My next assignment for Taste of the Bay magazine is on including children in weddings - either as participants or as guests.

What have you seen?
There are the little children in a first wedding - nieces & nephews
There are children of the bride &/or groom - all ages
Then there are guests' children.

Have you ever seen a unity candle with multiple candles for each kid?
What do you think of including children in the vows?
How do you manage fidgety little ones?
How do you make the party for them too?

I'm planning on making my own pie crusts this year, but I'm intimidated by rolling pins. Any advice?

Aside from pumpkin and apple, what pies should I make for Thanksgiving? What are your favorites?

When I was a little girl, I spent possibly half of my free time next door, playing with Lynne, my first friend. She's the friend who would twirl with me in our dress-ups as a storm approached. We practiced our make-up skills. We snuck her mom's cigarettes in our socks and rode our bikes to the woods and made ourselves sick. We would set up elaborate Barbie villages using the sleeves from record albums: Bobby Sherman, David Cassidy, Cher, the Carpenters. We made secret forts in the closet on under the stairs. When her awe-inspiring teenage sister wasn't home, we'd sneak in her room and listen to the Beatles White Album and Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. I was impressed with the photo and bracelet of a Vietnam POW that she had on her bulletin board. She had a poster that said, "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you."

We played until dinner was ready. We would try to eat dinner at each others' houses. I remember peering into the square electric skillet on her turquoise formica counter to find the source of the delicious aroma. Onions browning around a dark meat that I was told was liver. My mother never cooked liver. Although it didn't sound good, the smell made me think differently. Mrs. Boyer invited me to stay and try it and I cautiously accepted. Earlier, Mr. Boyer had convinced me that their spaghetti was worms and I watched a single strand on my arm for a long time before I realized he was teasing.

The smell did not live up to the taste. I couldn't get passed the mushy quality of the meat. I really had wanted to like it, but I couldn't eat it.

It's hard to get passed those early impressions of food. I tried it once again when I was older and it was still mushy. I decided it was the onions that lured me in every time. So last night when I stopped over at my friend Peggy's, I was reluctant to accept the offer of the liver and onions her Iowan mom had cooked. But I'm a grown up now, right? Peggy likes it. I'm striving for more biodiversity in my diet and I know liver is really good for you, so I agreed to try a taste.

I was surprised. It was delicious. The texture is definitely different than steak, but it wasn't mushy. My adopted Iowan grandma told me that she pours boiling water over the raw liver to get the blood out before frying it up with the onions. Who knew?

Do you eat liver & onions? Do you cook it? What childhood food aversions have you overcome?

This past summer I accepted a wonderful invitation to relax in Pompano Florida with three amazing women. Linne, who I met when I was a 17-year old waitress at Bob's Big Boy, invited me to spend some time shopping and sunning with her two friends. We did find some great deals, drank a lot of wine, and enjoyed watching kite surfers in the late afternoon.

Mari, our hostess, has an aunt down there who recommended we go to this little Asian market in Miami to speak to the owner, an insightful herbalist. We had been discussing the adventure, referring to the man as a witch doctor. Supposedly he could ask you a few questions and recommend a course that would cure any ills.

We found the diminutive witch doctor in a turquoise plaza in a tiny store crammed to the ceiling with imported curiosities. There was a line: people holding their lab results, women seeking fertility enhancement, a few who swore to us that this guy was the best thing that ever happened to them.

We all got in line, even though I didn't have any major complaints. The first three of us all got similar detoxifying prescriptions: two weeks of orange roughy and organic green apples, $100 worth of his products, a continuing dairy and citrus free diet, and daily outdoor walking. "No Treadmills! Outside!"

Isabelle, however, had back problems to discuss. The Vietnamese witch doctor gave her the one prescription we all enjoyed: fill an empty bottle of wine with hot hot water and have someone roll it over your back.

Anxious to follow order, we went back to the condo and emptied a wine bottle or two.

Aaahhhh, did that feel great! I have since tried it on a few different people, including my kids. I rolled out the backs of 8 kids during our Outer Banks week. Last night when my 16 year old dancer was all stiffness and aches from her grueling practice schedule, she requested the hot wine treatment. Immediately, all three kids wanted in. When I went to tuck in my youngest, she had taken the bottle into bed with her and was cuddled around its warmth. "No sleeping with wine bottles, Honey."

So, even though I decided that I prefer my toxins to the witch doctor's herbals, he was spot on with the hot wine treatment.

I was afraid of the wine bottle shattering. So I filled it with hot tap water while I put the tea kettle on. Then I poured out about half of that and added the boiling water. I recommend using a wine bottle with a screw top for obvious reasons. Also, use one with sloping shoulders. The skinny end feels marvelous around the neck. Keep a t-shirt on as it is too hot for bare skin.

Let me know if you try it. You'll make friends fast.

I guess I knew I would ripple the surface when I hit "reply to all" on a recent e-mail that sarcastically oversimplifyied problems with "Mexican" illegal immigrants and unfairly blamed the problem on Obama. The e-mail came from an adult involved in one of my kids' organizations. Maybe I should have just deleted it like I usually do. But I could see the e-mail addresses of the people to whom it was sent and I didn't want them to think that I thought this was funny. I didn't want them to start sending me this crap too.

So I sent a brief, but clear reply-to-all, stating that I found the oversimplification offensive and that problems with immigration existed before Obama and would exist after Obama.

Man-o-man! Two fellow-recipients moderately backed me up, which I appreciated however anemic their support. I received a scathing e-mail from either the sender's wife or daughter saying, among other things, that I was wrong to have replied to all. Of course, I had to reply to that too, but just to her since she sent it just to me.

The sender apologized and removed me from his political tirade e-mail list, which I thanked him for. I also told him I was confident that the offense was unintentional. When I saw him again, he was friendly, although I can't say I felt that way from the looks his daughter and wife gave me. Let's just say I'm not expecting any dinner invitations, which is fine by me.

So do you get these kind of political or religious e-mails that are opposite your views? Do you just continue to delete? Have you ever replied to all? Do you think I was out of line? At what point do you feel you must respond?

Last weekend my daughter’s love of the theater brought me and hundreds of people a wonderful gift in the form of a Czechoslovakian Holocaust survivor, Ela Stein Weissberger.

My twelve year old was in the ensemble cast of the operetta Brundibár, our first experience with the Children’s Theater of Annapolis. Brundibár, composed by Hans Krasa in Prague for a competition in 1938, was only performed twice in a The Jewish Orphanage for Boys before the children and staff were transported by the Nazis to Terezin, a layover for most on the way to the extermination camp, Auschwitz.



Terezin, a Czech village of seven thousand citizens, inflated to at times 90,000 Jewish prisoners. If they weren't transport to the horrors of Auschwitz, they faced starvation, exposure, typhus, and fear in Terezin. Of the 15 thousand children brought through Terzin, only 100 survived. One of those surviving children was Ela.

The Nazis forbid the education of the children in Terezin, but the adults did their best to smuggle in paper and pens. After their long days in stone mines or other hard labor, the adults taught the children what they could. They encouraged them to write poetry and draw pictures on the back of scraps of paper and old forms. When Hans Krasa arrived, he managed to sneak in his children's operetta, Brundibár.

Although education was forbidden, for some reason, the Nazis granted permission for the children to learn and perform this short little opera about a brother and sister overcoming a villainous organ grinder with the help of the other children and a few talking animals. It was the story about how banding together gives victory over tyranny. Fortunately, the Nazis didn't speak Czech.

The Nazis did take advantage of the performance when they used Terezin as a cover for the international inspectors. After shipping thousands out of the prison-village, the Nazis planted flowers, provided better clothes to the prisoners, built a bandstand in the town square, and had the children perform Brundibar for the Red Cross.

In all, Brundibár was performed 55 times in Terezin. Ela played the role of the cat in all 55 shows. This effervescent septuagenarian feels it is her duty to speak about her experience. She travels the world, taking the stage with Brundibár casts for the final victory song which she still sings in Czech.

Before the operetta, the performers read from the poetry recovered from Terezin's children. One of their teachers, on hearing she was to be shipped out, filled a suitcase with the contraband poetry and art and hid it in an attic in the village. It was recovered after the war and is now performed with the opera.

Ms. Weissberger spoke to the cast before the show opened and to all of the audiences. She continued to unravel her tales in the lobby where she signed books and programs.

She told stories of the children she performed with and her teachers. She spoke of the growing numbers of "the deniers" and the need to remember. She held up the star the Nazis gave to her so many years ago and said in her Slavic accent, "Now it's my lucky star. I am Jewish and not ashamed of it." She said after the war she thought Brundibár died with her friends. She thanked the children and the audience for remembering her friends through their performance.

This morning I saw a shooting star.

Tipped off by Anne, I put on my winter coat and grabbed my coffee and went out before the sunrise and stared at the sky. Only a few stars were visible, more obscured by the lights below than the rising sun.

I thought of my friends in hospitals and my friends who are waiting by their bedsides and in waiting rooms. I thought of loves lost and love found. I thought of each of my children and their endeavors and relationships.

My coffee cooled. The sky brightened. The early birds began their worm patrol.

Then I saw it. A meteor skidded across the sky, a dot of white trailing orange and red.

It reminded me my mom's red peignoir that, after four babies, she relegated to the dress up box. That ruffled scarlet chiffon was the favorite dress up. When a storm was approaching and the winds kicked up before the rain appeared, my sister and my neighbor would put on our flowiest dress ups and go spin in the wind. The luckiest of us got the red peignoir. We were fairies caught in a whirlwind.

How often did that happen? How long ago? How is it that I am the adult now, responsible for so much? When was the last time I ran out in the wind just to thrill at the flutter of my sheer red cape, a frivolous superman?

It all goes by as fast as a piece of stardust burning through the atmosphere, trailing a shower of sacral sparks.

The next article I'm writing for Taste of the Bay is on a cook's essential tools and essential pantry items.

What couldn't you do without in the kitchen?
What do you always keep in the pantry?
(I mean besides delivery phone numbers.)

I love this photo of Obama in the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans that ran in today's Washington Post.

It's an AP photo by Gerald Herbert.

After Obama spoke to the crowd, a 4th grade boy, Tyren Scott, who said he loved the president, asked Obama why so many people hated him. Obama reminded the 9 year old that lots of people voted for him and not everyone hated him.

I'm with Tyren. I love this president.

I am delighted that an Amish Farmer's Market has moved fairly close to my home. Shopping there is an event, a delicious one too. So when I was there yesterday, I checked to see if they had organic milk. (After having done research over the last year on organic foods, I will never buy commercially produced milk for my family.) They did. It was from Trickling Springs Creamery in PA and came in adorable glass jars. I get a deposit return when I bring them back for a refill.

The difference, besides the usual differences in organic milk, was this 2% milk was not homogenized. So when I opened it, there was a thick layer of cream on top, almost like a wax seal. I couldn't even disrupt it by shaking it. I poked it with a butter knife and splashed myself. My kids were horrified to see clumps of cream in their milk. They had never experienced this before. They were not amused, thinking I had gone too far this time. I thought it tasted good.

I remember as a little girl that we still had a milk box on the front porch. I don't really remember the milk, but we used the box for a variety of dropping-off transactions, and for climbing on the check the mailbox.

Have you ever had non-homogenized milk? Do you remember a milkman?

I am glad my kids are involved, but it sure does make for a busy September. Every team, troop, and club has their parent organizational meeting in September. Every one of them has a fundraiser too. We are currently selling pizza, nuts, & candles, with coffee, wreathes, mulch, and a few car washes still to come. Sheesh! It's like a second job!

I had fun writing my last two assignments for Taste of the Bay magazine. Due out in October is an article on the Slow Food movement. Have you heard of it? It's a 20 year old organization that started in Italy as a response the the encroachment of fast food chains in Europe. It is basically a support group for people who mean to cook a meal and sit at the table with family and friends instead of eating a burrito on the interstate. They encourage the preservation of heritage plant species and culturally significant cooking styles.

The organics article was difficult in that there was so much information to sift through. I way overshot my word-count budget. Here are two tidbits I learned in the research.

The average American eats double the RDA of grains with 40% of them reporting that none of those servings are whole grains. No wonder.

Also, if you don't want to feel motivated to spend extra for organic milk, then do not google somatic cell counts in milk. I will only tell you that Americans have the most lenient standards on this, which is good if you own a big industrial dairy. I've decided that it is worth the extra $150 a year on organic milk - (we drink a LOT of milk in this house.)

I have to go. There are nine 12-year old girls waking up in the basement after my youngest one's birthday party. I think it was my last party with arts & crafts.

Did you have any problems at breakfast this morning?

Today's Washington Post had an article encouraging folks to blog about their H1N1 flu symptoms. "They" are hoping to track flu trends. This Google link was described as being 2 weeks ahead of official word about flu trends. Here's some info for Maryland too.

Anyway, here's my family flu story. I hope it's my only one.

This past July (about the time of the MD peak of H1N1 so far) my 15 year old daughter flew on American Airlines to Abilene, Texas. She left healthy. Three days after she arrived, she started with a fever that went up to 103, and eventually added congestion, aches, lethargy. My friend took her to a clinic in Texas where she got a round of antibiotics that did nothing, adding to my suspicion that it was The Flu.

When she returned, I called my doctor to see if they wanted to check to see if it was H1N1. They said, "Oh, we don't do that. You'd have to go to an emergency room." So I called the local emergency room and they said, "Oh, we don't do that. You'd have to call your county's health department." So I called the health department and they said, "Oh, we don't do that. But there is one clinic that runs the test." I called that clinic and the young voice who answered said, "H what?"

So I just treated my daughter's symptoms and decided not to pursue it further. It took her about 10 days from the onset of symptoms to feel better. No one in my family or her friend's family in Texas got sick, although we were hand-washing and tissue Nazis.

Was it H1N1? In a way, I hope so. I hope we all have a bit of immunity now. Two of my kids have Crohn's Disease, which compromises the immune system. So I am worried about the predicted pandemic. I have it in the back of my mind that I could homeschool if I must.

I am reading a fascinating account of the killer flu pandemic of 1918 called "The Great Influenza." I highly recommend it, although I also recommend that you don't read it while eating. It is a sobering reminder that influenza, although usually mild, is not to be taken lightly.

McDonald's has a new one-third pound bacon cheeseburger. It has 790 - 820 calories, depending who you ask. That is nearly half of the daily recommended allowance. Do you want fries and a coke with that? You can double that count. Almost your full amount of daily calories, 102% of your RDA of sodium, 98% of your RDA of fat, and likely eaten in your car in less than 10 minutes.

Do we need this?
Will we eat it?
What are we thinking?

(Speaking of negative male stereotypes...)
I dedicate this to all my couple friends because, well, it's Wednesday.

Have you seen "Julie & Julia" yet?
I am currently working on the feature article for the October issue of Taste of the Bay magazine on the Slow Food Movement. This movie seems to fit right in. Do you think the popcorn can count as a business expense too?



I loved this movie.
Let me advise you, if you are planning to catch it, to go to an early show. Also, before you go, make yourself a dinner reservation at a French restaurant so you will not find yourself driving around at 10pm looking for someplace that might still be open that serves good wine, crusty bread, and boeuf bourguignon.

Besides encouraging deliberate, joyful, buttery cooking in an age where our meals have become more chemicals than food, Julie & Julia was a tribute to the power of love.

Both women in this movie were able to attempt crazy projects, fail, and ultimately succeed beyond their wildest dreams because they had a supportive, adoring husband. Although men often make themselves an easy target for unflattering portrayals in today's books and movies, are you as tired as I am of the plot of a woman overcoming the harm done her by a cruel husband, careless father, or ruthless stranger? The two husbands in this movie are inspiring - not perfect, but they truly love their wives. How refreshing!

Earlier this summer I went to see the play, "Spring Awakening" at the Kennedy Center with my daughter who is almost 16. We dressed up and ate dinner there first. It was a fun night, and an valuable car ride home.

Have you seen "Spring Awakening"? Apparently it is the hot new play, having won 8 Tony's in its original Broadway run in 2007. My college-grad niece knew the soundtrack immediately.

The play was banned when it was written 100 years ago in Germany, where the play is set. It is about the price of religious fear and oppressive morality; but, it is also about the joy of life that sneaks through the cracks of that dark box. The spiritual awakening in this tale is sexual. I do think the two are linked - sexuality and spirituality; so it is a powerful metaphor. I was surprised at some of the actions on the stage, although I had fair warning after reading the website.

Some indie rock band guys turned the original German play into a musical. The score is addicting. The songs have some challenging and visceral lyrics. I'm including "All That's Known" below. I didn't really ponder the lyrics until I had listened to the soundtrack at home for a while.

For me, seeing this play was important two reasons. First, the post show conversation can go anywhere if you have been wanting to open the door to a conversation about any aspect of sexuality. I think all the subsets of sexual topics are covered, beyond biology. With a daughter who is almost 16, it was a conversation door that was easy to open because she loves musicals. I noticed lots of mother/daughter groups in the audience. So I recommend it to anyone who's been wanting to talk about any emotional aspects of sexuality. If that makes you queasy - then you probably need to go.

But also, this play was timely for me because several things have happened recently to stir up the soup of my own religious experiences.
- I accepted a teaching position at a Christian school. The curriculum was so conservative that I found it offensive and declined the position.
- I found a new blog for rebels and refugees of my Christian tribe. These voices remind me of the students in "Spring Awakening."
- I have many friends still making the Churches of Christ work for them and I hear their struggles with that particular institution. My empathy as they beat their heads on the same brick wall is vividly frustrating.
- I recently visited the Franklin Institute in Philly and saw one of Galileo's original telescopes and am reminded that none of this is new. Will we ever learn? And if we do, what will we know then?


All that's known
In History, in Science
Overthrown
At school, at home, by blind men

You doubt them
And soon they bark and hound you-
Till everything you say is just another bad about you

All they say
Is "Trust in What is Written"
Wars are made
And somehow that is wisdom

Thought is suspect
And money is their idol
And nothing is okay unless it's scripted in their Bible

But I know
There's so much more to find-
Just in looking through myself
And not at them

Still, I know
To trust my own true mind
And to say: there's a way through this

On I go
To wonder and to learning
Name the stars and know their dark returning

I'm calling
To know the world's true yearning-
The hunger that a child feels for everything they're shown

You watch me-
Just watch me-
I'm calling
And one day all will know

You watch me-
Just watch me-
I'm calling, I'm calling.
And one day all will know

My eldest has her learner's permit. Overall she is doing well, but she is a beginner. She is not over-confident, which is a good thing. I realize when we stop that my right leg has tight muscles from hitting the air brake.

Any advice from those of you who've been there on the driver's education process?

My son and his buddy enjoying crabs that Mark steamed for us at our OBX rental earlier this summer.


This sign, at the beachside bar where my brother swam 5 miles in a river race, wasn't quite right. Or did they just want the newest drinkers at the bar?


A sample of my backyard on the 4th.


My first peas! We didn't have enough for a whole bowlful for a sidedish. We just ate 'em as we picked 'em.

Have you heard this one?

Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail, and with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath. This made him......

A super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.