Sunday, June 26, 2022

The Bomb Pop

Mmmmmm

Taking Will over to grandma’s, Dave asked him what his favorite treat was from the ice cream truck. He didn’t really have an answer, but I rocked out a top three: lemon-lime sorbet pops, strawberry shortcake bars, and the bomb pop firmly at number one. 

Back in maybe 1980, I bought a bomb pop at the beginning of summer. The final licks of cherry, lemon, and blue raspberry revealed a star stamped on the stick. This was winning the kid lottery: this stick entitled me to a free bomb pop. 

All summer long, one popsicle after another revealed a star prize - I couldn’t believe my luck! It was a summer of bright cherry lips painted with patriotic quintessentially frozen confections. Finally, around Labor Day, I got a stick with only half a star. The driver, a season of profits given away to this frizzy little patron, sighed and said “ok, but this is the last one.” 

Wednesday, June 22, 2022

Sustainable Fishing!

Hello baby lobsters. 

The boys caught crawfish last week and quickly wondered how they would taste. One pot of boiling water later and I had shells all over the counter. Upon further research, we discovered Michigan DNR allows you to catch up to eight per person, per day, without the need of a fishing license.

Dave hopped on Amazon, bought a trap, and we dropped it in the water, baited with hot dogs and bacon.

We caught a total of seven, but I only wanted three, and since the boys were hitting the road, we released the rest. I let them scuttle in the pot, rinsing the water as they shedded sand, then salted the water and put them on boil. I melted a few pats of butter, and carefully removed the doll like portions and ate the dainty, rich morsels.

So delicious.

Still, a lot of work for such tiny bits. I must research more to see about getting the maximum flavor from such small creatures. I was thinking of seafood scrambled eggs. Seafood broth. A rolling pin to get the all the bits. 

Monday, June 20, 2022

Why Art Matters: A Separate Peace


I first read A Separate Peace for freshman honors English in ‘83/‘84, so I feel like I’m rewriting a book report 38 years later. Reading as an adult, this text is richly complex, with themes that resonate with each generation. Since Mr. Koeningchngt (sp?) isn’t around to give me a C, I can type away. And there’s a freedom to this, a ramble as I sort it out without the desperate hope I’ve written enough for an A.

And there is a lot to unpack here.

The first thing is the book is a tale about a rich white male. Tired. The fact it is still standard reading in high schools is frankly, surprising. But upon examination, there’s justification.

OMG, how did we overlook the overt homoeroticism of the relationship between Finny and Gene? The author denies it, and yet we have their night at the beach where Gene lovingly and lustfully describes Finny’s physical beauty as easily as a lover. And the tension between the two gives off will they or won’t they vibes. 

Yeah, they won't. 

Gene, the narrator, is an anti-hero, and one character after another calls him out for being a jealous guy, emotionally weak, selfish, a liar, and a loser.  I never found myself rooting for him. For some reason he is not honest with classmates about the most basic information, to the point I’m not sure which southern state he originated from. Texas? Georgia? Alabama? And his treatment of Leper, who reached out to him in despair, is not at all in keeping with what is expected of a friend, a hero. Gene left him to twist alone in the winter chill. But as a reader, am I expecting too much of a 17 year old?

But Finny, in coping with his injury, isn’t honest with himself either. Because he cannot serve in World War II, he develops a conspiracy theory that the war doesn’t exist. That it's a game dreamed up by fat cat bureaucrats. When Gene travels to Boston to check on his friend and admit to his mistake in the tree, Finny ignores his admission of guilt and makes up an alternate reality where the tree is at fault, not his best friend. 

So, they are codependent on each other in friendship and in deceiving themselves.

The overarching theme of the book for every character is the creation of protective bubbles, a separate peace that shelters them from the war. The diversions they create for themselves in the insulated safe haven of their boarding school - secret societies, clubs, carnivals - protect them from the war, until the war encroaches on the campus, and starts to claim student soldiers. By the time the climax occurs and the class of ‘43 graduates, the war has become a permanent part of the campus, the Far Commons a space for the army to train recruits and produce parachutes. Devon was no longer a safe haven. 

The book is also anti-war, Brinker transitioning from a patriot calling out those not eager to enlist, to a reluctant soldier, wondering out loud what the point is. There is also his uncomfortable relationship with his father, a WWI veteran who insists the war is just the thing for virile young men to become heroes, relishing his good old days. Leper’s emotional breakdown and AWOL status. Gene’s passive decision to let the draft decide his fate. 

When Finny passes away, he becomes forever a child, an immature idealist, pure of heart and intent, a tragic casualty of war even though he was never a soldier. 

Before Finny dies he forgives Gene, but it is clear that Gene has not forgiven himself, revisiting the scene 15 years later. Nothing is said of Gene’s desire to be valedictorian of his class, the goal abandoned. 

What’s startling about reading this 80 years past the fictionalized events of the book is we have been fighting conflicts with every generation with the same reactions. Vietnam. Gulf War. Desert Storm. The patriotic reaction to the events of 9/11. The constant, exhausting narrative that is conspiracy theories, the attempt to absolve bad people of bad behavior by accusing others of lies and cover-ups. 

Finny also follows the literary prep school tradition of spirited troublemakers, Doc Macnooder and Hickey from The Lawrenceville Stories come to mind. 

I’ve since moved on, reading stories depicting more anti-heroes, this time a loosely connected series of stories telling individual immigrant tales. No saints here either: an Asian pop star who cannot stay out of the tabloids, an unemployed software engineer setting a campsite on fire in a rage, and a locksmith who trashes the apartment of the man having an affair with his mother. I guess it’s as much a story of the struggle of the Everyman in face of adversity, we all can’t be winners. 

Sunday, June 19, 2022

Playlist: HBD Sir Macca

Text greeting from the man himself, or rather his publicist. I love the delusion that Macca and I chat.

Will keeps calling The Beatles a boy band. I’ll allow it.

Paul turned 80 this weekend, and instead of me making a list of his best, I’m going to be lazy and list the top 10 Sirius/XM listeners voted as his best. 

Let it Be

Maybe I’m Amazed

Hey Jude

Yesterday

The Long and Winding Road

Band on the Run

Eleanor Rigby

Live and Let Die

Here, There, and Everywhere

Gotta remember those Ziploc bags.

I can’t remember what came in at number 10, but it was one that was so obvious, I was surprised I didn’t call it. I think it was Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey. Or was it Mull of Kintyre? For the record, I called 8 of the top 10, but missed Eleanor Rigby - again, obvious.

Songs I predicted to be in the top that weren’t:

Side 2 Medley from Abbey Road came in at number 17.

Helter Skelter was number 32.

On My Way from McCartney III was not listed, but we started listening at number 65 so it may have made the list. I’m still personally obsessed. 

Neither Love Me Do nor I Want to Hold Your Hand were included but again, did they chart low and I missed, or were these collaborations with John that weren’t included? 

Monday, June 13, 2022

Typing OUT Loud: Awkward Ally

 

It didn’t fit.

It’s Pride Month, and I’ve felt an urgency to demonstrate my identity as an ally to friends and family who are LGBTQIA+ without being awkward about it.

I’m also thrifty as hell and look for a bargain where I can. I found the shirt above at the Fill a Bag for Five Bucks sale at the Friends Thrift in Evart.

Aaaand... it doesn’t fit.

This is giving me a whole ‘nother complex about Pride Month. Why? Well, this is where typing out loud helps me hash it out. 

I want to say I'm an ally without making it about me. It's not my fight, I'm kind of standing in the wings, wondering what I can contribute. Rainbow cookies? Free mom hugs? I'm in all for a pride rally dance party. But every approach seems kind of lame, anti-climatic. 

But a narrative is necessary, as anyone on social media can attest. There are persistent issues in our society with passive homophobia, angry aggression, and hostile oppression. 

What's needed is more than me sporting a rainbow t-shirt. 

On a personal level, someone very close to us is gay and I want to show her that we love her, see her, and support her. I hate the idea of saying "we love you no matter who you're with," because I feel like that is dismissive, akin to saying "that's still wrong but we are accepting you" because she's not wrong. Besides, we LOVE her partner.  

Does a t-shirt adequately do this? 

More importantly, the youngsters are vocal about wanting more than acceptance, they want active activism. Passive "whatever" from Gen X doesn't cut it with the Gen Z crowd. 

I'm still trying to find the right words and there's no "So You Want to be an Ally" handbook out there that wouldn't dissolve into parody. I can imagine a young nonbinary individual sneering "nice try, Karen" as they take in my feeble attempts at doing the right thing. 

And much love to my grandmother, who long ago taught me about the Native Americans celebrating bisexuality as those blessed with Two Spirits. I remember thinking this was the most beautiful thing, and I couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old. So enough about the bullshit that kids don't understand. They get it. 

So what is the right thing? 

Demonstrating honesty, love, and supporting the rights of others to love who they want. Being vocal when someone is being a jackass in public. Getting a shirt that fits. Grace when I get it wrong. And I will get it wrong; my generation stood for gays and lesbians - the LG in the acronym - in the face of the AIDS crisis, but so much more about human sexuality since the 80s has been examined by society since then, the BTQIA+ if you will. I cringe to think of what I had said back then that was insensitive, but I have learned since then. I suspect as I acknowledge an individual's pronouns will still get it wrong, and stumblebum around "hey.... you!" in desperation. Heck, I have a hard enough time remembering people's names in the momentary panic of shyness that results in meeting someone for the first time. But I hope as I age, I continue to have an open mind. 

Saturday, June 4, 2022

Scholarly Celebration

It's here! I did it! 

Celebrating the scholars of the 21-22 school year.  

Selfie with my paper.  

The transcript confirms it, four-point-oh. 
If I were going for a full degree, I'd be summa cum laude, but I'll settle for mini cum laude! 

Friday, June 3, 2022

Why Art Matters: Afghan Rescue

 

We went garage sale-ing, and I found this beautiful afghan for only fifty cents! Why? The woman selling it was embarrassed at its condition and warned me it would take a lot of work to repair. You see the first hole is pretty obvious... 

Well, I wasn't going to let a little elbow grease get in the way of me enjoying the fruits of someone else's labor. I got the sewing kit out and got to work on fixing those frayed, torn stitches. I used old sewing and cross-stitch techniques to knot and tie the repairs together. I washed it once to see if it would hold. To make the repairs last, I changed to a heavier thread and added more stitches. 

Here's a before... 

After!

Before... 


After!


Unfortunately, there were some holes too mangled to fix. I don't know what to do with this right now, except leave it as a note that the previous owner loved it and used it before fate passed it to me. 


I completed work on it last night, Oscar and Felix admired the effort that went into giving it new life. I can enjoy the fruits of my own labor. It is folded and in the laundry basket to return to its up north home.

Wednesday, June 1, 2022

There’s a Story There - Mug Rugs

Two for a dime…

Went garage sale-ing this past weekend and happened upon these brown and white coasters, two for a dime.

But! In the pile were red and white mug rugs, two for fifty cents! So why the brown at slashed prices?

The imagined story is the battle between two sisters, Gladys and Gloria. I suspect Gladys felt her red coasters were superior to Gloria’s, resulting in the price hike. Gloria could give a shit. 

That's It, Just One Line - Landslide

"Can I sail through the changing ocean tides, can I handle the seasons of my life?"