Dulce et Decorum Est

As one who was raised in a pacifist home, and grew up in a church tradition of non-violence, I have always struggled with Veterans' Day. I give full due to those in our country, and in Canada and the UK who fought in World War I and II and secured freedom for all the free world.

But I do not celebrate that soldiers have to go into war.

In our travels, we have had occasion to visit two of the Allied cemeteries in Europe. We visited the Normandy beaches in France ten years ago, and were so struck by the desolate rugged beaches that the Allies stormed on D-Day. Then, on a rainy afternoon we stood in the cemetery near the D-Day beaches and saw the rows and rows of crosses, or Stars of David. It is impossible not to be awed at the incredible sacrifice such a cemetery represents.

Two years ago, we visited Belgium, Netherlands, and Luxembourg. Much of our visit in Luxembourg took us to places that were prominent in the Battle of the Bulge. Then we went to two cemeteries--first the Allies' cemetery, and then the German cemetery.

What a contrast. The Allies' cemetery (which is where General Patton is buried who was killed in a road accident just after the close of the war) looks similar to the D-Day cemeteries with long rows of white crosses. The German cemetery is more somber, with heavy crosses each with two or three soldiers buried. And they all died for "king and country."

Some of the most powerful poetry I have ever read comes out of war experiences. The title of the blog "Dulce et Decorum Est" is derived from Wilfred Owen's eponymous poem. His view of war is very cynical, as he recalls a gassing of soldiers event.

Here is Rupert Brooke's poignant sonnet "The Soldier."

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Rupert Brooke died in 1915--ironically, he was on his way to fight in the battle of Gallipoli, one of those awful battles of World War I, when he died having contracted septic pneumonia.

100 Men Reading

Do you remember the ad campaign of a couple of decades ago--send me a person who reads. . .? The gist of the ad was that a person who reads is likely to be well-informed, curious, engaged--in short, the kind of person you would want to hire.

Perhaps it comes as no surprise that I prize--no, treasure--reading. I think there are few activities you can do that are more rewarding than reading. And, no doubt, it will surprise no one that I urged our children to read.

From the time our son and our daughter were just wee babes, we read to them. And, as adults, they both love to read.

I have two wonderful stories about how they reacted to my reading stories to them. One morning, I was reading the wonderful novel Julie of the Wolves to our son. Without giving anything away about the plot of this book, I came to a part where the alpha wolf in the pack is shot and killed. Seeing this detail ahead, I began to sob. My son, totally absorbed in the plot, said--Keep reading, Mommy, keep reading.

A decade later, when our daughter was little, I was reading the story Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes to her. Based on a true story about a young girl who lived in Hiroshima when it was bombed, the book reaches its climax as Sadako is dying. The Japanese custom is to buy a kimono for a young girl entering puberty. Since Sadako is dying, her parents spend a significant sum of money to get her kimono before she dies. This detail also left me teary--and my daughter glanced over at me and said--you're going to cry now, aren't you?

Books do have the power to move us.

I am very proud of my husband, who took part this week in a reading day in one of our local schools. Under the sponsorship of the American Literacy Corporation, 100 men in the Harrisburg area were recruited to go into the grade schools and middle schools and read to students.

My husband selected the book called The Three Questions, based on a story by Leo Tolstoy, written and illustrated by Jon Muth. This sweet book features a boy named Nikolai who asks three questions: 1) when is the best time to do things; 2) who is the most important one; and 3) what is the right thing to do?

He encounters his friends--Sonya, a heron; Gogol, a monkey; and Puskin, a dog. He asks them the questions, and puzzles over answers. Eventually they encounter a wise old turtle named Leo who guides Nikolai to the answers. (As an aside, I note the humor in the names in this story: Sonya was one of Tolstoy's daughters, Gogol and Pushkin are prominent Russian writers, and of course Leo is Tolstoy himself!)

As he was reading, my husband noticed the children becoming very engaged with the story. They began to pepper him with questions--for example, why do the animals talk? where are the boy's parents? doesn't he have other friends? why does he have animals for friends?

A book with the power to move children!

It was a small thing for my husband to do--take a couple of hours out of his work day morning. But, the long time impact is immeasurable. Children who are exposed to books have a whole world laid open before them. 100 men reading? Yes, and perhaps 1,000 children who may have one more reason to get turned on to books.

Saturday Soup 6 Fall 2007

It's time, once again, for Saturday soup. I am trying to be more aware of rotating soup types this fall. So today's soup is an all vegetable soup. Based on some of your comments, some of you prefer vegetable soups, and have thought about how to convert some of the meat based soups to being vegetable soups. Well, no conversion needed here--all veggies all the way.

Scene from last year's Bistro

At our church, it is almost Bistro time. The Bistro is the origin of these soup recipes, so I figure it's fair game to give the Bistro a plug. I know you'd have to be in the Harrisburg area on December 2, but I know you'd be welcome if you happened to stop by. If you go here, you will see the particulars, including a set of four recipes for this year's soup picks. Obviously, I haven't tasted any, so I don't know which one will be my favorite.

Santa Fe Corn
Chowder

Makes 12 servings

5 all-purpose potatoes, peeled and cubed
2 sweet potatoes, peeled and cubed
1 1/2 T. olive oil
3 cups finely chopped onions
1/4 cup minced garlic
1/2 cup chopped celery
1/3 cup chopped green chilies
1 red bell pepper, chopped
1 green bell pepper, chopped
3 cups roasted corn
1 T. dried oregano
1 T. dried basil
1/2 T. ground cumin
1/2 cup white wine
2 T. salt
1 T. course black pepper
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro

1) To roast corn, spread corn on a greased pan. Bake at 400 degrees for 25 minutes. Stir occasionally.

2) Cover potatoes (both all-purpose and sweet) with water in a large pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until almost cooked. Strain off water and set aside.

3) In another pot, saute onions, celery and garlic in oil until soft. Add peppers and chilies.

4) Deglaze the pot with white wine. Add oregano, basil and cumin.

5) Add potatoes to the vegetables and cover with at least two inches of water. Bring to a boil, but do not overcook potatoes.

6) When potatoes are done, add corn, salt, pepper and stir in cilantro.

Total Decadence

It is 7:59 a.m. on this Friday morning, and I am sitting in bed, reveling in a day without deadlines and pressures. Oh, sure, there is work to be done--leaves piling up outside from my yard (and my neighbor's yard) but they will be there later this morning, or even this afternoon when I go out to rake them.

My husband has left for work (one of us has to!) and I have the bed all to myself. Well, almost. Here is one of the resident cats. This is Cassidy, my buddy. Allie, my other buddie, will not lie on the bed also if Cassidy is there. Allie will try to displace Cassidy, but she won't share the bed (or me) with him.

I have my computer here so I can catch up on reading blogs. The first blog I ever read was Natural Notes 3, still one of my favorite sites.

I have a stack of magazines--I am always behind on reading magazines.

I have the television tuned to the weather channel--maybe our first snow today, just a flake or two. Hurray!

I even have one of my stuffed pigs--hey, no laughing at this 60+ year old woman who still loves pigs. Had I been born a native American, no doubt my name would be "Sleeps with Pigs." Friends and family who know that I love pigs have tended to buy me many many many pigs--stuffed, figurines, etc. Truth is, I have maxed out on pigs.

Of course, I have my notebook for storing up "blog ant" ideas (a la Julie Z).

And finally, I have my cup of morning coffee--right next to the book I am currently reading, should all these other items be exhausted on this most decadent morning.

OK--now it is 8:30. Time to get out of bed, and start raking, vacuuming, laundering, paper grading, whatever.

But the decadent respite was sweet for a time.

The Road to Happy Valley

This is a story about the road to Happy Valley. For many years, my husband and I have been going to Penn State games. A friend of ours (now dead) introduced us to Penn State football in the late 1970s. We began attending games before Penn State entered the big 10 (really 11). We have gone to most all the home games (excepting a brief hiatus when our daughter was born in October, 1981) and some important away games, including the thrilling Fiesta Bowl in January, 1987 (which capped the winning 1986 season.


This past Saturday, we headed out in the early morning for the noon game against Purdue (for the record, PSU won, and that's the last mention of wins or losses).


We love to drive the "back way" which takes us along the Susquehanna River, heading north on U.S. 15. Appropriately, the route is also called Old Trail Road. Just above Liverpool, PA, we head off on Route 104 winding along a lovely country road, where Amish farmers are out in their buggies on a Saturday morning.

We go through several small towns, including Middleburg.

The morning sky was laced with dramatic sweeping clouds on this autumn day.

We pass little country churches.

Winter provisions rolled up in plastic, under the morning sky.

Neat farm settings. We can tell that many of these farms are Amish by the lack of telephone or electrical wires heading into the farms. Also, there are frequently sturdy draft horses in the fields.

Our first stop is the Penn Stater Inn for breakfast. Sometimes it's for lunch, depending on the game starting time.

The Legends Pub where we eat is deserted this morning--too early for the food and football crowd.

Our season tickets are for four seats, so we bring along family or friends. The only requirement--just don't wear RED!

Penn State football means Joe Paterno--or in shorthand parlance--JoePa. He is an institution at Penn State. The best attribute about Paterno, in my opinion, is his dedication to education first, and football second.

Of course, there are the tailgaters. The crew below (no one we know) bring along their dog who is appropriately garbed in a football sweater. For several Saturdays, we have watched this dog (across from where we park) as the tailgaters toss a football back and forth over the dog's head. Eventually, the dog grabs the football and proceeds to deflate it.

Finally, we have cooler weather--football should be played in cold weather. This Saturday, our seats were frosted over.

Of course, the festivities begin with the Penn State Blue Band.

Somehow, the tradition began that the drum major would run and do a flip--his success supposedly foretells the game's outcome. Not very scientific, but fun.

Success!

And there is always the Nittany Lion. Once, when we went to a game with our son, who was a little boy at the time, he spied the Nittany Lion and said--look at the guy in the bear suit.

And here we have a well-dressed fan!

We must get into the stadium to see the warm-up drills.

And then the game begins.

Sometimes we have winning seasons--and sometimes not. True fans stick with their team--no booing. No calling for Paterno to resign, etc. etc. etc.

Then it's time to head home, leaving Happy Valley behind.

My favorite site along the road to Happy Valley is this lovely round barn.

I have noticed that the journey home is much sweeter after a victory!

Saturday Soup 5 Fall 2007

We just returned from the last home game of the Penn State season--since I didn't get to post my Saturday soup before we left early this morning, here it is.

This soup was my all time favorite soup at our church Bistro. Several years ago, when we were doing the Best of Bistro--I begged for the committee to choose Mulligatawny soup--to no avail. I was informed that although it is tasty, it is time consuming. So I will just have to taste it in memory.

The editorial note which identifies the soup as an early American standard is a bit confusing--the source of the note is the woman in our church who is a trained chef who vets all the recipes for ingredients, quantity, directions, and such. I believe the origin of this soup was from the British Raj days of bringing foods back to England from India.

Mulligatawny Soup

Makes 12 servings.

This recipe is an early American standard, which boasts a harvest of winter vegetables and the somewhat unusual tastes of curry and almond milk. This version is somewhat time-consuming. You might want to sauté your chicken and make the almond milk ahead of time.

INGREDIENTS
1-1/2 cups chopped onion
12 T. butter
(1-1/2 sticks)
3 pounds chicken pieces
4 medium carrots, diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped fine
4 medium potatoes, peeled and sliced thin
10 cups chicken stock
1/2 pound blanched almonds
1 cup water
1 cup tightly packed spinach leaves
2-1/2 T. curry powder
1 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup finely chopped cilantro leaves

1) Melt 6 T. of butter in a skillet over medium heat. Add carrots, onions, garlic and potatoes. Cook 10 minutes, stirring every few minutes, until onions become translucent. Remove vegetables from the pan and reserve. Wipe out the pan.

2) Add 2 more T. of butter to the skillet and melt. Sauté chicken pieces until they are nicely browned, then place them into a soup kettle.

3) Add chicken broth and bring soup to a simmer. After 30 minutes of simmering, check one of the larger dark meat pieces of chicken for doneness. The chicken should be almost ready to fall off of the bone when it is done. Remove chicken pieces from the kettle and allow them to cool slightly. Discard skin and bones and chop the chicken into small bite-size pieces. Return chicken to the pot. Return the soup to a simmer.

4) While soup is simmering, make almond milk. Toast almonds in the oven at 300 degrees for 10-15 minutes until they just turn light brown. Grind them in a blender or food processor for 2 minutes with 1 cup water. Strain mixture through fine mesh strainer (or double layer of cheesecloth). Reserve all almond milk and discard residual almonds.

5) Add spinach leaves and reserved sautéed vegetables to the kettle. Simmer for 1 minute.

6) Melt remaining 4 T. of butter in a small skillet and stir in curry powder. Add curry mixture and almond milk to the soup kettle. Add cream and cilantro and bring just to a simmer.

If you try it and like it, let me know.

The Copper Garden

Every fall, a myriad of tasks demands attention. There is the closing of the pool--an event that comes sometime in September and almost guarantees warm weather will follow. There is the stacking of the outdoor furniture, and the uncoupling of garden hoses. There are all the annual flowers so lovingly planted in the spring, now overgrown and just waiting to collapse on the first frost. These flowers need to be pulled out of pots, and dumped into recycle bins.


And then there is the copper garden.


The copper garden began innocently enough. My husband and I were shopping several summers ago at one of the local garden shops. There on display were several lovely copper hanging ornaments. We picked out one, brought it home, and hung it off our green ash tree, right next to our house. Then we saw another one and bought it. It too was hung off the green ash tree.


Over the last several years, we have bought almost 20 copper ornaments, all of which hang from the same tree. Since they are either wind chimes, or wind twirlers, they give the patio area a touch of enchantment.


One of the items has its own special history. My husband bought this canteen of hammered brass with copper accents in Morocco. As we walked through the alleys of Tangier, we were pursued, even hounded, by street vendors. One kept thrusting this canteen in front of my husband, who kept refusing to buy it. Finally, as we neared our destination, my husband named his price. When the vendor began to protest, my husband started to walk away. (Perhaps it may help you to know that my husband works for the state teachers' union, and has participated in many negotiation sessions. One of the keys to successful negotiating is the ability to walk away.) As soon as he walked away, the vendor relented and accepted his price.


Deal done! Well, not quite. We sailed back to Spain, and when we went to leave the airport at Madrid, we went through the usual security, with the canteen in my husband's carry-on luggage. Into the x-ray machine went the carry-on bag. And then it stopped. The security personnel inspected it carefully, then moved it through, then backed it up. The security staff called someone else over, who peered at the image. Then they called a superior. He looked at it, pulled it out as it came out of the machine, and proceeded to examine it. We could see the image on the screen--and there in the middle of the canteen was a square object. The security officer proceeded to question us--where did we get this, what was it, what was inside it. Well, my husband told him we bought it in Morocco, and had no idea what was inside, but he offered to open it. Once the canteen was opened, the officer turned it upside down. Finally, my husband said--it doesn't matter that much to us; we can leave it here. That did the trick and the officer let it go through.


Yesterday, I took down the copper garden. All the items are now boxed, and in storage for winter. Next spring, we will get them out, hang them up again and watch them sway in the wind, and listen to the gentle chimes.