Henny Penny, Big Chick and Pecker

Ceramic chicken painted by my motherPearl Lipkin. "Egg" is a rock 

Chickens and urban gardens are quite the rage in Portlandia. At one time back in the days of  our young  familyhood (late 1960's early 70's), we owned a home on the upper Newport Bay in Southern California. There really were Orange Groves in Orange County then.  We had a sort of mini farm for the Fishmans, Paul and I were both graduate students at UC Irvine, Eric was 3, and Geoff was 1 year old. We were Foodies, even then, although we didn't have a name for liking real food. One side of the garden was lined with tree height poinsettias. On the back fence, hibiscus shrubs produced gorgeous golden, red, and orange flowers.

Our yard had a  little "orchard" of citrus (orange, grapefruit,  lemon), apple and peach trees smack  in the center. In one sunny area along the fence we had a blackberry vine. We added a raspberry vine as well.  I loved making pies, marmalades, apple butter, and preserves. Paul put in a big vegetable garden. Even then, we ate organically, locally and sustainably.

Geoff really was ahead of his time with the raw food movement. He believed in picking up the snails from the grass and stuffing them in his mouth. I removed them with my fingers. Geoff got even by choosing a marble for his next gourmet endeavor, but that's another story.

Our milk was delivered in real glass bottles by the Altadena dairy. Our cheese and vegetables, not grown in our garden, came from a Food Coop.  Fresh eggs and the experience of  raising our own chickens,  seemed the way to round out our perfect food source.

Right down the block, someone raised Bantams. We purchased 3 fluffy, precious chicks. Eric named them: Henny Penny, Big Chick and Pecker. He was describing how Pecker got food.  Paul built a really nice large chicken coup. Henny Penny, Big Chick and Pecker grew up. Early very early a.m., we heard a cockadoodle doo. It was indeed Pecker.

We were not very wise and didn't do research to learn about raising chickens. Henny Penny and Big Chick laid eggs. We found them delicious, but thought how nice it would be for Eric and Geoff to see little chicks hatch. Pecker got to the chicks before we did. There was carnage in our back yard. So it goes for two people raised in Chicago.

June in Oregon

Summer teases us in 2-3 day increments. That's when the false sense of "Ahhhh, languor." flows through my warm, sun-soaking self. I sip my cucumber-infused vodka martini. I laze in our Garden of Tranquility and relax into meditative stillness. The sounds of birds, water flowing over rock,  and soft chimes blend to a soothing background.

Soon, I tell myself, the roses will thrive and open new unbeaten  blossoms. That was before. Yesterday I pulled my raincoat out of the closet again, found a sweater, and today I might bake and warm the house up.

A verse of Portland Summertime, apologies to Gershwin

Summertime,
And the weather is warm now.
Strawberries are local,
And the vegetables thrive.
Snow-covered mountains,
Pose against blue skies.
Light lingers till ten here,
And the streets are alive.

During Candlelighting for Shabbat

Sweet flood of anticipation,

I place brass candle holders  on linen

Polished, their luminescence brightens

In candle flame.

Pulling light, closer, closer, closer,

my hands circle three times.

Whispering blessings

Flame warmth engenders memories

of loving hands circling.

I feel the holiness light my mother’s face.

A Special Moment in Hawaii

I wrote this on Facebook but want to save it: We were in Hawaii in March of 2012.

At midnight last night I awoke and looked out at the sea. A strong warm trade wind was

whipping the water to white caps in a silvery black vastness. The moon was half-full and hung

low surrounded by rings of clouds, tinged golden by its brightness. 

Below the moon was a huge lake of shimmering white silver light. In the foreground palm 

fronds danced in the wind. 

This morning, Humpbacks were swimming and breaching just 50 to 100 yards offshore.

Remembrances of Passovers Past

For now the Winter is past,

The rains are over and gone.

From the Song of Songs which is Solomon’s

The beautiful approach of Spring and Pesach might have been that way when Solomon wrote it, but not so here in Portland, Oregon. As I prepare chicken soup and gefulte fish. I am actually glad for the warm steaming scents of the soup and for the fact that my oven will be on to bake the fish balls. I love this holiday and am so excited about the Seder, as I was every year since I was a child. The “remembrance of things past” (lovely title, Proust) evokes these memories for me, as sweet as the Manischewitz  wine we sipped:

I recall sitting at a table covered by a lace cloth, before us the Seder Plate, and the covered matzoh. Every grown up, and those kids who could read, had a copy of Maxwell House Haggadah, stained with wine, brisket drippings, haroset blots, and even the beet juice in the horseradish.  Around me were Mommy, Daddy, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and our Bubby and Zayde. We all wore  our “dressy” clothes. We all looked towards Zayde reclined against pillows.  

I chanted the four questions until in subsquent years it was my sister Eileen’s turn, and after her, my brother Shelly’s. Always Zayde and the other grownups were smiling with delight, and we all laughed as Zayde launched into impossibly rapid chanting of the Haggadah in Yiddish accented Hebrew, until we were all in unison (sort of) dipping our fingers into wine. We  recited  the names of the plagues G-d visited upon the Pharoah for disobeying Him and not letting our people go. We were warned not to lick our fingers (I did, cause it tasted so good), because we were to diminish our joy in freedom, drop by wine drop, as each plague was called out.  We were admonished that many Egyptians died  from those plagues.

We kids watched where Zayde hid the afikoman when he washed his hands, and he made a show of hiding it in plain sight. Since the meal could not be over and the ceremony completed until everyone chewed a piece of the Afikoman (a broken off piece of matzoh), we kids had bargaining power. We got money/gelt. Zayde and Daddy played the game well, pretending to grudgingly give in.

 We always loved the Haroset made Ashkenazic style with chopped apples, walnuts, Manischewitz Wine, the crunchy matzoh that sandwiched it, but the chrain Yiddish for moror (horseradish) not so much.

The meal began with gefulte fish, then chicken soup and knaidlach, we hid our sneaks at wine instead of grape juice, but our very red cheeks gave us away. Years later Mom and Dad hosted Seders. Our sons knew them as the Elders. More English, less Hebrew became part of the recitation of our having been slaves in Egypt, but the food remained the same, as did the Maxwell House Haggadah. Then Paul and I took on the Seder; those memories stayed with me. We’ve continued the tradition.  Our Haggadah was customized to incorporate the significant aspects of our contemporary history: slavery in the Camps of the Shoa, quotes from the Civil Rights movement, poetry, new songs, and keeps changing.  The food remained mostly the same. 

Our parents are gone. We are the “Elders” now. Our family is concentrated in Portland, intermarried, and we all still love the Seder hosted at our son’s and daughter-in-law’s home, so 35 of us can all be together. We have  a wine-stained revised Haggadah. Our Seder Plate includes an orange; in addition to Elijah’s cup, we have Miriam’s cup on the table,  and the food choices at our meal have changed some, but not so much.

Pesach remains my favorite holiday. May yours be wonderful.

Limericks Composed in Ireland

Ireland inspires the flow of words. At the Dublin Library the poetry of W.B. Yeats spilled across the floor, voices of actors and himself reading his poems, visible with photos and paintings of places that inspired him. The island is a muse to Shaw, Joyce, Wilde, O'Casey, Stoker, and so many more. When traveling there the Blarney spills into the soul.

 

A beautiful sky enroute from Adair to Dingle, the grey we had passed through dissipated and huge fluffy cumulus clouds formed a perfect circle around a cornflower blue center. It looked like a Wedgewood dinner plate.

 

Limerick I  (written near Limerick)

 We rolled on the long road to Dingle;

Two couples and a man who was single.

When out came the sun we knew we'd have fun,

With the good folk in towns we would mingle.

 

Ireland Limerick II

Sweet Tiffany met us on Saturday,

We traveled the road on our merry way.

The good Guiness Stout kept us laughing about;

Some troubles with tummy dismay.

 

 

Limerick III

In the Burren we hiked through the muck.

No shamrocks to bring Irish luck.

We lunched well at Keoughs on stout Irish meals.

The next illness caused us to say: Yuck.

Mandelbrot, the "Jewish Biscotti"

Actually I always thought of biscotti as the Italian mandelbrot (almond bread). The crunchy lusciousness of these cookies/biscuits is perfect for dipping into hot tea or coffee. I make them small sometimes, like cantucci, so Paul can dip them in Vin Santo.

My bubby used to give us kids the first baked cutoffs which we adored as softer vanilla/almond delights. Even today they are still evocative of those scents permeating the house while the sounds of English and Yiddish melded together.

So here is my recipe that does work even though I've altered the original recipe; I use egg substitute and canola oil. White flour and sugar will still not qualify for health food status, but oh well, satisfying one's longings can't be all bad.

MANDELBROT (Almond Biscuits [Jewish biscotti]) 

Great for eating and dipping.

(Low Cholesterol version by Sherry Fishman)

1. CREAM:

1 cup canola oil

1 ¾  cups sugar

4 eggs (or 1 cup egg substitute)

½ tsp almond extract

1 ½ tsp. vanilla extract

½ cup water (note: if using egg substitute, don’t add the water)

2. IN A LARGE BOWL

Sift

  5 cups of unbleached white flour

  3 heaping tsp baking powder

  ½ tsp salt

3. Make a well in the sifted ingredients

Add creamed ingredients and blend until dough is pliable but sticky

Add 1 cup blanched (i.e. skin off) chopped almonds (walnuts or hazelnuts could be used)

4. Make 4 elongated loaves and place on greased cookie sheets

5. BAKE at 350 degrees for 20 minutes (or 325 degrees convection); remove from oven and cool, when cool enough to move without breaking, place loaves on cutting board

Lower oven to 300 degrees

6. Slice loaves into approx. ¾ inch thick slices; lay slices flat on cookie sheets (don’t grease them again); sprinkle with cinnamon sugar

7. BAKE at 300 degrees, then check in 25–30 minute increments, (or 275 degrees on convection),  – they are done when they are hard all the way through (the best test is to eat one, it should crunch, if it doesn’t, put them back in the oven)  I turn the oven off and leave them in the oven, even after they feel hard enough to the touch so there is no give when you press a finger tip into the center.

Note: you can also make soft, chewy cookies using the dough (after Step 3) for drop cookies, add sprinkles, only do the first bake and remove from oven when golden. Yummy.

The Absurdity of Cruelty,Violence, Bigotry and Genocide: A Purim Blog

We say Happy Purim. We celebrate in costumes with a play called a Purimspiel (Purim tale), after reading the Book of Esther, a.k.a. the Megillah. Here’s an FAQ from Tablet Magazine explaining the story: http://www.tabletmag.com/jewish-life-and-religion/26395/purim-faq/

We are supposed to celebrate with raucous noise-makers drowning out the name of the wicked Wizer, Haman (go ahead, make noise). Haman, the Hitler of that time, attempted genocide of the Jews of the Persian Empire;  The JewishQueen Esther saved us at risk to her own life. We get drunk because we are supposed to on this day; the name of God isn’t mentioned once in the Book of Esther. It’s clearly not a religious holiday. And yet we need this laughter to bolster our souls.

We haven’t always been so fortunate; we suffered 2000 years of Crusades, forced conversions, the Inquisition, Pogroms,  "Final Solution" of the the Shoa. Others in the world are also subject to mass genocides; this is  not usually the stuff of laughter. Sadly the ugly vitriol that riles people who seemed nice (think of the neighbors in the former Yugoslavia) exists. We have mass rapes and genocides going on in Africa as I write this. 

The nasty propaganda and ugliness are  broadcast and shared here in our own country right now. Ugly attacks on the “OTHER” are now flowing openly and freely on the mass media and the social media. They are aimed at: immigrants, blacks, Hispanics, homosexuals, Muslims, Jews,  and on this Purim and International Women’s Day even against us women for advocating for contraception, and for Women’s Health, including the right to choose. How ludicrous, how ridiculous, how absurd, how banal!

How can this be? So we need to laugh at the sheer madness of all this. We turn to John Stewart, Stephen Colbert, & SNL while laws are passed that terrify the farmworkers, beat women back 11/2 centuries, keep Muslims fearful in the U.S.A. that they are enemies because of their faith, & leave homosexuals without equal rights. 

Once again there are  insinuations about the “Jewish Lobby” resurfacing in books published as academically profound sociological facts. And it is great fodder for humor that Jews who died in the Holocaust are then “converted” by the Mormon Church posthumously. Stephen Colbert’s schtick was, well, better if you watch it: http://gawker.com/5887906/watch-stephen-colbert-convert-all-dead-mormons-to-judaism

Back to Purim:  Even in Auschwitz, there was a Purimspiel. Eli Weisel wrote a play about it: The Trial of God. This is a play within a play within a play. Even there they laughed. They kept the ultimate vestige of their humanity in most inhumane circumstances.

We celebrate our survival as a people with a sort of madness and drunkness on Purim, and we resolve to express our humanness through gifts to the less fortunate. We sober up to look at the tragedies of the human condition, and make the world better.

But the laughter, the drinks, the zaniness strengthens us. So I hope everyone’s Purim was as wonderful as mine, and I wish everyone of my Jewish family and friends a Shabbat Shalom. 

Grandma, When Do You Think World War III will Start?

My granddaughter, Sophie, 11 and I were in the car having a conversation about Downton Abbey. "They're in World War I now",  she said of the British T.V. series.Her insights and interests are extensive, from Shakespeare to politics. I take her thoughts seriously and responded not to reassure her alone, but myself as well.

"Oh, Honey, I hope never."

"Oh come on Grandma, you know how people are!"

I do indeed. I was driving and needed to focus on getting us home safely, so I repressed my all too at the ready imagination about the possibilities of a World War with nuclear weaponry. I repressed my memories of hiding under school desks as a child, believing that I'd be safe the way I believed I'd ever see my family again; never! Night terrors about walking home in a devastated landscape without a single recognizable landmark haunted me. Airplanes overhead sometimes made my heart race thinking it might be the "Russians". They were an enemy then.


This morning we had an achingly beautiful sunrise, good coffee,  and I am happy to have a family I love, a beautiful place to live, good food, and to know people who feel the way I do and try to make a world of peace and justice.

But when I look at how many wars are raging, how many cruel decisions are made in our own country, let alone everywhere else, when I hear about yet another heinous act of terrorism, I have to admit, yes, my darling, all too wise. granddaughter, I know how people are. Some of us are good, they are our hope, and some......