Dad stopped in his tracks, inhaled deeply, smiled, and declared: It smells like Mom! No, I didn’t sneak a spritz from the perfume bottle that still sits on her dresser. And I didn’t raid their bathroom cabinet for shampoo or lotion. Even better. Gary and I had a pot roast simmering in the slow cooker. I wish I’d taken a photo of the finished product. But then again, pot roast is not known for its photogenic qualities. Sidenote: If you…
The year was 1991. I was editor of the now-defunct magazine Catering Today. We sponsored a popular “Catering Expo” in New Orleans. The amazing chef and author Julia Child was the keynoter for our “Crystal Pineapple Awards” luncheon that year. It was a memorable experience and we lapped up every word from this American treasure. Ms. Child was 79 years old at the time, but still going strong. When Julia moved from stressing “use real cream and butter – but…
Today is February 10, which marks the anniversary of the moment Gary and my paths first crossed in 1981. I recently came across a one-page narrative that I frankly don’t remember writing. Long before blogs existed and long after I’d given up on hand-writing a diary, I must have felt the need to capture thoughts about my personal transformation. This was written shortly before Gary and I married; something had truly changed: I’d sooner die than move to Indiana! Not…
Today is World Read Aloud Day. Reading out loud is a tradition in my family. Growing up, Mom read to us every night. As I got older, I read to her as she ironed Dad’s shirts and other wrinkly items before the age of wash-and-wear cotton blends. Together, Mom and I enjoyed The Borrowers, The Secret Garden, and so many other classics. And so, when James was in third grade and his teacher started reading one chapter of The Tale…
Although Facebook can be an irritation, there are certainly some worthwhile finds. For example, the Hollywood Page of Death. There’s something whimsical about “Hollywood Page of Death” popping up daily in my feed. The content is close to what you’d find on Wikipedia (in fact, it may be an edited version of their content). It’s a nice (if slightly macabre) way to learn about – or remember – stories about members of the entertainment biz. This morning’s reminder that entertainer-extraordinaire…
Newly retired, I’ve mentioned to Gary over the past seven months how much I look forward to getting snowed in this winter, surrounded by books. With memoirs by Eva Kor, Graham Norton, and a few less familiar names topping the stack, I was ready for whatever Mother Nature might fling at us. The books surround us, but there’s nary a flake in sight. Although we haven’t needed to pile up the blankets just yet, it is a wonderful situation to…
Mom collected “-isms” as we grew up. When one of us used a word or phrase in an unusual or mispronounced way, it became part of the family’s lexicon. There were Harry-isms, Dave-isms, etc. We’ll no doubt revisit this topic as my brothers and I dust off our memories from long ago, but for now here are some from Gary’s and my sons. Uh-oh! Monsters! Youngest son James never missed a chance to visit Grandma’s side of the farm (she…
One of the hardest parts about living in Indiana is being so far away from the ocean. Growing up, we vacationed in Ogunquit, Maine, and in earlier years, Leetes Island, Connecticut. Both spots were within walking distance to the beach. It was glorious! But we waved goodbye to all of that when we moved to Indiana in 1973. My parents relocated to Connecticut four years later and eventually retired there, but I stayed put. As our sons grew up here…
In case you haven’t happened upon this fact, I’m here to tell you: There’s nothing quite as polarizing as black olives. Some people love them. And I mean LOVE. To the point they’ll steal them off of your plate. While others … well, we won’t steal them back. My introduction to black olives was back in the mid 1960s. Each Friday, Mom packed up the kids and we headed to Adams Super Market. It was a huge store, for the…
There’s nothing quite as gross as baby food. You know, the greenish glop in a jar that just doesn’t smell right. It did my heart good to read in this poem that Mom believed in babies eating real food, too, even sixtysomething years ago. The Roast Beef Baby We moved to Pennsylvaniawhen you were one, about.We slept three nights in a moteland ate our dinners out. Now other babies at your agewere eating out of jars:mushed and mashed and lumpy…