Last weekend we celebrated our friend Sybil’s 82nd birthday and our nephew, Patrick’s, high school graduation. The two events were bookends to each other, a celebration of creativity at both ends of the human life span.
I’ve written about Sybil before. A former editor for the LA Times, Sybil moved to Maine so that she could be near her daughter and her family. She lives in Brunswick in an apartment that is close enough to town so that she can walk to most things, including the Evening Star Cinema and Gelato Fiasco. Sybil is very much involved with the Theater Project—in a recent post I wrote about going to one of Sybil’s shows—and she and another theater buddy (can’t remember her name!) are busy planning what they will be writing and performing next year. Sybil has had her share of hard times—I won’t get into them here—but those hard times have not diminished either her vitality or her zest for life. My husband, Clif, and I took her out to eat at the Great Impasta, and Sybil and I both ordered the same thing, ravioli with roasted asparagus. How lovely it was.
Afterward, we went to Gelato Fiasco, which is just down the street.
“Let’s take our gelato outside,” Sybil suggested.
No argument from either Clif or me. The day was beautiful.
As we set our gelato on the table, Sybil exclaimed, “Ah, life is good!”
Yes, it is, and so wonderful to be able to share this day with Sybil.
At the other end of things, is our only and favorite nephew Patrick. (As I’m fond of saying, he’d still be our favorite nephew even if he wasn’t our only one.) Is it possible that “little” Patrick has become “very tall” Patrick and has graduated from high school? It seems that it is. As an aunt, I feel as though I have bragging rights, but I will keep it brief. Out of 170 students, Patrick was sixth in his class, and he won several awards. From the time Patrick was young, he has had a passion for art and drawing, and he has become a talented artist. He’ll be attending the University of Maine at Orono, where he’ll be studying computer programming. Perhaps the most impressive thing about Patrick is his good attitude, his ability to weather the inevitable rough spots that come to every teenager’s life. Again, I’m not going to go into details, but here’s the thing: Patrick doesn’t waste one minute feeling bitter or sorry for himself when things don’t go his way. On he goes, getting the very most out of what’s available to him.
Our favorite nephew, Patrick
To paraphrase a saying that was common in 1990s: Wherever Patrick goes, his good attitude will go with him. And it will serve him well.
So here I am, at 54, almost exactly between these two extraordinary people—Sybil and Patrick—and inspired by both of them.
Happy birthday, Sybil, and best wishes to Patrick!
Despite the gray days, there have been some consolations, and this purple finch is one of them. It’s nice to know that someone is enjoying lunch on the patio. As soon as the weather allows, I’ll be back to having lunch on the patio, too.
We have had quite a stretch of rain and gloomy weather, and quite frankly, I’m worried about my laundry, which has been on the clothesline since Friday. Last Friday night, I thought I would get the jump on Mother Nature by hanging the laundry, that it would have enough time to dry by the time the rain came on Saturday night. Wrong! The rain came early Saturday afternoon instead, and there hasn’t been much of a break. So on the line the laundry stays, droopy and wet, and it seems to me that there are few things more depressing than soggy laundry on a clothesline.
However, there has been a bright spot this week. We got our first CSA delivery from Kevin Leavitt, aka Farmer Kev. I’ve written about Farmer Kev before so I’ll be brief. Farmer Kev is an amazing young farmer who grows organic vegetables, which he delivers to an ever-growing number of CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) members. He started farming while he was in high school and has continued through his college years. (Kevin just finished his third year at the University of Maine at Orono.) Farmer Kev’s vegetables are beautiful, delicious, and so clean—he has a double-dip method of washing them—that they can be eaten without further washing.
Farmer Kev's first delivery
As my husband, Clif, and I live in the woods, there is not much we can grow here. I plant a few tomatoes—Juliet, which does well with limited sun—as well as some cucumbers. Herbs in pots do fairly well, too. But that’s not much, really, when it comes to fresh vegetables, and thank goodness for Farmer Kev, who delivers—that’s right, delivers—fresh vegetables to us all summer long. What a bounty!
This time of year, we get greens and radishes. Luckily, I am nuts about greens, and radishes aren’t too bad, either. To my way of thinking, there is no better lunch than a wrap filled with lots of greens and then sprinkled with other tidbits to add flavor. Those tidbits could be radishes, olives, pasta, leftover fish, cheese, tuna fish, hummus. Well, you get the point.
Last night, after marveling over the wonderful greens delivered smartly in a wooden box, I set to work snipping spinach, lettuce, and beet greens for our dinner salad. There was a baby beet that went into the salads as well as some of Farmer Kev’s radishes.
What a salad! Rain, rain, go away, and stay away for at least a few days. (We don’t want it to go away entirely. Then there would be a drought, which brings about its own set of problems.) But as a consolation, we have salad made with Farmer Kev’s veggies, and that is a consolation indeed.
A year or so ago, I posted this recipe inspired by our British friends “from across the pond.” Simple though it is, fish with parsley sauce is tasty enough for company, as my husband, Clif, notes each time I serve this dish. It also gets his Yankee seal of approval: “Pretty darned good.”
Over the year, I have tweaked the recipe a bit, adding more butter and flour for a thicker sauce and adding a bit more parsley. Also, Clif has since added a recipe feature to this blog so that the recipes can be presented in a traditional format.
Therefore, with the changes, I decided to feature fish with parsley sauce again. Here’s to all things British—to tea and scones and dogs and literature and theater and even Queen Elizabeth, bless her, on her Diamond Jubilee.
In yesterday’s post, I mentioned that over the weekend, we saw two British movies with very different approaches to the subject of aging. What I forgot to note was that our British weekend coincided with Queen Elizabeth’s Diamond Jubilee. What good timing!
Anyway…yesterday I wrote about The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, a straightforward look at aging in today’s society. The other movie we saw was Snow White and the Huntsman, which, as the title suggests, is based on the fairy tale “Snow White.”
When most people think of Snow White, I expect the Disney version will come to mind, a beautiful classic in its own right, with a touch of evil—the queen—and quite a lot of folderol and cleaning—Snow White and the seven dwarfs. For avid readers, the Grimm version will come to mind as well.
While Snow White and the Huntsman is more Grimm than Disney, it forges its own dark way, blending modern concerns of aging with a mythical, medieval setting. Those concerns were always there, both in the Grimm fairy tale and in Disney’s cartoon. After all, the desire to be “fairest of them all” implies youth not old age and wrinkles. But in Snow White and the Huntsman, the evil queen (Charlize Theron)wants to be young with an intensity that is truly chilling. Vampire-like, she not only sucks the life force from young victims, but she also drains the life away from the land, leaving it bleak and barren. Her obsession with youth is a death sentence for all that is around her.
The movie, filmed in Wales and Ireland, starts out in happier times, and the early scenes, full of color and vitality, do a nice job of illustrating how good rulers—Snow White’s mother and father—are good for the land as well as for the people. Then Snow White’s mother dies, and things go downhill fast. Enter Charlize Theron as Ravenna, who quickly becomes the new queen and just as quickly murders Snow White’s father and takes over the kingdom with her own army. Theron has the sort of cold beauty that can easily be used to portray evil, and that’s just what she does in this movie. When she was on the screen, it was as though some malignant, poisonous creature had burst forth, and Theron certainly commanded attention.
Unfortunately, Kristin Stewart of Twilight fame, was less effective as Snow White. Stewart’s rather goofy looks combined with her wooden acting style make an odd combination, and “the fairest of them all” is not the first thing you think when you see her. However, the movie gets around this, to some extent, by suggesting that beauty resides primarily within. Still, an actress with more snap, if not beauty, would have been better as Snow White.
The dwarfs, on the other hand, were brilliant, to borrow a term from the Brits. Bob Hoskins, Ray Winstone, Toby Jones, Ian McShane and other British actors played them to perfection. As A.O. Scott put it in his New YorkTimes review, these dwarfs were portrayed as cockney thugs who definitely did not whistle as they worked. No, they didn’t, but they certainly brought a lot of life to the screen, and I wish there had been more scenes with them.
With his scruffy good looks, Chris Hemsworth did a fine job of playing the huntsman. The movie suggests that he, in fact, might be Snow White’s true love, and it’s easy to see why this might be the case.
I don’t think I’m giving too much away by revealing that in the end good overcomes evil, and death comes even to those who are obsessed with youth and eternal life.
Snow White and the Huntsman is not a perfect movie by any means. More care should have been taken with the story, which has some serious plot holes. Nevertheless, good fantasy movies are far and few between, and this one is worth seeing. Our society has practically made a fetish of youth, and Snow White and the Huntsman captures this fetish and shows us how ugly and damaging it is. The cinematography and special effects make this a big-screen movie, and fortunately, they were not a distraction, the way they are in some big-budget films.
So, if time allows, and you like dark fantasies, go see Snow White and the Huntsman.
Last weekend, we saw two very different movies about aging—The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and Snow Whiteand the Huntsman. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is considered a “realistic” movie. All of the events featured in the film could have happened, and while all stories involve some contrivance there is no huge suspension of disbelief required to enjoy Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. On the other hand, Snow White and the Huntsman is pure fantasy, and a disturbing one at that.
In today’s post, I’ll cover The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and in the next one I’ll write about Snow White and the Huntsman. Now, I’m not sure it’s accurate to state that Snow White is a British film as the two leading actors are American. However, the director originally comes from Great Britain, it was filmed in Wales and Ireland, and many of the actors—notably the seven dwarfs—are British. So I’m calling it a British film.
And, in keeping with the spirit of England, I’ll conclude with a recipe for fish with parsley sauce, which I made on Sunday. It’s one I’ve refined over the year, and Clif deemed this version “company good.”
Best ExoticMarigold Hotel includes a dazzling cast of some of England’s finest albeit aging actors—Judi Dench, who can do anything; Tom Wilkinson, Maggie Smith, Bill Nighy, and Penelope Wilton. The story explores a subject that is a major concern for many people and is only going to get larger in the upcoming years. That is, as people age, how do they make good lives for themselves, lives that are full and meaningful rather than ones that are filled with loneliness and boredom? Especially when they live on limited incomes and have flats so small that they can be cleaned in a half-hour. What to do with the rest of one’s time?
In Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, the main charters set out for India. They have been lured by a brochure that only has a vague connection with the truth—there is a Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, but let’s just say that it’s somewhat shabbier in reality than in how it’s presented in the brochure. As Muriel, Maggie Smith’s character, indignantly observes: “The hotel in that brochure was photo-shopped.”
Yes, it was. Unlike the gleaming hotel that was advertised, the real one is dirty and falling apart. One of the rooms doesn’t have a door, which leads to a comical situation. However, the hotel is the way it is not because of malice or laziness but rather because the young owner, Sonny Kapoor, played extremely energetically by Dev Patel of Slumdog Millionaire, has no money for its upkeep. However, Sonny really does yearn to run a beautiful, refurbished hotel, and it is this sincerity, at least in part, that keeps the travelers at his hotel. (Also, there is really nothing for them back home in England, and most of them don’t have enough money to move elsewhere.)
All the travelers have come to India for various reasons, and in the course of the movie, they find their footing and have small but meaningful epiphanies brought on by the astonishing vitality of Indian life. Some of the transformations are more believable than others, but the movie is so beautifully and movingly acted that I was was willing to overlook this and can without hesitation recommend Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.
Best ExoticMarigold Hotel is probably not a young people’s movie. However, it certainly resonates with the over-50s crowd. I went to see it at Railroad Square Cinema, a small art cinema in Waterville, Maine, and the house was packed, but let’s just say there was a predominance of wrinkles and gray hair in the audience. According to the staff at Railroad Square, almost every showing has been packed, and on the night we went, the audience applauded when the film was done.
In the upcoming years, there are going to be many old people, too many to ignore. While not all of us can or indeed should go to India to find our footing, we really do need to give some thought as to how we are going to live the last part of lives. Best ExoticMarigold Hotel chronicles this exploration and leaves viewers with a sense of hope. Perhaps the movie will encourage viewers to have little epiphanies in their own communities, where they can remain active, vital, useful, and connected for as long as possible.
Today is the first day of June, and what a beautiful day in the neighborhood. The sun is shining, and in our backyard, there are layers and layers of green as our lawn—and I use this term loosely—meets the woods. Patio days are back, and every day that the weather allows, I eat my lunch outside. The hummingbirds, dragon flies, and, yes, the mosquitoes have returned, bringing with them the rhythm of summer.
Sometime between last night and this morning, one of my favorite irises bloomed. (In fact, irises are one of my favorite flowers.) So today, on this first day of June, I thought I would post this beauty in honor of some of my favorite people who have June birthdays—Sybil, Kate, Andrea, and my mother.
Last Saturday was quite the foodie day for me and my husband, Clif. First, we went to the Winthrop Farmers’ Market, where we bought a great new cheese from Wholesome Holmstead, a farmhouse cheddar that is delicate yet has a nice tang. Very good! After that, we buzzed over to Farmer Kev’s house to pay him for the balance of our CSA share and to buy 2 dozen eggs. Then it was on to the Farmers’ Gate Market in Wales to pick up meat for our Memorial Day barbecue.
We had never been to Farmers’ Gate before, but we had heard good things about it from some of our friends. Recently, we had won a $25 gift certificate to Farmers’ Gate, and Clif and I decided that Memorial Day weekend would be the perfect time to check out the market and buy some meat.
Now, I want to remind readers that not long ago, I had made a decision not to eat meat anymore. Seafood and fish, yes, but not meat. For me, the decision was ethical—if I wasn’t willing to kill what I was going to eat, then I wouldn’t eat it, and fish and lobsters were as high up the food chain as I was willing to go. There were some gray areas. (Aren’t there always?) I would still eat eggs and dairy products, and there is a certain amount of killing that goes on to keep production flowing. And what about leather shoes? Should I buy them anymore? Probably not. But these questions aside, by and large, I was happy with my decision. I prefer fish and seafood over meat, and as Clif and I had been eating mostly vegetarian for quite some time, it was no hardship to adhere to this way of eating. That is, until I went to Farmers’ Gate Market. (I want to note that Clif had decided to continue to eat meat occasionally, and Shannon and Mike regularly eat meat.)
However, let us return to the Farmers’ Gate Market. Those who are familiar with central Maine will know that Wales is not exactly in the center of all things. Tucked between Augusta and Lewiston, Wales has a population of about 1,300, and it is very rural. Thus, to borrow a phrase from my friend Claire, the Farmers’ Gate Market “is way out in the willywhacks.”
“I wasn’t expecting much,” Clif would admit later, as we drove through the countryside to the Farmers’ Gate, and I think he envisioned going into someone’s shed or barn to get the meat.
What we found was a small yet decent-sized market that would not be out of place in Portland. The building is new and attractive, with plenty of room for a retail shop with a long glass case featuring various cuts of meat. There were also a freezer and a couple of large, glass upright refrigerators. In the back, visible to customers, was a room for preparing the meat.
So far, so good. I was ready to buy meat for my family, but I did not feel tempted myself. And then I spoke with Ben Slayton, one of the owners, who is young, very personable, and especially excited about sausage, which is one of Clif’s weaknesses. With great enthusiasm, Ben spoke about the Tuscan sausage, which he had made using garlic and fennel, and he suggested using it in a dish with white beans and sage. Ben then went on to explain how he and his wife had spent time in Tuscany, learning, among other things, how to make sausage.
Ben Slayton
Was I hooked? You bet I was, and we bought sausage, ground beef, and, for the Memorial Day barbecue, three thick pork chops. (One each for Clif, Mike, and Shannon. None for me.) Ben’s enthusiasm was infectious, as the saying goes, and it made me want to try the various meat, especially the sausage.
Did I give in to temptation? Yes, I did. Clif makes an especially tasty chili-powder rub for pork chops, and on Sunday, he grilled the chops just right, so that they were thoroughly cooked but still moist. I had to have a couple of bites, to see how the meat was, and it was delicious.
So now what? “How can you be a foodie without eating meat?” Clif asked. “You are leaving out about half the food that people eat.” I know, but I just feel so bad for the animals that are killed, and as far as the environment goes, it is better to eat a vegetarian diet.
“Eat meat once in awhile,” Mike suggested. “And when you do, get it from a place like the Farmers’ Gate.”
Perhaps that is what I will do. Maine has a climate that can support cows, sheep, and pigs. There is plenty of land for grazing, and enough rainfall for lush pastures and hay. According to their website, the Farmers’ Gate is very choosy about which farms their meat comes from, and they are especially concerned about getting meat from animals that have been pasture fed and raised humanely.
It looks as though there this will be another compromise on the bumpy road of green, ethical living. One thing is certain—it’s not easy being a foodie with a conscience.
What a beautiful sunny weekend we had. In central Maine, the black flies are pretty much gone, and the weather was perfect for working outdoors or for having a barbecue to kick off the summer season, which is all too short in my estimation.
On Sunday, our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike, joined us for a barbecue and an afternoon on the patio, one of our favorite places to be when the weather is good. This year, we decided to go light with the appetizers. Our family is plagued with high blood sugar and high cholesterol, and we are doing what we can to modify our diets. We’re not fanatical—we like chips and dip as well as the next family—but we have all decided to eat healthy food most of the time, with occasional indulgences so that we don’t feel deprived.
Accordingly, the appetizers consisted of nuts, fruits and berries, and grilled bread. (Add a salad, and you’d have a very satisfying meal.) We all agreed that the appetizers were perfect, and I plan on doing the same thing for other gatherings we have this summer.
Unfortunately, it is a little too early for local fruit and berries, so the ones we had for Sunday’s barbecue all came from away, as we Mainers like to say.
However, our salad not only featured Maine lettuce, but it also had some of Farmer Kev’s beautiful radishes. And, the pork chops that Mike, Shannon, and my husband, Clif, ate came from The Farmers’ Gate Market, a nearby shop that specializes in local meat. (I’ll be writing about the the pork chops and The Farmers’ Gate Market for the next post.)
While Memorial Day’s big thrust is to remember and honor those who have served in the military, it is also a time to remember all those who have passed. In our backyard, we have a memorial bench for Clif’s mother and my mother, and both mothers’ ashes have been scattered behind the bench, where the ferns grow. (My mother thought it would be a lovely resting place, and she specifically asked to have her ashes scattered among the ferns and trees.) On Monday, I planted some impatiens in big pots, which will add a burst of color to the deep green around the bench.
Clif and I have come to think of that bench as a memorial to all the family members who have passed, which means there is always some sadness around Memorial Day as we remember our mothers, our fathers, and other relatives who were dear to us. In my remembrances, I always include my good friend Barbara Johnson, who was much too young when she died seven years ago.
Well, to be mourned is to be loved, and it is good to have day that focuses our thoughts on those who have passed. It is especially appropriate to have Memorial Day in the spring, when life is emerging from its winter’s rest, a reminder that life continues, and we are part of that continuum.
Last May, I went for a physical and discovered I was the heaviest I had ever been. When I stepped on the scales, my short hair nearly stood up straight. I knew I was heavy, of course. I could feel it and see it. But that heavy? No. (Obviously, I wasn’t weighing myself at home.) I knew the time had come to do something about it. I could picture myself being featured on a show like Heavy, where they ship you to a “Spa” and make you exercise until you cry.
Years ago, I had lost a lot of weight using a regime called “Controlled Cheating,” which was developed by Larry “Fats” Goldberg, a friend of the New Yorker writer Calvin Trillin. Controlled Cheating had worked very well for me until I decided to start publishing a literary magazine and no longer had the time and energy to focus on diet and exercise. Because there is no way around it: For someone like me who loves to eat and whose body loves to pack on the pounds, losing weight and keeping it off requires constant vigilance. I can never not think about how much I eat.
Here is the essence of Controlled Cheating: For six days a week, you eat a very low-calorie diet. When I was younger, that was about 1,500 calories day. Now that I am older, and my metabolism has slowed down, it’s more like 1,200. On the 7th day you rest, and eat whatever you want. However, there is a catch, and that catch is exercise. You must exercise every day for an hour or so. No exercise, no controlled cheating. (I’ve written all about this on the blog, but it seemed like a recap would be good for new readers.)
Despite my obsession with food and my body’s tendency to gain weight when I just look at a piece of chocolate, I do have a few things in my favor. First, I am not an emotional eater. That is, when life gets rough, I don’t turn to chocolate. Or to anything else for that matter. In fact, it’s just the reverse. When life gets stressful, I have a hard time eating. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, my stomach was so touchy that all I could eat for a while were poached eggs with toast. (However, as soon as the diagnosis was promising, to chocolate I returned.)
Second, although I love sweets and fried food, I also love food that is good for me—fruit especially, but vegetables as well. For me, to eat an orange or a banana or a salad is no hardship at all, and I truly enjoy them.
Third, I really like to ride my bike, to be on the move. In my mind, any day that I can go on a bike ride is a good day, and I ride an average of 10 or 12 miles a day. I also like to go for walks and to work in my gardens. This means that even though much of my time is spent sitting at my desk, I am also eager to be up and about, to get off my backside, to be doing something.
Fourth, my blood sugar and my cholesterol are just fine, and they were even when I was at my heaviest. Go figure.
I am happy to report that a year later, using Controlled Cheating, I have lost 50 pounds. Still, I won’t lie. Losing that weight has been hard, and I know it will be just as hard to keep it off. But that one shining day of the week where I can eat anything I want keeps me going.
Here are some other motivators. People are constantly telling me how good I look, and when I tell them I’d like to lose 20 more pounds or so, they say, “Really?” Now, how satisfying is that? But I do want to lose enough weight so that I can fit into a wool jacket I inherited from my mother. I’m almost there. I can button the coat, but it isn’t comfortable. Twenty pounds should do it.
When I visit my daughter Dee in New York, I can go up and down the subway stairs with nary a problem. Ditto for jumping in and out of the subway cars and for walking 6 miles through the city. My feet might hurt by the end of the day, but the next morning, I’m ready to do it all over again. Fifty pounds ago, this certainly wasn’t the case as I struggled with the stairs and walking.
All in all, I feel pretty peppy. Everything I do just hums along better, from gardening to housework to walking.
I want to conclude with a bit of advice for those who are trying to lose weight. Find a healthy weight reduction system that works for you and stick with it because you will more or less have to adhere to this regime for the rest of your life. This might sound hard, but it’s true. Once the weight is lost, you can’t just say, “Oh, goodie! Now I can eat whatever I want.” I’m sure I don’t need to explain what will happen if you do this.
Because I am, as my daughter Dee puts it, “a lone ranger,” Controlled Cheating works very well for me, and I can do it on my own. However, I know that Weight Watches works for many people and that it has an excellent track record. I’m sure there other good regimes as well. Again, find what’s best for you and plan on sticking with it pretty much forever.
Get off your backside. Move, move, move. I cannot emphasize this enough. We all sit too much, and it isn’t good for us. Walk whenever you can. Bike. Leave the dratted car in the driveway as often as you can.
Some tricks for when you are really hungry and could just chew off the leg of your dining room table: Gum helps. It really does. Whenever I feel the urge to munch—and this happens frequently—I get a piece of gum, and somehow I don’t feel like munching so much. Fruit also helps, and in my opinion, there’s nothing quite as satisfying as an apple, but all fruit is good and is good for you. Also, recent studies suggest that because fruit has so much fiber, its calories are not processed the same way as the calories in, say, a candy bar would be processed. Indeed, in Weight Watchers point system, fruit is now considered to have zero points, which means you can eat as much of it as you want. (Obviously, diabetics must use some caution.)
So there! Twenty more pounds to go, and I should be able to fit into that wool coast. And very good luck to readers who are struggling with their own weight. I certainly know what you are going through.
Before, June 2011After, May 2012
A blog about nature, home, books, movies, television, food, and rural life.
Last weekend we celebrated our friend Sybil’s 82nd birthday and our nephew, Patrick’s, high school graduation. The two events were bookends to each other, a celebration of creativity at both ends of the human life span.
Notes From the Hinterland 