My dad always remembered every holiday. When I was a little girl, he would treat both my mom and me on Valentine's Day. Mom would get a big heart-shaped box of chocolates, which she had to share, and I would get a smaller box of chocolates all to myself. Sometimes he would have cards sent from Loveland, Colorado, with their special love stamp carefully affixed by hand.
With Valentine's Day ahead, I can't help but remember Dad. I may not have shown him how much I loved and appreciated him while he was alive, but now I'm grateful for that sweet memory of Valentine's Day.
No matter how old I get, ice cream always conjures up memories of childhood.
Butter pecan ice cream always reminds me of my dad. On hot summer afternoons we'd take a trip to Baskin Robbins to peruse their 31 flavors. Dad always got butter pecan in a sugar cone. Mom liked peach. I'd get something different nearly every time.
Black walnuts, especially in ice cream, always remind me of my grandparents. They lived in a very small town in Oklahoma. Black walnut trees were everywhere on their property. With nuts on the ground, the smell was intoxicating. My grandmother would have home-made ice cream loaded with black walnuts in the freezer when we arrived.
I picked up a carton of black walnut ice cream at the grocery store the other day. Last night my husband, who had never had this particular flavor before, dished up big bowls of this special treat after dinner while we watched television.
As I took that first bite I was flooded with memories of chasing fireflies and horny toads. I savored each mouthful and drifted back to my summer vacations in Oklahoma.
How I loved to sit on my grandfather's lap, the smell of pipe tobacco lingering around him, tiny burn holes in his shirt. He always had an entertaining story and called me Shuggie.
My grandmother would sit in her chair doing some sort of needlework. Knitting, crocheting, tatting, sewing, needlepoint, quilting, she did it all. Each piece expertly and patiently crafted with love; a beauty to behold. She made clothes for my Barbie dolls with all the intricate details of a designer label.
The family would gather around the big dining room table and play cards, usually Oh Hell!, which I always lost. My dad always called me Beetlebaum.*
I languished in childhood memories while I finished my ice cream. Playing in the local swimming hole. Picking and eating fresh strawberries until my fingers and lips were bright red. Walking to church in my shiny patent leather shoes, holding hands with my dad.
All this joy from a simple dish of ice cream. I am so grateful.
*Back in the 1940s, Spike Jones was known for his silly take-offs on many of the classics including the William Tell Overture. That particular recording was of an announcer at a horse race. After listing the line-up of horses, the last lagging horse in the field was announced as "Beetlebaum." The inflection and tone of voice must have made it hilarious. Apparently this stuck with my dad, who always called the player with the lowest score, usually me, Beetlebaum. I've caught myself using the same name on occasion. Amazing what you pick up from your parents.
The other day I got a call from a lady at the church my mom attends. There is a funeral on Wednesday morning. "Can you please bring a casserole?" she asked. The church always provides a luncheon for the family and guests after a funeral.
"Sure," I told her.
So tonight I made a casserole for dinner, and made an extra one to take to the church the next morning.
It really felt good to be doing something so simple for someone else. I remember when taking food to a friend or neighbor during times of need was a community tradition. It was something everyone just did. It was expected. And it was appreciated.
I think this simple act may have been more meaningful to me than to anyone else. I feel a bit more connected, a bit more useful, a bit more generous. It probably isn't the best casserole I've ever made, but it is a gift from me, something I made from scratch. I doubt if I would have the same warm fuzzy feelings had I simply picked something up from the grocery store to be reheated and served. This was something I thought about, planned, then executed.
I know when I deliver my lowly casserole to the church tomorrow morning, the ladies organizing this luncheon will be happy to see me and will thank me more than once, because that's what they've done before.
I was reminded that you don't have to do something big to do something worthwhile. Sometimes the smallest things are the most important. And the act of giving is as valuable as the act of receiving, maybe more so.
I'm grateful for the opportunity to contribute, to be a small part of something.
What small thing can you do to contribute to your community? Is there someone you know, a neighbor or friend, who could use a little pick-me-up? What could you do to make their day just a little bit better? Take soup to a coworker with the flu (along with a big box of tissues with lotion). Bake a pan of lasagna for the neighbor with the new baby. Fix a basket of tea and cookies for the friend who just lost a parent or spouse (and offer to sit and talk awhile).
I don't ordinarily focus on a particular product in my posts, but this time I just couldn't resist. I am so grateful for Lindt Excellence Chocolates, especially the new chili dark flavor. But I'm not the one who likes this item; my husband really does.
I happened to discover Lindt Chili Chocolate on a recent trip to the drug store. I picked one up and brought it home for my husband, who devoured it. He loved it! So today, when I was at the same drug store, I looked for it again. With all the chocolates on display for Valentine's Day, I had a little trouble finding it. When I finally did, I grabbed the last two bars they had in stock.
Needless to say, my husband was ecstatic when I got home with his special treat. When I gave it to him I said, "This is just a token of appreciation for all the wonderful things you do for me and my family." I got a great big kiss in return (which I am also grateful for!).
It's nice to have a list of little inexpensive things you can pick up for others. It's a great way to say "thank you" or "I was thinking of you." My husband and my mom are pretty easy because they always want chocolate, but if I can find a favorite chocolate, that's even better. One of my grandsons loves books, the other loves puzzles, so when I find them on sale, I grab them to share with them at their next visit. My old business partner loved flourless chocolate cake, so I would bring a piece for her to our one-on-one meetings along with something like cheesecake or scones for me.
When someone tells you something they like, make a mental note or write it on a list to carry with you. Then when special days come around, or you just want to give them a treat, it will be easier to choose a gift that really says "You're special."
Oh my! As I worked in my office yesterday afternoon, the heavenly smell of freshly baked zucchini bread drifted through the house! The wonderful scent of sugar and spices was overwhelming. At that moment I was so very grateful that my elderly mother lives with me... and that she loves to bake!
Mom's zucchini bread is legendary. She gives loaves away to her favorite people and mails them to family members across the country. Some folks are not worthy of an entire loaf (like valets at the casino or the guy who trimmed the bushes), but are fortunate enough to score a slice or two in lieu of a monetary tip. My husband and I call it Manna from Heaven because she has so many stories about surviving long plane flights or traffic delays with nothing to eat but zucchini bread.
Last summer I planted zucchini in my garden just so Mom would be able to bake her favorite nut bread. Everyday I'd go out and check the progress in the garden. I'd carry in a giant green squash to be peeled, ground up, packaged and tucked away in the freezer for a winter day of baking.
I'm so happy and appreciative that yesterday was one of those days! This morning I enjoyed a hot cup of chai and a big slice of zucchini bread while I caught up on the news.
The other evening my husband and I met some friends at our favorite restaurant, the Yak and Yeti in Westminster, Colorado. We've been going to that restaurant for years and are good friends with the owner, Dol Battarai, who immigrated from Nepal. We've seen him through some really difficult times during the early years of his business. Now he's living the American dream with two successful restaurants, a wife (also from Nepal), three kids, a couple of houses and two cars in the garage.
We hadn't seen Dol is several months because he's been so busy running three locations (he recently sold one). So when we headed to the restaurant we didn't expect to see him there. I was so surprised when the our dear friend greeted us at the door with a big smile and "Namaste." We briefly chatted with him before sitting down with our friends for dinner. Before we left, we promised to stop by the other location for lunch on Friday (today).
Although we keep up with him on Facebook, it had been a year or so since we'd seen Andy, one of the people we were meeting for dinner that night. We had a great time catching up, discussing all sorts of topics, and laughing! We laughed about his "rebellious attitude" when he first came to work for us, and tried to count the number of nights he spent on the couch of our old shop. It was wonderful to see how happy and mature he is now.
As planned, we went to the Yak and Yeti in Arvada for lunch today. Dol greeted us at the door with a big smile and hugs. Before we could sit down, Susan, our favorite waitress, walked around the corner. We both squealed and rushed to hug one another. We all had a wonderful time getting reacquainted and catching up.
This was a week of cherished reunions. I am so grateful for the opportunity to reunite with my friends, and renew our bonds. How wonderful it was to spend time with old friends.
In the midst of my joy, I am profoundly sad to think about the many people in Haiti will not have the chance to reunite with their friends and loved ones.
"My heart bleeds and tears pour like a waterfall. May you all keep hope alive and remember there is a God who cares." comment by Jean at Boston.com
"Reflect each day on all you have to be grateful for and you will receive more to be grateful for." ~~Chuck Danes
