Cooking Journal: Sunday Supper

At the inclusion of the memorial service for my dad, we invited everyone to join us for Sunday dinner, which was one of my dad’s favorite traditions.  My sister and her family - who lived in my hometown - went to my parents for supper every Sunday.  I’ve long been gone from my hometown, but I joined my share of Sunday dinners when I visited.  When I first moved far away from home, I missed dinners with my family.

My home has a similar Sunday tradition, though I call it supper, a nod to my time spent in Tennessee.  On Sundays, I usually make a dessert to go with the meal. As it happens, though Sunday is often a fancier meal, I serve supper most nights of the week.  We eat in the dining room or, if the weather is warm, on the back deck.  Even when I am the only diner, I take care to make myself a meal and set the table.  It’s a habit I picked up from my parents and it’s one that I value.  I find eating in front of the TV appalling.  Making and serving a homemade meal is how I show people that I love and care for them.  My ability to put a homemade meal on the table is one of the things I like best about myself.  It’s a bit old-fashioned, I guess, but I think that family meals are important.  I probably would have made a great farmer’s wife….and the irony of that statement is not lost on me.  

The older I get the more I think about the traditions and the habits that are the backbone of my daily life.  I think about their origins and their value to me.  I appreciate and value them as they deserve.

On Juneteenth & History

When I first began teaching 8th grade Civics, the Summer reading assignment was an Annette Gordon Reed essay on Juneteenth and its history as a Texas-based celebration of freedom and Black joy.  That was followed with an essay written by historian W. Fitzhugh Brundage, who discussed the history of Confederate memorials.  Brundage’s work pointed out just how many of those monuments had been built either in the 1920s, at the start of the Great Migration and amidst the resurgence of the KKK, or in the 1950s, in the aftermath of the Brown v. Board of Education ruling.  The readings were followed by a writing prompt;  students had two options.  They could identify how the United States should memorialize and mark our history of slavery and consider how the nation should celebrate the end of formal slavery.  Or they could make a proposal about what - if anything - should be done with Confederate memorials.

President Biden’s declaration of a federal Juneteenth holiday in 2021 - a very welcome event to my mind - made for a teachable moment in class.  Now we read and learn about Juneteenth in our discussions of the Civil Rights struggle that commenced in Reconstruction and continues today.  I remind my students that there is no national monument or memorial to the end of slavery or, for the that matter, the lives of enslaved people.  We discuss that truth even as we consider the abundance of Confederate memorials that litter the nation.  I’ve watched as Juneteenth has become more and more mainstream - and, quite frankly - corporate.  I envision a time in our not-too-distant future when the same Republicans who expressed skepticism about Juneteenth embrace it with press releases and social media posts that imply they have always been on board with Civil Rights for Black Americans.  That is what has happened with MLK Day, where the Republicans who vigorously opposed making Martin Luther King’s birthday a holiday have come full circle and seemingly embrace King, even as they vote to gut the Voting Rights Act.

The blatant hypocrisy to be found in these GOP declarations highlights the path forward in my mind.  There is a continued need for a rigorous and mindful Civics education, one that truly wrestles with our history.  We must acknowledge that many of the good things about our nation’s story exist alongside the very worst sins of humanity.  Until we understand that, we cannot celebrate in good conscience.  I write this not to take away from the current celebrations of Juneteenth, which are a long-overdue, but to remind us that the story of our past must be told in full if we are to truly fulfill our potential as a nation and a people.

Bad Love

I’m a fan of Eric Clapton — I know, I know…but the music is so damn good — and this morning “Bad Love” came on my playlist.  It’s a song I’ve loved for years but this morning it made me stop.  There was once a time when the song made me think of T in a really fond way.  But this morning, rather than a reminder of a good and strong love, it was a reminder of a relationship that had gone, well…if not bad, certainly astray.  We were neither of us happy and neither were we able to be good for one another any more.  It's funny how time and events can change my perspective and add a layer on to a memory that I once had.  Hearing the song didn't make me cry, but it did make me feel a little more gentle toward myself.  That's a trait I need to demonstrate a bit more often.

Gratitude Journal: The Growing Season

Since my dad’s passing in February, I’ve made it a daily habit to thank the universe for something good before I tuck in and fall asleep for the night.  It’s a good and worthwhile habit and a welcome addition to the other ways I thank the universe for the grace I find.  Acknowledging gratitude is a tried and true way for me to find peace, which I find to be a necessary step on the way toward happiness.  Over the years, the habit has kept me from being overwhelmed when sadness lingers.   

I often find gratitude in the things I spy in the natural world.  In May and June, when the weather is splendid and the world is filled with new blooms, it’s not a hard search.  There’s the bright impatiens that greet me on the front porch every day.  

Or the zinnia seedlings and canna bulbs I planted on the back deck, seeming to grow larger every day.  

As this year’s growing season takes hold, I miss my dad a great deal.  But I sense his spirit in these flowers I planted and I am grateful for his presence.

Dad

The Backstory: My Dad passed away in February.  Later today, we'll have a celebration of his life and this is the obituary that my sister and I wrote for the celebration.

In the last 20 years of life, pressed to generate a Christmas list, Wayne McMillen sat down at his computer and made some very specific requests.  The things he sought would vary, but often included items like “a small farm in Grafton, Vermont, for Summer living.”  Frequently, he required “effective relief pitching for the St. Louis Cardinals.”  Nearly as often, he advised that he needed “a Democratic victory in the next election.”  On a regular basis, he needed a “headband to keep his hair out of his eyes when gardening.”  The list was a holiday tradition worth opening your e-mail to read.

It was a collection of impossible, intangible, often funny items.  And the intangibles were the point.  Wayne McMillen knew that he was blessed and lucky in this world.  He never forgot that and was forever grateful for it.  His chief blessing came in the form of his grandsons, Cole, Spencer, and JT.  If you asked about those boys, you’d better have some time on your hands.  Wayne was a fiercely, ridiculously proud grandfather and his grandsons know they were loved beyond measure.

With his wife of 58 years, Carol, who spent a good deal of her life being greeted as “his chickadee or his old crow…I can never remember which”, he raised two daughters, Stacy and Kristin.   Born in Louisiana, Missouri, he came west with his family at age 12 and settled in Oak View, California.  He met his wife Carol at Sacramento State – stories vary, but it may very well be that they met when she kicked him out of the women’s dormitory after hours – and they married in 1964.  Together, they lived in Eureka, Hanford, Sacramento, Clovis, and Martinez, California, before settling for good in Clovis in 1975.  Wayne had a fierce affection for Clovis and would hear no words against his adopted hometown.  His family came to believe that he even enjoyed the sweltering heat of a Central Valley summer.  “Good for the tomatoes,” he would remind you.  Wayne had a hobby farm and over the years Carol put up with chickens, an old Alice Chalmers tractor, orange trees, almond groves, and a flock of geese who imprinted on Wayne’s voice and would quack to him when they heard him call “Geese!” in the mornings.  As he spent his first years of life on his grandparents’ farm, his various farming endeavors were a tribute to his true roots.  Wayne loved life on the farm, even the lack of indoor plumbing and electricity.  He did his best to recreate his own, smaller version and we thank Carol for keeping his little farms modern.*In his retirement, Wayne gardened, travelled with Carol, cheered on his grandsons at endless sporting events, and volunteered at HiCAP and the Clovis Senior Center.  He enjoyed his barbeque and smoker, and watched a whole lot of sports and political news.  It is believed that he actually liked to listen to Willie’s Road House on the Sirius XM radio.  Saturday nights were reserved for Molly B’s Polka Party.

Wayne worked in the insurance and risk-management fields for most of his life and had an encyclopedic knowledge of co-pays, co-insurance, deductibles, and all things insurance.  If you had an insurance or Medicare question, he had the answer and he’d happily - and patiently - help you to navigate the red tape.  He never stopped pointing out the errant cord that might trip people, or the poor choices that might expose people to lawsuits.

Wayne passed away in February 2023 after a short illness. He is survived by his wife Carol and daughters Stacy and Kristin and her husband Martin.  His true legacy exists in the form of grandsons JT, Cole and girlfriend Lauren, and Spencer and girlfriend Shyanne.  Also surviving him are his brother John and his sister-in-law Chris, his sister-in-law Valerie, and several nieces and nephews.

Soon after his passing, some peach trees he’d ordered were delivered to the house, additions for this year’s garden.  They were a welcome reminder of the things that mattered to Wayne.  In his memory, his family encourages you to eat a fresh peach, slice a warm tomato, and tell the people you love how much they matter to you.  Wayne would want it that way.

 

Style Journal: Morning Coffee Service at Sassafras House

I am a big fan of doing the little things that make life objectively nicer.  There are plenty of examples of this habit of mine, but none stands out as much as morning coffee service at Sassafras House.  

Every night, I grind coffee beans and set up the coffee pot for the next morning’s coffee service.  That includes a coffee mug and a pitcher or jug for cream, both set on a pretty table linen next to the coffee pot which is programmed to brew the coffee right before I come downstairs in the morning.  This month’s service is a flag-themed mug set on a chambray linen.  

I change linens and mugs seasonally and over the years I’ve collected linens for every season; many of them are from second-hand stores.  They are always accompanied by a generously-sized mug. I enjoy making my mornings just a little nicer, and this habit does that quite well, making my daily life just a little prettier in the process.  

Last Day of School

It’s the last day of the school year.  There’s plenty to celebrate, of course, but damn if this hasn’t been a hell of a hard school year for me personally.  I find myself wrung out as we get to this moment.  In some ways, the end of the school year always finds me worn thin, so that’s not a surprise.  It’s the nature of the job.  In other ways, I am feeling a little more spent than usual…the hardships of the last year have taken their toll.   

Even so, the students depart today.  JT and I head to California tomorrow, to see family and celebrate my Dad’s life.  I expect that will be emotional.  But it will also be good and my mind is whirling with some of my favorite Dad stories to share.  When I get to the other side, there is a summer to relax and refresh.  I’m already planning a weekend filled entirely with things that I want to do.  That’s awfully nice to contemplate and, if I am being honest, is a smidge overdue.  Welcome, summer.  I am so very glad to see you.

Among the Trees: Colonial Park

We’ve had a beautiful May around here and I’ve been able to go outside a lot.  I’ve done work outside, I’ve sat in the sun and read books, and on Memorial Day, JT and I went to my favorite local park for a walk and a sit in the sunshine. 

The Rose Garden is at its splendid best.  

The wisteria is lovely and it's rich scent fills the air. 

Everywhere I look, there is beauty in this oasis.  One of the the things I like most about Colonial Park is the long views to be seen.  I have several favorite places to sit on a bench and soak it all in. 

That’s happy!

Ambitions

We’ve reached that point of the school year when I work round the clock, seven days a week.  My last few weekends have been jammed with a to-do list that is lengthier than I would like.  I long for an entire day to spend just as I would choose.  Such a day is on the horizon, but it’s not here yet.  

On Saturday and Sunday, I do treat myself to a long read - at least an hour or two spent with a book.  It’s my way of slowing down and relaxing.  But in true Sassafras fashion, my ambition  to read even more than my allotted quotient often gets the better of me.  Case in point:  Saturday. 

Among the day’s to-do l list was a trip to drop off my ballot for the June primary here in NJ.  And since the ballot box is near the library, I brought a library book to return.  And then I took the time to stroll the shelves.  And then…..

Well, no surprise there, really.  By the time they are due - June 24 - I will be done with this school year and I will have had a nice long weekend to spend as I please.  Until then, I’ve got a stack of books to cheer me on.

June 1: All on the Front Porch Now

We’ve had a truly lovely month of May and, as is my custom, all of the indoor houseplants were moved outside to soak up the sunshine and warmth.  I added some impatiens and geraniums to the mix, as is my way, and the front porch is now my peaceful plant oasis.  

I spent most of Memorial Day weekend sitting out here or on the back deck.  Both places feel like a refuge.  This week, I’ve been out here in the early morning chill to enjoy the bird chatter and my first cup of coffee of the day.  When Summer Break arrives fully, I will sit out here every morning before I go to work and again when I come home in the early afternoon. 

Surrounded by my plants, I have the time to attend to each one fully.  I can admire the blooms starting to emerge on my peace lily.  I can consider whether I should trim my giant shefflura.  I can admire the enormous leaves of a particular pothos.  I can give the Christmas cactus, a transplant from my dad’s enormous cactus, all the love and affection it deserves.

These plants are my salvation in the cold dark Winter, when they brighten my days and bring warmth to my home.  And in the Summer, they are my morning glory.  That’s happy.