On Comforting The Grieving

     Page One Hundred Seventy-Four.
     I try to do one good deed per year, even if it kills me. I don't ever try for two. That's just waaaaay too many for one person. No... one good deed per year is just the right amount. Yessiree Bob... one nice thing for somebody else each year. It's a philosophy which has takes it's toll in the form of many headaches over the years, all these good deeds. But somebody's gotta do 'em.
     I have a former boss-lady, Carol. Carol hired me into the activities department at Fancy-Shmancy Nursing Home and she was then my supervisor until she retired. I started there in the spring of 2003 and she retired in '04. We've stayed in touch ever since.
     Carol and her husband, Bob, bought a second home in Vermont in 2005. I've been up there twice to visit and I love Vermont. It's beautiful country. I'll tell the entire story of this home another time. But for now, just know that during the last 11 years I've bonded with Carol and Bob. Also, their daughter Alice lives in Vermont so we've spent time together and I've met Carol's son, Ted, on a couple occasions.
     Bob and Carol (a former nun.) are incredibly active in their large, left-leaning Methodist church. (This, as opposed to the very large, right-leaning Methodist church where, last spring, I threw my Passover Seder for 275.) Frequently over the years, whenever I've needed a "Carol fix" I would simply show-up at their church, say hi! for a couple hours and then be on my way. Subsequently, her church family and I have gradually gotten to know each other, too. Her church family is always full of warm embraces whenever little, 'ole, Jewish me darkens their doors. (This really confused Alice when we first met. She was under the impression that I was one of her mom's church friends. But then she and I spoke at length one evening in Vermont. The next day she said to her mom, "wait a minute, who is this person? Jeremy sure doesn't act like your other church friends." Carol just laughed and explained that I'm one of those people who's equally comfortable attending church or synagogue, enjoying sordid strip clubs, feeding and caring for heroin addicts, watching the Brady Bunch with 10 year-olds, dancing 'till 4AM at seedy night clubs, studying exhibits at the art museum or lounging at an auto garage with a bunch of brutish mechanics on a lazy afternoon. Ever since the explanation, Alice and I have gotten a great kick out of each other.)
     Last May, Bob was given 8-12 weeks to live. They went up to Vermont because that's where he wanted to die. But his body refused to succumb. So they came back down to Cleveland in September. Ever since then, it's been a slow decline. In October he told me that he was ready and tired but his body refused to quit. Well, it finally did quit last Monday, December 23rd, 2 days after his and Carol's 40th anniversary.
     In reality, there's nothing anybody can do for a grieving family except provide some type of comfort in whatever form can be found. Which is, of course, the hard part... figuring out the form. On Thursday I phoned Carol and offered up some food, if it was needed. I always hesitate to take food to a grieving family because I assume that's what all the other friends take. Then the family is stuck with tons of eats and not enough people to consume them. However, Carol took me up on my offer. She said that Alice would be arriving on Saturday and how about if I brought food for everybody on Sunday, yesterday, then we'd all eat dinner together. She said that Ted and his girlfriend would stop by and maybe a couple of other friends would be there. This is just the sort of project which keeps me going.
     I decided to cook enough for 8 and hope for the best. I made an old-fashioned Jewish Mother dinner. That really is what I excel at anyhow. Matzo ball soup, salad, brisket, Brussels sprouts, glazed carrots, wild rice, gravy and dinner rolls with butter. Plus, 3 desserts from Gallucci's Italian grocer 'cause I couldn't decide - cherry strudel; poppy seed roll and chocolate decadent cake. The only things I didn't bring were salad dressing and beverages. Upon my arrival, Carol announced that Ted's and Alice's best childhood friends would be joining us so it would be 8 total. It was meant to be. We all had a wonderful time laughing and talking. The kids were surrounded by their closest friends in the world to support them and we all ate comfort food together. It was my good deed for the year. Without a moment to spare, too! December 29th, for heaven's sake...
     Bob's memorial will be next Sunday at 2PM. It'll be enormous. There'll be hundreds attending, I promise. He lived his dash well. (Bob loved the euphemism of a life as a dash. If you don't know that euphemism, I'll write about it in some future blog.) 
    

Christmas, 2013

     Page One Hundred Seventy-Three.
     A couple of days ago was Christmas. I hope it was pleasant for you. It was nice for me but a little too busy. Being Jewish, I do nothing with family. Instead, I do whatever happens to pop up with friends. This year, a lot popped up.
     Christmas Eve afternoon I made 100 choco-chip cookies from scratch to take to a friend's gathering at 8.30. Then another set of friends had a late-night party that I went to at 10 and stayed a couple of hours.
     Christmas morning I was up at 7 and out at 8. I went and delivered food to the needy and shut-ins. I deliver food every Christmas and Easter as I've been doing for almost fifteen years now. I was finished about 11 or so.
     Then I decided to stop at a local church that was hosting a community Christmas meal and get myself a little something to nosh. I knew almost everybody in the kitchen and figured that I'd just hang out until feeding time. They had other ideas though and put me to work as a server. I left there at 12.30.
     After lunch I went and visited and older Jewish couple whom I used to provide elder-care to. Next month she'll be 94 and in May he'll be 97. I haven't seen them for a while and thought that Christmas day might be a nice day to stop in. I was there at 12.45.
     While visiting the elderly couple, a friend phoned me. Her husband received an unusual gift in the form of a fancy Reuben Sandwich kit which arrived that morning packed on dry ice. Did I want to come and join them for dinner that evening and have a homemade Reuben? Who says no to that?
     So, I left the elderly couple's home at 2, went home, took a nap, took a shower, watched a documentary on Gary Cooper and left my place at 5.45.
     From 6 'till 8 I was eating and thoroughly enjoying Reubens with these friends.
     By 8.15 I was home and in my pajamas. And I was exhausted. But it was a very wonderful Christmas for me.
     Actually, it wore me out a little. But I prefer this over not having anything at all to do. This Christmas was a true illustration to me of my blessings.

On Decorating An Auto Repair Place For Christmas

     Page One Hundred Seventy-Two.
     So... about ten or twelve years ago, my mechanic began decorating his garage for Christmas. This garage is on busy Mayfield Road here in Cleveland Heights and possibly thousands of cars drive by every day. A & A Auto is located in an old (1920's) three bay garage somewhat close to the street. The interior is very drabby and oily. The personality of this garage is old-school dirt but the craftmanship level is high quality. It's the type of place where Fonzie would have worked. There's only room in the parking lot for less than a dozen parked cars. It's a small, reputable operation and it's visibility is tremendous.
     So when Tom began decorating his place for the holidays, I was charmed. But the decorating stunk. It was just awful. There are three very large picture windows in front and two on the side. I think he put one measly string of lights around one window and that was it. The following year, he did something similar but it was even worse 'cause he only went up 1/2 way around the window. It was terrible. Year three he put one string of lights across the tops of all three front windows and then let the ends hang. At that point I was finished. I won't take up space in today's blog to talk about the fact that I was a professional Christmas decorator for nearly twenty years. But, I was. I'll tell that story another time when I have nothing else to write about. All you need to know for the sake of today's blog though, is that I'm good at Christmas decorating.
     So, the following year, about six, seven  or eight years ago, I marched into Tom's place long about early November and announced that I was taking over the Christmas decorating of his shop. For free. Just as a favor to the citizens of Cleveland Heights. He was happy as a bug in a rug.
     It's not really a big project. Just takes me a couple of hours to hang multiple strings of lights around each of the five windows. Every year I decide what color to go with. The lights are typically dead by the time I take them down 'cause they're plugged in 24/7 once I install them. So I'm not usually able to re-use them too much during the ensuing years. But lights aren't really expensive any more anyhow.The last couple of years I've really been into the old-fashioned multi-colored look. So that's what Mayfield Road drivers see when they're stuck at the light in front of Tom's place. It seriously isn't a big or complicated project for me. But it makes Tom happy and it really does improve the streetscape a little. 
     When I was finished the first year, Tom exclaimed, "Jeremy, this looks F%#@ing awesome!" Then, as I was leaving, he told me that my next oil change was on the house. I didn't say no to that. Nowadays, it's rare that he ever charges me for an oil change. He's just so thrilled to have me do the lights each year. I'm also quite friendly with all his mechanics and they like the way I dress the place up for Christmas too.
     I've mentioned before that I've filmed a number of cooking videos for YouTube. I have about 15 completed but haven't yet posted any. Three very short ones were filmed in A & A last spring just for the fun of it. One of these days I really need to start posting those things.

Still Life. Entitled: "Auto Repair Garage With Purple '73 Dodge Charger"

It's not much... but it's home

A Cooking Demo At Williams-Sonoma

     Page One Hundred Seventy-One.
     So, long about mid-November, I got a phone call from a buddy who's a well-known and quite reputable amateur chef in town. He'd been recently contacted by the new event planner at our local Williams-Sonoma as being someone who might be able to do a cooking demo for Thanksgiving. W-S wanted to do a turkey roasting class for new brides who'd be making their first holiday turkey. It would be held on Tuesday evening of the week prior to the holiday. Or, more to the point, five days after he and I received our respective phone calls. He was unable to participate but thought that I could. Was I interested?
     I wasn't sure what to say. This presentation would be four days prior to a class on healthy eating habits that I'd be teaching to a large group of art therapists and social workers. I'd been preparing for that class almost two months and to suddenly have an additional stress the same week seemed unwise. However, I knew the exposure and experience at W-S would be great for me. Also, I love a good adventure. This seemed like an adventure second only to the expedition where they found King Kong on the remote South-Pacific island, brought him back to America where he went on a rampage and killed everybody in New York. I said yes. (Truly... I love a great adventure.)

King Kong & Fay Wray Atop The Empire State Building, 1933.

      The next day I was on the phone with this event planner, Anni-Frid, and we're talking away like old friends. Then, the day after that I was at the butcher's ordering two turkeys: one to prepare in advance and the other to demonstrate the preparation on (a sort of before and after thing). The butcher was a little nonplussed with me for needing the birds a few days too early for Thanksgiving, but he understood why. Also, I'm quite friendly with him and have given him a certain amount of business over the years. So he tried to be accommodating. I then proceeded to write out this new turkey roasting presentation while finishing up the healthy eating demo. All in all it was a very dysfunctional week.
      On the day of, I got the first turkey in the oven no problemo. All the preparation went really well and I was quite optimistic. When suddenly, (did you anticipate the "when suddenly" phrase?) Williams-Sonoma began smelling an awful lot like burnt tires. I MEAN A REEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAL LOT. I promise I did everything I was supposed to. I'd used all my experience and read all directions very carefully. But no matter if I did everything perfectly, sometimes certain things just happen. It was my first time cooking with their stove, with their supplies, in their environment. That turkey was black. I mean black-black. Not pleasantly dark brown like expensive German chocolate sent by a European former roommate as a Christmas gift. Not dark-dusk, like the star-lit sky five minutes before the fireworks begin on Independence Day. Not even light black like that beautiful Ralph Lauren sweater you bought in 1985 and has faded and worn desperately but you just can't get rid of because it still drapes beautifully and also it reminds you of the long-ago moved-away friend who accompanied you when you purchased it. No. This turkey was darkest, dark black like death black. I was horrified. As were Anni-Frid and the store manager.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

      Now this all happened prior to any brides showing up. So we thought for a moment. Then I removed the turkey skin before the brides' arrival. (The meat underneath was juicy, succulent and flavorful. It just wasn't photogenic.) And during the class I told the students what happened and used it as a teaching experience. In reality, these things do happen, especially in new environments. This is why you ALWAYS rehearse a new food prior to serving it to company and why you ALWAYS try out new cooking supplies and so forth in advance. I wasn't familiar with the supplies or oven and ovens do cook differently. They really do. And this is what happens.
     After the class was over Anni-Frid hugged me and told me what a great job I did.  Everybody was happy and I took some turkey home in a doggy bag and ate it over the next few days. They've already booked me for my next demo, in January.

Another Blog About The Cleveland Museum Of Art

     Page One Hundred Seventy.

The Cleveland Museum of Art with all the new additions. It's massive.

     I went to a volunteer luncheon at The Cleveland Museum of Art yesterday. It was quite small, only

The main entrance since 1970, though actually the back of the building.

for people in the department where I volunteer (marketing & research). but it was very interesting.
     This museum is the first one in America to have a gallery which is 100% interactive. Meaning: they've taken some of the most popular works from elsewhere in the museum and moved them into one gallery, then created computer interaction around each item. For example: you can walk up to the computer below a Picasso and click on any section of the painting and find that exact same
color or shape elsewhere in the
museum. There are tons of things like that in this one very large gallery. It's proving to be extremely successful. Emissaries from museums in New York, Los Angeles, Washington D.C. and others are coming here to study what we're doing with this cutting edge art interaction technology.  

The original 1916 building.

     Also, I knew the museum was wealthy but I didn't know it was quite as wealthy as it is. Though I don't know exact numbers, our museum has the third largest endowment of any art museum in America. I really think that they could give me a million dollars just to be nice and they'd still never miss it.

The new atrium; the size of a football field. The middle of the museum.

     Next spring will be a good time to visit if you like Van Gogh. There's going to be a special exhibition showcasing 30 of his paintings. (They couldn't get 40? How cheap!) That's one of the most extensive collections of his work ever. The angle of the exhibition is that it's going to compare and contrast how he painted the same thing at different times. So there may be two different versions of the same tree right next to each other. And we'll be able to see how his mood changed thereby changing the colors in the tree, for example.
      Next year is also a good time to visit if you like Japanese art. Japan is lending us some of their primary national art treasures. Apparently, it will be the equivalent of the Louvre lending out the Mona Lisa.
     Also, the search for a new executive director continues. Last summer our executive director resigned after it came out that he was having an affair with another museum employee. She commit suicide and the whole thing was one big soap opera. Can you believe that things like this actually happen in real life, not just Wagnerian operas? Oh, for heaven's sake's!
     But at least whomever is our next executive director won't have to deal with any construction. After 10 looooooonnnnnnng years, the construction will officially end in one week when the final galleries open. Those galleries: Chinese art; Japanese art and Southeastern Asian art are among the museum's most famous. Then the museum can get back to the business at hand: renting out the atrium for weddings ($20,000). After all, admission to the museum is always free. So somebody's got to pay for that new atrium. 

A Holiday Sweet Treats Party - Epilogue

     Page One Hundred Sixty-Nine.
     I have few parties or get-togethers. My apartment really is too small for any number of people above four and parties require three cleanings. Also the cost is dysfunctional. Subsequently, in the nine years that I've been in my current flat, I've only had six or seven soires. Here's how I deal with it:
     Apartment Size

     Last weekend there were twenty-six guests (plus me) in my place. That's twenty-three more people than it can comfortably hold. But I didn't care. It was an afternoon affair with people coming in and out with never more than about fifteen at a time. Between my living room and dining room there's seating for thirteen, though it is tight. And I do mean tight. But, oh, well. I figure, if I make the food and environment good enough then people won't care if they end up sitting on each other's laps (which some people don't mind either).
      Cleaning
     Here's the real problem. I'm not at all messy, but I usually have roommates who are pigs. And I'll admit that I'm really bad at dusting and polishing regularly. So every time I have a party, there are three cleanings involved. First, there's the pre-clean clean. That occurs a few weeks in advance and it's when I go on an archaeological dig in my own apartment. I look for dinosaur or pterodactyl skeletons, remnants of the Titanic (and any other shipwrecks) and previously unknown aboriginal tribes. Then I clean whatever I find so heavily that it's shinier and more sparkly than the British crown jewels. And I subsequently organize and arrange items in a manner reminiscent of the Smithsonian Institute. (People have occasionally seen my apartment clean and they have literally commented that it reminds them of a museum.)
     Then the second clean is a couple of days prior to the party. That occurs because I get spots on the bathroom mirror, new crumbs appear on the kitchen floor or the throw pillows in the living room get misshapen. In short, I really allow my OCD to rare it's ugly head while getting the apartment looking nice. I refer to these two cleanings as "autoclaving" my apartment. And I'll tell you, after clean #2 you really can eat off any surface in my place. 

     Clean #3 is after the party is over and all the barbarians and heathens have left. Don't even get me started...
     Cost
     I'm usually able to rationalize the cost. I'm lucky that way. Also, because I make all the food myself from scratch, my bills are substantially lower than the equivalent at somebody else's place anyhow. The food at last weekend's party was hundreds less than it would've been at a neighbor's merely because I do it all with my little ole' fingers. But the fact is lots of dollars are involved, no matter what.  And sometimes my bank account gets cross with me for treating it with such disregard. I hate making my bank account unhappy with me. 

     So I really don't entertain often. But last week's party was fun. The theme was "bring your own dessert". I provided all the real food and requested the guests to bring sweets to share.
     Here's what I ended up making: beef tenderloin sliced thin with accompanying French bread for sandwiches; pork ribs; chicken pot pie; mac 'n cheese; wild rice medley and Mexican baked beans (vegan); quinoa with mushrooms, onions and red pepper (vegan); a cold vegetable tray with blue cheese dipping sauce; hot mulled apple cider and pop. Then, there were bowls of your requisite tree nuts; seeds; chocolate coated things, mandarin oranges and pralines strewn about. It was all very good.

     But what guests brought was unreal. Cupcakes galore; chocolate cake; strawberry cheesecake; molasses cookies; angel food cake; key lime pie; mini key lime cheesecakes; chocolate covered who knows what; pumpkin pie; more cookies and other stuff. Plus I contributed two things to the dessert table: a box each of ho-hos and twinkies. Everything was was heavenly.
     So perhaps I'll have another sweet treats party next year. I think I can handle one per year. I think. 

Feeding A Fifteen Year Old Update #4

     Page One Hundred Sixty-Eight.
     Well, the kid is back in my life.
     Just to get you all up to speed, last summer, June of 2013, I was hired for a short-term gig cooking for a 15 year old boy a couple of times per week. Shem lost both of his parents a couple years ago to drugs and alcohol. He was taken in by his mother's best friend and promptly began acting up. He's a particularly charming and kind-hearted kid but, predictably, very angry. The area where he consistently acted out the most was food. The Foster mom, Deb, is an older women and former hippie who's single, vegetarian and admittedly no kind of cook. All the kid's food would become take-out or frozen. To be sure, it was good quality, but no kind of home-cooking. And home cooking is what he really craved. When the parents were sober they were apparently good cooks, especially the dad. The kid has euphoric memories of that food and romanticizes it. So, of all the things for him to raise hell about with Deb, it's food. (For the complete back story on this situation, you can read my blog: pages 97; 98; 99; 106 and 125 if desired.)
     So last June, Deb called me. We're long-time acquaintances but she didn't realize until talking with some mutual friends that this type of job is right up my alley. I proceeded to cook for him a few times per week until he left for summer camp a month later. We had a shaky start but but then became good pals. After returning from camp, he moved in with one of his two older brothers. The oldest is in and out of jail; he's very much duplicating the pattern of their parents. Middle brother lives with his girlfriend one building away from Deb. He's in mostly good shape. He's in school studying pre-law and is reasonably stable. So the kid moved in with him long-term. Yeah, right.
     Older brother didn't put up with the kid's crap. Also, girlfriend's younger brother lived with them as well. (I don't know that story. Some things are just none of my business. But I'll probably eventually hear it anyhow.) So it was one crowded apartment, and filled with two teenage boys and two very young twenty-somethings to boot. Golly gosh gee, how homey and cozy! So the kid wanted to move back in with Deb which he did last month. But she put her foot down and changed some of the rules. He's mostly been abiding by the new constitution but still raises hell about the food. Deb never phoned me because she thought that I was busy with other gigs, particularly the family for whom I cooked and nannied during the last few years. She didn't realize that they didn't resume me after their boys got back from summer camp this last autumn.
     So I had a holiday gathering last weekend and invited Deb. We got to talking and so forth. Long story short, she phoned me this morning after speaking with the kid and wants to rehire me long-term, four days per week.
     This 15 year old kid is going to have his own personal chef making his dinners and school lunches. Must be nice.
     The fact is, It'll be good for him and me. I have EXTENSIVE experience working with troubled and at-risk youth and he did come to trust me and told me so. He consistently refuses counseling which the school and Deb are not happy about at all. Yet, he did tell me a certain amount of his business. The fact is, there are certain things I'm good at and kids are one of them. I have a former brother-in-law you used to refer to me as a child psychologist. Though I don't have the sheepskin to prove it, I am really good at dealing with those little monsters know as children. This blog isn't named How To Cook Children* for nothing.
     And it'll be good for me 'cause I need the cash. I'm busy looking for one full-time job right now as I'm getting sort of sick of the multiple part-time gigs. I've done that for a while and it's wearing thin. But a little extra money in the meantime is a happy thing. And who knows how long before I find a job anyhow. I'm trying to get into corporate event planning here in Cleveland. The jobs definitely exist but getting them is hard. So, anything to pay the rent in the meantime... (If you know anybody in corporate event planning here in Cleveland or anybody in a related field, please feel free to pass along my name. I'll be in your eternal debt. I'll mail you some homemade Chicken Paprikash.)

*Nutritious Food They'll Eat
   

One Busy Month

     Page One Hundred Sixty-Seven.
     Well, I guess that every few months I take a couple of weeks off from this whole blog thing. That seems to be the pattern I've established anyhow. Whether illness or business, sometimes I just can't access that part of my brain which says, "must write blog now".
     The last couple of weeks have been busy, busy, busy. My birthday, Thanksgiving, much family descending, and a holiday get-together hosted by me. Oh... also, in the middle of all that I taught two classes. First class was at our local Williams-Sonoma where I taught new brides proper turkey roasting techniques. And the second class was in conjunction with the BATA (Buckeye Art Therapy Association) where I taught a sort of scrumptious-nutrition 101: making healthy food taste really yummy. That second class provided continuing education units for healing professionals such as social workers, art therapists, music therapists, etc. Additionally, this last month included decorating my beauty salon for Christmas and also Christmas decorating the auto repair shop where I take my car. Basically, it's been a really crazybusynutty month. But brother, I got blog material galore. You'll gradually hear all about it.
     (So many long stories it's just crazy. I mean come on. Who Christmas decorates their car repair place, just for the fun of it? I do. They give me free oil changes year 'round in exchange. Martha Stewert herself couldn't beat that.)

Soul Food

     Page One Hundred Sixty-Six.
     I had an interesting conversation with my co-workers recently. It was my birthday so they treated me to lunch from a nearby soul food spot which allegedly serves the best in town. They got me a Polish Boy Special. That's a Polish Boy sandwich with cole slaw, fries and honey mustard right on the sandwich plus more fries on the side. It was tres tasty but hardly African-American in nature. And I said so. Most everybody agreed with me except for one co-worker who said, "but it is soul food. It came from Lulu's Soul Fixin's". I said, "that doesn't means a thing".
     I proceeded to give this co-worker a brief history of soul food. The level of irony here is beyond the outer edges of the universe. But no matter. (For you newer readers: I'm the lily white, Jewish, part-time manager of a busy, somewhat high-end, African-American beauty salon.)
     Soul food has it's origins in a couple of distinctly separate roots.
     1) Much of it started out as food which the slaves ate. The slaves, of course, ate what the masters gave them; primarily, the throwaway bits and pieces of  meat which were considered unsavory for the white plantation owners. Jowls, feet, intestines and so forth. Also, weeds like dandelions would've been considered "good enough" and, substantially cheaper than, say, asparagus or broccoli; food, again, grown for the white family. So, over time, the slaves figured out how to make their allotted food taste really good. As decades turned into centuries, black cooks learned more and more by experimentation and trial and error how to deal with what they had and how to make it not only palatable but in fact really delicious. (Eastern European Jews did the exact same thing during the middle ages as a result of their own persecution. Kishka and chitterlings are very similar concepts. Kishka is stuffing-filled cow intestines and chitterlings are pig intestines with spices added. Different animal - same food.)
     2) The trans-Atlantic cargo ships brought not only Africans but also African food to the states. Sweet potatoes, watermelon, peanuts and certain beans are not indigenous to the Americas. They were introduced  simultaneous to the slave trade. Those were some of the foods that the Africans were used to eating back home while living free and they continued that tradition after arriving here. That tradition still continues today.
     So, I'm giving this soul food history lesson in the middle of a busy black beauty salon with all the old ladies and younger highly educated professionals agreeing with what I'm saying. "Amen Brother!" And this young thing is just looking at me like I have potatoes growing out of my nose because I'm saying that a polish boy and fries doesn't count in spite of the fact that it was purchased at Lulu's. It was very yum-yum, don't get me wrong, but I was expecting my birthday meal to be a bit more authentic. Oh well. Maybe next year.