Moms

I face this Mothers’ Day as a full blown orphan for the first time in 15 years. It’s a situation I thought I’d be facing for the rest of my life after May 17, 1963 the day I found my mom stretched out and dead on the couch when I came home for lunch. My parents never made any secret I was adopted, so I realized I might have another family somewhere. Several years after my dad died, I got up courage to ask a private investigator to transform my adoption papers into a real contact. His quick success found me with a living mother and father and 10 half sisters and brothers. But having. a mother again, especially one with whom shared with me so many traits, and who quickly became interested in my life, was the supreme joy. I thought I’d have her a little longer, as her own mom beat 104. Mom missed that by 13 years. While her spirit never wavered, consequences of aortic stenosis (a heart valve malady) and measures to manage it left her ever more frail. It turns out I have aortic stenosis, too, but my cardiologist says I’ll die with it and not of it.

Let’s go back to the time when Little Bobby was but a “clump of cells”, two beautiful ladies in waiting.

As Mom awaited her adopted child, she and my Dad had a plenty good time. She, like my dad, was quite the athlete. They tore ’em up on the golf course. To support herself, she sold real estate. It turned our the last development her firm pushed was a property in Wyoming (10 miles from GR) available for development when the spring feeding a gypsum quarry burst, so there was our house on Big Spring Drive!

Mom Marlene was in sales, too. When she learned she was pregnant with me, she took a job selling magazines in Philadelphia, getting out of Dodge while in tow. This handsome picture of my ever classy mom likely includes me in there somewhere.

The golfer got me to about 10, leaving me with only memories, all I had to late middle age when it exploded on me again with real relationships with real live people. That may be it, but another gift of reconnection is all those people who loved the same people you did, and with those memories, with which the lost shall never really be.

So, to many how many mothers you’ve know, Happy Mothers’ Day to them all.

Michigan Man

The setting is Weber’s Inn, Ann Arbor, for the weekly Monday meeting of the UofM Club of Ann Arbor, which since joining several years ago, I’ve called the “geriatric advisory council to the athletic department”.  Yes, Kathy and I lowered the average age when we joined several years ago.  The Club collects dues, and funds scholarships and awards.  The biggest is the “Michigan Man” award, given annually to the Michigan athlete whose performance on and off the field marks him as a true “Michigan Man”, posessing a set of intangible attributes that identify a man as one who would have inscribed “Go Blue” on his headstone.  Among my wife’s Kathy’s duties, since getting on the board of the Club, is handling the speakers we invite.  Football and basketball have their own channels, but then there’s the “Olympic Sports” (a better euphemism than “non-revenue sports”).  So, although Blake’s appearance was pre-arranged, Kathy still had to shepherd him in and out.

Here they are:

Anyone who only knows about Blake from watching our games is missing the full measure of the man.  Nevertheless, see here 15 minutes of football highlights (1). Harbaugh knew he had something special in Blake when, as a freshman, he clocked a 4.0 in the 40-yard dash and a 4.00 in the classroom. Yes, he was a damned important component of the team that won the Natty, but there’s so much more to him that my heart burst with pride as he delivered his remarks.  .  The resolve for this team to gird up for a Natty run may have started in November ’22, when Blake’s amazing season was cut short by a hit on his knee.  He would have won the Heisman had he finished the season uninjured.  Instead, Blake continued with many teammates seeing the 2023 season as “unfinished business”.  Blake became the touchdown machine.  Red-zone difficulties?  Give it to Blake.  Two years earlier, he was the “lightning” to the “thunder and lightning” of him and Hassan Haskins, now with the Tennessee Titans.  Blake’s breakaway runs in ’23 were less common, but he mounted enough touchdowns to claim the Michigan record.  Yet it was his performance off the field that was even more impressive.  Blake did well with NIL, handsome dude that he is, but chose to funnel his funds to community projects.  He handed out 150 turkeys and 150 gallons of milk to needy Ypsilanti residents at Thanksgiving ‘22, then came up with 600 turkeys for them last fall (2).

Blake’s comments to the assembled geezers were magnanimous, of course.  He’d take no individual credit for the success of his team, instead insisting the whole effort was a team project.  He was just named the Big 10’s Medal-of-Honor recipient, an honor handed out since 1915.  The Big Ten Medal of Honor is awarded to one male and one female student from the graduating class of each member institution who has demonstrated excellence on and off the field throughout their college career. The highest honor that a student competing in conference athletics can achieve in the Big Ten, the award was established in 1915 and was the first award in intercollegiate athletics to demonstrate support for the educational emphasis placed on athletics. During the past century, the Big Ten Medal of Honor has been awarded to more than 1,300 honorees. These individuals have translated their campus experience into success in all walks of life (3).  Blake said he looked forward to his time in the NFL, seeing his 18 teammates on the boards as future competitors but also still friends.  When asked about how his life would change upon becoming a pro, he went on about a project he had in mind.  He’s set to develop a camp in the area for inner city youth.  One of the things he wants to do is instruct them in “lost skills”, like changing a tire.  He already has a name for the place.  When he was growing up on a farm in Virginia, he liked to chase and capture frogs.  So the name: Camp FROG, all caps because that’s an acronym: “Forever Relying on God”.  The devotion of this team did not get a lot of press.  But from the get go, they were a team bound in religion.  Their head coach is a devout Catholic (despite that one divorce).  How that translated to a whole team praying together prior to a game hasn’t gotten out yet (4).  Yet hearing players in their post-game comments dedicate their success to the “glory of God” should have been a hint something was going on here.  Just look at one of the t-shirts the boys were selling to get a little of that NIL money.  See our all world QB JJ with backup QB Jack Tuttle, who started at Indiana in ’22 but transferred so he could work with Harbaugh. Jack stuck around and is in the mix to replace the departed JJ his year.

New coach 36 year old Sherrone Moore shows full commitment to Michigan traditions of smashmouth and God.  So we of the faithful expect continued success, God willing.

Hail to the Victors and Go Blue!!

References

  1. BlueSince97.  “Blake the Great” | Blake Corum Michigan Career Highlights.  YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpbfXwRAiUA

2. Breiler C.  Michigan’s Blake Corum Uses NIL Money To Give Back.  Sports Illustrated 11/19/23.  https://www.si.com/college/michigan/football/michigan-wolverines-football-blake-corum-charity-thanksgiving-turkey-big-ten-ohio-state

3. Shepard C, McIntosh M.  Wilson, Corum named Michigan’s Big Ten Medal of Honor Recipients.  MGoBlue 4/23/24.  https://mgoblue.com/news/2024/4/23/general-wilson-corum-named-michigans-big-ten-medal-of-honor-recipients

4.   Schwarz M.  ‘All Glory to God’: Just Before Thrilling Playoff Win, Michigan Players United in Prayer.  The Western Journal 1/2/24.  https://www.westernjournal.com/glory-god-just-thrilling-playoff-win-michigan-players-united-prayer/

mirupafshim, kuzhinier Lipar (dhe znj)*

Hope Albena seeing you soon!

In looking for a dinner spot to warm up for Lyle Lovett at the Masonic next July 23rd, I thought about that little place that only fed what its 8 bar stools could hold, way in the back of the Hotel Siren across from the Opera House, Albena (1).  We’d been there 3 or 4 times, having stumbled on it on Yelp looking for something else.  A little “review” of that first experience was one of my first blog posts (2).

But, we’ll have to sit for Lyle with somebody else’s victuals in our innards.  From my Google update on Albena, I found from their web page that feedings didn’t start till Thursdays at 6 PM.  July 23rd is Tuesday and the concert starts at 7.  Anything less than two hours would be unfair to Chef Libar’s preparations.  But I found worse news in the search.  According to a Free Press article, Mr.& Mrs. Lipar closed up shop March 16th (3).  A telling phrase from the story is that the price for one of their 8-12 course tasting dinners had risen to $250 per person, more than I ever paid.  It still would be worth it for a once-in-a-while, but that’s a steep ticket for a night out in Dee-troit, although you might be saving on the “…and show” for such dates.  No show at any of the local stages could match what Garrett and Tiffany had put on.  Here we see the stars of the show, from the Free Press Article.

Chef and co-owner Garrett Lipar named the place after his Albanian grandmother.  Nearly 5,000 Albanians live in metro Detroit’s Macomb County, 4h largest concentration of Albanian settlers in the country (4).  I had an Albanian Iman for a patient.  In 1929, Albanian Muslims helped cover the mortgage on St. Thomas Orthodox Church, established by Albanian Christians.  There are Albanian Sufists, who enjoy a retreat at the First Albanian Bektashi Monastery (Tekke), which opened in nearby Taylor in 1953 under direction of  Baba Rexheb.  Now with all those Albanians, there are some true Albanian restaurants in the area.  Right on State Street is Ann Arbor is aMa Bistro (5).  A perusal of their menus might make you think you’re in any of the many Greek greasy spoons that dominated Ann Arbor in my heyday, but look close and there’s Fhurghasa, Bhurani, Khina, and Petuilla (fried dough) to get you down and ethnic.

Garrett and Tiffany strayed far from the Karaburun Peninsula for their dishes.  What drove their choices seemed to be what was freshest and most local.  As such, any lucky ones sitting on those stools at their bar got what seemed like a nonstop array of treats, with wines perfectly paired.  I frankly don’t know when I’ll see such personal excellent treatment again.  I’m thankful for the brief few years I was able to experience it at Albena.  Talented chefs like Garrett emerge on the pop-up tour, so maybe one of us will be lucky enough to find ourselves at a Garrett Lipar catered event.  He and Tiffany have a new baby to tend to, so a new restaurant may be a bit off, but I’ll be watching.

If any of you paid attention to my January 2020 blog and went for a meal, lucky you.  You’ll not eat like that again for a while.

*(from the Albanian) bye, bye Chef Lipar (&Mrs.)

addendum:  see an 8-course meal prepared for us by the Lipars, sometime for us inlate January 2021, introduced in Quaddese** (6).

** Quaddese: a dialect spoken around West Quad, especially Chicago House, in the early 70s.  Yep, the “Honors House”.  See reference (6) for an example of correct usage.

References

1. Albena.  http://albenadetroit.com

2. Ike B.  the other Detroit restaurant, day after Christmas 2019 1/13/20.  https://theviewfromharbal.com/2020/01/13/the-other-detroit-restaurant-day-after-christmas-2019/

3. Selasky S.  Albena, fine dining restaurant in Detroit, set to close in March: Owners explain why. Detroit Free Press 2/8/24.  https://www.freep.com/story/entertainment/dining/2024/02/07/albena-fine-dining-restaurant-detroit-close-march-garrett-tiffany-lipar-siren-hotel/72508146007/

4. Wikiwand.  History of the Albanian Americans in Metro Detroit.  https://www.wikiwand.com/en/History_of_the_Albanian_Americans_in_Metro_Detroit

5. aMa Bistro.  https://www.amabistro.com

6. Ike B.  ‘squeat*!  WordPress 2/1/21.  https://theviewfromharbal.com/2021/02/01/squeat/

da vinner!

Fans of James Jarmusch’s breakthrough 1984 film “Stranger than Paradise” (1) will recognize Aunt Lotte’s (Cecilia Stark’s) line, uttered as she bests in a game of cards her nephews Eddie and Billy visiting her in Cleveland from NYC.  As she triumphantly fans her cards over her tray in her living room, she announces frankly “I am da vinner!”.

Since none of you (well, maybe one) made it out to the Wind and James Event Center in Schoolcraft Thursday night to catch the 10th Annual Tournament of Writers Celebration (2), I can announce to you here as news that “I am da vinner!”.  Well, not the whole shebang, but Honorable Mention in the non-fiction Senior Division (51+).  As Kathy assures me, I can now call myself an “Award-winning-writer”.  Rest assured, the charges on this blog will not be going up.

The Tournament invites writers of all ages from the tri-county area (Kalamazoo, St. Joseph, and Calhoun) (2).  After a few years of lobbying Syd Bartos, diminutive director of the whole affair, she let me enter provided I assure her I write something about Vicksburg.  Upwards of a hundred enter each year, splits by category (fiction, non-fiction, poetry) and age (8th grade or less, 9th grade through age 25, 26-50, and 51 up).  I had plenty I could write about from my ‘burg years, so I was in.

It’s an efficient operation.  Entries, with strict guidelines, open February 1st and close end of month.  Six local writers, including editor-in-chief of The South County News, Kathy Oswalt-Forsyth, serve as coaches to entrants who want one, and then as judges.  Top winners are announced live on Facebook April 1st.  All entries, not just winners, go into a paperback book published on Amazon (3) that’s ready to order April 8th, when the ceremony is still over a week away.  Now up to 365 pages!

In the run up to that date, I wondered even about the wisdom of going.  Ms Bastos originally had wanted me to judge, but then forgot about that.  Fortunately, my little writing amie and VHS classmate Sandy Northrop Jones asked me to sit next to her at the signing ceremony and who could pass that up?  Authors sit at a long table and pass their books – basically their “participation trophies” – back and forth till we’ve all signed each other’s.  I thought Sandy had to pull some strings, but then I saw our cards “Bob Ike” and “Sandy Jones”. Our fate was not in the stars, but the alphabet.

As Syd was kicking off the ceremony, she announced how it had been opened to outsiders from as far away as Ann Arbor.  I didn’t hear any hisses, and felt relieved.  Then she began to announce awards for honorable mention, which hadn’t been included in any of the preliminaries.  And who’s among them, but yours truly!  Well, I walked a little lighter the rest of the night.  Each entrant gets a copy of all the judges’ comments.  I haven’t read mine yet but Syd said she gave it to a couple of old guys who got a real kick out of it.

I’ll try not to spoil it with too much intro.  Let’s just say it’s about me and 3 classmates/buddies making a movie back in the day.  They removed all pictures from all submissions for inclusion in the book.  I’ve restored mine here.

Spielberg ’70?  By Bob Ike

4 ‘Burg Boys Go to the Moon, 8mm Style

Honorable Mention – Nonfiction Senior Division

My VHS class of ’70 experienced some pretty momentous events, especially in our final 2 years.  Sure, you can be drawn to the sad and bad, like the assassinations, the riots, the Vietnam war, and the car-train crash that killed our classmates Ike and Pat (1), but we soared with the Tigers’ first World Series championship in 23 years, all that great music, and those space exploits: first that (Apollo 8) swing around the moon over Christmas ’68, then the actual moon landing of Apollo 11 in July the next year.  Perhaps the greatest achievement of mankind, uniting the world in awe of America’s exploration achievement.  So, of course, it begged for a snarky response by some local smart-assed teenagers.  Eric, Shorty, and I set out to make our version of the whole escapade, and film it.  I had a little hand-me-down 8mm Bell & Howell movie camera I’d already used to capture classroom antics.  Whatever imagination I lacked Eric and Shorty had in spades and we were off.  Diminutive Ross joined us from time to time.  The movie is up on my YouTube channel (2), but unfortunately a click on it comes up “This video has been removed for violating YouTube’s Community Guidelines”.  I‘ll work with them on that, but in the meantime all you’ll know about this little movie will come from my descriptions.

The two living actors can’t recall whose idea it was to start or when we started. What we shot was dictated by climate, and some of the shooting was inside. Rather than give you a blow by blow of our shooting schedule, I offer sequences as they appeared on the movie.  Was there a plot?  Same as Apollo 11.  Man shoots to moon.  Complications ensue.  Man lands on moon.  Man plays on moon.   Man returns to earth.  Adulation erupts. 

Here’s about how the movie proceeded.  Mimicking the great directors, I didn’t shoot in order.  We grabbed scenes according to weather, availability of props, impulsive ideas, whether the parents were home, and so forth.  But I present here the scenes as they unfolded in the movie.

Intro.  Nearly all movies have an intro to get you keyed up for the flick to come.  Sometimes, the intro is better than the actual movie.  We didn’t have access to a roaring lion, and a barking bulldog didn’t seem right.  So, we went for our first special effect.  I trained my camera on a very full toilet bowl, then flushed, filming till all was clear.  We spliced the film of that scene in backwards, so when it played, well you know what you’d see.  Unfortunately, the media guy who digitized the movie lost that film footage, but not before it got into the DVD.  So, the effect is not absent from the current digital version, just the original in a can. 

Titles.  For those times when text was needed, we had my green chalkboard.  I’ve forgotten who did the “artwork”.  After the initial titles, the three main players show their goofy faces.  Note how magnanimous we were, crediting “Everyone and his moon”.

Lift off.  Astronauts Neil and Buzz, dressed in their pale blue striped flight suits (from the Vicksburg Fire Department, courtesy of Eric’s volunteer fireman dad, Sheldon) toast to take a last taste, enter “capsule” (a garage can; special effect!).  Then cut to hoisting a Cutty Sark bottle off an array of Schlitz beer cans to the ceiling from Ross’s whitey-tidy clad butt.  Blast it off!

The space environment en route to the moon, using that weirdly exposed film, and from my ceiling, that swinging fishing reel kinda looked like a satellite.

Mission control had a crisis!  Frantic communications for mission control were fielded by me in front of a radio array, in the dark, headphones on wearing my dad’s 5th Army t-sergeant’s shirt, gesticulating wildly, and drinking.  I presume the issue was eventually resolved.

The astronauts did land on the moon (again, Ross’s butt).  Ross became part of the crew as they sought to relieve themselves on a classical floor to ceiling urinal (a poster).  After such a long trip, what would you want to do?  It was winter and Barton Lake was frozen, making our lunar surface.  By tossing a twirling garbage can lid – in slow motion – off my roof we sought to mimic landing, if the astronauts were traveling in a flying saucer.  My dad’s shout “what are you kids doing up there?” may have been the only adult supervision we’d had though the whole process.  Shorty, as the first astronaut out, got to test Barton Lake’s ice, i.e. the lunar surface, by breaking through the ice!  After came the descent to the moon’s surface (a ladder to Barton Lake ice).  Neil’s (Eric’s) descent was complicated by a fall off the ladder over to the thin ice, thus altering the famous phrase to “That’s a small step for man, but a helluva fall for me!”.  Buzz (Shorty) got down o.k., but still broke through some of the thin ice, to which they later took axes, sampling the lunar surface.  The intrepid astronauts then conducted their solar wind experiment, flying a kite on the ice over Barton Lake, before boarding for home.

Re-entry started with another special effect, filming the ground rushing by as out an open car door as we drove the back roads.  The astronauts emerge with their capsule (a garbage can with a makeshift parachute attached) tumbling through the sky in slow motion.  Once alit on the Barton Lake fields playground, Neil and Buzz work to unpack.  Most of their cargo seems to be empty beer cans.  We’d scoured the roadsides for those empties for several days.  There was no bottle law in those days, so our yield was rich.  Note that I somehow had died on the mission, as my body was pulled out and draped with a makeshift shroud, beer can on a stick anointing my head.

All that remains is a triumphant return ceremony.  With the astronauts in Joe Shook’s flatbed, the drive into the high school elicited magnificent adulation.  Who knows what the teachers were thinking.  As a final gesture, several of the participants lined up and mooned the school.  Then, a 747 flew by overhead.  Fin.

The movie has stood the test of time, even without a soundtrack.  No one around the ‘burg even knew we were doing such a thing.  Not our peers, not our teachers, not our parents, nobody.  Meredith Clark didn’t send his daughter Sue over to photograph us for the Commercial.  Yet, the movie remains a topic of conversation at every VHS ’70 gathering, sometimes even being shown to the curious.  At Shorty’s funeral in 2004, we made it a point to find a place in the basement of Rupert-Durham funeral home to set up a projector and screen to see the movie, in part so we could see the vital Shorty we all knew but also to enjoy his ever-irreverent spirit which permeated everything he did.   Several years ago, I had the 8mm film digitized, so now the film is immortal, or at least as long as those pixels last on the disc.  This opens the chance for easy editing, which I’ve resisted.  How can I improve on something we had so right – given the limitations – over 50 years ago?  As I’ve said, it’s a silent flick without even a soundtrack.  I did come across a song – a minor hit from ’65 – that would have been perfect to play over the closing credits, if we had any (2).  See if the singer looks like anyone from the ‘burg you might have known back then.  There’s that social media accessibility.  I already have a YouTube channel, and while the movie is up there, click on it and you’ll get “Violates Community Guidelines”. Apparently, there’s an appeals process. Will work on that.  Trust that I have not yet monetized. The movie’s also accessible on my GoogeDrive (3)

But not every audience is right for this movie.  My dear wife rose to become NASA’s chief scientist for 4 years at the turn of the century, and still has some ties to the space program.  Several times I offered her the chance to show “Apollo’s Ass” to her flock.  A humorous, brief respite, I thought.  Never any takers, alas.  I have made her sit through it a few times, so she knows what’s involved.  Her latest was when Eric and I viewed it again in the presence of our Kathy mates.  Hard to say who won, the producer/director’s hooting and clapping or the women’s eye rolling.  The girls did cut us some slack knowing the product they were viewing came from some adolescent smart asses.

Neither Eric nor I have sought or achieved a career in Hollywood, choosing instead the mundane professions of banking and medicine.  Steven Spielberg (Saratoga (CA) High, ’65) is a month short of being six years older than Eric, and a few months after that for me.  He got started making movies at age 12, even earning a Boy Scout merit badge for an 8 mm work.   He made 15-20 adventure films in high school, plus he went to the movies a lot, something Eric and I never did.   So, maybe the analogy is weak.  But neither of us can quell the thought that forever burns in our souls, as expressed by Marlon Brando’s character in “On the Waterfront”: “I coulda been a contendah!”.

So, if you go to YouTube and watch those few (17) minutes of adolescent nonsense there, get yourself a chuckle and know some boys from the ‘burg did it way back when.

If you’re wondering like the boys looked like, here ya go:

Maybe you had to be there, but I don’t think so.  Just as we couldn’t forget how we felt at the moon landing, can we ever forget our viewing of “Apollo’s Ass?”.  Timeless art from the ‘burg.

References (entry)

  1. Ike R. The Accident. Amazon (Kindle) 2021. 2nd edition published 3/10/23. Available at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B095BS8VRJ
  2. NEW* Everyone’s Gone To The Moon – Jonathon King {stereo}. Smurftools Oldies Music Time Machine. YouTube. https:/youtu.be/5pfnKQNRXYM?si=y_yka4XM8dQrn4_

 3. Ike R, Durham E, Skippers M.  Apollo’s Ass the Movie.  Posted by RW Ike 2/5/24. Available at  http://tinyurl.com/ApollosAss

References (blog)

  1. Rotten Tomatoes.  Stranger than Paradise.  https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/stranger_than_paradise

2. Vicksburg Cultural Arts Center.  Tournament of Writers.  https://vicksburgarts.com/tournament-of-writers

3. Vicksburg Cultural Center.  Small Town Anthology X: Southwest Michigan’s Tournament of Writers 2024.  https://www.amazon.com/Small-Town-Anthology-Southwest-Tournament/dp/B0D14MP9C4/ref=sr_1_1?crid=38XE497R5HW7L&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.OJH1wB8rrR5CtPW6Vf8ujEgEzGsDD9w6MwxFZJJuIQ-lS5Vxu-wv7NzAIT1T13kXkNkXxOnCIjeuV4LaMe_-BAEIT7WC-BFhUkT4eyGrQ2v__yPOFEiIG_BswuL5er6TWudXnREC2bEWmZo1v-nRBsOUkAnpbwbZj0g7_MoFDBR6R4AZT-g2gR5eGajT_VjcvFeSDD15DtDn0j9iVwxpMsgPfpAoaVFph9MitgY_pY0.q8RtdjFe62WM4JaisPw8lychXiAxdMmEcV3BFInpOQM&dib_tag=se&keywords=small+town+anthology+X&qid=1713527075&sprefix=small+town+anthology+x%2Caps%2C130&sr=8-1

4. Ike B.  Speilberg ’70?  4 ‘burg boys go to the moon, 8 mm style.  In: Vicksburg Cultural Center.  Small Town Anthology X: Southwest Michigan’s Tournament of Writers 2024 pp 77-81

hi!

Of course, I smoked a lot of dope as an undergrad.   I was so eager to join the stoned crowd in Ann Arbor, I took up smoking (Pall Malls) my last summer in Vicksburg – where weed was still scarce-just to get my lungs in shape.  I put away those smokes when I arrived in Ann Arbor where there was plenty of the real thing.  I know the male brain is not fully developed till age 25, but I can’t see as I did any harm.  My academic career speaks for itself.  Into grad school and beyond, I cooled it except for the occasional toke at a party.  Jump ahead to the early 90s on a visit to my little brother-in-law in California – 10 years my junior but a true tied-dyed neo-hippie-and had one of his joints.  He warned me that the THC content of dope these days is way higher than back in mine.  Indeed, I was one toke over pretty quickly but of course finished the joint.  They couldn’t get me off the couch and I missed joining them for their little beach walk that night.  An experience, for sure, but not one I cared to repeat.

That was it until the next century.  I trashed my brachial plexus (tangle of nerves up by the shoulder that makes the arm go) in a bike accident December ’14.  My arm was pretty useless for about 6 months but I adapted and didn’t miss a day of work.  The nerve pain was constant, dampened some by an anti-seizure medication I had to take in such large quantities it made me move like I had Parkinson’s. 

 At the time, “marihuana” could be purchased by people certified by a physician to have one of the several conditions it was supposed to help.  None of my UofM docs would even discuss it.  But $60 and a short consultation with a licensed doc attached to one of the pot shops west of town got me a certificate that I turned into my very own “Michigan Marihuana card”.

The doors of the several local pot shops were open to me now.  Kid in a candy store?  Well, the choices were overwhelming.  The buzz was pleasant and familiar, but didn’t do much for the pain, other than make me care less about it.  I learned I didn’t really care for smoking, even if buzz onset was much quicker than with edibles.  I eventually took all my leaf and turned it into a caramel edible in my Magical Butter machine (1).  My damaged brachial plexus stopped sending out bad messages by the end of 2015, leaving me with quite a stash.  My card became obsolete in November 2018 when Michigan voters passed the Michigan Regulation and Taxation of Marijuana Act, allowing anyone age 21 or older to possess up to 2.5 ounces of weed (2).

Frankly, I gave little thought to my stash until April 2019 when I learned I’d be retiring the coming June.   What would I do with all that idle time?   I do declare, there were times I was so lonesome I took some comfort there.  Zoning out with some of my favorite music from back in the day was pretty nice.  But a funny thing happened with my retirement.  With my big brain no longer tied to the job, plenty of uncommitted time, and a host of things I never had time to tend to or even think about begged for attention.  So much fun stuff was going down I didn’t want to zone out and miss anything.  So my stash stayed on the shelf.

All that stimulation tickled my bipolar gene a bit.  Ben Franklin – ”There’ll be sleeping enough in the grave” – took over.  I got by o.k. on my 4 hours, and Kathy liked how nice the house looked.  But the past several months, too many 3 AM awakenings got me searching for help.  One thing that kept me away from that stash was that back when I was doing it more regularly, it often interfered with my sleep.  Surprisingly, that didn’t happen when I began to take a nibble here and there.  Sleep came, blessedly, and zoning out was just a matter of dosing.  I paid attention to my labels, and indeed “indica” was most sedating with ”sativa” most stimulating and “hybrid” in between.  I finally used up my entire stash, so off to the pot shop I went.  They’re on every corner here in Tree Town.  “Cloud Cannabis” (3) is right next to our favorite party store, 3 blocks away.  How convenient!  It’s all very clean and clinical.  I laid in some edibles, and they’ve worked fine.  But I was expecting sticker shock, and got the opposite.  Now I don’t think they beat the early 70s going rate of $15/lid, but, people, DOPE IS CHEAP!  I bought 8 bags of 10 gummies each for a total of $20 plus tax.  Each gummie has 10 mg THC and for me 50 mg gets a roaring buzz going.  Now do the math on that.  That’s $2.50/bag, or $1.25 for that 50 mg dose.  A buck and a quarter!  A 6 pack of a nice IPA runs about $15, and it takes about 4 of those to get me a nice buzz going.  That’s 10 bucks!  Some of you out there with a history will snigger that I’ve neglected to account for all the snacks that THC is going to have me craving.  Somehow, that’s not one of the effects I get.  My wife is just the opposite.  The munchies she gets are so overwhelming she stays far away from the magical herb.  But my favorite intoxicant has the calories built in.  A 12 oz can of a typical 7% IPA has 200-300 calories.  So my friendly beer buzz comes with close to 1,000 calories.  We all carry some COVID souvenirs, and my main one is this gut, helped along by a knee that wouldn’t let me walk for exercise for a year.  While that gut’s shrinking slowly, there’s still 40 pounds there I don’t need.  At 3500 calories/pound of fat, that’s 140,000 calories to be burned.  Turn off 140 beer nights, and you see how this works.  If I start the program now, I’ll be slim by my birthday (September 4).  Maybe Sly will come along and take me higher (4). Boom lacka lacka lacka.

References

  1. Magical.  https://magicalbutter.com

2. Cloud.  Ann Arbor Recreational Cannabis Dispensary. https://cloudcannabis.com/dispensaries/mi/ann-arbor/

3. Michigan Marijuana Regulatory Agency.  Marijuana in Micihgan: What You Need to Know.  https://www.michigan.gov/-/media/Project/Websites/cra/consumer-connection/2021-lara-child-marijuana-brochure-APPROVED.pdf?rev=8a7de5aa78394b5d932b0bed20b4e20a

4. Sly & The Family Stone – I Want to Take You Higher (Official Audio).  YouTube https://youtu.be/BqWQzOzK3kw?si=jAS-uaSEkKxrlV5v

let’s play 2!

So, maybe there’s some things you can’t expect an old couple to do, like 16-18 innings as Ernie proposed. 

The rest of the yes-no are too long and agonizing to bother with, but we can make 2 concerts in one day!  As we just did, the first in the highbrow atmosphere of Orchestra Hall (1), doubling back to Ann Arbor’s Kerrytown Concert House 7 hours later to hear Pete Siers and his Kerrytown Stompers, a quintet (2).  We know Pete from Firefly Club days (early-mid ‘90s) where he often drummed for groups playing there.  He marched out an impressive group, flanked on stage left by a young banjoist and stage right by a young bearded man wrestling a bass saxophone.  These monsters served as the bass sections of jazz combos from New Orleans right up into the 30s.  The more common bass augment in small jazz groups of this era was the tuba or sousaphone, straight out of the marching band tradition that bore these groups.  The bass sax, even more monstrous, fell back even more quickly to the oncoming string basses.  Yet, it’s unique tone attracted top bandmen of the day and even Duke Ellington included the instrument on some of his charts.  Oh, yeah, you aging wind guys, one with a longstanding jazz club and jazz band plus his talented trumpeter companion kept us in the front row hoppin’.  Sneak a trombonist in a bit later and more the merrier!

So the banjo on one side and big brass bass instrument to the other marks a truly genuine authenticity to the grouping.

As Pete and the boys ripped into it, started by Pete on the washboard, the time to sit and hear what’s up wins out.  Such rollicking stuff, and we hadn’t heard half of these songs before (but we supported them in spirit!).  That had to be the happiest jazz concert we’ve heard since the Firefly shut down.  Such noise and feeling from a few guys.  Then throw in local boogie-woogie sensation Mark Braun (a.k.a. Mr.B), the jazz intensity only goes up a notch (or 2!).  So lucky, the 50 or so people (me too!) who caught them.  We shall return!

The whole concert is up “live” on YouTube (3).  I think ya can pay to see it later, didn’t check how much.

An older concert, maybe 2020 or 2021, is out there with the same roster Pete had for today’s performance (3), so as you decide whether or not to seek this out, just take in these wonderful sounds!I wanted to append this blog with a YouTube of Pete’s performance at the Firefly, but couldn’t find one from so way back. He was such a young’un then.  Any least little trip back to FireFly gets quickly sad, and can get worse.  So sad the state nailed her in August 2009, but those actions have consequences (4).  Your charges found work at Zal Graz Grotto, but it was never the same, junior high gymnasium versus cool cocktail joint.  Trumpeter Don Hicks has coaxed a marvellous jazz club into being right on Main Street (5).  Let’s hope he keeps paying his taxes!.

References

  1. Ike B.  DS”d”’oh”. WordPress 040524.  https://theviewfromharbal.com/2024/04/05/ds-doh/
  2. KERRYTOWN CONCERT HOUSE.   Pete Siers & the Kerrytown Stompers feat. special guest, Mr. B
Pete Siers & the Kerrytown Stompers feat. special guest, Mr. B

3. Kerrytown Concert House.  Pete Siers & the Kerrytown Stompers with special guest pianist Mr. B (Mark Lincoln Braun.  YouTube.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4aw-j3dGTU

4. Morgan M.  Firefly Club Closed.  Assets Seized.  Ann Arbor Chronicle 8/14/2009.  https://annarborchronicle.com/2009/08/14/firefly-club-closed-assets-seized/index.html

5. Blue Llama JAZZ CLUB.  https://bluellamaclub.com

DS “d’oh!”

Kathy and I face Friday mornings these days with a face full of free time, so unlike not so long ago, when Fridays made it paramount to getting al least a little work done before the weekend.  Every so often we’ll pick up after breakfast and head East to Dee-troit.  The Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA) is a fine art museum, and every so other features an otherworldly artist, like Van Gogh, giving a wonderful chance to see some of that artist’s best works in a concentrated area (1).  But not far from the DIA on Woodward is Orchestra Hall also, on Woodward, a palace where the DSO has played since shortly after it’s early resurrection (2).  The DSO played its first concert in 1887, only to go slowly out of business until resurrected by a donations program run by some matrons of Detroit society; the new orchestra first played publicly in 1915 and occupied Orchestra Hall 4 years later.  The great building has gone through some changes, notably for a decade as the Paradise Theater, a venue that for 1941-1951 was as important for black jazz and R&B as the Apollo Theater in Harlem.  Renovations since have restored it to its former glory (3).             .

Now, Kathy and I absolutely love the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (CSO).  The intonation and force of their brass ensemble is unparalleled and no orchestra is more disciplined.  Several of our little Chicago jaunts have strung around a CSO performance, and will continue to be.  But our little trip today got me going on some comparisons.  The spark was one of these “jamais vu” experiences expected from an aging brain.  I stood from my seat as I looked around in a pause between the first and second selections, looked around at the seats, balconies, and stage and figured “hey, I’ve got a concert to get home from.  How will I do that?”  Am I leaving from Chicago, Cleveland, Pittsburgh?  The rescue light went on and I realized we’ re in Detroit.

The DSO parking lot is 41.2 miles from my house, quickly accessed by 44’ over a path that is almost all freeway.  Starting at my front step, Symphony Hall (CSO) is 244 miles away, 4 ½ hours of it on a nice train ride.  Google Maps says you can drive it in 3 hr 41’, but where’s the fun in that?  Surely none to be had when you’re playing bumper cars with all the others in the loop.  And what do you gain by the extra effort, time, and cost to come to the Windy City?  None will deny that CSO is among the nation’s 3 finest symphonies, along with NY Phil and Boston (4).  DSO’s still an up and comer.  But Detroit, not Chicago, has their toes dug more firmly in musical history.  Detroit Symphony had been playing publicly for 4 years before CSO launched in, although they rocketed higher, as the cadre of Chicago businessman seeking an orchestra for their town went and “bought” the best conductor available.  By 1904, Daniel Burnham (designer of Chicago’s “master plan”) had designed and built sumptuous Symphony Hall.  Alas, CSO and DSO have never had a battle of the bands.  Maybe they’re working on a home-and-home arrangement.  The DSO nearly saw its history vaporize in the 70s.  The building fell into such serious disrepair by 1970, word came that the once venerable hall would be demolished to make way for a department store.  Local citizens led by DSO bassoonist (and now Trustee) Paul Ganson rallied to save the building. Following a series of marches, several sidewalk performances, and tireless advocacy, the Save Orchestra Hall coalition of musicians, DSO fans, and concerned Detroiters successfully fended off the wrecking ball.  Efforts took over 20 years and cost $6 million, but by 1989, the DSO was back performing in Orchestra Hall.

So, going there is a marvelous experience.  So close and convenient to Ann Arbor.  Yeah, Hill Auditorium can pull in some world class acts, but the Hill wasn’t built for boomers who grew up to exceed 6’.  Many stubby Ann Arborites, so still many satisfied Hill customers.  Then these DSO matinees!  One thing by going, you’re assured that you’ll be most likely to be carded for a senior discount.  But you’ll meet a support staff proficient in handline stumbling, temporary confusion, and bathroom issues.  And no body-shaming.

Of course, designers of Orchestra Hall wanted you to sit in awe of the performance to come.  That happens, as you stare at that stage and with beautiful trim surrounding the “horseshoe”, probably unchanged in 105 years.

Symphony catalogues hit in fall.  But perusal usually hits only a few performances of interest.  Neither CSO nor DSO does full disclosure on it’s offering.  Today’s context caught us with the “Debussy/Rachmaninoff” pairing (1).  

We always love to hear of the faun’s afternoon and Rachmaninoff’s always good for a few fireworks.  DSO’s flautist lifted DeBussy’s faun for a light traipse through the sonic meadow, often suspended by threads as light as spiderwebs.  The Rachmaninoff was no holds barred, so I didn’t think he failed to omit a single instrument on the stage.

But a sandwich can’t be judged without its filling.  Director Jacobsen (who usually picks the program) chose to include: Dun Yun’s “Ears of the Book Co for Pipa and Orchestra”.  To show that we were being ripped away from Western Music, not only were exposed to the composer herself, a short stubby valley-girl equivalent wearing a polka dot black-on-white skirt and with platform white basketball shoes (5).  She promised “snapshots” instead of continuity, and surely delivered.  At least she didn’t sit around to conduct.  She kicky-skipped her way off the stage, but was followed by a countryman (at least by appearance), Wu Man, who was the maestro of the “pipa”, a stringed instrument some chunks larger than a lute (6).  As I watched Ms Man cradle the pipa to her spot on the stage, I turned to my wife and observed “Looks like a 2 man-lute!”

Her 2 little hands were all over that instrument for this section.  For me, string instruments either drive rhythm for a piece or keep it in the background.  Ms Man and her 13-37 strings tinkled away throughout.  The thing could use a pickup, but that would make it unauthentic.  At one juncture, I thought the picklings of the pipa were those of a marsh animal ready to get attacked by all the other instruments.  This seemed to occur without solution, and the pipa dominated the last measure.  Almost as if the non-Chinese bowed down to the Chinese.  I was waving’ no flags.

Even the last bars clarify what a pitiful piece this was.  At the very end, Wu Man was going nuts on the pipa, it settled down almost visibly to where you could see hand grooves on the stage to lift everything up.  It was like the orchestra was plying to keep her little butt plucking away!  And why? As we did get to a nice grove to the left, everybody paused.  It extended enough to the concertgoers who could could pray that the band had ended.  The band continued its pause, 

There’s more to this than getting annoyed with shitty music.  That’s a risk with any big symphony orchestra, who will want to slip in “new” music so it’s offerings might not seem stale.

But this is much different and please stick with me.  The composer of the featured piece is a Chinese Communist National; Du Yun is a Chinese National, alumna of Shanghai Conservatory of Music, Oberlin College (BM), and Harvard University (MA, PhD).  She’s tenured faculty at Johns Hopkins. She wrote this thing.

Do you see the conspiracy yet?  Can’t discern from the CSO website how much Chinese support they get.  They do have a number of Chinese nationals as key players.  Does the Red Dragon supply pressure to feature certain shows?   For sure you can make us put ‘em up, but we ain’t gonna like it.  There’s reason Thayrone Exington like to comment in the right situation “screwed up like Chinese music.”   Save us!  “Just say no” would be a good start.  Who knows what sublimable stuff they have buried.

China is our enemy.  Never forget!

References

1. Detroit Institute of Arts.  https://dia.org

2. Detroit Symphony Orchestra.  https://dia.org

3. Orchestra Hall.  https://www.dso.org/about-the-dso/our-history/orchestra-hall

4. Chicago Symphony Orchestra.  https://cso.org/?gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAjwwr6wBhBcEiwAfMEQswSbyOa_LZ7O0Ah3u0n7nWl5QOexnxpM0IhXV1R0DA8sj12TjVgEmxoCCEwQAvD_BwE

5. Du Yun.  Johns Hopkins Peabody Institute.  https://peabody.jhu.edu/faculty/du-yun/

6. Pipa.  Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History.  https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/500625

Musings IIa

Yes, this is a shameless plug for an Amazon book, but also created to help readers that book to connect with all that is written. I ended up making 5 books out of blogs I’d posted during the pandemic. Musing through a Pandemic they were. In my haste to get them out in 2021, I omitted a considerable section of Musings II. Interpersonal relationships. It was supposed to contain a bunch of musings on my medical career, subtitled in the book “My brilliant career”. Well, I finally added those in, plus a few others that came in after the pandemic “ended”. The musings haven’t stopped, so they’re will surely. be more.

I post here the table of contents for Musings IIa. I’ll create a tiny URL from/ the URL for this post and include it in the book. Each of the 65 essay titles here is hyperlinked to the original blog, so readers of the paper book have a way to access the links in the original blogs.

Table of contents

friends and family – musings about those close and dear to me

Goodbye Sam.  My first post.  Sam, I’m sure, would have become my best friend had he lived.  Tho’ our paths had intertwined back to high school, it took Facebook to bring us together.  God, how I miss him.

1/12/20. 11

see Sam.  Collected pictures of my late friend Sam.

1/14/20. 13

on the list?  Something I sent to all those I notified of my new blog.

1/30/20. 25

Dinner with the McCarthys.  Tall, willowy, athletic, and impossibly cute, plus a neighbor!  A relationship smashed by my shyness grows now as mature couples interact.

2/1/20. 27

33 and a third.  There are anniversaries and there are anniversaries.

2/4/20  29

How we met.  In case you wanted to know.

2/5/20.  33

my mother-in-law.  I got so lucky.  Miss you Ruth.  Found in “vault” and not published till 6/29/21*.

2/10/20*.  35

flowers.  Ya know how when a band reissues an album they find things “in the vault” that weren’t on the original pressing?  Here’s a Valentine’s Day story I’ll wait till next VD to post*

2/15/20*.  37

Docere.  My wife’s company, she’s cut me in as equal partner.  Knowledge is our product which, as you know, is good.

2/23/20.  41

for Annie Banannie.  My fave of all of Kathy’s old school friends.

5/2/20.  43

missing Nathan.  Boy, do I.  What a doc.  What a guy.

5/11/20.  45

remember.  Thoughts and images after visits to family graves on Memorial Day.

5/24/20.  61

goodbye Sue.  A danger of befriending octogenarians is they can leave unexpectedly.  Without Sue, there would not have been a first “book”

6/5/20.  69

TDP.  My friend, my chief, my best man.  So sad to hear of his fate.

9/1/20.  73

My beautiful wife loves Michigan.  She surely does.  See how she prepares for MSU.

11/10/20.  77

Aunt Dorie.  Why I’m where I am, I guess.  The right nudge, oodles of encouragement and support.  She understood more than any other relative where I might be going, as that was her game (Prof Psych Nursing WSU).  But she taught me an awful lot about food, too.  And life.

1/13/21.  79

fam.  Here’s what I’ve got.

1/28/21.  81

Nurse!  My friend Ott needed to hear this song.

3/6/21.  91

hey, Tim.  My friend from the final frontier asked, and I unloaded.  Much 

sports here. 

3/15/21.  95

bye, Barb  Farewell to a dear friend and cousin. 

7/7/23.  111

Capt’n Cosine.  Golf, football, math, or driving, you couldn’t beat the Captain.

12/22/23.  113

“my brilliant career” – reflections on a career in rheumatology

varsity jacket.  Of course, it starts in high school.  And sports are a headier 

achievement than academics

4/14/22.  117

make it add up, doc.  Why an accounting journal would solicit an article 

from me is beyond understanding, but here’s what they got, an 

unforgettable series of events in high school.

4/28/21.  119

a letter to my English teacher.  My first stab at updating my high school 

English teacher on the last 50 years.

2/10/20.  125. 

why rheumatology and, um, death?  My high school English teacher asks me 

why I chose rheumatology and how I confronted death.3/29/20.  129

Here Comes My Career.  Riffing on an Andy Breckman song, I put to my high 

school English teacher how my brilliant career unfolded.

5/4/20.  133

lab prattle.  Talk about all that ree-search I was supposed to be doing.

10/1/22.  143

Hyde’n’seek.  A romp through those old, cold, gray med school stomping 

grounds, not seeming so these days.

4/28/23.  145

London ’79.  Two magical months among garbage and disorder.  And no, 

Dr. Johnson, I was never tired.

11/10/21.  167

A Proud Line.  My link to Britain’s greatest cardiologist through 2 of his 

students, one my Professor.

4/7/21.  169

pair-o-docs.  It’s all about the clothes.

9/3/22.  177

flea in the O.R.  An account of my role in developing arthroscopy 

as a tool of the rheumatologist. 

11/20/21.  179

all that doctorin’.  Some snaps from my young doctor days.

7/4/21.  185

thanks, Timbo!  A tribute to a dear colleague for an innovative 

arthroscopic intervention and a great recipe!

3/29/21.  187

Bend me, shape me.  Reflections on an entertaining medical boondoggle meeting in San Diego.

7/10/20.  191

Dear Dr. Ripps.  My appreciation of pharmacist Andrew Ripps’ efforts to remake rheumatology practice.

1/22/20.  201

Come back West, old man?  Gavin Newsome gives this here doc with a lapsed California license a chance to go back to work!

4/5/20.  203

What kind of Army is this?  The California Health Corps takes shape.  Without me.  5/17/20.  205

News for Sara. News to my favorite former fellow and current co-author about the state of affairs at her old institution early May ‘20.

5/5/20.  209

Gesundheitsgier (“health greed”).  The Germans have a word for it.  Here’s an urge we should heed more often.

6/29/21.  211

Oxford.  My big paper on arthroscopy was accepted by the world’s premier rheumatology journal and here’s the link 

12/27/21.  213

Nayef.  I explain to one of my better former fellows who my role models were (and still are), and why.

4/5/21.  215

Michigan chairs.  Yes, it is possible to sit on your accomplishments.

6/1/22.  219

show-off.  I like seals.  Follow them and know my history.

10/8/22.  221

third phase.  Reflections on retirement. 

12/11/20.  237

“this life” – miscellaneous musings

a more perfect Union.  Coming away impressed after a visit to the refurbished Michigan Union.

1/13/20.  243

Ann Arbor evening.  Home by the fire after 10 days in the Golden State.

1/27/20.  245

Cross quarter.  There’s more to it than the silly groundhog.

2/1/20.  247

Feed my worms.  It was time for a new hobby.

2/23/20.  249

on Harbal.  Welcome to my beautiful home.  Links will give you a good tour around. I’m so lucky.

9/21/20.  255

I like being old.  Yep.  And here’s why.

10/2/20.  257

simplify, simplify, simplify.  Inspired by my high school homecoming queen, I reflect on how COVID may be helping us feel better about some things.

11/18/20.  261

Commandments.  From my brother Nick, Commandments for the 60 and over.

11/29/20.  263

more third phase.  Reflections in retirement, again. 12/11/20.  265

Thank you, Jeff Bezos.  What would we do without Amazon?

12/19/20.  269

Dandy dozen.  More than just a refrain in a silly Christmas carol, there really are 12 days!  Celebrate them all!

12/25/20.  271

An ode to 2020.  Maybe not so bad after all.

12/31/20.  273

50 years.  I relate to a high school friend what’s been happening.

1/22/21.  277

unscubscribe!  Frenzied phone focus in a bar upon learning of an e-mail option to keep them away.

2/19/21.  279

happy 90th, Cap’n!  Who doesn’t love Captain Kirk!

3/25/21.  281

batch.  I learn some etiquette for the digital age

4/1/21.  287

makin’ t-shirts.  A manly activity

1/10/24.  289

hooked.  Hang-ups can be helpful.

1/11/24.  309

Certifiable.  May I see your papers, please?

4/9/24.  319

rustic pie

You know you’re retired when you wake unsure of what you’ll do with the day then deciding to make a “torta rustica” (“rustic pie” in Italian) for breakfast.  Neither Kathy nor I had ever heard of the dish when we saw it on the brunch menu of Sauces, Italian bar/restaurant attached to the not bad Hilton Garden Inn where we’d stayed after seeing Boz Scaggs the night before at the Capitol Theater in Flint, last August.  They’d not made any tortas yet, so Kathy and I settled for an Italian version of frittata and eggs Benedict respectively, washed down by a couple of nice tall bloody Marys.  But I vowed to check out that dish to see if it was something I could make.

The morning I first wrote this (8/7/23) was the time for that.  Dr. Google had several recipes and I made an amalgam I would try.  Good old open-at-6 Kroger made it possible to pick up the spinach, parsley, and cheeses I lacked.  

The dish is a staple at Italian Easter tables.  I held off on this blog so it would hit in Easter season.  I can see why, as the layered ingredients make for a lovely display.  I could find no Christian symbolism other than that Tortas, with their elaborate meat and cheese display, make a great way to end the 40-day fast of Lent.

And not just for Easter anymore!  This is a dandy, fancy dish that would impress company anytime.  As a pie, it begs some comparisons to quiche (which real men still won’t eat), but that’s pretty egg based whereas Torta gets its substance from cheese and vegetables, maybe one egg in the whole recipe.

All the layering makes it seem kinda fussy, but it’s really a pretty easy recipe, and so impressive at table!

So, you wanna make one?  Here’s what you do.  Let’s go ahead and start with the recipe card.  If you want to see how the pros do it, check out (1).

See here a spread of all the ingredients (except the crust).  Maybe some you may not have laying around the house.  Roasted peppers?  Pancetta/prosciutto?  And a lotta cheese (parmesan, mozzarella, feta, ricotta).  Spinach?  I’m strong to the finich cause I eats me spinach (2).

Those frozen pie shells make it a whole lot easier than it could be, If you envision yourself as a pastry chef, knock yourself out!  But still some TLC is required.  See here as my pastry chef wifey spreads out those shells into the springboard pan.  The latter is kind of important, as you don’t get those tall sides of the pie without it.

After that comes the layering.  Take care with this step as you want those beautiful layers showing when you cut the pie.

She’s a beauty sitting in the oven, and even more when it comes out.

La piece de resistance comes at table.  Now, Italian chefs cool their tortas to room temperature before serving.  But the cutting and service deserves at least a drum roll, and maybe a little snip of Vivaldi.  So you can make this a while in advance and let it set.  A dish that’ll make your Easter table soar, even if you’re not Italian.  Buon appetite! (that’s “bon appètit” in Italian).

References

1. Michele.  Pizza Rustica – A Delicious Easter Treat.  Our Italian Table.  3/23/23.  https://ouritaliantable.com/pizza-rustic

2. PAIP.  Popeye Spinach Compillation.  YouTube. https://youtu.be/gxO758l7JVM?si=ynYexrlQ4pgkKNqy

Auntie KC

So you know where it goes: years of NASA immersion, a decade of telling undergrads how to write, it can only come out as Children’s Books!  That’s where my sweetie dove, big time, and we’re getting ready to reap the efforts.  She’s dabbled in children’s books before, writing 2 that featured her nieces and nephews and their stuffed animals (1).  But with her retirement, she’s had more time to think about the project.  Word of her plans got some interest, and she went serious by joining a writer’s group and employing an actual illustrator for her books.  Yes, books.  She now plans 10 books showing kids across the solar system.  That’ll keep her busy.  The first is just about ready to go.  See the cover below.  

There’s even a “launch date”.   She’ll be publishing on Amazon/Kindle, but is allowed a release date.  That’ll be May 5th, “space day” (the day Alan Shepherd went to space).  She’ll give a talk at the UofM Natural History Planetarium.  Her plans are to deliver her message to elementary school groups far and wide.  Should you want her to visit, contact auntieKC.com.  With kids in the woke sexual sewer these days, it will be great to have them reaching for the sky.

Let’s wish her good fortune as she trains again her eyes upon the stars.

References

1.Auntie KC.  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Auntie-KC/author/B0CTGGKL5T?ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true