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Posts Tagged ‘writing’

I found this picture on my laptop this morning. I must have downloaded it to share as part of the slide deck that was shown during his memorial service. This fishing trip must have been ten years ago. I know I have pictures of an older Steve with shovel in hand working in the garden, planting his basil and staking tomatoes. I have pictures of him in his woodworking shop making our dining table. There are pictures of him in the kitchen with his walker coaching whomever in how to do things like cooking salmon, making pesto or aioli. And I have pictures of him in his wheelchair as sous chef slicing vegetables and seasoning meat. And I have pictures of him in the bed resting or sometimes patiently waiting for someone to help us (he was fully a partner) to transfer safely from bed to chair and back again. Those pictures, those images, capture a long leg of a long journey that I am honored to have traveled for awhile at his side. It has been just over three months since he shuttled off the mortal coil, so to speak. Today is his birthday and of all the pictures I can access this is the one that surfaced out of the blue. And it the one that has become my favorite (of the moment anyway) because it captures the heart of him.

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In Virginia I grew up eating yellow onions. I remember them as small and in a mesh bag. The ones I buy up here seem gigantic in comparison. My dad also grew them. My mom used them a lot in cooking, in soups and stews, roasts, fried potatoes, etc. And I think on occasion we had white onions, perhaps Spanish onions. My dad loved raw onions on top of his greens. He used to tease my mom by taking a big bite of onion and then trying to kiss her. I wasn’t too keen on raw onions but loved the aroma that filled the air as they cooked. As I grew up and made my way out into the world I was introduced to the great variety of onions and tastes and textures. But again mostly cooked.

Early in our relationship Steve didn’t so much woo me by taking me out to eat. He was more inclined to prepare a meal however humble. A favorite was simply toasted bread, rubbed with garlic, a protein of some sort, maybe his homemade mayonnaise and then toppings. I was used to tomatoes but one day, after a visit to the farmer’s market, he returned with some red onions. As he sliced them, they were beautiful but when he offered me a slice I politely declined.

“Try this,” he encouraged. He made one of his little open-faced sandwiches and placed the red onion slice on top. “Please.”

With a sigh, I did so, and then said, genuinely, “That tastes good!”

He looked at me and said with a weird sincerity. “I love you.”

Steve and I bonded over food and I think that’s why it is so hard to eat without him. I certainly do eat but I find that sometimes, especially when I am home alone, it helps to lean into the creativity and it is in that creation that an appetite forms. So it is to slice an onion and slow roast it so that the aroma fills the air as I prepare another part of the meal. It is to purchase those vegetables that Steve wasn’t so inclined towards, like cabbage versus his much-beloved brussel sprouts, sauteing spinach (he preferred fresh if he must) with garlic and red pepper flakes. Lots of pepper, black and jalapeno, in meals these days where appropriate. I need flavor. I still have a porch full of fresh herbs and they too provide inspiration that leads to creativity.

I did develop an appetite for mushrooms from him. And though in a previous post I called him stubborn for trying to continue thinly slicing his shitake mushrooms instead of a more rustic chop given his physical challenges, I do find myself in a quiet peaceful place when I now thinly slice the mushrooms and, yes, on occasion, I do smile.

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… what a beautiful path. And that path was so soft and spongy with the fallen evergreen needles from above. The pond was busy today because it was such a lovely day before school resumes. So many children being taught how to fish. It made me smile because Steve had tried to share the pleasure of fishing with me here once, and later, as he was recovering after his stroke, one of his caregivers asked if it would be okay to take Steve fishing. They did indeed make the trek to this particular pond while I was at work and the caregiver sent me pictures. They didn’t catch anything. It was probably one of the last times Steve went fishing. As I walked along the paths adjacent to the water I thought about mobility and access which my journey with Steve these past years has made hyper-aware in my mind as I parade about in the world.

It has been a long time since I have wandered through a wooded area, suburban or wild, without thought to time. It was a pleasurable few hours of just wandering about, following the light and shadows. I actually engaged in conversation with a professional photographer after she asked was I seeing anything good as I leaned over a footbridge. As we chatted, she said, “You’re only a professional if you make money.” I don’t know about that.

I missed, as my Uber took the turn to take me home, that I could not tell Steve about my adventures, about the fall of light and shadows, the photographer chatting with me that same as when we together years before at another venue and a bird watcher wanted to tell us about 300 warblers. There was a welling of emotion and … with the tears there is always laughter or at least a smile. And for that I am grateful and heartened. We’ll see what future weekends hold for journeys with the camera into nature. It was a good day for all sorts of reasons.

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… how these turn out. It seemed like a good idea on Friday perusing the farmers market in Copley Square. Big beautiful baskets of mixed peppers. I need to keep busy and creative. Why not make some pickled peppers? 🙂

I’ve made pickles before but usually with cucumbers and/or thin slices of red onion. People seemed to appreciate them. This time, with the peppers, I added some garlic harvested from the garden. The cloves were small but the flavor very good.

I didn’t remember to pull on gloves but I did remember this time (ahem) to wash my hands after cutting the peppers before accidentally rubbing my eyes or eating a snack.

Probably the simplest recipe I’ve tried. Just a simple brine poured over the peppers and garlic. I’ve sometimes added fresh herbs. With the cucumbers I would have added some peppercorn. Uhm, not needed here.

Two jars. If tasty … I’ll know more tomorrow once they’ve had a chance to sit in the fridge for a bit … then one to keep and probably one to give away. What’s my favorite phrase? We’ll see … 🙂

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I’m actually having to wear a sweater as I sit on the porch this morning. It rained in the early hours though not enough based on the level of water in the birdbath. A gray day but still bright. A light that makes the white blooms luminous and the reds muted. Classical music wafts from the interior out here to me. As I look around I can see maybe one task for today out here, to properly plant the lemon verbena purchased this weekend.

The sorrel and sage I planted right away. Did a lot of deadheading this weekend and rearranging of chairs and small tables. Basically I reworked the accommodations that had been made for Steve’s wheelchair and long legs needing a significant turn radius to maneuver in and out of the house. So I made the sitting space tighter and more intimate and then clumped flowers, herbs and foliage for density. Then there’s some “white space” between the sitting area and the ramp. Nope haven’t removed the ramp yet. It’s actually convenient and it may prove useful if I need to roll some of the big pots into the house for overwintering.

The plants bordering the ramp are a bit chaotic if bright. Just playing around unprofessionally with color and height. I tend to buy what I can find in a moments notice, especially items on sale, and what I can ferry home by Uber or public transportation. I know that garden centers will deliver big pots/plants but I’m not ready for that investment. Maybe, for landscaping on the ground, in the spring. We’ll see.

So much of what evolved in this little garden space is a balance for my aesthetic desires and Steve’s strong interest in functionality and purpose. For instance he could appreciate the beauty of the strawflower and its biology … but they’re not edible and could a small tomato plant instead fit in that space? 🙂

We sure did have some interesting, ahem, conversations about edible flowers. You see, I bought several books on the subject. One day years ago I walked around the house and picked the petals of edible flowers, maybe a tulip and/or orchid. When Steve walked through the door, home for work, I just handed him the flowers and said, “Eat this.” He did and then raced for a sip of red wine (his go to medicinal when something tasted off) and then asked, “Why are you trying to kill me?” I held up the book. He threw up his arms. “Just because it’s edible doesn’t mean it tastes good!”

On this porch, our last one together, there are many culinary herbs. Of course, the basil, several pots, chives and oreganos, thymes, lavender and now the lemon verbena. I have to admit the chocolate mint is thriving and starting to smell better and better to me. There was a part of me soon after things happened where I considered just letting things go to seed and as things died I would simply clear the porch and not fill in … and then I could hear Steve’s voice. “Dear one, don’t be ridiculous.”

There is joy and well as tears in sitting on the porch whether quietly with a beverage or on the phone with friends as I juggle the phone and trying to put dirt in a pot. So far, so far, I have been able to make myself harvest something from the porch each evening for dinner. It is hard but can be fun to take a few moments to google how to use rosemary and oregano together and so on. When I shared with a friend at work about giving away the pinched basil because Steve was not here to make pesto, he said, “Understandable. And when you’re ready to make your own pesto, bring me some.” I agreed.

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Math. English. Religion.

As I’ve been cleaning up I stumbled upon a small cache of papers Steve had written for these courses fifty years ago. I wish I had found them earlier so I could have asked him some pointed questions. The only things he ever told me about his undergraduate years was dating and of climbing the school walls to practice rock climbing. Why he saved these five papers I can’t even imagine. To even make my way through the first paragraphs of some of the papers I have to stop and google to fill in my ignorance. I now know after reading “Caliban and Thersites: A Comparison” that Thersites was a deformed warrior or as Steve wrote:

“Caliban from The Tempest and Thersites of Troilus and Cressida are two of Shakespeare’s less lovable characters. Their major similiarity is that they are deformed. In this paper we will explore the effects of their deformaties on their characters.

In the list of characters of Troilus and Cressida Thersites is described as “a deformed and scurrilous Greek.” Wesbster’s definition of “scurrilous” is “using or given to the language of buffoonery; being vulgar and evil.” This does not quite seem to fit. Thersites does not use the language of buffoonery; this can be established easily by comparing his language to Ajax, who is indeed a buffoon. While Thersites is vulgar, certainly, he cannot be called evil; Iago of Othello is evil, and Thersites does not measure up. …”

Now I did happen to ask Steve a few years ago, assuming but of course he would have read Shakespeare, what was his favorite play and he said The Tempest. He received a B on the paper with the professor writing, “A brief study but it contains original thinking …”

Now I had heard tell of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. So for his paper, “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern as Existentialist Characters,” Steve begins:

“Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are among the most shabbily dealt with of all the characters in Shakespeare’s plays. They don’t seem totally believable, which makes them probably unique among Shakespeare’s creations. Tom Stoddard, in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, has developed a more modern explanation for their existence, in existential terms.“

And concludes:

“The obvious connection Stoddard is making is between Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of Hamlet and the existential vision of the human condition. There are obvious parallels between Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead and Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot ...”

To which Steve’s professor commented that would make a great topic for a full length study. Steve received a B. The paper on Ghandi was the most lengthy. Received a B. And then there are the A papers …

Steve was a wonderful writer and a great editor for me up until the end. His feedback for me, depending on the writing project, was to not assume what the reader knows but to guide them along. Of all the papers his “Axiomatic Models and the Universe,” I have enjoyed most of all. In part as I read I hear his voice. He wrote so clearly about complex ideas though of course for him it wasn’t complex.

“Implicit in the structure of any axiomatic model is the concept of causality. If we ask Newton why the planet Mars is in a particular place at a particular time, he might say that it follows a defined orbit. What causes it to follow this orbit? It moves in such a way that the centripetal force pulling it away from the sun equals the gravitational force pulling it in. When we ask what causes these forces, we are told, “They are inherent in matter.” We have returned to the axioms. In general, if in the model a proposition A implies a proposition B, then in the “real world” the event related to A is the cause of the event related to B.” Let us perform a thought experiment. We shall create a universe ...”

From the professors’ comments and questions in the margins you could tell he was thoroughly engaged. On the final page the professor notes that it was a very interesting and imaginative paper, well writte, nicely constructed and an excellent effort. A-

The final paper is handwritten on lined paper. It is yellowed and crumbling. As much as Steve complained about his handwriting it was quite legible back then. No title but it opens, “This paper is an attempt to apply the scholastic method, as J. C. Murray explains it, to try to explore what seems to be an intersection between formal logic and theology.“

Now Steve and I didn’t talk about this stuff. We didn’t need to but one night early on … shortly after I’d met him and said I wasn’t interested … I was walking along and I sat on a bench and looked up at the sky. There was a rainbow around the moon. And for some reason, of all the people I knew, I decided to call this quirky science guy I’d just met. I described to him what I saw and then he proceeded to tell me about a light bending and splitting and so on and so forth. I cut him off and said indignantly, “Hey, I was describing something beautiful.” And he replied matter of factly, “And so was I.”

Perhaps I will scan them and share with his children so they can glimpse another side of their father. It was a lovely surprise to find them today.

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