There has been a nasty stomach bug going around our preschool (and hey, if that’s not a good lead-in for a food blog then I don’t know what is). It hit our house, or rather our car, last Friday, just as the boys and I were backing out of the driveway. We were planning to visit the tidepools, have a picnic, and maybe watch The Mavericks. But then Lucas said “Mommy? I’m not hungry for lunch.” What happened next … well. Two days later we gave up and bought Lucas a new car seat. Continue reading
Lucas’s friend Kazumi has reintroduced him to edamame. Having been reminded, he now loves it almost as much as he loves her; his hand moves so fast from table to mouth to bowl that I feel dizzy trying to photograph him. He is fully focused, intent on eating every last bean pod on the table in front of him, apparently with the world record for speed eating soy in his sights. He pauses only twice, once to wave me away when my camera comes to close (“Stop it Mommy!”) and once to reaffirm that these edamame are his, and his alone. (“I eat ALL the beans, Mommy. I eat them ALL. You don’t eat any my beans!”) Continue reading
For the last three weeks, any time I can’t find Lucas, I look for a trail of kishu peels – peeling is a recent development, and one he’s quite fond of. He is a well-known citrus lover in these parts, but still I have been astounded at the rate he consumes these tiny (they make Satsumas look massive) sweet-tart darlings. The citrus farmer at our Saturday market sells them by the pound, and each week I have purchased a pound more than the week before – but to date, they haven’t lasted past Tuesday.
We’ve reached the moment when everything is bursting-ripe, tomatoes and peaches and corn and melons, green beans and zucchinis and plums. Summer itself is dwindling, shadows are lengthening, but such glory in these final days.
My summer book bag has slowly emptied. I was inspired by Farmacology: What Innovative Family Farming Can Teach Us About Health and Healing by Daphne Miller, M.D. (Here’s an interview that gives you some sense of her work.) Alice Munro never fails to transport me, and I savored Dear Life. And after seeing my dad and stepmom both reading it, I picked up a copy of The Good Food Revolution by Will Allen of Growing Power – if you’re interested in sustainable urban farming, it’s a good read.
From what everyone tells me, my Grandpa Bernie’s slides have always been in their square white boxes. The boxes are nondescript, the kind you probably picture when you think of slide boxes, if you think of slide boxes at all. They are the ones that stack easily into garage corners and attics, that protect their contents from dust while becoming thick with it themselves. If these boxes are notable, it is only for their sheer number: my grandpa had thousands upon thousands upon thousands of slides. Some of them show old old images of relatives, from the days when he himself would have been just a boy. Some show my dad and my aunts and my uncle as kids. Some show surgeries he performed, or an ongoing stream of family trips, family houses, family dogs.
My favorite ones show a glimpse of my grandparents’ love story. Continue reading
I tell myself that I will remember them, running along the sidewalk to the pool, all sun-bleached hair and palpable joy. I will remember their sand-covered toes, the warm sweaty weight of their heads on my shoulder, the exact way that Lucas says “I not too little,” and how Jacob sounds out “square” as “scary.” I tell myself that I will remember, I will remember just how this summer is. I take pictures, to be my trail markers.
Of course, I know enough by now to tell you that memory doesn’t work that way. Continue reading