A Common Interest

"Peace is a never ending process ...

It cannot ignore our differences or 

overlook our common interests.

It requires us to work and live together."

-- Oscar Arias Sanchez

Finger puppets and a pop up toy 12-29-14

"So, let us not be blind to our differences --

but let us also direct attention to our common interests

and to the means by which those differences can be resolved."

-- John F. Kennedy, 

Commencement Address at American University, 1963

"The secret of happiness is this:

let your interests be as wide as possible

and let your reactions to the things and persons

that interest you be as far as possible

friendly rather than hostile."

-- Bertrand Russell

It is indeed a rare and precious occurrence around here to find something -- be it an activity, an idea, a philosophy, a movie, or simply what to have for supper -- on which we can all agree. 

We are a household of strong-willed, opinionated individuals who each tend to take a firm stance when it comes to what we like, believe, think, pursue, and choose to do with our time.

I'm pretty sure that just makes us a typical family.

But lately, we have all tripped upon a hallowed space of common ground.

In front of the television.

Don't judge. Hear me out.

I am familiar with and have personally decried the evils of too much television and the havoc it wreaks on family unity and communication.

Fuck that noise.

When a TV show causes all of us -- Dad, Mom, both sons and the girlfriend -- to lay aside our disagreements and come together with a common excitement and anticipation and interest and joy -- I'll take it.

It doesn't really matter what show it is. (Well, to us it totally matters. But to make my point, it doesn't.)

What matters is that we have found a small, kindred place where harmony reigns, where we can come together and share a little bit of time all enjoying the same thing, breathing the same air, reacting to the same turns of event, wondering at the same wicked plot twists, digging into the same bowl of popcorn. 

We're usually pulling in a million different directions, which makes our brief little sojourns to the Island of Common Interests a welcome and peaceful change of scenery.

It's one good thing. And one good show!

Homies For The Holidays

"And thank you for a house 

full of people I love.

Amen."

-- Terri Guillemets

Gingerbread family 12-25-14

The best thing about Christmas is waking up in my own house, with my own little family.

Yesterday we traveled to Michigan for the big fat family shindig with my mother and my sisters and their families and all the kids and all the dogs and all the food and all the noise and the mediocre coffee and watching A Christmas Story for the umpteenth time followed by the late-night drive home in sketchy winter weather and being up until two wrapping presents.

Sigh.

It's always fun. But it's also exhausting.

This morning it's just us. The four of us.

It's quiet.

It's calm.

There's no stress.

There's no Christmas music.

Nobody is pestering me about when we can open presents.

Nobody is complaining that the food isn't organic.

There's no barking.

The coffee here is the best around.

I have to thank my mother particularly for being a generous, understanding, unselfish soul who makes it a priority to let her daughters spend Christmas Day in our own homes if we choose to. And even though Christmas Day is also her birthday, my Mom doesn't hassle us or give us any shit about not being there because she understands the importance of making our own family traditions and memories. She intentionally plans her Christmas get-together on a day that isn't Christmas Day.

It's the best gift she could possibly give us.

So, in the spirit of the holidays, I wish you a Happy-Whatever-Doesn't-Offend-You.

I hope you are spending it with people you love.

And I hope it is filled with lots of good things.

A Table For Two

"A wedding anniversary is the celebration of 

love, trust, partnership, tolerance and tenacity.

The order varies for any given year."

-- Paul Sweeney

Doll house miniatures 12-6-14

"A long marriage is two people

trying to dance a duet and two solos

at the same time."

-- Anne Taylor Fleming

"Love one another and you will be happy.

It's as simple and as difficult as that."

-- Michael Leunig

Yesterday, Big Daddy and I celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary.

We went out for a nice little dinner at a nice little restaurant, enjoyed good food, good wine, and each other at a nice little table for two.

I had the sea bass. He had the scallops.

He drank white. I drank red. We raised our glasses to the last 22 years, and to the next 22.

There is no traditional gift for the 22nd anniversary, so I bought him booze and candy, and he bought me baseball tickets.

Every year on my grandparents' anniversary my Grandma would always say, "That's a long time to look at the same face!"

She was right.

Fortunately, I married someone with a very handsome face.

Shapely Buns

"When you build your buns ... to their maximum potential,

you won't think twice when someone calls you a hard ass."

-- Karen Sessions, 

"Buns and Thigh Exercises! Get a Firm and Shapely Booty," 

fitnessatlantic.com

Butt buns 11-28-14

"I don't think you ready for this jelly

I don't think you ready for this jelly

I don't think you ready for this

Cause my body too bootylicious for ya babe."

-- Destiny's Child, "Bootylicious"

Butt buns 11-28-14

Hey, I just call 'em like I see 'em.

I baked some dinner rolls for Thanksgiving yesterday.

I was going to make them into three-sectioned cloverleaf rolls. But the balls were too big to squeeze three into each cup of the muffin tin. So I could only manage to fit in two.

As a result, while they were rising, the rolls struck an uncanny resemblance to a dozen, shapely little bottoms mooning me.

They had smooth, squeezable little cheeks.

Butt bun 11-28-14

They had cracks.

Some even had tiny anuses.

We affectionately referred to them throughout dinner as the "butt buns."

And even though they weren't cloverleafs, the butt buns pulled apart beautifully at the cleft into two separate, smaller pieces of ass.

They were bootylicious, and steaming hot.

I'd have eaten more, butt they were full of glute-en.

Sam Is Home!

"You have my whole heart. You always did.

You're the best guy. You always were."

-- Cormac McCarthy, The Road

Queen and Jack of Hearts 11-27-14

"Catelyn wanted to run to him,
to kiss his sweet brow,

to wrap him in her arms so tightly
that he would never come to harm ..."

-- George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

My oldest son, Sam, is home for Thanksgiving. He got here yesterday.

He's a busy guy. He hasn't been home since returning to college in August, and I was really starting to miss him. 

We're having a very quiet, very small Thanksgiving Day at home. 

No travels. No company. No biggie.

It's what Sam requested. He has been working very hard at his grueling and relentless academic load and needs a chance to chill out and catch his breath before he goes back for the final stretch of the semester and exams.

So last night I cut his hair. He made a pumpkin pie. We went to a couple of stores for a couple of things. I bought him a tire gauge. We ordered pizza. We watched crappy television. Right now he's upstairs, sleeping in.

He's only here for a couple of days, but I'll take what I can get and try to give him what he needs and not bother him with what he doesn't. 

Having my whole little family home under one roof is what I'm most thankful for. My house is full, and so is my heart.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sharing My Food

"We should look for someone to eat and drink with

before looking for something to eat and drink."

-- Epicurus

Squirrel with nut 11-26-14

"If you really want to make a friend,

go to someone's house and eat with him ...

the people who give you their food

give you their heart."

-- Cesar Chavez

You know what makes me sad?

It makes me sad that schools now have rules prohibiting students from sharing their food in the cafeteria at lunchtime.

I even read a story recently about a kid and a friend who were both served detention for swapping lunches. 

Say I wanted to trade you my Doritos for your Moon Pie. We'd both be fucked.

Or say you forgot your lunch and I gave you half of my sandwich. Again, both of us, fucked.

Maybe you don't have money to buy a school lunch, so I treat you to a tray of hamburger gravy. Both. Fucked.

School officials say the strict rules and penalties are only an effort to protect kids with serious food allergies from unwittingly ingesting something that could kill them. You know. Foods like shellfish or peanut butter.

The rules also protect the schools' asses from lawsuits.

The USDA says the rules help ensure kids will eat lunches that comply with the National School Lunch Program's nutritional protocol.

Well, I've been in my kids' school cafeteria at lunchtime. I've seen the school lunches up close. You know where I've seen them? Uneaten, in the trash can.

Maybe the USDAs tactic for fighting childhood obesity is to serve food so disgusting that even fat kids lose their appetites.

On the other hand, I also read an article about a study that revealed how sharing food actually makes us better, less selfish, more altruistic people.

I agree.

I did it yesterday.

My incredible friend Jill stopped here on her way from Chicago to Cleveland, so I baked her a delicious, bubbly cherry crisp for us all to share. Jill's vegan, so I got some vanilla Tofutti ice cream to make it a la mode. And when she left for the next leg of her journey, I gave her an extra dish of cherry crisp to take along for her breakfast.

Giving another person some of your food is extremely intimate gesture of love. It's not quite as intimate as sex. But nevertheless, it involves one person offering another person something to put inside their body. It's about filling an emptiness.

Sharing food is absolutely essential to human togetherness and relationships. 

It's primal.

Take away that elemental urge and you take one more step toward isolating people from one another. 

If we persist in punishing kindergartners for sharing their Gogurts and Teddy Grahams, we'll create a selfish, isolated, love-starved generation.

Aren't we already selfish, isolated and starving enough?

Anyway.

All of this is by way of saying, with the Thanksgiving season upon us, I believe sharing good food is a good thing.

Go ahead.

Make extra. 

Pass it around. 

The REAL Breakfast Of Champions

"Goldilocks would pick this one."

-- Leo

Oatmeal with brown sugar 11-9-14

"You have to eat oatmeal or you'll dry up.

Anybody knows that."

-- Kay Thompson, Eloise

I helped Leo and his team win their big football game last night.

No, I didn't catch any passes or recover any fumbles. I didn't call any plays or break any tackles.

Hell, I didn't even break a sweat.

What I did do, though, was feed my boy a big, hot, creamy, hearty, satisfying bowl of oatmeal before he headed out the door for his morning practice session.

It was barely even 40 degrees outside, and I wanted him to start his day with a good hot breakfast that would warm his cockles and stick to his niblets.

Wheaties may call itself the "breakfast of champions," but Wheaties can suck it. I'll put my money on oatmeal every time.

Plus, I happen to make really good oatmeal.

Not instant. That shit's like eating wallpaper paste. 

Not pre-flavored. That shit's like eating pre-flavored wallpaper paste.

Not the fancy-schmancy steel-cut Irish ones either. I've tried them a few times, but I just don't love 'em. They're perfectly fine and healthy and everything. It's just a personal preference. No offense to the Irish, of which I am one. I just don't like chewy oatmeal.

No nuts, berries, seeds, granola, chocolate chips, quinoa or other add-ins. That shit just results in a textural cluster-fuck.

I'll take plain, old fashioned rolled oats every time. The simpler the better. I add a little salt, a tiny sprinkle of cinnamon and clove to warm up the flavor, and then I cook it gently until it's smooth and creamy and soft and luxurious.

A splash of milk is optional.

Brown sugar is non-negotiable.

Anyway, enough rhapsodizing.

My point is, when my son woke up in the morning, there was a steaming pot of hot, homemade oatmeal waiting for him. He ate a big Papa Bear-sized bowl and I ate a little Baby-Bear-sized bowl along with him.

Me: "How's it taste?"

Him: "Goldilocks would pick this."

Awwww. So sweet.

Anyway, Leo's team won 52 to 20, which makes him a champion. You do the math.

After he made an impressive open-field tackle, my husband high-fived me and said "It must have been the oatmeal!"

Damn straight it was the oatmeal -- my oatmeal.

OK, maybe I can't give my oatmeal all the credit. Probably a season of practice and lifting and training and conditioning and coaching and teamwork and all that stuff had a little something to do with Leo's success on the football field.

Nah.

Fuck that.

It was my oatmeal.

Differences

"We were very different, 

and we disagreed about a lot of things,

but he was always so interesting, you know?"

-- John Green, The Fault In Our Stars

Donkey teeth and Werewolf teeth 11-3-14

"At the end of the day, that's what a family is --

a group of different people who accept each other."

-- Sara Sheridan

"You're some freaky shit, my brother.

You really are."

-- J.R. Ward, Lover Eternal

Yesterday was one of those days where it was really hard coming up for a "good thing." Not because there weren't any, but because there were so many that it was truly difficult to choose.

We drove down to Sam's college for a visit and to take him out to lunch. It was our first trip of the semester, and we still hadn't seen his new college apartment.

The drive down was good. It was a gilded, brilliant, sun-kissed autumn day. Absolutely gorgeous.

Seeing Sam was good. I miss that boy, and I needed to see him with my actual eyes and hug him with my actual arms.

Seeing Sam's apartment was good. We'd seen pictures, of course, but it was so nice to see him in the actual environment where he lives. It was reassuring and comforting to see him in his tidy, efficient little place. 

Lunch was good. We went to Sam's favorite Middle Eastern restaurant and had hummus and pita and kafta and falafel and dawali.

But I think the goodest good thing of the day was watching my two sons together. They are as different as can be, and if you didn't know they were brothers, you would never guess they were brothers.

Of course they've been through their moments and years of disagreement and bickering. But not anymore.

They've each grown into delightful, fine young men who clearly love and respect and -- gasp -- like one another. 

It did my soul a great good to see my sons enjoying one other's conversation and company and jokes -- each genuinely interested in what the other was up to. 

Stretched out on Sam's little couch, Leo was clearly proud of his brother's independent college life and impressed by how well he's navigating rigorous academic challenges.

Asking all the right questions and listening patiently to Leo's answers, Sam was clearly proud of his brother's athletic and academic achievements as well.

They compared notes about the physics courses they're both taking. 

They laughed a lot.

Leo took pictures of Sam's apartment and tackled him on his little studio bed.

They hugged goodbye for a really long time.

Riding in the back seat on the drive home, I let all the goodness of the day tumble around in my heart like Bingo balls in a cage. And the strong feeling that kept rising to the top was one of gratitude that, despite their vast differences, my sons have one another to lean on, to believe in, to hold onto and to love.

And if that ain't good, then I don't know what is.

Doing Someone A Favor

"No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another."

-- Charles Dickens

Sidewalk chalk self portrait 10-24-14

"Wherever you turn, you can find someone who needs you.

Even if it is a little thing, do something for which there is

no pay but the privilege of doing it.

Remember, you don't live in a world all of your own."

-- Albert Schweitzer

In the summer, my son Sam cuts our grass, and our neighbor Vera's.

When Sam's not available, my husband cuts it.

Occasionally, Leo chips in.

But Sam's away at college right now, and Leo's days are full of high school and football and homework. My husband has been under an extra-busy workload lately, and by the time he gets home in the evenings it's been too dark to mow because the sun keeps setting earlier and earlier.

That's where I come in.

Well, it's where I came in yesterday, anyway.

The grass was long. The day was beautiful. There was a need to meet, so I put on my old jeans, laced up my work boots and fired up the mower.

I cut our grass, and Vera's too. The front wheel drive "EZ Walk" mechanism on our big, heavy Craftsman push mower is fucked up, so it took me a good three and a half hours to get the work done, but I got it done.

The sun felt good on my face and arms.

The physical exertion felt good in my lungs and legs.

The mingled aromas of fresh-cut grass and autumn leaves and mower exhaust smelled good in the air.

The sense of accomplishment at a job well done felt satisfying as I looked over the straight, ordered, repetitive wheel-marks patterning the yards.

Mostly, it felt good to do a favor for someone I love a lot.

My husband spends a ton of time and energy making my life easier. I'm not a demanding wife, he's just a really great guy, as unselfish and generous as they come. He does nice things for me all the time.

So I was glad to be able to lighten his load a little. Pretty much all he had to do when he came home was eat a big warm bowl of homemade beef and noodles, watch Thursday Night Football in his recliner, and enjoy a glass of Scotch.

Small Things Done With Love

"Not all of us can do great things.

But we can do small things with great love."

-- Mother Teresa

Wire hangers 10-20-14

"If I give all I possess to the poor 

and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, 

but do not have love, I gain nothing."

-- 1 Corinthians 13:3

When it's all said and done, my life probably won't leave much of a mark on the world.

In the grand scheme of humanity, I am a pretty damned small, insignificant potato.

When I see the Mother-Teresa-sized greatness of what some people do to inspire hope or elicit change or otherwise help the neediest needy among us, I feel very small indeed.

I'm not a humanitarian or a visionary or a hero.

The stuff I do isn't world-scale stuff.

This weekend, for example. Nothing I did was a very big deal. At all.

Here's a rundown:

I yelled and cheered like a damn fool when Leo busted through the line and sacked the shit out of the the opposing quarterback Friday night.

Big deal.

I ironed all my guys' dress shirts.

Big deal.

I made pancakes and sausage for Sunday breakfast.

Big deal.

I cooked my husband a big homemade steak-pineapple-basil pizza with no sauce, just how he likes it. It was all his. He didn't have to share it with anyone. He got the whole thing to himself.

Big deal.

I bought my neighbor, Rick, a six-pack of beer. We had a gas leak because the idiots who hooked up the new stove had their heads up their asses. Rick works for the gas company and came to the rescue and fixed the problem at no charge.

Big deal.

I wrote a couple of blog posts that only a very few people (and by few, I mean few) will ever read or care about.

Big deal.

I talked to my son Sam on the phone. He's at college and is stressed as fuck under the extreme weight of the intense course load he's carrying. He unloaded, I listened. I tossed in a little inappropriate humor and juicy gossip, and by the end of our conversation Sam was laughing -- like really hard snort-laughs. And he asked me to send him some homemade oatmeal cookies. I'll do that today.

Big deal.

I told you it was all small stuff.

But I can honestly say that I did all of those small things because I felt great love, or gratitude, or some other really good feeling, for each and every one of the people I did them for.

When it's all said and done and my life is up in smoke, I don't give a fiddler's fuck if anyone remembers a single thing I said or did.

What I do hope they remember, though, is how I made them feel.

And I hope I made them feel a little loved.

That'd be a really big deal.

A Good Dad

"My father gave me the greatest gift 

anyone could give another person -- 

he believed in me."

-- Jim Valvano

Lego William Shakespeare mini figure and "Li'l Will" Shakespeare action figure 10-18-14

"I believe that what we become depends 

on what our fathers teach us at odd moments,

when they aren't trying to teach us."

-- Umberto Eco, Foucault's Pendulum

"Be more than a father, be a dad.

Be more than a figure, be an example."

-- Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: 

Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

Picture it:

It's the night of parent teacher conferences.

My husband and I are walking down the hall to our son's first grade classroom.

All available surfaces -- the windows, the doors, the ceiling, the kids' lockers -- are decorated with artwork and projects displaying what the children have been up to.

It's Martin Luther King Jr. Day, or was earlier in the week, and the lockers leading up to our son's classroom all have little signs that say "I have a dream ..." at the top, with each child's big dream penciled in the space below.

"I have a dream ... to be an actress."

"I have a dream ... to be an astronaut."

"I have a dream ... to be a doctor."

"I have a dream ... to be a veterinarian."

"I have a dream ... to be a football player."

"I have a dream ... to be famous."

We read each one, looking for our son's, trying to imagine how Leo would answer the question, wondering just what his big dream might be. You never knew with this boy. He could be a loose canon.

My husband's sharp intake of breath let me know he'd found it. It was the only one of its kind.

"I have a dream ... to be a dad."

My husband was speechless.

To me, it made total sense.

The kids all wanted to be just like their heroes. They all wanted to be just like the coolest person they could imagine. They all wanted to be just like someone who they thought was greater than great.

Leo too.

Today is not Father's Day.

Today is not my husband's birthday.

Today is simply a regular old Saturday.

So why am I telling you this?

No special reason. I just felt compelled to let him know how lucky I feel.

My boys couldn't have a better man to pattern their lives after. He is a strong, tender, attentive, dedicated, patient, passionate, intelligent, invested, engaged, fun, interesting and way-beyond-capable father. He is the ballast in our family's ship, and without him, we'd have all floated adrift long, long ago.

Leo could have chosen anything for his first grade "dream."

He didn't just make a good choice.

He made the very best choice.

Me too.

Belonging Together

"It was quite a beautiful thing, the way we simply just came to be,

with no effort or trying and slowly we found each other's hands in the dark."

-- Charlotte Eriksson

Mushrooms  10-16-14

"... you're not lonely and isolated from anyone.

You belong."

-- F. Scott Fitzgerald

Mushrooms  10-16-14

Mushrooms 10-16-14

 "Home wasn't a set house, or a single town on a map.

It was wherever the people 

who loved you were,

whenever you were together.

Not a place, but a moment, 

and then another,

building on each other like bricks

to create a solid shelter

that you take with you

for your entire life,

wherever you may go."

-- Sarah Dessen, 

What Happened to Goodbye

Family Meals

"The shared meal is no small thing.

It is a foundation of family life ..."

-- Michael Pollan, 

Cooked: A Natural History of Transformation

Asian Lady Beetles devouring an apple 10-15-14

"If we want our kids to lead healthier lives,

we should eat with them more often."

-- Miriam Weinstein, 

The Surprising Power of Family Meals

When my kids were really small someone dragged me to a "rah-rah ain't it great to be a mom" party-ish kind of thing at the posh house of a very well-to-do wife of a local physician.

To protect her identity, I'll call her "Posh."

Posh was the featured speaker. It was her house, her party, and so I guess she also booked the talent.

Her "message," as she called it, was about family meals and how important they are to family happiness and closeness.

The friend who dragged me there leaned in and whispered, "Where? On Mars?"

She got it. Because she was still in the trenches, with me.

Posh hadn't smelled the trenches in years. None of her three Abercrombie-model-attractive sons even lived at home anymore.

Her mealtime stories were gilded and golden. 

As Posh "shared" her rose-colored, Currier & Ives family meal memories there in the Architectural Digest perfection of her palatial home, the women fell under her spell and gazed up at her winsomely, eyes glassy, faces worshipful.

Some made little sounds of agreement.

Some took notes, writing down her every word.

I just wanted to throat punch her.

Family meals at my house were not wonderful. I had a toddler and an infant. Family meals at my house were exasperating and messy and tragic. My dinner table was a war zone.

And it didn't stop at toddlerhood.

There have been nights when I've invested time and love and ingredients on a beautiful, healthy, balanced, delicious meal and:

• Child refuses to eat it because he is a vegetarian now.
• Child complains that there is not enough meat on the table.
• Child refuses to eat because he is off carbs this month.
• Child is back on carbs, and why aren't there potatoes?
• Child comes home sucking up the dregs of a cherry limeade saying he's not hungry, he already ate at Sonic.
• Child refuses to eat because he wants to get a pizza later.
• Child doesn't like the food and instead of saying so, picks at it and picks at it and picks at it until I finally snap and bark at him to go get himself a fucking bowl of Cheerios then!
• I get adventurous and try something new, and everybody looks at it like I've ladled my own vomit onto their plates, because it's "different."
• I'm a shit show because my depression and anxiety are off the charts and nobody knows what to do or say, so we just stare awkwardly into our plates and don't say anything.

But I've stuck with it. I've stayed in the trenches and kept cooking and serving family meals. And eventually, somewhere along the line, the tide turned.

Meals became less of a battleground.

I've adapted and learned how and what to cook so that everyone can find something on the table that they like.

My boys' palates have matured and expanded so that they both enjoy a wider range of foods.

My boys have also matured, and they're much more appreciative of my culinary efforts. They're also smart and funny and family meals can get pretty lively and interesting.

I'm on medication.

If I had a bunch of moms over to my house to "share" a "message" about family meals, I wouldn't blow sunshine up their asses. I'd tell them this:

Sometimes eating together will suck balls so hard you'll hate it. Sometimes it will just be food on plates, and eating. Sometimes it will be hilarious. Sometimes it will be interesting. Sometimes it will be delicious. Sometimes it will be "different." Sometimes it will be takeout. Sometimes you'll work really hard to cook something special and nobody will notice. And sometimes you'll pull a meal of leftovers straight out of your ass and they'll make you feel like you just won the James Beard award.

Meals with your family will never be perfect, and if Currier & Ives is what you're looking for, be ready for a lifetime of disappointment.

Don't try to manufacture or engineer something according to someone else's posh vision of what your family's meal should be like. Just cook the meal as best you can. Feed the people who show up around your table with care and attention.

If you're lucky, the good will outweigh the bad, the hilarious will outweigh the awkward.

Once in a while, wonderful might even happen.

Whatever you do, just let it happen.

In the end, what you eat doesn't matter nearly as much as who you eat it with.

Just make sure that love is the flavor that lingers when the meal is done, because love always tastes good.

Leftovers

"The most remarkable thing about my mother is that

for thirty years she served the family nothing but leftovers.

The original meal has never been found."

-- Calvin Trillin

Leftover beef stew 10-13-14

"Laura liked it hot, and she liked it cold,

and it was always good as long as it lasted.

But it never really lasted nine days.

They ate it up before that."

-- Laura Ingalls Wilder,
Little House on the Prairie

"I'm the leftover turkey for 

the world's mayonnaisey."

-- Train, "All American Girl"

Thick, savory beef stew.

Hot, bubbly macaroni and cheese.

I made lots of both over the weekend, intentionally cooking up enough to provide plenty of delicious leftovers.

Then, while football and baseball were on, I didn't have to get up and cook. Sunday dinner was already made and I was free to sink into the sofa and watch football and baseball.

Now that's what I call comfort food.

Big Sisters

"An older sister is a friend and defender --

a listener, conspirator, a counsellor and a sharer of delights.

And sorrows, too."

-- Pam Brown

Me (left) and my big sister, Alicen  9-6-14

"Between sisters, often, the child's cry never dies down.

'Never leave me,' it says; 'do not abandon me.'"

-- Louise Berkinow

My big sister, Alicen, came for a visit yesterday to watch Leo's football game.

She always blows in like a force of nature -- a whirling, swirling dervish of energy and opinion and devotion and non-stop chatter.

Alicen has been there my entire life -- through the good things, the ho-hum things, and the really, really shitty things.

She is the most loyal person I know.

She always shows up.

She always makes me laugh.

And she always loves me.

Of all her remarkable qualities, that last one is the best thing about my big sister. 

If she loves you, you'll know it, because she never, ever, ever lets you forget it.

Planting Apple Trees

"If you want to make an apple pie from scratch,

you must first create the universe."

-- Carl Sagan

Homegrown Macintosh apples 8-27-14

"The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago.

The second best time is now."

-- Unknown

Roughly 16 years ago, my husband and my son, Sam, planted two scrawny, skinny, leafless sticks in our back yard.

They said they were apple trees.

I was skeptical. 

They looked like dead twigs.

But ...

They were indeed apple trees, albeit in their infancy.

Now our two scrawny trees (I call them "Two Tree Orchard") are full and lush, towering over the backyard fence, their down-turning branches heavily laden with ripening fruit.

Yesterday I was mowing the grass under them and the branches kept whacking me in the head and apples kept dropping to the ground. So I harvested an armful. The apples are just a tad too green for eating yet, but cooked down with some sugar, cinnamon and butter, they made pretty good applesauce.

Later, when the apples are a little bit riper, I'll make as many quarts of sauce as I can so we can eat it all winter long.

And I have all kinds of plans for cobblers, crisps, breads, cakes and pies.

I like being a suburban farmer, with my tiny little orchard and my tiny little garden.

It makes me feel more than good to cultivate and feed myself and my family the freshest possible food on the planet -- fruits and vegetables that come in straight from the backyard mere minutes before they hit the plate.

It doesn't get any gooder than that.

A Family Outing

"What greater thing is there for human souls

than to feel that they are joined for life --

to be with each other in silent unspeakable memories."

-- George Eliot

Chessmen 7-20-14

"The memories of my family outings are still a source of strength to me.

I remember we'd all pile into the car -- I forget what kind it was -- and drive and drive.

I'm not sure where we'd go, but I think there were some trees there.

The smell of something was strong in the air as we played whatever sport we played.

I remember a bigger, older guy we called 'Dad.'

We'd eat some stuff, or not, and then I think we went home.

I guess some things never leave you."

-- Jack Handy, "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy"

Because I'm a baseball junkie, for my birthday the guys took me out to the ballgame.

The Indians are on a two-week road trip, so instead of going to Progressive Field, we went to see the Lake Erie Crushers play the Florence Freedom in a Frontier League showdown at All Pro Freight Stadium.

I like Crushers games because the ballpark is smaller, parking is simpler, tickets are cheaper and you can get a lot closer to the action. And for me, baseball is baseball. I'll watch anyone play as long as its a good game.

And it was.

We had front row seats directly behind home plate.

The rain stopped just in time.

The french fries were hot and crispy.

The beer was cold.

Leo got a rare lucky "double dog" -- he unfolded the foil and discovered two wieners in one bun.

We saw a rainbow (also lucky).

One of the Crushers players (#25, you're my favorite) gave me a foul ball.

The Crushers slammed a few dingers and taters and, well, crushed the Freedom 16-4.

When we got home, we all ate chocolate cake.

It was all good, but the best part was that we were all together having a really good time. 

I think that's why I prefer "experience" gifts over "stuff" gifts.

Stuff just sits around, takes up space and gathers dust until you eventually lose interest. 

But experiences happen. Here. Now. 

Everyone gets to take part. 

And the only space they take up is in your memories, where it's a good thing there's always room for more.

Slingin' Hash

"You know, nobody can ever cook as good as your mama."

-- Paula Deen

Self portrait 6-12-14

"I'll take a double triple bossy deluxe, on a raft, four by four, animal style, 

extra shingles with a shimmy and a squeeze, light axle grease. 

Make it cry, burn it and let it swim."

-- Bubble Bass, Spongebob Squarepants, "Pickles"

I fed supper to the four people in my family at four separate times yesterday.

I fed Leo at 4:30 p.m. so he could get to a rehearsal.

I fed myself at 6 p.m. because, well, I was hungry and I was the only one here.

I fed Sam at 7:30 p.m. because he was out feverishly mowing three lawns before the rain came.

I fed my husband at 9 p.m. because he was out late working on a project that got delayed because the rain came.

Sometimes I feel like a short-order cook.

It seems like my kitchen never closes.

There are days when I'm still making somebody a snack or a sandwich at midnight. 

I even make takeout and pack it up in brown bags when somebody's on the run and needs it to-go.

But what mom hasn't felt that way during the busy seasons of life when everybody is going in separate directions at separate times?

My own mother was a little less sympathetic. She used to bark: "I'm not running a restaurant! Eat when we all eat or don't eat at all!"

I'm not running a restaurant either, but I'd much rather feed my boys home cooking than abandon them to rely on junk food and drive-thru. On extra-busy days I try to make something they can all eat whenever their individual comings and goings permit. It's kinda like my "daily special." Yesterday's daily special, for instance, was meatloaf and cornbread. I cooked it early, kept it warm in the oven and served it up all night.

More often than not we do eat together as a family, even though it seems like somebody always has to leave the meal early and dash off  to be someplace else. 

I don't take it personally.

I just keep cooking and trying to do my best to make sure nobody goes away hungry. 

I'll be here all night. 

Don't forget to tip the waitress.

Order up!

Inside Jokes

"We are so hilarious.

I feel bad for the people who don't get to listen

to our conversations and enjoy our hilariousness."

-- Unknown

Polymer clay heads laughing their asses (if they had asses) off 5-28-14

Every family has its own unique culture with its own unique set of rituals, language, dietary practices, behaviors and religion.

For instance, my family's unique culture includes the ritual of going out to the movies on Christmas Eve.

One of our unique behaviors is calling each other by made-up nicknames. We've gotten so used to our "AKAs" that it sounds really weird when we call each other by our "real" names.

Our family uses words and phrases that would mean nothing to the outside listener. For instance: "I can't catch this fish." This phrase has nothing to do with actual fishing. It is the inability to stab peach slice onto your fork while it slips around on your plate.

Etcetera.

My favorite element of our unique family culture though, by far, are the inside jokes.

If you are lucky enough to live in a family with a sense of humor, like I am, then you know what inside jokes are -- they're the cryptic, funny, (and in our case hugely inappropriate) things you say to each other that only you understand because only you know the circumstances behind the joke.

That's the power of a good inside joke -- knowing that only the people who are in on it "get" it.

I don't think I've ever laughed as hard outside my own home as I have when we are cracking up over something that is only funny -- that is hysterically funny -- to just us.

If you've ever tried explaining an inside joke to an outsider, then you know it's like watching a tire slowly go flat. That's why it's crucially important to keep inside jokes inside, so the funny doesn't leak out.

Obviously inside jokes aren't limited to families. They can exist between friends, lovers, co-workers, teammates -- in any social group. Inside jokes draw the group closer. They provide a sense of inclusion and belonging.

With all due respect to people who say "a family that prays together stays together," I'd like to cast my vote for inside jokes.

I don't want my kids to remember me, necessarily, for the profound lessons I taught or the deep spiritual impact I had on their lives (as if). I don't want them to remember what I made them think about or ponder. Personally, I'd much rather they remember me for how I made them feel when I said something that caused them to laugh so hard it hurt, that made them roll off the couch onto the floor or spit their Starbucks out their noses -- I live for that shit.

Family laughter is a gift. I love it when a joke that starts between two of us spreads to include three, and then all four of us. When we're all cracking up over the same thing and nobody is left out wondering what the hell's so funny -- it's beautiful.

It's probably hugely inappropriate, but beautiful.

The Family Glue

"That's what I meant," said Pippin. "We Hobbits ought to stick together, and we will."

--  J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord Of The Rings

Paper dolls 5-18-14

"You are stuck with me till the world falls to pieces..."

-- Ottilie Weber, End of the Line

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Time for true confessions.

True confession #1: I am really, really, really lazy and careless when it comes to family togetherness. Aside from the three guys who live in my own house, I can be pretty damned lackadaisical and a whole lot of who-gives-a-fuck when it comes to family visits and birthday parties and holidays and events and family ties and shit.

True confession #2: I hate that about myself.

After my dad passed away almost 10 years ago, as my kids have grown older and busier, as my sisters have moved farther apart and as their kids have grown older and busier -- there's been "drift" -- it's grown harder and harder to get too jazzed about that kind of stuff.

But I have this brother in law, Russ.

Russ and my sister live in California, which is far, far away.

Unlike me, though, Russ doesn't let drift happen. Russ gets extremely jazzed about maintaining family togetherness. He is the kind of guy who'll fly to Michigan from California, then buzz down to Ohio and visit us because he happens to be in Michigan. It's not on his way. It's not convenient. But he does it anyway. It's that important to him.

He did it yesterday.

Russ set aside the better part of the day to drive all the way here so he could have a couple of hours with my sons, his nephews. And then he drove all the way back to Detroit to catch a flight home to California.

At first I was all like, "Who does that? Wouldn't it be a lot easier for him to just go to Detroit? Sit in the airport and read a book, for chrissakes." And then I answered my own question. "Russ does that." It's who he is. He's the guy who tries to hold us all together.

He's the self-appointed family glue.

So Russ drove down and we went to our favorite Middle Eastern restaurant. It was nice, catching each other up on what everybody's been up to, over Kafta rolls and hummus instead of over the phone or the internet.

Left to me, we'd all just keep drifting apart and lazy-ass me would probably just let it happen.

But luckily, we have Russ. He's like the skewer in the Kafta kebab.

Without him the whole thing might fall apart.

So it's a good thing we have him to hold that shit together.