I’m baking a peach pie and it got me into a reflective mood. My friend Dr. Mark Groshek posted this week about the fun he had with his nephews while they re-created the Titanic’s menu. I always have fun in the kitchen with my 9-year-old daughter, but this time I was going solo. Which meant I could pay attention to what I was doing.
I’ve been using Julia Child’s recipe for pie dough for a couple of years now, but I have yet to get it just right. The end results are fabulous, but up to now it has been a struggle to roll out a disk that would hold together as I lay it into the dish. While people complimented me on my pies, they didn’t know that at the bottom was a stitched-together FrankenCrust.
I took bold moves today. I used the stand-up mixer for only the second time in my pie-making career. I mixed the dough a lot longer, incorporated the butter slowly and the shortening quickly, and added a lot more ice water than usual. The dough was much more batter-y than biscuit-y. I had my doubts, but after a few hours in the fridge it rolled out well (though soft) and held together as I folded it into the dish. The top covered perfectly and is puffing nicely in the oven.
I worry that it might be too soft — maybe soggy. But if so, I already know what I’ll do next time to correct it. Which got me to thinking grandpa-like thoughts. Pie-making is something I have been trying to master for 40 years. While I know I’ll never completely master it, I will be able to pass the technique on to my grandkids.
I smiled as I thought I heard a little voice say, “let’s ask Grandpa Steve to bake a pie!”
Then I thought: Is that what they’re going to call me?
Of special powers, ADHD, dyslexia and autism
Imagine your kid has special powers. She can read minds, has penetrating vision, superhuman hearing. She can go a million miles a minute.
That’s my daughter, Kai: hyperactive, dyslexic, autistic.
Then
Now
I was ironing her latest Fuse Bead creations tonight — a purple-legged octopus, an orange-and-yellow-tipped star, intricately patterned hearts, a tiny dog with the appropriate number of legs. When did she start being so literal? It snuck up on me. One day she was all Impressionist-meets-Cubist, and now she’s Warhol doing Dayglow beads.
I love to watch her maneuver the world via her unique mixture of personality and senses. She can’t get jokes or hear rhymes, but she perceives others’ emotions and makes accidental music when she horses around on the piano. She doesn’t play organized games with other kids, but fields an imaginary team to play basketball with. So far, she doesn’t notice cattiness and wouldn’t even know how to gang up on another kid.
Commander Troi
A lot of people work hard to help her color inside the lines. But I have to tell you I’m a bit sad. It’s like her imagination is being tamed, blinders put on, facts piled and feelings drained. What if the parents of Deanna Troi had worked out an IEP for her while she was in elementary school and never let her exercise the powers that made her an excellent empath for Capt. Jean Luc Picard on the USS Enterprise?
OK, I said “a bit” sad. I truthfully am relieved to see her find tactics to adapt. I want her to be happy and that comes easier if you know what makes other people happy. And I’m not proud to say that when I see her progress academically I congratulate myself that I’m not raising a dummy — shameful because I know her brain circuitry and perceiving antennae are just different, not inferior.
Still … Can she keep those special powers?