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| Every other image of love or marriage or weddings seemed kind of boring/traditional. |
My daughter is a vegetarian, with vegan tendencies. She has never asked me to cook vegetarian to accommodate her nor asked us not to eat meat when she's around. And I mean never.
But I do anyway. I don't mind cooking meatless (or even milk-less and butter-less) so that she can join us for meals. The satisfaction I get from preparing food for my children is ri-goddamn-diculous. It's traditional in a way I find intellectually annoying; it triggers all sorts of food-as-gift/comfort/love warning flags. Emotionally, however...few things resonate with my very core in the same way.
That said, when she went away for a long weekend retreat, I almost fell over myself getting to the grocery store. I made a beeline for the meat section, prostrated myself before the steak altar and bought two beautiful rib eyes. I also cooked all sorts of other dairy-laden food. An orgy of animal products.
When she got home I immediately began to itemize all the leftovers in the house that she couldn't eat. A thinly-veiled, knee-jerk confession/apology.
She just starts laughing at me. She tells me that I don't have to do this and if I don't stop she's going to keep paring down her diet until she's gluten-free (and god knows what else) and I. just. snap.
Goddammit I love that kid.
This past weekend was reportedly the hottest of the year, thus far. We were out on the lovely, rebuilt front porch just after sunrise on Saturday and Sunday. Sawhorses and scrapers and sanders. Glue and clamps and wood putty. Taking the trim we'd removed from the front room and removing decades of paint globs and caulking and whatnot.
We made damn good progress and in spite of the heat, got into a fairly productive rhythm of preparing the trim for painting. There is something soothing and contemplative about scraping off old paint and caulk, filling in the holes and sanding the whole thing smooth.
My daughter returned to Houston one week ago. I will admit to some apprehension about her arrival, no matter how happy I was that she was coming home. So I am pleased to report that the week has been delightful. It is so wonderful to see her, talk with her and laugh with her. She spent hours helping us on the porch. The three of us just working hard together in the steamy Houston heat.
More Adventures on Metro
On last week's train ride, I am sitting across the aisle from a young man, probably in his teens. He's wearing a new hoodie that has a cream colored background with a pattern that looks like, on first glance, orange tickets or paper money. As he gets up to leave the train, I see that rectangles are food stamps. A food stamps hoodie. That's just badass.
Domestic Irritation
I spent last weekend sewing a sun dress, bloomers & matching hat for a baby shower we attended yesterday. Yes. I know. Tough, queer feminist making dainty stitches. Was tempted to hide my crafts light under a gigantic hand-woven bushel but brought the outfit to work to show a few trusted friends. [Underscoring the point that it's not just lavender closet doors I'm committed to ripping off the hinges.] I really enjoy the technical process of sewing. I'm a perfectionist and finish every damn seam. My daughter warned me against domestic hubris by innocently asking me "Who was Arachne again, Mom?" Athena be damned, I did a fab job.
Anyway, in the process of my quiet workplace coming out, an uninvited, socially-inept coworker minced over to examine the outfit and blurted out, "It took you all weekend to make that?" Speechless. I was momentarily speechless. "I can't believe you said that..." was all I managed to eke out. While my Inner Rosie Perez was planting her flashy Latina hand on her sassy Latina hip shouting, "Oh, NO, you DI-ent!"
Funeral, Wedding and Baby Shower
Those were our event options yesterday. Circle of Life, Circle of Life. Kind of wish we could have been invited to a confirmation or bris to round out the rites checklist. Didn't make the funeral because, as much as I really like the guy whose father passed away, we weren't close enough for me to attend this extremely sad service. The wedding was fine. I mean for being in a church and all. The preacher guy was likable. He obviously knew and liked the young bride and groom. My biggest beef with this and many church weddings was the insinuation that marriages must be Christian in order to succeed.
The baby shower for which the aforementioned sun dress was hand-cobbled together was lovely. Happy and promising. I look forward to watching the transition of two wonderful men with busy work/volunteer/social calendars to two wonderful dads with all that and playdates.
The Return of Prodigious Daughter
Our youngest will be coming home to live for the first time in five years...I think that is how long it's been since she lived at home. She'll be spending about three months regrouping here in Houston before returning to Brooklyn for the next leg of her journey...wherever that finally takes her. While there is a bit of trepidation about living with a grown child (and surely for her: living with her mothers as an adult) the overwhelming emotion is elation. For a few months our lives overlap and I get to spend some time with this incredible person.
Aside: No pressure on you, son. Really, just because your return would make your mothers' happiness [sniff] complete...
A Shining Moment for Cultural Diversity
Black lady: Listen, you camel jockey, I don't care what you say, you was wrong to do that!I'll have to leave you with that, dear readers.
Middle Eastern man: Oh, shut up, you stupid nigga! I'm tired of hearing your shit! Go fuck yourself!
Black woman passerby: Oh my god, who the hell are you to be talking to my beautiful black sister like that?! You ain't got no right to talk to anybody black like that!
Black lady: Bitch, who the shit are you? Don't be talkin' to my husband like that!
--W 4th St station
via oiny
