One final entry about my mother. Somewhere along the way she learned how to make a lemon meringue pie...from scratch. She was the minister's wife. Her pie always won first place...and then she found out about boxes and bags...she found that you could buy a box of pie crusts...and so why should she make them from scratch? She had to practice her violin. And she still won first place! My grandmother tried to explain that she was...cheating...but she disagreed. I figure the ladies of the church were just being gracious. She would always win the prize for the lemon meringue pie!

A Post Script:

Recipe for Black Bean Soup

2 tsp. olive oil

2 onions chopped

2 tsp.chili powder

Pinch red pepper flakes

1 can (28 oz.) plum tomatoes, drained and chopped

2 cups chicken stock

1 can Black Beans, drained and rinsed

1 to 1 1/2 cups corn kernels

Coarsely chopped packed fresh coriander

Heat oil, cook onions, chili powder, red pepper flakes...stirring for 5 to 8 minutes

Add tomatoes, stock, beans, corn...Simmer stirring until slightly thickened

Stir in coriander and dollop of sour cream

Now it's really hot...wonderful for a cold...You can either modify the chili...or...and this is what I discovered tonight, you can add some cut up very dark chocolate - mother would have loved the chocolate...it takes away some of the heat...

Today I have a cold...and I made black bean soup...and it had chili and red pepper flakes and coriander...and it really was good because I could taste it. I was thinking about feminism and my mother who was so proud of her cooking. She would have made the soup without the spices...she might even have omitted the black beans. It didn't matter to her. She was a musician...that mattered. What is amusing is that she could convince people that her soup was authentic and that she knew what she was doing. I think she was a feminist...she didn't know she was of the "second sex." In 1940, the year that women got the vote, Ethel Stark created the Montreal Women's Symphony orchestra. My mother was a member. They had no instruments...they begged borrowed and stole them...and more importantly they learned how to to play them to the point where they performed in Carnegie Hall...They didn't know they were the second sex. They didn't know that what they did was impossible. They were musicians. They would do anything to make music.
Yesterday I was talking about her with a new friend. Talk about synchronicity. Said friend's step mother played the bassoon in the Women's Symphony Orchestra. Everywhere I go I meet the alumnae of that group. They wouldn't know that that was the year they got the vote. They would know that that was the year that they created an orchestra.
They wouldn't know that spices were important in soup!

I went to Africa...on a Safari...with a group of people who wanted to see a kill...I didn't want to see a kill but I was on a Safari. One day a Cheetah crossed the road right in front of us and climbed an ant hill...about the size of an exercise ball...He or she...was hunting.

We drove down the road a bit and came across a Grant's Gazelle with his herd...

Those in the van who wanted a kill said, "Ohhhh..."

We saw the Cheetah; we saw the Gazelle...they were very close...

And suddenly the Gazelle looked towards the Cheetah...

Those who wanted a kill said, "Ohhhh...Noooo..."

And some even started shouting, "Don't!"

And I think one person nearly got out of the van...and then remembered the Cheetah!

And the Gazelle moved towards the Cheetah...

And the Cheetah got up...

And the van was silent.

And the Cheetah...left....

And I shouted, "Yeah Gazelle!"

And we never saw a kill!

Later the guide explained that the Cheetah left because Cheetah's won't attack from the front. They don't want to be gored by the Gazelle's horns.

Smart Cheetah. Smart Gazelle. Smart Africa.

I couldn't resist...it is so wintry out. I found this fragment written when I first found out what a blog was: I want to start a blog. I am going to invite Jane Eyre...and kill her...because it is all her fault that people don't tell stories...they worry that they will not be able to tell as good a story as Jane Eyre...On second thought, I think I am directing my aggression at the wrong person...I think it is the Bronte sisters I should be targeting.

I really have many more pictures than I have writing! But I am determined. I found this list of why Miss Machin will never be a permanent teacher at Miss Edgars:

She is irreverent.
She is too old.
She can't keep a straight face.
She has sudden temper tantrums. (I like to call that Irish!)
She can't spell.
She just comes for the soup.
She is still a child.
She has weird fingers and scares children.

Oooops - a very big gap! I'm sorry...I found the following note:

Feb. 6 1988

Dear Mach,

I want my comp with the gum on it!

Yours truly

Doug

Sorry, kid, I kept the note...but not the comp...but I have your pencil!

Mach