From the sublime to the ridiculous

Yay Thomas Paine. We all remember that; the ridiculous is a step above the sublime, the sublime a step above the ridiculous.

Just a week ago we potted up some beautiful mandevillas. I've always known not to trust the first of May. We've spent a week at near freezing temps, and I've told them every day, "Hang tough!" And every day they have.

But last night I knew I'd pushed the poor things too far. Temps in the thirties are passable, but twenties not. The only set of sheets I own are on my bed. I called friends for newspapers. No one reads newspapers these days.

My eye fell on the two extra large purple bath towels on my shelf, and there is one more hanging in the bathroom. I had safety pins. I could manage this.

These towels have been so long on the shelf, the grid is imprinted. The safety pins were in the last place I looked.

It was snowing as I covered the plants. The ground was white this morning. The temperature barely got to forty today and will go down to freezing again tonight. I left the wraps on.

I wonder how the alium will survive. Every day they are closer to being in bloom.

Here it is yesterday. It looks about the same this morning. Perhaps it's frozen! One more night, and it will be spring.

Last week I worked on a totally new and different project. I put together a GoFundMe for my neighbor. She is a breast cancer survivor, a double mastectomy and silicon implants to replace breast tissue. Now they are leaking and must be removed. But like so many here, she's not employed and under insured. She was willing to do this, so we did. 

I had no idea what to do, and actually have no idea what I did. Worst, I did get it on Facebook, but simply cannot get it on Instagram. I know less than nothing about social media. I'll keep reading the directions. Maybe I'll get it next week.

Looking at the purple eyes in the alien helmet up there, I'm reminded that I did not post my last display of towels.

I am reminded because I have thrown an inch or so of the next color, purple, like the alium. But, I have no picture. Tomorrow. There were purple towels from the last warp, but they sold in a flash.

Blueberry Crostata Recipe

Ingredients:

1 pint fresh blueberries (approx. 2 cups)
1/4 cup granulated sugar (plus a little more for sprinkling)
1 1/2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 tablespoon butter, cut into pieces
1 egg
1 tablespoon water
1 store bought refrigerated pie crust (like Pillsbury)

Directions:

1. Heat oven to 425 degrees.
2. Unroll pie crust and place on a baking sheet. You can use a Silpat or parchment paper, but I just put it straight onto the baking sheet and it did fine (no greasing of pan required).
3. In a medium sized bowl, toss together the blueberries, cornstarch, sugar and lemon juice.
4. Spoon the mixture into the middle of the crust leaving about 2" around the edge.
5. Fold the edges over in a haphazard way (neatness does not count here). You want fruit in the middle to show.
6. Cut the butter up into 6-8 chunks and place on top of the blueberries.
7. Whisk up the egg and water in a small bowl. Brush this onto the crust and sprinkle with sugar.
8. Bake 20-23 minutes until the crust is a nice golden brown.
9. Once cooled, you can move it onto a serving plate or be all fancy and serve straight from the baking sheet.
10. This is especially yummy with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of your slice.

This is the recipe exactly as I found it, somewhere, and cut and pasted it to a page in my computer.

Now I've made it twice, once with raspberries and once with peaches. The raspberry time convinced me the egg glaze is not necessary; cooking time is half an hour for my pie crust. A regular pie crust would be best, but puff pastry is what I have.

I certainly would use a pie pan. I probably would spray it. When I run out of puff pastry, I'll use a pie crust. I put the little pastries out to thaw, and rolled into a crust when I got back to it. Yesterday was not a fine day. I'll write about it later. Here is my revised recipe, if you would like to cut and paste it:

Fruit Crostata Recipe

Ingredients:

1 pint fresh fruit (approx. 2 cups)
1/4 cup granulated sugar 
1 1/2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 tablespoon butter, cut into pieces
1 store bought refrigerated pie crust (like Pillsbury)

Directions:

1. Heat ovento 425 degrees.
2. Unroll pie crust and place in a greased pie pan. 
3. In a medium sized bowl, mix together the cornstarch, sugar and lemon juice. Fold in the fruit.
4. Spoon the mixture into the middle of the crust leaving about 2" around the edge.
5. Fold the edges over in a haphazard way (neatness does not count here). You want fruit in the middle to show.
6. Cut the butter up into 6-8 chunks and place on top of the blueberries. Or just plop the hunk in the middle.
7. Bake 20-30 minutes, until the crust is a nice golden brown.
8. This is especially yummy with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of your slice.

I don't know about the last step; I'm not an ice cream fan. Here is the first crostata I made, raspberry:

My kitchen table today

What it's like to be a bird, a book I ordered some time ago, arrived today. It's beautiful. When I've finished, I will donate it to the little Peninsula Library and Historical Society.  From flying to nesting, eating to singing, what birds are doing and why. My kind of book.

But first I actually will finish Maphead. It has become fascinating. The first chapter seemed to cover everything about geography that puts me to sleep. And it wasn't even "What is the capital of Argentina?", but those dreadful "Is New York east or west of Sydney?" sort of "knowledge".

Once Jennings dispensed with the origin of those exercises, he looks into the dimensional aspects of geography. How did Pittsburgh come to be? I'll pass this book along to my sister, who really does see the world spatially.

I've moved the orchid to the table. This plant has bloomed for ten or more years, but no little orchids last year or this. Perhaps it was missing a window, so I've obliged.

Also in the window, a cutting from a Christmas Cactus. It's been years since I started anything from a cutting. This is in a little jelly jar, and the best part so far is little white roots snaking along the jelly jar. I picked a jar that will yield easy removal when it's time for a real pot. And, I neglected to mention, several small leaves have begun.

Finally, there are five peaches in my fruit bowl. I put them in the window, too, to get a tad more ripe. But I won't be able to stand it past tomorrow, so that's the day for crostata. I'll give the real recipe, but since I saw the peaches at Kreiger's today, all I can think of is peach praline. That will fit in a crostata, too.

Memory

Yesterday was the fiftieth memorial anniversary of the Kent State University shootings. It was a small gathering, and I'm sure, poignant.  

I grew up in awe of my father, who began his life in the military at age 17. This was before recorded time, 1924. He was a radio operator, and packed his field communications on mules.

Four students were, in my understanding, massacred. Nine injured. I ventured my opinion. My father wheeled on me. "They did not obey commands!" And I shouted back, "They did nothing to die for." 

My husband and I went on a vacation early that May, camping with two daughters and friends who lived in Iowa. Everywhere we camped, young people saw our Ohio plates and gathered around our fire. "What do you know about Kent State?' the first question.

I attributed those killings to poor communication, refusal to compromise, poor understanding, but above all, willingness to belligerence. The ones with the power, thrusting out big bellies, commanding the under trained sergeant of twenty odd non war national guard  to advance and shoot the live ammunition.

In my mind's eye, when I see armed crowds advancing on state buildings, to force their version of reopening the country and its economy, I see Kent State. The militia lined along Blanket Hill, and one sergeant who the governor instructed to command "Shoot!" 

Yesterday was my last day to wallow in despair, both of the Kent State shootings so long ago, and the common attitude of probably a majority of my country, demanding what was be again. And believe me, I did wallow.

I kick started a new project today, and I hope to tell you of it soon. I must also go to the store for a couple of overlooked items, so I will buy one only (for me) of the next fruit, and bake us a new crostata pictorial.

May we emerge a new nation, somehow. There is nothing in the air worth dying for, and that includes both Corona virus and a haircut and root touch up. See how petty that sounds, written down. 

  

A week

It has been a long week of nothing to do and nowhere to go. There was a "somewhere to go"; the end of the week held out mandevillas. 

Last Monday I went grocery shopping. It was very cold, raining off and on. In the parking lot I spied a top down Corvette. Still there when I left. A very brave person.

Years ago I saved a foolproof crostata recipe. It started with a store pie crust, then a simple fruit and sugar filling. Fold the crust around the edges, bake and try to resist eating. The girls never were interested, so finally I got to it.

I made it last two days! I pulled out the sheet and scratched the egg wash and sugar glaze. The crust of a dozen puff pastry shells does not need it. When thawed, I mushed the edges together and rolled and rolled it out. Add filling, pull up edges, and bingo, it's a crostata.

I told myself, make one every time I go shopping, one fruit at a time. Blueberries, peaches, apples, cherries, maybe strawberries.

Nancy called, and I'm OK. I will be far better when I can again see friendly faces. I doubt we will play cards tomorrow. People I could count on, week after week, to be there.

Nancy told me of a series she's fallen into on Netflix, Anne, based solidly on Anne of Green Gables. I remember a PBS series, years and years ago, so I gave it a go.The first time I've watched television since last winter, Grace and Frankie.

The first afternoon I went on through so many episodes of tear jerking. Literally, my handkerchief would hold no more, and I couldn't leave for a Kleenex. Then it was dark outside, after nine. I pressed pause and went to bed. It is totally young adult, quite interesting, at least in a time of compelled isolation. And now I don't need a tissue.

Toward the end of the week I phoned another reliable and asked Jan if she and Tom would help me with mandevillas this weekend. I picked Saturday as the best potential day, and we went across the road to Suncrest Gardens. I returned with three mandevillas and a little begonia to replace the gerbera daisy that spent last winter in the living room.

I think outside now looks as if I live here:

The glass dancer who came cross country from Ellen Abbott's side yard in Texas floats serenly  in space.

Mandevilla, white, pink and red, survey the neighborhood.

My wonderful water lily from a sculptor in Michigan overlooks all.

The old crew is in place. A pot of ranunculus in front of Pig, growing to bloom.

A great pot of two small anemone in bloom and so many unknown bulbs, waiting to burst.

I can enjoy from my window. So can the cat.