March 27, 2016

Deviled Eggs

I'm visiting the mama later today and she DOES believe in Easter. Therefore when I was packing her house this summer I made certain to bring along some baskets that I could use to make her future Easters festive. Yes, people, I am helping her celebrate Easter, despite what I just said earlier.

She loves malted milk balls and jelly beans, so I have those in large supply. I may dye an egg (this will be extra credit), and I also made deviled eggs. Is it wrong to have something called Deviled Eggs on the holiest day of the Christian calendar? Whatever. It's a pagan holiday and we all know it.

Although I am unconverted in some ways, over the years I have been converted from my former dislike of deviled eggs to an actual like of deviled eggs. Further than that, I was even converted to a like of a very specific type of deviled egg sandwich, thanks to Trzesniewski, the egg salad sandwich store in Vienna. There at Trzesniewski, in the shadow of the Loos American Bar, you can share a table with a local, drink a tiny beer and eat teensy sandwiches that are as weird as they are tasty. When I got home from vacation the only thing I asked for for Christmas was a ricer. I used it today to make deviled eggs for the mama. Here you go.

The setup:

The squishing of the yolks with my ricer:

The smoked paprika from our trip to Budapest, with my favorite little spoon:

And we'll see how the mama likes these. The Tony The Tiger bowl is just to crack her up:


I am not an Easter person.

I disliked catechism as a kid. One reason is that I went to catechism with kids who attended other schools, not my own. Also, my dad was Catholic and my mom refused to convert, though she went to Catholic church every Sunday. Her heathenness complicated the ceremonial aspects of being a Catholic that parents would usually participate in. I had to do them all with my pop, and not my mom. The nuns actually told my brother that he should go home and tell our mom that she was going to hell if she didn't convert. And our very modern and new church featured an enormous and stern image of Christ on the ceiling that scared me. There isn't anything comforting, warmly familiar or unstressful about church, and I still feel guilty for not getting it.

For that reason, I decided as a young adult that I would not celebrate Easter. It's not fair to participate in the party when you haven't earned it, so to speak.

I discovered recently that although I am definitely not Catholic, I am Wendish / Sorbian. My peeps, a Slavic minority in Eastern Germany and Poland, have an amazing egg-decorating tradition. They also make noodles, believe in sprites, and wear gorgeously intricate traditional garb. Perhaps I can take back Easter through its pre-Christian roots. Won't help with the guilt, but would give me something to do while others eat ham.

Sorbian / Wendish links:


Sorbian Eggs

March 26, 2016

Take That, Punks!

I'm taking the day off from Mom duty to rest, celebrate our oldest boy's 20th birthday, and play in the middle of the street. While I was there, I realized that people have been tagging our street signs. The magic combination of acetone, baking soda and soap made it all better.

Front before:

Front after:

Back before:

Back after:

So satisfying.

March 19, 2016

Hip-Aversary 2016

One month ago I had the mammoo out in the yard pulling weeds. Risky, because of her balance, but awesomely fun for both of us. She's been doing so well at physical therapy that her therapist keeps sending me messages via our caregivers that I should come check her out. I hoped that pt would help keep her safe.

 Uh oh.

I got the call Monday morning. She was on the floor of her apartment, broken, with the ambulance on the way. Poor Mama!! Several thoughts went through my head: a) I know what to do here, b) this is all happening close to my home, c) we already have a caregiver.

By the end of the day on Monday the mammoo had had her operation and was on the mend. The break is far less severe than last time, and she's already at 50% weight-bearing on that leg. Go mama go!!

Five days later we have three new caregivers, have reunited with a favorite caregiver who had gone on maternity leave in December (she'd just started to look for work the day before), and the mammoo is in rehab at the place where she rehabbed before. Many of her friends (nurses, aides, therapists) are still here and were happy to see her. She walked over 30 feet today using her walker.

All in all, this time around is better. I'm handling everything myself, and my siblings are letting me. We have come a long way, all of us.

Why Hip-Aversary? Because she broke her right hip 4 days shy of a year from breaking her left hip. During that solar orbit she rehabbed completely from one hip break. I organized her downsizing and move. Hired and fired caregivers. We emptied the house she'd lived in since 1960. Divvied up her belongings. Worked with an auction house to sell some of the antiques (ongoing). Celebrated our first family Christmas in the big brown box. And now we're doing this crazy hip thing again.

Today I took a break from the chaos and worked on her taxes instead. And sent emails to the coordinator at her community. And organized my sisters to call her at different times in the next hour because there is an hour off between the two caregivers today and if she decides to get out of bed in that hour and she falls I don't know what I'd do with myself.

I also took a moment to bid on a painting because sometimes when you've worked about as hard as a person can and are done for the day you juuuust want a motherfucking $100 birdie painting to make yourself feel better.

It's going to look great next to the shipwreck painting.

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