little sarah Big World

Tag: family

Hey, Dad

-OR-

An Idea Borrowed from Whitney

Hey, Dad. Hi. How’s it going? I’m writing directly to you because I know you’re probably the number 1 reader of my blog, though I often have to push that thought away in order to write honestly about, you know, sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll.

But I’m glad that you read, even when you over-analyze what I’ve written. I know you read so faithfully because you care, because you’re interested in my life and concerned for my well-being. So I just wanted to take a moment to say “hey,” and to let you know that I’m doing fine. You don’t have to worry, because I’m turning out just fine. Hello from littlesarahBigWorld. (These guys wanted to say “hi,” as well):

-OR I COULD SAY-

Hello from your mountain-climing, long distance-running, doowop-singing, yoga-loving, broadway musical-obsessed daughter. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree I guess, but that’s part of what makes me me, and the me that I am right now is loving life. No need to worry.

-OR-

Hello from the top of Machu F***ing Picchu!!! I made it! Your daughter climbs mountains! She travels alone in South America! She gets sick and tired and has rough days and crummy experiences, but she keeps going, head held high, chin up, and on to the next adventure.

And she loves you. So you did alright. Things turned out well.

Oh, and one more thing:

Love from your Daughter,

Sarah

How to Sundee (Part 1)

~OR~

Sunday is for Brunches

(and Family)

Oh, it is rare that I take a day to just relax, Friends. A day without non-stop obligations and to-do lists and accomplishments. But today was one of those rare days, where I don’t have “back-to-back plans” (as Kevin said). Mostly because I am not feeling well, but STILL. I’ll take my lessons where I can get them.

So today I rose early, and prepared scones

Then I went to a family brunch at Sister Natalie’s house, because Dad’s back in town, and because the weather’s nice, and also just because.

The weather truly has been amazing this week–in the 80s and sunny, with a pleasant breeze. Sunshine for days.

So of course there was trampoline jumping with the kiddos. Because there is no resisting kiddos and a trampoline, and because Kevin and I are the youngest and most-childish of the “grown-ups.” And also just because.

Later we napped, did laundry, went for a walk. We stopped by a going-away party (of sorts) to deliver some cookies, but I was feverish enough that all I wanted was to dive head-first into the ice-filled beer bucket. So we went home. Easy does it.

Sad that it takes a fever to remind me to slow down, but I think I’m getting it. Well done, Sunday.

Big Sis, Little Sis

~OR~

Rosie Has Two Mommies

(and so do I)

Saturday night my little sister Rosie slept over. She is five years old, and sometimes I’m hesitant to explain our relationship. Technically, she is my mother’s lesbian lover’s daughter. So…no, we’re not related by blood. But what does that even matter? I don’t call Beth my mother’s lover, anyway. I just call her Beth, and I refer to her as my step-mom. Which…well, admittedly that confuses people.

Though, interestingly enough, living in Utah means that I can be a 26-year-old with a 5-year-old sister, and most people don’t bat a lash. We’re professional reproducers here, folks.

But…living in Utah also means that I’ve never been too jazzed to reveal my personal family information to strangers. Because not only am I a non-Mormon (born and raised), I’m a non-Mormon raised by a lesbian and a Jew. Try telling THAT to your friend’s mom while she’s carpooling you to soccer practice!

But I do believe in honesty, Friends. It’s just that I also believe in, you know, protecting what’s mine. So sometimes there’s internal conflict.

But…honestly? Mostly there is little conflict. Mostly there is watching Tangled and eating home-made popcorn with little Rose, who decides that she DOES like my special seasoning (Earth Balance butter + salt/nutritional yeast/Mrs. Dash) and also that she should probably just tell me the entire plot of the movie before-hand. Just in case I might get scared.

Then there is giggling in bed, and going to sleep at 9:30, and then waking up at 7:30. There is trying to play Simpsons Clue at a coffee shop, where we both drink hot chocolate and eat bagels. By then it is only 10 or so, so we decide to go bowling. Because Rosie’s never been, and because…why not?

Because that’s what sisters do–they hang out, watch movies, have sleepovers, go to cafes, and try new things together.

And that’s the honest truth.

 

The Seasons, They Go Round and Round

~OR~

We’re Captive on a Carousel of Time

(Joni Mitchel)

Ah, but where does the time go? It seems not even a year ago that I was making Passover puns in poor taste…

…probably because it wasn’t even a year ago. Sometimes seder  has to be moved up a few weeks, to accommodate world travelers. And–as Joey pointed out–it’s usually “a bit more reverent.” Listen, we do what we want.

But oh, we have fun.

Except…except this year’s (early) Passover seder turned into a metaphor for my life:

Everyone was having a good time eating and drinking and wanting to dance all night, but then they all got distracted talking about relationship troubles and babies and the seasons of our lives.

And I still just wanted to dance.

Milestones

~OR~

Please Let Me Remember Tomorrow That I Dropped Picked-Off Nail Polish Into a Water Glass and Not Just Re-Fill It and Start A-Drinking

 Tonight my mom asked me why I’d decided to become a vegan.

Then she listened carefully to the answer. And later she seriously considered my suggestion that she eat more whole grains.

It was pretty bad-ass.

*       *       *

Yesterday I went to brunch at Vertical Diner with Nicole friend. We had both been pretty shit-faced in public the night before. She’d rambled on to an acquaintance at a bar, and I’d negotiated with a high school-aged Jamba Juice employee. Milestones. 

I am not yet too old to be publicly intoxicated. I have not yet reached Patsy and Eddy status. But someday, when I do reach that point, I will be okay with it.

SO okay.

*       *       *

Anyways, the point is that Nicole and I have decided to regress to high school levels of debauchery. And I’m okay with that as well, Friends. I’m okay with staying out late and having sleepovers and making bad choices and giggling and hanging out with my friends as though they were my very life-blood.

No parents, no rules.

(Which at this age means not only that my folks aren’t around, but also that I, myself, am not a parent).

Except my mom IS around. And we drink two gin and tonics (each) on a Monday night. And shoot the shit.

Then I come home and blog.

*       *       *

You’re Welcome!

…and now…

I guess now is the time where I once again apologize for slacking as a blogstress and promise to post not only new stuff but all the retro-acties that I’ve long been promising. It’s just that time of year, Friends. It comes ’round more often than Daylight Savings Time.

WHICH, by the way, is the most ridiculous SLASH the best ever word-of-mouth campaign. I mean, have you ever, in your lifetime, been forewarned of the impending Spring Forward or Fall Back by any manner OTHER THAN word of mouth? I always seem to just hear about it the night before. Every year. Twice a year. For life.

Ridiculous, is what it is.

Almost as ridiculous as my SEEMINGLY EMPTY PROMISES. However, in keeping with the theme of Zany Time Antics AND in an effort to make a post, no matter how trivial and last-minute AND to relieve myself of the burden of random old emails filling up my inbox…here’s some pictures from, like, two years ago:

 

Ah, bebbes. Gotta love ’em.

And here‘s a DST-related post, from even longer ago! The past, Friends!

House-Sitting

 

~OR~

The Single Life

Moms are in LA for the weekend, with Rose-a-bose, so I’m on duty on the domestic front. I have a whole, clean, warm house all to myself and don’t work until Monday. Lots of quiet alone time.

I love my moms’ house. The nice sheets, big bed. Clean bathtub. I love how there are pots and pans and spices and all of the kitcheny things that I don’t have. Things like a cake carrier, which I have coveted for years, and is now, apparently, mine. Thanks, Moms.

Other than Ladies Night, it’s been deliciously uneventful. Sleeping in, eating cookies for breakfast. Watching 30 Rock and SNL episodes on Hulu. Reading magazines. Doing laundry. Catching up on my blog, with no distractions or obligations. It’s been great. Just what I needed.

*       *       *

As my Melissa friend pointed out last night, with no kids and a boyfriend halfway around the world, pretty much all my time is me time.

And I’m okay with that.

Birthday Dinner

~OR~

“Did you have a good birthday?”

Dinner with the family–pasta puttanesca, roasted veggies, almesan “cheese,” wine, manhattans, and home-made apple cake with almond praline caramel ice cream.

Small, riotous children; small, thoughtful gifts; and an early bedtime.

We keep it simple 🙂

Life Goes On

~OR~

“Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da”

Last night I was yelled at by a cab driver. He said my card was denied, that there was no money, and called me a liar, when I said I was certain that it was just a mistake. He refused to run it again, said that running a different card would waste even more of his time than I’d already wasted, yelled at me “What are you do?! Why you call a taxi if you have no money?!”

I stayed calm, repeating “What do you want me to do.” He screamed at me, threatened to call the police.

“Belligerent,” I believe, is the word.

Finally he ran another card, which of course worked. I slammed the door on my way out, and he rolled down his window to say “Attitude! You do not need to have an attitude.”

I staggered to the porch, fell into a plastic chair, and sobbed. What else could I do? How can people be so irrational, so needlessly cruel and harsh?

(Some days I am still little sarah, and it is a Big, Bad world).

But then…then there was my Stephanie P. friend, who rushed over, with hugs. Kind words and the promise of a brighter tomorrow. She had never seen me cry before, but I am not embarrased, and anyways, that’s what friends are for.

Today I made salad with bean sprouts, bloomed simply and magically in Sister Natalie’s kitchen. I like sprouts. I like eating a salad for lunch, and the way the sunlight comes in through my kitchen window. I love the little gifts and tokens of affection that my loved ones give to me, something green, and new. Like a bit of hope.

*       *       *

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
	hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
	is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
	green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
	may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe
	of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
	zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the 
same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

--Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

 

A Labor of Love

~OR~

I Bake Because I Care

~OR~

I Bake Because You Are 70-Years-Old and Deserve Something Delicious

My Granny Mary turned 70 on Thursday. 70, Friends! Isn’t that amazing? Maybe you can’t tell from my low-lighting, high-motion picture, but she is a fox. She can pull off that sweater-with-leggings-and-boots look better than anyone I know. This is a woman who grew up on a rural farm in Idaho, became a mother in her teens, a grandmother in her 30s and a great grandmother (several times over) before most people have entered retirement. A woman who loves butter, wine, travel, gossip, sewing, saving, and a good story.

A woman who deserves a loaf of sweet, cinnamon pull-apart bread, even if it does take the better part of an already busy day to make. Because baking bread is a labor of love, it is something so personal and involved and messy, requiring patience and faith and a whole lot of sugar and spice and everything nice. But Granny Mary is worth all that.

I used this recipe from Joy the Baker, whom I adore (though not as much as my grandma, just sayin). It’s not a difficult recipe, just time consuming, as there is a lot of waiting involved. I used the waiting parts to run errands and go for a run. I’m nothing if not productive.

Anyways, you start out by making some dough, with yeast and everything, which stills feels like exciting, uncharted baking territory for me. You let it rise in a warm spot for an hour, while you mix up some cinnamon sugar (with nutmeg) and go to the grocery store. You know, errands stuff.

Then you roll the dough out and admire the beautiful winter sunlight that shines through your kitchen window, for about the hundredth time. Have I mentioned that I love my apartment?

You slather the dough with melted butter (I used vegan, and I also used almond milk in the recipe, mostly just because that’s what I already have at home), sprinkle on the cinnamon-sugar mix, and then cut it into little squares. Then you stack the squares together into a pan. Like this:

Joy’s recipe calls for a 9 x 5 inch loaf pan, but I was using the tin-foil, give-away-style pans and those only came in 8 x 3.5 inches at the Freddy-Smith’s, which means that I miraculously had enough for two loaves! One for Granny, and one for the party.

Although, looking at Joy’s post again, I think maybe I could’ve crammed my squares in tighter. Ah, well. I’m just giving you guys options. I’m nothing if not fond of keeping my options open.

Anyways, so then you wait another 30 to 45 minutes for the dough-squares to rise in the pan(s), maybe go for a run or do some laundry, before baking. Which is another 35 minutes or so. Again, totally worth it. Because the end result goes a little something like…this!

70-year-old bad-ass grannies deserve beautiful baskets lined with brand-new kitchen towels and filled with home-made sweet bread, fancy butter, expensive honey, and gourmet chocolates, from their grandchildren. They deserve a day’s worth of baking. They deserve to be surrounded by four generations and to drink wine and laugh and eat as much cheese as they like.

They deserve to have their cake and eat it, too.

Or at least mine does. And don’t go thinking that we got her a store-bought cake with that crappy plastic frosting, because we special ordered it with WHIPPED CREAM FROSTING, which is amazing. And yes, she deserved it.

Happy birthday, Granny.