Summer of ’01, Week #1
In the summer of 2001, while I was writing about The Bus and lots of other things at the student newspaper, Sam was in summer school writing about whatever prompt was on the board that day. He was 13. That’s often thought of as an awkward age, but for Sam it meant a new, level playing field with lots of kids.
I’ve kept many of his writing journals from summer school. (They called it Summer Club when he was in elementary school.) You can look back at other entries if you’ve missed them (Smart as a Fifth Grader, Confessions of a Second Grader and Writing Prompts — search on the category “language”). Some, especially from his younger days, are a real hoot.
As summer school began, he wrote on only the right side of the journal. When he ran out of pages, he went back to the beginning and wrote on the left side pages, so from page to page, the journal has this odd progression of dates that collapse in on each other. However, we’ll roll them out by week here and you can infer what the writing prompt may have been. (And P.S. we have never had bedbugs, so that sounds like a truly terrifying nightmare to me.)
June 12, 2001
If I were a T.V. character, I’d choose to be Pikachu. I like to watch Pokemon because it appears to be my favorite. Pikachu is a mouse Pokemon with electric power. The evolved form is Raichu. Pikachu and Raichu are both Electric Pokemon.
June 13, 2001
As the sound got closer, I peeked out from under my blanket to see what it was. It was bedbugs. Bedbugs are terrible, horrible, no good, very bad bugs. These (good for nothing) bugs will bite you when you are asleep, so be extremely careful. What I did was that I got out of bed at midnight.
June 14, 2001
What happens when the health inspector opens the refrigerator? He discovers the secret. The health inspector finds an antibiotic and takes it with him to his place. He was surprised to see it. He needed it so he can make people get well. The antibiotic will help people’s bodies fight the germs.
June 15, 2001
One of the ways the chicken tried to escape is by the scarecrow. They built the scarecrow and they started creeping away with it, but the dogs stood nearby studying the scarecrow. Suddenly, the chickens accidentally took a part of the scarecrow off and then the dogs started after them, ready to knock the chickens down. They knocked the chickens down and the head off the scarecrow.
Old-school cakes: Coconut pound cake
I didn’t want to post this recipe until I had a chance to talk to Aunt Regina again about it. A few of these old recipes from her collection have called for ingredients in ways that you don’t often see anymore. This one called for a “can of coconut.” I searched on the web for some understanding, since you can still get coconut in a can. But I wanted a better understanding from her. We went out for a visit today and enjoyed barbecue from Bodacious. I got her Mailbug to 10-digit default dialing and Michael changed out eight lightbulbs. Then we sat in the parlor and I played sing-along songs on the old upright piano and Michael got her talking about her shadow box of trinkets from three trips to Israel.
She told me that canned coconut was moist, and that was important to this recipe. And, it was about the size of a Coke can. So, about 1 cup of fresh grated coconut should do. (I’d substitute butter for the shortening and skip the butter flavoring.)
By the way, she has another coconut cake recipe that takes a cue from a tres leches cake and couldn’t be simpler. Bake a yellow cake. When it’s still hot, poke holes all over. Pour over a can of coconut cream and a can of sweetened condensed milk and then top it with coconut flakes.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #280
Peggy: I’m surprised you still have taffy left, you like salt water taffy so much.
Sam: I eat half the box fast. I like to slow down for the second half.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #279
Peggy: How was your day today?
Sam: Eye appointment was good.
Peggy: Wonderful. So how was horseback riding today?
Sam (pauses): The eye appointment was better.
The Heart Wants What It Wants
The house is a little quieter. Dixie died early Thursday morning.
Dixie “Doodle Bug” in the Indian Paintbrush, Spring 2013
I knew when I got home from work Wednesday evening she was in trouble. Lethargic. Eyes in a faraway place. When I picked her up to take her to the animal emergency room, clumps of hair fell on the floor.
I appreciate that Denton has an animal e.r. I told myself it was possible that they could get her blood sugar back in balance and she would be back home, but I also was no fool. I declined the diagnostic bloodwork and I checked the “do not resuscitate” box.
I left her there, a clean and well-lighted place, and slept through the phone call that came at 1:21 a.m. When I awoke at 5:15 a.m., to dress and go pick her up, I saw the messages waiting. I didn’t need to listen to know.
I always wonder what a veterinarian thinks of you when you decline care. I loved Dixie. She came into our lives just two years ago and she took up a big spot in my crusty old heart that has already been through fire and rain.
When Dr. Cody Bullock diagnosed her diabetes last November, he told me some people opt right then to put their dog down and he said wouldn’t judge me if I did. I didn’t flinch. We did a good job giving her insulin twice a day and helping her adapt to her blindness. But, looking back on the past few weeks, there were signs something was amiss. She was eating less dog food. (But so was Gus, so I thought it was just summer appetite). When we were outside in the evenings, she foraged for cicadas and grasshoppers (dead, of course) to eat. A few weeks ago, she vomited. She recovered. But it was black. She was bleeding somewhere.
I kept a close eye on her, but then there was a death in the family. I left for a few days. And then I worked two Saturdays in a row. I probably missed a clue somewhere, but I’m not going to beat myself up about it.
My little sister called me yesterday. Her dog was in trouble. Grand mal seizures. Awful ones. Not sure yet what’s causing them. So far not under control either.
She’s bracing for the worst. But she told me up where she is, in Park City, there’s a vet that comes to your house to euthanize a pet.
I wanted that for Dixie. More than anything. Doggie hospice.
My heart was already aching.
And again, I didn’t get to say good-bye.
Old-school cakes: 5 Flavor Cake
I had the pleasure of sharing some of Aunt Regina’s recipes with Ashley West when I spent the afternoon with her recently. She cans preserves and pickles and sells them at the Denton Community Market on the Farmhouse 43 label. We featured her in a recent story to advance the fair. Ashley ended up winning six ribbons for her creations, including two blue ribbons. (I bought a jar of that blue-ribbon blueberry mojito jam last weekend. Yum.)
It was nice to spend a little time with someone who appreciates what can be found in old recipes.
Like any good cook, Aunt Regina collected a lot of cake recipes. I’ve shared a few here and here. I’ve noticed that her collection favors pound cakes. I like them, too. They are easy to make and they keep well. No fancy decorating required either. Top with fruit or whipped cream.
This one calls for a glaze. I don’t know the history of this recipe, but I checked what some Internet Peoples had to say about it. I’ve seen references to its publication in a Southern Living magazine in the 1980s. J.R. Watkins has a variation on its web site.
Given how many extracts the recipe calls for, it seems a recipe like this would have been developed in their test kitchen.
But, if it was good enough for Aunt Regina to write it down and keep it in the accordion file, then it’s a keeper.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #278
Sam (to the plumber): Well, Steve, you’ve been with us all day.
Steve: It happens sometimes.
Growing while shrinking
I’m glad we decided to etch the kids’ heights in the side of an old bookshelf from Pier I instead of on the pantry wall or some other doorway in the house.
Bookshelf etchings
When we built our little house on the Texas prairie nearly 20 years ago, this was supposed to be the last home we’d ever own. We cleared the land and planted 10 acres of pecans. We planted fruit trees and asparagus and berry beds. We started capturing the rainwater and saving it for irrigation on dry August days.
We planned the farm as a backup plan for Sam in adulthood. We were inspired in part by a kibbutz-like farm in Ohio that was a group home for adults with autism. If Sam had nothing else, he’d have the farm. We gave a lot of thought to how we would manage it as we aged, too.
When Mark died, I didn’t see the need to change the plans. The kids were still like fledglings then. Sam didn’t even have his driver’s license. Soon enough, I saw that all the plans Mark and I made only got us to the launching pad. The kids dreams are their own dreams.
In the end, they don’t care if the house they grew up in is the house I stay in. So, I’m not going to.
I’m not quite sure what comes next, but it starts with packing, and donating, and finding better homes for things, and throwing things away.
That wobbly old pine wood bookcase from Pier 1 has really yellowed, but I’m going to keep it. It’ll have a place of honor in my next kitchen, holding all the cookbooks, wherever that may be.
Home Sweet Home
August, 2014
Saying farewell to that summer abroad …
… and shameless parental bragging. She may have more video to share, but if you want to see it, go over to Wandering Seoul on YouTube and subscribe.
Siri, Hannah and Paige
Paige graduates from the school of world experiences. Here’s part two of her video blog from Busan.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #277
Sam: Everybody in this house needs a shower except me.
Michael: Well, good for you, Sam. Do you want a biscuit?
Sam: No, thanks. I already had breakfast.