The word, sanguine, is weirdly overused in my loop of political podcasts. I don’t hate it. I have my own idiolectal extremes. Given that everything mediaeval is new again, the junk science of it all, makes sense.
The humours, now that takes me back. as a university student, I found the concept impenetrable. It was like interpreting constellations from those scattershot pinpricks in the night sky. I could never connect the dots. Likewise, no haruspex could demystify the arcane combination of bloos, phlegm and bile turned up like medical tarot cards for a suggestible citizenry. It proved too esoteric for me. When we were in our 20s, esoteric, was the mot du jour. My husband addressed our collective verbal tic to my dad. He did however stumble in the telling, “according to your daughter, she is obsessed with the erotic.” Oh, the stink-eye that lasers your face, like the super-powered rays directed so easily by the genetically engineered miscreants of “the boys”. Even when I am pissed at him, that anecdote brings me joy. Everyone should love someone that much because of, not despite, such an error. That this tale is top of his story/anecdote list is a balm for me.
We share a preoccupation with mental and literal lists. I scribble mine on bits of scrap paper: old envelopes and fast-food menus. He keeps a mental tally of his lists. The pie list is his magnum opus. My mother loved his explications of the pie list. Her sour cream raisin pie was a lock for first place. Pumpkin pie never cracked the top 25, although it proved a combative subject. The famous blueberry pie recipe containing two cups of fresh blueberries, rated second. It is singular, appearing in only one “Fannie Farmer Boston School Cookbook” dating from the late 1800s. Frequently, I would call my mom for the recipe, but really just to talk.
The pie list annoyed our eldest daughter as a teen. My mother never ceased to find it funny. Food and politics remained her favourite dinner discussion topics.
Upon her death, Mom left me grandmother’s edition of “Fanny Farmer’s Boston School Cookbook”, and her own coverless edition. Inside Grandmere’s copy, I found an October 1944 signed Dorothy. It brought war and family news, also a doughnut recipe. She concluded, “there are so many courageous mothers these days.” Its inclusion seems intentional.
Catherine Dean lives in Thunder Bay, Ontario
