It’s early Saturday morning. I think that these days leading into autumn are the best days of the summer. Things are starting to cool down, and the harvest is really beginning. For instance, the tomatoes in the garden can’t be beat. Those store-bought ones are just to add some color. They don’t have any flavor.
This past week at work was hectic. I work at an “institution of higher learning”. I’ve always wondered about that description. If you want to get into specifics, I work at a government-sponsored, state-governed, college. I think whether a place is an “institution of higher learning” is totally up to the people that work and attend there. And, it doesn’t have to be the entire institution. It might be only as small as a classroom, or a carrol in the library. It’s all dependent on your definition of “higher” really.
“More” is not necessarily “higher”. Just because you know “more” about something than you did before, doesn’t necessarily mean that knowledge is “higher”. For example, I know more about raising vegetables in a garden than I did a few years ago. I started out knowing that I have to plant the seeds or a plant to get fruit or vegetables. I now know that water and sunlight are required. And, I’ve learned that I have to pull a few weeds and fertilize the plants to get a good crop. These are all important aspects of gardening, but one concept is not necessarily higher than the other because of the order in which I learned them.
Perhaps “higher learning” happens when I come to understand a concept more fully? When I learn how to apply it in just the right circumstance to produce the best results in a given situation I not only know more, but the knowledge I have is more valuable to me and others. The challenge is to make the places where I am found to be institutions of higher learning. Whether I’m teaching or learning. I do think that’s largely up to me. And, I think that’s why I’ve always heard that you can tell the best students by the questions they ask. Hmmmm. It’s a wonder how tomatoes can make you think.
I guess since this blog stuff is new to me, I have a lot to say.
I’ve been thinking about my love of reading. I have loved to read ever since, well, ever since I could read. My second-grade teacher, Ms. Fite (yes, that was her name), wrote that I should “not spend my time reading novels in class.” I guess she didn’t like me reading when she was talking. That was when I first read the Little House series.
Even when life gets really busy, I find some time to read for a few minutes here and there. But, what I absolutely love is being so engrossed in a book that I cannot put it down to eat or sleep. Recently, I awaited the arrival of the latest HP installment (that’s Harry Potter for all of you people who have been off-planet for the past several years). It arrived near the end of a very busy Saturday, about 5 pm. I must say I had some real self-control this time around. I didn’t finish it until 12:30 am on Monday morning. At first, I read it in small bites, like you would when you’re trying to make a great piece of cheesecake last longer by eating just around the edges. After a while, you figure, “Oh well, it’s gonna get eaten sometime”. What you’re really saying is “I’m beat. You win. I’ve gotta devour the rest.” You can say “I don’t need the rest of that cheesecake (or insert your own personal weakness here)” all you want. But, you really do need it. It’s that way for me with books. Well, AND cheesecake. I’m particular about my books and my dessert. I don’t just read anything that comes along on the best seller list. I’m selective. (And, I prefer the real cheesecake, not the stuff from a box, but baked, New York style.)
For instance, I love to read books by John Steinbeck. But, they’re not my absolute favorite books. I don’t usually read them more than once. Why, you ask? Because he is so good at painting a picture with words, that all of the suffering and inhumanity he describes is more than I can take. I admit it, it’s more than my little sheltered soul can handle. But, once I’m into the book, really into it, I can’t put it down. If you haven’t read Steinbeck, you should at least read the first chapter of “East of Eden” or “The Grapes of Wrath” or “Of Mice and Men”. Then you can put it down. If you really can.
I’ve had a love affair with mac and cheese for most of my life. I love the stuff in all variations: the famous blue box mix, homemade comfort food with five cheeses, the frozen kind by the famous frozen food company…you name it. It’s one of those comfort foods that just can’t be beat. Soft, squishy pasta surrounded by creamy cheese, then just enough crunchy cheese on the top to make you work a little. It’s one of the few foods that I think is worth all the time I’m now spending on my recumbent bike!
I remember a visit with my grandmother. She asked us what we wanted for dinner. We all yelled, “macaroni and cheese!” So, being the kind, loving grandmother that she was, she began to pull all the ingredients for macaroni and cheese from her cupboards. We were appalled. We protested. We wanted the stuff from the blue box. She was appalled. She insisted that although our mother (her own daughter) would cook from a box, SHE would not. And, then, something wonderful happened. She made this fantastic macaroni and cheese. She even added tomatoes…which to a kid is usually very yucky stuff. I’ve been trying to duplicate that recipe for some time now. Grandma’s making mac and cheese on the other side now. I’m kicking myself that I didn’t make her write down a recipe. And, that’s just another reason why I really miss her. Not the most important reason, but a good reason nonetheless.
