Grandson Nathaniel’s vacation project was baking a Black Forest Cake. He had prepared one at home and agreed to do another for GP (the boys’ favorite text name for Grandpa). We watched, licked pans and bowls, and waited patiently for the ceremonial cutting.
He baked the layers on Monday, soaked the cherries on Tuesday, and put the finishing touches on the cake on Wednesday. Before you read any more, you need to know that he cleaned up all his utensils every time he was in the kitchen. Every time!
After the first layer was on the stand, he added cherries and the filling.
Next came the second layer with more cherries and filling.
Whipped cream frosting covered the whole cake.
The finishing touches included piped borders and miniature chocolate chips. What patience it took to place every chip where he wanted it!
The toy camera was still in my hand when Nathaniel took his own photos of the finished product.
And the taste? Simply marvelous! A sharper knife would have cut cleaner slices, but at that point we didn’t care what it looked like. We wallowed in chocolate, cream, and drunken cherries. Hail to the chef!!!
Nathaniel joined us for our daily walk to the creek. He always gets up very early for school, so it wasn’t a stretch for him. It’s traditional for the toy camera to record the event, at least the first time of a particular visit. The fellows were bundled up, since the temperature was slightly below freezing when we set out.
After our grandson said he had made a Black Forest Cake at home, John hinted he wouldn’t mind if he made one at our house. I went in the kitchen with him to make sure he could find everything he needed. I said, “I’ll sit here and read the newspaper, so I’ll be close if you need anything. I know not to talk while people work in the kitchen.”
That’s when I found out the difference between a home cook and a chef. I can’t do two things at once, so if people talk to me while I’m cooking, everything comes to a halt until the conversation is over. Not so with Nathaniel. He said, “It doesn’t bother me if you talk. I work in a noisy kitchen all the time.”
Nate asked a question, and I was fine until I turned to reply. I burst out laughing, not being able to talk to someone who looked like he was wearing dangling earrings, swinging wildly. His phone was in the pocket of the apron because he was listening to music as he worked. I had permission to video a reenactment.
Lunch was a family affair. John started the charcoal fire, and Nathaniel cooked the meat while I cleaned off the table. This was the first time this year for us to eat on the screened porch. Usually we work up to it gradually, going outside and wearing heavy sweaters when it is really too chilly to be outside. We left the kitchen door open, because it was warmer outside than in. Despite the reality of the weather, Nathaniel will still be praying for snow.
I was surprised to find myself intimidated by the New York chef in my kitchen. If he had been cooking alone, I would simply have left him to get the job done. As it was, the menu was mine, and I had to cook beside him. Granted, I had more experience than he did, but he had standards and techniques above mine.
The chef was none other than grandson Nathaniel (17). Why, you want to know, was he wearing his full uniform? It’s because that’s what he was wearing when he came home from school Friday afternoon. He has academics in the morning and attends classes for culinary arts in the afternoon. He had half an hour to pack after coming home on the bus, and John picked him up for the long drive to North Carolina. Driving through the night, they arrived here at 11:30 Saturday morning. As soon as they came in the house, I admired the checkered pants and white jacket. Nathaniel put on the apron, still sporting a bit of tomato soup on the front. For the full effect, he donned the hat, as well.
We sat down to visit until time to cook our main meal, and he offered to help. I was thrilled to accept such assistance, but the balance had changed in a subtle way. I was aware that he wouldn’t cook with dull knives or Teflon pans. He is learning to present dishes with flair for eye appeal, and he is a purist at heart. He chopped the onion, celery, and green pepper for the fried rice while I cooked the broccoli and salmon. I set the table and got out serving dishes as he finished cooking the rice and the Hollandaise sauce. We had no garnishes on the plates, but we enjoyed our meal with conversation and laughter. What more could you want?
As accidents go, this one was far overdue. I am more likely to make a mess in the kitchen than anywhere else, and I haven’t had a spectacular disaster in a long time. I was carrying a loaded coffee filter toward the brewer. How it jumped out of my hand, I’ll never know. Dry coffee exploded over the floor, with deep brown particles skittering everywhere. The dust buster cleaned it up within minutes. Now when I turn on the little machine for a quick pickup, residue of Dutch chocolate coffee perfumes the air around it. It was almost, ALMOST, enough to make me want to clean.
My intention was to bake something a day ahead for Valentine’s Day. Not wanting to start something I couldn’t finish, I waited for John to unload the china cabinet from the car so that I could go shopping. While I was waiting, I began to clean. I vacuumed our bedroom, swapped computer desks, organized some papers, and deflated the balance ball that slammed me ignominiously to the floor a few months ago. He was still sitting in his chair. I emptied the vacuum and vigorously used it on the two other bedroom carpets. The background information is that I loathe cleaning. It’s like erasing a blackboard. You get it clean, and there will be only a few moments before you or someone else messes it up. John hadn’t moved in his desk chair. I refilled the humidifiers and the fountain. If he had moved, I couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem to be dead. By this time, it was time to start lunch. After our meal together, I checked my email and took a half-hour nap. When I woke up, John was gone, having left a note that he would be back by 5:45. I saw that the cabinet had been moved into the living room. While I was snoozing, neighbor Bob helped John carry it into the house.
John, bless his heart, came back with a lovely plant and a helium balloon. He knew I preferred plants to cut flowers. If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, the way to my heart is with a balloon. Yes, John is a keeper.
It turned out that I misunderstood what he said. He didn’t want that delicate piece of furniture to ride up to New York and back for his lightning trip at the end of the week, not that we shouldn’t use the car until he had unloaded it.
After his explanation, I said, “You know I don’t like to clean the house, but that’s what I was doing while waiting for you. When you have a moment, you might tour the north wing to appreciate the clean carpets that are my Valentine to you. I’m fairly sure this would be more pleasing than a fancy card.”
By the look on his face, he might have quibbled with that. He enjoys commercial cards, whereas I generally have no use for them. I might need to rethink this card thing.
I started a coffeecake for John before noon, and it was finally ready at 6. I suspect the aroma lasted longer than the bread will.
We drove about three hours to visit brother Bob, wife Beth, and daughter Julie. We made a quick visit to Costco, that being the closest one in North Carolina to us. We didn’t have a list, so we were going to walk through the huge store and pick up whatever we saw that we needed. You wouldn’t believe how quickly they marched through that place. They all have longer legs and bigger strides than I do, so I didn’t have time to begin to want anything before they jumped in the checkout line! I was too out of breath to complain. If I didn’t know better, I’d think John planned it to save money.
Because of Julie’s work schedule, Beth cooked dinner for us so we that could relax and eat together. For someone who doesn’t particularly like to cook, Beth puts a marvelous meal on the table. We enjoyed that and each other until bedtime. I didn’t think of getting a family photo at that time.
The next day Bob and I had a chance to play together, he on the French horn and I on the piano. He plays trombone with three groups in town, but he has been learning the horn for a year or so. John and I were amazed at how good he sounds now. I was most impressed that he picked out hymns to play and transposed them in his head. I couldn’t transpose up or down one step on the piano.
John and Bob loaded an heirloom china cabinet into the van, and we ate at a local barbecue place that they think is the best in their area. We don’t know what the others are like, but this one was superb. Julie wasn’t able to join us, so I missed catching her with the toy camera.
John, Beth, and Bob at the BBQ restaurant
You might see from the photo that this restaurant was very casual, as are all authentic barbecue places. The food was served in a plastic basket lined with paper. We were given cutlery wrapped in a paper napkin, but that wouldn’t be enough for the messy meals they serve. A paper towel holder was installed at every table with a holder above for the sauces. Bob and I needed the towels, but I think John and Beth were cleaner eaters.
Logan came bouncing in the front door, eager to give John a big red paper heart and a Valentine card he’d made himself. John found out he wanted to play on the computer first, and after that they read a book. It wasn’t until after he left that John and I realized he had included a “thank you” with every single request. That might not have been true a week or so ago. Shawn and Bob have worked on his manners, and suddenly they seemed automatic.
Several weeks ago John told me of a very interesting radio interview. He didn’t hear the beginning or the ending, so he doesn’t know who was talking. The subject of that segment was why you call your children by the wrong name. It seems people file names in folders in the brain. There are folders for coworkers, friends, family, etc. When you are calling your child by name, you go to the family folder, but you might come up with a sibling’s name. Once in a while you get your folders mixed, and that’s why you might say the dog’s name instead of your child. However, you never call a child by the cat’s name. It doesn’t seem politically correct, but that’s what the person said.
I was glad John shared that interview with me. I was really taken by surprise when I heard John stumble and call Logan by grandson Nathaniel’s name. What do you make of that? Could there be a grandchild folder? If so, Logan may have slipped in there. Just for the record, we are available for adoption. If anyone wants to adopt us as grandparents, you know where to find us.
We don’t get much snow in North Carolina, so we celebrate it when we do. Even though there was snow in the forecast, pessimistic me didn’t think it would materialize. I was excited to find the ground white when I woke up, so we took our walk to the creek. Perhaps it wouldn’t even be considered a flurry, but snow meandered down that full hour. It was doing its best, despite blue skies nudging it. The photo shows our view as we headed up the street. We wondered if Logan would have school, and his family car driving by told us he was.
The ones not going to classes were grandsons David and Nathaniel in New York. David is north of the city, and Nathaniel is on Long Island. Both responded to my tentative texts. I didn’t want to wake them and figured they could sleep through a text notification. Both knew when they went to sleep last night (OK, maybe in the wee hours of this morning) that school was canceled for the blizzard today.
I laughed at the messages between David and me. It’s much quicker to dictate a text than tap it out, but our phones don’t always understand us.
I spoke, and the phone wrote, “We walked to the creek and head in Maryland for breakfast.”
What? I was telling him we ate Egg MacMehrling. That’s a takeoff of a McDonald meal, putting an egg, cheese, and bacon on an English muffin.
My phone recorded, “I slept off the deck…”
Was I asleep when hanging off the deck?? No, I swept it.
I wrote that I loved him, and David’s phone said, “I love you kits too.”
That would have been appropriate for some of my family and friends who have cats. Kits should have been lots.
I haven’t heard back from daughter Kate in New Jersey. We hope none of our northern friends lose power in the storm.
The photo below was taken exactly four years ago, showing John shoveling after Nate’s blizzard. That was the year we had about 31 inches of snow on Nathaniel’s birthday. The boy admitted to praying for snow, so John accused him ever after of praying for an inch, but doing it 31 times. We had fun being snowbound with our grandson. As it turned out, he might have been better off at his home. His dad lost power for an hour or so, but nothing like the eight days we were marooned in a cold house. Our memories are warm, even if the event was cold.
Neighbor Shawn recovered from both her total knee replacements quickly and returned the cane I had loaned her. It had been my dress-up cane in 2012, the one I bought when I thought I’d never walk normally again. I never gave it a strenuous workout. Shawn probably didn’t either, since she had a fast recovery. As I was leaving her house, she searched behind some coats and handed it to me with pretty words of thanks. With such a send-off, the cane seemed to come to life and wanted to be useful. Why not? It was a short walk across the street. I had to decide which hand to use. For those who have never used a cane, you need to know that a cane should be opposite the leg that needs support. In my case, the right leg is not as strong as the left, so I put the cane in my left hand.
Their wide, shallow steps were user friendly last week – with the cane, not so much. To avoid falling, I held it up on the last two steps. On level ground, or as level as you have in the mountains, I strode off down the stone-paved walkway. The cane seemed to lag behind. Once on the street and my driveway, it must have put on the brakes. What a stubborn little cuss it was! For some reason it deigned to help me up the stairs into the house, but I quickly propped it against a table and turned the camera on it. After that I stowed it in the umbrella stand before it could reach out and do damage. Maybe in a week I’ll pet it to show it a little love and kindness.
Here in the mountains, it’s good to be alert at sunrise and sunset. The sky can change in an instant, and you don’t have much time to record it before it is gone again. I stood and watched the one below for a minute or so before the sun moved on. I moved, too, walking to the creek in 58 degree weather. The wind would have done March proud. It was both gusty and gutsy.
I recently had a wellness visit with my primary care physician, something promoted and paid for by Medicare. I filled out standard forms, and so did the PA and doctor.
PA Kayla said, “I’m going to give you a list of three items to remember, and I’m going to ask you to draw a clock face on this paper to show 7:10. The words are table, pen, and apple.”
Before I could panic, I asked Kayla to spell pen. Growing up in West Tennessee, I cannot hear the different between pin and pen. I can understand and pronounce disk and desk, but not the other two. I’m disabled when it comes to tin and ten, too.
How hard could it be to remember three items? If they gave me only three, it must be fairly difficult. I put a table in my memory and placed the pen and apple on it. After drawing the clock, I successfully listed the three items. Now, a week later almost to the hour, those three items are still cluttering up my memory. It’s almost as bad as having an ear worm (a song that keeps repeating in your head).
I told John about the memory test and pointed out that my memory is still good. We laughed about the grocery list. During the week before the doctor’s visit, I picked up the grocery list on the way out the door. After doing a couple of errands, we drove to the supermarket. The list was missing, later found stuck to newspapers I’d thrown in the recycle bin. He handed me a piece of scrap paper from his pocket, and I wrote down the ten items I could remember. After recovering the original list, we found we had bought everything on it. Now that’s what I call a victorious Senior Moment!
I walked alone to the creek, having a nice chat with Marla on the way and a short one with neighbor Dawn on the way back. John was attending a funeral on Long Island. Attached is a photo taken on the steep part of Qualla Road. It’s quite deceptive, looking like an ordinary country lane meandering through the trees. I was panting when I came back and wouldn’t have thought to turn around to look at the view, thinking it enough that I made it to the top without falling out. Anyway, the sun was shining on Purchase Knob with the mountains behind me casting a shadow on the scene. This is a winter view, one that you wouldn’t see when the leaves are on the trees.
Note to khof and Dritter: you should have gotten an email notice about this post. Of course, if you didn’t, you won’t see this note.
My name is Suki, my human is a writer, and this is about my world. The world according to Suki The Cat. My humans smell funny, look weird, and I can't understand a thing they say, but they feed me, so hey, what are you gonna do?
Mehrling Muse 