The Art of a Paleontological Pie

Image source

There is National Pi Day (March 14 . . . 3/14 . . . clever) and there is National Pi Approximation Day (July 22 ... 2/27 . . . see here for clarification).  And then there is National Pie Day (January 23), by far my favorite.

But pie can be made on any day and for any occasion. A few weeks ago my husband and I went to Chicago to visit our dear friends, Writer & Aurora. As is often the case with good friends, sharing a meal is central to being together. We eat, talk, nosh a bit more, and talk even more. It's the connection that matters.

We offered to bring dessert this time. As it happened, we had scads and scads of apples, so a pie was definitely the dessert to be had. I got up early to make it. The pie crust was a version of this one from Bon Appetit magazine. I always switch out half the white flour for whole wheat and add a bit of lemon juice or apple cider vinegar cider to the ice water. One other thing . . . I always use a mix of apple types--it deepens the flavor.

Usually I just do the two crust thing, making sure to sprinkle sugar-cinnamon on the top before putting it in the oven. Nothing fancy, just the loveliness that is pie.

This time, well, this time I was simply silly.

Those that know me know I am an adult who never grew out of the Loving Dinosaurs phase that many children go through. My husband's first gift to me when we were courting was a small box filled with plastic, scientifically accurate dinosaur toys. (Reader, I married him!) I have all of the BBC's Walking With Dinosaurs dvds. I saw Jurassic Park several times. I happily stop whatever I am doing to watch the videos of people wearing those goofy inflatable T-Rex costumes.

But there's one thing that irks me, dinosaur-wise that is. It seems that the writers of every documentary or "science show" about dinosaurs simply must end with THE COMET.

Image/photo by Simon Harrod
Used by permission

Scene: A sunny day. Dinosaurs of diverse herbivore types are happily munching away on grass or trees. Cut to a quick shot of a T-Rex (because you simply must have a T-Rex in any dinosaur show). Pan up to the sky . . . insert ominous music.

 Public Domain, Link

Then you have one of two special effects: 

1. a smattering of meteors suddenly careening across the sky--the dinos look up but then, because as we know they have tiny, tiny brains, they resume their munching, oblivious to the danger--followed by a great glow on the horizon; or
2. strike the CGI meteors and go straight to the increasingly large glow on the horizon which is followed by massive and burning winds (see a multi-ton carcass of a Triceratops or Hadrosaur get blown horizontally across the screen) and succeeded by the somber scene of a burnt wasteland filled with the seared or smoking skeletons of the magnificent beasts.

But . . . back to pie making. 

Possessed by a sudden, Saturday morning impishness, I decided that this guest gift pie would commemorate those noble animals on their last day. I broke out the cookie cutters (because of course I have dinosaur-shaped cookie cutters and a comet-shaped cutter as well) and arranged the crust cutout shapes on top of the fruit.

Once baked and cooled, the bakery was placed in the pie basket.

I can report the pie was well received and tasted great . . . the former not at all a surprise given the presence of this friendly creature in our friends' window. 

So, Chicago can rest safe . . . or can it?

The answers might be found here.

Go In Beauty

Navajo Ceremonial Basket
[Source]

Some many years ago I came upon the novels of Tony Hillerman.* I was less struck by the stories, which were wonderfully plotted and written, as I was by the encompassing ambiance. These many years later I can only recall what was the underlying mantra of that world: Go in Beauty.

There are variations on the poem/blessing. Here are two: 

Walk in Beauty

I walking in beauty before me
I walking in beauty behind me
I walking in beauty from the bottom of my feet
on this Mother Earth to the top of my head
all the way up to the heavens and the universe
All around me I walking in beauty
Therefore I exist in beauty
All is beautiful again
All is beautiful again
All is beautiful again
All is beautiful again

[Source]

Walking In Beauty (Blessing)

Today I will walk out, today everything unnecessary will leave me,
I will be as I was before, I will have a cool breeze over my body.
I will have a light body, I will be happy forever,
nothing will hinder me.
I walk with beauty before me. I walk with beauty behind me.
I walk with beauty below me. I walk with beauty above me.
I walk with beauty around me. My words will be beautiful.

In beauty all day long may I walk.
Through the returning seasons, may I walk.
On the trail marked with pollen may I walk.
With dew about my feet, may I walk.

With beauty before me may I walk.
With beauty behind me may I walk.
With beauty below me may I walk.
With beauty above me may I walk.
With beauty all around me may I walk.

In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk.
In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.
My words will be beautiful.  

[Source]

Earlier this year my Beloved Spousal Unit and I had to move, unexpectedly and within a short time frame. We decided to look for house instead of continuing to rent. After a stressful 2.5 weeks, when we looked at many houses and found the market was decidedly a sellers' market, we found a small 1925-era bungalow we could just afford. 

It had been entirely rehabbed which means we aging types would only need to keep it up rather than do the rehabbing ourselves.  As we frantically downsized, we decided to take advantage of this new opportunity to reshape our daily lives a bit.

Maple in autumn, from my new office window.

We had, packed away, wedding gifts from long ago, artworks we had no place to display, colorful, beautiful things that we loved but rarely used. The phrase go in beauty came to my mind. And the notion that now is all we have.

So we will look to do, be, and walk in beauty.
We will use the beautiful things we have, were given, and have made. 

 We planted an herb garden.

We have made welcoming spaces.

 

 We have welcomed people in and shared food we have all made,

served on our "good" china and our everyday ware.

 

 We've entertained passers-by.

We miss our last home. . .

But we're settling in and it is becoming familiar once again.

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* For more information on Mr. Hillerman and his writing, see The Tony Hillerman Portal, An interactive guide to the author's life and work. A project of the Center for Southwest Research at the University of New Mexico Libraries.

A Hobbitish Affair

If there is one thing my crew is good at it's theme parties -- e.g., Dr. Who (Part 1 and Part 2) and our occasional, friendly wizardish group's gathering. We even have parties for things we may not like. In this instance, it was the last of Peter Jackson's cinema renderings of J.R.R. Tolkien's whimsical book The Hobbit: or There and Back and Again. The "not liking" has to do with a simple, even whimsical tale being transmorgified into a bloated, faux epic.

 

(L) The book I read at age 12.
(R) Movie poster of the latest movie.

It took me years before I would watch Mr. Jackson's The Lord of the Rings. Like many who love the books, I have my own images and ideas of the stories. And since I also was the person who initially processed the original, handwritten LOTR manuscripts for Marquette University's Special Collections and University Archives back in the 1970s, my attachment to the original works by Professor Tolkien runs pretty deep.

When I heard that Mr. Jackson had decided to make three movies out of a slim-volumed tale Tolkien had created as a night-time story for his children, I knew pretty much right away that I wouldn't be seeing them anytime soon.  

But I am a purist, and my aforementioned crew is hardier when it comes to movie adaptations than I. So for each of the 3 movies, we have gathered, hobbit-like, to share much food and much mirth, before those that will head off to the movie theater. This year it was our turn to host the gathering. As it was so close to the December holidays, we made it a combined Christmas and Cinema Party.

Inspired by the presentation approach my brother Architect uses when giving tours of the straw-clay Natural House he designed and built -- which entails posting informative signs throughout the home -- and inspired, too, by the sheer fun of the event, we "decorated" primarily with signs. 

These are the editions I read in high school and college.

The painting on the mantle was done by my sister,
Door County (WI) artist Jan Marie Jablonski.

"Party Tree (Seasonal Variation)"

The wood print behind the tree is
Proud Woman by artist Judith W. Nelson.

Over the entry to the dining room.

There are three pieces of dragon art in the dining room. Obviously only the one in flight could be Smaug!

Those of you familiar with The Lord of the Rings will recall the mithril-edged Doors of Durin that lead into Moria. 

Image source/credit

"Ennyn Durin Aran Moria. Pedo Mellon a Minno. Im Narvi hain echant. Celebrimbor o Eregion teithant i thiw hin."

"The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs."

Our version, leading thru the doors into the kitchen, where the party buffet was laid out, was much more prosaic.

The most grand piece of all was the oil painting of Lorien of Middle Earth by my sister, Door County (WI) artist, Jan Marie Jablonski, gave to my husband and me as a wedding gift. The signage for this echoed the architect's tradition of the truth window.

"A truth window (or truth wall) is an opening in a wall surface, created to reveal the layers or components within the wall. In a strawbale house, a truth window is often used to show the walls are actually made from straw bales. A small section of a wall is left unplastered on the interior, and a frame is used to create a window which shows only straw, which makes up the inside of the wall.M Many designs exist for truth windows. Glass may be placed over the window, or an openable wooden panel, or it may be a simple framed opening." [Wikipedia entry]

In our case, we imagined the window looking into Middle Earth!

The dining table was elegantly dressed.

Included were sparkling (non-alcoholic) wines from the Prancing Pony pub in Bree and . . .

 
. . . wee dragons guarding their golden hoards (chocolate coins) as party favors.

Not even the bathroom was overlooked. Though I confess my inner snark emerged. Fortunately, all guests found it amusing.

The meal itself was potluck: 2 large pots of homemade deliciousness: cream of chicken/wild rice soup and midwestern chili (i.e., not too spicy); a fresh vegetable platter; sourdough and French bread with loads of Wisconsin butter; and West Coast smoked salmon and crackers. The dessert was something special. Asked to bring one of his special fruit pies, Architect -- anticipating another murderous Jacksonian cinematic debacle -- demured saying,

"Methinks that, with the experience that we will face and need to endure, we will require something stronger than mere pie. I'm planning a battle dessert."

Said dessert turned out to be a thoroughly decadent, very rich bittersweet chocolate bread pudding topped with hot butter-whiskey sauce!

Thus fortified with good food and good cheer, the movie-goers departed to meet their fate. Two hours later I texted my sister Cee: "So, how was it?"

"Just got out," she replied, "You know . . . we . . . liked it! General opinion! So surprising! Best of the three somehow. And we were so stoked to hate it [like the others] . . . go figure!"

I'm thinking it was the battle dessert that made the difference.