Can you or I or anyone know?

Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow,
Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow,
Can you or I or anyone know
How oats, peas, beans, and barley grow?

Can you or I or anyone really know where our food comes from now? My students don't believe milk comes from cows. Milk comes from a box, just like high fructose corn syrup juice drinks come from a box or a pouch. You pull the straw off the side of the box, remove the wrappers, and poke it into the box. That's how you get milk.

In our cold weather I just wanted to wrap up in a quilt and read the Kimbell Museum Cookbook or The Omnivore's Dilemma. The 1986 Kimbell cookbook was a favorite of my mother. She loved Fort Worth's Kimbell Art Museum, and the soups served in its Buffet Restaurant.



Michael Pollan's book was a Christmas gift from the Woolly Mammoth's special lady friend. Reading about genetically-modified Round-Up-Ready Monsanto corn seed gives me scary nightmares. Soup is more comforting.

The preschoolers are singing about "Pease porridge hot" this month. "Pease porridge" is such a weird concept for a kid. If Sam-I-Am should ask, I will not eat it hot or cold. I will not eat it in the pot nine days old.

Sam-I-Am can ask all night. Sam can ask all day. I will not eat his "curds and whey". Don't bring them on a silver tray. I will not eat them on a tuffet. I will not eat with Warren Buffett.

Tell Sam-I-Am I won't eat gruel. Unless you're Scrooge it isn't cool. I will not eat it at my school.

In fact, I'm fond of cottage cheese with black pepper and fresh tomato slices, and often eat it at my school. The soups I made in the cold weather improved the longer they simmered and blended flavors. When I froze portions, and then reheated them, my soups made of peas, beans, and lentils got simply splendid. If winter drags on, I might start eating oatmeal and cream-of-wheat in the mornings. But not gruel!

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Barbershop Quartet Blindsided Me Outta Nowhere

The six-year-old held his lunchbox in his left and reached out to shake my right. "Good-bye," he said with a certain timing that stirred a song deep within my LaBrea tarpit memory.

"Good-bye," I sang as I shook his hand, "my Coney Island baaaaa-byyyy. Farewell my own true love, true love my honey. I'm gonna go away and leeeeeeave you...never to see you any, never gonna see you anymore."

Google has not been much help this evening as I tried to understand my straw boater flashback. It's useful to remember that the internet is not the most reliable of sources. A quick search led me to sites claiming the song was written by Les Applegate or Les Appleton in 1924, or 1945, or 1948, possibly, but no, not really for "No, No, Nanette".

It doesn't matter. The student is mildly stunned, but resting comfortably at his home. He doesn't know what will happen the next time he shakes my hand. I don't either, but I'm not telling him.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

January attitude adjustment

A three year old girl is learning the names of different boats. She names the sailboat, tugboat, tanker, canoe, and the "summertime spring". Yes, we all live in a yellow summertime spring! We just thought we were the fish on the January hook of an ice fisherman in Quebec, but our chilly attitude needs adjustment.

I don't know if my student is channeling the Beatles or Raffi, but her wonderful mangled "submarine" propelled me through a ridiculously cold day in North Texas. If you feel submerged in Arctic waters, try singing

[So we sailed on to the sun,
Till we found the sea green,
And we lived beneath the waves,
In our yellow submarine,...]

We all live in a summertime spring
a summertime spring
a summertime spring...


© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Out of Control

So many lesson plans and calendars for the new semester to cut and paste. So many websites to link. I've been out of control for several days, unable to Ctrl+C, Ctrl+X, Ctrl+V, or Ctrl+N. The Ctrl key bit the dust on the Compac keyboard I found in a closet when my "real" keyboard died many months ago. I've become accustomed to limping along, just barely hanging on. I've coped with the quirks in this age of austerity. The latest failure, though, a total lack of Ctrl, was too much to bear. I'm already dealing with a parent in a skilled nursing facility. I shouldn't have to cope with an incontinent and demented keyboard, too!

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Frosty gets a glimpse of his own mortality

Sorry for all the posts about fickle fame and fleeting forever! Time to get more upbeat for the new decade.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Mix Forever

The post office has "Forever" stamps that make you think you are investing for your retirement. Seems like the time is here for a "Forever" music format.

Some people want Jetson flying cars and colonies on Mars. I want to buy a Layla recording that will keep updating to new technology forever guaranteed.

Like Tommy Lee Jones' character, Kay, in Men In Black, I keep buying the White Album again. And Workingman's Dead and Dave Brubeck's Take Five.

The US Postal Service announced Cowboys of the Silver Screen stamps for release in April, 2010. I get a kick out of the Tom Mix stamp because Mix allegedly tended bar at the Blue Belle Saloon in Guthrie, Oklahoma before his movie career. We spent a lot of time in Guthrie a couple decades ago. My sons barely remember living in Oklahoma, and rarely use snail mail. Movie cowboys were already disappearing from the silver and technicolor screens when I was in elementary school.

Have movie cowboys made the many technology transitions from the Silver Screen to DVD and beyond? Becoming postage stamp idols probably won't create a new generation of fans. Forever is getting more elusive all the time.

Tom Mix from the USPS website:
Tom Mix (1880-1940) was one of the most celebrated Western film stars of the 1920s. He wowed movie crowds and live audiences alike with his daredevil riding, expert rope handling, unerring marksmanship, and rugged good looks. He also served as a role model for a generation of schoolchildren, maintaining a wholesome screen persona that involved “no cussin’ and no drinkin’” by his characters. A legend in his own time, Mix wore oversize Stetsons, fancy suits, and handmade Texas boots with engraved silver spurs. He rode “Tony, the wonder horse,” who also became an audience favorite.

The stamp art is by freelance illustrator Robert Rodriguez, whose work has been featured on more than a dozen previous stamps. Rodriguez based his portrait of Tom Mix on a likeness of the actor that appeared on the Cupid’s Round Up (1918) movie poster.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

LeachGate

I never played the game, as Howard Coselle would say, but I've found Mike Leach an interesting character. He's provided lots of entertainment on and off the field through Danger Baby's Texas Tech years. It's been depressing to follow the rapid implosion of the Pirate's coaching career this week.

Major family events coincided with round-the-clock coverage of famous demises and faux news all year:

• Michael Jackson died the day we moved my father into assisted living in June.
• The balloon-boy hoax held the nation's attention the weekend of my son's wedding.
• My last trip to see Dad at Thanksgiving was marked by the Tiger Is A Flawed Mortal drama.

None of these stories rocked my world. But, this week as we moved Dad into the skilled care wing, LeachGate pulled me in. I became part of the onlooker delay on the freeway, gaping at the massive collision of celebrity, fame, poor choices, notoriety, and ego. Mike Leach crashed and burned quickly, instead of leading a slow Bronco chase.

I blame it all on O.J. and Kato.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

The Trouble with Truffles

So many chocolates in fancy containers, so little time. The candy seems to keep multiplying, first taking over the kitchen counter, then the coffee table. The truffles seem harmless at first. Shiny wrappers. Tempting aroma. Impressive names and pedigrees. Soon they are filling and flowing out of the ventilation system.

Captain Kirk's Starship Enterprise is eventually overrun with fuzzy, cheeping rodinks. CollageMama's condo is overrun with cute truffles.

No more presents! Just let me play in the gift box!



© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Tiffany butterflies with my youngest

The Malachite butterfly flitted to the leaf and settled to pose for my camera. It's irridescent wings shone in the late afternoon sunlight inside the Sammons Butterfly House. I'd seen many larger, totally uncooperative Blue Morpho butterflies. This green gem wanted to be photographed, and then wanted to show off its underwings. Once I caught my breath again, the Malachite waited for me to fetch the Woolly Mammoth and his lady friend to appreciate the sight.

The underside seems to be fashioned of the thinnest slices of jade pieced together with copper in a lapidary jeweler's creation. "Metallic oxide" popped into my head along with "Louis Comfort Tiffany". This butterfly may have inspired Tiffany's glass designs.

I was fortunate to share the Dallas Museum of Art's splendid exhibit of Tiffany creations with my Woolly Mammoth son in 2006. Sharing an afternoon at the Sammons Butterfly House in Fair Park will be another wonderful memory. I am grateful to have this special connection with my son, nature, art, and with his new friend.



© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

I'm dreaming of a surfer Christmas

I'm glad the Obamas are spending a week or so in Hawaii. I hope the little girls are loving the island fashions. Maybe Michelle is checking out the Hawaiian quilting tradition.


When I was a child our very generous next door neighbor used to bring us Christmas gifts from Hawaii. We loved dressing up in shirts or muu-muus with bold floral patterns, leis and seed bracelets.

The guys behind the post office counter at 8:30 this morning looked like Maytag repairmen. This must be the slowest mail day of the year after a month of postal mania. When I told the man I couldn't stand any more Liberty Bells he was glad to show me some Hawaii statehood surfer stamps. I'm hearing that Hawaii Five-O theme song!

When the International Quilt Study Center opened in Lincoln, Nebraska, I saw my first Hawaiian quilt. It resembled a child's folded cut-out snowflake in red and white, but with island vegetation shapes. As a paper-cutter, I was intrigued. New England missionaries brought the idea of quilting to the Hawaiian natives in the early 1800s, along with new fabrics. There's something wonderful about the quilts that makes me feel a sweet aloha dream must be guaranteed for every user, Presidents included.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Runza-making as stress relief

My pre-Christmas to-do list has been jettisoned. All my intentions of super-cleaning have gone down the tube as I deal with my father's mandatory move from assisted living to skilled care. My sister will do the actual dirty work of flying into Lincoln and managing the physical move. I will handle the multiple daily calls to help Dad understand what is happening and why.

Garrison Keillor would prescribe catsup or rhubarb pie at a time like this, but I'm going with runzas. Danger Baby and I are making runzas together so that he can learn. Now that he lives in the Windy City he appreciates this winter food. He will take a batch of frozen runzas to his future in-laws as an offering of traditional comfort food from one family to another.

Runzas are a taste tradition in Lincoln, Nebraska. They have a German ancestry and are called bierocks by Kansans. The first Runza Drive-In was a little shack on the road out to Pioneers Park southwest of Lincoln. It opened in 1949.

Runzas are traditional Cornhusker football food. They are believed to cure winter headcolds and to get students through finals week.

For awhile the Runza location closest to the UNL campus was called “Rock and Roll Runza”. The servers wore rollerskates. That’s probably where Danger Baby ate his first runza.

A runza is a spicy meat filling baked inside a bread dough. Each year I work from two or three recipes to concoct my version. This is my best understanding to date:

Filling
In a large, heavy skillet brown 2 lbs. ground beef. As you chop them add in 2/3 head green cabbage, 1 onion, 2 cloves garlic chopped fine, 2 stalks celery chopped fine. Add 2 T water. Simmer, stirring often. Drain grease, then add 1 T worchestershire sauce, ½ t oregano, 1 t pepper, and salt to taste. Remove from heat and cool in refrigerator.

Dough
Thaw one package (3 loaves) of Bridgford Ready-Dough according to package directions. Let rise according to directions. Punch down. Pinch off balls of dough as big as a large lemon. Roll each ball on a floured board with a floured rolling pin until it is at least 4”x8”. Add ½ cup of filling. Bring the sides of dough together, then the ends, and pinch securely. Place on greased cookie sheet pinched side down. Leave a space between runzas. Let rise again. Freeze at this point, or else bake at 375 degrees for 20 minutes.
Makes 18 runzas.


© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Odor and texture memory

I caught just the slightest scent of a wet brown paper sack today, and was transported nearly a half century back in time to the brown singlefold paper towels in the restrooms at my elementary school. Those paper towels didn't dry hands so much as chap them. Then I could feel and smell the weird, gritty powdered soap that came out of the dispensers at the sinks. Don't know what that stuff was made of since it sure didn't lather. It just scoured the dirt, paint, nose goobies, and graphite off of us.

Elementary school was not for wimps!

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

A letter of appreciation to my control-top pantyhose

The best discussion at the library today involved the proper way to thank a donor who contributes to an organization every year. Just in case the usage police were out in force, we weighed the pros and cons for appreciating "continued support" against "continuing support".

The longer I pondered, the more I thought about Leggs control top pantyhose. Do pantyhose provide continued support or continuing support? Mostly pantyhose are a source of persistent irritation. They sag and bag around my ankles, or the saddle migrates south toward my knees. I'm continually thankful for a job that rarely requires donning pantyhose.

Men should not wear pantyhose for many enduring reasons. Primarily, they can't distinguish between nude, "barely there", buff, beige, taupe, coffee, and suntan in the hosiery department. I'm constantly grateful that the popularity of "suntan" pantyhose and Yardley white lipstick peaked while I was in junior high.

When stuck in such a usage dilemma, I usually try to substitute a completely different word. So I suggested replacing continuing or continued with "constant". Thank you for your constant support... Another person suggested "faithful". Dogs are faithful, but annual contributors don't want to think they are the dog. As Sally asked Harry, "Is one of us supposed to be a DOG in this scenario?"

That dog is Lassie. What's up with the continuous yapping? It's so annoying. You say Timmy fell in the well again, and he's dropped the thesaurus too?

Somewhere between persistent and sustaining we can find the properly nuanced word for reliably donating to a worthy cause. Then we can acknowledge the donation in a proper manner.

"Persisting" sounds like an itchy rash that defies treatment. "Sustain" is what honey and condensed milk do for Winnie-the-Pooh. "Continued" has problems with being postponed, adjourned, interrupted or resumed at the city council meeting. "Enduring", "unfaltering", and "needing no renewal" are all synonyms for "continuing". Of course, we always want donors to renew, or none of us would get so many letters from charities this time of year.

I've never had a pair of pantyhose that endured. Even the ones with continuous support falter.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Cold-fingered latte drinkers and other birds

Our three-hour guided bird walk at Connemara Meadow Preserve yielded good views of ruby crowned kinglets, American crow, red-shouldered hawks, flocks of cedar waxwings and Eastern bluebirds, kestrel (sparrow hawk), house finches, goldfinches, cardinals, tufted titmouse, Northern flicker, red-bellied woodpecker, gull, mallards, Canada geese, mockingbirds, Carolina chickadee, robins, cowbirds, and starlings. This was my first ever bird hike with binoculars, and I got better as the morning went on. It was a dark, cloudy, windy, damp morning, so it was difficult to see bird colors. The temperature stayed near 37 degrees.

More experienced birders also saw Carolina wren, yellow-rumped warbler, ring-neck ducks, widgeons, and identified sparrows. After squishing through the swampy part of the lower meadow, we were blue-footed shiverers, but our best sightings were made in the pecan woods and the land conservancy area near the tree farm.

My companions were overjoyed with the flock of Eastern bluebirds flitting in the young trees. My most exciting views were the ruby-crowned kinglets at very close range in the brush by the road, and the tufted titmouse with its pinkish tummy.

The walk was a wintery attitude adjuster, and I feel more ready to tackle Christmas projects at home and with my students. A pleasant visit in the Market Street coffee shop was nice for warming inside and out.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Get smarter with nuked soup

The problem with American schools is soup. Our students are stunted in their education by Chef Boyardee, Campbell's Soups, and Kraft macaroni and cheese. There's only so much teachers can do when we are up against the dumbed-down microwave pasta powerhouses.

Thanks to a student who calls Roman numerals, "Ramen noodles" this solution became clear to me. We need macaroni that teaches! We need Campbells vegetable soup with Roman numerals instead of ABCs and 123s. We need Kraft mac and cheese with Greek columns instead of Scooby Doo and Sponge Bob.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder