Can Phoebe be 30?

 

Ah, Phoebe. The milestones are coming too thick and fast for your poor old mother. I’m still trying to process the enormity that was your wedding, and here you are almost a year later turning 30, then moving to the PNW before fall. I mean, slow down a little! I can’t keep up! 

You’re playing on La Gomera at long, long last, with your sweet husband and your dear friend Carinna,

On the Not Watching Whales trip we took when we were there...

But I hear there were flocks of flying fish!

 I’m here in a frog-choking downpour on Indigo Hill, feeling lucky and graced beyond measure to be your mama. Even if it means I somehow have to bring up a blogpost to honor your birthday, like a fully-laden heron flapping home to the nest with a craw full of half-digested fish. 

It's a darn good thing I got a feeling I'd better harvest most of the garlic today. It's safely drying in the garage, waiting for you and Óscar to take some with you to your new home! Not bad for a first time garlic farmer. Next year: Even more manure, and much more water! Yes, I grew it mostly for you and Óscar, Liam and Ayla and my three fabulous cooking sisters. How much garlic does one person need? Not that much, it turns out. But giving it away, what a joy.

 Tato wants to help me write, so he just leapt onto my lap from a sitting start. And I’m sitting at my drawing table on a high drafting chair. That’s not trivial. Yes, this “tiny ball of sunshine” has grown into a rather large, long, lean, turbo-sweet Boston terrier who knows what he wants and always gets it. 23 pounds of pure genetically hand-selected GO. I thank you for the part you and Óscar have had in making him what he is today. Still very much a work in progress, but oh so much better for your firm hand. Counting on you to keep working with him whenever you come home. 

Do you know you are a glow in my heart? Nobody can light me up like you and Liam do. Nobody can make me laugh like you do. Nothing moves me like seeing you together, speaking your own language, walking out the meadow with your chairs and crossword puzzles to go have a chat with Daddy. What is sacred? Well, that. Your bond with your brother, and the way you honor both him and your dad.

You truly were born at the perfect time of year, Poobs, the time when all the flowers come out to play and all creation begins to buzz and sing. I’m going to walk through the prairie meadow so you can see what’s blooming now.

The Grandpa Ott morning glories you gave me that twined around your front porch railing in North Carolina are losing their minds with the manure I gave them. I said I wouldn't let them climb all over the garden fence, blocking sun from my garlic and tomatoes...well...I guess I underestimated their charm and how much I love them. Next year I'll let them grow only on the north side of the garden. No sun comes from that direction anyhoo. Right. 

 In my mind and heart, you are tightly interwoven with the special and ethereal beauty July brings in both the visual and auditory realms. Summer has found her voice in mid-July. She begins to sing quietly, then more confidently, until the katydid chorus swells each night. 

Do you see him? He'll be rasping tonight!

It was into such a time, and into a riot of flowers, that you decided to be born. What a wise and special infant you were, and you are my wise counsel to this day. You look like you're giving me advice, even here.

                                                 Are you sure you wanna post that, Mommy? 

 I can’t wait to see what kind of life you and Óscar make for yourselves going forward, and of course, I am excited about visiting! Olympic Peninsula, here we come! Happy birthday, my dearest little bird, as you embark on what I know will be your most exciting adventure yet. Excellence got you there, and excellence will carry you forward, and I’ll be watchin’ and creepin’ and visitin’!! Wondering if I can buy a seat for Tato on a plane. Is that done?

Gratuitous happy birthday hot off the presses Tato content now. For you and Carinna!

I tried to get a picture of him with chicory this morning, but he wouldn't smile.

I told him to smile and not eating the chicory

He just eating more.

He's a terrible dog and you have a lot of work to do when you get home. 

All too soon, it'll be Bon Voyage. Please, will somebody slow this all down? 

Happy birthday, sweet Phoebe!!! I am so very proud of you! 

One last gift from your sweet Auntie Barb, holding you here. There's Ida, loving you too. If I've seen this Polaroid (likely taken by your daddy), I don't remember it.

Hard Work, Old Memories, and Sweet Friends

Y'all, I have struggled with these wedding posts, more with each one. Here's the thing. There was SO much to do, all built around this looming deadline of The Wedding. Much of it was, at least in my mind, necessary. House renovation. Brushpile burn. Garden enclosure razed and rebuilt. Rotten deck beautifully replaced. That had to happen. But some of it, I know, is totally peripheral. Was anyone going to go poking in my cluttered basement on July 26? No. Nobody was going to go down there. But it mattered to me that all these nagging things be DONE and laid to rest before the big event. In the Thompson family, this displacement behavior was called "ironing the curtains." Whenever they went on a family vacation, Elsa would pack the kids and all their stuff, and then, before everyone got in the car, she'd iron the curtains. She couldn't be stopped. Had to do it. No judgement from here. 

Late June and July were the months when we buckled down and finished things. Phoebe and Óscar's wedding was to take place on the 26th, and that was a real cattle prod for me. I always figured I’d get around to re-purging the basement in the winter of 2024, but it didn’t happen. It was a thorn in my side, knowing that it needed to be cleared and straightened yet again—2021 was a long time ago! Finally, in the third week of June, I headed down there and gave it the week or so it needed to be tidy and navigable again. 

With each basement purge I am forced to face my obsession with cardboard, and boxes. Oh, and jars. 

Anything that could be useful gets saved, to excess. Hangover from my old freelance days when I was forever sending original watercolors through the mail. Sturdy cardboard--I still save it as if I were still doing that, instead of sending electrons through the ether.

Phoebe helped, clearing out our music room in the basement. Here is where she and Liam had deposited things nobody needs any more, like extra-long twin bedding sets from their dorm rooms. Hello, Goodwill! She went through her dad’s recording stuff and tidied it as much as she could, consolidating cords and equipment. We laughed at our shared memories of when Bill would be recording podcasts, and we were under strict instructions not to walk, move, talk, run water, flush, or, let's face it, breathe in the house, lest we make a wayward sound and evoke a furious pounding on the wall or, worse, a heavy stomp up the stairs. This could go on for quite some time...

For these and other memories, and a heavy dose of superstition, neither of us can bear to tear down his podcast recording place. His laptop sits in place, full of inestimable stuff, waiting for what? We don’t know, but it’s somehow sacred. What do you do with your husband's now-ancient laptop? Or, for that matter, with your own? It’s stunning how all that stuff that was so important just fades into irrelevancy when you have to leave the earthly realm. It was his stuff, and now it's no one's. I like to think that, by raising, feeding, caring for and finally fledging the kids and helping carry BWD Magazine into the future, I've checked the biggest boxes on his list. 

And here's the other hard thing about writing about this. There is so much to attend to, just to pull off the various events. I honestly think Phoebs and I are still tired from it all. And writing about it is throwing a lasso around that herd of THINGS that must be done. And it makes me tired just writing about it. I don't even know if it's good reading. I just have to record it all, to honor the effort that went into it.

All summer long, Phoebe worked to string together the cadre of vendors who would help us pull off this looming event. No, these events. Some vendors were elusive; some were responsive. Each was a fresh challenge to engage and work with. She logged hours on her laptop, researching and emailing, crossing T's and dotting i's. 

Particularly sharp readers will note there is a bird on the kitchen chair. His name is Chak and he is a northern mockingbird we raised, this fine and abundant and exhausting summer, from a cat-punctured pissed off ball of feathers to a beautiful free spirit who ruled the yard. I will tell his story elsewhere, but for now, just know that Chakky-boy got us through the summer. Heavy lifting for a mockingbird, but he was fully up to the job. Long live our sweet baby Chak, wherever he's flown off to!  Love you forever.

We knew the reception needed to be under a roof. We didn’t fancy trying to feed 140 people in a tent in our yard without electricity right by. We figured that, for the ceremony, all we needed was an hour without rain. But for a reception, we really, really needed to get everyone into a building where we could sit them down at proper tables to dine in comfort. So we engaged a nearby venue for the reception. That was a good move. It was air-conditioned, and had bathrooms, and July was proving to be hot as Hades. For two, it was a very cool place, and close by! More on that choice later.

 Doing this neatly solved the problem of where to put the many dozens of cars that 140 people would use to get here. Bill and I had been married in his family's church in Marietta, and we hosted the reception for 163 at our house, on September 11, 1993. And I remember there being a bunch of tables and folding chairs in the yard, a couple porta-potties too, and an absolute stringer of cars all along our (dirt) township road and driveway and piling up in the area around our garden. We also parked a bunch of them at the end of our long meadow. I remember assigning younger friends to give parking directions to everyone, and people having to walk our quarter-mile gravel driveway in dress shoes. The younger crowd came walking up the long meadow from the small parking area at the end, and that was a beautiful sight. Bill always said his favorite moment was seeing our friends walking up that meadow to the house. But that kind of walking is a lot to ask of older folks. 

I also have a vivid memory of our caterer running clean out of food before Bill and I got to the line. (You couldn't set aside a couple plates?) I remember stomping inside the house to fix peanut butter toast for us both, for our own wedding feast. Here, honey, have some fuel for the biggest day of your life. Best I can come up with under the circumstances.

 I did not want a repeat of ANY of that, nor did I want my carefully curated yard to become a parking lot for this event. On a preliminary visit to the reception site, Shila had an inspiration. We’d park all the cars at the reception site and shuttle them over here for the ceremony.  Then, when the ceremony was done, we’d shuttle them back, they’d enjoy the reception and dinner, and then be able to walk right out to their cars and head to their lodgings. Brilliant. Shila's like that.

All of this, of course, was easier said than done. Although the venue had a people mover bus, in the end, we had to hire another driver and van to get everyone back and forth in a timely fashion. But our yard was car-free for the wedding, and we got the people from A to B, and it was all pretty smooth, because we'd really thought it out.  

 Phoebe had known enough to hire a wedding planner for this event, and I’m really glad she did. Syrie Roman helped keep us on track and attending to the million details as needed. She made us a timeline and told us what to do, and when. It was a lot. There was so much pre-arranging to be done! Syrie was always cheery, always decisive, and she made recommendations, then gently let us figure out what might be the right thing to do. She also told us when something was way out of line. Never having done this, we had only a hazy idea what was a reasonable charge and what wasn’t. Or who was supposed to supply what, and how much that should cost. It all seemed outrageous to us. 

                  Syrie and Phoebe walk through the ceremony on the Wedding Grounds, July 15. Chak flew out to oversee the proceedings.

 Here's another thing. It wasn’t just the wedding. We pulled off four events in four days. 

First was a birthday dinner for me, for 12, on my new deck, on July 24.

Second, on July 25, was a party for 40 long-lost and long-traveling friends, coming from places as far away as California, North Dakota, Madrid, and the Canary Islands. 

At first we thought we’d do that party here at the house, and we went as far as talking to a caterer and building a menu, but as the pressure built, we realized that doing it here would have been pure madness, with the ceremony also happening here the next afternoon. No, no, no! 

I had attended a lovely catered party at the Barker House in Devola (a suburb of Marietta) earlier in the year, and as I cased the place, I knew it would be the perfect venue for around 40 come-from-away friends. So right then and there I talked to the owner and engaged the venue for our pre-wedding party.

It worked out incredibly well. In fact, that evening is one of my favorite memories from that time.

Oscar and his lovely mama, Vicky, on her first trip to the U.S.

Óscar and his old friend Féderico from Argentina.

We told you they were faraway friends!

Seeing Phoebe reconnect with her dear college classmates was such a joy. Her sweet face was just split in a grin all evening long.

Aaron, Óscar, Phoebe, Nate and Sam

Carinna and Phoebe with Carinna's soon to be husband Carlos. Two Americanas who met their mates while on Fulbright fellowships to Spain! Naturally, they have a very special, sweet bond.

In August, Phoebe and Óscar would travel to Barcelona to attend Carinna and Carlos' wedding!

Quite the jet-set! 

One of my favorite moments at our Faraway Friends party was when Phoebe and Óscar's dear friends Fran and Aaron came rolling up with their baby boy, Santiago, whom Phoebe and Óscar had yet to meet!!

And then came Paul and Ingrid, too!! These were all mythical figures for me. I'd heard so much about them, but hadn't gotten a chance yet to met them! They more than lived up to their advance billing.

Santi was SO sweet, and a huge hit! You can see Phoebe is dying to get her hands on him.

Our dear, dear friend Yo, who we hadn't seen in way too many years.

He called me a couple of days before the wedding, asking if he could wear shorts to it. 
I told him NO.

It was such fun to see Yo meeting Ayla, and seeing Liam all grown up!

A blurry sweet shot of Phoebe and Tim!!

John, Kris, Lisa, me, Yo, and Ann! What a combo!!

It was such a beautiful rainy evening, and the place was just perfect for our get-together. 

Phoebe and Zach, such a dear friend from Bowdoin days. Oh, these photos do my heart good! The joy! the joy!!

 We knew we’d regret not having time to really talk to and connect with these folks, so having a catered party for them in town the night before was a master stroke, and, as tired and stressed as we were by then, we had an absolute blast there. (With apologies to dear friends who were there but somehow didn't make it to my camera roll. I tried, but it was pretty hectic!) 

 All the hugs and laughter with our friends that  evening just melted the stress away. It came roaring back, of course, but Friday July 25 was a charmed evening. We would use that abundant love to get us through the next couple of days. 

Oscar’s Top Three Olive Oils

Olive oil is a Very Big Deal for Oscar Bello Goya.  He cooks with it, pours it over his food, and spends a good amount of time thinking about it, selecting it, and enjoying it every single day. 

When we ask him what he wants for his birthday or Christmas, it's always olive oil. Imagine. (Says the woman with the Filippo Berlio cooking oil in the clear plastic bottle, and a small bottle of Trader Joe's Extra Virgin for salads.) I mean, I know enough to know you cook with cooking grade oil and make salad dressing with EVOO. I know when I'm dredging my crusty bread in something bright grass green and incredibly nice at a good restaurant. I swoon. But I don't generally treat myself to that kind of thing. I just didn't grow up appreciating olive oil. I probably never even tasted it until I was in my mid-twenties!

You all were so generous when I asked for some contributions toward olive oil for Oscar's 30th birthday. We were humbled. I put his birthday post up in the evening and when I got up the next morning I gasped and immediately removed the donation solicitation from the post. I mean, enough! So generous. So enthusiastic. And we are so grateful! Oscar gets his olive oil at oliveoillovers, the best source he's found for exquisite oils from around the world. 

I made a couple of videos when I was last in Indiana, of Oscar cooking his amazing Spanish tortilla (a big wheel of eggy deliciousness with fried potatoes in the center and a dash of curry and a ton of olive oil poured over top). It's soooo good. Oscar got a certification in kitchen operations at IES San Sebastian de La Gomera, on his home island in the Canary chain.

 I have had the great pleasure of Oscar and Phoebe's company over their spring break. Last night I made a little video of Oscar administering a very fine olive oil which was a gift from Liam. It's a varietal called Hojiblanca (white leaf) and it's from a company named A Twist on Olives in Westerville, Ohio. This stuff is as smooth as it gets, without the throat-burning bitterness of some great olive oils that sort of baffles me. The thing is, olive oil is meant to be drizzled over foods that will cut that burn and turn it into a peppery asset. You aren't really supposed to guzzle it straight.

Hojiblanca EVOO gets Oscar's vote, and mine, too. This was our Thanksgiving in March meal. I roasted a turkey breast and did my best to make good gravy from it; Oscar made mashed potatoes, and I made some pretty fab lima bean and carrot succotash. YUM. It was a proper feast, but every night they've been home has seen a feast. Gravy is an unknown thing in the Canary Islands, but Oscar has taken to it like a duck to water. Every meal I make with gravy he tells me is his favorite American food. :) I have to look aside when he pours olive oil on top of my American gravy. 

 

My kids seem never to be happier than when they're tucking into a feast here at home. When I was a teen and college student, highly peripatetic and apt to be out biking and birding when 6 pm rolled around, I couldn't understand why everything in my parents' house had to revolve around meals. Now, as the meal provider, I get it, totally and completely. Meals were when we got together. That was when we talked and caught up together. Nobody but my busy mom stood and ate over the sink in my house, growing up, the way I often do now. And when my kids are here, we plan around meals. 

Look at that smile. He can't wait to tuck in!

Now for a few tips on selecting olive oil. Oscar doesn't just taste it, but he looks carefully at it, as well. He likes a strong, clear color, which can vary from pale straw yellow to emerald green. He checka to see that it's fresh and recently pressed (you can't age olive oil the way you can let wine age; fresher is better). Olives are harvested in October, November and December.

You should be able to see on the label where the oil is from. Oscar prefers Spanish oils. 

Oscar likes to see cloudy stuff in the bottom of the bottle; he says that's the sign of a good olive oil. 

Olive oil is usually sold in opaque, dark green bottles, and that's because light destroys its unique properties. Oscar keeps his oil in a closed cabinet. For that reason, olive oil sold in clear plastic or glass bottles is likely to be less than top grade. 

There are cooking oils, and oils that are not meant to be subjected to heat. I do buy Bertolli and Filippo Berlio oil for cooking, and that often comes in a clear bottle. Extra virgin (EVOO), sold in opaque bottles, is not used for cooking but for dipping and garnishing, and for salad dressing. 

In this video, Oscar introduces his top three oils, and talks a bit about why he likes them. I thought you would enjoy hearing from him in his own kitchen. Please accept our sincere thanks for making his 30th birthday so very special. I trust you can tell how happy a good olive oil can make him. With your generosity, he'll be sitting pretty for quite awhile! 

               

Liam is 25!

 My dear boy, 

  I never realized how having a birthday that falls on or around Election Day would factor into your life; all I remember was a rush of passion one February afternoon in 1999, and it gets blurry after that. Thus did biology deliver into my arms a nearly spherical baby boy who grew into a lanky wonder.

I miss you. But I always enjoy throwing together these birthday blogposts that celebrate you and the increasingly rare times we get to be together.  I'm so, so happy you're on your own path in Columbus, and that you've found a place where you're appreciated for the wonder you are, and can share a space with like-minded creatives and kind people. 

It's always such fun to see you in situ at Trader Joe's. Your coworker's heads all swivel, they smile knowingly as Mama Zick enters the store, tracking her boy.

You show me a beer made with (Trader Joe's oreo knockoff) JoJo's. Wut? And one called Mad Elf, a spicy Christmas brew that has 11% alcohol content, but "tastes like stinkbugs."

We start laughing and we don't stop.  I think one of my favorite things is to take you and Ayla out for a nice meal. 

All the better if Oscar and Phoebe are along, too! Addis Ethiopian Restaurant, North Columbus.

I love to go windowshopping with you, too. We mostly love to look at things we can't afford. 

Remember the 300 pound coffee table at Crate and Barrel?

This is how we know we're living in a gilded age. First, who could afford a 300 pound STONE coffee table? How much does it cost to ship? How many people does it take to carry it into your living room? Better decide where you want them to put it... FOREVER... because you're not gonna lift that thing EVER again. Much less dust under it. Or move it to wash the Ruggable. Sheesh. The impracticality of it all is overwhelming.

I love the little glimpses into your life that your too-sparse postings on Instagram afford me.  That's a really good whateverosaurus impersonation you're doing there, son! Look out! It's right BE-
HIIIND YOU!

LOOKIT THAT BOY!! That looks like a shirt your dad might have picked out, or worn. 

I'm just so thrilled you're having fun and exploring your new surroundings all the time. That you get to be around people your age (impossible back home; everyone has fled this town!) 

But no matter how far you roam, remember I am the little puff of ...wind...beneath your wings!

(they're set a bit low, I think).

I sure love seeing you in your new life with Ayla. What mother wouldn't be over the moon to see a photo like this one from June? Ah, you lucky kids. And you there, wearing my Dear Old Dad's pale blue eyes. He'd get such a kick out of you. He'd try to figure you out by interviewing you, then teasing you. Good luck, DOD.

You're getting Shaggier and Shaggier, and I love it! If you've got thick golden hair, rock it, son!!

I think I love this jazz club photo of you two best. I'm just happy that you live in a place that even HAS jazz clubs. I always knew, from the time you were a little boy and you got so excited when you smelled  

the "sweet French Fry air of town" 

that you'd find your place in a city. 

I can't wait to see you two for Thanksgiving. Your family awaits!

Happy birthday, darling Liam. I love you six hundred six sixty six!

Oh! and Someone has been waiting to say Happy Birfday to you!

                                                              It's Curtis. He's so patient. 

                                                                           OK go, Curtis. 

HADDY HADDY BIRFDAY WIAM!!

Wook! He miling!!