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Photograph by Jamie Dedes

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
One Hundred Sonnets: XVII by Pablo Neruda
I am on hiatus for approximately six weeks.  Meanwhile, I leave you with a picture of an iris taken at the Gamble Gardens in Palo Alto, CA, a portion of a lovely poem by Pablo Neruda, and website links for accurate information on swine flu.  I’ll be back again mid-to-late June . . . Thank you for visiting Musing by Moonlight.

Copyright 2008 & 2009:  All rights reserved on the photographs, writing and poems on this website including family photos unless – as indicated – the rights belong to others.  To contact me for permissions, please email me moonlightmuse@ymail.com.  Thank you!

Links to websites with accurate information on the swineflu outbreak:
The Center for Disease Control and Prevention
California Department of Public Health
Department of Homeland Security
U.S. Department of State

May all sentient beings find peace.

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Public Domain Illustration via Wikipedia

i would use king kong as an object lesson in chimpchumpness

I would call him a prime example of sitting at the lunchcounter

     during the food service workers strike

i would make charts and graphs showing how his roar was writing

     a check that his ass couldnt cash

presenting Sister No Blues by hattie gossett*

Back in the days when television wasn’t as complicated as it is today,  you could count on some certainties.  In Brooklyn (programming varied regionally), Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942) reruns on Fourth of July weekend were a given. And, if memory serves (and these days there’s no guarantee), Heidi (1937) ran at Christmas, and King Kong (1933) ran on Thanksgiving. 

As I grew up, it always struck me that people seem compelled to see King Kong as symbolic of something significant, something more than just fun.  I suspect that for the creators in 1933 the only symbol was cash.  Talkies were still relatively new and monkey movies had proven to be big box office draws. But, for my friends and me coming of age in the 1950s, there was lots to read into the movie.  Some girls said the Empire State Building was phallic, of course.  Predictable.  Then there was also the argument for civilization and the ability to organize and articulate vs. the primitives’ rugged independence and inability to do anything but make senseless noise.  This from our smart-as-a-whip postman’s daughter, Chris S. Then there was big vs. small, as in kids vs. grown-ups. Some kids did really want to topple their parents. Some even had legitimate reasons for wanting to do so. Someone posited the sexual-awakening: there’s that immodest scene where Kong disrobes Ann Darrow (Faye Wray). I didn’t see the movie as symbolic of anything. My strongest reaction was irritation with Darrow who mostly just screamed, despite a feisty comment or two early on which gave a promise of more assertiveness.  

I just saw King Kong again at the Standford Theatre for the first time on the big screen. I still don’t see it as symbolic, but I realized why I didn’t like the 1976 remake. It wasn’t set in the Depression and we need that more innocent time to set aside disbelief.  I remain irritated with Darrow. Like a character in a Jean Rhys novel, she must be saved by men.  She can’t seem to do a thing for herself. The practical side of me kicked in when all the civil resources are brought in to bring Kong down. I wondered how much filmmaker Denham’s selfish pursuit cost the tax payer.  Or, did the city charge him for those planes and all the damage.

Hattie Gossett’s reaction, however, is the smartest and funniest of any I’ve ever heard. She’s a spunky jazzpoet – among other things – and the section on Kong in her book length poem is longer and more amusing than the portion quoted above.  Getting her book at a second-hand bookstore for $2 was part of my personal celebration of National Poetry Month. She’s a little raw and a lot of right. 

Well, now I think I’m done.  I’ve seen King Kong for the last time. It’s been fun, but I’m on to other things . . . perhaps a reread of Gossett’s book.

That Old Lie

This movie was made and posted on YouTube by Morrismovies.  I encourage you to visit his site.  Check out his Scotland Street School Museum.  It’s completely charming and an interesting bit of history.

Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori”

It is sweet and proper to die for one’s country.

Odes, Horace, Roman lyric poet, 65 B.C.E. – 8 B.C.E.

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United Kingdom Government public domain photograph of Wilfred Owen.

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,  
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,  
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs  
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.  
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots  
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;  
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! –  An ecstasy of fumbling,  
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;  
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,  
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .  
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,  
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.  
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,  
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. 

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace  
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,  
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,  
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;  
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood  
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,  
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,  
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest 
To children ardent for some desperate glory,  
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est  
Pro patria mori.

Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owens in  Out In the Dark Poetry of the First World War

A major poet of the First World War, Wilfred Owen’s work is significant for  - among other things -its realism, pararhyme and consonance. He wrote, ”All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true poet must be truthful.” And the poets continue to warn and to be truthful . . . 

Poets Against War

April is National Poetry Month.

Posted on YouTube by andrewhimes’s

Voices in Wartime is a program of the Voices Education Project. Originating as a documentary film and an anthology, Voices in Wartime is a repository of thousands of poems, essays, and images that relate to the origin and trauma of war.” Voices in Wartime website

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I can’t let National Poetry Month pass without paying homage to and attention to the poet voices from the battlefields of time.

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Cover photographs are from Amazon website

 Growltiger’s Last Stand by T.S. Elliot, From Old Tiger’s Book of Practical Cats

Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who travelled on a barge:
In fact he was the roughtest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of `The Terror of the Thames’.

His manners and appearance did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedz, he was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye.

The cottagers of Rotherhithe knewsomething of his fame;
At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name.
They would fortity the hen-house, lock up the silly goose,
When the rumour ran along the shore: GROWLTIGER’S ON THE LOOSE!

Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger’s rage;
Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,
And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!

But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed;
To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed.
The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear -
Because it was a Siamese had maulted his missing ear.

Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play,
The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay.
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide -
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side.

His bucko mate, GRUMBUSKIN, long since had disappeared,
For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard;
And his bosun, TUMBLEBRUTUS, he too had stol’n away -
In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey.

In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sate alone,
Concentrating his attention on the Lady GRIDDLEBONE.
And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks -
As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks.

Growltiger hd no eye for aught but Griddlebone,
And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone,
Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise -
But the moonlight shone reflected from a hundred bright blue eyes.

And closer still and closer the sampans circled round,
And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound.
The lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives -
For the foe was armed wit htoasting forks and cruel carving knives.

Then GILBERT gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde;
With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard.
Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks,
They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks.

Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered;
I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared.
She probably escaped with ease, I’m sure she was not drowned -
But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround.

The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank;
Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank.
He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop,
At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop.

Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flewthrough the land;
At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand.
Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock,
And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.

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It’s National Poetry Month and what better way for cat lovers to celebrate than a read – or reread – of T.S. Elliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats. This bit of whimsy was written in the 1930s and published in 1939 with illustrations (the beige cover above). In 1982 an edition was published with Edward Gorey illustration (the orange cover above).  What a fabulous combo for cat and poetry lovers.  I have the Gorey edition. It’s falling apart from years of love.  

The complete text can be viewed on-line: Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, which is nice.  However, you do miss the tactile pleasure of holding a book and you miss Gorey’s wonderful cat illustrations.

Video posted on YouTube by cleydapsbi

Pearl S. Buck International is a non-profit organization with three distinct functions that operate as one with the common mission of continuing the legacy and dreams of Pearl S. Buck. her committment to improving the quality of life and expanding opportunities for children and promoting an understanding of the values and attributes of other cultures, the injustice of prejudice, and the need for humanitarianism throughout the world.

Video posted on YouTube by TLVIDEO

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Photograph of Pearl S. Buck (1932) from the Library of Congress

 

I feel no need for any other faith than my faith in human beings. Like Confucius of old, I am so absorbed in the wonder of earth and the life upon it that I cannot think of heaven and angels. Pearl S. Buck

Pearl S. Buck was amazing: author, poet, artist, musician, activist, renanissance woman.  Her books weren’t required reading when I was in school, but I discovered her in a used-book store one summer in junior high and was hooked.  Eventually, I read everything she wrote: novels, memoirs, cookbook, children’s book, and her one book of poetry, which was published posthumously.  I think she did enormous good in her lifetime, and she was and is one of the major influences in my life.  Her legacy remains strong and vibrant in the activities of the Buck Foundation, Pearl S. Buck International, and in the reading and rereading of her incredible novels.

In recent years Pearl Buck has been introduced to a new and even larger audience, influenced by Oprah Winfrey’s inclusion of The Good Earth in her book club.  That book is now on high school summer-reading lists, which is as it should be and would have been had folks not been threatened by some of her ideas.  

We still have a long way to grow; but, I think Mrs. Buck would be proud today to see how far we’ve come: accepted mixed marriages, much loved – not scorned – children of mixed ancestry, women more prominent in business, politics, science and the arts, and a black president who is going around the world with an open hand, not a closed fist.

Peter Conn’s Pearl S. Buck: A Cultural Biography is an excellent introduction to her life, times, and influence.  Highly recommended along with all of Mrs. Buck’s books.

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Betty Crocker

Illustrations from Sidelights on History

The Washburn Crosby Company of Minneapolis, one of the six big milling companies that merged into General Mills in 1928, received thousands of requests each year in the late 1910s and early 1920s for answers to baking questions. In 1921, managers decided that it would be more intimate to sign the responses personally; they combined the last name of a retired company executive, William Crocker, with the first name “Betty,” which was thought of as “warm and friendly.” excerpt from Sidelights in History

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Mrs. Beaton  

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Illustrations from Mrs. Beaton’s Book

Isabella Mary Mayson  (March 12, 1836 – January 1865), universally known as Mrs Beeton, was the author of Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management and is the most famous cookery writer in British history.” excerpt from Mrs. Beaton’s Book

In my day, parents were always afraid to let their kids know that there was no Santa Claus.  That didn’t bother me at all.  Instead, I was devastated to learn at the tender age of six that there was no Betty Crocker. How betrayed I felt.  Confused. Tricked. None the less, I still lusted for a Betty Crocker cookbook of my own. It was a long time coming. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that I got Betty Crocker’s Cook Book for Boys and Girls. It was a birthday gift from my Aunt Yvonne and cousins Chris and Dan.  It’s falling apart now, a bit greasy and scribbled upon, but I still have it, still cherish it.

base_mediaFirst edition published in 1957

That gift was beginning of a long, long love affair with cookbooks.  I was pleased to find that while Betty Crocker was a 20th Century marketing tool, the 19th Century Mrs. Beaton was the real thing.  I learned about her – perhaps oddly – when reading an English mystery story. She may have been the first modern cookbook author, probably as innovative in her day as Julia Child was in ours.  

As time passed, I learned there were lots of other real people putting out books: Elizabeth David, Julia Child, and James Beard are some authors I enjoyed. I tended to gravitate to books by individuals more than the collaborative corporate efforts published by magazines and food product manufacturers.  But I have to say, I loved them all: old and new, ugly and plain or lavishly made with slick stock and full-color pictures. My mother-in-law used to say that I read cookbooks the way other people read mysteries. It was true. I did. I still do.

I always hoped that one day I would acquire a copy of Mrs. Beaton’s book. I  recently discovered that her book is available on-line at Mrs. Beaton’s Book of Household Management. It’s history.  Read the chapter on “the mistress,” meaning the wife in this case, and you will find yourself thankful that times have changed in terms of both women’s lives and life options and the technology available for homemaking. Mrs. Beaton leaves nothing out of this book. There’s even legal advice on buying a home.  And, although the recipes are outdated, there’s still some good ideas and inspiration to be had. If you want to find out how things were made from scratch before the advent of pre-fab food, this is a good place to start.

When I compare the older cookbooks to the newer, I see confirmation that we Americans have become much more creative, use a wider range of vegetables, herbs and spices, have increased our use of vegetables and cut back on sugar and fat, and are much more open to the foods of other countries.  We no longer fill half our cookbooks with dessert recipes. The comparison makes me also suspect that most of us have a broader cooking repertoire than our parents or grandparents had.  

Some books I keep for their beauty as much as anything else.  I can no longer eat wheat-based breads, but one of my favorite books is The Il Fornaio Baking Book: Sweet and Savory Recipes from the Italian Kitchen by Franco Galli.  It’s just too artfully done to give up. 

Recipe books that include reflections are sometimes real treasures.  The first one that always comes to mind is Edward Espe Brown’s Tomato Blessings and Radish Teachings.  And I thoroughly enjoyed Jeff Smith’s The Frugal Gourmet Keeps the Feast.  I share his respect for and take the same pleasure in festival foods for the history and traditions they help to maintain and cultural understanding they foster.

New cookbooks are published faster than I can read them.  I no longer have shelf room for a significant collection.  As I’ve downsized over the years, I’ve had to give up most of my treasured cookbooks. Now infrequent but pleasant days are spent at the library breezing though the newer books.  It’s interesting to see how just as in couture, some food fashions can come around again if you wait long enough.  One young woman has developed a recipe for a hot potato salad made with bacon. We knew that as hot German potato salad.  Our first family version of that recipe came froma Betty Crocker cookbook.  This was modified on advice from a German neighbor.  I think we may have further modified her recipe when we got Luchow’s German Cookbook: The Story and the Favorite Dishes of America’s Most Favorite German Restaurant. It was certainly our favorite German restaurant, and I was delighted to have the book. And, this illustrates how family recipes can evolve over time.

Through the years, the ethnic foods at which others once looked askance have become common, even trendy, items on many American tables.  Hummus bi Tahini is one example. Some chefs even make innovations on the classic, using white beans instead of chickpeas, roasted garlic instead of raw, and adding harissa instead of Aleppo pepper. What we at home used to refer to as “mixing our ethnics” – something we did because our family was comprised of an ethnic mix and we just combined things to meet the need, the budget, or the desire of the day – is now called “fusion.” Whatever!  It’s all fun.  It’s all good.  As long as people have enough clean, healthy, fresh food to eat and family and friends with whom to enjoy it, there’s room for lots of difference and great innovation. Good cookbooks help expand our food horizon and inspire experimentation and innovation.

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Illustration from Public Domain Clip Art


O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!

He chortled in his joy.”

Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll


O fortunate, o happy days

When a new household takes its birth

And rolls on it’s harmonious way

Among the myriad homes on earth!”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

With Best Wishes to Rich and Karen for many, many happy anniversaries and a lifetime of love …

I’m one of those people inclined to celebrate anything.  I’d celebrate as simple a thing as the day of the week.  So, when the six month mark of my son and daughter-in-law’s wedding arrived, I had to make something of it.  Dinner is always good, eh?

I had a dinner in mind that would take a fair amount of time:

Artichokes

Pasta with Brown Butter

Dinner Salad, Pollo Rustico (Country Chicken), Italian bread

Ice Cream with a fruit topping

Decaf Espresso

Well, as luck would have it, I ran into one hitch after another all day.  I got started so late that I had to modify the menu.  I ended up doing a simple salad with balsamic dressing, Pollo Rustico, and lemon-poppyseed cake (store bought and not gluten-free) topped with blackberries macerated in white wine mascarpone cheese.  I bought a red wine from Chile. Red because the entré is Sicilian. 

Pollo Rustico is easy to prepare (no special skills needed), light, colorful, and chock full of tomatoes, eggplant, zucchini, onion, garlic, rosemary and white wine.  You can mop up the juices with a good store-bought artisan loaf or a homemade gluten-free loaf. There are no grains used in this dish, so it is naturally gluten-free for those with celiac disease or wheat-and-gluten sensitivity. 

Pollo Rustico, Gluten-Free

The recipe

Serves 3-4

  • 4 chicken breasts, boned and skinned
  • 2 small Italian eggplant
  • 4 medium-sized zucchini
  • 1 large red onion
  • 3 cloves of garlic
  • 1 small can of crushed Italian plum tomatoes
  • 1 cup of white wine  
  • 2 sprigs of rosemary, snip each sprig into two pieces
  • 1/4 cup fresh parsley
  • Extra-virgin olive oil
  • Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
  • Pecorino Romano, freshly grated

Oil a baking pan and preheat the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit.

Prepare the eggplant by peeling and cutting it into cubes. Put the cubes on a plate, sprinkle with salt, and cover with another plate.  This will “sweat” out the bitter juices.  It takes about half-an-hour. 

While the eggplant is sitting, slice the zucchini, peel and dice the onion, peel and mince the garlic and mince the parsley.  

Rinse the eggplant.  Put the vegetables and parsley together in a bowl along with the canned tomatoes. Sprinkle with olive oil and mix well.

Rinse the chicken breasts and lay them in the roasting pan.  Place a sprig of rosemary on top of each.  Pour the vegetables over. Cover with parchment paper and then foil.  Bake for approximately 45 minutes, until the chicken is cooked through.  Remove the rosemary. Arrange the chicken on a platter with the veggies over and around it.  Lightly sprinkly the dish with some more olive oil. Serve hot with grated cheese.

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Photograph of Gypsy Rose Lee by Karen Fayeth, blogger and author.

I have lived with several Zen masters – all of them cats.” Eckhart Tolle

I have also lived with cats who appear to be Zen masters.  As you can tell from this picture, Gypsy isn’t one of them.  Gyps has serious cattitude. But that’s why we love her so much.  Personality plus. She’s rather disappointed here.  We mere humans don’t often meet the expectations of our feline superior.

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Public domain illustration via Wikipedia


If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.” Gospel of St. Thomas


By their fruits you shall know them.  Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? “ New Advent Bible, Matthew 7


A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.” King James Version, John 13

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