My sister's keeper

Since early January, my brother-in-law has been a member of our nutty household. He himself is the opposite of nutty. He’s a calm, matter-of fact guy, with a taste for tennis, mixed nuts, a glass of red wine on occasion. I think the exposure to our maniac ways has been both eye-opening and amusing to him, although he does often seem perplexed by the effusive greetings from the 100 lb. dog when he returns from a business trip, or my daughter’s high-pitched squeals from the pool outside his room. He is one of the most level headed people I know, and it’s been an unexpected pleasure to have had this time to get to know him better*.

That’s why it’s been so gut wrenching to watch the twisted, ridiculous, torturous tale of his California adventure unfold. Originally transferred here by GM to start what was supposed to be a three year tour of duty, our collective excitement dimmed as the strain of living out of boxes and with a mother-in-law in Michigan began to take a serious toll on his wife and child. Every weekend here was full of fruitless rounds of open houses and real estate tours And the new job consisted of helping decide which GM dealerships were on the chopping block, and then being the bearer of bad news, day after day.

When my sister and niece arrived, you could almost see the burdens he’d been carrying simultaneously lift and shift. The drive to find a home for the people he loved consumed him, but every house hunting outing became a Goldilocks situation:

“Too small”
“No pool”
“Too old”
“Wrong schools”
“Too cold”
“Not cool”

And then, on the day they finally found the perfect house (a delighted chorus of “Just Right!!!” from the entire displaced Michigan clan, and a huge sigh of relief from their incredibly patient but increasingly baffled real estate agent), the news broke. And he did, too. His job, tough as it was, had been eliminated. The whole, precarious plan, the months of upheaval, the push towards normalcy, had all been derailed with the stroke of a pen. Worse still, they put him in a kind of crazy limbo that only a company like GM would be capable of: he was on a list of people to be reassigned, but no specific job was available. If he did not get a “reassignment” within two weeks, he’d be laid off. And the reassignment was completely out of his control.

No amount of tennis, wine, nuts, or support from all of us could make this better**. You could see, writ large all over his face, the savage self-criticism of a person whose role as provider for his family was on shaky ground.

Although this story is repeating itself all over the country, with as many small painful variations are there are people losing their jobs every day, the blow is deeply and intensely personal, and it reverberates down to the very foundations of a family.

On one of the dark days of limbo, I came home to find my sister cutting into a bubbling pan of the cheesiest, most luscious sausage and spinach lasagna. Clearly, the urge to cook people into feeling better runs strong in our family. Everyone gathered around the dinner table and dug in, and the lasagna did indeed work its magic. Laughter and chatter flowed across the circle of warm light, as we savored both the food and the pleasure of having the people we loved all around us. The dog was at our feet, vacuuming up every crumb that dropped. That dinner reminded us that no matter what, our foundations were intact**.

Now, we are counting ourselves lucky, and deeply thankful, that we heard this week that he is likely to get one of the coveted reassignments, to a position that not only preserves his stature at the company but actually interests him. He’s cautiously excited, and immensely relieved. And the hunt for the perfect house will resume, in Washington D.C.***


My Sister's Magic Lasagna
Also known as Get Several Pounds of Everything at the Store Lasagna or “Really? You put THAT much cheese in here?” Lasagna

1 box of lasagna noodles
2 lbs. ground beef
1 lb. Italian sausage
1 Vidalia or other sweet onion, chopped
¼ c. chopped garlic
1 lb. mushrooms, chopped (optional)
2 ½ large jars of hearty marinara sauce, preferably Mids, preferably with sausage (!)
1 large can chopped tomatoes
Some tomato paste, on standby
Italian spices, on standby
Salt
Pepper
1 container of ricotta cheese
4 c. grated or shredded mozzarella cheese (one package, if you buy it pre-grated)
4 1/2 c. grated or shredded cheddar cheese
1 ½ c. grated Parmesan cheese
about 2 Tbs. chopped parsley or other fresh herbs
3 eggs, lightly beaten
1 package frozen chopped spinach, thawed and completely drained of excess water (optional)

Preheat to oven to 350. Oil a 9x13 pan with cooking spray, and get out a cookie sheet to hold the pan.

Boil water and cook most of a package lasagna noodles according to directions, then rinse in cold water.

Brown the meats together, and drain of fat.

Cook up the onion and garlic in some of the meat fat until softened. Take ½ of the onion mixture and put it in with the meat, along with some salt & pepper. Take other half, sauté in the mushrooms if you are using them, and add that mixture to the marinara sauce in a large pot. You need a lot of sauce. Add the chopped tomatoes. Season to taste with the herbs to make it yummy. Use your standby tomato paste if you want to intensify the flavor. Allow sauce to simmer on low while you make the cheese part.

Combine in a large mixing bowl the tub of ricotta cheese, the mozzarella cheese, 2 c. of the cheddar cheese, the Parmesan cheese, chopped parsley, a little salt and pepper, and the eggs. Mush with your hands ‘til its nice and goopy.

Now you are ready to assemble your lasagna. Start with a layer of sauce. Then add noodles, covering the whole thing. You can cut the noodles to make them fit if you need to. Then cheese. Be generous. Layer on some meat. Sauce. Noodles. Cheese. Meat. (Insert layer of spinach here, if you are using it.) Sauce. Noodles. Cheese. Meat. Sauce. (Spinach) Noodles. Sauce. Finish with 1 ½ c. of cheddar cheese.

Put the completely stuffed pan on top of the cookie sheet, and bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes. Cover with foil about 30 minutes in. You should see some drips and bubbling over happening. Add another cup of cheddar cheese (!), then bake for 5 more minutes. Allow to set for at least 10 minutes, but preferably 20. This tastes even better the next day.

* Between my sister and my niece, it’s pretty hard for him to make much of an impression when they are in the room.
** It was powerful stuff. The good news came through just a few days later.
*** Selfishly, and oh so quietly, this Goldilocks is saying, “Too far.” I don’t want to jinx anything, but man!

I usually wear a hat

My daughter, my niece and I were in the check out line at Gelson's, with our selections from the salad bar* being tallied up by the kindly clerk. I glance up to see a black woman hurrying into the store. We give each other the quick "Hey, nice to see another black face in Encino" nod and smile, and I gather up the girls and our bags to head out. Suddenly, she turns and comes back to me:

"Excuse me. I have to give you my card. I run a hair salon."
She smiles again, presses her card into my hand, and repeats:
"A hair salon."


* Early on it was clear we would need three containers:
Mine: Spinach, mixed greens, mushrooms, green onions, hard boiled eggs, blue cheese crumbles, caesar dressing
My daughter's: Iceburg lettuce, croutons, parmesan cheese, ranch dressing. Side of bacon.
My niece's: Carrots, grated cheddar cheese, dash of egg yolks

David Johansen said it best

Standing in an overgrown parking lot on a foggy, overcast morning in LA, watching the caravan of camp buses and vans pull away with my son, I could only think of the immortal words of The Ghost of Christmas Past in one of my all-time favorite Christmas movies*:

"Niagara Falls, Frankie. Niagara Falls."

It kind of cheered me up. A little.



* It is not Christmas at my house without at least one showing of Scrooged. I can quote the entire thing verbatim, and usually do, much to the annoyance of the rest of the family.

Another one rides the bus

Having survived (barely) the exodus of my youngest child for nearly a month earlier this summer, I am approaching the impending departure of my oldest in the morning (also heading to sleep away camp for the first time) with an eerie sense of calm acceptance.

He has helped me immensely by behaving as if he is not actually going anywhere.

While my daughter pestered me for months beforehand about the arrival date of her trunk, so that she could begin to pack all the clothes she had arranged to the exact specifications of the list*, my son had to be nagged into rummaging through his dresser for socks as the sun began to set tonight. Definitely looked to me like there were an odd number and several different colored specimens in the pile at the end, but he was good with it. He could not get out of REI fast enough, whereas my daughter and I spent hours and hours shopping together and debating the merits of each and every item of clothing and camp accessory. My daughter purchased her very own lock for her trunk, created a top secret combination, had me pre-address and stamp envelopes so she could write letters home, and carefully stowed a camera in a special waterproof case, along with a journal and her favorite stuffed animal. My son said he "is not a picture person", doesn't think he'll write**, and felt strongly that he did not need to bring anything extra for crazy hair day or the camp's "ever-popular cross dressing extravaganza"***.

Exasperated, he finally says to me, "Mom! I'll be gone for SIX DAYS. Would you please CALM DOWN?"

Fine. Point taken, Mr. Maturity. But, in the morning, when we get to that fateful goodbye hug at the bus stop, all bets are off for both of us.

* aka The Camp Bible, The Packing Commandments, The Law, and The Paper That Thou Shalt Check and Recheck at Least Twice Per Day, Every Day, Until it is so Tattered that Thy Mother Shalt Have to Request Another Copy By Email from the Nice Lady in the Camp Office Who Very Patiently Keeps Answering All Your Questions Like Can I Bring A Camera To Camp If I Am Very Careful With It.
** I put a card with my name on it in his bag anyway. Just in case.
*** Their description, not mine. Calm down?

G-Force for evil

When Jerry Bruckheimer is arming animated guinea pigs, you know it's not going to be a good thing. But according to The Associated Press, the sins of this movie extend far beyond being a piece of crap film*:

"LOS ANGELES — The Disney movie "G-Force" shows a squad of specially trained, computer-generated guinea pig spies coming to the world's rescue. After the movie comes out, though, animal activists say it will be real life guinea pigs who need rescuing.

Some guinea pig rescue groups have already posted pleas to those who might rush out to buy the furry little rodents. "I can tell you, every single rescue in the United States and abroad** took a look at that movie trailer and said, 'Oh God, here we go,'" said Whitney Potsus, vice president of The Critter Connection, Inc., in Durham, Conn."

The article goes on to dispel some common misconceptions that are propagated by the new film:

"In "G-Force," which opens Friday, Agents Juarez, Darwin and Blaster drive cars, parachute, use blowtorches, swim, talk, walk on two legs, live in tanks with mice and rats and use hamster balls, Lyn Zantow, a volunteer for the Orange County group, warns on her Web site.

In real life, guinea pigs are noisy, eat and poop all the time, require big and clean cages, don't swim and can be expensive to care for if they get sick, she said, adding that they should be kept out of the hands of young children."

That's right. They can't swim***. Hear that, you fly-by-night impulse purchasers? They are guinea pigs. Not GOLDFISH.

But they are unbelievably cute in real life, even if they are pretty damn boring. Way cuter than those faux fur balls could ever be.


* Which was #1 at the box office when it opened, and has made nearly $90 million in the U.S. to date.
** I picture a global chorus of jaded volunteers, some of whom might not speak English, but know enough to understand yet another threat to small defenseless animals when they see a trailer in at their local multiplex. Perhaps heard muttering in French, "Merde! We just recovered from Bedtime Stories! Now this???"
*** I am hoping that this spokesperson for guinea pig kind felt it unnecessary to say that they are unable to use blowtorches in real life either. But maybe she was thinking that the threat of violent outbursts would be a deterrent to the clearly gullible American (and international!) pet-buying public.

The NY Times agrees wtih my Mom

I submit the following excerpt from a recent article in that august publication on Nora Ephron and Julie & Julia:

"Hollywood movies about vibrant marriages are rare. There is “The Thin Man” (whose main characters, it should be noted, are Nick and Nora). But most often film unions are dreary and painful, a chore that must be slogged through en route to the real story line: divorce or an affair. Enter “marriage” as a keyword on the Internet Movie Database (imdb.com) and the results are almost uniformly negative: “unhappy-marriage” (150 titles), “forced-marriage” (140 titles), “marriage-as-hell” (37 titles).

But happy, relaxed, rolling-along-together marriage? “It’s like spotting a unicorn,” Ms. Ephron said."

Mom's take: "Those two couples were like a breath of fresh air." Cue music from The Twilight Zone.

Or, better yet, cue Dan Akroyd:

I promise, I am not going to post another word on this topic. It's just a movie. But seriously? The NY Times? And I found the link via the Huffington Post? I know I should never underestimate how much my Mom has her finger on the pulse of the nation, but I was was just so thrown by having Judge Judy tossed into the mix.

Yet another perspective

I thought my Mom would have the last word on the subject (she usually does), but the front page of today's LA Times food section featured an "inside scoop" from Russ Parsons on what Julia really thought of Julie. Apparently, she (Julie) was a bit of a whiner, something she (Julia) did not put up with in the least. Amen to that!