Another's words

Photo courtesy of psychedelicfivecats.

August is a month of too much. It's too hot. The kids have been home for too long. There are too many flies. There's too many zucchini in the garden. It's too hard to hold on to a writing habit. The dog days of summer snap my patience, but rather than harangue myself (for letting my writing wilt) or yelling at my kids (for driving me batty) or berating you (for being a silent blog reader), I throw us all a life line of exquisite writing and will meet you in September.

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightening, but it quivers all alone. There is no thunder, no relieving rain. These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after.

Excerpt from "Tuck Everlasting" by Natalie Babbitt.

Fashion, part two

Tranky Doo danced to the "The Dipsy Doodle" from "Spirit Moves: A History of Black Social Dance on Film, 1900-1986." Dancers: Al Minns, Pepsi Bethel and Leon James.

My grandma, Jane Tankard Conlin, was 13 when she made her clothing scrapbook, filled with glued newspaper clippings of home decor, written reports on the difference between silk and linen, and pictures of models -- all tall drinks of water with their flipped hair and narrow hips.

The pages, now yellowed and crackly, sent me on a mission to the hot, stuffy attic to unearth my own book of fashion, circa 1980s. Inside are pages from Seventeen and Glamour that I had cut out in an effort to identify my own style. I'm still struggling, though I've given up the big bangs and permed hair, thank God.

I can't imagine my grandma ever wrestled over what to wear. She had a beautiful, refined style, though she was more like a shot glass of feistiness than a tall drink of water. She wore my grandpa's club pin and they had their own song (The Dipsy Doodle), but she insisted on dating other men up until they were married. Small and strong, she bore five sons and climbed mountains. Yet as a teen, she dutifully typed up notes on "Why We Should Study Clothing." Here they are:

To become more interested in the home. To become a better working member of the family. To become a better citizen of the community in which we live. To form habits of neatness and orderliness. To be able to select materials and ready-made garments. To learn how to sew by hand and by machine. To make garments using either a blocked or commercial pattern. To appreciate color, line, design and fabrics. To know how to shop wisely and courteously. To learn how to budget our time and money.

Stories, stock market and steak

Printed in 1942 by the National Live Stock and Meat Board.
Image courtesy of umpqua.

While on the subject of grilling, I'll share Great Grandpa William Levy's famous steak recipe. Bill Levy was a fastidious and rich man, who once owned his very own island in New York's Thousand Islands. (A fact that amazes my children.) As a child, he color-coded his sock drawer. When he grew up, he required his family to wipe the dock dry of all wet footprints, and fluff the grass after sitting on it. But by the time I met this man he was old and thin, and the only thing he demanded of his family was that he be able to watch his football uninterrupted and his martini be served dry, at 5 p.m., sharp.

He died earlier this year at age 90. He left my husband his captain's hat and stories to share. He left my children Krugerrands and, inadvertently, an interest in the business page, which they now read regularly to check the price of gold. He left me a to-kill-for recipe. I'm going to share it with you:

Take 2-inch-thick New York strip steaks, cover them with a thick crust of Jane's Krazy Mixed-Up Salt, sear over hot coals and then move to medium coals to finish. When done to preference, slice thinly.

It's a grill thing

Published in 1957 by the home economics staff of Tested Recipe Institute, Inc.
and with the cooperation of barbecue experts of Big Boy MFG. Co.
Image courtesy of umpqua.

When boys grow up, they replace their fascination for the pocket knife with the grill. Think about it: They hold long tongs, a big, round gas tank is usually involved, and the locker-room talk moves to the backyard. Here's one line I overheard the other night:

"I used to have one of those little grills, but now I have a big, gas one."

Ouch.