memories – Making it in Toledo

Zoraya

Have you ever seen a baby so clearly thinking deep thoughts? No, nor have I. I’ve only spent a week with my second grand-daughter, and already I am eager for more visits. In the meantime, FaceTime is better than nothing.

Zoraya in her vintage shirt and her new best friend.

When I was born, I was one of several dozen children of my generation on my mother’s side (My mother was one of the youngest of 12 siblings who reached adulthood.) I had cousins who were adults before I was born and a few who I remember as infants. Most lived within a few miles of my home, one was virtually next door, and none was more than a couple of states away. I was close friends with two of these cousins and acquainted with most of the rest. I had cousins on my father’s side, too, a more reasonable number and a smaller age range. Together, a family network that I took for granted.

I don’t think about it often, but some memories produce their own deep thoughts about how that shaped my early days. “There were frequent cousin sleepovers and occasional longer shared vacations.

I hope that Zoraya and Aloisa develop their own friendships to rival the easy, automatic way I knew my cousins. In hindsight, I had a bigger family than I realized:

“Cousins may not be siblings, but they are family just the same.”

Making a new kitchen

It’s time for a change. And I think I’m ready. This kitchen, which has always been everything I could have asked for, deserves an update.

I’ve spent more time here than anywhere else over the last forty years. I’ve cooked for my family and my friends, for visitors from close to home and around the world. I’ve cooked with and for my friends, my mother, my children, and my grand-daughter. I’ve cooked for family meals, casual get-togethers, fancy dinner parties, and countless fundraisers. I’ve cooked for birthdays, weddings, celebrations and sadnesses.

Before the pandemic halted all my planning, I began to explore new kitchen ideas. We were reaching the limits of patching and repairing, We had replaced the fancy German hinges, we had re-glued the terra cotta-look vinyl tiles. We had, over and over, re-hung the overworked cabinet doors. New lights, new appliances, new colors, each better than the last. Or at least different.

Once one gets started, it’s amazing how quickly a room can be emptied of the ingredients, the utensils, the cookware, the art, all the stuff both cherished and forgotten collected over forty years.

Today, the kitchen is a shell. Over the next several weeks, we’ll make a new kitchen. While that is happening, I want to remember some of the meals that have been prepared here. Some of the food, some of the events, some of the people. If you’re interested, watch this space.

I collect cLutter…

When I was young, my mother frequently gave me cut glass pieces, often chipped, but still beautiful. I was afraid to use them and most of the time they sat, collecting dust and making me feel vaguely guilty for neglecting them. Somehow, I’m over it. These bowls are sitting on the radiator in the living room near the Christmas tree. So far, they seems to hold no interest for the cat or even for Aloisa. But I like sitting near them, I love the way they look, and I am amused by my image reflected in the cheap ornaments they are holding.

My mother was a collector, as were many of her sisters. They liked silver and china and glass. My mother didn’t particularly enjoy entertaining, but she liked to display her treasures. Mostly, I like to use mine, and I intend to use them even more. I’ve always loved old things, even more now that I am one. I wonder if any of my children will want them.

“Clutter in its highest and most organized form is called collecting. …”

Just a year ago

It was nearing the end of our time in Spain and the end of my several weeks in Europe. We had spent hours every day walking in Barcelona, and I needed a break from that, so we bought tickets for a bus trip to Montserrat. Despite the rain, there were spectacular view of the mountains.

The walk from the parking lot to the site included a row of vendors selling local cheeses. Each one was better than the last, so I decided to risk confiscation and add several to my suitcase. I didn’t regret that.

Yesterday Johana and I took Aloisa on a road trip – we drove for forty five minutes, all within a couple of miles of home. After weeks of isolation, Loi was ecstatic to see a slightly larger world: “bushes!! flowers!! flags!!” Her enthusiasm was fun but a bit heartbreaking.

I’ve been fortunate to travel quite a bit and I enjoy the memories. Right now it’s nice to remember the weeks I spent in Europe last year, both on my own in Romania and Hungary and, later exploring Budapest and Barcelona with John.

Trips in 2020 are certain to be much closer to home. Soon, the warmer weather should allow us to expand into the outdoors. In a few weeks, maybe we’ll get beyond the neighborhood. But I suspect that continuing efforts to grow my world will look very different from here on out.

remembering martha

My sister Martha would have been 63 today. I would have made her a beautiful cake and bought her a pretty present. But she’s been gone for almost 30 years, so I will drink some bubbly for her (not the Frexinet she favored, but what we have will do), remember the good times and be grateful that her husband, who still misses her, has built a good life for himself and that their daughter, who never knew her, has grown up to be kind, smart, and happy.

Martha was stubborn, bold, and always open to an adventure. In high school, she ran away from home with a boyfriend and for a while took up with some questionable characters before deciding that she wanted more choices in life. She came home and went to community college where she learned some valuable computer skills, and went on to earn more than I ever did. She lived with us in Toledo for a couple of years and was a much-loved aunt to my kids (imagine first sip of alcohol, first tattoo, learning to ride a bike – just imagine!). She grew up. After a few years, in my back yard, wearing our mother’s wedding dress and carrying flowers from the Toledo Farmers Market, she married our friend Steve, who was a good balance for her. They had fun together, traveled, and eventually became parents. Martha was a good mom to their daughter Gina for the almost 2 years they had together.

I miss her.

Maybe I just like to chew…

Lately I’ve been craving comfort food. Along with everybody else, I’ve been making soups and stews and cheesy casseroles. That’s the sort of food I remember my mother making. Today I decided to make a cake I remember from my childhood, Velvet Lunch Cake. I have an old, stained and torn recipe card, but I decided to google it, too. There it was: sour milk, a little bit of molasses, warm spices. Shortening. I remember my mother using Crisco, but the google result suggested Spry. I opted for butter. The posted recipe omitted the flour, which could have led to disaster but somehow was not mentioned in the handful of comments.. Instead of “chopped raisins” I used dried cranberries and diced dried apricot.

The cake was just as I remembered it. Not too sweet. Sprinkled with confectioners sugary in lieu of frosting. A tea cake, a snack cake, a cake to share in the mid-afternoon because dinner seems so far away.

I like to think that fifty years from now someone will remember Velvet Lunch Cake.

All food is comfort food. Maybe I just like to chew. Lewis Black