Break

Dear blog friends, thank you for the anniversary wishes. I'll be back to visit all your lovely posts soon. My mom passed away on Monday morning after a brief illness. So I'll be taking a little break. My mom was a woman who loved you in her fashion. My favorite memory of her was in the 1960's, with her bouffant blonde hair. When dressing up, she wore a beige blazer and skirt with matching beige stiletto heels, and she smelled always of Chanel No. 5. When I was little, I used to steal her Oil of Olay face cream and rub it on my cheeks. I wanted to look like her because I thought she was so beautiful.

"And I would like to cry in the car. 

The blue violet hills and the voice of Neil Young. 

I left the flowers outside your door. 

Your curtains were flying 

Though you were not at home. 

And I can only say that I have hoped for you. 

Safety from fears and darkness 

Are you feeling better than before? 

There's a hidden life for everyone. 

Sorrow remains though you can tell no-one.

The Host on your tongue is a perfect moon.

It does shine inside you. 

You shine into the room. 

And I can only say that I have hoped for you. 

Safety from fears and darkness 

Are you feeling better than before? 

Down in the hallways in wintertime. 

There is your great kindness 

And you are the light. 

And I can only say that I have hoped for you. 

Safety from fears and darkness. 

Are you feeling better than before? 

And I can only say that I have hoped for you. 

Safety from fears and darkness Are you feeling better than before?"

~Karen Peris, "You Are the Light"

I do, I did, I would again

At a shower and watching a bride-to-be open her many gifts, my then-5-year-old daughter Joy turned to me and asked, "Did you get a lot of presents when you married Daddy?" "Yes." "Well, I think my Daddy is the best present you got." So right, sweetie. 31 years ago today, two clueless kids said "I do," and grew up together. We've been up and we've been down, and I'd do it all over again. Here's to many more years. Happy anniversary, Mister.

Book it

Take an old hardback book with an interesting cover and boring contents,

a jar of rubber cement, a pair of scissors, a pile of favorite recipes scribbled on loose leaf paper, shared by friends,

or quietly removed from magazines while sitting forever in a doctor's office *cough* (what?),

Now plant yourself in front of a favorite movie that you've watched a hundred times. Cut, paste, and whistle watch while you work

Here's where I digress. I bought this old postcard and pasted it into the flyleaf of the book in honor of the grandmother I lived with when I was a kid. The scene makes me nostalgic for her kitchen. The similarity is striking, right down to the mirror above the sink and the old wringer-style washing machine.

I recall the way she would flour the rim of a water glass to use for cutting biscuits, and the full glass bottle of Schlitz beer that made its noontime appearance on the kitchen table.

The yellow liquid gradually disappearing didn't hurt her ability to make amazing meals.

Seriously, that woman never left the kitchen--cooking us all three hot meals a day--which I totally did not appreciate when I was young.

Looking back, I do believe it was she who planted the love-of-cooking seed in my heart.

La la la, back to the book. Along with the cutting and pasting, add a little imagination, some collaging, and messing about with markers,

and you have a recipe for a recipe book. The End