Winter has made the Archipelago a barren landscape of ice and snow. Gone is the smell of summer rain, the microbial magic in the dew covered soil of the garden and the floor of the woods. The carefree bird song and warm summer breezes no longer play like music in the leafy crowns of the trees outside my open window.
This morning I saw the grey squirrels huddle on the bare branches. I watched their desperate digging deep into the lean times of January, to find one small acorn. A meager meal buried beneath Octobers fallen and forgotten colors.
It is easy for my mind to turn gloomy and my heart to grow empty when the world is cold and dark. My world becomes very small when the divide between warm shelter and the frozen landscape outside is sharply defined.
Prayer has always gotten me through these bleak and barren months. It is my hour of laying in the grass and watching the clouds roll by, which I carry with me through the day.
But watching the squirrels digging in the snow I was struck by the fact that the change of the seasons could be thought of as four lessons on the full arc of a human life.
Spring is our youth, a time we learn about what we are and what the world around us is. We watch, do and learn, take instruction from those who came before us and discern how these two halves fit together.
Summer is the first season to go out into the world and use what skills, talents, and wisdom we have developed in spring. Still learning but mostly doing to accomplish.
Autumn is a time to collect up and store the results of applying our talents and wisdom in the long days of summer work.
Winter is the lean time of old age and death. The harvest of our efforts, which we developed in spring, applied in summer, gathered and stored in autumn. What we have accumulated is the foundation of our comfort in old age. It determines our place in what lay ahead.
“As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease.” Genesis 8:22
“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” Ecclesiastes 3:11
Most often, we don’t know what we really have until it is gone.
I was reminded of that when my adoring wife left the Archipelago to visit her mom; who was recovering from dental surgery. We enjoy each other’s company and spend a lot of time together. If someone’s absence is going to leave an empty space in my life it would be her’s.
Texting and telephone calls can connect two people, but it is no replacement for being together in the same room.
When I was writing this, a similar situation came to mind. It is not on the same level as my sweet heart leaving town, but it did change my thinking about lose. A small change of thinking, but one that made a big difference.
One time I had dropped off my car for repairs at the mechanic’s garage, which is on the other end of the city from my house. I had to take the bus back home. A ten minute trip by car turned into a 40 minute trip by slow poke public transportation; with the added bonus of unwanted entertainment from a few ‘colorful’ passengers. On the ride, I realized a few items were needed from the grocery store for dinner. For that, a two minute car ride to the store would be a fifteen minute walk. As the bus lumbered along the emotional space of lose, created by not having my car, just got bigger and emptier.
For that entire day my life was defined by what I did not have. It had become the context for what was missing; which was not right. When I finally got home I was determined never to think that way again. I would never define myself exclusively in negative terms.
The root of my attitude change was not the lack of independent transportation, but a lack of appreciation. I lost sight of the fact that I had many other good aspects to my life beside my car, because I was focused on the aspect I lost. Consequently, I created that empty emotional space and put myself in it. It was unnecessary and I did not enjoy it either.
Being the practical sort, I made a mental list of all the positive aspects of my life. The next time I moved my thinking into that emotional space of lose, I would use it to remind myself of all the good things I had.
After I made this list I found that the most positive things on the list, and the ones that made the biggest difference for me, where the people I had relationships with.
Seeing that I had a good number of people who were a positive influence in my life I wanted to make sure they knew I appreciated them. I made it a point to show them that more often.
Over time I realized that showing appreciation was reaffirming my love for them. It acknowledged a positive bond between us which gave me joy in good times and strength in hard times.
Even after this emotional change, I still miss my wife when we are apart for a few days. But appreciating her every day, and all the other good people in my life, made that lonely space much smaller. A part of appreciating is focusing on the time I had with her and not pine over losing time with her.
Like anything you want to change in your behavior, it is a process of improvement. I have to work on it everyday to make that space as small as possible, and I don’t have to be an example of not really knowing what I have until it is gone.
After making that list I came up with a recitation; a point to focus on to keep me moving in the right direction. These kinds of reminders work well for me.
Improvement is the first step to perfection, as long as you keep walking.
In the past, when I wrote something that received compliments, that for me was rare and beautiful creation, I felt really good about it. But that joy was mixed with feelings of anxiety too. Now that I had set the bar on a higher peg than usual, by working and achieving what I set out to do, I felt I had to continue that level of performance, or surpass it.
That anxiety arises from the fact that inspiration does not come along everyday. To consistently connect to the deepest, truest levels of imagination and creativity, and pour that out across the page has a time table of completion I have little control over.
Lately, I have come to terms with this anxiety. I now see it as the natural state of the healthy, creative mind. It is constantly embroiled in the battle between mediocrity and perfection. The creative mind exists to dig into that deeper level, struggle to perfect the creation it makes from what it finds there, and put it out into the world for others to experience. That is the particular instrument God has made them to be.
To embraces this understanding, and fight that battle with gusto, is to live the creative life to the fullest.
There are many desserts that embody the refinement and sophistication found in the culinary traditions of Italy. But to me, Tirami Su exemplifies that sophistication like no other. The balance between opposing flavors of sweet and bitter is amazing. It is lite yet filling at the same time. It leaves you with the magical touch of espresso which energizes your system at the finish of a hearty meal and a few glasses of wine.
It is a night at the opera, a magnificent symphony heard under a star filled sky, a spring love affair in Rome; all on a dessert plate.
In our home, Tirami Su is only prepared on the holidays; so it retains it’s near mythical status the rest of the year.
Longing makes the palate grow fonder.
Oddly enough, I do not have a family recipe for this amazing dessert. The one here is based a recipe from Giuliano Buglialli’s book, Classical Techniques of Italian Cooking, with a tweak or two I added over the ten years I was preparing it at my restaurant. In 1998 it was added to the rich culinary tradition found in the four branches of my family; Foti’s. DeSciullo’s, Pellegrini’s and DeSandlo’s.
This recipe will fill a disposable aluminum pan 9″x13″. Buy one with a plastic lid to keep the dessert safe in the refrigerator. If you have a high traffic frig like ours, it is inevitable that something will land on top of it.
Mix two egg yolks and the sugar until the sugar is completely incorporated and are lighter in color.
Add the mascarpone to the egg yolk and sugar mixture. Whip into a thick paste.
Whip eight egg whites until they form peaks and hold their shape. Gently fold the whites into the mascarpone/egg yolk/sugar mixture.
Dunk 1/2 of the ladyfinger cookies in the espresso & rum and line the bottom of the pan with them. (After dunking them they should hold their shape, so don’t submerge them for too long.)
Using a spatula, put a thin coating of ganache on the tops of the cookies in the pan.
Layer 1/2 the mascarpone mixture onto the chocolate coated cookies.
Repeat the layering process, placing the second layer of cookies in the opposite direction of the firs layer.
Dust the top of the second layer of mascarpone mixture with cocoa powder.
Cover the tray and let it ‘set-up’ over night in the refrigerator.
Cut it in squares when serving.
1 LBS Bitter Sweet Chocolate
2.5 Cups Cups Heavy Cream
Chop chocolate finely using a serrated knife and place in a large bowl.
Bring cream to a boil over medium-high heat then pour directly over the chopped chocolate. Allow to sit for 10 minutes. Use a rubber spatula to gently stir chocolate and cream until combined. Let it sit at room temperature just until thickened.
PS – St. Mark Church during the Christmas Season 2020.
Since the longest day in summer, night has been reaching further and further into day as it makes itself longer and longer.
Now on the longest night of winter, day has it’s turn to reach further and further into night, making itself longer and longer.
Every year the same dance between day and night, light and dark, hope and despair. Lived out against a backdrop of clouds coming and going, leaves blooming and dying, the constellations rising and setting round and round the immobile star of the pole.
We grow and harvest our crops by this dance, set our clocks to it, measure the length of our lives with it. We are creatures of habit by design. Driven by cycles, some we know and some that remain hidden.
We stand at the center of turning cycles, concentric in design, ceaseless in motion. Some we dance with moment to moment, others turning so slowly that our time to dance will never arrive.
Big or small, fast or slow, known or hidden, these are the invisible gears that move our lives through time and space.
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” ― Edmund Burke
That is exactly what happened when seven out of nine members of our supreme court, including Justice Roberts, refused to hear the state of Texas’ voter fraud case.
Did each one of these justices swear on the bible that they would up hold the Constitution? Is it not the function of the Supreme Court to weight in on matters directly involving instructions, rights and procedures found in that document?
Yes, and that oath obligates them to defend it whenever the occasion presents itself.
The American Thinker wrote a summery of the Texas case, and the following except states why those seven justices, failed miserably in that obligation.
‘Further, according to the U.S. Constitution, the legislature (representing the citizens) of each state has absolute authority and responsibility for how presidential electors are chosen; the will of legislature being expressed through state law.
Texas claims that the violations of election law in these states created an environment where ballot fraud was enabled and likely to occur. The lawsuit lists the violations of law in each of the defendant states and provides evidence of fraud (the number of ballots handled unconstitutionally) in each of the states sufficient to change the outcome of the ballot counts.’
I am no legal scholar and I can only look at it from a practical point of view. But if the state of Texas has evidence that Michigan, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania and Georgia violated the constitution in choosing their electors, then maybe Texas’s complaint needs to be heard. After all Texas, and the rest of the states in the union, are being deprived of a fair election process due to the potential lawlessness of these other states.
What matters here is not which candidate gets into office but the integrity of the law that defines how they are put into office. With out that, dishonesty and tyranny will rule the day; not the will of the people.
Please read the entire article in The American Thinker. I am sure you will agree that the Texas lawsuit is more then a conspiracy theory based on hearsay, or an extravagant ploy to change the out come of an elections.
Copy and past the link below into your browser to get there.
As a life long catholic I have to post about this.
How can I not?
With all due reverence and respect to the Holy Father, this year’s nativity is not just, unattractive it is offensive. I have no idea what these figures represent. The whole thing looks like it was created by a class of second graders, along with their teacher, who had a woefully incorrect understanding of Catholicism.
Sorry, I would not want this out on my lawn.
However, the Vatican nativity of 2018 I would definitely want out on my lawn. There is no question as to what this scene depicts, which is how it should be.
Rejoice, the savior of the world is born!
For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the greatness of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the LORD Almighty will accomplish this. – Isaiah 9:6-7
After the art museum we decided to have a late lunch and ended up in a calzone shop in the Tower Grove neighborhood; Sauce On The Side. Nothing like good food and good beer to keep a hungry tourist going! I will say this, I was not hungry after eating that calzone, it was big.
Next stop on our day trip was the Missouri Botanical Gardens. Since it was too cold to see the landscaping and the flower beds, it may not have been the best choice. Also, I was not sure if the varieties in the greenhouse were extensive enough to make the price of admission worth while. However, it was Rebecca’s idea so I did not share my thoughts. But on the ride over she talked about the full size tropical trees in the green house, which changed my mind.
When we pulled into the parking lot I saw that the new, ultra modern visitors’ center was still under construction. Judging by the architect’s renderings I saw online after our visit, we would walk though a small part of that new structure. Despite that area being simple in design, the interior was an interesting division of vertical and horizontal space. The first room evoked a sense of vertical spaciousness, with it’s tall walls, large windows and the light colored materials used in its building. The next room, where the ticket windows are, opens up horizontally and achieves that same open feeling but in opposite direction. I hope this engaging division of the interior space is used through out the entire building. If so, there might be another building in St. Louis to make my favorites list.
The old visitors’ center is next to this building and is slated for demolition. Currently, it houses a Dale Chihuly glass chandelier; which will be relocated in the central glass atrium of the new structure. If you are in the city when the new visitors’ center is completed, just seeing that chandelier is worth a trip over there. I have seen many of Chihuly’s glass sculptures and they never fail to impress and amaze.
The path we took to the indoor garden, or the Climatron, gave me an interesting view of the grounds exposing the layers of architecture that were added over the hundred a fifty eight year history of the institution.
When I left the new visitors’ center, a modern space designed with modern thinking and built with contemporary materials, I was confronted with the old greenhouse, a vintage structure built in the early 1900’s. Its tall windows with their multiple rows of small glass panes, and set in a rough exterior of dark red brick and white mortar, had a vivid contrast to the tall seamless expanses of glass set in the shiny metal walls of the visitors’ center. In one respect, the new visitors’ center was an updated version of the old greenhouse.
Then I approached the Climatron which was a short distance up the path.
When it was built, this structure was also ultra modern in every way. Now it looks dated and old fashioned in its own way.
It is a geodesic dome with a design sensibility straight out of the green movement of the 1960’s. To put it in a cultural context it has California commune and Bucky Fuller futurism written all over it. It reminds me of the biosphere space station from that forgotten 1972 Sci Fi film Silent Running.
Even its’ name, Climatron, has a 60’s sci-fi feel – Ultron, Atavachron, to mention a few others names from the distant past of my childhood.
Seeing the Climatron immediately after the old brick building was not just a vivid contrast but a jarring one. Unlike the first architectural contrast I encountered, the shape as well as the materials used to build this unique dome like structure, were completely different from the long brick green house of sixty years before.
One employed spherical proportions in its design and an intricate aluminum exo-skeleton framing triangular acrylic panels for its construction. The design and the materials developed in the 20th century.
The design of the other was based on square forms and constructed with small blocks of baked earth stacked up and held in place with mortar and supporting traditional steel roof beams and window frames. Everything that went into making this structure is has been used for centuries.
Probably the only architectural feature these two buildings have in common are the shape of their doors.
It was like looking at Abe Lincoln standing next to Captain James T Kirk. (!)
It also made me think that advancements in technology and engineering continually change the look of everything; just as much as the changing design sensibilities of the next generation of designers and architects do.
Stepping into the conservatory the dry, chilly air of late autumn was replaced with the heavy, moisture laden air of the tropics. We were shaded by full grown trees and surrounded with dense green foliage replete with strange and wonderful flowers, the likes we had never seen before. Flowing through this super sized terrarium was a stream with a waterfall as well as small pools supporting a variety of water plants. I even saw a big gecko clinking to the side of a tree like a garden decoration and heard a bird calling in the canopy above.
For the better part of an hour we walked the path at an unhurried pace and stopped frequently to take photos. Beside us, there was only four visitors roaming through the place, which made me feel like I was exploring and not just visiting.
After our visit to the botanical gardens we had some time before our dinner reservations at a sushi place named the Drunken Fish. It is near Forest Park, not far from the art museum. It is also near the De Baliviere, a neighborhood packed with lovely historic houses and majestic old trees. Several blocks of this area comprise a gated community and the streets are considers private property. It also has two private swimming pools and two private tennis courts exclusively for the use of its residences.
This area was made fashionable for residential living by the 1904 worlds fair; which was located in Forest Park.
When we were done driving around and had our fill soaking up the grand architecture of this charming community, we decided to skip dinner and head home. We were still full from lunch. We also had a three hour ride back and I did not want to do that after a long day of site seeing.
On the ride home the big city quickly gave way to a landscape of barren corn fields stretching out under a wide blue sky. We did not talk much but then we did not need to. We were still thinking about our urban adventure, the amazing art we saw, the jokes we laughed at and the good food we eat together.
It seemed we both wanted to make that time in St. Louis last as long as we could.
Everyday holds something incredible, we just have to look for it.
I spend a lot of time reading and writing at my desk. It is the intellectual center of my world, my seat of creativity, the central place where my reasoning, self awareness, and memory project outward into the material world; as if they are flesh and blood people that have colonized a small corner of a foreign land.
Like any settlers to a new land they transform what they find to fit there need. In this case a suitable place for this engine of creation to do its’ work.
Over time I have realized that their motivation for transforming my desk top originates in my unconscious mind; which seems to have its’ own volition operating separately from my conscious mind.
If you are thinking that I may have a multiple personality disorder or need counseling to control a compulsion, let me say this; as a chef I have worked at plenty of desks where I had no desire to do this. Secondly, despite being something I automatically do, but only when I can, my conscious mind enjoys arranging a desk. It’s like picking out what cloths I am going to wear to a meeting.
I see a resemblance between creating a space to think and the work of our ancestor’s in creating spaces for worship and prayer. The placement of standing stones by prehistoric cultures or the ancient Catholic practice of using icons to focus prayer to God readily come to mind.
My ‘standing stones’, or desk stones, are objects that define the desk top as a thinking space. They also focus the creative energy onto that defined area, aiding the intellectual process. These objects are things, or representations of things, that I am fascinated with and have spent time studying and thinking about. Interesting rocks and crystals, models of mining machines are two examples. Icons however, evoke powerful and positive memories or thoughts that refresh and invigorate the will to create. I have used Precisionist art work, elegant porcelain pottery, and die cast models for my icon equivalents.
Sometimes I need a space to think when I am not at my desk. It could be a different room in the house or out side of the house entirely. If in another room, other stones are chosen and positioned in strategic locations. These are places where I spend time planning activities but don’t have the room for a desk. One spot is my bureau where I get dressed for the day. I often plan out the order of what I have to do during the day, while I am putting on a ring or a watch. Over the years a set of miniature Carnac stones has been arranged and rearranged many times on it’s polished wood top.
If an additional space is needed outside of the house, such as a public seating area, a job site for work, or a relative’s home, then it cannot be personalized. Often, I work in that space as it is. But if I have the time I will take a moment to find a suitable place where the mix of light and shadows, the interesting prospective of a room’s architecture or the arrangement of furniture and fixtures can create a an environment suitable to think in.
In some respects, my mind is like a clever sea creature that lives in a shell. It can construct it’s own accommodation or just occupy one left vacant by another sea creature that has moved on; whatever suits the situation.
Sometimes I think this habit is an unnecessary expenditure of time and money and I am justifying it by comparing it to ancient standing stones and venerated icons that serve a different purpose.
Then I sit down among the stones, with all the ideas that have been rumbling around in my head, and begin the ritual of writing. When all the travails and efforts of the day are nowhere to be found on this hallowed ground, I realize why that other part of my mind came here to put those stones in place.
An acquaintance owns a store in a high crime neighborhood on the Archipelago island of Decatur.
He immigrated to America from the middle east looking for economic opportunity and a better quality of life. He is not so different from Decatur’s original settlers of the early eighteen hundreds. Though he does not live in a log cabins of his own construction, the wooden building his business is housed in is almost as old as those original cabins.
I call him an entrepreneurial pioneer for another reason too. It can be tough enough to run your own business when the neighborhood is generally safe. But you need the old fashion pioneer’s spirit when surrounded with the heightened crime issues of his location.
A few years ago, he opened up his store in the morning and stepped into the scene at the beginning of this video below.
During the night, while they were closed, a vehicle ran into the side of the building those merchandisers refrigerators are located on.
He realized this when he stepped up to the glass doors and saw daylight streaming into the walk-in behind them, through a very large whole in the wall of the store.
If you listen carefully to the audio, other cars are passing by the store during the accident.
As far as I know the driver was never apprehended and the insurance company never fully compensated him for the damage. Fixing that hole was a very big expense for them to pay for.
It has been three years since that incident and he is still there operating his store. Every so often I drive by and I see some improvement to the property. Recent projects include a new roll down security door and new black top and striping in the small parking lot.
The big hole in the building is gone but not forgotten. The new siding from the repair job, which does not match the older siding around it, will mark that unfortunate event for years to come.
It also marks his determination not to give up on his dream to have a better life in America.
It is a testament to the fact that what he has now is better then what he had in the past and he embraces that and continually works to improve it.
Even in the land of opportunity, he realizes that there is no replacement for positive determination and honest work built on hope in a brighter future.
My relatives that immigrated from Italy had that same view of their new home. They too believed that what they had in America was better then what most had in the world and they were quick to defend it.
In these turbulent times we should be too. We should sing it’s praises, thank God for it’s founding principles and work to build it up.
There are many groups that don’t sing the praises of this nation and don’t embrace our system; a system that offers plenty of opportunities for those who are willing to pursue them. Their goal, their daily struggle, is to tear down what we have built as citizens of this country.
If we believe those that would tear it down what could they replace it with that is better for all?
Five thousand years of civilization has given few, if any, examples of a governmental system that can provide so much opportunity and personal liberty to so many.
As a nation, we must continue the work of the founders to secure our individual liberties, our economic prosperity and our national security. For over two hundred years the founding documents have allowed us to do that. Building on the principle found in those documents will serve us well for another two hundred years and beyond.
My daughter needed a break from her studying at university. After talking with her about it, we decided to take a day trip to St. Louis; just her and I. The St. Louis Art Museum, the building and the grounds as well as the collections, was the main attraction for our pocket- sized vacation.
A few years back we did a family trip there so this was our second visit. We both agreed it ranks high on our list of favorites.
When I stepped in side I was greeted with the mysterious echo of voices rising and falling through the spacious central hall. They had a wonderfully mystical quality and I stood there for a minute just taking it in.
We knew from our past trip that our level of enjoyment for this museum was comparable to the The Art Institute of Chicago and The Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan; two institutions we use as standards by which all other art institutions we visit are compared to.
The size and depth of what is on display cannot compare to these other behemoths but visiting every room will definitely occupy your entire afternoon and you won’t be disappointed. (The St. Louis has 34,000 objects catalogued, Chicago has 1,000,000, New York, has 2,000,000.)
Being an avid reader of Roman History I would have been happy with more than just one room of antiquities. But the artifacts on display were perfectly preserved in every detail and matched the quality of any I had seen in the past.
These busts of unknown, but well-to-do citizens, date from the Imperial period.
The examples of tableware were striking in the fact that they were well proportioned, especially the blue bowl. No aspect was exaggerated for the sake of originality. Any decoration was minimal, a relevant symbol of it’s purpose, and well integrated. There is a sense of practicality which in my reading of that culture, is at the very heart of it.
Below are Etruscan earrings dated from the fifth century BC. The level of detail and craftsmanship in this jewelry was impressive. I often think of ancient cultures as not being as sophisticated as modern cultures. But seeing all the objects in this exhibit, made thousands of years ago, had reminded me that aside from scientific, technological and economic understanding, and perhaps a few other ares of knowledge, this is not true.
I will say this, Etruscan women must have had strong ear lobes. Those are some big earrings! Evidently, women suffering in the name of fashion is nothing new.
There were modern cultural artifacts, which were a part of the main exhibition – Storm of Progress German Art After 1800. Included were several examples from the Bauhaus design school: form follows function. A combination of useful form bordering on minimalism but incorporates a visual aesthetic based on geometric forms.
Even though the design of these items and the Roman items were separated by two thousand years of history they had definite commonalities.
The design genius of the Romans and the Bauhaus really shone in the three dimensional objects they made. The consumer goods in both exhibitions were so modern in design and construction as to be interchangeable without noticing the difference in the era. There is a repeat of practicality here.
The same can be said for things outside of these exhibitions – architecture. Compare Bauhaus headquarters building and Emperor Vespasian’s Collusion. They both exemplify the same ethos of form follows function. Also, their is no mistaking who built each of them.
The Bauhaus designers, much like the Romans, achieved their greatest artistic success with practical objects put to everyday use.
The building that houses the collections is an art object in it’s own right.
It was designed by the historically prominent architect Cass Gilbert, who also designed the Woolworth building in down town Manhattan, the United States Supreme Court Building in Washington DC, and the state of Minnesota’s state capital building, among other notable morphological master pieces.
Cass sited the ancient baths of Caracalla in Rome as his design inspiration. The original purpose of this building was to house exhibitions for the 1904 Worlds Fair. The museum was relocated there when the fair was finished.
This visit was a much needed invigoration for our souls and we found we had the same outlook on art. It is a search for perfection by the artist, as well as the viewer. This notion of perfection is embodied in all things pleasing to the mind: in a word – beauty.
Rebecca’s notion of beauty is based on natural forms, landscapes, human form, and animal forms, with little deviation.
I am of the same mind and also find man-made and industrial forms beautiful as well – urban buildings, factories, warehouses, and machines. The geometry of these images, as well as the psychological and cultural implications are intriguing to me.
Oddly enough, we both have reservations about abstract art. We can appreciate it for what it is, the artist’s intent or social messaging but are not naturally drawn to it.
Beauty in the classical sense may not have been captured in every painting but the perfection of the artists vision seemed to be. Each room held a different way of thinking about that vision, each painting a different interpretation of that vision.
I made an immediate and deep connection with so many of these paintings. It was like realizing a profound truth in each one. This inspired me to find this kind of inspiration everyday, wherever I am in whatever I am doing. That is living life to the fullest for me.
Great art is a gift from one soul to another.
Hours later, when we finally left, we agreed that the spiritual and intellectual invigoration we experienced in our visit was a much needed blessing and we were grateful for it.
That was part one of our excursion to the big city.
Part 2 continues with our time at the Missouri Botanical Gardens.
On my way past the dinning room table the midday sun was shining on the curtains. It had a neat celestial look to it which reminded me of the Northern Lights in fast motion. I decided to capture the moment on my Iphone and share it with you.
In the previous stamp of the week post I wrote about growing my knowledge of the printing process by working on a deep collection for just one issue.
Well, it did not take long for my collector mentality to take that over. Now I have expanded beyond the Francis Parkman 3 cent and have decided to collect errors for the entire Prominent American Series, which the Francis Parkman is a part of.
Pictured above is my first acquisition in that endeavor; the 2 cent Frank Lloyd Wright. Two nice examples of mis-perferation, horizontally and vertically. They were reasonable priced too!
This stamp was issued on June 8, 1966 in Spring Green Wisconsin. The Bureau of Printing and Engraving produced it on a rotary press. It is tagged and has shiny gum.
An anonymous comment I found on the web states the following – This stamp was designed by the staff of the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation. The portrait, based on a 1952 photograph by Blackstone-Shelburne, New York City, was drawn by Patricia Amarantides and Ling Po. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in the background was also drawn by Ling Po. Lettering is by Vernon Swayback and technical revisions by John Amarantides. Howard C. Mildner and Arthur W. Dintaman of the Bureau of Engraving and Printing engraved the vignette, and Kenneth C, Wiram engraved the lettering.
If anyone knows how many of these stamps where printed, let me know.
When I moved to central Illinois, I found the landscape interesting. But that interest only lasted a short time. After I drove over it, biked over it, and flew over it, I discovered that lakes, streams, hills and woods were few and far between. It was miles of empty monotony in winter and rows of green corn plants walling me in all summer long. I began to despise its flat and homogeneous character.
To look at it on my days off was like eating a boiled potato with nothing on it.
My hometown of New York was and is no boiled potato.
For all my time back home, I was fascinated with the landscape. I draw inspiration from its varied character, its history. The treasures, big and small, I found under it, on it, and above it was a daily epiphany. No two miles were the same.
At the time of my grim discovery I began to regret my move. Most of my friends and family told me I would. More and more, I found myself brooding under emotionally gray skies.
How could I have left behind biking along the Hudson River or weekends on the Shungum Ridge, hiking from one sparkling lake to another, atop a mighty wall of white stone a thousand feet tall?
How could I willingly forgo the surf of the Atlantic Ocean tumbling on the white sandy beaches of Long Island and New Jersey?
I can smell the salt water, and the sun tan lotion right here at my desk, 950 miles away.
This was coveted time to rejuvenate my soul in God’s other house of worship, and I willingly gave it up.
Here in central Illinois, driving on my day off through those mind-numbing miles of cash crops to hike in a few hundred acres of woods or fish off the crumbling banks of some rehabbed strip mine was not giving up any treasures to rejuvenate my soul.
Finally, before all hope was lost, I realized the flat tedium of this new landscape had countless small treasures hiding right out in the open.
It is the winged carnivores that I speak of. Death from above for Mr. Rabbit, but winged saviors for the ‘exiled’ New York chef.
The stately Cicus cyaneus. The tenacious Accipiter cooperii. The ubiquitous Buteo lineatus,Buteo platypterus and Buteo jamaicendid. The largest, most majestic winged carnivore to cast a shadow across the flatdome of the Archipelago of Central Illinois, Haliaeetus leucocephalus.
These could have been the names of fearless commanders that lead great armies in ancient times, or mighty winged gods from prehistoric legends.
Little by little, here and there, I saw them. Eventually, I realized that they were doing the most incredible things all around me, while I was complaining the landscape had no inspiration. So I kept an eye out for them.
I recall an early encounter that was like a showcase, a veritable preview of what was out there.
One morning I was driving down Interstate 74 after a snowfall. The mercury had dipped down below freezing and the morning sun was not moving it much. The fallowed fields of corn were covered in snow that the wind had sculpted into long winding ridges and curving shoals over the straight rows of corn stubble running to the horizon. In the distance, beyond the fields, there was a grain elevator, shimmering silver in the blue haze where cloudless sky and empty landscape met. Pretty for a moment’s view but no replacement for the skyline of Manhattan.
Along the interstate there was a line of fence posts a few miles long. It seemed that every fifth or sixth post was crowned with a Buteo lineatus – red-shouldered hawk – and Buteo jamaicensis – red-tailed hawk.
From a distance they had the look of the plastic bird statue used to scare off pigeons. When I drove past, I quickly saw their unique character. Each bird had shoulders slightly hunched that gave their stance a pensive look. Each head had a powerful, weapon like beak and large eyes looking off into the distance, which made me believe they could count the whiskers on a rabbit a half mile away. Their ample plumage was a pattern of rich, earthy tones, and I imagined them wearing thick woolen coats of the finest and richest weave as they sat motionless in the icy wind, their powerful claws dug into the weathered wood of the posts.
These birds were big, brawny, and had a commanding presence, unlike the social little birds elbowing one another for a place to eat at the feeder outside my dining room window. For the rest of the ride I was content counting how many I saw, the variations in their colors, and musing on what it was like to live out on that barren, windswept landscape. These creatures were the epitome of self-reliance.
Hawk watching really got exciting when I spotted the Accipiter cooperii – cooper’s hawk – during a lunchtime walk.
I had just made the usual turn off my street and headed for the Bradley campus. At the edge of my neighbor’s backyard is a big, round bush. That day, it was filled with birds that were making an incredible racket. As I approached, I noticed a crow sized bird, perched on the top of a weathered telephone pole, across the street. Its wing feathers were colored in a rich grey with a tint of lavender. It was sitting there, staring obsessively at the bush. Occasionally it would adjust its wings or lean forward only to return to its original position of intense watching. I had glimpsed this bird a few times as it flew up and down my street. One time, it darted into the thick cover of the blue spruce on my mom’s front lawn. I never thought much about the bird, only that it was larger then most I had seen around. But that day I saw the shape of the head, the beak and the large eyes with that intense gaze. It was a breed of hawk I did not know of and I made a mental note to look it up in the bird book.
Twenty minutes later, on the way back to my house, it was still perched on the pole. But this time it looked agitated. Repeatedly, it leaned forward and spread its wings, as it was about to take flight, only to fold them back up, look around and call out in its shrill voice.
The birds in the big round bush were still frantic, tweeting and flying in and out.
I stopped a few yards from the bush and watched the guy up on the pole, the commotion in the bush. Something interesting was definitely going to happen.
Then the hawk opened its wings, pushed off its perch and dove across the street.
It was headed straight for the bush.
A few feet above the shrub it did the most amazing thing I have ever seen an animal do. From its full speed dive, it stopped in the air. For a few seconds it just hovered above the branches. The only part of it that moved was its head as it scanned from left to right the object below it. Then, with a few small movements of its wings, it turned its body perpendicular to the curved top of the plant, and continued its dive, deep into the branches and the frantic birds.
I can still see that moment in my mind. For two seconds this magnificent creature had complete mastery over the air, gravity and every aspect of its own physicality, its perfect engineering! I was stunned, awestruck as I stood on the sidewalk staring.
Then it did the second most amazing thing I had ever seen an animal do. When it was hunting for the birds, it was using its legs and claws like arms and hands! With one leg it moved branches out of its way and with the other it was grabbing for the sparrows. I am not sure how it kept itself from falling out of the bush since its wings were almost useless in the dense tangle of branches. For a minute or two it was moving through the branches with incredible ease, as it hunted the little birds.
Miraculously, all the sparrows escaped. When they did, the hawk let out a screeching call and zoomed off out of the bush. In seconds it was gone through the leafy crowns of the big oak trees and the rooftops of the old houses.
Outside of town, on Interstate 74, there were other treasures to be found on the wide-open plains of the Archipelago. Two as a matter of fact. Both, I happened to come across over the summer. I use that phrase because I don’t go out looking for these birds, our paths just happen to cross now and again. I like that pattern. Since you are not expecting to see their incredible skills in action, it makes it more of a wonder when you do, especially when you are driving for work and thinking through a list of problems you have to get done by the end of the day. It lifts you up and out from between the heavy wheels of the daily grind.
The first was a small treasure. A display of aerial excellence I had just a moment to watch as I was driving along. Fortunately, it was a longish moment, I was slowing down for my exit.
Near the edge of the road there was something motionless in the air 20, or 30 feet above the ground. It was a hawk. Its big wings were fully extended, the feathers on the tips spread out like fingers reaching through the air. These wings pushed against an invisible river of moving air and kept the bird motionless as it scanned the ground below. This wind was strong enough to put the branches of a nearby tree in violent motion. Is there any machine of man’s making that can remain on the wind like that, completely silent and without moving an inch in any direction?
Thinking that it had spotted something to eat, I quickly scanned the field below it. There, about five yards out was a small dark form scurrying here and there on the long, flattened blades of light colored grass. That small, dark form had no idea what watched in the air above.
The second small treasure took place in a shorter space of time. Literally, five or six seconds because I was driving 70 mph east bound on Route 74.
Against the blue sky is a bird, dazzling white, that zooms down from above, then banks to the left, and zips across the front of my car. It was five or six feet off the pavement and just a few yards from my front grill. In seconds it had sped across the two east bound lanes, the median and the two west bound lanes before it was gone over a barren field.
There was a semi speeding down the west bound lane and the bird shot out across the front of it, avoiding it with ease.
When it came out of that dive it’s white under side was facing me. The shape of the bird’s body resembled a bullet or a sleek, airborne projectile. The wings were rounded and swept back; its tail splayed straight and wide. The legs were pulled in tight against itself. The head was turned to one side, it was looking into the direction of the on-coming traffic in the opposite lane – the space it was going to fly through next. Its facial expression was on full display – commanding, purposeful and utterly fearless.
To avoid my car, and the semi 100 feet or so ahead of me in the far opposite lane, it had to been flying at a tremendous rate of speed. If you include both shoulders, four lanes and the median, Interstate 74 is a minimum of 116 feet wide. The far edge of the semi was about 86 feet from where the bird came out of the dive. If my car and the semi are traveling at 70 mph we would have been covering .0194 feet a second. The bird may have been diving at 120mph, a speed it could easily achieve I have been told, and continued on at 100 mph when it leveled off. At 100 mph it would take .586 seconds to fly 86’ feet It would only spend .082 seconds in the width of one lane. If it flew past my car at a distance of 30 feet away, my car would have taken .292 seconds to reach it. If it flew past the truck at a distance of 100 feet away, it would be .974 seconds before the truck reached the bird. Seems to me it had just enough time to fly safely across the interstate.
It also seems to me that the hawk had figured out the precise timing needed for this exhibition of aerial excellence.
Why do I assume to know what a hawk is thinking?
Well, in my twelve years of driving on the interstates of Illinois, I can recall seeing only two or three hawks that had been struck by a vehicle. This is a stunningly good statistic; which chance alone could not be responsible for.
I am thankful that my interest in these creatures has deepened over the years. They have taught me, once again, that the extraordinary can be found in the ordinary no matter where you are. The key to finding these treasures is to keep the mind open, soften the heart, and practice patience. Even when your world looks barren, boring and bleak, persevere. Do those three things and you will always be reminded of the miracle that life is, and you will always be amazed.
If I was cooking in Villa Santa Maria on a snowy night like this, Minestrone soup would be simmering on my stove. This is a photo of Villa Santa Maria, the town my grandfather lived in before he came to America in 1910 or so. He probably cooked this same soup there on a night like this.
Enrico gave this recipe to my mother and she handed it down to me when I was in cooking school back in 1982. When I opened my restaurant, Dominic’s in 1995, it went on the menu to honor my mother and my grandfather.
When my mom made this for us she often added cannelloni beans or ditalini pasta, sometimes not.
No matter, it was a family favorite and a favorite at Dominic’s too.
I hope you enjoy it.
1.75lbs Onion, Large dice
.5 lbs Celery, Large dice
.4 lbs Carrots, Large dice
1 lbs Green Cabbage, Julienne
1 oz Garlic, Chopped large
8 oz. Red Bell Peppers, Large dice
2 cups, Canned tomatoes, Peeled in juice, drained
8 strips, Bacon, Chopped
1 cup, White wine, Dry
4 oz, Tomato paste
10 oz, Olive oil
42 oz, Chicken Stock
.5 cups, Parsley, Chopped
.5 table spoon, Basil, dry
.5 table spoon, Rosemary, fresh, Chopped
Salt & Pepper To taste
Chop the canned tomatoes.
In large pot, on a high flame, brown the bacon and garlic in the olive oil. Stir frequently.
Lower the flame to medium high and add all vegetables except cabbage. Saute until onions are translucent. Stir frequently.
Add the stock and bring to a low boil then turn down the flame and keep on a simmer for about twenty minutes or until the vegetables are soft but still firm. Just a few bubbles breaking the surface of the soup is where you want it to be.
Use a separate pan and lightly saute the cabbage in a small amount of olive oil. Mix frequently so it does not burn. When done, add it to the soup, before it boils.
Add salt and black pepper to taste. If you want to make a lite meal of this, serve with a thick slice of toasted Italian bread.
In the archipelago, summer has packed up and left for the warming climes of Argentina. We are left with the scent of spiced apple cider and bonfire smoke drifting through the backyards as colored leaves falling from the trees. It is a great time of the year for a hike in the woods and listening to a favorite jazz album while lazing on the couch wrapped up in a warm wool blanket. Maybe a single malt is close at hand and a small fire crackling on the hearth.
To celebrate my favorite season I put together a list of jazz album that after years of listening to them are as fresh now as the day I first put them on the turntable.
My first pick here is Jazz at Massey Hall. This is not a ground breaking Bebop Statement that so many of Charlie Parker and Dizzy’s records seem to me. It is a musical conversations recorded between a group of jazz giants and one of my favorites. There is an energy as well as a musical interaction that reminds me of the sales meetings I attend at for my work.
Good salesman are a gregarious and witty bunch. They love to show that off, compete with one another for attentions but also contribute their wisdom of the trade to raise the level of conversation and what they can accomplish. This album is all that but in musical form. Been loving it for years.
Next up is Thelonious Monk. This native New Yorker’s music is angular, off centered and deeply emotional. To understand Monk’s music is to experiences it as if confronted by a sonic force of nature which is accompanied by a rhythm section and a strange pattern of dissonant chords that somehow holds together as music.
I cannot begin to tell you how many Monk CDs I own, that’s because I am not sure myself. But I can tell you that the complete Riverside recordings, which my darling wife gave to me one Christmas a long time ago, is my favorite deep well of Monk inspiration.
I once read a piece by a famous critic that wrote how Monk, in his later years, had achieved wealth and fame and therefore became a sell out. He exchanged his art for money and ended up a parody of himself as a musician. He cited Monk’s years with Columbia as an example of that disappointment.
But that depends on how you listen to those albums. Unlike his early days, Monk was no longer searching for his voice. In my opinion he had finally found the band that could follow him, that internalized his musical ethos and supported him in a way that sounded Monk-like. Because of that his sound became complete and he turned to refining the musical language he had created in his youth. Actually, these recordings could be the most concise and developed statements of his musical thinking.
Obviously, I don’t agree with this critic’s thinking when he equated searching with creating as an absolute. He was more concerned with appreciating and studying Monk’s creative process then the absolute joy of being immersed in his quirky sonic universe. He should have recognized that before labeling those perfectly great recordings as sell out seconds, not fit for the bargain bin at the Dollar General or the Pound Stretcher.
Some songs and musicians evoke a mood through their music. The next two albums evoke an entire culture for me. An urban culture in a city named New York, during the nineteen forties and nineteen fifties.
This music was recorded before I was around, so the cultures they depict are really personalized legends that I have constructed over time. But that is the magic of great art, it moves the mind to comprehend and internalize over time what ever the artist created as it’s essence.
Bud Powell’s master piece is my time machine to the uptown Manhattan of the late forties early fifties: 52nd street is slick with a dirty rain and the neon lights of the club marquees splash their harsh glow down the pavement. The big yellow cab dropped me and Ruby off in front of the 3 deuces. At the front door I can hear Bud racing through an electrified rendition of Tea for Two. I throw the stub of my Lucky Strike to the pavement and rummage around in the pocket of my trench coat for the deuce to tip the doorman and get the usual table and a French 75…
Now fast forward to the mid late 1950’s and Red Garland’s Monteca. This album catches the essences of modern, mainstream jazz as I have come to know it. Red’s straight forward piano playing can sound deceptively simple but its often lite and always streamlined quality make it thoroughly modern. If I could build a room to listening to Garland’s music it would look like this – white walls, polished wooden floors with a view of the Hudson River. Comfortable in dimensions it would be sparsely appointed with a few plywood molded chairs, a Bauhaus mid century modern sofa between them. A large Gomez painting hung on the wall over the couch and in front of it a very modern area rug. Oh, and a young Grace Kelly sitting on one end of that sofa handing me a dry martini!
As evidenced by the album’s title, Monteca, the cuts have an Afro-Cuban flavor with Ray Beretto’s percussion. So, the final touch to the Garland pad would be the faint aroma of fried plantains and Cuban pork wafting in through an open window from Little Havana down the block.
Of course there are scores more that can easily make this list but I have to stop somewhere. There will definitely be another tally of personal favorites in the future.
Writing the previous Election Day post left a thought rattling around in my head. That thought would not go away, but it would not stay in one place long enough for me to see it clearly.
A few days into this situation, I drove out from the Archipelago to a job site that was 154 miles away. I left the house before the sun came up and headed out on interstate 74 into the fields of corn, brittle and brown from the cool autumn weather. Somewhere around mile 100 I pinned down that evasive thought and put it into words.
The past is the foundation of the future we are building on today.
This was the unconscious motivation for my writing of that original post. It is the deeper view in which I saw the months leading up to the election, the election itself and the urgency I felt about commenting on it.
Pointing out the imperative need to understand and appreciate the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and Thomas Payne’s Common Sense was not enough.
These documents had to be placed in their original social and historical context to be fully appreciated. Edmund S. Morgan’s The Birth of the Republic 1763-89 did this like no other book I have read on that period in our history.
Morgan puts the reader squarely in the middle of the struggle for freedom. He depicts the lifestyle the colonialist enjoyed, how England tried to change that lifestyle, and how the colonialist reacted to it and why.
Morgan’s writing style is clear and concise. His scholarship focused on trying to recreate what actually happened, not revising events to fit a personal or political narrative. In our day and age, this has become a historian’s greatest service. It is a joy to read one who understands this.
If you need to deepen your understanding of the context of our founding, this is a must read. It will surely enrich your understanding of our principles, our traditions and our unique place in history as the light of liberty for one nation and the entire world.
When I started this website I said I would not write about politics. I wanted this to be a place to escape the daily grind. A digital space for visitors to enjoy and take a piece of that enjoyment with them when they left. However, with so many groups working to thoroughly transform, our government, culture and economy for the worse, I have to make an acceptation.
My aim is not to convince you to vote for one party over another, or one candidate over another. My aim is to convince you to do two things before you vote.
Read Thomas Paine’s Common Sense. Then read the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States.
Read them for yourself, not someone else’s interpretation of them. Read each one in it’s entirety, several times if need be. They are very important.
Our country was founded on these documents. They contain political wisdom that transcends the ages. The truths these men wrote of are as profound and relevant now as they were in the 1700’s. They must be understood, cherished and defended, now more then ever.
Wisdom and truth never goes out of fashion, never becomes obsolete.
The truths here are very simple. 1) Each human life is sacred and must be treated with respect. 2) The power to rule is a corrupting force that must be limited in it’s reach and used with discretion.
To embrace these truths, and put them into action, is to live free and prosper.
Thomas Paine rightly believed that power should never be concentrated in the hands of the government, or any institution or individual for that matter, because it leads to the abuse of human life. The higher the concentration of power the greater the opportunity for the abuse of the individual.
The Declaration of Independence gives specific examples of the abuses that arise from the concentration of political power and why they should be viewed as injurious to the individual. This document affirms that we have rights and they are inherent in every person. They are not given by the government, but by ‘nature and nature’s god’. Therefore, they cannot be taken away by the government but must be defended by it.
The Constitution, and the Bill of Rights, gives instructions on how these inalienable rights can be protected through the structure of our federal governmental and it’s basic operation and obligations to the citizens.
In essences, these two documents allow every citizen to live his or her life in the United States without the undo interference of the federal government, the destructive actions of foreign powers, or anarchist groups from outside or within the county’s borders.
This political system put in place by the founding fathers is not perfect. No political system is perfect. However, some are better then others. The system that these brave and brilliant men risked their lives to set down is far greater and freer then any that has come before it. It has given more freedom to more people then any other in the history of the world. The civil war, fought to abolish slavery, and the four year struggle to defeat the Axis powers and free the world from their totalitarian grip of evil is proof of that fact.
There is no reason to be ashamed of this magnificent country but every reason to celebrate it.
The present struggle by many groups and organizations to fundamentally transform the system, even tearing it down completely, will only lead to tyranny for all but a chosen few. If you believe in liberty, equality, and prosperity, then the struggle is to support, defend and expand what the founders have created and established.
There is only one question to ask your self when you walk into the poling booth –
What candidate will further advance the principles embodied in the Deceleration of Independence and The United States Constitution?
In our home, the dinning room is at the center of the activity. One reason for this is we all love to eat. Maybe on an unconscious level we are reliving all the good food we eat when we are sitting at the dining room table doing things other then eating. The memories of flavors have a power to shape our world and it is vastly under rated. If Helen of Troy’s beauty launched a thousand ships, Leda’s Baklava brought them all back.
There is an architectural reason for this too, the dining room is the central room of the building. We have to walk through it to get to any other part of the house. Once again, we are reminded of food as we go to other rooms to do other things.
No expectations of staying under fed in this old house.
The dining room is the family’s vault full of good memories. All the birthday parties, raucous times at dinners and celebrations on holidays have value no gold bar, no bank note can match. Even the hours of helping the kids with homework, sewing costumes for school plays, and filling out forms for field trips are now fondly recalled.
The mind rarely looks ahead and back in the same way. This room has taught me that. Now that the kids are in high school and collage, the dinning room is not as busy as it use to be. When they were toddlers and in grade school I wished that the dinning room had less traffic and that whirl of activity was up stairs out of sight. But now that it is nearly gone I miss it.
Now, many of the little moments I see there have the solitary feel of a still life. They no longer over flow with that confusion of amore di famiglia and chaotic joy they once did. But I am not sad about the change.
This room has taught me something else too.
Whether big or small, exciting or mundane, cherish every moment.
Thank God for all of them and keep them close at hand.
Now that summer has come and gone I have had my fair share of burgers, BBQ, Po’Boys, and the like.
By now my cholesterol numbers are probably through the roof and my heart is not happy about that. But my palate has no regrets whatsoever. (The eternal human dilemma, balancing indulgence and denial. )
Looking back on these American originals, I see a through thread connecting them, a common ingredient that groups them together in an unspoken gastronomic fraternity.
Yes indeed, the Secret Sauce.
I always thought that the secret sauce was a twentieth century phenomena invented by MacDonald’s or some obsessed BBQ chef with too much time on his hands.
For many years I considered it a lowbrow interpretation of a Haute Cuisine sauce to dip my salty french fries, or to wipe off my shirt as it oozed out of my triple-Decker burger.
I have since discovered that secret sauce has held a place of high popularity all through the history of civilization. I should have known this all along. People in any era want to make their daily lives convenient and that applies to cooking. Using a secret sauce to make a simple and quick meal taste great is convenience of the highest order.
But what is secret sauce and it’s purpose in the culinary tradition?
Its purpose is simple. Its purpose is to make you want to take another bite, and another, and another – the chef’s opiate, the chef’s version of a spiritual epiphany. What it is, I will save for later.
This secret sauce tradition started way back in the ancient Greco-Roman world with the production of Garum. It was their equivalent of America’s ketchup. However, it was not made from red sun-ripened tomatoes and garden grown herbs. It was concocted from the bodies of small fish that had been salted and sealed in a terracotta crock then left to ferment for a few months on the beach.
Despite sounding like something inedible, Garum was a true condiment as we know it today. It was packaged and shipped across the Roman world from locations in present-day Portugal, Spain, and Southern Italy.
Boy, have tastes changed.
In Europe and American perhaps, but not so much in Asia. There, jarred variations of this fabled flavor additive can be found wherever people are eating and cooking. Sambal, which has a base of ground and fermented shrimp, is one such condiment as is ubiquitous fish sauce, made from fish or krill that has been fermented for up to two years.
In Asia the fermentation method used for making Garum and fish sauce has been applied to other ingredients as well. Soy beans have become popular to ferment and has created other varieties of condiments which include soy sauce in Japan, and Hoisin sauce in China and Vietnam.
Another innovation in secret sauce formulation came by way of the tiny mustard seed. From what I have read, Mustard was a very popular condiment in Europe stretching back to Medieval era. But it was not until 1830 that the English Mustard-monger William Taylor, founder of The Taylor company, sold the first prepared mustard. It was identical to what we purchase off the supermarket shelf today. As far as bragging rights are concerned, this is the first modern secret in culinary history – a packaged condiment ready to be eaten when purchased.
Around this time Garum made a come back as a commercial available secret sauce in Europe and America. It was through the link that the English had with India that made this possible.
Lord Marcus Sandy, ex-governor of Bengal was an employee of the East India Company in the 1830s. There he encountered a condiment that appears to be a variety of fermented chutney that included fish, or it was served on fish. Either way, he like what he had eaten and when he returned to England he asked his local apothecaries John Wheely Lea and William Perrins of 63 Broad Street, Worcester to recreate what he had.
They did and apparently it was a gastronomic failure. But as Lea & Perrins company legend has it, the brutal brew was stored in a wooden barrel and by chance, sampled two years later. (Why is anyone’s guess!) Much to there surprise it had mellowed enough to be considered edible and the pair started marketing it in 1838.
To be fair, in the 1700 – 1800s ‘modernized’ and varied recipes for similar fish based condiments, using oysters in particular, were circulating in abundance in England as well as America. The ingredients were not fermented for years on end but cooked down to a thick caramelization. (That just does not sound as bad.)
On the other side of the pond, Sandy’s fellow Brits were participating in a culinary, cultural exchange of their own that would transform one particular type of secret sauce into an American gastronomical icon. That process started a century before Lord Marcus Sandy went to Bengal.
Emily Cappiello’s wrote an article for Chow Hound, A Brief History of BBQ, that sums up one of our most popular secret sauces.
“Barbecue, according to research done by The Smithsonian, began during the Colonial Era in Virginia. Colonists observed Native Americans smoking and drying meats over an open flame. Then, the British settlers put their own spin on it with basting, using mostly butter or vinegar, to keep the meat moist while grilling over an open flame. Years later, as slaves from the Caribbean were brought to the U.S., they also brought their own flavors, spices, and techniques. Thus, barbecue was born.”
The first commercially produced barbecue sauce was made by the Georgia Barbecue Sauce Company in Atlanta, Georgia. Its’ sauce was advertised for sale in the Atlanta Constitution, January 31, 1909. Not long after, a slew of other brands had entered the market.
BBQ’s lineage as a secret sauce may be as old as Taylor’s prepared mustard but another famous secret sauce had appeared on the store shelves of the Grand Old Union about forty years earlier then G.B.S.C. Inc’s per-packaged offering of down home smoky, spicy wonderment.
BBQ sauce, as well as another heralded secret sauce, owes its wide distribution to the Civil War. While canning food to feed the union troops, it was discovered that tomatoes were a perfect fit for the process. Subsequently, farm production of the formerly shunned fruit, known as the love apple, exploded. After the war, the tomato became accepted as an edible fruit and grew in popularity. As canned foods filled more shelves at grocery stores, across the country tomatoes out-sold all other products; which leads us to another tomato success story.
H. J. Heinz, son of German immigrants that settled in Pennsylvania in the 1840s, introduced his now famous recipe of Ketchup in 1876. It contained tomatoes, distilled vinegar, brown sugar, salt and a variety of spices that were a secret. He also pioneered the use of glass bottles, so customers could see what they were purchasing. Thanks to H. J.’s ingenuity, there is a bottle of Ketchup in most house holds across the fruited plains.
Now you may be thinking about ketchup’s twin, mustard. It had been around as a condiment longer then its red-skinned twin, but it took a George French to make it as popular.
George did this by serving it on hot dogs at the 1905 St. Louis World’s Fair. It did not take long for this publicity stunt to put a bottle of mustard in most American households, right along with the ketchup.
My research shows that 1912 was a pivotal date for its evolution and the development of the American secret sauce tradition. On that date Richard Hellman, who owned Hellman’s Deli in New York, sold his first glass bottle full of Hellman’s Blue Ribbon Mayonnaise, a date most cardiologists probably hold in infamy.
The way I see it, America entered it golden age of secret sauces in 1912.
Before I justify that claim, it would be good to know the components that make a secret sauce.
The basic flavor components for secret sauce is some combination of the following – sweet, sour, salty, spicy, smoky and organic fat and umami fat.
In general, secret sauces can be grouped into two categories. This grouping is based on the creator’s methodology of making the diner crave it to the last drop.
Group one balances flavors and sensations. There is tension set up by two opposing or different flavors that stimulates the taste buds and makes you want to eat more to experience that stimulation. In the short term this makes the food habit forming, culinary crack. BBQ sauce falls squarely in this category. The major flavor tension is between the sugar and the vinegar, the juxtaposing sweet and sour. Secondary is the tension from the big, fat mouth feel of the tomato base and the ephemeral nature of the smoky flavor notes. A black pepper finish can add to that crack affect too.
Group two relies almost exclusively on making the food feel big and fat in your mouth. Take the McDonald secret sauce for example. It is not a sophisticated dance of flavors playing off of one another like a tango or a ballet. No, not much finesse there, mostly the blunt instruments of creamy fat and sugar clobbering your palate into submission. I am not judging this approach; it works and that’s what counts here.
Soy sauce achieves the same result but without relying on organic fat like mayo. It uses salt to stimulate the taste buds and glutamates to tell your mouth this is big as well as satisfying. The salt is added and the glutamates are developed from fermenting the main ingredient, soy beans.
For those readers who don’t know what umami is this quote from Wikipedias’ article on umami will do nicely: “People taste umami through taste receptors that typically respond to glutamates, which are widely present in meat broths and fermented products… Since umami has its own receptors rather than arising out of a combination of the traditionally recognized taste receptors, scientists now consider umami to be a distinct taste.”
There is another ‘secret ingredient’ replicates the umami phenomenon – Maggi. Caramelized sugar derived from the sugar contained in vegetable, such as carrots and onions, results in the same chemicals the fermentation process yields. Caramelized sugar is obtained by applying dry heat, oven-roasting or sauteing, to a sugar-rich vegetable. The applied heat browns or caramelizes their sugar. The Swiss fellow Julies Maggi, who invented and marketed Maggi, knew this too. He cooked down his caramelized vegetables in water until a thick, dark, rich syrup resulted. That liquid, when added to a stew or a soup, gave it a deeper, richer flavor that was big and substantial on the pallet, not thin and watery.
If you are the kind of cook who ascribes to the modern age adage ‘better living through chemistry’ then the compound monosodium glutamate is your go umami enhancing option. It has been commercial available in Japan since discovered by Kikunae Ikeda in 1905. However, an economical manufacturing process to produce it by the ton was developed in 1959 and made it affordable to the world market.
The mouth feel ingredients, liquid smoke, Maggi and soy sauce, create complexity and also fool your pallet into experiencing something it is really not experiencing.
These flavors and flavor enhancers that make up a secret sauce need a delivery vehicle, something to hold them together for transport onto the food then onto the palate. These items include, but may not be limited to mustard, mayo, tomato, sour cream, heavy cream, butter milk, ketchup, vinegar and oil. Some of these vehicles are secret sauce in their own right before the anything is added to them.
Back to 1912.
My rational for calling that year the start of the golden age is based on place utility. Every one of the ingredients I just mentioned was available to the American consumer at reasonable prices and in adequate quantities at that time. Now any housewife, fast food entrepreneur, classically trained executive chef, or weekend BBQ enthusiast could mix and match them and come up with a pop-culture favorite. Out of this age came many secret sauce favorites, such as McDonald’s special sauce, Hidden Valley Ranch dressing, Baby Ray’s Chicken Dipping Sauce, and Louisiana Cajun Style Seafood Sauce, to name just a few.
This brings the history of secret sauce to the present day. Please be aware, my history should not be confused with a formal dissertation published by the Oxford Press – too many fun facts and two pint conjectures for that.
But I do have a take-away from all this writing.
As I stated earlier, writing this post has challenged my notion that secret sauces are lowbrow cooking. Actually, they follow in the french tradition of Haute Cuisine.
Escoffier and Careme delighted the rich and famous by roasting fine cuts of meat and created complicated sauces to go with them. Many a humbler burger flipper and fry cook have done the same for their burgers and po’ boys. However, they went one better, they delighted millions of every class, rich or poor.
Everyone has to eat and everyone should take delight in what they eat.
The fine people at Word press who support this page gather plenty of metrics for it and present it on a really neat ‘dash board’. I enjoy the map that shows the country a viewer is visiting from. It represents them with the flag of their nation.
That gives me a global warm and fuzzy when ever I look at it. (Also learning the flags of the world.)
The other day I was perusing these stats and thought of one to include.
What percentage of the world population has found my little digital space in the six months it has gone live?
I took the visits and divided them by the world population and arrived at this –
Talk about feeling small.
Then I thought to put that tiny number in a context, to give it some perspective.
One of the largest audiences in the United States, that I could find for any type of broadcast, is conservative radio show host Rush Limbaugh. He has about 30 million listeners per week . Other then taking his word for it, there does not seem to be any other way to verify that number. But lets go with it. Crunching that number I arrived at this –
Hmm… that is impressive to say the least. If you look at that figure on an annual basis you arrive at 3%. Even more impressive.
That got me thinking again, Who is bigger? Who reaches the most people on the planet using any form of electronic communications?
The China Ministry of Public Security.
It sensors all the 730 million internet users in China every moment of the day and night. That effectively makes it the largest communications platform on the planet. I could not find one larger.
I read that it employees up to 50 thousand police to accomplish this mind boggling task.
Crunching their audience number comes up with this –
Talk about feeling big.
One final number in this journey of scale.
If it would take 50 thousand people to censor 730 million then it would probably take 150 thousand people to censor 7 billion.
Oddly enough, this number of employees is not even close to the number of Chinese postal workers – 850 thousand plus.
That number is no where near the number of people employed by the world’s largest private employer – 2.1 million for Walmart.
Organizing the man power for world censorship of the web looks very do-able.
Feelings of sadness hang over the Archipelago today, a Gothic funeral pall woven from the darkest of fabrics. The bright, colored flags of my kitchen are flying at half mast and I doff my chef’s toque in reverence and mourning to my old friend.
On this cheerless day, my Bellman – CX-25 espresso/cuppuccino maker has given up the ghost.
We go back a long way, Bellman and I, twenty years to be exact. It was bequeathed to me by my sous chef after she bought it at a garage sale for one dollar. It was a brand new, virgin kitchen utensil when she saw it sparkling in the summer morning sun out on the folding table in that driveway crowded with shoppers.
I was there when it brewed its first cup of the steaming, dark delicious. Together, for the next twenty years, we shared that ritual of making morning mocha magic.
After two decades of having enjoyed its faith full companionship, and one whose qualities of dependability and brewing consistency the practical chef in me greatly admired, I could not let Bellman fade away in the vast boneyard of broken power tools and out of style window blinds in the corner of my shop I rarely visit.
I went on a quest to find replacement parts for Bellman, or Sputnik as I affectionately refer to it. (It reminds me of an old-school satellite hurtling through the 1950’s night sky, high above the Earth, as it bounces transmissions of the Texaco Star Theater TV Show across oceans and continents.)
I searched for quite a while before I found what I needed.
It was at a store located in the old Italian section of Philadelphia, Fante’s – since 1906, that I found the gasket kit, the hope for resurrecting Bellman from the nether world of its demise!
As I write this, that assortment of red rubber rings are wending their way through the U S Postal system to the mournful shores of the Peoria Archipelago.
Hopefully, my future Bellman post will be about my old friend and I sharing a brew of the dark delicious as the morning sun streams into my freshly painted kitchen.
On September 17, 1785 the United States Constitution was Ratification and became the law of the land. 235 years ago this past Thursday.
I feel this is one of the most important, if not the most important, day of national remembrance for America. On that date the concept of liberty for the individual, and the means to secure it, where agreed upon as the guiding principles of our nation.
The freedoms that document ensures are a blessing that many peoples across the globe can only dream about, yet we live them everyday. The government the founders left us is truly a gift from God that we should be ever grateful for, fully understand and defend at all times.
This week Prairie Beacon is celebrating the Constitution, and the events leading to it’s signing, with commemorative and definitive issues from the U.S. Postal Service; as well as words of wisdom from past presidents and patriots.
Happy Collecting !
America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves. – Abraham Lincoln
What light is to the eyes – what air is to the lungs – what love is to the heart, liberty is to the soul of man. – George Washington
Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same. — Ronald Reagan.
“Whatever is my right as a man is also the right of another; and it becomes my duty to guarantee as well as to possess.” – Thomas Paine
”So I came to hazard all the freedom of America, and desirous of passing the rest of my life in a Country truly free and before settling as a Citizen, to fight for Liberty.” – Casimir Pulaski
In my last post I made a reference to the school of Precisionist painters. For those who may not know, Precisionism was the first indigenous modern art movement in the United States. It developed after WWI and saw the peak of its’ popularity in the 1920’s and 1930’s. These artists embraced the geometrical forms found in the American Industrial and urban landscapes and used them to create pure art as well as commercial design.
I am not a fan of most modern art. The majority of it is social or political commentary that is very abstract and negative in nature. Frankly, this makes it difficult for me to relate to and ultimately enjoy.
But the Precisionist movement is not focused on issues and abstractions. It relates mainly to the physical world the artists inhabited. This allows me to connect to it, appreciate it, and enjoy it.
Since Precisionist artists used the surrounding environment as their subject matter, I view this school as a form of realistic landscape art transformed by the industrial revolution with some influences from Cubism. But there are two major differences that separate the landscape artist from Precisionist – choice of subject mater and presentation of the human figure.
First, Precisionists paint artificial landscapes and emphasize the geometrical forms within those landscapes. The square, blocky proportions of a factory, the multiplicity of curves formed by storage tanks, and the sweeping arcs and angles of a steel bridges become their landscapes.
Secondly, similar to landscape artists, people who appear in Precisionist paintings are details subordinate to the main subject. Landscape painters handle this with a reduction in scale of human figures with in the frame. Precisionists handle figures thematically. They create a sense of isolation and marginalization by juxtaposing the figures against the landscape’s artificial nature, which is depicted on a massive scale.
Despite the emotional void or anxiety the theme Precisionist paintings can evoke, I find them to be relaxing to view. Maybe that sense of isolation is comfortable because of my urban upbringing. In a way this emotion is similar to the solitude I also experienced when I spent time in the forests of New York State’s Catskills Mountains and landscapes of the Shawangunk Ridge. The geometric shapes employed in these paintings and choice of muted colors, adds to that sense of calm.
As you can see, I read a lot into these scenes and could not make that reference in my previous post without providing a brief explanation. If you find these artists’ work interesting, then my explanation was worth the time to write.
My Saturday morning bike rides are like trips to the art museum. They are short visits to the Precisionist wing that holds the hard-edged, industrial landscapes; the paintings that celebrate commercial products being manufactured and repaired, transported and warehoused.
There, I am surrounded by some of my favorite images; the busy mechanic’s garages off of Main Street
and the old brick factories and their rusting, weed filled rail-yards down by the river
Some of these images are composed of simple geometric forms that are limited in color. The larger than life scale of these forms can be imposing, but arranged together they create a minimalist esthetic that I find calming to view.
Others have a peculiar and unintentional beauty. A busy complexity, developed over time, that creates visual interest and stimulating viewing.
The images to discover on a Saturday morning ride are endless. Each time I venture out I find a new one to photograph.
In the Archipelago, September is the transition between summer and autumn. We will still get a day or two with a high of 89 or 90, but the thermometer is more inclined to explore the low end then the high. The garden is still giving up red plum tomatoes, green zucchinis and big aromatic leaves of oregano, sage, and basil as the nightly lows are comfortable without the air conditioning blasting.
It is a time of transition for my cooking too. Roasting and baking in the oven, and long slow simmering on the open burners for a hardy dinner, gradually replaces grilling in the backyard and serving meals that are more like an antipasti spread.
The turn of the season brings a different creative reference which is reinforced by the fact our 100 year old house has no air conditioning in the kitchen. In a way I like that; it keeps me more in touch with the seasons. Sharing dinner on the front porch as often as we do also keeps me in touch with the changes in the temperature and the weather in general. It is my greatest pleasure to share dinner with my family under the shade of the big ash tree; as the birds sing hidden in it’s leafy beams and the as big puffy summer clouds roll by.
With that in mind I would like to share with you my culinary journey through the first part of September. Every dish is centered on Salmon and for good reason. We have friends who have the fish flown from the fishery to the Archipeligo, all season long.
Day one, Wild Copper River CoHo Salmon baked in foil and flavored with white wine, fresh squeezed lemon and seasoned. The garnish of sweet red pepper was roasted on a small fire I made by the garden, which laced it with the taste of its’ smoke and the glowing embers. The fish was served on a bed of assorted greens, mixed with slices of carrots, red pepper, rutabaga and mushroom.
This was finished with a simple dressing of balsamic vinegar, walnut oil, cracked black pepper and coarse sea salt.
Day two, back in the garden making another fire. This time roasting big red bell peppers under an overcast sky that brought in cool, damp weather. With the mercury struggling to get out of the 60s the oven was back in vogue.
The peppers were cleaned and the insides lined with a thin slices of prosciutto rubbed with olive oil and sprinkled with a little thyme. Then it was filled with a seafood stuffing. Scallops, shrimp and clams were sauteed with chopped thyme and shallots, finished with a few splashes of dry white wine and folded into a pile of fluffy ricotta and a small portion of shredded fresh mozzarella. I put the stem back in place, brushed the outside of the pepper with olive oil and baked it until the flavors developed and came together in the transformative heat of the oven. It was sprinkled with cracked black pepper when served.
The prosciutto always has an interesting way of blending with other flavors when it is cooked and this dish was a great example of that.
Day three, an Italian spin on poached Silver Salmon. With another chill in the air again, polenta was on everyone’s mind. A creamy pile of yellow corn meal polenta perfumed with the pungent flavor of roasted garlic, dry porcini mushrooms and home made chicken stock was the starch of choice on one side. On the other side, the last of the garden tomatoes, basil, and first pickings of the garden’s onions, were quickly cooked up into a fresh, chunky tomato sauce. The salmon was seasoned with salt and pepper and a a few splashes of Orvieto wine when it went into the oven. I wanted the sauce and the side to add the major flavor elements.
Day four – Salomon comfort food that focuses on the rich flavor of the sauce. Fresh heavy cream from, Rolling Lawn Farms in Greenville Illinois, was infused with small diced, garden grown onions, hearty Pommery French Mustard from Meaux, whole grain, and finished with a dry, full bodied Chardonnay. Like the previous dish, the fish, Silver Salmon, was poached in the oven with no flavor additions other then salt and pepper. To keep the flavor profile of the sauce in the center of the plate, the fish and sauce was served with simple mashed potatoes, made with Rolling Lawn Farms whole milk, and butter imported from Italy. Paired with these fluffy mounds of potato was the sweetly earthy flavor of boiled, golden beets. Rich yet delicate flavor notes that harmonized perfectly.
This was a great start to my culinary month. I can’t wait to see where the rest of September leads me.
Happy cooking and thank God for all that you have.
In the Archipelago, summer can change to Autumn in a matter of days. On September 9th, that happened again. The temperature did not make it out of the 60’s all day as I worked away in my office under gray, drizzling skies. Just days ago the daytime high was in the low 80’s. Little more then a week earlier they were in the low 90’s.
Twenty seven years living on this island and the dramatic swings in the weather still amaze me.
This change in the weather brought to mind Autumn and all the things that make it a magical season: fires in the backyard while drinking a fine single malt, colored leaves tumbling in the wind, buying a pumpkin at the orchard, cozy sweaters, and reading a good book.
The last one is my favorite and for the start of book reading season, I have put together a list of my perennial favorites.
A simple process was used in putting this list together. First, any book that I was to consider, had to stick in my mind. If I found myself thinking about about a book, months and years after finishing it, the book was under consideration for the list. Secondly, if I found myself reading that same book for the second or third time, then it made the list.
Admittedly, many of these books are idiosyncratic in nature or narrow in their appeal. But each book has the power to transform the reader’s thinking on a subject or on the craft of writing itself. They did for me.
So, here are some of the classics in my world of reading.
Shellfish, Anton Mosimann & Holgar Hofmann. Every image is lavishly photographed with the power to make you hungry for shellfish and a glass of dry white wine. It taught me an important lesson early on in my cooking career, that people eat with their eyes as well as their mouths.
Seeing In The Dark, Timothy Ferris. Ferris’s writing is deceptively simple. It’s streamlined, economic quality easily transfers a wealth of information, beautiful imagery, and strong emotions. It is more than a book on astronomers.
Moby Dick, Herman Melville. This is my second choice for the great American novel. It is really five books fused together and disguised as a sea adventure – the history of whaling in old North America, an environmental protest, an old time moral tale, and a story of obsession. I read this for the first time when I was in my late 40’s. It was a good thing I waited that long. I had the maturity of mind necessary to follow Melville’s writing style and appreciate it.
The Roman Economy, This is really a non fiction detective novel about a civilization transformed by power and wealth. The only investigative tools this scholar as detective uses is economics and archeology. Even though it is a scholarly work and can be dry at times, it is a great read for anyone who has an interest in how government policy and money effects the common citizen.
Grendal, John Gardener – A no holds barred, tour de force of the writing craft. Gardener is a guitar god in author form. The licks he plays can be stark and brutal as a battle scene, deep and soulful as the blues, and perceptive as an old Greek philosopher holding forth in the forum. It is quite a ride.
The Persian Expedition, Xenophon. The most unbelievable human adventure of the ancient world, written with the voice of a 20th century adventure novel. A page turner that is twenty five hundred years old.
The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald. A very astute critique of the wealthy class. It is my first pick for the great American novel, of its day or any day. Fitzgerald’s writing is the epitome of elegant efficency, but it fully and deeply illustrates the characters and the society they inhabit.
Invisible Cities, Italio Calvino. Reads like a poetic reflection, a fantastic mythology, a travel guide written by a clairvoyant and a psychoanalysis of cities. The premise of the plot sounds like a legend you thought was true. The organization of the chapters are the work of a genius or an unbalanced prankster. The odd thing with this book is that Calvino convinces you that every city, no matter how fantastic or absurd it appears to be, existed somewhere in the world. All this makes it a rare and unique work that can be read again and again and still remain fresh, inspired, and captivating.
Flesh and Blood, C.K. Williams. A slim volume filled with small, intimate portraits of people living their simple lives against the big, complex and busy background of urban New York.
Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad. This is a strong moral brew with deep, dark flavor notes of original sin and a sparse sprinkling of sweet compassion in every sip. I first encountered it in high school and was left with the impression that Conrad wanted to use words to paint an expansive mural; an illustration that examines the nature of good and evil in humanity and how our social structures shape the ways we project that good and evil into the world.
Andrew Wyeth A Secret Life, Richard Merryman. This is a dissertation on the complex relationship between an artist, his art, and his world. Andrew Wyeth paintings are among my favorite works of art and I picked this book up with the idea of learning a few things about the man and his process. But I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that the author’s prose are almost as monumental as his subject’s work. Merryman makes his own sophisticated, beautiful and emblamatic art out his subject’s musing on making sophisticated, beautiful and emblamatic art.
There they are, the big ten. Hope you get lost in one or two and be transformed by the end of your journey.
Smart phones are truly amazing. They put the world in your hand, something that was not even dreamed of when I was a kid growing up in the city of Yonkers. Back then transistor radios, stereos with high fidelity sound and console television sets with colored tubes were the consumer wonders of the day.
But despite all the cutting edge communication tech, libraries, endless venues for entertainment and retail opportunities too numerous to fathom, I enjoy the camera the most.
I have a visual pencil and sketch book where ever I go and a gallery in every country of the world to show the images.
The first four images are from around the house, the next one from down the end of my street during a rain shower and the last three are reflections in windows I had seen while out on my bicycle.
I hope you enjoy these small moments and find them as interesting as I did when I saw them.
My daughter Rebecca loves to create and painting is her primary means of expressing that. Lately, she had been selling some of her work – but not just to pay off a parking ticket! Her latest ‘commission’ was for her friend Hannah.
Hanna wanted a painting to hang up in her dorm room. She texted Rebecca an image of a poster she saw on line and asked if she would paint something similar. It was an image of wild flowers which reminded her of the flowers she knew from Wisconsin. Hanna was born there, has family there and visits often. Now she is going to school there.
Rebecca liked the image of the flowers. She suggested painting a picture that identified the common wild flowers of Wisconsin. Since she had been painting small portraits in water color, now refereed to as the parking ticket series, she continued with that same technique.
When Native Flowers of Wisconsin was finish Hanna and Rebecca were both pleased with the final product. I thought it was neat that she did this for her best friend. It is a symbol of their friendship as well as a beautiful water color painting.
If we could have a little of this relationship mixed into everything we do for others, no matter how simple or difficult the task, the world would be a much different place.
A few weeks ago, I acquired a banker’s box worth of older United States Post Office issued year books; each with a packet of that year’s commemorative stamps. The years of these books run from the mid seventies to the early nineties. They are all in post office fresh condition, never opened, which made this an extra special procurement.
I have to say, they are really neat offerings celebrating a given year’s commemorative issues.
The early issues of these books, from the nineteen seventies, consisted of just a glossy folder to mount the stamps in. The folder included a paragraph or two of information on the subject of each stamp.
By the nineteen nineties, the post office developed them into bound, hard cover books. They are smartly designed and the graphics are lavish. The quality of the printing, weight and finish of the pages, and the album’s cover, are of impressive quality. The background story of each stamp’s subject was expanded to several pages. Photos of the stamps’ designers are included in the table of contents.
Over time their price tags have increased substantialy too; from around eight dollars to a current price of sixty four dollars.
Here are a few pics of the 1995 album.
After looking at a few of these albums I am definitely including them in my collection. The shelves of stock books and vinyl binders full of sheets in my office need a little verity.
Stretching through central Illinois’ Island Archipelago is a second chain of islands. Compared to the five main island cities, they are very small in size. They can only be found from late spring to early autumn. Their prominent feature is the fields of tall sunflowers that cover them. Each island is home to thousands of these flowers soaking up the hot summer sun and the cool rains of passing thunder storms.
These islands appear in different places every summer. When the right person finds one, the social media lights up with texts, tweets and post spreading its’ location to those who visit them each year.
Every day people travel out to visit these island, until the flowers have lost their big, sunny yellow blooms and the birds feast on their dried seeds. I met a car load of girls that drove from a little town twenty miles away to visit the one near Peoria.
Finding an island in a different location each season summer gives it a special quality and you cannot help but feel that enchantment when you wander among the rows. If you visit at sunrise, and the mist is still laying low over the field and into the dark woods at it’s edges, it is like sleep walking through a dream or a fairly tale.
I tried to capture something of that magic from the island we visited. These photos were taken an hour or so before sunset.