Sunday, January 9, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Happy New Year
Nothing much changes unless you want it to. And then, it doesn't take the imagined magic of turning over the calendar to make it so. Life will always be what we make it; how we handle the diversity large or small which any of us may face.
Most of us mark our life with events on a calendar and I try to imagine doing otherwise. What would happen if we didn't know how old we were, or we forgot to experience the heartbreak each time we passed a traumatic event over and over again?
I recently watched a Twighlight Episode the other night about residents of a retirement home, one of which believes he has found the secret of youth in childhood games. That episode reminded me that we age pretty quickly when we start believing that we are "too old" to do those things which bring us simple, pure joy. When small things no longer make us laugh. When we no longer pause to feel the sunshine on our face, or hold our hands out to the rain.
May we all remember to make the time to feel the sunshine on our face, take a walk and smell the air of each season, and play with youthful attitude.
Happy New Year!
Most of us mark our life with events on a calendar and I try to imagine doing otherwise. What would happen if we didn't know how old we were, or we forgot to experience the heartbreak each time we passed a traumatic event over and over again?
I recently watched a Twighlight Episode the other night about residents of a retirement home, one of which believes he has found the secret of youth in childhood games. That episode reminded me that we age pretty quickly when we start believing that we are "too old" to do those things which bring us simple, pure joy. When small things no longer make us laugh. When we no longer pause to feel the sunshine on our face, or hold our hands out to the rain.
May we all remember to make the time to feel the sunshine on our face, take a walk and smell the air of each season, and play with youthful attitude.
Happy New Year!
Saturday, December 11, 2010
There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays..........
Driving home late this afternoon I flipped around the dial as is my usual, searching for music. I was in an elated mood, having just been carded at the grocery store after what felt like a face sagging day of futility, fruitlessly hunting down Yule gifts for my boys, and heard the strains of Perry Como. Now, this is the first time in many many years that I look forward to the Yule season, and that Christmas songs haven't made me want to rage against the world. I sang along, looking at all the Christmas lights and decorations from the sublime to the ridiculous in the neighborhoods I drove through then, I was hit with the most sorrowful feeling imaginable.
My mother always made the holidays special. My parents did not have a lot of money but as kids we didn't know that. I only know now, while struggling to find the right balance for my own children, how much she did with relatively little. My memories are of warmth and lights and smells. My Mom was responsible for holiday expression in our home and each year that passes, it seems the memories become stronger. I don't recall what I didn't get, and I don't remember everything that I did, but I do recall the feeling of the holiday.
Bayberry candles were her favorite and signaled the start of the holiday. We had tall candles with a kind of sugar coating glazed scene illuminated by the lit candle. There was garland of holly berry that was strung up around the living room, the centerpiece of which was a kissing ball with an imish elf posed within. If these items were not hung, it wasn't Christmas. She would put out ribbon candy that was rarely eaten but looked so beautiful in the candy jar, and there was a plastic tree that she would have us decorate with gum drops of different colors. The trees always seemed like perfection in our minds, even though now, when going through photographs, we realize we had years of the Charlie Brown quality tree. These were the staples of each passing year. As we girls got older, we influenced her choices of decor, but there were always those key elements that if missing, threw off the balance.
I hadn't conciously thought of my mother as I drove home today, but something was clearly triggered by the music and the sights of all those houses lit. My parents would occasionally drive us around at night with the music playing and my mother singing along and as I pulled into our driveway, I looked up into our apartment dining room and was warmed by the lights I had strung across the windows. Our dining room is the main focal point for the holidays, and while it's not exactly as I would like it, I know that our boys wander in and stare at the lights, look at the decorations and enhale the holiday smells. My hushand has commented that our youngest would be crushed if I removed some element out of frusration.
Holidays are what we make them. We, as a family, celebrate the holiday as Yule, as Winter Night, and as Family. Some years have been bountiful, other lean, others virtually non-existent. Last year we were packing and moving between Yule and the New Year and told each other it was our gift; more room, separate rooms and new opporunities. I hope this year, with the space, time and opportunity to celebrate, the boys will remember the little things I did to capture their imaginations.
There is no place like home, be that a room, an apartment or a house. I am grateful that I have a secure place to call home that is warm and encompases the people I cherish. I avoid the malls like the plague, try to shop in the smaller, local shops when I reasonably can, and I am grateful for the very few close people in my life.
"For the holidays you can' beat home sweet home...."
My mother always made the holidays special. My parents did not have a lot of money but as kids we didn't know that. I only know now, while struggling to find the right balance for my own children, how much she did with relatively little. My memories are of warmth and lights and smells. My Mom was responsible for holiday expression in our home and each year that passes, it seems the memories become stronger. I don't recall what I didn't get, and I don't remember everything that I did, but I do recall the feeling of the holiday.
Bayberry candles were her favorite and signaled the start of the holiday. We had tall candles with a kind of sugar coating glazed scene illuminated by the lit candle. There was garland of holly berry that was strung up around the living room, the centerpiece of which was a kissing ball with an imish elf posed within. If these items were not hung, it wasn't Christmas. She would put out ribbon candy that was rarely eaten but looked so beautiful in the candy jar, and there was a plastic tree that she would have us decorate with gum drops of different colors. The trees always seemed like perfection in our minds, even though now, when going through photographs, we realize we had years of the Charlie Brown quality tree. These were the staples of each passing year. As we girls got older, we influenced her choices of decor, but there were always those key elements that if missing, threw off the balance.
I hadn't conciously thought of my mother as I drove home today, but something was clearly triggered by the music and the sights of all those houses lit. My parents would occasionally drive us around at night with the music playing and my mother singing along and as I pulled into our driveway, I looked up into our apartment dining room and was warmed by the lights I had strung across the windows. Our dining room is the main focal point for the holidays, and while it's not exactly as I would like it, I know that our boys wander in and stare at the lights, look at the decorations and enhale the holiday smells. My hushand has commented that our youngest would be crushed if I removed some element out of frusration.
Holidays are what we make them. We, as a family, celebrate the holiday as Yule, as Winter Night, and as Family. Some years have been bountiful, other lean, others virtually non-existent. Last year we were packing and moving between Yule and the New Year and told each other it was our gift; more room, separate rooms and new opporunities. I hope this year, with the space, time and opportunity to celebrate, the boys will remember the little things I did to capture their imaginations.
There is no place like home, be that a room, an apartment or a house. I am grateful that I have a secure place to call home that is warm and encompases the people I cherish. I avoid the malls like the plague, try to shop in the smaller, local shops when I reasonably can, and I am grateful for the very few close people in my life.
"For the holidays you can' beat home sweet home...."
Sunday, November 21, 2010
A day of "ARGHH!!!!!!!!!"
Yesterday, the boys were with the in-laws. Husband and I had the whole day to ourselves. And yes, we did partake of the privacy. Mmmmhmmmm. Then we got down to more "practical things" and this is where age starts to show.We decided to utilize our free time and shop for our oldests' birthday, throw in a little pre-Yule shopping and find some necessities. Not the kind of free time of our youth, that's for sure. (To be fair, hushand would have wisely chosen to do nothing but lay around naked, BUT, because he loves me, he chose to go where the wind [me] blew us).
Today, in the midst of utilizing as much of the quiet times remaining before the boys' return, I cleaned, made a mental list in my head of the holiday feast prep., and discovered that the "really cool" tablecloth I got yesterday for a steal, was a steal because...."IT'S A FUCKING GOD-DAMNED VINYL TABLECLOTH!!!" Where the hell did my mind go in the moment of "Wow, what a great price" and "wonder why it's so cheap?" Really? Vinyl? These were things that my suspicious Yankee mind would have ferrited out once. Apparently no longer. 'Cuz here I am trying to figure out just what the fuck I can do with it. I'm not returning it because frankly, the 3.99 it costs is not worth the 2.84 per gallon to take it back.
Then, I realize that I am simply trying to accomplish way to much with my remaining quiet hours and rethink when it is I will do the laundry, bring up the Yule decor from storage, and still find time to imbibe in a good glass of wine and peruse a magazine for holiday ideas. About the time I'm congradulating myself for taking a break and only bringing down the box fans to the basement, I discover that mold has invaded an entire box of pocketbooks and anhilited two really old leather bags of mine! If these things had gotten any fuzzier they'd be angora! Christ! As much as it hurt to throw away leather, I was more concerned at that point with saving a silk bag my sister had brought back from Thailand for me.
We moved from our old apartment to this one when our landlord was nearly complete renovations. We moved from the opposite side of town after years of swearing to one another we would never do it. Here we are, beautiful sunsrises and sunsets, boys happy in school, more room then we had before, and MICE! One of the reasons we left the old place was mold. Mold that had only recently begun to develope but after a couple of years of heavy rain and flooding had taken hold. So, now we have mice (and still some mildew from poorly installed windows (any suggestions people?). I threw away my first trap with a decapitated mouse in it today. Not a proud moment because I really hate to kill critters, but my family's health comes first. We have a cat who was clearly never a mouser, and, I write this from my sons desk which overlooks a steep drop off of trees and rocks, city views and clearly, lots of places for mice to hide. I've worked really hard at not being a fanatic about cleaning to obsession because life is too short, and now find myself wondering what the solution is.
My longest buddy in the world and I talked today. Yesterday, a very old boyfriend apparently walked into her shop. He's not worth a lot of wasted time to discuss, so suffice it to say, that some memories are truly best left forgotten. I've grown up a lot since then; apparently, he has not. His name became synonymous with dorky clueless behavior, except, that he believes somehow that he is till the intelligent one. Ignorance is bliss.
But, it's been a day of good humor. Isn't that all we can really hope for? That we have the good decency at the end of the day to not take life, or ourselves, too seriously?
Today, in the midst of utilizing as much of the quiet times remaining before the boys' return, I cleaned, made a mental list in my head of the holiday feast prep., and discovered that the "really cool" tablecloth I got yesterday for a steal, was a steal because...."IT'S A FUCKING GOD-DAMNED VINYL TABLECLOTH!!!" Where the hell did my mind go in the moment of "Wow, what a great price" and "wonder why it's so cheap?" Really? Vinyl? These were things that my suspicious Yankee mind would have ferrited out once. Apparently no longer. 'Cuz here I am trying to figure out just what the fuck I can do with it. I'm not returning it because frankly, the 3.99 it costs is not worth the 2.84 per gallon to take it back.
Then, I realize that I am simply trying to accomplish way to much with my remaining quiet hours and rethink when it is I will do the laundry, bring up the Yule decor from storage, and still find time to imbibe in a good glass of wine and peruse a magazine for holiday ideas. About the time I'm congradulating myself for taking a break and only bringing down the box fans to the basement, I discover that mold has invaded an entire box of pocketbooks and anhilited two really old leather bags of mine! If these things had gotten any fuzzier they'd be angora! Christ! As much as it hurt to throw away leather, I was more concerned at that point with saving a silk bag my sister had brought back from Thailand for me.
We moved from our old apartment to this one when our landlord was nearly complete renovations. We moved from the opposite side of town after years of swearing to one another we would never do it. Here we are, beautiful sunsrises and sunsets, boys happy in school, more room then we had before, and MICE! One of the reasons we left the old place was mold. Mold that had only recently begun to develope but after a couple of years of heavy rain and flooding had taken hold. So, now we have mice (and still some mildew from poorly installed windows (any suggestions people?). I threw away my first trap with a decapitated mouse in it today. Not a proud moment because I really hate to kill critters, but my family's health comes first. We have a cat who was clearly never a mouser, and, I write this from my sons desk which overlooks a steep drop off of trees and rocks, city views and clearly, lots of places for mice to hide. I've worked really hard at not being a fanatic about cleaning to obsession because life is too short, and now find myself wondering what the solution is.
My longest buddy in the world and I talked today. Yesterday, a very old boyfriend apparently walked into her shop. He's not worth a lot of wasted time to discuss, so suffice it to say, that some memories are truly best left forgotten. I've grown up a lot since then; apparently, he has not. His name became synonymous with dorky clueless behavior, except, that he believes somehow that he is till the intelligent one. Ignorance is bliss.
But, it's been a day of good humor. Isn't that all we can really hope for? That we have the good decency at the end of the day to not take life, or ourselves, too seriously?
Sunday, October 17, 2010
A Feastof Soup
I'm not a lover of cold New England weather. Mid-Spring will always be my favorite time of year, but there is something to be said for those beginning days of fall when the air just begins to chill, and the smell of damp or burning autumn leaves hangs in the air. It's when the cooking side of me kicks in.
I'm a good cook who enjoys it, but now that my husband (a phenomenal cook and a stay at home Dad) does most of it, I prefer not having to think about it as much. Until this time of year that is. When the chill sets in so does the desire for foods that will warm my family on the inside and fill them with the feeling of home that I remember from cold Sunday's when my Mom would make a big Sunday meal. While I still enjoy a good roast, or poultry (especially now with our convection oven!) I can always count on soup to find my thrill.
Soup is easy, yet so many people avoid it. A few years ago I figured out the secret: anything goes! Let the cold wind owl and shake the windows in their sills, let the light drop from the sky too early, if you have a really good bowl of soup it simply feels like part of the adventure. Add a glass of wine, and the warmth will really settle in.
I do not meaure. I "feel" my way through the addition of ingredients and smell my way through the spices based on what goes in. Tonight, I have started by sauteing the following:
all Fresh -
Leeks (are phenomenal!)
Red onion
celery
garlic
shallots
sliced portabello mushrooms
carrots
fresh chile pepper
brussell sprouts
Once all of those ingredients begin to soften up a tad, I ad a bit of the pre-made Kitchen Basics (no salt) soup base. Then I start layering in my spices. Tonight it was salish, fresh ground pepper, coriander, oregano, sage, thyme, chives, cumin, bay leaf and dried porchini mushrooms.
Once those have melded and the smell was right, I added in the remaining carton of soup stock, about 8 cups of boiling spring water and diced up chicken thighs. Chicken thighs, even you haven't tried them, give soup the best deep flavor. And the longer you can simmer the soup, the better it becomes.
The light has faded in our dining room, the clouds are under lit in the most incredible mauve tones and the air has stilled. The soup simmers ready for ladling into bowls.
Happy Sunday evening. May your week be easy on your brain.
I'm a good cook who enjoys it, but now that my husband (a phenomenal cook and a stay at home Dad) does most of it, I prefer not having to think about it as much. Until this time of year that is. When the chill sets in so does the desire for foods that will warm my family on the inside and fill them with the feeling of home that I remember from cold Sunday's when my Mom would make a big Sunday meal. While I still enjoy a good roast, or poultry (especially now with our convection oven!) I can always count on soup to find my thrill.
Soup is easy, yet so many people avoid it. A few years ago I figured out the secret: anything goes! Let the cold wind owl and shake the windows in their sills, let the light drop from the sky too early, if you have a really good bowl of soup it simply feels like part of the adventure. Add a glass of wine, and the warmth will really settle in.
I do not meaure. I "feel" my way through the addition of ingredients and smell my way through the spices based on what goes in. Tonight, I have started by sauteing the following:
all Fresh -
Leeks (are phenomenal!)
Red onion
celery
garlic
shallots
sliced portabello mushrooms
carrots
fresh chile pepper
brussell sprouts
Once all of those ingredients begin to soften up a tad, I ad a bit of the pre-made Kitchen Basics (no salt) soup base. Then I start layering in my spices. Tonight it was salish, fresh ground pepper, coriander, oregano, sage, thyme, chives, cumin, bay leaf and dried porchini mushrooms.
Once those have melded and the smell was right, I added in the remaining carton of soup stock, about 8 cups of boiling spring water and diced up chicken thighs. Chicken thighs, even you haven't tried them, give soup the best deep flavor. And the longer you can simmer the soup, the better it becomes.
The light has faded in our dining room, the clouds are under lit in the most incredible mauve tones and the air has stilled. The soup simmers ready for ladling into bowls.
Happy Sunday evening. May your week be easy on your brain.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Ready or Not....Not!
My oldest boy recently invited a girl to his school dance. I was just looking at a picture of him holding his baby brother; he has the soft skinned puffy look of of a typical four year old. He's no longer that boy to me, but nonetheless I cannot fathom fully that ten years have passed, nor that he's half way through the pubescent stage of boyhood and girls have become interesting.
When did I become the adult here? I still dream about traveling about the world. I still wonder what I'm going to be in order to make those travels happen and I got nervous thinking about meeting the parents even though it's my son dating the girl, not me dating the guy!
We haven't fully fallen pray to the "supposed to be" which is likely why we can still have fun, and we probably never will. Life is short and we are all going to die. Why start any sooner than we have to?
G., who is still so young in many ways is nevertheless beginning his own life. I started teaching him how to drive this summer letting him get behind the wheel in a vacant parking lot.. I'm not one of those who isn't ready to let go, and I know when to push when they feel they aren't ready. But it brings a tinge of sadness to my heart to know that soon he will be beyond our full influence. That he'll be persuaded by his own heart, by the wiles of another, by the pressures of life's demands. We've repeated some of our parent's mistakes. We have rectified others. And we find ourselves finally understanding what they tried to tell us. That no one is perfect that no one has handed to them an instruction manual. You do the best you can, you pay attention, and you let them go when their wings begin to strenghten....
When did I become the adult here? I still dream about traveling about the world. I still wonder what I'm going to be in order to make those travels happen and I got nervous thinking about meeting the parents even though it's my son dating the girl, not me dating the guy!
We haven't fully fallen pray to the "supposed to be" which is likely why we can still have fun, and we probably never will. Life is short and we are all going to die. Why start any sooner than we have to?
G., who is still so young in many ways is nevertheless beginning his own life. I started teaching him how to drive this summer letting him get behind the wheel in a vacant parking lot.. I'm not one of those who isn't ready to let go, and I know when to push when they feel they aren't ready. But it brings a tinge of sadness to my heart to know that soon he will be beyond our full influence. That he'll be persuaded by his own heart, by the wiles of another, by the pressures of life's demands. We've repeated some of our parent's mistakes. We have rectified others. And we find ourselves finally understanding what they tried to tell us. That no one is perfect that no one has handed to them an instruction manual. You do the best you can, you pay attention, and you let them go when their wings begin to strenghten....
Monday, August 30, 2010
I hiked a mountain a few weekends ago. I am no stranger to this mountain; it was my Dad's mountain. He climbed nearly every weekend for some twenty years well past his 80th birthday which he celebrated there among some of his family and hiking buddies on a cold and wintry November day. His name appears in a book about this mountain, and his picture hangs on a wall in one of the park entrances. That picture helped reignite memories for him we thought sure he could never lose.
Now, recently following a stroke at 91, I cajole him into scooting down the hallway in his wheelchair at the nursing home to help regain his strength, and when he complains he is tired, I remind him of these feats.
He stares out of still vibrant blue eyes, his aged and defiant body, hands bent from arthritis, back bent from years of honest hard work, wondering aloud when he'll go home. I never thought, given all those years of climbing, that age would forsake him. And I always thought that when his time came, he'd want to be scattered on that mountain, but he doesn't. He wants to be alongside his beloved. He loved that mountain, but he loved my mother more.
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