Change doesn't have to come on a persistent wind; it can also come on a baby's breath.
I’ve heard this quote in my head, over and over, these past days and months: “We have it in our power to begin the world anew.”
It is a rallying cry, and I hear it when I watch news stories about the strife and division that define American life.
But it is also a celebration, and I hear it in the mornings when the streets are empty and the air is fresh; when I see neighborhood kids making their way back to school after so long in front of a computer; and when I drive in the mountains past the burn scars and blackened, fire-twisted trees and notice new growth finding light.
It is a prayer, and I hear it while awaiting news of a new life.
It comes softly, unexpectedly, without fanfare or bravado: “We have it in our power to begin the world anew.”
* * *
I have a little postcard that my grandmother, Ruby Malone, wrote when she was a young mother.
On the front side is a photo of three little children: two little girls in pretty white dresses with embroidered hems and strappy black boots over white tights; a little boy in a white sailor suit standing behind them, his hands laid protectively on their shoulders; the little faces of all three are stoic and sober, still for a slow-clicking shutter. They are my grandmother’s children: her first and beloved son, Maxwell Earl or Max; her daughter, Helen Louise; her niece, Elinor, called Jane.
On the flip side, a note, written in pencil, light and sort of fading, in handwriting that all these years later is instantly recognizable: “Dear sister, Im a little (late) with my Thank you, but never-the-less I tho’t my birthday hanky very pretty. I got eight pretty ones. We are all O.K. Billy is growing so nice. I am so anxious for everyone to see him. Do you know the ‘chilluns’ on the other side. It is awfully poor of Max, but fair of Helen and Elinor J. I canned two bushels of tomatoes last week. I have about 90 qts. of stuff. That is a lot for me. With love, Ruby.”
It’s little, but it seems a great treasure.
Billy, mentioned in the nearly 100-year-old note, was my Uncle Bill, my grandparents’ third child. (They would ultimately have nine.) He was born on July 7, 1923, making him not quite 3 months old (postmark Sep 22) when my grandmother wanted to show him off to her sister.
He stands out in this quaint correspondence because there is no sweet baby face preserved in sepia on the front, no old-fashioned nightie, no chubby legs, no bare baby feet. I guess he was too little to sit for the portrait that became the postcard. And yet, from those few precious words, we know him -- who he is, what he looks like, where his place in the world is, how he is loved. An image of that baby is preserved in my imagination, if not in my memory.
It comes softly, unexpectedly, without fanfare or bravado: “We have it in our power to begin the world anew.”
There are family stories that describe Bill as an ornery child; a boy always running to keep up with his older brother, walking one step ahead of the little ones who came after him; a good-looking teen-ager who caught the eyes of his sisters’ friends but who butted heads with his dad, a soldier who went to Italy to fight fascism.
When I was a kid and my parents took us to Nebraska for summer respites, Bill was one of the many uncles who hovered in the background and took his escape to garages and backyards, the secret world of men where conversations were about carburetors and cattle and conquests and where little girls were all but invisible. As I grew older and both Bill and I became easier to see, he became all those stories and more: a husband, father, breadwinner, a candidate for mayor, a man who was prescient about his own death, a cherished family member who left us too soon.
Bill is gone now and Grandma Ruby, but the story doesn’t end because Bill, like my grandmother, like all of us, started the world over again.
The other day I stumbled across a little bundle of letters my grandmother wrote to me when I was in high school and college. She was a great letter writer, sharing with her “dear ones” all the minutiae that makes up a life. In one letter from 1979, she describes a visit from Bill’s daughter, Cheryl, and his grandchildren: “(Stacy) can walk now, across the floor. She loves to play. Dawn is such a sweet little girl. Jeremy is smart & a pretty little guy, but he is naughty. This morning he was going to pre-school. He starts to kindergarten next year.”
And this from 1982, about another visit from Bill’s daughter, as well as another granddaughter (in-law) and her then-new great-grandson: “Cheryl & Kris (sic.) came one day (last week) and we went over to McDonnell for dinner. Kris brought Matthew. He is a cute little guy, and growing. He smiles and coos now, and sure watches his mother.”
(Matthew is almost 40 now, and naughty Jeremy is the father of seven.)
* * *
Certainly, in 1776, when Thomas Paine was primed to start the world anew, he wasn’t talking about babies. He was agitating for revolution. He was concerned about such issues as taxation and trade policies, intolerable sanctions and rebellion. And certainly, those are issues that we continue to struggle with even today. Sometimes, those issues seem untenable. Maybe, especially, in the past two years while we have grappled with a pandemic that isolated us, injustice that underlined our differences and homegrown rebellion that spotlighted our faults and frailties. At times, the fear for our future was palpable, and despair was our common denominator.
But today the sky is blue and the sun is blinding and the leaves torn from the trees by a steady wind are Crayola colored.
Today, there is renewal in that wind, change in our bated breath.
And last week my nephew, my sweet little godson, became a first-time father. His wife gave birth to a son who they named Zion James. Zion is three generations removed from Ruby Malone; he is the grandson of my brother, great-grandson of my mother, great-great-nephew of little Billy. In Facebook posts and text messages (alas, no letters), his parents described him as “beautiful,” “strong,” “perfect” and “loved.”
When I showed my father Zion’s photo, snapped on the baby’s first day home, my dad said: “Well, he’s a fine looking little boy.”
To me, he looks a little like the world beginning anew.
The Pie
Starting Anew
(Or Cream of Wheat Custard Pie)
I know some people don’t like Cream of Wheat — or think they don‘t. For whatever reason, they never learned as a child to appreciate the gift of someone standing at a hot stove on a cold morning when dry cereal from a box would suffice, creating something that’s creamy and warm and delicious.
I am not one of those people.
When my siblings and I were children, my dad, on occasion, would make Cream of Wheat on the weekends. While someone else (my mom, no doubt) set the table, poured the orange juice, made the toast, he would stand at the stove, stirring slowly until the mixture was just this side of boiling, He knew just how much salt to add to elevate the bland cereal to something delicious. Although not all of my siblings agreed, I thought of that warm grainy concoction as a treat.
I still do — although now, when we have it (which it almost never), I’m the one stirring at the hot stove.
So when I saw this funny old-fashioned recipe, I was game to try it. It is a custard pie, so you have to keep an eye on it to make sure it cooks all the way through but does not burn the sugar. A delicate balance, to be sure. It was good, creamy like you want it to be and, if you eat it at the right moment, still warm like a bowl of Saturday freedom.
But the thing that made it most enticing was the fact that it was almost a blank slate, just waiting to renew itself with your choice of toppings.
The original recipe suggested ice cream (which, honestly, seemed kind of weird to me) or whipped cream. But we took it even further: One day we topped it with blackberry compote and cinnamon whipped cream. One day we chose fresh peaches and salted caramel sauce. It was also good with just a light dusting of brown sugar.
The joy of Begin Anew Pie is limited only by your own imagination.
The Recipe
One 9-inch single crust (recipe below)
2 cups whole milk
½ cup sugar
1/3 cup instant Cream of Wheat cereal
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 large eggs
1/8 teaspoon salt
Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
Roll out the pie crust; fit it into a 9-inch pie plate; trim and crimp the edge. Refrigerate for 30 minutes.
Remove from refrigerator and line with parchment paper and fill the crust with pie weights. (I use coins, but dried beans, pie chains or pie weights will work too.) Partially parbake for 8 to 10 minutes or until the edges begin to turn brown. Take the pie crust out of the oven and remove the paper and the pie weights. Reduce the temperature to 350 degrees. Put the crust back in the oven and bake for another 5 minutes or until the crust turns golden brown. Remove from oven and allow to cool completely on a wire rack.
Meanwhile, in a medium-sized heavy saucepan, combine the milk and the sugar. Bring to a boil over medium heat, then slowly add the Cream of Wheat, stirring constantly. Continue to cook and stir over medium heat for about 3 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool, stirring occasionally. Stir in vanilla.
Separate the egg yolks and egg whites into medium-sized bowls. Beat the egg yolks, one at a time, into the cooled cereal mixture. (Make sure the Cream of Wheat mixture is completely cooled; you don’t want to cook the eggs.) Add the salt to the egg whites and beat with an electric mixer until stiff, shiny peaks form. Stir about a third of the egg whites into the pie filling. Gently and thoroughly fold in the rest of the egg whites. Pour the filling into the pie crust.
Place the pie into the oven and bake until the crust turns a nice golden color, 35 to 40 minutes. Keep an eye on the pie because the top can get dark quickly. If it looks like it is getting too dark too fast, turn the heat down or cover loosely with aluminum foil. Check that the pie is cooked through by poking a toothpick in the filling; if it comes out clean, the pie is done.
The filling will puff up as it bakes, then deflate as it cools. Let cool on a wire rack. This pie can be served slightly warm or completely cooled and can be topped with a variety of fruits, compotes, ice cream or whipped cream.
Use your imagination to make this pie your own.
ONE-CRUST PIE CRUST
Mix together 1 cup sifted flour and ½ teaspoon salt. With a pastry blender, cut in ½ cup shortening (one tablespoon extra if using hydrogenated shortening). Sprinkle with 2 tablespoons water. Gather dough together and press firmly into a ball. If dough doesn’t all come together, add more water, one tablespoon at a time, until all the flour is worked into the dough.
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