brown

Extra Virgin

gangsta air

My brother took this photo a few weeks ago while in Kansas City. I'm too curious not to post it. What in the world is "gangsta air"? Any ideas? And should I go buy some?

UPDATE: A Google search took care of that...

the queen of corn

The Midland, Kansas City

Popcorn makes me happy, at a 2 por 1 movie in Costa Rica where we call it palomitas, hot off the stove from the Whirley Pop cooked in oil or fresh from the West Bend Poppery II and covered in real melted butter. I associate different types of popcorn with different stages of my life. My love of the salty treat started with a primitive looking cast iron pan my mom used to pop the kernels. We then graduated to the Poppery II. Air popped corn tasted good, but the real melted butter and salt elevated the taste to slightly addicting. In high school and some of college I went through a sad stage in which I ate the microwave stuff they call popcorn: 100 calorie mini bags, Butter Lovers, really good cheese flavored stuff in Costa Rica (I haven't found this in the U.S.), Newman's Own Natural. To spice up the 100 calorie mini bags, I'd add Lawry's seasoned salt. Thankfully, a boyfriend pulled me back onto the right path near the end of college, introducing me to the Whirley Pop. I still own one today.

I also judge movie theaters based on their popcorn. This weekend I met the popcorn bar, which allows you to add the toppings and seasonings of your choice. Wow. Game on.

gaga

My grandpa, known to us as Gaga (pronounced guh-guh), died 14 years ago. Today his ashes were joined with my Grandma Barb's and the two were laid to rest. After the memorial service we gathered to share our memories. I particularly enjoyed these two photos. The image of Gaga at the beach is the quintessential image of my grandpa - cigarette dangling from his mouth and a mischievous grin. He loved jokes and had me convinced he was one of the soldiers raising the flag in the famous photograph at Iwo Jima. Oh, Gaga, missing you.

falcon, storm, song

Today we gather to remember the life of my Grandma Barb. My mom didn't call her mom but "frother" – a combination of friend and mother. Traditionally, Barb is her stepmother, but my mom would never use the word. She and my mom's mom became close after my grandfather died. As the obituary reads:

Barbara, along with Robert (Bob) Abare’s first wife, Marion, will be remembered as a model for blended families. They agreed to “make it easy” on the kids by planning holiday and family gatherings together. Later, after Bob died, Barbara and Marion became good friends, traveled together, and as Marion’s health deteriorated before her death, Barbara offered her care.

In a few hours my mom will open a memorial service in Topeka, Kansas, with the following poem from Rilke's Book of Hours, and we will smile on the life of Grandma Barb.

I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I've been circling for thousands of years
and I still don't know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?

un buen día

Spin



It was a day of sunshine, gray blue water, family, pizza, wine, gelato, pedicures, memories, kittens, good conversation, crab cakes, music and more.

pupusas y what?

When I went to Kansas City two weekends ago, my friends took me to this awesome little Salvadorean restaurant. They recommended the pupusas. A pupusa is a thick, corn tortillalike food. I got mine filled with beans and cheese. It was amazing. My friend, Shannon, decided to be brave and ordered something called pacoya relleno. We have no idea what it was. (It's pictured above.) If you know what it is, please tell us. I couldn't find pacoya listed on any online dictionaries. It looked like a stringy root to us with a bitter after taste. Needless to say, I was happy I ordered the pupusa ;-)

cheese curds

There is nothing, I repeat, nothing like cheese curds. Have 'em from the state fair, the town festival in Minnesota or A & W. They always taste good, fried or fresh.

the blue room

breakfast

icy

crab, salmon or tuna?

Baked brie and homemade sushi? 'Twas a good year at family Christmas.

mci to mke to dca

The airport run.

family feuds and fashions

Kansas City Christmas is always an interesting one - starting with the fashions. And this family is as diverse as the fashions they sport. In a family of nine children, I suppose that's inevitable. The "good old days" come up - each year a new story or a new version of an old story is told. This year I learned that she wasn't expelled in seventh grade for kissing a boy in the back of a church. Rather, she was expelled in seventh grade for kissing a boy inside the boys bathroom in the back of the church. And he didn't pass substances out the basement window. His customers came through the window after a series of taps to complete the deal inside. It wasn't a drive up deal at all. It was a walk up deal. And, well, she believed Clinton when he said he didn't inhale. He said in response to her, "What? He didn't inhale? What a waste." And, for the record, the car he drove was never a hearse. It was only a station wagon. During story time, the phone rang. "[insert last name of family here] morgue. You stab 'em, we slab 'em."

Family. You take them as they come.

west to east

St. Louis to Kansas City and back this weekend to photograph a wedding. Home safe, finally. Tired. Thinking.

So lucky to have a friend that waits up until after 1 a.m. for me and then stays up for at least an hour longer to chat. Too soon, we're up at 9 a.m. with a cup of peppermint tea followed by a full day with his family and then hers. I feel so welcome. Brunch and curling up on the couch with the Chiefs and chocolate, no need to entertain or impress, yet I'm impressed. To me, these families exemplify love.

Later, I join another family. This time, it's the family of my brother-in-law. I have the best turkey I have ever tasted with stuffing, potatoes and the works. The food is prepared and set out to eat on the longest table I've ever seen. Blood alone does not define family. Today I became part of three families, each for a sliver in time.

I met someone this weekend who reminds me of a part of me that used to exist. He makes me want that part of myself back. Patience. I'm the me I need to be, for now.