Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Real Quick: An Update.

I found the Javanese Peanut Pasta recipe. The one on the index card. Interestingly enough, it was right where it should be. I just didn't see it.



I am sure that some of you think that I am nuts to have all of this faith. If you think that everything is just a weird coincidence that is okay.

I'm okay. You're okay.

I never believed in ghosts or spirits milling about in the shadows until two years ago. I never felt one until two years ago. My mother's presence in my life alarms me. I enjoy her company, but it can get a little spooky. I shouldn't say that- because it is nothing crazy, but it is constant.


Saturday, September 11, 2010

Household Saint.


She is an everyday saint. Nothing flashy. Saint Sensible. My mother died on June 21, 2008. I talk to her all the time. She is, without a doubt, my guiding force. I can actually feel my mother propelling me forward. I feel her tight British fist jammed into the small of my back, to tell you the truth. She is insisting on good behavior. Fine mom. I'll be good. It is actually a relief.

About two years ago, I asked her to help me give up drinking. I stopped completely the day I asked HER for help. That very same day. I was done. It isn't just that I've stopped- it is that I have stopped being annoyed that I should stop. I totally dig the absence of alcohol. I've never been happier. Seriously.

That, of course, was her big miracle. I was a hopeless mess. The whole situation (that spanned decades) baffled even me. I hated its pull, but I would cave time and time again. I still can't figure out why I did it. Nobody wants to be a full blown alcoholic. That's a stupid way to live. Oh, and apparently it made me miserable.

After that dramatic turn of events, I couldn't think of anything else to ask my mother to help me with,I seemed set for awhile. Our chats became breezy and pretty one sided. I did all of the talking, as usual. Still, I was confident that I had her ear.

So last week, I gave my mother a vague little assignment. She seems to have taken it very seriously. Over and over again, she keeps them coming. I have been laughing all week. I mean really. It is one buried treasure after another.

Earlier in the week I said out loud: Mom. I need to find things. I know that I have stuff in disorganized piles and I know that I have specific things that I want to give-or show- to specific people. I just can't remember what or who. I need to find that stuff. Can you help a daughter out?

FIFTEEN MINUTES later-I found this little package of papers that I knew would be important to my sister Christine. I had found them in my parent's basement awhile ago and now here they were in mine. I had been meaning to send it to her for (gulp) almost a year.In fact, when I first got it together I had written to my sister to let her know that I "had a fabulous package on the way." I kept finding stuff to include with it and I worked on that thing with due diligence (that is for you, Jo.) for three or four days and then I put it aside to finish later and yes, I forgot about it. Tomorrow never comes.

About two hours after finding that, I felt strangely compelled to vacuum the top of the refrigerator. I don't do that often. I stood on a stool to access the workload and I laughed out loud. On top of the refrigerator -tucked in the back and totally hidden from view-was the brand new cherry red ceramic lasagna pan that I had forgotten to bring to my sister Margaret's Yankee Swap last Christmas. The timing couldn't be better. I am meeting Margaret for lunch next week.

But wait. There's more. Last weekend we went to Connecticut to a party at Fabio's cousin's house. His whole family was there. I was telling a few people about these two hilarious photos from our wedding. I was saying that I would love to scan them and send them to them if I could ever find them again. I described both of them in detail.I had no idea where those pictures were. I hadn't seen them since we lived in Hawaii. We haven't lived in Hawaii for nine years! Yikes. Time flies when you freeze all Winter.

I figured that they must be in the basement. I do have a system.I totally have a system. I swear I have a system. Every time I find a random photograph floating around the house I march it downstairs and put it with all the thousands and thousands of other photographs that I have (neatly, in bins) awaiting my attention. I'll get there. My upstairs is singing. It is as neat as a pin.

Well, yesterday I was looking for the recipe for Javanese Peanut Pasta. I have this raggedy old cookbook that I haven't looked at in years. I had handwritten all of the entries. I copied most of them on to index cards for my recipe box but I keep it for reference - just in case.

I could not find that pasta recipe and I know I have on an index card. I have used it many, many times.Then I remembered that I still had the master copy. I got my old black and white dog eared composition note book down from the high shelf and I think you know where I'm going with this. Picture #1 was being used as a book mark for -get this- Mom's No Knead Bread. I swear to God. On my mother.

I'm not finished. Today, I was trying to get all my journals in order. I have dutifully kept a daily journal since I was in 5th grade. My teacher, Miss Mogayzel, bless her heart, made us keep a daily journal as a year long class assignment. I loved doing it so much that I never stopped. I am talking every single day. Mine are nothing like mother's. I remember eagerly flipping her daily ledger to February 7th in 1977, anxious to read her take on my big day. It said, "Youngest is now ten. Wild party." My entries are a little more involved.

Right before I visited Athens,Georgia last month I re-read my entire seven year chronicles.I lived there from 1985 until 1992. Those pages provided me with endless conversation starters.I kept a day by day, and at times tedious account of well, pretty much everything I did. It is nuts. People think that I have this stellar memory when really, all I do is refer to my notes.

Let me stay on task here. I was organizing my journals. I am trying to put them in some kind of order. I am missing a few (which scares me a little!).I have 83, that I can find. Anyway, out of journal #4 fell photograph #2. I am just not kidding. It keeps happening. Really. MOST of my photographs are in the basement. I don't see too many floaters upstairs these days.

I have one more if you can stand it. This has all happened THIS week- so stay tuned. Eureka is loose on Lucille Street. OK, Last one. In Hawaii, we had this absolutely wonderful self portrait that Fabio's daughter Rachel had drawn when she was about 8. We had it hanging up. It brought me joy every single time I looked at it. I thought what a confident little girl. It was so neatly drawn. She is waving and smiling and it really looks just like Rachel! She had written ME in big letters at the top. I LOVED it! I totally missed it and thought about it enough to always be on the look out for it. Whenever I came across some ancient unattended box of papers I would get a wave of hope but it was never in that box. I knew it was somewhere.

Two days ago,I was getting ready to fetch the boys from school. Before I left, I thought I would grab a coffee table book to use as a hard surface for my crossword puzzle. I usually have a 15 minute wait. I looked at my bookshelf and picked an old book of photography called, "The Family of Man". My parents had given it to me for Christmas one year. Our friends, Jean and Zohmah Charlot are in it. They were photographed by only Edward Weston.

It was a wicked easy crossword and I finished it quickly. I actually hate that kind of puzzle. They don't make me feel smart they make me feel like the guy who built it thinks I'm dumb. Owen was taking forever. I started thumbing through the book. It is a really great book- you should look for it. I hadn't looked at it since we moved to the mainland,obviously, because if I had, I certainly would have seen Rachel's carefully preserved self-portrait.

Mother dear, you are plainly attending to my needs both great and small. Be an angel- I'd like to win the powerball next please. I promise to take the altruistic high road with at least 30% of the prize money. I swear to God. Go ask.