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Posts Tagged "daughter"
I had the opportunity this week to stay at Toronto’s Drake Hotel and we had a fantastic time. I had never heard of the Drake Hotel although it has the sort of name that sounds familiar to me. I found it on Trip Advisor and every other hotel in Toronto was full. I never did figure out why everything was booked, but the Drake Hotel seemed like a good fit for us. I picked up my chef daughter from her job in Muskoka and we spent 2 nights and 3 days together in Toronto. We checked in on Sunday afternoon. The hotel is small, charming, and has multiple restaurants and bars full of trendy, interesting people. We were given a room on the 3rd floor. We were surprised to find out there is no elevator so we trekked up the stairs and found a lovely but small, very cool guest room. We were greeted with complimentary sparkling wine on ice and the room was full of interesting items for purchase as well as a fun “mini-bar” area full of tasty beverages and snacks. The design concept really stood out and we felt like we were not quite cool enough for our hip accommodations. That said, Jonathan the manager greeted us warmly every time he saw us and made us feel incredibly welcome. He hugged us when we left–we felt loved and cared for in this fun hipster hotel. I am not sure we were cool enough for our surroundings, but we felt welcome and enjoyed its charm. We ate breakfast twice in their cafe and the food was fantastic. I only wish we had the energy to explore more of what was going on. There is a roof-top bar that looked very fun. We heard happy people partying late into the night. This didn’t bother us, it was kind of fun–like falling asleep on the couch during a really great party. During our stay, there was an open mike and a pickle contest...
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Super Summer Guacamole Guacamole is one of those remarkable foods that has appeal across cultures and generations. There are many different variations out there, and more than once I’ve been snacking at the hors d’oeuvres table with fellow party-goers when curiosity about the contents of the host’s “guac” has turned to lively debate among guests and outright defense of a tried-and-true recipe. Red onions go head-to-head with garlic; limes duke it out with lemons. Cilantro? Tomatoes? Hot sauce? Mayonnaise??? A really good guacamole takes a little more planning than most dips. Very rarely am I able to find the perfect avocado in the store or at the market, so great guacamole is a perfect way to practice the under-appreciated art of postponing gratification. A rock hard avocado usually takes about a week to soften, while a medium hard avocado takes about three days. The soft avocados on the shelf are usually too ripe and won’t have the flavor of the perfect avocado. Organic avocados are readily available, even in the winter when other fruits and vegetables are out of season and you’re craving a taste of summer. My daughter, Sela, is a chef. She is an amazing cook. Almost everything she makes is perfect. We happen to have different guacamole recipes. People ask which one I prefer, and I always say, “I prefer anything she cooks for me.” That said, I make my guacamole differently! Sela’s Ingredients: 3 “perfect” organic avocados 2 cloves organic garlic, pressed or micro-planed 1 tbsp fresh squeezed lime juice Salt to taste My Ingredients: 3 “perfect” organic avocados 1/4 cup diced yellow or white onion 1-2 tbsp fresh squeezed lemon juice Salt to taste With both recipes, mash the avocados with a fork or a pastry cutter until they are creamy. Add other ingredients and salt to taste. On occasion, when I need to stretch the guacamole (more guests come than are expected or the kids are starving), I add tomato to the guacamole. This can be done with...
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Watching my parents age is excruciating. They are kind and lovely people and I want them to defy aging. I want to choose a moment in time and freeze them, exactly like they were, at their best – healthy, full of energy, and happy… probably in the early 1990s and keep them exactly like that forever. I want them to be whole and perfect and not to feel any pain–much the same as I feel about my children. My mother has had Multiple Sclerosis since she was in high school. She’s fought it bravely her whole life and has been happy and very healthy. She has used a cane for most of my life and is now using a walker. When I’m with her, I cannot accept the changes that are happening to her. I want her to fight harder and to defy the aging that is happening to her. I don’t know if she can fight hard enough–start physical therapy again, do exercises, build strength, and stay out of the wheelchair for a couple more years. I know she’s struggling to accept the changes that are happening to her. It is the proverbial “bad thing” that has been looming over her for my entire life: The Chair. Immovability. It is the thing to fight against and I am watching her give up. I am pushing her to fight, fight, fight. Maybe what I need to be doing is telling her it’s okay. Some of the agony is in me not wanting to say the wrong thing and I don’t want to contribute to her giving up. Years ago when I trained to be a hospice volunteer, they taught us to be willing to just talk about death. So many people in our patients’ lives wanted them to get better and sometimes they needed someone to just be with them to talk about dying and what they were experiencing. I wonder if this is the same for my mom–that she is facing losing her ability to walk and...
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Some days I am overcome by love. When I pull up at the school and let my kids out, I watch them tromping off with their lunch boxes and backpacks and my heart fills up until it overflows and fills my eyes with tears. I love being married and seeing how good we can make it and how fast we can recover from when we make it bad–when we mess up and have to fix it or get over it. I read a friend’s blog recently. He was describing the death of his lover. His raw words of love touched me deeply. It was as if he opened his heart on the page–splayed open for everyone to see. It was just love. I loved him for the open-hearted love he shared. I watch my parents aging and I want to ease their way. I want them to stay eternally young like they are in my mind. I want to be able to spare them the agony of growing older. I want to protect them from the elements of time and my heart fills with love and compassion for their humanness and frailty. I love them so much and yet my love can’t keep them from experiencing their challenges. I think of two family members who got mad at me and don’t talk to me anymore. On bad days I protect myself with anger and on good days I remember that their anger can’t make me stop loving them. Memories of them fill my heart and I surreptitiously send loving thoughts their way and wish them well. I love dinner parties. There is something about the echo of laughter over food that fills my heart. I love the people I laugh with. Especially if they think my jokes are funny. I love saying I love you to friends. It was something I realized years ago. It did once go bad when I told my friend Mara I loved her in a phone message. Her husband listened...
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A few months ago, Mel spent the evening making some home-made applesauce with the apples from our tree in the backyard. He used his grandmother’s recipe. The apples are tart and small and delicious if you have a lot of time to work with them. He peeled and chopped about 40 apples and we ate all the applesauce for dinner. I remember my grandmother having containers and containers of home-made applesauce. I wonder how my ancestors managed to preserve so much food. For the last couple of years, I have been working to try to put some food away. I am shocked by the volume of food that is required if I want to eat it during the winter. I buy what I consider large quantities of things–a bushel of tomatoes, a flat of strawberries, and they disappear as I make jam or sauce. That is kind of what happened with the apples. I have been judging myself by a tough standard, I realized. I am the first woman in my family to continue in a career after I married. The women I admire who were fantastic at putting food away were housewives. If it were my job to put food away, I imagine I would be a fair bit better at it. I picture them never really sitting down, but then I think of the handwork my grandmother did–always making something–and I realize she had to sit down for that. And she watched her soap operas. I am not sure her life was quite as full as I thought it was. She had some down time I think. I spend my time in front of a computer. It is ironic that I work and feel lazy because I can’t do all the tasks women from previous generations...
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