WordSisters

Tag: family

  • Lazy, Crazy, Days of Summer

    So, this is summer. We all began daydreaming about this time of year during the February/March doldrums. Longer days, more time to bike, read in a comfy outdoor chair, walks with friends or family, cookouts, maybe swim, possibly attend a local festival or even a trip to the state fair or a getaway.  Don’t think about bugs, grass cutting, watering the gardens, traffic, crowds, bored kids, very hot days, house maintenance at your place or a relative’s, ants in the kitchen, work that doesn’t diminish or go away, higher food costs or utility bills. Just roll out the lazy days. Really?

    For each of us with plans for a long weekend, there is a scheduler or boss with post it notes from a few of our peers for the same time off and calendars needing additional worker hours. Caregivers are scrambling to fit in dentist appointments, physicals, and eye tests and all required before the last week of August. And don’t forget finding drivers’ ed if there is an appropriate age kid in the house.

    What is it about our easy-going collective summer fantasy? Planted in our rhythms by school calendars built around agricultural and/or weather limitations centuries ago. Perpetuated by advertisers and businesses. Lots of people work their longest hours in warm weather. For them summer means more bucks to stretch through slow times. Or those extra summer jobs pay for the extra summer expenses. 

    What we share in our summer dreams across many parts of the United States are the simple pleasures of walking outside without a coat or gloves, not slipping on ice, seeing neighbors or friends while casually walking, sitting on a public bench sipping a cup of coffee or slushy. There are flowers to admire, fresh vegetables and fruit available that taste better, sunlight more hours instead of porch and garage lights. After staying inside during sunlight-starved months of cold, this is worth the wait. Wasps, bees, flies, mosquitos and ticks: please give us a break.

  • Hamburger Soup

    Another two big snowstorms are threatening our travel plans. Winter 2025 – 2026 isn’t willing to give up. Heavy snow, ice, cold temperatures, wind, have attacked almost every part of the country. If weather didn’t make leaving home difficult,  the stew of flu, Covid, colds and respiratory illnesses shut down schools and even the simplest vacation plans for a weekend visiting grandma and grandpa. Living in the communities impacted by ICE surges, emotional heaviness still exists. Rising costs, losing insurance coverage, changing political and values landscape, make temporary escape difficult to find.

    We’ve indulged in homey meals. Not necessarily fancy foods, but smells and tastes that bring back other times. Some of that has been European ethnic cooking with sausages, potatoes, onions and bread. Homemade pizza, order-in pizza, frozen pizza with sides of fruit. Grilled sandwiches with a cup of soup.

    Last week I made hamburger soup, what others might call vegetable soup with browned ground beef. My mother made her vegetable soup with chunks of cooked round steak, but we usually substituted ground beef because of easy freezer availability. The simple recipe made enough for three meals for the two of us with sides of bread slices and a chunk of cheese. 

    I was surprised at yuk faces when I shared our enjoyment of hamburger soup. Usually the frowns turned to memories of childhood when I described it as vegetable soup with burger. “Oh, yeah, that sounds good.” “That is comfort food.” “We ate that a lot when I was a kid.” It is all in the name.

    That is how I’m labeling this winter: The year of ICE and hamburger soup. It would be grand to be able to make vats of the stuff and feed some families still in hiding and people who are food insecure. We could leave out the burger to meet religious or personal preferences. But I’d love to add a crusty chunk of bread with each bowl to really fill everyone’s stomach. And hope that a touch of love gives the soup a dose of comfort.

  • Moving On

    Moving On

    “Crystel’s carrying the dining room table out of the house!” Jody said, a note of panic in her voice. “Now the chairs!”

    Quietly, I felt proud of Crystel. She was going ahead with gumption, emptying our house while we were in Florida, not asking permission, not making a fuss. Jody kept tabs on the coming and goings through the Blink footage, watching life continue without us. In what felt like solidarity with her alarm, I said, “Yeah… she could have told us before she did it.”

    “Well, you did tell her to give everything away,” Jody said, somewhat accusingly.

    “Yeah,” I said. “I did say that didn’t I?”

    I imagined walking into our house when we returned in May and not seeing our dining room table. Juan wouldn’t be assembling a Lego set or Crystel stitching at the table. Our final board game had already happened.

    The two girls turned the table sideways to fit through the door, and the leaf extension opened awkwardly.

    “We better remind her to get the table leaves from the basement,” Jody said.

    “You’d think she’d know that” I said, cocking my head studying the video clip. The extension fell completely open now. It was like watching a movie reel, silent, irreversible.

    “Yeah,” Jody replied. “You’d think so… but.”

    Later, we got a photo from Crystel. She was sitting at the table in its new home. She had gifted the table to her friend who was moving into a new apartment.

    Quickly, Jody texted a list: These are the things I want from the house—do not give away. Heart-shaped end table from her mother. Charging side table in living room. Lounge chair the cats sit in.

    Our house will go on the market by summer. Juan and Crystel are turning twenty-four this year still living at home. Juan has a plan to move into an apartment with his girlfriend. Crystel’s plans are fluid. It’s as if the house is still raising the kids, negotiating garbage duty, washing dishes, cleaning house.

    After the house sale, Jody and I plan on living in our RV. Maybe sooner than expected, judging by how quickly our household items are leaving through the front door.

    “I think it’s a good idea,” I said to Jody, “that Crystel is helping give things away. With the dining room table gone, there’s no pretending we’re not leaving.”

    Twenty-five years, we lived in that house. The only home Juan and Crystel knew. They are dismantling their childhood while still living inside it. Crystel has sewn her t-shirts into a quilt; Juan is going through his sweatshirts one by one.

    Maybe this is how it happens. Not with one final goodbye, but piece by piece. A table. A chair. A room that echoes a little more than it used to.

    For years we filled that house with noise, laughter, birthdays, school and neighborhood parties. Arguments and apologies.

    Now they are emptying it.