Stating the obvious: I love to cook

I love to cook. I am not quite sure where it started. My dad is certainly not the chef he likes to pretend he is (sorry dad, your pasta is still fantastic) and it is not like I grew up in households focused on preparing complex meals. My mom’s house was focused on healthy, quick, food and I have learned some of my best cooking lessons from her: specifically, not following a recipe and improvising with whatever was currently living in the refrigerator. So I wouldn’t really say I was “taught to cook” but I have certainly picked up some fantastic tips and unbeatable family recipes along the way.

My grandmother (mom’s mom) is a fabulous entertainer. She is probably the classiest woman I have ever met and I remember how much I used to dislike being told how to speak, sit up, set the table etc. Now as I look back, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I remember countless family parties and get togethers; the table dressed with the finest china and silver and a perfectly dressed table that groaned under the weight of food. I have always felt and continue to feel that when I visit my grandparents, I am taking a glimpse into their past and into the culture of middle class Americans from fifty years ago.

I love the historical past. In high school, I once told my mom that if she bought me gowns like the ones women wore in the 1890s that I would wear them every day to school. I have to say that I was almost entirely serious albeit a little relieved when she said no. In any case, whether it is silly or not, I always feel like my time in Connecticut is a step into a cultural past and more importantly, into the past of my family. 

My trips are always filled with family, food, and culture.  We always see at least one play/ musical/ ballet/ or concert and I without fail I still dress up when I am going to theater because that is what my grandparents taught me.  Even if everyone else in the theater is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, I will forever follow the lessons of my grandmother and I hope that one day I will be as fabulous an entertainer and teacher as she has been to me. 

22 Days and Counting!

As I walked into the airport this morning I felt another rush of excitement.  You see, I have been mainly calm and apathetic about my ticket to Australia but then, all of a sudden, the anticipation catches up with me and I begin to dance a little jig. Sometimes in my mind, most often quite literally, but the neighboring stares don’t bug me. I am sure they wish they were going to Australia for three months too!

I am on my way to Connecticut to see my grandparents and other east-coast family and this is my second to last flight before my 13 hour doozer. Dozer? I guess a little bit of both as I will definitely doze on that flight. Ok, enough word play for now although I am having quite a bit of fun!

 I am really looking forward to touching down in Brisbane in 22 days. I shall expect a full welcoming party with fireworks, chocolate, dancing bears, etc and I think I will actually get more than I bargained for! In all seriousness, Todd has very amazingly organized a trip to Fraser Island for the weekend I get there. So after 13 hours of flying, I will be dragging my tired self up to one of the most beautiful places in Australia (and probably the world). Fraser is known for being the biggest sand island in the world and absolutely unbeatable in its diverse and spectacular terrain. Poor me, right?

Many people have asked what I will be doing while I am there and the short answer is that I really have no idea. On a vacation visa I will be unable to work but I will certainly keep myself busy.  There is a food kitchen that Todd has volunteered at a few times that I hope to become acquainted with and I really want to supplement the class I took this summer on web design and really get my hands dirty.  I was much busier with the kids than I initially expected and so I feel like I am falling behind my own goals for web design domination! In any case, I am not a couch potato (or a potato of any kind) and so I assure you all that I will keep myself and my brain fully occupied and exercised! 

The Call of the Loon

The call of the loon, long and mournful, is a sound I will forever connect to the Minnesosiates community at Hand Lake. I have been coming here since before I can remember and yet this may be one of the last times I come back here. This place that was such an integral part of my childhood has been changed forever.

My Grandpa Smith passed away in January and so the family gathered at the lake this past weekend to celebrate the life of Grandpa Joe and his beloved wife, my Grandma Win, who died a few years ago. This morning we gathered on the shore of the lake and sang and read a poem that ended with the words, “Love doesn’t die, people do. So, when all that’s left of me is love, give me away.” Family and friends then stepped forwards to pick up wrapped boxes of intermingled ashes that we took to spread around this place that they called home for so many years. They were friends for seventy-eight years and partners for sixty-seven years. Truly an amazing feat.

As we all gathered around the table, and many of us fought back tears, stories and reflections were shared; one of which I would like to repeat here because of it’s incredible nature. My Grandma and Grandpa were held at a Japanese concentration camp in the Philippines during World War II. My Uncle Fred (my dad’s older brother) was born there and they were thankfully released in 1945. At one point during their imprisonment they were moved on the night of December 26th from one site to the next along a road that the Allied Forces often bombed because a large Japanese base was nearby. Years later, my Grandpa was talking to a soldier that was in the American Air Force and stationed miles from this site. When they mentioned that they had moved from one location to another, the soldier asked during which night this had occurred. When he answered, “the night of December 26th,” the soldier looked at him in awe and said, “that was the only night that we did not bomb that road because the fighter planes had run out of fuel and could not get off the ground.” To imagine that my grandparents, and therefore, my own life was rhetorically saved by an empty tank of gas is truly amazing.

Stories like that just blow me out of the water. The unpredictability of life and the importance of treasuring our time together seem to be a common theme for me right now but at least I know that with this mindset I can live without regrets and follow in my grandparents’ footsteps: living each day to the fullest but always remembering to stop and appreciate the little things, like the call of the loon.

In the kitchen there is a door frame with our heights over the years-
Jan STILL grew from last time! 

Jessica (my cousin)'s boy (Emmanuel) being introduced to sparklers

Jan and Jo-Jo (one of Mary's grandchildren)

Uncle Fred blowing out the candles on one of three cakes!
(with Sebastian's help of course (another of Jessica's boys)