tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-622878225024897042024-02-21T02:42:36.972-08:00Dapper and DreamyHome and family. Good food and music. Great movies and books. It's dapper... and it's dreamy.Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.comBlogger245125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-48316738794161735522019-04-29T17:06:00.000-07:002019-04-29T17:06:16.717-07:00The Warming Memories of Good Food
Growing up, the weekend meant good food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From Friday night through Sunday, there would
be several memorable meals, none of them very elaborate and certainly nothing approaching
“fancy”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, thirty years later I can
still remember the smells and flavors of weekend meals at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can also clearly see why, even as a
teenager, few things were more enticing than the food and fun that was provided
right where I lived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also count myself
lucky that, at that age, I could have eaten virtually anything and in any
quantity with little fear of adding weight to my scarecrow-like frame!<br />
Friday night was the start of the culinary extravaganza and
there were two meals that stand out above all others – homemade pizza and
fondue.<br />
<br />
Homemade pizza was my mother’s department.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea how authentic it was or wasn’t,
although I doubt that it would have passed muster with a true Italian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, we loved it with its thick, soft crust
and myriad of wonderful toppings that could include Canadian bacon, fresh
mushrooms, black olives and, sometimes, tiny pink shrimp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
Fondue was one of my step-father’s best contributions to our
family’s menus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before Howard came on
the scene, I’d never heard of this version.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Rather than cheese or chocolate, Howard’s fondue pot was filled with
bubbling oil. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would plunge pieces of
steak, shrimp, mushrooms, zucchini, potato or bread cubes into the hot oil and
cook it until it was done to our liking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Accompanying this feast were countless little dishes of condiments including
mustards, steak sauces, oyster sauce and chutneys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sauces alone were delightful and, to me, totally new flavors.<br />
<br />
Of course, food wasn’t the only attractive thing about these
meals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They always found us gathered
either around the “breakfast bar” in our kitchen (no one ever ate breakfast
there…) for the fondue or, for many other meals, sitting in the living room
with an old movie on television and a fire in the fireplace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there was always plenty of conversation
and laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember nearly every family
gathering – whether a simple meal or a major holiday - as being warm and convivial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was due to both my mother and
step-father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom provided wonderful
food, warmth and good humor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My step-father,
who was much older and very English, was the perfect host, keeping drinks refreshed
and making sure everyone was at their ease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He also had a delightful twinkle in his eye and made everyone around him
feel special.<br />
<br />
Saturday’s dinner was the highlight of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Broiled lamb chops or steamed clams, both
served with new potatoes and tiny, sweet peas, or my mother’s homemade fish and
chips were typical meals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Often, I’d
accompany my step-father to the fish market or the butcher on Saturday
afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was always willing to buy
the fancy little things that I loved at these places - interesting crackers,
sauces and candies and, most delightfully, smoked salmon or tiny pink shrimp
for shrimp cocktail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, thanks to
Howard, I developed an absolute love of light, crisp cream crackers with cold
butter!<br />
<br />
If we were having clams or lamb chops, dinner was around the
table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clams were the most fun, each of
us getting a HUGE bowl of shells filled with plump, buttery, garlicky clams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lamb chops were a close second, sprinkled with
coarse kosher salt and broiled until what little fat there was at the edges was
gloriously crisp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best part was
cleaning every last bit from the salty bones!<br />
<br />
My mother’s fish and chips were nothing to sniff at,
either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The potatoes were fried twice -
once until they were almost done and, after they’d cooled, again until they
were soft and creamy on the inside and with a perfectly crisp outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thick pieces of cod or halibut were just
the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perfectly seasoned with a
light and crunchy coating, and still firm. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While Tartar sauce was on offer, I wasn’t a
fan, preferring malted vinegar. <br />
<br />
Another of the highlights of dinner around the table were
the games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Invariably, my step-father
would pipe up with either, “Animal, vegetable or mineral!” or an “I, Spy” clue,
and off we’d go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the old chestnut, “Is
it bigger than a breadbox”, his standard question, repeated even today in an
imitation of his perfect English accent, was “Is it DEC-rative or utilitarian?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Howard ALWAYS won these games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would have been a perfect panelist of “What’s
My Line”!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regardless of who won, there
was always a lot of laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Current
events and history also figured largely in our dinnertime conversations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Howard had been all over the world during and
after World War II, and his travels and experiences perfectly matched my
interests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His stories of pre-war London
and beautiful descriptions of Beirut and other Middle-Eastern cities as they were
in the 1940s and 1950s were fascinating.<br />
<br />
You might wonder what was served for dessert on these evenings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother is just as good a baker as she is a
cook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, it wouldn’t be unheard of
to be served Pepperidge Farms frozen chocolate cake, and there were never any
complaints.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, this was by far the
most popular dessert for a Friday or Saturday night, with hot fudge sundaes a
close second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for the cake, it was
really the frosting the was the best part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sadly, Pepperidge Farms has “improved” their recipe.<br />
<br />
Sunday’s always started the same way and I miss those
mornings most of all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I rarely
slept too late, I was always the last one up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My alarm was the smell of brewing coffee and frying bacon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always.<br />
<br />
Sunday breakfasts could be any number of things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, there would be eggs – fried or
scrambled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favorite version of
scrambled eggs had crispy bits of bacon sprinkled in during the cooking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We might also have an omelet which would be
filled with the most wonderful things – ham, cheese, sautéed mushrooms, black
olives, avocado.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you can see already,
breakfast was never a disappointment.<br />
<br />
My mother’s hash browns were a thing of beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Freshly shredded potatoes – NEVER frozen –
that were perfectly cooked with the crispest, crunchiest outer layers and the
softest, most delicious center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These
weren’t an every-Sunday occurrence, but a special treat when eggs and bacon
were on the menu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, the BEST
breakfast ever included finger steaks dredged in seasoned flour, fried eggs
with slightly runny yolks and those incredible hash browns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This also served as a favorite weeknight
dinner from time to time.<br />
<br />
If potatoes weren’t part of the breakfast, pancakes, French toast
or Dutch babies certainly would be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And,
sometimes, waffles.<br />
<br />
Pancakes were the Bisquik variety, and were drenched in
butter and syrup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To this day, I still
like these pancakes best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>French toast
was much the same, but also sprinkled with powdered sugar, the little clumps of
which would absorb the melted butter and syrup, creating a sort of candy coating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The syrup was special, and still the syrup
that I prefer over all others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was made
of sugar, water, a pinch of salt and Mapleine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My mom STILL has the very same syrup container and, whenever it’s used,
it’s placed in a pan of boiling water, melting the crystals that have formed
since the last Sunday.<br />
<br />
Dutch babies were also coated in butter (EVERYTHING included
plenty of butter!), but then lemon wedges were squeezed over the big, fluffy baked
pancake and, again liberally sprinkled with powdered sugar.<br />
<br />
Waffles were a rarer treat, often made around birthdays, and
always served with crisp bacon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
addition to the aforementioned butter, waffles would sometimes be topped with
sweetened, sliced strawberries and whipped cream, although the regularly available
syrup was no hardship either.<br />
<br />
This talk of whipped cream reminds me of something
else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
I can’t remember ever being told that coffee would stunt my
growth when I was a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember
visits to my aunt and uncle’s house where my uncle’s incredibly strong coffee
always seemed to be the apex of every evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Similarly, my mother put considerable effort into making good coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For many years, we had an old-fashioned, and
just plain old, hand grinder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
given the task of grinding the fresh beans and loved the crunch as I turned the
handle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was done, it seemed
rather magical that I could pull open the little drawer to find it filled with
the ground coffee, ready to be brewed.<br />
<br />
Sunday morning’s coffee always seemed to be topped with a
huge dollop of whipped cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my
case, I had a very particular ritual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>First, I would put in the whipped cream roughly filling half the cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next, I would pour in the coffee, slowly watching
it melt some of the whipped cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Finally, I would top it all off with more whipped cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end, I think it was, perhaps, two
thirds whipped cream and one third coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perfect proportions if you ask me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><br />
<br />
As you can imagine, the weekend ended on a similarly high
note with Sunday’s dinner.<br />
<br />
We weren’t one of those families that had Sunday dinner in
the middle of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ate it at 7:00
as we were watching “60 Minutes” (I loved that how!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother knows how to cook meat properly,
and it was always the highlight of the meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Roast beef or pork and Yorkshire pudding, ham and scalloped potatoes,
roast turkey breast or stuffed flank steak and mashed potatoes, these were
standard Sunday night fare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the
vegetables were marvelous – a special, rather vinegary green bean casserole
topped with breadcrumbs mixed with butter and Parmesan cheese, carrots coated
with butter and brown sugar or broccoli with Hollandaise sauce. <br />
<br />
And, if you can imagine, there was still dessert and Sunday
night was NOT for frozen cake!<br />
My mother’s repertoire of desserts is pretty endless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recall blackberry or apple crisps or pies featuring
prominently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, a special kind of
chocolate cake that, when baked, made its own hot fudge sauce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pies went far beyond the two listed
earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There might be chocolate cream,
lemon meringue, lemon cream or raspberry chiffon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We might have yellow cake frosted with
chocolate fudge, or spice cake or gingerbread with even more whipped
cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, when my mother really
felt like baking, there was only one thing that would do…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>her MAGNIFICENT chocolate cake frosted with
clouds of Seafoam frosting – a seven-minute frosting made with brown instead of
white sugar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These cakes were, and are,
works of art.<br />
<br />
It might surprise you to know that none of us grew to be incredibly
stout and that we all remain healthy all these years later (the exception being
my step-father who died at nearly 81 in 1998 and who had the lowest cholesterol
of anyone I’d ever met!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I
suspect that one of the reasons for that good health is that we were fed so well
and enjoyed the whole process of cooking and eating so thoroughly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s also important to know that, with the
exception of the Bisquik, Mapeline and Pepperidge Farm cake, EVERYTHING was made
from the good, fresh ingredients.<br />
<br />
When I look back, food nearly always punctuates the happiest
times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether holidays, birthdays,
family celebrations, vacations or these standard weekend meals, food was a
comforting and entirely pleasurable part of our existence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even when times were lean, and before my step-father
came into our lives they often were, my mother managed to give us a sense of
warmth and stability with the meals she put on our table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve tried to do the same with my own family,
and will be delighted if, many years in the future, they remember the food as
warmly as I remember that of my own earlier years.<br />
<br />Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-46518393246362080342018-05-12T18:02:00.003-07:002018-05-12T18:02:22.980-07:00Russia On My Mind<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One of
the unfortunate things about paying attention to international (or domestic)
politics is how easily the personalities and the negative impressions of
foreign governments can easily overwhelm what's truly interesting to me - the
people and the cultures. When one is presented with negative news on a daily
basis, it can be difficult to remember that a nation's leadership is often in
stark contrast to the people they purport to govern.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Take,
for example, Russia. Russia is far more than Putin and interference in the
elections of its adversaries. Of course I know this on an intellectual level,
but it's nice to remind myself of it from time to time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Just
yesterday, I was thinking back to the summers I spent at my aunt and uncle's
house. When I think of it now, so much about it reminds me of what I'd imagine
Carl Larsson's house to be like, or a wonderful Russian dacha. Perhaps that's
because this is where I was first introduced to Carl Larsson or the idea of a
Russian dacha!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
house was always filled with good books, music, art and creativity. People were
always doing something interesting - gardening, painting, practicing and
instrument, playing Super Mario Bros. (I said it was LIKE a Russian dacha, but
my cousins and I were still American kids!). In fall and winter, their couldn't
be anywhere cozier. In spring it was lovely, too. But, in summer? It was
heavenly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4sgo1nc1QqPxVSR-URO9UVI_mTrTepU75jOyPygZpC5AVewNzvzgGXWf08wqpgiJ_VaHjtkhO6MVoGemw5sRzZV8NWccUSBA2TujgUDS-dbsqLHmzEyFnM9II43kwnQf7oASOOIryoc/s1600/Russia+two.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="647" data-original-width="750" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4sgo1nc1QqPxVSR-URO9UVI_mTrTepU75jOyPygZpC5AVewNzvzgGXWf08wqpgiJ_VaHjtkhO6MVoGemw5sRzZV8NWccUSBA2TujgUDS-dbsqLHmzEyFnM9II43kwnQf7oASOOIryoc/s320/Russia+two.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was
in the garden that my interest in Russia really began. As with so many things
that I love, it has a royal connection. I remember reading, for the first time,
Robert K. Massie's "Nicholas and Alexandra". Somehow, reading it in
that setting made it seem more alive, more real. Likewise, I read other books
on the Romanovs there, notably the biography of the last Tsar's sister, Grand
Duchess Olga.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Inside
the house were books about Russia and the Soviet Union and I'd look at them
over and over. It wasn't just Tsarist Russia that captured my imagination, but
also the Soviet Union.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, it wasn’t
the homes of the Romanovs that I found interesting, but those of everyday
people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Houses in the country – many
with very rustic, bare wooden walls – always seemed particularly inviting,
furnished with interesting and often beautiful furniture, bright tapestries and
cloths and filled with flowers.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHL1jXUhYbICx656SS4M1f8S0lrQJcAlZHuSVdcHNXG3B0cqjuhnUXEHt4z8y3FzBzuhdsVUey-ImqB15FaW0PxMDu1KmP7wipAHk_DF2jagUhyphenhyphenjCSE-9VeLoqWZW94wRJHq0ytZ9qKKE/s1600/Russia+five.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="568" data-original-width="750" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHL1jXUhYbICx656SS4M1f8S0lrQJcAlZHuSVdcHNXG3B0cqjuhnUXEHt4z8y3FzBzuhdsVUey-ImqB15FaW0PxMDu1KmP7wipAHk_DF2jagUhyphenhyphenjCSE-9VeLoqWZW94wRJHq0ytZ9qKKE/s320/Russia+five.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 13.5pt;">For some reason, I particularly remember the description of a party held by a professor that was
in the Time-Life “Foods of the World” series (books that I love as much now as
I did when I discovered them at the age of about 11).</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 13.5pt;">The apartment was tiny and in a building where
kitchens and, I suspect, bathrooms were shared. The party was nothing by our
standards here and now, but it had deliciously simple food carefully prepared
by the hostess, people playing music and singing and what appeared to be deeply
interesting discussions.</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 13.5pt;">There seemed to
be a lot of vodka, too, but that is beside the point.</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 13.5pt;">The lessons that I took from all of this was
that hospitality, fun and warmth could be created under all sorts of
conditions; that simple food is often the best food; and that when you bring
together interesting people in a welcoming environment, magic can be made.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I also recall the sets from "Dr. Zhivago", particularly Lara's house. Despite the simplicity of the materials used to build it and to furnish it, it was richly decorated with carved wood, lovely linens covered the tables and the windows and there was a general feeling of warmth and security, quite in opposition to the reality outside the door.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjhbj7kfw62Ri_snuKenOqaL32vf-KsgO-L6Ga8_W36x76gILVCazSv8oZuX0wDOjf6QUmiw63eS_tFvE1eOkXHI7cmBrWJakThOaW3u0r8WoaPObiR6BOofBpssS10DWP77rcAa8IFc/s1600/Time1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7zfOyqUdAfOVYXe9nbOdPTh44Xzku5zUQG-IKXkimQLoJaPeY0Be9ZfRM5xCXO54aPENuZ4K_nip8cD90xeJn5nFRSaYwq-F2eH09DBaZhzZl5NO4SjnyqjEIImMXty34F52DIGWY6Y/s1600/Russia+one.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="750" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7zfOyqUdAfOVYXe9nbOdPTh44Xzku5zUQG-IKXkimQLoJaPeY0Be9ZfRM5xCXO54aPENuZ4K_nip8cD90xeJn5nFRSaYwq-F2eH09DBaZhzZl5NO4SjnyqjEIImMXty34F52DIGWY6Y/s320/Russia+one.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEOzl_BMbm6DZM0_q_TJUZ6AxkJsyaHA2ll8YD14y26EoQjmB3MS-xeCcW96hiIgeMYNlJAUqAETMPkRoCdQ_U7proU7HW8g15ppDCLcrgJY2Cnd32vPYGXzPlyDmA97fzUAPFqqyQW0/s1600/Russia+three.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="750" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEOzl_BMbm6DZM0_q_TJUZ6AxkJsyaHA2ll8YD14y26EoQjmB3MS-xeCcW96hiIgeMYNlJAUqAETMPkRoCdQ_U7proU7HW8g15ppDCLcrgJY2Cnd32vPYGXzPlyDmA97fzUAPFqqyQW0/s320/Russia+three.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">One of the artists who
best captured this feeling was Stanislav Zhukovsky, a Polish-Russia painter who
lived from 1873-1944. Zhukovsky’s
paintings capture the interiors of pre-Revolutionary homes and estates and
record the glorious colors, textures and styles that filled these houses. I've used his paintings to illustrate this little treatise, and as examples of all that I think of when I contemplate Russia.<br /><br />
Now, I think that I’ll go find my favorite books about Russia and spend a few
hours dreaming of the places that, one day, I’d like to see for myself and the
people I’d love to meet.</span><!--EndFragment-->
<br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">NOTE: To learn more about Zhukovsky, visit artist Stephen O'Donnell's blog post at (all of his blog posts are marvelous!) <a href="http://godsandfoolishgrandeur.blogspot.com/2014/12/interiors-by-stanislav-zhukovsky.html" target="_blank">Gods and Foolish Grandeur</a>.</span>Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-6945878118772166482017-12-13T13:22:00.002-08:002018-02-16T23:23:47.368-08:00Here's Where the Magic HappensDapper and Dreamy takes a lot of time and hard work. That's why it's so important to have a space that I enjoy spending time in.<br />
<br />
Our old farmhouse has a wonderful corner room that meets my needs perfectly. I like small rooms, and I like lots of light! So, this corner space fits the bill.<br />
<br />
Oddly shaped and tiny, it takes some careful thought in arranging and, maybe even more challenging, just getting all of the furniture into the room!<br />
<br />
Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHhdmw2eP89SgTz9QwOsx3zR5CV9pEoejK5etGbsrw15Iw8ef55umW0mNf_C92pv_pioyWST4bv55iDANzUq9pK6iXGUZBSxIIKPZHhM5tsPd6MfX4cXRtxHPeSmvqwQ5bP1HIQLgL3Q/s1600/Red+Office+Five.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="717" data-original-width="960" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHhdmw2eP89SgTz9QwOsx3zR5CV9pEoejK5etGbsrw15Iw8ef55umW0mNf_C92pv_pioyWST4bv55iDANzUq9pK6iXGUZBSxIIKPZHhM5tsPd6MfX4cXRtxHPeSmvqwQ5bP1HIQLgL3Q/s400/Red+Office+Five.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My desk and c. 1920's map of London.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPSk8BKyDYNkigDOcMQ_0pBcJUKn9HbYYCxIbg9ppPkHJY9DlJjyWnuohCtvyckWwuxto0bKOC1HiOUILoEDQtrlkNoZultsiThCMea3dmMe5P0SB1wst0Q6XAinxlJGJIVG-BOkiZgE/s1600/Red+Office+One.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="717" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPSk8BKyDYNkigDOcMQ_0pBcJUKn9HbYYCxIbg9ppPkHJY9DlJjyWnuohCtvyckWwuxto0bKOC1HiOUILoEDQtrlkNoZultsiThCMea3dmMe5P0SB1wst0Q6XAinxlJGJIVG-BOkiZgE/s640/Red+Office+One.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My reading corner... it's always Christmas in my studio!<br />
The needlepoint picture of the White House and another<br />
commemorating the Queen's 2002 Golden Jubilee were<br />
gifts from Melissa.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhheSaaERo0HRKVO4sX3zAIb99WK8YznWo1mh2azRU-KNA04MAvjn5lf6AmVLziHU1yeSPk7MxjSGV3qNy98LJuSrLKV88wwyLthqUBx3xk214fodrsQEj7bILCIRqYy3a-s23T8wODV9g/s1600/Red+Office+Four.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="717" data-original-width="960" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhheSaaERo0HRKVO4sX3zAIb99WK8YznWo1mh2azRU-KNA04MAvjn5lf6AmVLziHU1yeSPk7MxjSGV3qNy98LJuSrLKV88wwyLthqUBx3xk214fodrsQEj7bILCIRqYy3a-s23T8wODV9g/s400/Red+Office+Four.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Books! These are just a few of my books dealing with the White House, presidents and first ladies.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvb0meGBYb2q713ZsQ29-oYDNFkZaHzaysrPZQf44-jHkP5eo-H1AnKLuODRJwjIYPtukMVXxirtdbtcDF3ONvLhvCtecBz7VPAr7_4om991xGkSEJhWYayg9M13B6kJtM-WpaHsgJ5A/s1600/Red+Office+Three.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="717" data-original-width="960" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvb0meGBYb2q713ZsQ29-oYDNFkZaHzaysrPZQf44-jHkP5eo-H1AnKLuODRJwjIYPtukMVXxirtdbtcDF3ONvLhvCtecBz7VPAr7_4om991xGkSEJhWYayg9M13B6kJtM-WpaHsgJ5A/s400/Red+Office+Three.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the vintage map of California given to me by my son, Jack. I also frequently<br />
read and reread these books by John Steinbeck! The needlepoint picture of<br />
St. Edward's Crown was one I designed a few years ago.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXojlGYkSp3sbJTxhftF1HELtW2YIGt1C-zUbZ-yMsbKOHAVoV9BQ8fsx9rDroDnP8YFZaBbjGhDlDC4RD0eezKiqxUt5WPIFqWvRV3Lx4IDycW9cTNluUTpqLBz4xyN5jlG07djS8byg/s1600/Red+Office+Two.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="717" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXojlGYkSp3sbJTxhftF1HELtW2YIGt1C-zUbZ-yMsbKOHAVoV9BQ8fsx9rDroDnP8YFZaBbjGhDlDC4RD0eezKiqxUt5WPIFqWvRV3Lx4IDycW9cTNluUTpqLBz4xyN5jlG07djS8byg/s400/Red+Office+Two.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That Santa wreath is one of my favorite things. A gift from my daughter, Victoria,<br />
who shares my love of all things "vintage Christmas"! We've never met a<br />
Shiny Brite ornament we didn't like!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89rVsWHTOrxtGx0QajTxftN90_XW7g314xaEFzv6fLVOQw5UEBmv5Wb5UlUsFBmCpoGDbTGKrV2iyJ8zvl7_lXxe2QxQJMweqwcpc3NSxm4kR0hxxLwc-wGSVYs1K64BkrRGHQ__Ql6Q/s1600/Red+Office+Eight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="717" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89rVsWHTOrxtGx0QajTxftN90_XW7g314xaEFzv6fLVOQw5UEBmv5Wb5UlUsFBmCpoGDbTGKrV2iyJ8zvl7_lXxe2QxQJMweqwcpc3NSxm4kR0hxxLwc-wGSVYs1K64BkrRGHQ__Ql6Q/s400/Red+Office+Eight.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More books and record covers from all sorts of old LPs that I love. They're fun<br />
to listen to, but it's a shame to miss the great cover art!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRMpzGQJjS0DOjWv06nVmxXaPwZqyp06GDnUWDKaBnoOdeLdXnDGqsvWisH0szbpruLddU_1mf4PQVcGKlv3i9_FrrGoBc8qO33gpORzqZsHgIHiHBo3gRbGLFtgffhMrJ7TK_irnrtaQ/s1600/Red+Office+Seven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="717" data-original-width="960" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRMpzGQJjS0DOjWv06nVmxXaPwZqyp06GDnUWDKaBnoOdeLdXnDGqsvWisH0szbpruLddU_1mf4PQVcGKlv3i9_FrrGoBc8qO33gpORzqZsHgIHiHBo3gRbGLFtgffhMrJ7TK_irnrtaQ/s400/Red+Office+Seven.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family photos and a Carl Larsson print decorate the top of another bookshelf.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-65429161386643195262017-12-13T12:12:00.002-08:002017-12-13T12:12:39.167-08:00Granny Glittens and Her AMAZING Mittens!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHSvIU3mxGwpK9GkQ4ci4crQ0kHkfHSTQwmHroidzSEGvPJJiQrC4OpvqIyzq1u5hSljQqmHabQ-NND2AWay3Hv7rvjpWdKa4_hFTmFGOxH7DH6CuaAf6KMuDCO70ZDy-qWA7gRpE1JU/s1600/Granny+Glittens+Color.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHSvIU3mxGwpK9GkQ4ci4crQ0kHkfHSTQwmHroidzSEGvPJJiQrC4OpvqIyzq1u5hSljQqmHabQ-NND2AWay3Hv7rvjpWdKa4_hFTmFGOxH7DH6CuaAf6KMuDCO70ZDy-qWA7gRpE1JU/s320/Granny+Glittens+Color.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Like so many people, we have certain stories that we read every year at Christmastime. In the Dapper and Dreamy house there are several, but none more important that <i>Granny Glittens and Her Amazing Mittens</i>.<br />
<br />
Granny Glittens has been a part of Christmas in my family since my mother was small. Her very tattered circa 1940's <i>Golden Book of Christmas</i> was the source for many stories and projects and is well-loved to this day. Granny is the story of an entrepreneurial old lady who knits mittens for children. Faced with the challenge of making these mittens out only white yarn, Granny comes up with a clever and tasty solution!<br />
<br />
Click on this link to hear the story of <a href="https://www.box.com/s/odijtsk842vz0392lspj">Granny Glittens</a>!Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-84016226562513054612017-04-16T14:31:00.002-07:002017-04-16T14:31:16.990-07:00Easter Parade... An Annual Tradition!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6m_RgSiCfkPUbJp7Anl9egu7mOFLVDEmm2yJ78UOE-1LFrgt2U44k_LVrXZg4sO_6se3FA72bdrqRZTsVIxFEIWVJhVyT5eiFJbA5FVVNbWwWt61fYl474EnmHUWtp96u9TltmibhyY/s1600/Easter+Parade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6m_RgSiCfkPUbJp7Anl9egu7mOFLVDEmm2yJ78UOE-1LFrgt2U44k_LVrXZg4sO_6se3FA72bdrqRZTsVIxFEIWVJhVyT5eiFJbA5FVVNbWwWt61fYl474EnmHUWtp96u9TltmibhyY/s400/Easter+Parade.jpg" width="316" /></a></div>
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<br />
I could easily go on and on about <i>Easter Parade</i>, Fred Astaire and Judy Garland's late '40's musical masterpiece. But, why bother when little excerpts of the film itself can say it so much better? I will only say this... The songs are delightful and memorable, the actors are at their best and can you believe anyone can dance like Ann Miller dances in her "Shakin' the Blues Away" number? Wow!<br />
<br />
So, if you want to add a terribly dapper and dreamy movie to your holiday lineup, you MUST watch <i>Easter Parade</i>!<br />
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Go Annie, Go!</div>
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Marvelous... But what about the poor kid's Easter Bunny?</div>
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In your Easter bonnet...</div>
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Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-32502472163015783572017-02-12T16:39:00.001-08:002017-02-12T16:39:36.229-08:00Sunday is Pie Day!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgUna4oJXN7z8vn5pcfMOg_LdTrSOyK2DKBQxTpXP5T1ZtRzQzbDELbfsEyjeAb80n0GohQir9Nh_7B4ULr7uipLElO6OM97Ag8oUv0y-xWLRnA0aU8gIuGv63AzegT_Pf57DP5-ItPo/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgUna4oJXN7z8vn5pcfMOg_LdTrSOyK2DKBQxTpXP5T1ZtRzQzbDELbfsEyjeAb80n0GohQir9Nh_7B4ULr7uipLElO6OM97Ag8oUv0y-xWLRnA0aU8gIuGv63AzegT_Pf57DP5-ItPo/s320/FullSizeRender+%25282%2529.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
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At last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baking
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, as far as I am concerned,
almost every day is baking day, but today I’m feeling more energetic than
usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It started with Dutch Babies
baked in a cast iron skillet coated in sizzling butter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After that, a quick mix up of Brown Sugar
Oatmeal Bread which is now rising in the warmest corner of the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I can really get down to business…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>pie!<br />
<br />
However you know me, you know that I hold pie in great esteem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love baking cakes, bread, muffins and
cookies, but pie?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pie is something else
altogether.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my mind, if someone makes
you a pie, or if you make someone else a pie, it indicates a special kind of
affection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
I can mix up a Devils’ Food Cake from scratch in no more that ten or fifteen
minutes, depending on how much sifting we’re talking about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cookies?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You don’t even have to measure that precisely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A pie?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A pie takes time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It requires the
actual use of one’s hands to prepare the fruit, especially if you’ve picked it,
peeled it and/or sliced it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then there’s
the blending of the flour and salt and shortening and iced water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, it has to be rolled out, turned,
positioned, trimmed and crimped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
with one’s own hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(No food
processors or mixers in my pie-making, thank you very much.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you make a pie, you really are MAKING
something!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Today’s pie is apple, and it started as a thank you to
someone who did me a favor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First I had
to decide on the apple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For years I
thought Granny Smith was the way to go, but she’s been replaced by the more alluring
Golden Delicious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Less tart and a
superior texture when cooked, the only thing better is the coveted Gravenstein
that seems to be available for a relatively short time each year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like to take a little time when picking out
my apples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apples with no bruises, no
blemishes and a truly golden skin are a pleasure to pack in a paper bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also look lovely in a big blue and white
bowl on the kitchen counter between the time I bring them home and the day they
are used.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
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Baking, for me, is a solitary joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather like gardening, I seem to do some of
my best thinking while I am alone and working on something with my hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, this whole thing was written in my
head as I worked through my recipe…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
only I could remember all of the marvelous sentences and paragraphs and stories
I’ve created while beating batter or pulling weeds, I’d be a MOST prolific
writer!<br />
<br />
Once I’m assured that my wife and kids are otherwise occupied, the dishes are
done and the counters clean, I can start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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First, I get all of my bowls together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s the vintage pink, Pyrex bowl
decorated with white gooseberries, just like my mom’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s for the apple peels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next, there’s the big turquoise bowl in which
the sliced apples are mixed with the sugar, cinnamon and flour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, finally, the giant, heavy, white,
pottery bowl that my wife gave me a few years ago at Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the kind of Christmas where the
parents could only really manage to give each other one gift and this was
mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I use it almost every day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s perfect for making things like pie dough
and biscuits because it’s wide and deep and you can really get your hands into
your work.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I love to peel apples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This time I have ten perfect, Golden Delicious apples, all the same
size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I try to take the peel off in one,
continuous, unbroken spiral and, after lots of practice, rarely fail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quarter them, core them and slice them with
my much-abused paring knife, and drop them into the big bowl, ready to receive
their sugary coating.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When it comes to pie crust my big secret is that there are
NO secrets at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Follow the recipe on the back of your Crisco
can!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Use your hands and, just when you
start to wonder if you need to keep mixing…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>STOP!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add your water, mix a
little more and, just like before, stop just before you’re sure if you
should.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve always thought that people
made too much of the skill and magic required to make things like pie crust and
biscuits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, the less you do, the
less technique you employ, the better the results!<br />
<br />
Rolling out the dough into a perfect disk is, in my experience,
impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sort of rough squarish
circle that gives you a good inch or more of overhang is the best that I can
do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once it’s to the size I want I fold
it into quarters, lay it in the pie tin with the point in the middle, and
unfold it, gently pressing it into place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><br />
<br />
I don’t like to overfill my pies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While
I like the filling, unless it’s something like all raspberry in which case I
LOVE the filling, the crust is the star in my pie constellation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More is definitely better and, to let you in
on a little secret, I generally eat the filling first, saving the pastry (the
best) for last!<br />
<br />
Once the top crust is in place, I trim both, leaving about ¾ of an inch of
overhang which I fold under and tuck in, giving me a nice, thick edge to crimp
with my fingers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I am pretty much a
purist when it comes to decoration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
may decide to form something decorative with the leftover dough – cherries for
a cherry pie, for example – and there are always vents attractively spaced, but
I shy away from washes of egg or milk, let alone that very unnatural desire to
sprinkle SUGAR on the top!<br />
<br />
Once the pie is in the oven, there’s the question of what to do with the
leftover pastry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Growing up, my mom
allowed me to roll it out, cut it into shapes with cookie cutters, and spread
raspberry jam on top before baking them into little tarts that<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>were delicious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More delicious, though, was the raw pie dough
all on its own!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, how I loved (OK,
LOVE – present tense) raw pie dough!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
would eat so much that my overly concerned mom would remind me of the episode
of my then-favorite show, “Emergency!”, where a boy had to be taken to the
EMERGENCY ROOM for eating too much raw pie dough!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To this day, I have never been able to find
such an episode via either IMDB, Wikipedia or Hulu…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you think my mom was…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>lying?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Regardless, I still love to eat the stuff, and have been known to make a
pie just because of a sudden craving.<br />
I prefer my pie to be served either cold or at room temperature and, please, if
it’s a fruit pie, no ice cream or whipped cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d rather save the calories (as if I
consider such things when it comes to pie) for a second piece!<br />
<br />
As you can see, I’ve given a lot of thought to pie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are few that I don’t like. Cream
pies?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meringue pies?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chiffon pies?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fruit pies?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>YES!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even mincemeat pies (hot and with LOADS of
brandy butter) meet with my approval under the right circumstances.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So there you have it… a glimpse into my
baking and eating life. To me, pie is
wrapped up with all sorts of lovely things – Sunday dinners and summer picnics; Monday morning breakfasts and after school
snacks; and people who really like you and, to show it, will make you a pie.</span><!--EndFragment-->
Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-92013131531457200352017-02-01T21:01:00.001-08:002017-02-01T21:01:31.063-08:00The Ave Maria Album... What a Good Idea!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Like most people, there are certain pieces of music that I can listen to over and over again and never tire of them. WAY back in 1998 I found, and was given, "The Ave Maria Album", a CD that contains at least sixteen versions of this marvelous song. There are performances of the Bach-Gounod piece, Verdi's rendition as well as my favorite by Schubert.<br /><br />In addition to different composers, the songs are performed by different artists. Placido Domingo, Mario Lanza and even Enrico Caruso fill out the tenor section, while Leontyne Price, Marian Anderson and Jeanette MacDonald are among the sopranos and contraltos that represent the women.<br />
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In the last nineteen years, I've listened to this album over and over again. Sometimes I play it very, very loudly in the car and, at other times, I play it softly while trying to get to sleep. While the Schubert version is my favorite with it's soaring notes, the Verdi rendition sounds almost like a very personal plea. The Bach-Gounod reminds me of a lovely lullaby.<br />
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<br />I think that this album containing several artists performing the same songs is a smashing idea! There are so many compositions that I love enough to listen to over and over again, but hearing them in slightly different forms keeps things interesting. In fact, I've created my own playlists featuring some of them, many of which are uniquely British tunes. I can't get enough of Parry's "Jerusalem", and even "Rule, Britannia" energizes me. "Jupiter", from Holst's "The Planets", which is also known as the anthem "I Vow to Thee, My Country" and "Land of Hope and Glory" are also favorites that never cease to impress. "O Mio Babbino, Caro", whether sung by Kiri te Kanawa or Maria Callas, and "Nessun Dorma", which really belongs to Luciano Pavarotti, always remind me of the summer when I first met my wife. We must have been watching a lot of Merchant-Ivory movies and I think "The Three Tenors" were at their height, so these pieces give me wonderfully nostalgic feelings.<br /><br />Regardless of what songs you choose, focusing on a few of your absolute favorites and finding the many versions of them can be great fun, and it can give you a new appreciation for some much-loved music.<br />
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<br />Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-87703757514370209562017-01-31T21:01:00.005-08:002017-01-31T21:01:48.138-08:00Cookbooks I Have Destroyed (and Loved...)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I was looking through stacks and stacks of cookbooks at a local thrift store, I was struck by the fact that I already have the only cookbooks I need... and then some! Of course, the definition of "need" changes based on what I find, what I want, and what I can afford! In terms of the books that I actually use almost daily, I've got 'em and there's only two!<br />
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The first is an obvious choice... "The Joy of Cooking". I actually have two editions of this one, the first is from the 1940s and belonged to my grandmother. The second, and the one that I use most, is more current and was a gift from my oldest son. He found it at a grade school book fair and was so proud when he gave it to me. If the usefulness and appreciation of a gift can be determined by how "used" it looks, there are few books that are more beloved! The cover is stained and burned and big chunks of the text are loose or disengaged entirely. I have to stuff them back into the pages every time I take it down from the shelf!<br />
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"The Joy of Cooking" seems to have everything one needs for basic cooking. You'd think I'd know the recipe for pancakes, waffles and pie crust by heart but, truth be told, I have to look every time I make them! The book naturally falls open to the pancakes page, and the fluffy dumpling page is permanently marked with a little piece of dough.<br /><br />"Joy", as I think of it, also answers key questions about substitutions, measurement conversions, roasting temperatures and how to cook rice (hey... we all have to start somewhere!). If I were just starting out in the world, I'd find this immeasurably helpful. As it is, with plenty of cooking experience under my belt, it still provides all of the information I need and a darned good "Quick and Easy Enchilada" sauce to boot. This is especially nice when, in the middle of making 80 enchiladas you find that you only bought one, small can of sauce.<br /><br />My second cookbook of choice came to me via "Baking with Julia"on PBS. One of the very best episodes features Marion Cunningham, a cook I'd never before heard of. She bakes wonderful biscuits, popovers and fabulous Buttermilk Crumb Muffins. Marion's whole demeanor is that of the kind of person you'd love to be taught by. She's warm, she's enthusiastic and utterly American, in the best sense of the word. She clearly loves the best American food, which is often simple, homespun and makes use of the best ingredients. Her biscuits and scones form the base of a decadent Strawberry Shortcake (the shortcake is actually spread with butter before the berries and whipped cream are added!), and her popovers are table-ready for butter and jam or gravy. By the time you've finished with the episode, you're dying for one of those muffins (and a popover... and a biscuit...)<br /><br /><br /><br />After seeing the program, I learned that Marion Cunningham wrote "The Fannie Farmer Baking Book", and it is the most wonderful book on basic baking I've come across. To read it is to hear her voice and feel her excitement about each and every recipe. One can almost imagine her standing there saying, "Of course you can do this!" Marion valued old-fashioned recipes, not for nostalgia's sake alone, but because they are often the best. Sometimes the original really can't be improved upon.<br /><br />"The Fannie Farmer Baking Book" is so useful because it contains countless recipes for things like chocolate cakes, coffee cakes, pies, cookies, breads, even crackers. More than that, it's delightful to just sit and read. Each recipe is preceded by an explanation of what makes it worth trying and explains what sets it apart. There are no superfluous entries here. If there are twelve chocolate cakes, there's a reason for each and every one of them. <br /><br />There are several "Master Recipes" for things like butter cake, white sandwich bread and apple pie. In these entries one gets detailed instructions on the proper methods of measuring, handling and mixing, sometimes with simple line drawings. Far from being tedious, these miniature classes are clear and, again, in Marion's friendly voice.<br />
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"The Fannie Farmer Baking Book" has had a challenging existence in my house, though. After acquiring my first copy for a mere dollar at that same local thrift store, somehow it became the victim of one of my wife's "decluttering" sprees. One Saturday, wanting to bake some English muffins, I found "Fannie" had disappeared. Being out of print, and me not wanting to give in and take the easy way out (ordering it from Amazon.com), I searched and searched for it until, sometime last Fall, I found a copy at a used bookshop. <br /><br />Marion Cunningham passed away a few years ago, I'm sorry to say. Her own life story is an inspiring one and proves that there's always hope for a better future. And, she's a marvelous example of finding a passion and making into a living.<br />
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Of course I have other cookbooks... books by Julia Child and Martha Stewart. Cookbooks for ice cream and Scandinavian food and crepes. Books all about pie and appetizers and Christmas food... You get the picture. In each of them I have one or two "must have" recipes but nothing beats "Joy" and "Fannie" when it comes to my everyday needs.<br /><br /><br />
<br />Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-33822241212207650752016-11-05T15:11:00.001-07:002016-11-05T15:11:16.888-07:00That Hallmark Feeling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A friend’s recent Facebook post reminded me of something I’d
long forgotten about…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hallmark
stores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While not a terribly exciting
subject on the surface, his comment brought to mind a lot of happy memories.<br />
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Things have changed a lot since I made regular forays into the local Hallmark
store with my mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We lived in Corvallis
for much of the time and I can well remember the little shop that was set
between the Payless drug store and Roth’s Market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Payless itself is memorable for the small candy
store just inside its front door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
made the most delicious caramel corn throughout the day, pouring the hot,
buttery caramel over piles of popcorn on a water-cooled metal table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The candy maker would then use to large metal
spatulas to mix the corn and caramel, letting it dry until crisp and then
breaking it into pieces that would fit in the old-fashioned black and white
boxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trips to Hallmark usually
included a box of caramel corn!<o:p></o:p></div>
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The card shop itself was memorable for many reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One was the smell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The scent of votive candles combined to give
it a sweet floral smell in the spring and summer, and a spicy and piney one in
the winter and fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother always
bought candles at the Hallmark store, especially for the holidays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The small votives and larger pillars that
smelled like bayberry and pine, and the tall red and green and white tapers
that would sit on our dining room table and mantle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps even more than cards, when I think of
Hallmark, I think of candles.<br />
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Hallmark was also the place for decorations and centerpieces for birthday
parties and holidays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Large envelopes
filled with cardboard and paper sheets that needed to be cut and folded and
assembled to create circus scenes, haunted houses, pilgrims and
Nativity scenes, these decorations were often saved and used again, year after
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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My mom is also a careful and thoughtful card buyer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I appreciate the fact that she looks for
just the right combination of sentiment and design but, as a child, it seemed
to take and AWFULLY long time!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It must
have been worthwhile, though, because I’ve saved virtually every card she ever
bought for me.<br />
<br />
My sister seems to have bought a lot of fun things for me at the Corvallis
Hallmark store, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a tiny
cloth Santa Clause doll and a tin Christmas tree that, when a little lever was
pushed, would spin around and open to reveal a tiny Santa Clause in the
middle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, perhaps most memorably, a
pop-up book called “Christmas in Many Lands” that I bring out every year to
this day, almost forty years later.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVNBwEP9bk7gnOjdS6bPNG9K_V6GHqfV9ZMlA_sVSQF7lRcieJX06A7pTkez3xhUYcoS6ub0wXrCcZ7p_sNwIIEz3jl3l1dRzRdmWhxP-_we59FlbJJedMH6CvwLLzT5D9rMBOIGRY3E/s1600/Hallmark+Santa+Doll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVNBwEP9bk7gnOjdS6bPNG9K_V6GHqfV9ZMlA_sVSQF7lRcieJX06A7pTkez3xhUYcoS6ub0wXrCcZ7p_sNwIIEz3jl3l1dRzRdmWhxP-_we59FlbJJedMH6CvwLLzT5D9rMBOIGRY3E/s320/Hallmark+Santa+Doll.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguOZXR1ziPMcWS3xFsVuvBgSVH11-t1RK89G4L-REvR2c0KxFLubzLzQ8Ml3o9VwvG5e1ddNXh89ax0zJkDLjiuE2kNQPmxXAG5TTOqvey-36Pp3altF8sEz283RwA5ToU-Z5XolZhQ3s/s1600/Tree+Spinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguOZXR1ziPMcWS3xFsVuvBgSVH11-t1RK89G4L-REvR2c0KxFLubzLzQ8Ml3o9VwvG5e1ddNXh89ax0zJkDLjiuE2kNQPmxXAG5TTOqvey-36Pp3altF8sEz283RwA5ToU-Z5XolZhQ3s/s320/Tree+Spinner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Hallmark also had a fine selection of seasonal paper plates and cups and
napkins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Generally, my mom brought out
the silver and her Minton china for Thanksgiving and Christmas but, if we were
really lucky, she’d decide to use what seemed to me like beautiful and exciting
paper plates and napkins decorated with brightly colored turkeys and leaves or poinsettias
and holly and pine boughs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The napkins
would coordinate in bright reds and greens and, sometimes, even a matching
paper tablecloth would be purchased!<br />
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<br />
Finally, a large number of porcelain knickknacks and bibelots that have
appeared on my mom’s mantel year after year, many of them from the same
Hallmark store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s the little
blonde boy wearing red pajamas and a Santa hat that reminded her of me – a
personal favorite as you can imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And, there are the small Christmas tree candles – one a faded green, the
other pink – that my grandfather lit one year, just to tease my mom who liked
to use them over and over again (I think we like them even better for the
blackened wicks and the story that goes with them so many decades later).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The very best, though, is the miniature Claus
couple – Santa and the Mrs., that are placed facing each other, tiny red lips
pressed together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shiny red of
their clothes and the bright white of the furry trim has enchanted me for many Christmases.<br />
<br />
I haven’t been to a Hallmark store in years, but I sometimes see their old
products when I visit thrift stores and, often, I’m tempted to buy things that
remind me of my childhood – usually things made at least a decade before I was
born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They may not be the height of
style or modernity but, when it comes to such things, that’s how I prefer them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nostalgia and charm always beats shiny
newness in my book.<br />
<br />
Hallmark stores remind me of a time when 24-hour one-stop shopping wasn’t
necessarily the goal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A time when we
visited unique and individual shops that specialized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I still do that today, although it
takes a little more effort, but I sometimes wonder if we’ll have the same
affection for the things we buy today that we have for the things we acquired
when we were small.<o:p></o:p></div>
Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-2773434447642236732016-10-27T20:12:00.001-07:002016-10-27T20:12:08.412-07:00Christmas Cookies I Have Known<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlAA7YrcS9XU7C0ucFh_brvHMIP3YyMW_0RzglDCyG1YzzyCbUVWakOi8sy9oiS1UB8N8B6aJDqiYgyki33WjhfeGE5El3Q5cNQ-76YTpBZEqpCrDE3IYFMW4EnTKHWV2PvU9dI3PlAw/s1600/Betty+Cookie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlAA7YrcS9XU7C0ucFh_brvHMIP3YyMW_0RzglDCyG1YzzyCbUVWakOi8sy9oiS1UB8N8B6aJDqiYgyki33WjhfeGE5El3Q5cNQ-76YTpBZEqpCrDE3IYFMW4EnTKHWV2PvU9dI3PlAw/s320/Betty+Cookie.jpg" width="310" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the fabulous pages from Betty Crocker's 1963<br />"Cooky Book" showing Candy Cane, Thumbprint<br />and Merry Maker Cookies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When the holidays come, there are few things that I enjoy
more than being in the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact,
just between you and me, I think I like being in the kitchen even more than I
like being at the party itself!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
kitchen is my bailiwick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am in almost complete
control and love listening to the merry voices of my family chattering in the
next room.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t get me wrong, I am hardly anti-social and I love spending
time with my large brood, but I also find special pleasure in hearing them
laughing and joking and talking among themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a parent, knowing that they get along and
enjoy each others company quite apart from my wife and I seems like an
achievement, and one that I take great satisfaction in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But let’s get back to what I started
with…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kitchen!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even better, the kitchen in the midst of
holiday baking!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Holiday time” has a rather loose definition in our
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For most of you this probably
describes the period just before Thanksgiving and running to the New Year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m apt to start it all a little earlier –
October being a reasonable time to kick off the festive season in my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s true, Perry Como and Bing Crosby start
to fill the air in my car and in my house sometime just before Halloween.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not exclusively, of course, but enough to give
that faint whiff of the excitement to come.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is also the time I start to think about holiday
food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanksgiving, being Thanksgiving,
doesn’t give one the widest latitude when it comes to culinary experimentation,
and I like it that way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A wise woman
once said, “Don’t mess with Thanksgiving!”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Christmas, however, is another matter entirely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will we have a Christmas party?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will we host Christmas Day dinner?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What will we do for New Year’s?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
We’ve had every kind of Christmas menu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We’ve been terribly traditional with Roast Beef and all of the expected
accompaniments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve considered Chinese
a la the Christmas dinner scene in the much-loved “A Christmas Story”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve pretended that it was Easter with ham
and scalloped potatoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we’ve had a
Mexican feast complete with enchiladas and tamales.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year, it looks like a Scandinavian
extravaganza is planned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">frikadeller</i>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t worry, I can’t either.<br />
<br />
While we pretend that New Year’s Eve might mean something new and exciting from
the kitchen, in truth, we would be lost without a giant takeout feast from our
favorite Chinese restaurant and, thought we can stay up until all hours any
other night of the year, sleep by 11:30!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The real planning comes when the holiday baking is considered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That, to me, is the essence of the
season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The desserts for Thanksgiving
and Christmas; the cookies; the candy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>THIS is where my true passion lies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><br />
<br />
I am amazed that, even with a large collection of cookbooks and holiday
magazine special editions, there are still more and different things to try
each and every year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With cookies alone
one would think that the ideas would run out, at least the good ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it seems safe to say that as long as
there are holidays, there will be clever cooks finding new ways to combine
butter, sugar and flour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The challenge
is that one can only make so many kinds of cookies…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wrong.<br />
<br />
In our family there are some “sacred” cookies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If these are not made, we might as well just cancel Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In many cases, they’ll be made several times
as the supply dwindles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Candy Cane Cookies – Why they are flavored with
almond extract and not peppermint, I don’t know.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">But they’ve been my favorite since
childhood.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">My favorite to eat that
is.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I could never understand why my mom
grew tired of carefully intertwining the strips of red and white dough and
bending the resulting “stick” into the perfect cane.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I understand now.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">And, of course, my kids love them as much as
I do.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">And I hate making them as much as
my mom did.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Oh, the sacrifices we make
for our children!</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Mary’s Mother’s Snowballs – These came from a
Susan Branch Christmas book years ago and they are an absolute must.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">While I think of them as a Christmas cookie,
they end up in the oven in mid-October.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The first of many, many batches.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">They are the simplest cookie ever – a dough of butter, sugar and flour
wrapped around a Hershey’s milk chocolate kiss.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The biggest drawback?</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The
uncooked dough is SO good.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Chocolate Waffle Cookies – These are most
assuredly a year-round cookie but, at Christmastime, they can REALLY
shine!</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">There are tricks to making this
cookie just right, though.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Too long on
the waffle iron and they can be dry.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Not
enough time on the waffle iron…</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Actually, I’ve never had that problem.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">These yummy morsels are best when they are slightly underdone and
frosted with red or green peppermint icing.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">One really can’t make enough of these.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">And, like Mary’s Mother’s Snowballs, the dough is, perhaps, even better
than the finished product!</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Thumbprint Cookies - There are countless recipes
for the ubiquitous thumbprint.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">My
favorite comes from the 1963 Betty Crocker Cookie Book (a.k.a., the BEST cookie
book EVER).</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">It’s made with butter, brown
sugar, egg yolks and rolled in either walnuts or pecans.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Growing up, these were always filled with
homemade raspberry or blackberry jam.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I
still use raspberry or blackberry jam, but rarely have the forethought to make
my own at the end of the summer.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Russian Tea Cakes/Mexican Wedding Cakes – Do
Russians really eat these with tea?</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Do
Mexicans really use these as wedding cakes?</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Regardless of the answers, these buttery cookies just TASTE like
Christmas.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Rich and dense and rolled in
powdered sugar, they are two-bite cookies and can be made with nuts (Russian
Tea Cakes) or without (Mexican Wedding Cakes)…</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Or is it the other way around?</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Oh
well, this is another recipe from Betty’s superlative book.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Ethel’s, or Mary’s, Sugar Cookies – I don’t know
who Ethel was.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I don’t even know who
Mary was.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">But, whoever they were, they
each made a fine sugar cookie!</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Betty
Crocker liked these dames enough to include both of their recipes in her magnum
opus “Cooky Book”.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">One is made with
granulated sugar, the other with powdered.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">And, rolled, cut and frosted, they are classics.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">They are perfect at any holiday – pumpkins
for Halloween, turkeys or Pilgrim’s hats for Thanksgiving, poles for Festivus –
and Christmas is no exception.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">This is
another one of those dough-as-good-as-the-cookie recipes and, as a child, I can
remember many a post-cookie baking stomach ache as a result of enjoying too
many of the scraps when my mother turned her back!</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Mocha Nut
Butter Balls – Growing up, I always thought that these were very elegant
cookies.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Perhaps it was the addition of
coffee powder and finely chopped almonds to the chocolaty dough.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I always remember that these were carefully
stacked between layers of waxed paper in an ancient English biscuit tin.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I loved putting them out, with the jam-filled
thumbprints and the red and green tinted Spritz cookies, on the three-tiered
cut glass cookie stand that had to be screwed together.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">It felt like a terribly important job, always
done on Christmas morning in preparation for “company”.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Toffee Squares – This is a perfect cookie to
make after all of those “the dough is so good raw” cookies.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The dough for these is just meh…</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">But once they are baked and topped with
chocolate and almonds?</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Oh my!</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Word to the wise and diet conscious: </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">tuck these safely away for the night.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">If you happen to be the littlest bit lazy and
leave a pan of them out on the counter, you will find that you need to get up
for some reason or other throughout the night and will find yourself, butter
knife in hand, cutting tiny squares of this delicious candy-like cookie.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">They are also great fun to make.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">After spreading the buttery, brown-sugary
dough in a pan and baking, you get to top the hot cookie with big squares of
Hershey’s chocolate bars.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">After a few
minutes, the perfect rectangles will have melted sufficiently enough to smooth
over the entire surface, which will then be sprinkled with toasted, chopped
almonds.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Spritz Cookies – You might as well save the best
for last and Spritz cookies really are the best.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I have two circa 1940’s cookie presses and I
love them as much for their charming packaging as for their reliability.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Today’s cookie presses – all hard plastic –
have nothing at all on the aluminum wonders of days gone by.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">They come with several perforated disks that
fit into the top of the press, each one creating a different shape.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">There are four-petaled flowers, six-petaled
flowers, trees, wreaths, clovers, zig-zags…</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The disks themselves are such fun to look at!</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The best shapes, in my estimation, are the
trees and the wreaths.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">If one wants to
do things perfectly properly, the buttery Spritz dough should be flavored with
both vanilla AND almond extracts.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Additionally, the trees should be a pleasing green shade and the wreaths
a rather shocking pink.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Why, you
ask?</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Because that’s how my mom and my
Aunt Laurie make them and therefore, that is how they are made.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I should come clean.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I don’t make Spritz cookies.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I leave that to the aforementioned mother and
aunt.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">And each year, if I am really
good, I am rewarded with a large back of these cookies that I hoard like
nobody’s business!</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">There’s a proper way
to each Spritz, too.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The wreaths are
eaten one segment at a time, the trees, one layer of “branches” at a time.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Done properly, not only can you savor each
cookie and make them last…</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">until around
Valentine’s Day.</span></li>
</ul>
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You might ask HOW after making ALL of these cookies, one
could possibly see the need in making more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Of course, that would be a silly and impertinent question and you would
never ask it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, “need” is in
the eye of the baker and the lucky recipient of tins and baskets of Christmas
cookies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, we haven’t even covered
Linzer Cookies or Shortbread or Cashew Butter Sandwich Cookies or Salted Peanut
Crisps or Cream Wafers or Merrymake Cookies or…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Well, surely you get the picture!<br />
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Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-77184744278496420212016-06-27T17:23:00.003-07:002016-06-27T17:23:53.142-07:00Gardens I Have Loved<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoJZAPEJqwEX6HyLyZlAcv0fs82KxhTi5NW-OcV2TtxQdqLlNqr34pG5fj5uZsU2iI88W2ocr5ayyAf2NfuLiBDcAJXAVZPpY87eXkLAoemkh3Z09jIBbhxhlaictr5cFGlUUjThhrJ8/s1600/The+Man+Yard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoJZAPEJqwEX6HyLyZlAcv0fs82KxhTi5NW-OcV2TtxQdqLlNqr34pG5fj5uZsU2iI88W2ocr5ayyAf2NfuLiBDcAJXAVZPpY87eXkLAoemkh3Z09jIBbhxhlaictr5cFGlUUjThhrJ8/s640/The+Man+Yard.jpg" width="492" /></a></td></tr>
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As I take my evening bike ride, I am delighted to see and smell the many gardens that bloom in our neighborhood. On warm evenings there's often the scent of sweet petunias, languid lilies and spicy marigolds on the breeze. There are so many kinds of gardens along my five mile route but there is one that I like particularly... What I think of as "The Man Yard”.</div>
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I've been lucky to know a couple of really good gardeners. Perhaps my favorite is my German aunt who has the most enormous garden filled with perennial borders, roses, raspberries and countless little “rooms”. It's a garden in the true European style – expansive, overflowing and abundant. It looks effortless in its informality, which is perhaps the hardest thing of all to achieve. It's a place to get lost in and a perfect idyll on hot summer days. I have the happiest memories of playing in that garden and of eating raspberries, Concord grapes, apples and dusty Italian plums that were such fun to polish to a shine. In the autumn I was sometimes allowed to help with burning the leaves which was a great treat, and a chance to spend time alone with my wonderful aunt.</div>
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My late grandfather was another kind of gardener entirely. He was a bachelor for his first forty years and a widower for the last twenty. But this fact never took away from his commitment to perfectly clean and well-kept surroundings. His was unapologetically what I'd call a “Man Yard” and I think of him each time I see others just like it.<br />
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A "Man Yard" is, first, exceptionally tidy with every shrub clipped, every blade of grass equal in height and hue. It also contains only flowers and plants that one can easily buy at the local hardware store. The scent of fertilizer and barbecue smoke are often present, and early in the morning sprinklers can be heard. There is almost always a fence of some sort – certainly separating the front from the back yard and sometimes all around the property, front lawn included. The fence must be simple white picket or, equally acceptable, chain link. There is no pretension to this yard. The keeper of the "Man Yard" aims for beauty, yes, but also order and organization. It is an extension of the rest of the man's life which will likely include a spotless garage that smells of gasoline and oil and some sort of workshop in the back yard – rock polishing in my grandfather's case.</div>
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My grandfather's yard surrounded an equally tidy and well-kept home. The house itself is was a compact mid-century ranch style. It had shutters, as all such houses must, and it was air conditioned. There was a “front room” used exclusively for “company” and a perfectly kept 1950's kitchen with a giant white range with which my grandmother made Friday night fudge and Sunday afternoon roasts. It's the kind of house where you would find powdered sugar donuts, coffee and plenty of packs of playing cards. You'd also find an ashtray and book of matches always at hand because, despite an almost slavish devotion to cleanliness, smoking was a way of life. In fact, I can't even picture my grandfather without a cigarette or a cup of coffee.</div>
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My grandfather's yard was the epitome of "The Man Yard". There were always hedges. Tall, deep green laurel and, for good measure and added work, perfectly clipped boxwood. (There is nothing like the scent of recently clipped boxwood to make one think of simpler, happier times that probably never existed.) The front yard contained several large hydrangeas, the blue of which astonished and delighted every year. The pathway and porch were always swept. There were deep red geraniums in clay pots – they seemed to grow larger every year – and there was sweet alyssum and sky blue “Crystal Palace” lobelia planted with them. There were also huge, drooping fuschias in impossible colors hanging on the front porch and, every evening, the front door was opened and a light breeze carried the noise of the children playing in the street through the aluminum screen door. Along one side of the front yard there were rows of some sort of show flower – blazing dahlias in every color and shape from pom pom to dinner plate or the tall and tropical looking gladioli that would make one think twice about their designation as “funeral flowers”.</div>
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The back yard was nothing less than a slightly more utilitarian version of the front. Utilitarian only because it contained, along with more flowers, the vegetable patch. The back yard and its toolshed had a place for everything and everything truly was in its place.<br />
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Along the fence - sturdy chain link in the back - there was a line of roses. And what roses they were! There are bright red “American Beauties”, pearly pink “Queen Elizabeth” and peachy, glowing “Peace” roses. There was also a silvery white “John F. Kennedy” and a brilliant yellow variety of unknown origin that produced the most aromatic blooms on long, deep red stems. The leaves on these rose bushes were uniformly shiny, the deepest green, and would never dare to be weak enough to fall prey to blackspot or any other mundane disease. These were champion roses, and the man of the house knew it. The roses were a source of conversation for my grandfather and his longtime neighbor – the one who never seemed to have any luck with his roses or tomatoes or strawberries.</div>
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The vegetable patch was laid out in neat rows along the opposite side of the yard. The side that edged against “the other neighbor”. The neighbor with the enormous, constantly barking Doberman. The neighbor who mowed his lawn, but only on every third Sunday of the month and, generally, at around 6 a.m. Despite this lack of neighborly harmony, the vegetable plot remained a constant source of pride. There was no place in the yard that had richer soil or fewer weeds. The very idea of a weed would have caused my grandfather to crawl, on hands and knees, between the rows of green beans, sweet corn and Beefsteak tomatoes, daring the tiny invaders to show their green shoots. From this vegetable garden he produced bushels of carrots and radishes, lettuces and beets, baskets of tomatoes and endless barrows of squash and zuchini. There was more than enough to see my grandfather through to the next summer, and neighbors up and down his block were welcome to take what they liked from the cardboard boxes and brown paper bags marked “FREE” that sat along the curb in front of his tidy house with that square of emerald green lawn. If you asked him what he used to produce this bounty he'd likely answer humbly, “Nothing special. Oh, maybe a little Miracle-Gro.”</div>
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The back yard also had beds that overflowed with petunias in patriotic plantings of red, white and deep purple. There were marigolds in perfect rows, arranged by height, with the huge, tall, yellow varieties at the back and the daintier gold and rust colored blooms in front. There were snapdragons and plots of cosmos and hollyhocks which appeared every year in places that they were never intended to grow. In that shady spot under the bathroom window there was always a solid mass of pink and white impatiens carpeting an area a yard long. And, on the shaded cement patio, among the ancient, white-painted Adirondack chairs that would have to last another year, were clay pots of red geraniums and blue lobelia and white alyssum, just like those that lined the front porch. Finally, providing just a hint of the tropics, more pink and purple and red and white hanging fuschias that swayed gently in the early evening breezes so sweet in the hot summer.</div>
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My grandfather himself appeared in the early mornings and early evenings to survey his masterpiece. He would look to the left and to the right and consider the height of the corn and the redness of the tomatoes. He would stoop to pick out an invisible weed from the perfectly smooth expanse of green, green grass and, for a moment, he was content. The whole property was a mirror of him: simple and straightforward and calming. It exuded silent, uncomplicated competence and strength. In fact, most of things he did in his life were just like that - quiet and invisible to others, but always reliable. </div>
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Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-63285730492586829642016-05-29T20:37:00.000-07:002016-05-29T20:37:17.892-07:00The Queen Focuses on Fashion - Excerpt from New Story by Jake Gariepy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuf4iuEaFYSaS_VAudrbii52iP9zPO7ckNi0ovsT5cXOpvCkXlMpMhqJYHWzcRUe3VytEoSPmgurONBEMOLxxVChG17343zyfJyp65OplmYQMbyf25JgFPoYgywdVcBYgse74ujeiGLSw/s1600/QE2+Pink+Hat+Black+Tassles.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuf4iuEaFYSaS_VAudrbii52iP9zPO7ckNi0ovsT5cXOpvCkXlMpMhqJYHWzcRUe3VytEoSPmgurONBEMOLxxVChG17343zyfJyp65OplmYQMbyf25JgFPoYgywdVcBYgse74ujeiGLSw/s320/QE2+Pink+Hat+Black+Tassles.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Mummy! Granny has curtains just like her dress!”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The little girl couldn’t have been more than five, and she’d done a commendable job of presenting her little bouquet to the Queen. Smiling as the child walked back to her mother, the Queen couldn’t help but overhear the girl’s comment.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now, as she looked back over the day in Coventry from the comfort of her sitting room in Buckingham Palace, the monarch pondered her wardrobe choice for a moment. She thought of the lovely silk dress, with splotchy flowers in violet, magenta, yellow, spring green and orange. Really, it was colorful, and no one could possibly miss her diminutive form in a crowd. And wasn’t that what being the Queen was all about? Being seen? “Silly child,” thought the Queen.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next morning as she was prepared for the day, Elizabeth asked her dresser to bring out something new, something a bit more “fashionable”. Caroline was at a loss. The Queen’s style had evolved into an even more rigid pattern of simple dresses in rather shocking fabrics. Her Majesty’s figure had also changed somewhat. It was a bit fuller than it had been, leading her to sometimes appear more upholstered than dressed. It was not that she looked badly, in fact she was the world’s idea of what “the Queen” should look like, but it was hard to find anything that one could term “fashionable” in the royal wardrobes.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Did you see Dame Shirley Bassey’s hair at the last Royal Variety Performance? I thought it was rather nice… for her, I mean. And that dress! It was quite low-cut. Lots of beads and sparkly bits. Rather like Norman used to make.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Queen was referring to her late couturier, Norman Hartnell. A man known for elaborate, and costly, beading on his fabulous ballgowns. Shirley Bassey’s gown was certainly sparkly, but bore little resemblance to anything that Norman had ever made for the Queen.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You know, she’s in her late sixties now. I think she’s been at every Royal Variety Performance for the last forty years. Maybe longer. I certainly do like her better than some of the new ones. I don’t quite understand that girl, what was her name? Lady Goo Ga? Does her father have a peerage or something?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Lady Ga Ga, your majesty. I don’t believe that her father has a peerage. She’s an American. Sings or something.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Mmm. American. Of course. Did you see her in that dress? It looked like it was made of a deflated, red balloon. I’m sure it squeaked as she curtsied. Those American singers certainly do dress oddly. Barbra Streisand in that long silver cloak. Had the fabric been different she really would have looked rather a lot like Philip’s mother when she was a nun.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes, ma’am. I remember when Cher performed once. She was only wearing some sort of thin leather strap that barely covered her… er… that barely covered her person. I think there was a feather, too.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Caroline, I quite remember. That was the year Andrew came along for the first time. I am sure that had something to do with his penchant for rather unsuitable female companionship.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Queen frequently spoke of her favorite son. The most robust of the boys, Andrew treated his mother with a sort of boisterous respect. Charles was forever moping, those droopy eyes and constant complaints about how, ‘Mummy never did this, Papa never did that.” What did he really expect? She always read those lovely books about horses and corgis to him, and she would watch the racing results with him whenever she was able. And Philip had done his best as a father. He didn’t really yell all that much, and the boy was so tiresome talking to those plants and things. Charles could never seem to forgive his father for the cold showers he had to endure at Gordonstoun. Imagine how much better things would have been had he taken a few more cold showers rather than meeting up with that dreadful Mrs. Parker-Bowles. She had to remind herself to think of her daughter-in-law as anything else. Diana had been just as tiresome as Charles, but at least she didn’t look like a bulldog in a big hat. Of course, she was quite fond of the Duchess of Cornwall now that she’d got to know her. But what a lot of trouble the 1990’s were! More of a “decade horribilus” if she was being honest.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anne was a dutiful daughter, and a great support, but she was so forceful. The Queen didn’t like the way she barked back at the corgis, or the somewhat too strident way she spoke to the staff. She also wondered at her fashion sense, ironic really, but there you have it. She might have worn the same dress she wore to Charles and Diana’s wedding to Charles and Camilla’s had Philip not pointed out the error, if that’s what it was. Anne never really did like any of Charles’s women.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Edward. Well, poor Eddie. She really should have known better than to give him that name. Her ancestor, the Duke of Clarence was also known as Eddy, and he had his own problems. Some suspected him of being Jack the Ripper. Her own Eddie didn’t have such serious issues, but she never understood why he was always trying on her tiaras as a child. Even now he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time modeling his wife’s hats. But, he had those two lovely children and that charming Sophie. If only she would stop trying to sell invitations to the Garden Parties and State Dinners.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ah, well, this will have to do, Caroline. At least it’s new, if not exactly modern.”</span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-bd835eb3-ffbb-4e5c-48f0-ea3126910a8d"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Considering her reflection in the mirror, the Queen seemed resigned to her appearance. At least she was living up to people’s expectations, but it would be rather fun to surprise people after all these years. She remembered looking at her late and much beloved mother’s wardrobe after her death. Every dress was exactly the same, as were the hats, shoes and coats. The only difference was the fabric and the color. Was she becoming like that?</span></span>Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-60870097931737402792016-03-13T16:31:00.002-07:002016-03-13T16:31:22.567-07:00Spring, Lovely Spring<div class="MsoNormal">
Autumn, I often say, is my favorite season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My birthday falls toward the end of September
and from there the celebrations and holidays of the fall and early winter
promise plenty of interest and excitement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The weather is, at long last, friendlier, and the harsh light of summer
fades to an altogether more flattering glow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is, to me, a magical and welcome time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not sure how I forget about Spring, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each year I am somehow surprised at the joy I
take in the first signs of new life as they push their way through the hard,
gray earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little piles of old, dead
leaves are no match for the strength of even the tiniest purple or bright
yellow crocus as it seeks the sun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although each Spring I anticipate filling my somewhat empty
flowerbeds with bulbs when Autumn arrives, I either don’t have the money or the
time to put this plan into action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
so, every year, I am impressed by the golden yellow swathes of daffodils in neighboring
gardens and wonder why I didn’t just get on with it in October. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, my own yard is never entirely bereft of
color and flash and I find myself delighted at each new bloom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First, there are the tiny crocuses that I bought almost
twenty years ago from one of those catalogs with all of the showy bulbs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They range from the lightest lavender to the deepest
purple with a few cheering yellows to brighten things up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There aren’t many of them, but I rather like
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just little hints of what’s to
come here and there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next to bloom is the deep pink camellia at the corner of
my front porch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I first arrived at
this one hundred year old house, the bush was no more than three feet high and
barely as wide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t bloom for
years when, quite suddenly and with no urging from me, it was covered by
thickly petaled flowers with canary-colored centers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dark, glossy green leaves are the perfect
foil for the showy pink blossoms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today,
my camellia towers at nearly eight feet in height and is, again, nearly as
wide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I want to pick a bower of its
abundant flowers I don’t even have to leave the sheltering dryness of my old
porch to fill vase after vase.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon other bushes are making their presence known.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tall spikey branches of bright yellow
forsythia are next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cut them just when
the buds start to fatten so that I can force their bloom inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bunch of them in a tall, blue and white
Chinese vase is almost a cliché, but for good reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They seem to last for a very long time,
providing a springy touch with absolutely no fuss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s one of the lovely things about
blooming branches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They look terribly
elegant and dramatic yet one needn’t do a thing to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even arranging them is easy as they look best
when artfully shoved into the narrow mouth of tall containers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Flowering currant, originally bought because I liked the
name (“King Edward VII”) is another timeless favorite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With leaves that are the shape, if not the
texture, of strawberry leaves, its branches drip with pendulous carmine blooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The whole of the bush looks like it’s been
decorated with the most marvelous Christmas baubles, expertly spaced for
maximum effect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like forsythia,
flowering currant can also be forced inside and are wonderful when mixed with
any other blossoming branches.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have several other flowers around the yard, many of which
were unwittingly placed there by birds on the wing or seeds floating in the
wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favorites are the cornflower
blue Forget-Me-Knots with their cheery tulip yellow centers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forget-Me-Nots are exquisitely
flower-shaped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By that I mean that, if
instructed to “draw a flower”, nearly everyone would draw something with a
lovely yellow center and five or six perfectly shaped petals surrounding
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every year my little patches of
these lovely flowers seem to spread and I have to be careful to look out for them
as I trim the lawn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Johnny Jump Ups are another delightful little volunteer that
pops up in interesting places.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One tiny
patch is in the very center of my lawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wouldn’t mow over them for anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Another larger bunch makes its home at the bottom of my front steps,
just beneath my box hedge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They even
take over part of the crack in the pavement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Like the Forget-Me-Nots, I never disturb them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their unexpected appearance only increases
their charm, their lovely purple and yellow faces looking up to the sky
hopefully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the breeze touches them,
they really do seem ready to jump up!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a week or two the very best of my Spring blooms will
start to appear in my woodland garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Procured” from a forest of unknown ownership across the street from my
house, my beloved English bluebells come in shades from snowy white to deep
azure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These little, cheerfully nodding
bells on their perfectly postured stems of bright green never fail to make me
feel happy and a little nostalgic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
well remember being a little boy and taking bouquets of them, wrapped in tin
foil with a damp paper towel in the bottom, to school as gifts for my teachers,
Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Lobb, on Teacher Appreciation Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recall how the stems seemed so satisfyingly
crunchy when I cut them and how sweetly they smelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so, when I am next asked what my favorite season is, I
will still say Autumn, but I’ll give an appreciative nod to the lovely, cool
months of Spring with their heavenly scents and days of watery sun or blustery
rain. </div>
Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-31432624929751389422016-01-19T20:48:00.002-08:002016-01-19T20:48:37.904-08:00The Art of Doing Nothing<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3o-NivyHoVjB2OH7SlCbcQ0td0rzQ7yxepoEkw8rc07cpRAGuW24KZGtQxw-CaFJiPL3guHNrV1-qsNIOMqsbeMr9X4M457cIbLYIRG8AMrcW_zZ3slR1glogwQCwKE93V5FWNdFUrw/s1600/12573171_1557914021200651_1705337567588913899_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3o-NivyHoVjB2OH7SlCbcQ0td0rzQ7yxepoEkw8rc07cpRAGuW24KZGtQxw-CaFJiPL3guHNrV1-qsNIOMqsbeMr9X4M457cIbLYIRG8AMrcW_zZ3slR1glogwQCwKE93V5FWNdFUrw/s320/12573171_1557914021200651_1705337567588913899_n.jpg" width="238" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0yKJL1j5q16_CawMD7XsP1NY6fG4Hd077JVONgnHhnu_NDPISGqixOwAer0tEHxae9ax_apAuXqc66zAbfDgMRHX6luB_Ll6U9AUkVahnGhpodgoc4mJwBmyTxomMI2BtNAbnigalrSU/s1600/12495174_1557914024533984_3496745694936006449_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0yKJL1j5q16_CawMD7XsP1NY6fG4Hd077JVONgnHhnu_NDPISGqixOwAer0tEHxae9ax_apAuXqc66zAbfDgMRHX6luB_Ll6U9AUkVahnGhpodgoc4mJwBmyTxomMI2BtNAbnigalrSU/s320/12495174_1557914024533984_3496745694936006449_n.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<br />
"What are you doing, Max?" I asked my five year-old son as he lounged on my bed.<br />
<br />
"Nuffing."<br />
<br />
And indeed, he was doing "nuffing". Well, nothing but sprawling on the bed, gazing at the ceiling and singing a nameless tune. And, he was being happy.<br />
<br />
Recently, someone I follow on Instagram posted a picture of himself, wrapped in a blanket, binge-watching cooking shows. He proudly noted that he had spent his entire weekend thus. Doing... You guessed it... NOTHING!<br />
<br />
Doing nothing is entirely different from laziness. Laziness seems to have a moral component. It's about constantly doing nothing, even if you REALLY should be doing something. It's about avoidance, not enjoyment. Doing nothing is an essential part of life, or at least it should be. And it's a part of life that I seem to be very, very bad at.<br />
<br />
For the purpose of making my point, perhaps I should define what "doing nothing" means to me. Of course, it could mean the obvious - a total absence of activity. Or, it could mean doing nothing but reading, chatting, listening to music or watching television. Doing nothing implies a blessed lack of productivity. It's end result is a feeling of peace, not of accomplishment.<br />
<br />
My children can judge how much I will get done in a weekend when they hear me respond, "Absolutely nothing," to the question of what my plans are. For me, making that declaration is a prelude to sudden activity such as weeding, raking and mowing the lawn, painting and entire room in an afternoon or a day spent on the town. It will also likely lead to a baking marathon and several hours of drawing or writing. You see, like a dieter who proclaims that they will never eat another carb, only to be found huddled in a corner with a loaf of hot french bread, the more I declare my intention to be still, the more I end up doing.<br />
<br />
Before you think I am somehow fishing for a compliment about my amazing energy or commitment to "doing", let me assure you... I am not. Sympathy would be more appreciated. Or a really good idea on how to dial it back. For some reason, when I am not actively doing something, I feel like I am going to miss the boat. If I don't draw that picture, write that essay or send that email NOW, someone might get to it before me! Of course, since I am thinking of such projects as my poster featuring the gowns of Queen Mary, it's highly unlikely. But, I digress. There is rarely a time when I am not doing at least two things at once. When I am reading I am listening to music. When I am watching television I am drawing. When I am trying to get to sleep, I am frantically planning the next day. Oh to lay on the bed and do "nuffing"!<br />
<br />
My wife children know how to do nothing. They know how to take a break from the world and allow themselves to drift. To think or not. To listen to music and do nothing else. To read a book and block everything else out. They are SO Zen... And then there's me. <br />
<br />
I'll blame "society". Like "The Man" they are an easy target for anything that ails us. Of course, since we as individuals actually comprise "society", the responsibility inevitably comes back to ourselves. As a people, we seem to be under the impression that to be "busy" is an asset. It means we are important, engaged and productive. If we are "busy" we are valuable. Ironically, we probably get less of real use done now than ever before. We fill our minds with false deadlines. We project our own unrealistic expectations of ourselves onto others. We are forever envying those who seem to have and do it all. In fact, what we need... What I need... more than ever is a little more "nuffing" and a lot less activity.<br />
<br />
Now, as soon as I check my Instagram, post to my Facebook, tweet to Twitter and take those selfies... I'm doin' NOTHIN'!<br />
<br />
<br />Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-65057917927035360022015-12-22T12:48:00.000-08:002015-12-22T12:48:09.431-08:00Wishing You All a Very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWIXSSFum78gYQvJEi04CZEWlrFE5KWVhQMBadHYtNUAKiJ7_i96zHc1xYQwu9fyweKrYJjJsmM0qG7eg5Mg9GFHDGru0MNgo9fmAQG0MjBe38C9EeKZtXZT597Fa4oD8lo566DEkq1I/s1600/2015+Xmas+Card.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWIXSSFum78gYQvJEi04CZEWlrFE5KWVhQMBadHYtNUAKiJ7_i96zHc1xYQwu9fyweKrYJjJsmM0qG7eg5Mg9GFHDGru0MNgo9fmAQG0MjBe38C9EeKZtXZT597Fa4oD8lo566DEkq1I/s640/2015+Xmas+Card.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-84757012530577382832015-12-13T18:39:00.003-08:002015-12-13T19:31:24.283-08:00A Note in Favor of a Commercialized Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Os8bk-mifJO5HIGxUYVyMhRCfxFlS141uXVUh9EYF88oU9vbEX2Qp3BUbg2Klp2Z68491ojX_gSrE0RuoMxoh_rSlYt9GuOC1olGe77F-7z3LqgLCu9RZ0neWebB_aJqhHWamHpVZ2k/s1600/4315272820_57a4c016d7_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Os8bk-mifJO5HIGxUYVyMhRCfxFlS141uXVUh9EYF88oU9vbEX2Qp3BUbg2Klp2Z68491ojX_gSrE0RuoMxoh_rSlYt9GuOC1olGe77F-7z3LqgLCu9RZ0neWebB_aJqhHWamHpVZ2k/s400/4315272820_57a4c016d7_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I know. It's not popular to be in FAVOR of the commercialization that surrounds today's Christmases but, if we're all really honest, most of us will admit that it's almost as fun to receive as it is to give. And, to that end, all that goes with the idea of gifting and glitter and fun has a special appeal at holiday-time.<br />
<br />
We're often told that there's a war on Christmas. If there is, the other side's losing. Not only does the day itself stand as a beacon in our collective year, but we give over a whole season to its decorations, its special foods and its music. Whether specifically religious or not, there's little doubt that most of America stops for about a week each year to bask in the warm glow of the Yuletide period. In fact, so successful has this holiday been that it practically knows no single religion, culture or creed. Rather, people from all backgrounds and faiths, or even no faith at all, can jump on the bandwagon of good cheer and giving that surrounds December 25.<br />
<br />
So, just what's so great about the commercial side of Christmas? I suppose it depends on what you consider the "commercial" side to be. For the purposes of my little essay, I'll say that the commercial side of Christmas is the outward and seemingly frivolous part from visits to the mall to brightly wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree to the seemingly endless array of calories we can consume in a 30 day period.<br />
<br />
On our local radio station, Christmas music is played from the week or two before Thanksgiving through New Year's Eve. Not only does it serve to put one in a special frame of mind - a friendlier one, usually - but it also reminds us of the happier things in life. "Oh by gosh, by golly! It's time for mistletoe and holly!" or "I'm dreaming of a White Christmas..." or, "Can I buy these shoes, for my mam..."... ( well, maybe not ALL Christmas music is equal...) Many of us take a step back from the workaday cares of our lives and make a little more of an effort to be, well, jolly! When was the last time you were jolly in, say, February?<br />
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There's a dark side to this Christmas radio, though... There are little segments where random listeners share their ideas about what's important during the season. For the most part, one gets the same, positive answers... the birth of Jesus Christ, family, giving, helping, food, music... But there's one short clip with the kind of lady you'd probably wouldn't want to spend Christmas with. In it she says, as spitefully as possible, "The spiritual side (is important) not JUST <i>Santa...</i>" She practically spits the jolly old elf's name out. Tell me, when did SANTA become such a downer? I can only imagine what's under Granny Crabb's Christmas tree on Christmas morning... I'll bet she even puts oranges and nuts in the stockings... If there ARE any stockings... And that's just the kind of Christmas attitude that I so dislike. The sense that the spiritual and the frivolous can't exist together and that to enjoy one is to, somehow, forget the other.<br />
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Christmas shopping gets its own set of jeers. How many people do you know who lament the yearly task? "Oh, ALL those gifts one has to buy... All that MONEY! Why, in my day, we didn't give so many Christmas gifts," they'll say. Well, newsflash... They did. And Christmas is really no more commercial now than it's ever been. In the 1940's, that heyday of simplicity and goodness (except for that whole World War II thing) the President of the United States rescheduled Thanksgiving to give Americans more time to shop for Christmas! And, as for commercialized product placements, don't think for a moment that Macy's and Gimbel's minded their star turns in "Miracle on 34th Street" (in which the main character got a daddy AND a house for Christmas, I will remind you... how's that for "simple"!?). Don't forget, too, the brightly colored holiday ads in your favorite magazines! Holly and ribbon bedecked cartons of Lucky Strikes just ready to hand off to good old Uncle Joe! A wreath-ringed bottle of Old Grandad for Aunt Clara...<br />
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The fact of the matter is that, for many, Christmas is a wonderful time of year in so many respects... 'Tis better to give that to receive, I agree. What fun it is to have an extra reason to be thoughtful, to remember our loved one's and friend's interests, to make those special foods that we trot out only once or twice a year. What fun it can be to be a little less concerned about our expenditures, or to be a little foolish and fun! And don't forget the boost you're giving to the economy, especially if you are shopping local.<br />
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And to receive? Well, that takes a special kind of thoughtfulness, too. If it weren't for the receivers, the givers would be out of business. Showing thanks, taking a genuine delight in the efforts of another, enjoying the element of surprise - all of these things are a gift in and of themselves. And it doesn't really matter if you even LIKE the gift. While things I've REALLY wanted have been most appreciated in the moment, it's those gifts that leave one shaking the head that will be remembered for decades to come. In our family such gifts bring yearly gales of laughter as we recall underwear embroidered with the days of the week (too bad it was only a six pack), tights found at secondhand stores and giant summer sausages given to the same recipient each and every year because he LOVED them! Actually, we later found that he detested them... It was the thought that counted?<br />
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I know, I know... all of this is rather shallow. There are people who are alone on Christmas. People who can't afford to take the time or make the effort. People who are sick. People who are depressed. The list goes on. But, guess what... YOU and I can take the opportunity to embrace that "commercial" side of Christmas in an effort to lighten their load. Invite a friend, an acquaintance, maybe even a perfect stranger to your Christmas celebration! GIVE! Give cookies, give gifts, give cards, give hugs! Turn on those Christmas lights! Crank up the Burl Ives! And, if it's in your power, do anything you can to make this the most wonderful time of the year! <br />
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I don't care if people celebrate a Christmas based on their religious beliefs or simply because it's an important event in our collective culture. Because they love to shop and wrap gifts and bake cookies or because they take comfort in the special and deeply meaningful services and rituals of this time of year. The fact that people celebrate the season at all through their giving of time, effort, beauty, friendliness and even gifts, that's more than enough for me. At the very heart of it, THAT is the central part of that age-old story of Christmas. It's about a gift given freely and in some desperate circumstances. And, it's about a gift received, one that we may not be able to be adequately thankful for, but that we can enjoy and appreciate all the same. When we apply it correctly, with joy and with gratitude and with willingness, all that we do during this period, commercial or otherwise, really does go back to the "real meaning of Christmas".Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-34588910465505665612015-12-02T17:49:00.002-08:002015-12-02T17:49:28.601-08:00On Discovering Old Books...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'd been looking at the book for months. On a shelf with countless other old, used volumes, there was something about the title and the cover that intrigued me. For no particular reason, I passed it by each and every time. <br />
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A light gray hardback, its cover was stamped with a red and green illustration of a sleigh slipping away between a snowy avenue of trees. The title, "Journey Into Christmas", gave me a warm buzz as most references to my favorite holiday did. Finally, I broke down and paid the $1.98. What did I have to lose?<br />
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This has been my experience with more than a few old books. I love scanning the "Vintage Books" section of my local thrift store, hoping that I'll find a title that captures me. Something that will give me that warm, secure feeling that comes from somewhat simple stories that speak to my love of domestic life from the early and mid-sections of the last century. After a lot of research I've come to recognize some specific author's names but, more often than not, it's been the previously unknown writers who've given me just what I've been looking for.<br />
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"Journey Into Christmas" is the perfect example. Written by Bess Streeter Aldrich, a long forgotten Nebraska author from the 1920's through the 1940's, it's comprised of several short stories from throughout her career. Originally turning to writing following the early death of her husband, Aldrich expertly captures the highs and lows of American domestic life of the most ordinary type. Free from grand drama but full of homespun wisdom, her stories have enough humor to keep them from being saccharine, but also highlight the kinds of challenges that many of us experience. A recurring theme throughout the book is one of loneliness. The kind of loneliness that parents feel at the absence of grown children or upon reflecting on the past. Aldrich doesn't let us linger too long, though, reminding us that there is plenty in the present to appreciate.<br />
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That $1.98 was a good investment. I've read the book each December for the past five years, and have even given away several copies. <br />
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Another book that was discovered in just this way has also given me hours of enjoyment. "Mama's Bank Account" by Kathryn Forbes was the inspiration for the marvelous Irene Dunne movie, "I Remember Mama". It's impossible not to imagine Ms. Dunne as one reads through the charming and endearingly funny stories of early 20th century life among Norwegian immigrants in San Francisco. Dealing with financial ruin, health disasters and long-standing family rivalries, "Mama's Bank Account" transports one to another time where the problems were just as severe as those we face today, but the response was often one tempered with understanding and humor.<br />
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I love books that challenge and educate. I love books that surprise and shock! But, there are many times, when I want a book that will simply entertain and uplift me - a book that will inspire gentle laughter and nods of understanding. In fact, these are the kinds of stories that I love to write.<br />
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So, next time you are digging through old, used volumes that might look a little dull, take a moment and take a chance... You might discover a hidden treasure!<br />
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<br />Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-81978111323124977432015-09-18T18:01:00.001-07:002015-09-18T18:07:44.151-07:00The Joy of Autumn<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCuyIR1Gs4D8CyeatG5EUagLo0D7bZ5_cB26-pCBhli3_sAQgusP2u3YqNK5WN2C-BVa_TuFPkiUwPkHbbulKzi6wIQjOw9S5lEYQc8IJ6529ygzd6xZEiMv9wzesjdacfh_9bNeXEImk/s1600/oregon-fall-foliage-downtown-eugene-by-brian-davies-11-06-2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="441" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCuyIR1Gs4D8CyeatG5EUagLo0D7bZ5_cB26-pCBhli3_sAQgusP2u3YqNK5WN2C-BVa_TuFPkiUwPkHbbulKzi6wIQjOw9S5lEYQc8IJ6529ygzd6xZEiMv9wzesjdacfh_9bNeXEImk/s640/oregon-fall-foliage-downtown-eugene-by-brian-davies-11-06-2014.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fall here at home in Eugene, Oregon.<br /><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo by Brian Davies</span></i></td></tr>
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There's something good to say about nearly every time of year. Except, perhaps, August. Especially late August. In Oregon, this is the time of year when we can start to see sustained temperatures of over 95 degrees... At least 20 over the top end of my comfort zone. This year was different, though. We started to see the sizzling weather in June... Or was it May? Regardless, for foes of the heat like me, it was too early.<br />
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Autumn is, for me, the very best that the year has to offer. As the light starts to change, imperceptibly at first, toward the end of August, I start to feel a sense of hope and excitement. Hope that it will, someday, cool off, excitement that nearly everything I get really excited for is about to happen. Birthdays (mine included), holidays, trips to the pumpkin patch and the apple orchard, walks along trails with leaves crunching underfoot, the spicy smell of chrysanthemums and porches decorated with hay bales, cornstalks and pumpkins. It's also the time to turn toward home. In the autumn I have little desire to go far from my little corner of the world. I'd rather spend time in my own garden, my own kitchen, my own living room. It's a time to freshen things up, to start nesting for the long, cold winter and to think ahead about those things you want to make and give to those you love as the holidays near.<br />
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In my house, so often filled with children, it's also a time to give thought to new identities. WHAT shall we be for Halloween?! We've had endless ideas for family costumes. For awhile we were tailor-made for Snow White (our daughter) and the Seven Dwarves (our seven sons). Then, as time goes by, Snow White gets married and not all of the dwarves are available for the evening. Add to that the sudden, and totally natural, desire to strike out independently and dress up as something or someone you REALLY want to be! Indiana Jones! Peter Pan! Harry Potter! A deviled egg! We've done it all and there's plenty where that came from.<br />
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One of the loveliest things about autumn in my mind is the weather. We can look forward to warm(ish) days that smell like hay, and chilly nights tinged with the scent of woodsmoke. Soon, with any luck at all, a bit of bluster will come our way with leaves flying and rain lashing at windows that have seen more than a hundred autumns.<br />
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Food plays an important role during this season as well. The advent of long-sleeves and, soon, sweaters, means heartier meals and just a little less concern about those never-to-be-obtained-anyway bikini bodies. Soups and stews, roasts and spiced pies and lots of hot tea and cocoa start to make their appearance. More time inside means more time to bake and to gather in the kitchen to laugh and cook together.<br />
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There's not much that I don't like about the fall. In fact, it can't last long enough for me!Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-43921949148031490852015-08-09T15:33:00.001-07:002015-08-09T15:36:34.014-07:00I'm Just Wild About...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One of the surprising joys of summer is picking wild blackberries. I say “surprising” because I didn’t always view it that way. In fact, for most of my life, this was a chore to be avoided at all costs. Happily, though, circumstances change and we can discover that things we once dreaded can be a source of happiness. I also find that this applies to things like brussels sprouts and math. Well, maybe not math.<br />
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I’ve also determined that picking blackberries with someone can give you great insight into their character and what kind of friend they might be. I am fortunate in having some very good blackberry pickers in my life, one of whom happens to be my son Harry.<br />
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Here’s what makes a BAD picking companion… First, they either talk far too much or not enough at all. Blackberries require thought and concentration. There are thorns and bugs to avoid, one must determine the perfect ripeness – in short, you have to pay attention to what you are doing. That said part of the fun of doing things with someone is the opportunity to chat about a wide variety of things. You’re alone, it’s quiet, it’s a good time to catch up – within reason.<br />
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Bad blackberry pickers are also skittish. I used to be firmly in this camp and with good reason. With all due respect to my lovely mother, we are not a good combination when it comes to berry-picking. While she is by and large a very caring and considerate woman, she has an unfortunate quirk. She likes to yell things like, “Watch out for that snake!” just to see my response. Knowing that I fear nothing more than slithery reptiles, she is assured that what follows her declaration will be entertaining. First, there’s the ear-piercing scream that one might expect to hear from, well, a five year-old girl having her ears unexpectedly pierced. There next comes the record-breaking leap into the air and away from “danger”. If only an Olympic judge could see my “snake jump”… Those communist-era Romanians have NOTHING on me. Finally, and most amusing of all I am told, is the string of expletives that comes out of my mouth. This is accompanied by unintentional shivers and jerks that would make a Tourettes-sufferer blush crimson. As you can see, a predilection toward extreme mental cruelty also makes for a bad berry-picking companion. Luckily for mom, she makes a mean blackberry pie which helps to make up for this lapse.<br />
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Now, as far as what makes a good “blackberry friend”, Harry has it in spades. First, he’s pleasant. He never complains. It’s never too hot, too sunny or too cloudy, even if it is too hot, sunny or cloudy. He’s also diligent. Harry doesn’t miss berries, obvious or otherwise. He looks under the branch, he reaches, he stoops. He’s committed to getting those blackberries. He’s also selective. There are no hard, red berries in Harry’s bowl, nor are there little pools of mashed fruit. His berries are just the ones for a pie or even for eating on their own. Harry also enjoys picking berries. He eats along the way, making sure that we’re getting sweet, juicy fruit, and leaving a trail from his hands to his mouth in doing so. He knows how to get into his work. <br />
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Perhaps, best of all, picking blackberries with Harry seems, well, easy. Not just the picking, but the time itself. The conversation is wide-ranging – what do we prefer more, pie or crisp? How long will the berries last on the vines this year? What should we do for fun in the next week? What are our plans for the long term? There’s also a lot of laughter and joking.<br />
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Most telling, though, are the quiet moments. With Harry there is no need to fill the silence. One knows that it’s not there because of a lack of compatibility or of things to say, rather, it’s there because, sometimes, comfortable silence is an affirmation of affection and enjoyment. It’s a chance to just be, to focus on the task at hand, to be lost in the moment. As a dedicated multi-tasker, I can say that this kind of moment is, sadly, a rare occurrence. In our drive to get more done, to use all the hours in the day to create and share, we sometimes overlook the importance of doing just one, small thing at a time. With Harry, however, you feel that it’s not only acceptable, but a virtue to simply bask.<br />
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Like his berry-picking persona, Harry is an easy, comfortable boy. He daily teaches me about caring for other people unostentatiously, without being asked or even rewarded. He reminds me that some of our greatest services to each other are the small, inconsequential things we do just to make things a little easier, a little more pleasant. And he assures me that there are people who do these things naturally, without even knowing that they are doing them. Me? Well, I’m just wild about Harry.<br />
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Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-37915763874910274392015-05-21T16:13:00.001-07:002015-05-21T16:13:37.456-07:00Facing ChangeOver the course of this blog, I've shared more than a little personal information with all of you. I've also given you a first look at much of my work and, surprisingly, it's easier to share a private thought than it is to share a drawing or a story that I've written! Recently, though, my posts have been more about "Dapper and Dreamy" than anything relating to me, personally. Today's a little different. Today I want to talk about change.<br />
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That one word... "change"... It can inspire such excitement and such fear. Often, at the very same time.<br />
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Four years ago, I made a change. After a life of basically letting things happen - allowing change to come when and where it chose - I made a huge U-turn. After working in the same industry for twenty-two years, seventeen for the same company, I quit. I simply walked away with little safety net but a lot of hope. And excitement. And fear.<br />
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It hasn't been an easy four years. Financially, it's been very hard. It has required me to ask for help. It has forced me to find and develop new talents and abilities. And, it has allowed me to see who I really am and who I really might become. To use the corporate jargon that I've come to hate... I've been going through a re-branding. Gone is Jake Gariepy, steady, responsible insurance salesman. Gone is the daily choice of which tie to wear. Gone are the concerns about things that I really, truly had little or no interest in. Gone, too, is the worn out, cranky and nearly hopeless individual that I had become.<br />
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I've discovered so much in the last four years. First, I have been reminded of the enormous good fortune I have had in my marriage. My wife didn't balk when I said that I wanted to quit my job. She didn't question the sanity of a man with eight children walking away from a fairly solid career. She encouraged - no, she insisted, that I follow both my dream and my heart. She hasn't wavered once although I did for the first three and a half years. Happily, I've also discovered that I can spend virtually any amount of time with Melissa and I am never, ever, bored.<br />
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Our changed family life has also allowed my children to show new sides of themselves. At once, they have had to become more self-sufficient in terms of entertaining themselves, finding ways to earn money and understanding that financial success was not at the core of their father's values. And, they've had to deal with the constant presence of both parents. Not necessarily a positive thing in the lives of teenagers!<br />
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Having said all of that, my relationship with my family has grown beyond all measure. I've been with my little Max every day of the last three and a half years. I've been able to be a part of every aspect of his care and growth. I have been available at all times for my children when they've faced challenges and, in the last four years, some of those challenges have been huge. It's given all of us opportunities that we could never have expected.<br />
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So what replaced that "old" Jake? I am still, and always will be, a work in progress. My faults and weaknesses are still my faults and weaknesses. I still find myself prone to over-thinking and self-criticism and, as my family will attest, I still have my many, many idiosyncracies. But, there have been some positive changes, too. For the first time in my life, I feel genuinely excited and hopeful about my professional future. By that I mean that, one day, I might really be a writer and an artist! In my own view, there's a long, long road ahead. But, I've come this far and why waste all the work and turn back?<br />
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A few of the changes have been thrust on me. When I started this journey four years ago all of my kids were still living at home. They ranged in age from one to seventeen - one lovely daughter and seven marvelous boys. Today, that lovely daughter is married and expecting her first baby in the fall and two of those marvelous boys are living on their own, working and studying and creating lives. Another is about to fly the coop and, for the first time ever, we may be able to leave the house in something other than a minivan.<br />
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The transition from "young dad" to "young grandpa" is the newest and most formidable change so far. And... I'm ready to face it!Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-24065966124589596282015-04-22T12:15:00.001-07:002015-04-22T12:15:22.637-07:00The Dapper and Dreamy Shop Moves... To Etsy!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You'll no longer find the Dapper and Dreamy shops here on the blog. They've moved to the much simpler to use and access Etsy! To keep up with all of your favorite Dapper and Dreamy designs and to buy them for yourself or others, just follow the link below... Happy Shopping!<br />
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<a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/DapperDreamy?ref=search_shop_redirect" target="_blank">Dapper and Dreamy Shop on Etsy</a>Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-30447454952285368022015-03-26T17:12:00.002-07:002015-03-26T17:12:43.855-07:00Please Don't Eat the Daisies, But DO Read Jean Kerr's Books!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jean Kerr - Time Magazine Cover Girl</td></tr>
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If I say the name "Jean Kerr", what comes to mind? Nothing? Well, you are probably not alone. I don't find many who recall the name, but many remember the movie based on her book "Please Don't Eat the Daisies", starring Doris Day.<br />
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Jean Kerr was a playwright and essayist who penned the play "The Song of Bernadette", later adapted for a film starring Jennifer Jones. She was also the wife of noted New York theater critic Walter Kerr and the mother of six boisterous boys. It was her hectic family life that served as the basis for most of her essays and boy can I relate when I read her laugh out loud tales.<br />
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Even though she started writing her short pieces over 50 years ago, they are just as funny and relevant today. The antics of children haven't changed as much as you might think, and the reactions of parents are pretty similar, too. One of the nice things about her stories is that they never sound bitter. Here's a woman who likes her role as wife and mother, loves her husband and sons, but also has no illusions about them. She can clearly see the humor in most situations, but never resorts to cheap laughs at the expense of others.<br />
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While I've read her first book "Please Don't Eat the Daisies" several times in the past, I'm about halfway through "The Snake Gets All the Lines". Her tales of days at the beach with children are right on the mark, and her imagined letters of complaint to everyone from the manufacturer of her supposedly colorfast curtains to the ad department at Bergdorf Goodman make for delightful reading.<br />
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Perhaps one of the most charming things about Kerr's books are the little insights it gives into life in mid-century America. It was a time when people dressed up to go shopping (thankfully Jean finds a dress that's good enough to wear to Saks, even if it doesn't actually look good on HER) and life was led with a little more polish. <br />
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If you're looking for a quick, amusing and truly pleasant read, find a copy of any of Jean Kerr's books, often found in the "humor" sections at local thrift stores. And, for an added treat, watch Doris Day's wonderful version of "Please Don't Eat the Daisies"!<br />
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<br />Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-12970580534708955032015-03-02T21:09:00.001-08:002015-03-02T21:09:21.419-08:00California Dreaming!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"On the Malibu Coast" - Granville Redmond - 1929</td></tr>
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It's been 10 years since our family took our first road trip to California. For me, California was a place that I was assuredly NOT interested in... I had images of 1980's LA in my mind (where I got those images and why I thought they were so awful, I fail to remember) and... it was HOT! Definitely not my speed. I was in transition - moving from the company that I'd worked for since the age of 15 - and the kids wanted to go to Disneyland. Coincidentally, I'd just discovered John Steinbeck and was enthralled in reading "Cannery Row". Little did I know that that trip would start a love affair with the great and golden State of California.<br />
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I've visited several times since then and one thing remains the same... as I am driving home, feeling more than a little disconsolate, I'm already planning my next trip! I've also had the chance to delve into things that I never really knew existed - the art and literature of California. There are countless wonderful books and short stories that chronicle life in its many aspects under those perpetually sunny skies. Authors as diverse as Steinbeck and Waugh, Twain and Hammett have set their stories in the state and reveal to us an ever-diverse and always fascinating place where reality and fantasy merge together as quickly as the separate. A whole school of art - California impressionism - captured my attention just a few years ago, illustrating how inspiring and even magical a place it can be.<br />
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So, why don't I move there and be done with it? First, if I were to live there, I'd miss the excitement and fun of visiting! Our whole family talks about and plans trips - some taken, some not - often. My wife and kids will tell you that I laugh harder and longer and am more relaxed on our trips south than at any other time. Also, viewing it from a distance, I can ignore some of the ugly realities of day to day life in one of the most heavily populated and expensive places in the country. In my mind, California is always seen as a place of escape and even a little frivolity.<br />
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So, here's a little toast to the Great State of California, one of my favorite places!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Incoming Tide" - Guy Rose - 1917</td></tr>
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<br />Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-9035570288069359622015-02-04T20:45:00.001-08:002015-02-04T20:49:57.903-08:00Charming Printable Valentines for YOU!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLj9BhbM0o4WeGTKioou_V2yWpWyyAOT2nAnIGsvLIV3aMQLcJlsekLsYA8kh6vNyxqQuNGZAJiy5RZ1WZObCCxxG5E4TJDViJadGMvTWFzvfcbea3rbu6JxTsBARlZ_dHbLIJXTH5Vzc/s1600/Valentine+Cards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLj9BhbM0o4WeGTKioou_V2yWpWyyAOT2nAnIGsvLIV3aMQLcJlsekLsYA8kh6vNyxqQuNGZAJiy5RZ1WZObCCxxG5E4TJDViJadGMvTWFzvfcbea3rbu6JxTsBARlZ_dHbLIJXTH5Vzc/s1600/Valentine+Cards.jpg" height="494" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Simply print and cut! A charming greeting for your Valentine!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B63m2j5jasSxN3lOaDRsbnV4bGc/view?usp=sharing">https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B63m2j5jasSxN3lOaDRsbnV4bGc/view?usp=sharing</a>Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62287822502489704.post-41563425370695194802014-12-12T11:44:00.002-08:002014-12-12T20:11:09.078-08:00Holiday Film ExtravaganzaWhen people think of Christmas movies, a few standards seem to come to mind... "White Christmas", "A Christmas Story", "It's a Wonderful Life"... All wonderful and deserving films. Those with a little more interest in classic movies might add a few more... "Christmas in Connecticut", "The Bishop's Wife" and "Holiday Inn". In truth, I could watch these movies almost anytime and, once November hits, one is on almost constantly at the Dapper and Dreamy house!<br />
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These aren't the only wonderful films from Christmas past, though. There are countless other fabulous pictures that you should take the time to get to know. Some aren't strictly "Christmas movies", but they have enough holiday cheer, and sparkling Christmas trees, to bear consideration during the Yuletide season!<br />
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Here's a Dapper and Dreamy list of favorite holiday hits!<br />
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<b>"The Shop Around the Corner"</b> and it's musical remake <b>"In the Good Old Summertime"</b><br />
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The original stars Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan while the remake features Judy Garland and Van Johnson. Simply delightful!<br />
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<b>"It Happened on Fifth Avenue"</b><br />
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A tramp takes up his annual residence in a 5th Avenue mansion... Charming and funny!<br />
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<b>"Bundle of Joy"</b><br />
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Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher sing and dance through this remake of "Bachelor Mother".<br />
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<b>"The Man Who Came to Dinner"</b><br />
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Bette Davis and Monty Wooley take the long-running Broadway play to the screen. Davis wanted the supporting part so badly, she took a pay cut to get it!<br />
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<b>"Susan Slept Here"</b><br />
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Debbie Reynolds and Dick Powell make an unlikely May-December match, but it works! Hollywood never looked so good at Christmas!<br />
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<b>"Blossoms in the Dust"</b><br />
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Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon (the duo of "Mrs. Miniver" fame) star in this warm story.<br />
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<b>"Desk Set"</b><br />
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One of the best Hollywood Christmas trees ever and Tracy and Hepburn's chemistry crackles!<br />
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<b>"Holiday Affair"</b><br />
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Janet Leigh and Robert Mitchum team up for a romantic Christmas in 1950's New York.<br />
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<b>"Young at Heart"</b><br />
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Doris Day and Frank Sinatra. Do I really need to say anything more?<br />
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We love these movies so much, we'll still be watching them throughout January! Give yourself a Christmas treat and check them out!Jake Gariepyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590455393793485341noreply@blogger.com0