Wild, Crazy Loon Calls in Wilderness: Ahhhhhh!

Last weekend, baking decadent double-dark chocolate cookie bars for the imminent eight-member family reunion the day after we returned from a wild packing-house week, I did the same crazy thing my mother once did to a rhubarb cake (a feat I used to shake my head in disbelief over). Curious, I watched as the cookies spread in great, muddy pools over the cookie sheet. Then my mother said, "What's this flour doing here?" This was the bowl of flour I had completely forgotten to blend with the wet ingredients. . .we scraped the fudgey mess back into the bowl and mixed it all up again. (I watched incredulously as my mother shoveled the semi-raw batter into her mouth. Not fair: she always warned us religiously not to eat raw dough; we'd get worms or salmonella; I've spent my entire life consistently turning down delicious tastes of raw dough. And I will continue, out of a sort of primal fear, despite the disillusioning vision of my mother possibly giving herself worms or salmonella.)


On Monday morning, the last of our family left. We said goodbye to my parents; my father was eager for the trip and my mother choked back tears (which always makes me feel like crying, too); then they drove off down the street on their five day trek across the country to Seattle. That morning found me yelling a greeting of sorts down the stairs to our guests (a father and his two-year old) from my seat on the toilet where I was also breastfeeding. . .

That afternoon I baked yet more for our twice-annual exam-week open house for Martin's students. This time I worked in the overripe, stinky bananas into a triple recipe of Joy's deliciously cakey quick bread. Shuffling through the freezer I found some bagged pecan bits my mother had left and sprinkled them freely over all three loaves. Better taste them, I thought, after all the loaves had been doused, and dabbed some of the pecans on my tongue. What home did these pecans enjoy prior to my freezer? Likely they were the leftovers from some Thanksgiving sweet potato or curry dish, for the pecans were mixed with salty chili pepper. Hoping that this would be an exciting and successful new twist on banana bread, I overcompensated by layering the chili powder topping with brown sugar and cinnamon.

Somebody, I heard, asked for the recipe. I heard this because I only made two appearances at the open house, one to haul off Elspeth to bed, and the other to redirect Merry, who had suddenly gone "wild" (in the words of one of Martin's bluntly-spoken students) upstairs to a quiet read while I breastfed marathon-feeding baby until I fell asleep.

Two more days of no-Martin all day and evening (practically) and I have my friends to thank for saving me from illegal substance abuse. So thanks to the members of the robust Elaine Society: Tonya, who stopped by for a chat with a gorgeous blanket she had sewed for B; Nancy, who whisks Merry away twice a week for the schooling I never give her and feel guilty about; Sally, who upon entering our house plucked B from my hands and held her even as she ate lunch, and who, to boot, took the crazy, always-in-trouble Elspeth (eating butter, scattering compost, hitting Merry) down our hill to the creek (yesterday) and then called this morning to offer to take her away in her boots to some undisclosed but presumably muddy place (right before she arrived Elspeth, who suddenly seems huge, rolled on the baby, the baby who squalled so pitifully that I felt like squalling myself). . . .

These sorts of friends are truly angelic. Thank God! for these women, and I mean that in the most grateful and humble way.

Tomorrow sees Martin finishing school. Thank God! Ditto! Ditto! The garden is overgrown with sod; we'll be lucky to find the strawberry plants underneath the weeds. . .Ah, but then, does it matter all that much? Summer is about to start, officially, yes, mama, yes. We've been saving the trip to Douglass Nursery (heirloom tomato seedlings and all) for a reward. And the weather, which has been grey, cold, and rainy all week, cannot stay that way for long. We've got enough salsa and cheese for a big party with good friends at some point soon, and we've got marshmallows for the fire pit and reserve ice cream in the downstairs freezer. All our red buds have bloomed and only one crab apple seems dead.

Summer. Starts. Tomorrow. Huzzah.