RX: IF THE WOLF IS AT THE DOOR, TAKE BISCOTTI

Reading the news is disheartening these days. Every publication seems to to carry more dire warnings of disasters than one can imagine. But not all of it is grim. As we say, in our house, theer is mirthment to be found among tips on how to save money, survive the recession and live happily ever after. One my sources of belly laughter is the advice of a woman who plans to skip her annual vacation with her family thus saving 10 000 dollars. It contrasts so very neatly with a homeless man's recipe on how to live of ramen noodles. Perennial source of amusement that they are, women's magazines abound with uninteded irony when they try to steer their readers to their advertisers' wares. Ensconced in their offices, few, if any of contrinutors to Glamour, Vogue, and Marie Claire, among others, seemed to have an inkling of the economic reality most of us have to face. Nowhere there are articles about what to do after one has given up all the frills and then some. Myself, I am thinking of torching my credit cards and moving to a ship container where I will grow my own food, spin my own yarn--actually I will delegate that chore to the Infanta, who owns the spinning wheel--and cook everyting from scratch.

The cold, foggy spring Italians call tempo di lupo is an inducement to such reckless plans. Won't you join me? I shall start by baking biscotti. It is simple. Take six cups of flour, six eggs, a cup of butter, a cup of sugar, a teaspoon orange oil, a tablespoon freshly grated orange peel, two cups of slivered toasted almonds, a package of bittersweet chocolate chips. Mix, shape into four logs, bake at 375 for 20 minutes. Cool, Slice and return to 350 oven for 20 inutes, et voila, you have plenty of treats to throw at the wolf. Keep some for yourself. These are yummy.

MEANING IS USE

I have no idea of how Wittgenstein felt about bananas. I know that he designed the doorknobs for his sister's house, but that is neither here nor there. Tough I wish I could discuss logic, qualia, private language, and the like with authority, the fact is that I am slightly more knowledgeable about bananas. I know, for example, that the Japanese poet Matsuo Kinsaku, who made an art of living simply, wrote the following haiku,

"A banana plant in the autumn gale -

I listen to the dripping of rain

Into a basin at night."

Matsuo, who is known to us as Basho--banana tree, in Japanese--renamed himself after he renounced samurai status and became a teacher. His disciples built him a hut and planted a banana tree in its garden. Matsuo is said tiomhave developed an affinity for the seemingly fragile yet utterly resilient plant. What to do with this bit of trivia is a problem that taxes my imagination. I am better at finding frugal ways to use overripe bananas, as I did today. Here is the recipe,

BANANA MUFFINS

Preheat oven to 400F
Butter and flour two one-dozen muffin tins

Ingredients

Three overripe bananas, mashed

One and half cups of flour

One cup sugar

One tablespoon baking powder

One teaspoon Vietnamese cinnamon

Half a teaspoon salt

Three tablespoons canola oil

One teaspoon vanilla

Two large eggs

One and a half cups milk

Two cups unsalted cashew nuts

Stir dry ingredients until well mixed. Reserve. Beat liquid ingredients. Stir in flour mix. Mix in cashew nuts. Place batter in buttered and floured muffin tins. Bake for twenty minutes.
Makes two dozen muffins.

Dumpster diving is not in my agenda--not just yet. Freecycling is. I have just joined the nearest freecycle group to which I offered an enormous leather sofa bed, a legacy from a previous husband who has gone on to a different time zone. The sofa is is too bulky for my taste. Ideally, I would have vintage Scandinavian furniture, a few pieces by Nakashima and not much more. I clung to the husband's ungainly couch in case paired our friends and relatives came to visit. That has not happened in quite some time and the sofa bed crouches sullenly in too small a room, offending aesthetics and cluttering up the place. Too good to throw away, too ugly to keep, it might be just the thing for a college student who can ignore its appearance. Why give away something you find too ugly to live with? Why, the fact that I find it ugly does not mean that someone might not find it utterly charming. Folks who participate in freecycling seem to focus on utilitarianism, in any case.
I have asked for nothing from my freecycle group. First I must declutter, then I must decide what it is that I really need--I think it would be hard to convince the list owner that Nakashima furniture is essential to my well-being. I might make a list of what is essential to me, beginning with books, but the idea of freecycling is to share what one has in excess.
I have been reading about voluntary simplicity, which seems to have spawned an industry. Amazon.com, for example, lists "voluntary simplicity products", an oxymoron if ever there was one. That list compelled me to write my first Amazon review or rather, a non-review of Voluntary Simplicity: Responding to Consumer Culture, by Amitai Etzioni and Daniel Doherty.
It incensed to find out that a used copy of this book cost $29, that is, half the cost of my montly water bill. The only possible response was not to buy it.
There are those who point out that voluntary simplicity has nothing to do with saving money. It is a spiritual progress, I understand. My choices are based on enforced frugality, then--nothing spiritual, just the result of a thin wallet that gets thinner every time I fill up the tank of my aging car. Today, it cost $ 44. Tomorrow is anyone's guess. Am I alone in this? Certainly not. Does it crush me not to have unlimited supplies of disposable income? Heck, no. Crafting a life, in my book, means letting go of the notion that lots of money and status symbols are essential to a good life.
I have a few plans that will enrich me without costing me a penny. First, Vincenzo and I are going to start calling townspeople's attention to the plight of local wildlife. Vincenzo might visit schools, give interviews and tell people how his fellow boxies are losing their natural habitat.
Next, I will start proofing the first draft of my mystery novel. Third, I continue to work on my garden. Should I have tons of veggies I can share that with the local women's shelter. Third, I will offer to teach someone a skill--soldering, sewing, baking a cake from scratch, making a container garden. It's all good.