Pray For Him.

I found an old box of books while clearing out my parent's basement. I saw my mother's worn out Bible right on top. This little clipping was neatly tucked into the pages of Deuteronomy, Chapters 28 and 29. That was the only thing in there.

She is doing this on purpose, just to amuse me. I know it. St. Pat McGowan wants to make me laugh. Please don't miss her notation at the bottom. What a gem. She's an angel.

I Was A Star Witness.

Honolulu. 1996.
Sleeping on the job. Among other things, I was paid very well to watch The Guiding Light with eighty nine year old Zohmah Charlot every weekday at noon. Then we would take a nap. Most of the time, I slept right through her hour long story.

After that, we'd sit on her back lanai to see what famous people were golfing in Kahala that day. I also collected bags and bags of maybe used once Titleist golf balls. Everyday was Easter. Zohmah got into it, too. She could no longer speak, but she excelled at pointing and looking enthusiastic. I had bags and bags of balls, I tell you. Hundreds! Barely used top of the line golf balls and I am pretty sure a few of them used to belong to Bill Clinton. I am positive that this particular stockpile had everything to do with my marriage proposal from Fabio. I was a gold mine. I mean, c'mon.

If we got bored watching the golfers we could take that 4 minute walk to the beach or maybe head up the Kahala Oriental Mandarin Hotel (that was eight minutes on foot (and wheelchair)) for cocktails. We were always bumping into movie stars. We saw a few big names at the hotel. John Travolta, Nicholas Cage, Ben Affleck, Johnny Depp, Justin Timberlake, Cameron Diaz, and a very quick glimpse of Nicole Kidman. I never said a word to any of them. It was so bizarre to see their strangely familiar faces pop up out of nowhere on a Tuesday afternoon,say. I guess that's where they stayed. I would always just look at them and think, 'you are stinking rich, you lucky bastard.'

I really wanted to go up to each one of them, separately, and say, "Don't kid yourself, hotshot. Acting is so overrated, and actors are so overpaid." Yeah, right. I never did approach any of them with my insightful-on the money- commentary, and why is that? Because it is not polite to insult rich, powerful, and good looking people.

They could- still can, I reckon- afford every luxury available without a worry in the world. Imagine that. If that ever became my well travelled day to day, I bet that I would behave differently as well. Who among us feels like throwing the first rock? I mean really. You would be weird too. Those headliners all had a way, kind of the same way, too.

Magnum PI's, all of them. They had a casual air of Practiced Importance. A sense of entitlement had crept into their vernacular, and their grand scale life -that 'Hollywood Life'- had (has) for them, become a given. They are suddenly really, really into to only the finest things, and it's totally cool. They can be. The absolute best of everything has become commonplace and expected. It is entirely affordable. They are spoon fed and doggedly encouraged. Celebrity cash cow. Just let the assistant handle it.

They would never, ever say 'Look at me. Aren't I great?' They can't even do it as a joke. It isn't that funny to anyone else.They would sound like ego ed out jerks because they would mean it. You can bet your bottom dollar that 'Look at me. Aren't I great' is on a running loop in every one of their wigged out heads. They just can't say it out loud. That would be gross and kind of pretentious. They aren't stupid. They are just lucky, and rich and usually beautiful.

I sound like sour grapes and I don't mean to. I am not really jealous, I am more intrigued. Honestly, good for them. Bravo. Encore. Whatever.Someone has to get chosen. It is so arbitrary. I mean, God bless her, but Renee Zellweger? Who decides these things? Some people just get lucky and I think that they might really believe that they earned the lap that they find themselves in. They forget that their real god given talent
is plain old L-U-C-K. luck.

Those lucky little rock stars. They all have that... how do you say? Jenesaisquoi. No, 'Haughty Humility',is what I'll call it, if such a thing exists. It's not even their fault. I'd be the same way. Anyone would. That must be mind numbing as well as ego inflating. They aren't thinking straight, and they probably never will. I'll say it again- I hardly blame them.

These movie stars were the opposite of rude. They convincingly appeared embarrassed while being escorted to the front of the line. They graced us all with a few hellos, after all. OMG. He looked at me. He said hello. What? I just kept thinking, 'Who are they?' Why does their presence excite me so? Why am I NERVOUS?' These people walk into rooms like that everyday. Rooms filled with speechless little nutjobs just like me. All that silent, astonished staring. Their heads must be balloons. It would be hard not to have an over inflated ego at this exchange.

Now, Jim Nabors, Tom Selleck, and Charo were par for the course, if you will. No big deal. We exchanged normal, neighborly hellos and nice nods. I used to see those three all the time at the grocery store. We shopped at the same Star Market. Charo wore high heels and a high ponytail; and she was still strutting some high water booty too, at 65. She never disappointed. Her way was refreshingly real, oddly enough. Coochie coochie coo.

I do have a cute Ben Affleck story though. I was driving down Kalakaua Ave in Waikiki, totally out to there pregnant with one of my boys. Mr. Affleck put me in such a tizzy, I can't remember which boy. I kind of recall baby Owen being in the back seat which narrows it down some.

I had the windows down, it was a beautiful day of course.
I was listening to Springsteen's Rosalita pretty loudly.
I heard a beep.
Ben Affleck pulled up beside me and waved.I literally got nervous and then I got mad at myself for getting nervous. I waved back, sort of. I tried to act cool. He waved again.He gave me the thumbs up! What? We kept passing each other and he kept smiling at me.

When I got home, I told Fabio all about it, "Either I look awfully cute eight months pregnant or Ben Affleck really likes Bruce Springsteen." Fabio started cracking up. "Lucy, you have a bumper sticker that says 'Save Fenway Park' and you are driving around Honolulu." I Ben had.

Oh Lord. I didn't mention Jack.
Jack Lord. He loved an ascot.

Speaking of men's fashions, I also met Richard Chamberlain at a necktie display in the Ralph Lauren store at the Ala Moana Shopping Center. He seemed nice. He actually acted a little uncomfortable with himself, could have been a bad day.I hear everyone gets them. He was smiling way too much to mean it at all.

And there was Roddy McDowall one table away at California Pizza Kitchen in the Kahala Mall when my oldest was just 3 days old. Roddy got an earful from two old Japanese ladies giving me hell for bringing a baby that young outside in the world. "He should be swaddled at home" were their exact words.

Owen's doctor's office was in the mall and I did not feel like cooking. I tried to tell them to lay off, but I started crying instead. After they left, Roddy said that they had been "uncalled for." Roddy come lately, after the fact Roddy. Thanks Roddy. Roddy didn't make me feel anything. I wasn't excited and he didn't make me nervous. I had just endured 23 intense hours of labor 3 days prior. Maybe I was just tired.

Don't Quote Them.

.
This is in a frame in our downstairs bathroom. I usually HATE those drippy frames with wicked sappy sentiments. This particular picture looks so at home above:

"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.
Live the life you have imagined."

I guess I shouldn't be calling the thoughtful words of Henry David Thoreau "wicked sappy."

But really-etching ANYONE into a 5X7 silver frame for sale at Target kind of hollers uninspired. The brightest minds always sound stupid. Maybe not stupid- rather, forced. He's just another Helen Steiner Rice. Whoa- not Thoreau! I don't mean it.

A Bargain At Any Price.

I used to work in a kitchen supply store in Honolulu where all the employees received a 45% discount. Unheard of! I applied for the job immediately after overhearing an Executive Chef employee discussing his perks over coffee with a party far less interested in what he was saying than I was. I hung on every word. That was Mark Rosa. He ended up as my co-worker and became a good friend to Fabio and me.

Executive Chef was my first job as Mrs. Cuseo. Those were the days, my friend. Fabio and I had an airy and affordable 2 bedroom apartment with a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. We could see Diamond Head and Waikiki. Oh! Those were the days. I thought they'd never end. Fabio was doing well, making pots of money while busied myself making pots of pots. We still had thousands in savings from our wedding. Our unborn children were not in need of braces just yet.

I never really brought home a paycheck. Occasionally, Fabio would ask me to treat my gainful employment with more of an eye toward bringing home actual money and less like a bartering post in the wild wild west. Look Fabio! I worked 35 hours this week and only see how it translates!. We have a a brand new pizzelle maker! Not only that,take a look at this pot rack and 10 inch frittata pan! Fabio knew that I couldn't help myself. He also knew that we may as well grab what we could - while the grabbing was good. He knew all about my agenda. I wasn't exactly covert. Everyone knew what I was up to.

My kitchen, due to my dogged efforts, continues to function like a babied hot-rod. I won't say 'souped-up' because that would be too precious. Okay, I will give Fabio credit for the stellar remodel- he did that without any assistance from me, but I STOCKED our showroom. In my defense, I arrived at my marriage with a tidy little purse and zero (you heard me-zero!)debt.

The funny thing is, at that point in my life- I enjoyed cooking but I was hardly practiced. I only started cooking in earnest 3 years prior to my wedding when I took a job as a live- in nanny for the Liu Family in Honolulu. The parents, Rosemary, Robin and I had a blast cooking. We took turns. We collaborated. We ate! We ate well. If we weren't eating, we were plotting our next meal. We did not lack focus.

The Lius subscribed to Food and Wine, Gourmet and Bon Appetit.
Every month, all three of us would read them cover to cover,and make a plan and then get to work. We were really into it. We had all kinds of lists. Our cupboards were jammed but we always needed something. It was always something that I had never heard of. All these new ingredients that I was introduced at this time have since become staples in my kitchen to this day. All three of us would grocery shop. We were like little Italian housewives, making our way to daily market. Fresh, fresh, fresh.

Robin worked next door to Chinatown- so that was his department. We could always count on him to show up with a bouquet of wild cilantro or a stump of ginger when we could really use them.

That left Foodland, Safeway, Times, Dai'ai, and the two health food stores, Down To Earth and Ko'kua Market. We made frequent stops at everyone of these stores. We bought only the best. Their dime. It wasn't cheap. We all learned a lot.

Quite a few of my very favorite recipes come from those meals. There is an eggplant /red pepper/ chickenpea stew that I serve over rice, I have an oft used recipe for mustard chicken that calls for panko. I was well versed in panko WAY before panko was cool.




We slaved over flat out failures too.


I came to the conclusion early on that the secret to impressive results is to,first, read a recipe from start to finish to determine if it is worth the effort. If so, the next step is to gather every single ingredient that is called for into a central location. Absolutely take attendance. The biggest secret of all is to follow the instructions.I am talking about cooking times, oven temperatures and ratios. You should definitely mess around with ingredients and flavors. Occasionally, I will run into completely unnecessary and sometimes disorganized steps- but usually- especially in baking- you will fail miserably if you try to put a personal spin on time tested classics.

When I met the man of my dreams, I moved out of the generously equipped Liu kitchen. That kitchen was stocked with time saving appliances that were in continual heavy rotation. The ingredients that I became accustom to working with had spoiled me for ill suited substitutes (they left a bad taste in my mouth). I moved into my bachelor boyfriend's house. It was handsomely furnished. The living room,dining room and bedrooms were fully appointed. Art on the walls. Books on the shelves. The whole place looked lovely. Now let's see the kitchen.

That kitchen was such a cliche. Fabio swore that the slow cooker saw some action, but I bet him that his drawer full of take out menus saw even more. Fabio had one cast iron skillet(and I found THAT with his camping gear- far, far away from the kitchen). He did put one short cord appliance to daily use, good old 8 cup Mr. Coffee. What a man. His refridgerator was stocked with the obligatory imported beer, cold cuts and bread.

The way I saw it, I really had no choice, as a brand new bride, but to sell my services in exchange for shiny things like a KitchenAid Stand Mixer and a complete set of Henckel's knives. Please understand and admit that you would do the same. This was a 45% discount. This could not be denied. I had applied for the job with a fully disclosed (at least to my husband) agenda. I was doing this for our family! I worked at Executive Chef until 2 months before I gave birth to my first son. Our kitchen was applianced and gadgetized to the gills by the time that I bowed out of the work force to bring up baby.

A cruel life lesson was learned due to my all encompassing need to take fast and full advantage of what had all the outward appearences of being the deal of a life time. This little bounty of mine had the hallmarks of being too good to be true. It was. It was too good to be true. We didn't stay in Hawaii. We moved to Providence, Rhode Island. Whoa. The price of Paradise! I'd say the average cost of major kitchen appliances,pot racks, and hell! even dish towels- on the mainland is about 35% to 50%less than you would pay in Hawaii. Please don't talk to me about the cost of shipping. We were robbed!

But , honestly, I would certainly not enjoy cooking and baking nearly as much as I do right now had I shown restraint. I never would have purchased half of these well worn gizmos that I have come to look upon as outright neccessities. Everything that I "just had to have" has afforded and continues to afford affords me luxurious shortcuts without sacrificing quality. I was an excellent salesclerk, by the way.

I loved my job. Sometimes I didn't do my job. Sweet old ladies would come in looking for that colorfully packaged garlic odor removing piece of stainless steel. It was $7.99 before tax. This was in 1998! I would pull them aside and explain in hushed tones that a stainless steel spoon, or even a faucet, was just as effective in eliminating the smell. I didn't tell everyone. I would let the rude, the arrogant and show offs with obvious means plunk down the dough on the useless gadget. Oh! The power! (Be wicked,wicked nice to your sales clerk every single time, because you never know.)

We sit down as a family every night and we eat dinner at the table. We eat well thought out, well balanced meals. We do this because I charged ahead in a mad panic and mistakenly and repeatly went over budget outfitting the heart of my home. All Clad for every hook! Knock -Off's need not apply! I made all these purchases over 10 years ago. I swear, my heart still skips a beat everytime I enter my kitchen. I know that I can create. I know where my tools are.

I paid close attention to detail. I cannot use my weird gadgets enough. I look for ways to re-invent the zester. It would have been a shame if I had purchased all of these items (at seemingly rock bottom prices) only to take advantage of a "deal". If saving money had been my only motivating factor than this whole debaucle would be a bust. Sure, I would have stacks of helpful tools at the ready and on display but what for?

I love that my kitchen starts everyday with clean counters and fresh pans and I love that at some point during each day my kitchen looks completely overwrought. I love my working kitchen. There is nothing in my kitchen that isn't used on a regular basis save the turkey baster. I have read every instruction manual I own. I have studied them. I also study my library of cookbooks daily. I look at mealtime as a chance to make something interesting and tasty. It is part thrills and spills.

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.

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.

Big Man On Campus: A Storied Career.

Last week, I took my father back to his old school. For over 30 years, Dr. Owen T.P. McGowan was The Director of Library Services at Bridgewater State College in Bridgewater,Massachusetts. It was so much fun watching him take in all the changes. He retired about 20 years ago, I think. I guess I could use a fact checker.


We went into his old office. The current tenant had gone home for the day so my dad had a seat. How I remember THAT scene! I spent plenty of teenage Summers working at B-H20. One entire Summer I shoved metal strips down one book binder after another. It made the book buzz if it was trying to leave without a proper send off. My thumbs ached through September that year. When I think of my dad I usually picture him at his desk. It was good to see the old man back where he belonged,if briefly. He actually giggled as he took up his old post.







Here he is shaking hands with Kevin Manning. My father hired Kevin 23 years ago. Kevin's uncle was my pediatrician in Fall River (for the record).




I loved watching the retired librarian look around. He was having a blast.





So many different memories tend to assault you when you visit a place that you haven't been back to in years.I spent so many Summers on the Bridgewater campus! And then poof. I never saw the place again, until the other day. We had been separated for more than 20 years! When I was a kid,I was ALWAYS at The Clement C. Maxwell Library! The last time I laid eyes on that book lined building I was probably 19 years old. All or nothing, apparently.


I was flooded with memories. This one crept to the top. I reminded my dad too. He laughed about it now, but as I recall he was a little put off at the time. It cracked me up then, and it cracks me up now.

In 1981, my dad was in charge of booking all of Clement C. Maxwell Library's guest speakers for these theme nights at the college. I loved those nights. He usually secured authors (duh!). Occasionally, he would land a bold name. Seamus Heany stayed at our house!


Oooh, but David McCord has got to be the cutest poet who has ever spoken at Bridgewater. I loved that guy.
"Every time I climb a tree, I scrape a leg or skin a knee and then the ants! They get all over me. Every time I climb a tree."

I have every one of Mr. McCord's books signed "To Robin" "My dear Robin" "Good to see you again, Robin."

Not every author was so accomodating. My dad enjoyed the quest however. Long before email,one way to submit a request might be to hand write it, affix postage and push it through the U.S. Mail. Huh? What a lost art. I haven't gotten a real letter in years. It is so old fashioned and charming and...hang on,incapable of being deleted with the touch of a button. A hand written query has got some good old fashioned legs.

My dad wrote a little note to John Updike asking him to consider speaking at Bridgewater. It was close to Easter and the theme was Rabbits. About a week later, my father received a plain white envelope with no return address that was delivered to his office. Inside was a hand scrawled note, "Sorry. No Can Do. JU."

My father hadn't the foggiest. He brought the missive home. It was my sister,Mary,who finally pieced it all together. "Private Eyes" was the Number One song in the nation at the time. I can't go for that.