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an everyday life

an everyday life

Category Archives: Life at Home

Tomato Basil Soup

04 Friday Dec 2009

Posted by Janell in In the Kitchen, Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Everyday God, Everyday Life, In the Kitchen, Soul Care, Tomato Basil Soup

The memories of tasting a new soup can be as wonderful as the soup itself.  And so it is with this particular soup.

I don’t remember the year but I recall it was around Valentines Day when I was first treated to a taste of this simple soup.  My friends Kathy and Litha had conspired to give twelve of their shared girlfriends the best sort of Valentine ever – an invitation to a luncheon, to share and bask in love from their kitchens and in the love of God herself.

These women did all the cooking in advance.  So guests arrived to be welcomed by the hostesses, to tables so prettily set, that we knew ourselves for the special company we were.  We were seated and waited on, one course after another.  The creamy red soup came first, served with dainty cheese wafers, all home-made.  Then the sweet ending was some type of raspberry and chocolate confection that was almost too pretty to eat.  And I don’t recall what came in between, nor do I remember what was said by any one at the table, though I recall that later we circled up in Litha’s living room to share our favorite biblical passage about God’s love.

But I’ll never forget how it felt to have a seat at the table amidst such fine company.  I felt that this is how the world should be…everyday, not just on special occasions. I felt love all around me.  And the love made me feel infinitely precious.

And how rare this feeling is, that I should still be warmed by the memory of that day, seven or eight years later.  That this should be so tells me that we don’t love each other nearly as well as we could, even those in our closest knit circle of friends and family, forgetting for a moment the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the lonely, the grieving that are strangers in our midst that so desperately need a sign of our love and God’s.

Our knowledge of love grows out of a place of belonging, a place where we feel at home, a place where we are loved and accepted no matter what.  And it hits me hard that I could do this more myself.  And should do this more myself.  And though I try to create a place of belonging within that monthly contemplative prayer class I facilitate, I wonder how the experience would differ if I were to  host the group in my home, at least on occasion, instead of meeting at the church.

It’s food for thought.  And in the meantime, I think I’ll carry Kathy’s soup to next Thursday’s pot-luck supper.  Maybe a taste of it will warm their hearts as much as mine… and maybe it will warm your heart too.  From my life to yours.

Tomato Basil Soup

(Original Recipe — 10 cups of Soup) (My adaption of Kathy’s recipe follows)

1 28 oz can and 1 14 oz can crushed tomatoes
4 cups of tomato juice or chicken broth

Simmer together in a large sauce pan over medium heat for 30 minutes.

14 basil leaves

Adding basil, puree in small batches in blender or food process (note:  small batches are important as hot liquid is very explosive when being processed or blended).  Alternatively, use an immersion blender and leave the soup in the sauce pan as I do.

Return to the sauce pan.  Add remaining ingredients; heat through, careful not to boil.

1 cup of heavy cream
1/4 pound butter
salt & pepper to taste.

Alternative Ingredient List – Makes about 7 cups

I reduced the fat content and changed the ingredient list for staples I keep on hand.

Using same recipe process described above…

2 14.5 oz cans of petite diced tomatoes, briefly processed in a blender or food processor
1 8 oz can tomato sauce
1 14 oz can chicken broth
7 – 10 basil leaves
2 Tbsp butter
1/2 cup light cream
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper

A Grown Up Party?

03 Thursday Dec 2009

Posted by Janell in Life at Home

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Everyday Life, Happy Birthday, Raising Children

Amy & Bryan

My sons Bryan and Kyle and Bryan’s girlfriend Amy are playing a round of Laser Tag right now, compliments of “the best” mom in the world.

It wasn’t always so.  I was an absentee mom until Bryan was eight, burning the midnight oil trying to become the first female vice-president at my company.  I ended up burning out and trading my corner office for an office with no windows and a more favorable “mommy’ work schedule, but not before Bryan told me that I didn’t care about him, one day when I was late picking him up from daycare.  I was devastated.  And Bryan was one angry little boy.  Deservedly so.

Bryan deserved a better mom and got me.  And though I don’t believe one can ever make up for past mistakes, I did my best to put the past behind me and become the best mom I could from that point on.  I became involved in whatever my boys were involved in; if they played baseball, I was Team Mom.  If they were in Cub Scouts, I became an assistant camp counselor and banquet party planner.  If they went to UM ARMY, I helped with camp registration.

My sons and I have done a lot of growing up together.  All to soon they will be out of school and on their own.  And I’m sort of feeling sad that I’m no longer going to be playing the role of Mom anymore — even though I realize that I’ve mothered less and less each succeeding year of college.

Me and Bryan

But I look at both of my sons with such pride at the adults they have become.  And it seems odd that Bryan will be pursuing a career in tax consulting while Kyle ventures off into the world of professional writing; and here I sit in the middle, having already practiced one and in the midst of practicing the other.

Even though my husband and I ate and ran at this all grown-up birthday party at a place that reminded me of Chuck E. Cheese, it was nice to play mom one last time and advice Bryan on the dress shoes he wanted for his birthday and  dole out money for pizza and drinks and tokens and hand out money for Laser Tag.  And it was that last hand-out that landed me the prize of that rare compliment  — “Mom, you’re the best!” —  from my son who once said I didn’t care about him.

Oh, honey, but I do care.  And both of my boys are the best in the west.  Like a good mom, I don’t play favorites.

End Like Clint

02 Wednesday Dec 2009

Posted by Janell in Life at Home

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Aging, Clint Eastwood, Everyday Life, Parents

Gracing the cover of the latest AARP magazine is seventy-nine year old Clint Eastwood.  Like my father, Clint turns 80 next May.  But these men of identical vintage couldn’t be further apart in terms of aging.  One is  still active and vital while the other rests quietly in his Depends, in a recliner protected by a wet-proof quilted liner.  How can this be?

Yesterday’s visit with Daddy was not really a visit.  Jon and I mostly watched Dad sleep or fight off sleep.  Dad could not keep his eyes open nor could he fully partake of his Tuesday ritual highlight of listening to my sister’s voice.  Yesterday, when I handed Daddy the phone, Daddy nodded a couple of times in response to whatever Christi said, but he couldn’t muster up the strength to speak or even listen for very long, sure signs that something more than tiredness was going on with Daddy.

Daddy now floats in and out of bad days and not-so-bad days.  But nothing like a good day has really been part of Daddy’s life since… well, July, maybe.  April?  Before Mom’s stroke?

Watching all of this from his bed, Daddy’s roommate asked when Daddy became ill. Larry’s good question deserved a good answer.  I wish I had one.  But instead, I muddled through the dark tunnel of events in hope that Larry might glean the answer he sought.  Larry seemed satisfied with my sorry attempt, nodding his head in understanding.  All I could do was recite the litany of events that made up Daddy’s last six months of life.  And wish I had a different story to tell.

I also wished I had my camera to capture the final story told between my brother and father yesterday.  But the moment was gone before I could grab my cell phone.  So I’ll do my best to draw a few lines of words, knowing  I’ll never be able to fully color the image these two made, because it was one of those moments that play out without need of words.

It began with Daddy sending us off with his same gentle curled finger goodbye; if Daddy had bells in his hand, his waving motion would send sweet tinkles to flutter in the air.  Soft as butterfly wings in flight, yesterday Daddy’s wave grew tentative; as if  fingers knew that heart was not yet ready to spread its wings and fly solo.  I watched Dad’s fingers still.  Then quickly changing course, Dad’s fingers curled against his palm and loosening his index finger, Dad’s one finger began to wiggle back and forth, summoning  his only son over for a fatherly conference.

Dutifully, and likely with a quick prayer to decipher Dad’s urgent message to come, Jon bent his tall body down to my father and rested his ear near Daddy’s mouth.  Daddy had so little energy, he didn’t have the strength to string  his normal shaky slurred whispers together.  Within a few seconds, Dad relaxed and gave up the battle for words.

Yet.  My brother did not withdraw.  Instead, Jon tenderly cradled Dad’s head against his own with his right hand, and said without words — it’s all right Daddy.  I’m here.  I love you.  And I know that you love me too.  And I wish our time could end differently, but this is who we are and where we are.  And it’s okay.

But it really wasn’t okay.  Jon left with tears in his eyes yesterday.  And I sit writing these few lines with tears in my eyes.  And I wish a better end for you Daddy.  I wish your almost eighty year old life could end like Clint.

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-- Thornton Wilder, "Our Town"

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