Being in Alabama for almost 2 weeks, with the warm Spring weather, the blossoms and birds, the mountains and blue skies, was spoiling. I suddenly wanted to live there again. Not only because of Lennon, but because it so feels like home to me. Spring is a wonderful time in the South, despite the pine pollen. I guess Spring is wonderful anywhere as it is such a renewal and revival of life in every form.
I was so sad to leave, and the sadness followed me all the way back to Chicago. Reaching that point on I94 where the skyline was visible did something to me though. And walking into my place and seeing the city lights outside, hearing the city noises, being surrounded by my familiar life and things, I felt I was home.
How can both places feel like home? How can I "belong" in both small-city Alabama and big-city Illinois? How can I enjoy both the 90-degree humid oven-like heat and the single-digit snowy cold? What is it about living that makes it possible to love such extremes? And feel safe familiarity with both?
I think the question is the same as "is it possible to be in love with two people at the same time?". And I think the answer to both questions is "yes". I've always felt it's possible to love more than one person - not family or friends, but to love two men equally, or two women. Many people would argue that it's not right - you must love one more than the other. I disagree, though. There are so many elements to each of us, and people can bring out the best of various elements in us all. Finding someone who satisfies us in every way is the ultimate hope, but if we're honest, we know that is unlikely. We give something up in order to have the closest to perfect we can and to be happy with it. Those that do find perfect perfect are very, very lucky.
I can't say that I love North Alabama and Chicago equally, but I think I could be equally happy living either place. They each fulfill different elements in me, and in different ways. Alabama satisfies my need for serenity and natural beauty and familiarity. Chicago satisfies my need for adventure and discovery and change. I don't know that there is a place that would do both, but I know I can work to find both anywhere I am. That's the key to being truly happy wherever we are - finding a way to fulfill ourselves and use the elements at hand to do so. Not a difficult thing to do if you're willing to put forth a little effort. And if you're not dependent on someone else to fulfill you. Still, where my family is will always win out in the competition for "home".
Saturday, April 16, 2011
life anew
I'm a gramma! For real! Lennon Christian-William Berry made his entrance into the world Thursday, April 7 at 11:16 p.m., after 2 very long and trying days for the mom and dad. They checked into the hospital Tuesday evening to prep for induced labor, started the process Wednesday morning to no avail, took a break Wednesday night, then started again on Thursday morning. After a long day of labor, morphine, an epidural and a lot of "push, Christine!!!!", we got to meet Lennon for the first time live and in color.
The good thing was that Tine's mom got there from Germany late Wednesday, so she didn't miss the birth. The bad thing was that all of us did a lot of waiting, waiting, waiting for two days. The end result was certainly worth it. Lennon is beautiful in every way. Of course, he's my grandson so he can't help it. :)
Being part of the whole experience was amazing. I was allowed to remain in the birthing room through it all. I've been part of 2 births myself, but never a spectator, and it was such an experience. The nurses worked their butts off to get him into place, and Tine was super - pushing with all her might and hanging in through the whole thing. Seth was both supportive and in awe; obviously anxious, concerned, and ready to meet his son. The doctor was there for about 10 minutes just to bring Lennon out and check him over - they have the easy job. Lennon appeared all pale and slimy, but took those first few breaths and turned pink and perfect. Hearing those first few squeaks of new life in oxygen were wonderful, and made me realize what a miracle it all is. He went from the warm, floaty, confined space he knew for 9 months into the bright, harsh, but loving environment we all know. He didn't seem to be very happy about the light and passing-around he met as he left his comfort zone, but now he has taken to it well.
I'm so proud of and for Seth and Tine and how hard they worked and how much they obviously love this little life that is a mix of them both. I didn't realize how much Lennon looks like Seth until I found pictures in my storage unit of Seth as a newborn. They're identical. I'm sure Lennon will develop into a perfect mixture of his parents, but there is no doubt that he's Seth's right now. :)
I miss being there with them, but I'll return in 2 weeks for a couple of days. He will have changed so much by then, and over the coming months when I will only see him a few times. It is plain, however, that I want to be there and experience everything he goes through and see first-hand his growth and new abilities as he strengthens. It was hard leaving, but it is what it is. I know I'll be back by the time he is able to call me gramma. Or Mama-Lynn, or whatever we decide I will be.
Until then, I'll see him whenever possible, and we will Skype often, and I'll certainly be a part of his life even from afar. Sweet, precious baby boy - can't wait for a cousin to be in the works. :)
The good thing was that Tine's mom got there from Germany late Wednesday, so she didn't miss the birth. The bad thing was that all of us did a lot of waiting, waiting, waiting for two days. The end result was certainly worth it. Lennon is beautiful in every way. Of course, he's my grandson so he can't help it. :)
Being part of the whole experience was amazing. I was allowed to remain in the birthing room through it all. I've been part of 2 births myself, but never a spectator, and it was such an experience. The nurses worked their butts off to get him into place, and Tine was super - pushing with all her might and hanging in through the whole thing. Seth was both supportive and in awe; obviously anxious, concerned, and ready to meet his son. The doctor was there for about 10 minutes just to bring Lennon out and check him over - they have the easy job. Lennon appeared all pale and slimy, but took those first few breaths and turned pink and perfect. Hearing those first few squeaks of new life in oxygen were wonderful, and made me realize what a miracle it all is. He went from the warm, floaty, confined space he knew for 9 months into the bright, harsh, but loving environment we all know. He didn't seem to be very happy about the light and passing-around he met as he left his comfort zone, but now he has taken to it well.
I'm so proud of and for Seth and Tine and how hard they worked and how much they obviously love this little life that is a mix of them both. I didn't realize how much Lennon looks like Seth until I found pictures in my storage unit of Seth as a newborn. They're identical. I'm sure Lennon will develop into a perfect mixture of his parents, but there is no doubt that he's Seth's right now. :)
I miss being there with them, but I'll return in 2 weeks for a couple of days. He will have changed so much by then, and over the coming months when I will only see him a few times. It is plain, however, that I want to be there and experience everything he goes through and see first-hand his growth and new abilities as he strengthens. It was hard leaving, but it is what it is. I know I'll be back by the time he is able to call me gramma. Or Mama-Lynn, or whatever we decide I will be.
Until then, I'll see him whenever possible, and we will Skype often, and I'll certainly be a part of his life even from afar. Sweet, precious baby boy - can't wait for a cousin to be in the works. :)
Saturday, March 19, 2011
a year later
Well, my 1-year anniversary is just a month away. Of course it doesn't seem possible that it was a year ago that I picked up and moved to this great mid-western city. Never quite understood the mid-west part but maybe this was mid-west before they realized how far it was to the Pacific ocean. Once early settlers reached the mighty Mississippi, they were HOPING that they were half-way there.
I can tell that Spring is upon us. It was warm enough yesterday to walk to both my massage appointment (ahhhhh) and my dental appointment (AAAIIEEE) in just a sweat suit. It's sunny and looks warm outside today, but the weather people say it's going to be much cooler today.
Another herald of Spring is the groups of Spring-breakers I encountered yesterday, the increased traffic at all hours, and, to my chagrin, the motorcycles. Of all the sounds of the city, this is the only one that grates on me - but it's because people on motorcycles like them loud and fast, and the on-ramp to the expressway just beneath my building is the perfect drag-raceway.
And speaking of sounds in the night, it happened again last night....sirens that didn't continue past on Orleans, or onto the expressway, or over on Grand, but came right up my street. This is the 4th time I remember this happening in the past year, and the first 3 times I jumped out of bed to see whether it was my building that they came to visit. Last night, I was too tired to worry about it. I knew that someone would be banging on my door if I needed to flee.
The scary things about being awakened in the middle of the night to cries of "fire" or "leave the building" are a. having to grab something decent to put on that is also suitable for whatever weather is happening, b. the thought of fire in general and the danger, the destructiveness of it when it get loose in a building, and c. losing my home and possessions. Actually not in that order - I would go into the street naked if it meant that my home, and that of the others here, would be safe.
It's very easy to tell when the sirens come down my street. I live on the last block of the street, which is one-way all the way from the lake, and no one wanders down this part of the street unless they have a reason to be here. This block is mostly residential, and at the end you must turn one way or the other, or drive through the park and into the river. There are 4 restaurants on this block, meaning much of the traffic in the evenings is diners. So, a firetruck or ambulance would not use this part of the street as a route to anywhere but this part of the street.
It's an odd bit of knowledge I've picked up, but if you cross the river on one of the several bridges in the area, and wind your way back roughly across from the park at the end of my street, you'll find a continuance of Ontario that goes all the way to Oak Park. There's no bridge on Ontario, but it's as though there were. It's the same with several streets without bridges across the river - they just pick up on the other side anyway. And they run several miles toward the West. In Huntsville, a street would have changed names 20 times between the lake and Oak Park. That's just what they do in Huntsville. I guess it's part of the grid design of Chicago that is supposed to make navigation in the city easier. And maybe just in case someone decided to build another bridge at some point, so they wouldn't have to rename part of the street or cause mass confusion because the street suddenly changed it's moniker.
So, anyway, this has been home for almost a year now, and yesterday I signed a lease for another year, so it will continue to be home for a while more. As much fun as it might be to have a different view, and discover a different part of the city, I like being right here. I'm not tired of the view, or the rooms I inhabit. It's convenient, the employees are super, the kids know how to get here, and it's become my home. I'm glad my landlords agreed to have me stay on. As expensive as it is, it would cost more to move, and why move when you've got the perfect place already?
Home, sweet home, Chicago.
I can tell that Spring is upon us. It was warm enough yesterday to walk to both my massage appointment (ahhhhh) and my dental appointment (AAAIIEEE) in just a sweat suit. It's sunny and looks warm outside today, but the weather people say it's going to be much cooler today.
Another herald of Spring is the groups of Spring-breakers I encountered yesterday, the increased traffic at all hours, and, to my chagrin, the motorcycles. Of all the sounds of the city, this is the only one that grates on me - but it's because people on motorcycles like them loud and fast, and the on-ramp to the expressway just beneath my building is the perfect drag-raceway.
And speaking of sounds in the night, it happened again last night....sirens that didn't continue past on Orleans, or onto the expressway, or over on Grand, but came right up my street. This is the 4th time I remember this happening in the past year, and the first 3 times I jumped out of bed to see whether it was my building that they came to visit. Last night, I was too tired to worry about it. I knew that someone would be banging on my door if I needed to flee.
The scary things about being awakened in the middle of the night to cries of "fire" or "leave the building" are a. having to grab something decent to put on that is also suitable for whatever weather is happening, b. the thought of fire in general and the danger, the destructiveness of it when it get loose in a building, and c. losing my home and possessions. Actually not in that order - I would go into the street naked if it meant that my home, and that of the others here, would be safe.
It's very easy to tell when the sirens come down my street. I live on the last block of the street, which is one-way all the way from the lake, and no one wanders down this part of the street unless they have a reason to be here. This block is mostly residential, and at the end you must turn one way or the other, or drive through the park and into the river. There are 4 restaurants on this block, meaning much of the traffic in the evenings is diners. So, a firetruck or ambulance would not use this part of the street as a route to anywhere but this part of the street.
It's an odd bit of knowledge I've picked up, but if you cross the river on one of the several bridges in the area, and wind your way back roughly across from the park at the end of my street, you'll find a continuance of Ontario that goes all the way to Oak Park. There's no bridge on Ontario, but it's as though there were. It's the same with several streets without bridges across the river - they just pick up on the other side anyway. And they run several miles toward the West. In Huntsville, a street would have changed names 20 times between the lake and Oak Park. That's just what they do in Huntsville. I guess it's part of the grid design of Chicago that is supposed to make navigation in the city easier. And maybe just in case someone decided to build another bridge at some point, so they wouldn't have to rename part of the street or cause mass confusion because the street suddenly changed it's moniker.
So, anyway, this has been home for almost a year now, and yesterday I signed a lease for another year, so it will continue to be home for a while more. As much fun as it might be to have a different view, and discover a different part of the city, I like being right here. I'm not tired of the view, or the rooms I inhabit. It's convenient, the employees are super, the kids know how to get here, and it's become my home. I'm glad my landlords agreed to have me stay on. As expensive as it is, it would cost more to move, and why move when you've got the perfect place already?
Home, sweet home, Chicago.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
showering babies
I was "home" last weekend to help Lacy with a baby shower for Lennon. She had worked so hard getting things together and planning, I felt bad that I could do little from here other than agree or make suggestions. To make up for it, I spent most of Friday night through Sunday preparing or participating or post-cleaning, which I was happy to do. I'm happy for the time it gave me with Lacy, creating decorations and gifts and favors, shopping for more decorations and gifts. Buying and preparing food, putting it all together Sunday morning and waiting for the fun to begin.
I'm also happy for the time it gave me with Seth and Christine and Lennon (although he's still hiding out, which is good). Watching them enjoy the games and their friends at the shower, watching them open the many gifts. The glow of pride and anticipation on their faces, the thankfulness toward the givers of gifts, and the love that was apparent in the room - between friends and between family. Even a mishap Saturday night couldn't dampen the joy of Sunday. The shower came off beautifully.
It's both odd and heart-warming to see my son - the one that you would never expect - so excited about the prospect of fatherhood. It's so apparent that he wants to be a good father, that he welcomes this opportunity, this requirement, to be an adult, to be responsible and do all the right things. It feels like he has a realistic handle on the brevity of parenthood, and of the changes to come, and more importantly, is prepared for it. Seth is a quietly strong, but very emotional, person. I think like me in that respect. Seth rarely shows emotion, but when he does it's huge. Like me, he can take a lot, but when he snaps, he SNAPS. And he is slow to allow feelings to show, but when he reaches the breaking point, good or bad, feelings ooze from every pore. I've seen him, and held him, while he bawled with hurt and sorrow, and I've seen him steel and hold both happiness and sadness inside, the frozen grin that's almost a grimace on his face that I know means it's just under the surface, and tears (whether of joy or pain) may be just behind his eyes.
Seth has always worried me in this regard, in this way that I know he inherited from me. It pains me to know that he feels the same emotions and confusion and misdirection that I've felt in my life at times. The regrets over not doing the right thing, or at least the better thing. The way we beat ourselves up more than anyone else beats us. It's because of this that know he'll be a good father. It's a chance at redemption. A chance to undo life until now. A way to put those experiences behind him while keeping them in mind as he raises a son who he surely would prefer to walk a straighter path.
I see Seth being a gentle and patient dad, but firm in his rules and strict in his guidance. I guess that's the kind of parent we would all like to be, and strive to be, but don't always succeed. As long as he works toward that goal, and can put the needs of this beautiful child before his own for the next few years, he'll do just fine. Seth has certainly had enough adventure of one kind in his life, now it's time to experience an adventure of quite another kind. And this is one that he can carry through the rest of his life, and know the feeling of proudly saying "that's MY son".
I'm also happy for the time it gave me with Seth and Christine and Lennon (although he's still hiding out, which is good). Watching them enjoy the games and their friends at the shower, watching them open the many gifts. The glow of pride and anticipation on their faces, the thankfulness toward the givers of gifts, and the love that was apparent in the room - between friends and between family. Even a mishap Saturday night couldn't dampen the joy of Sunday. The shower came off beautifully.
It's both odd and heart-warming to see my son - the one that you would never expect - so excited about the prospect of fatherhood. It's so apparent that he wants to be a good father, that he welcomes this opportunity, this requirement, to be an adult, to be responsible and do all the right things. It feels like he has a realistic handle on the brevity of parenthood, and of the changes to come, and more importantly, is prepared for it. Seth is a quietly strong, but very emotional, person. I think like me in that respect. Seth rarely shows emotion, but when he does it's huge. Like me, he can take a lot, but when he snaps, he SNAPS. And he is slow to allow feelings to show, but when he reaches the breaking point, good or bad, feelings ooze from every pore. I've seen him, and held him, while he bawled with hurt and sorrow, and I've seen him steel and hold both happiness and sadness inside, the frozen grin that's almost a grimace on his face that I know means it's just under the surface, and tears (whether of joy or pain) may be just behind his eyes.
Seth has always worried me in this regard, in this way that I know he inherited from me. It pains me to know that he feels the same emotions and confusion and misdirection that I've felt in my life at times. The regrets over not doing the right thing, or at least the better thing. The way we beat ourselves up more than anyone else beats us. It's because of this that know he'll be a good father. It's a chance at redemption. A chance to undo life until now. A way to put those experiences behind him while keeping them in mind as he raises a son who he surely would prefer to walk a straighter path.
I see Seth being a gentle and patient dad, but firm in his rules and strict in his guidance. I guess that's the kind of parent we would all like to be, and strive to be, but don't always succeed. As long as he works toward that goal, and can put the needs of this beautiful child before his own for the next few years, he'll do just fine. Seth has certainly had enough adventure of one kind in his life, now it's time to experience an adventure of quite another kind. And this is one that he can carry through the rest of his life, and know the feeling of proudly saying "that's MY son".
maybe i'm crazy....
Last weekend I was in Huntsville, where it was warm enough not to need a jacket most of the time - around 60-70 and mostly sunny. It was refreshing, and I enjoyed the warmer weather and the blooming buttercups and forsythia and seeing the buds on the trees. Then I came back to Chicago, where it's been a chilly week, but not downright cold. I've found that when the sun is out, 30 here feels quite nice as long as the wind isn't howling.
It makes sense that I would be yearning for the Spring-like weather I'm accustomed to this time of year in the South. It makes sense that I would have had my fill of gray skies and below-freezing temperatures. It doesn't make sense that, as I sit here on a Saturday morning watching snow flurries drift and blow and fly around as though they're having fun, I would think it's a beautiful day.
Maybe it's the novelty of snow; the years I've spent wishing it would snow, the miracle of teensy ice crystals falling from the sky and covering everything with a blanket of pure white, the beauty of big fluffy chunks drifting down silently, like cotton from the heavens. Maybe I'm crazy, but I don't mind that I'm seeing snow today instead of the 70-degree weather I would be enjoying if I were in Alabama. I'm almost sad that Spring is around the corner, and there will be no more snow until next winter. Maybe there's an Eskimo somewhere in my family tree, but as much as I love sun and blooms and birds singing and smelling that first cut of green grass, I love snow.
Yes, there's been plenty of the white stuff down home this year - the year that I'm not there to enjoy it. And yes, it will be 10 more years before it happens again, unless we have an anomaly like the early 90's when it snowed 8" and 2 years later snowed almost a foot. Or the other way around - at that depth, a bunch of snow is a bunch of snow. But as it hadn't snowed more than an inch or two in the past 10 years in Huntsville, I was looking forward to living in a place where snow is a certainty. And I've not been disappointed in the amount that Chicago-land has seen since November. I just think I could do with one more good one. I would go down to the park by the river and make a snow angel. And a snow man. And bring a bowl back home for snow cream. Because those are the things I've not done this winter, even with the 20" snow last month.
Of course, like Dustin said on Facebook, if I had made a snow angel then, they might not have found me until summer. :)
It makes sense that I would be yearning for the Spring-like weather I'm accustomed to this time of year in the South. It makes sense that I would have had my fill of gray skies and below-freezing temperatures. It doesn't make sense that, as I sit here on a Saturday morning watching snow flurries drift and blow and fly around as though they're having fun, I would think it's a beautiful day.
Maybe it's the novelty of snow; the years I've spent wishing it would snow, the miracle of teensy ice crystals falling from the sky and covering everything with a blanket of pure white, the beauty of big fluffy chunks drifting down silently, like cotton from the heavens. Maybe I'm crazy, but I don't mind that I'm seeing snow today instead of the 70-degree weather I would be enjoying if I were in Alabama. I'm almost sad that Spring is around the corner, and there will be no more snow until next winter. Maybe there's an Eskimo somewhere in my family tree, but as much as I love sun and blooms and birds singing and smelling that first cut of green grass, I love snow.
Yes, there's been plenty of the white stuff down home this year - the year that I'm not there to enjoy it. And yes, it will be 10 more years before it happens again, unless we have an anomaly like the early 90's when it snowed 8" and 2 years later snowed almost a foot. Or the other way around - at that depth, a bunch of snow is a bunch of snow. But as it hadn't snowed more than an inch or two in the past 10 years in Huntsville, I was looking forward to living in a place where snow is a certainty. And I've not been disappointed in the amount that Chicago-land has seen since November. I just think I could do with one more good one. I would go down to the park by the river and make a snow angel. And a snow man. And bring a bowl back home for snow cream. Because those are the things I've not done this winter, even with the 20" snow last month.
Of course, like Dustin said on Facebook, if I had made a snow angel then, they might not have found me until summer. :)
Sunday, February 20, 2011
the things we remember.....
I was swapping emails with my cousin, Michele, recently. She mentioned my mom - Nana to all in her family - and a visit to her years ago, before she completely lost touch with who we were. Nana had dementia; a particularly slow decline of memory and function. One very amazing detail, however, is that she remembered songs. Songs that were from her childhood or early adulthood. Every word, every note, and even more amazing, she would sing harmony. Nana couldn't remember to get dressed, or eat, or the people in her life - things you would assume were important - but she remembered songs and how to sing them.
It got me to thinking about what I would remember, if anything, if someday I'm in her shoes (once I remember to put them on). Is there anything in my life that is so deeply ingrained in my head and my heart that it will last beyond all else. It hurts me to imagine not knowing Seth or Lacy, or my brothers, but it could happen. I don't want to remember work, or my marriage particularly (maybe the good parts), or how unhappy I was at times in my early life - most of my early life actually.
If there is anything I would remember, it would probably be those things that I shouldn't remember now, but somehow do. Jabberwocky, a poem from Alice in Wonderland that I used as my "talent" in the Jr. Miss Pageant (meaning I had no talent), and other poems I still can recite. All the old Christmas songs, like "Up On The Rooftop" and "Jolly Old St Nicholas"; those songs Nana sung every Christmas to whatever small children happened to be around that year. And one other gift from Nana, and old poem called "Little Orphant Annie". I don't know how many times I heard it while growing up. It can't have been that many, but it stuck. Especially the last part, which has an eerie beauty to it in it's description of an old-time country evening:
Little orphant Annie says that when the blaze is blue
And the lampwick sputters, and the wind goes "wooo-wooo"
And you hear the crickets quit, and the moon is gray
And the lightnin' bugs in dew is all squenched away
You better mind your parents and your teachers fond and dear
And cherish them what loves you , and dry the orphants' tear
And help the poor and needy ones that clusters all about
Or the goblins'll get YOU if you don't watch out!!
I did a little research to see if I could find this poem and it's origins. I was quite surprised. The poem was written in 1885, and was actually the inspiration for both the comic strip and the "Raggedy Ann" doll. The author was from Indiana, and the poem has quite a history, which can be found in Wikipedia along with the full poem.
This poem and others represent the things, other than my family, that I would keep with me if I could choose. You can bet that my grandchildren will hear it, along with several others and, yes, all the old Christmas carols that drive my kids crazy. That is one piece of my mom, Nana, that will last for generations. That is one piece that I can hold on to myself, as long as my brain will let me.
It got me to thinking about what I would remember, if anything, if someday I'm in her shoes (once I remember to put them on). Is there anything in my life that is so deeply ingrained in my head and my heart that it will last beyond all else. It hurts me to imagine not knowing Seth or Lacy, or my brothers, but it could happen. I don't want to remember work, or my marriage particularly (maybe the good parts), or how unhappy I was at times in my early life - most of my early life actually.
If there is anything I would remember, it would probably be those things that I shouldn't remember now, but somehow do. Jabberwocky, a poem from Alice in Wonderland that I used as my "talent" in the Jr. Miss Pageant (meaning I had no talent), and other poems I still can recite. All the old Christmas songs, like "Up On The Rooftop" and "Jolly Old St Nicholas"; those songs Nana sung every Christmas to whatever small children happened to be around that year. And one other gift from Nana, and old poem called "Little Orphant Annie". I don't know how many times I heard it while growing up. It can't have been that many, but it stuck. Especially the last part, which has an eerie beauty to it in it's description of an old-time country evening:
Little orphant Annie says that when the blaze is blue
And the lampwick sputters, and the wind goes "wooo-wooo"
And you hear the crickets quit, and the moon is gray
And the lightnin' bugs in dew is all squenched away
You better mind your parents and your teachers fond and dear
And cherish them what loves you , and dry the orphants' tear
And help the poor and needy ones that clusters all about
Or the goblins'll get YOU if you don't watch out!!
I did a little research to see if I could find this poem and it's origins. I was quite surprised. The poem was written in 1885, and was actually the inspiration for both the comic strip and the "Raggedy Ann" doll. The author was from Indiana, and the poem has quite a history, which can be found in Wikipedia along with the full poem.
This poem and others represent the things, other than my family, that I would keep with me if I could choose. You can bet that my grandchildren will hear it, along with several others and, yes, all the old Christmas carols that drive my kids crazy. That is one piece of my mom, Nana, that will last for generations. That is one piece that I can hold on to myself, as long as my brain will let me.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
the best potato pancakes
I recently had yet another birthday. Not complaining at all - I love birthdays. Having a birthday validates my belief that yes, I am still here.
This birthday was special for many reasons. My first in Chicago, my first as a granma, another half-decade milestone. The most special was my big birthday gift.
My gift from Lacy and Jeff was that Lacy came to Chicago alone, and we had our first real time together since my move. Even on my trips to Alabama, we've not had much time together to just hang out. Our usual hours-long trips to Costco and Target and Marshalls and Hobby Lobby or other fun money-grabbing places have been missing, and we've both missed them big much. We had a fabulous time doing nothing but wandering around and shopping. In the afternoon, we visited our favorite neighborhood bar and proceeded to allow the bartenders (who were made privy to my age by Lacy singing Sammy Hagar) to treat us with more than is advisable to drink when you're not done shopping for the day. Let's just say it led to a return trip to Sports Authority the following morning to return a bunch o' stuff. We went to dinner at Cafe Lago, which is a tiny family-owned Italian restaurant just a few blocks away that was suggested by my aunt and uncle (them what know the city well). I got kisses from the owner-in-charge, and it snowed on us during the walk home.
All of that aside, it was a special day in and of itself just by being a Saturday in the city with my baby girl.
One wish I had for my birthday was to have the best potato pancakes ever for breakfast. On my first adult visit-for-fun trip to Chicago, a friend and I decided to find a "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives" place to eat. We came upon Glenn's Diner, known for it's seafood, but also for it's breakfast and cereal selection. (Yes, cereal - you just have to see it). I fell in love with the rich, creamy, yummy potato pancakes they serve with everything. They are almost too rich to eat. I don't think Lacy was as impressed as I with the creamy conglomeration of potatoes, scallions, and who-knows-what-else. They are certainly nothing like the potato patties I grew up on, made from leftover mashed potatoes, egg, and milk. I think it's well worth the trip up to Glenn's just to taste this humble side dish.
Since the birthday breakfast, I've been pondering on just what they do put in those pancakes. I decided I would try and come close to their recipe, which I'm sure I won't do, but I think I've come up with a pretty good idea for some fairly bitchin' pancakes of my own. I'm going to shred some Idaho potatoes, mix with some egg, chopped scallions (or green onions, since that's all they had at the Jewel-Osco), salt, pepper, and some evaporated milk, which won't be as rich as real cream. Drop a big spoonful into some oil and butter, and see what comes out. I can't see any way to go wrong with fried potatoes, especially mixed with something to stick them together. I love hashbrowns, and this is just a way to add a little flavor and filling.
Right or wrong, I'll follow up with what the result was. It's sure to be far from Glenn's, but it will be right down the alley of "Lynn's". hahahahaha!
This birthday was special for many reasons. My first in Chicago, my first as a granma, another half-decade milestone. The most special was my big birthday gift.
My gift from Lacy and Jeff was that Lacy came to Chicago alone, and we had our first real time together since my move. Even on my trips to Alabama, we've not had much time together to just hang out. Our usual hours-long trips to Costco and Target and Marshalls and Hobby Lobby or other fun money-grabbing places have been missing, and we've both missed them big much. We had a fabulous time doing nothing but wandering around and shopping. In the afternoon, we visited our favorite neighborhood bar and proceeded to allow the bartenders (who were made privy to my age by Lacy singing Sammy Hagar) to treat us with more than is advisable to drink when you're not done shopping for the day. Let's just say it led to a return trip to Sports Authority the following morning to return a bunch o' stuff. We went to dinner at Cafe Lago, which is a tiny family-owned Italian restaurant just a few blocks away that was suggested by my aunt and uncle (them what know the city well). I got kisses from the owner-in-charge, and it snowed on us during the walk home.
All of that aside, it was a special day in and of itself just by being a Saturday in the city with my baby girl.
One wish I had for my birthday was to have the best potato pancakes ever for breakfast. On my first adult visit-for-fun trip to Chicago, a friend and I decided to find a "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives" place to eat. We came upon Glenn's Diner, known for it's seafood, but also for it's breakfast and cereal selection. (Yes, cereal - you just have to see it). I fell in love with the rich, creamy, yummy potato pancakes they serve with everything. They are almost too rich to eat. I don't think Lacy was as impressed as I with the creamy conglomeration of potatoes, scallions, and who-knows-what-else. They are certainly nothing like the potato patties I grew up on, made from leftover mashed potatoes, egg, and milk. I think it's well worth the trip up to Glenn's just to taste this humble side dish.
Since the birthday breakfast, I've been pondering on just what they do put in those pancakes. I decided I would try and come close to their recipe, which I'm sure I won't do, but I think I've come up with a pretty good idea for some fairly bitchin' pancakes of my own. I'm going to shred some Idaho potatoes, mix with some egg, chopped scallions (or green onions, since that's all they had at the Jewel-Osco), salt, pepper, and some evaporated milk, which won't be as rich as real cream. Drop a big spoonful into some oil and butter, and see what comes out. I can't see any way to go wrong with fried potatoes, especially mixed with something to stick them together. I love hashbrowns, and this is just a way to add a little flavor and filling.
Right or wrong, I'll follow up with what the result was. It's sure to be far from Glenn's, but it will be right down the alley of "Lynn's". hahahahaha!
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