My parents, raising three children, weren’t able to swing a trip abroad until their 25th anniversary. In anticipation of this milestone celebration, my mother bought herself a handsome, bound journal and, though it was not exactly a diary of their daily adventures, she did jot down the names of interesting shops and wrote of special sojourns.
Jude's Culinary Journey
At the tender age of five, I made a bee-line for the kitchen. It was my first day of Kindergarten, and as I entered the room, I spotted the most beautiful wooden kitchen set consisting of refrigerator, stove and oven, and a sink complete with faucets, under which was a cabinet for pots and pans. It was perfectly scaled to my diminutive size.
We are awaiting the arrival in a few days of our nephew Josh, his wife Jen and their 13-year-old son, Sammy. When they visited a year ago, it was announced that Sam had become a pescatarian. Who had heard the term before? Not I. I looked it up.
I have a small, fenced-in garden just steps from our front porch, making it a breeze to snip a handful of chives to garnish a cherry tomato salad or grab some mint for mojitos when we want a break from margaritas.
When my sister, Janet, and I were in Mexico a couple months back, I heard her tell a Californian we had befriended that the season after winter in upstate New York is mud. It certainly seems an appropriate description as I am writing this is in early April.
This February my sister Janet and I hightailed it, as many of our friends do, to a warmer climate. We chose Oaxaca, Mexico, a favorite vacation destination for years.
I was born in late February, not by choice, and I’ve never gotten accustomed to the cold as apparently some do when thrust into this world while snow swirls in the streets and the temps hover in the teens.
The first time I had a Christmas tree, I was somewhere in the ballpark of my early 40s. My sister, Janet, and I were renting a house (we would later own) in the Beechwoods area of Callicoon. We had never had a tree before because we are Jewish.
I answered the phone to hear a man speaking loudly, not in an angry way, more excited with anticipation. I had trouble understanding him, his accent heavy and exotic, then heard the words, “Zenon Taverna” and realized he had first said, “It’s Stelios.” Then I knew who he was.
If you are an antsy person, as I am, the wait for the annual planting season can seem interminable. Where we live in Sullivan County, one generally doesn’t put trowel to earth until the first week in June for fear that a stray frost may unexpectedly hit and kill your newly planted herbs and vegetables.