Monday, February 19, 2007

my dear sweet mim


Every child should be blessed by the magic of a special grandmother. My sisters and I are much more than fortunate, because Mim was beyond special. And I was her Katydid.

Mim was a delight. Her love radiated. She was the epitome of a joyful, patient and comforting grandmother. You were never asking too much of her – giving was what she did best. She had an enchanting twinkle in her eye, the kindest smile and was always ready with kisses, hugs and snuggles.

Part of a grandmother’s love is evidenced in the art of cooking and the ceremonies that are created around it. Mim was a phenomenal cook and prepared for visits by having our favorite treats on hand. Ginger snap cookies, rice crispy treats and, at Christmas, 7-layer bars. The best macaroni and cheese ever, hamburger casserole, pineapple chicken. Sour cream frosting on the moistest Devil’s Food cake. In the summer, there were BLTs and peppermint stick ice cream out on the back porch. The rest of the year, tea time with cookies. Without fail, there was a canister of chocolate Quik in the cupboard - something taboo in our house. Four, five, six spoonfuls... she wouldn't stop you. To complete the experience, we’d pour the milk from the cow pitcher. And you could always find a gum drop in the green candy dish in the dining room.

Mim had a stash of stories which she would tell us over and over. It was her way of bridging the years that separated us from each other, showing that she wasn’t just our grandmother, but a confidante who offered a middle ground to relate. Stories about squabbling with her sisters showed us that she knew growing up wasn’t easy for anyone and that sisters aren’t perfect, but they’re family. Stories about the mischief her own children got into, so we’d know that everyone makes mistakes and learns from them. She reminisced on her favorite moments of watching us grow up – so we knew just how much she loved us.

It was important to her that she taught us the ways of living life right and being good little ladies. Shoes at all times, no wet hair or bare shoulders. Mim was not afraid to raise an eyebrow when we were being fresh – and that was enough.

Mim would take us to the church fair every summer. She was always so proud to show us off and everyone we met seemed to know everything about us. The outings never ceased - to the aquarium, to the movies, to the wild animal farm, to the mall, to the pet store, to the park, to the beach, to the doll lady’s house, out for Papa Gino’s, Captain Frosty’s or Seafood Sam’s.

While I was writing this, memories of Mim came back in droves. Of Mim kneeling in the garden in the spring and summer. Of her perfect English posture in church. The huge coat boxes full of gifts that she would send each of us on our birthdays. The calming noises she made and the way she rubbed her hands together as she was preparing for her daily snooze – sitting upright – on the couch. The way she laughed and how the tears would stream down her face if you really got her going. Her relationship with Gimps and the love that flowed between the two of them. Together, they formed the most remarkable bond and created such a wonderful family.

The memories that Mim created for us have made us better people for knowing her. We are incredibly blessed to have such a wonderful woman in our life, who taught us so much just by loving us.

Friday, February 16, 2007

perspective

"What we have once enjoyed we can never lose.
All that we love deeply becomes a part of us."

~Helen Keller

Sunday, February 04, 2007

feather count

I'm fairly well-adjusted in the body/food relationship department. Sure, I have my moments of guilt after a scarfing down the third piece of pizza or downing half a pint of Chubby Hubby, but in general I've always taken it in stride.

I'm not completely adjusted, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. When the co-worker with the incessant mouth must comment, "Going on a trip?" in response to seeing my Lean Cuisine for lunch, my shoulders scrunch. Excuse me? "Looks like airline food." Why men will ever find the audacity to judge what goes in my stomach escapes me.

I worked my ass off to lose 30 pounds. Yes, I keep an eye on what I put in my mouth. And yes, actually, those Lean Cuisines are paired with a normal breakfast, snacks of all varieties - good, bad, gross - throughout the day, along with a full meal and, hey!, maybe even dessert.

I've seen some - most - of my best friends struggle the demons of their eating disorders. At the least, subscribing to Weight Watchers and counting points diligently. At the most, being admitted to a hospital at a weight unhealthy to maintaining life.

But, no, NO, I do not need someone's ignorant judgements about my choice of a balanced, affordable meal.

That balanced, affordable meal brings me to the original point of this post. I've been trying to watch the cash flow lately and noticed that too many meals and coffees have been purchased when I can be more cost effective. Brewing coffee at home and grabbing a frozen meal and a banana on my way out the door even just a couple times a week can make a difference. And leftovers! I heart leftovers.

Sister Sara got a slow cooker for Christmas and the excitement she has shown in hers and renewed the interest in mine. She boasted how she stuffed a chicken with celery and herbs and when she got home from work the meat was falling off the bone. A warm, filling, satisfying winter meal. And the rosemary! How she loves the rosemary.

I set out to do the same. I cut the whole chicken from the bag and found... feathers. Small little inconsequential feathers in the grand scheme of things, I'm sure. And, no, not the first feathers I've ever seen on a chicken that I've prepared. But more than I'm used to seeing.

Which made me start pondering just what the mechanical process is for removing feathers from the bodies... and I had to stop that thought train from happening or BLEEEEECH. I get grossed out easily (the cleanliness of utensils and other surfaces is what gives me OCD, more on that later) and I could be on chicken strike for a while.

But it does beg the question, what is my feather count?