Letter to the Extended Family

My family, on my mother's side, consists of all the descendants of my great grandmother. Shortly after she passed away my mother and aunt put together a family cookbook. While the primary goal was to preserve my great grandmother's recipes, they also accepted submissions from other family members. Many of the recipes from that cookbook have become staples and my parties and social functions. This book, and other projects like it, are a big part of what holds my (very) extended family together. So now the time has come to try to put together a second edition, and I've decided to head up the project. This is the letter that I sent out to my family to explain the project, which I hope to also use as the introduction to the second edition.

Names have been removed. For the most part they've simply been replaced with the relative's relationship descriptor.


To the Members of the Family _________,

The scions of our branch of the family met at the beach house last summer for a weekend. While there we discussed the need to create a second edition of our beloved family cookbook. "Why?" you may be wondering. "What is wrong with the cookbook we have?" Nothing is wrong with it! Well, except for the typos, outdated graphics and the occasional recipe that is simply wrong (as an example, my great Aunt's pickled mushrooms do not use pepper). But overall there is nothing wrong with it! It is certainly a better record of family culinary history than most extended families have. My personal copy has been a constant kitchen companion for as long as I've had a kitchen to use it in. Recipes from that book have fed friends and parties and have always met with raving success.

And yet, it is still woefully incomplete. Many of the recipes I grew up most directly associating with family trips and holidays weren't included in the original cookbook. Where is our Great Aunt's delicious carrot soufflé? Or our cousin's totally amazing challah? Or my Aunt's "famous" cheese tarts? These are the family recipes I long for and cherish and I would like to see them all in one place rather than scattered on recipe cards or still lacking from my recipe collection.

Of course, there would be more to a second addition than simply adding recipes that I personally feel are lacking from the first. I'm not sure when the original book was published, but I think I'm safe in saying that it was over 20 years ago. In those 20 years children have grown up, gotten married and had children of their own. They have developed and discovered their own recipes as well as married into families with their own culinary traditions. They have lived in foreign lands, and settled in distant states. And they have no doubt acquired prized dishes, college culinary experiments, and the occasional in law oddity that all deserve to be represented. When I look through my family cookbook I see very little representing my own small family, or the families of the cousins I grew up with. As our extended family extends ever farther, I feel that we need the binding element that this book provides more than ever.

When talking about community building, so much of it always comes back to food. When we talk about having friends in our neighborhood we mention about how we'll be able to "borrow a cup of sugar" from them. When planning weddings and bar mitzvahs so much of the party planning is focussed on what will be served. We understand that when we are melancholy there are certain "comfort foods" we can turn to. And almost every major Jewish holiday revolves around a festive meal (except when they specifically have us NOT eating). What we eat, and who we eat it with, are a large part of what help us create a sense of commonality. At this point, our family has spread so far and grown so large that it's unlikely we're ever going to get everyone together at one big passover seder, but just because we aren't sitting down at the same table doesn't mean that we can't be sitting down to the same foods.

And that's the goal. To create a cookbook that represents the family in it's current incarnation and allows us to all have something in common, no matter how far apart we might be or how long it's been since we last saw each other. So send us your new recipes developed or discovered as you've grown up and moved out on your own. Send us your variations on recipes from the original cookbook. Send us the staples from your in-laws' family or that crazy innovation by your spouse. And send us your old classics that some how escaped publication and all the minor corrections that have been lingering unfixed for over 20 years.

I can't wait to see them all!

anie

Filler

So to acknowledge all the people who are now following my blog ("Hi followers!") I figured I should post something. Unfortunately, I don't really have anything new to say at the moment. There are a couple entries in draft form, but they're really not ready for publication. Luckily, however, I have at least one more old entry that hasn't been transitioned over yet. So I figure I'll go ahead and post it here so you all have "new" material to read and then relocate it to it's appropriate, backdated location at a later time.

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13 May 2009

He always comments on the normal people moments. Sitting in a coffee shop laughing at the pretentious conversations. Driving around town listening to a newly purchased cd. Lying in bed watching me get ready for work in the morning. But these aren't the moments that stand out for me. The moments I love, the ones that sear themselves into my memory and bring tears to my eyes, are those sweet, passionate, and intimate moments that normal people not only will never have, but will never even understand.

I made him a collar. I bought a silver colored pendant tray into which I placed a picture of the name I have given him and I glued the glass down over it. I strung the pendant on a braided leather cord which I capped with silver crimp beads. To those I attached a bar and loop closure. My thought was that this closure style, as opposed to a clasp of some sort, would allow me to pull the necklace tight and be able to choke him with it at times. While this effect worked as planned, there were some drawbacks to the style that I hadn't considered.

"I made you a present," I told him as he kneeled before me, "and it will belong to you like you belong to me. But just like how you belong to me, there are some rules. Only I can put it on you. And no one but me can take it off you. It is yoursbut you can't put it on or take it off yourself. Do you accept?"

He did, and I placed it around his neck. He wore it the rest of the evening, even as we went to dinner with my husbands family. It was such a bizarre and pleasant sensation to look over and see it hanging around his neck and to know what that meant. He was mine. This strong, forceful man not only belonged to me, but wanted it acknowledged.

Later in the evening we discovered the flaw in its design. At some point while rolling around in bed the bar slipped the ring and it fell off. I noticed almost immediately and resolved to put it back on at the first opportune moment. However, when that moment came I rolled over to pick it up and found it no longer sitting on the pillow next to me. I looked up to see it back around his neck and I grew cold with anger.

"I only gave you two rules. You can't even get through a night with out breaking them?"

His eyes widened and his speech was rapid and scared. "I didn't take it off. It fell off. No one else took it off." He sounded like a child who has just realized he's in trouble but isn't quite sure why.

"You aren't supposed to put it on yourself, either." I have stopped moving and am simply stradling him, staring down at him reproachfully. "I only gave you two rules."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." In the face of his fear and contrition my anger has faded to a sort of menacing joy. It's not an emotion I have felt before and I allow myself to slip further into it before giving in to my need to comfort him. As angry as I was at him for breaking such simple rules, the truth is that these rules are new to him. They are not something he has ever had to deal with before and . . .

"Everyone makes mistakes sometimes. It's alright." But I know my words of comfort are not enough. They do not satisfy my earlier anger, nor my current menace. More importantly, they do not satisfy his sense of guilt. With an open palm I hit him hard enough to turn his head sharply to the side. "But don't do it again."

The evening continues. Eventually we grow tired and things wind down. We're lying in bed with him curled up in my arms. As even the conversation begins to die down into tired murmurs, I decide that, given the item's apparent tendency to fall off, I should probably remove it before we fall asleep. I reach up and undo the clasp and begin pulling it off when I hear the whimper from the body in front of me.

"I don't want you to lose it while you're sleeping," I said by way of explanation, hoping to calm the despair from his body.

"I don't want to lose it," he said. His voice sounded so young. Is it odd that, in these moments, I continually compare him to a child? And yet there is no other explanation for his tone other than that used by a child who is trying to be convinced to leave behind a prized possession against his better, emotional judgment. I held it for a moment, draped over his shoulder before coming to a decision. Afterall, even if it fell off during the night, it would only fall into the bed. We'd be able to find it in the morning. Coming to that realization I quietly placed it back around his neck. All his tension escaped out of him in a rasping sigh and I felt his body relax, content, against mine.

Can I possibly describe how that moment pulled at my heart? He'd told me he loved me before, but I don't think I ever felt it as powerfully as just then. When he whimpered at its removal I think it was the first moment I believed he liked it as much as he said he did. On the one hand there was the simple gratitude of having a gift that I had put so much time and effort into designing and crafted being liked and appreciated. It was a normal person's motivation. But there was also all the meaning and symbolism invested in the object; to know that it all was important enough that, even sleeping, he wished to remain in my possession was - powerful. And perhaps inexplicable. I don't think "normal people" would ever understand why that small whimper could move me to tears. And those who can understand - well, they don't need the explanation.

Nitty Gritty

Real Housewife of Atlanta is, as you can probably tell from reading it, my introduction entry. However, as you poke around you'll notice that there are a lot of entries that are dated before it. I wanted to give this blog some content right off the bat, so I imported entries from other sources that I felt fit my themes. These entries are either from my Livejournal, my wedding blog, or were something I wrote as a submission somewhere. While these entries weren't written for this blog, they were what inspired me to start it. I wanted a place to showcase some of my better written work that wasn't targeted specifically to people who already knew me.

Live Journal is great for keeping in touch and sharing ideas, but for me it's a journal and a messaging board, not a place for columns and articles. Posting an entry on LJ about how and why I designed a kids room in my house seems kind of silly. Because most of the people reading either a) were here when I put it together, or b) don't see that as a part of my life that's relevant to them. I'm hoping that, by having a separate blog that's dedicated to writing as much as it is to informing, I will be more motivated to craft entries rather than simply post brief (or boring) updates.

Plus there's the issue of recognition. My mother reads my livejournal and who knows what other family members. Now, she can only see a very few entries, because of LJ's great filtering features, but that means that most of my "best work" can't be shared beyond Friend's Only. I'm pretty open about my life and my lifestyle, but I still believe it would be best for everyone involved if my Orthodox cousins never quite figured out some of the details. As a result, you'll notice some odd choices about anonymity. I only use my nickname here and use pseudonyms for my significant others, but I do post pictures of myself. The thing is, I don't mind if you recognize me on the street and say "Hey Anie! I love your blog! Can I come play in your vampire game?" In fact, that would be awesome, because we need new players. But I don't want the aforementioned cousins to do a google search trying to find our old wedding website and stumble across this instead.

So my husband is Lorien. My boyfriend is Karma. My husband's girlfriend/boyfriend's wife will probably appear as the GFIL (girlfriend in law). Of course, depending on the entry, the [gender]friends may just appear as Mommy and Daddy, because if we're talking about their kids, that's who they are. Due to income restraints, it will probably be a while before that one will become confusing.

Anyway, check out the old entries. If you like what you see, I look forward to having you around!

-anie

Real Housewife of Atlanta

Hi, I'm Anie. I've decided to start a blog about my life. I'm not sure if anyone will want to read it, though. I mean, my life is pretty normal and straight forward. I got married at 23 to my highschool sweetheart. We bought a house in the city three months later. He has a salaried job and I work super part time (about 15 hours a week) just to give us a little extra grocery money. He pays the bills, I wash the underwear.

On Friday night we light Shabbat candles and have a nice dinner. About every other weekend we're joined by our boyfriend and girlfriend and their boys. We spend dinner trying to keep the kids from blowing out the candles and then we head out to our local vampire LARP (Live Action Role Playing game). Usually mom and the boys will hang out for half an hour to an hour. Then they go home and go to bed while the rest of us play until two in the morning. After game, a handful of friends (somewhere between two and five) come back to our place to spend the weekend.

Saturdays are spent with the kids going to the park, friends hanging out on the porch, and lots of computer games. Until nightfall, when it's time for another LARP. Sundays are for walking around the neighborhood and sad goodbyes. Then it's back to the grind of another work week in which my darling husband will leave me with a To Do list that I will never quite finish.

Weekends with out games are usually more low key. Most of the time there's some party or club event scheduled, which will give my boyfriend a reason to come to town. I'll put on my party clothes and he'll put on his nice collar and we'll go out to have some fun. Often the husband comes along as well. Living in the city, we can usually come up with a few different options for entertainment, though Sunday nights still usually find us at home watching television shows on Netflix.

Passover is spent with my mother's extended family here in Atlanta. Easter is the big holiday for my husbands family, but it's pretty open invite so this year we brought our boyfriend and girlfriend along, too. Thanksgiving we usually travel to South Carolina to stay with my parents and go see my Dad's family. We don't tend to stay long, however, because a friend here in Atlanta hosts a big Friends and Family feast the Saturday following that we like to be back for (if only to recreate the holiday with the [gender]friends and their kids). Christmas is complicated, but seems to have settled into a compromise with my family coming to Atlanta and us doing Christmas Eve for my dad. Then we all head out for the in-law's big todo on Christmas Day. Unfortunately, it happens at the same time as the girlfriend's family's todo, but we all managed to get together afterward for some quality family time. Maybe this year we'll see if people can shuffle their schedules around a little, but probably not.

Of course there are other key events in the year. Our LARP is part of an international organization, and we host an event every March. Then there's always Dragon*Con in September (which served as our honeymoon one year). Somewhere around January or February we tend to travel to Milwaukee for their event game. And this year we're talking about both New Orleans and Israel. It seems like there's always something coming up that we need to save our pennies for. Luckily, we all seem to get along well on long car trips and in cramped hotel rooms.

Really, I guess that's my life. I admit, the house isn't nearly as clean as it should be for someone with nothing else to do with her time. And the laundry always tends to get done minutes before we run out of clothes. And juggling all the various families and faiths can get complicated, not to mention budgeting in the trips and cons. But my home is full of love and happiness and parties and people and even a few whips and chains just to keep everything in line. All in all, it's just a normal, boring life. But maybe you'll enjoy reading about it anyway. I hope you do!

Opening the Door

I'm thinking that it's time I came out to my mother. She lives in Charleston. I live in Atlanta. My father also lives in Atlanta for work, but commutes out to Charleston every weekend. And mother often drops rather pointed reminders that catching a ride with him would let me visit and not cost our strained budget a time. It's been well established that my husband won't travel with out a car of his own, but then she's not really asking to see my husband, though of course that would be nice. She's asking to see me.

The thing is, I have my own long distance love who drives many hours to see me every weekend, often with his wife and kids. You see, we're monogamous polyamorists. Only one man will ever be my husband (G-d forbid something happen to him), but this doesn't mean he's the only love of my love. I love Karma, I like his wife, and I adore his kids. My husband loves his wife, likes him, and seems to be growing fonder of the kids by the day. However, they live in the middle of nowhere Georgia, so until Karma graduates from nursing school, we only get to see them on the weekends.

Which brings us to the conflict with my mother. My mother knows that there are things about my life I don't tell her about. The conversation went something along the lines of "There are things in my life I don't tell you about. I assume you don't want to know. But if you ask, I will tell you." She hasn't asked, so I haven't told her. This whole visiting thing has made things complicated though. She'll invite me and I'll talk about how we have friends in town that weekend, or some established social engagment. And it's clear that she's hurt to be constantly blown off for friends. After all, she's my mother. Shouldn't that mean that I can find at least one weekend where seeing her is a higher priority than seeing my friends?

And I feel bad for making her feel bad, but they aren't just friends, ya know? I wish I could just explain to her that me taking a weekend to go to Charleston would be like my dad NOT taking a week to go to Charleston. Sure, I see these people every weekend, but when you're in love you don't phrase it that way. To me, I only see them on the weekend, and I'm not willing to give one up.

So I'm thinking it's time to come out of the closet. I imagine the conversation going something like this:
"You know Karma, right?"
"Yeah"
"You know how I brought him to Passover even though he's Catholic?"
"Yeah"
"You know how Lorien and I went to Ren Fest with him, and his wife and his boys?"
"Yeah"
"You know how we turned our guest room into a children's room for his boys?"
"Yeah"
"You know we're not just friends ... right?"

After that, I have no idea, but I'm hoping for the best. Because when I'm overflowing with happiness about one boy's t-ball game, or the other saying my name for the first time, or my boyfriend doing something super sweet, or him and my husband doing something ridiculous, I want to be able to call up my mother and gush like any other proud parent and happy partner. Ya know?

The Boys' Room

When my roommate finally moved his stuff out, I was eager to begin moving new stuff in. From the much ignored room in the basement I grabbed my colorful scrap rug, my matching papasan chair and the big, bold, popart-esque motorcycle painting that had been sitting down there, un-hung, since we moved in. I left the TV and the Playstation (to serve as a DVD player), but moved out his queen sized bed to the newly vacated downstairs. I replaced it with the twin bed from Ikea that had been floating around various rooms in our house. A toddler bed was pulled out of someone’s storage closet and a little rug with roads and cars went down on top of the big rug. To top it all off I bought an $18 rocket ship tent - because every kids’ room needs something awesome! Considering that, for the most part, I was just throwing together already owned odds and ends, I think I made a pretty good room for two young boys.



So why did I suddenly find myself building a nursery for a 4 year old and a 2 year old? I mean, children normally come into your life in predictable stages. You have 9ish months to build a baby nursery and then age it gradually as the child grows. But I never saw these kids as infants. They sprang fully formed into my life. And, after knowing them for a little less than a year, I figured it was time they had their own room in my house.

I am not their stepmother. And even though I am Daddy’s girlfriend, I am not even a potential stepmother. Daddy doesn’t live with me. He lives in a small town in rural Georgia with his loving wife and beautiful young boys. I live three hours away in Atlanta with my amazing husband and a strict budget that does not (yet!) allow for children. My boyfriend originally was coming to Atlanta every other weekend to play in our local LARP, but after we started dating he tended to find excuses to come up every weekend. It wasn’t just for me, though. Small town Georgia can easily drive a social person like my boy to psychotic levels of cabin fever. He wanted to get out, see his friends, be social and, of course, see me.

And that’s all totally understandable, but what about mom? Doesn’t she also deserve a social life? Friends and chatting and a chance to date? So she came out a few times, too. But if Mommy and Daddy are both coming to Atlanta, that means the kids are probably coming, as well. Now these are notably good looking, well behaved, intelligent children. Pretty much everyone in the social group took to them immediately. But as much as we may have liked having them around (me especially), it was clear that they didn’t quite fit. They crashed in whatever room was available (sharing the air mattress in the library, or bumping us from the master bedroom because it had a door that could be closed) and were constantly bombarded with “don’t play with that,” “don’t go in there,”and “what are you doing?” As much as they liked us, the fact that they didn’t have their own space clearly kept them from being fully comfortable - especially around bedtime.

As a result, Mommy tended to limit her trips to when she could find a relative to babysit, which wasn’t nearly as often as we might like. At this point, in addition to liking her as a person, I was also beginning to suspect that she and my husband were falling for each other and I really wanted to give that situation the time and space it needed to develop. Plus, I really liked those kids, and wanted to hang out with them almost as much as their parents. So when my roommate said he was moving out, I told him we’d miss him and all, but then immediately started planning how to redecorate his room. The results were everything I could have hoped for! The boys were super enthusiastic about the bed they could bounce on, the rocket ship they could play in (and dismantle) and the box of toys which were brought to permanently live at our house (which means that they now only get to be played with when they’re here). They now have their own beds to sleep in, a room to watch movies in, and a variety of options for entertainment.

All in all, I’d say it was a win-win for everyone. Daddy doesn’t have to feel bad about leaving his wife in rural Georgia while he goes to the city to play. Mommy has a place to come have a social life of her own. My husband has an awesome new girlfriend. The boys have yet another place to feel like they are included and loved. And me? I get a kids’ room in my house - screw what the budget says.

Veteran's Day

On memorial day we honor the courage it takes to fight for your country and die for her. Today we honor the courage it takes to come home.


On July 20th, a friend posted an entry about a captured Marine. Here's the excerpt that's most relevant to my reply:

So what's the big deal now? I am being a bad person; I am reacting to something differently because it hits home a little, something that irritates the crap out of me when others do it, ,and I am holding myself to task for it. My daughter is very serious about a young man who is a Marine, who deployed on his SECOND duty out in Iraq/Afghanistan. All I know is he has something to do with Operation Leatherneck (Google it).

So I read in the news that once again, the Taliban has captured another young American soldier and is parading him around on videos (posted below). I don't know him, any more than I knew the dozens before him. But with K deployed in that area, and the Marines being sent in first into uncontrolled territory, suddenly I personalize this stuff; I see him in the video. It is an understandable reaction, but why is it worse when it is in our backyard? Why aren't we upset for every death? Is this a form of hypocrisy, or a form of coping, for if we stopped to mourn every single soldier as if he were ours, the country would shut down.

Are you going to turn your heads and scroll by because you don't care, because you don't know him, because you can't afford to and still function? What is the right thing to do here? We may not all agree. I am torn. But I needed to vent about this.

At the time, I requested my reply remain screened. But time has passed and today seems like a good day to share it. This was my response:

For me the war was something I thought we never should have gotten involved in to begin with but that, once started, we needed to stop screwing up, follow through on, and finish. For the most part, though, I avoided following it and thinking about it. Because it wasn't something that really affected me, but, more than that, it wasn't something I could affect.

Then I fell in love with a soldier. By the time we got involved he was already home and a civilian again. But he's still got two more years before those who care about him can breathe a sigh of relief that he won't get called back. And all the memories are painfully fresh in his mind. I've watched him go stiff when fireworks went off unexpectedly. I've talked him down when thunder crashed in an unexpected way. And I've listened to him as he's told me in an eerily dispassionate voice about the people who died under his hands (he was a medic).

And suddenly stories about the war matter. Because but for the grace of G-d, that could have been my soldier. If he'd still been there, if it had happened earlier. And living with the pain of the trauma and memories he brought home, how can I hope to compare to the suffering of those who are living through it while their loved ones are still there? I know how much I ache knowing about the things he survived. How much more must they suffer knowing what their soldiers may yet not?

Was it wrong of me not to know, follow, grieve before? I don't think so. I cannot cry for every soldier and the country gains little if I do. But I can cry for my soldier, and for the parents, sibling and children I know. Because my soldier still can't cry for himself. And the tears of someone who doesn't really get it never mean as much as the sympathy of someone who does (even second hand).

There are many things broken and breaking about our country and the world around us. If we all cared about all of them all of the time we'd spend so much time grieving we'd never be able to fix or accomplish anything. So we care about the things that affect us or that we can affect. It limits our scope into something manageable and allows us to actually make a difference. Even if it's as small as crying for someone who didn't realize he needed tears.