Kathy Ewing

I’ve often wondered if people would have children if they actually comprehended the length and depth of the commitment. Before I had kids, I sort of thought that at age six, you patted them on the head and sent them off to school with a sigh of relief. Your job was just about over at that point.

Maybe I thought this because I had a somewhat inattentive mother. Maybe I just didn’t observe the world around me. I realized that some mothers stayed involved in their kids’ lives, but I thought they were kind of strange. My loving mother-in-law was great, but, really, did she have to call so often and ask so many questions?

As my kids passed that school-age milestone, the realization crept up on me: it would never end. Never. I would always be their mom, and I would always care way too much. By that time, of course, Nature has captured you and made you do her bidding, and it’s too late.

This evening I was out walking, almost home, when I ran into my neighbor, just beginning her evening stroll. Our grown daughters attended high school together and have both, now, moved out of town. We stopped and chatted about our book group’s selection Push by Sapphire (which became the movie Precious) — a story of a mother and daughter, when you think about it. (Only…yikes.) We talked for awhile and then parted, both of us worried about getting home before the clouds above us opened up.

As she turned, my neighbor gestured to her windbreaker. “It’s my daughter’s,” she said, smiling. “She left it here when she moved to Chicago.”

“Yeah. I wear one of Margaret’s sweatshirts all the time,” I laughed.

When I turned away, I heaved a huge sigh and had to blink the tears from my eyes. There it is, right at the surface. Missing her. My adult daughter. It will never end.

I started back to school on Monday and had a very good day. My Latin students were all pleasant and cooperative and would that we all remain that way. This positive attitude generally precedes the introduction of indirect objects, principal parts of verbs, and the second declension (“What?? There’s more than one??”)

For the second year in a row, a couple of new students have explained they’re taking Latin because Spanish was too hard for them. This is not good news for me.

Still, it’s all very promising, as new school years always are, and I’m meeting more new classes tomorrow for the first time.

My summer reading, counting from June (though I also had much of May off), amounts to thirty-seven books, with fifteen in August alone. It needs to be pointed out that my August reading included a number of children’s books, including the whole Little House on the Prairie series —  an epic classic, in my opinion. Along the lines of the racial stereotyping I’ve been writing about, there’s a creepy minstrel show near the end, in which Pa takes part.

My book group book for August — Push by Sapphire (basis for the movie Precious) — made a stunning contrast to the Little House books which would be funny if it weren’t so awful

I have mastered the muffin.

I always made okay muffins…sometimes a little chewy, sometimes a little small. Now, now, after viewing Martha making blueberry muffins and copying her recipe, I have made a big batch of delicate, delicious muffins for a picnic tomorrow.

Here’s what I learned. Apparently, I always took the usual recipe precaution “don’t over-beat” and “beat just until mixed” too literally. I was shocked at how long Martha beat the batter while adding the flour and milk to the butter-sugar mixture. I have been under-beating heretofore.

Next, Martha taught me to butter and flour the muffin tin. (I ran out of paper muffin cups, so I had to prepare the pans.) Duh. I know how much flouring the pan helps with cakes, but I never did it with muffins before. This time, no sticking! 

I used the ice-cream scoop trick to make the muffins uniformly (okay, similarly) sized.  Such a good Martha tip.

A generous sprinkle of a sugar and nutmeg mixture makes a nice crunchy topping.

Finally, I baked the muffins till they were brown. Usually I take them out too early, so that they’re done but not beautifully brown.

Voytko Farms in Aurora, Ohio

Also, I used blueberries frozen from a recent blueberry-picking trip with friends. So much better than your average frozen or grocery-store varieties. Martha also suggested shaking the berries with a tablespoon or so of flour before mixing them in the batter to prevent them from sinking to the bottom of the muffin. I forgot this step, but my blueberries did not sink.

I’m ready to try other varieties. Plain muffins. Rasberry muffins. Applesauce muffins. Coffeecake muffins. Strawberry muffins.

I don’t care much for Sarah Palin, but I love her new word “refudiate.” Jimmy Kimmel compares her to Don King — “She just makes words up!”

“Refudiate” is an example of a portmanteau, a blend of two words to make a new one.  Sarah couldn’t decide between “refute” and “repudiate,” so she just combined them! Examples with a little more traction are “smog,” “brunch,” “spork,” “multiplex,” and “Muppet.” Who knows? Maybe “refudiate” will catch on! It’s kind of brilliant.

“Portmanteau” is itself a portmanteau (just as “oxymoron” is itself an oxymoron), blending the French words for “carry” (porter) and “cloak” (manteau).  See a whole bunch of examples here. I just learned that they’re also called “centaur words.” How great is that?

Much as I love Sarah getting ridiculed, we’ve all done this inadvertantly, but not necessarily both in speech and in writing (in a Tweet), as she did. Sometimes I hear people say they’re “flustrated.”

Children create new combinations frequently. I often quote my niece Stephanie, who, begging to go home after an exhausting day at the Stark County Fair, complained she was “cowsick,” which isn’t precisely a portmanteau but is pretty close.

Any examples of your own to share?