My response to “Cee’s Photo Challenge” for the week which was the color salmon.
I thought it would be fun to try.
I sure hope it turns up salmon on your monitor!
Category Archives: Photography
Just Some Snapshots 4
Well, my rug rats are with me this week so it’s Blogging Interruptus.
But I did take some snapshots of the flowering succulents in my good neighbor’s yard.
Hamburgers and a ’63 Merc
Nearly all Americans would agree that hamburgers are the All-American icon. A simple grilled ground beef patty, salted and peppered, slathered with mayo, mustard and ketchup then sandwiched in a plain bun.
At least that’s how I know them. Oh, hold the pickles, please.
Now, us kids that grew up watching “Bewitched” and “I Dream of Jeannie” have given birth to a generation that has taken a simple thing and made them into $15 gourmet, fancied-up, mushroom-covered (expensive) cuisine. Do you think I like Elizabeth Montgomery and Barbara Eden? Drool…
But I don’t know if I like the “change”.
Back to this in a minute, folks.
The fancy hamburgers – not the drool.
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Dad had always owned Fords when he could finally afford getting a car. I guess that’s where I get my Ford passion from.
After leaving Japan for the last time in the late ‘50’s after the Occupation ended, my pop bought his first new car stateside in 1963 – he was 44 years old. It was a two door Cascade Blue 1963 Mercury Meteor custom hardtop; a king of obscurity to say the least, but to a kid of about ten, it was Flash Gordon’s rocket ship. Unlike Hillary, it was easy to love this car.
Don’t get me wrong. It wouldn’t get a choice spot if valet parked. I say wouldn’t as my old man couldn’t afford valet, let alone a family dinner out. But to me, the rocket ship had a chrome finish AM push-button radio – turn the dial on the right, find a station, pull out a button, then push it back in to set it. Trouble is I did it a dozen times each time I got into the car. But all I cared about was KFI 640 AM, the Dodgers’ station. The golden voice of Vin Scully… and Fairly, Gilliam, Wills and I forget who played third. They were World Series champs that year.
Six adults could get into this rocket ship with room to spare – eight of us little Japanese folks and a dog. The cargo hold in back swallowed up my Sears JC Higgins bike in one gulp with enough space leftover for Frank Howard. (I saw him hit the scoreboard in right field with a home run.)
Unless my aging grey matter is dissolving at warp speed (maybe it is), there were ash trays with shiny covers in each armrest…and this was for the back seats. It was a favorite depository for my Bazooka chewing gum but I kept the wax covered cartoon that came with it.
Pop kept it for quite some time. I passed my driver’s license test in it on my 16th birthday. I got a 96 only because she claimed I never looked in the rear view mirror. Poppy cock. I always look in the rear view mirror for cops. Even back then.
And as it was the only car we had back then, I also drove my date to one of my senior proms in it (I went to two.). And the answer is, “No,” if anyone was wondering…but I’m sure she was disappointed. Well, maybe not.
The four-wheel drum brakes were spectacular…not. Instead of rubber meets the road, it was like rubber met the world’s supply of Vaseline while fighting the pull to the left… and this was at 25 mph. Steering? An oil tanker’s captain would do well. Turn the wheel a lot; see the slight change in direction a few seconds later. Pat Brady and Nellybelle turned better – and that was out in the desert on sand.
I overhauled the epoch 164 hp 260 cid V8 sometime around 1976 in our garage. At 13 years of age, she had become an old girl. She had become a V6, meaning it had lost compression in two cylinders. I remember setting zero lash, then three-quarters turn of the ratchet for the hydraulic lifters during the overhaul. The distributor was the biggest headache, of all things. It was like extracting an impacted molar and only after using copious amounts of Liquid Wrench in place of laughing gas did it finally come out. “Older” Blue Oval guys know what I’m describing.
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Back to today’s elegant hamburgers and change.
Instead of the push-pull AM radio, my youngest son – who was seven when I bought it – similarly discovered my ’08 Mustang GT had a “My Color” dashboard light feature. Now I know how my pop felt as my son forced me to experience every color of the rainbow while driving at night – every time. It was like being at an all-night disco club.
Bazooka bubble gum and ashtrays are no more but treasure hunters will be pleased after exploring the map pockets. No disappointments there. I promise… especially after my little Cake Boss had sat in the back. Latex gloves are highly recommended before exploring.
Overhaul it? After all, my GT’s got a 281 V8, only twenty-one more cubes than my pop’s…but it pumps out a magnificent 505 hp thanks to her Roush supercharger and Carmen pulley. Hell, I’m afraid to change spark plugs. Who would imagine in 1963 there would be a TSB on just how to R&R spark plugs?
And unlike my pop’s ’63 Merc which ran on simple mechanical principles (but threw physics principles out the window for the so-called braking), the computing power in my Mustang would cause Einstein to strike a pose like Captain Morgan.
And today’s stunning braking power is the true reason for seat belts – it compassionately keeps your head from being continually used to redesign the windshield. The aftermarket Wilwood six-piston disc brakes I installed with slotted and cross-drilled rotors exacerbates the stop-on-a-dime tendencies… which is a good thing.
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So it appears the delicious, basic hamburger of the 1960’s has been brought into the 21st Century. Kids that watched Elizabeth Montgomery and Barbara Eden fooled with the wonderfully simple ground beef and bread formula to give us today’s foodie gourmet burger…and we can still listen to Vinny’s golden voice, to boot. Glorious.
And well, with 505 hp at the crank instead of 164 hp, it’s hard to complain. Neither do my kids when they hear the whine of my Roush supercharger. They like to scream. But it’s a shame my pop’s ’63 Mercury Meteor won’t be swept into anyone’s museum.
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I guess technology has its benefits.
I’ll take a gourmet burger in the end after all.
Pass the Heinz ketchup, please.
At least that hasn’t changed.
Just Some Snapshots 3
(Almost) Pie Crust From Scratch
Making a pie crust from scratch is really pretty easy. Tried it for the first time.
But rolling out the pie dough… Now that’s a bitch. (Pardon my French.)
But I did it… Sorta.
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Yes, the Cook’s Illustrated recipe called for vodka. No sense paraphrasing it so this is what they said:
“The problem is that dry pie dough is impossible to roll out. We needed a soft, pliable dough for rolling—that is, one with plenty of liquid—but a dry dough when it came to baking. The solution turned out to be, surprisingly, vodka. By using a quarter cup of ice water mixed with the same amount of chilled vodka, we could add a high amount of liquid and create a dough that was moist enough to roll out easily, but still tender after baking. While gluten forms readily in water, it doesn’t form in alcohol, and vodka is 40 percent alcohol. The alcohol vaporizes in the oven, so that no trace of vodka is detectable in the finished crust.”
Well, it really worked except when this old former mechanic decided to deviate from said recipe by leaving it in the oven to bake for three extra minutes.
And letting the dough get too warm while rolling it… if you call it rolling. LOL Instead of being circular, it ended up looking more like Patrick Star of Spongebob.
Oh well.
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Let’s get down to the evidence:
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Well, the dough certainly was easy to put together.
This (aging) former mechanic did it…but didn’t follow the instructions at the end. In short:
- Dust the top of the dough before rolling. LOL
- Learn to roll out the dough evenly. Double LOL
- Roll it in the early morning before the granite counter top feels like the Sahara. Duh
The secret is the vodka and keeping the ingredients chilled.
Oh. Don’t burn the crust nor watch Spongebob before rolling.
Hmmm….
Can it be Spring in Long Beach?
Nahhh…..
Passing the Baton
With all the researching, translating and documenting I’ve done on our family history during the past several years, I’ve come to the realization I was living in the past. And as time marched by, I wanted more time…but now, that time has gone.
I reflected on the near future; in the past month, things have changed. Things that cannot be undone. And I realized, too, that in addition to passing on what I’ve learned about our family history through these blogs, I need to pass the baton on as well for tomorrow. Small things.
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For as long as I can remember, I’ve held a camera in my hand… from the time I was perhaps eight years old. I vividly recall looking down on the ground glass of my dad’s Rolleiflex TLR. And I know it was my grandmother or aunt who sent me a “Fujipet” 120 film camera from Japan as a gift. It had a plastic lens. There were two levers, one on either side of the lens; you pressed one down with your left finger to cock the shutter. Then with your right finger, you pressed the other lever “to take the shot”. I took a bazillion shots during our 1964 road trip to Chicago and burned through a lot of 120 film. I don’t think mom was too happy.
When I was twelve, I spent a summer in Tokyo; I was born there. My Aunt Eiko got me my first “real” camera: a Canon Demi-S. It shot 35mm film but in “half-frame”. In other words, if you had a 36-shot roll of film, you would get 72 shots – plus about four or five more at the end. I loved it. It even had a built in light meter, a soft case and a wrist strap. It went everywhere I went. I even bought yellow and red filters. I used it to take photos of the TV set when Armstrong landed walked on the moon…but none of the images came out because I wanted to use my new fancy-schmancy electric strobe with a DC cord. I got great pictures of our RCA color TV, though. LOTS of great pictures of our TV set. But on one – just one – you can BARELY make out Armstrong as he stepped of the Lunar Module.
While I did take one class in photography, everything else was self-taught through the years. Trial and error. That means lots of moolah down the drain…literally. I had a full darkroom in my parent’s house at one time. I must have developed and processed over a thousand rolls and printed thousands of pictures. While I did win a few contests in sports photography, I never learned the critical things that define a pro…like my bud Alan Miyatake (but I did best him in ONE contest. LOL).
Since becoming a young adult, I’ve always been the “photographer”… taking pictures at events, parties, of this and that… I don’t know if I was any good at it but people always seemed to ask me to take photos. Perhaps because I took them for free. But finally, I took snapshots at my own daughter’s wedding…and not someone else’s daughter for a change.
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As I was taking my kids back to their mother’s two weeks ago, my twelve year old son surprised me by asking if he can have a “real” camera. Totally out of the blue but I was happy. He wanted to take pictures like his old man.
So yesterday, we headed towards the nearby beach; he wanted to take pictures of the sunset! I handed him my (getting old) Canon DSLR and monopod and while in the car, I gave him a crash course on shutter speed, f/stops, and ISO.
But he asked, “But don’t you just push the button, Papa?”
So with temps in the high 50’s (cold for us here) and a chilling wind, I gave him some basic instructions and I left him pretty much alone.
He took on his own challenge.
Here are a few of his photos; sure, I edited them a bit but he did darn well for his first time.
Must be in his genes.
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As I watched Jack from a distance in that chilling wind, feelings of being alone and lament swirled. Sadness that time has surged by with tomorrows dwindling. It felt as if I was looking at myself… fifty years ago… with that Fujipet camera with a plastic lens dangling from my neck.
I hope he continues. The family needs a photographer.
Vintage Japanese Art
My Aunt Eiko had these in a brown paper bag of all things.
Hundreds of old Japanese artwork kept by my Great-Grandfather Wakio Shibabayama. Born August 17, 1874 in Kaga City of the Ishikawa Prefecture.
Sumi-e. Watercolors. Sketches. On thinner-than-tissue rice paper. Dog-eared from what appears to be many years of handling by my Great-Grandfather.
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My Aunt Eiko’s knowledge of Wakio (her grandfather on her mother’s side) is unfortunately sketchy. No pun intended.
Her knowledge of these paintings is even sketchier unfortunately.
But they survived the war and I don’t know how they did. They are so fragile to say the least.
Surprisingly, some artwork was painted on several sheets of rice paper glued together. I don’t know what kind of glue it was but it sure beats Krazy Glue. And it’s non-toxic to boot. I think.
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Aunt Eiko knows Wakio was an accomplished artist and that he taught art in his senior years. In Japan (and unlike here), professors were elite. And quite a few of them were samurai towards the end of the 1800’s. Unbeknownst to many Westerners, the Japanese government began banning the samurai around 1870 to bring civility to society… but by then, the samurai had begun transitioning to a peaceful life philosophy. Many took up art.
And I’m not saying Wakio was samurai… but my mother drummed it into my head that “her” family heritage WAS samurai. lol
Aunt Eiko remembers Wakio passing away when he was about 80. (It does appear that long life is in one’s genes.)
She has little information about this collection. She recalls these sketches and watercolors were done by his students…perhaps as assignments. I can read some of their names.
But my Great-Grandfather’s “hanko 判子”, or seal, is stamped on all of them. In fact, there are several variations of his seal through the years. You can see them on the samples.
Aunt Eiko also remembers that “a couple of his students” became well-known artists but cannot recall their names.
Here are some samples. Currency can be seen for reference; in some photos, you can actually see how thin the rice paper is:
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But as mentioned, Wakio was an accomplished artist. Not to say he was famous. Just accomplished. My family has several of his original silk paintings, one of which is shown below.
We don’t exactly know where Wakio sought refuge during World War II but these delicate art pieces from long ago survived. My aunt believes my grandmother inherited these from him upon his death.
And here is the one photo I have of my Great-Grandfather Wakio Shibayama. You can see it on the scroll above.
Too bad Sony hadn’t invented portable digital voice recorders. I would have liked to have heard the story behind these remnants Old Japan.
Homemade Double-Layer BD Cake (Kinda-Sorta)
My just-turned eleven old daughter had her third 11th birthday party.
That’s right. Third one. LOL
And, with the stuff that’s been going on our family life, I decided to try and make a “classic white double-layer birthday cake with raspberry filling and butter cream frosting” for her – from scratch.
Key word: “try”.
And dang, that’s long name for a cake, isn’t it? Mary Poppins would be pleased.
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This ol’ mechanic thought he could throw this cake together easily… You know, like if I was Major Nelson with Jeannie at his side.
And I wish I did have Jeannie. Only for her blinks, of course.
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I followed the recipe from Cook’s Illustrated. Its recipes are proven battle plans for old mechanics that are easy to follow with predictable results.
But they forgot to consider my age and my (poorly) man-equipped kitchen this time. Unthinkable.
This time, two (and a half) things went wrong while making the cake:
1. As I didn’t have a flat beater for my KitchenAid stand mixer, the cake flour/butter mixture couldn’t get “crumbly” enough. I believe this kept the cake from properly rising while baking. (Well, there were three things that went wrong: it was overbaked by a couple of minutes.)
2. I over-whipped the frosting, making it REAL tough to spread… It was worse than cold peanut butter. But it tasted just fine.
And while no fault of the recipe, I ran out of frosting; because the cakes had domed too much, there was a gap around the circumference my belly could have sneaked through. I ended up shoving a LOT of frosting in to fill the gap.
Since Brooke has gotten hooked on “Cake Boss” (darn fake reality shows), she has become an eleven year old expert on how to frost and decorate cakes. She was “lovingly critical” on how the frosting was being put on…a little after midnight. “Pa-paaah! I told you. You should have cut off the domes. It’s too high now so you’ve got a HUGE gap!” (My oldest, Robyn, is probably snickering to herself, “Haha. Now you know what its like!)
You have no idea how close I was to being fired by the household Cake Boss, let me tell you. But since it was after midnight (yes, she was still up), I would have received double-time.
For a cake stand, I had to improvise. The cake was first placed onto the bottom of a 9″ springform pan. Then that bottom was placed on top of a 9” Pyrex pie dish which was atop a mixing bowl. Complicated. Pain to use. But I did it. Frustratingly. With the Cake Boss still cracking orders to boot.
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Anyways, the girls ate it. They said it was good. I made sure they said that.
Below, you can see the HUGE gap between the layers I was nearly fired over. Admittedly, the gap (all the way around the cake) measured about an inch:
So now I know better next time. And I did order the right flat beater and a revolving cake stand.
But the 11 year old Cake Boss is still here.
I have a great idea.
I should join the baker’s union.
They would keep me from being fired.
America
My best to you, America, for the New Year.
Masako and Spam Musubi 