Cooking

One of the best (or maybe only good) things about really cold weather is the dishes I can and should make. As a hard-core environmentalist, maybe now called a survivalist or a sustainability supporter, for 50 years, I don’t use the oven when it’s really hot. I look for overcast days to make something early on that I can eat later. But as it gets cooler, I really lean into the baking, bread for myself and my adult daughter and her family, cookies so I can supply everyone I see with a variety, and oven-cooked meals that I’ve been missing all summer. The grill should be a mainstay, but somehow, it seems like too much trouble. And somebody has to stand out in the heat. Sometimes, it’s just starting to be cool and I’ll cook with the windows open, so as not to heat up the house for later. When it gets really cold, I make sure to open and close the blinds in keeping with the sun’s whims, never opening the north side unless it’s very mild. I love a fire in the fireplace, but it doesn’t make sense if it’s too cold, because the heat from the rest of the house goes up the chimney, so I save it for the milder cold and gray days. But I digress…pot roast! Is the number one thing I cook in winter, and it doesn’t even use the oven. It is the simplest recipe, the way my mother made it (as I remember it). Buy a relatively cheap roast--they are often on sale, and usually labeled pot roast--although there are several options. Sear it in the big pot, salt and pepper generously, then add water, or even stock, to cover. After a few hours, add some cut-up carrots and potatoes and cook another hour or so. There are Italian pot roasts with canned tomatoes, and once I added some thyme. Somebody in my family is allergic to onions (isn’t that insanely unfair, how can I cook for her without using onions or garlic?), but I think you could add them too. Meatloaf with baked potatoes is my husband’s favorite—also something my mother made, without really consulting a recipe, throwing things into a pound or two of ground beef and mixing it with her hands. There are gazillions of great sheet-pan dinners at NYT cooking as well. You could roast a chicken, but DH is persnickety about the tendons, etc., on the bones, and there are only two of us now, so we usually buy boneless skinless parts. I will often have soup in the fridge, so good with a grilled-cheese sandwich, sometimes incorporating the turkey stock or leftover meat from my oversized Thanksgiving turkey. I’m not a vegetarian anymore, but we eat a lot of meatless meals or a small amount of meat with other good stuff. This week, I made apple cake, something else my Mom would make as a treat when we came to visit. PS Charlie enjoyed tumbling a lot more this week.

Waiting for the End of the World

I am waiting every day. I check when I wake up to see if it happened overnight. A catastrophic explosion, a nuclear attack, an asteroid hitting the Earth. The collapse of our infastructure. People shooting each other in the street for no reason. No internet, no electricity, no health care. Plunging birth rates. A pandemic more deadly than the last and no lessons learned. And then, against my better judgement, hope somehow slips through. More and more solar and wind power contributing to the electric grid, in our state, in our country, in the world. Occasional outbursts of bravery by judges, individual citizens, and elected officials. Increased demand for an electric car that seats 8 passengers. A baby smiling and learning to talk. (Do not tell him of your fears.) Maybe today is not the day the world will come crashing down.

Happy Birthday to me

I'm 70 years old, and I don't feel much different from when I was 30 or 40. My father said he hadn't changed since he was about 12. The world feels different though. It feels sad and scary. I have spent a lot of time trying to help other people, through work and volunteering and donations. It doesn't feel like I have achieved much at all, although I hope there is someone out there who disagrees. Like the starfish story, did I make a difference to that one? I feel like there must be a solution, something big I could do that would help. But, of course, that's wishful thinking. Can I lead a group of grandmothers (and fathers) to insert ourselves between the two sides of a war? Well, no one would care, they would just shoot us all. And wars are not really like that now, where would we position ourselves on the front lines? We would need a huge number of people, how likely is that? I spend some time listening to live interviews on Substack. I have heroes there. I see that most people, although they may be concerned, live busy and mostly happy lives. They do not feel the need to rise up yet over some distant people dying or abstract principles being trampled on. They will wait until there is no food. For many, there is already no housing, but they feel powerless and hopeless. The time to act is now, and yet, my life is relatively safe and happy. My grandson is the joy of my life and my children are a source of pride as well. I am fortunate that my children want me in their lives. I am so lucky to care for this baby boy 2 days a week and it helps my daughter and her husband as well. I like to think it is good for him, too, although the day care center seems to be doing a great job. One of the things I should be doing is cleaning out old stuff and simplifying my life, for myself and for them. And yet, it does not feel significant. I want to do something big and meaningful. I sign petitions, I go to protests, I donate and volunteer, but there must be more. Getting myself killed or even arrested would upset my family and be pointless. One thing I could do is write something. On Substack? Letters to the editor seem a bit archaic, I don't read them. Could I write a novel, or even a story, that inspires people?

Tomorrow

I spend most of the morning with my baby grandson, smiling at him, feeding him, reading to him, holding him while he sleeps. It is amazing to watch him as he learns about the world. And I vow never to let him know how terrible a place it is. He will not see me cry or hear me curse. Then I go home and get angrier and angrier as I think about what his world will be like. I cannot believe I was once again so foolish and naive and hopeful. I believed in the innate goodness of every person. Now I do not. My heart breaks for my children and all the citizens of the world, who will know less and less of the beauty of life in the future. It is unbearable to think that we could have saved it and we were too short-sided, too greedy, to do the little that it would take. As human beings, we have the brains to figure out solutions to the problems of the world, but we do not have the will. We cannot imagine that each of us working together could make the small changes that would add up to a better future for everyone. And now it is too late. Humanity will not die out right away. It will take many generations. We will try to adapt, living underground perhaps, wearing suits that protect us when we go above ground and masks that let us breathe the poisoned air. But all our solutions will require more of the Earth's resources, and we will dig ourselves deeper and deeper into an economy that is dependent on the things that are causing our ruin. Perhaps some think AI will save us, assuming it does not turn on us. AI, it turns out, needs huge amounts of electricity. Even though we know using fossil fuels will doom us, we feel we must have them to grow--and apparently growth is more important than life. Every society will have to make decisions on how to spend their dwindling resources. Perhaps one country will decide that they cannot afford to keep old people alive. Perhaps they will want to limit the population to fewer and fewer--only those with money? Will they be tested and only the most scientifically gifted will be allowed to live? Who can we do without? Health care workers, ministers? We need laborers to run the machines to harvest the Earth's dwindling bounty, and soldiers and policemen to make sure it gets to the "right" people.

Planes are flying overhead, making a screaming noise as they take off. I think Ray told me that means the wind is from the South. It's nice to be near a major airport when we want to go somewhere, but I did not notice the sound of the planes when we were thinking about buying this house! When we lived in Georgia, we could hear trains not far away, but

Monday morning

the sun follows me around all day; actually I follow the sun. I start my day in the library, which is on the eastern side of the house. I am usually up before it, although today I slept until almost 7. It is cloudy and there will not be a lot of sun, but even a little bit warms up a room. This time of year, it is not bitter cold out, so 10 or 20 degrees makes a big difference. I put the heat on too, sometimes, but the sun somehow feels warmer. The library is a grandiose name for a small addition on this 100-year-old house. It does have books and computers in it, but so much more. The sewing machine and all the boxes of fabric and supplies that go with it. wrapping paper, a dresser stuffed with shawls and old sweaters. a keyboard I haven't used in years. old family photos, slides and vhs tapes that I plan to organize and throw away. The room has faux wood paneling and dropped ceiling tiles with fluorescent lights in the middle. The floor is plastic laminate that looks a little like blond wood. Most of it is covered by one of my grandmother's braided rugs that has held up for maybe 100 years itself. Near the door is a clear patch of plastic floor, good for taking off boots if it's wet outside. The back door is in the adjacent hall, and we have a boot tray in front of the bookcase. The desk, my fancy desk from Levenger that my Mom helped pay for, is buried, of course, like most desks. There is an inbox, full of random things that do not really belong in an inbox: a New York Times Sunday paper from a few weeks ago, that I thought I might read, but cleared from the dining room when guests were expected. A laptop that I use very occasionally, when we are traveling or for a remote yoga class. Early in the day, the sun is streaming in the east windows, bathing me in warmth as I sit at the computer, back to the bookcase, catching up on the emails from the day before and slowly, grinding away at the backlog from 6 years or more. I delete and delete and unsubscribe. But I also sign petitions and donate money and buy things, so I keep getting added to more and more lists!