Happy Birthday

If you were here, I'd drive you into Baltimore to have some world famous crab-cakes, and I'd delight in your swooning, the savoring, the way you roll your eyes absorbing even the tiniest minutiae of joy. We'd talk about food and you'd tell me about one time when you were in Thailand, or Australia, or France and I'd go with you there while you described in perfect detail, the best meal you'd ever eaten--or at least, one of them. I'd make sure the waitress knew it was your birthday and the whole restarant would sing "Happy Birthday!" to you.

If you were here, we'd talk about cookbooks. I'd show you the WWII cookbook I have that's dedicated to General George Patton and includes a plea to the women of America to make do with less in order to support the war. We might talk about Uncle Lester and Aunt Janie then and the time you spent with them in Florida. Eventually our talk would include Cleora's Kitchen. I'd remind you that I first saw it at Marion's house. And I'd admit that I went home and bought myself a copy, not for the recipes, but especially for the picture and the story of Cleora and the school photo. It still makes me laugh.

If you were here, we'd go to Annapolis to the Hall of Records and find Grace Eleanor Tenley's records. There's a street in D.C. called Tenley St; we'd find out why and we'd discover some local history, her parents and her siblings, sit on the floor among thousands of historic books and whisper like we did in the Memphis library five years ago now. On the way home we'd remind each other about our plans to go to Wales and walk the shores where the Pearce's lived. I'm looking forward to that.

If you were here, I'd take you to Mount Vernon where George Washington lived and is buried; you'd marvel and exclaim as we toured the house, the separate kitchen, the outbuildings; we'd walk down to the wharf of the Potomac, then over to a portion of the land that's still a working farm. You would laugh to discover that composting and crop rotation was a new idea then. We'd go through the threshing barn, then past a slave shack. Inevitably, our conversation would turn to slavery, growing up white in Memphis, Lena, and then we'd stand there in silence for awhile before hiking the trail through the woods to the mausoleum. A docent would point out trees that George Washington planted and are still thriving. On the way home we'd stop at a small out-of-the way restaurant for hot home-made soup.

If you were here, we might take the train to New York for the weekend. Take a carriage ride through Central Park, shop in Manhattan and have dinner at a world famous Italian place that I can't remember the name of just now, but Rachel would know. We'd take in a Broadway matinee, have our picture taken underneath the Wall Street marquee, tour Carnegie Hall and revel in the luxury of staying in a 5-star hotel.

If you were here, I'd tell you that you are a woman I have admired my whole life, that I love you for your intensity, the depth of passion and emotion you feel, that I understand it, the power and the contrast, the joy of it, and the burden. I'd tell you that I always felt safe when you were around. That you mothered us when you didn't have to. Every little girl should be so lucky. I'd tell you that you have many spiritual gifts and talents, that I love having deep conversations with you, and I love the way you question what is and what could be, always looking forward to the future as a place of happiness and light.

If you were here, I'd bake you a big chocolate birthday cake, because I make the meanest chocolate cake ever, and you'd agree with me after the first bite. I'd close my eyes, too, for just a moment while you made a wish, and I'd ask God to grant your wish, because of your passion for life and everything good and the way you have always loved. If you were here, I'd give you a hug so strong and immense that you could feel it anytime you needed one for the rest of your life.

If you were here, I'd say, Happy Birthday, Dear Sister, Friend of My Heart. Happy Birthday to you.

Pottawattamie Jelly

My friends, Clytie and Spence, have a long-standing tradition: During the summer when wild pottawattamie plums are ripe, they pick enough to make a hundred or more 1/2 pints of beautiful, clear, red jelly. During their annual performance of the Nutcracker in December, the jellies are sold as a fund-raiser to help replace the cost of costumes. Well, Madelyn and I were lucky enough to be recipients of this incredible treat. We ate it drizzled over home-made bread pudding and Clytie sent us on our way with our own jars and one for Mom.

Spence told us the Pottawattamie Indians showed the early saints where the shrubs grew wild in Iowa when the saints stopped in Winter Quarters on their trek west. In the spring they took dried root stock with them to the Salt Lake Valley and planted them along the irrigation ditch banks. Over the years as the Salt Lake Valley and beyond has expanded, the bushes are becoming harder and harder to find. In fact, I didn't find much of anything on the internet that was recent either. But in 1922 U.P. Hedrick wrote the Cyclopedia of Hardy Fruits, Macmillan Co. (En must have come later). The horticultural name is P. Munsoniana and Hedrick said, "This variety is possibly of greater cultural value than any other of its species. The fruit is of high quality, the texture is especially pleasing in eating...and it keeps and ships very well...munsoniana plums grow without danger of winter injury to tree or bud as far north as the forty-fourth parallel." Hmmm. Suddenly I'm back in Idaho perusing our encyclopedias of gardening and planning the next year's garden... Anyway, I had never heard of Pottawattamie plums until recently. They don't appear to be cultivated as a crop commercially, but maybe one of the newer organic farms might take an interest. I hope the saplings can be ordered from certain plant nurseries but I've had no luck in finding them yet. But press on I will! The jelly tastes divine--tart and sweet at the same time, and the finished product is the most beautiful jewel red color, almost too lovely to eat.

Special People

Last week I flew non-stop to Salt Lake City; Madelyn flew in from Friday Harbor and we met at the airport. Our destination was our mom's house in White Rocks, but that evening we stayed with Clytie and Spence in Kaysville.

The Adams served a mission to California in 2005 and we became instant good friends. They showed up at my condo when my hair was in a ponytail and I was painting in preparation for a house-warming party. An eternal friendship was born.

I will long remember the other evening, the fire in the fireplace, the delicious meal, (the pottawattamie jelly!) the wonderful conversation. The four of us talked for hours and could have talked longer if we hadn't been so tired. I was proud to show my sister off to my friends and vice-versa! Before we left on Tuesday morning, Clytie gave me this picture of Brandon that was in her album. It was from their farewell party right before they returned home to Utah. Thank you so much. This picture brings back warm memories of Brandon and that time in our lives.

Bald is Beautiful!

Debutant

dark hairs criss-cross my pillow like abstract art
handfuls of it come out in the shower
the dreaded time fills the bathroom covers the walls and mirrors with steam like a menacing spirit
You will look old and sick without any hair

the three-time cancer survivor at the wig shop places her cool hands on the top of my sore head
like her voice, they are soothing and strong
she looks at me in the mirror at my tear-filled eyes my face that says
I do not want to be here
“Do not cry. You are going to be just fine.”
the buzz of the clippers begins right in the front
wait!
I pass my camera to my sister
the little teeth saw away at the illusion of beauty and suddenly I realize
the darkness lied
there is no loss no reason to cry
my eyes gleam from the mirror larger and browner than before
I feel a freedom, a rebelliousness, a sense of spontaneity
my sister cries and laughs with me
takes photos for my blog
then we hug the woman goodbye and walk out into the sun

I have choices that others do not
the wig is adorable
hats and turbans and scarves and endless fabrics await
but my bald head loved its debut
I can’t wait to show my family
I am more beautiful than ever

I wasn't exactly jumping for joy here
Revealed
This is getting fun

My Sisters

spent all day yesterday rearranging my furniture, cleaning, unpacking, decorating and organizing. Wow. My room was good before but it's GORGEOUS now. Not only that, but my sisters are FUN.