Calling Cards

August and I strolled to the park in our neighborhood. I was reminded that there is still a need for calling cards even in this well connected age. There are plenty of places to get them made. Perhaps it is time to consider some. Then again, had I just remembered to use my cell phone...

I remember Mr Gage showing me an old calling card of his. He told me how he'd drop by a friend's house for a visit and if no one was home, he'd leave his card at the door. Slower days, smaller towns, and friends that you feel comfortable enough with to just drop by unannounced.

While at the park I noticed how, over the months, August has become even more confident and dexterous on that playscape. I pushed her a bit on the swing and saw her drowsy face appear. It was time to go. She didn't protest leaving the playscape for grapes and a ride home. On the way back, the breeze through the still green trees caught my eye. They made me present. The walk was one of those moments that will be a future memory because it was so vivid and bright. August singing her favorite song over and over.

We came back to a lit Christmas tree. I sat down to look at my phone and realized no photos were taken at the park, we had no time for photos. It was a beautiful day, much fun was had. I looked at our Christmas tree and the green made me feel present again. There is something in the green around me. While the landscape goes brown, what is left green will stand out. A calling card of sorts,  for me.

Poetry in food

My friend Nadia is a gifted cook. She effortlessly throws together simple, hearty meals full of flavors. She loves to cook and I often remark it is that love that really puts her dishes over the top. Entering her home on a bitterly cold afternoon last week left me with long lasting memories.

Every burner on her stove was going and heating up the room. She had lentil soup just about finished, beef bouillon cooking for dinner, pasta for the children and was frying green bananas. At the same time she had been chopping up lemons, onions and peppers to make chary, a condiment made of fermented lemons. So many warm scents filled the air. It was not the first time. At her house I have enjoyed sambusas made of tuna, tilapia in a simple but exquisitely spiced tomato sauce and a Divine mung bean soup. I asked her if she ever watched the movie or read the book Like Water for Chocolate, I asked her if she was familiar with MFK Fischer, if she ever watched that movie Julie and Julia, watched Chopped, ever wanted to be on Chopped... Instead she just put in front of me a bowl of everything to try.

There have been only a handful of people in my life who have been able to create a memorable dish from the simplest of ingredients: My Grandmother, my Abuelita, my Abuelita's cousin and Nadia, who is also the most precocious cook I have ever known.

I started to think of how I have known too many who do not know how to cook, and sometimes, don't want to learn because they don't like it. I find it extremely important to learn to put together a meal for oneself, to be able to feed friends and family. In college everyone could make brownies, Rice Krispie treats and maybe spaghetti but no one was putting together stew in a crock pot, or knew how to make a chicken soup from scratch. All animals teach their babies how to hunt and feed themselves. Learning to feed oneself should be high on the priority list. When my child leaves home I hope her skills will include: balancing a check book, knowledge of a trade or craft that she enjoys and can turn into cash when needed, and the ability to create several meals with complete confidence.

One evening Nadia visited me and became hungry. She looked through my refrigerator. That night she taught me how to create capers du oeuf and now it's the only way I want to eat a fried egg.

It's a first...

Two years ago I was preparing for August's First Christmas...EVER! My favorite time of year and finally a chance to share it and make it special. It was very special. What I didn't know then, that I know now is: Holidays will continue to offer "firsts"and they will always be special, daily life is filled with countless first times as well.  It was a realization that came to me so sweetly.

I have been kept busy by a very active and chatty two and a half year old. The saddest days thus far have been the three days she fell ill to a virus. Fever of 103 and a full day of general malaise so serious, all she could do was stumble around, cry and fall.  First real illness: hand, foot and mouth.  She has never been so ill that she was uncomfortable or so miserable. She missed what was going to be her first real trick-o-treating Halloween.

It took weeks to arrive at her breakthrough. While shopping for a Halloween costume for her at a thrift store, we turned the corner and she became afraid of the decorations. Halloween themed store aisles and animatronic displays would send her anxiously into my arms saying,"Scared, scared", tearfully.
At the thrift store, as we walked past the aisle filled with the sinister color combinations of red, black and orange, and tried not to pay attention to the giant spiders, spooky masks and witch hats, August stopped and said,"Mommy, it's Halloween! I'm not scared, it's Halloween, it's Halloween!" then pranced and marched down the aisle with a big smile squealing,"Halloween!" Right then and there, as it all clicked in her little mind and started to make sense, her fears quickly disappearing, all I could do was stay frozen in her moment of discovery. It was an amazing experience.  She then decided to be a little witch instead of a princess or a fairy and I just about exploded with pride and all things sweet and motherly.

Her becoming ill on Halloween was made even more gloomy after all the time spent practicing saying "trick-o-treat" and watching videos and cartoons that were Halloween themed. We were so ready but spent the evening in urgent care. The only treats were from the bucket in the doctor's office. Once home she knocked at the door of a neighbor."Knock, knock, Halloween, knock, knock", she said and got a lil candy bar.  I lit her pumpkin and added some sparklers to make it a bit more special for her.

For the next week she walked around in her witches hat, carrying her witchy wand and the bucket the doctor  gave her with five pitiful candies. She had no idea what they were or what to do with them but they were treasured playthings until they fell apart, out of their wrappers and finally thrown away.  She also was not letting go of the holiday. However, not all was lost this Halloween season. We did get to dress up a few weeks before and attend a special children's Halloween themed concert. 

To get passed the Halloween hang-up, we jumped right into Christmas. When she was better, she was introduced to egg nog. August's most favorite thing in the world is now egg nog. She recognizes it on store shelves. Sometimes served with spices, sometimes without, but always with a spoon is how she likes it. Once the last shipment comes in at the end of the season though...does it freeze well?

This weekend I pulled out the Rankin-Bass cartoons and unpacked my Rudolph toys. I use to set them up in my cubicle every year when I worked at the library. I didn't even know I had a set of those toys still in the box, unopened since 2006. I gave them to August to play with and started the cartoon for her. She was so happy when she realized that she had the entire cast all around her. Now it's egg nog and Rudolph, Santa and the Bumble with his star. She knows the words to Frosty the Snowman, We Wish You a Merry Christmas and Jingle Bells.

Perhaps I am just too sappy and sentimental. There is so much imperfection in our daily lives but when it comes to "firsts" I have to celebrate them all, the good and bad, those wonderful and beautiful moments and those painful ones as well. Timing her feverish, rapid breathing, trying to keep her fever from going beyond 103 while she slept was hard. It was difficult being in that moment. The day her fever broke, I looked back on that night as a bittersweet experience. My child was ill and I was worried not knowing what it was she had, but each little breath that flowed in and out for a minute was captured by me several times that night. The stinging heat from her baby soft skin and then on my lips as they touched her little forehead is forever recorded as a temperature of 103. Open to it all.