Stocking Up

Clotilde Dusoulier, author of the delightful blog Chocolate & Zucchini wrote in her book of the same title: " As a little exercise to flex your creative muscles, try this: open the fridge, look through your pantry and improvise a dish."  

She makes this sound as if unplanned meals were a novel experience, but it's how I cook all the time. Hopeless at creating menus and coordinated shopping lists, I'm often faced with an odd assortment of food items and no specific dishes in mind.  I'm pretty good at whipping up meals out of whatever is on hand. Of course, this works better when you actually have something in your pantry besides a few empty containers and paper goods. 

International moves wreak havoc on the contents of a pantry.  Most of the time, due to cost, or import and export regulations, you have to get rid of all the food. Tea is exempt (maybe the Boston Tea Party had something to do with this?), and depending on the shipper, or your destination, you might get away with  dried spices (but not this time). I couldn't face cleaning out the spice cupboards, carefully accumulated from years of exploring the ethnic shops in London, the markets and shops of Europe, and frequent gifts from a Japanese friend. Turkish red pepper flakes, mushroom and truffle paste, furikake, saffron, Indian spices, honey from a friend's beehive. . . it was too painful for me to throw it out.  Some we gave away, and while I was out at the British Library, D. discretely eliminated the rest, saving the glass jars.

Our kitchen in London

During a previous move, I sought expert advice on how to stock a pantry. You often find this in cook books of a certain type. In my case it was Delia Smith's How to Cook II.   I methodically went through her list, and ordered it all to be delivered from one of the supermarkets.  A couple years later when we moved again I still had unopened containers of things like  redcurrant jelly,  cornichons, golden syrup and half a bottle of cheap, formerly fizzy, cider.  Obviously, I'm not your typical British cook. 

For the past three months we've been managing with very basic kitchen equipment, so there wasn't much need for elaborate ingredients. Our first shopping trip included dijon mustard, olive oil, white wine vinegar, salt, pepper, oregano, butter, Old Bay, sugar, peanut butter, and Tabasco. It's amazing how much you can do with that. Gradually, we've been adding items, not always in a logical fashion, but generally not buying anything until we need it.  I get a notion to make something and then spend the rest of the week accumulating ingredients and bringing them home in my bike bag. Hence the cupboard is still mostly full of empty containers.

After living in different countries, you end up with non-local tastes. We found ourselves importing Triscuits, Nestle's chocolate chips, vanilla, anise, and Old Bay (Tabasco seems to be an international condiment these days) in our luggage every time one of us made a trip back to the US.  We couldn't bring ourselves to spend the extortionate prices the import shops charged for such exotic 'delicacies'.

Now that we're in the US, it's nice not to horde every last cracker till they go stale.  We were surprised to find several familiar UK food items on the supermarket shelves here, such as PG Tips tea.  I brought a small, precious canister of Marigold Vegetable Bouillon in my suitcase, which is nearly gone now.  It was already on my mental shopping list for the next trip back to the UK, but luckily it is available online for a reasonable price. I was also thrilled to find a very well stocked Asian supermarket in the International district. 

Seattle is an interesting mix of cultures, and we are looking forward to learning about the influence this has had on the local food.  Meanwhile, I'm learning how to make my own muesli, because this European breakfast staple is nearly as expensive as gold dust around here.

The invasion of the evil movers

At long last, the day had arrived; our household goods and furniture were to be delivered. D. spent hours with an ancient piece of CAD software building up a floor plan and populating it with replicas of our furniture.  It's much easier to move pixels than sofas. We had a plan of where all the furniture would go, and were looking forward to a smooth transition from indoor camping to living.

Ours was a 'princess move' - where the packing and unpacking is done for you.  Usually I pack  and unpack the CDs and some of the books to maintain control over things, but due to customs regulations, they preferred to pack it all themselves. 

Thursday dawned bright and sunny with no sign of a moving van . . . When they arrived mid-morning, there were only two of them, neither of them particularly strong. The third person didn't show up until late the next day when the heavy work was done.  They struggled with the boxes and big lumps of furniture, leaving nearly all of it on the lower level to the extent that we could hardly move. 

The corridor to the bathroom

They left and said they'd be back the next day to unwrap and set up the furniture and unpack.  Thank goodness for the Murphy bed, or we would have had to sleep on the balcony. I started in on the kitchen boxes, a process made tedious by the reams and reams of paper to unwrap.  Six sheets of paper to wrap one plastic chopstick seems a bit excessive. Some of D's colleagues were building a maze for Hallowe'en so he wanted to collect as many boxes as we could empty that afternoon and take them down to work. But it was slow going.

D. was eager to start assembling the furniture, especially our computer desk units and bookshelves before the unpacking began in earnest. Thanks to a couple of borrowed screwdrivers he started to make some progress, but was stymied by the critical parts missing from the 'parts' box.  Inaccurate box labels did not help.  A kitchenware box held a scanner and other electronic gizmos.  A box marked tools contained shoes (ok, a spirit level was in there). The screws and a screwdriver turned up eventually in another box marked kitchenware.  We still couldn't find the rest of D.'s tools. Then he realized he no longer owns a drill (different voltage, we gave it away).  He went out to buy one in order to anchor the shelving units to the walls. After he returned we unwrapped the sofa, ordered a pizza and collapsed in front of the TV for the exciting 6th game of the World Series (I must confess I slept through part of it).  We had to dig out the Murphy bed so we could crawl into it.

Kitchenware boxes more than half full of paper

Friday we were up early, I finished unpacking the kitchen before the mover (yes, one!) arrived to help unpack and move furniture.   She didn't have any tools; the others were bringing them.  We have lots and lots of flat pack shelving, and a four-poster bed that completely disassembles. This was not good.  We also don't have any dressers (the last place had lots of built in furniture). So I said, "hold off on the books till the shelves are up, and don't unpack the clothes because we don't have anywhere to put them". I was busy unpacking glassware and cutlery in the main room, D. was valiantly trying to put up shelving by himself and the mover was off somewhere in the front room . . . Like a toddler when things get very quiet, you know trouble is afoot. She was unpacking everything and piling it on the floor, because their remit is to unpack and put it on surfaces (floors, tables, etc., but not shelves). When it's stacked up knee deep in a confined space, you can't even get to the shelves.  Late in the afternoon the other two arrive, and like a demented tornado, start moving furniture around and emptying the rest of the boxes.  I became extremely stressed out at the increasingly terrifying, chaotic mountains of stuff everywhere I looked. 

A librarian's worst nightmare

D wisely took over the CD unpacking and sent me out for some fresh air before I could commit murder (only averted because I couldn't find any of the knives).  When I returned they were gone, having run out of floor space on which to dump the contents of the remaining boxes. Exhausted, wet (it was raining) bruised, scratched and filthy from the day's work, I decided a nice hot bath would be the ticket.  Except the bathtub needed cleaning and I was too tired.  Ok, a shower then.  But I couldn't even find my underwear. Gentle readers, this was the last straw.  D. found me, reduced to a sobbing sniveling heap on the closet floor surrounded by jumbled mounds of clothing.  He carefully shifted the teetering stacks of books so I could find the clothes I'd brought with me in August. Miraculously, we located linens and bedding and managed to sleep in our own bed for the first time in three months.

Mostly off the floor

After a weekend of picking things up off the floors, I am able to get dressed in the morning, prepare food, and sit at my desk and type this.  I dare not look closely at the shelves, cupboards and closets, as their randomized contents only make me depressed. I cringe each time I see the damaged furniture and smashed picture glass, and I have yet to muster the courage to inspect the musical instruments.  I'm not sure I could face a shattered fiddle right now. This has been one of the most difficult moves we've had. But with patience and a lot of hard work we'll get our place set up properly. . . Until the shipment arrives from storage in Connecticut. I just have to remind myself of our friends who lost all their possessions when the ship with their container on it sank. Though lately, I catch myself envying them.

Moving on. . . Moving in!

“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies . . . Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die . . . It doesn't matter what you do, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away.” 

― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Painting by the pond, photo by Michael Bradtke

Everyone who was touched by my mother carries something of her with them - that is her legacy. I began this blog for her, and I’ll continue to write in her memory. In addition to the gift of life itself, she taught me to read, and shared her love of the arts, languages, and nature. As a strong, creative, intelligent, and resourceful person, she provided a great role model.  She showed us all how to adapt to new surroundings and to make a home wherever it may be.

            Reminiscing with my father in the days after the memorial, the subject often returned to my mother's willingness to face the challenges and upheaval of moving to a new place. For a good twenty years of their married life my father was in the United StatesCoast Guard, and every few years the family was uprooted.  New Jersey, Florida, New York, Guam, Alaska; each new transfer was another adventure for her, a new place to see, new people to meet. So you see, I come by this peripatetic existence honestly.

            Here I sit, my laptop perched on a folding table set up in the kitchen, a little oasis of calm. Meanwhile two industrious carpet layers are busy unrolling and hammering all around me.  The wool felt padding is surprisingly beautiful, in some ways more interesting than the oatmeal hued carpet that will cover it.

Laying down the padding

We are nearly at the three-month mark from our departure from London and still not moved in. But the indoor camping phase will be over in a few days when our stuff is finally delivered. That is, except for what we have in storage on the other side of the country.  Aside from a couple of antiques we inherited from D.'s parents, we can't remember what's there, a fine proof of the saying 'out of sight, out of mind'.

One thing about an international move is you learn what you can live without.  I joked that I had my laptop, my violin, and my bicycle (and of course, my beloved) with me, and the rest was incidental. You also begin to appreciate certain possessions after not having access to them for a while. I’m not sure if I miss the tandem, my books, or our cooking utensils most, but it will be great to have them back. When everything is unpacked, no matter how ruthlessly we weeded out the dross beforehand, there  always seems to be something that provokes the question “why did we keep this?”  I wonder what it will be this time. Throughout all the chaos I am constantly reminded of my mother, and of all the things I learned from her that I use every day, but especially on days like today. When your world is turned upside down, take advantage of the chance to enjoy the view from a different perspective.

Requiescat in pace

Louise Bradtke, photo by Michael F. Bradtke

Bradtke, Louise M., 86, of DeLand, Florida, died Thursday, October 7th, 2011. Born in Newton, Massachusetts, she graduated from Emerson College in Boston. She married Donald F. Bradtke in 1948, with whom she had four children. She received a Master’s degree in Special Education from the University of Miami, and devoted her working life to the care and training of developmentally disabled and emotionally disturbed people. She contributed her expertise to books, articles, and training sessions for institutional and community workers. The Bradtkes moved from Miami to DeLand in 1978, and in 1979 they established an educational business, Bradtke Educational Systems Inc, to help children with special needs. Louise was well noted for her infant stimulation program and her work with the local Associations for Retarded Citizens. She continued consulting well into her eighties.

She enjoyed gardening, reading, and taking walks in nearby nature centers and on the beach. She is survived by her husband, their four children and three grandchildren, and her younger brother. In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made to The ARC of Volusia, P.O. Box 9658 Daytona Beach, FL 32120,  (386) 274-4736; The West Volusia Humane Society, 800 Humane Society Road, DeLand, FL 32720-2400, tel. (386) 734-2450; or the Halifax Health Hospice of Volusia/Flagler, 1625 Veterans Memorial Parkway, Orange City, FL 32673.  Arrangements are under the direction of Allen Summerhill Funeral Homes. A memorial service will be held at 1:00 pm on Thursday October 13th at Allen Summerhill Funeral Home 126 East New York Ave, DeLand Florida 32724

Indoor camping

In a fit of euphoria over the view (or maybe the carpet fumes were making us giddy) we decided to abandon the temporary apartment and make camp in the new place, before our shipment arrives.  I didn't mind, since I had to be here anyways to supervise some work being done.  So we begged and borrowed various household items, bought a pair of camping chairs and folding tray/tables and moved in, more or less.  First, D. got the Internet fired up, and then we went out and bought a kettle (I know my British friends will be shocked by this sequence of events).

Office with a view

 The kitchen equipment is still very basic. Even after a surgical strikes at Ikea and the local supermarket-sized charity shop we're still lacking such vital tools as pot holders.  Until last night we didn't have a microwave, and until this afternoon we didn't have anything more than two mugs that were safe to use in the microwave. But we're gradually getting there.

Second-hand Corningware never seems to have lids

I do love old kitchen utensils.  I used to have quite a collection of antique implements,  including my infamous manual toaster (you opened the sides, flipped the bread over and closed it up, no pop up and the potential for seriously burnt toast if you forgot). They were disposed of at a garage sale when I moved to NY.  Aesthetics aside, the recent purchases will come in handy, as it may be a while before the shipment is delivered.

It turns out the acres of white carpet are outgassing formaldehyde.  The place had a kind of plastic smell to it when we saw it, but after the first few nights and days spent in residence, it became unbearable.  It has to go. I can just about cope with working at home with the doors and windows wide open. A solution that will not be viable for much longer as we have just passed the Autumnal equinox. I am gradually becoming an expert on the soundproofing qualities of cork flooring and various types of acoustical underlays (because it's a condo, it must be quiet). Not what I planned to do with my spare (?!) time in a new city.  The scary thing is, I'm getting used to the big empty spaces, and wonder if we're going to feel hemmed in when all our stuff finally makes its appearance!

Eastern Washington (no, not DC)

From the ridge above Ft. Spokane

I went east into the wheat fields of Lincoln County, Washington for a few days to visit my sister. The flight across from Seattle to Spokane is fascinating; a rolling tapestry of mountain ranges, scablands, wheat fields, rivers, and lakes. The smaller planes fly low enough to see it all. 

The trip had two purposes :

1. To spend some time with my sister, and perhaps help her prepare for her own impending move (to Alaska).  It was great to see her again and we didn't waste too much time commiserating about the expense and sheer hard work of relocating.
2. To practice driving a car on American roads somewhere that doesn't have very steep hills and lots of traffic.  Before this trip I had not driven anywhere for eleven years, and had been cycling on the other side of the road for at least five.

I am a little rusty, and the cars have changed somewhat. You'll be pleased to hear I caused no injury or damage and I mainly stayed on my side of the road, though the roads were so empty it hardly mattered.  My sister deserves a sainthood. She calmly said things like "you might want to slow down on this bend a little" whereas other friends or relations might be stamping their foot in the carpet (in lieu of a brake) and gnashing their teeth.

Lake Roosevelt

I drove out to Lake Roosevelt and Fort Spokane, a beautiful peaceful spot by the water where the Spokane and Columbia rivers meet. On the long, winding downhill into the river valley, my sister said "We often see deer here, so watch out".  Not two minutes later  she called out "deer!" as a young buck came bounding down the hillside, leapt over the fence, galloped across the road right in front of us and continued on his merry way down the far side. Close enough to be thrilling, but thanks to my sister's eagle eyes we avoided impact.  Later we spotted a flock of wild turkeys who evaded my attempts to photograph them by keeping just out of range. Camera phones aren't meant for wildlife photography. 

Stables at Ft Spokane

It was a very hot and sunny afternoon with hardly any breeze. We took the tree-lined trail up the ridge starting from just behind an old stable, one of the buildings still standing from the original fort. Along the way she pointed out edible plants and identified owl, turkey and eagle feathers littering the ground, and the paw prints and droppings of various mammals. At the top we paused to watch some birds of prey soaring over the river.

Harrington Public Library

Harrington is a small farming community with surprisingly wide roads (my brother in law says the main street could be used as a runway). The large trucks driving to and from the grain silos certainly have no problems negotiating the broad turns. The town is bisected by a busy rail line. Long trains of flatbeds carrying double stacked containers come barreling through, blasting their air horns at all hours of the day and night.  Residents near the tracks have learned to pause their conversation until the juggernaut has passed. So much for the myth of a quiet country life.  

Speaking of quiet, my favourite place in town is the public library.  A big game hunter donated part of his collection of trophy heads to decorate the interior.  I can just imagine the librarian directing a reader: "the history section is right under the Cape buffalo". Not that I'm a fan of taxidermy myself, but it is certainly unique among the libraries I've visited.

My sister is due to depart the lower 48 on the first of October, we're supposed to officially move into our new place about then. I think the rest of the family is tired of changing our entries in their address books!

Vive la Différence

Before we relocated, we often joked that Seattle would be a lot like London, but with better scenery. But that's not been our experience thus far. They are very different places. In three hours from London, you can be sitting in a Parisian café, watching the world go by. Three hours from Seattle you can be looking at something like this:

Picture lake

The glorious landscape certainly has an effect on the mindset of the people who seem to live outdoors in good weather. Kayaking, sailing, hiking, skiing, rock climbing, snowboarding, camping, cycling (even tai chi and yoga); if you can do it outdoors, they do it here, with gusto.

There are of course other, more subtle differences.  For instance, the tiny roadside stands selling coffee, what I call coffee shacks. Whimsical, brightly painted constructions plopped down in a corner of a parking lot.  They're usually about the size of a garden shed with one person inside dispensing a variety of coffee based drinks and they are each as individual as their owners. Unlike the coffee shop drive through,  you actually have to get out of your car to place an order. There are no amenities such as chairs or tables, or toilets. It's a case of drink and drive. In Britain, the thirsty driver  might stop at a little tea van parked in a lay-by.  These often have a few plastic chairs and rickety folding tables nearby, inviting the customer to at least linger for as long as their mug of tea lasts.

Coffee shack near Fremont bridge

Another difference is the weather. At least since we've been here.  Over a month now and we've had about ten minutes of rain.  Total.  The grass is brown and crunchy, there are fire warnings and burn bans, some of the trees are dropping their leaves, and we're experiencing the local equivalent of a heat wave.  Not like one I've ever felt before, but a high of 84 F in early September is record breaking in these parts.  The unrelenting, bright sunshine has been something of a surprise.  Sunglasses (and sunblock), don't leave home without them. But cloudless skies have meant more than one evening spent watching the sunset over the Olympic peninsula, a great way to end the day.

A September sunset in Seattle

(the long smudge above the mountains is smoke from a wild fire).