Cooking Journal: Thanksgiving Supper

Normally, I post a Cooking Journal reflection on the 20th of the month.  But I am behind with everything these days, and this blog is no exception.  I figured a few days late with a Thanksgiving supper post was perfectly acceptable and so here we are.  I am deeply enmeshed in food restriction these days, looking to achieve the arbitrary BMI number that will get me the new hip I so desperately need.  I took a break from that on Thanksgiving and allowed myself to eat for the day.  

So it was that JT and I had a delicious Thanksgiving supper.

There was turkey and a potato casserole (neither of us loves mashed potatoes).  I roasted Brussels sprouts and made a posh cheese tray.  There was homemade cranberry sauce and  hot yeast rolls with butter.  We had pumpkin pie for dessert - JT loves pumpkin pie and I’ve also been known to enjoy a slice or two.  Mostly, we enjoyed the day and felt gratitude for the time off this week, the company of one another, and the happy home that we share.    

Gratitude Journal : Vermont

I took my last chunk of time off at the start of August.   JT and I headed north to Vermont for a few days.  It’s a place JT loves, with mountains and quiet that feeds his soul.  I’ve been a few times and always enjoyed it; it was nice for him to share his favorite place with me.  There was nothing special on our agenda - just some relaxing days in a beautiful location before the school year starts.  I spent a lot of time on the back deck of the tiny cabin we rented, soaking in the green woods and blue skies, reading, writing, and relaxing.  

JT went for runs on familiar trails and I went for walks.  

In the evening, we enjoyed a soak in a hot tub in the back yard of our Air B&B.  We spent a day noodling around Manchester and its amazing book store.  The trip and the days surrounding it are my last big patch of time off before the start of school.  The time was the culmination of one of the nicest summers I have enjoyed in a while.  It was nice to wrap it up with time together in Vermont.  

Everything about the state and its relaxed vibe is nice.  There is beauty around every corner.  The sky is filled with magnificent light.  These are people whose magnetic poetry kit includes the word “community.”  Right there, you know you are in good hands.

Gratitude Journal: Music

A few years ago, JT gave me a little JBL portable speaker.  In the last 6 months, that little speaker has become my frequent companion.  I’ve got playlists-a-plenty and I’ve found myself enjoying a whole lot of familiar music - hello ’80s New Wave tunes - as well as music that JT has introduced me too - recent Red Hot Chili Peppers (I always enjoyed 1980s Chile Peppers), Goose, the Strokes, Billy Strings.  My tastes vary - they always have - but my enjoyment of music hasn’t.  It’s been nice to have music so easily in reach and when I wake up to a familiar song in my head, that’s even nicer.  

Among the Trees: On the Journey to This Moment

It’s no secret that the last year in my life has offered a seemingly steady stream of unexpected challenges.  I’ve found a core of resilience that I didn’t know that I had in me.  I’m proud of that strength and I continue to do the work to sustain it.  

Last week, I spent an afternoon in Colonial Park and had the time to reflect on how far life has come since last June, when my freshly-minted college-graduate son was struggling to sort out the meaning of his life.  It was a hard journey for me as a parent and far harder for him.  During those difficult weeks, JT and I spent a lot of time together, much of it in the rose garden, tucked under the wisteria wrestling with his demons.  

That difficult summer was before the end of my 11 year relationship with T and the passing of my father.  I won’t say that by now I am battle scarred, but I have arrived at a point where I don’t take anything good for granted.  Every day, I look for gratitude and from it I find grace.  I take the time to be grateful for the peace of that grace, no matter how small.  

My memory of the struggles of the last year made it all the more sweet last week when JT was offered a teaching job at a nearby school.  The position is a terrific opportunity, with a chance to do some things he knows he enjoys - coach middle school sports - as well as the prospect of trying something new - working as a third grade teaching assistant.  He’s excited and proud of himself.  I am so glad for him, perhaps as proud as I’ve ever been.  I know the work that got him here.  Last week, as I walked the paths of this familiar and beloved park and sat in the quiet shade of the wisteria to read my book, I thought of how far we’ve come.  I felt at peace in all the ways I've longed for over the last year.  I reflected on my blessings, all of them, but chiefly my immense gratitude that my boy is here to turn his beautiful face to the light and the sunshine. 

Daffodil Days

The year that JT was born, I would pick up a small bouquet of daffodils when I made the weekly run to the grocery store.  They helped me to celebrate my baby boy and made my days sweeter.  When I see daffodils in the market come late February and early March, I think of those days and I get myself a bouquet.  

It sits on the dining room table where I admire the bright yellow color of the bouquet.  As the flowers slowly open, I marvel at the passage of time and wonder what comes next.  

January 1: Taking Root

In December, I began to think again about this blog, which has been neglected in the last couple of years.  For a long time, I was grateful for this place to record my thoughts and mark the passage of time.  I’m not the sort to make resolutions, but I’ve enjoyed writing of late and the blog is back for now.  I’m looking forward to posting more often this year.   

As has been my custom, I’ll start each month with a post about something in the natural world.  This year, that’s going to be the houseplants that bring me happiness on a daily basis.  I’ve a bit of a green thumb and I love houseplants.  More than two dozen flourish in my care and they are all over the house and my office at school.  Some go outside for the summer; all of them bring me joy and help me to feel grounded. 

Like any good mama, I don’t have a favorite plant.  Each is valued on their own terms and each is meaningful to me for a different reason.  For January, I pick this little pothos, which currently has a spot on the radiator in the dining room. 

I have many a pothos plant; they are easy to care for and they grow in abundance.  Some of mine have variegated leaves; others are a verdant green  This plant was started from clippings from the plant that lives on the top of my living room bookshelf.  It had begun to trail the floor and, loathe to throw out the trimmings, I showed JT how to transplant them.  We did that in the midst of our hard summer and I can remember telling him that life was sometimes like a plant waiting to take root; not always much to look at but always with potential.  I told him that the tiny transplant was an investment in hope for the future.  Privately, I crossed my fingers that the plant would take root and begin to thrive and that when it did, JT would also be better situated. 

This little plant is in a better place today, as is the son who helped me to grow it.  I start 2023 with gratitude for this growth, and that feels like the right note for a new year.

21!

Today, JT wakes up a 21 year old.  Such news seems patently unbelievable and yet, there is ample evidence that he has grown up.  For all the challenges of this last year, there has been happiness for me as I realize what a good and decent man my little boy has become.  We’re a long way from his Peter Pan days.

Though, perhaps, he is still a boy at heart…… 

Headed North

I was teaching class this morning when the attic prisoner shot downstairs and began packing his car for the drive north back to school.  JT has been a trooper for all of the isolation, never complaining as he stayed up in the attic with his books, movies, and video games.  He never developed symptoms and tested negative in two quick successions after the positive test.  I am grateful that he wasn’t sick and glad that he gets to return to college life.  I gave him a hug and sent him north with his birthday presents - he turns 21 next month.  T and I have another week on our quarantine but it was nice for one of us to earn their freedom.

The Light of a New Year

As twilight settled on the evening of the 31st, I lit two luminaries to light the path for the new year.  They burned brightly through the night as T, JT, and I played card games, listened to a playlist of music curated by the boy, and laughed together.

The laughter was especially nice.  

As T and I prepared to climb the stairs and tuck into bed, JT told us that if someone had told him at the start of the year that 2020’s last day would be spend in our company instead of with his friends, he would not have embraced that news.  Then he told us that the evening felt good and right; that’s he’d had a good time with is and wouldn’t have spent it any other way.

In a 2020 that brought fear and uncertainty, that found the three of us being cooped up for months and occasionally feeling a little too close with one another, my son was on the mark in that observation.  In this year of so much loss, I will be forever glad of the extra time to watch him grow up far more than just one year signifies.  The last night of 2020 was a good one for counting my blessings as we looked to the light.

Sunrise with JT

Last week, JT and I got up early to watch the Wednesday morning sunrise from Washington Rock, a historical site that is nearly a stone’s throw from our home.  The morning was a bit of a lark made lovelier by the company of the son I call my boy, a claim that is rather in defiance of the young man he clearly has become.He’s been home since March and though I know that we all long for a return to normal, I am grateful for the blessing of this time together.  Despite the anxiety, we’ve shared plenty of laughter and thoughtful talks.  I’ve had the chance to get to know (and like) the adult he is becoming.  The morning sunrise was a welcome reminder to appreciate to pause and appreciate the small blessings of this unexpected time together.

Two Decades

Twenty years ago this day, I became a mama just after midnight when a certain young man with shiny dark eyes agreed to make his  appearance.

Two decades.  

It’s rather hard to believe how quickly 20 years have passed.  As I think about my 20 year old college boy, I’m struck not by how much things have changed but rather by how much of JT at 20 could be seen when he was just a little boy.

When JT was 7 and discovered that high school kids didn’t get daily recess and PE class, he recoiled at such a notion.  In his mind, there were three reasons to attend school: PE, recess, and Field Day.  The rest of school was sometimes interesting but mostly time spent waiting for the good parts.  That same year, he asked why people walked places when they could run.  The signs were all there.

By the time he was in high school, he’d made his peace with the lack of recess and daily PE class.  Consolation came in the form of athletic teams and after school practice.  When it came time for him to select a college, I wasn’t surprised that he chose Springfield College.

If PE had a college, it would be Springfield.  He’s happy there, taking classes that interest and inspire him, running mile after mile with his teammates, and growing into an opinionated and kind-hearted young man.  Today, he’s in classes at college and I won’t get to give him a birthday hug.  But I sent him a package and a handmade card with my annual birthday note.  He knows that he is a well-loved and lucky young man.  

Twenty years blew past me in the blink of an eye but I will never forget his first day in this world; the day that I became a lucky mama. Happy Birthday, sweet boy.  Your mama loves you.

The Napping House

I texted this picture to JT this morning, a reminder that his home - and rest - await him when final exams are finished.  The picture was made over Thanksgiving Break when he was home for a few days and glad to put his feet up.  Though he’s back in the thick of it now, with a week to go until exams have finished, it is this image that I hold in my mind as I wait for his return.  

Apparently, I’m not the only creature at Sassafras House that misses him.

Card Sharks

My people are a competitive lot and nowhere is this more clear than when we play card games.  We are vicious and mean under these circumstances and normal people would be excused for dealing themselves out of the game.  

I consider myself less competitive than the rest of my family but I’ve made up for that in the form of JT.  The boy is so competitive that my mother, the lead genetic carrier of this dominant trait, eventually opts out of games with him, leaving a trail of simmering resentment when she departs the table.  

It’s somewhat interesting that JT is so fierce at the card table because in the world of sports, where competition is officially encouraged, he is genuinely a sportsman.  He cheers on teammates, celebrates their victories (even if they come at his own expense), and truly cares about his teammates.  The kid won an all-conference sportsman award in his first semester of NCAA athletic competition.

It’s clear that the NEWMAC conference has never played cards with the kid.  

Nowhere is JT’s ferocity more unpleasant than in the game of Monopoly Deal.  We bought it years ago in advance of a snow day and from the age of 8 forward, the kid just roasted me at the game.  Over and over, I’d lose to him, millions of dollars in debt, his sinister victory laugh the soundtrack to me shuffling and dealing a new game .  Eventually, I just refused to play that game with him.  

Whenever he plays cards with T and me, he proposes a round or two of Monopoly Deal.  We always say no.  But last night, in the spirit of thankfulness, we said yes.  It’s a different games with three people, more competitive for everyone and with less room for JT to slaughter the competition wholesale.  He won the first two rounds but without the usual wave of destruction.  Then T won a few rounds and both of us had the chance to stick it to the boy.  

It was delayed gratification for the beatdowns of so many years ago.  And in the true spirit of my people, I hope that we play again today.

Sycamore Leaves

Last weekend, T and I spent some time outside on fall chores.  There were canna bulbs to dig up, leaves in the backyard too mulch, and leaves everywhere in need of raking.  Though I don’t have any in my yard, my street is lined by tall sycamore trees.  Sycamore leaves are everywhere.  These leaves are enormous.

As I raked them into piles for collection, I remembered that little boy JT often admired these leaves and kept a look out for the largest ones.  The year he was 10, we made pictures of the biggest of the year.

He was best-pleased by this activity. These days, when I see an especially large sycamore leaf, I think about that little boy and the ways he brought so much laughter into my life.

Race Day!

On Saturday, JT’s team ran a race at Harness Memorial Park in Connecticut.  The course cuts along the Atlantic Ocean and it’s a pretty place to watch a race.  JT likes the course because he ran is personal best there last season.  He ran hard on Saturday and we were glad to cheer him on.

His time wasn’t as good as he hoped.  Several of the runners took a spill at the start of the course and JT was running on a sore calf that might signal a more serious injury.

But the day was sunny and the team engaged in their post-race swim in the Atlantic.

There was a picnic for families and nothing quite cheers a mama’s heart like the sight of a table full of boys eating like wolves.

We even made a rare picture of the three of us together.

Seeing JT race always makes me glad.  He’s doing what he loves with teammates who have the making of life long friends.  There is laughter and pleasure in one another’s achievements.  I know he’s at school that makes him happy and proud; there is such comfort in that knowledge.

College Drop Off

Yesterday, T and I unloaded our car into JT’s Sophomore dorm. He did most of the work and consented to letting me make his bed, the sort of thing a mama like me feels happy about.

He’s there for two weeks of pre-season training for Cross Country; classes don’t start until after Labor Day.  It was much easier than last year’s drop off, though of course I burst into tears at the last minute and, unusually, was embarrassed by this development.  I’m a crier and have long ago made my peace with that fact so it’s unusual for me to fear crying in public.  I suppose it’s that I know there is nothing to be sad about.  He’s ready to return, and very excited about the coming Cross Country season, classes, his friends at school….all of it.  He has his routines and this year’s dorm is nicer than last year’s lodgings, with a lovely view over the lake.

We’ll see him at the end of September for a race and the text messages will flow.  I know he is in the right place and I’m so grateful for that blessing.  T and I head south this morning, grateful for a life together.  That’s happy!

Real Life Conversations with JT: Feeding Frenzy edition

The backstory: Having just finished his lunch, a giant sandwich I brought him from a local deli and while raiding my work desk for my emergency chocolate supply, JT wanted to know what’s for supper tonight.

Me: Well, there will be roasted chicken.

JT: Why not just say you are making some kind of summer salad that will never fill me up?

Me:  Perhaps because I’m not?  There will be lemon pasta, chicken, and bread.  Will that do?

JT:  Yes.

While it’s true that I have made my fair share of refreshing summer salads, my primary activity this summer has been to bake endless chicken breasts for a certain bottomless pit.  Notably, often while eating said chicken, he frets that no more food will ever be forthcoming.  This is a nightmare that never materializes.  But the boy is wary nonetheless.

College Man

JT’s first year at Springfield College wrapped up yesterday he’s happily home for the summer.  His room is once again the dark cave of boy town.  I did some cleanup work while he was away, though he’ll make quick work of messing it up again.  It’s how I know the right young man came home.

The end of this first year also means the end of his first year as a Division III college athlete.  The boy has logged in a lot of miles, first on the Fall Cross Country team; in the Winter and Spring he ran Indoor and then Outdoor Track, his first full seasons in those two sports.  We watched quite a few races and heard about all of them, nervously waiting for the race day report when we weren’t there to watch.  He made some good friends and had fun; every few weeks, he’d send me pictures of those friends.  He learned a lot and is excited by the course of study he’s chosen. I enjoy hearing about the things he’s learning; he enjoys sharing that news.

Last Summer, I nervously awaited his departure with little sense of what this next chapter of life would bring either of us.  As we both settled into our new habits it was reassuring that we found happy routines and traditions.  Those pictures he texted me showed me the face of a happy boy; one doing well. Seeing his face and feeling re-assured that he made the right college choice made the year much nicer for me.

Even as I celebrate the successful transition, I’m happy that he’s home again.  It’s nice to have his company and hear his laughter.  I enjoy cooking him meals.  We’ve both learned some things about ourselves in the last 9 months but I’m also reminded how some things don’t change: big as he is, he’s still my baby.

That’s Happy, What Else?

Several women that I know have had babies this Spring and as I’ve bought tiny little sets of pretty clothes for the new mamas, I’ve added a book from my vast collection of children’s books to their gifts.  This has been a way to share some lovely stories as well as a way to thin my collection, which fills two enormous plastic bins and is far more than I can use when my grandma days arrive (several years from now, if you’re reading this, JT!).  It's also been a treat to look through these familiar books.

Reading is one of my greatest pleasures in life.  So it should be no surprise that as a mama, reading books to a small child was one of my great joys.  I read to JT every night for years, reading books until he drifted off to sleep.  I stopped when I could be sure that he would read to himself at night.  The stories that we read, especially those that we read over and over, served as the very foundation of both his world and mine.  

As he got older, I read to him to slow the evening into sleep and to set him up for a lifetime of imagination.  When I look book at all of those books, I see a philosophy of life coming in to view.  The stories we loved the most were the books that valued unconditional love and taking pleasure in the natural world.  They celebrated shared laughter and joy in the every day.  Some of them served as mantras for the living of the rest of our lives, as did a lovely book called Tell Me Something Happy Before I Go to Sleep.

In this story, a big brother bunny named Willoughby settles his little sister Willa to sleep by reminding her of the happy things she will find when she wakes up in the morning.  Willa, eager to stay awake, responds to each happy thing (her chicken slippers, her sailor suit, her breakfast, and her toys) by saying, “That’s happy.  What else?”

Toddler JT loved this book, with its sweet pictures and gentle reminder that there was happiness to be found in the every day things and practices that made up our lives.  Saying “that’s happy” became a part of our lives, one part reminder to enjoy the here and now and one part reminder that happiness is not finite; there is always more to be found.

On this Mother’s Day, we are apart as JT finishes up his first year of college, and I can’t help but think of this story and Willa’s chant.  In a few weeks, he will be home again and I will be so glad to give him a hug and hear the sound of him in the house.  I’m looking forward to that happy moment, confident that more happiness is around the corner.

That’s happy!

April Book Report: Ferrol Sams’ When All the World Was Young

This novel is the third in a pleasing trilogy about a boy growing up in rural Georgia in the interwar period.  Published in 1991, When All the World Was Young is the third and final novel in Sams’ series about Porter Osbourne, Junior, the only son of a Southern family.

I first read these semi-autobiographical novels almost 30 years ago, when I was living in Nashville.  I loved these stories then, both for the vivid details of Southern life in the interwar period and for the splendid writing.  Sams was a physician by training but he was also a lover of literature and poetry, an affection that shows in the novels.  There is humor to spare, joy in family, and a keen sense of the fleeting feel of childhood.  I read them well before I had JT and have read them since then.

These books were among those I thought of and re-read when I became the parent of a boy.  This fall, as that boy headed off to college, I picked up the series again, finishing When All the World Was Young just a few weeks before JT comes home from his first year of college.  

This third novel begins just as WWII has broken out and Porter, a precocious young man who completed college at the age of 20, enrolls in medical school and contemplates his future.  School is a challenge, but not nearly the challenge of Porter’s desire to do his part on behalf of the war.  Ultimately, medical school is placed on hold and Porter joins the army.  He dreams of being a brave paratrooper but instead serves as a medic, ultimately working in hospitals along the front line in Normandy and Germany at the close of the European front.

I enjoyed the read, as I have done before, and was struck again by how splendidly Sams writes. He invokes a place and time so thoroughly that the reader is immersed in them.  The character of Porter is alive in all the complexities of youth, filled with certainty in one moment and adrift in the next.  When I put the book down at the end of the day, I found myself thinking about Porter and his family.  I expect that feeling will linger well after I’ve turned the last page.  To me, that's the power of a good book.  And this was a terrifically good book.