Saturday Speaks: Kabbalistic Wisdom

While it was pretty great to hear the owner of the restaurant give my smart-mouthed uncle a run for his money, this is best thing I've heard all week:

Light is only Light when it comes out of darkness.
-The Zohar

Friday Sabbath: Rude Religion

Finally, as an adolescent, my parents told me to just stop talking to them about religion.

This request came up several times for a couple reasons.

My psycho-Christian phase inspired the first request. I found my long-lost uncle during the year I attended Trinity Lutheran private school (shudder) and he introduced me to his church. What began as my desire to be closer to him became a trap for a teenager who took everything so very seriously. If I attended the church, I was going to listen up, sing in the choir, and buy into the magic... there was little that seemed real there. I entered into the organization during a "revival". I still don't know what it's supposed to mean to the devout members of the Assembly of Gd. People were "rededicating their lives to Christ," getting baptized again, "falling out in the Spirit,"... quite a bit of "hocus pocus" (C'mon... any medievalists in the house?).

I was pretty dazzled at first. Raised in the very quiet and always intellectual Lutheran church of my family, I never imagined such activities going on in a sanctuary. The music was lively, people shouted, testimonials abounded with "miracles of the Lord"... during a "louder" portion of my development, it began appealing enough for me to want to get into the action.

I tried talking to my family about "being saved," which naturally offended them. They were "Christian" after all and believed all the same basic things about Jesus and the crosses and rocks and what have you. Why should it matter what church they attended or whether they bothered other people about what they should believe?

Still, I was too young to believe I could be wrong.

It wasn't until the church pulled my logic trigger that my zealous behavior died. During a rather rambunctious service, a woman who had been in a wheelchair for as long as I had been attending got up, stood on her legs, and ran in circles around the temple. Shocked and amazed, we all listened to her testimony of how good the Lord was to her... what a miracle He had bestowed on her broken body.

The next Sunday, she was right back in that wheelchair.

No one said anything.

When I tried to ask people about what this meant, I was shrugged off with the typical "Gd's will" sort of excuses. I asked why this Gd they claimed gave her such a gift would take it away? Why give it to her for a few hours and slap her back down? I didn't know her condition, but what was the point of that spectacle? Had she offended Gd somehow? Had no one heard of adrenaline?

Needless to say, that killed my assurance in any sort of faith for a long time.

Which led to the second request... while unable to completely commit atheism (Old habits kill you first), I started going down the path of the eternal scientist seeking proof for Gd's existence. What was the point? Who has met with Him and brought the news back since Moses? Who were these bearded authors of the Holy Book anyway? My parents, having long accepted the unanswerable quality of their faith had to politely ask again that I refrain from discussing my opinions with them.

While I was oppressive in my youth to people who I thought would listen, we're mostly all asked or advised not to discuss religion at the dinner table or with people we've just met or on first dates. It's a hot button topic. It's so very easy to offend people. Even those who say they embrace all faiths (i.e. Unitarian Universalists) have been known to get heated with people who don't share their openness. Are we condemned as a people to find ourselves unable to talk to one another about what we, quite possibly, treasure the most? Among the most intimate things we possess are beliefs, fears, and values...

...and like other "intimates," maybe they're not meant to be shared with everyone. Maybe the quality of religion is like a relationship... people make a commitment as a group to agree to a creed, a hymn, a gd, an idea. Maybe a certain monogamous love looms over the possibilities of mingling.

And yet, I for one enjoy new ideas or learning older ones. I am no longer committed to any particular religion and prefer to adopt whatever makes sense from whatever information and inspiration I come across... I don't care to lose out on opportunities to learn about these intimate spaces between people, how they came about, and what keeps them faithful.

This is probably due to two people in my life... one who gave me a tolerable version of Gd in which I was more willing to believe... and the other lived the truth I so desperately wanted to see in the world. Perhaps I'll talk about them sometime...

I am distinctly "un-faithful" when it comes to religion. I have trouble believing in anything because I'm too tied in to the idea of Ultimate Truth. A part of me trusts that there is at least one right answer to what governs existence... and I don't take well to picking the wrong answer. So, whatever nothing and everything might be the Ultimate Truth, I have yet to find it with peace in any specific faith.

Therefor, in the meantime, I'll search, go back to a quiet Lutheran church now and again to ask my questions without condemnation, visit the Buddhist Temple, perform Jewish rituals at home (at least during the holidays), practice my yoga (all branches of my yoga), and listen to others.

I'm happy to say it's a little easier to talk to my parents about religion. Having studied quite a bit of it in college (which largely softened my tendency towards atheism) and done some heavy reading, my parents like to hear the information. They're still content with their religion and even less content with mine than when I was psychotic... but the dialogue is re-opened, acceptance has brought us to a level ground, and we're learning what we can from one another.

Just like I like it.

Thursday Kitchen: Test Running

While I'm not reliable when it comes to reading directions, tonight I decided to try a vegetarian test run on my gal pals of the dish I'm making Daddy for Fathers' Day. I don't really make up any recipes to share... or rather, I'm a lot like my grandmother. I "wing it" relatively well, but I don't write anything down. When I'm asked to do so (once in a successful blue moon) I really can't relay the information accurately to render the same results for someone else. Similarly in my grandmother's case, to this day, no one can make my favorite of her dishes quite like she did. It's been written down, but I'm sure she was guessing on the quantities and ingredients. We're getting closer to recreating her stuffing, but we're not there yet.

For Fathers' Day, I want to make classic Beouf Bourguignon from Mastering the Art of French Cooking, so, tonight I made Beans Bourguignon. Aside from the fact that I eat vegetarian food somewhat frequently, my best friend is a vegetarian and she was on my guest list (and beans are less expensive than beef cuts). The variation I have on this very French dish comes out of The Creative Vegetarian Cookbook by Courage Books.
It's not bad, as cookbooks go... there are a handful of mediocre recipes (vegetable soup, vegetable stir fry... you know... YAWN...) but then you have some gems like the Beans Bourguignon. It's obviously different, but the method is similar enough that when I was making it at 10pm last night, even though we'd had a decent meal of ouef en cocotte and beet salad, our mouths were watering at the aroma wafting from the oven. The scent is amazing and even the broth on its own is addictive for sopping with my homemade baguettes.

I prepared it last night because Beouf Bourguignon is decribed as being better the next day after it sits overnight in its juices. I wanted to play with this and figure out the "reheating" technique for serving.

Well, I still have some figuring out to do before Fathers' Day.

It wasn't cold, but it wasn't really acceptably warm either. My friends must have been hungry (or polite) because no one took me up on my offer to nuke their plates. I took advice from someone to put the dishes back in the oven with more liquid at about 250 degrees...

...I've got to stop taking advice and start doing the research.

It does pay, once in a great while, to take the advice of others'... usually when I desperately need it to work. For example, during Passover, about four hours before people were coming to share seder with us, I took my aunt's advice. She suggested that I put the lamb roast wrapped in foil with one cup of liquid into a cold oven, turn the dial to 500 degrees, and turn it off after one half hour. After that, I was warned to under NO circumstances open the oven door for three hours.

Sounds weird, right?

It was perfect.

Alas, that was not the case tonight. Since the mistake, I've read elsewhere that you actually need to heat an oven to 350 degrees... meaning you're actually cooking it again (so the adding more liquid thing was right so as not to dry out the food). This takes between 20 and 30 minutes. Apparently, restaurants use another method sometimes known as "flashing" (isn't that just delicious) where you take your pre-made food, leave it out until it's room temperature, then place it in a very hot oven (425-475 degrees) for only 2-10 minutes. From what I'm reading, the first method is the one I should have used.

Oh well.

The gals really enjoyed the spread I made. That was a smaller quantity though, so, though I made it last night. I put it right back into a pan this evening and turned the dial to just-under-medium heat. Worked like a charm! I borrowed that recipe from Kathleen Flinn's The Sharper Your Knife, The Less You Cry (I'm not finished with it, but I'm enjoying her adventure through Le Cordon Bleu). The delectable temptations to follow included my homemade cream and berries ice cream, Jo's chocolate pudding cake, and cookies with almonds, cranberries, and chocolate pieces... Mmmm...

We eat pretty well when we get together.

I'll fudge it a little for Daddy Sunday night. I like to use the available vegetables from the local Farmers' Market for most of my cooking rather than getting some specific type of onion or mushroom for a recipe. I'm big on supporting local farmers (that's another entry for another day though) and I don't like wasting good vegetables. For example, rather than yellow onions, I used local spring onions (like very large scallions with small red onions at the bulb part). Also, rather than purchasing those precious "button mushrooms" from the grocery as tonight's dish requests, I used these lovely oyster mushrooms I found at the market Saturday. I'm not a mushroom connoisseur, and I'm sure a four/five star twerp would tell me how I'll bastardize Daddy's Beouf Bourguignon if I use these local mushrooms and onions... but, as the French would say, "Tant pis."

This is another reason though that I can't help people out. Even if I photo-copy the recipe I made for you, it won't taste the same when replicated because, chances are, I used the ingredients that were in season and available at the time.

Hope Daddy likes his Beef Stew.

Wednesday Valuables: Family Friendships

In considering friendships, I'm looking at my parents still... Not only have they managed to stay married to each other for 25 years, but their most valuable friendships have also lasted for many, many years.

Daddy has a best friend that is frequently mistaken to be his brother (it's a beard thing). They met either during or before Daddy's first marriage. During his divorce, they lived together in the house where my family currently resides. Like most close relationships, going through something tough together tends to cement personal attachments. Daddy asked him to be the best man at his wedding to my mom, to be the gdfather of his sons, and this friend seized the moment he missed 25 years ago and made a toast at my parents' renewal last week.


The only example I have in my life that compares is of course my best friend. We met in high school and survived each others' moods, cycles, boyfriends, differences, new friendships, and several moments of physical distance (she's lived in Maryland and Louisiana). We were the maid/matron of honor in our weddings and I am the one of the gdmothers of her first child. I suppose if we have a moment of hardship that brought us together, it might be high school... which is most torture in itself... there was also the death of our grandmothers, the loss of loves, the birth of her daughter, and several emergencies in which we were all each other had on which we could depend. We've grown to a point where, like Daddy and his best friend, we're like the family we didn't have. We are the kind of sisters that make it safe and comfortable to be absolutely whatever we are whenever we are...

My mom, on the other hand, is closest to her younger sister. Considering their personalities and how they grew up, they bonded over those instances that only they can understand. As time goes by, all three of the sisters (my grandmother had five kids... three girls, two boys) have found a unique friendship. We play canasta together whenever we can and they each help out with all our family's special occasions from potluck dinners to graduations to Mom's renewal ceremony... both sisters participated in the hand fasting ritual (if only they knew how pagan that is... teehee...) and the oldest went through a lot of trouble decorating the (hideous) reception hall while the youngest pitched in as she always does without request.

(Four of the five in correct birth order, oldest left, youngest right)

I don't share this kind of regular closeness with my half sisters... and my brothers, being twins, tend more towards talking to one another if they talk at all (They are 19 now, after all). They still make our special relationship evident to me... I don't feel like any other person has the place I do in their hearts. I have been consulted, as they get older, on other matters that are important to them (so far, girls or writing advice). I never thought I'd love anyone like I do my brothers... and I don't even know why sometimes. I'm not one who is convinced that bloodlines result automatically in love. I feel it takes trust, mutual interests/values, inexplicable sentiment, etc.. My brothers and I have very few interests in common. While they tolerate the reading material I've insisted on offering them, their main hobbies involve racing... and I'm not able to return the favor of tolerance in that department.

Friends that are family are a different animal though. The friends you make outside of kin that last exist by choice. While I'm no stranger to making excluding choices with family members, part of the friendships made within family owe a lot to the fact that you can't get away from them. :)

Of course, that makes it special still to become friends with siblings, aunts, uncles, parents, etc, despite or in spite of whatever you experienced with them while growing up. It takes unique courage to release those issues and make way for a new relationship. I can say for certain that my closeness with family members have changed over the years in spite of disappointments, adolescent judgments, personal hardships, misunderstandings, etc. Once my brothers hit five years old (as in, they could do more than crawl and drool) I was completely in love and remain smitten still. Then after making it past pre-teen angst, I decided after lunching in the cafeteria with a bunch of gabbing gits, who all gave reasons for "hating" their mothers, that my mom and I were going to be pals. When I was younger, I made decisions predominantly based on my desire to stand out and be different (fitting in was not my youthful plight... I was self-aware enough out of the womb to know that being different or strange was a better route for me). However, that social faux pas eventually evolved into my mom being one of my dearest friends. She is the person I call every day (it's morbid, but if I go missing, I want at least one person to notice... David's uncle was discovered dead long enough after he actually passed that I decided to make my presence known). She and I are different enough that when she confides in me, compliments me, and tells me what she thinks of me, I believe it. Yeah, she's my mother and biased, but we have so little in common that if she didn't mean it, I doubt she would say it. No one makes it good to be me the way she does...

My aunts have also become great friends of mine. My mom's youngest sister made it clear that she loved me through ALL my phases, good and bad... and the oldest sister and I eventually discovered mutual lifestyle choices and interests that have definitely made us pals in the adult stage of my life.

As I've gotten older, these are the sorts of friendships that make it easier to grow up. The people who have known your phases and respect the newness of who you become help the cushion the blow of future transitions. They are your safe place. They are home.

Tuesday Hobbies: Adventures in Cross stitching

So, in continuing to consider the love of my parents, I guess I really love my mother since I've agreed to complete this cross stitching project for her:


(From Dimensions Needlecrafts)

I'm not sure why she asked me. As a gift, my pen pal handed off a traditional gift in her family which involves cross stitching. It starts with a white tablecloth and you ask people who come over for dinner or what have you to sign it. After the fabric is filled with signatures (or you run out of friends) you go over the writing with colored threads. Guess it was a mistake to share this charming idea with my mom...

I was feeling a bit under the weather today and figured today was as good as any other to open up the package and get started... too bad Stephen Hawking was not here to explain the bizarre instructions involving bending threads and sewing through holes you create yourself or that the universe puts in place of a stitch to confound you. It's also unfortunate that my best friend was not here to explain the difference between "light brown" and "terra cotta" to me... or what the hell is "blue purple" in comparison to "dark purple"?

In whatever way that I eventually decided to decipher the code, I divided and separated the strands of color as the instructions recommended. I didn't have but one cross stitching hoop, so I tied all the threads to clothing hangers... at least my cat found the process amusing:



I read directions in sections of interest... as in, I read first whatever I didn't figure out on my own by scanning the pictures and charts. I'm just not one of those perfectly sensible females who lectures men on reading all the instructions before beginning a project. I assume I'm being condescended, so, I skip things... you know how there are instructions on shampoo bottles on how to wash your hair and warnings on coffee cups that the beverage is hot? Those are the things I assume I have the psychic powers to skim over by one glance at the paper.

Inevitably, I finally came to the bit of "Contents Include" and discovered that a needle was supposed to be in the package. I'm pretty neurotic about potentially harmful things being on the floor... my bare feet have paid for many acts of negligence and I'm paranoid about my cat's safety. I started to panic slightly when I noticed the needle wasn't taped between the two thin pieces of cardboard or attached to the fabric. I looked around the cushions, the ottoman, between the many books and magazines that tend to festoon my seating area...

...and then I remembered that last month I found a wrapped needle on the dinning room table wondering where the heck it came from...



After all this fiddling around, I finally thread the needle. I like that statement because of how simple it sounds... I finally thread the needle... The instructions specify that you are supposed to take apart the threads which are composed of about 6 strands. Certain parts of the project require one strand in the needle while others require two. I decided to start in the autumn section... it looked the simplest...



This top left area requires two strands from the black thread. That process is slightly cumbersome on its own unless you have a few years to carefully unravel the string. Then taking two thin threads and getting them through the needle...

...well, let's just say I've only made seven crosses so far after fighting with the needle and very thin, bending threads. I read after completing those crosses that I should divide the strands in half when actively working with them... so I tossed aside the project in frustration with a rather long black string falling out the back.

It didn't help that I also read after the crosses that this project is designed to take one year to complete. I had originally hoped to have this ready for my mom at her twenty-five and a half year anniversary (yes, my mom acknowledges halves... wonder what happened to the half birthdays though...) which would be November 10th.

Guess we'll see.

P.S. Happy Birthday Kat and Uncle Jay!

Monday Review: Pixar's "UP"

I think I'll stick to a theme of lasting love this week in celebration of my parents' 25 years together. That makes the latest Pixar film more than appropriate.



Every time I hear that John Lasseter is conjuring another movie, I keep worrying that, eventually, his team is going to run out of ideas. While WALL-E is still my favorite (mostly because I'm a space nerd and they used the voice of Michael Crawford as the recurring musical theme for gd's sake... so many of my favorite things), I think UP is rather special. Considering the era they're playing with and the perfect fairy tale bending of reality, they've actually created a new story. Obviously it has elements of tales we've heard before... explorers have spun yarns for centuries... but it's collection of fantasy, era, age clash, children of divorce, and following a path after the death of a loved one births a new story to tell.

I love Doug... because I can't help it! He's the embodiment of all the dog jokes the moronic impulse-buy gift books tell us. My mom is a great dog lover, so, I'm a sucker for the honesty and hammy fun. Of course, I like Alpha, too... it's a great not-too-scary-bad-guy idea for this generation of children. The few young kids I've gotten to know aren't in the mood for the villains of my childhood. Scar from The Lion King (pure evil and the use of the truly creepy Jeremy Irons for the voice still freaks me out), Jafar from Aladdin (if he didn't scare you with the whole dark, maniacal thing he had going on, he certainly makes you want to take a shower), and even Ursula from The Little Mermaid (with her towering, monstrous conclusion and gruesome, watery death) are all either beneath the imaginings of this generation or more than they feel like handling. But then, my thoughts on what's happening to this group of kids is another story for another day... I'm just trying to say that UP has appropriate opposition without being overwhelming in the dogs. Christopher Plummer, admittedly, makes a relatively disturbing madman in the part of Charles Munz, and while I really like that the movie subtly implies that all our heroes are human and are bound to be toppled eventually, Munz doesn't overwhelm.

But, still, the point that moves me the most is the love story. I always had a fantasy about meeting the love of my life as a child, growing up with him, falling in love, getting married, etc... I enjoyed seeing it realized on screen. I appreciate the themes of lost opportunities and the abandon that Carl learns to exhibit to move on from his old life and into a new chapter with a different sort of family... very 2000s. I like any film that makes a point to teach a little reality while entertaining its audience simultaneously. It's hard to realize that you've missed out on things you wish you had done with someone... a grandparent, a friend, a spouse... but there are ways to hold on to that without it anchoring you in place. Anyone who has lost someone probably grapples with the feelings of betrayal... that deviating from your life with that person means you've turned your back on them. This film captures the necessity of the mourning process (he crossed his heart, after all, he had to get to the Falls) as well as the end of the process. Ellie leaves Carl a note in her adventure book that he should go on and have a new adventure without her. This message is the greatest wish made out of love we could leave behind for our friends and family.

I've read that some reviewers are disappointed in Disney's lack of a girl lead who isn't a princess. Part of John Lasseter's plan for Disney was to bring back hand-drawn animation and the first among these projects is scheduled to be The Princess and The Frog (what it does have going for it is an African American heroine, a twist from the original story, and it takes place in New Orleans... the villain is a witch doctor, for crying out loud... these all sound like fun, to me). Though women might need to work their way into new roles (and I do believe that Pixar will leap that hurtle in the future) I quite like that the leading character of this fairy tale is an old man with his cane and dentures. I think our elderly are a sadly neglected demographic and this film speaks to reviving their significance, their vitality. Carl doesn't speak much, so, I won't say anything about the valuable stories they have to tell (though they do) but the ability they have to fill the empty spaces in our lives rather than to be tossed into the forgotten spaces of retirement homes is an idea I hope children take away from this movie.

I'm not a critic... I'm just sending out a personal opinion... but I think UP is entertaining without being trite or cheap and offers my personal priority in watching any kind of film... some lesson to learn. I'll be taking my mother to see the film once school lets out and hoping that all the Carls and Ellie's in the country find some peace and enjoyment in this story.

Sunday Reflections: My Parents

My parents have been married for 25 years... Daddy found my mother while she was working in a grocery store. After finalizing her divorce, she moved us in with him and they were married when I was three years old. This past Friday, they had a ceremony with friends and family to renew their vows...

It's quite an accomplishment, I think... I have friends who are already getting divorced after three or four years of marriage. Mom told me only three weeks before her anniversary that she wanted to do this, so, chronic planner that I am, I began to coordinate things... told her to get a caterer, maybe have their rings engraved, asked her to suggest a song for me to sing during the ceremony, talk to their pastor, etc... Mom asked me to make a reel of pictures to show at the reception...

Those pictures are clearer than my memories... and most of them were eaten away by the acid of their old photo album. I was present at their wedding, but all I can recall are these pot-marked pictures. I spent a lot of time cleaning them, adjusting them, adding effects to make them more interesting... this is my favorite:



I think I still have a gift for interrupting serious moments...

My parents were tearing up and smiling... the sorts of smiles that would go on forever if there were more room on the face. I have to admit, I feel like it can't be easy to arrive at your 25th wedding anniversary and smile like that... cry a little and beam like they did... I didn't ask them what their secret is... probably because the concept freaks me out. Daddy has been known to work on as little as two or four hours of sleep more than once in a week. Mom is a teaching assistant at an elementary school and still taking beyond good care of my 19 year old twin brothers. I can't imagine how much grace and acceptance it has taken for my parents in this situation to feel as much for one another as they do today.

Of course, the old saying "distance makes the heart grow fonder" might be part of the explanation, but surely, sometimes, distance is just that and "out of sight out of mind" would have to eventually be a fearful side-effect.

Maybe I will ask them how they did it sometime, but for now I'm going to bask in the awe of their magic... with some hope that I'll discover this sort of voodoo myself.