Ode To a Mockingbird

Harper Lee was not a prolific writer. I didn't even read To Kill a Mockingbird until after the age of 30. And yet, she is one of the most important writers in my life. When I found out last week that she died, I felt like a small part of my childhood died as well.

When I was growing up, without DVD's or Netflix or Hulu or any of the other couch-potato accoutrements, we watched movies on TV the night that they came on. There were a handful of them we watched every year. Some I still crave, like Sound of Music, and one or two I could never see again. (I'm looking at you, African Queen.) To Kill a Mockingbird was one of my favorites. I don't even know if my dad had read the book, but he insisted we watch the movie any time it was on.

I loved it.

I had difficult relationships with my dad(s) so I loved Atticus Finch. He was so wise and strong and Good. I wanted be be brave and saucy like Scout was. I wanted a brother like Jem and I wanted mystery and adventure on summer days. The film is black and white, but so easy to fall into. I swear I could smell Calpurnia's cooking, the dusty roads, feel the bark on the tree where Boo hides his gifts.

And Gregory Peck. I mean, come on. I didn't even know who Robert Duvall was for years and didn't realize he was in this movie until after I'd fallen in love with him as an actor. I don't think that's a coincidence.

Finally reading the book was just as glorious. Every page I lived in Maycomb, walked the dirt road to school, sat at the kitchen table with Atticus, Jem, and frequent guests, watched Atticus in the court room, listened to Tom Robinson tell his story, and learned the same lessons as Scout.

I like to think that my parents passed on important lessons they didn't know how to otherwise tell me through that story. I knew to never use the "n word" and that life just isn't fair a lot of the time. That there are injustices and some things can never be made right but that doesn't make the world a dark place. And people can surprise you in the loveliest ways.

I owe a fathomless debt of gratitude to Harper Lee for the memories of my childhood, for a book that I can dive into and emerge a better person each time I read it. Her words are forever etched onto my heart.

A Graduation Letter to My Daughter

My Darling Bugabooga,

I loved you before you were born, before your first movement. I have never been as in love with anyone in my life as I was with you in the first hours, days, months of your life. This love for you has continued to be and will forever remain limitless, boundless, and timeless.

My wish for you, from day one, was simply happiness. And not just mere happiness, but immeasurable joy. Happiness comes to us in many sizes, forms and at different times in our lives. Take it however it comes to you and relish it. Wallow in it. Find happiness at your core and hold on to it.

Music has always been a piece of you, whether through the movement of dance, the lyrics in a song, the keys on a piano. Continue to dance your heart out and sing from your soul. Add your own music to the world. Let it hear your voice and add its own lines to the song of your life.

Be kind. Not only to others but to yourself. Take care of yourself when nobody else will and I am unable to. Take naps, eat treats, exercise. Dance when you feel like it and hug your pillow when you don't. Cry when you need to because it's necessary, healthy, and refreshes your heart. Just promise to laugh more than  you cry. Laugh at the little things, laugh with friends; be mirthful.

Find love. Love for friends, love for a soul mate, love for children. Love those who need it the most, including you. Don't be afraid to love first, be reckless with your heart and love with abandon. Still, recognize when this love is appreciated and have strength to walk away when it isn't.

Remember that dreams come true and wishes become fact. Have the courage to make your dreams your reality. Follow your heart and believe in yourself. Know that I believe in you too. When my voice sounds like doubt, it's only concern. Concern for the little girl I will always hold in my heart, who I want to protect from every bit of harm, knowing all the time that this is impossible.

Learn. Learn in school, learn from others, learn from your mistakes. Refuse to feel shame but move forward. Do better, allow yourself growth. When it hurts, you're doing it right. Keep pushing to the other side.

Be you at all times. Be silly, be serious, be angry, be sad, be spirited, be passionate, be sassy, be bold, eat fire and spit nails. Be who you are in all of these things, let nobody make you feel less than. Dare yourself to be better, to want more than you think possible. Inspire others to do the same.

Know, in the pit of your soul, that I love you. Nothing you do can ever change that. Being your mother is the greatest gift of my life. I've made mistakes and the road has been long, but you have challenged me to be a better parent and a better person. For this, for your wit, for your radiant spirit, I am eternally grateful.

It has been a great adventure but now this chapter is over. Write the next ones with vigor, with daring, and with your heart. Make it your story. Make it an epic.

I love who you were, who you are, and who you are becoming. I love you yesterday, today, tomorrow, and every minute in between. I simply, endlessly, love you.

The Taste of Memory

I don't remember what it was, but a year or so ago D smelled something and remarked that it smelled like her childhood. Which is funny because she's still in her childhood. And also I couldn't think of anything that particular smell could be evoking.

Today I had a Jolly Rancher watermelon-flavored candy. It wasn't quite as strong as a scent would be, but it did take me back to my childhood. Which I am far from and I have the gray hair to prove it.

Anyway, it got me thinking about what flavor my childhood would be. There are a lot that I remember and I'll list them for you. (An excuse to make a list!!) Notice this will not be given in any order of favorites, i.e. I despise liver.

1. Abba Zabba. Aside from Jolly Ranchers, these were my favorite candy. My friend Jenny and I would freeze them before eating them. I lost a tooth in one once at the beach.

2. Liver. My daughter has never had this forced down her throat. I have neither eaten it nor made it as an adult.

3. Canned spinach. Mom, really? I don't think D even knows that this exists. Stringy grossness at its slimiest best.

4. Tacos. I asked for them every birthday.

5. Spaghetti. My sister asked for it on her birthdays. My mom made it out of the paper packet.

6. Oily meat. We experimented with a fondue pot for a while. I have vastly improved on the method.

7. Cheerios. My grandma made sure she had some every time that I visited. Until I was 21.

8. Chicken and dumplings. Family recipe.

9. Caramel cream pecan pie. We had this at Thanksgiving instead of pumpkin.

10. Lima beans. Another thing D has never been force-fed.

11. Fried catfish. Freshly caught by my grandpa.

12. Fish sticks. I was never a gay fish.

13. In-N-out cheeseburgers. The single defining meal of my California life.

14. TV dinners. My father, as a single man, was only capable of fortifying me in this inhumane manner.

15. Hot chocolate with vanilla ice cream. Because it was never that cold in California.

16. Fried chicken. I have yet to fry my own, but I'll beg to be invited anywhere that it's done.

17. Biscuits. The kind only my grandpa could make.

18. Pillsbury cinnamon rolls. We had them for breakfast on Christmas mornings.

19. Steak. The grill was used every weekend of the year, no matter the weather. Complete with wood chips.

20. Popcorn shrimp and hush puppies. Until I could no longer order from the kids' menu.

Remembering Barbie

When I was little, my favorite toys were my Barbies. I had the three-story Barbie townhouse with the elevator and a pink convertible sports car. My best friend Jenny and I would play with them for hours, when we weren't playing in her mom's high heels. She come home from a summer visit with her dad once and brought a new Barbie which I then coveted until I got one of my own for my birthday. It was the Beauty Secrets Barbie and she had the longest, most beautiful hair we'd ever seen. We loved her long pink gown and braided her hair in as many ways we could think of.

What I loved about Barbie was her tiny little shoes and how you could buy them in any color to match her many outfits. I could spend hours in the Barbie aisle at Toys R' Us looking at all of the clothes and accessories and furniture and jewelry that were available for her. I'd dress her and undress her and brush her hair until she looked perfect. Sometimes I'd make furniture for her out of shoe boxes or blankets out of scraps of material.

My stepbrother visited every summer and added a very dangerous and dark element to Barbie's life. His GI Joe was well-known as a Barbie rapist and assaulted her on a regular basis. Mostly it was date rape. But aside from that, Barbie had a pretty nice life in Southern California. However, this is probably the reason that there was never a Ken in my small collection. My Barbie remained single.

D's first Barbie was actually Mulan and was a reward for potty training. She was two and a half. After that she wanted every Barbie known to man - shopping Barbie, Glinda the Good Witch, Belle, Barbie's sister, whatever was on the shelf in every season. She actually horrified me with her poor care of them. Cutting their hair, throwing them in piles in her toy box, leaving them half-naked everywhere. She loved them, but she didn't care for them the way I did.

As an adult I learned how "unhealthy" Barbie is for little girls' self-esteem. How if she were real, she'd be an Amazon and severely deformed. That she is an  unrealistic role model for girls everywhere. But here's the thing. Barbie is a doll. We all knew that. She's a doll and we got to say what she wore and we got to decide what kind of life she had and we decided how she should wear her hair. We used our imaginations to create scenarios for her when we played with her. It was play and it was fun and we sadly outgrew her over the years.

Barbie wasn't real the way "role models" today are. Little girls are now exposed to the Nicki Minaj's and Snookis and Honey Boo Boos of the world. Sexuality is forced on them at too-early ages and the idea of what they "should be" is continuously dumbed down. What must little girls think life is meant to be with all of these images constantly thrust at them? Not to mention the whole phenomenon of Twilight, where a lonely girl changes who she is physically just so she can be with a boy whose family member wants to kill her.

I played quietly with Barbie in my room. She could be a doctor or a mom or as glamorous or plain as I wanted. It was up to me. I made my own choices. It's harder for girls today to make their own choices with all of the surrounding noise and images of women who behave wildly just for the attention.

All of this makes Barbie look as innocent as she is. After all, she was invented as a playmate by a mother for her daughter. As a way for her daughter to act out her own dreams and her own future.

I'd take Barbie over Bella any day.

Edible Memories

When I was a snotty teenager, I insisted that I would never cook my own food. I hated cooking and swore I would have my own personal chef. I seriously don't even know who that girl was now. Sure, some days I'm totally lazy and eat Cheez-Its for dinner, but most of the time I love to cook. I pore over recipes online for hours and take at least a week to plan holiday meals. I talk about food endlessly with my friends who are as equally obsessed as I am.

It's not just the food or the taste or showing off at a party. I love the memories that go with the food. Certain smells evoke the memories in the strongest and most poignant way, but food memories are my favorites.

When I was really little, I'd hang out in the kitchen with my mom, handing her the items she needed. I sliced off a little taste of butter whenever I pulled it out of the fridge for her. I learned how to make chicken and dumplings watching her. I mean real southern chicken and dumplings, not those pathetic biscuit imposters. This was my grandmother's recipe. And probably her grandmother's. When I grew up, I only needed the ingredient amounts, but no instruction. For years D hated them, which made me sad. I had imagined this would be the one recipe passed down to my daughter and her daughter after that. She finally learned to love them like I do in the last year and my legacy is again alive.

As a kid, my mom made us whatever we wanted for dinner on our birthdays. I don't know why this was such a big deal to me, probably because it was the one day of the year I could reject less appetizing fare like liver and okra and lima beans. I always chose tacos. Every year. My sister always chose spaghetti.

I think visiting my grandparents in Mississippi is where I learned to equate food with love. We had dinner and supper, same-sized meals at different times of the day at a crowded, very full table. My mom said that my grandpa used to say that a meal wasn't complete without bread. He made the best biscuits and, for a while, my mom tried to replicate the recipe when we returned home. She never could and gave up after a few near-disasters. I'm still too afraid to try.

When we ate at seafood restaurants, I would get popcorn shrimp and hush puppies. I loved the name more than the actual food and hush puppies were one of the first comfort foods I attempted to make in college. I'm super snobby about them now. Yes, snobby about fried corn meal. It has to be done just right.

A trip to Disneyland isn't complete without a churro or two or three. I don't eat them anywhere else. D loves to go to the Mexican restaurant in Frontierland, not so much for the food, but for the view of Thunder Mountain at night.

In-N-Out. Oh, In-N-Out. I don't even care to debate this. It is just hands-down my favorite burger place in all the world. There are restaurants all over California and they have branched out to other states (but not Oregon, ahem. I'm looking at YOU, In-N-Out Corporate!). It wasn't always like that though. We used to go rarely, mostly when we went to the beach because we'd pass by one on those occasions. I had In-N-Out the day I bought my first car. It is probably the one thing I crave most often. Oh, In-N-Out. I love you so.

My favorite candy? Abba Zabba. If you've never had this delicious treat, it's like a bar of taffy with peanut butter in the middle. It's best frozen, but it also reminds me of going to the beach. I lost a tooth in one once.

Vacations are always about the food. In Victoria, it's afternoon tea at Butchart Gardens. Little finger sandwiches and scones and tarts and truffles and fancy tea! My summer cruise offered endless amounts of food but nothing on the ship compared to what I found in port. The Mexican resort provided freshly made tortillas and things I could never name, but couldn't get enough of. And fish tacos on a Mexican beach? There's nothing else like it. In Hawaii I had pineapple juice every morning and vowed to never eat mahi mahi anywhere else.

I love crepes and risotto and lobster, sushi and lamb and pretty plates of delicate pasta. But I also love fried chicken and fried catfish, bad, trashy food full of grease and fat and everything else that gives it a bad reputation. My favorite white trash food is Easy Cheese. You know, stuff that comes in a can that isn't really any kind of cheese at all. Easy Cheese and Pringles are the best snack to take for a day at the lake. It's good on celery if you want to pretend to be healthy. Last night I tried it on a hot dog. Omg, you guys. Try it tonight. Seriously.

Food. Memories of food. So many of them. College means popcorn and rice and fresh strawberries from roadside stands. After 52 hours of childbirth, I rewarded myself with french fries, ranch dressing and a chocolate shake. My ex and I went out for sushi the day our divorce was finalized. I taught D how to crack crab legs the day she got her first pair of pointe shoes and we had pizza when she got her braces off.

Food is family, love, birthdays, drunken Friday nights, beginnings, endings, celebrations, compromise, sometimes regret, more often pure joy. I've loved people with food. I've laughed over food. I've been comforted by it and had invaluable conversations during delicious meals. The best thing about all of this? There is just more to come.