Monday, March 31, 2014

 

In the Garden Update – Almost April
(Peas, spinach, broccoli rabe...or not...)


St. Patrick's Day evokes thoughts of parades, corned beef, and green beer for some, but for me it marks the day I usually officially start my vegetable garden. Peas, spinach and broccoli rabe (rapini), my favorite cool weather crops, don't mind being sowed directly in the cold ground as long as it's not frozen and the winter mushiness has dried into a workable soil. This year, with April only a day away, the most positive thing I can say about my gardening
Compost Island
conditions is that the snow is gone. (Gone from the 
garden, not from the yard...) St. Patrick's Day has come and gone, and my soil is still frozen except for a very muddy top layer of only a few inches. I've also got bags of my neighbor's leaves under my deck, waiting to be layered with manure in my
mostly empty composters to be turned into midsummer's compost. (No trees in our yard, so I actually ask people for their leaves.) Said composters are presently on a small island surrounded by water from melting pond ice and sump pump run-off.

So my gardening season is off to a slow start...

An advantage of the slow start is that the seeds I plant later than usual will come up quicker with the rapid warmth that (often) comes in April. The downside, unless the early summer remains cool as well, is that the peas, spinach and broccoli rabe will flower and go to seed before their prime as soon as the heat hits. Timing is crucial now, and as soon as the soil is workable (which means thawed at least six inches and relatively dry), I will immediately sow my seeds for the above mentioned plants in the ground and hope for the best.

Mud-capped frozen garden
The beginning of April is also when I begin to start the not-so-cool
(lettuce, random herbs) and warm weather (tomatoes, peppers, any flowers I want to set out in pots) seed indoors. Since I don't put these plants in the ground until the end of May, an early April sowing indoors gives these plants about eight weeks of growing before they are ready to be transplanted. The lettuce I will transplant into the garden after about four weeks, when the seedlings are about two inches tall. (Lettuce likes it cool, but not cold. Any herbs I'll eventually transplant into pots on the deck where they'll grow all summer and be brought inside to be used over the winter.)


The sun is shining today, and the temperature is near 60°, so there is hope the ground will thaw, the soil will dry out and the start to the gardening season is just around the corner. Time to get dirty...

(If this is the year you've decided to finally become a vegetable gardener, you might be interested in reading my blog posts from May 14 through May 20, 2013, where I outlined the techniques of square foot gardening, a method of gardening that gets you thinking about planting things in squares rather than the more traditional rows. It's a garden that is easy to weed, easy to water, and once the soil is prepared, easy to keep going.)

Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this sun of York
- Richard III, William Shakespeare

Saturday, March 22, 2014


Me(n)tal Shelving

My husband grew up in a neat,organized home. Whenever things got a little cluttery, items were collected, bagged and donated to a worthy cause. I, too, grew up in a neat, organized home. Whenever things got a little cluttery, my grandfather would build another wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling closet. Needless to say, the working definition of “a neat, organized home” was a subject of much debate in the early days of our marriage...well, O.K....still is. My husband's idea of neatness focuses on what you can let go of; my idea of neatness focuses on how you store the things you can't let go of just yet...

I think it was my grandfather who most influenced my “neat,organized” paradigm, partly by providing all those closets. In my childhood home, three of the four bedrooms each had one, with another two in the basement. Things were neatly stored, usually labeled, saved because you never knew when you might need something. Grandpa also had his carpentry shop in the basement of our house, neatly organized, filled with wood salvaged from old furniture, boxes of old hardware waiting to be repurposed, 60 years before the word was trending. After his death, my mother, telling the story of cleaning out the basement, described taking out bushel after bushel of boxes neatly labeled “broken locks”, “old hinges”, “old nails”, etc. She put a few bushel baskets out at the curb each garbage day. After she had dragged 54 bushels to the street, she said she just stopped counting as she cleaned out the rest of Grandpa's old shop. We had been married several years by this time, and my husband said that it was one of the scariest stories he had ever heard. He realized that day what he had married into – a powerful family heredity of hanging onto stuff...

Grandpa was gone by the time we bought our first house, so I was on my own to provide storage. I built bulk wooden shelving in the basement, and that took care of most of my clutter. Our next house, however, was a huge challenge. Never having lived in a house without a basement before, I found myself in a ranch on a crawl space with only a small utility room. In serious danger of having the contents of previous basements under every bed in the house, I discovered the joys of metal shelving. Three in the small utility room, more in the garage, I coped with having a place to store my stuff. In our third and present house, we again have a large unfinished basement, this time, filled with metal shelves. Much to my husband's relief, the above-basement living area is relatively “neat and organized”, largely due to these shelves in the basement and garage, providing storage of that stuff that might come in handy some day. But more importantly, my gracious, patient husband also has learned to appreciate the shelves as providing a way station for those things that his wife hasn't quite decided what to do with yet.

My paradigm for storage in my physical world is really just a reflection of the paradigm I have for my mental processes, for storing information and organizing my beliefs. I have metal shelving in my basement, in my garage; I have mental shelving in my brain, in my heart. I'm not a black and white thinker or decision maker. I have to put stuff in the basement for a period of time before I decide whether to allow it a permanent place in storage or plan to give it away the next time the purple heart-disabled veteran-epilepsy foundation person calls. In the same way, my mind needs to have that way station where I decide what to do with things spiritual, intellectual, cultural, political. I keep them on my mental shelf. I put ideas, concepts, dilemmas on my mental shelving, taking them down when I'm feeling introspective, turning them over in my mind, examining their worth and staying power, deciding whether I keep them, find a permanent place for them, or whether I let go of them, get rid of them.

There are all kinds of stuff found on my mental shelf. Am I a democrat or a republican or some green hybrid of the two? Independently undecided – back on the shelf... How do I really feel about the internet? Is the instant access to so many more things worth reading outway the instant access to so many more mindless distractions? Still wrestling with that one, still on-line... Does the big bang theory in fact say more about the book of Genesis than it does about Stephan Hawking? Is The Big Bang Theory worth watching for its superbly clever scientific nerdy humor, or is it just another tribute to television's sex culture? Still pondering both big bangs...

Matters of faith have always taken up a good amount of space on my mental shelf. Years ago, the inerrancy of scripture had a place on the shelf. After careful examination, it moved off the shelf to a permanent location, a definite keeper. The sovereignty of God was briefly on the shelf in the early days of my faith exploration, though it quickly became another keeper. The complementarian/egalitarian debate is still on the shelf, though one of them is always boxed up and ready to be tossed. I just haven't taken it out to the trash yet. The shelf has a large collection of intelligent design–evolution–creationism pieces sitting on it that I play with, examining each, fitting them together in different ways to see how they do or don't fit before putting them back on my mental shelf. The problem of evil has occupied a place on the shelf for as long as I can remember. I never know what to do about that one...

It is a great relief for me to know that in this world I don't have to have everything figured out and understood. I'm rarely certain about anything, and I'm never certain about anything quickly. I appreciate the metal shelves that have given me time to figure out what to do with old glass jars and those really great cardboard boxes. I appreciate the mental shelves that have given me time to figure out what to do with the remnants of my substantial collection of Catholic thought and to examine the still undiscovered purposes of prayer yet to be answered. Both sets of shelves bring me (and my spouse) a measure of peace as I sort through my stuff, and I consider myself blessed that I have both a patient God and a patient husband...



All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on. - Havelock Ellis

Communism doesn't work because people like to own stuff. - Frank Zappa

Friday, March 14, 2014

 

Happy Pi Day!


I'm not quite sure how it started - probably something to do with the husband and father being being a scientist who loves math - but we are a family that celebrates the nerd holidays. The two biggies are Pi Day, March 14 (3.14), and Mole Day, October 23 (1023). There exists a myriad of others – Stars Wars Day (May 4, as in “May the 4th be with you”), Tolkien Reading Day (March 25, commemorating the downfall of Sauron in The Lord of the Rings) – I could go on and on - but March 14 and October 23 have always been the big ones in our household, probably because there are traditional foods associated with those days.

Pi, or ϖ, is that mathematical constant, 22/7, often expressed as the decimal, 3.14159..., the number that represents the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. An irrational number, calculated to over one trillion digits beyond its decimal point, never ending and never settling into a permanent repeating pattern, it is affectionately “nicknamed” 3.14, hence its association with March 14. And on March 14 we celebrate pi with pi(e). Yes, I was that mom who baked pies for high school math classes...at my kids' request. Well, the kids are on their own now (maybe at Baker's Squares somewhere today?), but I couldn't let the day go by without acknowledging it in some way. Below is one of my favorite pie recipes, and if the market has good pears today, one that I will be baking for tonight...


Pear Crumble Pie

6 medium Barlett pears
3 tablespoons lemon juice
½ cup sugar
2 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon grated lemon peel (optional)
1 unbaked 9-inch pie crust
Crumble Topping

Cut and peel 5 pears. Sprinkle with lemon juice. Mix sugar, flour, and lemon peel; stir in pear slices. Put into pastry shell. Cut remaining pear into 6 – 8 neat slices. Arrange on top of pie in a pinwheel pattern. Sprinkle with Crumble Topping. Bake at 400º for 45 minutes or till pears are tender. Serve warm.

Crumble Topping: Mix ½ up flour, ½ cup sugar ½ teaspoon ginger and ½ teaspoon cinnamon, ¼ teaspoon mace or cloves. Cut in 4 tablespoons butter or margarine until crumbly.

 

Enjoy! And if I remember, come October 23, Mole Day (commemorating that great basic measuring unit of chemistry, Avogadro's Number (6.02 x 1023), I'll share my recipe for mol(e)asses cookies...

...yep, nerds...



      A happy memory never wears out.  - Amish proverb
                           

Sunday, March 2, 2014



The Myth of Fingerprints

My daughter attended a work-related conference last year, and as part of the conference festivities, there was a booth where two people, with headphones and sunglasses on, would generate a written personality profile of a person just by looking at them. No questions were asked, no verbal interaction between the two profile writers and their subjects, just visual observation. The profile they wrote of my daughter was startlingly accurate. She posted it on facebook, and her friends agreed – eerily dead on. I saw the profile and thought, ''The Barnum Effect strikes again...”

I had, myself, run into the Barnum Effect (also know as the Forer Effect*) in a testing and measurements psychology class as an undergraduate. The professor who taught the class, wanting to familiarize the students with the questions and structures of different tests, would frequently give us pieces of personality tests to respond to, have us hand them in, promising to eventually give us feedback on our responses. He came into class one day and announced that our test results were in and he handed each of us a sealed envelope with our name on it. There were murmurs of agreement as we read our personality profiles. He asked for a show of hands as to how many of us felt the profiles were reasonably accurate. Most of the class raised their hands. He then asked us to be vulnerable to each other and exchange our profiles with the person sitting next to us. A new wave of murmurs, louder this time, rose in the class as we discovered that each of us had received the exact same personality profile...

The entertainer P. T. Barnum (“We've got something for everyone.”) was a successful businessman partly because he recognized that people were largely more alike and had more in common with each other than they liked to believe. He found those commonalities and focused on them, making people feel like he really knew who they were and what they wanted in entertainment. My daughter's personality profile experience was similar in that the profile was general enough overall to fit a great number of other people, but the visual cues the two observers were provided with in the one-on-one situation were just enough to personalize her profile to make it really seem they had assessed who she was.

So, now we find ourselves in a personality paradox. We like to think of ourselves as unique individuals, human “snowflakes”, no two alike. And so we are. The Psalmist tells us a truth about our Creator's making of us:

For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth. (Psalm 139:13-15)

Everything I know in the craft realm about “knitting” and things “intricately woven” implies a loving creation of one-of-a-kind masterpieces. We've only to look to our fingerprints to see, like a snowflake's dendrites, they are ours alone. But if we stare too long at the tips of our fingers, we loose sight of the other great truth of our creation, that we each share a great commonality with the living God, and therefore with each other. Even before Adam and Eve shared a rib, the writer of Genesis tells us:

Then God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness...So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.
(Genesis 1:26, 27)
 
And in case we still don't get it, the apostle Paul spelled it out like this: 
 
Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust (Adam), we shall also bear the image of the man of heaven (Christ). (1 Corinthians 15:49)

Think about it. Some of the brightest moments you may have experienced in interacting with others has probably come when a shared commonality is found. “Hey, I love that, too!” “Yeah, I feel like that a lot also. I thought I was the only person who did...” “You mean you have doubts about that, too?” “Why don't we get together some time and we can both __________ together?" (Fill in the blank...)  As good as we may feel when we are lauded for our unique abilities and talents, or love the unique qualities we see in others that we ourselves may not share, there is nothing quite like finding the kindred spirit, the person we recognize as having some of the same internal pieces we do.

So we need to embrace the paradox, acknowledging we are unique creations, sharing a common blueprint. We are one big family of siblings who are made to all bear a striking resemblance to our heavenly Father as well as looking more and more like our Brother and Savior every day. And do we? Can we look past our fingerprints and see ourselves in each other, the image bearers that we were created to be? 

 

And she thinks "most people don't talk enough about how lucky they are
Most people don't know what it takes for me to get through the day
Most people don't talk enough about the love in their hearts"
But she doesn't know most people feel that same way.
- from “Most People” by Dawes



He says there's no doubt about it
It was the myth of fingerprints
I've seen them all and, man,
They're all the same - from “All Around the World” by Paul Simon



*See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forer_effect if you are interested in knowing more.)