TOO OLD TO BE YOUNG; TOO YOUNG TO BE OLD

 People live longer now than in my childhood. We hear of people reaching close to 100 frequently; however, the average longevity for American women is much lower--77.28; though depending on what research one views, the age differs. Each of us belongs to a small slice of the population, and there is no data for each particular segment. Medical care is spotty in the United States, correlated with environment, income, and educational level. COVID-19 and the opoid epidemic have negatively influenced longevity as well. A quick Google check for predictors for longevity adds the following factors: parental longevity, environment, present age, muscle strength and mass, and balance. 

My sister and I frequently discuss the differences between our grandmothers' lives and ours. Certainly, our grandmothers were elderly or old ladies at our ages of 69 and 72. They wore matronly dresses; a certain type of tie shoe with medium heels; and coats, hats, and gloves. They walked in a manner befitting their age, took public transportation, and carried what they could manage in mesh, reusable shopping bags. One of our grandmothers--Kaethe--was quick and active--and took care of others as a way of life. Trude, on the other hand, was quieter, slower, and spent more time reading, listening to the news, and doing crossword puzzles. 

Our mother, Eva, fit in between. She drove, viewed herself as young until she was 80+, received a Bachelor's degree at 73,and dressed in contemporary styles. She traveled more frequently than Kaethe and Trude. Eva was not a baby boomer. She did not worry about her diet. Eva did not overeat, and she watched her weight. In her older age, she started walking for exercise--but no gym workouts, fitness trainers, or yoga.

My sister and I are the age of our grandmothers when we were teenagers in the mid to late sixties and early seventies. We are old. Though we do not feel "old," whatever that means. We get tired easier and move slower; but we exercise, travel, drive, and run around doing too much. I try to squeeze in as much life as I am able. My mother did the same, as my sister does too. I think my grandmothers accepted their stage in life; more recent generations not so much. 

My grandmothers settled into their age because they admitted that their problems were part of the aging process. So did their physicians. Kaethe had angina. She did not sit around, but she knew her heart was not working as well as it should. When she had pain, she took her pill and went on. Trude had high blood pressure. Cognizant of the fact, she reduced her salt intake but that was that. My mother had high cholesterol but she still ate butter. 

Baby boomers are obsessed with their diets--low salt for me, low sugar for my sister, low cholesterol and carbs for both. The admonitions and moderations to our diet increase as the years advance. Fitness trainers for strength and balance for me and pilates and yoga for my sister fill our schedule. Even at 72, I think twice, thrice about eating bread and desserts. And weight/body configuration--what is normal for my age? I judge myself by the same standards as I used when I was younger, though I know my shape has altered.

There is nothing wrong about improving one's quality of life. I certainly do not want to sit in a recliner 24-7, but will the stringent controls increase the years we have left? Sometimes maybe, often no. The dark cloud hovering over all of us is cancer. Cancer is our scourage, our plague. Let us not fool ourselves. Good news and bad about cancer punctures our emotional well being nearly daily. One person experiences success with treatment; others do not. People live with cancer as a chronic disease, and those are the lucky ones. 

I try to conceal my worst physical flaws; I watch what I eat; and exercise moderately. But, I will not masquerade as a young person. That to me is far worse than "looking old." We have all seen the outrageous outfits and hair styles worn by some older women and men. 

I am old, maybe not oldest. Older--is that better? Old sounds like yogurt past its expiration date. Most of my life has been lived. Why do we have to be fixed by doctors all the time? I take so many pills, I sometimes forget, "did I take that one?"

Then there's hydration. Water, drink water. O.K, I do as I am told. My mother said coffee is liquid. And certainly my grandmothers were not running around with reusable containers. By the way, they both lived into their early 80's.

 ©Karen Levi 2023

WHAT IS YOUR *BLACK CAKE?

I give complete credit to the notion of a black cake to the novel, Black Cake, written by Charmaine Wilkerson. Her excellent novel centers around a recipe for a dense fruit cake which originated in the Caribbean and is passed on to future generations in England and the United States. I also acknowledge my sister, Connie Levi, who gave me the idea, "What is your Black Cake?"

What recipe was passed down to you verbally, in writing, or solely from memory? Was it your mother, grandmother, or aunt who taught you to make a cake loved by your family for generations? Maybe it is not a cake, perhaps a soup or hot dish? You probably forgot about this particular food for years, decades. Somehow, it returns unbidden. 

My daughter loves to watch a Youtube cooking show called The Victorian Way. She has absolutely no biological or familial connection to England, yet the notion of old recipes passed down to the present is intriguing. My daughter was adopted, so her biological black cake might be tamales. Since she was raised in a European Jewish family in the United States, her black cake may be something I made--matzah balls?

My black cake is plum cake or Pflaumenkuchen. My background is German Jewish. The Germans have a reputation for wonderful cakes, but plum cake is special. First of all, a plum cake lit up my mother like only food can accomplish, recalling sweet memories of early fall before the Nazis destroyed her world. Surprisingly, my father loved plum cake too. They were from different parts of Germany and had different childhood memories of food. For example, a child from the southern part of the United States might remember coconut cream layer cake while a child from New England blueberry pie. 

The plums used in Pflaumenkuchen can be typical plums, but cooks agree that the small, black Italian prunes are best. These are harvested in early September and are difficult to find in markets. I assume they are plentiful in Germany. The dough is a simple cake dough: flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, eggs, butter, vanilla, cinnamon. I remember my grandmother whipping it up by hand in minutes in one of her old cracked stoneware bowls. The fruit goes on top, into the oven, and done.

There are distinct versions of this cake and, with all reminiscences, I am confused as to which kind is the actual one. So, I chose a New York Times recipe. My grandmother and mother added ingredients to their batter by instinct. My paternal grandmother knew how to bake intuitively, my mother not so much. I, unfortunately, need explicit written instructions. 

I chose a torte which is different from the yeast dough topped with quartered plums my brother has bought from bakeries. There is also a version with streusel on top. My parents probably did not remember which cake they ate as children, given the nature of personal memories, and the trauma they suffered due to World War II.

https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/3783-original-plum-torte

©Karen Levi 2023

Burning Man--the apex of fake, freaky fun?

 I have had enough of Burning Man. Real tragedy persists in our world. I do not care about 70,000 people--can you believe it--who search for misery and consequently marvel at people helping one another. I am weary reading about grownups who spend hundreds, thousands of dollars to replicate suffering and community. I know about this phenomenon because a family member makes an annual pilgimage to the remote location not meant for humans. Worse--the "Burners" turn a barren environment into a circus of fake celebration which is detrimental to the delicate ecology of this place. 

Who decided that burning a wood statue was demonstrative of impermanence? Be like monks. Create a mandala of sand and blow it away--barely any harm done. Drive and fly miles to create a lasting footprint on a desert, and you weren't even invited by the animals who live there? If you want to experience the desert, go in winter or early spring not during the heat of August.

Community is where people live everyday. Pick your recent natural or manmade disaster if you want to engage in communal living and cooperation. No need to go to Nevada to create community. Humans are constantly committed to preserve life, as we try to avoid danger, illness, and misfortune. We work hard to protect ourselves and the vulnerable from disease and violence. Why invent danger and then survival? 

Are the participants of Burning Man so privileged that they cannot see what is front of their eyes? That they have to don costumes which mimic a dystopic world, only to dump the paraphanalia every year? I have seen the boas, glittery vests, platform boots, and ski goggles stored in a relative's closet. Something is rotten in the world if people with money have to waste it, pretending to suffer and need each other.

Burning Man began innocently on a chilly beach in San Francisco, but wealthy entrepeneurs saw the potential for revenue. So they created a pseudo city on a remote dried up lake in the barren Nevada desert. I have driven through that grey, dry, empty moonscape; it is not the prettiest desert we have on our continent, nor a place you would want to spend much time. But it is part of our earth and has inherent value.

The festival has grown exponentially which demonstrates an appetite for excessive partying and fake survival. Rock concerts and raves are controlled chaos. Computer/video games simulate desperate situations to survive. Virtual rooms enable people to pretend they must escape confinement. These activities are weird. However, Burning Man exceeds all of these activities in its extravagance. The so-called festival is a week long exhibition of scantily clad adults play acting at destruction, risk, and a free-for-all of temptation and desire fulfilled or not.  

I do believe we are better than this type of gathering.

©2023 Karen Levi