And now for something completely different.
This is not a political rant.
This is not something about adoption.
This--is about food.
I'm making Thanksgiving dinner this year.
I've been watching a lot of food network. Reading a lot of Pinterest. and I have a rant.
I am tired of food snobbiness when it comes to home cooking.
I really am.
It's so off the cuff. "What like you're going to make franks in blankets for an appetizer?" Since it's on a web page I can't actually see the wrinkled nose or the "ewww" look that I saw every day in high school. It's implied though.
Yes. Yes I am. Moreover, if I didn't, there would be a revolt at my house by my husband, my daughter, and my father. I think that my dad would rather be without the turkey than the hot dogs in blankets.
Shall I continue? Of course.
I'm also serving sweet potato kugel (pudding)--yep, there will be marshmallows on top.
I'm also serving the green bean casserole. With canned cream of mushroom soup because I've never tasted anything better that it didn't take me for f**king ever to make.
So many articles I've read have had their guns blazing for these simple recipes you'd think that they were accused of sexual harassment. To be fair one article had a variation on the sweet potato pudding for people who aren't hosting over eight people and I plan to try that on a night when I'm not hosting so many people.
You know what? The last time I made this dinner there were hardly any leftovers. You know why? Because my guests ate those dishes that all of a sudden people are saying "ewww." You know why these are "classics"? Because people eat them and enjoy them.
If you're going to a fancy restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner and you don't want these dishes, don't order them. If you've been invited to a person's home, don't eat what you don't want to eat. Offer to bring something to serve. But that "ewww" look? That "this isn't fancy enough" sniff? That's uncivil and antithetic to what this holiday is about.
Be thankful you have a relative or friend who invited you to their home.
Be thankful that you are fed enough that you can decide what you want to eat or don't want to eat.
Be thankful that you're in a warm place.
Unless a rat crawls out of the turkey and bites you on your nose, say to your host, "Thank you, what a lovely dinner."
If a rat crawls out of the turkey---well tell about it!
Wishing you a happy thanksgiving with plentiful, good food.
Wishing you a happy thanksgiving with no awkward political conversations.
Wishing you enough in your life that gratitude is your default position.
Happy Thanksgiving.
P.S. What would your family have a fit about if it wasn't on the Thanksgiving table.
Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
Monday, November 20, 2017
Monday, October 9, 2017
Parenting by Peopling - Microblog Monday
I asked my father a question this weekend. I asked him about the times I saw him send checks back--even when they were in his favor.
I asked him if he did it because it was right or because he knew I was watching. He looked at me as if trying to see if I was kidding or not and then he sighed. "Both." He said. "I did the right thing because it was right and because I knew you were watching. You're our third kid and by the time we got to you we knew that if we do something, good or bad, you'd see it and think about it. I wanted to try to be the person I wanted you to be."
I remember little things about my mom. I remembered a Valentine's day when I was in 9th grade. I had done my duty and given my valentines out and I didn't receive a one. Not one. I remember slamming in the house. I remember not telling my mom anything about the day. I remember slamming into my bedroom to be alone because that's all I would be. I sat sulking and probably crying on my bed. My mom knocked twice and then came into my room--it had been the devil to get her to knock at all! She told me she had to make brownies for something or other and asked if I wanted to help. I did the typical teenage shrug but I remembered eventually going down and making brownies with her. I didn't tell her about my day. She asked and I was monosyllabic. But it is hard to sulk when you're sharing just-baked brownies and milk.
Mom was gone when I thought about this and realized that she probably didn't need to bake brownies that day. I never thanked her for the gift of simple companionship.
Today Belle had no school and I had been scrambling to find out what to do with her. We went grocery shopping. We bought more halloween candy than we should have. But Belle read me things off the list--words like Banana and Milk. Other words she found when I made the sounds for it. We tasted yummy things and had a good time. I get what my father said now. I want to be the kind of person I want my daughter to turn into.
I asked him if he did it because it was right or because he knew I was watching. He looked at me as if trying to see if I was kidding or not and then he sighed. "Both." He said. "I did the right thing because it was right and because I knew you were watching. You're our third kid and by the time we got to you we knew that if we do something, good or bad, you'd see it and think about it. I wanted to try to be the person I wanted you to be."
I remember little things about my mom. I remembered a Valentine's day when I was in 9th grade. I had done my duty and given my valentines out and I didn't receive a one. Not one. I remember slamming in the house. I remember not telling my mom anything about the day. I remember slamming into my bedroom to be alone because that's all I would be. I sat sulking and probably crying on my bed. My mom knocked twice and then came into my room--it had been the devil to get her to knock at all! She told me she had to make brownies for something or other and asked if I wanted to help. I did the typical teenage shrug but I remembered eventually going down and making brownies with her. I didn't tell her about my day. She asked and I was monosyllabic. But it is hard to sulk when you're sharing just-baked brownies and milk.
Mom was gone when I thought about this and realized that she probably didn't need to bake brownies that day. I never thanked her for the gift of simple companionship.
Today Belle had no school and I had been scrambling to find out what to do with her. We went grocery shopping. We bought more halloween candy than we should have. But Belle read me things off the list--words like Banana and Milk. Other words she found when I made the sounds for it. We tasted yummy things and had a good time. I get what my father said now. I want to be the kind of person I want my daughter to turn into.
Monday, January 16, 2017
Microblog Monday - My Real Grandmother
Lotus is named after my grandmother. My father's mother.
I adored her. I looked up to her--even though by the time I was 14 I was taller than her. When I spoke of my grandmother, I meant her.
But I met both of my grandmothers. I met my mother's mother. She taught me how to bless the candles on Friday nights. She put dots of honey on my fingers and after I said some of the words right I would lick my fingers. She would read Torah stories to me. I remember her scent.
Grandma G. passed when I was around 7. I remember the funeral vividly. I remember my mother ripping a black ribbon as it was pinned to her suit. I remember that so well that when I was at my own mother's funeral, I flashed back to that day and broke down. It became real then.
But this isn't about my mom--or not really.
I came across a cache of pictures of my mother's parents. I never met my maternal grandfather, he died before I was born. My then 42 year old mother thought that her missed periods and nausea was extended mourning. She went to the doctor and was declared 4 months pregnant.
There are several pictures of me with my grandmother. But the picture that stopped me cold was a picture of both of my maternal grandparents--taken not long before my grandfather's death. In it my grandfather is smiling adoringly at my grandmother and she has--an almost shy smile on. It's the smile of a woman who loves the man she is with. It is a beautiful picture of two people very much in love.
I realized that while I had met my maternal grandmother--I didn't know her. Not because I was a child, but because so much of her died with my grandfather. This woman, with the shy, loving smile, this was my grandmother. The one my mother wept for. The one my mother knew.
Lotus met my mother but knew her less than a year. Afterwards my father had a lady friend who slipped effortlessly into the role and Lotus loves her. She knows and loves my father. He is Papa. He can't count. Every time he asks Lotus to give him three kisses he counts "one, one, one, one" He makes her giggle.
Today, I was looking through more pictures and I saw a picture of my father smiling so broadly with my mother in his arms smiling back. This is a lovely picture. I sucked in my breath as I realized I was staring at my real father. The complete one, the one with my mom at his side. No matter how long my father lives, Lotus will never know this man. My father, when he was complete.
I adored her. I looked up to her--even though by the time I was 14 I was taller than her. When I spoke of my grandmother, I meant her.
But I met both of my grandmothers. I met my mother's mother. She taught me how to bless the candles on Friday nights. She put dots of honey on my fingers and after I said some of the words right I would lick my fingers. She would read Torah stories to me. I remember her scent.
Grandma G. passed when I was around 7. I remember the funeral vividly. I remember my mother ripping a black ribbon as it was pinned to her suit. I remember that so well that when I was at my own mother's funeral, I flashed back to that day and broke down. It became real then.
But this isn't about my mom--or not really.
I came across a cache of pictures of my mother's parents. I never met my maternal grandfather, he died before I was born. My then 42 year old mother thought that her missed periods and nausea was extended mourning. She went to the doctor and was declared 4 months pregnant.
There are several pictures of me with my grandmother. But the picture that stopped me cold was a picture of both of my maternal grandparents--taken not long before my grandfather's death. In it my grandfather is smiling adoringly at my grandmother and she has--an almost shy smile on. It's the smile of a woman who loves the man she is with. It is a beautiful picture of two people very much in love.
I realized that while I had met my maternal grandmother--I didn't know her. Not because I was a child, but because so much of her died with my grandfather. This woman, with the shy, loving smile, this was my grandmother. The one my mother wept for. The one my mother knew.
Lotus met my mother but knew her less than a year. Afterwards my father had a lady friend who slipped effortlessly into the role and Lotus loves her. She knows and loves my father. He is Papa. He can't count. Every time he asks Lotus to give him three kisses he counts "one, one, one, one" He makes her giggle.
Today, I was looking through more pictures and I saw a picture of my father smiling so broadly with my mother in his arms smiling back. This is a lovely picture. I sucked in my breath as I realized I was staring at my real father. The complete one, the one with my mom at his side. No matter how long my father lives, Lotus will never know this man. My father, when he was complete.
Monday, July 25, 2016
Microblog Mondays - Smart women
My father has been somewhat of a Lothario as he is is working through his grief.
For reasons I don't comprehend, women live longer than men. That means as a straight widower he has his pick of women to keep company with.
He suggested that his popularity was due to the same things that fueled his popularity in college chiefly that he still has a lot of his hair and he still drives.
As for the women he has dated, some I like better than others, but none of them are bad. The other thing that I notice is they all have one thing in common. Intelligence.
I'm not saying common sense intelligence but I guess an intellectual curiosity that reminds me (rather unsurprisingly) of my mother. I find it funny that my father has a type--and the type is intelligent women.
Like my mom.
Like me.
For reasons I don't comprehend, women live longer than men. That means as a straight widower he has his pick of women to keep company with.
He suggested that his popularity was due to the same things that fueled his popularity in college chiefly that he still has a lot of his hair and he still drives.
As for the women he has dated, some I like better than others, but none of them are bad. The other thing that I notice is they all have one thing in common. Intelligence.
I'm not saying common sense intelligence but I guess an intellectual curiosity that reminds me (rather unsurprisingly) of my mother. I find it funny that my father has a type--and the type is intelligent women.
Like my mom.
Like me.
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
The last show
I like the new Facebook feature. The one where you can click on something and then you can see all of your posts on this day for the past year.
I've been enjoying it.
For the most part.
Today though, three years ago today, D and I saw Fiorello with my parents.
Bad memory? No. Not at all. We had a wonderful time at the show. Went to dinner at La Bonne Soupe, discussed politics and had a wonderful time.
I just didn't know it would be the last one. I didn't know that wonderful time wouldn't happen again. The next day is one of the best of our lives--we got our referral. Then we got Lotus. And then we lost mom. Dad hasn't been back to Broadway since--though we are hoping to change that.
I just thought there would be more shows. My sister did too. She was invited and she didn't want to go--she missed the last one. Her thoughts of this--I don't know. I know she has so many regrets. A difference between she and I is that I have no regrets when it comes to mom--sometimes that helps.
Sometimes no.
But I wish we had had more.
I've been enjoying it.
For the most part.
Today though, three years ago today, D and I saw Fiorello with my parents.
Bad memory? No. Not at all. We had a wonderful time at the show. Went to dinner at La Bonne Soupe, discussed politics and had a wonderful time.
I just didn't know it would be the last one. I didn't know that wonderful time wouldn't happen again. The next day is one of the best of our lives--we got our referral. Then we got Lotus. And then we lost mom. Dad hasn't been back to Broadway since--though we are hoping to change that.
I just thought there would be more shows. My sister did too. She was invited and she didn't want to go--she missed the last one. Her thoughts of this--I don't know. I know she has so many regrets. A difference between she and I is that I have no regrets when it comes to mom--sometimes that helps.
Sometimes no.
But I wish we had had more.
Sunday, September 20, 2015
Viddui
Tuesday night is Yom Kippur, the day of Atonement. Jews around the world fast, (abstain from eating or drinking) and spend the day in temple. One of the prayers said is the Viddui (Confessional). We say it aloud surrounded by people who are saying the same things. It begins, for the sin which we have committed against you.... A few years ago our Rabbi asked the kids to come up with what they were sorry for. Some of it was touching, some adorable. My favorite was "For the sin I committed agains you for punching my sister--but she really deserved it."
Anyway that inspired me to come up with my own that I sometimes say in temple. Still this is public and maybe others can find that they are not alone.
For the sin which I have committed against you for forgetting others humanity.
Donald Trump is human. So is Kim Davis. So are a lot of people who I disagree with. If they died tomorrow there are people who would mourn them like I am still mourning the loss of my mother. When did people become the sum total of their opinions on one thing? Would I want people to judge me on my opinions on one thing? The best thing about this country is that someone can stand on a street corner and scream things at the top of their lungs that I would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of mine. They have that right. If they want to run for president--they have that right and I have the responsibility to oppose them if I so choose.
But they are human.
They have people who love them and I will not say anything that demeans their humanity because then I am no better.
For the sins which I have committed by inwardly bragging about my daughter.
Do I need to explain this one?
For the sins which I have committed by being in denial about some of my health issues.
I have to put myself back on track.
For the sins which I have committed by judging other mothers harshly.
This one I want to stop. We are getting through this thing called life the best that we can. I have to stop thinking "What is that mother doing to that child?" I have to stop. People are thinking it about me and I hate it. I'm doing the best I can. So are they.
For the sins which I have committed by not giving people the benefit of the doubt.
"Could you tell me some of the costs involved in adopting your daughter?" Someone at my daughter's daycare asked me. I opened my mouth to blast her with both barrels. Why on earth is it her business. Then I saw her eyes. The hunger. She wanted to be a mother as badly as I had. What if I had said something bad? I have started to ask "Why do you ask?" instead of hitting them and found wonderful conversations.
For the sins which I have committed by making every tear my daughter sheds somehow related to her time in the orphanage or her adoption.
Sometimes she is crying because it is bedtime and she wants to stay up later. Sometimes she is crying because I said she couldn't have another cookie.
For the sins which I have committed by treating my husband as my coparent instead of my partner, lover and best friend.
For the sins which I have gotten impatient with my siblings and dad.
We're all trying to figure out how to go on in a world where mom isn't. I should cut them some more slack because they are hurting too.
For the sins which I have committed by trying to do too much.
For the sins I have committed by not doing enough.
For all these sins oh Lord, Forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement.
I wish a happy healthy new year for all.
Anyway that inspired me to come up with my own that I sometimes say in temple. Still this is public and maybe others can find that they are not alone.
For the sin which I have committed against you for forgetting others humanity.
Donald Trump is human. So is Kim Davis. So are a lot of people who I disagree with. If they died tomorrow there are people who would mourn them like I am still mourning the loss of my mother. When did people become the sum total of their opinions on one thing? Would I want people to judge me on my opinions on one thing? The best thing about this country is that someone can stand on a street corner and scream things at the top of their lungs that I would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of mine. They have that right. If they want to run for president--they have that right and I have the responsibility to oppose them if I so choose.
But they are human.
They have people who love them and I will not say anything that demeans their humanity because then I am no better.
For the sins which I have committed by inwardly bragging about my daughter.
Do I need to explain this one?
For the sins which I have committed by being in denial about some of my health issues.
I have to put myself back on track.
For the sins which I have committed by judging other mothers harshly.
This one I want to stop. We are getting through this thing called life the best that we can. I have to stop thinking "What is that mother doing to that child?" I have to stop. People are thinking it about me and I hate it. I'm doing the best I can. So are they.
For the sins which I have committed by not giving people the benefit of the doubt.
"Could you tell me some of the costs involved in adopting your daughter?" Someone at my daughter's daycare asked me. I opened my mouth to blast her with both barrels. Why on earth is it her business. Then I saw her eyes. The hunger. She wanted to be a mother as badly as I had. What if I had said something bad? I have started to ask "Why do you ask?" instead of hitting them and found wonderful conversations.
For the sins which I have committed by making every tear my daughter sheds somehow related to her time in the orphanage or her adoption.
Sometimes she is crying because it is bedtime and she wants to stay up later. Sometimes she is crying because I said she couldn't have another cookie.
For the sins which I have committed by treating my husband as my coparent instead of my partner, lover and best friend.
For the sins which I have gotten impatient with my siblings and dad.
We're all trying to figure out how to go on in a world where mom isn't. I should cut them some more slack because they are hurting too.
For the sins which I have committed by trying to do too much.
For the sins I have committed by not doing enough.
For all these sins oh Lord, Forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement.
I wish a happy healthy new year for all.
Monday, March 16, 2015
Microblog Monday--A Different Anniversary
Since mom passed we have been cleaning out my parents house. I was given all of my teenage angst journals. I have been looking through them, wanting to hug my 16 year old self.
I didn't date many entries but I dated one. It was a simple entry.
Was supposed to go out with D. He stood me up. Dad took me to Milleridge. It was sweet.
D=my high school crush. I kept waiting for him to realize I adored him, dump his girlfriend and go out with me. He is now married to the girlfriend and we are all still close friends.
On this day he was supposed to take me out--just as friends. I was dressed in the height of 80's fashion and had spend I don't know how long on my hair. His car broke down far away and long before cell phones. I remember waiting and waiting and waiting. He was supposed to be there at 6:00. At 8:00 his mom called to let me know about his car. I thanked her and prepared to go to my room to sulk. My father stopped me as I walked up the stairs.
"Get your coat. We're going out for dinner."
"What about Mom?" I asked.
"She ate."
I whined. I rolled my eyes. I said thanks but no thanks.
If you were a teenager--ever--you know that tone. The one that says that the parent is not kidding around and you better do what they say if you want to live. Dad repeated, "Get your coat, we're going to dinner." I got my coat. Stormed to the car. Slammed the door in a real teenage snit.
I figured we were going to Burger King or McDonalds. We passed them. I was stunned when we pulled into the parking lot of Milleridge Inn. This was a birthday place. This was not a "just go to dinner" place.
I don't remember much about the dinner. I remember Dad holding my chair. I remember us eating all the popovers we could hold. I remember going to bed smiling after a really lousy day.
According to my journal, this took place nearly 30 years ago today. So much has happened in between, but the sterling example of my father--that's still there.
I didn't date many entries but I dated one. It was a simple entry.
Was supposed to go out with D. He stood me up. Dad took me to Milleridge. It was sweet.
D=my high school crush. I kept waiting for him to realize I adored him, dump his girlfriend and go out with me. He is now married to the girlfriend and we are all still close friends.
On this day he was supposed to take me out--just as friends. I was dressed in the height of 80's fashion and had spend I don't know how long on my hair. His car broke down far away and long before cell phones. I remember waiting and waiting and waiting. He was supposed to be there at 6:00. At 8:00 his mom called to let me know about his car. I thanked her and prepared to go to my room to sulk. My father stopped me as I walked up the stairs.
"Get your coat. We're going out for dinner."
"What about Mom?" I asked.
"She ate."
I whined. I rolled my eyes. I said thanks but no thanks.
If you were a teenager--ever--you know that tone. The one that says that the parent is not kidding around and you better do what they say if you want to live. Dad repeated, "Get your coat, we're going to dinner." I got my coat. Stormed to the car. Slammed the door in a real teenage snit.
I figured we were going to Burger King or McDonalds. We passed them. I was stunned when we pulled into the parking lot of Milleridge Inn. This was a birthday place. This was not a "just go to dinner" place.
I don't remember much about the dinner. I remember Dad holding my chair. I remember us eating all the popovers we could hold. I remember going to bed smiling after a really lousy day.
According to my journal, this took place nearly 30 years ago today. So much has happened in between, but the sterling example of my father--that's still there.
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