tactfullyblunt

the rutabaga connection

Today marks the first day I am cooking with a rutabaga. Since this is my first time, I had to google to see how to prepare it for cooking.

The very first link was from A&M.

Serendipity.

Later note: it was covered in a quarter inch of wax. Is this normal?

Happy Birthday, Monkey's Uncle in the J

Dear Mom,

I know you don't need a reminder, but it's been a year since you died. I figure the novelty of spying on your kids has long since worn off, what with your happy hours with JFK, Jimmy Hoffa, JP II and Peter Jennings and all, so I just wanted to share my knowledge bumps with you (in no particular order of importance).

No matter how many talks we had in the lead up to your "transition"--a year later and I still hate that cheesy word--the rest of the world remains unclear about exactly how I felt about you. The moments with the fahmalee have been bad enough, but far worse have been the totally insensitive and way off-base assumptions made by people outside the family. Unfortunately, people have willingly stepped into that vacuum to talk about shit they know nothing about, even going so far as to use our relationship as an excuse for their own poor behavior. This has been a bit of a challenge to me.

I suppose you'd think that would make me upset with you, but it doesn't. I'm pretty good at seeing exactly who is causing the upset, in case you didn't realize that before you died. Besides, if there is one thing I have learned this year, it's that far too many people take this life too seriously; so seriously that they're willing to use the dead to do it. I have done the best I can to bring humor to every situation, even at my own expense. I've dropped the ball on this quite a few times along the way, so I'm aiming for more humor this coming year.

Still and all, it's been a tough slog through the holiday season. It's strange how many people seem to feel it ABSOLUTELY IMPERATIVE to make comments about how they can't understand how anyone could be sad during the holidays (one person even said that it was rude!!). Even when I've casually pointed out (with not a tear in my eye) that some people have lost a loved one and that makes it a little difficult to plaster on a smile all of the time, I've almost always been met with a "get over it" type response. My knee-jerk response is to wish all manner of hateful karmic things on them, but when I come to my senses I often find myself praying for these people that they never have to have their childlike innocence stripped from them. After all, with such spoiled child behavior, it's obvious that they couldn't handle losing someone during the holidays.

As a person who already had a tendency to feeling low this time of year, the cosmic joke of your passing during the holiday season isn't lost on me. I've done really well this year but malls and Christmas decorations have made me a little misty a few times. I've introduced as many new traditions as I can as a way of dealing with your passage (including hosting a Happy Unbirthday party with the fahmalee as a way to mark the anniversary of your death). Most of them involve food and activities, so you'll be happy to know that I've gained back all of the weight I'd lost last December. I was looking fairly hollow there for a while, but there is no worry of that now, fo sho.

I'm sure you'd be shocked to know that overall, despite the times I've risen to the ugly behaviors of others with my own ugly behaviors, I've gained a lot of ground in the loving department. Without sharing too much of our recent private interactions with the internets, your family is tentatively poised for great growth this coming year thanks to a few carefully placed connections made over Christmas. It would be great if this time you gave your blessing and allowed these relationships to grow beyond what you were comfortable with during your lifetime. They are no longer a threat to you, and in fact, would be a great testament to the children you created.

Mostly I just wanted to say that while I've never been one for revisionist history, I've learned a lot about "us" this last year--I miss you more than most people give me credit. That and also somehow I feel like my New Year this year began on December 31.

Give my love to Sleeping Bear,
Jen

Measurements Be Damned

About five minutes after I wrote the previous post, I returned to the kitchen to discover that I was down to the 1/4 and 1/2 tsps. Where did they go? I have no idea, but it made continuing the baking for the family that much more difficult.

All is now well, as I went to the Target the afternoon of Dec. 26 to get myself some durned spoons. So now I have a set and a half. Something tells me that in a few weeks I'll have TWO 1/4 and 1/2 tsps, and nothing else.

Still, for now I'm marvelling at exactly how large a tablespoon really is. It's huuuuuuge. No wonder it took me so long to measure it out in 1/4 tsps.

Day 15 of Holiday Baking: My Kingdom for a Tablespoon

For those of you beyond me whom this might pertain to in the least, if you can't see the humor in this, then you have no heart.

Other couples get multiple blenders, mixers and toasters when they get married. This is ok because you can do what my parents did and just store them up until the one you're using breaks and, voila, you have an instant replacement, saving your marriage for yet another 10 years thanks to burnt up toast.

Bill and I, however, got measuring cups.

Three sets, in fact.

Being's I like to bake (and Bill likes to mix drinks), we weren't upset in the least. We have all three sets and, while we've not needed to rotate them yet, are confident that we are set should any baking need arise. Well, one of the magnitude that requires measuring cups.

On the smallest side, we are also covered, as Bill's mom gave us some cute little Williams Sonoma dash-bit-jigger thingies two years ago. I have yet to use them, but they are intelligent and fun.

On the smaller side (the one that usually accompanies the cups), we are at a loss. We had one set. One. And the Tablespoon has been missing, strangely enough, since my mother died last year. At first it was more of a crap moment that I stumbled over every time I went to bake something. I adjusted on the fly, learning that there are 3 tsps to every Tbsp. No biggie.

Until the last month and a half when I've been baking and cooking like a maniac. It really sucks moose dick to have to count out 12 teaspoons or, no lie, 36 1/4 teaspoons (the other, larger sizes were dirty) so that you can get the correct Tablesppon measurement. Especially when your husband is standing there like an ADD four-year-old asking ad nauseum when it's going to be done just because he thinks it's funny to make you forget where you are in the counting scheme.

You're saying, Why haven't you gone out to get a new set? It's not like you've not been in the store five hundred bajillion times since Wednesday--after your father told you 48 hours before Christmas Eve that you were responsible for the family Christmas shopping (argh!)--and you could've picked one up then. Is it that you like to complain? Is it that you're totally incapable of helping yourself get that damned Tablespoon? We're sick of hearing about it.

To you I say, shut the fuck up. You just made me lose my count again.

hello again, hello

Today I ate my lunch with your hair.

Not the crisp, grey wig you wear now.
Even after ten years, that wasn't ever really you.
No, I mean the hair you taught me to expect.

I never really noticed your brown teeth, green skin and
red-rimmed eyes, but each time I saw you it was like
my mind had to relearn: Her perfect hair is gone.

I saw your hair one other time, last January at the Home Depot.
It was bobbing along atop a bright green stadium coat,
With great, long, proud strides next to a tall, white-haired man
Who held out his hand.

That is how I want to remember your hair.
Not forever tied to Christmas at The Mall.