This past weekend, I sliced deeply into some American pie. I dredged up some of my Deep South roots from so far down, I should have worn some protective caving gear — or at least a helmet, because I was at the roller skating rink.
My friend Teesha, supermom that she is, hosted a skating party for her daughter's birthday. And since there's no mini-van alive that will fit nine excited girls, I volunteered my services as chauffeur and chaperone. (I should point out that 3 of the 9 girls were Teesha's, and that's not even all of 'em. Hence, her automatic "supermom" status. Something must be incredibly satisfying at her house. That's all I'm saying.)
Turns out, Teesha, me and our friend Cate were just about the only chaperones there in a rink full of teenagers. And boy, did it bring back some memories. Although we all hail from different parts of the South, we realized that early teen roller skating was something we all shared.
And then we wondered, is this a universal truth in the American adolescent psyche? Is roller skating as much a part of Americana as Friday night football and apple pie? When you move up north, do you just replace your wheels with blades and keep on sliding around the rink?
For us, it was a valuable opportunity for cultural reflection. For our daughters, it was a different kind of learning experience. At one point, my 8-year-old and her friend came up to me with very serious looks on their faces and said, "These teenagers move way too fast, and teenage boys like to show off a LOT."
There's a life lesson, no matter what culture you're from! Hopefully it will sink in.
And I'm not above a few more turns around the rink if anyone wants to go.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Best Thanksgiving Recipes You'll Never Get
Secret recipe
Guarded for generations
But blabbed on the Web
Ah, Thanksgiving, the carbo-holiday!!
Debby and I are planning a team effort this year. As we've planned our menu and divvied up the work, we realized that we both have "non-negotiable" side dishes that must make their annual command appearance.
Hers include sweet potatoes and stuffing. Mine are butternut squash souffle and sour cream green beans.
Fortunately for us, these dishes have stood the test of time and become family favorites.
Sadly for you, dear readers, I can't share mine, under penalty of death and disownment from my own mother. See, we come from a place and time before the Internet age, before television - heck, maybe even before radio, when recipes were almost a form of identity.
Think you've got a cool Twitter handle? Check out my top-secret rhubarb pie. The word spread and the reputation grew in the same manner it does now, only much more slowly, so you could savor every bite. My mother honors this tradition religiously. Holding these recipes close is perhaps a way of holding the memory of the women who shared them close as well.
But that leaves me in an Internet age with an eager (I hope) audience that is hungry for both posts and recipes. So here's another recipe that I've made the past few years and like a LOT. And because I've forgotten where it came from, I'd say the likelihood of blowing anyone's secret tradition is pretty slim.
Cranberry Chutney
2 cups fresh cranberries
2 cups sugar
3 tablespoons water
1 chopped apple (I like Granny Smith for this)
2 ribs celery, chopped
1 tablespoon grated orange rind
1 cup orange juice
1 cup golden raisins
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
Cook cranberries, sugar and water over medium heat for about 5 minutes, until sugar is completely dissolved. Add remaining ingredients and simmer for 35 minutes, stirring frequently.
Remove from heat and chill. Store in the refrigerator in an airtight container for up to 3 weeks.
Makes 2 1/2 cups.
Guarded for generations
But blabbed on the Web
Ah, Thanksgiving, the carbo-holiday!!
Debby and I are planning a team effort this year. As we've planned our menu and divvied up the work, we realized that we both have "non-negotiable" side dishes that must make their annual command appearance.
Hers include sweet potatoes and stuffing. Mine are butternut squash souffle and sour cream green beans.
Fortunately for us, these dishes have stood the test of time and become family favorites.
Sadly for you, dear readers, I can't share mine, under penalty of death and disownment from my own mother. See, we come from a place and time before the Internet age, before television - heck, maybe even before radio, when recipes were almost a form of identity.
Think you've got a cool Twitter handle? Check out my top-secret rhubarb pie. The word spread and the reputation grew in the same manner it does now, only much more slowly, so you could savor every bite. My mother honors this tradition religiously. Holding these recipes close is perhaps a way of holding the memory of the women who shared them close as well.
But that leaves me in an Internet age with an eager (I hope) audience that is hungry for both posts and recipes. So here's another recipe that I've made the past few years and like a LOT. And because I've forgotten where it came from, I'd say the likelihood of blowing anyone's secret tradition is pretty slim.
Cranberry Chutney
2 cups fresh cranberries
2 cups sugar
3 tablespoons water
1 chopped apple (I like Granny Smith for this)
2 ribs celery, chopped
1 tablespoon grated orange rind
1 cup orange juice
1 cup golden raisins
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
Cook cranberries, sugar and water over medium heat for about 5 minutes, until sugar is completely dissolved. Add remaining ingredients and simmer for 35 minutes, stirring frequently.
Remove from heat and chill. Store in the refrigerator in an airtight container for up to 3 weeks.
Makes 2 1/2 cups.
What's Under the Hood
This week, I had a dented door replaced on my 2001 Subaru Forester. It was one of the many bumps, wrinkles and scratches that makes my car look like it was "rode hard and put away wet," as the saying goes.
With my new, pretty door, I was driving it to pick up kids and thinking about how this could be the start of gradually repairing all the dents and completely rejuvenating my ride, when my daughter called out from the back seat, "Cool! The fabric on this door is different than all the rest!"
Cool to her, but a crossroads for me. See, I already have the reputation among my daughter's friends (and, secretly, their parents) of being the "junky car mom." I know I'm not the only one, and I screamed with laughter when a friend pointed me to the "Mom My Ride" video on YouTube.
Leaving the upholstery unmatched would be one more giant step down that road, but it also would be another chapter in my car's story.
The fact is, it has been ridden hard, but it's had lots of fun along the way. It's gone camping, on family trips, to more parks and playgrounds and hiking trails than I could count. It's had two different dogs take their rightful places in the back, and its seats have absorbed enough juice-box spills and Cheerios to feed breakfast to a small army.
As I looked at my car, with all the remaining dents and mis-matched upholstery, I thought, "Jeez, I really should just trade it in and start over with something new."
Then, I hopped in it to pick up my son and remembered why I keep it around. It's fun to drive, highly dependable, and can take anything life throws at it. All admirable qualities for anything - or anyone - that's got that many miles on 'em.
The car stays, along with my "junky car mom" reputation. But the nice guys at MAACO did put my original upholstery back on.
With my new, pretty door, I was driving it to pick up kids and thinking about how this could be the start of gradually repairing all the dents and completely rejuvenating my ride, when my daughter called out from the back seat, "Cool! The fabric on this door is different than all the rest!"
Cool to her, but a crossroads for me. See, I already have the reputation among my daughter's friends (and, secretly, their parents) of being the "junky car mom." I know I'm not the only one, and I screamed with laughter when a friend pointed me to the "Mom My Ride" video on YouTube.
Leaving the upholstery unmatched would be one more giant step down that road, but it also would be another chapter in my car's story.
The fact is, it has been ridden hard, but it's had lots of fun along the way. It's gone camping, on family trips, to more parks and playgrounds and hiking trails than I could count. It's had two different dogs take their rightful places in the back, and its seats have absorbed enough juice-box spills and Cheerios to feed breakfast to a small army.
As I looked at my car, with all the remaining dents and mis-matched upholstery, I thought, "Jeez, I really should just trade it in and start over with something new."
Then, I hopped in it to pick up my son and remembered why I keep it around. It's fun to drive, highly dependable, and can take anything life throws at it. All admirable qualities for anything - or anyone - that's got that many miles on 'em.
The car stays, along with my "junky car mom" reputation. But the nice guys at MAACO did put my original upholstery back on.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Strictly Need-to-Know
Late fall and winter are what I think of as "airplane season." It's about the only time of year I fly for work, and when I do, I always like a window seat. I like to see what's down below as we zoom overhead, and imagine the lives of the people down there.
But I've also found that I'd like to know exactly what I'm flying over as I pass. What's the name of that town? What's that river? Who's crop circles are those? (I'm sure there's an app for that, but I'm not exactly a "first adopter" for technology.)
I'm not sure where this need to know comes from. Maybe I just like to have my bearings. But I do find that I'm more interested in what I'm passing as I travel than what's going to happen when I get there. Is this a "live for the moment" mentality? A fear of the future? Or am I just usually too preoccupied with the lingering questions from the homefront to think too far ahead?
"Did I leave the milk out? Is the coffee pot on? Did my family get to their respective daily destinations without breaking anything?" These are the questions that rattle quietly around in the back of my mind as I travel. On this last trip, the break count was two items — my daughter's soap dispenser and my husband's ankle. Par for the course.
I think perhaps my focus on the present also comes from a healthy realization that I don't want to know what's going to happen next. Information about the future is indeed a stressful thing, whether it's keeping a surprise party a secret, not telling co-workers that you overheard they're being laid off, realizing that you're responsible for classroom snacks for an entire week next month, knowing that your best friend has a little spinach in her teeth and not being able to signal to her across a crowded room before she goes to talk to that great-looking man.
These are all small things, so the knowledge of knowing the big things in advance, like when you will die, would be too overwhelming. Talk about the stress of planning the perfect outfit!
No, I prefer to coast. Do I have hopes for the future? Of course. Do I plan for it? You bet. Would I want to see into the future, given the chance? No way.
I like to know as much as possible about the here and now, and the week or two to come. But as for the bigger future, I'm happy with a strictly need-to-know basis.
But I've also found that I'd like to know exactly what I'm flying over as I pass. What's the name of that town? What's that river? Who's crop circles are those? (I'm sure there's an app for that, but I'm not exactly a "first adopter" for technology.)
I'm not sure where this need to know comes from. Maybe I just like to have my bearings. But I do find that I'm more interested in what I'm passing as I travel than what's going to happen when I get there. Is this a "live for the moment" mentality? A fear of the future? Or am I just usually too preoccupied with the lingering questions from the homefront to think too far ahead?
"Did I leave the milk out? Is the coffee pot on? Did my family get to their respective daily destinations without breaking anything?" These are the questions that rattle quietly around in the back of my mind as I travel. On this last trip, the break count was two items — my daughter's soap dispenser and my husband's ankle. Par for the course.
I think perhaps my focus on the present also comes from a healthy realization that I don't want to know what's going to happen next. Information about the future is indeed a stressful thing, whether it's keeping a surprise party a secret, not telling co-workers that you overheard they're being laid off, realizing that you're responsible for classroom snacks for an entire week next month, knowing that your best friend has a little spinach in her teeth and not being able to signal to her across a crowded room before she goes to talk to that great-looking man.
These are all small things, so the knowledge of knowing the big things in advance, like when you will die, would be too overwhelming. Talk about the stress of planning the perfect outfit!
No, I prefer to coast. Do I have hopes for the future? Of course. Do I plan for it? You bet. Would I want to see into the future, given the chance? No way.
I like to know as much as possible about the here and now, and the week or two to come. But as for the bigger future, I'm happy with a strictly need-to-know basis.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Why motherhood will end war
Today I sat on a plane to Memphis, Tennessee, next to a young man bound for two-week's leave from his post in Iraq. He was on his way home to surprise his mama. You gotta love that.
Michael is 19, has been in Iraq for 9 months and has 9 more to go on this tour. He showed me some photos on his My Space page of Kuwait and Iraq, and shared some chocolates he had picked up in Germany on his way home. (Those Germans know their chocolates. That was some fabulous stuff.)
Talking with Michael made me realize two somewhat life-altering things.
First, I'm old enough to be his mother. That was truly an ah-ha moment - and not in a good way. I'm used to thinking of my self as mother to my 8 and 3-year-old kids. But technically, I could be the mother of a 19-year-old kid, on his way home to surprise me.
That thought led to another thought: I wanted Michael to stay home, go to college, find a nice girl, have some kids and find a way to add to a peaceful, caring world. I wanted him to be safe. And although I've never met her, I'm pretty sure his mama feels the same way.
I bet the mothers of soldiers all over the world feel that way, too. Yes, we are proud that our sons and daughters are brave and are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the ideals we believe in, but we'd much rather they didn't.
Suppose that all the mothers in the world put their collective feet down, and said, with one hand on a hip and the other brandishing a cooking implement that suited their culture,"You are NOT going to go out and get into fight with those other kids! And if I hear about you doing anything like that, you'll wish it WAS world war three!"
I bet we'd have one helluva peaceful planet.
Godspeed, Michael. May you return safely.
Michael is 19, has been in Iraq for 9 months and has 9 more to go on this tour. He showed me some photos on his My Space page of Kuwait and Iraq, and shared some chocolates he had picked up in Germany on his way home. (Those Germans know their chocolates. That was some fabulous stuff.)
Talking with Michael made me realize two somewhat life-altering things.
First, I'm old enough to be his mother. That was truly an ah-ha moment - and not in a good way. I'm used to thinking of my self as mother to my 8 and 3-year-old kids. But technically, I could be the mother of a 19-year-old kid, on his way home to surprise me.
That thought led to another thought: I wanted Michael to stay home, go to college, find a nice girl, have some kids and find a way to add to a peaceful, caring world. I wanted him to be safe. And although I've never met her, I'm pretty sure his mama feels the same way.
I bet the mothers of soldiers all over the world feel that way, too. Yes, we are proud that our sons and daughters are brave and are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the ideals we believe in, but we'd much rather they didn't.
Suppose that all the mothers in the world put their collective feet down, and said, with one hand on a hip and the other brandishing a cooking implement that suited their culture,"You are NOT going to go out and get into fight with those other kids! And if I hear about you doing anything like that, you'll wish it WAS world war three!"
I bet we'd have one helluva peaceful planet.
Godspeed, Michael. May you return safely.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)