Go, Johnny, Go!

Posted on February 9, 2015 by Julie-Ann Baumer

When I moved home to Maine, I knew things were going to be different.  It was three hours to Boston instead of one.  Sure, there was Portland! Portland! Portland!  But life north of Maine’s premier city is simpler and I knew there might come a day when I’d be wandering around Food City, searching in vain for a jar of Keillor’s Dundee orange marmalade.  Maybe I’d make it to a few semi-pro hockey games at the Lewiston Colisée, but I never imagined I would end up there on a Saturday night watching a “Mixed Martial Arts” fight.

Saturday night was actually my second MMA fight.  My Moxie BFF, Gina Crafts Mason, had invited me to go last year around this time and I went, thinking it might be like a boxing match I’d seen in an old black and white movie.  You know, men wearing dapper grey fedoras and smoking cigars, women in mink coats stepping out of limousines.  Nope, not like that at all.  It’s a popular event, though, and I found myself stalled in the quarter-mile of traffic snaking its way towards the Colisée.

Ten bucks to park?  Full house, baybee.

Mixed martial arts, for someone who’s never spent much time in a gym, gone to a wrestling match, or taken karate, is odd to watch.  I don’t understand the rules and sometimes the fight ends in three seconds; sometimes it goes a full three rounds with someone getting punched in the head numerous times.

So why go?

The truth is, Gina’s nephew, Johnny Crafts, is a pretty awesome amateur fighter. He won his bout last year and this year, he was part of the promotional bill.

New-Blood-box(That’s Johnny, on the lower right.)

So I went.  And Johnny won again.

You can read the whole story here.  Sports reporter Kalle Oakes did a great job of covering the fights on Twitter as well as writing this piece for the local paper.  I was amped up when I got home, so I read a book before I finally drifted off and was sleeping peacefully.  I might have been dreaming about the fights…until I heard a loud bang and a low rumble outside the house.

Woken by the snow plow!  We might not have Scottish marmalade at the Food City, but we’ve got plenty of snow here in Maine and I think we’re in the middle of a slow-moving three-day storm.  Who needs an alarm clock?

I’m going out to punch and kick that stuff around!  Cage fighting might not be my favorite sport, but I know how to put the snow in a choke hold.

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Oh My Papa!

Posted on February 6, 2015 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Back in the days when I lived in my chicken coop-sized condominium, I spent a lot of weekends at the Motel Four.  That’s what I affectionately called the little house I grew up in.  Spring and summer Saturdays were for gardening and on Sundays I might grab 40 winks on a lawn chair beneath the beautiful trees before jumping in my car and heading back to the New Hampshire coop.

It was a relaxing ritual; my father would bring his transistor radio out and he’d tune in to WJTO in Bath, Maine.  It’s an oldies station, playing sometimes very rare oldies.

One summer Sunday, Herman tuned in WJTO and we were all kind of drifting off in our lawn chair hypnosis when Eddie Fisher’s voice came over the airwaves, singing “Oh My Papa.”  My mother stirred in her chair and said “I haven’t heard that song in a long time.”  I’m not sure why, but we all laughed.  Then we went back to our drifting.

I suppose it might have been funnier if Helen had said something like “That song is so patriarchal.  Turn that crap off.”

Well…that’s not generally how things roll during lawn chair season under the beautiful trees.

I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about words being “patriarchal” or “matriarchal.”  That’s why I was a bit taken aback the other night during my conversational French class.  The instructor was explaining how French nouns are either masculine or feminine and the article used with them must agree.  Here’s an easy example.  The word “boy” is masculine.  “Garçon.”  The masculine form of the article for “the” is “le.”  Therefore, if you want to say “the boy” in French, you say “le garçon.”  Using our Eddie Fisher song, it would be “Oh Mon Père.”

It can be confusing.

And it must have been confusing during the class because as the instructor was writing out examples, she seemed uncomfortable explaining that certain words were masculine and certain words were feminine, like “the baby.”  It’s masculine, even if the baby one is looking at is a girl.

That’s just how it is.

The instructor, a perfectly lovely person, did not say “it is what it is.”  She said “well, French is a patriarchal language.”

I let that sink in for a minute and then scribbled a few words I no longer remember on a scrap of paper.  The lesson continued and another uncomfortable masculine example materialized.  Again, the instructor said “well, French is a patriarchal language.”  And she further told us that French feminist linguists are working to change that.

Oh my papa!

Moi?  I just want to learn to speak French fluently, so I can speak to French Canadians living in my midst.  Maybe volunteer in a nursing home or something and speak to them in their own patriarchal language.  Hear their stories.  For posterity, patriarchal or matriarchal.  I don’t like controversy and I’m not offended that a monkey is masculine (le singe)  but a fly is feminine (la mouche).

When I am confronted in these moments of uncomfortable consternation, like the crosswalk conflict and now the patriarchal problem, I let things percolate in my brain for a bit and then they usually arrange themselves into a blog post.  I don’t like conflict here on the blog and I’ll probably never write another post about patriarchy.

Non.

I’ve been thinking of writing a series of posts about cake.  Making cakes, frosting cakes, and inviting people over to cake salon.  (“Salon,” I’m afraid to say is masculine… le salon.)  I will not be writing letters to the Académie francaise, requesting a redress of the language.

Just making cakes.

Cake

Maybe I’ll invite blog readers to cake salon.

Watch for it!

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Frosted Brownies…Why Not?

Posted on February 5, 2015 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I overcooked them.  Then I put a little Moxie simple syrup in the frosting.  Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about a new idea that’s drifting around in the mental membranes, related to brownies and frosting.

Let Them Eat Brownies!And yes…it’s snowing again today.

J’aime la neige!

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Snow Forts and Grey Gardens

Posted on February 2, 2015 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I started today’s post during the Super Bowl commercials, watching them at my parents’ house.  We’d just had our annual Super Bowl pizza, half pepperoni and half ham.  When you’ve lived as long as I have without a Tee Vee, the commercials are surreal and even other-worldly.  Not a heavenly kind of other-worldliness, either.  More like “is this the Apocalypse?”  But my rants about 30 and 60 second marketing messages masquerading as entertainment aren’t why most people visit my blog.

Saturday was the first day I felt “well.”  Thank you to everyone who sent me “get well” wishes and health suggestions here on the blog or privately.  It feels very good to be better, although I think I lost two weeks of my private life.  I used the energy I had each day to shuffle up to my office and do my pay job.  Happily, Monsieur DeeHan found someone to plow my driveway during Monday’s blizzard and I was able to shovel the foot of snow we got on Friday.  The “Maine Work Out.”

On Sunday morning, I snowshoed around the back yard and sunk into the snow about a foot before reaching “equilibrium.”  It’s just a good old-fashioned winter; another foot of snow is predicted for later today.

While I was sick a famous blogger decided to stop blogging.  One of the things he said in his farewell to his readers was “I am saturated in digital life and I want to return to the actual world again.”  This struck a chord with me and I started thinking about the amount of time I spend in the digital world.  Reading e-mails, scanning Twitter, and reading blogs.  It’s time-consuming.  It’s tiring.  Sometimes, it’s disquieting because I’m reading about controversies that I can’t fix.  I want to be informed, I want to share information.  But mostly, I want to live a real life and encourage others to do the same.  Sometimes, staring at a screen makes my eyes, mind, and heart hurt.

Snow FortI noticed not one but two snow forts in town this week.  Saturday, I crawled into the one in the picture and took a look around.  Not too shabby.  The real world is like that sometimes.  I’m glad there are still a few children around who know how to dig in and enjoy the snow.

I’ve got a new old secret weapon for today’s snow which hasn’t yet begun to fall.

Snow ScoopBefore there were Super Bowl commercials, half-time shows, and reality television, there were reclusive socialites living with cats in dilapidated East Hampton estates.  The “real world” is sometimes stranger than anything on Tee Vee.  If you’re in this part of Maine this week, it’s possible to see the talented Monmouth Community Players present the lives of Big Edie and Little Edie Beale in song.  If you’re not familiar with Mrs. Onassis’s relatives, you can read about them here.  And then go to the historic theatre at Cumston Hall in Monmouth.  It’s a full package of songs, sadness, and strangely sympathetic characters.

It’s a Monday in Maine.  Lots of life to live today.  Now go put down your device and live it.

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Still Stricken

Posted on January 26, 2015 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Let’s meet here again after the Super Bowl.  I’m still sick and I’ve got nothing to add to the internet right now.

StrickenThanks for your warm wishes!

Posted in Experiments and Challenges | Tagged | 3 Comments

Take Mom’s Advice

Posted on January 23, 2015 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I’m still sick.  I drafted a blog post last night while I was waiting for my cold medicine to kick in, but it was ugly and snarky.  It was all about…Ballghazi.

I tucked myself in next to the vaporizer and slept fitfully until I had a dream about bad customer service at TD Bank.  What is wrong with me?  Why do I expect there would be such a thing as good customer service at a giant bank?  And speaking of Ballghazi, when have you ever seen a pack of poodles, also known as “journalists,” pursue bankers as ferociously as they pursued Bill Belichick and Tom Brady yesterday, nipping at their heels with stupid questions?

Never.

So I’m going to “take Mom’s advice” and rest today.  Try to drink a lot of fluids.  And think about something peaceful, orderly, and calming, like pinch-pleated draperies.

Pinch Pleated DraperiesBill and Tom are grown men; they don’t need my assistance to defend their honor.  They’ll do just fine.

You with me?

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I am Stricken!

Posted on January 22, 2015 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Dr. Helen is on the case.

Stricken

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The Drapery Date

Posted on January 19, 2015 by Julie-Ann Baumer

This morning’s post will be jotted quickly.  There’s a lot going on here at the house.  Yep, I’m digging around, looking for my Patriot’s pink hat, getting ready to jump on this year’s Super Bowl bandwagon.  My radio blares those two troglodyte’s, Dennis and Callahan (with their pet poodle Kirk Minihane).  It’s Patriots Monday.  Tom Brady will be on soon.

I didn’t follow the Pats all season long, I’ll admit it.  Sure, Reggie monitored every game and sent me longish notes with his thoughts and observations.  SK (aka Gwyn’s Mum) never wavered, although she admitted via text during the national anthem, “I am nervous for this game.”

So was Slim.

But it’s not the Super Bowl hysteria that’s consuming my thoughts.  It’s that I’ve got a date this morning.  A date with a drapery consultant.  And like SK and Slim, I’m nervous.

Nervous.

It’s hard to explain.  The anxiety started yesterday during brunch with my best friend forever, Samantha Van Hopper.  At an unnamed restaurant, we got stuck sitting at the bar; there was no room at the inn.  It was loud, busy, and uneven.  I spied poached eggs and cretons on the menu.  I asked about the cretons provenance because not all pork spreads are created equally.  The bartender said they were the real deal, made from a dusty old grandmère’s cookbook.

I’m sure the chef’s grandmère was a perfectly lovely person, but her understanding of cretons was less than authentic.  Please.  Don’t grill some extra lean pork with spices, crumble it over an English muffin with a giant side of Grey Poupon and call it cretons.

Mais non.

My quasi-cretons indignation subsided; when we left and went our separate ways, I was tense.  I should have just gone home and vacuumed but I took a long and circuitous route and ended up at a favorite antique shop in Brunswick.  What was I looking for?  Not sure.  This vanity would have been perfect without the pink roses.

La Vie En RoseThat’s the problem with chalk paint.  Someone’s always taking it just a little bit too far, maybe having a few too many glasses of La Vie en Rose.  Maybe I’ll buy it anyway.

A glance at the clock tells me my way of long introduction hasn’t even touched on the root of my drapery date anxiety and I’ve got miles to go this morning.  Dennis and Callahan just started going over the non-sports related headlines and I can’t listen to the two troglodytes and their poodle one minute longer.

I didn’t mean to delay the telling, but it looks like the simple story of haberdashery and insecurity will have to wait until Friday.  Yes, on Friday, we’ll get right to the heart of the matter.

See you then!

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Julie & Julia & Julie-Ann

Posted on January 16, 2015 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I’m glad I took today off from work.  As I try to put together the pieces for today’s blog, it seems like my whole life has been one long string of out of touch moments.  Trying to put it all together will take hours.

Why am I so out of touch?  It’s not because I live in Maine.  We have high-speed internet here.  (And yes, we have dentists and orthodontists, too, little annoying man overheard at Boston’s Four Season’s Bristol Lounge back in 2006.)

It probably has something to do with not having a Tee Vee for 15 years.  But despite my lack of an electronic enlightenment box plastered on my wall, I’ve always had an internet connection.  No plans to go to Disney World (ever), but I’m on Facebook and Twitter. (Follow me @aunttomato.)

I like what I like and I like things in my own time and not when some salesman or saleswoman tells me to like something.  That’s why I’m always late to the party.

Don’t cry for me.

The party I’m currently late to is the Julia Child craze.  I’m not completely clueless about her, because the kitchen in the Junior League of Boston’s 2006 Show House was dedicated to Julia Child and I do believe I read My Life in France about this time; designer Liz Mitchell incorporated the book into her kitchen-ary vision, leaving a copy of the tome in a conversation nook.  Even though we daily warned show house visitors “do not touch the furniture” I did occasionally sit in one of the nook’s white wicker chairs, all Brunschwig comfy cushions, and read after the house closed for the day.  Years earlier, I had picked up Fitch’s 1999 biography of Child, Appetite for Life, but for some reason had flung it off my bedside reading table after a chapter.  And years before that, I received Child’s magnificent 1993 The Way to Cook as a Christmas gift.  It is well-loved and often-used.

I even saw the 2009 film, Julie & Julia.

But it wasn’t until just the other day I read Julie Powell’s 2005 book, which inspired the movie.  I found it in a pile of “free” books, posthumous garage sale booty.  And given my renewed commitment to “read more” I took it home.  In the book, the author spends a year cooking every recipe in Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  She’s a New Yorker, blogging about it while simultaneously working as a temp for a government agency at Ground Zero after 9/11.

I was tempted to say “I couldn’t have hated it more,” and filed it under the Dorothy Parker quote “This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.”  But as I’ve thought about it since finishing on Tuesday, if it hadn’t been steeped in profanity and pandering to political ideology, it wouldn’t have been a bad read.  And I don’t say those criticisms from a whitewashed tomb of purity and opposing political sentiments.  It’s that I’ve read that in English, just 300 words make up 65% of all written material.  It’s kind of a drag that the F bomb gets so overused, as it was in Powell’s book when there are so many underused words available.  Even her mother was a voracious F bomber and had no patience for one of Julie’s blog commenters who asked Julie to stop using profanity.

Nevertheless, the author had breathless energy which resulted in funny stories and provocative anecdotes; I must admit, I almost laughed out loud once or twice.  And it was a “national bestseller,” after all, and in my humble opinion, the book would have been even without the F bombs and politics.

There it is.  My first book of 2015, not horrible and even inspiring in a way because even though Julie Powell has already cooked her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking, maybe I could cook my way through Simone Beck’s Simca’s Cuisine, which is only 100 recipes.

Cookbooks

Then again, maybe not.

Au Revior, mes amies!

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Gaining Daylight

Posted on January 15, 2015 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I know it’s hard to believe, but we are gaining daylight!

Gaining DaylightI took a walk on Sunday afternoon and I snapped this phone picture.  It was around 4:20 p.m., coming down Addison Street and looking towards the Methodist Church and School Street.

Inspired!

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