"What is a home without children? Quiet." (--Henny Youngman)

Well, if you read my blog at all, you'll know that I have lots of "Eric stories."

My son, like most kids, was a riot when he was a child, and I admit, I thoroughly enjoyed all of his antics. Thanks to the wonders of email, facebook, twitter, flickr and cell phones, I'm able to see, pretty readily on any given day, what he's currently up to, and we invariably jot notes back and forth. Here he is hamming it up in his homage to Dexter:


Now, trust me, none of the stories I share with you all are even remotely new to Eric. I've often shared with him amusing anecdotes about what he was like as a child, because I want him to know how much I enjoyed him as a little guy.

You may remember me telling you in the past that when I lived in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, my younger brother Eddie came to live with us for a number of years. (L-r: my brother Eddie and Eric):

Eric was just a little guy when Eddie moved in. As Eddie was getting settled, he and I took Eric to the hardware store to purchase some shades for the bedroom that was to become "Eddie's room." And since Eric was quite small at the time, he kept wandering off, away from me, into different aisles in the store, which made me a nervous wreck. After all, who knew what a little toddler could get into in a hardware store!?

Wherever he'd gone, he was tiny, and I couldn't see where he was, so I kept questioning, out loud:
"Eric! Where ARE you?" He would invariably reply, from an aisle or two away, in a fairly calm and quiet voice, "I'm right here."

I don't think Eddie, at that age, realized the havoc my son could create if left to his own devices. Eddie and I continued to discuss the exciting shades we'd come to purchase, but I continuously interrupted our discussions and called out to try to determine where Eric was.

After some time, when I still couldn't actually see him, I finally carefully enunciated, in a very firm, loud voice,:
"ERIC, WHERE ARE YOU,... AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

For all the store's patrons to hear, loudly and clearly, Eric replied, (perfectly mimicking the enunciation and tone of my voice):
"I'M RIGHT HERE... AND I'M JUST PICKING MY NOSE."

(I had to ask, right?...)

(Eric, below, looking particularly debonnaire, in that "Yearbook Yourself" application):



"Boy, n.: A noise with dirt on it." --(Not your Average Dictionary)

"Avoid fruit and nuts. You are what you eat." (--Jim Davis)

Particularly when my son Eric was small, the two of us would head out to local farms where we lived in Virginia, to go strawberry-picking. It was great fun; a ritual for us for a number of years. I always used to think the farmers should have weighed him as we entered the fields, and then again as we left, because God knows he ate so many more right there in the fields than ever ended up in our buckets. I'm sure they could have charged me far more than they ever did for the pints we picked.


"Strawberries that in gardens grow
Are plump and juicy and fine,
But sweeter far as wise men know
Spring from the woodland vine.

No need for bowl or silver spoon,
Sugar or spice or cream,
Has the wild berry plucked in June
Beside the trickling stream."

(from "Wild Strawberries" by Robert Graves)

"Doubtless God could have made a better berry (than the strawberry,) but doubtless God never did." (--William Allen Butler)

"You know it's a bad day when you put your bra on backwards and it fits better" (--Unknown)

There are some days when it just makes no sense to get out of bed at all, does it?

Well,...:of course, you do get up, but it's definitely on the wrong side of the bed...

...those bitter winter mornings when it's still dark outside, and you face a cruel chill the minute you set your delicate toes on the floor. The shower needs time to warm up, and you stress because you know you have to bundle up and rush outside for a minute, just to warm up the car so the windows can defrost while you're drying out your hair and choosing what to wear for the day, right?

The traffic is crazy, now that you've left a few minutes later (because of the defrosting,) and then, the minute you get to work, watching your breath curl around your face, and open the doors to head inside, it hits you that the fire alarm is sounding, and a very robotic voice is instructing you to "please vacate the building," only to leave you again out in that wretched cold air.

Aaaah, it's a harsh world, in this wintery time of the year...

Kind of reminds me of that book my son used to love as a kid: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst. We laughed many times over that wonderful story:

"I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there's gum in my hair and when I got out of bed this morning I tripped on the skateboard and by mistake I dropped my sweater in the sink while the water was running and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day."

Eric had me laughing with this facebook post and image on his site today, with this note: "If I had to pick a single animated gif to represent most of my days, this would be a pretty solid choice:"

(painting of a Pottery Barn catalog image)

"You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance." (-Franklin P. Jones)

When my son Eric was just a little boy, one of his best friends was a little girl named Laura, who was a year older than Eric. Since he had no other siblings, he loved Laura, and he'd always go along with whatever she wanted to do. They lived just a few houses from each other, and they played so sweetly together.

Laura's mom loved it when Eric and Laura were together. She'd sit the two of them at her kitchen table, where she'd sometimes give them milk and cookies.

One day, Eric was sitting having a snack at their place as Laura's mom was filling the dishwasher. She told me that Eric watched her intently and finally said, "We don't have that kind of dishwasher."

Laura's mom was surprised, thinking that our dishwashers were both pretty much exactly the same, and so she said "I think they're the same, Eric."

Eric insisted, "No, we don't have that kind." Suddenly, Laura's mom realized that Eric wasn't talking about the dishwasher itself. He was looking at the dishwashing detergent! So, she calmly said, "I see, Eric...well, we use ALL."

Eric looked at her, and with a deadpan face, just replied, "Oh. We just use a tiny bit."
(Eric in Norway, below:)


"Out of the mouths of babes..."

“More than kisses, letters mingle souls…” (-John Donne)

Isn’t it rare today to see a real, live letter tumble out of the mix of bills, magazines and junk mail that clutters up a mail box? Email, text messages, facebook, IM’ing, etc have spoiled us so much with that sense of the instantaneous response. I happen to love email and use it constantly, just like everyone else.

But I’m such a romantic...

I have several baskets in my office where I save every single card or letter I’ve ever received from people. I sometimes enjoy taking down those baskets, and browsing through those letters, enjoying them all over again.

Some of them were from my mother,when she was still alive, or hand-made cards my dad sent me over the years. Others are from my son when he was young. He always sent me hilarious notes, with things like “the Fruit of your Loins” written as the return addressee on an envelope he'd send me.

I even save gift tags that had little notes from Eric. They’re in my “Eric” file.

One Christmas, I hand-painted every single card I sent to people, and that was when postage was cheaper and my list was pretty long.

I saved an old Victoria magazine that highlighted Florine Asch’s customized, hand-painted envelopes to people because I thought how utterly beautiful and charming they were. (see below:)

I still try to write thank you notes to people for anything I’m given, and I treasure any notes anyone else sends to me. I think how thoughtful it was of them to send it to me. It’s very rare though, now, to actually receive letters.

Do you write letters any more?

"And none will hear the postman’s knock

Without a quickening of the heart.

For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?"

(-W H Auden)

"I have loved flowers that fade..."

Ah, best made plans...I was so determined to get painting and sewing and creating with the onset of the New Year, but Duke has been pulling me in other directions, so I have to tell myself “All in good time!” You know how that is!

Still, I did come home Thursday and put all the Christmas things away for another year.

Today is my son Eric’s 32^nd birthday, and so, of course, I will have him on my mind all day long. He was born in 1977, the night we moved, in a snowstorm, on Superbowl Sunday. He surprised me that night, and he’s surprised and delighted me ever since. Happiest of Birthdays, Eric! I love you!

We had flowers in a vase on our table for two weeks, and they’ve lasted beautifully, but today, I decided, after cutting them down and putting them into my favorite vase for one last hurrah, that it’s time to say they’ve graced us long enough. I sketched this of them and now I will say good bye to them.

Have a wonderful weekend, all!

I have loved flowers that fade,
Within whose magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made
With sweet unmemoried scents...

(from “I have loved flowers that fade” by Robert Bridges)

“Proust had his madeleines; I am devastated by the smell of yeast bread rising.” (-Bert Greene)

When I was a little kid, my favorite thing to do was to lick the cookie or cake batter off of the beaters when my mom baked.

She seemed to make cakes constantly, because while we were never allowed to eat snacks in-between meals, we always had a dessert with our dinner.

(I’m talking Every single night of our lives...)

A little old lady, “Mrs Endris,” lived next door to us when we were small, and she would bake the most buttery cookies with a cherry in the center of each one. They were delicious--they just melted in your mouth. I can still taste them to this day. She was the only person I ever knew as a child who had a rocking chair right in her kitchen, and she’d leave just the screen door open so you could smell those cookies wafting out the door.

We used to go to her door and say,

“Mrs. Endris, our mother said we are not allowed to ask for a cookie, but... if you offer, we can have one.”

When my son was small, I baked all the time. I used to make all our own breads, from crusty French baguettes that I slit with a razor and misted in curved pans in the oven, to braided loaves of herb/onion breads, to cheese rolls and dinner crescent yeast rolls. For Thanksgiving one year, I made five pies. To this day, I love the smells of freshly baked foods emanating from an open door or window. I could never work in a patisserie: I'd be enormous.

We made cookies: raspberry thumbprint cookies, chocolate shortbread logs, lemon bars, English toffees, oatmeal and chocolate chip and gingerbread cookies, and the list went on… I’d freeze all those goodies for neighbors and teachers and family and us.

Now, the baking we do is typically relegated to holiday time. It’s still fun, and I still enjoy it…

Hmmmm... I have to say, I still like to lick the beaters...do you?

(highly charming photo of Sue (left) and Mary Kate (right) chompin' down here--we meant business!)

“A hug is the perfect gift; one size fits all, and nobody minds if you exchange it.” (-Unknown)

My son always has a tendency to give me what I consider to be extravagant gifts for my birthday or for the holidays. I feel bad that he’ll spend too much on me, so I sent him a note recently, saying that if he planned to get me a gift at all for Christmas, THIS was something that would be a really nice gift, and nothing else.

I had always wanted a Venetian glass pen, and I recently got one for myself. Then, I saw this one and thought I’d love another one…they’re elegant to look at, fun to write with, and make interesting calligraphic marks on the paper. It's fun experimenting with sketching, too.

But then, after I sent him the note, it hit me that it might be kind of nervy to be asking for a gift, so I wrote again:

PS:
If you weren’t planning to get me a gift for Christmas, then you could get it for my Birthday instead.

This, too, hit me as perhaps somewhat audacious. I mean, a lot of things could happen between now and next October, so I wrote him still another note, and said:

PSS:
But if I die before my Birthday, then,... “Never Mind!”

In his typical sarcastic mode, Eric wrote back to me:

“Hmmmm...Always good to take into consideration the death factor when thinking about gifts.”

How true…
one never knows...;))

“The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it.”

OK, I’m a total sucker for nostalgic Christmas tree ornaments, and putting up our tree every year takes me down memory lane.

Everywhere we go, I try to find an ornament as a remembrance of our visit, so....

it seems we have tiny ornaments from Monticello, (Jefferson’s home in VA;) the beach; Delft, in the Netherlands; the Grand Canyon; Vegas; Bermuda; Italy…

You name it, we have an ornament to commemorate it. Out tree is trimmed out with sleds, a teacup, a lounge chair, frogs, old and new photos of family members....and well, of course, our birds...

But my favorite of all might still be the salt dough "gingerbread men" ornaments Eric made when he was about 4 years old. (He’ll turn 32 this year!)
Face it: I’m totally sentimental.

“Nostalgia is a file that removes the rough edges from the good old days.”

(-Doug Larson)

“It is never too late to have a happy childhood.” (-Tom Robbins)

I sometimes think about how different my childhood would seem to children today. Computers and electronic toys such as Wii, Xbox or Playstation didn’t exist when my siblings and I were small. How did we ever manage?(Claudia below with an enormous Patty Play-Pal doll.)

I remember we had lots of dolls…and a baby pram. My mom was pregnant with our little brother, so I suppose we were very conscious of "babies." She was home with us until my brother was in school, and then she worked as long as I can remember outside of the home, as a teacher. My younger sister Claudia had a “Patty Play-Pal” doll that was just her size and sometimes even wore her clothes. My father often used to mistake her for one of us. I remember I was sort of scared of her! (Sue with doll below)

Our Uncle Con gave us gifts we’d get excited about: I remember having a Cinderella watch I was thrilled with… (Sue and Mary Kate displaying our new watches from Uncle Con, before we even knew how to tell time)

And we had a toy piano and a work bench and pegboard that got lots of use. We loved our tricycles from him... (Sue and bike below)
and pedal cars… (Sue and pedal car below)

But more often than not, we invented things to do: we’d play dress-up, and devise our own imaginary games and activities. My mother told me once that she used to laugh that she’d hear us, all day long, saying to one another in excitement: “Let’s make-a-believe…” (Claudia as a fortune-telling gypsy, below) We loved to color and draw and paint. Our sidewalks always had hopscotch grids on them.

We were always stealing my dad and grandfather’s hats and gloves to wear… (Mary Kate and Sue in daddy and grandpa's hats with Claudia in crib below) I remember we organized a neighborhood "fair" and had all sorts of games and costumes involved. Our next-door neighbor had cap guns, which as a child, also scared me, and we loved to play with those and felt very daring doing that. I was a total wuss.

If it was raining outside, we’d sometimes play in the basement: I remember us draping bedspreads on an overturned card table, and we’d crawl inside the "tents" we created. (Claudia as Little Red Riding Hood below) We would pretend we were teachers, and my grandmother would pretend she was a student who wasn't too bright so we had to educate her about all sorts of things.

My son and his friends in the neighborhood sold lemonade and had great fun with an elaborate “stand” for customers to approach. We loved selling lemonade and cookies as little kids, too. We were happy just collecting chestnuts in a paper bag and shining them up. And we went to the park, where we played tether ball, rode swings, and made things like lanyards and baskets there.

We had lots of friends, but I was fortunate that I had my own built-in playmates in my three siblings, and I never felt bored. We weren't allowed to watch TV that often, unless we asked permission, and we were encouraged, as children, to read and ride bikes and find ways to entertain ourselves. We made macaroni-glued objects and strung buttons on strings for necklaces.

I suppose we didn't really have exciting toys, but we didn't know that--we had fun. I hope children today wind up with similar fond memories of their childhoods when they grow up.

"If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older." ( ~Tom Stoppard)

“Boys are beyond the range of anyone’s sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90.” (-James Thurber)

My son Eric has over the years sent me flowers for many occasions, and since he knows I love tulips, I have often gotten those from him for Mother’s days and birthdays, etc. I think one of the reasons I like them so much is that I always associate them with Eric.

When I was pregnant with him, back in the ‘70’s, they didn’t routinely do ultrasounds, and people didn’t necessarily know the sex of their babies. In fact, when Eric was born, I remember us being absolutely thrilled at the news that his dad was going to be allowed in the delivery room—back then, that was considered a very progressive hospital.

I thought I would have a little girl. I didn’t know much about little boys. Eric was born on January 9^th, 1977, on the night we moved to Charlottesville, VA, in a snowstorm, on Superbowl Sunday. I always thought Eric was just anxious to see the new digs. Upon our arrival at the hospital in the very early hours of the morning, I was told that my doctor I’d been visiting for 9 months was on vacation and one of his partners would be delivering our baby.

When that doctor arrived, he told me he’d just taped Beethoven’s 6^th Symphony in his car on the way to the hospital, and he asked if he could play it for us in the delivery room. (Is the pope Catholic?!) I was absolutely thrilled, and said that that was fine with me, if he would also dim the lights once Eric was born—so it pleases me to know that Eric came into this world and that his very first life experiences featured soft lights and the sounds of Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony.

Maybe that partially contributed to his being a good guy today. (Eric, don't kill me now!)

“One of the best things in the world to be is a boy; it requires no experience, but needs some practice to be a good one.” (-Charles Dudley Warner)

“Part of the secret of success in life is to eat what you like and let the food sort it out inside.” (-Mark Twain)

Is it possible to love an appliance?

I know women aren’t supposed to get too excited about them when they arrive as gifts, but this is one I cherish. When my 31 year old son Eric was just a baby, I was nursing him, and he arrived at that point where we could add more solid foods than rice cereals and the like. I asked my husband at the time, "Bob," if he’d go and get us one of those little $5 “food grinders” that they had back in the late '70's, because I thought I could start Eric on some good healthy foods that we ate, too. I’d seen little plastic ones that you could literally carry with you on the road in your bag, and they looked great to me. (Bob and Eric below)

Well, Bob came home that day with what you see above: a KitchenAid mixer in an enormous box. Not only would it NOT fit in my bag, it was extremely heavy, large, and cumbersome for my intentions. Portability had been what I was after. We didn't have a lot of money, and it just seemed so extravagant to me, too. But if you have one of these machines, you know it’s amazing: it beats, whips, kneads, and-- with attachments that fit into the front of the machine, it slices, shreds, juices, makes sausage, and even polishes silver! (I’m serious!) Only thing it doesn’t seem to do is vacuum. (At least my model doesn't!) Quelle dommage, eh?

It turns out that Eric was none the worse for having had foods prepared that started out in the KitchenAid. And over the years, I’ve grown extremely attached to this creature. I have prepared so many things that started out in this bowl: I made French baguettes, back when I did that sort of thing, I baked cookies, shredded carrots and cabbage for coleslaws, made cakes, and pies and quiches and all manner of dishes, etc. (Eric below)

My nephew Graham, when he was little, would come to visit, and he was fascinated by the KitchenAid. He’d say “Aunt Sue, could we make some cookies?” Of course, I’d have to say yes.

That meant, to Graham, that I’d let him stand on a chair so he could see it in action, which is what he liked. I think the KitchenAid itself had far more appeal for Graham than anything we ever made in it! First, I’d tell him “OK--Fingers on nose!” and as I'd instruct, he’d immediately put both of his index fingers to his nose so I could start the beaters, knowing he wouldn’t be tempted to put a hand into the bowl as it was spinning. He was busy keeping his fingers on his nose and out of harm's way while he watched. He loved it. (Graham below)

Bob is not living any longer, and it’s strange that every time I use that thing, I think of him and smile, remembering that day when I was actually very frustrated with him for coming home with something so far removed from what I’d requested. It turns out it really was quite a wonderful gift. (Graham below.) July 23rd was Bob's and my anniversary. Happy Anniversary, Bob, wherever you are.

“Cooking is like love: it should be entered into with abandon or not at all.” (-Harriet van Horn)

“A box without hinges, key, or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid.” (-JRR Tolkien)

I keep several sets of wine charms in some little nesting containers my brother gave me years ago: you know, like those little Russian dolls that fit into one another, each progressively larger than the last. Eddie said he knew I’d like them, and I think of him every single time I look at them on our kitchen counter top.

So, let me tell you a little bit about my youngest sibling, Eddie. He’s 7 years younger than me, and I remember the day he was born as if it was yesterday. My oldest sister, Mary Kate and I were always together until Claudia came along, and then the three of us were inseparable as siblings. People always referred to us collectively as “the girls:”

It was “Tony and the girls...”

...or “Mary and the girls.”

Suddenly, there was Eddie, and life as we knew it was never quite the same ever again. Eddie was an adorable little guy, and he was well-loved by his 3 older sisters. Overnight, we became “the girls and Eddie.”

Eddie was always gregarious, intelligent, and hilariously funny. As a teenager, girls always had crushes on my brother. Everyone knew there’d be fun if he was going to be around. As the one in the middle, I often felt as if I faded into the background, because it was either “you’re Mary Kate’s sister?!” (My older sister Mary Kate was very smart.) Or, “you’re Claudia’s sister?” (Claudia, my younger sister, could be a Wild Woman.) But most of all, it was “You’re Ed’s sister??” (Usually spoken in disbelief, and accompanied by a big smile: Eddie was handsome and cool and people just always gravitated towards him…even today, that’s true.) He can “work a room” like no one I’ve ever known. Everyone enjoys him.

When I was a single parent living in Virginia with my son Eric, Eddie came to live with us. He was going back to school, and he called me from New Jersey to ask if he could come stay with me until he “got settled” in Virginia. We never discussed it more—I was deliriously happy to have Eddie move in with us. In my mind, I figured he'd be with us—3 months? In his mind, evidently, there wasn’t quite the same finality. He wound up living with us for a number of years while Eric was growing up. They were many years apart in age, but Eric was raised almost as if he had an older brother, and I sometimes felt I had 2 sons. (Although, to this day, in our family, we all think of Eric as sort of the older brother to the older Eddie.)

Once, when my older sister's sons were small, they looked up at Eddie as he regaled us with one of his hilarious stories, and then, when Eddie left the room, her youngest son Michael watched his uncle leave the room and innocently asked, "Is Eddie a boy? or a man?" We all burst out laughing...we're still trying to figure that one out!

When my son was married, he was trying to decide who, of his friends, should be his Best Man at his wedding. Katie, Eric’s wife, said: “I don’t think there’s any doubt as to whom it should be…Eddie.” I was touched, and Eddie was amazingly flattered.

Eddie becomes the center of attention in any room he enters. He’s one of those people who takes up a lot of body space when he’s around, not in an obnoxious way, but just because he fills a room with his entertaining presence. He’s lovable and always interesting, because he’s just interested in everything. When he was little, Eddie’s bedtime reading with my dad consisted, for quite some time, of a set of encyclopedias for kids called Tell Me Why. They read those tomes from “Aardvark” all the way through to “Zygote,” and to this day, Eddie will come out with some wacky, little-known-fact that amazes me, and I’ll ask him: “Where’d you learn THAT, Eddie?!” His matter-of-fact reply will often be simply: Tell Me Why.

Now, he’s a dad, and he and his wife Jenn, up in Falls Church, VA, are the best parents of a wonderful son Graham, (affectionately called “Graham Cracker.”)

I’m very lucky in the siblings I have. We’re all very different, but I love them all. Eddie just makes me smile. You gotta' love him.

“Siblings are the people we practice on, the people who teach us about fairness and cooperation and kindness and caring—quite often the hard way.” (-Pamela Dugdale)

“It snowed last year, too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.” (-Dylan Thomas)