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The View From
Mrs. Sundberg's Window In this feature, regular listener Mrs. Sundberg shares her thoughts about Saturday's show.
May 12, 2008
Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. The music was particularly good with the BoDeans on the playlist. Oh, gosh, I love that song they sing called, "Good Things." I was singing it on the way out to the bus stop Monday morning. "Sunlight fall down on the fields / Sunlight fall down over me / Work all day, be all that I can be..." I guess I was singing a bit loud and maybe even dancing along the way because the kids shushed me. "Mom, the bus is coming. Knock it off." Well, how do you like those beans. Sunday was Mother's Day and they were all lovey and "You're the Best Mom" and they helped with some housework and made a fine strawberry cake for me, with sour cream frosting and a big ol' heart made with those little red-hots. They made cards, too, and gave me a pile of gifts — chocolates, a bottle of wine, some handmade almond soap, and a set of three fancy knives for cutting meat. (Still no bubble machine, but there's always my birthday.) It was all so wonderful and I felt a bit of that mother-guilt when I took off to indulge myself in a few hours at the bookstore before we all went out for pizza and cheesecake and drove home as the sun set behind us and the frogs came out to sing. Such a perfect day. So on Monday morning at the bus stop I was a bit surprised when they asked me to go back into the house before the bus came. "We're big enough to wait by ourselves...and sometimes you embarrass us." Well, how do you like that. I've nearly spent myself some mornings entertaining those kids at the bus stop. Re-enacting the first Olympics using sticks for javelins and showing them cheers from my days as captain of the cheerleading squad. Singing "Yes, Sir, That's My Baby" (choreography included) which won my high school show choir a first at state. Then there were the days I did jumping jacks until the bus showed up, and sometimes cartwheels as they climbed on. Doing the Moonwalk as the bus pulled away last Thursday was probably the last straw, and now that I think about it I suppose I did get a bit carried away on occasion, pretending I was Daniel Boone hiding in the bushes then coming out in my coonskin cap, waving a white surrender flag before the bus. Though I think bringing hot cinnamon rolls to everyone on the bus was a nice thing because not everyone has time for a warm breakfast. And bringing coffee to the busdriver? Maybe I didn't need to go all out with the stewardess uniform, and the sparklers on the final day of school last year were probably a bit much. So, to everything a season. It's been fun, but I suppose it's time the kids waited for the bus on their own. I'll walk them out one last time tomorrow. I'll be good. I'll stand there and we'll talk about their day, and I'll make my way back to the house once the bus comes into sight. And when I do sing, I'll sing quietly. "Oh, my sweet darling someones, whom I do adore, / It's early morning, the bus is coming, who could ask for more? Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa..." Made a friend on a cruise a while back. Her name is Judy and she lives in Missouri, and she wrote to me recently, and included this very special recipe which has been a favorite of hers for more than fifty years. It's one of those hot summer day desserts that cools from the inside out. She first tried it way back in high school when the man who won her heart took her home to meet his parents. Her future mother-in-law served this refreshing treat, and it was so good, Judy had a second helping. And the rest is history. Buttermilk Ice Cream 1/2 gallon buttermilk 1 cup sugar (can substitute Equal or Splenda) 1 20 oz. can crushed pineapple in juice (not syrup) 1 jar maraschino cherries and juice In a large plastic container (a 9 x 13 carrier works well), mix buttermilk, sugar, crushed pineapple and juice. Halve the cherries and add them and juice to the mixture. Mix well, dissolving the sugar. Put in the freezer for about 5 hours. Take it out and mix it up. Continue freezing awhile and then mixing until you have an icy slush. If this freezes overnight, it will be hard as cement. In that case, leave it on the counter at room temperature for 20 minutes or so and bash it all up with a spoon until it softens enough to eat. Microwaving briefly is an option. Enjoy! May 5, 2008 Tenderness Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. The show was out in Maine and I felt a bit of envy this time around. There are a lot of places I'd like to visit in my one short life, and Maine is right up there near the top of the list. Everything about it seems rugged and lovely, and I'll get there one of these days, but until then I'll have to contend with little bouts of envy when someone I know visits Maine. I don't harbor ill feelings about it, though. There's really no point. My turn will come around one of these days, and my biggest problem will be having to choose where to go. Maine? Banff, Canada? Ireland? Who knows. But lamentation in the meantime is a waste of energy, and there's too much of it in the world, anyway. I'd rather focus my energy on something else, something we need more of. Like tenderness. And I'm not alone. Elvis was all for tenderness, and Mr. Keillor himself sang about it during Saturday's show, how he'll take a little tenderness over a long list of things. Which got me thinking. It's underrated, tenderness is, and it's pushed to the side and forgotten. Mainly because it requires a few things we're either hesitant to give or just plain incapable of mustering up. To be tender, you need to pay attention, you ought to have patience, and you really must be diligent because tenderness isn't always well-received. (It's a quiet thing, and sometimes people don't recognize it so you have to give it another go.) The thing is, being treated with tenderness makes a person feel less lonely, AND it makes you feel like you've got something worth some attention. And sometimes it can calm a person. Which is why children are good candidates. You can simply read them a story, or wash their hair for them, or give a little backrub and they get this look on their faces and sometimes they hum or sigh. Same with the love of your life. I recall a rainy day in the not-too-distant past when I wasn't feeling too well and lay down for a while and Mr. Sundberg covered me with blankets straight out of the dryer and then gave me the longest foot massage ever. I haven't been that relaxed in years. I thought I might die from joy. And remember, strangers can use a bit of tenderness, too. There's always that element of surprise when someone you don't know gives you a bit of positive energy. If I were Teacher of the World, this week's assignment would be just that: find someone who could use it and share a little tenderness, whomever and however it may be. You just never know. 1 lb pork loin, trimmed and cut into 1" x 1/2 1/4 cup cornstarch Prepare marinade and mix with cut up pork in Ziploc bag. Marinade in fridge for an hour or overnight. Mix occasionally by kneading Combine all ingredients for sauce in 1 qt saucepan. Bring to gentle boil, stirring constantly, then simmer until thickened and clear. Keep warm. April 28, 2008 The Big List Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. The fact that there was snow on the ground Saturday morning had put us all in a bit of a funk, so the show was something to look forward to on a day when our hopes for a walk in the sun had been thwarted. Of course, what you want and what you get aren't always in sync and we all know this, so our weather-related GrumpFest was short-lived and we had some fun anyway and made eggrolls and cream cheese wontons and watched a movie or two. Deep fried food is a sure remedy for crabbiness, and it was. While we ate, the kids asked what I want for Mother's Day, which is a short two weeks off. I haven't made a list, I told them, and I don't think I will this year. Of course there's The Big List, the one I've kept in my head for years. It's fairly long, and changes regularly, and contains items like "a porch swing" and "a year of yoga" and "subscription to The Chocolate of the Month Club" and "a new car with AC and tinted windows and a way back area where I can take a nap." Things somewhat difficult or expensive, and perhaps a bit self-indulgent. Things I could live without, and may or may not be worth the money or effort. You know? Like a hot air balloon flight or a weekend in Washington, D.C. Could live without it but it would be nice. (And of course there's the Secret List, the one I keep to myself. We all have them. We just don't say much about 'em.) I don't share The Big List much, unless I'm wishing out loud, mainly because those are things I can take care of along the way. If I'm going to give the kids a challenge, I'd rather it not involve money or travel agents. I don't want to give them a guilt complex, and I don't want to foster the misperception that I love them because of what they buy me. Nope. Real gifts come from the heart, like favorite flowers, or original art, or handmade coupons for housework. And they're often the kind of gifts people don't know they're giving. Like a hike in the woods or a good long listen or a hand massage during the sermon. After all that fried food, we managed to have a bit of room so I scooped up some rainbow sherbet and we listened to the end of the show, during which I had an idea. I know what I want for Mother's Day, I told them. I want each of you to find a poem you like and memorize it. On Mother's Day you can recite it and that will be my gift. They smiled, to my surprise, and within minutes were in the study paging through stacks of books. "How about 'The Raven'?" I heard one of them ask. "What are you, nuts?" someone replied. "She doesn't care how long they are or who wrote them. We just pick one we like. How about that 'Nature's first green is gold' one you studied in school? That one's cool." And sometimes what you want and what you get are in perfect sync. It's true. Taco Bake 1 lb ground beef, browned and drained Mix the hamburger with the taco seasoning, Stir baking mix, milk and eggs together until Bake at 350 uncovered for about 35 minutes. Mmm! Enjoy. April 21, 2008 Home Is a Fleeting Thing Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It's nice to have a two-hour stretch where I can let go of everything and simply tune in. There's so much happening lately. Mr. Sundberg's calendar is packed for the next few weeks so he's been in and out, and Spring showed up and—BOOM—there's baseball and softball and the spring play and practices for the kids, then concerts and games and a woman needs to find a bit of peace. Just a stretch of calm. Some days I simply want to stay home and just be. I've been thinking about home lately, and how I've heard it said that home is the imaginary place we spend our lives longing to return to. That may be, but I have to believe home is inside of me—the feeling that I belong here where I am, that I'm supposed to be here, and the people around me are my people. I feel it when I'm at the grocery store where Lori in the deli says "Hello!" and the yogurt display is something both Andy Warhol and Vincent Van Gogh would admire, and Derek the check-out guy is waiting to give me the latest update on The Adventures of Derek. I feel at home in my car, of course, because it's simply an extension of my house and it's clean and I could live in it for quite a stretch of days if I found myself in the middle of nowhere. I feel home when I'm with my parents and my brothers, and a bit of it at the café, and on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair. Truth is, though, like childbirth or adolescence or escalator rides, feeling at home is a fleeting thing. You want to hold on to it when you have it, because it's dear life itself, and Dorothy was right on when she said there's no place like it. Let me tell you, it filled my kitchen on Saturday night when Mr. Keillor sang at the end of his monologue the song about Lake Wobegon, a song with longing for cows and meadows and the sweetness of a time and place. It filled my kitchen and it filled me, and I ended up calling people I love long into the night, with nothing much at all to say but "Hello", wanting to hear their voices talking, telling what's been going on and who's doing what and when. And while they talked, I heard in the background train whistles and crying children, dogs barking and cupboards shutting, and chickens. I slept well that night, and dreamed about blueberries and how we used to pick 'em, squatting among the flat bushes, filling empty ice cream pails long into hot afternoons. And when we finished, we loaded up the truck and drove home, stopping for vanilla ice cream on the way for the pie mom would make, we hoped, for dessert. This recipe comes to me from a woman who meditates, a strong woman who knows there's a time for emptiness and a time for attachment, and a time for chocolate cake. It's a lovely cake—perfect for tea with silver and plates, and just as luscious wrapped in a napkin on the way to the bus. Emergency Chocolate Cake April 14, 2008 Spring Came Just in Time This Year Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I was busy wrapping gifts for my mother as her birthday is this week and I'd made plans to have lunch with her Sunday. The kids were outside playing Kick the Can while the snowstorm snow melted away and Mr. Sundberg was out on the deck setting up the telescope he ordered from his nature magazine. He says it's for the kids but he's been talking about it nonstop since he placed the order. I've been in the habit in recent years of buying use-uppable gifts for my parents—things like books and wine and cheese and maple syrup. Nothing that will pile up. Books are borderline, but when you finish a good book it seems natural to pass it along. Of course, every now and then the occasion calls for something special. Last year it was a diamond necklace for my mother, something her children have never given her, something to honor her lifework as Mother of us. And this year, given all the talk she's been doing lately about what she wants in life, I bought her a banjo. Banjos aren't easy to wrap. "Looks like a giant slice of Swiss cheese," Carl Sagan said when he came in from the deck. He was wearing a hard hat and carrying a clipboard with Orion's Belt sketched out on it. I didn't bother to ask. I didn't have to. "Telescope is ready to go," he said. "Bring on the comets." Seems he's entered a second or third childhood lately. He's been watching the Muppet version of "Danny Boy" on YouTube and talking about tubing down the river this summer. When he suggested planting a salsa garden out back, I had to holler, Whoa. I'm not a green thumb person, and I don't need another opportunity to prove it to the world. Go right on ahead, I said, as long as you remember it's your garden. I'll take care of the salsa end of things. Just don't expect me to hover over those peppers. I met Mom at a little restaurant down by the river just after church on Sunday. She arrived a bit late, with pink cheeks and a smile on her face. There were new leopard print car seat covers in her car (a birthday gift from her best friend) and she wore her glasses on a chain of shiny red beads. "Let's have a fancy drink," she said, and hers was blue with a purple umbrella in it. "I don't know what it is," she said, "but something's come over me lately. I feel so good when I get up in the morning. I don't want the day to end. Not like the past few months when all I wanted to do was sleep. But I'm not going to question it. Nope, I'm simply going to enjoy it." She enjoyed lunch, anyway, right down to the frozen chocolate cheesecake on a stick. And when we got to my car and I pulled out the giant wedge that was her banjo, she clapped her hands giggled. Within minutes she had it open. "Oh, I love it," she said. "My own banjo. I've wanted one ever since I was a little girl." She picked it up and, right there in the parking lot, began strumming, and, as cars pulled in to park and people passed by, she sang, "I just want to be me…" Seems spring came just in time this year and brought us all back from whom we were becoming to whom we really are. And thank goodness for that. These cookies are best eaten the day they're baked. I underbake 'em a bit and they're like little fudge bombs and the kids eat 'em up. White Chocolate Chippers 1 cup (2 sticks) butter or margarine, softened 3/4 cup granulated sugar 2/3 cup packed brown sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla 2 eggs 2 1/4 cups flour 2/3 cup baking cocoa 1 teaspoon baking soda 1/4 teaspoon salt 1 1/2 cups white chocolate chips Cream butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar and vanilla extract in large mixer bowl. Add eggs and beat further. Mix in flour, cocoa, baking soda and salt. Stir in morsels. Drop by teaspoonsful onto ungreased baking sheets. Bake at 350 for 9 to 11 minutes. Enjoy! |
Mrs. Sundberg's Archives May 12, 2008 To Everything a Season May 5, 2008 Tenderness April 28, 2008 The Big List April 21, 2008 Home Is a Fleeting Thing April 14, 2008 Spring Came Just in Time This Year April 7, 2008 A List, Some Cash and a Tank Full of Gas March 31, 2008 April Fool's Day Possibilities March 24, 2008 Something Good for No Real Reason March 17, 2008 An Old Farmer to Thank March 10, 2008 There Are a Bazillion Ways to be Together March 4, 2008 Time for "Plan B" February 26, 2008 An Ordinary Life February 19, 2008 No Strings. No Conditions. February 11, 2008 I Know When to Haul Out the Snow Pants February 4, 2008 Three Extraordinary Things January 28, 2008 A Few Precautionary Measures January 22, 2008 Seven Surefire Ways to Stay Warm January 14, 2008 'Bout as close to flying as a person can get January 7, 2008 Emergency Curtains. Just In Case. December 31, 2007 No Regrets December 26, 2007 A Lovely Version of Chaos December 18, 2007 There's frozen pizza in the kitchen. Have at it. December 10, 2007 Dipped in Vigor and Rolled in Vim December 3, 2007 I Did Not Win the Pillsbury Bake-Off. November 26, 2007 It's cold outside and warm in here November 19, 2007 Grief and Novocain November 12, 2007 Your Life Does Have Meaning November 5, 2007 Keep a Short Story Short October 30, 2007 Night Shopping October 22, 2007 Too Bad No One Was There to Witness It October 15, 2007 Lord Help those within Earshot October 8, 2007 A Fine and Stormy Evening October 2, 2007 And Did It Ever Rain September 24, 2007 Because I Could September 17, 2007 Such a Perfect Day September 10, 2007 Feeling Catapulted and a Bit Off September 4, 2007 Convictions, I think they call 'em August 29, 2007 Roses in my arms and tears in my eyes August 21, 2007 The Second Story of My Life August 13, 2007 Just me and the radio August 6, 2007 Comfort Is A Good Word July 30, 2007 Our Barefoot Days Are Numbered July 26, 2007 Jet Lagged and Lagging July 16, 2007 A Postcard from Mrs. S. July 9, 2007 A Real Gem July 2, 2007 Vacating Your Comfort Zone June 25, 2007 Growing up is harder than learning how to fly June 18, 2007 I feel pretty lucky, too June 11, 2007 Give me a good thunderboomer June 4, 2007 Perfection is reserved for very few things May 29, 2007 When a Moment of Silence is in Order May 21, 2007 Nothing like a good party May 14, 2007 Every plate was a work of art May 8, 2007 One heck of a fine time April 30, 2007 Out there is where the kites are April 23, 2007 Memorable, to say the least April 16, 2007 Things are a bit different now April 10, 2007 A Good Heart and a Full Pantry April 2, 2007 We Tried to Sculpt a Sunrise March 26, 2007 ...And a Mighty Fine One at That March 19, 2007 More of a Happy Secret March 12, 2007 I Could Think of Worse... March 5, 2007 The importance of having a plan February 27, 2007 I've Driven in Worse than This February 20, 2007 They Always Come Back February 12, 2007 Buck Up and Go About Your Business February 5, 2007 I really haven't risked much January 29, 2007 What if they come to our house? January 22, 2007 Heap coals of kindness January 16, 2007 Decadence Doesn't Have to be Pricey January 8, 2007 Repeat the Entire Process January 2, 2007 The Good Old Days December 26, 2006 I'll figure it out along the way December 18, 2006 And all the while you smile December 11, 2006 Patience Can Be Cultivated December 4, 2006 There's Just so Much November 27, 2006 In the Spirit of Gathering November 20, 2006 Buy one, get one. Free. November 13, 2006 Sometimes you give when you take November 6, 2006 Being good takes some work October 30, 2006 What Scares Me October 23, 2006 Both Lovely and Strange October 16, 2006 It's going to be a fine week October 9, 2006 Resist Prohibition October 2, 2006 When Solitude Presents Itself September 27, 2006 Surprise! No Cheese September 21, 2006 A Solid Routine July 6, 2005 Good To Be Home June 29, 2005 Something About Candlelight June 23, 2005 The Meaning of "Mojo" June 16, 2005 Plain and Simple June 9, 2005 A Whistle And A Song June 1, 2005 Go Play in the Rain May 26, 2005 Bring Me a Little Water May 19, 2005 What You Hold Onto May 13, 2005 An Ordinary Mother's Day May 5, 2005 The Boomerang Principle April 29, 2005 Silence Left Behind April 18, 2005 A Trip All Its Own April 7, 2005 Forgiveness March 31, 2005 Earth's the Right Place For Love March 17, 2005 Nothing Like a Good Road Trip March 11, 2005 How Time Passes March 7, 2005 A Kind of Balance February 23, 2005 Not a Trivial Pursuit February 15, 2005 Long-Time Friends February 9, 2005 The Last Word February 2, 2005 That's The Story Of Love January 25, 2005 Found Out January 19, 2005 You Just Never Know January 12, 2005 The Things We Need January 4, 2005 New Year's Wishes December 23, 2004 Dreaming at Christmastime December 14, 2004 A Perfect Pair December 8, 2004 A Wonderful Life November 30, 2004 Mr. Sundberg's Christmas Gift November 22, 2004 Shine Its Ever-Lovin' Light November 17, 2004 "Crazy" Can Be a Good Thing November 9, 2004 There’s Hope In Laughter November 2, 2004 Hot Coffee For Your Vote October 26, 2004 We're Out Here, Listening October 19, 2004 More Biscotti, Please October 13, 2004 A Voice Like a Hammock October 4, 2004 Polka Music. Oh, Yah September 28, 2004 Like Pie Heaven July 21, 2004 Wish You Were Here July 7, 2004 Let's Go Now June 28, 2004 Like Words to a Song June 21, 2004 People Are Very Much Like Icebergs June 14, 2004 You Love What You Love June 8, 2004 Alone in a Crowd June 1, 2004 What There Is to Be Afraid Of May 25, 2004 Goddess Victory Squat May 17, 2004 Things Could Have Been Different But They Weren't May 10, 2004 Best Mom in the World May 4, 2004 A Music Bath April 26, 2004 Tin Washtubs and Hay Mows April 19, 2004 It Was a Wonderful Thing April 12, 2004 The Waiting Room for Paradise April 5, 2004 A Solid Vocabulary March 29, 2004 Thank Goodness I Brought My Rhubarb Cobbler March 23, 2004 He Said, "There You Are." March 16, 2004 The Chicken Sure Was Good March 9, 2004 A Missionary in a Turquoise Polyester Dress March 1, 2004 No More Shanghai Barbecues February 23, 2004 I Happen to Love You Even Though You Make Me Crazy February 17, 2004 A Mother-Poet Version of Paul Bunyan February 9, 2004 Like the Garden of Eden With The Greens And The Pomegranates February 2, 2004 Crank up the Volume and Put on Your Parka January 26, 2004 Hash Browns, Side Pork, and Cold Whole Milk January 20, 2004 The Little Clock Radio And the Plastic Palm Tree January 13, 2004 I'll Bet You Could Smell That Cheese All the Way Down to the Mailbox January 5, 2004 The Tattoo, Joe Petroski, and the Llama Farm December 29, 2003 "Homemade Toffee Nearly Unhinged My Jaw" December 22, 2003 "So Much for the Meatballs" December 15, 2003 "Hallelujah in the Windshield Wipers" December 8, 2003 "How are They Going to Pull This Off?" December 5, 2003 "Red the Color of Wintergreen Berries" November 25, 2003 "Like a Firefly on a Hot Summer Night" November 17, 2003 "My toes were numb and the Fajitas were too spicy" November 10, 2003 "I'm in the closet. Chicken and dumplings are in the oven." November 1, 2003 "Maybe It Was the Barometric Pressure" October 28, 2003 "I felt that nyckelharpa in my fillings" |