SUZI: Flour on Floor

Scott and I are trying to eat out as little as possible, which means that we’re making as much food at home as possible.  When we got home from being overseas, we realized we had gotten pretty spoiled with our food.  In both Jordan and Prague, the bread we bought was fresh and had to be consumed in just a few days or it would go bad.  The fruit and vegetables weren’t picked before they were ripe and then stored somewhere for a long time before being put on the shelf.  There weren’t a lot of preservatives in the food we ate.  It’s been difficult adjusting to so much of the food here – everything tastes so processed.  Apparently we have unintentionally become food snobs.

So I decided that I was going to try to make our own bread.  My dad used to bake bread, and I thought I could surely carry on the tradition.  I’ve done it for several weeks now.  I’m still just working on some basic white bread to get the hang of things but am hoping to move on to some more nutritious and exciting options soon.  It’s not really that hard, but it does take a while.  It’s definitely a time commitment to do it every week.  Mondays are usually bread making days.  I make two loaves which last us for the week (the loaves are much smaller than store bought loaves).  One gets left out and one gets frozen until the other is eaten.  It is infinitely better than store-bought bread.  When I don’t feel like baking bread, I just think about some butter melting on a fresh, warm slice and suddenly I’m a little more inspired.

The only “problem” is that you have to knead the dough for about ten minutes.  This isn’t truly a problem except for the fact that Cooper wants to watch.  For anyone who read my blog entry about cooking with Cooper in the kitchen, you know that he wants to be held while he watches.  And while you can knead dough with one hand (I can attest to the fact that it is possible), it isn’t ideal.  Some days Cooper will happily play by himself with some toys while I get the dough ready to go.  Other days, he’s a little needier, so I try occupying him by giving him a little bit of dough that he can play with.  This didn’t go so well.  He stuck the dough in his mouth for a bit and then decided he didn’t want it.  He handed the sticky, globby mess back to me and wanted to be picked up.

So one day I had the brilliant idea to give him a plate with some flour on it.  I figured flour would be easy enough to clean up.  He has a little step stool in the kitchen so I put the plate with the flour, a spoon and another bowl on it.  He spent most of his time neatly (as neat as a 17-month old can be) scooping the flour from his plate to the bowl.  Great!  The next week, he spent more time raking his fingers through it.  Fine!  He’s occupied and how hard is it to clean his hands off?  A couple weeks later, he was happily playing in his flour when he suddenly decided to dump the plate, upside down, on the floor.  Hmmmm…ok…but what can I do?  I have four more minutes of kneading to go.  Let’s just say that by the time it was all over, Cooper was lying on his belly in the middle of the floor, flapping his arms and legs back and forth (imagine making a snow angel except on your belly…and in flour instead of snow).  He was happy as a clam.  And absolutely covered in flour from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet (Aunt Helen, remember Cooper in your sand box?  Yeah…like that.).  He became quite irritated when I started washing him off and couldn’t understand why he couldn’t go tromping through the rest of the house until I stripped him down and cleaned him off. 

Then, of course, we had to get the vacuum out to clean up the floor and great glee ensued.  There’s nothing quite like the joy of having a toddler who is delighted with flour and a vacuum cleaner.

And in case you’re wondering if I gave Cooper some flour the next time I made bread... (pause for suspenseful silence)…you better believe it.  And there was plenty of cleaning and vacuuming afterwards.

Trick or Treat?

Guess who was a pirate, but didn't want to wear a do-rag or carry a parrot?  Guess who did over an hour of running from one house to another begging for candy?

Guess who did a happy dance with both hands full, while shoveling Twix bars into his mouth?

Yeah... you guessed right.

You. Us. Dad.

There are times when we go through events that are so mundane, they defy words.  There's just no reason to waste perfectly formed syllables on such trivial (mis)fortunes, as the case may be.

And then a September 25th arrives.  A single moment in time that appears and stays locked immemorial.  On that day, that moment (4:07 to be exact) changes everything.  Things you don't realize. Ways that haven't yet materialized.  And then others that are immediate in their sharpness and clarity.

I hope to talk about those moments as the days are quickly becoming weeks.  These will not be chronological, but emotional.  As the well overflows, whatever is floating at the top will naturally end up here.  Perhaps in my constant quest to document life, the full story will eventually emerge.  I have to say, I haven't written anything else here since the funeral simply because I didn't think it right to jump back into the normalcy of life.  Even though that "normalcy" is certainly swirling around us.  I had to start with something about him and then go on with the stuff you'd expect.

In the past weeks, I am particularly struck by how others are reacting to the death of my father.  I have my own patented response, but others' reactions are just as fascinating to me.  There's "caught-in-the-hall-thinking-of-you" or the "sit-down-and-share-my-story."  And then there's this hand that slips under your elbow.  Casual.  Easy. Yet strong enough to lift you off your feet.  It's a book of poetry that helped the giver through their loss accompanied by a note written deep from the heart.  Or the executive who stops to scratch below the facade of rote responses and in the process offer amazing advice on allowing for grief without guilt during the joy of upcoming holidays.

Do you know what kind of man my dad was?  In the final hours we had with him after counseling and praying with those who stopped by (and recording that video), he mentioned off-handedly to Jaime and me:

"Now, in my library there's a book called Good Grief.  It will take you through the five stages of grieving.  You'll need to read that book."

"Really, Dad?  You're still working?  Even now?"

He never stopped.  Loving.  Caring.

Update on Dad

For those who are following Dad's condition... All updates will be posted to the McGarvey Family Blog.

Thanks for your thoughts and prayers during this time.

SUZI: Cooper in the Kitchen

Cooper has been observing me in the kitchen since he was born.  He loves to watch me cook.  When he was just a baby, I’d put him in a bouncy seat on the floor and he would fuss and fuss and fuss until I picked him up.  He wanted to see and not be so far away from all the action.  I’d put him in his high chair and hand him toys and kitchen utensils to try to keep him occupied while I chopped and sautéed, but he still spent most of his time fussing…until I was holding him and chopping and sautéing with one hand.  

So I hold Cooper a lot while I prep food and cook (for those who are nervous at this point – I obviously keep Cooper away from dangerous things like open ovens.  He’s not playing with knives or helping me chop food, so you can relax.)  I’ve gotten pretty good at doing a lot of things in the kitchen with one hand.  Did you know you can bake a cake from scratch with one hand?  Did you know you can cut up a tomato with one hand?  Did you know you can prepare a meal for twenty people with one hand?  Yes…yes, you can.  It may take twice as long, but it is possible.  And I know that one day soon Cooper will prefer running and playing outside while I cook by myself in the kitchen, so in the meantime, I enjoy having him in there with me.  And, clearly, we discuss fractions, addition and subtraction while we measure various ingredients.

My mom has become quite the garage sale queen (Cooper has a room full of wonderful, like-new toys that my mom has found for him for dirt cheap – it’s great!).  I sent her on a mission to look for a kid’s kitchen in “boy” colors.  It took a while, but low and behold, she found a blue plastic kitchen for Coop.  Let the rejoicing begin!  We played with it together for many days and then one day while I was cooking, Cooper ran over to his kitchen and began “cooking.”  Bravo!  Exactly what I had hoped for.  It was fantastic.  

The next day, I was getting ready to make dinner and I put a little bowl of Teddy Grahams in his kitchen – bait to encourage him to play over there so I could quickly get my work done.  Once again, my genius plan worked.  He was happily whipping up some deliciousness in his kitchen while I enjoyed having the use of both of my hand.  I turned around to get some milk out of the frig, and noticed that there was something all over the floor.  “What on earth?”  Small little specs of something were everywhere.  In fact, there was a little trail that led straight to Cooper.  Who happened to be standing at his kitchen furiously shaking Mrs. Dash into his bowl of Teddy Grahams.  Obviously, at some point when I wasn’t looking, Mr. Quick-As-a-Wink snuck the Mrs. Dash out of the Lazy Susan (which he LOVES to spin around and point to all the spices – he’s probably one of the few toddlers who is learning how to say “Rice Wine Vinegar” along with “Ground Cumin”).  He had a huge grin on his face - he was so happy that he was cooking all by himself.  He had already dumped half the container of spice when I caught him.

But, seriously, how could I be mad at him?  He was doing what he’s been watching me do for 17 months.  So I simply told him that we needed to get the vacuum and clean up the mess.  At which time, Cooper squealed in delight, threw the Mrs. Dash on the floor and ran to the closet with great anticipation while we got the vacuum out.  Vacuuming happens to be one of Cooper’s favorite pastimes.  

We’re hoping this phase lasts for a looooong time.

So one day when Cooper is a great chef in a world famous restaurant, we’ll all know that it started with Teddy Grahams and Mrs. Dash.  I see a new Teddy Grahams flavor in the making, don’t you?

I Once Lived in a Palace

Going through some pictures tonight, I came across this panorama from Prague.  This was our street.  Our building was the center one with the statue.  I've mentioned it before.  I guess I'm just sayin'... There're some amazing places on this little ball of mud we call home.

Another 9/11 Post

Suz & I moved to Missouri in late summer, 2001.  I was commuting back & forth to finish my USCC job in Chicago, living in the hotel just across Bryn Mawr off the Kennedy.  That morning I didn't turn on the news.  I even thought, "Just get to the office; you're gonna be late."  By the time I walked into the building & got in line at the lobby breakfast kiosk, the first plane had already hit.  The girl behind the counter had the radio on.  Something going on in NY, she said.

That singular moment impacted my life in ways I'd never realize.  What if I'd checked the news?  I probably wouldn't have left my room.  Every morning we lived overseas, the first thing I'd do is check the news... "Just to see if America's still there," we'd say to each other.  Suddenly, you never knew what morning you'd wake up and everything would change.  Forever.

When we were in Prague the first time, my grandmother died.  We'd said goodbye.  She knew she was going soon.  It was agreed that we wouldn't come home (a mistake, I belatedly realize).  It was early in the morning... or very late... a jarring awakening.  Then, Sasha's cancer.  My dad's bouts with cancer.  Jan's sudden death.  All calls seemingly in the middle of the night. I'm realizing it now, but for the last ten years, I've been waiting for the other shoe to fall.  Dreading that lobby experience... something in NY.  In Boston.  In LA.  In my life.  It got to the point that I always answered the phone with a subdued tone.  I never knew what disaster would await me on the other end. 

You could see the end of O'Hare's runway system from my 7th floor office.  On approach, it seemed the heavy haulers were at eye level.  There was just a constant roar.  As the FAA shut down the skies, the atmosphere became eerily quiet.  There was a TV on the 8th floor and we alternated between projects & soaking in the awful reality, replayed over & over.

That night I went out with some friends (to a TGI Fridays or something) and just watched TV together.  Nobody wanted to be alone.  Later, I looked out at the city from my hotel, watching the Hancock & Sears Towers glittering in the distance, wondering if they would be there when I awoke.

Of course, there was no going home then.  The whole country was in lock-down.  I think I finally rented a car & drove home several days later, grateful to be with my family when so many others weren't.

On a desperately cold November weekend in 2002, my family visited NYC.  We made the pilgrimage to Ground Zero.  I grabbed a few shots of 10 House... the FDNY firehouse across the street from the Twin Towers.  They lost 5 guys and a truck in the collapse.  Along with their normal job, the firefighters play host to innumerable tourists, telling the story of Tuesday over and again.  Here's a quote from their site:

As the towers collapsed, tons of building debris fell onto the firehouse and forced its way into it, blowing out windows and doors and causing extensive damage to the facade, interior structures, utilities, lighting and the roof. Inside the firehouse, the apparatus floor was flooded with over three feet of debris and in some areas in and around the firehouse the debris from the collapse was nearly six feet deep. The building’s ventilation system, air conditioning units and Nederman exhaust system were completely destroyed.

Back in early Texas history, the battle cry was, "Remember the Alamo."  Today, we "Never Forget."