Frank and Mamah

Loving Frank is meant to be a historical novel. And it is, somewhat. The dates on the pages indicate the setting as turn of the century. The novel moves from Chicago to Berlin, Paris, Tuscany, and Kyoto, to somewhere outside Madison. All those places were true and distinct in the early 20th century. There was the great Woman Movement in the states, the modernist movement in Europe, and certainly ancient art in Japan.

Regretfully our main character, Mamah Borthwick, is completely fictionalized. The only things that are truly known of her are that she was married, loved and translated the writings of Sweden’s Ellen Key, had an affair with Frank Lloyd Wright, and died in a ghastly attack at the home she and Frank shared.

Uh-oh, is that a give-away? Did I just spoil the ending? Hmm, well, it’s difficult to say. I only finished the novel because I skipped ahead wondering if anything ever actually happens other than a 40 year old mother’s internalized wondering if leaving her children was very clever. The idea that she may possibly be a martyr to free love finally gives the book some intrigue. Otherwise, random violence leveled against an introspective woman is not super interesting, especially when the woman was not the famous historical figure of the story.

Writing a fictional account of Frank’s life may be interesting, but there are already biographies and autobiographies on him. Therefore, creating a story about his love life, of which there is precious little record, does strike a note when the three or four scraps of information about one particular mistress are so incredibly potent. However, there seems to be so much more to say that would create a sense of time and place that just didn’t happen, as much of the expression in the novel came across as contemporary. When all is said and done I will be more interested in Frank’s architecture than Mamah’s translations, just as I would have been before.

Uncommonly HOT

It's too hot to blog. It's too hot to cook. It's too hot to read.

However, I have been doing the latter two at my typical rate. Only sitting at a desk typing with sticky fingers has been put on hold. I have determined to take my book and sun tea with peaches to a cool lake for the remainder of this heat wave and may return afterwards when cool rains come and soothe my sweaty soul.

Peace out.

Community Supported Agriculture

Boxes of vegetables are coming my way. I have joined a CSA this year! I’m super excited about what I might discover. So far in my farm sharing I traveled to the peninsula to visit the farm, have a look around, and pick some super phenomenal strawberries.

Now there are a few distinct examples in my life which will elucidate why a farm share works for me. Let me discuss the strawberries for just a moment. I am not a fan of ‘strawberries.’ Picking an organic strawberry that is ripe on its itsy bitsy ground cover bush does not have much to do with ‘strawberries’ as they find their way to so many grocery stores. So, at Nash’s Organic Farm, the strawberries were like the ones that you might dream about if you felt like eating sun warmed juicy candy that melts in your mouth needing only the pressure of your tongue to mash it against the roof of your mouth. This corresponds to the memory I have from my childhood, eating the little strawberries my mom grew in planters on the front steps. Reproducing miracles in one’s mouth is no small thing. This works for me.

This week in my box I got salads and other stuff. I should discuss the other stuff, as that’s going to take creativity to use, but I started out by washing my salads. And then I tasted them. And since then I’ve been eating salad for all my meals and snacks (except breakfast). And that is not because there’s so much and I get another box next week! It has everything to do with the crispy, crunchy, slightly sweet, somewhat ticklish edged leaves they possess.

But I do get another box next week, so I really could use a little help. Are you hungry?

Kateri's Crows

I shudder in my attempt to identify with Kateri Tekakwitha, in The Reason for Crows. Diane Glancy found Kateri, a Mohawk Indian girl, on a panel of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in NYC and has written a first person narrative of her story, including narrative from the point of view of the priests she meets.

Kateri’s mother was stolen by the Mohawks from her original tribe. Kateri’s father was the Mohawk chief. Kateri should have been the daughter of Helen of Troy by my calculations of how people groups do tribal fighting and spoiling and regeneration. Except, in upstate New York during the year 1656 things seem more disastrous on the individual level without the overarching epic story.

The epic story has invading traders, priests, and disease conquering the smaller groups of already warring peoples. But is there love! Yes, we see that there is. Is it sacrificial? To the utmost, as only sacrifice and hardship are available to she-who-walks-searching-in-front-of-her, to her who hears Ezekiel and sees spirits and follows Christ, to her who has joined the epic story of God.

West Coast Cheesecake

For quite some time Seattle has been enjoying good weather. Every time the forecast projects rain, it surprisingly turns to sun. It is surprising, as Seattleites are far more conditioned to hear that sun’s coming only for it to be rain – or, in recent winters, snow.

What does this have to do with cheesecake? And isn’t that a New York specialty? Interestingly, cheesecake reaches far beyond NY, and the weather is highly impactful if you’ve been requested to make cheesecake for your friend’s outdoor wedding in June in Seattle where it’s been uncommonly warm and sunny.

Needless to go on, that was exactly how my shoes felt a week ago.

But I’m going to share a BIG secret. My cheesecake recipe isn’t mine. It’s my paternal Grandma’s. Although I don’t even dream of diverging from the recipe, my mom has effectively perfected it. And it is phenomenal. I refuse to eat any other cheesecake. I don’t refuse to eat any other cookie, pie, tart, pudding, crisp, crumble, cobbler, ice cream, etc. than those made by my forebears, but this is it. Not too long ago I meandered by Junior’s, the cheesecake haven in Brooklyn, and didn’t even feel like going in – it can’t be as good. (Plus, I’d just eaten pizza at Grimaldi’s and nobody needs cheesecake after pizza, even if I was biking.)

So, will I give up the important part of the secret? Well, I’ll tell you one trick: it presents best slightly cool. But, when rather more slopped than sliced, you can still receive complements such as, “I thought I’d had good desserts before, but every time I taste something you make, I realize I’ve never actually eaten anything very good. It’s delicious.” Makes you feel as glowing as a bride!