Pie.

I made a pie. For my sister. In my search for antique pyrex dishes, we ran across a pyrex pie plate. I didn't have a pie plate, and coming from such a line of pie eaters, this is bad news. My sister snatched it up for me at the Antique Mall in town where we meander about once every two weeks. My friends blogs are afloat with pictures, so I am going to give it a try... a *glimpse* into my pie making world.
(Note: My mother (J) is a MASTER pie-maker. I am always intimidated by this.)
This is the pie I made. . I am showing you the finished product first, I don't know how to manipulate these photos very well. Help??


One in the oven.













Here she is in her unbaked form. As I continue to experiment and manipulate recipes and crusts, I'll get better and more creative with the edges. My main intent with using the fork-edge was just to get the damn thing to stick together!









Blueberry pie, with butter pats.













BUTTER.













Filling in the pie plate.













In the mixing bowl. (Note to self... use larger bowl next time!!!)












Sugar, flour and cinnamon! That's right, cinnamon and blueberries!












These berries had been put away with my sister in mind. Family knows she likes 'em. It's like the only fruit we can get her to eat.
Stubborn German.










Carefully, piecing it together. Have to practice with the crust-making. Ugh.












Don't you love the color of the pie plate??? I do! I love these dishes, and check the bright gold mixing bowl in the background. They are so pretty, it makes me happy to cook!










Ball of dough.













Rolling pin.













Mother says the dough should "chase" the fork around the bowl. Whatever that means.












I'm gonna get you, dough!













"Until mixture resembles fine crumbs."


What?










Sifting, sifting.













Here's where she began.













And that's how I made a blueberry pie. I'll figure out how to put pictures in in the right order, someday. Not tonight.

A poem

Choose Something Like A Star

O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud-
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.
Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says, 'I burn.'
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.
It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.



Robert Frost


A frosty night here in Michigan. A strange night. My father, makes a mess on everything. My mother cleans it up. He is amused. She is overworked. I am enraged.

Old Friends

Today is a sunny day in January.

A little part of my heart just came awake again. [J] who has been gone for so long, by my own silly actions, has come back into my life via laptop and wireless magic, and I will be talking to her soon. Tears are in the back of my eyes, and they are building up, and there will be a point later in the day I am sure, when they'll come flooding forward, like so many other days this month, already.

I can't wait to talk to her.

strange allies, with warring hearts

That title means nothing. It's just the lyric I was listening to.

It's a monday afternoon. My brother was here today. B. I struggle, with him. I love him dearly, and I can't stand him. He makes me laugh, and he makes me cry. He makes me feel proud, and ashamed. Smart, and stupid. Loved, and hated.

I could go into it. But I'll spare you, reader. And by spare you, I guess I really mean spare me, because I'll start writing about it, and thinking about it, and I'll end up a puddle. And I can't be a puddle right now. I have a lesson in a half an hour.

I started thinking of the opposites of my brother, well weeks ago. You see, I have another blog, that he knows about. And I know that he reads. And I have felt guilty, at times when he would read that blog, and find out about any money I had spent to have fun. I feel guilty/bad/ashamed for even wanting to have a good time in this family. It has never been acceptable. So, I started writing this. I figure... less people will know. And, the ones who do, will either be total strangers, or ones who I really care about, and who really care about me. Because... sometimes, and with some people, it's cloudy. It is love hate sometimes even within my family circle. And that, is one thing I hate.

But I love to blog, and I love to listen to mixed tapes, which is what's on now. Along with a fresh pot of coffee, and a new coat of lipstick. All three things I have been in great need of since this morning.

And now, I realize... the title of this blog makes oh, so much sense. And it means everything.

There were moments...

Solsbury hill

Climbing up on solsbury hill
I could see the city light
Wind was blowing, time stood still
Eagle flew out of the night

He was something to observe
Came in close, I heard a voice
Standing stretching every nerve
I had to listen had no choice

I did not believe the information
Just had to trust imagination
My heart was going boom boom, boom
Son, he said, grab your things, Ive come to take you home.

To keeping silence I resigned
My friends would think I was a nut
Turning water into wine
Open doors would soon be shut

So I went from day to day
Tho my life was in a rut
till I thought of what Id say
Which connection I should cut

I was feeling part of the scenery
I walked right out of the machinery
My heart was going boom boom boom
Hey, he said, grab your things, Ive come to take you home.
Yeah back home

When illusion spin her net
Im never where I want to be
And liberty she pirouette
When I think that I am free

Watched by empty silhouettes
Who close their eyes, but still can see
No one taught them etiquette
I will show another me

Today I dont need a replacement
Ill tell them what the smile on my face meant
My heart was going boom boom boom
Hey, I said, you can keep my things, theyve come to take me home.


About a year ago. I struck out for NYC. It was the only thing I knew to do. And I think it was the right thing, at the right time, for what it turned out to be, as things usually are. Although, there were moments, of such intense, painful lonliness. Generally they balanced out with the freedom that can come with having absolutely nothing... but still sometimes so hard to bear. I would listen to this song, often. And once in awhile, I'd daydream... that my family... namely my brothers, would just come and get me. And take me home. Rescue me. They'd say, "Sister, grab your things, we've come to take you home." And somehow, though not through those means, home is where I am now. How our mind does lead us.

If you have never heard this tune. Seek it out. It's simple, and powerful. A good new beginnings song.

A Memory

I have two sisters.

N, is thirty, count 'em, thirty years older than me. We don't have a whole lot in common, other than our father, also N. When I was small, my parents each were taking care of their ailing parents, as well as me. I was thinking about this a few days ago, and I remember one very specific morning in particular.

N (sister) lived on River Street, where she took great care of my grandfather... funny enough, he was also N. My mother, sometimes stayed overnight at my other grandparents house, on Third Street, not too far from where N lived. One evening, I was to stay with N and she would take me to the church where I caught the bus to go over to South Bend, to the Christian school.

I remember getting up that morning, and standing by the sink with N. We washed our faces. I remember her filling up the sink with hot water. Dunking the washcloth, then holding it up by two corners, dunking it again, two corners, dunk, etc... I was fascinated by this for some reason. I guess we didn't wash our faces like that at my house. N always uses Safeguard soap. (I would never wash my face with safeguard now!) To this day, I cannot smell Safeguard soap without thinking of my sister. I think of her every time I eat at Subway, because that is what they use there. I remember sitting on the couch and N tying my shoes. I remember her helping my zipping up my coat. Tying the string under my chin, to keep my hood on. And then, we set out for the church. N does not drive. We walked. It was dark and still morning, and I remember thinking that was cool, too. We walked up River Street, past the old factory building with broken out windows. Past the gas station. Past the trophy place. To the church... so I could get on the bus.

Apologies

I was so relieved.

I don't remember if I put it in an earlier blog, here, or not. But the other day, I was so pissed at my father. I have a much different relationship with my father than most thirty year old women. My dad was 53 years old when I was born. That makes him 83 now, and though his mind is still pretty sharp, his health fails him and his tact (if he had any to begin with,) is GONE!

Last year around this time, my beautiful niece who I love came for a visit. She had just gotten a new tattoo, beautiful as well, of the word Faith, right across the inside of her left wrist. When A saw my father, she walked up to him and he asked "Did you get another tattoo?" She said, "Yes, grandpa." And he said "I hate you."

WHAT? You don't SAY that, dad! I wanted to back hand him! But I tried to keep my cool. I consoled A and told her that he didn't really mean it. Which I'm sure he didn't but it was just so rude!

Anyway... my nieces feelings were very hurt. During Christmas, my brother and I explained this to my dad, and he got quiet. I wasn't sure there was any remorse for what he said at all. Just two days ago, my niece called her dad, he was at our house, and she got put on the phone with grandpa. I was relieved to hear him apologize for saying I hate you. And we all knew he meant it. It was sweet.

Merry? Christmas??

Tonight does not feel like Christmas to me.

I do not believe that I am here in the living room, by myself, drinking... TEA and not spending time with family. Today has been one of the WIERDEST days I have had in some time. Breakfast, was wonderful. I met my professor and friend W at Le Peep, where we always go. We talked about family, about fights, about music, and each other, and then we got interviewed by channel 22 about the new evidence they have discovered about the star of Bethlehem. There was an article in the tribune, i guess. I suppose that I should go get the issues out of the bag on the porch, and read about it since I said something about it on the air.

The cantata went well this evening. But, we didn't go to Danny's house.

I don't really know why. Big lack of communication.

I am angry with my father today. He was talking at lunch about hating people with tattoos. He really says that. I can't believe him! He said "I hate you." to my niece! It broke her heart. I know that he is 83... and has a huge lack of tact... but to your granddaughter? So... what do you do? I don't know. It just makes me sad inside.

And... I think that this blog... it's just gonna be just for me. Until I'm ready to share it.

Motivation

Today, I went to a family function, and I learned something very important.

Family is undoubtedly one of the best blessings God gives us. These relatives of mine, who I hardly know, have maybe met once, maybe when I was three, were wonderfully welcoming and very sweet to me. I was so blessed.

The other thing I learned... brush your teeth. I lost two teeth this year and I still had more teeth than all the people eating dinner at my table put together. Done. As soon as I got home, out came the Colgate.

That's all.

Watch the snowmen pop. Pop, pop, pop.

Hello!

Tonight for fun, my sister and I drove around Michiana... I with my right hand poised as a gun, and her right eye on the hunt, and we imaginarily (not a word.) SHOT, all inflatable yard ornaments. Pardoning all penguin inflatable yard ornaments. Simply because they were penguins.

We also went to walmart, where I went through the aisle full of noisy stuffed singing Christmas toys, and pressed every single one that I could reach... and as fast as I could, to create a deafening cacophony of Christmas cheer.

All that was missing was the liquor.