winding down

One daughter leaves, one mother stays a tad longer, and the rain falls in a steady, relentless drip.

Distance is a funny thing. There’s distance measured in train or plane hours and there’s the physical count of miles, and each is too large for me to bear. When I travel to Europe, before the door of the Airbus closes, I am resigned to the heaviness of all that distance that is about to be multiplied many times over, distance between the place where I will soon sleep and where my daughters will be sleeping.

If daughters lived closer to where I am, perhaps I would not see them much more than now. I like to think that I give them space to create their own adult world. But we would share clouds and brilliant sunny skies and occasional Sunday dinners and I would not have to mentally add hours and time zones each time I spoke to them.

But they are here and I am there and so it must be for now.

And the rain falls, and it is a time to eat those eggs and grits and fried green tomatoes, and be happy that the next set of holidays is so close at hand.

winding down

One daughter leaves, one mother stays a tad longer, and the rain falls in a steady, relentless drip.

Distance is a funny thing. There’s distance measured in train or plane hours and there’s the physical count of miles, and each is too large for me to bear. When I travel to Europe, before the door of the Airbus closes, I am resigned to the heaviness of all that distance that is about to be multiplied many times over, distance between the place where I will soon sleep and where my daughters will be sleeping.

If daughters lived closer to where I am, perhaps I would not see them much more than now. I like to think that I give them space to create their own adult world. But we would share clouds and brilliant sunny skies and occasional Sunday dinners and I would not have to mentally add hours and time zones each time I spoke to them.

But they are here and I am there and so it must be for now.

And the rain falls, and it is a time to eat those eggs and grits and fried green tomatoes, and be happy that the next set of holidays is so close at hand.

the best of times…

Imagine: your daughters are grown, they’re heading forth in life, they’re fun, funny, wise, anxiously protective of you – all that, and you have this beautiful week-end together, imagine!

Don’t tell anyone, but I was sick, starting on the day I arrived. The kind of virus that I hardly ever get anymore. The kind that starts in your head and works its way to every pore of your body. The kind that you do not want to pass on to anyone, least of all your very busy daughters.

I always thought that it was a challenge to parent well when you yourself are sick. But it becomes especially so when you have so few days with your children.

And so I basically ignored the viral nuisance. And if someone will ask me whether I remember being sick this Thanksgiving, I’ll have to say no. All I remember, even now, are the mornings over cups of tea, over pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, the walks, the music, the food, yes, most definitely the food.

And the walk this afternoon up and down King Street in Alexandria.

the best of times…

Imagine: your daughters are grown, they’re heading forth in life, they’re fun, funny, wise, anxiously protective of you – all that, and you have this beautiful week-end together, imagine!

Don’t tell anyone, but I was sick, starting on the day I arrived. The kind of virus that I hardly ever get anymore. The kind that starts in your head and works its way to every pore of your body. The kind that you do not want to pass on to anyone, least of all your very busy daughters.

I always thought that it was a challenge to parent well when you yourself are sick. But it becomes especially so when you have so few days with your children.

And so I basically ignored the viral nuisance. And if someone will ask me whether I remember being sick this Thanksgiving, I’ll have to say no. All I remember, even now, are the mornings over cups of tea, over pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, the walks, the music, the food, yes, most definitely the food.

And the walk this afternoon up and down King Street in Alexandria.

history, reopened

I have been happy that both daughters live in places that are full of history. The kind that belongs to the past and the kind that is very current.





Late this afternoon, we stood in line to enter the newly reopened Smithsonian Museum of American History.





We walked through the American Communities and the American Wars exhibits. There was a lot of history to take in before they threw us out (past closing time). Not all of the presentation was, in fact, uncontroversial.










Ah well. History is tough to take on an empty stomach. We quickly remedied this by eating a wonderful fried chicken dinner at Central.

history, reopened

I have been happy that both daughters live in places that are full of history. The kind that belongs to the past and the kind that is very current.





Late this afternoon, we stood in line to enter the newly reopened Smithsonian Museum of American History.





We walked through the American Communities and the American Wars exhibits. There was a lot of history to take in before they threw us out (past closing time). Not all of the presentation was, in fact, uncontroversial.










Ah well. History is tough to take on an empty stomach. We quickly remedied this by eating a wonderful fried chicken dinner at Central.

blogging a Thanksgiving away in D.C.

Well why not. Why not create a diary of a day (updates will be added periodically to the bottom of this post). For the lighter Ocean post that deals with the singular issues that arise when you prepare food in someone else’s (spartan) kitchen.

6:50: I’m up. They’re not (“they” refers, throughout, to my wee family that has come from various Midwest places and from Boston to eat together on this day). This is a good thing. It’ll be a while before I get breakfast going. Advance prep failed last night, as I had energy to bake only part one of the required items (“required” refers, throughout, to the “you can’t possibly leave that off the menu!” items, in this case -- the spice cake).





Molasses, ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg... I forgot to bring the allspice and cloves and believe me, no one will notice, as it's a densly aromatic little thing already. Great with morning coffee. Or afternoon tea. Comes from a ripped page of a cookbook. Don't know which cookbook.

7:15: Sunrise over Whole Foods. (I'm staying across the street from one. Bail out for when things start to go wrong.) No good photo to offer, but today isn't about good photos. You get the "whatever" part of a day.





8:45: Apple puff pastries done and ready to bake. Good thing. The crew is stirring. To add insult to the Thanksgiving breakfast table, there is a Starbucks next door. Don’t need to give up on a morning espresso. Will bring a few up for us. Total indulgence. Supporting the neighborhood economy.






9:20: All’s ready. Yes, with bacon at the side. This breakfast is all about good kitchen smells. In the morning, people can forgive a lot of food mistakes, so long as things smell good.











11:25: Well, I took a little pause. Couldn’t really bring out the bird yet, felt a little like slacking. Perhaps this was not wise. Bird in fridge, dinner off schedule. One of the diners has a flight to catch tonight so there’s no margin for error.

When you can’t quite focus on the main meal yet, it’s good to do the cranberries. Easy. Colorful. Essential. Think how blaaah the colors of Thanksgiving table would be without the berries.






1:15: Turkey is in the oven. Does every cook feel relief when this is accomplished? I needed to bake the cornmeal muffins before and we had issues with the herbs wilting overnight, but all that is less troubling than the sight of the raw bird on the counter when you know it should be turning golden in a hot oven.




And what is the weirdest component of the meal? Easy. The cornmeal muffins. By the time I was at the grocery store yesterday they were out of yellow cornmeal. But they had the blue stuff. So there will be lavender blue muffins with red cranberries in pink and yellow muffin papers. A real treat for those loving the pastel look at Thanksgiving.






But, the turkey stock is bubbling the collard greens for the mushroom bundles are wilting and I have a helper to peel and chop the squash. Life is good.










5:30: And so there you have it. The meal. Moments of doubt – too many wild mushrooms! No, too few! And the smoking turkey. And the need to bake the mushroom bundles when there wasn’t an inch of space in the oven. And so much roasted garlic for the potatoes, and this and that and then it all comes together and you feel so gratified!

It’s a blur of images, flying, one after another, served on a table cloth that has been in my family since I was a little kid in Poland, finished off by pumpkin soufflés. By 6:45 we were done, the dishwasher was on and the departing party departed.


















































What a beautiful day!

Thank you.

blogging a Thanksgiving away in D.C.

Well why not. Why not create a diary of a day (updates will be added periodically to the bottom of this post). For the lighter Ocean post that deals with the singular issues that arise when you prepare food in someone else’s (spartan) kitchen.

6:50: I’m up. They’re not (“they” refers, throughout, to my wee family that has come from various Midwest places and from Boston to eat together on this day). This is a good thing. It’ll be a while before I get breakfast going. Advance prep failed last night, as I had energy to bake only part one of the required items (“required” refers, throughout, to the “you can’t possibly leave that off the menu!” items, in this case -- the spice cake).





Molasses, ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg... I forgot to bring the allspice and cloves and believe me, no one will notice, as it's a densly aromatic little thing already. Great with morning coffee. Or afternoon tea. Comes from a ripped page of a cookbook. Don't know which cookbook.

7:15: Sunrise over Whole Foods. (I'm staying across the street from one. Bail out for when things start to go wrong.) No good photo to offer, but today isn't about good photos. You get the "whatever" part of a day.





8:45: Apple puff pastries done and ready to bake. Good thing. The crew is stirring. To add insult to the Thanksgiving breakfast table, there is a Starbucks next door. Don’t need to give up on a morning espresso. Will bring a few up for us. Total indulgence. Supporting the neighborhood economy.






9:20: All’s ready. Yes, with bacon at the side. This breakfast is all about good kitchen smells. In the morning, people can forgive a lot of food mistakes, so long as things smell good.











11:25: Well, I took a little pause. Couldn’t really bring out the bird yet, felt a little like slacking. Perhaps this was not wise. Bird in fridge, dinner off schedule. One of the diners has a flight to catch tonight so there’s no margin for error.

When you can’t quite focus on the main meal yet, it’s good to do the cranberries. Easy. Colorful. Essential. Think how blaaah the colors of Thanksgiving table would be without the berries.






1:15: Turkey is in the oven. Does every cook feel relief when this is accomplished? I needed to bake the cornmeal muffins before and we had issues with the herbs wilting overnight, but all that is less troubling than the sight of the raw bird on the counter when you know it should be turning golden in a hot oven.




And what is the weirdest component of the meal? Easy. The cornmeal muffins. By the time I was at the grocery store yesterday they were out of yellow cornmeal. But they had the blue stuff. So there will be lavender blue muffins with red cranberries in pink and yellow muffin papers. A real treat for those loving the pastel look at Thanksgiving.






But, the turkey stock is bubbling the collard greens for the mushroom bundles are wilting and I have a helper to peel and chop the squash. Life is good.










5:30: And so there you have it. The meal. Moments of doubt – too many wild mushrooms! No, too few! And the smoking turkey. And the need to bake the mushroom bundles when there wasn’t an inch of space in the oven. And so much roasted garlic for the potatoes, and this and that and then it all comes together and you feel so gratified!

It’s a blur of images, flying, one after another, served on a table cloth that has been in my family since I was a little kid in Poland, finished off by pumpkin soufflés. By 6:45 we were done, the dishwasher was on and the departing party departed.


















































What a beautiful day!

Thank you.