Journey to Person-hood : Leaving Madison

In 1999, I left Madison, WI, after living there for nearly 10 years in my 20s.

That last week, I attended a lecture with Harold Scheub, The African Storyteller. (He's a frequent guest on Jean Feraca's radio show, Here on Earth : Radio without Borders.) My undergraduate degree was in African Literature and Languages, so I had a particular appreciation for this subject matter, and this particular speaker.

So I got there and sat down. CL was there, too. I sat down, and saw at the front of the room, AS, wicked witch of my undergraduate years. She had been my Yoruba teacher for 2-1/2 years and my adviser for 3 years. I was an A-student except for her classes. She apparently thought I was an moron because I couldn't pick up this language that had absolutely no links to American English. (It'd be like learning Chinese to an American's ears.) She was hard on me in those years--a tormentor. I just tried to muddle through and keep my head down until I could graduate, and be out of her clutches.

This story requires more set-up, so bear with me ... I was accepted into Library School immediately after graduation, but I decided to defer until a later time. I had such a hard time as an undergraduate with my advisor/mentor, that I wanted to re-group and learn to stand up for myself before I embarked on Library School. So I waited 3 years, worked as a clerk in a bank, got my head together, and re-built my self-esteem. I decided to re-apply to Library School in January 1996, and was again accepted without a problem. I was ready. In March, the bank decided to down-size, and my job got the ax. It was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. In July, I got a job working in a hospital library, much more interesting work, making twice as much money as the bank clerk job, in half as much time. And I was learning practical things that applied to my Master's Degree.

Library School started in the fall, and was a totally different experience. It was good--fun. I'd do it all over again. One of my Library School Professors, Anne Lundin, became a good friend. I loved her creative writing assisngments, and her Storytelling class (which counted towards the required (and dreaded) public speaking requirement).

So that last week in Madison, I attended this Harold Scheub-African Storyteller lecture ... and AS is there at the front table. I remember thinking with racing heart, "What do I do? Do I run out the door? ... I hope she doesn't recognize me. I hope she doesn't recognize me. Of all people I wanted to leave behind in Madison, it was her ..." I don't think I heard a single word that Prof. Scheub said in that lecture, though I'm sure it was inspiring--bigger than life--as his lectures always were.

Soon after the lecture began, I noticed Anne Lundin was also there. (She also had a great appreciation for story, remember.) In the Storytelling class one day she had said this :

"Whenever you're in a tough place,
think of yourself as the heroine in a fairy tale.
You'll be journeying through the forest alone.
And there'll be people there to help you along the way,
and who will give you encouragement.
And you'll discover treasures you never knew were there.
This is a precious time."

I have always remembered her saying this, and at that moment, I thought : I can handle this. CL is here at my side; Anne Lundin is here; I'm not the same doormat I was as an undergrad. I had come a long way in those 5-6 years since AS. Even though my legs were shaking at the end of the lecture, my heart was racing, I went up and spoke with Anne. AS was nearby, and fortunately, she did not recognize me anymore--at least she didn't act like she did. And I thought, "That's fine with me. I don't need to waste my time with people who treated me like dirt." I didn't say anything to her either. Story was (and still is) something I am passionate about. Anne Lundin knew me as a good student, knew me as a person, and knew I was already a good Librarian. I didn't have to speak Yoruba to do it.

Going to that last lecture, my last week in Madison, seeing those certain important people in my life come together in the same space at the same time--was the culmination of my 10 years in Madison. Had I learned what I'd gone there to learn? I don't mean academics and degrees. This was the ultimate test in Person-hood. And I felt like I passed. I had finally graduated! I had stood up for myself with grace and poise--thanks to a little help from my friends.

Looking back on that experience, it felt very Wizard of Oz-like. I was seeing my arch-nemesis for a final show-down. There she was : AS, the Wicked Witch of West Africa and Anne Lundin, the Good Witch of Graduate School there to help and support me. CL, as the Lion, Scarecrow, and Tin Man all rolled into one. I guess Harold Scheub was the Wizard.

It was a precious time.

Journeys : Grand Central Station- NYC

This week at my Covenant Group, our topic is Journeys. I've been thinking about Grand Central Train Station in NYC.
In the early 1990s, I had a good wait there before I got on a commuter train for CT to visit my long-time friend J. I remember just loving to sit in that great hall, watching people going by ... Just people in motion on the way FROM somewhere TO somewhere.

Everyone was in motion (except me at that moment), but there were lulls, too. It was like being in a cathedral with that wonderful high ceiling (I think the term is ascension--the architecture lifts you up) and the light and open spaces--except there was no oppression of religion there--none of that baggage. This was a PUBLIC space. This is what America is about, I thought : Co-existence.

I went up/out onto the street to get a bite to eat. That, too, was wonderful--I was amazed at the sheer diversity there : Italians, Greeks, Lebanese, Thai, Vietnamese--so many languages, and cultures, and foods. It was wonderful to see so many 1st generation immigrants selling ethnic foods (the real thing!). I loved it! All the smells, all the accents, all those characters, all those people. I had thought I'd be terrified of being mugged or swindled in NYC, but I was fine.

I know I wrote a letter there, waiting for my next train. I felt renewed having gotten to rest there. The train trip in from Chicago was not at all the comfortable and romantic train ride with beautiful vistas I had imagined it would be. My ticket was coach. It's not at all comfortable to spend the night in one of those coach train seats. Our train car was not designed for overnight trips--but that's where we were. Parts of the track were in need of repair so we couldn't go more than 35 mph for long stretches. Train travel is so different in France and Scotland and Japan! The US has invested in the highway system at the expense of Railways over the years. That trip was a huge disappointment to me--until I saw Gran Central Station!

Last year, I saw an episode of American Experience where they did a whole show on Grand Central Train Station. [You can actually watch it at this link!] I was thrilled to hear that other people felt the same way I did.

[From the AE show:] Rita Gabis: "There's something about Grand Central. There's such an echo of the past there of journey there. It's amazes me still every time I come into the station.

There's the faces of people who are waiting, of people who are hurrying, who are looking forward to where they're going or maybe resigned or tired; strangers to the city or so used to the city they're blind to what's around them.

It's such a beautiful metaphor for all the arrivals and departures that really make up the moments of our lives."

Red Currant Jelly

This summer, I got a whole pound (!) of currants out of our Red Lake Currant bush. There'd be more if it could get more sun ... Still, I'm pleased! This is about twice as much as last year.



This afternoon, I cooked them down into jelly with a very simple recipe.

Red Currant Jelly

Red Currants
Sugar
small amount of water

Soak the currants to clean them. Don't worry about removing the stems.
In a saucepan with about 1-2 T. water, heat the currants on medium-high for about 8 minutes, until the berries have popped and the juice has been released. Run it through a strainer. Push as much juice through with the back of a spoon. Discard the mash. Save the juice.

Weigh the juice. And pour it back into the saucepan.
Add an equal amount of sugar.
Beware : There may be a tendancy to skimp on the sugar here : it's the sugar that activates the natural pectin in the berries. Without enough sugar, you'll have a nice syrup, not jelly.

Simmer the currant juice and sugar for about 20 minutes. Then pour into clean jelly jars and admire your work!

It looks like this batch actually jelled! It's been difficult to get a good picture of the beautiful red color ... Here I tried to get them back-lit by the fridge light--It sort-of worked.

Home-made Georgia Peach Ice Cream - Mmmmh!

Last summer, my friend Ralph gave me a recipe for home-made Peach Ice Cream. He used to live in Georgia, so this is the real thing! And you should hear him talk--I love his Southern accent. Thanks Ralph!

The week of July 4, there were all sorts of stories on the radio about fresh Georgia Peaches. Lots of juice running down chins ... It was painful, because here in WI, we had to wait another week for these fresh peaches to make their way to WI--and another week for them to ripen. CL met the truck and bought a bushel of peaches (2 boxes) for us. It was worth the wait, however!

Here is Ralph's recipe for
Home-Made Georgia Peach Ice Cream

1 Gallon Milk
1 can PET Milk
1 can Borden's Condensed Cream
1-2 T. Vanilla
2 cups sugar
10-12 peaches, peeled and pureed


The Peach Peeler peeling peaches.


Pureeing peaches with a stick blender.

Peel 10-12 peaches. Puree and add to ice-cream churn.
Add vanilla.
Add sugar.
Add 1 can PET Milk and 1 can cream.
Add milk to fill line.

Operate your ice-cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions. It will probably require ice and rock salt around the ice-cream churning can. It took us about 45 minutes of churning and about 7 pounds of ice to make our batch. We used 1% milk, so ours came out more like "ice milk" than cream. Still tastey!



We used the old electric churn my parent's had from when I was a kid, back when we had a cow named Daisy in the pasture next to the house. She looked something like this (but not exactly) :

Buck Skinners' Rendevous at Sawdust Days

Native-American-type dresses made of very soft leather.

On the weekends around the 4th of July here in Oshkosh, we have something called Sawdust Days at Menomonee Park on the shores of Lake Winnebago. They call it Sawdust Days because Oshkosh used to be a huge lumber town back in the day. In the park, there's a Carnival atmosphere on one side of the bridge, and a Buckskinner Rendevous on the other side. I usually go to the buckskinner side, but avoid the carnival side.

The BuckSkinner side is pretty interesting--It's Living History--except it smells better than days of old. People bring old-timey tents (the re-enactors get to camp right by the lake which never happens for anyone else any other time of the year!). They dress up like it's the 1700s, the fur-trapping era--a real part of history for Wisconsin. There are metal smiths smithing, and selling their wares, leather and furs for sale, all sorts of shells and beads, and other things that people would have traded in those days--all laid out on blankets, or hanging as if in a real trading post. For food, they sell kettle corn, and Doc's wild rice soup, and Indian fry bread, Indian tacos, Sasparilla (in addition to the requisite brats, beer, and burgers). There's some Native American representation there, too.


I'm not a big fan of smoking, but this man's pipe tobacco smelled really good! We stayed and talked with him for quite a while. He was doing New York Times crossword puzzles in between customers. He also had the greatest fur mittens -- they would have been GREAT for walking dogs on the coldest of winter nights. No--I didn't buy any. I did buy a scrap of leather from him though :


This year, I'm looking for some leather to make more journal covers. I found a suitable piece of cow hide at a reasonable price. I also found some skull beads for the Baba Yaga quilt I'll make some day. The shiny black beads are hematite, also destined for a quilt. And the African Porcupine quills my Mom asked me to pick up which she uses for quilting. Pretty good haul, I'd say!


Someday, I'll get a sheepskin to cover my rocking chair--but so far, I haven't wanted to spend the $85 that would cost me. I do go over and "pet" them every year.


This very gentle man was selling gemstones and beads. He looks rough, needed some dental work. A real character, but he seemed very kind and gentle-hearted. Oliver and I bought some gemstones from him. In fact, Oliver really wants the amythest I bought ...


One year I bought a beautiful knife--handmade by a real artisan, with a deer antler for a handle. It's just beautiful! I'm glad I got it because that guy has not been back since.



Note : Most of the photos in this entry were taken by Jef Decker on my Olympus digital camera. Thanks Jef for capturing the Rendevous!

Blueberry Scones

They don't look like much, beat up and bruised. But do these scones ever taste delicious!

I used the basic scone recipe previously posted here with the addition of fresh (or frozen) blueberries folded into the dough. It makes the dough much wetter than usual, so you may need some extra flour to compensate for the ensuing stickiness.

Top it with some lemon icing (just lemon juice and powdered sugar).
It's the perfect mix of weet, tender, and tangy!

John Dillinger : Robin Hood or Terrorist?

Last summer, Johnny Depp, Michael Mann, and crew were in my little town of Oshkosh, WI, to film parts of the newly released Public Enemies movie. Now that it's been released, I'm remembering how my Grappa Eddie used to speak of John Dillinger as a great hero.

I never quite understood why Grappa would think of a bank robber and murderer as a hero. To my mind the guy was a brutal terrorist, a criminal--pure and simple. He wasn't classified as a "public enemy" for delivering flowers.

So I asked a couple of friends (who happen to be history professors * at the local University) if they could explain this phenomenon to me ... At present, my Grappa is 98 years old. He lived through the Great Depression. He probably kept his money in his mattress (with a .45 in his night stand). (It's a miracle none of us grandchildren were not hurt at his house while we were growing up!) Banks were failing all over the country during The Great Depression. He saw Dillinger as a modern-day Robin Hood. The guy stole from the rich (banks). But did he ever give it to the poor? Maybe he left a fat tip at a restraunt ... you (not me) just wished you were the one to wait on his table.

The other thing that really stood out for Grappa was Dillinger's connection to The North Woods of Wisconsin, where Grappa Eddie grew up. Grappa was a full-blooded Bohemian (that's a nationality, not a life-style). So for Dillinger to show up at The Little Bohemia Lodge was a big deal--validation for a Bohemian otherwise lost in America. Grappa took tremendous pride in that Bohemians could show Dillinger proper hospitality. (I'll vouch for the bakery!)

I don't remember Grappa speaking so fondly of the other gangsters of the time, but he could have ... Didn't Capone have soup kitchens for Chicago's down-and-out? That certainly helped get the public on his side. At least it made it easier to turn the other cheek when it came to his crime and murder record.

Grappa now lives in a nursing home. His memory moves in and out. Sometimes he recognizes my mom and Aunt Cindy, some days he doesn't. Last I heard, he was sleeping all day and staying up all night to regale the nurses with stories of making moonshine in Garski Flowage with his buddies. He was back in the days of Prohibition, when the only way to get alcohol-for-drinking was to make it yourself with a distillery, or still (remember that contraption Hawkeye and BJ had in the old M*A*S*H episodes?). I think he used to use potatoes most often ... Anyway, he was telling the nurses he had to finish this batch because he'd get beaten if his Dad found out about it. Nevermind the G-Men. He's getting younger as he gets older ...

* Thanks to Dr. Kuhl and her husband Jeff Pickron for explaining this Dillinger hero worship phenomenon in the light Robin Hood. They have the much wider perspective of all historic time!