No Matter What

Posted on May 23, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I can’t quite believe it but the Red Sox have been on a tear since Friday, May 11, 2012.  They’ve won 9 out of 12 games and although I can’t take credit for their success, I was at the game that Friday night and as I’m sure you can imagine, I’ve got a story to tell about it.

It all started on Tuesday, May 8th, when my best Junior League friend called and asked me if I wanted to go to a Red Sox game with her.  I wasn’t interested and I said as much with a blasé “I’ve got so much to do this weekend, I think I’ll pass.”  They’d lost quite a few games since I jinxed them and in spite of a brief turnaround when my friend Margaret reversed the jinx, they’d been playing stinko.

“Where are the tickets?  The State Street Pavilion?” I asked.

There was silence on the other end of the line.  Then I heard my friend say:

“The owner’s box.”

“Oh, that changes everything.  I’m in.”

I felt phony and superficial; I had nothing to say to John Henry or Larry Lucchino.  Why had I been so easily swayed by the prospect of rubbing elbows with them?  It’s not much fun to watch a baseball game from behind glass, either.  In 1989, Red Sox management had created “The 600 Club” which was 600 seats behind glass, just below the press box.  I sat there once and it was sterile and silent.

Nevertheless, I was amped up by the prospect of watching the game with John and Larry and my friend and her 2 daughters.  My friend and I might finally get caught up and there would be free food; maybe some grass-fed beef burgers.

The big day finally arrived after much discussion about what to wear, what to say, and how to navigate the city.  I drove to my friend’s house in Cambridge; there was the game before the game on my friend’s front lawn.  I tried to teach my friend’s three kids everything I knew about “the game.”  It’s amazing how far a person can hit a wiffle ball.

Then we took the subway to the park and joined the throng streaming past the Cask ‘n Flagon towards the “will call” window.  We got our tickets and as it turned out, we were not in the owner’s box.  I was a little deflated, but I didn’t let it show; besides, they were spectacular seats; the best seats ever!  And just like that, we were walking up the ramp towards the field and THE MOMENT.

I had forgotten what it felt like to be at Fenway Park, but at THE MOMENT I felt a little catch in my throat and a tear in my eye.  I remembered how it felt the first time I went to Fenway Park and I knew what it must have felt like to be a Red Sox fan of another era.   It’s a first world phenomenon and if I ever get to my lettuce farm I will be completely content to stay there, but since I’m not there yet, I was happy to have another chance to live in THE MOMENT.

There we were at the game, about 5 rows up from the field.  Everything was so close and I could see Bobby V. when he would stand on the steps of the dugout.  There was Big Papi and Jared Saltalamacchia.  I told my friend’s children he had the longest name in baseball and they were impressed.  I spelled it out for them.

Then we saw a woman wearing a strange foam hat on her head; it was a replica of Fenway Park with little plastic helmets glued on the sides.  She was walking up from the first row and I said “Excuse me, but may I take a picture of you for my blog?”

She said “Sure!”

I snapped her picture and then she and her husband sat down behind us and we started chatting.  Thinking it might be a good blog post, I asked her a few questions, in my best super sleuth mode.  She told me her name was Lynne Smith and she and her husband were season ticket holders.  She’d worn her hat to every game since 1999 and she’d worn it in 23 different ballparks.  The only time she varied her chapeau was on opening day, when she wore her opening day creation.  She said she liked to make people smile.

I asked her what she thought about last year’s implosion, the current troubles, and Bobby V.  She thought for a moment.

“I love the Red Sox no matter what” she said quietly.

Then I asked her the big question.

“Do you have a Red Sox toaster?”

“Of course,” she said.

I started laughing and decided it was more fun to talk baseball with a devoted fan; I dropped the interview schtick.

My friend’s children were getting bored; baseball is a complicated game when you’re young.  Lynne said to them “would you like to go and sit on the Green Monster?”  The prospect of a walk around the park perked them up and then Lynne asked if I wanted to go too.

Well, sure!

We got up and headed through the aisles; a new kind of MOMENT began.  Lynne was well-known at Fenway and everyone was high-fiving her.  Every time someone would high-five her, I would also get a high-five.  It was like being in a rock star’s entourage.  We went up to the State Street Pavilion and the luxury box area and Lynne knew all the security personnel.  She asked about their children, their grandchildren, and their puppies, leaving a trail of smiles and laughter in her wake.  The next thing I knew, we were sitting on the Green Monster for the 5th inning.  We were Red Sox rock stars!

We couldn’t stay there forever, so we made our way back to our seats just in time for the 7th inning stretch.  I sang along to “Take me out to the ball game” and then in the 8th inning, I was singing “Sweet Caroline” at the top of my lungs.  Like a rock star.

We ended up staying for the entire game, which ended perfectly when Johnny Damon hit a fly ball to center field for the last out.  Red Sox 7, Indians 5.

I can’t wait to tell this story to Margaret.  She’ll be happy to know there is someone else with a Red Sox toaster who loves the Red Sox no matter what, just like she does.  It’s been my experience that people who love things no matter what are usually pretty generous with their love; I’m glad I’ve known a few of them in my life.

Sometimes loving other people no matter what is all you can do.  I’m going to keep trying to do that.  You try too.

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Chive Cheerleaders

Posted on May 22, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Chives are funny little perennial herbs.  They were the first signs of life at The Hampton Victory Garden this winter, remember?  It’s hard to believe, but the green part of the chive plant has now grown up and the chives are in bloom.  They’re rooting for us gardeners and farmers, like cheerleaders shaking purple pom poms, shouting “grow your food, grow your food.”

When I finally shake the dust off my Jack Rogers sandals and move to a more permanent location where I can have a chicken coop (instead of living in one) I’m going to plant chives for a perennial border; they’re pretty and practical.  Until then, here are three things I’m going to do with the chive flowers which are abundantly cheering me on in the garden:

First, I’m going to take some chive flowers and place them in a glass jar with plain vinegar.  Voila!  I’ll have purple chive vinegar to remind me of summer in the dead of winter.

Then, I’m going to use a few chive flowers to garnish my salads this week.  Sure, no one will see them, but they will be a happy reminder of the garden when I’m slogging away in my cubicle.

Finally, I’m going to make some “Chive Blossom Butter.”  There are lots of different recipes for this on the internet; feel free to use a search engine to find one you like or do it this way–pick the petals off 3 or 4 chive blossoms; mix them into a softened stick of unsalted butter with ½ teaspoon of sea salt or kosher salt.  Whip them with a knife until well-combined and then roll the butter mix into a log on a piece of wax or parchment paper.  Keep this butter log in the refrigerator or freezer until ready to use; then slice it disc-like onto baked potatoes, steamed vegetables, or pasta.

Now, if I just had a little moo cow so I could make my own butter.  Remember, impossible things are happening every day.

What are you doing with your chives right now?

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Crazy For Carrots

Posted on May 21, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I love local food.  Some people might call me a locavore.  I’m not a member of the slow food movement per se, but I think smaller and closer is better when it comes to the foods I eat.  I try to eat food in season from local sources.  Certain items may never grow in New England, like coffee beans and Dorito trees; I’m eating and drinking less of the things I can’t find here.  I’m not militant about it and I don’t ostracize people who eat kiwi fruit and strawberries on their Special K cereal in the dead of winter.  It’s still a free country, after all.  I don’t have to be a jerk just because I want to eat an apple from my neighbor and you don’t.

One of my favorite local vegetables is the carrot.  I’m trying to grow some carrots and it’s been slow going.  I don’t really know what I’m doing when it comes to carrots and I think I may have better luck with a fall crop.  Carrots store well, though, and because of this, local farmers always seem to have carrots at winter market.  John Wakefield, from Shagbark Farm in Rochester, NH grows a lot of carrots in low tunnels.  I’m sure he gets tired of all the questions I ask him about this, but he always makes time for just one more.

Lately, though, there haven’t been many carrots around.  Remember, food has to grow and growth takes time.  We might be “in between carrots” right now.  Imagine my surprise when I stopped in to pick up my half-share at Little Ridge Farm and there was a big container full of carrots!  I took as many as I could without being a carrot hog.

I put all my vegetable in the cooler with the exception of one carrot; I took a bite of it as I drove up the Gould Road.  Words fail to express the fresh and sweet qualities of that carrot.  Let’s just say I had to wipe away a few tears as I crunched.  Viva la carotte!  (That’s French for “long live the carrot.”)

What local vegetables are you eating right now?

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Pleasant Street

Posted on May 20, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

There was a book that came out in 1990 called “14,000 things to be happy about.”  I still have it.  It was like a little Bible of interesting words and phrases, all chosen to evoke happiness.  I bought it because I like words, combinations of words, and the sounds of words.  I like the dictionary, too.

The author has a website; you can find it easily through the magic of the internet.

One of my favorite word combinations is “Pleasant Street.”  The garden I share with my Uncle Bob is on Pleasant Street and quite a few wonderful people live or have lived on that same street.  If I have a choice between Pleasant and Plummer Streets, I usually choose Pleasant, although Margaret (our 92-year-old Red Sox fan and former Sunday paper customer) lives on Plummer.  Usually, I take Pleasant Street on my way to the library and Plummer Street on my way home and I wave to Margaret if she’s on the porch.

Last summer, I found a Pleasant Street sign at a flea market; I bought it and put it in the garden last weekend.  I didn’t tell Uncle Bob and I assume he will make some smart-aleck comment to me about it soon enough.

Yesterday, I parked on a Pleasant Street in another town.

Pleasant Street is everywhere; sometimes it’s a state of mind.  Until I can make my way home to Pleasant Street, I am going to rest at the one in my mind today.

You rest too.

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Friday Pillow Talk – Tea For Tomatoes

Posted on May 18, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

A lot of things conspired to disturb my peace and my sleep this week.  It started on Tuesday night when I was walking to the laundry room here at the Chicken Coop Condo Complex.  It was dark, I was carrying an oversized L.L. Bean Boat and Tote bag full of towels, and I tripped over something.  Fortunately, I didn’t fall flat on my face, but I dropped the towels and almost twisted my ankle.  I bent over to pick up the tote and noticed the culprit that had tripped me up.  Why was a garden hose running across the parking lot?

Why?

To fill up the See Mint pond with water, that’s why!

I’ve never discussed my feelings about the See Mint pond, but let’s just say it’s not my favorite aspect of Coop Complex living.  It’s an expensive seasonal item and it seems superfluous when the Atlantic Ocean is 200 yards away.  Oh, wait…the ocean is too cold.  Let’s argue about heating the See Mint pond at Coop Complex annual meetings for 30 years until the “heater” faction finally burns out the “frugal” faction and the frugals give in.  When this happened a few years ago, I made a vow.  I would never swim in the See Mint pond.  I wouldn’t tell anyone; I would just boycott the See Mint pond.

Now you know how I feel about the See Mint pond.

It’s possible it was my little evening “trip” that messed up my sleep last night.  It might also be the fact that two different people have asked me to write about ticks and I don’t want to.  The more people talk about ticks, the more my skin starts to crawl.  Do I worry about ticks?  Sure.  I just can’t let it keep me in the Coop.  So I’m careful; I spray DEET bug spray on my pants and I put a bandanna over my hair.  I examine myself closely when I come in from the outside.  I run a fine-tooth comb through my hair.  I’ve found a few wood ticks on me this year, but I can’t let it bring me down.  It might mess up my sleep, but keep me inside?  Never.

Then, there are my tomatoes.  I have 30 tomato plants I started from seed in March.  OF COURSE I started them too early!  OF COURSE they’re getting tall and scraggly.  “Leggy” is a word best used for supermodels, not tomatoes.  The plants will be fine once I can plant them; I will bury a good part of their “legs” in the ground and no one will know they looked like circus freaks in their final weeks at the Coop.  Still, I’m anxious to get them in the ground.

All these thoughts were swirling around my head last night when I finally drifted off into a light and troubled sleep.  Thankfully, I didn’t dream of drowning in the See Mint pond or fighting with my neighbors over a deck chair.  What I dreamed about was tomato plants.  Tall, silent tomato plants with eyes on their top leaves.  In my dream, I was sleeping in my bed and the tomato plants were all huddled around my living room coffee table, staring at me through the bedroom door.  They didn’t say anything.  They just stared at me.  There was a low hum coming from somewhere outside the Coop, like the sound of the See Mint pond heater.

I tossed and turned in my dream, trying to figure out what those sphinxlike tomatoes wanted.  It was a mystery I couldn’t solve.  I woke up with a shudder to the sounds of WEEI’s Dennis & Callahan on the radio and bolted up in bed to see if those tomato plants were still staring at me.

It’s possible that there was some simple kindness I had not given them in my dream.  Maybe it was ticky tacky for me not to offer them a snack, a beverage, or a cigarette.  All I know is that the next time those skinny staring circus freaks turn up in my dream, I’m going to ask them if they want a cup of tea.

They don’t call me Aunt Tomato for nothing.

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Potato Blosson Festival

Posted on May 17, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

This is the first of my 12 little seed potatoes to sprout.  They weighed about one pound in total before planting.  A farmer I know has 500 pounds of potatoes to plant.  He clearly knows what he’s doing.

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The Appendix Jinx

Posted on May 16, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Before I worked at my current Big Corporation, I worked at another Big Corporation seven miles up the road.  My “cube” neighbor was a lot of fun; it wasn’t my favorite job, but having a good “cube” neighbor helped.  During the course of time I spent at the Big Corporation seven miles up the road, we laughed a lot and did all the things “cube” neighbors do.  We shared a love of Eighties music and the previous Big Corporation we had both worked at fifty miles up the road.  When she was hospitalized with an emergency appendectomy, I covered her desk, visited her, and visited her dog.  She had some post-operative complications and she was sick for longer than usual; I made her some meals, including Southern Living‘s Macaroni & Cheese.  She recovered.

We’ve lost touch now; I trust she is doing well and thriving without her appendix.

Yesterday, I found out my “cube” neighbor and friend, Lee-Annie Leonie, was hospitalized for an emergency appendectomy.  Lee-Annie is a little like my old “cube” neighbor from the Big Corporation seven miles up the road.  I don’t know if she likes Eighties music, but she’s good about remembering people’s birthdays, organizing baby showers, and cheering people up on a bad “cube” day.  She’s thoroughly modern, but there’s something sweet and old-fashioned about her.  She’s a good neighbor.

Truth be told, she had to move to a new “cube” neighborhood last week and I got a new “cube” neighbor who is also perfectly lovely; she’s just not Lee-Annie.  I had just sent Lee-Annie an e-mail to discuss the latest birthday party plans when I found out about the busted appendix.  I chatted with some of my other “cube” neighbors; should we send flowers?    Apparently, the appendectomy procedure is quite simple these days and she’ll probably be resting comfortably at home by the time she reads this blog post; here are some flowers that will last until she gets there.

It’s possible she will only be out of work for a few weeks.  Let’s hope so.  And let’s hope I’m not an appendix jinx.

Have you checked on your neighbors today? 

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Green(s) Day

Posted on May 15, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my sad duty to inform you that the Boston Celtics lost in game 2 of the NBA’s Eastern Conference Semifinals series last night.  This eliminates several interesting word plays using the words “green” and “greens.”  Besides, I’m more of an observer than a true fanatic when it comes to the Boston Celtics; and I’m late to that game too.  Therefore, I will have to go it alone, without any help from the TD Big Corporation Garden.

In each of my “Little Human Being” gardens, I grow lettuce.  Lettuce is one of the easiest things I’ve ever grown and I can’t imagine why everyone with a little sunlight in their yard (or patio or roof) is not growing a bit of lettuce.  Lettuce can be grown in the ground; lettuce can be grown in a bucket.  Farmers here in New England grow lettuce year round.

There is no reason for me to buy tasteless lettuce from California, Florida, or Texas (no disrespect, Texas) when I can grow it myself or buy it locally.  Today, I’m going to eat a salad from lettuce I planted on April 1, 2012.

Spinach (Spinacia oleracea) courtesy of Seed Savers Exchange, Ovations Greens Mix, courtesy of Johnny’s Selected Seeds.

A little truth here; growing lettuce will take longer than 48 minutes.  Most lettuces take 7 – 10 days to germinate and then 21 days to harvest.  Some people don’t want to wait.  If you have a little patience and a little sun, I promise you won’t be disappointed when you eat a plate of greens you grew yourself.

Don’t say “no, I can’t” or “no, I won’t.”

Say “I’ll think about it.”  Go Green!

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Herman’s Hammer

Posted on May 14, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

A few years ago, a country AND western singer recorded a song called “The House That Built Me” and sometimes I would hear it and be all “boo hoo; that is a sad song.”  (Why are country AND western songs like that?)  I never downloaded it and now when I hear it, I am not so “boo hoo.”  I’m over it.

About a month ago, my father and I were doing a project in his workshop (some hair-brained garden “craft project” I had cooked up in my head) and I noticed he had written something on his old hammer.

I said “what is this?”

He said “that is the hammer I built the house with.”

He went on to tell me how he and his father cut the trees which became the beams and boards of the little house I’ve called “home” for almost 48 years.  I’ve heard this story before, but the writing on the hammer is new.

Our house isn’t a big house and it doesn’t have a giant yard.  It was just right for us then and it is just right for us now.  It’s solid; my father takes good care of it.  He’s always done his best to take good care of us, too, and even though I’m all “grown up,” he’s still fixing things for me.

There is a tendency when writing in a public forum, to sugar-coat things into neat little word packages.  I’d be lying if I said I have always gotten along with my father.  We’re both pretty stubborn and sometimes we have quick tempers.  I don’t agree with everything he says.  He doesn’t like it when I “boo hoo” about things; he’s pretty tough.  One time he wrestled a porcupine over on The Farm and won.

Somewhere along the line, my heart was changed and I learned to honor my father and treat him with the respect he is due.  I don’t know why it took me so long; it’s not like I had a bad example.  I never once in my life heard or saw my father disrespect his own father.

My father turns 79 today.

Happy birthday, Dad, and thanks for hammering away at it all these years.

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Opening Day

Posted on May 13, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Yes, I know it’s Mother’s Day; everyone will be blogging about Mother’s Day today.  Since she has agreed to be mentioned on this blog, my mother makes regular dramatic appearances.  I’m grateful for her influence in my life.  Thank you, Mom.

I’m equally excited about the fact that yesterday was Opening Day of Lawn Chair Season.

Most likely, I will spend a few minutes in one of these chairs with my mother today because it’s Sunday and it’s Lawn Chair Season.

It’s also round two of lilac time.  It doesn’t get much better than this.

Find your lawn chair and rest today.  My mother would want you to.

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