In the Oven

The shortbread is in the oven baking away and I have a few minutes to write. I just finished reading Better Homes and Gardens Heritage Cook Book. This is a 400 page oversize hardbound edition from Meredith Corporation. I know it sounds strange that someone would read a cook book, but this is more like a food history book with recipes thrown in for good measure. It is a third printing circa 1976 - just in time for the Bi-Centennial - and it details the development of American Cuisine from the beginning to the present ... uh, the present as of 1976. The story begins with the Indians and the Colonists of England, France, and Spain; then moves on to the Pioneers. Later chapters cover the wave upon wave of immigrants: Western and Eastern Europeans, Africans, Asians, South Americans; each new group bringing along its own traditions and blending them into the American diet. Oops, there goes the timer ... gotta run!

I'm back. Did you know that when an oven mitt touches the bottom burner in an oven, it immediately bursts into flames. I did not see that coming. Wow! Now where was I? Oh yeah, I remember ... the melting pot. All those different foods from all over the world, and all coming together here. One section talks about the changes in our taste for food. Has anyone out there ever prepared - or even tasted - Calf's Head Hash? There are also chapters on kitchens, preserving food, and changing techniques. I'm old enough to remember the invention of the microwave oven. Anyone out there remember the Ice Man?

There is a chapter on cook books as well early cook books were pretty useless if you didn't already know how to cook for starters the sentences did not begin with capital letters the sentences are devoid of punctuation to make matters worse none of the recipes use any measurements how anyone got any useful information from them is beyond me you get the picture. They attribute the use of measurements in recipes to Fanny Farmer - a wheelchair bound cooking student at The Boston Cooking School in the 1890's. Before that, you just had to know stuff. Imagine all those girls going to all those schools learning how to cook ... hmmm.

Makin' beef jerky, potato latkes, why we call hot dogs hot dogs ... even cannibalism gets a brief mention. There is a lot of stuff between the covers. Anyway, there is one last section I'll mention just for fun. There was a brief discussion of where the future would lead, and their predictions are worth a look in hind-sight:

1) New and different convenience foods. Check.

2) Home-computer systems that will order items from the grocery store and plan balanced meals. Maybe a Half-Check on this one - at least we have computers and PeaPod.

3) Packages or wrappings that will self-destruct as the food is cooked. Baaah! Not even close!

and last but not least:

4) Metric weights and measure. Hahahahahahahaha (insert maniacal Mike laugh soundtrack here). Jimmy Carter, what were you thinking? I have a copy of "The Metric Cook Book" and it is the most worthless thing you can imagine. Switching to metric fasteners almost killed off all the mechanics; it will take generations to convert the kitchen. You may buy soda in a 2-liter bottle, but when you make 7-up cake, you still measure it by the cup! Oh well, that's the risk you run when you try to predict the future - at least if you put it into print.

This book is inscribed to Ruth Ann Bress. So Ruth Ann, if you ever read this, drop me an e-mail; I'd like to chat.

Errata

Generally speaking, when I become aware of an error in Scarred Bark, I just go back and fix it. So if you read a post you don't like, go back and check it again in a few weeks ... maybe I'll have changed my mind. Somehow, a journal is different. I always write in pen! Once you write something in pen - or maybe print something out from your computer - it acquires a kind of permanence that a blog doesn't seem to have. That's part of the magic of the web: Nothing is permanent. When you hold a book in your hands, you know it's been through the entire writing, editing, publishing, distribution chain thing. It has a certain air of authority - especially if it's been handled by one of the major publishing houses. It feels like something you can trust, something you can reference, something you can quote. Compare a book to an article on Wikipedia. There isn't even a claim that the article is correct let alone permanent; it's all about the change. (Weird side note: Blogger's spell checker says Wikipedia is misspelled, and gives as suggested alternatives: pediatric, pediatrics, cyclopedias, cyclopedia, and encyclopedia in that order. You would think Blogger would know what Wikipedia is ... but I digress.)

There is an error in yesterday's post involving that fortune cookie quote. I was going to go back and correct it, but I've decided to let the original post stand as is. However - to set the record straight - the correct quote is "Behind an able man, there are always other able men." (italics added - ed.) It's a subtle difference, but noteworthy none-the-less. As I said, I've received this fortune before; and I've pondered its various meanings. Any fortune worth its salt must allow for multiple interpretations. For this one, I've had trouble deciding. Is it: a piece of advice, a statement of fact, or a poorly veiled threat?

While the meaning lies shrouded in mystery, the subject it pertains to is clear. I've been procrastinating about the Drum Sergeant position for Grade 3 in 2010 - whether to serve another season or step aside. I'm sure the second copy of that fortune arrived to hurry things along. It will be hard to let it go after almost a decade at the helm, but I think it's time to move on. There are things I need to accomplish; and I can't fulfill the task of Drum Sergeant and do those other things too. Something's gotta give. It's nice to know there are "other able men" ready to shoulder the task.

Again?

There are some women out there who just don't like men. You can try to be nice to them, but it doesn't really matter because their minds are already made up ... like all guys are the same. Anyway, this woman is going to throw away her fortune cookie, and I say, "That would be a waste, I'll eat it if you don't want to. Who knows, maybe there will be some winning lottery numbers in there." So she gives me the cookie, and I start eating it and looking at the fortune. And she says "What does it say?" And I say "34 15 39 ..." And she says "No, not that; what does the fortune say?" And I turn it over and I'm almost afraid to read it out loud, but now I have to. "Behind an able man there are other able men." She glowers and says "You're making that up. Let me see that", and snatches it out of my hand. She reads it, tosses it back on the table, and walks away. Maybe she had been expecting "Behind every successful man there is a woman"; but she never said a word.

Have you ever gotten a repeat fortune in your fortune cookie? I've had that particular fortune once before. It seems like there is some sort of cosmic force that guides the cookies to the right recipients; but we all know that can't be true. Still, I wonder why she didn't open that cookie herself ... or just throw it away.

The #1 Result Is ...

Do you have a favorite place to write? Think about it for a minute: Do you always sit at the same desk, writing in the same journal, surrounded by the same old things? I always do my writing for Scarred Bark on the same computer, at the same desk, in the same room - day after day. It's good to go somewhere else to write ... to try out a new location; it can jolt your creativity. Occasionally I'll write something when I'm on the road, but usually I'm just "there". Sitting in a familiar place surrounded by familiar things ... it helps to block out the noisy world. Solitude focuses one's attention; but it's also good to change things up now and then.

I'm currently away from my writing desk; but I have web access here, and I thought I'd spend a few minutes penning something pithy. Unfortunately, I don't have the address for Scarred Bark handy. I thought of going to Blogger.com and logging in, but then I decided it might be fun to try finding my blog with a search engine. I used Yahoo, but nothing came up ... at least not in the first 50 results - and really, who ever looks past the first twenty. Then I tried Google. Well ... what do you know, the #1 search result for "scarred bark" on Google is Scarred Bark. I'm actually #1. I'm not really sure what to make of that; I've never been #1 in a search engine before. It seems like I should be able to do something with that, to leverage it somehow; but - though I sit and think - I've got nothing.

Rainy in Richmond ... Again

The 2009 season has drawn to a close. The final Scottish Games for the MacMillan Pipe Bands took place in Richmond, Virginia on Saturday. It was windy with frequent showers all day long. This was the third year in a row for a rainy day in Richmond. I'm starting to consider it a part of the event - like a water hazard or sand trap out on the links. I guess all Scottish Games have their own characteristics stemming from the time of year and the location. The choking dust bowl at the Devon Horse Show grounds in June and the searing heat of the Episcopal High School in Alexandria every July are two that immediately come to mind. Even though those events vanished long ago, their memories linger on. Somehow, successful bands learn to compensate for the venue.

There were successes and failures throughout the season; I won't bother to elaborate. Now is the time to begin planning for the new year: the Annual General Meeting, the election of officers, music selection ... and all the practicing to prepare for 2010. Even though I've been doing this pipe band shtick for more than 30 years, it's still impossible to predict how a new season will shape up - there are just too many variables. You try to account for them all, but you can't control your personnel. This is a volunteer activity, and musicians are an unpredictable lot by nature - think cat herding. They join, they leave, they practice ... or maybe they don't. We all memorize music at different speeds, and sometimes players lack the technical ability to perform a piece of music. Even when you think you've taken all of that into account, there is still a weird dynamic that takes place when you throw a group of musicians together and tell them all to play a piece of music as one. Sometimes the sum is more than the parts ... sometimes not.

For the MacMillan-Birtles Memorial Drum Corps in 2009, the sum was surely more than the parts. During the band's first season in Grade 4, the corps placed well in all it's competitions - even garnering a much coveted Best Drum Corps award at one event. If any of you read this, I'd just like to say, "Congrats on a successful first year in Grade 4." I know you all worked hard this season, and it showed when we stood in the circle together. It was a pleasure serving as your instructor, and I'm certain the corps will enjoy many successes in the upcoming year.

Last Saturday - after all the practicing, hiding under the tents, stomping through the mud, and the performance - we formed up for the final massed bands. The drizzle continued as the first wave headed out onto the field. Our band was in the second wave. As the Drum Major prepared to march us in, all hell broke loose. The rain came down in buckets. With half the massed bands out on the field, the Drum Major had two choices: he could dismiss the bands and run for cover, or call "By the Center! Quick March!" As the drums began to roll, a cheer came up from the crowds. We had thumbed our collective noses at the weather, and we marched proudly out onto the field. My kilt is still drying and my car smells like wet sheep, but it was the right thing to do. Nice call Drum Major Ricklis.

That's Not Right

This guy goes out to his car and he accidentally trips the car alarm. Then, he gets in the car but he can't seem to turn the alarm off. So he starts the car and drives off with the car alarm blaring away. Everyone turns to look; and we're all wondering the same thing, "Did that guy just steal a car and none of us said a word?" But he's driving away like there's nothing wrong. He pulls up to the corner and waits with all the other drivers for the light to turn green - all the while that car alarm keeps going and going and going. It must be deafening inside the car, but this guy is driving away as if nothing is wrong. Maybe this happens to him all the time, but it does make a body wonder. If your car alarm is supposed to stop a person from stealing your car, why doesn't it prevent the engine from starting until after the alarm has been cleared? Just wondering aloud.

Summer's Over

It seems a shame to see September swallowed by the wind; but more than that, it's oh so sad to see the summer end. And tho' the changing colors are a lovely thing to see, if it were mine to make a change, I think I'd let it be ... but I don't remember hearing anybody asking me.

Anyone remember that snippet from the autumn part of John Denver's four seasons medley? It's been cold and rainy here for three days. Working outside at the trolley museum on Saturday left me with a chill even a hot shower couldn't wash away. There's nothing left in the garden but the collard greens. I didn't know they could grow so tall! Indian summer will arrive soon, but summer is really gone. How did it go by so fast? It's kind of depressing.

As soon as we get a break in the weather, I'll clean up the garden for winter, cut the grass one last time, and fill the compost bins. It feels like snow will come early this year. It's time to fill the kerosene cans, round up the snow shovels, and dig out the long johns. Can it really be spring time in Rio?

Remember to Pause

I finished reading "You Just Don't Understand" by Deborah Tannen last night. This is a First Ballentine Books Edition, June 1991. It's a heavily marked up paperback full of someone else's personal experiences overlaid onto the author's original text. I usually don't like to read marked up books because it affects the way I perceive the original work - like I'm being constantly interrupted while I'm trying to read; but in this case, it was OK. I found the book enlightening in many ways. It highlights many differences in the ways men and women communicate; and it explains some of my own idiosyncrasies of speech as just being typically male. Although the book is a serious scholarly work, there is a joke inside which says a lot about the entire subject. Here's a paraphrase:

A woman sues her husband for divorce; and when the judge asks her why, she explains, "He hasn't spoken to me in more than two years!" The judge turns to the man and asks, "Why haven't you spoken to your wife for more than two years?", and the husband replies, "I didn't want to interrupt her."

Yes, men and women really do have different styles of speech. Sometimes it's really hard to remember that.

Today at the hotel, we had concurrent banquet events. On one side of the hall was a funeral reception for a man named Young; and on the other side was the annual clown convention. I made a comment to one of my co-workers about the interesting juxtaposition; but - instead of seeing the irony of grieving relatives on one side of the hall and a room full of clowns on the other - she just ridiculed my "two-bit attempt to use a college word in regular conversation." I was flummoxed. I could feel my deflector shields go up and my phaser banks begin to charge. I had been challenged. I instinctively reached for the mental twibill and prepared to verbally cleave her asunder; but then I remembered that book. Men and women really do converse in different ways ... perhaps she was just trying to make conversation ... hmmmm.

I decided to take a different tack. I lowered my defenses and allowed as how my usage of "juxtaposition" may have been flawed. Perhaps her suggestion that they had just "been placed too near each other" might have been more clear. Perhaps - in the future - I should be more careful when choosing my words. She smiled! How pleasantly unexpected. Then she began to tell me how she suffers from coulraphobia - talk about your "college words" ... Geez! I guess all the clowns were really stressing her out and she just needed someone to listen. Women are weird like that.

The Lost Month of September

I have a few minutes to sit and write an entry. I'll try to be brief; I'll try to ease my way back into blogging. It's been a long time since my last post. I knew this would happen. An average post takes an hour, and I don't really have that kind of time. September is a busy month for the band. We've been on the road almost every weekend since the beginning of September. There's Car Club and Train Club and workin' at the Museum. There's a hundred other things to do too ... like keeping my real estate license up to date. Sometimes I forget how nice it is to have a few hours at home - a few precious hours of peace and quiet. So no heavy lifting today: No big thoughts, no photos, no posting to the web site ... just a few minutes to jot down a random thought or two.

It's been so long since I've made an entry that I considered just deleting my blog altogether. Just for grins I decided to re-read my entries before I let it all go. But now I've decided that there's something of value in it after all. I'd forgotten so much of what I wrote way back in July and August. It was refreshing to read a bunch of stuff I was totally in agreement with; it seems rare when I agree with anyone anymore - even myself. My blog made a handy reference tool; it allowed me to recollect my own thoughts after a disorienting month on the run. I used to read my own journal for the same purpose, but it got so long that I don't think I'll ever have the time to read it all again. If I keep blogging, I guess the same thing will happen here.

We had a minor milestone at the hotel today. We received the results from our recent audit: A+. The official wording was something like "no deficiencies found"; which is not a very impressive way to phrase it, but accounting professionals tend to be a pretty dry bunch - if you know what I mean. Anyway, it appears to be a first for the entire hotel division. Even hotels consistently rated highest by the auditors have had at least "one deficiency found" during their audits. E-mails are circulating, backs are a-slappin', high-5's all around. How is it possible that we could achieve such results? Begging the bigger question, "What are we going to do for an encore?" Perhaps now would be a good time to retire.

I've been baking a lot of shortbread lately. I still haven't perfected the art. It should be really easy: Flour, Sugar, Butter, Salt. Mix and bake for 20 minutes. What can go wrong? Results so far have only been acceptable. By that, I mean that all the shortbread gets eaten, but that's just not enough. Where is the A+? Where is the crunchy, melt-in-your-mouth goodness of a perfect piece of shortbread? What drives a man to attempt perfection? Why can't acceptable ever be good enough?