Lift Up Your Hearts!

As promised elsewhere, I am finally printing the recipe (actually, a couple of recipes) for Bay Punch, absolutely the best drink in the world to serve with pizza.

Bay Punch was invented by John Lefor and Chip Nimick for Pizza Night at the Towne House computing center at the University of Rochester in Rochester, New York. The name came from the original pizza source, Bay & Goodman Pizza. It did not change even after we switched to Cap'n Tony's Pizza. The traditional punch bowl is a large dishpan. John says that if it tastes as if it needs more pineapple-orange, add more cranberry, and vice versa. The punch is better if it ages a bit before serving. We used to start making it just as someone left on the 45-minute round trip to get the pizza. Another tradition is the punch ladle, a simple soup ladle, which must be hung on the outside of the punch bowl, and woe to him who puts in inside, where it will slide down and disappear into the drink. Of course this is all tradition—Bay Punch tastes great in a traditional punch bowl, too. But you must squeeze the limes and lemons, not just float them artistically on top. (More)

A friend sent me a copy of Louise Story's New York Times article describing the new generation of bright, college-educated women who are chosing shortened, delayed, or part-time careers so they can give their best to their families. A quick Internet check tells me this story has already been blogged and overblogged, so I won't spend much time on it. (The article ran exactly one month ago—my friend is one of the rare breed who still cuts articles from the paper and mails them, and I am not as prompt as I should be at getting to my reading material.) Nonetheless, I can't resist a couple of comments. (More)

There's not much to do but pray, watch, and wait for now. Our freezer has been full of ice and frozen jugs of water and other potables since the beginning of the season; the cupboards are replete with flashlights, batteries, and non-perishable food; the propane tank (for the grill and camp stove) is nearly full, and our plywood window covers line the garage wall. While I was out today, I filled the car's gas tank, figuring that prices can only go up in the next week or so, and wanting replenish the supply before everyone else has that idea. Other than that, our preparations have mainly comprised lending an occasional hand to a neighbor who is trying to get an outdoor project to a sufficient state that it can withstand abnormal levels of wind and rain. The next project will be some cleaning and organizing, both physical and electronic, in case we lose power for a while. But that's an ongoing effort, anyway....

I would not do well on one of those music school "drop the needle" tests, in which one needs to name a piece of music based on hearing a small excerpt. It's not that I can't recognize the music—often just a few measures, even a few notes, is enough to bring forth, "Ooo, I know this piece! What is it?" I know that I know it, but identification often eludes me. What's more, I sometimes recognize brief motives from one piece of music in another, and that's even harder to pin down. I had no trouble identifying The Phantom of the Opera in the praise song, You Are My Hiding Place, but the hymn, Jesu, Jesu (1982 Episcopal Hymnal #602) was another story. There are four measures in the verse part that stung me on first singing with that "why do I know this?" feeling and I was never able to determine an answer. One day, listening to Vivaldi's "La Primavera" (from The Four Seasons), I finally found it: there in the third movement, clearly the same motive. Not that there was any sharing between Vivaldi and the Ghanaian folk song that is the basis for the hymn—it's a simple phrase, bound to show up independently in many places—but I was thrilled to make the connection in my mind and resolve the mystery.

Jonathan is never cold. Our pool was a Florida-warm 77 degrees for his visit, but it didn’t take long for the rest of us to feel chilled when the sun was not shining. Not so Jonathan, who never flinched when entering the water, and was still happy after three hours’ immersion. This is the same child I watched run outside on a bitterly cold Pittsburgh winter day, shoeless and wearing only a diaper. His only unhappiness was with the killjoy adults who brought him back inside. Looking at Jonathan’s portly body, one might think his imperviousness to cold was related to excessive insulation. However, I have plenty of that and it doesn’t keep me warm in the pool. Infants, I have learned, are born with brown adipose tissue (“brown fat cells”), which unlike the white variety actually produce heat. This phenomenon is also seen in small mammals that live in cold environments, and in hibernating animals. I venture the claim that most of Jonathan’s plethora of fat cells are of the brown kind! Brown adipose tissue also helps protect against obesity, which may explain why so many mothers have told Heather stories of their own children, now grown and thin, who when young were as large as Jonathan. (More)

I just heard from Heather and Jonathan, who have safely navigated car and plane and bus and foot and are home in Pittsburgh. I didn't get any details because they are having problems with their phones at the moment. We miss their cheerful faces and voices!

What a memory Jonathan has. We haven't mentioned pretzels at all this week, but in the car on the way to the airport he suddenly declaimed, "Airplane, pretzels!" Obviously he was more impressed than most people with the in-flight food.

You might guess that Jonathan is the son of two engineers by the fact that he frequently peruses their Dilbert calendar, laughing heartily. An incident today confirms the inheritance. He is sleeping in Janet's room, and she has some clear plastic file drawers filled with very interesting items that would not be good for him to investigate. Jonathan is in general an obedient child, but rather than expose him continually to temptation I ran a strip of duct tape along the drawers so that they could not be opened. Heather assures me that she never mentioned the words in his presence in relation to the drawers, but tonight he walked over to them, looked at the silver-colored stripe, and commented, "duct tape." Any 22-month old who knows duct tape when he sees it is well on his way.

I once read that a child should learn "at the rate determined by her own happy hunger." (I believe the quotation is from John Ciardi, but I haven’t been able to confirm that.) It is delightful to observe Jonathan’s voracious appetite. (More)

Great-Grandma Landeen came for lunch yesterday, and Jonathan had fun playing trains with her, and reading the new books that she brought him. I had been worried about an "elderly lady" slipping on the train track pieces that covered most of the family room floor, but she nimbly navigated them and without hesitation sat down on the floor to play!

On Friday Jonathan and Heather had accompanied us the park for our regular running date. While Dad-o ran, the rest of us walked around the trail. Sometimes Jonathan is enthusiastic about running, and we thought he might enjoy it here, but he was not in the mood. In fact, he wanted to be carried from the beginning. With encouragement, he walked about 0.7 miles before I gave him a piggy back ride the rest of the distance to the playground. (More)

Jonathan is not accustomed to having to leave the house before 7 a.m. for church, but he managed to be only one of the Seven Dwarves—Sleepy but not Grumpy. He had no comment on Father Tom’s sermon, having chosen that time to be out of the room, but happily received his blessing at the altar rail during the Eucharist. (More)

Having learned that it is now possible to ride along the bike trail from our neighborhood to the bridge over I-4, Heather wanted to make the journey. We have only two bicycles, and no bike seat nor bike trailer for Jonathan to ride in, and no helmet for him to wear. So he was sadly disappointed, because when he heard the words, “bike ride,” he became very excited: “Jonathan go bike ride!” (More)

Jonathan has several pictures of Louis Comfort Tiffany stained glass windows that he likes to look at, so we were excited to give him the opportunity to see the real windows at the Charles Hosmer Morse Museum of American Art in nearby Winter Park. Much to our disappointment, many of his favorites were unavailable, being prepared for a special exhibition in New York. So he was unable to see Girl Picking Gourds, one of his favorites, and see the transformation of Butterfly Window between transmitted and reflected light at the push of a button. However, not all of "his" windows were missing, and his eyes lit up when he encountered Young Woman at a Fountain. He delighted, also, in "Tombment!" (The Entombment) particularly since that exhibit featured several studies leading up to the finished window. (More)

One of the joys I remember from Heather and Janet’s childhood is hearing them quote back and forth to each other sections of dialogue from plays and movies, from The Pirates of Penzance to Henry V. Jonathan has started already. No, he’s not quite ready for Gilbert and Sullivan, let alone Shakespeare, but his conversations are replete with quotations from his favorite books, particularly Dr. Seuss. “no, Pat, no sit on that!” “hop on pop, stop!” (Hop on Pop), “in a box, wif a fox” (Green Eggs and Ham), “boom, boom Mister Brown makes thunder”) (Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?), “bread and milk and blackberries for supper” (Peter Rabbit), and many others I can’t identify. Since coming to Florida he has increased his repertoire, having discovered The Cat in the Hat on our bookshelves. That is his favorite story request now, and we are already hearing “up, up, up, fish!” “look at me, look at me now,” "have to know how," and more.

Yesterday we also went to the neighborhood playground, Heather and I walking, and Jonathan sometimes pulling, mostly riding in, the little red wagon which had last seen service on Independence Day as the water wagon for the Greater Geneva Grande Award Marching Band. (More)