Tag Archives: Pops

From My First Breath*

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“So, does Sacramento feel like home?” T-Wizzle asked me. It was the third time she’d asked me that question in the last three months. And for the third time I couldn’t give her a clear answer.

For many years I haven’t felt a sense of home in the way that others do. I will remain longer than I should in apartments and townhouses that do not meet my needs, but I also avoid making investments in furniture until absolutely necessary. I have never hung drapes or curtains, and I have never done major remodeling. I bought a house with Mr. X but we never got around to decorating it. We didn’t build knee walls or repaint bathrooms in an attempt to make the house truly ours; we never quite made that house our home.

But I have also designed and planted a garden, much to the surprise of others – and myself, to be honest. More recently, I installed a new shower head in my apartment and, when I discovered how easy it actually was, I cursed my narrow-mindedness for not installing one in the last place I lived. I have hung pictures around the apartment and installed shelving in my kitchen to accommodate my pots and pans. Between these tasks and getting involved in the community, I do have more of a sense of home than I ever had when I was living in Southern California. In many ways my new town reminds me a lot of where I grew up on the East Coast. But it’s still not quite home.

Because while decorating a kitchen and installing shower heads can mean one considers a place to be home, I don’t believe that material goods create that feeling of home, that sense of this is where I belong. That feeling comes from something much deeper. Home is that elusive smell in the air in the town where you were born. It’s recognizing the once-vacant lot where you once played ball with your friends. It’s holding on to the belief that the world you knew at the age of five is the biggest, widest, most fabulous world that ever was, or ever will be.

Last night I was with Pops, Aunt Gigi and Uncle Roy as they found their childhood home. I listened quietly as they recounted stories from their early years: stories of dollhouses and comic books, neighborhood friends and schoolhouse bullies. I saw Roy beaming with bliss at the discovery that the  built-in milkbox he remembered playing with as a toddler was, indeed, exactly where he remembered it was.

And even though I never lived in that neighborhood or spent time in that house as a child, in that moment, I felt home, too.

This post was inspired by Kirsten’s entry for the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival, hosted by Peter Pollock.

*The title of this post comes from a line in a Depeche Mode song, “Home.”

Hard Habits to Break

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When I was a kid, Momcat and Pops had specific ways of doing things but didn’t necessarily have reasons as to why they did these things the way they did. It was likely the way they were taught by their parents, and their parents before them. These things ranged from food preferences to cooking styles. Momcat did not use any other white rice but Uncle Ben’s Converted Long Grain, nor did she ever buy white bread, grape jelly or shredded cheese. We never had honey in the house because Pops hated it. All of our towels came in sets of two and included a matching hand towel and washcloth. When I got my driver’s license and started driving the family vehicles, Momcat was vigilant in letting me know I needed to move the seat all the way back when I was done using the car, because the next person driving the car might be Pops and he needed more legroom. And you never, NEVER, put a bumper sticker on a car.

Once I was living on my own, I did a lot of things the same way as I was taught. I bought block cheese and shredded it as needed. I never bought honey. My towel sets were always two bath, two hand and two washcloths. I always pushed the driver’s seat all the way back when I got out of the car – even though it was my car and no one else was driving it.

It took me a while to realize that a number of these habits weren’t really Moxie originals – I had taken them on because they had been instilled in me by my parents.  I started questioning each one. Was oatmeal for breakfast something I really liked? No. I like oatmeal but it doesn’t fill me up. Same with cereal. So I stopped buying cereal. I stopped drinking most juices because they gave me heartburn. Tired of shredding my fingers on the cheese grater, I stopped buying block cheese and now I only buy shredded. On my 30th birthday, for the first time ever, I had honey in my peppermint tea and was astounded at how good it was. Now I’m never without a jar of honey. And the bumper sticker thing? I put a window cling for my alma mater in my car’s back window and Momcat lit into me when she saw it. “WE do NOT put stickers on OUR cars!” she said, glaring at me.

Some of those habits, have passed my idiosyncrasy litmus test. While I may not be buying Uncle Ben’s anymore, Momcat’s rice cooking methods (2:1 ratio, boil water, add rice, cover, lower heat, DO NOT LIFT THE LID) have proven to be failproof. I like having handtowels because I use them to dry my hair – the bath sheets I prefer to buy are way too big for my head. And while grape jelly is fun to eat, especially with peanut butter, there’s something quite spectacular about apricot preserves or a lovely mixed berry jam on good bread.

Oh, and the driver’s seat? As it so happens, the car I’m currently driving has a programmable seat. I positioned the seat just the way I wanted it, then I pressed a button that saved the settings. Now every time I turn on the ignition, the seat automatically moves to where I want it, and slides back when I turn off the engine. God bless technology.

What habits were passed down to you from your parents?

Happy Birthday Pops

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Today is Pops’ birthday. He’s celebrating down south with family and having a great time. Just like I did for Momcat, here are a few of his favorite things.

Baseball is extremely important to Pops. He actually plays in several over-50 leagues, and manages his own team (see angry rooster above – that’s his team’s mascot) of old guys that love to run around and play ball. His favorite professional team is the Detroit Tigers, but he will go to see major league games anywhere there’s a ballpark. While I was growing up, I went to many Baltimore Orioles games, thanks to Pops and his baseball-loving buddies.

When Pops isn’t playing baseball, he’s playing Texas Hold ‘Em. He’s competed in a few tournaments and done fairly well. One year for his birthday I gave him a couple of books on strategy and how to win. I told him, “If you’re going to gamble away my inheritance, I want you to at least do it intelligently.”

Remember this poster? When Bo Derek came on the scene with the movie “10″, Pops was smitten. Interestingly enough, she has the same birthday as Momcat. Guess Pops likes those Scorpio women.

Pops is also fond of Barbra Streisand, but for different reasons. He loves her music and I grew up listening to many of her tunes – heck, I even sing a few at karaoke.

Pops has seen every episode of “Bonanza”, I think. Once we were walking through Inyo National Forest and he stopped and said, “Hey, Moxie, this looks like a scene on Bonanza where Hoss and Little Joe were riding over the hills…” We kept walking. A few minutes later he stopped again and said, “Now this looks like a scene where Hop Sing and Joe Cartwright came up on some bandits…” I gave him a look and we continued walking. Another few minutes pass, and Pops stops. “Moxie, you see that hill over there, and the trees?” “Yeah, I see it,” I muttered. “That doesn’t look like anything on Bonanza,” he said, and started laughing.

Human Kindness Is Overflowing

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All names have been changed.

It’s popular belief that death comes in a series of three. This past Friday marked the 3rd person I’ve known that has passed away over the last 3 months.

On February 25, my maternal grandfather died. Grandpa J was in his early 90s and had just come home from an extended stay in a nursing home.

He was a true jack-of-all-trades, fixing and building many things. When I was little and would go to visit, Grandpa J would always be wearing his work clothes: a navy blue button-down shirt and pants in either black or dark blue. His hair was a thick shock of white and his eyes were a cool blue-grey. He scared me a little, but at the same time, I would talk to him about his life and he would always answer my questions. Momcat remembers when, at the age of 5, I cornered Grandpa J for an inquisition. “You asked him all these personal questions,” she said. “I wanted to crawl under the table.”

He wasn’t very good with interpersonal relationships – family connections were often strained and tense. But during the icy cold Michigan winters, he would go out of his way to ensure that poor families had heat and that their pipes didn’t freeze. He was also a volunteer fireman and injured his leg on the way to fight a fire that had started at a local mill.

In his last years, he softened up a great deal, but still struggled to connect with family. Pops went to see him in the nursing home a few months before he died. “Don’t ever get old,” Grandpa J told Pops. “It’s awful.”

On April 25, Momcat & Pops’ next-door neighbor died. Fifty years ago, Margaret Woods built a house next door to my paternal grandparents. Even after my grandparents retired to Florida and Momcat, Pops & I moved in, she stayed on.

Mrs. Woods worked for the police department for many years – she would pronounce it poh-leece. She’d seen and heard a lot of crazy stories by working there and as a result didn’t put up with much foolishness. I think she chased away some mischievous boys with a broom once – I could be making that up, though. I remember sitting in her air-conditioned rec room for a couple hours while she talked about all sorts of things. I considered writing mysteries based on our relationship. In these tales, I would be the Nancy Drew to her Jessica Fletcher. I never did write anything, though.

Her garden was phenomenal – my best friend Deena and I often referred to her place as “Better Homes and Gardens.” I think Mrs. Woods’ well-manicured lawn was viewed by many neighbors as a challenge to make their yards look just as nice. But she wasn’t one to lord her gardening skills over anyone. She just loved to work in the dirt, and she was happy to offer suggestions and advice to anyone that asked.

On May 4, my cousin Sasha’s grandfather died. Dr. Y was Estonian and had come to the U.S. during WWII. After the Nazi occupation of Estonia, he lived for a while in a displaced-persons camp with his young son Ned, who later married my aunt Gigi.

Dr. Y lived near Pops & Momcat, so when Uncle Ned & Aunt Gigi came to town, we would all get together for pizza or a barbecue. At one of those gatherings, Dr. Y cooked one of the best porterhouse steaks I’ve ever eaten. Remembering it now makes me long for a juicy slab of meat, perfectly grilled, with some A-1 sauce.

Dr. Y always had a gleam in his eye and a quick laugh. The last time I saw him was Christmas 2005, at Ned & Gigi’s house.
“Moxie, psst!” I heard Sasha’s husband, Mark, whisper. He gestured at a bottle on the kitchen counter. It was time for the drinkers in the group to surreptitiously enjoy a shot of Estonia vodka that had been infused with jalapeno pepper.
I headed for the kitchen. Uncle Ned poured the shots. Dr. Y’s eyes gleamed and he grinned at me. “In Estonian, the word for vodka is the same as in English,” he said. “You just pronounce it wad-kah.”
“Wad-kah,” I repeated. “Any way you say it, it’s good stuff.”
He laughed. “That’s right!”
We lifted our shot glasses and toasted – to what, I don’t remember. A good year ahead, perhaps. All I remember is the burn of the vodka down my throat.
“Gaaack,” I sputtered. “Good – stuff.”
“Yah!” Dr. Y laughed.

Three deaths, three very different people. Yet their acts of beauty, integrity, kindness, and generosity made an impact on the world. Grandpa J would refuse to charge people for fixing their furnace, if he knew they couldn’t afford it. From what I understand, Dr. Y was pressured by the Nazis to work for them, but he refused, showing incredible courage. And Margaret Woods beautified her corner of the planet by making her garden a lush, gorgeous sanctuary that would literally make people stop and stare.

I can’t really quantify the influence that these 3 people had on my life. But there’s a Randy Newman song that I’ve been listening to a lot lately, and I have a feeling it’s resonating with me so strongly because of these three people:

Bright before me, the signs implore me,
Help the needy and show them the way.
Human kindness is overflowing,
And I think it’s going to rain today.

Things I Have Learned Because of Joe

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We have only been together a month, but already I have learned several new things from being with Joe. Some of these things I had an inkling of, but never really applied. Others I was clueless about. And while most of the things I’ve learned have nothing to do with him directly, having him around has made me more willing to go beyond my realm of experience.

1. Making mashed potatoes from scratch is really easy. We rarely had mashed potatoes when I was a kid, and I’m still not sure why. Momcat* would pressure-cook potatoes quite often, and I would mash them on my plate and add margarine & salt. Maybe she didn’t want the added fat & calories from the butter and milk? Or the extra work? I don’t know. In any event I had this idea that it was difficult to make mashed potatoes. T-Wizzle cured me of that notion, and The Joy of Cooking and my Betty Crocker cookbook also backed her up. I made some 2 nights ago and boy, were they good. My gravy skills, on the other hand, need major work.

2. Using a broiler is messy but it sure does make some damn good burgers. I don’t have a grill – I am of the mindset that if it’s being cooked outside and involves an open flame, a man should be doing it – so making burgers has usually involved a fry pan. My oven has a broiler, though, but I’d never used one so I was confused and slightly scared at the idea of using it. Again, T-Wizzle and The Joy of Cooking gave me the moral support I needed. Joe helped clean the dust away from the broiler area, I put the patties on the broiler pan and slid it into place, and in about 30 minutes we had some awesome burgers.

3. Regular coffee tastes good and puts me into overdrive. It’s only been in the last year and a half that I have expanded my beverage choices to include lattes and mochas. I still couldn’t get myself to drink regular coffee, though. Joe is a coffee drinker and he was blowing a lot of money on buying it every day. Since he’s here all the time, he brought over his coffeemaker. This morning I decided to try some of the Bean Java coffee we bought at the 99 Cents store – couldn’t be any worse than a latte, especially considering that those use espresso which is hella-strong. I tried it black – hmm, not so bad. Added some milk and sugar – very tasty. Two cups later and I am on full alert. Already I’ve completed 4 things on my to-do list for the day. And I’m blogging again! That’s twice in 2 days! See, everyone benefits when Moxie has coffee!

4. Wrestling is just as dorky and melodramatic as I suspected. I had never really watched wrestling before, but Joe loves it. He’s a boy and boys tend to enjoy watching other boys get beat up or hit in the nuts. Because of his love for the WWE and all the other wrestling groups, I know more about wrestlers now than I ever wanted to know. The build-up, where the wrestlers set the stage for the fight, is the worst acting I have ever seen. And the costumes and gimmicks – lord help me. Let’s just call wrestling what it really is: musical theater for straight men, minus the overwrought showtunes.

5. Texas Hold ‘Em is not as complicated as I thought. Pops is a big fan of Hold ‘Em, and while he’d taught me some of the basics, I was still a bit confused. Joe is also a fan of Hold ‘Em, and he will flip the channel to tournaments on TV every once in a while. Watching those, plus playing a few hands with Joe, has helped me understand the game better. Except when Joe tries to make up new rules, such as “any card in Moxie’s hand also counts toward my hand”. Nice try, smart-ass.

6. Chocodiles do actually exist. Joe and I were talking about favorite snacks and he started babbling about Chocodiles. I was convinced he was making it up, as he does have a tendency to tell tall tales. (Last night he tried to convince me that he had an identical twin brother named Moe. Sorry, man, the tattoos are a dead giveaway.) I googled “chocodile” and sure enough, he was telling the truth. I plan on ordering some to surprise him – he can share them with his twin.

*Momcat = Moxie’s mom