We were given a house. A whole house, a real house with three bedrooms and a bathroom and a kitchen and everything. Given, as in free, as in donated. Well, actually it was signed over to Kirk and his siblings by Kirk's father. (have I mentioned how amazingly lucky we are in terms of family? How fantastic our families are. Needs mentioning again)
That meant that my long-suffering parents were able to get us out of their house (for a while), and we had, for the only time in our marriage, a house of our (sort of) own.
There were a few drawbacks to it. The shower had a wall without any tile on - just bare cement board, a couple of windows were broken, the front door was in pretty bad shape, the front yard was blessed with a vigorous grove of bamboo (anyone with experience of this grass variant is sending me huge sympathy thoughts right now), and the last tenant had left a massive amount of debris piled up in the side yard.
She left her stove as well, but she said this proudly because she seemed to think it was an extremely generous move on her part.
'And,' she said, to clinch the deal 'the dead mouse smell is completely gone.'
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Monday, May 01, 2006
Home Defined
Robert Frost had it nearly right. 'Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in.' It's right up there in the quotable quotes of Frost, along with the lines about good fences, and the road not traveled. Less known is the bit that comes right after - 'I should have called it Something you somehow haven't to deserve.'
It's a bit passive isn't it? It assumes a burden on the part of whoever provides the home, and an equal or greater burden on you because you're going to be such a chore for someone. Maybe there's virtue in that for both; being the person who lands on the doorstep and the person who opens the door, but Frost's quotes seem to take the choice right out of it and I have a hard time seeing virtue without choice.
Besides, I've plumbed the depths of home - only there are no depths, at least not in mine. There is no limit that I've discovered although there are certainly guidelines for the sake of mutual sanity. I know better than Frost, at least in this.
Home is where, when you show up with no money and two children, pregnant with a husband, they take you in and tell you they love you. They share their rooms, they shove over their furniture and their hard-won silence to allow you in. They do it with generosity, they do it with grace, and they do it knowing full well what it will mean. That's home. And that's what I have.
It's a bit passive isn't it? It assumes a burden on the part of whoever provides the home, and an equal or greater burden on you because you're going to be such a chore for someone. Maybe there's virtue in that for both; being the person who lands on the doorstep and the person who opens the door, but Frost's quotes seem to take the choice right out of it and I have a hard time seeing virtue without choice.
Besides, I've plumbed the depths of home - only there are no depths, at least not in mine. There is no limit that I've discovered although there are certainly guidelines for the sake of mutual sanity. I know better than Frost, at least in this.
Home is where, when you show up with no money and two children, pregnant with a husband, they take you in and tell you they love you. They share their rooms, they shove over their furniture and their hard-won silence to allow you in. They do it with generosity, they do it with grace, and they do it knowing full well what it will mean. That's home. And that's what I have.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Easter Tradition
Our holiday traditions are highly portable. We've moved so often we couldn't tie ourselves down to a geography. Wherever we are, we can do the things that speak to us of celebration.
So today we had our traditional easter candy hunt. That means that last night I spent far too long packaging up candy in small cellophane wrapped bunches, tied with different colored ribbons so each child, when it finds something, knows at once who the rightful owner is; saves a lot of squabbling. Then this morning I hid them around the house. The rest of the morning went by tradition too - the kids found the easy ones quickly (very few this time), naturally located their siblings' candy long before they found their own, and eventually settled down to a beautiful community spirit of helpfulness in the theory that cooperation would produce more candy quickly. When about half of the packets were found they gave up to the point that I needed to give hints (easy candy hunts are for sissies; if you can't think to look inside the third oven mitt from the back then you don't really want those jelly beans).
And, again by tradition, I didn't bother to write down where I had stashed everything. So if you come across five Easter smarties with a gold ribbon round them, or a small package of jelly beans, just let us know. This is why we don't hide real eggs.
So today we had our traditional easter candy hunt. That means that last night I spent far too long packaging up candy in small cellophane wrapped bunches, tied with different colored ribbons so each child, when it finds something, knows at once who the rightful owner is; saves a lot of squabbling. Then this morning I hid them around the house. The rest of the morning went by tradition too - the kids found the easy ones quickly (very few this time), naturally located their siblings' candy long before they found their own, and eventually settled down to a beautiful community spirit of helpfulness in the theory that cooperation would produce more candy quickly. When about half of the packets were found they gave up to the point that I needed to give hints (easy candy hunts are for sissies; if you can't think to look inside the third oven mitt from the back then you don't really want those jelly beans).
And, again by tradition, I didn't bother to write down where I had stashed everything. So if you come across five Easter smarties with a gold ribbon round them, or a small package of jelly beans, just let us know. This is why we don't hide real eggs.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Anniversary
I just spent a useful ten minutes trying to come up with a decent title for this post. That's nothing to the three days I've spent trying to work out what to say.
Because today is my 18th anniversary. 18 years ago we stood for a terrifying 5 minutes in my parents' livingroom and were married. Actually, 5 mintues might be an exaggeration - the guy who married us was new to the game and we had the most stripped down, bare bones ceremony possible. Certainly my step-grandmother thought so. She insisted my grandfather, the Dean of an Episcopalian cathedral, seal it up properly with a good Episcopalian prayer. Then she patted my hand and whispered loudly 'There dear, he hasn't tied many slip knots!' We signed the certificate; I didn't remember in time to ask if I should use my new name or not. It was official - at the ridiculous ages of 19 and 21 we were, gulp, married.
I know there were pretty long odds drawn on our survival as a couple. Kirk's friends definitely thought, probably hoped, we wouldn't last more than a year or two. I don't blame them - I don't think anyone reading the statistics would have thought we had a chance. Married young, pregnant a month later (yes, I know...), enlisted in the army with practically no money, pregnant again (I know, I know...) and Kirk gone on maneuvers and things for 9 months of the first year of our second child's life... pregnant AGAIN (YES, I'll have you know that is THREE forms of birth control) and out of the army to go to college with no job, and three children under the age of four. Who lasts through that? Of the three really close friends we had in those first few years, all three couples ended divorced. But we lasted - didn't just last, we thrived. We were happy, happier each year than the last.
I won't claim we never fought because we did - twice. I remember both quite clearly. The first was in California before the oldest was born and we argued loudly about whaling. That's right, whaling. I hadn't yet learned that Kirk enjoyed debate and would play devil's advocate to get a good discussion going. I also hadn't learned that there wasn't anything sacred about political or social opinions, and maybe a bit of logic was a good thing. So there was one loud, shouting fight about whether or not traditional whaling should be allowed. The second was when we were both in college, facing another year of extreme poverty and stress, and trying at the same time to renovate our tiny house. So we shouted loudly about the paint color for our child's room. Really, shouted, really got angry - to the have-to-walk-away-before-I-do-something violent stage. I was shaking with rage that he couldn't see how important it was to paint those damn walls pale blue. It took another hour to recognize how utterly stupid it all was, to apologize (both of us), and laugh about it.
But mostly it was laughter, and richness. For two years it has been all I could do to just make this day another day. Every day is difficult enough, I couldn't face something more important. But the kids and I are making some changes, and the biggest one is taking back our memories and our happiness. So today we are celebrating 18 years of family and love and happiness. Today we're being glad that we had everything we had, and that we still have eachother. We just want to be the four of us, talking about him if we want to, or not - at least just for today.
Kirk, we love you.
Because today is my 18th anniversary. 18 years ago we stood for a terrifying 5 minutes in my parents' livingroom and were married. Actually, 5 mintues might be an exaggeration - the guy who married us was new to the game and we had the most stripped down, bare bones ceremony possible. Certainly my step-grandmother thought so. She insisted my grandfather, the Dean of an Episcopalian cathedral, seal it up properly with a good Episcopalian prayer. Then she patted my hand and whispered loudly 'There dear, he hasn't tied many slip knots!' We signed the certificate; I didn't remember in time to ask if I should use my new name or not. It was official - at the ridiculous ages of 19 and 21 we were, gulp, married.
I know there were pretty long odds drawn on our survival as a couple. Kirk's friends definitely thought, probably hoped, we wouldn't last more than a year or two. I don't blame them - I don't think anyone reading the statistics would have thought we had a chance. Married young, pregnant a month later (yes, I know...), enlisted in the army with practically no money, pregnant again (I know, I know...) and Kirk gone on maneuvers and things for 9 months of the first year of our second child's life... pregnant AGAIN (YES, I'll have you know that is THREE forms of birth control) and out of the army to go to college with no job, and three children under the age of four. Who lasts through that? Of the three really close friends we had in those first few years, all three couples ended divorced. But we lasted - didn't just last, we thrived. We were happy, happier each year than the last.
I won't claim we never fought because we did - twice. I remember both quite clearly. The first was in California before the oldest was born and we argued loudly about whaling. That's right, whaling. I hadn't yet learned that Kirk enjoyed debate and would play devil's advocate to get a good discussion going. I also hadn't learned that there wasn't anything sacred about political or social opinions, and maybe a bit of logic was a good thing. So there was one loud, shouting fight about whether or not traditional whaling should be allowed. The second was when we were both in college, facing another year of extreme poverty and stress, and trying at the same time to renovate our tiny house. So we shouted loudly about the paint color for our child's room. Really, shouted, really got angry - to the have-to-walk-away-before-I-do-something violent stage. I was shaking with rage that he couldn't see how important it was to paint those damn walls pale blue. It took another hour to recognize how utterly stupid it all was, to apologize (both of us), and laugh about it.
But mostly it was laughter, and richness. For two years it has been all I could do to just make this day another day. Every day is difficult enough, I couldn't face something more important. But the kids and I are making some changes, and the biggest one is taking back our memories and our happiness. So today we are celebrating 18 years of family and love and happiness. Today we're being glad that we had everything we had, and that we still have eachother. We just want to be the four of us, talking about him if we want to, or not - at least just for today.
Kirk, we love you.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Last night our oldest child was inducted into the National Honor Society with a GPA of 4.1. This is the same kid who wants to attend the Air Force Academy, and go on to become a pediatric oncologist (although there has been talk of extreme environmental medicine as well). Kirk would be as proud as I am.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Gnocchi von Ackermann
For gnocchi:
2 large russet potatoes, peeled
1 egg yolk
about 1/4 cup white flour
salt
pepper
nutmeg
For sauce:
butter
1 clove garlic
1/2 lb assorted wild mushrooms
1 C chicken stock
1/2 C dry white wine
sage
salt
pepper
arugula
To make Gnocchi -
1. Peel potatoes and cut into roughly 1 - 1 1/2" chunks. Boil until soft, mash thoroughly. Allow to cool.
2. Add egg yolk, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and enough flour to make a soft dough. Knead just until smooth.
3. Working in batches, roll dough into 1" ropes and cut into sections. Use a fork to shape and mark each gnocchi.
4. Cook in batches in rapidly boiling water.
To make sauce -
1. Brown butter in large skillet. Press garlic clove and add.
2. Chop mushrooms and add to butter, cook until fragrant.
3. Add stock and wine, reduce to rich sauce.
4. Season to taste.
5. Remove from heat, pour over fresh gnocchi and roughly chop and stir in arugula. Serve at once.
To personalize:
1. Remove all ingredients that have fat and/or cholesterol.
2. Remove all alchohol.
3. Triple recipe.
4. Squeeze 1 1/2 hour preparation time into a scant hour, because child forgot to mention it needed to take 'something Italian' to a school potluck it didn't tell you about until two hours ago.
4. Shovel 2/3 of finished gnocchi into a bowl, cover with foil and tear (late) up to school with child. Feel free to curse vigorously on the road.
2 large russet potatoes, peeled
1 egg yolk
about 1/4 cup white flour
salt
pepper
nutmeg
For sauce:
butter
1 clove garlic
1/2 lb assorted wild mushrooms
1 C chicken stock
1/2 C dry white wine
sage
salt
pepper
arugula
To make Gnocchi -
1. Peel potatoes and cut into roughly 1 - 1 1/2" chunks. Boil until soft, mash thoroughly. Allow to cool.
2. Add egg yolk, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and enough flour to make a soft dough. Knead just until smooth.
3. Working in batches, roll dough into 1" ropes and cut into sections. Use a fork to shape and mark each gnocchi.
4. Cook in batches in rapidly boiling water.
To make sauce -
1. Brown butter in large skillet. Press garlic clove and add.
2. Chop mushrooms and add to butter, cook until fragrant.
3. Add stock and wine, reduce to rich sauce.
4. Season to taste.
5. Remove from heat, pour over fresh gnocchi and roughly chop and stir in arugula. Serve at once.
To personalize:
1. Remove all ingredients that have fat and/or cholesterol.
2. Remove all alchohol.
3. Triple recipe.
4. Squeeze 1 1/2 hour preparation time into a scant hour, because child forgot to mention it needed to take 'something Italian' to a school potluck it didn't tell you about until two hours ago.
4. Shovel 2/3 of finished gnocchi into a bowl, cover with foil and tear (late) up to school with child. Feel free to curse vigorously on the road.
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