The Graduate

We spent last weekend in Chicago attending the graduation of Offspring No. 1. The University of Chicago does everything with much pomp and circumstance. On Friday evening they hosted a champagne reception at the Museum of Science and Industry. The Convocation, conferring of degrees and awarding of diplomas consumed most of the day Saturday. We spent approximately six hours outside in folding chairs – and rain and 50 degree temperatures. I must say that I would much rather spend six hours sitting outside in the Chicago chill than the Texas 100 degree heat! The various parts of the ceremony were divided by what someone affectionately referred to as “the $200,000 lunch.” We were given a very nice sack lunch provided “free” by the university – free if you disregard the $200,000 price tag of a UC undergraduate education.

To be fair, Brooke did get a great deal more than a veggie wrap and small cup of fruit from her time in Chicago. She earned a degree in linguistics. She studied both Russian and Georgian and is fluent in both. Her mind was challenged and expanded; her body was challenged and bruised playing rugby on the University of Chicago women’s rugby team; and, her view of the world was challenged and broadened by living on the south side of Chicago. We all know that a college education involves much more than what goes on in the classroom.

I bet you are all wondering what a Russian-speaking college graduate with a degree in linguistics who plays rugby (which really means can hold her own when faced with inordinate amounts of beer) does after college. Lucky for you I have the answer.

They go to culinary school to become a pastry chef. Seems logical, right?

Maybe it seems logical to me since I know that Brooke has had a fascination with food since her tiny taste buds first encountered “real” food. From the beginning she would eat any vegetable that I would puree for her toothless palette. Fruits too. The same, however, was not so with meat. She would not touch baby food meat. Once she had teeth, meat still took a backseat to fruit and veggies. Every now and then she would make an exception for what she affectionately termed “flat meats” – pepperoni, chicken fried steak, and an occasional Chicken McNugget.

At age three, I signed up for a Kid’s Cooking Club. It was one of those deals where every month you received recipes, ingredients, and kid-sized cooking tools. A passion for cooking was born. While at home, Brooke baked for anyone having a bake sale, regularly often cooked our family meals, and regularly prepared gourmet meals for a local residential home for persons living with HIV-AIDS.

In addition to her academic and not so academic pursuits while in college, Brooke has continued to hone her culinary skills. Though her meals often consisted of rice and beans, she, her roommates, and her boyfriend’s fraternity never lacked for exquisite desserts.

When I asked what Brooke wanted for a graduation gift, she said that she would like a nice camera (because hers was stolen when her apartment was broken into in one of those worldly educational experiences) so that she could take pictures of her creations to establish a portfolio and hopefully a blog. Since she doesn’t yet have a summer job, cooking is how she plans to occupy her free time. I ordered the camera and it was to arrive today. I am anxiously awaiting her first blog post!

As I began writing this post, my phone buzzed indicating that I had a text message from Brooke. I assumed that it was to let me know that her camera had arrived. The message read, “I just got my first stitches!”

Holding true to her summer plans, Brooke was baking her first cake as a college graduate. Those of you who bake cake know that often cakes need leveling. You get the picture . . . As Brooke said, the serrated knife is the sharpest because it gets used the least.

Her very sweet boyfriend came over and took her to the emergency room, texted her roommate to tell her that the blood all over the kitchen in their apartment was not evidence of a brutal crime scene, streamed cute cuddly pictures from cute.com for Brooke to look at as they stitched her finger and tweeted before and after pictures of Brooke’s finger. How’s that for true love!

Despite the somewhat ominous start, I trust that Brooke will have many sweet successes on her culinary path. I am proud of all that she has accomplished thus far.

And in case you are wondering, she was making a layer cake with strawberry jam filling. The cake layers, which she checked to make sure were blood-free, are in the freezer waiting to be filled, iced and decorated with flowers.

First Fruits of Summer

When we moved to the country, I had dreams of having a bountiful garden. Despite having four acres, my garden never happened. It never happened because I was the only one who had this dream and I didn't have the drive to go at it alone. I'm not sure why that was the case, but it was.

As this spring approached, I still had dreams of a garden. Now, living once again in suburbia, I have one. How is that for irony?

About six weeks ago, after waiting out the torrential rains that we had this spring, we finally planted our garden. There was no doubt that raised beds were the way to go. Our planting choices were determined by our taste and our space. We figured that this year's garden would be primarily a learning experience. We would see what worked and what didn't and adjust accordingly next year.

Residing in our garden our yellow squash and zucchini, cucumber, red bell and jalapeno peppers, okra, basil, cilantro, and tomatoes. Because we got a late start planting, we began with small plants from Home Depot rather than seeds. We also got three tomato plants from another local nursery.

These three tomato plants have a somewhat sad story. Because it is close to the house, we began our search for plants at a nearby nursery thinking that they might have a bigger selection and might be more helpful to a few novice veggie gardeners. We were wrong on both accounts. But what they did have were tomato plants for 50 cents each. Sadly, these were plants that looked as if they should be in the horticulture ICU on life support. We chose the three that had a little green on them figuring at 50 cents each we didn't have a whole lot to loose. When we got to the register to pay for them, the cashier said that these plants were free. That should give you some indication of how pathetic they really looked. I am proud to say that with a little TLC they all not only survived but are thriving.

Here is our garden six weeks into its growing season.

Even without fresh vegetables, rabbits love our yard. You will see marigolds scattered throughout the vegetables. Those are to deter the rabbits. We lost one squash plant early on, pulled up by its roots with no trace left, but other than that, the marigolds seem to be functioning well in their capacity as rabbit deterrents.

Everything is doing great! All of the plants have either set blossoms or are bearing fruit.

Here are a few jalapenos who are about ready to make their contribution to some salsa along with the cilantro that is growing right next door.
The bell peppers are doing equally well. Though not ready to pick, there are several that are well on their way.
The squash and cucumber are growing to fill all available space and then some. I'm not sure how much longer the marigolds will survive here. They may never see sunlight again!


The cucumber and squash are setting blossoms, lots of them. We'll see how many pickles we get to can and how much squash casserole we get to eat this summer!
The tomato plants have blossoms as well, with the exception of one; it has a tomato already.
And in case you are wondering, this is one of the ICU tomato plants. Its fruit is somewhere between the size of a tangerine and a small orange. Or, I should say, it was. I took these pictures yesterday and this morning the tomato was gone. As you can see, it was on the very edge of the bed - an easy target for any tomato predators.. Some wildlife somewhere is enjoying a nice plate of fried green tomatoes.

I picked two okra the other day but did not cook them. The only way I like okra is fried; we still don't have a kitchen so frying them was not an option. We took pride in our success at having actually grown them and then put them out for the birds or rabbits or whomever.

Perhaps our first taste of the garden will be a basil, (store-bought) tomato and mozzarella pizza.

Ya gotta start somewhere, right?

My Daniel

I belong to a women’s Bible/ study group that meets on Tuesday afternoons. Unofficially, our group is called Companions in Christ because that was the title of the first book we studied when the group formed three years ago. During its first two years, the group’s members ebbed and flowed a little. We now consist of five loyal companions who have been together, faithfully meeting, for nearly a year. During that time we have shared births and birthdays, weddings and anniversaries, illness and injuries, sadness and sorrows, joys and triumphs. We have grown to be a close-knit group that celebrates our diversity of spirit and comes together hand-in-hand to walk this journey as followers of Christ.

One thing that we all have in common is that we are mothers. With the exception of one, all of our children are college aged and beyond. All of us have raised daughters. I am the only one who does not have a son. Of the four who do have male offspring, three have sons named Daniel. I’m not sure what that really means, but it is certainly an interesting statistic.

At the end of each of our gatherings, and often woven through the discussions of our study, we share the incidents of our daily lives and our prayer concerns with one another. Yesterday I shared an experience that I had on Monday.

A representative group from Resounding Harmony sang for the “Service of Remembrance” at Children’s Medical Center here in Dallas. This service is an opportunity for the hospital staff - doctors, nurses, social workers, therapists - to grieve the loss of those children who have died in the past year. This year there were 212 little ones remembered.

Prayers were offered by the pastoral care team, poems were written and read by nurses, and amidst almost total silence, with the exception of a sniffle here and there, the name of each child flashed in a soft white script against a solid black screen. The sadness of this seemingly endless list of lost little ones was broken by quotes and pictures of flowers that were bursting forth with life.

Resounding Harmony sang three selections - “Through the Eyes of a Child”, “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother”, and “This is Why We Sing.” During our warm-up Russ Rieger, our director, warned us to look at him rather than those who had come to grieve because this was an incredibly emotional experience and it is very difficult to sing while crying. We all had our eyes fixated on Russ but it didn’t help much.

They lyrics of the songs become so much deeper when sung in this context. Glancing out at a sea of people who gave their all to save the lives of so many children who ultimately succumbed to death and singing the words, “Can you still see the world for all the good it has to give?” or “If I’m laden at all, I’m laden with sadness because all the world isn’t filled with the gladness of love.” will move almost anyone to tears. The pain and sorrow in that room yesterday were eased slightly in the lyrics of our last piece, a piece that aptly states the mission of Resounding Harmony, not only in the context of the Children’s Medical Center Remembrance service bur in each note we sing. “This is why we sing . . .soothe a soul, mend a heart, bring together lives that have been torn apart . . .this is why we sing, why we lift our voice, why we come together as one in harmony.” I pray that we were a part of soothing some souls on Monday.

Because the theme of the service had been seeds and flowers and life and growth, we were all asked to take with us a sachet of wildflower seeds. Each had the name of one of the 212 children on it. In planting those seeds, the memory of the child lives on. I took my seeds with me yesterday to show my companions at book study. On the attached tag it said, “Remember Daniel.” One of the group members quickly exclaimed, “You too have a Daniel!” . . .Why yes I do.

I do have a Daniel. I have never seen him or heard him or touched him. I have never fed him or calmed him or laughed with him. But I will hold him. I will forever hold him in my heart and in my prayers. When my seeds sprout and bloom I will imagine him as a boy alive, happy and carefree.

I will remember "My Daniel".

What I Want To Do On My Summer Vacation

I am beginning my second week “off.” As each semester comes to a close, I find myself making mental lists of all the things I want to do during my break. This process helps distract me from the mountain of tasks that emerge in the final weeks of the semester - final exams that need to be written, final exams that need to be graded, grades that need to be calculated, and spending time with those students who want to know if they can make up all of the homework that they didn’t have time to complete during the course of the semester but are confident that they have the means to finish it all in final fourteen hours of the semester.

Somehow I got it all done. Last week I found myself at home during the day with an opportunity to revisit my list of things I wanted to do on my break.

First on the list was to sleep later than the normal 6am school alarm time. This was a nice thought, but a little unrealistic. Though my brain may not be, my body is still on “school time.” I was wide awake at six o’clock - before the alarm clock even reared its ugly buzzer. I was awake, hungry, and in need of coffee. The dogs were also wide awake, hungry, and in need of going outside. Weber was awake, hungry and in need of going to school. Poor guy! So much for sleeping in. The consolation was that at least I did not have to be awake and dressed. I managed a second cup of coffee while still in my pajamas before heading for the shower. That made it feel like a break. I suspect that my internal clock will reset itself to the summer schedule about the time I begin teaching summer session in a few weeks.

Another item on my summer to-do list was to spend some lazy afternoons on the couch reading. My intended reading material includes magazines and a novel that I downloaded to my iPad - nothing cerebral at all. In fact, I have not even looked at the last week’s Chronicle of Higher Education! I have run into a slight glitch with the reading on the couch part of my plan. Sadly, I have discovered that we really don’t have a couch. What I thought to be a couch is apparently a rather expensive dog bed. Every time I grab my magazine and head for what I thought was our couch, I discover that that space is occupied by our canine housemates. Did you know that a ninety pound black lab can take up an entire sofa? I now know what the dogs do all day while we are at school. They spend the day sleeping on the couch and apparently they too are still on a school schedule. If I want to read I’ll have to find myself a comfy spot outside under a tree in the backyard. There is something way wrong with this scenario!

During this first week off I also wanted to wash things that don’t get washed regularly like curtains and bathroom rugs. Though first, I did our regular laundry. Well, almost. The last load was in the washer and the washer decided that it didn’t really like me being home because it had to work too hard; so, it went on strike. Actually it outright quit. After consultation with the higher-ups (the Sears repairman) we concluded that it was best to permanently terminate the current washing machine and replace with a new one. As i write this, the curtains and the bath rugs have not been washed, that last load of laundry begun several days ago is still resting soggily in a laundry basket and I am anxiously awaiting the delivery of our new washing machine. By the way, buying a new washing machine was quite an experience, an experience that deserves its own post. So, stay tuned!

Also on my list is to knit. I have not really done that either - a few rows but nothing measurable, literally. I am teaching a class and need to finish the sleeves of a sweater. Hopefully that will happen this week. Somehow it is hard to muster the enthusiasm to knit a wool sweater when it is 90 degrees outside with a 110% humidity! Oh well, this is one of those have to, not want to things. Working on the sweater is this week’s sole project - once we get the washing machine and I rewash the soggy load from last week. Hopefully I can convince the dogs to give me a corner of the couch so that I can knit. If not, there is still that shade tree in the backyard.

Seven days into my summer break I don’t seem to be doing very well with my vacation wish list. And I have not even thought about the things I have to do

• Memorize an hour and a half of music for a concert in two weeks
• Finish a commission composition
• Write my syllabi for my summer school classes
• Make travel arrangements for Offspring No. 1’s college graduation

This is beginning to sound not much like a break!

I’m off to work.

Happy Mother's Day

At least this mama gets to lay down while she's fixing dinner!
I took this photo back in October at the Texas State Fair. I have been waiting to find the perfect occasion to post it! Happy Mother's Day!

Mother's Day Card

For the past several weeks, the newspaper has been filled with articles and ads about how to celebrate Mother's Day - advertisers confident that they are selling "the perfect gift" that every mother wants and needs, deals on meals for those that want to keep mom out of the kitchen on her special day, and for the traditionalists, everyone from the city's finest florists to the local grocery stores all have a beautiful selections of flowers guaranteed to make every mom smile.

For me, Mother's Day is a non-celebration. I can't bring myself to call it a holiday. My mother died in 2006 so I no longer find myself in the card section of the store trying to find THE card, you know the one with that perfect sentiment. My kids are at the age where mom is more of a nuisance than something to be celebrated. (Why do I have to buy a card or a gift for someone who, despite the fact that I am eighteen or twenty-one, still nags me about studying for tests, cleaning up after myself, and taking my future seriously?)

Kids tend to forget that moms once were kids and had these very same feelings. So, I am willing to pull up my Big Mama panties and trust that they will realize someday that despite all my nagging and other faults, which they can enumerate on demand, there is no one on this planet who loves them more than I do.

I find myself this year wishing that I could send a Mother's Day card to a special woman whom I have never met, my husband's mother. Though she passed away long before he and I married almost a year ago, she has had a huge influence on my life. She raised her son to be a loving and responsible husband. She taught him the value of family. And, in her unique way, instilled in him a steadfast faith.

In many ways I feel like I know her very well. I have heard wonderful stories about her, seen pictures of her from when she was a child, read letters that she and Weber exchanged with one another during his one visit to summer camp and when he was away at college, and i live in the house that for many years she made home.

Though we are remodeling the house and now making it our home, she is still very much here with us - in her paintings that hang on the wall, the side table that sat by her chair, and the tin measuring cup that I used last night to pour rice. But most importantly, she is here in her son - in that sparkle in his eye when he talks of her tenacity, the tears of joy when he speaks of her love, and in the spirit with which he embraces life.

If I could send a card, I would have a tough time finding just the right one on the store racks. A generic Hallmark poem will not suffice here.

I wish I could say "thank you" to you face to face. I wish that I could look you in the eye and promise you that I will love your boy as much as you do. Since I can't, I will trust that you feel my love for you as we feel your continued love here with us.

Happy Mother's Day.

Is it OK to call you Mom?

To Sweat Or Not To Sweat

At some point in our lives we have all been told at least once “don’t sweat the small stuff.” This advice is usually offered by some well-meaning person who is trying to keep us from having some kind of emotional meltdown. I believe that I have even seen a series of books, in the self-help section of the bookstore, whose titles consist of these very words. Though this gem of wisdom seems to give comfort to many, I find myself wondering if it is really sound advice. I have been pondering this for several weeks. Why? Possibly because during this time nobody has uttered to me this very phrase in question. And that is probably a good thing

During my multi-week musings I have come to think that “Don’t sweat the small stuff” is really poor advice. It really is the small stuff that makes all the difference in most circumstances. In my mind, to not sweat the small things implies that we will happily settle for mediocrity. I suppose that for some this is perfectly acceptable: for me it is not.

Perhaps I am intrigued by this philosophical dilemma right now because much of what I have been doing for the past few weeks has been intensely focused in what on the surface seems to be “the small stuff”

A few Fridays ago my task for the day was to write a very short piece, by short I mean somewhere between a minute and a minute and ten seconds, for one of my colleagues. I spent roughly six hours working on this piece. If you want to do the math, that computes to about one hour of work for every ten seconds of music. Do you find yourself wondering how this can possibly be? This is how. Getting the creative juices flowing is not what takes the time. Luckily on this particular day the raw ideas came quickly. It is sweating the small stuff that takes a composition from simply a sketch or a draft to a piece of art. Should that note be a half note or a quarter note followed by a quarter rest? Maybe that part should have an F# instead of an F natural. Is the best tempo 90 beats per minute or 96? Sometimes it is literally the small stuff that consumes a disproportionate amount of time: should I use a dotted rhythm or equal note values. That little dot can make all the difference. Taking the time to consider, or perhaps obsess, over these seemingly minute details is ultimately what made this particular piece not just an OK piece of music but something that I was proud to say that I had written

Here is another real-life example. I am currently teaching a knitting class on how to make a particular sweater pattern. Without going into a lot of unnecessary detail, suffice it to say that to make a knitted garment fit properly, you have to knit to the appropriate gauge. Let’s say that you want to make a sweater that is 40’ at the chest. The pattern calls for a gauge of 4 stitches to the inch. Therefore your sweater will consist of 160 stitches. What if your gauge is almost 4 stitches to the inch, but not quite? Maybe it is just a tiny bit off, as in 4 ¼ stitches to the inch. A gauge that is only off by a quarter of an inch surely isn’t going to make that much of a difference, right? Wrong! In this case, your sweater will be nearly three inches smaller than you want it tobe. We all know that when it comes to the fit of clothing, three inches is not “the small stuff.

One more example – this time about literally sweating. Despite the fact that it is barely the middle of April, we have already seen temperatures above 90 degrees here in Texas. Thinking it ridiculous to turn on the air conditioner “so early” we opted to start the cooling process by making sure that all of the ceiling fans were turning in the “right” direction – the direction that pulls the cool air up rather than pushing the hot air down as is the case during the winter months. The problem was that we were not 100% sure which direction accomplished which goal. To further confound us, when we went to the Internet to solve our problem we found contradicting information. One source said the fans should run counter-clockwise in the summer and another said they should run clockwise. Obviously someone was mistaken. Nope. They were both correct. The clarity comes again in the small stuff. The crucial little detail here is whether you are looking up at the fan or looking down on it. In the summertime, if you look up at a ceiling fan it should be moving in a counter-clockwise direction. If you are looking down on it, it is moving clockwise. This small detail literally makes the difference between sweating and not.

Despite the examples I have given here I am sure there are cases where the small stuff really doesn’t matter. In the big scheme of things it probably doesn’t matter if one of your socks has a hole in the sole or even if your socks don’t match. It probably doesn’t matter if you eat the last few spoonfuls of yogurt the day after the “Best if used by” date. Whether you pay $3.78 or $3.79 a gallon for gas is a much bigger deal in principle than it really is to our pocketbooks.

It all comes down to what is important to each of us as individuals. If it’s important to you, sweat it no matter how big or how small.