When I was growing up Fridays during Lent meant meatless meals for my normally beef and potatoes family. Lent brought a marked change to our table. There were two staple menus I could count on to see us through from Ash Wednesday through Good Friday – creamed tuna on toast and salmon croquettes. If Mother dug the electric skillet out from under the kitchen cabinet, it was creamed tuna. If she began peeling potatoes I knew we were having fried salmon patties with fried potatoes (we called them Pa Paw potatoes because they were my grandfather’s favorite). Which meal did I prefer? Neither. As a child I didn’t particularly care for the taste of fish – any fish, especially fish that came in a can. As a teen I was embarrassed by the lingering odor of fish on Friday nights. None of my friends’ families ate fish on Friday. Being Catholic was an oddity among my high school crowd and I didn’t want to explain the Lenten rituals or the fishy smell when I was picked up for dates.
I acquired a taste for seafood as an adult when I discovered there was fish that didn’t come in a can. I love seafood now – fresh wild salmon, sea bass, orange roughy and all the mercury-laden swimmers I’m only supposed to eat in moderation. And shellfish, I could eat my weight in shrimp, lobster, crab and scallops (I’ll pass on the oysters).
But there is something about the Friday night fare of my youth that I crave. I guess it is Catholic Comfort Food. Or, it could be the memories I associate with dinners of creamed tuna on toast or salmon croquettes; memories of my mother in the kitchen preparing a simple, wholesome meal, memories of the six of us sitting down together at the kitchen table, memories of the conversation and laughter as we loitered over our plates, and memories of the love and kindness and warmth that was always present in my home.
Today is the first Friday of Lent. I am going to get out my electric skillet and make creamed tuna on toast for supper – and no apologies for the fish odor.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Give It Up
Alcohol, candy, cookies, gum, biting one’s nails, cracking one’s knuckles, cigarettes, sweets, pizza, driving too fast, coffee, snacking, staying out late, television, cards, comic books. What do these things have in common? Things we give up for Lent.
When I was a child my mother begged us to do something nice during the Lenten season rather than giving up something. “Be nice to your brothers, don’t fight with your sister, help mother around the house, fold the laundry, take out the trash, make your bed,” she would plead. I much preferred the grand gesture, to give something up and to give up something big.
The nuns at my elementary school would encourage us to think long and hard before promising Jesus we were making a sacrifice. Mother Superior was in the same “do something nice-camp” as my mother. The nuns would suggest things like: practice perfect penmanship every day during Lent, don’t talk during Chapel, pay attention to the Gospel, or say the Rosary daily. It was far more fun to announce to my fellow third graders on Ash Wednesday that I was giving up bubble gum and desserts and soda pop. That certainly trumped pious Mary Margaret’s Lenten Novena for the poor souls in purgatory – right? My good intentions usually lasted only a few days. I would forget, or succumb to temptation and the next thing I knew I was smacking gum and washing down Oreos with orange soda, and goodie-two-shoes Mary Margaret was still praying for those poor souls.
I really should have taken my mother’s suggestion about not fighting with my sister, a few cross words between siblings were easier to hide than a mouth full of cookie, a pile of Double-Bubble wrappers, and the tell-tale Orange Crush-mustache. Next year, I’d think, I’m going to give up something easy – like liver or lima beans!
When I was a child my mother begged us to do something nice during the Lenten season rather than giving up something. “Be nice to your brothers, don’t fight with your sister, help mother around the house, fold the laundry, take out the trash, make your bed,” she would plead. I much preferred the grand gesture, to give something up and to give up something big.
The nuns at my elementary school would encourage us to think long and hard before promising Jesus we were making a sacrifice. Mother Superior was in the same “do something nice-camp” as my mother. The nuns would suggest things like: practice perfect penmanship every day during Lent, don’t talk during Chapel, pay attention to the Gospel, or say the Rosary daily. It was far more fun to announce to my fellow third graders on Ash Wednesday that I was giving up bubble gum and desserts and soda pop. That certainly trumped pious Mary Margaret’s Lenten Novena for the poor souls in purgatory – right? My good intentions usually lasted only a few days. I would forget, or succumb to temptation and the next thing I knew I was smacking gum and washing down Oreos with orange soda, and goodie-two-shoes Mary Margaret was still praying for those poor souls.
I really should have taken my mother’s suggestion about not fighting with my sister, a few cross words between siblings were easier to hide than a mouth full of cookie, a pile of Double-Bubble wrappers, and the tell-tale Orange Crush-mustache. Next year, I’d think, I’m going to give up something easy – like liver or lima beans!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
It is Lent!
A young friend of mine posted a comment on facebook today stating that she would commit to writing her blog during Lent instead of giving up a vice. Not being inclined to give up vices I think I will second her motion and try to write daily during Lent. Consider this day one.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Happy V.D.
Yes, it is Happy Valentine's Day. I have spent 32 Valentine's Days with my valentine. What a great day this is - to make a moment to do something special for the one you love - candy hearts, a nice dinner, flowers. It is all so nice - but it is the stuff that makes up our day-to-day lives that means the most. Thank you to my valentine of 32 years for showing me that you love me the other 364 days of the year. Anyone can be nice one day out of the year - it takes a committment to be a valentine on the other days.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Dear Peggy,
I saw a “facebook-friend” tonight at a party. Okay, let’s stop right here, right now, and address the term “facebook-friend.” What the hell does that mean? I can tell you what it means in this particular instance (and probably in a lot more). A facebook friend is someone you may have met casually, realized you were both on facebook, sent each other a “friend request,” accepted the “friend request,” and then began to learn things about each other from daily posts that you wouldn’t otherwise have ever dreamed. So in essence, some “facebook friends” know more about you than your “real friends.”
The “facebook friend” (scratch that), the friend I saw at a party tonight thanked me, as I was leaving the soiree, for my blog. She told me she read it and said something about how I could really open up and put things “out there.” I can’t remember her exact words because I had several glasses of wine at the party. I told her I would send her a private facebook message and explain how I began my blog, thinking she might enjoy seeing how far I have come and how I ended up in this place where I feel so free to “put it all out there.” But, in the ten minutes it took me to drive home from the party I knew what I wanted to say to her privately would become my blog for all the world to read (or at least the three people who might actually read this blog post).
I began this blog on a lark, as a way to write while simultaneously purging my home (read – clean my house) of the crap I have accumulated over an almost thirty year period. I tentatively posted my intention in 2008 and it was 2009 before I had the guts to follow up that first post. Originally I just wrote about cleaning out cabinets and drawers and closets, but then a funny thing happened – I began writing about my life beyond my clutter. I began writing about my passion, my family. My own small family of one husband, two daughters, one son-in-law, and two dogs and that grew into tales about my extended family; my grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins. It grew into a way for me to practice writing down my family lore.
What I really want to tell my “facebook friend” – I mean my real friend, my friend Peggy, is how embarrassed I was when someone first discovered I had begun a blog. I must have let it slip to Daughter #2 and Daughter #2 let it slip to Daughter #1 and Daughter #1 called me out on it. I was humiliated. I was speechless. I turned every shade of red (thank God I was on the phone and Daughter #1 couldn’t see her Technicolor mother). I was flustered, I hemmed and hawed. Daughter #1 actually laughed at me! Finally I drew every bit of courage I could dredge up from the far recesses of my bravery locker and fessed up. “Yes,” I said, “I am a blogger.” Followed immediately by, “But I didn’t want anyone to know, that’s why I put it on the internet.”
Daughter #1 spent a few minutes trying to explain the insanity of my rationale and then gave up. So, a blogger was born. From what I read about bloggers we are an egomaniacal bunch. How dare I presume that anyone cares about the contents of my closet or how my little brother died? But that is just it – it goes back to my point about putting this on the internet as a kind of anonymous post. There is so much out there (out there being the internet) so few people read it, so few people really care, it becomes just a personal writing exercise. So when I have a friend (notice I am no longer calling her a “facebook friend”) tell me she read my blog I have to stop and realize that someone is reading this – that this is more than casting out my jewels upon the ocean to be carried away with the tide. People really read personal stuff about my family, my friends, about me!
Does this mean I will quit opening up? Does this mean I will cease blogging? Hell no, it just means I damn well better pay more attention to grammar and spelling! Thanks, Peggy for commenting on my blog and thanks for being my friend.
The “facebook friend” (scratch that), the friend I saw at a party tonight thanked me, as I was leaving the soiree, for my blog. She told me she read it and said something about how I could really open up and put things “out there.” I can’t remember her exact words because I had several glasses of wine at the party. I told her I would send her a private facebook message and explain how I began my blog, thinking she might enjoy seeing how far I have come and how I ended up in this place where I feel so free to “put it all out there.” But, in the ten minutes it took me to drive home from the party I knew what I wanted to say to her privately would become my blog for all the world to read (or at least the three people who might actually read this blog post).
I began this blog on a lark, as a way to write while simultaneously purging my home (read – clean my house) of the crap I have accumulated over an almost thirty year period. I tentatively posted my intention in 2008 and it was 2009 before I had the guts to follow up that first post. Originally I just wrote about cleaning out cabinets and drawers and closets, but then a funny thing happened – I began writing about my life beyond my clutter. I began writing about my passion, my family. My own small family of one husband, two daughters, one son-in-law, and two dogs and that grew into tales about my extended family; my grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins. It grew into a way for me to practice writing down my family lore.
What I really want to tell my “facebook friend” – I mean my real friend, my friend Peggy, is how embarrassed I was when someone first discovered I had begun a blog. I must have let it slip to Daughter #2 and Daughter #2 let it slip to Daughter #1 and Daughter #1 called me out on it. I was humiliated. I was speechless. I turned every shade of red (thank God I was on the phone and Daughter #1 couldn’t see her Technicolor mother). I was flustered, I hemmed and hawed. Daughter #1 actually laughed at me! Finally I drew every bit of courage I could dredge up from the far recesses of my bravery locker and fessed up. “Yes,” I said, “I am a blogger.” Followed immediately by, “But I didn’t want anyone to know, that’s why I put it on the internet.”
Daughter #1 spent a few minutes trying to explain the insanity of my rationale and then gave up. So, a blogger was born. From what I read about bloggers we are an egomaniacal bunch. How dare I presume that anyone cares about the contents of my closet or how my little brother died? But that is just it – it goes back to my point about putting this on the internet as a kind of anonymous post. There is so much out there (out there being the internet) so few people read it, so few people really care, it becomes just a personal writing exercise. So when I have a friend (notice I am no longer calling her a “facebook friend”) tell me she read my blog I have to stop and realize that someone is reading this – that this is more than casting out my jewels upon the ocean to be carried away with the tide. People really read personal stuff about my family, my friends, about me!
Does this mean I will quit opening up? Does this mean I will cease blogging? Hell no, it just means I damn well better pay more attention to grammar and spelling! Thanks, Peggy for commenting on my blog and thanks for being my friend.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Happy Birthday
Today would be my brother Wade’s fiftieth birthday. So very hard to imagine my nineteen year old brother at fifty. He is frozen in time as a teenager of the 1970s; long hair, long sideburns, drinking beer, smoking pot, and riding a motorcycle. He was a drummer. He was in his element, in his own world, when perched behind his drum kit. It was everywhere else he was out of place; never truly comfortable in this world’s atmosphere. His life cut short by a dark road and a missed curve. I wonder what he might have been, might have become by his fiftieth birthday. Would he have learned to breath? Would he have learned to conform? Or would he have stayed his path? Perhaps I would have seen him on the Grammy Awards this year, gathered my friends around the television and said, “That’s my little brother.” He might have had children, more nieces and nephews to add to the family tree, to carry on his legacy. I wonder what kind of father he would have been. What would he have taken as an example from our parents? He would have been a kindred spirit. Someone I could call and tell, “I miss Mom and Dad,” or “Remember the time…,” or “I’m sorry for…” And he would know exactly what I meant, because he would feel it too. Thirty-one years is a whole lot to miss out on. We were both cheated. Happy birthday, Robert Wade Primo.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Ham Loaf
Last month at a family dinner attended by Daughter # 2 and The Boyfriend, The Boyfriend mentioned he liked Ham Loaf. He's from Kansas and this is Texas - I'd never heard of Ham Loaf. Meatloaf I know, but Ham Loaf - that was a new one for me. The next day, totally out of the blue, I received an email from a dear friend and great cook containing a recipe for Ham Loaf. How randomly coincidental is that?
Tonight I prepared the Ham Loaf and it was surprisingly delicious. I am not a food stylist, but I thought I should offer photographic proof (and the recipe). (Perhaps I should also offer an apology to Daughter #2, the vegetarian.)
Enjoy!
Glazed Ham Loaf with Mustard Hot Sauce
1 ½ lbs. ground ham
1 ¼ lbs. fresh pork
1 ½ c. soft bread crumbs
2 beaten eggs
•Combine all ingredients and press lightly into oiled ring mold.
•Invert onto shallow baking pan and remove ring.
•Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes, then brush with:
Sweet Sour Glaze
½ c. brown sugar
1 T. prepared mustard
2 T. vinegar
1 T. water
•Continue baking until done – about 45 minutes longer. Baste 3 or 4 times.
Serve with:
Mustard Hot Sauce
½ c. dry mustard
½ c. vinegar
•Mix, cover and let stand overnight.
In double boiler mix:
1 egg, beaten
1/3 c. sugar
dash salt
the mustard mixture
•Cook over hot (not boiling) water, stirring constantly until mixture thickens slightly and coats spoon.
•Cool and add equal amount of mayonnaise. Stir together and refrigerate. Serve with the Ham Loaf.
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