A Memory and a Recipe

Some things never leave us. For some reason I've had a song from long ago in my head.  Here are the words as I remember them:

Fried ham, fried ham

Cheese and baloney

And after the macaroni

We'll have onions

Pickles and pretzels

And then we'll have some more

Fried ham!  

   

Where did it come from?  Anyone know?  Was it a camp song?  Was it on the radio? Was it part of the musical Oliver? I don't know. But it keeps popping up in my head lately, and I think I know why.

We're cooking every meal at home, right?  And we're looking for easy meals. After a while, the simplest option is the best.  So... here's our brunch today:

Looks good to me, how about you?

So I thought I would share a very simple yet yummy idea for a meal, in case you are running out of ideas.

#1 - Some day ahead of time, bake a bunch of potatoes. Bake more than you will need for your immediate meal, and save some in the fridge.

#2 - Dice some onion and green pepper and saute them a little while (1 min?) in a pan with oil.

#3 - Cut up a baked potato or two (peeling is optional) and add to the pan with onions & peppers.

#4 - Dice some fully cooked ham and add to the pan. Stir and cook until hot. 

#5 - Eat and enjoy!

That is it, ladies and gentlemen!  I commend this meal to you as nutritious, simple and delicious.

This song is all the poetry I can come up with under the circumstances... the circumstances being that my hubby's computer is going on the fritz, he hasn't fully decided on a new one yet, so we're sharing. Heh heh. More togetherness fun. 

All that aside, it is Poetry Friday.  Find the round-up at Molly Hogan's Nix the Comfort Zone. She has a post that will make your mouth water and bring a smile to boot.  Thanks for hosting, Molly.

The Amazing Egg

I have found it a challenge to focus on my blog. What should I, or could I write about? Finally, late last night, I landed on an idea that should have been obvious.  The egg!!! It's spring, the time for birds to lay eggs, hatch from eggs, steal eggs or hide their eggs in another's nest. For Christians, it is a time to celebrate Easter and new life, and eggs have been part of that celebration for many years.

I have purchased a few fancy eggs that I get out each year. 

 This one is a from the Eastern European tradition called pysanky. Making one of these requires a steady hand. These are made by applying hot wax to the egg and then dying it several times. It is hard to see, but this egg has both yellow and red. 

 This one is a modern version of pysanky. I think it was also made with layers of dye and wax.

This one is made with colored wax, carefully and beautifully applied.

We can readily put poetry together with eggs. We all know Humpty Dumpty... but a little research taught me that this poem was first published in 1797.  The words "Humpty Dumpty" also referred to a kind of brandy which was boiled with ale, suggesting a reason for Humpty's clumsiness that I had not considered. (I hope this hasn't tainted your favorite Mother Goose rhyme.)



Of course there were earlier versions:

James Orchid Halliwell’s, published the poem as: 

Humpty Dumpty lay in a beck.

With all his sinews around his neck;

Forty Doctors and forty wrights

Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty to rights!

But do you know this version?  It always makes me laugh.

If Walt Whitman Had Written Humpty Dumpty

O Humpty! O Dumpty! You've had a fearful spill,

You've tumbled from the stony height,

     you're lying cold and still;

Your shell is cracked, your yolk runs out,

     your breath is faint and wheezy;

You landed as a scrambled egg, instead of over easy;

     The king has sent his steeds and men

           to mend you if they can;

                I pray that they did not forget

                      To bring a frying pan.

                                          

                                            - Frank Jacobs

I'll end with one last egg, this one made with sugar, the inside scene made with a type of frosting. My mother's best friend made eggs like this, and I had a nice collection until a younger sibling stuck his finger inside every one and broke the figures out. I'm over it, though. I'm over it.  Totally...

Many blessings to you during this time of spring renewal. In 1939, C.S. Lewis gave some excellent advice to his students about maintaining courage during trying times. You can read about it here.

It's Poetry Friday, join the fun at Amy Ludwig VanDerwater's The Poem Farm.

Spiritual Journey: Solace during CoronaVirus

–

Whistling Swans

Do you bow your head when you pray or do you look
up into that blue space?
Take your choice, prayers fly from all directions.
And don’t worry about what language you use,
God no doubt understands them all.

- Mary Oliver   (see the rest here.)

I listen for the earth's songs these days. Mourning doves have resumed singing their lament. Coo-ah-coo coo coo. Coo-ah-coo coo coo. Geese fly over, bickering loudly in tones both amusing and wistful. The bluejay flits in from time to time, an imposter yelling Thief! Thief! Thief!!! Robins are busy stalking worms and floating their cheery tunes. Goldfinches in bright yellow plumage stage aerial flashdances through the neighborhood.

I've been watching the trees.  Many still raise bare branches in supplication, but the maples have knitted fuzzy red knots on their branches, and the magnolias take my breath away with their graceful blooms, like full-length silk gowns, eager for spring prom. When it comes to spring, New Jersey excels.

In spite of the beauty out our windows, it has been a hard week. I share the prayer below from the Celtic Daily Prayer book, a calming prayer:

Circle us, Lord.
Keep patience near
and discouragement afar.
Keep peace within
and turmoil out. Amen

Circle our families, Lord.
Keep protection near
and danger afar.

Circle our ill ones, Lord
keep strength and hope within
keep despair without.

Circle our healers and leaders, Lord
Keep light near
and darkness afar.

Circle those who suffer loss, Lord
keep peace within
and anxiety without.

The eternal Father, Son and Holy Spirit
shield us on every side.
Amen.

Donna Smith is graciously hosting our Spiritual Journey Thursday found-up at Mainely Write.  Feel free to visit her there.

Bad Hair Days

I know it's ridiculous, but I have to write about hair. I wear my hair short, and I need trims often. So imagine my dismay when I drove past my hairdresser's to see a big sign on the door that says: CLOSED BY MANDATE.

Okay... it's a small ugh. I get that.  But I thought maybe a focus on something mundane and a little silly, like hair, could bring a laugh or two, and in that vein, I put together today's post.

I've always loved this poem by Edward Lear, Father of the Limerick.

There was an Old Man with a Beard

BY EDWARD LEAR

There was an Old Man with a beard,

Who said, "It is just as I feared!—

Two Owls and a Hen, four Larks and a Wren,

Have all built their nests in my beard.

I could NOT find my book with the good illustration of this, but I rather like this guy with the cat in his beard... don't you? (Hint: Once you do a search for unusual hair, the options are endless.) 

It is audacious, but I thought I would follow Lear's limerick with a little poem I wrote a year or so ago, when... ahem... I was moved to write the following:

Demise of an Old Guy’s Prize

Grandpa’s face hair was unruly

Bristly, scraggly, scary… truly!

Grandma noticed Grandpa snoring

Shaved him ‘til his face was boring.

© Karen Eastlund 2018

It seemed the better part of valor to use photos from outside the family to explore this idea. And NO, I did not shave my hubby's face, but I did trim his eyebrows! 

These photos led to the next quote... which pertains to our current predicament.

Hahaha....

Okay, I hope this brought at least a smile, if not a laugh. Here's a fancy hairdo on one of my lovely grands, to leave you with a nice image. (This came from a salon. Just getting the knots out of long hair is enough to undo me.)

Getting bored? Try a fancy hairdo... learn to braid. Try to memorize all those knots that are helpful for sailors and around the house. Personally, I have to work hard to make a square knot instead of a granny. Can you do it?




Okay, everyone, comb the knots out of your hair and keep safe. It's a hairy time... but you can do it.

Hey! It's Poetry Friday!  You can be part of a Friday blog party called Poetry Friday. This week all the participants will post their links at Tabatha Yeatts: The Opposite of Indifference. Join us!

A Little Elderberry Lore

When young and living in Nebraska, we used to pick elderberries in the fall to make jelly. Big elderberry bushes grew wild just about everywhere, but especially along the railroad tracks. Here's what they look like.  Each berry is tiny, the size of a small pea, and its juice is very dark. In my opinion, they make the world's best jelly.



http://www.sci-news.com/medicine/elderberries-influenza-virus-07145.html

Recently I heard that elderberries are good at warding off cold and flu symptoms. We might need this, right? Then I found this article in Science News, May 2019, expounding the virtues of elderberries.  "... compounds from elderberries exhibit multiple modes of therapeutic action against influenza infection."

Another source said that elderberries have been used for health purposes for over 2,000 years.

As a precautionary measure, I found an over-the-counter cold and flu preparation based on elderberries at Walgreens. It comes in several forms, but I got tablets that melt on your tongue. Hubby had a cough (no fever)... and I also tried them as a preventative. We agree, the taste is decent!

My most vivid memory of elderberries was making jelly with a friend. My father-in-law showed up one day with (surprise!) a HUGE box of elderberries. My friend Gwen and I worked together to make them into jelly. She had a baby boy in a high chair, and we gave him a single berry. He held it between his four little front teeth and bit. Deep dark purple juice squirted out, staining his lips and soon thereafter most of his face. He must have liked it, I don't recall a fuss. And the jelly was the best! Dark, flavorful, and yummy!

I wrote about elderberry jelly in 2014 and put the poem away... so here, for you, is its debut:

Elderberry Jelly

Pick some plumpish elderberries

Deeply purple, almost black

Cook them in a jelly pot

Make a jellied berry snack

Squeeze the berry juice out slowly

Bubble liquid 'til it's thick

Pour the jellied juice in jars

Pop the top on quick

Taste the deep rich berry flavor

I think no jelly could excel it

Wear your berry purple smile

Who cares that grape outsells it?

© Karen Eastlund

This info should be heeded:

Cooked ripe elderberries are perfectly edible. Unripe elderberries are poisonous. Raw berries can cause nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea, among other symptoms, so be sure to cook them before eating.

I invite you to explore elderberries for health and eating pleasure. Check your farm stands, they often have elderberry jelly on their shelves. Elderberry wine is also mentioned, though I admit I have not tasted it. 

It's Poetry Friday, so join the gang at Michelle Kogan's.  She's highlighting a poem from The Best of Today's Little Ditty 2017-2018 in which I also have a poem. An honor, I'm sure! 

Be good
Be well
Stay safe out there

Get sleep
Wash hands
And please take care.

Best, Karen

Keeping our Collective Chins Up

I don't know about you, but it hasn't been the best week for me.  I won't go into it, just trust me. So, in an effort to keep our collective chins up, I thought I would post a few things that might bring either a smile or some hope.  'Nuff said?  Okay... here goes...

Some quilted hearts, to share my love...

A sweet grandchild smiles from above...

A basket of flowers, vibrant & beauteous...

A Grandfather's hat... clearly hilarious!

A smiling face of sidewalk chalk

 

The glories of an autumn walk

A sunset tints the ocean rose

A snowman with a stone cold nose

These rhymes and pics... I must impart...

Are simply shared to warm your heart.

And if you, like me, could use a prayer this week, here is a lovely one from the the Felgild Compline:

Calm me, O Lord, as You stilled the storm.

Still me, O lord, keep me from harm.

Let all the tumult within me cease.

Enfold me, Lord, in Your peace.

It's Poetry Friday... find more poetry at Matt Esenwein's Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme. 

Corn and Rain

Once upon a time, before machines to do the job, I joined my college roommate in detasseling corn. I think I detasseled just one day, but one day made a strong impression. Unfamiliar with detasseling?  Wikipedia says:  Detasseling corn is removing the immature pollen-producing bodies, the tassel, from the tops of corn (maize) plants and placing them on the ground. It is a form of pollination control, employed to cross-breed, or hybridize, two varieties of corn.

We started early to avoid the worst heat of the day, early enough to see steam hover over the Missouri River as we crossed it. Once at the field we received instructions. Take the tassels off the marked rows, leave them on the unmarked rows. Easy. We could do this.

Into the dewy corn we went, wearing giant plastic bags provided by the seed company to keep us from getting wet or cut by the corn leaves. We soon learned three things: 1) We were both shorter than the cornstalks and reaching the tassels was a considerable effort, 2) the bags were uncomfortable, felt and looked miserable and we sweat like crazy in them...they had to go, and 3) the heavy mud stuck to our shoes and made them impossibly heavy. We were better off barefoot.


Photo by permission from https://theagavin.wordpress.com/

The sun rose higher, the day was a proper scorcher and the rows went on and on and on. We laughed when Lois had to shinny up some of the taller stalks just to be able to reach the tassel. The Iowa corn rows were interminable. Mud stuck to our feet and made them humongous. We laughed some more. Did I mention the rows were interminable?

Finally the time came for us to be picked up, but our ride did not show up. We waited. We listened. Yes, we could hear the cornstalks grow! They rustled and squeaked all around us. We waited some more, scanning the sky, hoping for a cloud. A rain shower. Anything. No luck, just relentless sunshine. There was no shade to sit in, and our skin had long since sweated off any sunscreen. Finally our ride came and drove us back to the house, just a few hours before our evening shift at the restaurant.

Years have passed, but that day sticks in my mind. Angry pink sunburn, feet heavy with mud, sore muscles everywhere, and overwhelming fatigue. (Happily, Lois and I can still laugh about it.)

Fast forward to Donna Smith's post last week on Mainely Write, asking her readers if they were pluviophiles? A what?  A lover of rain. A person who finds joy and peace of mind on rainy days.  Well... yes, I am a pluviophile, and part of the reason is my day of detasseling. I had to write about it.

I chose to write a tanka, consisting of 5 lines. Lines 1 and 3 each have 5 syllables, all the other lines have 7. Like its cousin the haiku, a tanka often includes some reference to a season, and often has a turn in the middle. My poem takes place in the cornfield, but in it my wish for rain comes true.

Some people feel the rain, others just get wet. - Bob Marley

Rain fell RAT-A-TAT!

RAT-A-TAT! steam veiled the fields

corn squealed in applause

laughter eased our endless toil

toes splayed wide in heavy mud

© Karen Eastlund

It's Poetry Friday. Join the Poetry Friday gang today at Rebecca Herzog's Sloth Reads.