Turning it Upside-Down

“The ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak.”  —Hans Hofmann

I’ve been feeling like a fraud this past week. I’m not who I’ve professed to be.  I haven’t been filled with gratitude, watching and taking in the little blessings of the day.  I’ve been controlling and negative.  I even yelled at my students who were laughing while I was trying to give them instructions.  After seven years of teaching, I thought I’d learned how not to be a yeller. Apparently not.  Sure, I have lots of legitimate reasons for being crabby.  I won’t go into them because who doesn’t?  But I have to remind myself that I can’t control other people.  I can’t make them behave the way I want them to.  All I can do is work on behaving how I want me to.  How do you get to Carnegie Hall?  Practice!

Lately I’ve been practicing being a wino.  Every night I look forward to watching a show on my laptop while sipping a glass of wine (I admit, another half a glass after that) and munching on a couple of rice cakes (or three to go with the next half glass of wine).  What’s the harm in that?  Of course, I can’t write or paint or practice my sax or clean or pay bills because I’m a bit . . . loose, shall we say?  So when I complain about not having time to write or get things taken care of, I have a legitimate reason.  I need to relax at night.  I’m entitled, right?

A little teeny weeny voice inside tells me, hmm, it might not be the best way to go on this.  Today I’m taking another look.  And I’ve had a little help.  For some reason the volume on my computer is low.  I didn’t do it.  I can’t figure out how to get it high enough to watch any shows online.  I see this as one of those little blessings.  What a blessing to have an eye for blessings again.  Now here I am, at night of all things, writing. I’m back in business.  The necessary is speaking and I’m listening.  I may have an extra hour or more in my day to create, take care of business, list my gratitudes, or just do some of the things I enjoy, like drink wine, eat rice cakes and watch movies!

Oh, some people never learn!

But at least I’m learning how to turn things upside down a bit.  

This upside down cake is not my original recipe, but I can’t remember what magazine I got it from.  Guess I’ll need more practice stealing recipes.

Apple-Cornmeal Upside-Down Cake

1 stick unsalted butter room temp

½ c. plus ¾ c. sugar

About 4 medium apples peeled, cored of course and sliced into wedges. (Braeburn or Honey Crisp are good choices.)

¾ c. unbleached flour

2 t. baking powder

½ t. salt

1/3 c. yellow corn meal

½ boiling water

2 large eggs

1 t. vanilla extract

1/3 c. milk

I made this in a 9 inch cast iron skillet which worked beautifully.  If you don’t have one, you can use a nine inch round cake pan and butter it generously.  I buttered my skillet that way too.  The recipe says to use parchment paper if you use a cake pan and butter that too.  I don’t have patience for that but I see the reasoning.

Now onto the cooking!  Melt 2 T. in skillet over medium heat.  Add ½ c. sugar and cook until sugar dissolves and turns a golden brown, stirring occasionally for six minutes.  Mine hardened and I thought all was lost, but I kept going anyway.  Hope springs eternal.  Add apple wedges and coat gently with the caramel.  Cover and cook until apples release their juices, about five minutes.  Uncover and cook until apples are tender and caramel thickens and coats apples, about thirteen minutes.  Remove from heat and leave in cast iron skillet or transfer to your prepared pan, spreading evenly.

Combine flour, powder and salt in a small bowl.  Place corn meal in a large bowl and pour ½ c. boiling water over.  Stir to blend.  Add 6 T. butter and ¾ c. of sugar to cornmeal mixture.  Mix well and beat in eggs and vanilla.  Beat in flour mixture alternately with milk.  Blend till smooth and pour evenly over apples in the skillet.

Bake at 350 degrees about 40 minutes or until fork or toothpick comes out clean.  Cool for 5 to 10 minutes before moving a knife around the edges to loosen.  Carefully turn your cake over onto a plate and hope for the best.  I got lucky and the cake came out perfectly.  Remove the parchment paper if you used it.  Let cool about 15 minutes.  Slice and top with vanilla ice cream if you want. 

Practice makes perfect.  If you’re really lucky, you’ll have to practice this one over and over again.  Then you’ll have to practice a diet!

From Almond Demise to Almond Delight

Don’t you just love almonds?  They’re so good for you, packed full of protein and good fat.  And they’re so versatile.  You can press them into milk, sliver them and sprinkle them on top of a blueberry spice cake or a coffee cake, or you can grind them up and make a yummy almond butter.  I eat the roasted, salted ones for a snack.  I love how they snap at that first bite; the sound and feel is so fresh and new.  But after that initial pop, they get mushy in my mouth and I can’t wait till the mush is gone and I can get to the good part of the next one.  For this reason, I’ve found a solution that pleases me to no end, but ends my standing in a community.

Let me recount for you my almond demise.  A couple of years ago, six or seven friendly teachers and I attended a weekly meeting to plan our unit together. We were productive but allowed room for humor and a pinch of playfulness.  As we plotted and discussed, I pulled out my healthy protein snack and chipped away at each almond, slivering a bite, then munching it, slivering and munching.  We continued our productivity as I continued mine, enjoying each little snap, then having only a pinch of mush that was more tolerable than an entire nut of mush, until the teacher next to me stopped the meeting, turned to me and said, “Can I just say that’s really annoying?  Just put it in your mouth and eat it!”  I was dumbfounded.  I felt all eyes on me even though I didn’t see any because I was blinded by the inward focus of self-consciousness.  But I, being the fast thinker that I am, recovered quickly.  Listen to this clever retort: I smiled and said, “That’s the way I like them.”  Really snappy, right?  I slipped my almonds back into my bag and pretended it never happened.

For an entire week I was crushed.  I thought of all sorts of replies I wished I’d been quick and clear enough to punch out, most of which were insulting: “Your world must be so small to focus on how I eat,” or “Hey, be quiet.  We’re trying to have a meeting here.”  Or how about, “Thank you for teaching me how to eat.  I realize now I’ve been doing it wrong all my life.”  I couldn’t let go of this stupid little annoyance anymore than that teacher could let go of her stupid little annoyance. I was making my world much too small.  But I didn’t realize this, of course, until after the following week’s meeting. On my way into the meeting I said to two other teachers, “Hey, I brought my almonds,” hoping for a laugh of camaraderie.  My cleverness never ends!  Unfortunately, what I got instead was another grinding comment that pressed me further into despair.  One of the teachers said, “It annoyed me too.”  Someone took over my body, since I stood frozen in abandonment, and made my mouth move: “Maybe so, but would you stop a meeting to say so?”  The teacher agreed he wouldn’t have.

This stupid thing had such a hold on me.  I was angry at both teachers and constantly telling them off as I moved through my days and nights.  I got so tired of my obsession.  Finally I said a prayer, asking for help in letting this go.  One thing I know about letting go of habits, or defects, or obsessive thoughts is that they can’t just disappear, POOF! like that!  Something has to replace them.  Minutes after my prayer an idea came to me.  Maybe every time I think about these people who find me annoying, I can think about all the people in my life who love me and enjoy me, who find me fun and want to be with me.  I listed five or so people, not that there aren’t more out there.  Somewhere?  Apparently this was all I needed to replace my obsession.  My head felt as smooth as almond milk.  I was light and fresh again.

I’m going to use this same strategy today to help me get rid of the mush of a negative comment from someone, so I can appreciate the crispy moments again.

Speaking of crispy, here’s a recipe that’s crispy on the top and holds a mush of the most desirable kind on the inside.

Blueberry Spice Cake

2 1/8 c. water

1 stick unsalted butter
3 c. unbleached flour
½ t. salt
1½ t. baking soda
¾ t. baking powder
1½ c. sugar
½ t. cinnamon
½ t. nutmeg
½ t. cloves

¼ t. ginger

2 eggs, slightly beaten

1 c. blueberries

½ c. walnuts

Topping:

2 T. butter melted

¼ c. brown sugar

½ t. cinnamon

¼ c. sliced almonds (It might be easier to buy them that way rather than chipping them off with your teeth.)

Heat water and butter in a sauce pan until the butter is melted.  Let it cool while you mix the dry ingredients together.  Add the wet to the dry and mix until all the lumps are gone.  Stir in slightly beaten eggs.  Gently blend in blueberries and walnuts and pour into a greased and floured 9 by 12 inch cake pan.  Combine melted butter, brown sugar, cinnamon and almonds and sprinkle over top of the cake evenly.  Bake at 375 degrees for 30-35 minutes.  Check with a fork or toothpick.  Like all of us, this recipe is a work in progress.  If I make it again, I’ll double the spices. 

Of course I’ll share this cake with the people who enjoy me.  But I might just give away some to those who got me baking this in the first place.

Channeling Joan of Arc

My mother was the daughter of a martyr.  I am, too.  And my kids make it officially a pattern.  I guess it’s a recipe we’ve had in our family for generations.  It’s not a convection that can be whipped up in just a day.  I mean, it’s not like my grandmother, my mom and I each decided, “Yes, I think I’m going to become a martyr.”  But with blind practice we all found familiarity in taking on the weight of the weak and incompetent at their first signs of failure or pain.  Once firmly tied to the stake, it’s hard to see our way free.

For the past three years or so my mom had to take over all the duties my dad had done so well for nearly sixty years.  This included all the finances and bills, half of the cooking and cleaning up and all the grocery shopping and errands. Worse, she had to take on my dad’s care.  She was truly the wrong person for the job.  It was overwhelming for her since she battled her own diminishing abilities and strength.  “Yes, but . . .” was her mantra when my siblings and I would suggest solutions like hiring someone to help or moving out of their big house into an assisted living facility.  No, she’d continue in her impossible situation with a cup of resentment and a teaspoon of self-pity.  Finally she did agree to hire some help.  Four people, two mother-and-daughter teams enriched and eased her life a bit.  She also allowed me to take over her finances and set up all her bills online with autopay.  Still, she was unable to get to the gym which would have relieved her back pain because she always had “too much to do.”  She had no time to read, a pleasure she relished.  Getting to bed before sunrise and up before sunset was a continual struggle.

In the week before she was hospitalized, she complained over the phone about all this.  I asked her, “So, how’s life, Mom?”  The weight of the question scared me the minute I spoke it.  I don’t remember her exact words, but I heard the dissolving spirit in her voice when she said it was pretty bad. 

In her critical care room, when it became clear that she wasn’t going to make it, I whispered to my unconscious mom, “It’s okay, Mom.  We’re going to take care of everything.” 

I’m happy to report we’re keeping that promise, my siblings and I.  My brother and his family are taking great care of my parents’ dog, giving him a happy life.  We’ve sold their house and are keeping valued antiques in the family.  My dad is more active and stronger now than when he was at home.  And between my brother and me, he sees family daily. 

Over the past weeks I’ve felt the heat at my feet.  My dad’s financial and medical matters splattered all of my days.  Contacting agencies is no easy task with those circular transfers and repeated requests for numbers only to hear, “Our offices are closed.  Please call back during regular business hours of . . .”  I spent too much time sorting mail for my daughter, son, upstairs neighbor, dad and even a letter for my daughter’s dog!  Me?  The gal who needs a rake to clean her house?  The gal whose approach to sorting mail is to leave it for a year until it’s all irrelevant?  I’m truly the wrong person for the job.  It was all so overwhelming.  The worst part was I couldn’t call my mom to tell her about it.  I felt just like my mom did only I had all my original pain-free parts tied to the same stake she’d been bound to.

In my hour of desperation, I found the strength to turn to a friend I knew I could trust.  Her empathy and concern went a long way.  She encouraged me to turn over some of the burden to my siblings.  I was able to see past that mantra, “Yes, but . . .” and find one task to turn over.  The very next day, another opportunity jumped in my path.  I almost let it grab me by the neck, but in an instant I recognized it as a chance to practice a swift deflection.  My move left me feeling victoriously light while the other guy was a bit miffed but unharmed. 

No one asked me to take on these jobs.  Mostly it makes sense that I did. I now hold that I am truly the right person for the job.  I’m richer in many ways.  For one thing, I’m becoming more organized and efficient which makes me feel a little more grown up.  More important is the sweeter bond and affection my dad and I are developing.  But the biggest gem of all is that I’m learning how to loosen the shackles of isolation, see past the flames and reach out for help, even though it’s hard.  This, I now understand, is the most powerful part of the promise I made in the hospital.  I see it now as my gift to my mom.  In a squiggly line way, maybe her letting go is her gift to me.   

Following a family recipe for martyrdom is easy.  It’s easier to take on more than to take the time to pass along knowledge or even let go of the arrogance that I’m the only one who can do it well.  Sometimes it’s easier to do it myself than to face resistance or mistakes of others.  But old ideas about what’s good and healthy have become antiquated.  Making space for healthier ingredients takes practice: experimenting, failing, trying again with a few different spices.

Today I’m so grateful for a little bit of growth, the competence of others and a healthier recipe, and the last lesson from my mom.

Here’s the soup recipe my mom loved, that I rarely made because it was so much work and only I can do it right so you might as well just not make it.

Lentil Vegetable Soup

3 c. green lentils

5 c. boiling water

½ pearled barley

½ large onion chopped

3 cloves garlic sliced thinly or pressed

3 cans diced tomatoes (seasoned with oregano and basil is fine)

2 t. oregano

2 t. basil

Salt and pepper to taste

Red pepper flakes if your diners can handle it

Juice of one lemon

2 medium sized carrots sliced

1 stalk of celery chopped (if organic is in season)

Two potatoes chopped

Handful of green beans, cut

½ pepper chopped (any or all: green, yellow, orange, red, whatever organic is in season)

1 c. chopped broccoli

Small package of mushrooms, sliced

½ large zucchini quartered and sliced

½ large yellow squash quartered and sliced

1 package frozen chopped spinach or 3-4 leaves of fresh kale chopped

1 c. frozen or fresh sweet corn

Soak lentils in boiled water for an hour.  Pour into pan with water.  Add onions and garlic and bring to boil.  Simmer on low boil for about 30 to 45 minutes.  Boil barley separately in one and ½ c. water for about 25 to 23 minutes.  Add spices, lemon and tomatoes to lentils and bring to boil again.  Add carrots, celery and potatoes.  Boil for ten minutes or so.  Add green beans and peppers.  Boil for another five to 7 minutes.  Add mushrooms and zucchini and cook another five minutes.  Finally add corn, kale and cooked barley. If the soup isn’t flavorful enough, one or two teaspoons of balsamic vinegar will give it more depth.  Try one t. first.  It goes a long way.

Whew!  That’s a lot.  Toil, toil.  You may want to turn over the chopping to someone else.  Break free of your ties and get out before the flames rise too high.

Learning From the Best

“Example is not the main thing in influencing others.  It is the only thing.”—Albert  Schweitzer

You know what’s wrong with the world today?  People always talk about what’s wrong with the world today.  It’s an easy cruise to board and the smorgasbord of complaints is seductive.  But the rudder keeps you going in circles and you never dock anywhere. 

High school teachers, like their high school students, are quick to join in on complaining about work load, their higher ups and about their peers.  It’s all very high school. I admit I’m not immune to it.  I’m still not past my complaining addiction.  Like our students, I believe I have plenty to complain about.  So let me just take a few moments to act as the cruise line spokesperson and voice a few of these gripes.

CPS (Chicago Public Schools) is a broken system.  We house broken students who come from broken families, and yeah, many broken teachers and administrators.  Doing the same thing harder, like adding forty-five minutes to the school day will not fix that mix. Just this week a student stood in the hall cursing out a teacher.  After leaving school he tried to come back in but refused to be searched.  He was arrested and taken away in a paddy wagon, and only then did the police discover a loaded forty-five in his backpack.  Was that the additional forty-five they’re talking about?   

We are told that relationship is key to effective teaching, yet we are spread so thin.  Many teachers, including me, have more students in classrooms than is legal.  We are asked to take on so many extras that there is limited time to spend with kids inside and outside of class for extra help or mentoring.

Accountability is depersonalized and put on paper.  In a field that is all about relationship, art and passion, we are sorely sidetracked by the required transparency to the masses.  So big!  Yet in my seven and a half years in the same school, I’ve been observed by administration twice and only once has a parent been in my classroom.

Teachers too often live by the “Do as I say, not as I do” rule. Like students, they don’t always listen.  In meetings they work on their Ipads knowing that the speaker will assume they are taking notes or pulling up the document on display.  In a town hall meeting last week for our assigned group of two hundred kids, teachers who should have been asking students to listen to the speaker were instead talking themselves or working on their laptops.  

Do you see how I’ve been circling?  Are you ready to jump ship yet?  Well, I’m ready to put down my megaphone.  Now where’s my lifeboat? 

Oh, here it comes: Every Monday after school I get rescued by the Peace Club.  This group of freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors are firmly docked in ideas and action.  Once a week I get to join these friendly, kind, gentle, creative kids who want to do good things.  They decide what they care about and set a plan to make a small contribution in a positive direction.  They don’t complain.  They don’t overthink a problem.  They just design and sell t-shirts to raise money for our sister school in Tanzania.  They want peace for animals so they order posters announcing rewards for reporting dog fighting.  They want people to be more polite in school so they make posters of polite words.  They want peace in their neighborhood so they are organizing a peace rally and activities for a week of peace at school.  They are innocents contributing to peace through their art, their relationships and their passions.  And they are some of the best teachers at our school. 

My teachers in the Peace Club remind me, by example, that time spent on what I can do, no matter how small a contribution, is more effective than complaining and focusing on the huge broken mix.  I, too, can strive to be an example of a kind, gentle and positive human being.  I can strive to have faith that my small contributions can have some influence in the world and I can let go of the outcome.  I can strive to surround myself with the positive teachers instead of gorging on the seductive array of complaints that are real.  Better to feed the positive spirit in me.

I like to feed the positive spirit in the students, too.  I think today I’ll make peanut butter cookies to take to my life boat tomorrow.

Peanut Butter Cookies

1c. peanut butter

1 c. butter softened

1 c. brown sugar

1 c. white sugar

2 eggs

2 t. baking soda

2 ½ c. unbleached white flour

I’m going to let the peanut butter and butter sit out to warm up, that way creaming them together will be smooth sailing.  Then I’ll stir in brown sugar, then the white.  I’ll add one egg at a time, beat it up a little and stir after each one.  I’ll drop baking soda into the flour and add ½ of this mix to the wet ingredients so stirring is easier.  Then I’ll add the rest.  I’ll bet some of the Peace Club members like chocolate so I’ll dollop one batch without chips and the other with chips onto an ungreased cookie tray, flatten with a fork and cook at 375 degrees for about 12 minutes. 

See how I lead by example rather than telling you what to do?  Thanks for attending Cookies 101.

Peace Out!