Nothing, not even the memory of our parents, is perfect. Sometimes an event will trigger recall. I am slowly rediscovering the Zen aspects of gardening. As I was transplanting some lettuce seedlings, memories of having performed this task went back many years. My Dad started me off gardening when I was very young. He helped me break up the sod and remove the rocks for our first small plot. Thereafter, his contributions were limited to comments about the placement and number of tomato plants. These instructions would be administered from a chaise lounge chair, barely audible over the sounds of the Red Sox baseball game blaring from a small radio turned up to full volume.
My Dad also instilled in me a love and appreciation of sports, especially amateur sports. He couldn't teach me how to throw a curve ball. I would never advance beyond the lower ranks of Little League baseball. However, I have vivid memories of the energy level rising at indoor track and field meets as the time approached for the Men's Mile. Cheers would go out for the latest phenom from Vilanova or Georgetown. Unspoken would be the hope that we would witness a sub four minute mile. To this day my brothers and I make an annual pilgrimage to a different city to attend the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament. I never would have attended a little college in Worcester, Massachusetts, unless I had watched the Greyhounds play basketball with my Dad. He discovered them on one of the early UHF television stations.
My Mom introduced me to the joys of reading. My mind's eye always sees her with a paperback mystery in her hand or on the table by her chair. Every childhood memory of Christmas includes the covers of the latest Tom Swift Jr. or Hardy Boys "young adult" novel. Comic books were OK in our household because we would actually read them. Exposure to Shakespeare, Dante or Milton was left to the schools, but I would approach those intimidating tomes with a love of the written word.
Yesterday (never shop hungry) I saw spice cakes displayed as I entered the supermarket. High cuisine on our dinner table was a meatloaf, or the occasional roast beef. We grew up on Chef Boyardee canned Ravioli, Beefaroni and Spaghetti & Meatballs.
The real chef for our family, Ettore (Hector) Boiardi, arrived at Ellis Island at the age of 16 . He later became the head chef at the Plaza Hotel in New York. In 1915, he supervised the catering for the reception of President Woodrow Wilson's second marriage. In 1928 he set his sights on selling his product nationally, touting the low cost of his spaghetti products as a good choice to serve to the entire family.
Money was tight in our home, Chef Boyardee fit in our budget. However it seems now that we often had a desert. Spice cake was my favorite. The cake I bought (never, never shop hungry) had some of the qualities I remembered. It split in half between the layers of frosting. It was not as moist, the raisins not as plump, but it did get sticky on my fingers. If I only could have found the Three Stooges, Laurel and Hardy or the Little Rascals on TV while licking my fingers clean, the moment would have been as close to perfection as I ever might have dared.
Antojitos (literally, little cravings or whims) are the true Mexican Fast Food. They are available from street booths and carts, and restaurants: these little gems are never far away.
Though some Mexican mercados have stalls specializing in sweets, more typically confections in the mercado area are sold from sidewalk vendors. Maybe a little table will be set up at a street corner, or perhaps a boy will be circulating with a tray of goodies strapped around his neck. As with tamales and breads, many sweets are made in only a small region, so when you enter the mercado area of a city new to you, be sure to be on the lookout for local specialties.
While not a qualifying ride for the Tour de France, the Tour De Cure is a noteworthy cycling event. All across the United States 30,000 riders become reacquainted with their bicycles. For some, it's just a matter of grabbing a few power gels and a bag of granola, filling a Camelback with water and heading out for a 100 mile ride. For others, it's trying to find tubes to fix the flats and WD 40 to dissolve the rust accumulated on the chain while the bike sat in the garage since the last Tour. Most riders are somewhere in between Fit and Desperate. My next ride will be along the shore of the old fishing town Gloucester, Massachusetts. If you would like to donate to our efforts as a sponsor, you may do so online: ADA sponsor page for the E Team. Each mile I ride, each dollar I raise will be used in the fight to prevent and cure diabetes and to improve the lives of all people affected by diabetes. No matter how small or large, your generous gift will help improve the lives of more than 20 million Americans who suffer from diabetes, in the hope that future generations can live in a world without this disease. Together, we can all make a difference! Thank you for making a generous contribution to this cause that is so important to me!
You may enjoy reading: I can't help but wonder if any of the kids today get to have the fun that we did. Also of interest see: I feel like a parent.
The creature, called Swamp Thing, was originally conceived as Alec Holland mutating into a vegetable-like creature, a "muck-encrusted mockery of a man". However, under writer Alan Moore, Swamp Thing was reinvented as an elemental entity created upon the death of Alec Holland, with Holland's memory and personality intact. He is described as "a plant that thought it was Alec Holland, a plant that was trying its level best to be Alec Holland."
Alan Moore's Swamp Thing had a profound effect on mainstream comic books, being the first horror comic to approach the genre from a literary point of view since the EC horror comics of the 1950's, and broadened the scope of the series to include ecological and spiritual concerns while retaining its horror-fantasy roots.
Waldo County, situated in mid-coast Maine along scenic Penobscot Bay, has genuine New England character evidenced by working port towns and quaint rural villages. Visitors are awed by the area's unspoiled beauty. From striking coastal views to sweeping mountain vistas, dramatic natural settings abound. In addition great care has been taken to preserve and refurbish numerous historic landmarks, homes and buildings. Consequently, the Maine of yesteryear is still found here.
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