A Toast to Marge

One of the things I admired most about my mom was that she was kind, but not a pushover.  Reflecting on her life, she bucked conventional wisdom if it got in the way of her gut feeling.  Here are five examples of the extraordinary ways Marge was ahead of her time:

On Body Image

Marge was, let’s say, – curvy.  She didn’t try to be a size 2.  She found humor, love, and beauty in being (as her mother put it) “big boned.”  It was a running joke with her brother Artie that when she’d get a new dress, he’d quip, “oh, they didn’t have your size?”  She made a decision early on to accept and love her body.  She never starved herself or followed the crowd.  Leave it to Marge to find the pluses in being a plus size.

On Gay Marriage

I’ll never forget the night when I went to my 80-something-year-old parents to break the news that my son, Richie, came out in his freshman year of college.  They both stared at me with something like an ancient wisdom.  Marge said, “that doesn’t make one bit of difference to us and we love him just the way he is.”  And, if you know my parents, they became LGBT activists the minute they knew one of their grandsons was gay.  I still marvel at their grace and I was so blessed that Marge made it to Richie and Ryan’s wedding celebration a few weeks ago.

  

On Guilt

Marge was never big on guilt.  As a matter of fact, to anyone who didn’t make it to her "life-well-lived" celebration, she would be the first to say, “go and have a wonderful time. Live your life!”  Mom knew that guilt was a joyless endeavor that served no one. So, while others ran as fast as they could to leave home, we all couldn’t wait to reunite for Marge’s famous Thursday night dinners.  There, we’d laugh as a family and before we knew it, we were joined for dessert by our neighborhood family – Rosemary, Gary, and George. No matter the topic of conversation or how much banana cream pie we had, guilt was off limits in Marge’s house.

On Environmental Issues

Marge would recycle…to a fault.  She reused some questionable Styrofoam and plastic plates that were way past their prime.  She kept coffee can lids as spoon rests, was mesmerized by restaurant to-go containers, and squirreled away Tupperware like rare antiquities.  For all the times we laughed at her frugality, the truth is that Marge loved and respected the earth.  She never squandered anything that could last a little longer and she took delight in growing tomatoes and talking to her plants.  Part of this was because she was a child of the depression but part of it was because she knew her children would one day inherit the planet.

On Feminism

As the mother of four daughters, mom quickly realized that she had to be an example of strength and dignity in an unjust world.  It was kind of shocking (and hilarious) to find a letter from 1972 where Marge resigned her position because she wasn’t “paid anything near the most inept man (of whom she could name several).”  Being born just two years after women were granted the right to vote, I think Marge was keenly aware that if women were educated, healthy, and had a voice, families would flourish.  And hers did.

So, here’s to Marge – In the walk of life, she focused on the scenery and the spring in her step rather than her sore feet.  Love you, momma.

Democracy on Display - Loving America - Warts and All

Last Thursday I went into the city to experience the buzz of the DNC while it was here in Philadelphia.  I crisscrossed downtown in 12,000 steps in the heat and the rain and felt powerful emotions lurking around every corner.   Love, hate, disgust, weariness, cynicism, hope.  They all hung in the air.

As I walked around, I couldn’t help but think of my mom.  She just turned 94 and it seemed so incredible that she was born two short years after the 19^th Amendment guaranteed women the right to vote.  We take it so for granted and forget how much we owe to those who came before us and insisted on change.  As Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle.”

I can’t begin to tell anyone what the answer is in this tumultuous election cycle, but in my heart I believe that love conquers hate.  We’re presented with a small picture –“Bernie or Bust,” “I’m with Her,” and “Make America Great Again.”  The big picture, though, is that after 240 years, I am free to hop on a train and walk around a city where no one is silenced for their beliefs.   

FSH Bucket List of Best Bars #’s 11 & 18 – Johnny Brenda’s and Kraftwork

How is it that when the kids leave for college and one of the group retires, we have less time?  We knew we had to double down our efforts and hit more than one spot if we were ever going to make it to all 50 Top Bars.  Kevin determined that a good option for a pub stroll would be Fishtown (whose name is derived from the shad fishing industry in the 18^th and 19^th centuries).

We started out at Kraftwork (#18) and got an amazing brunch.  Not only was the food delicious, but we loved the beautifully sculpted industrial elements around the bar that paid homage to both the tradesman and the artist. 

Next, we meandered down Girard Avenue and hit Johnny Brenda’s (#11).  We stayed for a few drinks and an apple crisp (which was meh, in my opinion).  The place had a great almost New Orleans feel, with the entire upstairs serving as a music venue.

Turning down Frankford Avenue, we made our way to Frankford Hall.  Even though it wasn’t officially on the Best Bar List, it must be on a best beergarten list.  Having lived in Munich, I felt like I stepped into my past.  There was an outdoor courtyard with the atmosphere of a true German beergarten.  I love how everything from the beer selection to the tables themselves brought back memories of a lazy Sunday afternoon in Bavaria. 

By this time, we were famished, and lucky for us, Fette Sau was right next door.  OK, not fond of the name that means fat pig in German, but wow.  The barbeque was perfection.  I regretted only ordering ¼ lb. of brisket and potato salad, but after the day of decadence, it was time to leave Fishtown.

Neighborhood grade – A (we felt a bond with FSHtown)

Kraftwork – A

Johnny Brenda’s – B+

Frankford Hall – A

Fette Sau – A+

We may have lost control of Operation Top 50, but we’ll never stop trying.

39 to go!

Cool Stuff in Chicago, Part 1

It’s only fitting that Ceres, the Roman goddess of agriculture, stands on top of the Chicago Board of Trade Building, the world’s largest grain exchange.  Our modern word “cereal” originates from Ceres.

As the myth goes, Ceres’ beautiful daughter, Proserpine, was kidnapped by Pluto and taken to the underworld to be his wife.  Ceres was frantic and didn’t want to lose her daughter forever, so she struck a deal with Pluto that Proserpine would return to earth six months a year. 

Every spring, Ceres welcomes her daughter back with blooming flowers, and each fall when Proserpine returns to Pluto, Ceres cries and lets all the crops die.

The cycle continues to this day.  Here we are at Ceres’ Table in Chicago, honoring Ceres and all her bounty.

Dad and the Greek

My dad wrote down a lot of his army stories and they are definitely worth sharing.  This one involves a friend and the road not taken:

                   I first met Leonitias in 1938 when we arrived at Fort Williams, Maine, as raw recruits in the US Army.  I was 19.  His name was so hard to pronounce that everyone called him "the Greek.” He was like a caricature, about 5’ 5” inches and weighing about 150 lbs. His feet were so wide that the Army had to order special shoes for him. The Greek’s home was out on Cape Cod where his father owned and operated a restaurant. We became the best of friends and served our entire time together in the 5^th Infantry. He always wanted me to meet his sister, who he claimed was a Greek Goddess.

                   In late 1940, the entire 5^th Infantry was moved to do guard duty on the Panama Canal and the jungle area around the canal. After two years of this hot miserable assignment, the Greek and I were due for discharge, and we made an agreement to re-enlist for the Philippine Islands. The Greek came back to the States on a boat ahead of me and we were supposed to meet at Brooklyn Army Base, where we would re-enlist. When I arrived in Brooklyn, there was no Greek. I waited five days, called his home several times but could not contact him, so I decided to take my discharge and head for home. As it turned out, I know that I was so lucky that I lost the Greek, because had we re-enlisted for the Philippine Islands, there’s a good possibly that we would have become prisoners of Japan, and who knows what. As for the Greek, I never saw or heard from him again.

In Praise of the Back Ways

Never mind the jammed up Expressway leading to the crowded Parkway.  Forget about the $4.75 savings in tolls.  Those aren’t my primary motivators for taking the back ways.  I just love exploring.  Discovering.  Experiencing something that may one day be lost. 

It’s not every day that you pass a peaceful brown barn.

Or feel the serenity oozing out of a little white church.

And, can’t you just picture a sweet couple sitting around a red-checkered tablecloth when there’s a knock on the door from someone wanting to buy a dozen eggs….

I wish I knew the Farmer’s Daughter when she was in her prime.  This is kind of sad and beautiful at the same time…

In the long run, I may not save all that much time or money, but I feel a sense of duty to give a nod to the Wilson boys, who were lost at sea in 1882 and buried at the Union Cemetery (yes, a cemetery originally built for the union soldiers after the civil war).

I love exploring the back ways so much, that now my back ways have back ways. 

That’s how I found Makepeace Lake.  I’m not sure if it’s named after a person, but I like to think there was a historic peace treaty on that spot.  It would be the perfect place to meet if you ever need to extend an olive branch.

Like the Rodney Atkins song says,  “put a little gravel in my travel, unwind, and unravel…get lost and get right with my soul.”