I was reading an article on restaurants, and they mentioned Thomas Keller, and that reminded me of a wonderful memory I have, so I just basked in it for awhile. My cousin Russ Parsons was having a birthday in NYC and his wife Kathy invited me to join them. I’m an absolute idiot about restaurants, and I’m working class to the bone, so I had no idea what she was inviting me to, except it was my cousin’s birthday, and I adore them both, and that was enough to get me to fly to NYC, put on my best black and tell the cab driver the name of the restaurant. When I walked in, all I really saw was my cousin’s face light up when he saw me, and that alone would have made the night right there. But then they showed us to our table and I looked at the table next to us, and it was Robert DeNiro and Bono. The restaurant was Per Se, one of Thomas Keller’s, who had worked with Russ, and he proceeded to lay out a seventeen-course dinner that was mind-blowing. I sat there with two of my favorite people, eating pate that was so good I would have shoved Russ under the table for seconds, and was too overcome to do anything but gape. And then Keller came out and took us on a tour of the kitchens, which was also amazing, and then I went back to the hotel and just sat by myself for awhile because I was so overcome. And happy. Mindblown by my visit to a sphere I clearly didn’t belong in, speechless and stunned, but happy. So when I saw Keller’s name in the article, my mind immediately went back to that night, and with the distance of time, it glows even brighter. I wish I could have pulled myself together and told Russ and Kathy how amazing the night had been, how much it meant to me, right then, but I hope they know it now. Such a wonderful, bright, glowing night, second only to the night I had dinner in their garden.
Happiness is good memories with great people.
What made you happy this week? Or better yet, what’s a great memory that makes you happy now?
72 Responses
I am still thinking about my recent birthday. DH arranged a surprise dinner with close friends at one of our favourite restaurants. My boss at the flower farm, who was one of the guests, provides the flower arrangements for the restaurant and we got extra special treatment. It was a lovely evening and I’m so grateful to DH for arranging it. Also to my friends for attending, especially my BF who flew in from another province to be there.
My book club met this week and the friend hosting the meeting outdid herself. We started off the discussion of the book with drinks and appetizers on her new porch. We then moved inside for a delicious meal. She made a special dairy-free dessert for me. Since I can rarely eat dessert, I enjoyed every bite of my coconut cream fruit parfait.
DH and I went to an outdoor art show. I bought several Christmas gifts for friends. I also got a very whimsical decorative birdhouse for my garden. It was a nice way to pass a couple of hours on a sunny Saturday afternoon.
Jenny, please write your memoirs. All of them. In detail.
But pass on the Brazillian. Even if they offer numbing cream, the regrowth stage is just velvet lined lightning spangled hell.
Otherwise known as ingrown pubic hairs and how the hell do I exfoliate THAT syndrome. Don’t ask how I know.
Jenny, Did you ever get the Brazilian Wax?
Oh, god, no.
Agree on the memoir! So much agreement!
Happiness is the Olympics in Paris.
Yesterday morning, I wanted to go to a shopping centre across the Seine, not far from my mum’s flat and I came accross the Men’s marathon. I couldn’t believe how fast they were still going at the 37km mark. It was also very nice how the crowd cheered every time a runner went past, whatever their nationality.
There you go Tammy, I have seen some of the Olympics live 😀
I am so relieved – and jealous – to hear it!
We babysit for my great nieces and nephews on a fairly regular basis (ages 8, 7, 6, 3, and 4 months) and they make me so, so happy. I’m so grateful that I’m able to spend this time with them and make beautiful memories. Every time their faces light up when they see me, I know I’m doing something right🥰
Happy memory – we are at the cottage so this is what I’ve been thinking about… when we first came to our new cottage six years ago. We had no furniture except a couch that converted into a bed, huge windows with no curtains so we wore sleeping masks, no wifi so we tethered, and no kitchen stuff so we brought a couple of pots, plastic dishes and plastic cutlery. We spent the weekend in utter bliss because it was our cottage.
My earliest memories start at around age four. I’m now a few months shy of eighty. Anyway, in reminiscing with my sister I’ll tell her about walking with our mother and her pushing a baby carriage with her and then our new brother inside. Places like going to see our father where he worked, it was that close or going to the doctor. So, imagine my surprise when I was recently looking at an archive picture in a Boston facebook page. And on that page, I came upon a street shot of a woman pushing a carriage across the street with a little tow-haired girl at her side somewhere around my age at the time 3 1/2. It was a group shot with a lot of people involved. Well, I googled the street on the map, and it was only about two or three streets from where we lived at the time. I printed off the picture framed it and put in on my bureau. Gives me happies.
What a great find!
On my infrequent trips back to Chicago, I’ve sometimes revisited the neighborhood where I lived until, at just short of 4, we moved out to the suburbs. As of a bit over a decade ago, the house where we rented was still there, in a now largely Hispanic neighborhood. (For that matter, the suburb to which we moved is now largely Hispanic as well, as later generations followed the same path that we did.) There used to be a boundary wall of a cemetery where my parents could boost me up so I could walk atop it for a city block or so, presumably with a parent making sure I didn’t fall. The wall has now been built up much higher, although still in the same style. I also think I found the nearby apartment building where an aunt, uncle, and cousins lived until, very early, my uncle died and the family moved away. In another apartment in, I think, the same building, lived two retired ladies who were somehow friends of our family. (One was a former showgirl, no less.) We visited back there for a few years after we moved away, so I remember that a little better. The apartment was a few stories above ground, which put it on a level with the El tracks that ran above the street outside, meaning I had a great view of the trains as they rumbled by. This fascinated me.
Happy memories are the family trips we take each summer. We camp, so we have to eat together (no bedrooms for the kids to hide in), play board games etc.
I get inspired to do more family outings when we’re at home, even if it’s just dragging (almost literally, good grief) the family out to the river so the dog can cool off.
There was resistance, as usual, but at the end there was desire to do more family outings, and THAT is the part I have to remember so that I keep asking the kids to do things.
What a lovely, luminous memory.
My happiness is having gone through a big week, with a voice recital Sunday, a NP board retreat all Thursday, and participating in a large outdoor craft festival all yesterday. I was in charge of the musical performers. And for better or worse, it’s done. Phew.
Now of course on to other things, but I’m happy that’s past, and it was all pretty good. Although, note to self, I should never bake for events. It’s always tasty, but rarely pretty.
Also, those little dahlia tubers that wintered over in the small (unheated) back bedroom are riotously productive. Delightful.
I attended the Global Leadership Summit this week and the speakers were inspiring. It’s hosted by my old church, which is where I met my husband. We still have good friends who work there. I have many happy memories from that time as 20 something’s all working together and sharing life together. Every year when I attend the conference, I think about them and feel something akin to a warm hug.
As a young person, sharing a crappy little house with other people and living on a (frayed) shoestring, but Saturday nights we would rush home, clean up the dishes that had accumulated and make brownies from a box. Friends would congregate in our little dark living room, and we would play aggravation (board game with dice and marbles) and sing with the guy who played guitar, and have cooperative recitations of Monty Python (Cheese Shop, anyone?).
Over the years activities morphed (added Saturday Night Live), we gathered at someone else’s house, we played other games. People came and went and sometimes came again. It was all good, but for some reason that particular period really stands out.
That was fun to remember, thanks for asking. And today I have BOTH cinnamon rolls and chocolate cherry bread (it just happened) and a new to me Grace Burrows to read, and bacon and tomato sandwiches planned with darling husband later, so today is looking good too.
Loved this story, Jenny. This weekend, Grandboy brought a friend to the lake and watching these two rambunctious 12-year-olds frolicking in the water, jumping off the dock, laughing and teasing, reminded me so clearly of when Son brought friends to the cottage we rented every summer when he was a kid. It warmed my heart to see a new generation of boys swimming and enjoying the lake.
I’m very happy that the Cardiologist figured out what is going on, and prescribed a tiny little pill that is already helping. And the weather is fall-like, for now, so it has been wonderful for walking, and mowing the lawn.
People have been very supportive during this stressful time. My step-dad called to say he has taken the same medicine for years, which was comforting. All my family, several friends, and my neighbor who has heart problems, have been wonderful. It was the stress test that revealed the problem. My blood pressure did not come down after the test, and it was high. I have white coat syndrome, but it was high, even for that. So the doc said I have incipient high blood pressure. It hasn’t shown up “at rest”, when I take my BP, but when exercising, and would probably show up at rest, eventually. Thus the little pill.
I’m so glad they found the issue!
I know how frustrating not knowing what’s going on can be!
Thanks, Natasha.
Glad it turned out to be something so treatable. I’ve been on BP meds for decades now, with no major side effects. It was not always so. When I was in HS in the 1960s, my mother complained steadily about how sleepy her BP meds made her in the evenings. (But she lived to be just short of 90, so they probably worked.) Better meds came along later, even in my mother’s lifetime, and now, sometimes after a period of adjustment, the meds work more invisibly.
Interesting, Patrick. I’m having some side effects, now that I’ve had three pills. I hope they fade away.
I’m so glad they found out what the problem is and that your little pill is working well. I’m also glad that your doctor didn’t wait for the problem to show up while you were “at rest” to treat it and that you are going better now.
Thanks, Aunt Snack. I hope I feel less dizzy, less tired, and am less clumsy, as I adjust.
If the problem persists, by all means get back to your doctor. There are lots of BP meds out there and another may work better for you.
If the side effects don’t wear off , call your doctor. There are many different drugs and dosages to try until you find what works for you. And don’t wait until your next appointment to bring it up. Call or email to keep your doctor’s office up to date on your symptoms. Weeks or months are too long to go around dizzy, especially if you live alone or are driving.
I echo Aunt Snack – just come off my little pill for high blood pressure because of swollen ankles. The surgery receptionist and my Dr treated this as an emergency appointment and I had to cease immediately and there is to be a review next week after I take some more bp readings. A bit scary but glad they leaped into action and are taking good care of me. ( I was going a bit light headed at times too but hadn’t really associated it with the pills).
DH and I have had some special meals, particularly on vacations, but one of the most memorable was chef’s menu at Melisse (a very, very good French restaurant here in Los Angeles) with two of our best friends. I don’t even really remember what we ate, except that it was delicious, but the evening was golden.
An online friend just moved. It’s a great benefit to her husband, because his new job is much better, but she’s lonely now without friends nearby. As I wrote a response to her, I remembered other times feeling lonely. Years ago, I joined a writers group. Before the meeting would start, people were nice enough, but they all had friends they wanted to talk to. Joining into existing conversations isn’t something I do. One meeting, they announced that a critique group would be forming. I joined and soon was friends with the other members. Then I took advantage of another opportunity and got to know other members. One day, I was looking around at everyone before one of those big meetings and saw many people who I’d love to talk to. I wasn’t lonely anymore.
Happiness was reading your reminiscence which led to a second reminiscence, which was so good.
Are the best. I have so many of them. One of my favorites is the first time we went to the golden. Boot awards. This was a wonderful award ceremony where old Cowboys gave awards to other old Cowboys stars. It was dreamed up by Pat Butrum, and iron eyes Cody to raise money for the screen actors Guild motion picture home. It was done at a Burbank hotel and you could talk to anybody and I got to meet Jimmy Stewart and Bob Hope and Roy Rogers all heroes of mine. I don’t remember what we had for dinner, I just remember the excitement my very first award show and meet so many wonderful people. The golden boot ended in early 2000. But I still have tiny boot pins that remind me of them
I have a food memory, but it is only marginally happy. When I was in my twenties, I came into my “inheritance” of a sort. Accumulated social security and survivor benefits from my father, started when I was just 16 months old. Augmented by a re-enlistment bonus after my divorce. Sidebar: when people asked why I was divorced, I’d say “There was another woman.” If they pried, I’d explain that she was not my woman.
Anyway, I’d visit my brother and his family every six months or so. I took my nephews to Six Flags Over Georgia. We played chess. They were good visits and Marguerite could cook! But her cooking wasn’t the big memory. For her birthday, I promised I would take them (if they could find babysitters) out “anywhere you want to go.”
Where she wanted to go turned out to be a snooty French restaurant in downtown Atlanta that cost $800 (in 1975 dollars) for three. I remember eating some kind of beef and some flaming dessert. And never offering to take my family to dinner again. No regrets, but haute cuisine is not how I roll.
Now I’ve read the linked dinner with Russ and OMG! Another food memory!
I served on four submarines. The second was the USS Benjamin Franklin. We forward-staged out of Rota, Spain. While in Rota, some friends and shipmates said, “We’re going out for O-rings. Come with!” Well, I love me some onion rings, so I went with.
We went to the Enlisted Man’s Club, got seated, and one of the guys ordered a large platter. When it arrived… Background: an o-ring is actually a circular rubber gasket used to seal various plumbing-type stuff. It has a circular cross section to distinguish it from flat gaskets like the ones in garden hoses.
By now you have all realized that the o-rings I have been invited to eat are not onion rings, but calamari rings. Unless you’ve had them yourself, you may not realize that they earned the nickname “o-ring” because they are identical in texture with those rubber gaskets. They are chew toys for humans. They are a delivery system for the dipping sauce and the fried batter and, in my opinion, not meant to be eaten except in dire straights. Eventually, I ordered a hamburger.
Gary, O rings/calamari can be quite tasty but it’s very tricky to avoid making them into the rubbery stuff you described.
Commiserations on the horrendously expensive family outing!!!
For every food that anyone, anywhere has had a bad experience with, someone will point out that the item, if properly prepared, is sensational. They may be right! I will give you that. You have evidently enjoyed Squidward Done Right.
As an example, shrimp. When we lived in Key West, we would stop by the shrimping fleet to buy their cast-offs, the shrimp that were only palm-sized, to use for bait to catch real seafood. I ate a lot of fish growing up. When my mother cooked shrimp or lobster, I did not like them. It was only after I was middle-aged that I could enjoy shrimp. Lobster… you all can have my share. Aside: I may have mentioned a time or twelve that my mother was not renowned as a chef {shudder}.
During out last trip to France, we had one dinner in Paris (we usually scoot right through Paris and spend all our time in Brittany), we were taken out for a dinner that mostly consisted of some kind of foam with what looked like grass clippings on top. I was REALLY glad we didn’t pay for that meal!!! The restauranteurs had a cute dog, though.
That description made me laugh.
Jenny my post went into moderation—-and only one link!
Oops. Two links . Still in moderation
More than one or two, but you’re out now. There were three others in there, so good thing you mentioned it. Off to check the spam filter.
Edited to add: Nobody we know in the spam filter, although I was tempted by “English Porn Stars.” Porn just never seems like something I think the British would do.
That’s because you’ve never lived there. If you read some of the tabloids, porn seem a small step away,
Torally agree, aunt snack!
Thanks! I be free!
I am very fortunate to have a lot of good memories. I am clearly going to be one of those annoying old people who tell stories again and again. There are stories about my kids which I still cannot tell to the end without cracking up. ( I am pretty sure I already told you all the story about my daughter, announcing her pregnancy at age 4 in the library, which ends with her saying in a loud voice “ do you want to know who the father is? It’s big bird, he gave me the sperm last Thursday. “)
The one I have been remembering lately was my surprise 50th birthday party which DH and the kids threw for me, and my best friend and one of my sisters flew in for. Probably 50 people at one of our favorite restaurants; DH even brought a dress for me to change into so I would feel appropriately dressy. I complain a fair bit about my mom here , and my relationship with some of my sibs is somewhat strained, but I have been able to build a wonderful life with DH, DD, DS, and found family.
What’s making me happy today is DS is home for 10 days, my garden is in full bloom and I got most of the weeds out after my COVID induced gardening break, I bought plums at the farmers market so I can make flamenkuchen and remember my dad, I’m mostly over my COVID, and we got the two hard deadlines at day job met before midnight. One was a grant proposal and one was a mid year grant report, both were giant pains to write, and both made me realize how much I personally have achieved and how much the group I work for has accomplished in the last few years, so there is a nice afterglow. (I do my census work through Coalition Human Needs, and if you are interested in helping advocate for funding for programs like housing and child care you can sign up for their email at http://www.chn.org . They led the fight that made sure we have enough funding that no child will be turned away from WIC this fiscal year—that alone makes me feel good.)
For the curious, flamenkuchen is a plum tart made with German short crust pastry (Muerbeteig ) which has egg and lemon rind in it and an egg white and sugar glaze. It could go in Ecstasy if it were plum season. I can post the recipe if anyone is interested.
The other thing making me happy was the big discussion here about accents and watching Nicola Coughlan take the accent challenge here: https://www.facebook.com/reel/2082210002163917?fs=e&mibextid=UalRPS
She is amazing. I couldn’t possibly do this but have just enough of a good ear to appreciate her.
I sort of recall the DD announcing she was pregnant at 4 in the library. The kicker is the father was Big Bird. I laughed out loud. Oh my goodness, how could you keep a straight face. I am going to be one of those old ladies telling stories, for sure.
I threw a 50th party for DH at our favourite Italian restaurant. I hired a Marilyn Monroe look-a-like to sing Happy Birthday to him. No one knew except the sons. It was terrific. She was great. She asked if she could sit on his knee. Apparently some women don’t like her sitting on their husband’s knee. Not me. All very tasteful done. DH loved it. Not every man gets Marilyn singing to them, even if a look-a-like. It was a great evening.
Thank you for the Nicola link, she’s hilarious and very talented!
“Happiness is good memories with great people.” That says it all. 😀
Those are some great memories! I have to say, outside of some fantastic hikes, my best memories are of food, too. We’re having friends over this afternoon and hopefully will have a nice visit plus yummy food on our patio. Wondering if it’s too late to grab some twinkle lights? I bet I have time!
A food related memory that always makes me happy is when my wife and I went to England (and Scotland) in 1999. At the time there were only 3 Michelin starred restaurants in England and despite being a foodie she had never eaten in one. There was one really, really expensive one in London, that required not only formal dress but had been booked up 6 months in advance. The other two were both in a small town near the Welsh border called Ludlow, just south of Hereford. One was called Mr. Underhill’s, which didn’t take reservations but that was the one she chose. So we took the train to Oxford and rented a car there and drove to Ludlow. But the night before we discovered that Mr. Underhill’s wasn’t open for lunch, and we had planned to have lunch and then drive to Hereford for the night. So we called the other Michelin starred restaurant in Ludlow called Le Marche. And they were open for lunch and had an available reservation. And indeed when we got there we were the only ones there. The owner came out and sat down with us and went over the wine list and what would go well with the three selections that were on the menu. Two other tables came in after us. I am not a foodie, and my wife has dined in Nice restaurants since then, but watching her face still light up when she talks about that lunch, and the cute little red haired waiter who spoke only French, again and again over the following 25 years still makes me happy.
Ludlow’s the other end of Shropshire from me, and I enjoy exploring the town. It’s well-known for food, but the fanciest I’ve been to is an up-market cafe. (It’s actually north of Hereford, by the way.)
And did you know, by the way, that in Hertford, Hereford & Hampshire, they hardly ever have hurricanes?
Surprising little fact.
I never dream about movie stars – except one – Robert DeNiro. Twice. And they are still vivid memories. The first one, I’m with my sister in Manhattan and we meet Robert And Joe Pesci and they take us out to dinner and he and I were just staring into each others eyes in our own world. And my sister got really annoyed getting stuck with Joe. But I didn’t care. In the other dream, again in Manhattan, my sister was moving from a high rise but her VW beetle was on the roof and she couldn’t get it down. So Robert, just because he loved me so much, brought in a big crane and had her car brought down to the street. I was so touched and felt so loved. I cannot even imagine actually seeing him for real in a restaurant but I’d probably start singing ‘it’s a beautiful dayyyyyy🎶’ lol.
When I went to France for the first time, I was travelling for a short time with 2 girls I met in a youth hostel . They were on Christmas break from their overseas program in Austria and I was working my way north from Italy to end up in Denmark for the holidays. We took the train to Nice, found a nice room and took the train to different small town every day to wander around. When we got back to our room, we were too tired and hungry to want to search for different places to eat, so we ended up having dinner at the same place every night. There was a group of locals who had a dining club at this small restaurant and they became very interested in us when we came back night after night. I don’t remember anything about the food, but I do fondly remember the way these people tried to communicate with 3 bedraggled students on vacation. They called us Miss America (the most type A one), Miss Austria (a girl from the Phillipines) and they called me Miss Interpreter because I was the only one who spoke any French. I can’t remember anything about the food, but I do fondly remember the way they gave us friendly advice for our future explorations.
Happiest moment this week was discovering there’s a frog in my tiny tub pond.
I am happy to live in a time when I can read blogs and websites and substacks, especially so when I came upon this piece by Heather Lende. She lives in Alaska, and this is about a Viking funeral for real. https://www.heatherlende.com/fair-winds-and-following-seas/
It pleased me to have life and art imitating one another.
Also because of online riches, I’ve signed up for a free writing retreat later this month.
Today the coffee hour host made the most delicious gluten free cookies–I’m not as faithful to gf as I was once, but finding a good cookie made me happy.
Wow so envious of Perse dinner with Mr. Parsons.
I must be the only one who loves squid 🦑
I love fried calamari, squid rice, squid and octopus salad! If cooked properly, a big if.
Mostly because when we were young my father used to take his four children to the beach. My dad had us two weekends a month and his go- to was the beach.
The snack he packed was always canned black ink squid and saltines. Yum still!
The beach days with dad are the best dad memories. Walking tide pools and watching crabs, sea urchins, fish was fun.
P.S.
I adore Brazil but never would I ever get a Brazilian wax. Plus I would bet my Brazilian girlfriends don’t do it either. Lol not that I asked.
The reason I don’t like squid is because one summer I had to clean too many of them. I was working in the prep kitchen for the fanciest Italian restaurant in Chicago. In the more casual cafe, they ran 5 different salads every day and you could order your choice of any 3 as an entree. In the hot weather the Frutti di Mare salad (a blend of shrimp, bay scallops and squid) was very popular. One day I had to make it 5 times just for lunch service and I have no idea if the person on the dinner shift had to make another few tubs of the stuff after I got off for the day. We used frozen squid that was supposedly already cleaned but I always had to clean extra slime out of the tubes. My Mom adored fried calamari as an appetizer, but it took me several years before I would eat them with her.
Prepping seafood is a nightmare.
I cleaned 30 pounds of shrimp for a banquet and had shredded fingers in the process ugh. Plus perfumed hands.
Do you remember the scene in Atlantic City where Susan Sarandon had to wash her arms with lemon juice every night when she got off of work?
I’m recovering from an exhausting but generally successful week. (There are multiple possible causes for the exhaustion, including the heat wave now past.) On Monday, I got a call from the dentist’s office. My partial denture had arrived ahead of schedule, and could I come in that day at 3:00? That fit in with my therapy schedule, so I went directly from that to the dentist. I’m still getting used to the denture, which in the mouth feels pretty bulky, considering that it’s only replacing 4 teeth. It looks smaller when out of the mouth. The dentist says that it will take a couple of weeks to determine if it fits right, rather as with new shoes. If not, she will readjust. It definitely at minimum will take some getting used to.
On the way to therapy I had tried the new route that I mentioned earlier. I took a wrong turn and drove considerably out of my way, but still got there on time. The next day, I tried again and overshot the final turnoff, since I had normally approached it from the opposite direction. That only cost a few minutes to rectify. Following therapy I went to a nearby grocery to shop, both for perishables I was out of, and to get non-whole-grain products, since those were recommended to me to keep my innards happier until therapy ends late this month. (That and other diet changes seemed to help, as did OTC meds. I’m now experimenting with how much fresh, frozen, or canned fruit and veg I can put back in my diet without rebellion.) On Wednesday I got the new route right, and following therapy I went across town to Walmart in search of a new electric kettle and various OTC meds (mostly unrelated to recent problems), on which meds it generally has the lowest prices in town. As usual, they were out of some things. (Walmart clearly doesn’t keep much back inventory, and when what is on the shelf is gone, it stays gone for a while.) Other things, such as their inexpensive brand of artificial tears, seem to have been discontinued. A few items formerly on the shelf with antitheft devices that the cashier could remove, were now behind lock and key. Considering how hard it is to find a salesperson at Walmart to unlock a cabinet, I won’t be buying those there again, unless perhaps as an online order for pickup. (I didn’t need any today.) I did get a new electric kettle. The old one had not died and I’ll keep it as a backup, but I had to adjust it just so on its base or it would not turn on. So that was three days in a row of much running around. I was pretty wiped out. It took me until Saturday even to get the new kettle unpacked and cleaned so that I could use it. It worked fine then and today.
On Thursday, besides therapy, I made a start at catching up on chores and finishing off my book club book. Much the same for Friday. I felt better on Saturday, but, even so, felt sufficiently depleted after merely the short book club meeting that I came directly home. Today I’ve been trying to mostly rest while also getting some necessary chores done. The place is still basically a mess, but I’m chipping away at it.
Pastries in Austria are a fond memory. Also the smell of bread baking near a street corner in Salzburg.
In 2010, I moved from PA back to CT and got involved in an artisan’s coop. I made bags out of old jeans (they never did sell well), knitted lace items (meh) and eventually soap (which did somewhat better). Anyway, there was a coup, and I, along with 2 good friends, got tossed out on our ears. One of those two good friends opened a store just 2 doors down, so three of us ended up putting our work there (and it sold much better. That store was called Lark, and it was so wonderful! She doubled the size within 2 years.
Then she moved to MS and closed it down. I think of my Larkies often, but she wrote to us all today, and it was a lovely memory, from our grand opening to the flamingos we adopted out to the 6 foot long brownie and all the cool things we did with the town. A lovely memory. Not really food-related (unless you count the brownies, which I don’t because – gasp – I actually don’t like chocolate).
DH and I met up with his cousin from Miami this weekend on the island. She was adopted and found the family. She is a darling. Her partner was with her. Lovely people. I have a photo of her mother as a little girl about 4 or 5 from the archives in Yellowknife. DH’s aunt is a sweetheart too. Anyway I sent the photo to new cousin. The look on her face looking at her mother as a little girl is a new memory I will not forget. Nor will I forget the little expressions of love and happiness when DH pats her shoulders and tells her he is so happy to be with her. He did that several times. He is a good man. It was a mutual admiration fest. And boy did we eat god food all weekend. Happiness is new memories.
One of my favorite memories is not a food based memory – surprise surprise.
I was married to my second husband Marty who was born & raised in Mumbai, India of Indian parents. We were living in Kirkwood Missouri with my two daughters which are his daughters also though not by birth.
On a Saturday the girls & & were cleaning our place while he worked half a day & then we were going out for lunch. It started pouring down rain & was till pouring with no signs it was stopping anytime soon. I said I guessed we’d have to cancel the trip to the park. He asked why & I said because it’s raining. He started laughing & told me in India they had monsoons & people didn’t alter their plans due to rain.
So he & I went to the park. The girls declined so it was just him & me. That was one of my most fun afternoons. It’s a great park & no one was there but us. We did the merry go round, the swings & the slide & just ran around being silly. We got back home SO MUDDY.
I don’t remember specifics about the rest of the day but I know it was pleasant and I will always smile when I remember the fun of that silly, muddy afternoon.
I love a “silly, muddy afternoon”.
I don’t think the Germans are quite as intrepid as the Indians, but my time in Germany was mostly spent in the foothills of the Alps, where a gentle rain or fine mist is pretty constant for much of the year, and one learns that that doesn’t really count as raining. That got me in the habit of constantly wearing a broad-brimmed hat outside to keep the rain off my glasses (unless it was windy).
My sister was invited to a destination wedding in Spain and just got back. While she was over there, I sent her pictures of old photos of our mother on the trip her father took her on to Spain when she was about 14. My sister and her partner spent some time hunting down and recreating those photos. It makes me happy, but it is also a little ghostly, as both my mother and grandfather have passed and these images are from over 50 years ago. Spain, however stayed much the same. I don’t know why it echoes more loudly than pictures of my mother in places that I live and know, but it does. Like following footsteps in the sand. Still, it makes me happy to see.
Otherwise, I was productive this weekend. My corn is finished for the year. I may do another round of peaches for the freezer and applesauce, kimchi and meatballs will need to happen, but for now my bathroom and kitchen are clean. I feel like I am on top of my to-do list, an illusion, I know. But I will take what I can get.
That sounds so productive! Mostly I spent my weekend watching the Olympics – so especially by comparison.
I am very bad at resting.
I have 2 (sorta). The first one is, when I was in my last year of pediatric residency, I bought a little house about 5 minutes away from the hospital. Once I got into practice and had a set day off every week, that day became Everybody Come Over to Joni’s House for whatever I had on the stove (chili, soup, pasta, whatever). Somebody always brought beer, and we’d just hang out and laugh. One night a couple got engaged and stopped by to celebrate, which just added to the fun. It was the best.
The second was on my first trip to Edinburgh, when I asked at the hotel where I could get good salmon. The sweet little old man concierge sent me to a place I’ve never been able to find again, which served me amazing salmon caught that morning off the isle of Skye. Two bonuses: there was a wedding there that afternoon, and the bride and bridesmaids were having photos taken in the square when I got there. The party went on into the next morning, it was intense. And the concierge called me, “Lassie,” which I when I just melted (I was 34).
Seventeen courses?! Yikes. I imagine they were all small? Otherwise, it sounds like those (apparently) accurate Regency novels where there were about six protein courses, plus soups and desserts.
My favourite foodie dinner was in Paris years ago, when our restaurant critic friend (now a renowned cookbook author and cooking school owner) directed us to a place called La Ronde de Serviette. I think there were four courses plus an amuse bouche and each course was accompanied by a different wine. Exquisite. But we made a terrible North American faux pas by arriving 15 minutes early and were banished into the street by outraged servers who told us to take a walk around the district.
Happiness is taking time to enjoy the moment, something we so often forget to do. My happiest recent memory was sitting in an outdoor bistro in Bruges (Belgium), soaking in the sights and sounds of a carefree Sunday afternoon. People watching people. A brass band playing 70s music in the square. A real Belgian waffle.