Too soon

In the space of a day I learned of the deaths of three acquaintances.

One was a colleague who I knew only slightly but she had been in the library system for years. She was talented, beautiful and gracious.

One was a volunteer I hired and also was a member of my book club. Despite the uneven hand life dealt her, she had a dogged optimism. She lived goodness - it shone through her.

One was a library patron since 1993 and day after day he would burst through the doors and say "How are you, darling?" He read voraciously. His stories from the Foreign Service were endless. If you weren't smiling before he entered, you were by the time he left. He adored opera, his family, words, food, wine,  travel, the world .... and tears came as easily as laughter. I just wrote to his wife - "I'm sure he's now a part of a great gladness somewhere."

Life.

Live it.

Sauerkraut

Sauerkraut. I begin salivating at the mere word.

In my earliest childhood, I think it was associated mainly with hot dogs.... you know, a heated soft white roll, hot dog snugged inside and loaded with steaming sauerkraut and ketchup over everything. Nitrates, sugar, unmentionable animal parts and fat - absolutely scrumptious!

But in later years, sauerkraut became the vehicle to usher in your new year. Pork and sauerkraut dinners sprang up everywhere in the county. Fire-halls flashed marques with the tidings; churches tolled the news. And gradually I incorporated them into my kitchen. New Year= sauerkraut.

At first it was just the straight roast. Now I accessorize the humble swine and sauerkraut with apples, scallions, brown sugar, vermouth (or gin), shallots, a bit of hot peppers and lots of simmering time. When it arrives at fall-apart goodness, I serve with mashed potatoes.

Does it get any better than that?

The new year bows to such an exquisite culinary delight and the 364 following days just simply have to fall into pleasant lines.

grapes

I didn't dare write on January 1 because that would indicate resolve! I know far better than to assume that I will write faithfully every day of 2016 so I had to skip the first day for sure! Almost every day I think -" I should write about that" - and just as quickly that thought is replaced with another and - poof! gone!

Well, I can't change the sure-fire arc of aging, but I will try to be a bit more faithful. Its not that I think someone out there is holding their breath for my next dazzling insight, but I do feel that I owe it to myself to prime the literary pump.

And speaking of pumps, remember using old-time outdoor pumps? I especially remember the one at my Grandma Weaver's house that stood next to the grape arbor. Often the first time you pulled down on the handle -(and mind you, I was so small the upward motion lifted me off my feet!) - nothing would come out of the spout, at best a wheeze and gurgle. But when you persisted with a few additional pumps the water would burst out, with a gasp of air mixed in, and then finally that sweet, pure water would flow smoothly. What an amazing concept - to have to exert a bit of effort for the simple act of flowing water!

And while that water usually just slaked our childhood gaming thirst... or washed off the stickiness of the Concord grapes - "suck grapes" as we called them - that we had pillaged from the laden vines nearby, for my grandmother and mother it represented quite a different story. That water had to be pumped for everything, - washing dishes, doing laundry, cleaning, ironing, scrubbing floors and on and on. My back aches just thinking about it. Just the simple act of living took so much effort such a short time ago in our country and still does in many areas of our planet. Hard to think about.

So instead I will think about Grandma's grapes with their sweet nectar and the tart squishy green centers that lay on your tongue as you sucked out every bit of goodness and then tossed the useless shell. May 2016 be filled with such small delicious pleasures!

giving thanks

It's good we have the official holiday of Thanksgiving at least once a year because aside from the gluttony aspect, the media turns to the subject of family and gratitude - however fleeting! I heard a little essay on gratitude this morning that said scientists discovered that gratitude is actually a component in health. Duh!

Who has never stopped to contemplate that if I don't feel like a powder keg ready to detonate that my body functions better?! Really, we needed scientists?

And as for family - if this is the ONE time that people turn homeward that is indeed sad, but apparently that is the case for many people. Why should we need a calendar to tend to the most primal needs of the heart?

I know for many people it is a chore to be with family, so I guess that's why each morning upon awakening as I look at a collage of my family hanging on the wall beside my bed, my day begins with a smile of thanks.

Paris

Its hard to think about the people in Paris who dressed for a concert, or for dinner, and didn't know they were dressing for the hereafter.

The world we live in so woven with horror makes it all the more important to savor each step because the ground on which we walk seems fragile.

Someone posted a quote from Mr. Rogers on Facebook this morning, "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.

I'm holding that thought close.

Dinner together

 I would have had no idea in the 1950's that I would look back from a 2015 perspective and cherish those noisy childhood supper-times! But in the last couple weeks I have had conversations with library patrons about their reflections on eating together.

Now I realize, suppertime was an anchor. It was a time to share your day - to laugh, tease, scoff, praise, confess, exult, despair, relate. In those times when our parents had never taken a psychology or parenting course, they innocently provided a safe space for us to learn intimacy, acceptance, self-esteem - a place in the universe that was uniquely our own. I remember if I missed supper for any reason, it was a loss - not just a dietary loss, but I felt I missed out on something important.

And it wasn't quiet, orderly or mannered. It was a conversational free-for-all and one had to be vigorous to get a word in edge-wise - particularly being the fourth of five! But without articulation, it was a branding of belonging.

No price-tag high enough to place on that.

gravy

I just finished reading Academy Street by Mary Costello. It's a novel about a quiet life. Almost nothing happens in it, yet everything does: a haunting portrait drawn with exquisite detail of the ordinary.

And because of her minute reckoning, from time to time my mind flew away with a detail from my own life. Sometime the description was about food aromas. The one that replaced the book's in my own mind was the aroma when we walked through the back door of the kitchen coming home from church on Sunday noon. Immediately we were greeted with the browning smell of roasting meat and our hungry stomachs would sigh with anticipation. Before services, Mother would brown some excellent cut of meat - all  from the local butcher - and set it to a low roast. So all the while the hymns were sung, prayers offered, instruction set forth, sermonizing unraveled, and after church socializing took place that meat was roasting to a melt-in-your-mouth doneness. And with a magician's quickness, mashed potatoes graced with butter and pepper, and if the gods were truly smiling - tender lima beans from the garden (that bear no earthly resemblance to the large mealy hateful things you buy from the frozen food section of your modern grocery store), and gravy- lovely smooth, shining - were all "dished up" and the table burst into action.

That browning smell triggered the whole scenario of family ritual - click, click, click the childhood picture slid into place.

I remember with joy - and hunger pangs.