Consider this:
The Circle Game
When our guests arrived for dinner last weekend, my friend and fellow mom had tears in her eyes. “My dad’s in the hospital,” she said, red eyes filling again. “I just got off the phone with my mother on the East Coast.”
My pal paused, then grasped for more words to explain her fragile state.
“It sounds so stupid to say this,” she told us. “But one day my parents are going to die.”
I know, sweetie, I know.
I’m lucky to be able to say that thus far (knock wood), my own parents (knock wood) are in fantastic (knock wood) physical (knock wood) and mental (knock wood) health (knock wood). Of course they’ve got some aches and pains, a few tweaks and twinges. My mom’s knees have bothered her for years, and my dad throws out his back every time he vacuums. But they’re both marching energetically through their 70s without daily medication, let alone extended hospital visits. They are busy, involved, creative, fit, adventurous and awesome. (From this point on, let’s just agree that “knock wood” is implied.)
Not all my friends are so blessed. Over the years, I’ve mourned with them as they’ve buried a parent due to cancer, Alzheimer’s or, in one particularly tragic case, a car accident. Others are bracing themselves for an impending loss as they navigate the dreadful territory of having a parent impaired or diminished by stroke or Parkinson’s.
I’ve lost grandparents, relatives and, heartbreakingly, even friends, to the ravages of age or disease. I’ve had a tiny glimpse into the emotionally wrenching process of making end-of-life decisions for and about loved ones. Deep down, I know these experiences can’t prepare me for making tough decisions of my own. I’ve heard saying goodbye to a treasured pet lets us “practice” losing a human loved one. Beloved critters aside, it’s simply not the same.
I’ll say it again: I’m lucky. But even though my parents are doing great, I’m aware of shifts in our relationship that may be harbingers of future changes. For example, when my folks come over to watch a grandson’s soccer game, I’ll hop into the driver’s seat and get us to the match on time. If they’re driving my kids somewhere, I confess I’m just a teensy bit nervous. (To be clear: my nervousness is nothing like the terror I felt years ago as a passenger in my elderly grandfather’s car as he careened down the Florida highway, occasionally colliding with an unsuspecting curb or errant street sign.)
When my folks leave my place and head home across the Golden Gate Bridge, I feel a twinge of anxiety – probably the same twinge my parents had whenever I left the safe confines of home. Text me when you get there, I tell them, keenly aware that I say those very words to my kids when they go out to meet a friend.
Maybe the shifts I’ve noticed are less about what’s to come and more a reflection of what’s already happened. I think back to the day I became a parent, instantly turning my folks into grandparents. Although grandparents don’t ever stop being parents, the identities were new for all of us. I imagine newly minted Grammys and Grandpas everywhere breathe a little sigh of relief when they pass the mantel of “Mom” or “Dad” to their kids. When I took on the mind-boggling responsibility of keeping a newborn-person alive, maybe it allowed my parents to relinquish their role as primary caregivers just a smidgen.
I think it’s called coming full circle.
I’m relieved to report my friend’s dad recovered from his health scare, putting her fears about his mortality on hold. For my part, I’ve just booked a family ski trip and invited my parents to join us for some fun in the snow. Of course, I’ll worry about them driving to the mountains in their old Toyota, but I’ll be busy climbing the snowy pass with my family in our over-packed car. Once at altitude, I’ll remember my parents teaching me how to turn snowplows into parallel turns many, many years ago. I’ll notice that now, when I out-schuss them on the slopes, it feels a little bittersweet. At the same time, I’ll challenge my kids to keep up with me, knowing that it won’t be long before they leave me behind in the fluffy powder.
My goal for today, then, is simply this: I’ll try to keep my balance as I stand, gratefully, in the center of our ever-shifting circle and hope it remains exactly this full for a very long time to come.
Knock wood.
Cook this:
Lasagna
Remember a few week’s back I mentioned my mom gave me the Moosewood Cookbook when I started college? That was nearly 30 years ago, which means I’ve been making my Moosewood lasagna for almost three decades. Not only is it delicious, it’s super easy and fast to make. I know some people take immense pride in spending hours, if not days, cooking up their secret family lasagna recipe. More power to ‘em. However, if you don’t have that kind of time (or that kind of inclination) to devote to dinner, give this recipe whirl. My version is vegetarian, but you can easily brown some ground beef or turkey for the sauce if you like your lasagna meaty.
The Original Moosewood Cookbook Lasagna
Preheat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Locate your favorite 9×13” pan.
Tomato sauce (homemade with love or spooned straight from the jar with just as much love)
12 lasagna noodles (after years of dealing with wet, slippery half-baked noodles, now I use the no-bake kind)
1 lb shredded mozzarella cheese
½ cup grated Parmesan cheese
Filling
In a small bowl, thoroughly mix 2 generous cups ricotta/cottage cheese and 2 beaten eggs, plus salt and pepper to taste. Then:
- Spread a little sauce over the bottom of pan
- Layer with 1/3 of the noodles
- Using half the filling, put a blotch here and there, then spread to roughly cover the noodles
- Spoon out 1/3 the remaining sauce. I like to nudge it out all the way to the edge of the noodles
- Scatter with half the mozzarella
- Layer on another 1/3 of the noodles
- Cover with the remaining filling
- Spoon out another 1/3 of the sauce
- Sprinkle with all the remaining mozzarella
- Layer on every last noodle
- Top with every last ounce of sauce
- Sprinkle with the parmesan cheese
Cover the pan tightly with aluminum foil and bake for about 45 minutes or until the lasagna is bubbly around the edges. Remove foil and cook for another 10 minutes or until the top browns slightly. Let stand for 10 minutes before serving.
Read this:
Crooked Heart by Lissa Evans
This week’s book review comes from the lovely Leigh Ann Townsend, a member of the Newsy! network in Mill Valley, CA. Leigh Ann is a library aide at Park School Elementary who also works at the local Depot Bookstore. Leigh Ann hopes all this exposure to books will encourage her to write more than the occasional thank-you note.
There are far too many books about World War II – and by this I mean far too many to read. Why is this historical time and topic endlessly fascinating? Between the stark brutality of Unbroken and the surreal beauty of All The Light We Cannot See, every author brings their own precise and illuminating light on a period that seemed to define modern human nature. I always pick up books about this era, mostly because I crave an existence before cell phones and 24/7 access to everything, war time or not. This explains why I just finished Crooked Heart by Lissa Evans. Here’s the set-up: Noel, age 10, lives with an elderly godmother. He finds himself, through necessity, under the watch of Vee, a 30-something mother who takes him in as a London war evacuee. Vee has a fluid moral compass, an anchor for a son and a batty mom. Noel has raised himself in London and suffers no fools, although his heart, at first glance, is large and loving. Problem is, he’s too smart for the people he meets, save for the criminal element. His vocabulary rivals Churchill’s, and he learns to use it only when necessary. For her part, Evans writes with razor sharp humor and an ear for dialogue to which most writers can only aspire. Yet she never loses sight of how grubby and hardscrabble life was for the average Londoner merely trying to survive air raids, cold potatoes for every meal and the rampant crime that seeped through a noble War effort.
