Family

Peas Under the Plate

I owe my mother apologies for many things done or not done over the years, but I believe high on the list should be a hearty, “I’m sorry” for the repeated utterance of the following three little words:

“What’s for supper?”

Every night the same inquisition. Every night the same stares of anticipation. Every night the same dread. What’s for supper?

My Mom faced this eternal (infernal) question each night from four children, a husband and various and sundry pets who passed through our way for thirty years or so. Bless her little heart. I wonder if she, like I now, wanted to slap a frying pan upside someone’s head when those three little words came out?

Mom made do. I admire that and wish I had more of her “do”. She made supper and we ate it (with the exception of my younger brother Ernst, who subsisted on peanut butter & jelly sandwiches for 18 years, but that is another story). We had a meat, a veggie and a starch every supper. She made it work, whether we deserved it or not.

When we asked “what’s for supper?” I’m sure there were plenty of turned up noses at times, but the menu she worked out is what we got. There was no ditching the kitchen and heading off to the nearest fast food establishment. Going out was for special occasions and with dinner guests numbering from four to six most of the time, it was rather expensive, too.

We lived on my Dad’s one salary. Mom made it work. Some nights we had Spam patties as the meat source, other nights we had round steak that had been split in half lengthwise then pounded out to stretch. There were other nights of fried chicken or pork chops and mashed potatoes (not applesauce).  Looking back those must have been the times my parents were more flush, but it didn’t matter, we partook of what we had, which is not to say we ate it all – no, I remember clearly trying to hide peas under the rim of my plate and I’ve heard stories of my brother Stavro covertly placing items behind the refrigerator.

Supper was the time the family regrouped. All were called by the rallying cry, “supper’s ready”! Off went the t.v., down went the books, the telephone conversation was cut short, play was halted and we all came together.

We had marvelous conversations and learned of each other’s daily lives. We told stories, passed on new knowledge, played word games and made plans. Occasionally, we would fight, but most of the time we laughed, a lot. Supper became less about the food and more about the time spent together. It was something I think we took too much for granted. Another apology owed to Mom.

Maybe that’s the “do” I’m missing. Even in the worst of times, Mom found something to make for us so that we could sit together and eat. She may have wanted to conk each one of  us on the head for asking what’s for supper, but she didn’t and we survived to ask another day.

Perhaps I need to take the message more to heart. The t.v. needs to go off, apps turned off, Yoda called in from play and make supper the focus it should be, our family reconnection. Stretched paychecks and crossed schedules need to take a backseat to the preparation of what’s for supper. Nothing says I can’t resent the question, but everything says I can make it mean something else.

Thank you, Mom.

Of shooting stars…

Photo courtesy of NASA

I sat on my front stoop alone last night straining to see any of the shooting stars in the sky. I don’t know if it was positioning on my part or the thin layer of cloud cover, but search as I might, none of the beautiful sky show graced my view.

I was not disappointed in my time spent on the porch though. The humidity dropped and a light summer breeze made my skin feel cool and gave music to the neighbors wind chimes. The crickets gave a gentle buzz instead of their normal shouted cacophony.  A bat or two fluttered by scooping up insects drawn by the street lamp on the corner. It was the perfect setting to as Pooh is want to say, “Think, think, think”.

Thoughts of how slowly and yet quickly the summer passed intertwined with visions of what is to come, as I listened to the starlings call out to each other. The night echoed with the summer’s first faint cries of “I’m bored” and the last plaintive whimpers of “I’m not ready for school to start” and all the voices in between those two moments.

We didn’t do anything big or go off on a extended trip like last year (see August 2011 entries). No we stayed close to home and created small, forever memories.

There was the disappointment at not being able to spend time with my daughter Nené on her 25th birthday (ye gads, 25th!). But there was comfort in knowing that we were able to speak to each other.

I loved the quiet, uninterrupted two hour conversation Bashert and I had on our anniversary (15 years, thank you). That was a gift from my Mom and sister Calico Nell who took Yoda with them on the ride down to Savannah for a visit.

I smiled at the memory of Yoda proudly piloting us out of the marina during that visit with my Aunt Spinning Jenny and Uncle Cliff Clavin. Cliff, who is not always that great with grown-ups, excels in bringing out confidence in kids. He had Yoda doing boat doughnuts in Turner Creek by the time our venture out ended.

I again marveled at Bashert’s bravery in conquering her own fears of thunderstorms in order to show Yoda that all was okay sitting on the screened porch while nature lashed all about. She held her own and we laughed and laughed, while Yoda challenged Cliff to yet another game of chess and I shared some Herman’s Hermits music memories with my sister.

Warm fuzzies surrounded me when I thought of the surprise birthday cake my Mom presented to Yoda and me that same weekend.  I love my Mom.

I relived Yoda’s birthday party of just a few days ago when stiff haired, tattooed rock stars invaded our home. Bashert slammed home another theme party with a karaoke madness/pool fête. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen five eight/nine year old boys getting down to LMAOF on plastic, blow-up guitars and keyboards. We now have enough video to grant several opportunities for teenage blackmail.

As I shifted to relieve the pressure on my bum, some sore muscles reminded me of the fulfilled birthday promise I made to Yoda. We spent the day at one of our local arcades – just the two of us. We sort of fudged his age so that he could drive the go-cart by himself. (I’d forgotten what a thrill it is to pretend to be older than you are.) The smile on his face as he zoomed past me was priceless.

That same smile lit up when he introduced me to laser tag. If you ever want a work out try half an hour of sneaking around in blacklight darkness trying to zap fast moving little kids. You automatically go into a half squat and scurry from hiding place to hiding place. Your thighs will thank you. Yoda won two out of the four games, racking up six digit points on the last round, which I found out later resulted mainly from him shooting me! I wondered where that sniper was.

As much as I had dreaded the noise and prospect of dealing with the foibles of other people’s children, I am glad we spent that day. It’s part of this summer I will never forget.

Thoughts of the coming day began to filter in after a bit. Yoda starting his first day of third grade, me returning to work, all the mundane things that need to be taken care of. I pulled my eyes from the night sky, gave a sigh and turned to go inside. Summer vacation was over.

I was saddened not to have seen a shooting star, but I believe I still gathered a pocket full of starlight. Each of this summer’s memories will act as a luminary for any dark days of struggle yet to come and will serve as beacons for the next round of times spent together. Like the song says:

“For when your troubles start multiplyin’
And they just might
It’s easy to forget them without tryin’
With just a pocketful of starlight.

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day.”

Premiere Reminder Day

Sunday was Bashert’s birthday.  Birthdays are a big thing for her, since many of the other popular holidays throughout the year were not celebrated by her family.  Birthdays were fun, but not earth shattering events for my family.  As I’ve noted before, I can be kind of dense about some things, so its taken me a few years to realize the importance of the day.

I have a hard time being super creative in a celebratory way.  Most of that talent lies with Bashert.  She once had me invite all the people and then decorate my parent’s home for my own surprise birthday party.

I’ve only been able to surprise her a couple of times during our 15 years.

When she turned 40, I gave her a gift a day forty days out from her birthday.  Each gift was accompanied by a short poem to hint at what the gift was to be.  I gave her all manner of stuffs – from a secret message painted on the ceiling (glow in the dark paint) to lip balm to a surprise visit from her sister (who came bearing chocolate cake!).  That was challenging, but fun.

This year, she received her most of her birthday a little early. The first part was a little bit selfish on my part.  She was so totally frustrated with her iPad I dropping her from the internet and I was so totally frustrated hearing the sighs, that I packed up Yoda and part of our tax return and went straight to the Apple store.  We came home with a laptop.  Surprise! No more sighs from either of us.

I had not planned anything specific for her actual birthday.  We were to be out of town Friday and Saturday for Passover at her sister’s place.  And then it happened.  I was in the back room working on my term paper (which I should be doing now) Friday night and I could hear them discussing dogs.

I had internet connection and ding! went my email.  Seems Bashert’s sister, Miriam had found a couple of dachshund puppies offered on Craigslist in our area. I snuck a look and said for those faces, I could try again.  The next day started an email exchange that ended up with a meeting to take place on Sunday.

Once we saw the little thing, there was no doubt he would be coming home with us.  If the other people who had driven all the way from North Carolina had decided against his sister, I believe we would have taken her too.

So, enter Moses, a nine week old, long haired, mini dachshund.  He is a beautiful black and tan and full of personality.  He won’t be much over 10 lbs once fully grown and he has stolen our hearts.  Well, most of our hearts.  The cats aren’t too happy with the new addition, yet.

The older ones haven’t gotten over adding in Ruthie the 3-legged kitten and Ruthie is a little put out about not being the baby anymore.  The pain of the lost dogs still haunts us, but as with all blended families, it just takes time.

We’ll get there.

 

Happy Birthday, Bashert!

Let My People Go

Seder Plate by Gary Rosenthal

Tonight, at least in my part of the woods, begins Pesach – Passover.  The time we all get to enjoy The Ten Commandments and for some unknown reason, Fiddler on the Roof.

Tonight all over the world Jews are gathering together to take part in a centuries old tradition; a Passover Seder to recall the Exodus – the escape of the Jews (Hebrews) from Egypt.

A true traditional seder lasts an eternity. Seder means order and traditionalist keep to that order.  It involves the telling of the story, asking questions and partaking of certain foods at specific times. The real meal doesn’t come until after the story has been fully told. Four hours into the seder and all you’ve had to eat is some parsley and horseradish.  It makes for a long night.

Many homes, including ours have adopted a somewhat shorter version of the story, so as to not have the kids up to all hours of the night, hungry, bored and cranky.  Works for the adults, too.

So here for your edification is the story of Passover – Bedlam style:

Jacob brought his sons into Egypt to escape the famine in Canaan.  Son Joseph was a big mahker in Egypt and set his family up in Goshen, apart from the Egyptians (see Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat).

After Joe died, little ol’ Egypt and its new Pharaoh seemed to forget about the contributions he and his people made to Egyptian society and became jealous and suspicious of the Israelites.  So like all despotic rulers, he made them into slaves.

Somewhere in this mix, it was predicted that a boy would be born to lead the Israelites to freedom. So, again like any good despotic ruler, Pharaoh passed an edict that all newborn boys of the Israelites be killed. Fun stuff.

Now, being a crafty Mom, Yocheved, put her boy Moses in a basket and sent him down the Nile hoping a good family would pick him up.  Moses hit the jackpot and was picked by the nurse of Pharaoh’s daughter.  He was adopted into the royal family.

When Moses grew into a young man, he observed an Egyptian beating an Israelite (Cecile B. DeMile seems to think it was an old woman), Moses got a little beside himself and killed the Egyptian.  And like any teenager who has pulled a major “oops”, he ran away.

There’s not much to run away to in Egypt even back then.  Moses ended up in an encampment of  sheepherders, headed by Jethro (and you thought he was just a galoof on Beverly Hillbillies).  While getting back to nature, Moses takes a wife, Tziporah, who just happened to be Jethro’s daughter.  Always reaching for the top that Moses.

One day while out shepherding, Moses is mysteriously called to a mountain whereby he encounters a burning bush that is not consumed by the fire. Okay, so this is where some faith comes in – through the bush G-d instructs Moses to go back and lead the Israelites out of Egypt.

So, Moses goes back recruits his older brother Aaron and storms the Pharaoh’s place.  He demands the release of the slaves or else. (“Let my People go!”) Pharaoh of course says, or else what and Moses, armed with a mighty potent staff shows him what – nine times.

For those of squeamish nature, skip this section.  Moses brings forth nine plagues. (When telling this part of the story, you get to dip your finger in your wine and put a drop on your plate for each plague – kids like this part).

  1. Water turned into blood – I’d be good there.
  2. Frogs – my sister would be good there.
  3. Lice – parasites, my worst nightmare.
  4. Wild animals – and we are not talking Disney safari here.
  5. Pestilence – dictionary example is Bubonic plague, oh goodie.
  6. Boils – ow.
  7. Hail – ow again.
  8. Locusts – crickets on steroids, ever get one down you shirt? Shiver.
  9. Darkness –  talk to the people in the extreme north about no light for extended time.

Pharaoh being an idiot, again as most despotic rulers are, said no each and every time until the tenth one.  G-d struck dead all the Egyptian first born.  (When Yoda was very little, the firstborn just got really sick.)

The schmuck finally got the message on that one.  Pharaoh in his grief, relented and let the Israelites go.  They fled hat in hand.  – “No time to let the bread rise, Yacov, we gotta go!”

Pharaoh woke up when he realized basically his entire workforce was getting away and took chase after them.  He thought he had them cornered at the Sea of Reeds (Red Sea), but dang if Moses didn’t take that G-d charged staff and part that sea.  The Israelites scrambled across and Moses closed the sea on the Egyptian army.  Only Pharaoh survived to see Miriam dancing with her tambourine in celebration across the waters.

The Israelites were free.  Dayenu.

From this point, the Israelites wander for some time, about 40 years, go through some faith issues and are given the Torah – the five books of Moses and entry into the promised land (minus Moses).  They lead a life of happy urban and agrarian society for many years until the whole persecution thing starts over again.

End of story. Let’s eat.

Add an orange and an apple to your plates this year and celebrate freedom for us all. Happy Passover!

The Doggie in the Window

Feeling the empty nest left by Shit Dog and Elisheva, we have been searching the rescue centers to see if we can give another dog, as the shelter people put it, a forever home.  Looking at them on-line is not the same as touching and seeing how they interact, so this weekend we visited a couple of the weekly adoption fairs.

Bashert had a previous engagement today, so Yoda and I went to the tractor supply store to take a look around.  We were looking specifically for a small, adult dog, an apartment dog; one that wouldn’t swallow up the space in our little townhouse and one that would get along with the feline and human residents.  Not too tough of a list.

The selection for adult dogs was slim.  There were six puppies two of which were pretty aggressive.  They got into a nasty tiff right front of us that kind of stunned Yoda. Good thing we weren’t searching for a puppy.

Only two adult dogs fit close to the bill.  Sheila, a Jack Russell mix and Maxwell, a terrier mix. We have a few friends with Jack Russell dogs and they tend to be a bit too excitable (the dogs, not necessarily the parents).  I knew Bashert would not approve, so we moved to look at Maxwell.

Maxwell has a face that deserves a Disney career.  Beautiful light brown eyes, mottled brown and white, scruffy coat.  He was rescued from a high kill shelter one day before the execution date.  Ms. G, who operates the adoptions knows Bashert and knows we would give a good home to any animal (just don’t ask about the wild bird fiasco) loves Max very much, but like all who run such things, she just doesn’t have anymore room.

He was very calm, something necessary in the face of Yoda’s vibrating self.  He was larger than we wanted, but his personality and somewhat non-shedding coat were pluses.  He was nonplussed with the puppies and children milling around, so I caved.

Ms. G. had us signed up and we were walking out the door with Maxwell before I knew it.

I think I realized my mistake as soon as we entered the door at home.

When we got Elisheva, she claimed us right away.  She lived in the vet’s office and had been seen by several people before we came.  When she came around the corner, she peed on the floor and went nuts to see us.  The vet staff was embarrassed and said she had never acted like that before.  We belonged together.

Shit Dog fell in love with Elisheva first, us second, but was automatically part of the family as well.  We all fit together.

The magic isn’t there with Max.  Maybe it’s because he’s too big, maybe it’s because he’s too normal (we tend to attract the odd and neurotic), maybe it’s just too soon.  When pulling up a photo of him to show someone, I ran across one of Shit Dog and began to cry.

Max will spend the night with us, but tomorrow we will take him back to Ms. G.

Maxwell will make a wonderful companion for someone, just not us.  He is a sweet boy who deserves a big yard and a kid who will wrestle with him.  He deserves the magical fit and so do we.

Day Tripping

The Bedlam family went traveling yesterday.  We hit the ATL; Hotlanta.  Well, we sort of went to Atlanta.  We actually landed in Decatur. It’s a small suburb south of the great city.  It is a city reborn, full of great little boutiques and wonderful eateries.  Our daughter Nené attended their premier women’s college, Agnes Scott for a year.  It’s the county seat of where we lived a while when I adopted Yoda as his legal second parent. It’s a beautiful little city to visit.

 

 

We had two missions, the first was an appointment Bashert made to see one of the downtown shop owners.  Bashert is an artist, too and a good bit more enterprising than I.  Since college, she has actually made money.

 

 

 

 

 

The shop, Wild Oats & Billy Goats, is a funky little place chock full of fabulous folk-art.  We were both in seventh heaven to be immersed in good art again.  A refreshing breath of air.  I believe we would have stayed much longer if we didn’t have Bashert’s second mission to accomplish.  We usually stick around and take all the photo ops we can, but time was pressing, this was a day trip and the weather reports for later were rather ominous for driving.

After a quick lunch at a local pita establishment, we were off to find Dick Blick’s Art Supply.

 

Here is where it gets a little tricky.  You see, I had a couple of very long days/nights this past week.  My archaeology professor guilted me into digging the site for several hours this week on top of having to be at work until 5:30 – 6:00am (yes – AM) and attending classes.  Exhausted doesn’t cover it.  I was asleep when Bashert printed out the routes and all the way up to Decatur.  I didn’t check  the maps.

Turned out that what Bashert thought was just Roswell road, was actually Roswell, the city, just north of Atlanta.

 

 

Unless we have an absolute, written in stone map, traveling with Bashert can be a bit dicey.  She can locate her childhood home with the barest of landmarks, but give her a map?  So when we discovered that the route involved a toll highway, we were put a little on edge.

The day was saved by my new(ish) toy, the iPhone.  We were able to pull up a decent enough map (I refuse to activate the GPS) to guide us around the toll and to the right destination.

Much to our delight, by not taking the highway, we also got to experience downtown Roswell, a place neither of us had been, despite the fact we are both from Georgia; Bashert being born in Atlanta!

Roswell is a historic city, built on the labors of slaves and mill workers.  This month the town hosts the largest Black History celebration in Georgia.  If we had known our travels were going to take us through there, we would have made arrangements for time to stop.

After the shopping excursion in Dick Blick’s (another slice of heaven for us, even though we were just there for supplies for Yoda’s school), we headed back to visit with Nené for a minute or two.  She was at work so it wasn’t a long visit, but Yoda was overjoyed to see his big sister even for a short time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The torrents of rain held off until we got home – not that I would know, I was fast asleep again once the car got moving. Bashert must have known how tired I was because normally I’m not allowed to doze in the car.  I’m navigator and wingman to keep the driver alert.  Bless her little heart.

All in all it a good day trip.