A Skater's Waltz
of mittens and muffins
From Karyl’s Cook & Tell Newsletter (January 1989)
When last seen, The Kid was skating her heart out on Beals’ Pond, about a mile down the road from our cove. She was wearing her father’s jacket, borrowed mittens and socks, the regulation jeans, and a California tan. She was on her way from Bangor to Boston, touching down at the home place just long enough for lunch and few pirouettes on the flashing blades. Her whole homecoming visit had been like that—lighting here, lighting there; a holiday celebration with everybody at Granny’s, impromptu parties in the city where she used to work, a short visit with long-lost cousins, a few nights at her father’s.
“I was hoping you could go skating with me,” she had said, climbing the attic stairs after lunch for a brief, fond reconnaissance with the assorted personal effects she’d consigned to a corner up there before moving to the West Coast. “I love this attic,” she had sighed, picking her way through the untidiness and stopping to inspect the contents of cartons crammed with the tokens of her childhood. “All my Nancy Drews!” she’d exclaimed, with such reverence and affection that only the Wicked Witch of the West would ever consider throwing them out.
I had to beg off skating. My old skates, hanging from a nail in one of the rafters, told the story—cracked leather, moldy soles, rusty blades. They were not always so. For a few moments, while The Kid conjured up memories from the attic archives, I dwelt quietly on one of my own: I am riding on the school bus with the island’s population of schoolchildren, my own 12-year-old included. The pond in the school yard is frozen, and I’m on my way to an early morning rendezvous with the Dorothy Hamills and Hans Brinkers of Southport. On the bus no one is allowed to dangle their skates over their shoulders or take their hockey sticks to their seats, so I’ve slung my skates onto the pile on the floor at the front of the bus. By the time we’ve circumnavigated the island, there is one mighty mound of skating regalia to sort through when we disembark at the schoolhouse.
“Think Beals’ will be safe?” The Kid asked on the way down from the attic. There hadn’t been time, she said, for skating upcountry. Besides certain activities had been reserved for more appropriate places. Beals’ Pond, where the kids used to have their skating parties, had better be frozen solid. If we couldn’t have the snow Bangor got, at least there would be ice.
We drove to the pond in two cars. The Kid would be leaving for Boston as soon as her feet craved rest. The ice looked good. I knocked on the door of the house across from the pond and asked if its inhabitants had seen anybody skating on it lately. Reassured by their report, The Kid and I hugged goodbye at the pond’s edge and she took off confidently on the skates she got for Christmas so many years ago. I took pictures of the graceful skater with her camera and mine and waited a while to watch before I went home.
The next day, busy at my desk—and I am not making this up—I smiled practically out loud to hear Strauss’ Skater’s Waltz being played over the classical music station on the radio. I shouldn’t be surprised by such lovely concurrences, but I always am.
Amie’s Headnotes
For today’s recipes, I offer a pair of muffins representing the yin and yang of this first week of the new year: yogurt bran to keep those healthy resolutions on track, and gingerbread to keep the holiday vibe alive. Either or both are a perfect post-skating snack to help balance your week. Try them with a cup of Twinings Peppermint & Vanilla tea. It even tastes like January: icy, sharp, white, fresh.
GINGERBREAD MUFFINS
Makes 12 muffins
2 ½ c. flour
1 ½ t. baking soda
1 t. cinnamon
1 t. ginger
½ t. salt
¼ t. nutmeg
½ c. shortening
½ c. sugar
1 egg
1 c. molasses
1 c. buttermilk
Cream sugar and shortening. Add egg. Add dry and wet ingredients, stirring only enough to mix. Bake at 375◦ F 20-25 min.
YOGURT BRAN MUFFINS
Makes 12-14 large muffins
3 c. unprocessed (raw) bran—NOT All-Bran cereal
1 c. boiling water
2 ½ c. flour
2 ½ t. baking soda
½ t. salt
1 c. brown sugar. Don’t use less.
2 eggs, beaten
2 c. plain yogurt (Greek or non-fat is fine)
½ c. vegetable oil
1 c. raisins or other dried fruit
Combine bran and water, stir until blended, set aside. In another large bowl, combine flour, soda, salt, sugar. To bran mixture, add eggs, yogurt, oil and blend well. Stir in all into the flour mixture just enough to moisten. Do not beat.
Add fruit to batter just before baking. Fill muffin cups to top and bake 20-25 min.
Batter keeps 2 weeks, tightly covered, in fridge. Don’t add fruit until you’re ready to bake.
Amie’s Endnotes
The attic in my island farmhouse still holds a sense of wonder, from my childhood Beatrix Potter and Nancy Drew collections to my father’s 78 RPM records and the old school lightbulbs my mother stashed away in her insistence that their amber glow was unmatched by any LED bulb. But our attic isn’t just the keeper of secrets and memorabilia, as I wrote about in a Maine Sunday Telegram article, it’s also a source of writing fodder as I continue my dig through the dusty family strata. In this exploration I discovered my grandmother’s scrapbook—a collection of 70-year-old newspaper columns she wrote about food—and the inspiration for my current writing project: a bio-memoir of the three generations of female food writers in my family, with a pinch of recipes sprinkled in. There. I said it. Hold me accountable.
Your Pantry Pals,
Amie & Karyl
The Cook & Tell Library | Recipe Index | Owner’s Manual | the micromashup |
I’m already looking forward to your book, Amie! You, your mother, and grand, having conversations with each other across the generations—perhaps conversations you didn’t, or couldn’t, have in life. And your mother’s piece here is beautiful, as is your writing.
Nothing beats skating outdoors on a pond, unless it is following in the footsteps of a mother and a grandmother!