Welcome to the Writer and her mews
My passion for cooking must have begun when I was very young, as my fondest memories are associated with cooking, being around people cooking, and spending time in someone’s kitchen. Until I was eleven years old I attended a private school for girls. I seemed to spend more time hanging out in the kitchen, than out in the playground. Chewing on salted raw potatoes and just observing the cooks scurrying around, preparing food. At some point I was probably sent off to be wherever I was supposed to have been, but I was never admonished for being in the kitchen There were about 40 students in the school. We had our meals in a regular dining room, with eight at a table and an adult to supervise us. To be sure we minded our manners. My best friend Cherra and I would try to sit at the end of the table, because although the food was generally palatable, there was one concoction they created, that was really bad!! It was the dreaded breaded tomatoes. Basically stewed tomatoes with chunks of bread cooked into it. Gross was not in my vocabulary then, but it would have been the definitive word. I don’t remember how often it turned up on our plates, but it was too often for me. Just looking at it would make me gag. After the first mouthful, I knew I would never consume it again. Cherra and I devised a way to get rid of the horrible stuff without eating it. At our places were starched white serviettes. We would take a large mouthful and then pretend to be coughing, and you didn’t need to try hard to pretend. Then, being proper ladies, we would put the napkin to our mouth and spit the tomato stuff into it. Leaving it at our place when we were excused. Tomato surprise! We were never called on it, maybe because there were more of us doing it. We were summoned to our meals by a gong, a small xylophone, with a soft melodious sound that I can still hear. In the morning we would all troupe down from our bedrooms on the third floor of the huge red stone building that sat at the edge of a beautiful park. Breakfasts were not memorable but the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that we would take to the park for lunch, on special occasions, were waited for with great anticipation. I think it was the eating al fresco that made the peanut butter and jelly so special. Before dinner we would line up, wash our hands and face, comb our hair and wait for the gong’s beckoning sound. During our wait we would sit and listen to the radio: The Green Hornet, Fibber MaGee & Molly, and Innersanctum. The gong would sound and they would turn off the radio just at a crucial moment. One particular teacher, would let us hear the rest of the episode. As we walked down the stairs to the dining room they would continuously remind us to "Walk girls, don’t run, behave like little ladies", and we would echo the words, in whispers of course! My meals at home were entirely different. We had two cooks. Rose Gormally, was from Liverpool. I remember her especially for her little dollar pancakes, and letting me drink tea with milk in it. Mrs. Leaf was Swedish and she put great dollops of butter in everything, which is probably how I developed such a fondness for it. Rose was easily upset and we must have given her a hard time as I remember her chasing us up the back stairs off the kitchen, where we would then hide in the dumb waiter. She would curse us shouting Damn nation!, I always wondered why she was mad at the country instead of us. Mrs. Leaf on the other hand was very quiet, I know now she enjoyed cooking, making soups and stews and putting butter in just about everything. When I was younger butter was rationed, but it was somehow available we when we ate out at restaurants. My mother would take some little pats home in her purse and spread it on graham crackers for me at bedtime, with a cup of Ovaltine. I always volunteered for the job of mixing the margarine in the plastic bag with the small red capsule of coloring. It was like painting a picture as I watched the colors blend and swirl. When we were able to get real butter, I would sneak into the refrigerator, cut off a chunk, and put it in a jar lid. Then I would set it on a little shelf on the back of the huge 6 burner Wedgewood, and wait in nervous anticipation until it melted, and I could carry it off somewhere and dip my fingers in the warm butter and lick them off. I have recently gone on a diet and exercise program and I have cut back on my butter, cream and cheese. This is a monumental sacrifice for me. I am amazed that I have been able to stick with it. (most of the time.) Until my father died when I was nine, my mother kept a Kosher kitchen. We used three sets of dishes. I actually enjoyed helping to wash and put them away in their special places. One for meat, one for milk and another set for Passover. On Friday’s we would go to one of my aunt’s for dinner. I could hardly wait to get off the elevator to inhale the wonderful aroma drifting down the hall. I remember the roast chicken, potato pancakes, honey cake, matzos, tea in a glass and sometimes a very tiny sip of Mogen David wine. My Aunt Rose was a most typical Jewish mother, smothering you with love and then more and more food. A third helping and then some packed up to take home for later. She must have cooked for an army, a trait that I naturally inherited, having 6 children and most of their friends at the table. Becoming a cook came quite naturally for me. Summers I would ride the train to St. Louis with my mother and sister. The family was large, therefore so were the meals. Catfish fresh from the river, huge beefsteak tomatoes sprinkled with a little sugar, Hushpuppies and homemade pies. On Sunday morning when my aunt and cousins would go to Mass, I would go to the kitchen and polish the silver or scour the pots and pans. My mother’s Aunt Lou and Uncle Clem had a real farm in St. Charles. My very best memories are from there. I would help my uncle milk the cows. He would squirt milk into the cats’ faces when they would come around. I got to slop the huge hogs, and climb up into the silo filled with wheat. By the end of the summer, my legs were covered in scratches, and my inner thighs were sore from riding bareback on the huge work horse. But the best times were in the kitchen, especially when I would climb out of my feather bed and sneak down from the loft where I slept, to watch the farmhands have their morning repast. It was probably 3 or 4 o’clock, long before dawn, which may be why I am now such an early riser. They would all be sitting at a large round table. A hanging lamp overhead cast a rosy glow over the room. My aunt was moving around the kitchen, with platters of biscuits, hotcakes, ham and eggs, hot maple syrup and mounds of churned butter. The wonderful smell of coffee pervaded the air. The atmosphere was mellow, the voices were almost a hush as the men ate and made plans for their day. This is where I go, mentally, when I need to take my thoughts to a quiet place. ***** Quite naturally breakfast became my favorite meal and I have created and collected some unusual offering for breaking the fast. Always remember to read recipes completely before starting. Make sure you have all the ingredients, cooking pans and implements at hand.
Rise and Shine
Overnight Waffles with Butterscotch Sauce 2-1/2 cups all purpose flour 2 T. Sugar 1 package active dry yeast 1/2 tsp. salt 1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon 1-3/4 cups milk 2 eggs 1/3 cup cooking oil In a large mixing bowl stir together first five ingredients. Mix eggs, milk, and oil. Mix with dry ingredients until thoroughly combined. Cover loosely and refrigerate overnight. In the morning, preheat lightly oiled waffle iron, pour about 3/4 cup of batter onto iron. Close lit quickly and do not open until open. ( Measure amount of batter and bake according to manufacturers instructions). Continue to use up batter. Should make about 16 waffles. Drizzle with Butterscotch Sauce.
Butterscotch Sauce
In a medium saucepan combine 1-1/4 cups packed brown sugar, 2/3 cup light corn syrup, 1/4 cup milk, and 1/4 cup butter. Bring just to boiling;y reduce heat. Simmer for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Serve warm. Makes about 1-2/3 cups. Sauce can be made the night before and heated for use. Enjoy!
Buttermilk Waffles with Two Toppings - One Sweet, One Savory
Preheat oven to 200', preheat waffle iron to be used. 3 cups all-purpose flour 1 T. baking powder, 3/4 tsp. baking soda 1 tsp. salt 3-1/4 cups buttermilk 1-1/2 sticks (3/4 cup) butter, melted and cooled 3 large eggs beaten lightly
In large bowl, whisk together the dry ingredients. Add buttermilk, butter and eggs, stirring until smooth, (batter will be thick). Spoon batter into heated waffle iron, using 1/2 cup measure for a four inch Belgian Waffler, or 1/4 cup for standard 4 inch square. Cook according to instructions. Transfer to cookie sheet and keep warm uncovered in middle of oven. Use the rest of the batter. Makes 12 Belgian waffles and 24 regular waffle. Extra can be frozen. *****
Two Toppings Tarragon Brie Sauce with Hard-boiled Eggs 2 T. all-purpose flour +1/4 tsp. dry mustard 3 T. butter 1-1/2 cups whole milk 1 T. dry white wine 3/4 lb. Brie, rind discarded, cut into 1 inch pieces 1 T. fresh lemon juice 1 tsp. minced fresh tarragon leaves 1 tsp. chopped parsley Salt and white pepper to taste 6 hard-boiled eggs, shelled and kept warm in a saucepan of hot water.
Mix together flour and mustard. In a heavy saucepan melt butter over moderate low heat and whisk in flour mixture until smooth. Cook roux, whisking, for 3 minutes. In a slow stream whisk in milk and simmer, whisking for two minutes until thickened. Add wine and mix well. Remove pan from heat and add Brie. Cook over low heat until cheese is melted and sauce is smooth. Do not let boil. Pour sauce through sieve into another saucepan. Sauce may be made to this point one day ahead. Cool, and chill covered. Before using, preheat over low heat and stir in lemon juice, tarragon, parsley, salt and pepper to taste. When ready to serve cut eggs into wedges, arrange on waffles and top with sauce. *****
Apple and Dried Fruit Compote
3 medium Golden Delicious Apples 1 cup sugar 1/2 cup dried sour cherries 1/4 cup Golden raisins 1/4 cup craisins 1-1/2 cups cranberry-raspberry juice 4 tsps. cornstarch 1 T. fresh lemon juice Peel and core apples and cut into 3/4 inch wedges. In a large sauce pan combine apples, sugar, dried fruit and 1-1/4 cups juice and bring to a boil. Simmer mixture over moderate heat for a few minutes or until apples are tender, and remove pan from heat. In a small bowl stir together cornstarch and remaining juice and stir into compote. Cook over moderate heat, stirring until liquid is thickened and clear (do not let boil). Compote may be made ahead to this point one day ahead, cooled and covered and refrigerated. When ready to use stir in lemon juice and serve warm over waffles. Garnish with a dollop of creme fraiche. *****
Accompaniments
Broiled Grapefruit with Vanilla Ginger Sugar 2/3 cup turbanado sugar 3 T. chopped crystallized ginger 1 tsp. pure vanilla extract 3 large pink grapefruits
Preheat broiler, In an electric coffee/spice grinder combine sugar vanilla and ginger. Grind fine. Halve grapefruits and loosen section completely with a sharp knife. Arrange in a flameproof baking dish, cut side up. Sprinkle with sugar mix and broil about 3 inches from the flame until sugar melts and tops begin to brown, about 10 minutes. Serve at room temperature. Garnish with borage flowers. *****
Pecan Praline Bacon 1 lb. thick cut bacon 3 T. sugar 1/4 cup pecans chopped fine 2 pinches chili powder Preheat oven to 425' On cookie sheet arrange bacon in one layer and cook for 10 minutes, or until it just begins to turn golden. Carefully holding bacon on pan with metal spatula, pour excess fat off into heatproof bowl, (cool and then dispose of). Arrange bacon again and sprinkle with sugar and pecans. Return to oven and back until crisp and browned, about 5 minutes. Transfer to paper towels, praline side up to absorb grease. Serves 6.
***** Pain Perdu (Lost Bread) Named as such as it is reclaimed from staleness in a old English recipe for a variation of a French toast. The dry bread becomes a custard with baking and the bread is "lost". Takes some time but well worth it. 1 French baguette, cut into 1-1/2 inch slices and let sit out somewhere to dry out for at least 24 hours, or use an old loaf that has started to go stale.( Stale simply means not fresh, which can happen in just a few days.) 4 eggs, beaten 1 cup half and half 4 T. sugar 1/4 tsp. cinnamon 2 T. Sherry 1/2 tsp. salt 1/2 cup butter Mix all ingredients, arrange bread slices in a large baking dish. Pour milk and egg mixture over it, let set for 10 minutes. Turn each piece of bread over and cover the dish with saran. Let soak over night. When ready to cook, preheat oven to 350'. Melt butter in heavy skillet over medium heat. Fry the bread on one side, turn over when golden, cook for another 5 minutes. Wash and dry the large baking dish and lightly coat with cooking spray. Arrange breads in dish and bake in oven for 15 minutes or until they have puffed up and are lightly browned. Remove to warmed plates. Serve with butter, maple syrup or favorite jam. Enjoy.
Comestibles, Coincidence and Harpo A friend of mine recently invited me to attend a rather special gathering. Some friends of hers host this annual event, as social participation of a group of her friends, and also as a fund raiser for a children’s organization. The concept of this event is for the guests to bring a food of some kind to be shared with the rest of the group. A pot luck so to speak, but way beyond that. The entrée, or entry as the case may be, could be entered in any one of four categories. The presentation is very important as is of course the taste and originality. All the participants vote for the different entrees. There is a 1st, 2nd, and 3rd, prize in each category. We decided to enter in the appetizer category. I came up with an idea of using the Marx Brothers movie A NIGHT AT THE OPERA, as the theme. I would be Harpo and my friend would be Groucho, in his Captain Spalding character. For the food, we would do Classical Comestibles. The menu I had come up some years ago, with classical composers and operas used in the descriptions, i.e. Mozartichokes, Souffledermaus, E'claire de lune, Veal a La Scala, and Moussgorsky with Gregorian Chanterelles, which is what we would be making. The dish is simply mushroom caps stuffed with crab, and salmon mousse. I printed a menu and put it in an old art deco frame. A silver candelabra with purple candles, and a few tickets to put about on the table, also some clips from the movie. I dug out my copy which I have seen many times just to get the mannerisms of the two buffoons. In the film, the first shot of Harpo has him dressed in a clown outfit, which he proceeds to take off to reveal a sailor suit, and then under that a women’s dress. Groucho’s costume would be a white shirt, a tie, a safari type jacket, a pith helmet and the glasses with the nose, eyebrows and mustache. Harpo usually wore a checkered shirt, a wrinkled overcoat and a top hat. The only hat that I had that was similar was my Dr. Sues hat. I decided to wear it. So, now to find the other components of this farce. I went to a nearby second hand store to find a old raincoat, my plan being to buy it and then return it as a donation, as this particular store supports a children’s group also. I walked in and something guided me over to a section that I was not familiar with, and hanging there with a sleeve sticking out as if to say Pick Me!, was THE COAT! But it wasn’t old and scrungy, it was a beautiful light gray/green trench coat and it fit me perfectly. So much for my plans to return it. I took my incredible find to the cashier and told her how happy I was, as it was perfect for my Harpo costume. The price tag was $24.50. I took the money out to pay her and she said for no apparent reason that she would take $4.50 off the price. I told her then that I had intended to bring the coat back after the affair, but it was so nice I intended to keep it as I hadn’t had a similar coat since my London Fog finally fell apart years ago. What luck! And a discount too! I then went to the Party Shop to find the glasses with the nose and eyebrows. Also a rubber chicken to hang inside the raincoat with the horn. They were very sorry but they were out of the nose/mustaches. I decided to look for a grease pencil and we could just draw on the mustache, which is what Groucho did anyway. Then I spied a stack of straw pith helmets, perfect for Captain Spalding. I tried one on and then another and they were much too small. As I put the hat back I noticed the brim of one sticking out half way down the stack. I took it out and tried it on, it was perfect, larger, it had little air holes in it, different from the rest of the hats. I had found the HAT! The only one like it! As I was turning to go to the cashier, something caught my eye. There under another stack of hats, clown hats, the edge, barely sticking out, was a set of the glasses with the nose and mustache. The girl at the cash register, who had helped me look for them said she didn’t know how they got there as they are kept in a completely different area. Doo doo Doo doo! I think Harpo’s spirit was guiding me. I took my treasures home and began to plan the menu. I would make the mousse and then fill the mushrooms tomorrow before we left at 3.pm. According to the schedule, the appetizers would be presented at 4.pm, the soups and salads, at 6, the entrées at 8, and the desserts at 9:30. In between there would be dancing with a live band, volleyball, and who knows what else. It sounded like an all night soiree! Saturday morning my friend came over and we organized our stuff. I realized that I didn’t have a checkered shirt. Heavens to Harpo! I dashed down to the second hand store and had to wait 10 minutes until they opened. I walked over to the men’s shirt section and there was the perfect SHIRT! It had it small blue and white check, hardly worn, only $4.00. Again my plan was to find an old shirt and return it. Changed those plans. Now we had it all together, I wet my hair and scrunched it into careless curls. The shirt, tie, hat, coat, horn, and the rubber chicken. As I walked to the door, I grabbed a handful of chocolate kisses and put them in my pocket. We set up our area. I tried to converse only with the horn, which wasn’t easy to do. We had to sign in and get a stamp on our hand. The girl in charge said, "Here let me give you a kiss." And she stamped my hand with big red lips. I reached in my pocket and said, "Let me give you a kiss." And gave her a handful of chocolate kisses. Something had told me to put them in my pocket. The people in the area next to us were dressed as farmers, they had various veggies and dips. The lady was wearing a t-shirt under her overalls and I could see the tops of two red tomatoes. I asked her what it said, she said she was too embarrassed to show me. Her son had sent her the shirt and she would only wear it under something. I told her that just yesterday I was talking to my son about a party with tomatoes as the theme, and I would love to see it. She unbuttoned her overall top. There were two large red tomatoes, strategically placed, and the caption said. "Where did you get those great tomatoes?" I told her it was a wonderful shirt and she said, "I’ll give it to you!" I said that it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. Talk about giving someone the shirt off your back. But, she didn’t have a shirt to wear home. No problem, I had to go home at 6pm to fix my aunt’s supper, I would bring her one back to trade. I brought her back two t-shirts, one with sunflowers and one with nasturtiums. We were both happy! The rest of the evening was spent tasting foods of all kinds and listening to rather loud music from the band. At 9:30 they brought out the deserts, one of the participants brought a chocolate decadence and had a person dressed as Death, with the cape, sickle and scull face, mingling with the crowd. There were a lot of very creative ideas. I left at ten o'clock. I went to bed and curled up with a book. At 11:30 my phone rang. Unexpected late night phone calls tend to temporarily unnerve me. I answered the phone, it was Groucho (my friend) she said, "How would you like to spend a weekend in Leavenworth?" I am recently here from California and the only Leavenworth I know about is a federal penitentiary in Kansas. I of course did not understand the inference. "Did I commit a crime?" I asked. "Why would you ask that?" she said. This conversation was getting nowhere. So what is the punch line? "We won first prize, a weekend at a B&B in Leavenworth!" Where ever that is?? Sounds like an oxymoron to me. She then proceeded to tell me of this area in Eastern Washington. A lovely drive through the mountains, to a Bavarian- style village. I was having deja vu, I had had this conversation about eastern Washington a few hours earlier at the party. I got up Sunday morning and after fixing my coffee decided to pull out a map and find the location of this place called Leavenworth. I was distracted, and ended up glancing through the newspaper. There on the front page of the Travel section was a lengthy article on Leavenworth! If I had planned to go to Timbuktu, it would have been about Timbuktu. I personally would have preferred a site near the ocean, but it sounds charming and hopefully isn’t mobbed with tourists. I am a traveler, but not attracted to crowded places. But the way everything else has been going in this adventure, I better go there. There is no doubt something or someone waiting for me. Could it be Harpo? At the time I wrote of this experience, which was on a Saturday, I facetiously referred to Timbuktu. The following Sunday, the feature article in the Travel section was on Timbuktu. Doodoodoodoo! As it was we never made it to Leavenworth. My friend was a psychiatric nurse and she was very busy, a whole weekend off was a rarity. I had called the B&B to make reservations and they were booked for six months. But it was great fun for a good cause and I think Harpo's spirit was with me for the duration of my stay in Washington. During one of our quite frequent storms that we have in this area this poem came to me through my mews: PRELUDE TO A STORM By Gilda Bold
A voice is raised, a hat in transient Impetuous clouds regroup. The wind! Darkness, an interval, Showing off its power, uninvited Held in shadows waiting for the light. Listen to the music, an orchestra of elements, Magic concert of the cosmos. The Wind! Broken limbs decorate the path, scattered. A sudden calm, a cleansing after. Games over! The impish child is gone. A quiet mist. Hushed, audible, moist. Inhale! Feel the scent of rain. Prelude to a storm.
The Purple Haze
During my endeavor in Washington, (being a companion to my 103 year old aunt, but that is another story...) I joined a writing group of 9 very interesting women and we would occasionally go on a retreat to one of the women's second home in Sequim, WA. It was wonderful and near the Canadian border. We went to an organic farm called Purple Haze Lavender. On five acres they have over 50 varieties of this fragrant herb. Lavender being my favorite herb I collected some great recipes. When I moved back to Kenwood I lived right across the highway from another lavender farm The traditional and infinitely variable herb blend used by cooks in Provence as well as other regions of France. Herbs de Provence 1 t. dried lavender leaves 1 t. fennel seed 1 t. celery seed 1-1/2 tps. dried basil 3 T. dried rosemary 4 T. dried oregano 4 T. dried chives Mix together store in a tightly covered jar in a cool place. Add to soups, stews, sprinkle on salads. For a special taste sprinkle over hot buttered popcorn, you'll be humming "La Marseilles" Voila!
Sweet Lavender Cookies 1/2 c. shortening 1/2 c. butter, softened 2 stalks fresh lavender leaves snipped into tiny peices 2-3/4 c. all purpose flour 1-1/2 c. sugar 2 eggs 1 t. baking powder 1 t. vanilla Pinch of salt 1 generous T. of fresh lavender blossoms, picked and rinsed Heat oven to 375' In mixing bowl beat shortening, butter and lavender leaves with electric mixer on medium speed until well blended. Add half the flour, the sugar, eggs, baking powder and vanilla. Mix until well combined, then add remaining flour. Gently stir in lavender blossoms. Drop teaspoon of dough on lightly sprayed cookie sheet, about 2 inches apart. Bake 8-10 minutes or until edges are just golden. Check at 8 minutes. Let cookies rest on sheet for a few minutes before removing with a spatula. Cool. Yield about 40 cookies.
Chilled Lavender-infused Strawberry Yogurt Soup 1 T. dried lavender blossoms 1/2 c. heavy cream 2 qts. fresh strawberries, stems removed 1 c. orange juice, fresh is best 1 qt. whole milk yogurt 1/2 c. honey 1/2 t. salt & 1/8 t. fine grind pepper Combine the lavender and heavy cream in a saucepan and simmer over medium heat for five minutes. Remove from heat and let sit for ten minutes. Use a wire mesh strainer to remove the lavender pieces from the cream. Discard. Combine the cream and remaining ingredients in a food processor and puree until smooth. Chill for at least one hour before serving. Garnish with a dollop of whipped cream and a sprig of fresh lavender. 2-4 servings, great for summer meals. Enjoy!
Grilled Salmon with Lavender and Basi 4 fresh salmon steaks or filets Marinade: 1 t. dried lavender 5 large fresh basil leaves, rolled together and sliced very thin 2 T. Tamari 2 T. fresh squeezed lemon juice 1/3 c. olive oil Mix all the marinade ingredients together, use as a baste for grilling. Place salmon on hot grill, skin side down, baste frequently with marinade. When fish is done, milk will appear, do not over cook. Baste with more marinade. No wait for complimants. Lavender Lemonade 1 qt. frozen lemonade 1 generous T. dried lavender 1 c. boiling water Steep lavender in water for 20 minutes. Strain, add to lemonade. Serve chilled, garnish with lemon slices and sprig of lavender. Tasty! ************* 1998, just before I left California, moving to Issaquah, Washington for an undetermined length of time to be a companion to my then 100 year old aunt, (she lived to be 103!) my son gave me a computer. To keep in touch he said. It was a challenge to say the least and still is, but I found a brilliant young genius to be my tutor and he really did try to teach me the confusions of a contraption that I would have never in a million years thought of getting on my own. This is a very close account of my learning proccess with the unforgiving blue eye.
Even now as I try to compute but only compete with my computer, I think of the time a year ago, when my life was technically changed. The thought never occurred to me that I would ever be part of the cyber-world, and I certainly would not have gone out and bought a personal computer on my own. Nevertheless, fate, kismet, destiny, whatever, stepped in and suddenly one day there it was, taking up space in my little cottage and looking totally out of place in my 600 square foot collection of eclectic knickknacks. Therefore, it was inevitable that I would have to get to know this invader from cyberspace. This inherited confuser was at first just a cryptic console, sitting in a corner watching me with its ominous and intimidating blue eye. It was good at collecting dust and on occasion, it would let me win at solitaire, a game my son had installed for tutorial purposes. Planning a move 1300 miles from home on a temporary mission of mercy, I conceded that having a computer could be a good thing to take with me. I spent many extremely frustrating days trying to learn about Life and Death in the world of cybernetics. I discovered new ways to use the proverbial F-word, and I became even more confused about computer technology as my so-called learning process continued. “Ha,” I said, doing a perfect impression of Marlon Brando admonishing Blanche Dubois. I had a strong Desire to load this bundle of browsers and bytes on the first Streetcar leaving town. Therefore, in the course of this discourse, my computer verbiage is verily at fault and I apologize. I am sure I will forever be challenged in the cyber-world. As I did not own a microwave, a blow dryer, a cell phone, or an electric can opener, what could possibly possess me to take on a conundrum such as this? It was a gift. However, my son who had tried to show me the basics was now miles away, and trying to figure it out over the phone was not working, as I am a hand’s on learner. Show me, don’t tell me. Manuals don’t work for me. And so I found a tutor! He taught me the basics, and I was perfectly happy at that level. I learned about Word and most of it abilities. I could go on-line and communicate with my family and friends who were very far away at the time. What more could I want? I was getting used to the cyber-world, albeit, I was the alien. Then... one day my computer had a fortuitous malfunction. I called my tutor. He suspected that the flabby disk was at fault, and that is what started this whole fiasco! I used the F-word many times in the next few days. Frustrating! Fantastic! Formatting? Fiddlesticks!! The control process of my recently acquired electronic pastime had me very close to picking it up and booting it out the door! While it was formulating, I was becoming bipolar! I hired my computer sensei to come every day for as long as it would take to get me to understand this mechanical mystery. He suggested that I let him install Windows 2000. I agreed because it is supposed to make life in cyberspace a piece of cake. Until now I hadn’t felt that life was all that bad. I am using the keyboard with more dexterity than I ever have, and discovered that “to err is human, but to undo is divine!" Prior to installation, it was important that I transfer all my documents onto a flabby disk, and thus began the enigma of this electronic entropy. “Why doesn't that squiggly thing with those little holes in the end work anymore?" I queried. I was slowly learning about the snake pit of wires and connections needed.“ I guess it has stopped thinking! “ My computer tutor answered. Obviously electronic dementia. "Why has the screensaver stop moving?" I asked, completely awed. He had installed an ocean scene with colorful fish swimming back and forth. “I think it is frozen! “ He said with a smirk. “So let's turn up the heat, and get on with it!” I am trying to be patient. I learned early on that the mouse was not vittles for my feline, Annie. The process of transferring and therefore saving my documents, is discovered to be… impossible, (I knew that!) because something is wrong with the floppy disk. I now stand corrected by my PC pedagogue, it is not a flabby disk. Excuse me! I called my son, as he had built this computer out of parts that were then, state of the art, but are now, obsolete! Ah! A new word! He said to buy a new something-or-other, they are only $20.00. Affordable. In this highly technical world, I have learned that obsolete refers to a very recent model. A few months old is borderline obsolete. It is obsolete even if it is still functioning but not in fashion. If it becomes necessary to replace one part, everything else becomes… obsolete! I have never been one faithful to follow trends. My Honda is fourteen years old and has acquired 158,000 miles. It is still functioning very well, thank you, in all it’s obsoleteness. I give it proper maintenance and it gives me transportation to where ever I need to go. I have a woodstove for my heat source in my cottage which is so far away now. Whooda thunk I would ever have a computer, more so a confuser! My sensei said that updating would make the connections process faster. I didn’t know the connections were slow. I am feeling some impatience, more than anything else, sitting and waiting, while it’s thinking. This process is teaching me a calm endurance. I have no reason to connect with London or Paris in a micro-second. Waiting seems normal to me. I am informed that all this stuff goes up into satellites millions of light years in space, and that is bound to take some time. Do I need to connect with Mars? I am already compiling a list of things to do while waiting. I can be grooming the cat, who loves to sit on the keyboard, so it is almost always available. Pedicures, manicures, catch up on old videos, make round-to-it lists, call old friends: “Hi, how are you?. What’s happening? “Not much, just sitting here waiting to go on-line…..…there it is…” “Me too, whoops, hey, I’m on. Gotta go, nice talking to you!.” “Yeh, e-mail me sometime.” It seems I need a new desk drive. No, wait , a disktop. Hold on, a disk drive! I don’t remember signing up for a language course. Now I will be bilingual and bipolar! The cost is $30.00. Still feasible. I am given a simple explanation of what is happening. It seems that there may be some other parts that are archaic, excuse me; obsolete! We may have a problem trying to run the new program on the old parts. I was beginning to think someone is trying to run a new program on these old parts, (namely mine). Now I truly trust my tutor, he was a real find, and even though he is only fifteen, he is a genius in this field. So what’s to worry? I’m in very capable hands!( I think!). I am writing more. Having a computer has been a Godsend. In my current lifestyle it became my umbilical cord to the outside world. Granted, I am not totally incarcerated. If I feel the need to know what is going on out there, I can click on the news and click off with out all the media hype. I could go to the outside world, but I was really enjoying creating my own world in my writing. Having a dependable cyberscribe is not unreasonable. So spending a few dollars can be justified…... can’t it? Monday morning, we drove to the computer store. $411.32 later, we drove home. It seems I needed, among other things, a new motherboard. The older motherboard is still working, but, you guessed it. Obsolete! What happens to the elder motherboard? Does she become a grandmotherboard? Is she retired to an old motherboards’ home, or is she sent to the recycle bin? An interesting thing happens as I am typing, the word motherboard is not underlined with a red squiggly line, meaning it is recognized as a bona fide word. Grandmotherboard is underlined, meaning it doesn’t exist! I consider this senior discrimination! Being one of them myself. A senior, and a grandmother, though certainly not bored! My tutor is ecstatic! I am trying to keep a smile on my face as I listen to all things he is going to do. Now I need an interpreter. It sounds as if he is speaking fluent Geek! The rest of the day I am muttering the F-words, as I learn that: It’s functioning! It isn't functioning! It’s fast! It’s failing! It’s faulty! This is some kind of fantasy! “What is it doing now?” “It’s thinking”. “You don’t want to know what I am thinking.!” No, I must think positive… I will go and bake some cookies and occupy my time in the kitchen instead of being upset with something that I can't understand anyway. I will meditate on my Buddhist philosophy of acceptance, impermanence and suffering! Tuesday afternoon things are not better. In fact, they are worse. He has added and deleted, hooked up this and disconnected that, and it is running so slow that I'm sure it's going backwards. For two days my gracious guide was at the computer, finally getting it to respond and then moments later it would do some dysfunctional thing! I knew he was really trying and using all his expertise, but the computer is just not computing!! At first I watched him as he went through all the checking and changing, and then I began to feel jerked up and down. I will drag and drop myself back into the kitchen, to focus on something else, I don't want to know what is or isn’t happening to this fickle fallacy! I'll pull down a menu and create something in chocolate! It was like waiting for someone to come out of a complicated operation. I’m in the chat room, browsing the front page of a current paper. The swinging doors open, the doctor walks out. Mopping his brow and pulling off his mask which matches his very blue eyes. What an image! He puts his tools on the desktop and walks in my direction. Looks like Paul Newman! I gasp! I am trying to read his face. Did the patient die? Am I a cyberwidow? What will happen to me now? And the minibytes? Are they to be orphaned before they can become megabytes, and receive proper formatting so they will live on to become obsolete? My tutor -cum -technical wizard has a kind heart. I recognized this when I first hired him. He truly wants this to work. I am reading his face. He is as frustrated as I am. This shouldn’t be happening! It was getting late and it’s been a long day. I can tell he is disappointed. "I hope you're not mad." he says. "No, no, of course I'm not mad, but I am getting close to furious!!" I reply with a facetious smirk on my face. I take him home, we will start again tomorrow. I popped in a favorite flick, and forgot about things becoming obsolete. Myself included. Wednesday morning I get a phone call. A solution! After a conversation with a friend who works at Microsoft, it is very possible, that a particular program is the perpetrator. I didn’t have many programs before W98, so this going to be another piece of cake! I told my tutor that if his friends’ prowess can solve this computer conundrum, I will bake him a fantastic cake. Such incentive! The stomach rules! I retired to the kitchen to create his reward. First he removed AfterDark which was just a collection of screensavers, not important, as Windows has its own. Then he deleted FirstAid, a program that is supposed to protect you from all those scary warnings: You have committed an illegal operation! This is Fatal! You are trespassing! Go directly to jail! What you write may be held against you! Do I need to call my lawyer? I thought the F.B.I. would momentarily be at my door. I did not understand this hi-tech terminology. Wouldn’t it be kinder and gentler to say; “Excuse me, you have made a slight faux pas” or "You may go directly to AOL, and collect $200." (To pay for the parts?) I also learned there are Master drives and Slave drives, where is the A.C.L.U.? FirstAid wasn’t working very well anyway, but why should it? It was last years model. OBSOLETE!! Again, I am in the chat room, working on my fourth cup of java: A couple sitting next to me are holding hands. The woman speaks, “It’s a hard drive isn’t it? I know. There was a virus. It’s just click and go now.” The man reaches into his pocket and hands me a card. ”This person is highly recommended. An excellent grief counselor, he can help!” His eyes are moist. Then the swinging doors from surgery part……Paul swaggers out. He wipes his brow on the sleeve of his scrubs that are as blue as his eyes. He looks at me. Our eyes meet as he removes his mask. I see a friendly smile on his face! I hear myself murmur fondly, “Why don’t we just forget that F-word computer for awhile and find one of my favorite places. Do you like cheesecake? Yahoo!
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