Mister Four had his birthday yesterday. It was a big day, with #4 cupcakes at lunch time, and cake and presents and friends in the evening. Mister Four got a special shirt to wear: orange, with a big green 4 on it.
About an hour after going to bed, Mister Four got up and came in to talk to me one more time.
"Mommy, I like birthday. I want to have birthday 5, and birthday 6, and birthday 7," he said, rubbing his eyes and dragging his fuzzy Elmo doll on the floor.
"Of course, baby," I said, and took him back to bed, where he was asleep before his head touched the pillow.
May we be thankful for health and strength, for sun and rain and peace. Let us seize the day and the opportunity and strive for that greatness of spirit that measures life not by its disappointments but by its possibilities, and let us ever remember that true gratitude and appreciation shows itself neither in independence nor satisfaction but passes the gift joyfully on in larger and better form. ~W.E.B. Du Bois
Please join me in prayers for Baby Madeleine and Baby Vivian.
Well, to be honest, I have just about everything anybody could want in life: a wonderful husband and two sweet boys, work I love, a comfortable home, wonderful family and friends...the only thing I've longed for is to be an Iron Chef. I think the Iron Foodie is as close as I am going to get!
2. Limitations of time/space notwithstanding, whose kitchen would you like to spend the day in & why? Julia Child, Thomas Keller, Ferran Adria, James Beard, Marie-Antoine Careme, or The Swedish Chef?
I think it would have to be Julia Child. I have a soft spot for her and great admiration for her work.
3. What morsel are you most likely to swipe from family & friends’ plates when they aren’t looking?
I remember the sound of the foghorn at night when I was a child drifting off to sleep. There were real foghorns in those days, posted at the entrance to the Bay, and they would begin to sound as soon as the fog started to roll in.
I can remember the sound of my grandfather's footsteps on the backstairs. The wooden steps with their black plastic covering would creak as he went down to his workbench to shine our shoes and have a smoke.
I can remember the steady whoosh and click of the pressure cooker in my grandmother's kitchen, and the tick and bell of the old white kitchen timer on the counter.
I can remember the sound of the seashell windchimes at the front stair.
I can remember the high pitch of the engine of my father's truck warming up on cold winter mornings.
I can remember the click of the loose ivory on the piano. The ivory pieces that had fallen off and been glued back on would click against the ivory keys next to them. The keys were made of real ivory. My grandmother was very proud of that.
What childhood memories do children have if they can't hear things like this? When Rafa watches his babies grow and learn, what will he remember most?
How did 2 weeks go by since my last post, and me with nothing to say? Well, we changed schools, had a garage sale, sprained a 3-year-old wrist, conducted a survey, painted the house, and got haircuts.
And I'm still on my diet. Yesterday I reached for a slice of french bread as I was serving dinner to the boys, and Louis said in a horrified voice, "no, mommy, don't eat it!!!". How does a 3-year-old know I'm on a diet?
A zaguán is the entryway into a house. In typical Andalusian houses, the zaguán is a smallish, dark passage inside the doorway that leads in turn to the larger, light-filled interior patio. In Seville, in the heat of summer, zaguán doors are left open so that passersby can take refuge from the sun and heat for a moment before continuing on their way.
We live in the Sunset district of San Francisco, where the fog wins out over the sun most days, and the search for refuge from the heat is a distant memory. Even so, we would like to share our home with you and our stories of growing up in Seville and growing up in San Francisco.