Category Archives: Food

Books, Food, Thankful Thursday

Thankful Thursday: Tomatoes, Chickpeas, and Music

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This post is part of a series called Thankful Thursday, where I list some things to feel thankful for. To some extent, focusing on what is wrong appears to come naturally to most people, who often complain, complain, complain when they get together with family and friends. (I’m no exception, that’s for sure.) So focusing on things to feel thankful for seems like good spiritual practice, a way to counterbalance the tendency toward negative thinking.

Still Life with Tomatoes

In my garden, my four little tomato plants are at the end of their production, and soon I will be pulling them. However, our own Farmer Kev’s tomatoes are still going strong, and this week I got a wonderful selection from our farm-share box. I like the way they look lined up on the kitchen window sill. Also, with this picture you can see how our yard sits on the edge of the woods.

Chickpeas, Chickpeas, Chickpeas

Clif, Dee, and I are huge fans of the the humble chickpea aka garbanzo beans. They are delicious, economical, and good for you. What more can  you ask for? I buy them dried, in 16-oz bags, soak them overnight, and then cook them in the morning.

One of the ways I like them best is mashed up in a food processor with thyme, salt, and pepper. Clif uses two cups of chickpeas, 1 tablespoon of dried thyme and salt and pepper to taste. After which he scoops the mash into a bowl and adds a few tablespoons of mayonnaise. I know this comparison is overused, but the chickpea salad really does taste a little like chicken.

This is a wonderfully versatile salad. For those who like a little zing, onion or garlic could be used. Don’t want the Mediterranean flavor? Add curry. Or smoked paprika. Or whatever pleases you.

I scooped some of the chickpea salad onto one of Farmer Kev’s fresh tomatoes. Wicked good as we say in Maine.

Music

From—where else?—NPR’s Tiny Desk Concerts—featuring Jenny and the Mexicats. If they don’t pep you up, nothing will.

Thankful Posts and Simple Pleasures from Other Blogging Friends

Derrick of Derrick J. Knight describes how he and his wife Jackie brought garden refuse to a recycling center, came back with some treasures for their garden, which, in turn, will be recycled when their time has passed.  Yay, Derrick and Jackie!

Kate from The Cozy Burrow shares her October Reading list. I’ve already requested two of them—Moon Tiger and The Ministry of Time—through my library.

Barbara from Thistles and Kiwis celebrates her twentieth wedding anniversary with her husband Karl. Happy, happy and cheers to twenty years!

Dorothy from The New Vintage Kitchen features a mouth-watering pasta dish using autumn’s bounty. I could have some right now.

Ju-Lyn of Touring My Backyard finds beauty and serenity at Round Pond in Kensington Gardens in London.  How lovely to find such a place in a big city.

Cimple from The Curious Introvert praises the world of books and reading. Her own words say it best: “This week I’m grateful for a lifelong love of reading and books. A day doesn’t go by without reading or adding new books to my want to read list.” Hear, hear!

Books, Food

In Which We Rally from a Disappointment, and I Review Margaret Drabble’s The Millstone

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Last weekend, our daughter Shannon, her husband Mike, and their dog Holly were supposed to come to our home for the weekend—they live in the Boston area—to celebrate my birthday (September 15) and Clif’s birthday (September 27). Alas, they were having car troubles and couldn’t come.

Disappointing not to have them join us, that’s for sure. Because Shannon and Mike aren’t sure when their car troubles will be resolved, our eldest daughter Dee, who lives with us, decided to carry on with the birthday celebrations. She treated us to Chinese food at the utterly delightful Wei Li in Auburn.

Oh my, the food was good. I could have some of their delicious lo mein and general tofu right now.

Comfortably full, we headed back home for drinks on the patio in the screen house, cake and ice cream, and presents.

Among other things, Dee bought us solar lights for the backyard. Now that we have passed the autumnal equinox, it is dark by 7:00, and it’s a little tricky making our way to the front steps.

Not only do those solar lights have a magical glow, but they also give us enough light for navigation.

This upcoming weekend is Clif’s actual birthday, and there just might be some more simple pleasures planned. (Simple pleasures are Clif’s and my birthday presents to each other. )

More to look forward to.

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Reading: The Millstone by Margaret Drabble

I have a fondness for mid-twentieth century women writers, especially ones who come from the United Kingdom. When I was in my 30s, I started with Rumer Godden, went on to read Barbara Pym, and have continued on with other terrific writers who, with precision and heart, have chronicled the changing roles of women in the twentieth century. And my goodness, there have been changes, mostly for the best.

To my delight, I have found a blog—JacquiWine’s Journal––that often features reviews of women writers from that period, and I have gotten many recommendations from Jacqui.

One of them was the wonderful novel The Millstone by Margaret Drabble. (The link above is to Jacqui’s review of the book.) Set in in the 1960s, The Millstone centers on Rosamund Stacey, a young woman living in London in her parent’s fashionable apartment in Marylebone. Her parents, do-gooders of the highest order, are in Africa trying to do good, which means that Rosamund has a free place to live as she finishes her thesis, not a bad situation for a young woman in the swinging 60s.

The only problem is that Rosamund is so shy and reticent that she has a hard time swinging. She goes out with a couple of men, but doesn’t have sex with either of them, and they, in turn, think she is having sex with the other man.

But then she meets George, whom she thinks could be gay. (Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t.  In the case of George, Rosamund might not be a reliable narrator.) They make love once and seem to have real affection for each other, but George, as shy and reticent as Rosamund, is no more able to express himself than she is.

From that one encounter, Rosamund becomes pregnant and after considering abortion, illegal at that time, she decides to keep the baby. Being middle class and college educated, Rosamund feels that she can make it on her own, and although she longs for George, she doesn’t tell him about the pregnancy.

As it turns out, Rosamund can make it on her own. She has the baby, a girl she names Octavia, after the social reformer Octavia Hill. As soon as Rosamund sees Octavia, she falls totally in love with her infant daughter. (I remember feeling the same way when I first looked at my babies.) I found this expression of maternal love to be so moving, and Drabble’s writing, understated but warm, never veers into sentimentality.

This slim novel packs in so much: class, the changing mores of the 1960s, the bond between mother and child, a young woman’s journey into adulthood, and the United Kingdom’s National Health Service, still relatively new when the book was written.

Will Rosamund and George ever get together? No spoilers here.  You must read this fine book for yourself to find out.

Celebrate, Food

A Birthday Weekend of Simple Pleasures

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Sunday, September 15 was my 67th birthday.  By a fun coincidence, it was also the anniversary of Agatha Christie’s 134th birthday. (I have been reading Christie and have joined our library’s Agatha Christie Book Club.)

Instead of getting a small present from Clif, I asked for a weekend of simple pleasures. He readily agreed, noting that we have a house full of lovely things, and we don’t need any additions.

Fortunately, the weather gods were on our side, and the weather was absolutely perfect—sunny and warm but not too hot.

On Saturday, we went to Bolley’s Famous Franks, not for their hot dogs—we are all vegetarians—but for their utterly delicious hand-cut fries. My oh my, they were good. Clif is a fan of onion rings, and we added that to the mix. Because the weather was so fine, we were able to eat outside.

After that, it was on to Hallowell to sit by the Kennebec River, eat donuts, and watch the rippling water.

A couple resting and enjoying the view
Upriver. Those clouds are irresistible.

 

By the river, two things happened that made me smile. First, when we got there and decided to move our chairs into the shade, a group of women jumped from their chairs to help us with ours.

The second was a hobbit’s birthday kind of thing, where you give rather than receive. As we left, I notice two bike riders, a man and a woman, not far from us. Clif and I were once keen bike riders, and I stopped to talk to them. As we spoke, I could see by their red faces how hot they were from their ride. I remembered feeling that way. I also remembered how warm the water would get in our water bottles on the bike. That water was better than nothing, but it wasn’t refreshing. In our cooler were a couple of cans of sparkling water, kept cold by an ice pack.

“Would you like a can of sparkling water?” I asked.

The woman hesitated only for a moment. “Why, yes we would.”

We tried to give her two, but she insisted that one was enough.

She thanked us kindly, and as I made my way to the car, I reflected on how we had received and we had given, a good balance, it seems to me.

Then home we went, to enjoy drinks on the patio and after that to watch the movie Get Shorty, still delightful after nearly twenty years.

Sunday, my actual birthday, was another fine day.  And what did we do? Longtime readers will not be surprised to read that we went to the movies in the afternoon to see the excellent thriller Speak no Evil. (For those who are little squeamish, the way I am, I want to assure you there isn’t much gore and no jump-scare scenes.)

Because it was my actual birthday, after the movie we stopped at Fielder’s Choice in Manchester for ice cream. Mine was a hot fudge sundae with peanut butter soft serve. So good!

Supper that night was by the fire pit, where we roasted veggie sausages and had  s’mores for dessert.

Here is the line-up.

We had never cooked veggie sausages over an open flame. As it turns out, they do very well cooked over a fire, and during the fall, we plan on roasting them again this way.

In the next to the last picture, you might have noticed two candles—making the number 66—in a bowl. Those were from my cake last year, and I decided to keep them until my 67th birthday, where I could burn them down.

In with the new, and out with the old.

Note: Next weekend, Shannon and Mike plan on coming to Maine where we can celebrate both Clif’s birthday (September 27) along with mine.

We certainly are a family that likes to celebrate.

Books, Food

Thankful Thursday: Mexican Food, Corn, and the Return of Interlibrary Loan

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This post is part of a series called Thankful Thursday, where I list some things to feel thankful for. To some extent, focusing on what is wrong appears to come naturally to most people, who often complain, complain, complain when they get together with family and friends. (I’m no exception, that’s for sure.) So focusing on things to feel thankful for seems like good spiritual practice, a way to counterbalance the tendency toward negative thinking.

Mexican Food

After going to see the movie Sing Sing, which I wrote about on Monday’s post,  Clif, Dee, our friend Joel, and I headed to Buen Apetito for Mexican Food. Along with the tasty food, one of the things I really like about Buen Apetito is how willing they are to let customers split a dish. Not only does this save money, but it also allows better portion control. While some things can be taken home for later, what we like to order doesn’t make for good leftovers.

And what did we order? Buen Apetito’s delicious potato flautases, which are shells stuffed with mashed potatoes and fried until crisp. I suppose day-old potato flautases might be worth reheating, but Clif and I prefer them hot from Buen Apetito’s kitchen.

Over dinner we talked about Sing Sing and other movies we might be interested in. We also talked about politics and did our best to solve the world’s problem. As usual, we fell far short of the mark, but nonetheless, we try.

Corn, Corn, Corn

I know, I know. I’ve listed corn in a previous post, but I just can’t help featuring corn again. Yesterday we received eight ears from our own Farmer Kev, and my oh my they were good. Soon, the corn will be done for the season, but until then, we rejoice in those sweet ears slathered with salt and butter.

The Return of Interlibrary Loan

I’ve saved the best for last. Maine has a terrific interlibrary loan system where participating libraries can freely order requested books they don’t have from other libraries. We have a lovely but small library with both a limited budget, limited space, and thus a limited collection. For someone who is an eclectic reader who, say, particularly likes mid-twentieth century British women writers, interlibrary loan is a godsend. I go online, see if the book is available at other libraries—often it is—and order it. The book is then shipped directly to my library.

But a terrible thing happened at the beginning of summer. The interlibrary loan system, run by the Maine State Library, was temporarily suspended. Most of the routes are run by vans that are hired from a private company. Every few years, the Maine State Library has to get bids for this service, and this year they chose a different service that no doubt charged less. The incumbent company decided to appeal the decision and this shut down the interlibrary loan service until the court made its decision.

Readers, I am not one to complain, but I have to admit it was a dark three months without interlibrary loan. No longer did I have the larger world of books open to me, available with the click of a mouse. My only consolation was that I knew this interruption of service was temporary and that eventually the system would be up and running.

That happy day came on Thursday, and giddy with relief, I promptly ordered seven books not available at our library.

“Greedy,” Dee observed when I told her how many books I had ordered.

Guilty as charged. When it comes to books, I am indeed greedy.

Thankful Posts on Other Blogs

Cimple celebrates the return of fall and cool weather.

Debbie, from Musings by an ND Domer’s Mom, also celebrates cooler weather.

Ju-Lyn, of Touring My Backyard, writes, “With each sunrise, I give thanks for another day of possibilities.”

Barbara, of Thistles and Kiwis, features food, glorious food, some eaten at restaurants, some she cooked herself.

Carol Ann, of Fashioned for Joy, shares a week of delights, ranging from tea and scones at a tea house in Virginia to trips to a museum.

Flowers, Food, Music, Thankful Thursday

Thankful Thursday: Flowers, Food, and Music

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This post is part of a series called Thankful Thursday, where I list some things to feel thankful for. To some extent, focusing on what is wrong appears to come naturally to most people, who tend to complain, complain, complain when they get together with family and friends. (I’m no exception, that’s for sure.) So focusing on things to feel thankful for seems like good spiritual practice, a way to counterbalance the tendency toward negative thinking.

The last two Thankful Thursdays featured really big pleasures, a new driveway and a new electric car. It was the most excitement that has come to our home by the woods in a long time.

However, most of our pleasures are much more simple, and that’s the way it should be. Big pleasures only come around every so often, and if they were the only pleasures that made us happy, then our lives would be very glum indeed. But, I am happy to report that we are a family that thrives on simple pleasures, and in that way we are rich. Our lives are filled with so many simple pleasures that it is hard to chose which ones to feature.

This week I have narrowed it down to three.

The first is this wonderful hydrangea, a gift from my blogging friend Judy of NewEnglandGardenAndThread.

In June of 2023 Judy and I actually had a chance to meet in person. Not only did we have a wonderful time getting to know each other, but she also gave some hydrangea plants from her garden.

Longtime readers will know that I have one of the finickiest yards in Maine in which to garden. Lots of shade, much of it dry, and at the best only part sun/part shade in the backyard. I have lost more plants than I care to remember. But Judy assured me that hydrangeas like some shade, and with a hope and a prayer, I planted them last summer.

Glory be! Not only did they come up in the spring, but they actually bloomed this summer. I am thrilled to have these beauties in my garden. Judy, many, many thanks.

My second pleasure is another one that comes only in the summer, tomato sandwiches made with local ripe tomatoes.

These tomatoes come from Farmer Kev, and they are just as sweet as sweet can be.

I know there is some controversy over the proper way to make tomato sandwiches. Some like white bread, untoasted. Some prefer to have cheese along with theirs. Others want an open-faced sandwich. My take? Have them whichever way you like. Simple pleasures are personal. One size does not fit all.

Here is how I like mine: I use two pieces of Dave’s Killer Bread, 21 Whole Grains and Seeds. Then I toast the bread, spread a little mayonnaise on one slice, put tomatoes on the other, and finish it with a dash of salt. Oh, the joy.

My third pleasure comes from another blog I follow, Cimple, and one of the items on her Thankful Thursday list:  “On the Nature of Daylight,” a song by Max Richter. I was so moved by it that I had to feature the song on my blog.

I just happened to find “On the Nature of Daylight” along with some other songs when Richter was featured on NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert. “On the Nature of Daylight” is the first song that he plays.

This music makes me want to weep and be thankful at the same time. The language of music is powerful and mysterious. It is one of the best parts of us, and I am ever so thankful for the composers and musicians that bring such beauty to the world.

Food, Winter

Ice, Snow, and Poetry

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Last week, the weather was uncertain. First, we had freezing rain, and early Tuesday morning, I woke up to the roar of the town’s sanding-plow truck as it rushed past our house. Believe it or not, this sound is comforting to me. I am so grateful to the drivers of these huge trucks, which go out in the worst weather at all times of day. Our town takes good care of our roads, which in turn makes life safer for its citizens. In the winter, we have a lot of bad weather in Maine, but people must still go to work, to appointments, and do assorted errands. Having driveable roads is a must.

I’m not a fan of freezing rain, but its aftermath is pretty.

The icicles on the bird feeder,

and the icicles on the hedge.

Even the glazing on the salt and sand buckets,

as well as the glazing on the car.

Later in the week,  it snowed.

Snowy branches, snowy roof.

To clean the driveway, Clif had to use our trusty electric snow-thrower, Snow Joe.

Finally, on a cold January Sunday, there was poetry at the Wayne General Store in Wayne, Maine. Yup, Wayne, Maine. Population: 1,129.

The general store is a sweet place with mismatched tables and chairs, which gives it a very cozy atmosphere.

There is a bakery in the store, with delicious bread and pastries.

The event was host by David Moreau, a fine poet whom I’ve know for many years.

My friend Claire Hersom was one of the featured poets.

Also Lori Douglas Clark with David Moreau listening appreciatively.

How lovely it was to sit in this snug store, sip tea, have brunch, and listen to poetry. A finest kind of day as we would say in Maine.

Claire has very kindly allowed me to use one of her winter poems in my blog. Many thanks, Claire.

Thank You

– by Claire Hersom

 

Thank you

for the winter wind,

and the lake,

its water like a stone

 

and for this quiet time

to build words again,

tucked into the foothills

hard as iron like flowers

waiting for spring

 

and for change, its core –

a small violence,

inching soft, inner bodies

out of hard shells,

our frozen winter grief

out, where it can vanish

and blow away

as if air and sun were its wings

and it, a necessary and expected

flight

 

Previously published in The Anglican Theological Review

(italicized phrases from the hymn In the Bleak Midwinter, lyrics

by Christina Rossetti.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Animals - especially dogs, Celebrate, Food, Winter

Second Christmas

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Because our daughter Shannon and our son-in-law Mike spent Christmas in North Carolina with his folks, we decided to have a belated celebration the first weekend in January. Unfortunately, the weather gods had other plans for us, and a storm kept Shannon and Mike home that weekend. The next weekend, then, we decided.

However, those weather gods were plotting yet again to send a storm our way, but this time we outsmarted them. Shannon and Mike came the day before the storm and left the day afterward. I am happy to report that we celebrated the holiday in our usual simple, cozy way, and it really did feel like Christmas.

It was lovely to see the girls again.

And the storm that came to central Maine on Saturday made it feel all the more like Christmas.

On Saturday morning, there were presents and pumpkin bread. In the afternoon, appetizers and a new game—Betrayal at House on the Hill. In the evening, homemade cheddar cheese soup.

Dessert, unfortunately, didn’t turn out that way it should have. I pressed chocolate chip cookie dough in a skillet to be baked and brought warm to the table and served with vanilla ice cream. But even though the skillet cookie was nicely browned on top, the middle was gooey to the point of being raw. We thought that perhaps I should have used only half the batter. Readers, any suggestions? I’m willing to give it another try.

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While the storm on Saturday wasn’t bad for central Maine—snow mixed with a little rain—it was devastating for our coast, which hadn’t recovered from the previous storm. More flooding, more property damage, more roads destroyed. It’s heartbreaking to see the damage. Even though I live inland, I love the coast, and as a Mainer, I feel connected to it. I have been to many of the places that were ravaged by the storm, driven on  roads now destroyed.

Governor Mills declared a civil state of emergency for all eight coastal counties. And rightly so. Those communities will need a lot of aid to recover from the storms.

All in all, in the past few weeks, Mainers have received quite the punch from storms causing damage that would have been inconceivable when I was young. Yes, we had a lot of snow, and the snowbanks really were taller than I was when I was a child. We plowed, we shoveled, and went about our business. As far as I can recall, there wasn’t much damage, and we hardly ever lost our power.

But these wind storms in the winter are something new, and because of the rising sea, the damage is made worse along the coast.

The effects of climate change are with us now, and we have to deal with increasingly destructive storms.

I can only hope that we have the personal and political will to stop the climate crisis from getting worse.

Here is a clip that shows one small part of the storm’s destruction. All along the coast, the story is the same.

 

Books, Food, summer

Of August Days and Jeri Theriault’s Poetry Reading

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Sunday was one of those August days that draw tourists to Maine in the summer. Warm weather—around 80°—combined with low humidity and sunshine made for a perfect afternoon on the patio. As it turned out, we had invited our friend Jill over for drinks and appetizers, and we were thrilled that the weather gods decided to smile on us. Yes, we could have had drinks and appetizers inside, but how nice to sit on the patio and watch the birds flutter in out and of the woods as they visited the bird feeders.

A beautiful August summer afternoon in Maine. When the rain and cold and snow come, I will try to keep this day in my heart, to be warmed by the memory of good food and good conversation.

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From the Department of Good News

In this time of climate change when some people suffer from too much heat and others from too much rain, reading good news provides welcome relief. In her post “This week’s Small Pleasures #348,” my blogging friend Barbara of Thistles and Kiwis wrote about how bird counts are up in Wellington, New Zealand. Way, way up. Some by as much as 260%. If my knees weren’t so creaky, I would jump for joy.

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Listening: Poetry Reading at Greene Block + Studio in Waterville, Maine

Self-Portrait as Homestead by Jeri Theriault

Last Friday, I went to Waterville to hear Jeri Theriault read poetry from her terrific new book Self-Portrait as Homestead. Like me, Jeri is Franco-Amercan, and she also grew up in Waterville, a small mill city by the Kennebec River.

It gave me great pleasure to hear Jeri use the word “mémère” (grandmother) in her poetry. And what a thrill that the title of one of her poems comes from a street in Waterville’s South End, where I lived as a baby and visited every week as a child. My home, my geography, my ethnic group. While Jeri Theriault’s poetry ranges far from Waterville—to Iwo Jima and the Middle East—for me, Waterville was the center that rippled outward to other places. Perhaps someone not born and raised in Waterville would have had a different take, but that is what stayed with me no matter how far Jeri roamed in her poetry.

To add to the mood of the reading, Jeri’s husband Philip Carlsen and his son Mel played music between the poetry—Philip on the cello and Mel on the piano. So lovely, so lovely.

Jeri asked that the applause be held until the end, and she spoke about each poem, telling the audience how her poetry wasn’t memoir, which allowed her to use some artistic license; how she thought of the “self as house”; how the book was “supposed to be all feminist poems,” but somehow her father crept in. Jeri filled in her father’s silence with her own words as well as ones taken from a local newspaper article about his time in Iwo Jima.

After the reading, editor and journalist Bob Keyes had a conversation with Jeri, which illuminated her poetry and her process.

From her moving poetry to the music to the conversation, this was one of the best poetry readings I have ever been to. I bought Self-Portrait as Homestead, and instead of shelving it with my poetry collection, I will be tucking this one among my Franco-American books.

Jeri Theriault, on the left, with Claire Hersom, also a fine poet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Birds, Food, summer

A Mini Staycation

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Last week, Clif, Dee, and I took four days off—Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday—from our regular routine to relax and have fun. Our daughter Shannon, her husband Mike, and their dogs joined us on Friday and Saturday.

On Friday, the weather gods were in a good mood. Although it was hot, there was no rain, and off to Absolem Cider Company we went for a picnic and drinks. Mike’s aunt, Claire Hersom, met us there.

I had an utterly delicious drink of rum mixed with strawberry liqueur.

Dee took this picture of us. In the picture, Claire looks uncertain, but really and truly, she had a good time.

Clockwise: Claire, Mike, Clif, me, and Shannon

Chickens, hoping for a treat, joined us. They might have gotten some popcorn that made it to the ground.

Here are a couple more pictures of this lovely place, only five miles from where we live. How lucky is that?

On Saturday, the weather gods continued to smile for the morning and early afternoon, and we spent the entire time on the patio for a bagel breakfast and a lunch of Clif’s legendary grilled bread.

I forgot to take pictures of the food, but I did manage to capture this daylily against my Great Library/Elferterre sign.

Unfortunately, the rain came late afternoon, bringing flash flooding to some places. But Shannon and Mike and the dogs made it home safe and sound.

On Sunday we went to the movies to see Haunted Mansion. Not a great movie by any means, but it was a lot of fun albeit tinged with some sadness. 

On Monday, we had planned to go to East Boothbay and have a picnic on rocks by the ocean. But guess what? The forecast was for rain in the afternoon. As it takes an hour and half to get to East Boothbay, we decided to stay closer to home and have a picnic by the Kennebec River, about seven miles from us. However, the weather gods foiled us, and by the time the picnic was packed, we could hear thunder rumbling. Out to our patio we went, and we had barely finished eating when the rain came. Back in we scurried.

The rain did not last long, and we decided to console ourselves with ice cream at Fielder’s Choice in the neighboring town of Manchester. We might not have made it to the coast or even to the Kennebec River, but we had some wicked good ice cream.

That surely has to count for something.

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Reading

Tooting my own horn

One of my blogging friends, Carol Ann of Blogging for Joy, recently read Maya and the Book of Everything, the first book in my Great Library Series. She had such kind things to say about my novel. Many thanks, Carol Ann! I’ve written this before, but I feel like it must be noted again: Because of my blogging friends, my Great Library series has traveled around this country and around the world, too. No small feat for an indie writer. To borrow from Shakespeare: “I can no other answer make but thanks, And thanks; and ever thanks…”

Introducing…

Volume Five of Résonance, an online journal. The following description is taken from its website: Résonance  features works “primarily by and/or about the Franco-American communities of the United States….There has long been a need for this type of resource. Franco-American and other writers who wished to communicate the reality of this linguistic minority have often found no literary-focused vehicle to do so….Résonance is published by its Editorial Board in Orono, Maine, under the aegis of the Franco American Programs of the University of Maine.”

For new readers: Yes, Franco-Americans are an actual ethnic group in the United States. Between 1840 and 1930, about 1 million French Canadians immigrated to the United States. They primarily settled in New England but also spread out to other states where there was factory work.

In Maine, the state where I live, about 30% of the population is descended from French Canadians. That would include me—my family name was Meunier—and indeed French was my mother’s first language. My great-grandmother never did learn how to speak English, but the feeling was that she understood more than she let on.

Unfortunately, the Yankee Protestant population did not welcome us with open arms, and there was active discrimination and prejudice against Franco-Americans. In Maine, Ku Klux Klan membership was huge, with rallies and cross burnings other methods of intimidation.

For more about this, read David Vermette’s excellent piece in Smithsonian Magazine.

Sometimes, situations do improve, and Franco-Americans no longer face they discrimination they once did. By gum, thanks to the University of Maine at Orono and editor-in-chief Steven Riel, we even have our own journal, Résonance. And I am happy to report that I am the creative nonfiction editor.

Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Birds, Flowers, Food, Movies, summer

Birds and Blooms and Rain. Plus, a Review of the Newest Indiana Jones Movie

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In Maine, June was a very rainy month, and it seems that July is following suit. I know, of course, that too little rain is a terrible problem, but it is possible to have too much of a good thing. Although my perennials are thriving, my annuals are a bust this year. The tomatoes are tall and spindly with few blossoms; the cucumber plant looks stunted; and the nasturtium seeds rotted in the ground. According to Maine Public, this was one of the rainiest Junes on record, and if the weather gods don’t relent, this also will be one of the rainiest summers on record.

On Saturday, the weather gods must have been looking elsewhere because there was no rain for the entire day. Before they could change their minds, Clif, Dee, and I hurried out to the patio, where Clif made his legendary grilled bread. As we Mainers would put it, that bread was some good. We had small bowls of marinara sauce for dipping.

We also had drinks to salute this day without rain. The owl wine glass belongs to Dee, and we toasted Jackie Knight, a lover of owls.  (Jackie is the wife of blogging friend Derrick Knight.) Jackie, we love owls, too.

July is the time for fledglings, and with my wee camera I was actually able to catch this pair of woodpeckers. The one at the bottom is the fledgling, who with a squawking and fluttering of wings, followed and pestered its parent for food. I do love those fledglings, on the edge of independence but still young enough to want to be fed.

In the front yard, there are bursts of yellow and red to add variety to all the green.

Here is a closer look.

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Watching

Too Many Nazis

Movie: Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

On July 4, Clif, Dee, and I went to Regal Cinema in Augusta to see Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny.  Because of Covid, it had been three  years since we actually went to a cinema to see a movie. With all that’s available on streaming, I thought I was just fine not going to the movies. After all, we have a really nice television with a good sound system.

Turns out, I was wrong. As soon as I settled into one of those big recliners, and the room went dark, I was completely absorbed, enthralled, even. Once a cinephile, always a cinephile. Of course, it didn’t hurt that I was watching Harrison Ford, one of the biggest and most charismatic stars of my generation.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny followed the usual contours of the previous Indiana Jones movies: There were lots of bad guys—Nazis, again; a magical artifact that would cause big trouble if it fell into the wrong hands; a thrilling opening sequence where a digitally de-aged Indy ran across the roof of a long, long train; and chase scenes galore.  As you can see from the poster, Indy had his trademark whip and hat.

These repetitions could have made the movie feel stale, but they didn’t. Instead, it was a thrill to see Indy on the hunt again, this time for Archimedes’ Dial, which supposedly opens fissures in time. On that train, in 1944, Indy escaped with half of the dial, outwitting the Nazi astrophysicist Jürgen Voller (played by the excellent Mads Mikkelsen).

Is there another half of the dial somewhere? Is the Nazi astrophysicist obsessed with it? Does Indy, spurred on by his goddaughter Helena (a luminous Phoebe Waller-Bridge) go after the other half? Yes, yes, and yes.

But Dial of Destiny, with its themes of sorrow, regret, and the trials of old age, rises above the average adventure movie. After the thrilling chase scene on the train, the movie shifts to 1969, when Indy is no longer young. We see him at a low point in his life—sad, sleeping in his boxer shorts in a chair, drinking first thing in the morning. His old cocky days are long gone, and it gave me a pang to see him like this. While things perk up when his goddaughter Helena arrives on the scene, that sadness threads itself through the movie, elevating it.

Readers, I loved this movie and would gladly see it again. If you are an Indiana Jones fan,  get thee to a cinema, where you can see it in all its glory on the big screen.