Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Tuesday Slice: Parsnips and naming a new blog

I cooked parsnips for the first time last night.  Doesn't seem much of a blog-worthy event, but since it was a new dish, and this is a new blog, I found a connection.

Parsnips were not on the menu during my childhood.  I'm pretty sure I wasn't aware of their existence, so it wasn't a case of missing out.  We had the standard dinner vegetable fare of green beans, corn, broccoli, potatoes, peas, carrots, and salad, with the occasional canned spinach gracing the plate.  At the holidays the relish tray appeared--radishes, baby dill and sweet pickles, green onions, black and green olives.  My mom was a great cook--she even learned to make spring rolls from scratch when we lived in Bangkok--but there was more experimenting with main dishes than sides, I think.

These days, my family's meals are planned out two months at a time, on a template I made in a Word document.  I spread out my favorite cookbooks--some I inherited from my mother, others I've been given as gifts or purchased along the way.  Several of my favorites are the spiral bound books put together by churches and choirs for fundraising purposes.  I subscribed to a couple of menu magazines for a time; the apple-parsnip mash came from a 2010 issue.  My cookbook collection spans over three shelves, two in the dining area and one in the living room.

I remember talking with my mother once about how she planned her meals.  It was a requirement for a Girl Scout badge I was working on.  I remember her saying she included a meat, a vegetable, and a starch, and that she tried to make it colorful.

I'd love to talk to my mother about parsnips, and have her taste this new dish, but I can't, and therein lies the meaning of this new blog.  My mother passed away at the age of fifty-one from ALS, a disease that swiftly took her from us eighteen months after her definitive diagnosis.  I am currently the age at which she started showing symptoms .

I am a motherless daughter, fast approaching the horizon of my mother's death-age.  Right now it seems like the straight edge of the flat world our ancestors envisioned, a fall into the unknown.  I find myself actively seeking out examples of life after fifty-one from women around me, social media, books.  There are topics I would like to explore and write about that don't quite fit into my books-reading-library-educator blog, and so I embark in a new direction in this new space.

I will be creating my own road-map,  up to and beyond Horizon 51.  Care to join me on the ride?     

6 comments:

  1. Parsnips and the meaning of life...love the connections! I love the name of your blog and I can't wait to see where your road-map takes you! :)

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    1. Thank you! It took me two solid days of musing over a title to settle on this one. I'm looking forward to what lies ahead as well!

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  2. This is a great connection. I can't imagine how you must miss her.

    We eat parsnips - they're quite good.

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    1. The missing happens as big moments approach, like birthdays and holidays, and little moments, like cooking. It will have been twenty years this June since her passing, and I'm amazed the hole is still there. And the parsnip dish? I really liked it, the rest of the family was lukewarm, ha!

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  3. Great first post and title Chris! I can relate with you about approaching the age at which your mother started showing symptoms of ALS. My father died at 44 (while we were at Patch) and I was convinced for many years that the same fate would befall myself at the same age. Irrational, I know.

    I miss him and wish that I could call him up or visit now that I'm an adult. I wish my husband knew him too - they would have gotten along well. I have the last sermon he wrote the day he died in my nightstand - it gives me a lot of comfort to know it's there. Occasionally, I take it out and read it - it's handwritten, dated, has edits, cross outs and notes.

    I think I understand you a bit better and your ritual of planning out your meals and having such a large cookbook collection when so many people go digital. :-)

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    1. I'm sorry you've had to carry that grief from such a young age, Cynthia; I can't even begin to imagine losing a parent at that time of my life--it was hard enough at 30! I love that you have his last sermon; what a gift to treasure--like my mom's recipes and cookbooks.

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