"In the cookies of life, sisters are the chocolate chips." ~Author Unknown
If my life truly were a cookie, my big sister Stacy would definitely star as one of the most loved ingredients. On this, the occasion of her 50th birthday, I dedicate my column to her.
Even though Stacy often introduces me as her older sister, she is in fact twelve years my senior. This means that in my toddlerhood, she was at the age renowned for getting a rise out of mothers. While I have no memory of it, I'm told I was an expert enunciator of moderate curse words. These were Stacy's first fruits of effective teaching.
For a time, Stacy would load me into the basket of her bike and take me wherever she went. Later, I would beg to go with her wherever she went but to no avail. I recall asking her where she was going one 1975 day as she climbed behind the wheel of her VW bug. Her response was a glib "Crazy. Wanna come?" To my disappointment, the question was not a literal one.
Soon enough I knew all about being a glib teenager and it was to my eldest sister that I often turned for a listening ear or a dose of comic relief. My role as beloved Aunt to the sharp niece and three spirited nephews she gave me always brought perspective.
What seemed to be the darkest period of Stacy's life, with the aid of retrospect has become her most victorious. Her marriage ended and she embarked on a journey which included rearing four very young children, attending college start to finish, excelling as an educator, becoming a conscientious homeowner, and remaining sane through it all. Stacy attributes her success to two entities: God and Laughter, which often work hand in hand.
On a long road trip to see relatives one summer, Stacy and her daughter became increasingly frazzled by the three wild boys, who were loud and raucous, as boys often are. Stacy's several commands of "Settle down now," and "Be quiet" were met with jeers and continued rowdiness. At the end of her patience, she shouted something stern that ended with "and I mean it." A period of silence followed; they knew Mom meant business. However, the temptation to quote one of the great lines of Princess Bride was too great, and in unison they intoned, "Anybody want a peanut?"
While I'm sure Stacy appreciated their comedic timing, this did nothing to lift her mood. Just then they heard a loud clapping and clunking from a flat tire. Being endowed with grand imaginations, the boys assumed shots were being fired and issued shouts of "We're hit!" and accordingly took positions face down on the floor boards.
Stacy pulled the car to the median, made a call, and waited for help to arrive. A concerned police officer approached and asked her to pull further onto the shoulder. She objected, saying, "But won't I ruin my wheel if I drive with a flat tire?" He answered with what he probably thought was a rhetorical question: "Which would you rather have, a ruined wheel or your children obliterated by a careless driver?" She paused, glancing back at the boys, who now pointed imaginary guns at the officer from their posts on the floor. She finally responded with a question of her own: "Exactly how much does a new wheel cost?"
Besides the gift of laughter, God has sent Angels to Stacy in the form of loving relatives, generous friends, and inspired church leaders. With their help and her own tireless dedication and faith, Stacy has earned a Bachelor's degree, several teaching credentials, a Master's degree, and the respect of all who know her. And, while she would never take credit for her children's accomplishments, I will add that her daughter is a college graduate and credential holder, two of her boys are Eagle Scouts, one did missionary work for two years in Brazil, and all four of her children are well-traveled, witty and delightful adults. A fine son-in-law and precious grandbaby have been added to the throng, and in a capstone move even for God, Stacy will marry her new-found and long-awaited love next fall.
My sister is a wonderful example of humility, a beacon of determination and a great lover of laughter. Now that I think of it, she shares many characteristics with a good cookie: she rises under heat, is sweet, well-rounded, soft at heart, and she delivers smiles wherever she goes. Stacy Black: one smart, tough and wonderful cookie. Happy Birthday!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Is there such thing as a 'free lunch?'
Buying food and managing a menu are among the most difficult parts of parenthood for me. What is most important? Taste? Price? Nutritional content? Ease of preparation? Buying local?
There are many things to consider, but I am discovering something about myself as my children grow older: the most important thing to me when it comes to food is shelf life. I don’t mean shelf life as in ‘how long will it stay good.’ I mean shelf life as in ‘how long will it stay put.’
That’s right. My number one criterion for a good food buy is how long the food is likely to stay in my cupboard—the longer the better. This requires it to not taste so bad that it would never get eaten, but also not taste so good that it would all be eaten on the day I buy it. I never buy cookies, for example. Any positive health effects of this decision are purely incidental.
At the store, if I see something that my children would actually enjoy eating, it’s not likely to go in the cart. You see, spending four and a half dollars on a box of crackers is only worth it if I know that four and a half dollars will be spread out over, say, thirteen weeks. Then I’ve really gotten a good deal. So it’s salt-free Triscuits for us, thank you.
Some people overcome the dilemma of food disappearing too fast by shopping in bulk at places like Costco, Sam’s Club or the Taj Majal. For me, this is problematic on several levels.
Sure the per-item price is lower than at regular grocery stores, but it’s really hard to take comfort in that fact when I’ve just spent $39.00 on noodles. . . never mind that I won’t have to buy them again this decade.
I don’t have room to refrigerate the five-gallon jug of meat marinade “once opened.” The 800-pack of flavored oatmeal might have a chance if it doubles as an ottoman, but my freezer would almost certainly be overtaxed by the industrial sized bucket of fish sticks.
And if, by some odd culinary coincidence, I happened to need noodles, meat marinade, oatmeal and fish sticks all at once, I would push my way through the gale force fan gusts at the exit with only four items on my flatbed cart, but with the better part of a car payment missing from my wallet.
Safety is also an issue. At no other food store in town will you be beeped at by a man driving farm equipment and carrying a six-ton pallet of M & Ms. If you’re going to shop there, it should be with the understanding, first and foremost, that you are in the way.
Nevertheless, every Saturday, after choir and Kung Fu have had their due attention, my family heads to just such a store. The membership is worth it for the samples alone. There’s something for everyone: chicken in peanut sauce, a power bar, spinach-filled raviolis, even things with the word ‘organic’ in the name, which is comforting, if not entirely believable. And let’s not forget dessert. The first time I saw the sample table serving a fudge brownie with vanilla ice cream on top, a patriotic tear escaped my eye.
Occasionally a space-age blender or a wok that also functions as a campfire pit will be demonstrated, and then you might as well break out the lawn chairs. Smoothies, mashed potatoes, tomato soup, all manner of stir-fry, even a tin-foil dinner if you wait long enough. And the head-set microphones used by the peddlers kind of make you feel like you’re at a concert, so that’s a bonus.
I’ve heard it said there is no such thing as a free lunch. But next Saturday when you see my Costco cart full of satisfied children (and not much else), I’ll let you decide if it’s true.
There are many things to consider, but I am discovering something about myself as my children grow older: the most important thing to me when it comes to food is shelf life. I don’t mean shelf life as in ‘how long will it stay good.’ I mean shelf life as in ‘how long will it stay put.’
That’s right. My number one criterion for a good food buy is how long the food is likely to stay in my cupboard—the longer the better. This requires it to not taste so bad that it would never get eaten, but also not taste so good that it would all be eaten on the day I buy it. I never buy cookies, for example. Any positive health effects of this decision are purely incidental.
At the store, if I see something that my children would actually enjoy eating, it’s not likely to go in the cart. You see, spending four and a half dollars on a box of crackers is only worth it if I know that four and a half dollars will be spread out over, say, thirteen weeks. Then I’ve really gotten a good deal. So it’s salt-free Triscuits for us, thank you.
Some people overcome the dilemma of food disappearing too fast by shopping in bulk at places like Costco, Sam’s Club or the Taj Majal. For me, this is problematic on several levels.
Sure the per-item price is lower than at regular grocery stores, but it’s really hard to take comfort in that fact when I’ve just spent $39.00 on noodles. . . never mind that I won’t have to buy them again this decade.
I don’t have room to refrigerate the five-gallon jug of meat marinade “once opened.” The 800-pack of flavored oatmeal might have a chance if it doubles as an ottoman, but my freezer would almost certainly be overtaxed by the industrial sized bucket of fish sticks.
And if, by some odd culinary coincidence, I happened to need noodles, meat marinade, oatmeal and fish sticks all at once, I would push my way through the gale force fan gusts at the exit with only four items on my flatbed cart, but with the better part of a car payment missing from my wallet.
Safety is also an issue. At no other food store in town will you be beeped at by a man driving farm equipment and carrying a six-ton pallet of M & Ms. If you’re going to shop there, it should be with the understanding, first and foremost, that you are in the way.
Nevertheless, every Saturday, after choir and Kung Fu have had their due attention, my family heads to just such a store. The membership is worth it for the samples alone. There’s something for everyone: chicken in peanut sauce, a power bar, spinach-filled raviolis, even things with the word ‘organic’ in the name, which is comforting, if not entirely believable. And let’s not forget dessert. The first time I saw the sample table serving a fudge brownie with vanilla ice cream on top, a patriotic tear escaped my eye.
Occasionally a space-age blender or a wok that also functions as a campfire pit will be demonstrated, and then you might as well break out the lawn chairs. Smoothies, mashed potatoes, tomato soup, all manner of stir-fry, even a tin-foil dinner if you wait long enough. And the head-set microphones used by the peddlers kind of make you feel like you’re at a concert, so that’s a bonus.
I’ve heard it said there is no such thing as a free lunch. But next Saturday when you see my Costco cart full of satisfied children (and not much else), I’ll let you decide if it’s true.
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