The Dramatic Hollywood Rabbit

It’s strange what triggers memories. Today was a heavy cleaning day.  Initially with Covid isolation I stayed on top of everything, but this past week I let everything slide and had to scrub all the bathrooms, dust  and change the sheets and some laundry.  At the end I was hot and sweaty and when I sat down all I wanted was an ice cold Coke.  It was palpable how my body was tuned to receive its reward. Growing up my family had enough, but Coke (and I do mean Coke no other cola would do) was for special treats, maybe the rare occasion when Dad would go down the hill and pick up a pizza.  My mom would split 2 cokes between my sisters and me.  My sisters would demand the cans, I took the glass.  Then my sisters would watch to make sure that my mom did their cans half and half.  I was an adult before I realized that I actually ended up getting a whole can of coke when each of them got half.  Mom told me it was my reward for not making a fuss abou...

I grew up in a typical small town that through my growing up years had a population between 5-10 thousand.  If you didn’t know everyone’s name it was still likely that you would know of the family.  My neighborhood consisted of ranch style houses sitting on ⅙ of an acre plot.  When I was very young we, my mom’s sister’s family and Mom’s parents all lived within 2-3 blocks of each other.  Most holidays would find us at my Grandparents house.  That would be 6 adults and five kids in a house with 1 bathroom and only 900 sq feet of space.   Across the street from my Grandparents lived a very nice family of Italian descent.  The father of the house was a postman and had white (grey) hair, but everyone called him Red (rumor had it that when he was younger he had red hair).  The mother, Dolores, was a small compact woman with a smile that made you feel as if you were home.  Mom once told me that when she was little she would go over to their ho...

Recently, I was unfriended on Facebook.  It was the first time someone unfriended me for my views.  I might have understood if she was pro-life as I am strongly pro-choice.  I might have been able to squeeze an understanding on several other issues i.e. I am LGBTQ friendly and believe in equal rights including marriage.  I am very anti-Trump policies.  But these are not what tipped the scales.  I posted an article on the fact that Amazon employees wanted to know when other people in the warehouse were COVID 19 positive.  I believe that if someone who has a disease that I could catch and/or carry back to my family, has tested positive and I have come in direct contact with them, then I should be informed.  I don’t need to know who, I just need to be warned not to visit my 87 year old father-in-law.   I was called a sheep.  I’m not sure why that stings, but I don’t think I am a sheep.  I think I am logical and pragmatic.  I ...

February 20, 2020, I had spent the previous two nights at my marital home with my 87 year old Father-in-law, otherwise known as Papa.  I was supposed to volunteer at a library, but the rest of the volunteers were unable to make it for various reasons, I decided I wouldn’t go in and that we would all try to go in the following Monday.  So I went home instead of the library.  Courtesy of Delhi NCR traffic it took me almost 2 hours.  By the time I reached home I was feeling off, my eyes hurt and basically feeling yucky.  By evening I was running a low grade fever, but since my normal temperature is 97.8 F running a 100 F is like running a 101 F.  My body hurt, my eyes hurt, I only wanted to sleep. During the next few days the sweats were horrible.  Even feeling as bad as I did, I would get up and change my nightgown a couple of times a day to get some of the stink off me. Four days of that fever, granted it was never very high, but it left me exhausted....

When I moved to India I was in for a huge culinary surprise.  Growing up in the Midwest most of the beans and lentils seemed to be flavored with meat.  Baked beans had bacon, pinto beans had pork butt.   As a child canned peas were the bane of my existence, I cannot emote enough to explain how much I hated peas in America.  They were always olive green with a mushy texture.  I once was forced to sit at the dining table for what seemed like hours- until I finished my peas.  I was only able to get up because when I was alone I hid the peas on the window sill behind the curtain, I still wonder who or when they found them.   Yet when I came to India, I fell in love with peas.  We arrived in winter when peas are at the height of their season.  Kilos of fresh pea pods would enter the house to be shelled.  Peas were made by themselves and added to a zillion other vegetables, each combination better than the last.   Beyond t...