I'm afraid that when last I spoke of my beloved mother-in-law Mommy I was worrying/whining about her decidedly non-Mommylike behavior over the summer. She was not at her best.
So in order to return Mommy to her place in all of your minds as the Sweetest Mother-in-Law Evah, I would like to share a voicemail she left for me the other day. Jude had called her from his phone to say hi, which delights her tremendously. I'll suddenly hear him talking in the other room, thinking it's one of his friends, but then I'll realize that he's called Grandma and Grandpa. It's really darling. So anyway, after this one particularly long conversation she left me the following message, which I am transcribing word-for-word. Enjoy...
MOMMY
Gretchen? It's me. Just called you to tell you...thank you so much
for such a beautiful grandson. He. Is. A. Marvel. I just started to cry
because he speaks so good and knows so much. And this is all part
of you and spending so much time with him. I thank you. Oh I can't
believe he's so smart and so beautiful. Ah! Thanks again. I had
to call you to tell you that. We had a wonderful conversation.
I told him 'Jude I love ya so much, call me whenever ya can.'
Okay, babe. Thanks a lot. Tootleoo.
Can you stand it? So dear. Don't you just want to give her a hug? And yes, Mommy really does say "Tootleoo". Lucky me.
Yesterday, my friend Melissa posted this video on Facebook...
And when I watched it, I started to sob. I did not just get a little teary because it's a cute little parody to that song from Frozen. We're talking real, serious, messy sobs. Jude ran over and watched the video and shrugged, "I don't get it. What's so sad?" How could I explain to him that back when he was about 3 years old, I WAS that lady, that lady with a kid who just desperately wanted to find somebody to play with her!
You have to understand that I was old when I had Jude - 42. All of my friends were either happily resigned to childlessness or had birthed their kids 15 years earlier. I didn't have a single friend who lived within 15 miles of us who was home with a kid Jude's age. We lived in an apartment, surrounded by 20-something Hollywood hipsters. Not a mommy to be found.
Then one day when Jude was 3, my friend Deena, who had a one-year old, told me that she had joined a club called MOMS Club - Moms Offering Moms Support. I cringed. Eww. I was not a joiner of clubs with hokey acronyms. And a "support" group? Sounded so sad and desperate. What could I possibly have in common with any of these women? Deena assured me that it was a fun group, but I resisted.
Finally, she invited me to her sons first birthday party, and told me that a couple of her friends from MOMS Club would be there who had boys the same age as Jude, and they would all be starting the same pre-school that fall. Hmmm. Maybe this would be a good idea - let Jude meet a couple of his classmates before he started school. We showed up at Deana's house...and Jude and my lives changed forever.
Because at that party, I met Melissa and Juliet, the mothers of Teagan and Jackson, respectively, who would soon become Jude's best friends. And they became mine. Within a month, we had become known in MOMS Club as "The Three" because we did EVERYTHING together.
Teagan, Jackson, Jude - Little Boy BFFs.
Melissa, Juliet, Me - Big Girl BFFs
And guess what? MOMS Club WAS a fun group! All interesting, educated women who were taking breaks from their careers to stay home with their kids. While the club had numerous big group meetings and outings, the best part was our weekly Friday playgroup. MOMS Club organizes local playgroups based on the ages of kids and they are given kind of dorky names - the Frogs, the Butterflies. We were...the Crickets.
Our Cricket group met every Friday, alternating between the various public parks in the area. Jude and I both looked forward to it all week. Melissa, Juliet, Eileen, Deena, Lynn, Lily, Dawn V, Dawn M, Debra, Elena, Blythe, Brooke, Paria, Susan - all terrific women with terrific kids. We'd meet in the afternoon, let the kids run around like crazy while we sat and talked and gossiped, then we'd wrap things up when it got to be time to get some kind of dinner together for the family.
It all started out very wholesome, but eventually we became more...subversive. Mommy Juice was introduced. Juliet figured out that if you stuck a box of wine from Target into a stroller and covered it with a blanket, it looked very much like a sleeping baby. Also, sippy cups make excellent receptacles for tequila.
Me + Juliet's Stroller O'Wine
I'm afraid it wasn't long before someone narced on us, and MOMS Club got wind that a certain playgroup was smuggling liquor into park playdates, and told us to cease and desist.
Undaunted, we simply went rogue, unenrolled our playgroup from MOMS Club and rechristened ourselves The Krickets. Clever, yes? Then we shifted our playdates from parks to backyards, each taking turns hosting. Damn these afternoons were fun. The kids had even more freedom to run wild in private backyards, and the mommies could get even louder and sillier.
I'll never forget one Friday when The Krickets were due at our house at 3:30, and I was stuck in traffic coming back from an audition in Santa Monica. I called Jimmy. "The Mommies are coming in 30 minutes and I'm late!" "What do I do?!" he panicked (the Krickets frightened him a bit). "Just let them in, point them to the backyard and show them the margarita makings!"
I walked in about an hour later. The living room was empty except for piles of purses and bags and about 30 very small shoes. I heard laughter and squealing from the backyard and tentatively ventured out to investigate. When I stepped onto the back stoop I was greeted by the sight of utter chaos. About 6 naked small children, covered in mud, were jumping wildly on our trampoline. More naked, muddy children were running around our backyard shooting each other with waterguns. The mommies all greeted me with a cheer and my friend Lynn, waving a margarita, shouted out "It's like Woodstock!!" Seems the mommies had decided to fill the blowup pool with water and let the kids skinnydip and our grassfree yard had turned into a mudpit. Much fun was had by all.
Man, do I miss those days, and that group of women. Juliet would always bring her famous artichoke dip, Dawn would bring a big bowl of Texas Velveeta queso, and Melissa was known to whip up a batch of BLTs (beer, limeade, tequila - also known as a White Trash Margarita). These women really did support me through those early years of mothering. I guess it was a support group after all.
Interestingly, it was also MOMS Club that got me writing. They had a monthly newsletter, and someone suggested that I might like to contribute something. Me? Write? Hmmm...maybe. I decided to write a park review column, every month focusing on a different park where the Crickets/Krickets hung out. These quickly evolved into rather quirky, silly, and very personal pieces - I gave rankings based on how easy it was to sneak in liquor, and which public bathrooms to avoid if you didn't want your 3-year old to get to know a trannie hooker. Eventually, I developed a little following, people told me that they'd read the newsletter just for my park review. And the idea of this blog was born.
This group became the jumping point for most of our friends and social groups which we're now part of. It was through them that I found Jude's school. We all joined the YMCA together, and the kids all took swimming and Tai Kwon Do together. The Krickets were also the chrysalis for Beach Friday. I honestly don't know what our lives would be like now without having had them.
Sadly, we haven't had a Krickets playdate in many years now. Our kids have grown up and all go to different schools. A while back, Jude and I ran into Dawn M and her girls at the grocery store, and he didn't even remember who they were. Sad.
And The Three? We still love and support each other, though we no longer do everything together. I hope that we'll be lifelong friends.
Oh, and guess what we still have together every year? That's right, the Feast of the Seven Fishes. They are with us every Christmas Eve!
So who's up for a Krickets reunion? The kids might be a little old for the playground at the park, but I bet we'd all still enjoy a nice sippy cup of tequila!
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Jimmy and his dad, Pop, have a running joke. Every time Jimmy calls and asks for Mommy, Pop says sarcastically "That's alright, Mister. How important are fathers anyway?" Jimmy always laughs and gives a funny reply that suggests that he's sorry and that Pop is surely terribly important.
But really? I'm pretty sure that there are about a zillion layers of passive-aggressive anger behind this entire exchange, all relating to Pop's past performance as a father. Not that he was a bad father. I guess it's a question of how one would define "bad". Mommy has a saying which she tore out of a magazine and taped to the inside of the basement door, right in the perfect place so Pop has to look at it every time he goes downstairs to get a beer from the extra refrigerator. It says "The best thing a man can do for his children is to love their mother." Yes, Mommy is a master of the passive aggression.
Because Pop was NOT a good husband. Yes, he provided. No, he wasn't a drunk or physically abusive. However, he was...I might as well be blunt...a philanderer. His years of philandering culminated in "The Hiatus", the 20 years during which Pop had left Mommy and lived with "That Woman". I highly recommend reading THIS post, which tells the whole bloody, juicy saga. So despite the fact that Pop sees himself as the family hero, the excellent provider who always took care of everyone, the truth is that he basically thoroughly screwed everybody up.
But then along came Jude, Pop's one and only grandchild and a manchild no less, and the man complete transformed. He is the Uber-Grandpa. He adores that boy, and that boy adores him. It's a lovely thing to witness.
The only human being ever allowed to squeeze Pop's nose.
Pop teaching Jude boxing moves from his Golden Gloves days.
I never had a grandfather. Mama's father died in 1935 when she was 11 years old, and Daddy's father passed in 1941. I have no idea what it's like to have a grandfather, but I have many preconceived ideas, and...dreams. And Jude and Pop's relationship thoroughly achieves them.
They have their little "things"...
They play the lottery.
They go to the ball game.
They go to the beach.
But mostly they have deep, meaningful talks.
Having a deep, meaningful talk.
Last summer, I left Jude with Mommy and Pop while I went into Manhattan to see friends, and when I came back, I discovered that Pop had taken it upon himself to explain to Jude the meaning of life. This was serious stuff, and when I asked Jude to tell me about it afterwards he informed me that really it was between Grandpa and him. Put me right in my place. I was able to piece together that there was much talk about growing up and responsibility and respect for family and respect for women (ha!). All very dear.
A couple of months ago, they had "the talk" in Jude's fifth grade class. The boys and girls were separated and each were told about puberty and their changing bodies by a parent/physician. Afterwards, I told him that if he wanted to, this might be a good time to talk to Daddy about these things (I had already given him "the talk" about the birds and the bees, but it was pretty clinical). Jude looked thoughtful then said "Nah, I think I'll wait and talk to Grandpa about it. I bet he can tell me a thing or two about puberty." And I think this is true.
Back in 2011, Jude interviewed Pop for an Oral History project in school. Below is the link to the interview. I know it's long, but it's amazingly wonderful, and oh so Pop, filled with hyperbole and stories of questionable veracity. And you get to hear Jude's sweet little teeny boy voice. I am the loudmouth who is "helping" a little too much. Skip through the first minute or two to get to the good stuff.
When I was pulling this file, Jude heard it and got embarrassed. He thought he sounded dumb. But I know that in years to come, he will cherish this audio file with all his heart.
I guess fathers are important after all.
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Don't you dare leave without visiting our other Fathers spinners!
Come back on Monday to find out Ginny Marie and my Spin Cycle topic for next week. And a heads up that I'll be starting Camp Mama 2014 next week. Yep, it's that time of year!
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I try not to get political around here. I can't stand political arguments and mean-spiritedness, and it's very easy to lean a little too far to either the left or the right and then opinion can become meanness. I do sometimes get on my highhorse regarding issues of social justice which I feel strongly about, but I don't think of that as political, just...right. But anyway...
I am basically a left-leaner. A bit of a bleeding heart. And I have to say that the thing about those on the opposite end of the spectrum that makes me most angry, is a nasty, knee-jerk belief that Democrats and political liberals are unpatriotic. It's mean-spiritedness at it's most mean-spirited. The assumption that if someone doesn't believe the same things that you believe then they don't love our country is ignorant and dangerous. And there's a condescending attitude that if you are anti-war, then you don't "support our troops". What the what?! How could you be more "supportive" of them than wanting them to get the hell out of a war and come home? I believe that being "anti-war" is the only Christian choice, how can you follow the teachings of Jesus Christ, the greatest pacifist of all time, and support any war? It's completely illogical.
I am ridiculously patriotic. I love my country. I think there are areas in which things could improve. But I am a firm believer that it's the best country in the world, and couldn't imagine living anywhere else. And our freedom to express our opinions as to where/how things could be improved is one of the most important elements that makes our country great. Maybe I am this way because I was raised by a daddy who was a veteran of WWII, a great one from the "Greatest Generation", a time when America truly saved the world's collective butt.
I love our flag. I love our armed forces. I love our national anthem. It's funny, just this morning Jude and I were talking about a report he's writing on The War of 1812, and we started discussing "The Star-Spangled Banner", which Francis Scott Key wrote during that war.
GRETCHEN
So, it was the Battle of Baltimore, and Key was watching from this
ship, and he knew that if the US flag was gone and had been destroyed,
then that meant the British had won the battle.
JUDE
Uh-huh.
GRETCHEN
(getting more animated)
So all through the night of the battle, every time there was "the rockets
red glare" or some "bombs bursting in air" he would look to see that
"our flag was still there"!
JUDE
(he already knows this because he read it in a book)
Right.
GRETCHEN
(starting to get teary)
And when he saw in "the dawn's early light" that "our flag was still
there", then he...he...sniff...knew that it was still...sniff...still...
JUDE
Mom. Why are you crying?
GRETCHEN
I'm not actually crying, I'm just emotional because he knew...sniff...
JUDE
Mom, this is embarrassing.
GRETCHEN
(starting to actually cry and need to blow her nose)
He knew it was still the "land of the free and the home of the brave"!
And we still are. We still are. Sniff.
Jude shakes his head and gets his mother a tissue.
On Memorial Day, this past Monday, I had the immense privilege of singing Verdi's Requiem with my church choir, together with five other choirs, a full orchestra, and four soloists from the LA Opera. It was a stunning experience.
Any of y'all who have been paying attention around here should remember that last year on Memorial Day weekend, we traveled to New York and performed Mozart's Requiem at Carnegie Hall. As far as I know, the timing of that concert had been kind of random, that's when the Carnegie people scheduled us. But before we went on, our choral director/maestro, Joe, had a revelation. We were singing a requiem, which is a mass for the repose of the dead, on Memorial Day! It was perfect.
So Joe developed a plan to produce a different requiem, Giuseppe Verdi's Messa da Requiem, at our church in Hollywood, on Memorial Day as an actual...memorial. He has been working his butt off for a whole year and damn if he didn't make it happen.
We were so good! Worth all that rehearsal! And the soloists were breathtaking. Verdi's Requiem is one of the most dramatic pieces of music ever written, combining the drama of opera with the thrill of a great symphony. The proceeds went to the Wounded Warrior Project, and we managed to get a huge crowd. Really successful.
That's me in the middle of the back row with the tall girls.
Joe also connected with an organization called Portraits of the Fallen, a group which recruits local artists to create portraits of Southern California service men and women who have died in Iraq and Afghanistan. During the last movement of the requiem, the "Libera Me", they showed a slide show of the portraits. There wasn't a dry eye in the house. Here's a video my friend Foster made of the slide show. The soprano soloist, Stacey Tappan is amazing...
So many faces. So many families who lost someone. The good news for sentimental patriot me is that we couldn't see the screen from the risers where we were singing, or I wouldn't have been able to get through it.
It was really beautiful, and I am blown away by Joe's vision that put it all together. This lovely evening that brought together musicians from all over Southern California, a truly diverse group from all races and religions and ages and sexual orientations and both ends of the political spectrum , who came together to celebrate through music the lives of those who died serving this country we all love.
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When I was in 9th grade, I officially took over the buying of gifts for my Mama. Daddy was a loving, kind man, who unfortunately was also very practical and...frugal. His idea of a gift for Mama tended toward things like...a new electric frying pan, or a pair of gardening gloves. Nice, but not exactly pampering or romantic. When I took over, things got better for my mother, because I wasn't just her champion, I was her...secret weapon.
You see, Mama had a good friend, Mrs. Mann, who owned a jewelry store. So every time a birthday or Mother's Day or Christmas was coming up, Mama and I would go down to Mrs. Mann's store. Mama would then pick out exactly the piece of jewelry she wanted it. Next, it was my turn. I would tell Daddy that Mama had mentioned to me that she would really like a new bracelet (or ring or necklace or earrings or whatever). So we would head down to the jewelry store to take a look and see what they had. Mrs. Mann, who was veeeeeery clever, would greet us as if she hadn't just seen me the week before, and then she would proceed to show Daddy the bracelets (or rings or necklaces or earrings...) which she thought Mama would like. She would always pull out three items. One would be inexpensive and plain, one would be far too expensive and flashy, and the third would be just right. And of course that was the one that Mama had picked out for herself the week before. It worked every time. Heheheheh.
When I grew up and started buying gifts for Mama on my own, she was always my favorite person to buy for. Partly because we had really similar tastes, but also because she had lots of interests, so I was always finding things that were "so Mama". I was always dog-earring catalogues and saving them for Christmas, and by the time December rolled around, I'd have a hundred things I wanted to get her.
A weird phenomenon that happens when someone dies is that you keep seeing things that are "so them". For years it would break my heart whenever I'd find that perfect thing to buy for Mama, but alas, she was gone. It still happens sometimes, especially around Mother's Day, when I get swamped with emails advertising "The Perfect Gift for Mom". The other day I saw these from Anthropologie, and I thought "That's so Mama!".
Notecards for every occasion. So Mama.
There are so many things I wish I could have given her that I could never begin to name them all. But here are a few things that come to mind that she missed, and I know she would have loved.
Anything Downton
Mama would have ADORED Downton Abbey! She was a nut for any and all British television, especially Upstairs, Downstairs, and a lifelong supporter of PBS. In fact, when she died, they found her in bed with the tv on, tuned to the PBS station. I'm pretty sure she died watching Mystery!, which is so perfect I can't stand it. Anyway, I stumbled upon the PBS Downton Abbey gift site the other day, and I wanted to buy it all for her.
Mama would have loved Lady Violet.
Oh yes.
and especially...
Mama was a jigsaw nut! This would have made her so happy!
Netflix
Netflix would have been the greatest thing in her life. Mama died before the internet came along, and she would have love all of it, really, but Netflix would have been her thing. ALL of her programs in one place! She could have binge watched all her mystery shows and every Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney movie.
Mama loved musicals!
All Things Pope Francis
Mama would have loved Papa Francisco so much I can't even express it. All about charity, a Jesuit - she'd have been over the moon! I almost certainly would have gotten her this...
A little pope with her coffee.
and would probably have bought her this, but she'd have hated it.
Mama would have thought the Pope Soap on a Rope was sacrilegious, and wouldn't have used it. But I would have stubbornly have bought it for her anyway, because...well I had to buy it for somebody.
Club Pogo
Mama loved games. All games. She was kind of a card shark, but also loved word games and puzzles. If she had been able to join Club Pogo, we could have played Jungle Gin or Canasta or Spades and chatted TOGETHER, even though we were in separate states! It would have been the coolest thing.
Cookbooks
Mama and I both always loved a good cookbook. She used to sit in bed at night watching her PBS shows and reading cookbooks. I can picture her now, with her reading glasses on the end of her nose, marking interesting recipes with little scraps of paper. I don't have anyone to buy cookbooks for now. It's frustrating! I'm always finding a new and amazing cookbook and I want to give it to her!
She'd have been as excited about the next Barefoot Contessa book as I am!
Jude
Sigh...
This, of course, is the gift I would most have wanted to give her. She died 10 years before the boy was born. It breaks my heart more than I can express. She would have been a fierce Grandmama. I have absolutely no doubt that she would have sold the house in Texas and bought a condo here within a year of Jude's birth. I wouldn't have been able to keep her away from him. She would have smothered him with love and food and everything she could possibly buy for him. The thought of being able to have handed baby Jude to her for the first time just...kills me.
Okay, this whole list has pretty much done me in. I don't think I've ever cried this much writing a blog post. Maybe I'm just getting old and hormonal. Maybe I just always miss her so much on Mother's Day. And maybe it's that all of the things on this list are things that I would like to receive as a gift, and I'm suddenly shocked to see how much like her I am. I honestly don't think I realized just how alike we are until this moment. I always think of myself as Daddy's girl, but clearly...
So does anybody want to get me that pope mug?
Is there anyone in your life who you've lost who you would like to buy gifts for?
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Before I came along, Mama and Daddy were one of those childless couples who filled their photo albums with pictures of themselves with their much-beloved dogs. When I was born, I joined my brother Judge in all the pictures.
Judge, me.
Mama and Daddy LOVED that dog. His registered name was actually Chief Justice of Blue Haven, Blue Haven being what they had christened their land. Judge stories abounded. Mama swore that I learned to walk by holding on to this very patient dog's collar. One of their best friends swore that Judge walked up to her once and said "I'm hungry" in a sort of Scooby Dooish voice. The dog was brilliant.
Our first dog that I remember was my sweet, precious Fido.
Me, Fido.
Mama had desperately wanted a poodle, a breed which Daddy deemed ridiculous and girly. He agreed to get the poodle only if we named the dog Fido, the most over-the-top poodle name he could think of. On his registration papers, Daddy insisted on spelling it Fideaux, which he thought was hysterically pompous. Fido proved himself to be decidedly NOT poodlelike, always into trouble with skunks and such. I loved that dog. Unfortunately, Fido's second favorite hobby after chasing skunks was chasing cars, and so his life ended tragically.
After Fido came Abe, and after Abe came Rover. And then, when I was in 7th grade, I talked them into letting me get...a cat. That's right, a cat. Her name was Tatta. And yes, the 7th grade me named her, and I'm not sure why.
Tatta was Mama and my baby. We adored her. Daddy, the dog man, pretended to hate her. He always refered to her as "that cat". But secretly, we knew he loved her too. We would always catch him with Tatta asleep on his lap, and he'd feign ignorance "I don't know why this cat is on me. She got up here and I couldn't get her off."
About a year after Tatta joined us, we got Lady, our first female dog ever, who Daddy registered as First Lady of Blue Haven. Lady was very sweet, but as dumb as a stump. If I walked into my bedroom and came out wearing a hat, Lady would freak out barking because she didn't recognize me. That's dumb. However, she was the only dog we had who didn't end up a victim of the road, so maybe not so dumb. Tatta loved her deeply.
Mama is rolling in her grave because I'm sharing this picture, taken during the year before she joined Weight Watchers, but it's the only shot I have of Tatta and Lady snuggling. And yes, we did have red shag carpeting.
Tatta and Lady lived happily together for long and happy lives, both living far after I had grown up and moved away. After Daddy died, they were Mama's loving companions.
When I got my first apartment on my own, I decided I too wanted a companion, and since dogs weren't allowed in my apartment, I got a cat, and this was the beginning of my many years as a Cat Lady. You can read a post about my Cat Ladying HERE, which features a rather creepy Cat Accumulation Timeline. I hadn't set out become a cat person, it just...happened.
And then, after our last kitty, Imogene, passed away at the age of 23...
Imogene, in her dotage.
...we got Fancy.
Wuv her!
Santa Claus brought her to us on Christmas morning 2009 and suddenly...I'm a dog person again!
Fancy is possibly the sweetest, mellowest, most easy-going dog that ever lived on the Planet Earth. She never barks, barely sheds, never chews, never seems to have to pee, and loves us all deeply. I can't believe that I lived so long without a dog. Soon after Fancy joined our family Jude said to me "Mama, hearts are coming out of my head. That's what happens in cartoons when you love a dog." And it's true. Fancy makes hearts come out of my head.
But now...I'd kind of like to get another cat. A teeny little kitten. Wouldn't that be sweet? Then Fancy would have a little pal to hang out with. They could be like Lady and Tatta. I need to start working on Jimmy.
Which are you, a Dog Person or a Cat Person?
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...Etta James (this, btw, was Jimmy and my first dance at our wedding. Awww.)
...Grandma's Quilt
My sweet paternal Grandma, Martha Elizabeth Peters German (known as Mattie) made this quilt back in the 1930s. It was pieced, as a quilt really should be, from fabric cut from her children's old clothes, and her dresses which had worn out. I remember having it since I was just little. It was always our camping quilt and picnic quilt, and as a result, is worn and stained and frayed. I never use it, because it's so worn out, but on a recent particularly cold night, I pulled it out and tucked it around Jude as he was going to sleep. I told him that I liked to think that Grandma was wrapping her arms around him and keeping him warm at night. That sentimental little boy has taken to sleeping with it every night, it's his new favorite thing. Maybe he needed a little hug from his great-Grandma who he never knew.
...Words to be Proud of From My Wise Little Boy
The other day, Jude said to me, "You know, Mom, most guys say that when they pick a girl to marry they want a girl who's foxy and hot and everything. But I think I'd rather marry a girl who is kind." I swear to God. That's what he said.
...My Favorite Picture of my Grandparents
On the back is the date - February 14, 1932.
...The Love Story of Pups and Lambie
Pups and Lambie are Jude's very most favorite special lovey animals since he was little. When he was about six he announced to me that Pups and Lambie had gotten married. Apparently, it happened while we were on a Cub Scout camping trip, which puzzles me a bit, but I never asked for the details. Nonetheless, they are a happy and much loved couple. Recently, Pups and Lambie have been a bit...sigh...forgotten. In fact, I hadn't even seen them in a while. I guess that's to be expected now that the boy's ten years old. The other day, in a fit of cleaning, I decided to tackle the Ninth Level of Hell, also known as the area under Jude's bed. There I found, amid numerous books, toys and dust bunnies...Pups and Lambie, and they were, fittingly, right next to each other. I rescued them and arranged them on top of the bed where they belong. Jude was happy to see them. Their love story continues.
...My Nomination For Best Rock and Roll Love Song
Inspired by the most enduring rock and roll marriage of all time. Kills me every time.
...Dog Love
The other morning Jude woke up complaining that he hadn't slept very well. When I asked him why he said that our little dog, Fancy, had slept on top of him the entire night. When I asked him why he hadn't just shoved her off, he said "But she looked so happy!"
...Friends
I am blessed to have a writer's group which I meet with once a month. We are five women who met because our boys attend the same school, and we all had an interest in writing and reading. We started out as a somewhat unlikely quintet, with diverse upbringings and sensibilities. However, over the last two years, we have gone through a tremendous amount together, Cecilia having lost her son, and Julie, her husband. We have shared our writing and our pain, and we have come to depend on each others support. Last Saturday, when we met, Cecilia, who is understandably sensitive and intuitive about these things, was worried about how Julie was going to get through Valentine's Day, having so recently lost her husband, George. So she decided to buy her (and the rest of us) a little Valentine's something. She went to the store and stood there, unsure what to buy. Should she get her a card? Flowers? Champagne? Finally, she just looked to heaven and asked, "George, what should I get her? What do you want me to get for her?" And suddenly she knew she should buy her (and the rest of us) chocolates. When she gave them to us that night, Julie burst into tears. Because George had always given her chocolates. Isn't it great to have friends?
...My Very Favorite Picture of My Parents
The look on Daddy's face, the look on Mama's face, the look on my face. Perfect.
...This Year's Valentine's Feast
Those of you who are old-timers here at Second Blooming know that many years ago Jimmy and I decided to forgo the crowded, over-priced, bad-service Valentine's meals in restaurants in favor of a decadent meal at home, prepared by me. We love it. In the past, I have often made so much food that we seriously over-did it, and a couple of times never even ate the dessert. So this year we're simplifying, but it's probably the richest and most decadent meal yet. This year's menu...
Cioppino - This is the same thing I made for New Year's Eve, and it was so stinking good that we were licking our plates. Seriously, one of the best things I've ever made in my life. Recipe is HERE.
Molten Chocolate Cakes - For my chocolate-fiend husband and son. Everybody gets their own little ramekin filled with chocolately love. Recipe is HERE.
...The Return of the Beef Broth
Several years ago, I wrote THIS post about a silly ritual that Jimmy and I shared which involved silently hiding a can of beef broth for the other one to find. If you don't remember it, go read it now. No really, seriously, go read it, or this won't make sense. And it's a really good story. So READ IT now. I'll wait.........Are you back? Okay, so not long after writing that story, I decided that for the sake of public health, I needed to throw the old soup can away. It had been expired for years, and I was honestly afraid that the thing would explode and kill us all. Sad, but true. But...marriage has been stressful lately. I guess we all go through this. And I decided that we needed a reminder of why we fell in love in the first place. So I bought a new can of beef broth. The can made it's return under Jimmy's pillow one night. The next day I found it in my boot. Right now, it's here...
Jimmy's sock drawer.
Ain't love grand?
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Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!
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We've recently had some sadness here at Second Blooming.
George, the father of one of Jude's very best friends, also named George (we'll call him Little George for clarity), and the husband of Julie, one of my very dearest friends, passed away very suddenly. I say suddenly, though really it was expected, he had been quite ill for quite a long time. But when it finally happened, it was still shocking and heartbreaking. He literally dropped dead in the front yard, after driving to the art supply store to buy poster materials for the boys' Adopt-a-Family project. I find that quite poetic, as he was an extremely artistic man, and since his health began to fail, he had been forced to stop the majority of his business, but was blessed with spending most of his time sharing quiet activities such as poster-making with his kids and their friends. Jude loved him.
My first thought on the morning I heard of George's passing was of Julie and her children, Rachel and Little George. 17 and 10-years old is too young to lose your father. And Julie, who luckily is one of the strongest and most resilient people I know, is now both the primary caregiver and the primary breadwinner for her family. There was so much to take care of, and so much to process and it all fell directly on her shoulders.
My second thought was of Jude. Jude and Little George are part of a foursome of boys who came together in Kindergarten and named themselves the "Best Friends Club". The four have been inseparable ever since. These are boys that I know will end up being my pallbearers when I pass on, hopefully many, many years from now. I knew that his class had been told that morning that Little George's father had died, and I was concerned about how Jude would react. He is always so stoic, and internalizes all of his feelings.
I went down to the school and waited for the 5th grade to come downstairs for recess. Remember that it's a tiny school, and there is only one class per grade level. When they were headed down and saw me there, several of the little girls came over and hugged me, and told me that Jude was on his way downstairs. One little girl told me that "Jude didn't cry. But his face got really red, and he's been acting funny." This was true. While the other two members of the Best Friends Club had been crying so hard that they were sent home from school, Jude kept saying he was "fine" while plastering a very peculiar, fake smile on his face. I asked him if he wanted to come home with me, assuming that he would jump at any chance to get out of school for a day, but he said he wanted to say. He ran off with that strange smile still plastered to his face and played foursquare. And I let him. I figured he needed to process the loss in his own way.
My third thought was that I needed to buy Julie a ham. Mama always bought a ham for people when somebody died. Either a ham or a casserole, but I didn't really have time for the casserole, so I headed out for the Honey Baked Ham store. I got there only to discover that it wasn't there anymore. Damn. I'd never actually purchased a Honey Baked Ham before, but I was comforted knowing that the store was nearby just in case somebody died and I needed to buy one. So I Googled Honey Baked and located what Google Maps seemed to think was the closest location, and headed out. It was, I kid you not, an hour away. It was down near the airport. Ridiculous. But I was on this weird kind of autopilot, and was just so focused on this absurd idea that I needed to buy a damned ham, that I wasn't really paying attention to how far it was, and when I did realize, I was already committed and halfway there, and so...I just kept going and bought the stupid ham. I wanted to help Julie, and I didn't know what to do. I felt like I needed to DO something or PLAN something or PROVIDE something. But I couldn't give her any of the things she really needed. And I, like Jude, hadn't cried. But instead of playing foursquare, I tracked down a ham.
When I picked Jude up from school that day, I told him we needed to go to swimming, and he looked at me like I was from the moon, shook his head and said "Mom, my friend needs me. We need to go to George's house." Which was, of course, right, and it fascinated me that Jude had, unlike me, processed his feelings and knew what he needed to do, and how he could be most helpful to his friend.
So we went over, and hugged our respective friends, and talked about George and ate ham. And the house was filled with women and children, it was amazing the way our little community had come together to support and love their family. In a big, hard city like Los Angeles, it's an incredibly blessing to find a community you can call home.
During the funeral, which Jude and Little George's entire class attended, Jude stood between Jimmy and me, clutching us tight. He's at that age when he avoids any public displays of attention that involve his parents, but this day, he held and kissed us the entire time. I held it together until the very end of the lovely funeral. As they were processing out of the church, I looked at Julie, walking with her arms around each of her grief-stricken children, and the phrase "the lovely widow" popped into my head. And I burst our sobbing.
I just couldn't control myself, everything I'd bottled up for days came pouring out. I wept for George, who was a lovely and funny man who died too soon and whom I will miss. I wept for Julie and the kids because they needed their husband and father a little longer, and will have a tough road ahead. And I cried because...there but for the grace of God go I. I do not want to be the lovely widow in the black dress.
And so, this Thanksgiving I am thankful for...
A husband who is alive. I may complain about him all the time, and yes, he can be a pain in the butt. But I love him. And he's here. And on Thanksgiving, the thought of looking at an empty chair at the head of the table, makes me catch my breath and say a quick prayer.
A son who is far more evolved than I will ever be. Who knows how to be a good friend, and an even better son. Who would never waste half a day tracking down a ham. And who makes me happier every day than I ever dreamt of being.
A community of loving friends, who I know would be there and would take me in their embrace if, God forbid, a crisis ever struck our family.
A school for my boy where he has a circle of children who truly care for and protect each other. And where, when crisis strikes, they are allowed to stand together and pray.
All of you dear readers, who I know, if I needed it, would shower me with support and prayers and good energy.
So everybody should now go and hug a loved one, and give them a kiss on the head. Let's never forget how much we love them, or take them for granted.
And after you do that, visit each of the Spin Cycle participants linked below, and allow them to share with you what they are thankful for.
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Unfortunately for my food-loving mother, my Daddy was an old-fashioned meat-and-potatoes Texan. Every night for dinner, he wanted meat and potatoes and more meat and more potatoes and even more meat and even more potatoes. He ascribed to the three rules of Southern cooking -
Deep fry it.
Cook it in a pot with a bunch of pork.
Smother it with cream gravy.
Mama did her damnedest to work in as many non-fried vegetables as possible and the occasional fish dish, but Daddy would greet these offerings with begrudging acceptance at best, and outright hostility on occasion. He would, however, eat whatever she gave him, because she was an excellent cook, and her food was delicious, even if it was too gourmet for Daddy.
Mama had spent many years living in Chicago during and just after World War II, so before moving to Texas she had experienced a bit of big city life. She loved going to fancy restaurants and trying new and exotic cuisines. I'm afraid going to cafeterias with Daddy and feeding him the same old/same old was a bit tragic for her.
Luckily, she birthed me. I was her gourmand cohort. We delighted in sneaking off for secret fancy dining experiences - what Daddy didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Unfortunately, Mama's tastes were a bit expensive, and we were not wealthy people. So Mama would save up her grocery money on the sly to finance our foodie experiences.
Occasionally, we'd go to restaurants. Mama loved to go with Daddy on business trips to bigger cities so that we could sneak off for lunch at glamorous spots with white linens and fine china. I distinctly remember going to The Adolphus Hotel in Dallas and having filet mignon (prepared medium-rare, the only civilized way to eat meat in Mama's mind, as opposed to Daddy's bourgeois choice - well-done) and a salad with Roquefort dressing. Fancy. I also remember going to Maxim's in Houston and having my very first lobster.
But getting away to a restaurant was rare. Mama and my favorite food-sharing experience was the after school treat. About once a week, I would get home from school in the afternoon to discover that Mama had prepared us something special. Just for us. I loved it more than I can express. She spent quite a bit of time making it wonderful and filling it with love. It was our special time.
Sometimes it was something simple. A popular snack was a cheese tray. In the land/time of Velveeta, Mama would buy Baby Swiss, imported Bleu or maybe even Brie. She would cut the cheeses into tiny cubes, stick in toothpicks and serve them on a silver tray.
But our very most favorite indulgence was seafood. Mama loved seafood more than anything in the world. I am happy to say that when she passed away, we found a lobster shell in the sink. Yes, her last meal was a lobster tail she had prepared for herself - I can't think of anything more fitting.
In those days, there used to be a guy who would catch fresh seafood down at the Gulf of Mexico in the morning, then drive up to Austin and park on the side of the road and sell it out of the back of his truck. Mama was his best customer.
Mama would make us raw oysters on the half-shell, which we'd slurp up with homemade cocktail sauce and Ritz crackers. She would fry up crab cakes with tartar sauce. She would steam mussels and clams and serve them with tiny silver cocktail forks and drawn butter. She'd serve shrimp cocktail in special shrimp cocktail glasses which had a compartment on the bottom for ice to keep it chilled. She would lay it all out on the coffee table, and we would sit on the floor around it and stuff ourselves silly.
But our very most favorite treat, was Mama's Crab Dip, something that became one of her signature dishes. If I was VERY lucky, she would whip up a batch just for the two of us, and we would gobble up the whole bowl, shoveling it in with Ruffles potato chips.
Mama's Crab Dip
Cream together 8 oz. softened cream cheese and one cup of mayonnaise. Mix in as much fresh crab meat as you can afford. Season with lemon juice, garlic powder, salt and a bunch of Worcestershire sauce.
I would be a very happy and spoiled little girl when I then went to do my homework and watch Star Trek reruns, my belly full of tasty treats and love.
Cohorts.
Nowadays, I am lucky to have Jimmy, a husband who is also an omnivore, and loves sitting around the coffee table slurping up treats. I've often written about our elaborate holiday meals, but it's only just now that I realized that the reason I love eating around the coffee table in the living room is because of Mama's after school treats. It just seems like the ultimate indulgence.
It would have made Mama SO happy that Jimmy and Jude both love seafood. I desperately wish she had lived long enough to make them both some crab dip and love. I guess I'll just have to keep up the tradition as well as I can.
Jimmy slurping up mussels and love at the coffee table.
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The morning skies have been gray and gloomy lately here in Los Angeles. The usual marine layer. I've been getting up early, lacing up my sneakers and running with Jude and his cross country team. They run between 2 and 4 miles, three days a week. Some of the younger, fitter parents are the "rabbits", they run at the front of the pack, setting a challenging pace for the kids. I am the "tortoise". I run/walk/drag my ass along the gray sidewalk at the back of the pack. I pretend to do this so that a grown up is with the stragglers, the handful of little girls who are slower than the rest. But really I do it because I am old and out of shape. I hope that I'm not embarrassing Jude. I asked him if he minded my running along with the group and being the very last one to finish, and he just kind of shrugged and said "No" with an implied "Duh" in his tone. "It's cool." Hopefully, this is true. I like to think that getting up and forcing myself to run my flabby,
aging body will help me extend my expiration date so I will have more time
with my kid, time to grow a full head of gray hair.
Brown.
Jude's favorite treat lately is a delicious brown concoction we call by the silly name goody juice. My Daddy is responsible for the silly name, as he invented it. It was his favorite treat too, and he always made himself one on Saturday afternoons, right after he mowed the lawn, but before his nap. It's basically just a handmade chocolate shake - scoop chocolate ice cream into a tall glass, pour on cold milk, then vigorously squish it up and down with a big spoon until it's mixed up. Little bits of the milk freeze onto the ice cream and form little crunchy frozen bits. It's yummy. Anyway, I used to make them for Jude when he was little (HERE's a super sweet and short piece about it from many years ago), but now he likes to make them for himself. Unfortunately, because of the vigorous squishing necessary, the child now has large brown stains all over his shirts. Jude loves goody juice because it's so very tasty. I love it because I like to think of it as a treat he can share with his late granddaddy who he never knew, but from whom he inherited his nose, his curious, logical mind and his big brown eyes.
White.
Jude has started altar serving. Mommy and Aunt Grace are so excited they can't stand it. He was pretty nervous his first time out, but after he managed to get through it without dropping the body of Christ on the ground, he was pretty pumped. Because, of course, that is the altar boy's greatest fear, dropping a chalice filled with little white wafers which are THE BODY OF CHRIST (said in the voice of Morgan Freeman or some such person). I can't tell you how sweet it is, seeing him in his little angelic white robe, carrying a candle or the bible and acting terribly holy and devout.
Altar server training.
Some of the piety was erased the second time he served when he informed me that the priest farted during mass. He was proud to report that he did not laugh. It makes me very proud that he's serving his church in this way. Mama always dreamt of my being an altar server, but the slooooooow to change Catholic church didn't officially allow girls to serve until 1994! But I know that there's a very happy and proud white-haired lady up in heaven smiling down on him every time he dons the robe.
Green.
Until two weeks ago, we did not own an HDTV. We're just always so damned broke, and couldn't justify spending the green when the old tv was still functional. I discovered, however, that this had been causing a bit of a problem for Jude and his friends. When they'd come over to play Minecraft, without HD capability they were unable to play together on a split-screen. Apparently, this is a big deal. I never knew this until I overheard Jude's friends complaining about it. Jude had never once EVER complained. Never once whined or asked why all of his friends had a big modern television, but we didn't. He had to have been green with envy, but he never shared this. You know, if he'd been a greedy, whiny begger, we probably wouldn't have wanted to get him a big new tv, but because he never even asked, Jimmy and I decided to just pull out the good old green American Express card and buy one for him. And seeing his delight when his friends came for a sleepover made it worth every penny.
Red.
FADE IN:
Gretchen is tucking Jude in and giving him a kiss good night.
GRETCHEN
Hey bugs, can I ask you a kind of weird question? It's
for something I'm writing.
JUDE
Sure Mom.
GRETCHEN
What is the color of love?
JUDE
Huh?
GRETCHEN
What is the color of love? Just say whatever
pops into your mind first.
JUDE
Mmmm....red?
GRETCHEN
(frowning - red is so obvious and boring)
Red? Why red?
JUDE
Well, you know...hearts and roses and stuff.
GRETCHEN
So, just the Valentine's thing?
JUDE
I don't know. Love is red, you know? You said
for me to say what popped into my head and that's it.
GRETCHEN
Okay. That's good. Thanks. Sweet dreams.
She bends down and gives him a kiss, then turns off the bedside lamp.
JUDE
Mom?
GRETCHEN
Yeah?
JUDE
Would you mind staying with me for a little while?
GRETCHEN
Sure.
She curls up next to him in the bed, happy because he's growing up, and seldom wants her to stay with him for a while. She burrows her nose into the back of his head, inhales the sweet, sweaty smell of the boy and closes her eyes.
And the color she sees when she closes her eyes is...red.
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