L is for Lamb

Dispatch from Switzerland.  One week til Easter. Both here and across the border in France, every street intercsection and most every shop window is decorated with painted wood, paper mâché or plastic bunnies, chicks, eggs and lambs. Boulangerie windows are filled with chocolate rabbits wrapped in cellophane and pastel colors dominate the boutiques. But as one window features an image of a fleecy lamb, the charcuterie next door is promoting their deal on leg of lamb. With the hoof still attached.

Jesus was the lamb of god, the sacrifical lamb; I know this because one of the metal bands my sons used to like is called Lamb of God.  They were the opener for Metallica the time I escorted three middle school metal heads to the mosh pit, to set up our post-show rendezvous spot. I wasn't taken to Sunday school as a kid, so I've had to pick things up later, like while folding my sons' laundry pile of black metal band shirts. 

How do we leap from frolicking fuzzy cuteness to Easter dinner? Eggs represent rebirth, the bunny fertility and the leg of lamb - the sacrifice on special at the charcuterie -the edible essence of spring? 

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J is for Jura

I’m going to know a lot more about the Jura Mountains after I’ve been in Switzerland for a few days, but what I know now is this: The Jura Mountains border western Canton Vaud.  Canton means ‘district’ and a canton is a member state of the Federal States of Switzerland. The capitol of Vaud is Lausanne. The French pronunciation of Vaud is ‘vo’. I don’t speak French. Lausanne is a major producer of white wine.  This is a plus.

My son visited my sister’s family in Switzerland last summer and he gave me a list of a few not to miss items:

Visit the H.R. Giger Bar and Museum.  He didn’t go and really regrets it.  This is at the very top of my list, not because it is so metal and beyond cool, but it’s in the town of Gruyeres, and that means cheese, n’est pas?

He's requested that I bring back these cool French white-out pens.  I know this is a bad idea, because he not going to be using them for appropriate purposes, but I am curious why America can’t even dominate the white-out pen niche. 

There’s this Parmesan cheese with crunchy crystally bits they sell at the farmer’s market …  Ok, now we’re talking.  This is my child after all. Cheeeeeese.

The Jura Mountains will be there too, but will take a back seat to tagging pens, Alien bar and the beloved cheese.  For the record though:

The name "Jura" is derived from juria, a Latinized form of a Celtic stem jor- "forest". The mountain range gives its name to the Jurassic period of the geologic timescale.

Is that really a copper cauldron of melted gruyere?
this could be a problem

Mary Allison Tierney's essay The Gingerdreadman is included in the anthology Mamas Write, available at Amazon, or your local independent bookshop. 

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I is for International Flight

In twenty-four hours I will be embarking on a much-anticipated flight to Geneva to visit my sister and her family.  As international family travel goes, this should be a cakewalk.

One of several reasons we're flying to Geneva.
Who wouldn't fly 12 hours to hang out with her? 

Ok, I just realized I don’t know what that term really means.  What is a ‘cakewalk’?

So I distracted myself with the google and learn thus:

the cake walk was originally a plantation dance, just a happy movement they did to the banjo music because they couldn't stand still. It was generally on Sundays, when there was little work, that the slaves both young and old would dress up in hand-me-down finery to do a high-kicking, prancing walk-around. They did a take-off on the manners of the white folks in the "big house", but their masters, who gathered around to watch the fun, missed the point. It's supposed to be that the custom of a prize started with the master giving a cake to the couple that did the proudest movement.

Huh.  This flight should be a piece of cake.  This flight should take the cake.  Same reference.  Interesting. 

I am flying with a very reasonable 13-year-old girl, not multiple toddlers or teens, and she’s good company to boot. (Another etymological search: Old English ‘to bote’ something added to/ moreover)  She can carry her own self packed bag, has downloaded a library’s worth of Game of Thrones on her kindle and I have four unread New Yorkers and three seasons of Walking Dead on my iPad.  I no longer need to travel with a diaper bag. More’s the pity. We might wish I did.

Mary Allison Tierney's essay The Gingerdreadman is included in the anthology Mamas Write, available at Amazon, or your local independent bookshop. 

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H is for Helpers

Every child should have at least two mothers. The second mother can be a neighbor, aunt, gramma, friend, spouse or well trained labradoodle. Having an extra set of eyes or hands is crucial to parental sanity.  One thing you can't have enough of is help.

 

Even Lady Granthum agrees, "Parenting is hard enough, even when you like the child."

cousins in Seattle
pic by Auntie Kirsten

When there's an age gap between siblings or cousins, it's like home-bred childcare.  Older siblings and cousins can be vital second mothers, filling in on playground and carpool duty or handing you a clean diaper, depending on the age.  Even if they complain, they enjoy the responsibility.  

My eldest has stepped in to help my sister with her kids while simultaneously she is helping me with him.  My cousin's daughter has done the same. When I was little I often stayed with my aunt's family in Texas for the summer. I was mothered by her and my five older cousins. When my parents divorced one of those older cousins came to stay with us for a few weeks to help my mom with the move, and she learned to drive a stick shift out of necessity. And I learned what skinny dipping was.  Win-win.

cousins in Switzerland
pic by Auntie Kirsten

Lady Grantham:  "One forgets about parenthood. The on-and-on-ness of it."

Isobel Crawley:  "Were you a very involved mother?.....I'd imagined them surrounded by nannies and governesses, being starched and ironed to spend an hour with you after tea."

Lady Grantham:  "Yes, but it was an hour every day."

Mary Allison Tierney's essay The Gingerdreadman is included in the anthology Mamas Write, available at Amazon, or your local independent bookshop. 

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G is for Gift

Today's Blog can be found on the Write On Mamas site. It's all about generosity, organic artichokes, Lyle Lovett and my foodie neighbor with a cool foodie blog.

Swanton Berry Farm Artichokes

Mary Allison Tierney's essay The Gingerdreadman is included in the anthology Mamas Write, available at Amazon, or your local independent bookshop.

 

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F is for Felt

I am guilty of being a willing participant in the upcycling repurposing trend.  Don’t judge me; It’s not like I’m pickling asparagus and trying to get you to buy them. 

I transform sweaters into blankets, among other things.  This weekend the sweaters I found at goodwill and a thrift store were felted, cut, sewn and repurposed into two soft iPad mini envelope covers for my son and I.  They’re awesome. 

I have made a couple full sized blankets and I’m working on another.  My son is certain I could crank out enough iPad mini covers to pay off the mortgage with my hefty etsy earnings.  

(note to self: keep receipts, craft a budget, look into what it takes to start an etsy business, calculate the shipping on a blanket, oooo sketch out budget ledger cover idea…)

I made the sweater blanket that's on my bed – there was no plan or pattern, I just kept experimenting and then added a border.  

The beauty of repurposed sweaters is they are so soft and warm, the palate is whatever you’ve found over the months of scouring the second hand stores, and each one is totally unique.  Plus they have a history, which is nice.

Mary Allison Tierney's essay The Gingerdreadman is included in the anthology Mamas Write, available at Amazon, or your local independent bookshop.

ok, this one was a quilt pattern. sue me.

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