About giving thanks & sharing food. . .

When I gave up controlling our family Thanksgiving, I cannot say.

When I took control of Thanksgiving (and other holidays) from my mother is another story.

It began many years before circumstances limited her participation. Whether it was watching public television or collecting cookbooks or sharing time and space with women and men who enjoyed cooking, I started out planning menus.

My mother followed those plans. We had crackling duck one year. We made individual Cornish Game Hens stuffed with grapes for 28 another year. I tried stuffings versus her cornbread dressing and the dressing always won.

We were a good team, my mother and I.

Something happened and taking care of Thanksgiving came too expensive or too stressful or I could not do it without my mother or without complete control and I asked (or told) my sister to host the holiday. That first year, I think I gave her a menu and a shopping list.

To her credit, she did not kill me. She followed the menu.

Convinced that the holiday could not possibly be a success without me, I arrived with too many supplemental dishes.

As I say, she did not kill me and this says volumes about my sister.

My sister Janet choreographs a lovely family Thanksgiving for us.

Without a menu or shopping list from me.

This year, it will be on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Due to the UT / Aggie game, which is going to be on Thanksgiving Day and my sister, an Aggie, has tickets.

So tomorrow, I will choreograph a small Thanksgiving for our mother and brother and my son Nick and his Lady Jane. I like the menu

* Turkey with Lemon Thyme Butter (& gravy)
* Cornbread Dressing
* Yam Casserole with Oranges & Pecans
* Brussel Sprouts
* Cranberry Sauce (my recipe)
* Home Made Yeast Rolls
* Cherry Pie
* Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Bread

On Friday, I hope that my sister’s menu will include her incredible carrot soufflé. I know that the day will include family and friends and laughter.

The rest is just dressing. Cornbread, of course.

Something Important I Learned from Debbie Wizig

In this, the second century of my life, I find my mind and curiosity wandering to spaces I have inhabited and the people who shared those spaces.

This evening my thoughts turned to the Wizigs. David and Debbie who shared time and space with me before they shared a last name and came to me via Steven Michael Epstein.

I once brushed my teeth side by side with David Wizig and my friend Carol Lindsey and I believed him to be the very best life had to offer in the category of the male species. One of his best qualities was his praise of Debbie, not then Wizig, and her intelligence.

Debbie was not just intelligent. She was, as is (if her Facebook picture has not been altered) lovely. And, at a young age, wise.

Much of what I know about David and Debbie after our lives no longer converged in the same time and space came to me from Steven Michael Epstein. They graduated from the University of Texas, they emigrated to Israel, they created a daughter named Amira and they came back to Houston.

The last time I saw the Wizigs was with Steven Michael Epstein (who deserves a blog of his own). We went for lunch at the Wizig's home. David was teaching, Debbie's mother was at the house,and Amira had a marvelous collection of Barbie dolls, organized in an old dresser that reminded me of the dresser in my grandmother's room.

I remember that Amira did not want what her mother had fixed to feed the rest of us. I cannot remember if we had tuna fish and Amira wanted macaroni and cheese or if we had something else and Amira wanted tuna fish. I do remember that at some time in our shared time and space, David was a vegetarian.

What I remember about that day is that Debbie fixed Amira something entirely different. Something simple. And when I asked her about it (I was either pregnant or a new mother and curious about all things maternal and nurturing), she replied (something like):

It is just not a big deal. She's happy, she's eating.

I took that lesson with me. Food should never be an issue of power or control. There is always something that is just not a big deal to offer as alternative.

Peace and contentment. A bit more work, but not a big deal.

As an aside, I have always admired the organization of Amira's Barbies and their accessories. . .

Sheets & Other Lasting Relationships

This morning, as I was folding a basket of linens, I came across a pillow case in a faded blue and gold pattern.

I remember exactly when I purchased the set of double sized sheets from Foley’s (aka Macy’s) downtown.

It was when I left my husband, thirty years ago. I remember, because it was then that I began my ritual of changing bed linens when relationships ended.

In spite of its faded condition, the pillow case is quite usable – the fabric is still strong, the stitches still taut and holding the pieces of the case together.

Wondercale No Iron Percale by Springmaid, 65% Polyester, 35% Cotton.

Thirty years, enduring neglect, obsession, casual caretaking, abandonment, years spent in a pile of other linens, forgotten, waiting to be retrieved, recovered, restored.

Like the fabric of strong relationships, the threads of shared spaces and shared experiences still taut and holding people together.

Waiting to be rediscovered, reclaimed and restored.

Personal Assistant or BAS

I recently discovered a rather verbose want ad seeking a “new personal assistant.” My first thought was to ponder the fate of the former assistant(s). Was this a search for what would prove to be the most recent in a sequence of assistants? In what requirements did those who preceded this fresh face fail?

Intrigued by this search for something or someone Other than the position’s predecessors, I read on. In exchange for performing tasks normally associated with personal assistants – scheduling, filing, correspondence, travel reservations, research, running errands and covering someone else’s ass - the ad hinted that I would garner the diversity of experience required to run my business someday. All in a fun filled work environment.

Certainly I possessed the personal attributes required for the position: organized, detailed, unafraid to accept or offer constructive criticism, strong personality, hard worker, hard player, effective communicator. And I love to laugh.

In addition to forwarding my curriculum vitae listing my job history, experience and skills, the employer mandated – “these are mandated, not optional” – the following:

· Writing sample, half page, my choice of topic

· A description of my life a decade from now

· A picture of myself

· A list of my top five books or movies or television shows (one, not all three)

· Links to my social networking profiles or personal blog or webpage

While I found no problem with submitting a writing sample, or a glimpse into my vision of life ten years from today, or list that might reveal something about my personal taste in literature, film or popular entertainment or with a link easily obtained by googling me, the demand for a photo incense me.

Was this guy (it had to be a male) fricking kidding me?

After all, the ad did not offer prospective employees a link to the employer’s resume, the employer’s writing samples, the employer’s personal tastes and interests, or a photograph to judge the employer’s qualifications to enlist my services.

If the pretentious and unethical (if not illegal) demand for a photograph was not enough to relegate the ad to my scam box, the disclaimer spelling out the infractions for disqualification from consideration for the position were:

· Typo or grammatical error in an submission

· Unprofessional email address

· Lack of qualifying experience

Pondering the subjectivity of professional vs. unprofessional email addresses, my mind wandered to the old adage about casting the first stone. . .

While it is true that Chaucer often used “that” instead of “who”, the author in search of a new rather than old Personal Assistant is no Chaucer. In his phrase “the best candidate that responds to this ad”, the use of “that” rather than “who” dehumanizes the job seeker, lumping her into a group of things rather than an individual. Candidates, and employees, are individuals, people. Not things.

In listing his submission mandates, the author writes:

Answer to this question: Describe your life 10 years from now?

Even if the sentence “Describe your life 10 years from now” is an interrogative rather than an imperative sentence, it is an indirect question and should end with a period, not a question mark.

He who is without two grammatical errors in his application to reap the benefits of my skill set and experience should not throw stones.

As my friend Elisabeth reminds me frequently: BAS.

In Memoriam - John

Today, February 15, 2009, is the one year anniversary of my brother John’s death.

John’s death was not unexpected, but it came suddenly, without warning. He was in the hospital for surgery to block the blood clots in his leg from breaking through & attacking his heart.

For reasons we do not & will never know, he disconnected all the IVs attached to his body & attempted to leave the hospital.

He went into cardiac arrest. The hospital staff attempted to revive him, but his body was just too weak to cooperate. He left his mother, his sisters & brother, his daughter & son, his friends & extended family.

My favorite memory of John dates back to our childhood, living on Morningstar Lane in Farmer’s Branch, Texas, outside of Dallas.

Morningstar Lane abutted an open field – destined to become part of the LBJ Freeway. But in those days, the field was open & a small creek flowed through it.

We wandered free in those days – different times, fewer threats. John loved the creek & brought home as many frogs as he could hold in his hands.

Why he never took a jar or container to fill with frogs, I do not know.

One morning, I went out on the front porch & found John there, his right hand clenched. I asked him what he had.

“A frog,” he replied & opened his hand to reveal a very small, very dead frog.

“John,” I said gently, “I think that this frog is not alive.”

He smiled & curled his fingers around the frog.

“He’s just sleeping.”

This is how I think of John. He’s just sleeping.

One day, he will wake up & I will be there.