Frenzied Daddy

There’s an Irish story about Fionn mac Cumhaill; a hero akin to Ulysses. Many stories, in fact, are told about Fionn, but I recall this one with relish, because I like salmon.

Once there was a salmon, who ate the nine hazel nuts that fell into the fountain of wisdom. In doing so, the salmon gained all the knowledge of the world, and the first person who ate of his flesh would gain this knowledge. Finnegas was a poet and druid who happened to be the Fionn’s teacher. He spent nine years fishing, trying to catch this salmon. Shortly after Fionn met and agreed to study with Finnegan, Finnegan was finally successful at catching the fish. He stuck it on a spit over a fire and had Fionn turn the spit. He admonished Fionn not to eat the salmon, because, well, the Irish didn’t do sushi, and because it was Finnegan’s work that led to the fish being caught. However, the salmon started to slide off the spit and Fionn pushed it back on with his thumb, burning it. Like any of us would, he put his thumb in his mouth, thereby tasting of the salmon fats and learning the knowledge of the world.

The different animals on this painted salmon bring to mind more facets of the story, ones that have to do with a progression of wise animals; the bear, the stag, the eagle. Finnegan had gone to each of them in turn asking who was the most wise of the animals. He was lead to the salmon.

Blunt Money ( catchy name ) has an interesting post on the fear of looking poor. Why we don’t order “just water” when we’re out with friends, or why we sign up for multiple potluck items.

Actually I don’t have a problem ordering water. But I do hate feeling like “I look poor.” Why do I hate to take bottles and cans back to the supermarket? Because that’s what poor people do. Why do I hate to sell my books back to Powell’s? Because it’s a sign that I’m broke. And to me, if you have more money, you have more books; they go hand in hand. So selling the books shows that I’m broke and then having fewer books in the house shows that I’m more poor ( relative to before I sold the books ).

Actually I’m working on that last one; I’m trying to treat the books in my life less as a sign of wealth and more as “clutter.” If I’m not going to read it again, or if it’s going to be many years before one of my kids needs it, then it can go. Although some of the books are still here. The David Eddings Belgariad, for instance.

I hate people coming over because the house is a mess and I feel that it looks like we don’t have the time to clean it. ( Why don’t I just clean it? Good question.) I mentioned before how I hated having people over when I lived in Anchorage.

Yeah, I have a strange phobia of looking like I’m broke. But I’m working against it. However, that doesn’t mean I’m about to stop paying for the DQ to have hot school lunch, or keep her out of band; I don’t want her to appear poor either. Struggles. All the time. Anyway, it’s an interesting post, and y’all should read it and consider what appearances you try to avoid too.

I mentioned Ms Dexter in my last post. She was awesome. And the only mention of “Sondra Dexter Teacher Anchorage” — First Presidential Awards for Excellence in Science and Mathematics Teaching.

I’ve been really lucky with some of my teachers.

Remember Miss K’s stay in the hospital because of a cat scratch? She had a Cat Scratch Fever?

Well, he got her again last night. Not infected, thank the gods. But once again she was expressing how much she loves him and he got tired of it, warned her, and attacked her. He nearly got her eye. And by “nearly got her eye” I mean there’s an inch long gash on her bottom eyelid, with one end about a quarter inch from the cornea.

Ms B was all over it- she was hugging Miss K within seconds. She was worried that the cornea had been damaged, but there was no actual blood in the eye, so we decided it was just a flesh… I mean just a surface wound.

By the way, Blueniner had a great recipe suggestion on the previous pomegranate entry.

Once, just once, my father bought a pomegranate. I remember him looking at it in the store, and weighing it in his hand, and looking at me and saying “everyone needs to see a pomegranate at least once.” We took it to the house of some friends ( it was pinochle night ) and I remember him cutting it open and out poured handfuls of the red gems inside. I remember thinking that it was tasty, but seemed like too much work for so little fruit; each little gem was mostly seed. It is one of those memories I have that are relatively clear.

Pomegranates are two for one at Safeway this week, and I looked at them and at Miss B the same way my dad did. So I bought a pair and brought them home. I cut one open and was surprised that the little glossy red seeds weren’t just pouring out. They were attached to a rind inside the pomegranate. I pulled it apart under some water and got the little gems out. Miss K came in while I was doing it and announced that she thought the other one was an apple and wanted a slice. I told her that it was something else, and showed her the colander with the pomegranate pieces all atumble within it like wet garnets I’ve just rescued from the sea.

As far a “weird” fruits go, I like kumquats. I like the word and I like the utility and the economy of popping one into your mouth. I was surprised that Miss K liked the pomegranates so much; she sat there and ate pretty much all of them, putting one garnet into her mouth, popping it and swallowing the juice and spitting out the seed. Miss B liked it too, she thought it was “weird” but tasty– but the real lover was miss K.

They certainly feel like an ancient fruit; it may have been the way I cut it open but there was no real pattern of rind to set of seeds. I know that they’re old, they’ve been around as long as artichokes, and that they were probably the apple in the garden of eden story.

It was neat, watching the girls and the pomegranate. I’m glad they enjoyed it. Them. Whatever.

Are yummy delicious blueberries still considered healthful when baked with …brown sugar, oats and butter and served with vanilla ice cream?