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truman capote

I was thinking about the movie, “Capote” with Philip Seymour Hoffman and Catherine Keener, and the intriguing life of Truman Capote. His thin voice seemed to suit him, his big personality was enjoyed by many and took him far as did his talent. In the movie we see him reading the article about the four murders of a family on a farm in Kansas, and making two decisions then and there: Here is the story for his next book, and to leave for Kansas that very evening. How did he decide so quickly that that is what he wanted to write about? And what went wrong when he got involved in the researching and writing of it?

He went from writing “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” to writing “In Cold Blood”. Quite a change. I’d read about the flamboyant author, his free spirit and, of course, saw the highly publicized and entertaining movie, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” with Audrey Hepburn, George Peppard, Mickey Rooney and Patricia Neal. Who would have thought so much was going on within him while he was writing his next book? On the back of the CD cover for the movie “Capote” is written: “Famed author Truman Capote befriends two murderers while researching his celebrated book, “In Cold Blood” – and finds himself changed to the core.”

On a much smaller scale it makes me think of when we get caught in the clutches of a negative person and the conversation with that person begins to dissipate our energy and leaves us changed a bit, not as upbeat as before. We have to snap out of that feeling before it lingers and lasts longer than it should. Maybe it started unraveling for Truman Capote when he began interviewing and listening to the murderers talk about their lonesome, uncared for childhoods, and of murdering the family of four in cold blood. And when they asked him if he would come to the execution of their death sentences, and he did, the misery, violence and ugliness that was the life of the two murderers got to him.

What would have happened had he not read that story in The New York Times? Perhaps one day I’ll buy the book, “Capote” by Gerald Clark and read more about his interesting and complicated life and what fueled his other books.

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breakfast

The best meal of the day is always breakfast usually at home. It doesn’t matter that tonight’s dinner is at a restaurant with a 3-month wait for a reservation and is written-up in magazines whose chef has a show on the Food Network. It’s breakfast that makes getting up easy-even when it consists only of orange juice, 2 slices of Eziekel bread with St. Dalfour Wild Blueberry spread and a great cup of coffee. www.foodnetwork.com www.stdalfour.com

If you’re a person who savors breakfast and happen to be a guest at the home of someone who skips breakfast and exercises while sipping a protein drink, well, action is called for. Pack up and leave. There are those people who never think of eating breakfast. Oh, it’s hard to believe, I know. But it’s true. Ruthless I am when it comes to breakfast.

My sister Anna seems never to stop baking blueberry muffins. If she did there would be a lot of disappointed people. In the summer she gets up very early, has breakfast, and off she goes blueberry picking. There’s always at least one family member trailing behind her with their pail. She doesn’t have to hold her pail-more blueberries to pick-she found a sturdy container contraption a few years ago that ties around her waist. At the end of blueberry season she’s got containers of frozen blueberries lined up well able to take her and family straight through until the next blueberry season. Her muffins and a cup of coffee and fresh fruit are expected by everyone who visits her home.

Have you ever stayed at the home of someone who simply doesn’t cook-never, ever? Often they’re workaholics, but they can be people in charge of cooking and are challenged in the kitchen. They try very hard to please and wear themselves out because they’re constantly running out for takeout. Breakfast can consist of coffee and 4 or 5 little brown bags of pastry picked up at the local coffee shop or cafe, or getting up and eating out at their favorite place. They like great places, just not their own kitchen. It’s not worth trying to teach someone how to make breakfast when the incentive is not there, and it’s not there when the toast they prepare is usually burned. But that’s okay. They try.

Of course, you feel the same way about breakfast. Don’t you?

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karen maezen miller, momma zen

There’s no doubt anymore, autumn is on its way. Last week I saw the beautiful Catskill foliage welcoming the new season, although where I sit the trees are still holding on to their green color. That’ll change soon, too. The humidity is gone, it’s been pouring throughout the past three nights sweeping away last week’s humidity, and a cool breeze passing by actually feels invigorating.

Yesterday someone showed a book to me, and it opened to the perfect page considering the time of year. This is what was written: “Do not be attracted by the sounds of spring or take pleasure in seeing a spring garden. When you see autumn colors, do not be partial to them. You should allow the four seasons to advance in one viewing, and see an ounce and a pound with an equal eye.” -Dogen Zenji, “Instruction for the Tenzo”. The book is MOMMA ZEN by Karen Maezen Miller. I hope it’s alongside all the other books written for new parents; it seems a good balance. www.mommazen.blogspot.com

Ahh, back to autumn.

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happenings

Huge happenings throughout the world always take center stage even though most of us can do nothing but talk about them-usually. And the small things in life affect our individual lives, and the lives of others, and we can do more than talk about them. Perhaps in the whole scheme of life there are no small happenings. All those seemingly uneventful things-all those individual choices made on a daily basis are adding up and trickling down and affecting the world in some way. Small things can pack a wallop, too.

Yesterday I had a delightful conversation with a young, old friend, he said, “When I think about what had to happen for all of us to be here, at this particular time, it becomes a staggering thought, because it could be that three centuries ago, someone dodged a bullit, someone else changed her/his mind shortly before a marriage ceremony, and someone else made a quick trip to the general store for a forgotten item and met his future wife.” An interesting point, I said. And listened and thought of all the ways there are of pondering life.

Small happenings and endless possibilites down through the ages can bring about huge happenings.

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one day winter will come, and it’ll be split pea soup time

I can’t eat lentil soup-can’t even think about it anymore. Have you ever overdone a food item and thinking about it brings on that no thank you feeling, followed by a little queasiness? Once upon a time I savored that soup. It remains popular. Every so often I see a picture of a big steaming bowl of it in a magazine-even in a magazine where you’d least expect it to be. But lentil soup and I have had it. We’re finished, for now.

The good part is that I’ve found something to take its place. It’s split pea soup. Is any soup easier to prepare than this one? My French Canadian mother prepared it early in the morning using salt pork or a ham bone. The smell wafted through the house. She was an early bird, and before anyone was up in the morning she was immersed in setting the ingredients out for upside down pineapple cheesecake, apple pie, and a favorite soup. And when those wonderful smells brought the household to attention she began preparing delicious delicate crepes.

Dried peas have a big taste all their own. It seems to me that no matter what ingredients are added, that distinct pea taste is at the forefront. The pea soup I prepare has these ingredients:

dried split peas-2 cups, pickd over for tiny stones, then rinsed6
onions-1 1/2 cups, chopped
garlic-6, chopped, if you like garlic, go for it!
ginger-2 tablespoons, grated
cloves-6 whole or ground to taste
carrots-1 1/2 cups, sliced
potatoes-2 or 3, chopped (optional)
salt-Celtic, to taste (optional)
pepper-to taste (optional)
water-2 quarts, or more

Place all ingredients in a heavy pot, bring to a boil, cover and simmer. Perhaps for 2 hours, longer if you like a thick saucy consistency. Can be cooked in a crock pot, too.

Ingredients can be increased, decreased, eliminated, other ingredients added, different spices. Dried peas, onions, garlic, water are the basics. Have fun, prepare it with love and savor.

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here and there

I put on a comfortable pair of shoes and walk the two miles to the train station and from the platform I stand facing the beautiful Hudson River. It’s the 5th of October and sweat can already be seen on the faces of people. No one is wearing a jacket. How nice it would be, I think, if we could all leap into the glistening water before us. And how funny that would be at the same time. Don’t you wish life could be that way every so often? You say to yourself, and perhaps to a few people standing next to you on the platform, “I’m not going to take the train today. Instead I’m going to strip down to my underwear, leave everything by the riverfront and swim today. What about you?” Hmm!

The train is ten minutes late (something about the tracks). Ahh, we arrive at grand Grand Central Terminal, and I walk-flitting between pedestrians-to my dentist’s office across from St. Patrick’s Cathedral. After that easy appointment I take a 5th Avenue bus to 23rd Street, get off the bus and walk west between 5th and 6th Avenues to Universal News and its big selection of magazines. Wonderful decisions to be made at this shop. With three magazines in hand, I walk over to 18th Street and Fifth Avenue then a little west to City Bakery. It’s packed, and one never knows how much food is left after lunch hour has come and gone. I head for the back area and see an assortment of nicely sauteed foods. Ahh, yes, there’s still enough left to fill a plate with all the delicious vegetables and fruits from the Farmers’ Market. I eat upstairs. Emi arrives. Her big purchase is a bottle of water. We wait at the check-out counter with its usually long line and where all the goodies are on display. Always there’s a dialogue here with oneself that goes like this, “No. you don’t need that. But, I’ve not really had any dessert lately. No? What about that chocolate bar two days ago? You know how you’ll feel after eating that baker’s muffin, or that enormous melted chocolate cookie. We’ve had this discussion before. Now stop it. Look at something else.”
www.grandcentralterminal.com
www.saintpatrickscathedral.org
www.unionsquarejournal.com/greenmarket.htm

We leave the goodies behind and walk to Union Square and hop on a train to Chinatown to see our much appreciated herbalist/acupuncturist. Again we happily leave with a bag of herbs tucked into a tote bag, and meander along the streets. The crowds in Chinatown can sometimes take your breath away. We don’t stay. It’s easy to slip into Little Italy from Chinatown. We marvel at the line already formed waiting to get into Ferrara’s on Grand Street, and we wander into DiPaola admiring its fresh cheeses and sausages, breads, pasta, bottles of olive oil, and much more. The temptation to buy is great, but schlepping it around is another matter. It seems just walking is the order of the day-to Mott Street, sometimes Mulberry Street, finally arriving at Dean and DeLuca at 560 Broadway to purchase a bar of soap for laundry and two bottles of water (we’re the last of the big spenders). That done we walk east then north looking at all the small fashionable shops, going in and out to survey the merchandise. < www.ferraracafe.com www.deandeluca.com

Conversation begins to center on where to have dinner. We walk up and down the most interesting streets and somehow arrive at good ole reliable Veselka on 9th Street and 2nd Avenue. It’s very casual; we were thinking Italian but Ukranian is fine too. The food is good and dependable. As we leave we notice it’s an absolutely beautiful evening in Manhattan; people are out walking in full force. We continue onward toward 42nd Street and Park Avenue. Emi is heading in another direction, but not before we listen to a gathering of musicians perched on the steps. Their music fills Grand Central Terminal and many people have come to a full stop, standing, enjoying the music. A most unusual and delightful sight at GCT. Good night, Emi. It was a beautiful day. www.veselka.com

On the train I take out Ode Magazine and read about what’s happening in other countries. In between pages I have to say a silent thank you for the lovely day I had.

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a baby’s way

For a lot of people being with a baby is sheer delight. When you see the anticipation in a baby’s eyes as someone comes and lifts them out of a crib, the trust a baby senses when s/he is handled with love, care and patience, the easy fun between baby and caretaker when baby makes eye contact and attempts with all its focus and energy to stand, watching a newborn’s speedy growth week after week, the happiness a baby expresses when it’s time for milk, it would seem that if everyone got the simple things needed during those completely helpless years the world would be in much better shape.

I was with Sophie in the Catskills this past weekend. What fun it is to be with a four month old; everything about her is pure, and just like her cousin Sebastian, she’s well-loved in all the ways she needs to be. When I look at Sophie I think she knows much more than she can let on at the moment. If a baby were able to talk, communication might go like this: I can’t do anything for myself, but it won’t be like this forever. So, if you promise to love me, keep me secure, take care of my basic needs, have patience with me, I’ll grow into a person who trusts life and will add to life in untold ways.

Awesome power is in the hands of an adult who’s responsible for a baby, and in the hands of a mature adult, imagine what can happen.