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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A is for Appetite

 A is for Appetite

My oldest son was hungry from the moment he emerged from my body. He weaned himself from the breast when he was first able to hold a spoon and navigate it to his mouth. I was wistful but relieved as he preferred to nurse around the clock. He was a typical red headed firecracker and I was exhausted.

 His brother entered the world and immediately took a nap. He was mildly interested in eating, but his first priority was to watch his brother pinball round the room. He sustained life for years on goldfish crackers.

This patterned continued, with the older inhaling his meals and the younger making a marathon out of a single slice of pizza. When my daughter graced us with her presence, she ate like a normal human, favoring fruit, but with little fuss. As they grew, stocking the fridge and pantry has always been a considered thoughtful endeavor. Price, value, quantities and quality all factor in. Costco bulk for the cheap price. Farmers market for quality. Trader Joes for price, quirkiness and convenient, as it’s nearby.

All this escalated enormously when both my boys were in high school. Giant drums of cream cheese, four gallons of milk. Two dozen bagels. Costco became my weekly market. My kids work at the farmer’s market on Sundays, so I was glad to have vendors load us up with freebies on occasion.

 But when my eldest left for college and the dust settled, I found myself throwing out food. Milk would linger, crowding the fridge. Hummus went bad. I stopped shopping at Costco altogether and let my membership expire. Turns out it was just him eating almost everything, his younger brother just a grazer, and his eleven year old sister eats like an eleven year old girl.

I no longer knew how to grocery shop for my family. It felt odd to only buy a half dozen bagels and a normal brick of cream cheese, a half gallon of milk. With my eldest living out of the house, a muffin can sit on the counter for an hour or two, untouched. My daughter almost never has to leave a ‘Do Not Eat’ note on her plate when she leaves the room for a moment.

 She still needs to hide chips from her other brother, that will never change.


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