I’ve watched the Gilmore Girls for years. While my brother was coming out of surgery, I was watching Luke’s answer to Lorelei’s proposal, hoping the episode concluded before I had to go to his room. Yes, I know. Bad sister! No biscuit!
I watch the reruns and I have the cookbooks. The episode 18 in season 3, Richard makes a dish he calls “Johnny Machete.” I watched the episode again — AGAIN! — a couple weeks ago and decided to check the cookbooks for it. Zip. Nada.
The Rory cocktail (the one Luke said was akin to drinking My Little Pony) and the Santa burger are there, along with salmon puffs and apple tarts, but no Johnny Machete.
Image by Prawny from Pixabay
As the holidays approach, I’ve been giving some thought to “family.”
My birth-family was very small. My mom had one brother and one sister. Her brother never had children and her sister had two daughters. My dad had one brother and his brother had two daughters and a son.
Getting into spouses’ siblings is irrelevant. I don’t know them or if they had progeny. Several years ago, I did meet some of their nieces and nephews at funerals, but I’m not in touch with any.
With Dan’s birthday three days away, I’ve been thinking about Mom and Dan. I’ve been thinking about them a lot and two thoughts have occurred to me.
First, they have given me my new mantra: Not to worry; a good rain will take care of that. I’ll use it after the mantra I stole from “Miss Congeniality:” Dali Lama, Dali Lama, Dali Lama.
Last August, as I scattered their ashes, I was once again hit with the realization that cremains are not like fireplace ashes. When Dan was cremated, some of his ashes were set aside for me to place with Mom’s once she was gone. (Yes, her wishes, not Dan’s, but I don’t think he’d be upset. I don’t think he thought of the possibility.) The rest were scattered by his executor and friend, Harley. I wasn’t in Kansas City when it was done, so it didn’t occur to me that, unlike fireplace ash, cremains don’t just melt away. Continue reading
I’ve always been one for symbolism, patterns and signs from the cosmos. When the stars align, everything feels “right.”
Of course, mom was there when I took my first breath. That I was there for her last and it was just the two of us at the end, felt right.
So, scattering mom’s ashes on my birthday felt logical, natural, symbolic, and “right.” We said our first “hello” on the day of my birth; today, we said our last goodbye.
Mom has been set free, scattered where she requested. I kept my promise.
I saw this cartoon on Facebook. It got me thinking about mom and her misunderstanding of lyrics she’d heard. It started with CCR’s “There’s a Bathroom on the Right” (“There’s a Bad Moon on the Rise”), through Jimmy’s ” ‘Scuse Me While I Kiss This Guy” (” ‘Scuse Me While I Kiss The Sky), all the way up to 3DD “F*ck Me Like That” (“If I could Be Like That.”)
She couldn’t understand The Song That Ate The World — a.k.a. “Smooth” — so I was reciting the lyrics as Rob was singing them. She accused me of making them up. I told her if I had made those up, I would be driving a nicer car.
Which leads to the cartoon. I still don’t know why I was talking music to her, but silly me, I was. I said something about Michael Stipe and his classic Muppets appearance. I said that I have always liked Stipe and his music.
Mom: I thought he was that guy you don’t like from the band you don’t like.
Me: You’re thinking of Scott Stapp and Creed. Michael Stipe is from REM.
Mom: Oh, I know that band. REM Speedwagon.
Me: Mom, please. Let’s not do this.