The sink is filled with suds and, as the running water rinses the plate, I wait for the moment when the bubbles turn a delicious color of pink. Not blood red and not girlie girl pink but an amazing flush of red pink that delights the little girl in me still.
As a young child I was always the first to jump up to clear the table of supper dishes on the nights when mom served beets. Back then, they were from a can and the juice tasted a little like tin, not at all like the luscious root vegetable that was simmering on my stove tonight, but the effect of the pink swirling into the white porcelain sink filled with water enthralled me when I was ten and still holds a spell over me. It is mesmerizing to watch. First a tinge appears, next a blush, and finally a deep penetrating splash that would sink into the pours of my fingers and, to my great delight, stain them a telltale hue.
I would swish the cotton rag about in the water until the colors blended and then get the pan off the stove hoping there would be one or two drops of beet juice left to make the pleasure last longer.
I love beets. I love them freshly cooked with a dollop of butter melting and running in rivers over the bleeding grain of the firm fleshy food. I love them pickled , the tangy bite of the onion contrasting with the hearty sweetness of the beet. I love them in the thick sweet and sour sauce that you pour out of a glass jar. I love licking the spoon that scooped them out into the sauce pan. I love that the thick delicious sauce colors the water in a different way than the thin vinegary brine does. I love the taste and texture of beets and I love the color.
Beets are wonderful alone or in salad. They are scrumptious with juicy pork loin and if you serve them with mashed potatoes you get to watch the ruby juices spread out on the plate and run into the white lump. There is a perfect moment to take your fork and swirl it all into a beety mashed potato pink mush. What fun!
Tonight I cooked fresh beets while Nattie B, my two year old grand darling, colored with crayons at the kitchen table that my father built. I layered the beets in a pyrex dish with garlic, carrots, onions, brussel sprouts and sweet potatoes and drizzled olive oil over them. I ground fresh pepper all over the mix. Before popping the offering in the oven to roast I picked a small red cube up in my fingers, turned to nattie and offered her a bite. BEETS! she shouted as she tasted the treat. BEETS!
I didn't clean up until after nattie went home. I can't wait until she is a little bigger and I can pull a chair up to the sink and say - watch nattie - watch ! I just know she will fall in love with beet water, it's in her genes you know. But, she will have to be pretty quick to get to the dishes before I do:)
beet water. one of life's simple pleasures waiting to be shared. life is good.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Oh Tannenbaum, Oh Tannenbaum
My Christmas tree this year was truly beautiful. Full, well proportioned, just the right size for my living room and to hold my particular assortment of ornaments. The best Christmas tree ever!
I am usually late getting a tree up, but this year it went up mid December. I always keep a tree up until Epiphany, so I have had lots of time to enjoy it though I rarely went to sit by it once Christmas had past. So, it came as a bit of a surprise when I went by the living room last night and heard a little shower of needles falling to the floor. You know the sound, it is unmistakable sort of a cross between a crinkle and a tinkle that makes your heart sink and your quilt flourish as you realize that you have not watered the dang thing in days - maybe weeks. As I took a closer look I laughed out loud. During my neglect a huge pile of green needles had covered the red felt Christmas tree skirt and mountained on my beautiful hardwood floor. I had to cave, long enough is long enough; time for the tree to make an exit.
As I took each ornament off the branches, more needles fell like green ice cream sprinkles with sound effects. When I was done and the decorations were snuggled into safe keeping, I got a pair of thick mens work gloves. I grabbed a hold of the tree trunk and shook it back and forth rocking the tree in it's stand just to see if all the needles would fall. They did! I felt a childlike delight as the already impressive pile grew bigger and bigger and the sound effects grew to a crescendo. There was no need to get the sheet that I usually wrap the tree in to avoid a trail of green, this tree would leave no path in it's wake.
I dragged the carcass to the front porch and closed the door behind me shutting out an arctic, icy blast. Most years I take a good look at the tree in daylight to retrieve any hidden ornaments but this year I would have to sift through the green mountain waiting to be gathered up.
Instead of a broom, I got my dust pan and started to shovel up the debris. I filled first one and then another waste basket with needles that weighed almost nothing. I tried to think of a clever use for this waste but alas, no good thing came to mind. I am sure in past centuries it would have been sown into a pillow or brewed into a poultice, but I went out into the night and dumped the two containers on the dog doolie area of the back yard. HA! I thought, A Christmas tree that keeps on giving.
I was almost embarrassed this morning to undo the tree stand and display my spoils to the community. It screams of neglect and fire hazard. I only hope my insurance man or the fire chief do not drive by.
I look at the empty space in my living room and, again, I laugh thinking; I need a " coming soon" sign while I consider how to feng shui my way into the new year.
Any suggestions?
I am usually late getting a tree up, but this year it went up mid December. I always keep a tree up until Epiphany, so I have had lots of time to enjoy it though I rarely went to sit by it once Christmas had past. So, it came as a bit of a surprise when I went by the living room last night and heard a little shower of needles falling to the floor. You know the sound, it is unmistakable sort of a cross between a crinkle and a tinkle that makes your heart sink and your quilt flourish as you realize that you have not watered the dang thing in days - maybe weeks. As I took a closer look I laughed out loud. During my neglect a huge pile of green needles had covered the red felt Christmas tree skirt and mountained on my beautiful hardwood floor. I had to cave, long enough is long enough; time for the tree to make an exit.
As I took each ornament off the branches, more needles fell like green ice cream sprinkles with sound effects. When I was done and the decorations were snuggled into safe keeping, I got a pair of thick mens work gloves. I grabbed a hold of the tree trunk and shook it back and forth rocking the tree in it's stand just to see if all the needles would fall. They did! I felt a childlike delight as the already impressive pile grew bigger and bigger and the sound effects grew to a crescendo. There was no need to get the sheet that I usually wrap the tree in to avoid a trail of green, this tree would leave no path in it's wake.
I dragged the carcass to the front porch and closed the door behind me shutting out an arctic, icy blast. Most years I take a good look at the tree in daylight to retrieve any hidden ornaments but this year I would have to sift through the green mountain waiting to be gathered up.
Instead of a broom, I got my dust pan and started to shovel up the debris. I filled first one and then another waste basket with needles that weighed almost nothing. I tried to think of a clever use for this waste but alas, no good thing came to mind. I am sure in past centuries it would have been sown into a pillow or brewed into a poultice, but I went out into the night and dumped the two containers on the dog doolie area of the back yard. HA! I thought, A Christmas tree that keeps on giving.
I was almost embarrassed this morning to undo the tree stand and display my spoils to the community. It screams of neglect and fire hazard. I only hope my insurance man or the fire chief do not drive by.
I look at the empty space in my living room and, again, I laugh thinking; I need a " coming soon" sign while I consider how to feng shui my way into the new year.
Any suggestions?
Monday, January 4, 2010
To Oprah Winfrey - What I know for Sure
Recently, while waiting my turn in a hospital waiting room, I picked up an old copy of O, THE OPRAH MAGAZINE. Several things drew me to it, her beautiful face of course, but also the topics. The one I turned to first was What do you know for sure? 22 simple, surprising, brilliant rules to live by. Apparently she closes each issue with comments based on a question the late Gene Siskel asked her many years ago and she has been asking herself and others ever since.
In this issue she had asked 22 people from all walks of life to comment. On the last page of this issue, (which you can Google and find), was a list of her own 20 all time top comments. She readily admits that it changes with the seasons of her life but there were several profound thoughts. It was very interesting reading and, as those things do, made me ask myself the same question. What do I know for sure? At first, I had vague responses, but nothing popped into my mind that would make a top 20 list. Until this morning.
My phone rang at 7 and my older daughter, Elizabeth, reported that my granddaughter was indeed just a touch too under the weather to go to day care and they were on their way to me as we had agreed last night. I would tend Natalie Bird for the morning while her mother went to work and she would leave after half a day so that I could tend to the things on my list that had to get done.
As Nattie B and I settled into a morning of Dora the Explorer balanced with two year old hands helping to empty the dishwasher, and telling stories while she played with the many nativity sets still adorning my post Christmas/ pre Epiphany house, my eyes caught sight of the magazine on the corner of the kitchen table ( yes, I asked before I brought it home with me ) and I knew, I knew for sure, that this was the most important thing I could be doing with my day, no matter what I had planned to do as of yesterday. It isn't that "my" list is any less important than Elizabeth's, it is simply that sometimes "Plan B" legitimately usurps "Plan A."
My plan A today was important, I am sure of that too, but at 59, I am more likely to keep the big picture in mind and not the ups and downs of any one day in my daily life.
I live a life that matters. I have loved well and I am well loved. I am a nurse who makes a difference in the lives of many. I am a lay minister and a lay chaplain and I am a writer. My spoken word and my written words have gone out into the world to help others and that all matters, but helping my grown children be the best parents they can be is the most important thing that I am doing in this chapter of my life - THIS I know for sure.
In the Bible in 1 Thessalonians, chapter 5 verse 11 it says, "Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, (just as in fact you are doing.)" Paul was writing to the Thessalonians and talking about encouraging one another in their faith journey. I have found that parenting is much like a journey of faith; faith that you are doing the right thing, faith in the future, faith that what you do today matters in the grand scheme.
How blessed I am to have 4 grown children who turn to me for encouragement and how much I have learned about what encouragement looks like. When I was a younger grandmother it often meant giving what I thought was sage advice from my own experiences of parenting. As I get older I just as often hold my tongue and listen before I speak knowing that while some things never change the journey of parenting in 2010 is much different than parenting from 1969 when I became a mother to 2003 when my youngest reached the age of 21. I have also learned that sometimes encouragement is very gentle and sometimes it is very firm but always, it looks and feels like love.
Some women my age are starting new careers, some are retiring and some are reveling in free time to travel or explore the world. Many are divorcing or remarrying men with a whole other set of children to raise even as their own children are giving birth. I know that grandparenting comes in as many varieties as does parenting, but for me, whenever it is possible, I choose to be a grandma who offers love and encouragement, to fertilize the landscape in which my remarkable children and their spouses are parenting. That choice looks different every day, but today it means keeping Natalie Bird so her mother can work. I am delighted to be able to do that.
Oh, there is one more thing I know for sure. When Nattie B says " come dance with me gramma bevy" it is an invitation to joy. Gotta go. I have been called to dance.
In this issue she had asked 22 people from all walks of life to comment. On the last page of this issue, (which you can Google and find), was a list of her own 20 all time top comments. She readily admits that it changes with the seasons of her life but there were several profound thoughts. It was very interesting reading and, as those things do, made me ask myself the same question. What do I know for sure? At first, I had vague responses, but nothing popped into my mind that would make a top 20 list. Until this morning.
My phone rang at 7 and my older daughter, Elizabeth, reported that my granddaughter was indeed just a touch too under the weather to go to day care and they were on their way to me as we had agreed last night. I would tend Natalie Bird for the morning while her mother went to work and she would leave after half a day so that I could tend to the things on my list that had to get done.
As Nattie B and I settled into a morning of Dora the Explorer balanced with two year old hands helping to empty the dishwasher, and telling stories while she played with the many nativity sets still adorning my post Christmas/ pre Epiphany house, my eyes caught sight of the magazine on the corner of the kitchen table ( yes, I asked before I brought it home with me ) and I knew, I knew for sure, that this was the most important thing I could be doing with my day, no matter what I had planned to do as of yesterday. It isn't that "my" list is any less important than Elizabeth's, it is simply that sometimes "Plan B" legitimately usurps "Plan A."
My plan A today was important, I am sure of that too, but at 59, I am more likely to keep the big picture in mind and not the ups and downs of any one day in my daily life.
I live a life that matters. I have loved well and I am well loved. I am a nurse who makes a difference in the lives of many. I am a lay minister and a lay chaplain and I am a writer. My spoken word and my written words have gone out into the world to help others and that all matters, but helping my grown children be the best parents they can be is the most important thing that I am doing in this chapter of my life - THIS I know for sure.
In the Bible in 1 Thessalonians, chapter 5 verse 11 it says, "Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, (just as in fact you are doing.)" Paul was writing to the Thessalonians and talking about encouraging one another in their faith journey. I have found that parenting is much like a journey of faith; faith that you are doing the right thing, faith in the future, faith that what you do today matters in the grand scheme.
How blessed I am to have 4 grown children who turn to me for encouragement and how much I have learned about what encouragement looks like. When I was a younger grandmother it often meant giving what I thought was sage advice from my own experiences of parenting. As I get older I just as often hold my tongue and listen before I speak knowing that while some things never change the journey of parenting in 2010 is much different than parenting from 1969 when I became a mother to 2003 when my youngest reached the age of 21. I have also learned that sometimes encouragement is very gentle and sometimes it is very firm but always, it looks and feels like love.
Some women my age are starting new careers, some are retiring and some are reveling in free time to travel or explore the world. Many are divorcing or remarrying men with a whole other set of children to raise even as their own children are giving birth. I know that grandparenting comes in as many varieties as does parenting, but for me, whenever it is possible, I choose to be a grandma who offers love and encouragement, to fertilize the landscape in which my remarkable children and their spouses are parenting. That choice looks different every day, but today it means keeping Natalie Bird so her mother can work. I am delighted to be able to do that.
Oh, there is one more thing I know for sure. When Nattie B says " come dance with me gramma bevy" it is an invitation to joy. Gotta go. I have been called to dance.
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