free world. She recently confessed, giddily, that she left her garage door open the other day while she was at home and was not ashamed.

My visit ended with my 7-year-old niece yelling out the car window, as they drove away that evening, “Stay here forever; don’t leave” over and over again. It is difficult to part ways at times.

Stop 4: New York City & Noroton Heights, CT, Aug 8-10. I had an early-morning flight to NYC on Friday. I hadn’t been back to New York since M. and I briefly lived outside of the city two and a half years ago (a 10-week sublet in Hastings-on-Hudson, before we decided to move back to California where all our furniture and belongings still lived). I dropped off my luggage at my friend C.’s office near Astor Place, and hit the pavement.

I am always happy to just roam around the city, walking, and getting on and off the subway. I walked up Broadway, stopped at Strand Books (obligatory), and then headed to museum mile with the idea that I visit at least one museum. I hadn’t been to the Guggenheim in a long time, but upon seeing the mass of people standing in line inside, I quickly retreated and continued my walk up 5th Ave.

The National Academy Museum was currently hosting their 183rd Annual: An Invitational Exhibition of Contemporary American Art. Originally the home of a railroad magnate, this museum is more intimate in scale and, with my background in American art history, I have always enjoyed my visits there. The galleries are on the 2nd and 4th floors and consist of a series of small and large rooms, which I primarily had to myself. My favorite piece was “Self Portrait with Men in Hats 2007” (below) by Julie Heffernan, and seeing it was worth the visit.

I met my friend M.C. that evening for dinner. He has an amazing rent-controlled apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, complete with views of the mid-town skyline. M. is a member of my Goucher class who is successfully building a career in the greening of the arts (read this recent article he wrote on the greening of Broadway). He, his friend J. and I shared a great bottle of wine and small plates at Xai Xai, a South-African wine bar.

On Saturday, I spent a wonderful day with my friends C. & T. just kicking around in CT (it was a much-needed low-key day!). T. cooked for us in the evening; he grilled clams and halibut, seasoned with fresh herbs from their garden, and it was phenomenal. We have always bonded over our mutual love of cheese and wine, and our meals together are always memorable, delicious, and inevitably end with a few-too-many empty wine bottles.

Sunday morning was equally fabulous: coffee, bagels, and the Sunday Times on the deck, in the company of wonderful friends.

And then I came home.

 

wait, i’ll just look that up…

My concerns: I thought perhaps I might have a brain tumor, or I’m experiencing the onset of adult ADD or early dementia. Or my life has so many varied, disparate elements that my brain is failing to keep up. Or just too much stress and not enough sleep is causing me to lose IQ points.

My symptoms: I can’t remember, with ease, the big words, the $2 words. And I have difficulty reading books or even longer articles these days because my mind wanders and I’m easily distracted, and I lose my train of thought in tangents.

The diagnosis: My brain is being altered by the Internet. I read an article a few weeks ago by James Fallows on theAtlantic.com, titled “Is Google Making Us Stupid?” I was excited to read about academic and literary types reporting similar symptoms. Fallows wrote:

And what the Net seems to be doing is chipping away my capacity for concentration and contemplation. My mind now expects to take in information the way the Net distributes it: in a swiftly moving stream of particles. Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski.

I have been re-reading some Jane Austen novels recently, and find it nearly impossible to stick to it for very long. It was frequently sheer will-power to get through a chapter at a time. My inner conversation, as I’m reading, goes something like this: “Hmm…Rosings Park. I wonder what the film location was for the 2005 version…I’ll look that up now…no, keep reading……I did like Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy in that PBS version though…what is the actor’s name from the Joe Wright version–Matthew something? I’ll just look it up quickly on imdb.com…no, stay…do NOT look anything up……keep reading.” And so on. I even have difficulty making it through movies these days, too, for the same reason.

I was lucky to grow up in a family where we always had dinner together and talked about our days. Inevitably, a volume or two of the Encylopaedia Brittanica would end up at the table. It was part of the table clearing ritual: clear the dishes, wipe the table, and re-shelve the encylopedias. I already had the propensity toward this kind of behavior, and growing up in a family like mine cemented it. So I was prone to being an information addict.

Access to information is a great thing. I confess my addiction. But how much is lost when there is no longer a need for retention of information? And if the way we think and learn is so deeply affected by how we access and process information, who will do the deep thinking?

Me? I’m just a gleaner.

 

keeping heart

On this Father’s Day, I am remembering my father who passed away two years ago. He was my best friend, but most of all, he was known by so many for his kindness and inclusion. He made his career in theater, and his greatest joy was to see someone emerge and blossom, both in talent and confidence: he saw the best in people who didn’t realize they had a “best” to see, and saw beauty where others rarely took time to notice. That is the greatest gift he gave to my family, and to those who worked with him.

The article that I’m including here was written by an entertainment writer who devoted an installment of his weekly column to my dad just after he passed away – it seems a fitting tribute here. Here’s to you, dad, and to embracing the ability to see beauty everywhere in everything, and to seeing the potential in everyone.

“Valley has lost a true talent with Kimpel’s death,” by Andy Gray

Thursday, June 1, 2006, The Tribune Chronicle (Warren, OH)

A good first experience can be the difference between something becoming a life-long passion and something that never is attempted again.

Maybe one of the reasons the Mahoning Valley has such a rich pool of talent for its community and college theater productions is because many of those performers were shepherded through their first experience by Paul Kimpel.

Kimpel, who died Friday at age 77, spent the last 20 years writing and directing children’s theater productions for Kent State University Trumbull Campus Summer Stock. He was scheduled to direct this year’s children’s production, “Beebe Boy and Sam,” a play inspired by his daughter, Samantha, and the imaginary friend she created after her younger sister was born.

One quality that distinguished Kimpel’s plays is that he didn’t talk down to children. The philosophy behind too much children’s theater is that if it’s loud enough, bright enough and busy enough, the little ones will be amused (or at the very least their restlessness will be drowned out by the commotion on stage).

Kimpel wasn’t afraid to challenge his young actors on stage and challenge the even younger ones who often made up the audience. “Masks,” a Kimpel play that KSU Trumbull Summer Stock has staged on more than one occasion, had an experimental structure and feel to it. It proved that children’s entertainment didn’t have to numbingly literal. Even his more traditional plays, whether they were inspired by fables or Native American legends, respected the audience’s ability—regardless of age—to react to a well-told story.

Kimpel didn’t only work with children. He was a founding member of the Trumbull Art Guild, and he and his wife, Kadey, were active with other arts organizations. He was a lifetime member of Trumbull New Theatre and helped build its Niles theater. Just this year, he did an excellent job staging “The Curious Savage” as part of TNT’s 2005-06 season.

Even longer than his tenure with Summer Stock was his 40 years working as a set and costume designer for Youngstown Playhouse. While Kimpel may have encouraged many young actors, he also set a high bar for all production designers in area theater to try to match.

My perspective on Kimpel’s work has changed in recent years, as I went from an entertainment writer who talked to him occasionally to get a couple quotes for a preview story, to one of the parents who sits in the back of the theater waiting for rehearsals to end.

He could be stern when he had to be, but mainly he set high expectations and provided the knowledge and confidence for his young actors to meet those goals.

My daughter, Anna, appeared in a couple productions Kimpel directed at Summer Stock. When I told her this week about his death, she said, “He believed I could do it, even when I wasn’t sure I could.”

She was talking about appearing in “Simple Simon,” and having to turn frightening in a dream sequence. Kimpel gave her a card after the show opened that he always knew she could do it, and I know those words of encouragement meant a lot.

I’m sure there are many other children who have cards with Kimpel’s advice and encouragement tucked away somewhere as they’ve continued to pursue their passion, either professionally or for pleasure.