SUMMER DEE-LITE PASTA
serves six people (or two people for a couple of days)
1 lb bag of whole wheat pasta corkscrews
1 bag baby spinach, washed and de-stemmed
1 6 oz container of feta cheese
olive oil
balsamic vinegar
1 package chicken sausage (4 or 5 to a pack)
1 6 oz container of pesto
cook pasta and rinse
cut chicken sausages into thin slices (like quarters) and cook in olive
oil and vinegar until brown
wash spinach and cut stems off, chop spinach into bite size pieces
cook spinach lightly until wilted (only a minute or two) in chicken pan
with more oil
put pasta, sausage, feta and pesto together in a salad bowl and stir
serve warm
eat leftovers the next day
Oona M.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Features
WHAT IT’S LIKE TO WRITE A BOOK
Here I am at my computer, 6 a.m. The birds (crows) are “singing,” the air is as cool as it will ever be today, the house is silent – husband still sleeping. Yes, I have left my comfortable bed because I’m stark wide awake thinking about Emily Dickinson.
I’ve thought about her nearly every morning for 47 years now – and she always gets me to my feet, hoping I can capture swiftly those electric, fleeting insights that filled the space between being asleep and awake. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t; sometimes I can’t read my scrawled notes once I get a light on them.
Here’s cheering news: I’ve only been working on this particular book, my opus on E.D. (cradle-to-the-grave treatment), for 16 of those 47 years. For over two years I’ve been stuck in chapter 8 – the first year planning it, the second year writing it; it’s almost done. Of course there have been some diversions along the way – starting a museum, traveling, operations, giving talks, doing other writing assignments.
How many chapters will there be, people ask warily, hoping I’ll say nine. But I can’t say anything, because I don’t know. The truth is, as many as it takes.
So far she’s through her childhood, she’s through Mount Holyoke, she’s through her first couple years back home – these are crucial years, which is why it takes so long to wrestle them to the ground – but everything really BIG (and I mean BIG) still lies ahead: the writing of 1800 poems, a major breakdown of some kind, the Civil War, her anxiety condition that nobody but me believes she suffered, her hide-and-seek game with Mr. Higginson (another pet theory all mine), her loves, her heartbreaks – and of course her death. Then all hell breaks loose over the publication of the poetry (should I deep-six that part, as other whimps have done – but it’s a huge part of the story, if one is opusing).
Well, here I am, it’s 6:15 already (phone hook-up here in the country is slow). I can check my email, but if two or three people are seeking Dickinson advice, as they usually are, that can divert the morning. Best go right to work adding my early-morning thoughts to the richly textured forty pages of chapter 8. Not counting pages of endnotes, of course – that’s a story in itself.
Endnotes are a sort of parallel text in my book. No “Op. Cit.” and “ibid” for me – it’s all the stuff that’s fascinating, that’s been gleaned over 50 years, that doesn’t belong in the text proper. It’s what’s currently called the “back story,” paralleling the real chapter, filling the reader in on the “connections” that make this woman’s life so fascinating. I can spend hours among the endnotes, keeping them succinct but informative (juicy). Trouble is, over the 18 years I’ve been writing and not writing this book, I’ve sort of lost track of the form in which the endnotes began – there are numerous styles for footnotes and endnotes (publishers don’t “do” footnotes any more – too expensive – just stuff ‘em all in the back, and whose who don’t read them miss half the experience. Oh well.) Anyway, sometime late in this manuscript’s life will come a grand “regularize the footnotes” week, or month, that won’t be much fun.
I’m wondering these days why I began an opus. Why not a swift overview, a sparkling slender stunning summary of my 50 years with Dickinson, done and over? I guess cuz I didn’t know it would take so long to let it all hang out. One learns so much in turning over 50 years worth of stones and examining the bug life beneath. Yet never enough. We’ll never know enough about E.D. - she hid her tracks too well.
I do begin to wonder, tho, if I’ll finish in this lifetime, moving at a snail’s pace through her life, and mine. She’s sort of my “endnotes” in the sense of a parallel and different existence of the imagination that I carry along at all times. It means that I live simultaneously in three centuries. This one and the last, and the one before that.
There are other questions – why has my publisher hung in there waiting for this book? Why has my wonderful, patient husband not left in favor of someone who will accompany him anywhere at the drop of a hat?
Let’s see, we can slide this morning’s insight in right here, and adjust for it there and there. O.K. But is this book boring? Have my writing skills deteriorated? Have I lost mental track of a thousand details squirreled away in my brain and in my files over the decades? How does one know if what one’s doing is any good, or necessary (given all the stuff constantly being written about this poet)? And how much headway am I challenging myself to make today?
The chapter’s almost done. Hurray! Only three major incidents to put to bed to wind it up. Then E.D. can suffer the losses of many friends from TB in 1851 – there were a slew of them, and she feared she had consumption herself through the ordeal. That’s what’s next – chapter 9, along with beginning to write the poetry at last, and moving back to the Homestead, and starting to suffer from social phobia.
Whee – writing sure is fun.
POL
Here I am at my computer, 6 a.m. The birds (crows) are “singing,” the air is as cool as it will ever be today, the house is silent – husband still sleeping. Yes, I have left my comfortable bed because I’m stark wide awake thinking about Emily Dickinson.
I’ve thought about her nearly every morning for 47 years now – and she always gets me to my feet, hoping I can capture swiftly those electric, fleeting insights that filled the space between being asleep and awake. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t; sometimes I can’t read my scrawled notes once I get a light on them.
Here’s cheering news: I’ve only been working on this particular book, my opus on E.D. (cradle-to-the-grave treatment), for 16 of those 47 years. For over two years I’ve been stuck in chapter 8 – the first year planning it, the second year writing it; it’s almost done. Of course there have been some diversions along the way – starting a museum, traveling, operations, giving talks, doing other writing assignments.
How many chapters will there be, people ask warily, hoping I’ll say nine. But I can’t say anything, because I don’t know. The truth is, as many as it takes.
So far she’s through her childhood, she’s through Mount Holyoke, she’s through her first couple years back home – these are crucial years, which is why it takes so long to wrestle them to the ground – but everything really BIG (and I mean BIG) still lies ahead: the writing of 1800 poems, a major breakdown of some kind, the Civil War, her anxiety condition that nobody but me believes she suffered, her hide-and-seek game with Mr. Higginson (another pet theory all mine), her loves, her heartbreaks – and of course her death. Then all hell breaks loose over the publication of the poetry (should I deep-six that part, as other whimps have done – but it’s a huge part of the story, if one is opusing).
Well, here I am, it’s 6:15 already (phone hook-up here in the country is slow). I can check my email, but if two or three people are seeking Dickinson advice, as they usually are, that can divert the morning. Best go right to work adding my early-morning thoughts to the richly textured forty pages of chapter 8. Not counting pages of endnotes, of course – that’s a story in itself.
Endnotes are a sort of parallel text in my book. No “Op. Cit.” and “ibid” for me – it’s all the stuff that’s fascinating, that’s been gleaned over 50 years, that doesn’t belong in the text proper. It’s what’s currently called the “back story,” paralleling the real chapter, filling the reader in on the “connections” that make this woman’s life so fascinating. I can spend hours among the endnotes, keeping them succinct but informative (juicy). Trouble is, over the 18 years I’ve been writing and not writing this book, I’ve sort of lost track of the form in which the endnotes began – there are numerous styles for footnotes and endnotes (publishers don’t “do” footnotes any more – too expensive – just stuff ‘em all in the back, and whose who don’t read them miss half the experience. Oh well.) Anyway, sometime late in this manuscript’s life will come a grand “regularize the footnotes” week, or month, that won’t be much fun.
I’m wondering these days why I began an opus. Why not a swift overview, a sparkling slender stunning summary of my 50 years with Dickinson, done and over? I guess cuz I didn’t know it would take so long to let it all hang out. One learns so much in turning over 50 years worth of stones and examining the bug life beneath. Yet never enough. We’ll never know enough about E.D. - she hid her tracks too well.
I do begin to wonder, tho, if I’ll finish in this lifetime, moving at a snail’s pace through her life, and mine. She’s sort of my “endnotes” in the sense of a parallel and different existence of the imagination that I carry along at all times. It means that I live simultaneously in three centuries. This one and the last, and the one before that.
There are other questions – why has my publisher hung in there waiting for this book? Why has my wonderful, patient husband not left in favor of someone who will accompany him anywhere at the drop of a hat?
Let’s see, we can slide this morning’s insight in right here, and adjust for it there and there. O.K. But is this book boring? Have my writing skills deteriorated? Have I lost mental track of a thousand details squirreled away in my brain and in my files over the decades? How does one know if what one’s doing is any good, or necessary (given all the stuff constantly being written about this poet)? And how much headway am I challenging myself to make today?
The chapter’s almost done. Hurray! Only three major incidents to put to bed to wind it up. Then E.D. can suffer the losses of many friends from TB in 1851 – there were a slew of them, and she feared she had consumption herself through the ordeal. That’s what’s next – chapter 9, along with beginning to write the poetry at last, and moving back to the Homestead, and starting to suffer from social phobia.
Whee – writing sure is fun.
POL
Ask Aunt Polly
ASK AUNT POLLY (from old issue)
Dear Aunt Polly,
My nephew Hank married a woman who's very aquisitive. Both of them
have good jobs and no children, so are well off. The live in a
beautiful home, can buy just about anything, and go on nice trips.
But Hank's wife (I'll call her Nancy) is never satisfied. She's
always acquiring more things - expensive things, like lap pools and a
major entertainment center, and another car (just to review this year
so far). It bothers me Nancy can't enjoy what she has. She also seems
to want what I've got. Once I told Hank I would leave him some family
furniture, but now I'm not so sure.
In a quandry, NM
Dear Quandry,
You don't mention Nancy's background. Sometimes people who suffered
economically deprived childhoods can't get over the feeling of being
without. It's like a person who has starved not being able to control
his greediness once food becomes plentiful. If my intuition is
correct, Nancy may never adjust to her current riches without help.
Unless you feel comfortable talking with your nephew about your
observations, it would be best to MYOB.
Aunt Polly
Dear Aunt Polly,
In my husband's family, no one ever raised his or her voice. Disputes
were settled by "reasonable discussion," although if I do say so, my
mother-in-law mostly does what she's told by her husband and sons. My
family is scrappy. My sisters and I learned to fight and argue for
what we thought were our rights. This behavior disturbs my husband,
so that he leaves the house when he meets with an argument or a
raised pitch or tone. He says I'm hysterical; I say he's so
reasonable he's unreasonable, which gets under my skin. He wasn't
like this before we married. What's happened?
Give me a break, in Peoria
Dear Breaker,
Your husband may have been attracted to your feistiness when he met
you, but doesn't enjoy living with behavior that always goes against
the grain of his upbringing. You can try talking reasonably about the
problem with him, or with a counselor, but you will both have to give
some to make this marriage work. It's especially important your
husband not walk out on the discussion. Good luck. I'm in your corner.
Aunt Polly
Dear Aunt Polly,
This week in the youth section of our public library I found and
brought home a book for 14-18 year olds on date rape. I am 15. My
mother is horrified the library has this book on its shelves, and
won't let me read it. She doesn't know that some kids my age in
school already are drinking and having sex, but it's true. I'm not
doing either and don't plan to, but I think it's good to know what to
watch for. How can I help my Mom get more with it?
Not too young to know
Dear Not To,
One way would be to send for my booklet, "What Parents need to know,"
which contains some frank information on what teenagers encounter in
today's social culture. It's designed to open the eyes of people like
your mother who think the world hasn't changed since the eighties.
Young people now can find themselves in scary situations at
surprisingly young ages. "Forewarned is forearmed" was never more
pertinent. Send $2.50 to Ask Aunt Polly, PO Box 567, Athol, MA 01331.
Aunt Polly
Dear Aunt Polly,
My nephew Hank married a woman who's very aquisitive. Both of them
have good jobs and no children, so are well off. The live in a
beautiful home, can buy just about anything, and go on nice trips.
But Hank's wife (I'll call her Nancy) is never satisfied. She's
always acquiring more things - expensive things, like lap pools and a
major entertainment center, and another car (just to review this year
so far). It bothers me Nancy can't enjoy what she has. She also seems
to want what I've got. Once I told Hank I would leave him some family
furniture, but now I'm not so sure.
In a quandry, NM
Dear Quandry,
You don't mention Nancy's background. Sometimes people who suffered
economically deprived childhoods can't get over the feeling of being
without. It's like a person who has starved not being able to control
his greediness once food becomes plentiful. If my intuition is
correct, Nancy may never adjust to her current riches without help.
Unless you feel comfortable talking with your nephew about your
observations, it would be best to MYOB.
Aunt Polly
Dear Aunt Polly,
In my husband's family, no one ever raised his or her voice. Disputes
were settled by "reasonable discussion," although if I do say so, my
mother-in-law mostly does what she's told by her husband and sons. My
family is scrappy. My sisters and I learned to fight and argue for
what we thought were our rights. This behavior disturbs my husband,
so that he leaves the house when he meets with an argument or a
raised pitch or tone. He says I'm hysterical; I say he's so
reasonable he's unreasonable, which gets under my skin. He wasn't
like this before we married. What's happened?
Give me a break, in Peoria
Dear Breaker,
Your husband may have been attracted to your feistiness when he met
you, but doesn't enjoy living with behavior that always goes against
the grain of his upbringing. You can try talking reasonably about the
problem with him, or with a counselor, but you will both have to give
some to make this marriage work. It's especially important your
husband not walk out on the discussion. Good luck. I'm in your corner.
Aunt Polly
Dear Aunt Polly,
This week in the youth section of our public library I found and
brought home a book for 14-18 year olds on date rape. I am 15. My
mother is horrified the library has this book on its shelves, and
won't let me read it. She doesn't know that some kids my age in
school already are drinking and having sex, but it's true. I'm not
doing either and don't plan to, but I think it's good to know what to
watch for. How can I help my Mom get more with it?
Not too young to know
Dear Not To,
One way would be to send for my booklet, "What Parents need to know,"
which contains some frank information on what teenagers encounter in
today's social culture. It's designed to open the eyes of people like
your mother who think the world hasn't changed since the eighties.
Young people now can find themselves in scary situations at
surprisingly young ages. "Forewarned is forearmed" was never more
pertinent. Send $2.50 to Ask Aunt Polly, PO Box 567, Athol, MA 01331.
Aunt Polly
Monday, June 28, 2010
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