The state of things, Nanny

What a week this has been, y'all. Crazy Chechens in Boston! An idiot Senate! Pollen bombs everywhere! Texas fertilizer plant blows (people, this is unfortunate but to me demonstrates just what nasty shit industrially produced fertilizer is; how about some manure? some compost? none of that blows the eff up)! And every night this week proved to be one in which sleep was interrupted, sometimes briefly, sometimes much longer. Last night, I awoke at 2a though I can't remember why. Due to T's snortastic snoring adorned with spasmodic coughing, I quickly realized there was no way I was going to get back to sleep if I stayed in bed with him. To the basement I went and an hour later I was still up. Annoyed, I managed to finally fall back asleep at which point I began having a torrid love affair with Ben Affleck who, as it turned out, was married to my friend, Evi. Sorry Sam. Anyway, Ben and I were away at some prom-type of event which we required we stay at a beach house. There was a random child there too. Where Evi was, I don't know, but Ben and I were dates and it became obvious that we could not ignore the flames of our love. At times we were in the library between stacks (WTF?) while at others we were at Balthazar (yes, in NYC) where we saw my friend, Amy H who asked me about canning. That latter point is actually something that would happen in real life, but why she and I happened into each other at Balthazar while I was with Ben Affleck for christ's sakes is beyond me. And why she needed to know about canning at that point is too.

I'll be honest in telling you that this was not an unpleasant dream but it was weird as all get out and I awoke feeling a bit off. I ran upstairs and made a pie. Then I went to yoga. Ben's face still whispers through my mind. It's a bit odd. But this week was too so I'm giving myself a pass. And yes, I'm wild for my actual husband so worry not.

Last night I was at the table after dinner when I heard our Skype ring. My aunt Andree had Nanny in her wheelchair at the computer and they were making calls. Readers, I could not have been happier to see Nanny's face. She was her same beautiful self, just a bit slower and much more tired. We Skyped for 10 or 15 minutes, and I felt so grateful for it. She didn't talk much but I know she heard everything I said. We told each other how much we loved each other, again and again, and I told her the story of the elderly couple I'm cooking for and I thanked her for always being so much of everything to me. This call was such a gift. Look at these glam old pics of Nanny and Papa (her husband/my grandpa, Pete, who died when I was in high school). Papa owned and ran a restaurant in Lake Charles for years and Nanny made all the cheesecakes for it, thousands during the restaurant's run.

I love looking at these old pictures and am thankful my mom is such a photophile; she has album upon album of old family pics, keeps them well organized and has scanned many into her computer before too much degradation made them unrecognizable. People don't even look like this anymore, you know? I feel transported to another era, really.

Thinking of Nanny, replenishment in giving

I've got a wonderful new gig.

Recently, a long-time client reached out to me about the possibility of preparing two meals each week for her elderly parents, both nonagenarians who still live in the same house as they have for the past 45 years. Her father, a dear man I met briefly a couple years ago but whom I remember clearly because of the dapper seersucker suit he was wearing in the middle of a warm September afternoon, can no longer cook every day- ya think? Tom suggested I consider this might add to the already-overloaded pile of to-dos onto which I've signed, but I just keep thinking of my Nanny and how if I lived in Lake Charles, I'd make time to do this very same thing  for her. And really, I usually cook more dinner than we need so twice a week, to prepare with them in mind, seems easy as pie.

So I said yes, inquired about taste preferences, dietary limitations and the like, and got to it. This afternoon I brought over plates of roasted potatoes and thick slices of turkey meatloaf, a bowl of cantaloupe and a plate of lemon poundcake. I served it all on our own china, as I would have for my Nanny. It made my day to see these folks. They'd taken a drive to see the cherry blossoms but the neighborhood they visited was bare, the blossoms scattered asunder by recent winds and rain. We talked about this and that, I told them what awaited them and how to reheat. I thought again about Nanny and how grateful I am anytime someone brings her a good, home-cooked meal dosed with a real shake of love. I thought about how much love and support and kindness I've been lucky to receive and how much of a true pleasure it is to give some back, even if it's not my Nanny I'm cooking for.

There are different ways of giving of yourself, you know? Not infrequently I encounter folks who are rather like dementors (for you Harry Potter fans). They just take and take, sucking on and bending your ear in every which way but as soon as you seek some reciprocal interaction...well, you've never seen such quick exits. As if you inadvertently threw out your best expecto patronum: BAM! They're gone.

But in giving to others whose gratitude or sense of giving back are equally as strong as is yours, you are replenished, made bigger, restored in the best of ways. And that is how I felt when I became reacquainted with this wonderful couple earlier today. I know how much their kids love them, I can sense what very fine people they are. And so, although I don't receive anything directly from them, I do. I feel the warmth of sharing love and caring through good, thoughtfully-prepared food. I look at them as role models, of how to age gracefully and happily. I look at their marriage and think, wow, to grow old with someone for more than five decades is really amazing. I thought about how glad I am that I'm going to get to see these folks twice a week. I thought of my Nanny and how she, as I'm sure have they, has put so much love and goodness out into the world during her life. And perhaps if I can give to them as I would to her, I'll help keep the karmic cycle of paying it forward, paying it around, circulating.

This sense of interconnectedness is one reason I love tending my garden. If I take care of it, it returns, year after year, offering itself as a beautiful gift. No  matter the weather, most of the time, the strength of each little plant pushes it towards warmth and light every spring. This time of year I go outside on a daily basis to check the progress. Sometimes I worry- did this one or that one just not make it? But more often than not, they're just moving at their own pace: "I'll emerge from the earth when I'm ready, thank you very much." A reminder that with tending must often and also come patience. A wait-and-see relinquishing of control. A recognition that not everything can be had immediately.

As a garden takes nurture, so too do relationships and community. And though Tom often says I'll make friends with a wall if it's in line with me, I still think that extending the hand of connection is worth it. Remaining open to people and experiences is what keeps minds young, things fresh. Some Em-i-lis food for thought tonight, dear readers.

A vision in magenta

Friends, T and I were not pleased to have been woken up at 1:53am: "Mom! Dad! Mom! Dad! I need help putting my shirt on! I'm brr!" A) Oliver, you're the one who wanted to sleep without a shirt on even though I told you you might get cold, and B) since when was it hard for you to put on a shirt? Mother of... and then again at 5:42am as the boys barreled in, light-sabers clashing, at stake the Empire, with a side of "we're hungry and want breakfast NOW."

I swear to you I could not even begin to count the number of times we have opined that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE (except an exceedingly dire one) should either child disrupt us before 6:15. Jack has a clock and feels extremely proud of his ability to tell time. Oliver has a light that turns from a moon to a sun when the time has come. These are neither difficult cues nor an onerous rule. While drinking my coffee, I realized I felt as if I'd pulled an all-nighter in a disco. Then I remembered I was to drive carpool and head to Pilates.

I hurriedly dressed in my new outfit- magenta yoga pants and a pink top a few shades lighter- grabbed my raincoat and hauled it out the door with Jack. Only when walking into Pilates did I realize what a pink-nut I looked like. In addition to the outfit, my raincoat is yet another shade of vibrant magenta, and my toes are painted Elephantastic Pink. Surely I looked like some kind of vision as I headed into class.

Fast forward thirty minutes, and I'm in the lobby, shirt in my lap, damp peppermint tea bags resting around the sports bra straps on both shoulders, a Reiki master who also fills in at the front desk performing some gratis healing. Some combination of fatigue, hormones, stress and stretch caused my neck to spasm and then seize. It feels like someone poured electrified cement into my neck and shoulders which then hardened. I'm moving like a mannequin and am still clad in magenta.

And then there's our pathetic excuse for a Senate who apparently is too impotent and weak and cowardly to pass something as critically needed and simple and supported as background checks for people who want to purchase guns. The NRA must be laughing their heads off right now.

This piece by Gabby Giffords is a good one!