Gratitude #83 - Sweet Biddies!
11 years ago
Friday, November 2, 2007
tragedy
Miriam began serious painting right after she began art school.
She painted hours each day. She would call me at 11 or 12 at night and I would drive over to the painting studio at Texas Women’s University and get her.
In four years, she had a big pile of very fine paintings.
She like to paint religious subjects, which are always tricky. Go too far one way and they are preachy and pushy, push the other way and they are drivel and insipid. She hit down the middle well.
Her Adam always had a beard, logical to me. I suggested that Eve should be a redhead, but she didn’t always follow my idea!
Her 7 days of creation was wonderful, a vision that had never been put on canvas before.
Her “By His Stripes We Are Healed” stood 14’ high and was 10 feet wide. A 24” wide strip and then a skip that size. It was a crucifixion scene, dark and moody, with just enough detail on the stripes to work.
I have seen people look at that one and cry, it was so powerful.
She painted Adam full face, looking straight at the camera. The light was straight from the side so one side was in total shade. Eve was silhouetted on that dark side. I loved that painting. It hung at the foot of our bed for a long time.
Then we moved from Texas to Washington. I carefully crated up all the paintings and the moving company transported them to our new home.
For a while they sat in an unused corner of my cabinet shop in Washington state. Then I moved back to Idaho and I cleared out my part.
I made arrangements to go back and get Miriam’s paintings on a weekend.
Wednesday evening the phone rang. The building was on fire. Horrors of horrors. It was an old frame furniture store. My shop stuff was gone, but Miriam’s paintings were there.
Everything burned. 5 years of hard work, evaporated.
But, wait, we were professional photographers, so we had wonderful pictures of these paintings, right? Well, actually we did, but of just a few.
She was sad, I was heart broken.
“I Sea, Eye See” was a seascape with large billowing waves, and floating in the waves were 19 pair of huge eyes, all looking at the viewer. She had a biblical motif, but to me it was pure surrealism. The stuff dreams are made of.
But they are no more.
I miss them deeply.
She painted hours each day. She would call me at 11 or 12 at night and I would drive over to the painting studio at Texas Women’s University and get her.
In four years, she had a big pile of very fine paintings.
She like to paint religious subjects, which are always tricky. Go too far one way and they are preachy and pushy, push the other way and they are drivel and insipid. She hit down the middle well.
Her Adam always had a beard, logical to me. I suggested that Eve should be a redhead, but she didn’t always follow my idea!
Her 7 days of creation was wonderful, a vision that had never been put on canvas before.
Her “By His Stripes We Are Healed” stood 14’ high and was 10 feet wide. A 24” wide strip and then a skip that size. It was a crucifixion scene, dark and moody, with just enough detail on the stripes to work.
I have seen people look at that one and cry, it was so powerful.
She painted Adam full face, looking straight at the camera. The light was straight from the side so one side was in total shade. Eve was silhouetted on that dark side. I loved that painting. It hung at the foot of our bed for a long time.
Then we moved from Texas to Washington. I carefully crated up all the paintings and the moving company transported them to our new home.
For a while they sat in an unused corner of my cabinet shop in Washington state. Then I moved back to Idaho and I cleared out my part.
I made arrangements to go back and get Miriam’s paintings on a weekend.
Wednesday evening the phone rang. The building was on fire. Horrors of horrors. It was an old frame furniture store. My shop stuff was gone, but Miriam’s paintings were there.
Everything burned. 5 years of hard work, evaporated.
But, wait, we were professional photographers, so we had wonderful pictures of these paintings, right? Well, actually we did, but of just a few.
She was sad, I was heart broken.
“I Sea, Eye See” was a seascape with large billowing waves, and floating in the waves were 19 pair of huge eyes, all looking at the viewer. She had a biblical motif, but to me it was pure surrealism. The stuff dreams are made of.
But they are no more.
I miss them deeply.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
bread
My mom was a bread baker.
So was my step-dad. His family owned a bakery.
So it is natural that I am a baker too.
Besides, I worked in a bakery when I was in high school.
“Life is too short to eat factory-baked bread.” Doris Janzen Longacre, author of “More with Less Cookbook” once offered. I didn’t know the lady, but I’ve always felt a close kinship.
Bread was once referred to as the “staff of life.” Not sure how long one would survive on a diet of “factory-baked” bread, but the real stuff is pretty good.
Mill the flour, mix the dough with just the tight amount of molasses, salt, yeast maybe some seeds or nuts, raisins or cinnamon. Formulas have huge differences, yet all include the basics.
Mix it, kneed it, proof it, divide it, proof it again and bake it. That is pretty much the way it has been done for hundreds of years.
Much of our married life I have made bread, sometimes in good sized batches. My step-dad would tell of making bread in their family bakery by hand, in 25 loaf batches. Now I make three loaves at a time, and use Miriam's trusty Kitchen Aid mixer for most of the hard work.
Even with the Kitchen Aid, I usually finish by hand kneading. Kneading bread gives one a special relationship with bread.
In my life, it really is the stuff of life.
So was my step-dad. His family owned a bakery.
So it is natural that I am a baker too.
Besides, I worked in a bakery when I was in high school.
“Life is too short to eat factory-baked bread.” Doris Janzen Longacre, author of “More with Less Cookbook” once offered. I didn’t know the lady, but I’ve always felt a close kinship.
Bread was once referred to as the “staff of life.” Not sure how long one would survive on a diet of “factory-baked” bread, but the real stuff is pretty good.
Mill the flour, mix the dough with just the tight amount of molasses, salt, yeast maybe some seeds or nuts, raisins or cinnamon. Formulas have huge differences, yet all include the basics.
Mix it, kneed it, proof it, divide it, proof it again and bake it. That is pretty much the way it has been done for hundreds of years.
Much of our married life I have made bread, sometimes in good sized batches. My step-dad would tell of making bread in their family bakery by hand, in 25 loaf batches. Now I make three loaves at a time, and use Miriam's trusty Kitchen Aid mixer for most of the hard work.
Even with the Kitchen Aid, I usually finish by hand kneading. Kneading bread gives one a special relationship with bread.
In my life, it really is the stuff of life.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
birthday
“Miriam, can you come to the front desk, please?” It was Louise, the company receptionist.
“Here, read this.” It was Miriam’s birthday and Louise handed her a birthday card.
“Thank you.” Miriam smiled.
“NO, read it.” She glanced again. “Thank you.” she smiled yet again.
“NO, MIRIAM, Read it.” So she did, carefully this time.
“You are easily a 10 cow wife (some cultures, the story is, “buy” wives and very few are valued above 5 or 6 cows), but I don’t like cows.”
“How about a Cavalier.”
Miriam looked up in curious wonder.
Louise held up a pair of car keys and pointed out the front windows of the reception area.
It was mid January, cold and snowy. There was 12 or 15 inches of snow on the ground. The new 1992 Cavalier Coupe’ in Maui blue had a wide red ribbon wrapped around the top. It was stunning.
And, Miriam was truly flabbergasted.
Inside the car I left another card. “I can afford it, I think, and you definitely deserve it. I love you, dave.”
There was a silk scarf hanging off the rear view mirror, and in each ash tray, the glove box, the trunk, everywhere I could, I had stuffed a dozen pair of bright colored scanties -- Miriam’s size, of course.
Later daughter 1 was telling a friend about how her dad bought her mom a new car for her birthday.
“Wow, your dad must be loaded.”
“No, he will pay for this for the next 5 years,” and I did.
She took very good care of that car and almost 16 years later we still drive it every day.
“Here, read this.” It was Miriam’s birthday and Louise handed her a birthday card.
“Thank you.” Miriam smiled.
“NO, read it.” She glanced again. “Thank you.” she smiled yet again.
“NO, MIRIAM, Read it.” So she did, carefully this time.
“You are easily a 10 cow wife (some cultures, the story is, “buy” wives and very few are valued above 5 or 6 cows), but I don’t like cows.”
“How about a Cavalier.”
Miriam looked up in curious wonder.
Louise held up a pair of car keys and pointed out the front windows of the reception area.
It was mid January, cold and snowy. There was 12 or 15 inches of snow on the ground. The new 1992 Cavalier Coupe’ in Maui blue had a wide red ribbon wrapped around the top. It was stunning.
And, Miriam was truly flabbergasted.
Inside the car I left another card. “I can afford it, I think, and you definitely deserve it. I love you, dave.”
There was a silk scarf hanging off the rear view mirror, and in each ash tray, the glove box, the trunk, everywhere I could, I had stuffed a dozen pair of bright colored scanties -- Miriam’s size, of course.
Later daughter 1 was telling a friend about how her dad bought her mom a new car for her birthday.
“Wow, your dad must be loaded.”
“No, he will pay for this for the next 5 years,” and I did.
She took very good care of that car and almost 16 years later we still drive it every day.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
college
We were professional photographers for a dozen years. During that time we won a lot of awards, and produced some pretty fine photographs. It was exhilerating. We loved it.
It was a team effort we needed each other. But we were young. We could handle the art part of the business, but not the business part. And, this was before cell phones, or answering machines, or computers. It was all hand work.
But our 4th baby was born during this time and Miriam wanted to spend more time with her children, which I agreed was impotant. I couldn’t go on without her, so we hung it up and I went back to laying carpet and tile.
About the time our girls were leaving to go to college or getting married I had gone back to school pretty intently, trying to get a degree completed. She had applied for a job as photographer for a local publishing company. They told her she had the job, but then they didnt call back.
You don’t have that job, I said.
Why don’t you apply for a grant and come to college with me and study art? She thought it over, agreed, the paper work was filed and sooner than usual the grant was approved.
The first day of class I went upstairs during a break to see how she was doing. The 3d studios were on the first floor with painting, illustration and such on the 2nd.
I found he sitting all wide eyed. “These people know how to do this, and they want to teach me." She was like a kid in a candy store.
Before she registered for classes I had a talk with my major professor.
Miriam has been drawing and painting since she was a child, I said, and to make her take freshmen classes is likely to bore her seriously.
Well, said my teacher, register her for junior classes. If she can cut it, fine, but if she can’t she will have to drop back.
It was that expression of wide eyed joy that I discovered on the 2nd floor.
She never did take those freshmen classes. I'll post a photograph of her first ilustration. I was/is beautiful.
I was so proud of her, my buttons almost burst.
It was a team effort we needed each other. But we were young. We could handle the art part of the business, but not the business part. And, this was before cell phones, or answering machines, or computers. It was all hand work.
But our 4th baby was born during this time and Miriam wanted to spend more time with her children, which I agreed was impotant. I couldn’t go on without her, so we hung it up and I went back to laying carpet and tile.
About the time our girls were leaving to go to college or getting married I had gone back to school pretty intently, trying to get a degree completed. She had applied for a job as photographer for a local publishing company. They told her she had the job, but then they didnt call back.
You don’t have that job, I said.
Why don’t you apply for a grant and come to college with me and study art? She thought it over, agreed, the paper work was filed and sooner than usual the grant was approved.
The first day of class I went upstairs during a break to see how she was doing. The 3d studios were on the first floor with painting, illustration and such on the 2nd.
I found he sitting all wide eyed. “These people know how to do this, and they want to teach me." She was like a kid in a candy store.
Before she registered for classes I had a talk with my major professor.
Miriam has been drawing and painting since she was a child, I said, and to make her take freshmen classes is likely to bore her seriously.
Well, said my teacher, register her for junior classes. If she can cut it, fine, but if she can’t she will have to drop back.
It was that expression of wide eyed joy that I discovered on the 2nd floor.
She never did take those freshmen classes. I'll post a photograph of her first ilustration. I was/is beautiful.
I was so proud of her, my buttons almost burst.
clay
Miriam minored in ceramics in both her undergraduate and graduate college work.
It was her passion, and she was very good at it. She did some truly amazing work.
Now, she would like a ceramic studio. I would like her to paint, but she won't.
We have the space for a small studio and most of the equipment, but have had major interruptions getting it together.
A while back granddaughter Emily was here for a vacation (she lives 400 miles away, but visits often) and I bought a block of clay for them to play with.
They worked for a while, I wasn’t there, so I don't know how long, but Miriam didn’t do well. What she made was hardly craft and not remotely art.
So I have a dilemma. If I set it up (make no mistake ceramics is a spendy hobby) with money we really should put other places, and if she can’t do it, will that crush her even more?
My plan is to get it together in the next month or so, and see what happens.
But, I am very fearful, unfortunately
It was her passion, and she was very good at it. She did some truly amazing work.
Now, she would like a ceramic studio. I would like her to paint, but she won't.
We have the space for a small studio and most of the equipment, but have had major interruptions getting it together.
A while back granddaughter Emily was here for a vacation (she lives 400 miles away, but visits often) and I bought a block of clay for them to play with.
They worked for a while, I wasn’t there, so I don't know how long, but Miriam didn’t do well. What she made was hardly craft and not remotely art.
So I have a dilemma. If I set it up (make no mistake ceramics is a spendy hobby) with money we really should put other places, and if she can’t do it, will that crush her even more?
My plan is to get it together in the next month or so, and see what happens.
But, I am very fearful, unfortunately
Monday, October 29, 2007
50 years together
When Miriam was diagnosed one of the first things she said to me was: “I hope I am alive, and I mean really alive, for out 50th anniversary.”
We had been married 43 years then.
June 10, 2006 was the magic date. Our daughters planned and put together a great party for us. They borrowed the home of a high school class mate (a dentist now) and invited family and friends. They secretly planned and cooked and prepared. They sent us an invitation.
It was a perfect day, the party was outside, in our friend's back yard. Miriam was on top of her game. She was sharp, she knew people, and she moved amoung the guests like a the great lady she is.
All of her brothers and sisters were there, all 7 of them. It was the last time they would all be together -- one brother died a few months later. My sister was there, but our brother couldn't make it.
At the party, the girls invited people to donate money to a fund to send Mom and Dad on a cruise to Alaska. Our friends kicked in wonderfully.
Then the girls asked: “Dad, who do you want to go with you on this cruise?” I think they thought I would name one daughter.
I thought a brief moment and said: “All of you.” “You asked me what I want, that is it. I may not get it and that is OK, but that is what I want.”
Even now I am so amazed that they did it. We are not a family with a lot of money and it was a sacrifice for all. We spent a week on the cruise ship -- the 6 of us. You rarely get that kind of time with your adult children this late in life. No spouses, no kids, just us. We all enjoyed it so much. (And I love my sons-in-law and adore all of my grandkids, by the way).
It was wonderful.
More on the cruise later.
We had been married 43 years then.
June 10, 2006 was the magic date. Our daughters planned and put together a great party for us. They borrowed the home of a high school class mate (a dentist now) and invited family and friends. They secretly planned and cooked and prepared. They sent us an invitation.
It was a perfect day, the party was outside, in our friend's back yard. Miriam was on top of her game. She was sharp, she knew people, and she moved amoung the guests like a the great lady she is.
All of her brothers and sisters were there, all 7 of them. It was the last time they would all be together -- one brother died a few months later. My sister was there, but our brother couldn't make it.
At the party, the girls invited people to donate money to a fund to send Mom and Dad on a cruise to Alaska. Our friends kicked in wonderfully.
Then the girls asked: “Dad, who do you want to go with you on this cruise?” I think they thought I would name one daughter.
I thought a brief moment and said: “All of you.” “You asked me what I want, that is it. I may not get it and that is OK, but that is what I want.”
Even now I am so amazed that they did it. We are not a family with a lot of money and it was a sacrifice for all. We spent a week on the cruise ship -- the 6 of us. You rarely get that kind of time with your adult children this late in life. No spouses, no kids, just us. We all enjoyed it so much. (And I love my sons-in-law and adore all of my grandkids, by the way).
It was wonderful.
More on the cruise later.
grandparents
My father was killed when I was 4.
Mom remarried when I was 8. My step dad and I were not friends until decades later. Being a step parent is hard, on a good day. Being a step child is rough always.
We lived in a small town in south idaho, the same town where I was born and still live (though we have lived in Washington, Oregon, Montana and Texas, for brief times).
Moms parents always lived in the same town.
My dads sister, who was very close friends with my mother before mom and dad got together, moved to this town in the early 50’s, later my aunt’s mother (my grandmother) moved to town, followed for a short time by grandmother’s ex husband, my grandfather.
I was surrounded by family growing up.
My grandmothers in particular were very important to me.
I had them all until I was in my mid 40’s, then in a decade I lost them all, mom, step dad, grandparents, the old guard left me. The redhead’s parents died during that time too.
In a fairly short time, I went from being a grandkid to being the patriarch in my little corner of my family.
It has been said that one of the most important relationships a kid has is with their grandparents.
I agree.
Mom remarried when I was 8. My step dad and I were not friends until decades later. Being a step parent is hard, on a good day. Being a step child is rough always.
We lived in a small town in south idaho, the same town where I was born and still live (though we have lived in Washington, Oregon, Montana and Texas, for brief times).
Moms parents always lived in the same town.
My dads sister, who was very close friends with my mother before mom and dad got together, moved to this town in the early 50’s, later my aunt’s mother (my grandmother) moved to town, followed for a short time by grandmother’s ex husband, my grandfather.
I was surrounded by family growing up.
My grandmothers in particular were very important to me.
I had them all until I was in my mid 40’s, then in a decade I lost them all, mom, step dad, grandparents, the old guard left me. The redhead’s parents died during that time too.
In a fairly short time, I went from being a grandkid to being the patriarch in my little corner of my family.
It has been said that one of the most important relationships a kid has is with their grandparents.
I agree.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
eats
We come from a line of great “scratch” cooks.
Both of us.
Miriam was a superb vegetarian cook. She still has more ability than I do, but she is declining and I hope I am improving.
At this point she does pretty well on individual dishes (that info is stored in her long term memory, I guess), but combinations can be wild.
She is not giving up food duty easily, so I have to be sneaky at times. I fix breakfast nearly always, and I have long made our bread. It is moving me moving into fixing dinner that is the rub now.
Sometimes I just get sneaky. Before we went to church, I put some baking potatoes in the oven, and today I put a pot on the stove to be ready for dinner later tonight and I often start something in the slow cooker in the morning.
Sometimes I just grimace and eat a bit selectively.
Make no mistake, my cooking abilities are way less refined than those of my 12 year old granddaughter Bri. Fortunately our daughters carry on their mother's old skills, and improve them.
But I am learning.
Both of us.
Miriam was a superb vegetarian cook. She still has more ability than I do, but she is declining and I hope I am improving.
At this point she does pretty well on individual dishes (that info is stored in her long term memory, I guess), but combinations can be wild.
She is not giving up food duty easily, so I have to be sneaky at times. I fix breakfast nearly always, and I have long made our bread. It is moving me moving into fixing dinner that is the rub now.
Sometimes I just get sneaky. Before we went to church, I put some baking potatoes in the oven, and today I put a pot on the stove to be ready for dinner later tonight and I often start something in the slow cooker in the morning.
Sometimes I just grimace and eat a bit selectively.
Make no mistake, my cooking abilities are way less refined than those of my 12 year old granddaughter Bri. Fortunately our daughters carry on their mother's old skills, and improve them.
But I am learning.
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