Artists' Straits

Lauren's prompt:

Prompt taken from http://wordgrrls.blogspot.com/

"You win some money and decide to open a restaurant. Looking at the local phone book, there are already over a hundred restaurants in the area. How will yours be different? What will make people flock to your restaurant?"

Consider the food, decor inside and out (lighting, walkways, carpet and walls, tables and chairs or booths, etc.), the wait staff and cooks, the presentation of the food, the dessert list ... whatever you want!

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I'm not much interested in opening a restaurant, but I've dreamed off and on about operating a bed-and-breakfast. I know of a three-story gambrel-roofed house built on the Strait of Juan de Fuca that's on the real estate market, near a small airport, and probably has a water view from the third story. What I'd like to do is open a combination B&B and artist's retreat that offers a refuge for writers, musicians, actors, and visual artists. Nearby, perhaps down the hill closer to the water, I would like to either build or renovate a building for a dinner theater venue. Only this dinner theater would be a place where writers could read their work, musicians would perform new compositions, plays and musicals would be performed, and house an art gallery. I might call the place "Artists' Straits."

The food served at the B&B and the dinner theater would include seafood, such as clams, salmon, and halibut, and game meats, such as elk, deer, and turkey, depending on availability. Side dishes would be simple and show off the natural beauty of the food, such as whole steamed cauliflower with browned butter and toasted hazlenut topping and blueberry pie with a lattice crust. I'd have a two-week rotation of menus with 2-3 options at each meal.

Decor would be simple and homey in the B&B. My oak table would be perfect for serving family style meals in the dining room to up to 18 people. I'd also offer in-room meals for those who wanted privacy or to work through mealtimes. Since clouds and rain often dominate, interior walls would be light-colored and spaces well lit. Wait staff in the B&B wouldn't be necessary, but I would want to have help cooking and someone to do kitchen and house cleaning.

Some of my recipes would be in my file of family favorites. Others would be adopted from book series, like those catered by Goldy Shulz in Diane Mott Davidson's cozy mysteries. Cookies would always be in the cookie jar and fruit in a bowl on the table. I've always enjoyed baking more than cooking meals, so muffins, breads, cookies, and desserts would be the fun part of meal prep.

My alternate plan is to design a restaurant featuring hologram entertainment. As you sit down at the table in three-sided cubicle, you find a jukebox type system on which you choose a performance by a writer, musician, or dramatic artist. Instead of a centerpiece, the hologram will appear and keep you mesmerized. When your food is served, you can pause the performance. Food? Drink? Something unusual, I think.

Skeletal Dérive

Ben's prompt:

1. A lot of you know that I’m really into urban exploration. So I thought it’d be fun if everybody did a little and wrote about it. The label might make it sound a little intimidating, but you can check out the wikipedia entry on it (which gives a pretty good overview) to see that it’s a pretty flexible label and of course doesn’t necessitate any sneaky behavior or even getting your hands (or pants) dirty. What I’m interested in is the root of urban exploration, which is the desire to see everyday urban buildings, sights, etc. in a new light, specifically as a wilderness. So I guess what I’d suggest for this prompt is to just go out walking and try to find something that appears interesting to you, much like you’d do on a hike or a backpack, just in the city instead (or in the case of Pullman or wherever you are, in town) and then write a bit about it – whether that’s fiction or nonfiction it’s up to you.

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Even though my walking is limited right now while my foot continues to heal, I'm more interested in the urban exploration prompt than coming up with a CD list. In fact, last night David and I went on a mini-exploration here in Tumwater that gives me a little something to write about.

David was on his way home from dropping a state car off at the motor pool, and an elderly lady became interested in his turquoise and silver Navajo watchband. They talked for quite awhile, and when the woman set her bus pass on the seat between them and said, "I'm finished riding the bus for the day. Use this if you can." Never one to turn down a free ticket, David brought it home and suggested we "go out on the town."

We decided to take the bus to Brewery City for pizza and beer. This would involved only a couple blocks of walking, which I could manage. The problem was that even though David brought the transit schedule with him, he didn't think to look at it before we got on the 12 route. Then he remembered we should have been on route 13, so the quest for an alternative was on. We decided on a Chinese restaurant he'd never been to. Along the way he pointed at a patch of forest.

"A Walmart store is going in there," he said.

"That's a shame," I said. "All that beautiful forest will be gone."

I thought about DeBord's Theory of the Dérive and Lefebvre's discussion of appropriated and dominated space. While our excursion did not follow the tenets of the dérive, I observed the visual interest that the mixture of forest and architecture adds to urban landscape, texture, color, density, concealment. The community's forested patch is about to be appropriated, adding to the imbalance between domination and appropriation. The forest in the area is dwindling, becoming an anomaly in the urban scape that it formerly dominated. The memory of natural wilderness resides between streets and homes and businesses and continues to be pared down in exchange for urban wilderness. Does it matter to anyone that another Walmart is already within reach a few miles north on I-5?

We got off the bus and walked through what seemed a residential district. Tucked off the side of the street about half a block in was a house with neon Pabst and Coors signs in the upstairs windows. After we passed the bushes, we could see that it was an Irish pub, totally unexpected as it lay offset from the rest of the commercial zone. The pub pulled at us, reminiscent of our time in the UK, but we decided to continue to our destination and visit the pub some other night. We're glad we did because the Chinese restaurant is being sold. The real disappointment is that the recipes won't be sold along with the restaurant, so the excellent food won't be available much longer.

From the windows of the restaurant, we observed a couple of interesting sights. Across the street was a totem marking the site of the first permanent non-native settlement in Washington. I tried to remember who these Europeans were, probably Hudson's Bay Company or Nor'westers. Later I discovered that my assumption was wrong and that I knew but hadn't recalled the facts:

The first permanent non-Native American settlers settled in Thurston County in 1845. Part of an overland train from Missouri, the Michael Simmons/George Bush Party determined to go northward from their wintering-over place on the Columbia River at Washougal that year. They were spurred to go north because the Oregon Provisional Government had passed laws excluding Negroes—whether they were slave, free, or of mixed race—from settling in Oregon. The punishment for men if they did not leave the Oregon Country within two years was whipping. George Bush, prominent member of the party was a man of mixed race as were his children. The party selected a site at the falls of the Deschutes near Puget Sound at New Market (what is now Tumwater), thus creating the first permanent American settlement on Puget Sound and in Thurston County in 1845. Seven others and their families who were with the party settled within a radius of six miles on the prairies around Tumwater. During 1846-47 they set up a gristmill and sawmill at the site utilizing the water power of the falls at Tumwater. (Thurston County Comprehensive Plan, Appendix A: Thurston County History)

Of more interest to David than the totem was the brand new Harley Sportster that a patron parked next to us. While I talked, David was distracted but I didn't know why. Finally he told me he just had to go do something. He walked over to the table where the Harley owner sat and struck up a conversation about the bike. I'm always amazed at how easily David can talk to strangers and after I stopped cringing, I smiled at his boyish exuberance.

As we left the restaurant, David consulted the transit schedule and found that the next one would arrive at about 7:40, about 10 minutes later. After deciding that the stop he thought would be nearby was too far for me to walk, we headed to Tumwater Square. David pointed to a bench on the corner usually occupied by a panhandler. Across from us was a Safeway store and another bus shelter, this one with a man sitting on the hill above. Thinking that the bus was late, something that rarely happens, David checked his schedule while I looked at the one posted in the shelter. Turns out that he had looked at the a.m. schedule rather than p.m. The evening was pleasant, though, and the wait brief.

For me the wilderness of the west side is real. What I really need to do is wander, get lost, and find my way home.

Lunch at Grandma's

Debbie's prompt (following in Emily's thematic footsteps....)

Marina Warner, who calls herself a mythographer, is one of England’s most well-know writers and public intellectuals. She’s also is an excellent dinner host. A few years ago I came across an article called “Marina Warner’s Dinner For Six” where she imagines a dinner party composed of her favorite people from history: Heloise and Henri Matisse; Ovid and Jose Luis Borges; Franz Fanon and Athanasius Kircher (a 17th-century scientist). Marina recommends “pairing” your dinner guests to create the liveliest mixture, and she explains why these guests in these pairs work for her party. Also present, Rossini as head chef and Colette as sous-chef, and, of course, Marina herself.

Who would you invite to your dinner party, and why?

Check out Marina's website: http://www.marinawarner.com/index.html

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Grandma and I are giving a luncheon and have invited six women of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Invitations have been delivered to the ladies. For three days we have worked to clean the house. We have polished the windows, mirrors, bathroom, floors, and washed the linens and china. We mowed the lawn and swept the wraparound porch. Yesterday we laid the bone china with 14K gold rims carefully on a walnut dining table covered with white linen, with the cups turned upside down to keep out any vestiges of dust that might dare to enter the house. Beside the china, we complete the place settings with silverware, polished and gleaming in the light of the small chandelier. Serving dishes are on the table and ready to hold mashed potatoes, ham, fruit salad, and fresh peas from Grandma's garden. One bowl will be heaped with Grandma's light-as-air dinner rolls, a recipe only she knows and keeps stored in her head. Bread-and-butter pickles and pickled beets, canned last fall, and butter add color to the array. In the center of the table sets a low vase displaying a tumble of pink peonies cut fresh from the garden this morning. Now light streams through the south-facing bow window, and it is time for our guests to arrive.

Our seating plan pairs the guests as follows:

Mary Thompson Dodge and Clara Wieck Shumann share a love of music. Clara, wife and widow of Robert Shumann, is a noted pianist performing in the best of Europe's concert venues. She also composes, but with the death of Robert, she no longer finds the time or impetus to do so. Clara is a single parent with seven children to support, and she leaves these children to others while she travels in her chosen profession. Mary, on the other hand, follows her engineer husband to Oregon in the early 1900s and carves out a small symphony in the sagebrush desert of Harney County before following him to his next job in Portland. There she founds the Portland Youth Symphony, a cultural legacy of which she must be proud. Mary has one son who plays in her orchestras. I want to hear these women chat about raising children under difficult circumstances, about the choices they make about teaching versus performing, and about the trials of performing and conducting in times when women are more often sequestered in the drawing room.

The second pair of ladies are Helga Estby and Mary Hallock Foote. Both have traveled extensively. Helga immigrated as a young girl from Norway, became pregnant while in her mid-teens and married a man other than the father of her unborn child, and moved with him west to Washington. They settled near the young town of Spokane, where there family grew to include eight living children. When the family farm was in jeopardy of being lost to taxes, Helga accepted an anonymous challenge to walk across America with her oldest daughter, earning money along the way, and if successful, promised $10,000. Helga and her daughter keep notes of their journey, sending them home to Spokane, with the plan to write and publish a book about the journey. Mary Hallock Foote, on the other hand, travels West with her engineer husband, and uses her writing and illustrating talents to sustain the family that eventually includes three children. Mary also journals, and unlike Helga's, her written story is preserved by her family. I wonder what these women will say about the hardships of raising children in the West, of being the primary provider for their family, of the strain on marital relations this causes, and of how the loss of some of their children affects their lives.

These last two should provide lively conversation. Margaret (Molly) Brown from Colorado gold -mining and Titanic fame, along with Victoria Chaflin Woodhull, who declared herself an American presidential candidate in 1872, the very first woman to do so. Each has two children, Molly has two girls, and Victoria a boy and a girl, with the boy having some sort of mental handicap. Both are wealthy. Victoria is a political activist and supports free love, although also advocates monogamy. Molly made her way out of poverty and, because of her wealth, into the drawing rooms of the elite. Neither are particularly respected by established upper class women, but they are tolerated. Molly and Victoria are likely to have heated discussion about the politics and problems of the day add less staid celebrity to the company. Molly and Mary Hallock Foote will also enjoy reminiscing about their experiences in Leadville, where each lived for a time.

Grandma and I will make sure that plates stay full, coffee remains hot, and that the confetti cake Grandma baked for dessert is cut into perfect wedges. Grandma will listen to the women, a contemporary, though younger woman, and relate to their experiences. For example, Helga underwent gynecological surgery, and Grandma had a hysterectomy six months after she married Grandpa. My father and aunt are adopted children. Grandma loves music, especially the piano, and will pay rapt attention to Clara and Mary Dodge. Grandma grew up on a Colorado homestead and can discuss the difficulties of farming. She is also a philanthropist, in her limited means, and loved to contribute to her community.

I want to know everything about all of the women, including Grandma. Maybe I should see if we can extend the visit for several days.

Postscript:

I looked at Marina's website and think that her course description on Memory Maps, also called "psycho-geography," pretty much sums up what I'm hoping to do with my dissertation. Rebecca Solnit's Savage Dreams is on my summer reading list; I'll have to be sure to read it.

heartbEAT

I wouldn't have guessed that it would be so difficult to write about the best meal I ever ate. After all, I have so many years of good meals to choose from, with some standing out above others. The problem is that food, for me, cannot be separated from occasion, setting, and companion(s).

Food is very social for me. Food is also very personal. I've been overweight almost all of my life and obese for nearly half of it. Only intermittently have I managed to lose enough pounds to break the lower bounds and spend a few months, a year, but not more, in a smaller state. You'd think that I love food, but I'm often bored by it and find it disappointing. I like to bake; I don't like to cook. The food that is memorable is linked to family gatherings, family celebrations, family mourning. Food is tied to security. When joblessness threatens, I lay in stocks of rice, beans, canned food, and more that overloads cabinets and overestimates expected need. Having food in the pantry means that no matter how broke we are--financially or emotionally--there will be food for family gatherings, celebrations, and mourning.

I avoid the truth about food. I underestimate calories, overestimate average portions, ignore unhealthy ingredients, eat too often and not often enough, and always, always try to make the most with the least. I suppose this last attribute comes from cooking a lot of food for a lot of years for a lot of people. Give me a big pot and basic ingredients, and I can feed a crowd.

The best meals I have ever had have been shared with others. For example:

• Candlelit Christmas Eve dinners with family. This is a tradition begun in Southeastern Idaho. The first Christmas there, I cooked homemade potato soup ala Idaho Russets and served sliced summer sausage, cheese, and crackers; pickles, olives, and pickled peppers; and chocolate mousse made with Grand Marnier for dessert. When we moved to Oregon, I added tortellini soup and olive crisp bread to the menu. Most of the family prefers this addition as a replacement for the potato soup. After all, potatoes had been a staple in our Idaho home. We were invited to dig potatoes from the edge of the field next to our house, my husband bought dehydrated potato products at cost from his company, and school lunches almost always included some form of potato. But I have one holdout against the vegetables that surround the tortellini, and for this family member, I cook potato soup.
• This weekend's stay at my son's home, where his wife cooked venison spätzle, brocolini, and kale for dinner one evening, and eggs benedict, strawberries, and fresh whipped cream. She's an excellent chef.
• Pit-barbecued beef at an end-of-Vacation Bible School celebration in Idaho.
• Sourdough bread, cheese, sausage, fruit, and wine at Lake Isabelle, Colorado, (near Ward) with my high school friend, Nancy.
  
• Indian tacos from a stand at a mustang auction, Wild Horse Corral, Burns, Oregon.
  
• A meal at an Indian restaurant in Tacoma, Bombay Bistro, where we celebrated a family member's gallery opening with nine different dishes, all excellent.
• Conch salad and guava nectar with my a daughter at the Straw Market in Nassau.
• Raviolis at an Italian restaurant in Glenwood Springs on my honeymoon in July 1972.
  
• Sushi at Shige's in Boise with friends.
• Fried prawns at a coastal restaurant in Oregon.
  
• And alone, escargot in pastry, baked sea bass, and carrot and green bean fingers in Bermuda.

It's all so complicated. Cheap cop-out, I know, but my "best meal" just can't be sorted out of my many years of eating memories.

Turn of the Screw

Snow and perspective disguise a low roll of dredged earth along Colorado Highway 9 between South Park City and Fairplay. Too big to be a roll of hay and too uniform to be natural, the track reminded me of those left by worms in the film version of Dune. Or maybe the tracks I think the worms should have left--it's been awhile since I watched the movie.

Layers of contrast attracted me to this scene: immense cloud-scattered sky; snowcapped peak in the background; dark concave line of the forested middle-ground serving as a frame to cup the peak and highlight the dredge line; and uniform traces of earth being folding up and over itself. At the base of the roll, like a long underscore, a fence suggests a retaining wall, inadequate in the shadow of the massive structures positioned behind it. The flat expanse of pasture stretching toward the camera is a small sample typical of the vast stretch of South Park.