"See You Soon", He Wrote

As I looked down at the signature on the postcard, I was pleasantly surprised, reminded of the moment 'Jason' had entered her class that mid morning Wednesday, many decades ago. Postcards, 2 years apart, brought fond memories of the journey we had taken together.

I had been sorting through one of many boxes containing loving reminders of years past. Postcards, cards, notes from my late husband and others served to illustrate the many layers my life had taken. It was a life well lived. 'Jason', you lit up my life then and now as I read your mail delivery.

You would see me soon, you wrote. It was August, days before school's return. How thoughtful. I was not your teacher just a parent volunteer trying to make a difference like all parent volunteers. I was honoured by your thoughtfulness, time taken to buy the stamp and card, write on it then mail it somewhere in the city you were visiting. The cards meant everything to me, 30 years later.

We met that mid weekday morning, late last century. I had asked you, to participate as you entered 'Mary's' classroom. At 6-7 years of age,you, respectfully, declined. After all, you knew nothing about what the class was doing. I understood. Those Wednesday mornings, beginning in September of 1994, became an important part of school I was told. It was the impetus for learning, a key to unlocking the door to higher order thinking and learning I knew.

Writing had nothing to do with learning, not at the beginning of this journey. Nothing mattered more to your teacher and me than your words, those magical learning clues. A science activity rolled into a baking class. It was unlike anything I had ever attempted on this scale. Dough was a creative experiment using new words and new thinking. Simple conversation would take us to places never dreamed of. Language meant something. Actually, it meant everything to me. Your words told me a story that never stopped. The excitement was palpable

I had been a secondary school foods teacher for special teens long before becoming a parent of three boys. All born prematurely. For their development, learning had to be fun as it was for you and the class. And so it was. When I left teaching, decades ago, I began volunteering while my own sons were students in the system in which I 'worked'. I found my true calling. Soon, its power would be unleashed and you, the beneficiaries.We were all changing.those many years ago. At first I did not understand dough's impact on your learning. But then it became obvious. All of you showed me the way. And it grew.

Dough's touch was magical but more so when listening to you and your classmates. Questions were the foundation upon which everything we did those mornings were based. Sight, hearing, touch, taste and smell were the triggers in the brain. All abstract ideas, thoughts or comments were suddenly real, translated by dough's touch in the classroom. The words flowed as your thoughts tumbled out of your mouths. We were onto something incredible. (My older brother, a physicist, makes bread for his family.)

We discovered dough's implication and application to our life and learning. Together we felt its impact upon us. Words always took center stage. Questions were number one, always. I was the silent partner.That was imperative.Yeast dough was not just ablout baking, 'Jason'. You felt it and knew it. It was about higher order thinking and learning not just communication.

Your postcards, two years in a row and your unexpected parting gift to me, the cute handheld bagel book with its bagel slicer attachment has meant the world to me. Years later, your mom, in a twist of fate, in her place of business made clear dough's significance in your life to a third party. That feeling is mutual. Thank you, 'Jason' for being there for all of us, then and now. Have a great life.

The Cricket, My Friend?

The sound was so familiar.. The piercing song, emanating from my past, was suddenly here again letting me know it was in the house. I walked to the garage to see where the tiny creature with its billowing voice was hiding. The chirping stopped then resumed once I began speaking to it. What had changed?

I was living in a new reality. Suddenly the sound of a cricket living nearby was both welcoming and comforting to me. How could that be? I was not annoyed by its piercing call to its family. But I might be with more lying in wait. Context was important.

I began speaking, in hushed tones, in this adjacent space called a garage. The company was appreciated. He had to know. The sound stopped as I walked to see where he might be. But really. I did not care. Just being here was all that mattered. In the past this noise would have been sought out for evacuation. But not now. I enjoyed the comraderie, the conversation. Had my standards been lowered? No, they had changed. That is all.

The cricket was here and so was I. In the house I listened. The voice was gone if only for a moment. Then it began again. It's noticeable sound a calming reminder that company was here, a friend from our past. Its presence was to acknowledge to me that some things can change. I had felt it. Punctuating the silence of the night was a welcome nuance. I could sleep with that cricket sound both familiar and comforting. The mind helps when we begin to see things differently. I even smiled.

As time marches on, have our thoughts on animals changed, too? I hope so. As a little girl, in the 50's 'pork' was never associated with pigs those clean, intelligent and social creatures. Veal, oh my, was the worst. Baby cows being nurtured for a few months till 'it was time'. How could they! Then charbroiled steaks from sweet, lovable cows to that place of horror. Imagine being a butcher. Can't be easy at all. ......But for now, I listen to the cricket. 

Books. Baking. Animals, Too

I'm managing to reduce the paper trail, spanning nearly 50 years. Moving is hard work but reducing my living footprint is much harder, without my husband and my 12 year old pup. Last year was not an easy one for us. But much worse for others, I know.

I had been sleeping on a Canadian made sofa for a long time. Snoring got me here, (my husband's, not me, initially, but my dogs kept me downstairs for many reasons, one dog at a time.). ... Sleep was critically important, especially, where driving was concerned. I had to leave, not him. Then there was my sweet girl's dilemma's. ..... Silly, maybe, but my retriever had had several surgeries, emergency and otherwise. The sofa was now off limits to her. I had to protect her. My life evolved.

New 'chapters' in this life have opened up a new way of living. One of these steps was ridding the house of books. I was an addict here. We both were. In my case, the yeast dough program, begun on a teacher hunch that morning, in 1994, was up front and centre. It had to be. (I was on the cusp of the next step in my 'career' when life happened last August and its consequences - Sept. 3rd and Christmas eve of last year.) My book collection had to be reduced but new found treasures came to life. My purpose had been re-ignited and made clear. My standards had changed; new decisions, made. 

Many books were being given away while others disposed of. Nowadays no one wants free books, nowadays -  not even libraries. And so I purged my investment. Some, however, still held an obvious  hold on me. The Education of the Central Nervous System was one, a book printed in 1898 about enriched environments and impact on the brain. It was compelling reading, then and now.

Language is about learning and higher order thinking. What better way to teach those skills than engaging a five sense thinking tool called yeast dough to dig through the massive learning wall. My books were my personal on line course. (Web sites change. Books do not.) A frightened child becomes soft and forthright when engaging with dough. The challenges were unlimited, a curriculum like no other

I came upon one book in particular about baking bread so I thought. But I was in for a shock, saddened by photos of animals, in various poses, with recipes on one side of the page and the animal on the other. (Though I have eaten meat on occasion, my favourite meal has always been being cottage cheese with home made noodles) many other people are strict in their food beliefs. Where is the respect for both parties here? Those pictures were in poor taste. It was a book with unclear intentions, I guess. I had bought a baking book without my customary cursory look through.  It tore me apart. 

Another picture, nearby, assailed me when a photo of duck feet, rising above the liquid in the roasting pan, appeared opposite a beautiful drawing of a majestic duck as though a painting had been done. I asked myself, Why? The shock value was lost on me. Times have changed. The book had been printed many years ago. The final insult was a 'thank you' near the end of the book with a photo of a precious cow looking out at the reader supposedly saying those words.. Where was the respect for both parties?

As I slowly amass a glorious but condensed collection of books for my 'return to teaching', I was thrilled by one book that stood out as the master of all: Baking by James Peterson. It was mine and everything a baking book should be. I was one lucky girl. I shall continue on this somewhat heartbreaking journey of book disposal. Many have gone but a few stars remain helping me deliver a new age in elementary special education. Challenging special needs children through the lens of language is the name of this learning game for special children.

Teaching developmentally delayed children to think as they use language in a continuum for learning and thinking using yeast dough can never begin too soon. Time stands still for no one. (Reading and writing, not required!) Fun and silliness will follow as they learn. Every child must become masters of their own fate from the beginning as they engage in making pizza, doughnuts and croissants. Let the games begin. 

Lose Fat or Lose Muscle?

The science of living seems to be up front and alive according to the June/26 issue of Scientific American. Reading about a new but troubling course in our lives left me wondering where this might go accidentally: drugs that help us lose fat might be destroying muscle along the way, the very substance upon which health is built.

We begin to lose muscle mass after the age of 30. Drugs are now being tested that will help us build the muscle weight we are losing while taking other drugs to lose fat. What a conundrum? Where does this end, I wondered?

The current issue of S. A. of no interest to me, as the title cover article is about The Quantum Revolution. Most times, though, I revel in this magazine's coverage of science related topics about children, learning, and the brain. I'm hooked on the research resulting from yeasted dough and the brain. It's the high in my life along with other emotionally driven 'creature' comforts of the 4 legged kind.

I feel like a scientist though I am just a layman, of course. The June /July issue was quite revealing till I reached the last page. How could it not? It was a closing statement like no other. Using drugs to lose fat but also losing muscle mass was a deleterious idea. Restructuring the body through our relationship with food and exercise is the best way to a better body anytime, i firmly believe..

Drugs can be a lifeline. If our muscle stores begin to disappear because of a drug that helps us lose fat, then what are we doing? The Quantum Revolution cover title did little to keep me hooked until that last page. By the time I had scanned the whole magazine the idea of losing muscle through the use of certain weight loss drugs took center stage. Here I go again.

"Curing ADHD"

The article came into focus as I continued to clean up the stacks of papers and research, amassed over three decades of study.  The Curing of ADHD caught my eye quickly.

I was intrigued by the title, “Curing ADHD' by Alan D. Bowd. The article, over 20 years old, from the Skeptical Enquirer, aroused my interest again. Over 33,000 hits had resulted then.

Children's lives are at stake when learning is affected by this 'condition'. So many cures were touted. But nothing has changed. ...At the time of this article, in 2001, ”There is no scientifically proven cure for this condition (ADHD).

In 1979, the Momsey delivered a premature infant, over 3 months early, with zero chance of survival. His birth weight, just over 3 pounds, aided in his survival, however. Most babies born this early weighed less than 2 pounds or less. It was a time fraught with uncertainty for us.

Weighing over 5 pounds 2 ounce by the age of 2 months, he was  now ready to go home. Mom had already passed the rigorous test of caring for a preemie. (There was no internet for help) Daily visits with our son along with deliveries of the homegrown food 'elixir', made the medical team's decision an easy one. I could now care for him at home. (Where am I going with this, you wonder)

Our son's life was a busy one. Physiotherapy, then speech therapy became the order of the day for this child. He was into everything, like many children. Food was not important to him. A life with mother nature seemed to help him on his way with a balance of exercise, investigation and core academics mixed in.

On weekend trips anywhere, a stop at a park for our son and his two brothers became an important ritual. It was a critical step in their development. Thank goodness for parks. A day with structure, too, was an integral part of their day. Nap time anyone?

Building certain activities into our sons' day helped address the distraction, the daydreaming and any uncontrollable volatile moments along that way. Life demands it. The days were exhausting on so many levels, but I knew that a day with none of it would be far worse than anything I could imagine. Gratitude and humility come to mind.

Perhaps we see our children more often than in the past thus noticing more of the moments of their day.  Children went outside to play and came home for dinner so they say. Fact or fiction. What happened during these long hours parents might not have known. Public education was not always a right for children. Curing ADHD is a compelling topic of discussion.

"Where's the Goat"?

As he walked into the storage room containing unsecured dynamite, I wondered where the producers of this early 60's sit com were going with this episode. The innocence of that period in television comedy history was now gone for me, a former little girl of that time..

While watching a rerun of the 50's comedy series, Andy of Mayberry, an adult goat came into view. Why I asked was this innocent creature being featured walking into a room where weapons of mass destruction were being stored like so much dirty laundry? Children had walked nearby, that morning, as did the deputy of the town, Barney Fife. I shivered.

Where was this episode going? What was the lesson here? Nearly all of early T.V.comedy came with lessons, silly or otherwise. I was somewhat bewildered by it all. That poor goat. Barney had figured out what the goat had done and began to plan its escape out of town. The goat was in peril. People could die, too.

The next scene depicted this innocent creature walking slowly out of town. I waited and wondered. Is anyone going to save the goat? Soon I would find out. The explosion in the distance told me of its violent death in a comedic episode. No words required. The ending was done. And so was I. 

In another later series called, MASH, a 70's era comedy series dealing with army life in a mobile hospital unit a goat is seen eating money. The paymaster of the day, Hawkeye Pierce, had left the money lying around in the room. The wages were earmarked for the hospital personnel. Responsibility for the money was Pierce's not the goat's. Proof had to be given that the money was eaten not stolen. How does something like this happen?

“Where's the goat?” she screamed as the leg of the unfortunate animal came spiralling out of nowhere, landing upon the windshield of the van as the T-Rex watched nearby. The audience soon realized the horror of that moment.

It was the week of goats in entertainment. It se easy to commit to a script that denies animals their rights to exist. Does the dog always have to die? In western movies of the 50's and 60's, horses are used in way that have always made me wonder how many died during filming. The falling down of these majestic beasts in these 'choreographed films seemed so dangerous. But what do I know.

In an episode of CSI, long, long ago, the forensic pathologist comments about the reality of horses. There is usually some thing wrong on one end or the other. Extra care should be offered when using animals, regardless of the species. But why does the audience need to see everything?

The other day as I watched the glorious outdoors, an animal was seen walking behind the pen, the former playground of our pets. It was a wild turkey roaming about. I called out to it letting it know that a human was nearby. He heard me then scurried away. I felt sorry for this creature. Did he have a companion, food, a place to live? Poor little guy, I thought. Times have changed and so have I.

The Unique Qualities of Cornstarch

Is it misunderstood, underestimated, or simply taken for granted? Like salt and pepper, its cousins, cornstarch takes an exalted place in my kitchen. A little bit goes a long way into taking a dish to its rightful place in our meals. 

The staple in the kitchen cupboard has no rival. It's the cook's go to thickener for that clean, fresh appearance for blueberry or cherry pie or their respective tarts. And it's gluten-free. An extra bonus for our thyroid gland. Isn't that great? 

With a sluggish thyroid, there is no argument when  corn gluten comes calling. (The body cannot discern the difference between gluten and the thyroid hormone. Guess who wins?. Peace and tranquility is maintained throughout the dietary marathon when cornstarch is used..

Cornstarch is my ace for gravies. Mixed with cold water, this gluten free grain mixes easily and quickly. It is ready to be added to hot milk, oat milk or water for that clean look, again. Oh so yum. It is a great thickener when making puddings, too, alongside tapioca. Momsey loves tapioca and rice pudding

For that crispy taste from deep fried chicken pieces, it is an important ingredient. Crunch, crunch goes the delicious fried chicken pieces, by simply dredging the food in cornstarch and shaking off the extra before frying. Adding it to a yeasted dough seems to make the dough a fresher version of itself. It can lighten the flour load (gluten) when just a small amount is added to the dry mix when other flours are used. (It can improve recipes by allowing certain  flour modifications to occur.  Even altering flours in a recipe - with notations nearby- helps us use corn starch and other gluten free flours creatively) It would seem that cornstarch helps to liberate us in the kitchen. 

And finally, when crafting occurs, cornstarch can be made into a thick paste for those structures required of little children. And it's safe, a cost effective product, readily available for use whenever a mountain, hill or building is needed on the spur of the moment. It is quite the thing this cornstarch. It's a problem solver and taste sensation when cooked. A perfect mate, I'd say...Thank you, cornstarch, for making a difference. We need you!