Proust Like

There are certain tools I use when I write – pencil, pen, notebook and the computer. The one technique that finds its way into my writing is a memory or a thought or something that evokes and opens up my writing. I use the memory as well as the flash back method.

A few years ago, when I was attending Chatham College for my master’s degree in writing, I wrote a non-fiction piece about myself. It was a piece about a mom reading the want ads and realizing she has done most of the jobs advertised. In the piece, I circled the jobs that I could do, like School Bus Driver, Nanny, Social Worker, Nurse, Cleaning Woman, Secretary and more. Each occupation hit high on my memory of those jobs that I accomplished while being a mother of nine children.

The article was written in tongue and cheek humor. The bottom line was, no matter how many children I had and all those jobs that I did, I wasn’t qualified to get that job. I didn’t have an employer or rather I didn’t come with the recommendations that were needed for the job.

After sending my story out to a number of magazines and newspapers, a year later, The Pittsburgh Press picked up my story and published it. The day after it appeared, I went to one of my classes, where the Professor pulled out my story and congratulated me on my ‘Proust like’ writing.

I did a double take realizing he had compared me to Marcel Proust, a famous French novelist. Proust is remembered for writing his memory of a Madeleine, a small sponge cake from his monumental novel, Remembrance of Things Past. The novel was published in seven parts between the years of 1913 – 1921.

Now, here in present day, I had been compared to Proust. That was a high compliment and one that still keeps me writing!

Place to Live

There were times while on vacation, that I would fall in love with that town and wished that I lived there. Some of those places were Sausalito, San Francisco, Gettysburg, Avalon and Cooperstown. Eventually, I would realize that what made them special was that I only visited them once and others a few more times. Now, I have narrowed it down to one place –Cooperstown.

If I didn’t have a family or all my children, I would really love to live in Cooperstown, New York. Cooperstown is a village and is bordered on one side by Otsego Lake or the Glimmerglass as referred to by the author, James Fenimore Cooper, in his Leatherstocking Tales.

Cooperstown is famous for the Baseball Hall of Fame, which I have visited a few times. I love the Hall of Fame, where you pay once, have your hand stamped, and you can actually re-enter the Hall of Fame as many times as you want for the day. If you are a baseball fanatic, Cooperstown and the Hall of Fame is the place to visit. I am humbled when I walk through the exhibits and see all the memorabilia and all those famous plaques of the men who played the game. Yes, I do have a few favorite players like Lou Gehrig, Sandy Koufax and Roberto Clemente.

To me the town of Cooperstown is magical. On the main street there are memorabilia shops, gift stores, and some delightful eateries. The homes in Cooperstown are mostly large Victorian ones with beautiful flower gardens. And of course there is the Otsego Resort and Hotel near the lake. It is a beautiful place to just walk around the ground or eat a meal there. It is a bit pricey but someday, I am going to throw caution to the wind and indulge myself by staying at the Otsego.

My last trip to Cooperstown, I included a visit to the Farmers Museum and the James Fenimore Cooper Museum. I could have passed on the Farmers Museum but not on the other museum. The James Fenimore Cooper Museum is another treasure in Cooperstown. The building overlooks the lake. The interior is beautiful with gorgeous old wood floors.  They were beautiful polished wood planks. The walls were painted different hues of blue, which seemed to show case the pictures that were on display. The Museum has a number of papers and items belonging to the author, James Fenimore Cooper. I was amazed at how small Cooper wrote but I was also impressed with the beauty of his cursive writing. The day I visited I found a special exhibit for Winslow Homer. The room itself was painted a nautical blue which only enhanced this exhibit of Homer’s works.

We bought lunch and shared it on the outside patio, which overlooked the lake. The patio was surrounded by lush foliage and gorgeous flowers. Everything seemed to be so healthy…the huge ferns everywhere were a deep green, along with the deep red geraniums, tall blue lavender, and large hydrangeas of various colors. Maybe it is because it was Cooperstown but everything seemed better, larger and richer.

Where's the Shark

 Last Thursday I went into my daughter’s kitchen to do some work. The Pastry Chef had been in earlier and would be leaving by noon, dropping off her fresh baked pastries and ciabatta bread at the downtown Deli.  Laurie, who answers the phone, was in the front room. I actually worked alone and from my list. Everything should have run smoothly, but, hey, this is me…so, it didn’t.

It was kind of nice working alone because the Pastry Chef, who is young, loves to play her music at the loudest volume possible, After she left, I turned off the radio, took two aspirins, and made a mental note to buy a book on “How to Sign” for further use in the kitchen.

I pulled out my ‘To Do List’ and before I knew it, I was behind in my work. The first thing I did was to grill the vegetables on a skillet on the oven. In between dodging the grease spatters and flames shooting out from under the skillet, I yelled for Laurie to keep the phone on speed dial for the fire department!

While running back and forth…I pureed the jar of whole garlic cloves. At least I had one job down, while the vegetables were grilling. Then when I finished, I was able to check another job off of my list. I picked up the 7 different recipe dressings and sauces that Laurie printed out from my boss.

I studied the clock, and I knew that I had really fallen behind and this totally put me in a panic mode. I figured that my boss, my daughter would be back in the kitchen around 4:30, and I wanted everything done and I wanted to be out of there.

What else frustrated me was that I had to run to the grocery store twice for some of the things that were on the list and the kitchen was out of. A third time, I asked my granddaughter to pick something up from the grocery store and drop it off as fast as she could.

By the time I looked at the clock, I only had one dressing done…it was four gallons but that was it. Then my daughter called and told me that she really needed me to get the pasta salad finished and put into a take-out bowl because as soon as she got there, she was sending the salad out for an event.

Ok, I had mumbled, not wanting her to know that I didn’t have it down. Afterwards, I seemed to move faster…panic helps a person to move, and in my case, it didn’t let me down. I finished the pasta salad, and then finished the four gallons of Caesar Dressing. Unfortunately I still can’t figure out where the 5^th gallon came from but math is not in my head or in my vocabulary! I did have a cheat sheet but that didn’t seem to help either.

Nest, I moved on to the Sweet Lemon dressing…no problem here but I would find out later that I didn’t need to do that one. How was I supposed to know that since I was given the recipe to do? When my daughter arrived later, she asked me where the rest of the dressing was because it didn’t look like it was enough. All I could think of was, OMG…wait until she tastes my Caesar Dressing and wonders how I got five gallons out of it!

In between all of this, I looked around the kitchen…It looked like a cyclone had hit. It did, it was me. I had used both long prep tables, that had spills, bottles, and more and so did the floor, the small table by the mixing bowl. I moved quickly before Erin showed up or the Health Department paid us a surprise visit and shut us down. I was like a small tornado, cleaning up everything and continuously running the dishwasher.

By the time my daughter arrived, I had finished four dressings, and I had run out of steam and couldn’t finish the final dressing. I limped home, where I sat in a chair for the rest of the night, massaging my throbbing feet and just watching something stupid on the television. That something was Sharknado 2. Believe me; the kitchen actually reminded me of a scene from that campy movie. Where the heck was that shark when I needed it!

How Safe Are We?

So, after the 7^th pass by of the Nuclear Power Plant in Shippingport, Pa., stopping each time and snapping a few pictures of the Reactors, my friend and I looked around – no cameras, no police or security guard, no one stopping us – nothing.

We may have drove away laughing and joking about having our license taken down and finding someone with Government credentials standing at our door, soon. We vowed to bake a cake with a file in it, if one of us goes to jail. But deep down, it really wasn’t funny. It was a bit unsettling. Where was the security? Since I didn’t see any, I, for one, didn’t feel so safe or secure.

So far, nothing has happened but it didn’t stop me from wondering and finally the nagging question popped up in my head…if I could take close up pictures of the reactors, with my ‘dinky’ camera – what about a terrorist or a nut? Then I thought – how safe do I feel? Not safe at all was my answer.

Right now, with everything going on in the world, I just didn’t feel safe anymore. For the first time in my life, I realized that no one, that includes my country, is looking out to keep us safe. That is a very unsettling feeling.

A Wednesday Trip

Not too long ago, I took a day trip with a friend. The trip combined seeing a few libraries in a few small towns, appreciating the different types of architectural style, interior design and more.

During our drive, we did go by Shippingport’s Power Plant. We drove next to the plant, on a two lane road, over a bridge. I felt pretty tiny and insignificant next to the plant. Oddly, we stopped seven different times, and I snapped a number of photos. Not once did we see any security.

Next to the Shippingport Plant, is Midland and we checked out a solid looking library. Across from the front of the building is a lush green park and in the background were some really beautiful homes. It was an idyllic setting. On the other side of the street was a beautiful church, St. George Serbian Church, built in 1947. The exterior of the church is gorgeous but since the doors were locked, we were unable to get inside.

I could live in Midland, except for the odor from the nearby power plant in Shippingport. I am sure the residences of Midland are used to the unpleasant odor but I wasn’t. After our library trip, we stopped for dinner at the Wooden Angel in Beaver. Unfortunately, we opted to eat at a table in the bar. It was awfully noisy but the food more than made up for the noise.

We both ordered a house salad. It was so good and fresh and the dressings were served on the side and they were quite tasty. It was the hamburgers that were awesome. They were perfect. Mine was so good that I ate it with just ketchup. Plus the bun was delicious Tiny cuts of potatoes with Rosemary accompanied the dish instead of the usual fries. It was the side of fresh cut fruit that rounded out our meal. The fruit was so sweet and topped with a mixture of cream and cut pineapples. The meal was so filling, that we passed on dessert.

All in all, a road trip on a beautiful Wednesday with a friend was just what I needed. Along the way, I learned some new facts about the libraries, St. George, a power plant and had an outstanding meal at the Wooden Angel in Beaver!

A Library Thing...

I have a friend from graduate school, and occasionally we get together for some day road trips. Usually, she plans them, and we both bring along our cameras. Or we just get into the car, drive, and stop wherever we happen to be.

Our field trip started out with me meeting my friend at her house. We started to talk. I told her how I have been going to the same library to write and finally how I became uninspired. I said, “Our library smells, it leaves me claustrophobic, and I seemed so uninspired that I can’t write anything.” Finally I ended with. “I hate the library!” In my rant, I didn’t notice the strange expression that flickered across my friend’s face.

After allowing me to rant for a while, my friend said, “Well, come on, Mary. It’s time for our ‘field trip.’”

“Where are we going?”

“Come on. You’ll figure it out after we hit the first place.”

We parked across the street from a solid looking building. “What is that – a post office? I asked. 

“Come on and you’ll see.”

And of course, after seeing the front of the building, I got it right away! On the top of the concrete was etched…LAUGHLIN MEMORIAL FREE LIBRARY, AMBRIDGE.

Of course I started to laugh and that helped with our field trip of – libraries! We drove around and saw a few other libraries: BF Jones Memorial Library in Aliquippa, Carnegie Free Library in Midland, the libraries in Beaver Falls, Beaver, and Rochester.

So, okay, maybe I don’t really hate libraries. The ones that I mentioned were beautiful and interesting, except for the one in Beaver Falls. Maybe I just needed a break from the Northland Library, North Hills where I usually write. Sometimes seeing what else is outside of the usual helps. Sometimes it takes a change and a field trip to re-vitalize one’s writing. Or maybe it was the ability to laugh at myself that helped.

The Iron Man

On July 4, 1939, Lou Gehrig, New York Yankee’s first baseman gave his farewell speech to baseball. This speech probably was one of the most memorable and greatest speeches to ever have been given by any sports figure. Gehrig, known as ‘The Iron Horse,” was 37-years-old, in his prime and considered one of the greatest first baseman ever to play the game of baseball. Little did he know that within two years he would die from Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). This disease would later carry his name, Lou Gehrig’s Disease.

Henry Louis ‘Lou’ Gehrig was born in New York City on June 19, 1903. He was such a strong, durable player, that he earned the nickname ‘The Iron Horse.” Gehrig played for 17 seasons with the Yankees. He set a number of baseball records. The one that stood the longest was for the most consecutive games played, 2,130. This record stood for 56 years, until 1995 when Cal Ripken, Jr. broke it.

Gehrig was not just a steady and great player, he truly loved the game of baseball. He, like most of the true baseball players of his time, just played pure baseball without huge amounts of money or huge contracts.

When I see players now, who high five, do somersaults of some stupid dance after scoring or making a big play, I often think about how on July 4, 1939, one of the greatest baseball players, gave a simple speech about being the ‘luckiest man alive’ as he faced his own ultimate death, two years later.

To me, Lou Gehrig is a real hero to look up to and emulate, unlike some other sports heroes who define themselves with big contracts and with how many championships and rings they have. Lou Gehrig is the real deal – the real hero to look up to.