The We, the I, and The Band Plays On.

We

When E.L.E. pays visit
whether from disease, famine, meteor, or thermonuclear fire
we look to God and Heaven.

We think about Extinction Level Events
when annoyingly distracted
from our own fragile mortality.

We rise to modern speculations
from “Gods” Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos
and a future for humankind.

We envision great migrations to new worlds
Terraforming Mars and beyond
to a sustaining engineered future.

Civilization morphs
to a utopian  nirvana,
our own created earths, winds, and fires.


I

I  revel in this collective prospect,
all together striving as one,
a continuium without strife.

Will there be trees
under which I can dally
watching dragonflies skip the pond water ?

Will there be thieves (or worse)
to disrupt my outworld tranquility,
or will I not have anything of “my own?”

Can I be sure a microbe won’t
hitchhike an escape
with it’s own vision of Heaven ?

Will there be a Mrs McConnell
whose baked pie smells escape
into my open windows hanging on sweet spring breeze?

Thoughts of a stainless steel and plastic life hereafter
dull my anxious anticipation
to leave these planetary bonds.

I must say for now
thoughts turn to the night of “Titanic”
where for so many the band played on.

So, Messrs. Musk and Bezos
your godly visions are very bright and visionary
but, no thank you...

My Heaven is right here.    
I’ll  just stay and watch the show
until icy waters envelop.

Jerry's Mango Cheesecake

Jerry’s Mango Cheesecake Recipe 

Posted per request for Caribbean recipes. Prep time includes standing time and cooling time (5 hours) .Recipe source: Turtle Bay Cookbook with modifications by Jerry
6¾ hours | 5½ hours prep 

1 10inch cake  ingredients

Crust

· 1 1/4  cup graham cracker crumbs (see  below)
· 1/4 cup chopped walnuts (see notes below)

· 1/4 cup brown sugar 

· 3 tablespoons butter 

Cake

· 2 (8 ounce) packages cream cheese, room temperature
· 1 cup sugar
· 1 1/2 cups sour cream
· 3 eggs
· 1 1/2 cups mango puree (made from ripe mangoes or use thawed frozen mangoes)
· 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
· 1 teaspoonlemon juice
· 1 1/2 cups sour cream

· 1/2 cup sugar 

Glaze

· 2 tablespoons apricot jam
· 2 tablespoons corn syrup
· 1 teaspoon lime juice

· 1 teaspoon cider vinegar 

PREP
1. Preheat oven to 300°F.
2. Butter a 10-inch springform pan and set aside.
3. Combine first 3 ingredients (graham cracker crumbs- sugar) in a small bowl.
4. Stir in melted butter.

5. Press mixture into prepared pan.

6. Combine cream cheese and sugar in a food processor or blender; process until combined.
7. Add sour cream, eggs, mango puree, vanilla and lemon juice; process using on/off turns until combined.
8. Pour mixture into prepared crust.

9. Bake for 1 hour or until set.

10. Let cheesecake cool for 1 hour.
11. While cheesecake is cooling prepare topping by combining sour cream and sugar in a food processor until combined.

12. Preheat oven to 350°F.

13. After cheesecake is at room temperature (1 hour cooling at room temperature), top cheesecake with topping.
14. Bake 4 minutes.
15. Remove from oven.

16. Chill for at least 4 hours.

17. Prepare garnish- Process glaze ingredients (apricot jam- vinegar) in a food processor.
18.  Spread glaze over chilled cheesecake before serving.

Jerry’s Note: I made the following modifications:
1 . I reduced the graham crackers to 1 cup chocolate wafters -crumbled  and substituted  macadamia nuts for the walnuts , increasing them to ½ cup.
2.  I baked the crust in the springform pan at 300 degrees for 8 minutes and let cool before adding cake batter.  The nuts can burn quickly so watch this bake carefully.
3.  I increased the eggs to 4.
4.   I added ¼ cup Rumona or  Rum Jumbie Liqueur to the batter.
5.  I increased  the first bake for 1 hour 13 minutes as one hour was not adequate. I       increased the cooling time to 1 ½ hours
6.  I increased the second bake to 8 minutes at 350
6. The four hour chill is MINIMUM to have the cheesecake set properly. Don’t rush it.
7. I eliminated the apricot glaze and served cake slices in Liquor/mango puree

Christmas For Erane Scully

I am filled with Christmas Spirit today. Long time friend and author Erane Scully is dying . She is comfortable as can be in a nursing facility, but, at 93, is frail and failing.(now with Leukemia) Erane has always loved horses. They have been a big part of her life. Actually, at age 13 her Mom took her to Poland in the summer of 1939 to spend the season at her uncles large horse ranch as reward for good school grades. Before they could travel home that week, Germany bombed Poland and the war was on. They could not get out by any method and that is when they were captured and taken to Siberia to a Russian labor camp until the war ended. Erane has written two books on her experience. Knowing this love of horses I called my good friend Diane Wlezien. Diane has miniature horses which are licensed as therapy animals. I prevailed upon her to bring one of the little horses to visit Erane in the Nursing Home. Diane had to regret as the cold, snowy and icy weather made it very difficult to get the horse in and out of trailer- plus she had no grant for this particular facility for her horses. Drat. But just this Wednesday, Diane called me. Weather this weekend was projected sunny and 40° ... and she had called the Nursing Home Administrator and gotten authority to bring the horse. TODAY Saturday- a GOLDEN day, as we visited Erane (having a rare good day) and wheeled her bundled out to meet her little visitor. She was elated and could not stop with the effusive thanks. Both pal Jan Bosman and I were deeply touched. A better Christmas we could not have given our dear friend. This was a very very happy day. BIG thanks to Diane and husband Mike for their gracious efforts to make this Christmas joyful for our dying old friend !

A Visit From St Nicholas

T was the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap;
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and Saint Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”





-Clement Clarke Moore

Farewell

I found her in there, along one of those endless spider leg corridors radiating from a central nursing hub.  In her “home” surrounded by vestiges of her life tacked up as photos on her walls, She sat surrounded by a gaggle of chittering octogenarian handmaidens.  It appeared she was having scant endurance of their ministrations. 

Sitting up bare-toed (They have to breathe, you know) she appeared as a frail, tired, ravaged and slumping splat of humanity.  She did not first recognize me in spite of our close history.  But when I spoke my name, she brightened, smiled and exclaimed, “Jerry,... my Jerry!”  While the harpies chortled, “This is Jerry, the boyfriend, oh how nice to met you !”  

They finally found other pressing business and, with a flurry of platitudes, took leave.

Now,  Erane and I freely talked as friends.  She kept nodding off but would awake at my voice, responding she was not tired.  I spoke disbelief of her feint.  She  sighed and related that she is finished; at her desired end.  I sensed this was a mind yearning to wander free, to leave this leukemic body of 93 years behind.  Now her shell was just a constraint, one she felt trapped within.  I asked her directly “ Are you ready to die?”.

“Yes”, she told me in her weak but convicted voice.

"There is no family left, nothing more I want to do, and the loneliness, the ever present loneliness drains me.  I want release.”

She is not in pain and they are kind to her in this place of endings.  Her home is filled with nursing compassion, and friends bring concern... but love has left her life.  

This day was so about saying goodbye.  Erane said to me “I love you, we have had so very many good times.”

I kissed her what we both knew was probably our last time, and I left, tears withheld until out of her sight.

My words tore away from inside me “Dear Erane, I so hope for your Peace. You have been such a special lady to me. ” 

 I drove home from this agonizing day.

The Fires Inside

Each Years snowy accumulations
bring seemingly deeper cold to old bones
Colors fade frozen and steps plod more arduous.

Inside fires still burn bright
stoked strong by friendships that fuel
whatever youth resides.

Smiles can still vent out
from the comfort
provided in warmth. 











Sustenance by love’s bounty inside us.

-Jerry Wendt 2018

Mrs Seduma's Garden

There was just something wrong .  Oh, the house was not one of those stereotypical , spooky old  Gothic Victorians, worn to weathered gray with broken steps and  intimidating iron gates. This was a sedate
large Georgian style mansion of brick.  And the  people living there ? 

Handyman Konstantinos managed to keep up with the landscaping, except for the side rose garden which was so overgrown so as not to really clearly see much of the statuary so prevalent amongst the bushes.  Inside, Mrs Xenakis tended to her mistress Mrs Seduma .  It was just the three of them in that big old home. 

Folks did say they were a bit odd and kept to themselves, but they didn’t seem more than, well, weird.  As kids, pals Norman, Joey, and Skeeter remembered going to the secluded old place at the end of Oak lined Provencal Lane in Grosse Pointe Farms every Halloween. 

Housekeeper Mrs Xenakis would greet them , presenting a large bowl of wrapped Bakalava, leading them to a large  parlor where  Lady Basileus Seduma sat veiled in a large wingback  chair, facing the baronial blazing hearth with her back to the entrance.  A large gilded mirror was propped up to the side wall, and it was in this that she, or at least her reflection, engaged the celebrants with a warm greeting before sending them back to their revelry.  It was strange , but old people tend to have strange habits.  The impetus to keep going back was that Mrs Xenakis was blind and never seemed to notice “Trick or Treaters” taking a couple extra of the delicious Baklava.

Mrs Seduma got her groceries through Peapod and evidently did her shopping online as well. Fedex provided  daily deliveries.  Basileus was rarely observed outside.  It was evident Seduma had mobility as she could be seen from outside, walking around inside with little effort for one so old. Her only observed affectation being she never was without wearing a turban (It was conjectured she suffered alopecia),  and it was ascertained by the constant jerky movements of her head that she had palsy or some nervous disorder.

For the most part neighbors just shrugged off an eccentric old Greek lady, left her alone, and went on with their lives.  She was rarely even topic of conversation after so long.

But of those former neighborhood pals, Joey Oerkfitz had matured into a nefarious adult; one that had fallen on hard times.  But he did remember that rich old Greek lady living with a blind housekeeper and a now feeble old handyman .  Thinking this was easy pickings,  the thief came back to Grosse Pointe , choosing Hallow’s eve to plan a home invasion and robbery while the old woman Seduma was occupied with her costumed visitors.

Sneaking thru the darkened rose garden, he jimmied the kitchen French doors, entered,...

And the lights came on !  It was Lady Seduma herself !  She knew what was happening instantly.  She stared at Joey intently with piercing laser eyes, simultaneously unwinding her turban to reveal- a headress of live, writhing snakes.  Joey instantly and  literally froze on the spot.

No one  saw old Konstantinos arduously wrangle a new statue into the Rose garden later that night.  Joey, because of his distrustful nature, had few friends and was never missed or inquired after.

The surprise is that Mrs Seduma,  even with her quirkiness, never caused a soul to deduce that her name was but an anagram for none other than the descendent of one of the three ancient Greek Gorgan sisters...MEDUSA-(Least of all Joey, whose statue stands overgrown by lovely hybrid “Just Joey” roses, gracing the garden of Mrs Seduma in perpetuity)

Postscript

Greek Mythology has it that there were three Gorgon sisters , Euryale, Stheno, and Medusa .

Medusa and her sisters  were originally ravishingly beautiful maidens, especially Medusa; called "the jealous aspiration of many suitors," but Poseidon had raped her in Athena's temple, making her pregnant.  Her sisters stood with her against Athena’s indignation, causing the  enraged Athena to transform all three sisters beautiful hair to serpents , and making their faces so terrible to behold that the mere sight of them would turn onlookers to stone.  She additionally made Medusa mortal and then later sent Perseus to behead her.

So , while Medusa was dead , there remains the possibility that she gave birth before her death , thus giving the world an immortal female child that still carried part of Athena’s curse forever.

There are still conflicting stories as to Medusa among historians to this day but, with the exception of the last paragraph, which is my totally my own conjecture, this version is most popular                                                                   
                                                                                                       - Jerry Wendt 2018