WE ARE A WEB

Like it or not, we are a web. We are connected in ways we cannot imagine. Back in the dark ages, we were girls of seventeen and eighteen and parted ways to begin our lives, careers and families. Through the years we tried not to think of our age, which makes it interesting now to celebrate 90th birthdays so often.

By and large, everyone is holding up well, give or take a few aches and pains, though four out of nine have lost children, three in this past year. All but one are widowed, and the strength in each is admirable and enviable. All but one still live in their own home. All but one still drive. One is giving her car up next week at the urging of her children. Yesterday’s birthday girl passed the DMV test, had her license renewed for 5 years, and bought a new car in celebration.

There comes a time, if you are cognizant, that you need to throw away the car keys. In my case, I found fading sight was to blame, but I think there are also tiny things like jumping when another car horn frighten you, or slowing down when others are speeding up. So many small warning signs.

It is always interesting even after seventy plus years to hear that someone is related to someone that is a friend of someone else. One friend worked for the Oakland school district with the Godmother of my daughter. A few years ago, I met the sister of another friend and mentioned that a good friend of mine was moving into a lovely senior development. She asked if it was “blah-blah” and I said it was. She told me that she sings at a church in Walnut Creek, and I told her that our cousin donated the stained glass windows. Someone mentioned a few girls and someone else said those are my cousins.

One had a menu from the Matson Line ship Lurline from 1948 where one of our ladies was listed as a passenger. My cousin was the captain of the Lurline at that time.

Of course our conversation flows from subject to subject and includes things which need to be discussed either for ourselves or for other aging friends. One women received a new scam telephone call which she warned about. I don’t believe that this group of women are particularly vulnerable, but in a weak moment, you never know. One friend who is 95 and not in this group, is sharp as a tack and has all her marbles, but when someone told her she needed to send $15,000 to Mexico to help her grandson, she sent it. Luckily she was able to get her money back.

The picture of the frail little old lady is not always a true picture. Some grannies may be packing a small derringer in their pocketbook.

However, yesterday afternoon, my daughter was shopping and a frail little old lady was clearly confused and panicky beside her. When she asked if she could help, the little lady said that she wanted to get back home but couldn’t remember where it was. My kind daughter put her into her car and found where she lived and got her home again. When I said how proud I was of her, she said it might have been me. You just don’t know from one day to the next.

Memories are great, but we tend to forget that there is still time to add to them while polishing up the old.

JUST DIRECT YOUR FEET

Alvin Ailey Dancer, stoneware sculpture by kayti sweetland rasmussen

Dancing has always been a part of my life, from childhood when a fond grandma hoped my tap shoes would lead to fame and family fortune. It’s obvious that never happened, but I kept dancing anyway.

I heard of a Modern Dance class starting in the City when my children were small and I needed exercise. Any new mother can interpret that to mean, “Shape up!” The instructor floated into the room and I felt myself sinking into my body and thinking there was no hope for me. A gorgeous African-American, she was about 5’10” with extremely short hair and a body to make an artist dream of painting her. I knew immediately that if I were to come back some day as African-American, I would look like her plus with large earrings. She put us through all sorts of strenuous stretches and odd positions until my bones felt they could never have been meant to go there. But I kept dancing anyway.

Last week we went to a friend’s 90th birthday party. About twenty years ago we joined a dance group in town which performed at schools, old age homes and any place anyone would have us. Once while practicing, we asked my Dad for his opinion, his answer “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” In our initial public performance, our husbands embarrassed us by clapping and cheering loudly in the audience. But we kept dancing anyway.

We are second and third from the right in the chorus line. I don’t know if the others are still dancing.

I was impressed by her ability to “get things done” while her husband was on a business trip. They had discussed and he had disregarded the case for new carpeting, but once when he returned after a week away, he had to agree that the new carpet looked much better than the old.

I met this lady about 55 years ago when I interrupted her gardening by inquiring if she were the mother of a little girl with the same name as one of mine. We then discovered that our husbands had gone all through school together. In was enough to ensure a long friendship. And we’re still dancing in our own way.

THE MAGIC OF SOUP

My mother always told me to order clam chowder on a Friday, because that is when it would be freshest, and not to order chili or baked beans in the middle of the week as it would probably be warmed over. I don’t know if that is true, but soup at any time of the week is a heart warming pleasure.

For centuries soup has given sustenance to weary travelers, hungry families, babes in arms and ancient toothless grandmas alike. Soup can’t be eaten with a weapon, so it was one of the first offerings of friendship to a stranger. Sitting around a campfire in the desert, or on a snow-covered mountaintop, it opens and warms the hearts while filling the belly. A bowl of soup can either be a beginning or the complete meal.

During times of need, soup kitchens feed the resident or transient homeless. It’s like a friendly hand up the ladder to make it through another day. You hardly ever see a salad or dessert kitchen, though a dessert kitchen isn’t a bad idea.

Soup strengthens the bonds of friendship as news, gossip and confidences are shared. A soup kettle is bottomless because it holds Love, the most important part of any meal. It is frequently added to, even as it is diminished. The soup spoon is the largest one on the right hand side because it is the first utensil to be used, thus the most important. Soup can’t be eaten with a knife or a fork so there is no misunderstanding as to which implement to pick up.

The weather is cooling, just as the leaves are slowly drifting to the ground, the days are growing shorter, and we close the blinds against the dark. It’s good to smell a pot of soup bubbling on the back of the stove, it’s like a hug around the heart.

We each have our favorite soups of course, and mine is anything which lasts two or three days, because everyone knows soup is better the next day. Chicken soup has long been considered a cure-all for what ails you, and there is some truth in its stand against a head cold.
Several dear people have brought me chicken soup after an unforeseen glitch in health, which was much appreciated. I still have a container belonging to one of them waiting in my garage. I plan to return it to her even if she doesn’t get sick! I have a small stash of plastic bowls etc. belonging to other people; in fact, there are a couple whose ownership escapes me. Perhaps I should simply throw a party and have them go out and help themselves.

I gathered several of my favorite soup recipes this morning for the coming days, and I will be making Sweet Potato-Corn, Potato Leek, Potato Kale and Sausage, Green Chili Pork Posole, Beer Cheese Soup, Split Pea (to use a few pieces of ham in my freezer) and a wonderful Italian Wedding Soup. Those may take me into the winter and even more delicious meals. The homemade bread I make is wonderful lightly toasted and dipped into the broth.

So many soups gravitate from one country to another, and take on slightly different qualities. Matzo ball soup and the Clump Soup of the Danes, is quite similar, although clump isn’t made from matzo meal. Both are served in a flavorful chicken broth, though I like to spike them up with a few pieces of carrot for color.

Sweet Potato and Corn Soup

1 large yellow onion, chopped
1 1/2 Tbs. butter
saalt to taste
2 lbs. sweet potatoes
2 cups water
4 cups vegetable or chicken broth (I use chicken)
3 cups yellow or white sweet corn kernels
1 medium red bell pepper, finely diced
1 small fresh jalapeno pepper, finely chopped
1 cup milk
juice of 1/2 lemon
pinch of cayenne
2-3 Tbs. cream

Cook the onion slowly in the butter, with a little salt, stirring often, until it is golden brown. At the same time peel and dice the sweet potatoes, combine them in a pot with the water and the broth and simmer until the potatoes are tender, about 20-30 minutes. Add the carmelized onions to the soup, deglaze the onion pan with a little of the broth and add it back then puree this mixture in batches in a blender.

Return the puree to the pot and add the corn kernels, diced red bell pepper, chopped jalapeno and milk. Simmer until the peppers and corn are tender. Stir in the lemon juice and cayenne, taste and correct the seasoning if needed. Finish the soup with a little cream.
Garnish with coarsely chopped cilantro leaves.

Serves 8

HELLO GOD

Hello God,

I don’t know if your remember me, it’s been awhile since we spoke. I know how busy you are, but I wanted to tell you about my friend Joan, who just moved in up there. She was one of the best people I have known down here, so I assume she has already settled in. I hope you saved a really nice place for her.

Some acquaintances through the years actually thought we were sisters since we were together so much. If that was so, she was the pretty one. I remember the first time we met. Her boyfriend brought her over to meet Dr. Advice and me. Of course he wasn’t Dr. Advice yet, and she ended up marrying her boyfriend. She was from Texas, with an infectious Texas accent, and we realized we would be best friends forever, which was a good thing because the boys had been best friends since the age of five, and it would have been awkward if we didn’t like each other.

Her mother Rosie from Texas, named her for her favorite movie star, Joan Crawford, which she pronounced “Joanne”, but like a lot of us, she was called by several names: Joan, Joanne, Josie, but she was always “Joanie” to me.

As you know, she had a lot of problems the past few years, so I hope that has all been solved by now. She was a mean competitor on the tennis court, and we hiked over a lot of terrain together. We went on many trips along with our dear husbands. She lost hers some time ago as you know, so if there is a way to connect them again it would be really nice. I know she missed all that. Speaking of being a competitor, I hope there are some bridge groups up there, because she spent a lot of time winning card games. She also kept me up all night once playing Monopoly, long after the boys lost and went to bed, and she finally won that game too at 6 a.m.

She didn’t win the health game though, but she surely tried. I never saw anyone so brave, and determined. As such, she was a great inspiration to those of us who need inspiration. When she lost her hearing, I asked her if we needed to learn sign language, and she said no, they wanted her to learn to read lips. She became a pro at that too. She took up boxing to try to help her balance. I keep a picture of her with her pink boxing gloves.

I suppose by now you have looked into her case and can see what a great mother she was to her children and grandchildren. She kept track of them all so well it made me feel like a real slacker. People who didn’t know her well said she was sweet. I need to tell you she was a lot more than that. She was smart, funny, and a good business woman as well as sweet. She loved meeting people, and really made an effort to meet new people wherever she lived.

It’s been hard to communicate with her the past couple of years, but sometimes just sitting and holding hands was enough. I will miss that.

Anyway, God, I just wanted to make sure you met Joanie, and took good care of her. A lot of people down here miss her.

LADIES WHO LUNCH

Audrey Mabee

“It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid” Ralph Waldo Emerson

The quality of our lives is increased immeasurably by the simple fact of having a friend. I get the quality of my life boosted every month or so by having lunch with a group of my high school girlfriends. I know—we haven’t been girls for 70 years, but they are still my girlfriends, and I love them all to pieces. I never thought of myself as a “lady who lunches”, but the exchange of stories from years past is exhilarating.

Each of these 6 women have had interesting lives. I have balanced marriage and family with an art career, another woman was a ballet dancer with the San Francisco Ballet. She and I were in the R.O.T.C. together, marching along with the boys and feeling important in our uniforms. Another girl and I often played with the “Ouija Board”, probably moving it about to see which boyfriend we liked at the time. These are good memories worth revisiting now and then if only to have a chuckle or two.

Beth and Kayti 1944,

Beth was a bridesmaid in my wedding 68 years ago

The simple fun of recounting old high school memories keeps one honest and gives a few laughs as well. I find out a few things I did not know at each meeting, and regret that we don’t see each other more often.

In one’s youth, it’s all about you as an individual, nothing of who you will be when you become part of the bigger picture. Through the years of raising a family, having a career and perhaps living through some bumps in the road, you become polished like a piece of fine silver, until you can finally sit back and say it was all worth it, and I’d do it again in a minute.

Being with old friends and hearing stories of their lives, and recounting memories unique to this group, keeps you in touch with the sun drenched days of your youth. We knew so little of life then. The War was on, and many of our schoolmates were in the service. Some did not return. Some of us rushed to marry as soon as the War was over, as if in waiting something might prevent us getting on with life. Most of us went on to college, had our families, and sometimes moved out of the area, but ultimately, like homing pigeons, we all returned to the place it all began.

Though a few canes are in evidence, we are all vertical and still have a few little grey cells moving about. I am amused when a much younger person seems to think we are an anomaly, but in another group of women I played bridge with this week, three were in their 90’s and are the gutsiest bridge players I know.

GENERATIONS

“Reflections of the Past” watercolor painting by kayti sweetland Rasmussen

Our seven year old great-granddaughter’s birthday occasioned the gathering our clan in Southern California this weekend. She will be attending the same neighborhood school where both her parents and their best friends, plus a number of other family members and friends went not so long ago.

It was especially strange to me as being in a military family, I seemingly moved with the seasons. When we met, at the age of 16, my future husband asked how many schools I had attended. I was in my junior year of high school at the time, and answered “twelve so far.” After graduation I counted three more.

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A group of our family stayed in my daughter’s lovely home for the weekend, and as we all called out our good nights, I was reminded of the old TV series “Little House on the Prairie”. Their closing scene each week was the sound of each family member saying “good night” as the lights went out in each room of the large house.

As I heard each of my family in turn say their “good nights”, I thought of how nice it is to be the progenitors of these delightful people.

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Painting is of grandson Matt at age 13 hearing the girlhood stories of his great-grandma Leita.

A PERFECT CHEESE SOUFFLE

Do you know someone who does everything perfectly, and do you still like them? Seriously, sometimes the perfect people like to assure you of their superior perfectness. But not my friend Maryanne.

Maryanne is a dignified English woman, living single in a charming little condo which she has equipped with every imaginable convenience, making her fortunate guests eager for the next invitation. Along with our mutual friend, another single woman of an interesting age, after I meet up with them I feel buzzed. People like that, with interests ranging from politics to cooking and in between, are a like a jolt of caffeine putting your brain in gear for days afterward.

Maryanne is famous for her cheese souffles, as well as turning out a remarkable roast chicken. I know, in these days of Costco rotisserie chicken, why would anyone actually go to the trouble? Believe me, it’s worth it, and it really isn’t any trouble. Not to say yours or mine might turn out as well as hers.

At a luncheon the other day, she presented us with a perfect cheese souffle, and if I hadn’t seen the dessert brought by my other friend I might have begged seconds. I know you are probably asking what I contributed to the repast. I blushingly admit that I only brought a small hostess gift, but I am currently planning what I will tender next time we meet.

You may remember the sad obituary of my 45 year old stove in a previous post necessitating the purchase of a new, modern, electronic, and also very beautiful, new one. The evening of the cheese souffle I decided to surprise the nice Dr. with a cheese souffle of my own. Now, I have to remind you that I have been cooking for many years, (too many to count) and have served up quite a few souffles, including chocolate, which is my favorite.

Having mixed up the ridiculously few ingredients, and scraping them into my very English souffle bowl, I placed it into the new oven, which had never been used by me or anyone else. I had actually only made oatmeal and warmed up some soup on the top of the stove. I got the “Bake, temperature” thing right on the shiny new dial, but when it came to setting the timer, I must have been stymied, because 45 minutes later, it looked the same as it did when it went in.

Dr. Advice being such an accomodating soul, opened up a can of beans and called it dinner. I think I may have the timer figured out now.

A VISIT WITH AN OLD FRIEND, DP Challenge

I hadn’t actually visited with him for some time. Oh sure, I see him a couple of times a day, maybe more, but that’s not the same thing as an actual dig-down-deeply visit. But surprisingly he has been a loyal friend for many years.

He’s tall but not too tall. A little taller than I, with an upright and outgoing personality. Blond, but showing definite signs of aging. I find him quite cold toward me at times, icy even.

Definitely a mind of his own, but I don’t know what I would do without him. He’s quite good at handling daily problems for me, and I know I never give him enough credit. He rattles on a bit, but I guess that is standard for his type. Mind you, I’m not complaining, because he is my friend.

He had been collecting quite a lot of baggage, which I never even noticed, what with the holidays and all. He has another friend who lives nearby, and they do share a lot of the everyday load. His friend is also tall and blond, but not as willing to handle some of the jobs I need done. Frankly, I’m not as fond of him as I should be.

Anyway, today we got right down to it. I literally tore him apart, and I think he is happier for it. I know I am, even if it is so tiring to clear out all the garbage he’s been collecting. I don’t feel the need to do that again for awhile.

It’s been a good day.

THE JOURNEY

Life is a journey.

Road Leading Nowhere

Far From Somewhere

Road Leading Somewhere

The road is long. We all need somebody to love.

LUNCH WITH THE GIRLS

I have lunch with my girlfriends every couple of months.  I guess I should properly say they are my women friends, because none of us have been girls for about 70 years.  But they were my high school girlfriends and it’s nice to fill in the lost years. Only two were my actual friends, one a bridesmaid in my wedding 65 years ago.  The others I knew of course, but we weren’t really friends.

One was interested in girl’s athletics, and my interest was contained in being a cheerleader for the boy’s sports.    Another was a serious looking girl on the honor roll, and I never quite made that either.   My great interest in education had come early and then made a detour in high school and then resumed after some time in college.   Another had no interest in befriending me so I labelled her a snob.   Another was a girl who was also in the ROTC in a competing battalion. This was the only way I ever saw her; when we were marching up and down the field in our very cool uniforms. It’s interesting to see the changes those years have brought.  When we began doing this a few years ago, I had to look at their pictures in the high school year book to recognize them.  I wonder if they did the same?

The first  luncheon we had, a woman sat at our table and I asked my bridesmaid who she was.  She said “Oh, she’s the ballet dancer”.  She has become quite comfortable in the ensuing years, and though we had seen newspaper pictures of her when she danced in the SF Ballet and the New York Ballet, I found it difficult to reconcile the two images.  I always thought she looked like a fairy princess.

I lunched with another group of women the other day and recounted the high school lunch.  Several thought it would be fun to find out what happened to old boyfriends.  One was scornful, and couldn’t understand why anyone would want to connect with people they had known so long ago.  But her husband  recently called  a man he knew as a teenager, telephoned him, and they have had many pleasant conversations.

Dr. Advice never let his friendships get dusty.  He stayed connected through all the years, until the last one passed away a year or so ago.  He is a communicator in the first rate.  It’s all about communication.  We are not meant to be lone wolves.  We need to exchange ideas, to find our place in the world.  We are constantly evolving, learning.

I’ve been so happy to meet with these high school friends often.  I’m sorry for the years we missed, because every one of them is an interesting woman with so much given and so much more to give.