Sometimes It's Hard to Be a Woman

There was a point in my teen years when I started finding Harlequin Romance novels in the bathroom that my mom would buy at the grocery store and read on her short breaks from work.  Stealing small moments to herself, a full time worker and co-owner of a restaurant, a mother of a tribe and taking on an adopted son of her brother's.  She went full smarmy, the covers featured torn peasant blouses and couples embraced in some lame forbidden passion.  First of all I was a snotty teenager that wanted to race in and confront her on her choice of reading material.  But I never did because I truly loved and respected my mom so much as a person.  She was incredibly special but I was so shocked at discovering this side of her. Surely, she knew this was pure silliness.  We all knew my dad wasn't exactly the most romantic guy just by his choice of gifts.  His efforts were pathetic and he was pretty cheap bless his heart.  I remember he once bought her a nightgown set right out of the 50s that he must have bought at the five and dime for a big anniversary present.  He didn't wrap it and presented it on the plastic hanger that adjoined the pieces.  We just shook our heads, poor mom.  She never let on that it mattered.  Then when she seemed to drop much of her primping and feminine details, I figured that was just her getting older.  But I was curious to understand what prompted the abrupt change and hoped she didn't just give up on feeling attractive.  These books made me realize she had needs and desires just like the rest of us. 

I think it had something to do with our friend menopause because I'm going through some similar strange goofiness that I hope goes aways soon.  Hormones are powerful and admittedly, I've fallen prey to a few too many romantic comedies of late for my tastes.  No one prepares you for this time when your body, mind and spirit all feel like they're taking different roads and life becomes so out of sync.

While P was gone we had us a heat wave, so there was not a lot of cooking happening.  I did however, manage to pamper my stomach, at least with this beef ragu sauce over fresh spinach pasta and on top, I mixed in a little dollop of pesto.  I mixed the noodles with the sauce and added some pasta water, then drizzled with a good tasting Olive Oil.  Other then the fake Parmesan this was delicious and reminded me of a fresh Pappardelle dish I had in the Village some years ago.

Ain't It Funny How Time Just Slips Away

A great similar recipe made with beef, not chicken

Asian Lettuce Wraps

What makes this dish sing are the herbs and fresh jalapenos.  You think you know it all until you taste a bite of iceberg lettuce seasoned chicken with cilantro, mint, green onions, basil and fresh sliced jalapenos together. Oh and roasted peanuts.  You really can't beat it.  I made a Thai peanut sauce for the brown rice and it sort of worked, surprisingly.  The roasted zucchini was a misstep though, clearly.

My mom would have loved this.  I miss her.  I wish I had her to talk to today, to tell her things I've been reading, get advice about her grand daughters. I used to love to play her music because she had such a love of any type of sound and was very open to anything that moved her. 



I've playing this song several times today.  How did I not know Willie Nelson wrote it?  It's really about scorned love but it's funny how the melody and certain words of a song can suffice to help you through your own circumstance even if it's not the original intent.  My mom always told me that time flies by and to try to hear her because it's very important to recognize you only have limited chances to get things right.  Of course I was probably 15 so time was eternal and talk like that was just depressing.  I probably tried to lecture her on how to cheer up and that worry and regrets only steal from you.  Which is true and I still believe but now I wish I would have shut up, really heard her or at least asked her what she would have done differently.  Listened to her with an open heart, like she did me.  Understand why she felt it so important to tell her daughter that, other than the obvious, that it's simply true. 

Like Al Green sings, you can't know, how could you know, you never know when something or someone will come around again (or go away forever).  Nothing gets easier, only harder, not to say it all sucks, it's amazing and horrible all in a lifetime of millions of individual moments.  But I do wish I had a few of them back to relive with my wise mother today.

Heartache is a heart hurting and that doesn't change or go away so this song is probably one that many folks can relate to whatever they're going through. 

And the Goodbye Makes the Journey Harder Still

May is the official start to much lighter meals and less turning on of the oven.  These blanched Red Cabbage Tostada Bowls coupled with red cabbage apple slaw and corn were in keeping with the purple color theme of the day.  My tomato hot sauce was perfect with the chicken and bean filling too. 

I think of my mother the entire month of May because it was really her month.  Her birthday on the 15th and Mother's Day, spring flowers, her signature lilacs and Peonies, it's all her.  Her garden, her rose bushes, her smell.  May is all my mom.

Let's Face the Music and Dance

Black Bean Soup.  Don't underestimate the flavor punch of a great soup.  I love canned black beans but made from scratch, it's another level for sure.  A few hours and you have a few meals in a bowl. If You Need a Recipe, This is a Good One!

The thing about beans is you really need to add the flavor and don't be shy with the spices and seasonings.  Black beans love Cumin and that smoky Chipotle pepper in sauce, or use fresh jalapenos or roasted peppers.

It only happened a couple of times but my mother made these huge vats of beans for our restaurant back in Indiana and you know, she must have made hundreds over the years.  There were certain steps to getting her refried pinto beans just right and hers were always that, seasoned just right.  But once in a blue moon she forgot to salt the beans properly and let me tell you, there was nothing worse than getting that huge hot combination platter set down in front of you and digging into the beans and rice, and tasting the blandness of an unsalted pot of beans.  My mom's food was so consistently perfect that it was tragic when this happened, like time stopped in that restaurant.  I remember being shocked, like she could not mess up, it just wasn't in her.  I admired her so much for that steadiness.  People think recipes are solid, that you just follow instructions but food has variants. Love, care and consideration goes in. Sometimes the jalapenos are super hot, the tomatoes have no flavor or the avocados are not quite ripe so adjustments needed to be made.  She took it all into account and when that plate came, you never had to wonder if the rice would be amazing because it always would be.  The only danger was that at times it could all be too good, that you'd overeat to the point of total discomfort because she hit it out of the ballpark. Her famous hot sauce was sometimes so off the charts and addictive that you couldn't quit eating it even after you had your fill.  So much so that other restaurants began buying it to serve at their establishments.

I have none of that unwavering talent.  I really have to concentrate and even then I botch it up half the time.  Maybe that's how I can celebrate every good dish and mom never thought much of her art.  She wasn't even a fan of most of the foods she made.  She loved fresh lightly dressed salads on small plates. Heavy foods were not her thing. I love both which is both a blessing and a curse.

new haircut - the modern shaggy mullet. Both cute bang in the front, wild layers in the back.  A cut to showcase my diversity of lameness. 

Another Sunny Afternoon

  

My sister and I noticed that purple morning glory's, one of the flowers that remind us of mom kept popping up everywhere this summer.  She grew them along a white wooden trellis and loved them. I was fascinated as a young girl that they opened every day when I woke up and closed at night and tried to catch them doing so.  Also since I knew they had nectar, I would suck it out and you could taste a faint hint of sweet that was divine.  Sometimes I'd blow the closed flowers like a balloon in my mouth and make them pop.  On the ride to work I passed a few of these fences lined with them. 

Turtles All the Way Down

Went on a quick trip for multiple reasons.  To get out of my head, ritualize my ridding of a pile of guilt, change the scenery of my mourning and to seek answers in a more appropriate setting.  My mom would have been 95 yesterday, we just passed Mother's Day on Sunday and today I have been 10 years at a job I refer to as the prison.  A slew of sadness to commemorate.

This was one of those trips where from the get go, there were signs it was going to be unconventional. First of all it was to rain the entire day.  A super storm hit the area the night before with giant hail, downed trees and power outages.  There was even tornado sightings.  The locals told their tales to where we understood it was a doozy, the likes they had not seen in recent years.

The plan was to take a hike, reach the peak, do the formalities, then later lighten the mood by going to the drive-in and eat some fun food along the way.

We hiked the swamp trail in the rain and climbed up to the head of High Point National Park where there stood a monument, or so we were told.  We barely found it in the thick fog and standing at it's rail, we could only see more fog.  But we were alone and that's something you can't get in New York, so it became the perfect weather.  I stopped at the lake and privately made my proclamations to my mom and God about various things.  While I was talking and trying to make an impromptu ceremony I see all these fairly large turtle heads popping up out of the water and looking over at me as if they were curious to see who was making all this racket in their quiet serene little world.  It became hard to concentrate and even felt like a flood of lightness filled my heart.  I wanted to do this, take the time, make it a real thing.  But the turtles seemed to negate my sense of purpose. You hold on to people when you don't get a proper finish.  When I could finally really talk to my mom she was emotionally unavailable due to her condition.  And I always thought when she was finally at rest, we'd chat all the time.  But its not the way it has played out so far. I don't have access to her spirit.

At the edge of the water I almost felt a riddle was presented by nature herself.  From what I can manage to put into words is that I can stop looking for mom because she is nowhere...in particular.   There was no longer a her that I could ever comprehend again yet was now available to me always and everywhere.  This is one of those concepts that you can grasp tiny particles of and usually only with the help of chemicals before it flies off into space.  People say things, write poems, songs, get close to it.  But way down deep in our chemistry there is a built-in recognition of all these divine laws.  Our brain can't contain them but our beings respond with resounding hell yeahs.

Wall of Trump

Cobble stone streets in the Village

Palm trees in Manhattan???

Rained out Warwick Drive-In

 Irish Nachos. First a ridiculous notion, then a slice of heaven. Homemade potato chips with chili, onions, pickled 'penos and smothered in cheese.  The chips stayed very crisp as they packed them upside down.  Genius!

Wayback Burgers - pics don't do them justice

High Point Monument.  In a way, the best view of endless fog and sweet solitude.

McDonald's Breakfast with staring children.  Beat it!

The Bronx