Happy Birthday to Me

I was eighteen.  I had a good grade point average and a boyfriend.  That birthday, I received a Patagonia pullover, which I am actually wearing today, and some books by Anne Tyler.  I remember these gifts made me feel especially appreciated, understood.  I also received a pair of rather matronly Tiffany earrings.  The receipt of that gift left me angry and sad but nonetheless eighteen still remains a standout birthday.

My father believed that a blue Tiffany box retained redemptive powers.  By the time I was 21, my lingerie drawer was full of blue boxes.

It is a truly hollow moment when you receive a gift that you know was not expressly chosen for you.  Tiffany boxes, and their contents of course, are not inexpensive.  Though I tried to express gratitude and not disdain, and certainly I did not want to appear the ingrate, I know my face betrayed me.  Fortunately, and not surprisingly, I never opened any Tiffany boxes in my father's presence.

Since eighteen, I have been fortunate.  I have surrounded myself with people who paid attention, who understood nuances and recognized my likes and dislikes, interests and wishes.  Among notable gifts from my birthdays pasts, a red patent leather purse, a book by Gunter Grass, a gold charm bracelet that belonged to Gran, a package of cheery colorful barettes.  Some of these gifts were expensive, others were handed down, purchased at Target, but all were priceless to me.  Each gift reflected a careful choice, thought and consideration.  Some were items I might have never chosen for myself; perhaps the gift was too luxurious, too precious, too sentimental.  Each is still cherished today.

This birthday, which is tomorrow, I will not have gifts to open.  Both my mother and husband were too excited with their purchases to wait and bestow them on the actual birth date.  Both gifts were personal and greatly appreciated.  Of course, there will not be a blue box from Sandy.  I have received two Tiffany boxes since Sandy's death, though neither on my birthday.  I must admit, I don't have the typical feminine reaction to that robin's egg blue though each of those gifts was well chosen.

My favorite gift though, is the one I have given myself.  I have chosen wisely and cultivated incredible relationships.  I have also blindly stumbled into good fortune which has afforded me love and friendships.  Each card and birthday wish from one of these is a better gift than anything that can be contained in a little blue box.

So Happy Birthday to me; may I have another year to love the people who have blessed me with their friendship.

What you have to do

I am starting this post against my better judgement... why write when you aren't what sure you have to say?

Maybe I am taking a page from my friend Pauline's blog www.paulinesblogsstupid.blogspot.com
 but I feel the need to write about where I am.

Pauline, on the cusp of 40... or maybe more, Pauline?  Anyway, Pauline had some questions about her station in life.  Is everyone supposed to be satisfied with what they are doing?  Is anyone satisfied with what they are doing?

I remember waking up in a dead sweat one night my senior year in college... it had occurred to me, in sleep no less, that I could end up in a trailer park.    What was a degree in Classics really going to afford me?  I has studied to learn, not to earn some high paying job.  Now, weeks before graduation, I began to question the intelligence of my decision.

Unfortunately, unlike my classmates in classics, I was not an intellectual.  Academia held no space for me.  What to do, what to do....

I fell into my position in life... I drank and danced and charged and paid, a little bit, and found myself in Washington, DC, surrounded by bright young things.  I conned my way into their midst.

And right when I had given up on love, committed myself to a sketchy occupation, I found Tim.

Yet.  Yet.  Where was I now?  Alone.  With a cat.  In Austin, Texas.  Whiling away my hours at the Austin Museum of Art taking watercolor classes.  Cooking dishes beyond my comprehension.  Volunteering for the most needy non-profit.  But what was I DOING?

And now.  And now, here I am .... raising two children, sheltering a dog and two cats and feeding a husband.  I am foreman for our new addition and a conversationalist blogger and in mourning for my dearly departed grandmother.

They don't tell you that; while they are bandaging your knee, making your dinner, washing your clothes.  Your parents don't tell you that they don't really know what they are doing.  They don't mention that they haven't gotten it all figured out.

You know that moment that you are waiting for?  That event which will lead you to believe that you are an adult?  Guess what?  Keep waiting.

I've married, and birthed.  I've buried and invested.  I've worked and I've begged.  I've parented and I've bought and charged and cooked and cleaned and paid taxes and volunteered.  There is no magic moment.  Get on with living.  Because living will get on without you.

Way to go Pauline.  Your blog is brilliant.  Keep writing.  I know I will.

1 recipe down, 1 funeral to go

Well, let me preface this post by saying dinner was nice but Jambalaya it was not!  Of course, watching my husband's cholesterol, I didn't use anduille and for lack of Tasso, I used regular hickory cured ham.  Reading the hard core recipes from some of Gran's old cookbooks, I learned that a lot of southerners actually use (blech) oysters in their Jambalaya.

Tasso and Anduille aside, we enjoyed our meal.  I'm not sure that I felt any closer to Gran but making something besides my regular staples was nice.  Of course, a steaming bowl goes far to chase away the wicked cold outside.  It is paralyzingly cold.

I hope the different clime will be warmer when I fly to Memphis next Friday.  I hope that I can hold myself together.

Gran's memorial service is next Saturday.  I feel strange about it. Maybe it is because it will have been 4 weeks since her passing when we finally eulogize her.  Maybe it is because I know that I have already shared everything I had with her.  I'm not sure.

I want to believe that I have worked through my grief and that I will be fine next weekend.  Yet, how will I react when I see Grandaddy for the first time in memory without Gran?

There will be no viewing, as Gran donated her body science.  I have been told that I would not have recognized her in her last days.  When I think of her, I picture her as she was in 1976.  Steely gray hair, black highly arched eyebrows, round brown eyes... trim, curvy, petite figure swathed in a navy blue patterned Diane Von Furstenburg dress and blue and white spectator pumps.  She described herself as "handsome".  I see her with her electric broom.  I see the red Club pots and pans with which she used to cook.  I see her making coffee with chicory.

I do not picture a hospital bed or morphine patches.  I cannot see the vacuum used to suction mucus from her mouth.  I rarely remember her without hair.

Cancer took her life but it cannot rob me of my memories.

I hope I smile next Saturday.  I hope I laugh with my cousins and drink Yellow Birds and Champagne and tell funny stories like the one about Gran at the Kentucky Derby when it poured rain and her hat brim dissolved and fell around her neck like a yoke.

Mostly, I hope I walk away with some of her grace, her poise, her strength.  I hope I hold my head a little higher and my childrens hands a little tighter.  Maybe I hope that I can find Gran's God... I don't know.  I will just be happy if I can manage a stiff upper lip, and a smile.

Lazy Man Jambalaya

1 lb smoked sausage, cut diagonally into pieces
2 cups chopped cooked ham
2 chopped celery ribs
2 minced garlic cloves
1 chopped sweet onion
14 ounces beef stock/broth
1 can diced tomatoes
red and black peppers to taste
cups of cooked rice to your own choice of consistency

Saute ingredients sausage through onion.  When onions are translucent and sausage seems sufficiently cooked, add stock and tomatoes.  Boil for 5 minutes.  Reduce heat, add pepper , simmer uncovered for 5 more minutes.  I have made this a day ahead of time and will cook the rice tomorrow night to add to the Jambalaya.  I am not sure yet how much rice I will make.  I know I will add Tabasco before eating it!

Normally I would make some Beer Bread to go with this but Kristen and my friend Lisa Blaisdell sent me some delicious sourdough bread in a condolence package.  I only wish I had some Dixie beer to wash it all down!

The Threefold Mission

I think I will start with Etoufee.  Followed by Chess Squares.  I'm not sure.  The task is daunting.  I am on a threefold mission.

I want to make a new recipe each week.  I want to learn my Gran's favorite dishes.  I want to master creole cooking and overwhelm Kristen and Bruno next New Year's Eve.

I know my triology... celery, onions and green peppers.  I know to use fresh Gulf shrimp.  I know real butter is worth its weight in gold.  These are things my Gran taught me.

I know a good wine can hide a multitude of sins; this I know firsthand.

Gravy.  Red beans and rice.  Turkey tetrazinni.  Red Velvet cake.  Caramel cake.  And a few new things along the way... I'd like to master Bananas Foster, a good Parisian Side Car, Flan, Cheese Grits and homemade buttermilk biscuits.

I can taste Remoulade, Oysters Rockefeller and Yellow Birds as I write.

I want to pour forth a little of her love in each spoonful.

While I am at it, I would love to master the art of wearing pearls with each outfit, using a handkerchief, matching my handbag to my shoes and blessing every stranger who sneezes.

I wish I could use a rosary... but I am not there yet.

Would it be enough if I always used the good silver,  pulled out placemats for each meal, and never failed to serve bread with dinner?

She liked Champagne, little girls in Swiss Dot, black patent leather and cherry blossoms.  Each meal she made, my grandfather declared the best he had ever eaten.

I think I will start with Etoufee.  Whatever else I can master, I will surely try.

Happy New Year

The Blue Moon had risen and the residual snow from weeks past gave a luster in the falling dark.

We began where all good parties start... in the kitchen.  He served me a Parisian Side Car, chilled and shaken.  As always, Kristen was flawlessly beautiful.  Bruno was dutifully attending his dishes.  The aroma from the short ribs filled the kitchen.

Each course was more exquisite than the last.  The delicate blend of spice and seasoning was perfect.  The wines were soulfully paired.

The Gruyere and onion tart was an artful concoction wrapped in delicately puffed pastry.  The cream of asparagus soup was decadent yet light.  The salad of lobster, shrimp and avocado served over wasabi flan was exquisite.  The light lemon sorbet perfectly cleansed our palates in preparation for the richly braised short ribs, whipped potatoes and wilted spinach.  Only the Tahitian vanilla cheesecake could so beautifully complete such a meal.

The evening, punctuated by the incredible courses, leisurely tripped along.  The conversation was effortless and meaningful.  I left buoyed by good company and a full belly.

Today, I rose and prepared the croissant casserole, carefully measuring out the dry mustard and whipping cream.  The scent of ham and cheese was pervasive throughout the house and left the animals curious and irritated.

The rich aroma of coffee enveloped us as soon as we entered Nestor's house.  You could detect sausage and egg cooking.  The pleasant sound of corks popping filled the background.  Bagels piled high, cream cheese, rich coffee cakes and smoked salmon.  Champagne and Bloody Marys.  I brought along the Chess Squares that Kristen had sent me home with the night before.

The warm embraces, gentle kisses, well wishes.  The children running wild.  Time passed and the afternoon sneaked up upon us.

In the last month, I saw my share of grief.  I also benefitted from kindnesses and selfless acts.  Mine is a charmed life.  My demons are far outnumbered.  My friends are legion.

It is with a heavy heart that I embrace 2010, a year without Gran.  Her sage advice and heartfelt help will be sorely missed.  But embrace, I must.  Not to do so would be rude, unjust, callous.  How could I not embrace a future that will include the Wymans, the Valencias, the Freitas, the Stravitz, the Kaupers, the Meehans, the CashHolcombs, and the Jordans?  These people have given me more than I could ever repay.  It is the countless glasses of wine, the lovingly prepared scampi, the hugs, the cards of condolence... it is also the laughter, the tears, the inside jokes.  Gran told me once that her life was rich because she shared it with her friends.  I am so fortunate to have inherited from her.

Salud.  To life well lived.  To 2010.  To the inevitable march of time.  Enjoy.

Once in a Blue Moon

Astronomers are calling for a Blue Moon this New Year's Eve.  As we wait on the cusp of a new decade, 2009 fades away under this year's 13th full moon.  An event so rare, it is sometimes called a "once in a lifetime" experience.

 A full moon, a full circle, a close to a decade that brought me births and deaths and great happiness and utter despair.  I am ready to raise a glass, under the gaze of the moon.  I'm ready to reflect upon my joys and losses.  Teddy's first tooth.  Our first home.  Job changes and moves.  Farewells to Sandy and Sassie and Gran.

It seems as if the Moon holds my fortune.  What will be cast my way in this new decade?  I feel like a small child, gazing up at the silvery orb, wondering what magic it possesses.

I am frightened, braving the unknown without Gran's steady hand to guide me.  I'm excited, thinking of the experiences my children have before them.

So I am moving forward, stepping out of the silvery moonshine to embrace my future.  Farewell 2009, goodbye to the aughts; bring on the Blue Moons.