Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Friday, September 03, 2010
Sunday, July 19, 2009
the apartment, part 2
Continuing the tour from "the apartment, part 1"...
Near the art corner, there's an open doorway into another "hall." The view from there is of Justin's desk area
Here's a closer view of Justin's desk area. Since he's been gone, I've taken over this desk, since it provides a good view of the living room where Juma usually plays, is much closer to Juma's room, and is much, much closer to the fridge.
Looking back from Justin's desk toward the entry/hallway, you see this area. I've had grand plans of making it a "reading corner," but without a nice comfy chair to put where that uncomfortable wooden chair is, it hasn't happened.
Directly off this hallway are the bedrooms. The master bedroom:
Juma's bedroom:
Off the other side of the hallway, opposite the bedrooms, is the living room:
The living room blends into the dining room:
And off of the dining area is, naturally, the kitchen. Strangely, it's in two parts:
And finally, as if the builders remembered only at the end, there's the bathroom, hiding behind the dining area, oddly enough.
Near the art corner, there's an open doorway into another "hall." The view from there is of Justin's desk area
Here's a closer view of Justin's desk area. Since he's been gone, I've taken over this desk, since it provides a good view of the living room where Juma usually plays, is much closer to Juma's room, and is much, much closer to the fridge.
Looking back from Justin's desk toward the entry/hallway, you see this area. I've had grand plans of making it a "reading corner," but without a nice comfy chair to put where that uncomfortable wooden chair is, it hasn't happened.
Directly off this hallway are the bedrooms. The master bedroom:
Juma's bedroom:
Off the other side of the hallway, opposite the bedrooms, is the living room:
The living room blends into the dining room:
And off of the dining area is, naturally, the kitchen. Strangely, it's in two parts:
And finally, as if the builders remembered only at the end, there's the bathroom, hiding behind the dining area, oddly enough.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
the apartment, part 1
Now that my mom came to town (woohoo!) I finally cleaned the whole house all at once. Quite a task. Before a whirlwind hits again, I snapped some pictures so you can finally see the place...six months after we moved in.
It's an extremely strange layout, and there are some big spaces that are kind of giant hallways, rather than actual rooms, but we've used them as rooms, and haven't figured out what to call them. So they're more like "this corner" and "that area." Well, here goes. I'll start where you walk into the house and move from there.
You walk up a steep, narrow, 18-step staircase to be greeted by...shoes. How exciting.
Then as you turn around to face the room instead of the wall, you see one of the "halls" that doesn't really have a name.
If you walk to the other side of the "hall," you find our art corner, part 1 and part 2.
Standing in between the art corners, and facing back toward the entryway, you see this:
In the middle of this hall is a great sky light, which brings in a lot of natural light and nourishes this great plant we inherited from the previous residents. If you are still standing in the spot the above picture shows, right behind you is a gigantic closet with two parts. One we use as a utility/miscellaneous closet
and one as a clothes closet.
Also in that area we've designated a "sports shelf," to keep our climbing, baseball, basketball, and biking equipment handy.
Of near the shoes, there's a room that in the past has been used as both a bedroom and an office. Currently, it's a multi-purpose room, holding my desk (this is where I labored to finish my thesis):
the "maker corner," where we keep every odd bit of junk to take apart and rebuild into new things:
and the computer our employers keep for job purposes, but that we rarely use (not that we don't work--we do, just use our computer instead):
More in another post...
It's an extremely strange layout, and there are some big spaces that are kind of giant hallways, rather than actual rooms, but we've used them as rooms, and haven't figured out what to call them. So they're more like "this corner" and "that area." Well, here goes. I'll start where you walk into the house and move from there.
You walk up a steep, narrow, 18-step staircase to be greeted by...shoes. How exciting.
Then as you turn around to face the room instead of the wall, you see one of the "halls" that doesn't really have a name.
If you walk to the other side of the "hall," you find our art corner, part 1 and part 2.
Standing in between the art corners, and facing back toward the entryway, you see this:
In the middle of this hall is a great sky light, which brings in a lot of natural light and nourishes this great plant we inherited from the previous residents. If you are still standing in the spot the above picture shows, right behind you is a gigantic closet with two parts. One we use as a utility/miscellaneous closet
and one as a clothes closet.
Also in that area we've designated a "sports shelf," to keep our climbing, baseball, basketball, and biking equipment handy.
Of near the shoes, there's a room that in the past has been used as both a bedroom and an office. Currently, it's a multi-purpose room, holding my desk (this is where I labored to finish my thesis):
the "maker corner," where we keep every odd bit of junk to take apart and rebuild into new things:
and the computer our employers keep for job purposes, but that we rarely use (not that we don't work--we do, just use our computer instead):
More in another post...
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Friday, April 04, 2008
grandpa
My paternal grandpa passed away yesterday. He was 91 (?). He'd been sick for some time, and I took the chance to see him last November, assuming it would be the last time I would get to see see him. It was.
I am flying in to attend the funeral on Monday.
I spent many Sunday afternoons of my childhood at grandma and grandpa's house in Provo, playing in their backyard and all over their house. I sometimes "helped" Grandpa out in the garage, where he had a work room, building furniture from wood. He was very into photography, in addition to carpentry, and he took many pictures of his whole family--his wife, five sons, their wives, and 36 grandkids. I lost track of how many great-grandkids long ago.
I am flying in to attend the funeral on Monday.
I spent many Sunday afternoons of my childhood at grandma and grandpa's house in Provo, playing in their backyard and all over their house. I sometimes "helped" Grandpa out in the garage, where he had a work room, building furniture from wood. He was very into photography, in addition to carpentry, and he took many pictures of his whole family--his wife, five sons, their wives, and 36 grandkids. I lost track of how many great-grandkids long ago.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Christmas meme
Ashli tagged me to answer a Christmas survey (at least, I think I was the Sarah she tagged. There are a lot of Sarahs.)
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Wrapping paper for kids; it's just too much fun to open to deny them that pleasure. Bags if I'm in a hurry or feeling lazy!
2. Real tree or artificial? This year, we're at Justin's parents, and they have artificial. Last year, we were at our own place, and got a real one even though it was against apartment rules. ;)
3. When do you put up the tree? I like to put it up the day after Thanksgiving, but Justin prefers later, so usually sometime before mid-December.
4. When take down. Growing up, we'd always try to convince our parents to leave it up all year, and just do different decorations. It never worked. So usually about the time it's getting really dry and I can get Justin to help drag it to the curb.
5. Do you like eggnog? Yes, but it's too thick, so I always cut it with something.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? Ones I remember are my pink racing bike, pink mountain bike, and the matching bedspreads Jody and I got.
7. Do you have a nativity scene? A few, but I only put up the one with sentimental value. It was hand painted by Justin's parents when they were newlyweds and given to Justin's maternal grandma. She gave it to Justin, as the oldest grandchild, the year before she passed away.
8. Hardest person to buy for? Justin
9. Easiest person to buy for? Juma--last year it was anything Cars or Toy Story. This year, it's anything Star Wars or Transformers.
10. Worst Christmas gift ever received? Nothing I ever hated
11. Mail or Email Christmas card? Mail, but this is the first year ever we've done cards.
12. Fav Christmas movie? A Christmas Story
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? After Black Friday
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? I don't think so.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Vicki's toffee, hot chocolate, sugar cookies...
16. Clear lights or colored on the tree? I prefer clear, but we have colored at home
17. Favorite Christmas song? I really don't like Christmas music
18. Travel for Christmas or stay home? We usually travel. This year, at Justin's parents'.
19. Can you name Santa's reindeer? Juma asks me to sing Rudolph about once a week all year long, so yes.
20. Do you have an Angel on top or star? Star.
21. Open presents Christmas Eve, or Christmas morning? One on Christmas Eve, the rest on Christmas morning. The Wilson family tradition was to remind Mom and Dad that we get to open one on Christmas Eve. They would then deny we ever had such a tradition, and we'd say it's also the tradition to deny we have the tradition. And on and on the friendly arguing would go until we got to open one present each.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Christmas music
I'm tagging Malia, Laura Ellis, Jody, Tricia, and Laura Frisby.
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Wrapping paper for kids; it's just too much fun to open to deny them that pleasure. Bags if I'm in a hurry or feeling lazy!
2. Real tree or artificial? This year, we're at Justin's parents, and they have artificial. Last year, we were at our own place, and got a real one even though it was against apartment rules. ;)
3. When do you put up the tree? I like to put it up the day after Thanksgiving, but Justin prefers later, so usually sometime before mid-December.
4. When take down. Growing up, we'd always try to convince our parents to leave it up all year, and just do different decorations. It never worked. So usually about the time it's getting really dry and I can get Justin to help drag it to the curb.
5. Do you like eggnog? Yes, but it's too thick, so I always cut it with something.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? Ones I remember are my pink racing bike, pink mountain bike, and the matching bedspreads Jody and I got.
7. Do you have a nativity scene? A few, but I only put up the one with sentimental value. It was hand painted by Justin's parents when they were newlyweds and given to Justin's maternal grandma. She gave it to Justin, as the oldest grandchild, the year before she passed away.
8. Hardest person to buy for? Justin
9. Easiest person to buy for? Juma--last year it was anything Cars or Toy Story. This year, it's anything Star Wars or Transformers.
10. Worst Christmas gift ever received? Nothing I ever hated
11. Mail or Email Christmas card? Mail, but this is the first year ever we've done cards.
12. Fav Christmas movie? A Christmas Story
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? After Black Friday
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? I don't think so.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Vicki's toffee, hot chocolate, sugar cookies...
16. Clear lights or colored on the tree? I prefer clear, but we have colored at home
17. Favorite Christmas song? I really don't like Christmas music
18. Travel for Christmas or stay home? We usually travel. This year, at Justin's parents'.
19. Can you name Santa's reindeer? Juma asks me to sing Rudolph about once a week all year long, so yes.
20. Do you have an Angel on top or star? Star.
21. Open presents Christmas Eve, or Christmas morning? One on Christmas Eve, the rest on Christmas morning. The Wilson family tradition was to remind Mom and Dad that we get to open one on Christmas Eve. They would then deny we ever had such a tradition, and we'd say it's also the tradition to deny we have the tradition. And on and on the friendly arguing would go until we got to open one present each.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Christmas music
I'm tagging Malia, Laura Ellis, Jody, Tricia, and Laura Frisby.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
california
We drove back from Utah to California yesterday. Some people think we're crazy for making the drive with a kid, but, frankly, he loves it. Why?
"I get to watch movies all day long."
Yep, we got him a mini-DVD player. This from parents who got The Alphabet Game when we drove all day long as kids.
So when Juma complains that the screen on the DVD player is at a bad angle, or the previews won't get over fast enough, or he can't get his right earphone to sit just so on his ear, and tell him, "Well, Juma, I'm really not going to listen to you complain about stuff like that, because you know what? When I was a kid, and we drove in the car with all my siblings, between Washington and Utah, do you know what I got to pass the time? A cup to throw up in. So quit your whining or I'll turn off the movie and we can play Name That Smell or Count the Sagebrush. You don't know how good you've got it, boy!"
I might as well be telling him about how I walked to school uphill, both ways, through the snow even in May, without shoes. I am officially a parent.
"I get to watch movies all day long."
Yep, we got him a mini-DVD player. This from parents who got The Alphabet Game when we drove all day long as kids.
So when Juma complains that the screen on the DVD player is at a bad angle, or the previews won't get over fast enough, or he can't get his right earphone to sit just so on his ear, and tell him, "Well, Juma, I'm really not going to listen to you complain about stuff like that, because you know what? When I was a kid, and we drove in the car with all my siblings, between Washington and Utah, do you know what I got to pass the time? A cup to throw up in. So quit your whining or I'll turn off the movie and we can play Name That Smell or Count the Sagebrush. You don't know how good you've got it, boy!"
I might as well be telling him about how I walked to school uphill, both ways, through the snow even in May, without shoes. I am officially a parent.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
my uncle
On Sunday, my Uncle Preston passed away, peacefully, in his sleep. I am heading to Utah on Thursday for a quick trip in order to attend the graveside. I, like this woman on NPR's This I Believe, believe in always going to the funeral. To be with family, to mourn and remember, together.
My first memory of Preston is from when I was nine. We were in Texas, visiting Grandma, and I was sitting in the den. Probably watching TV, like I did most of that visit, to avoid the heat. Preston walked in from the carport door, and greeted us familiarly. I, however, had no idea who he was and why he's just walked into the house without so much as a knock on the door. He had a thick Texan accent, and a couple missing teeth (from getting in fights, he explained).
"Do ya'll know who I am?" he asked. I shook my head no.
"I'm yer Uncle Preston, yer mama's brother," he said.
That summer, he took us to one of the many ponds on the property, and showed up his fish traps. I remember him telling a story about using a baseball cap as bait--and that darn fish ate it, too. He showed us where the blackberry bushes were, which we picked bare. He showed my brothers how to use his old pellet gun, using old cans as targets, and my brothers taught me. That's when I killed my first rodent, with that gun, and I felt guilty about it for years. Not the natural hunter, me.
My last memory of him is from this summer, in June. I attended a cousin's wedding reception, and he was there. I walked across the lawn toward him and Grandma, and Aunt April and Uncle Kirk. Preston was in his wheelchair, his form of transportation for years now. Everyone was surprised to see me, didn't know I was in town. Someone asked Preston if he knew who I was--we five girls look too much alike for him to keep track of which one is which--and he said, in a voice slurred by poor health, "Sure, she's Shelley's daughter. I don't know which one, I can't keep track, sorry, honey, but I know she's Shelley's daughter. I seen it in her smile. You were walking across the lawn, there, and I could tell, I could see your smile. And it's just like Shelley's, isn't it?"
My first memory of Preston is from when I was nine. We were in Texas, visiting Grandma, and I was sitting in the den. Probably watching TV, like I did most of that visit, to avoid the heat. Preston walked in from the carport door, and greeted us familiarly. I, however, had no idea who he was and why he's just walked into the house without so much as a knock on the door. He had a thick Texan accent, and a couple missing teeth (from getting in fights, he explained).
"Do ya'll know who I am?" he asked. I shook my head no.
"I'm yer Uncle Preston, yer mama's brother," he said.
That summer, he took us to one of the many ponds on the property, and showed up his fish traps. I remember him telling a story about using a baseball cap as bait--and that darn fish ate it, too. He showed us where the blackberry bushes were, which we picked bare. He showed my brothers how to use his old pellet gun, using old cans as targets, and my brothers taught me. That's when I killed my first rodent, with that gun, and I felt guilty about it for years. Not the natural hunter, me.
My last memory of him is from this summer, in June. I attended a cousin's wedding reception, and he was there. I walked across the lawn toward him and Grandma, and Aunt April and Uncle Kirk. Preston was in his wheelchair, his form of transportation for years now. Everyone was surprised to see me, didn't know I was in town. Someone asked Preston if he knew who I was--we five girls look too much alike for him to keep track of which one is which--and he said, in a voice slurred by poor health, "Sure, she's Shelley's daughter. I don't know which one, I can't keep track, sorry, honey, but I know she's Shelley's daughter. I seen it in her smile. You were walking across the lawn, there, and I could tell, I could see your smile. And it's just like Shelley's, isn't it?"
Monday, July 02, 2007
10-year reunion
This last weekend, when I was in Laughlin, my high school class had their 10-year reunion. The old student body president called my mom looking for an update on me, and I guess she lied ;), because he was impressed about what I've been doing the past 10 years. He asked me to write up a little blurb for them to read about me. This is the blurb they read (I'm assuming they read it):
......
Sarah Wilson Beckham, MVHS 1997
You may remember Sarah Wilson, now Sarah Beckham, as That One Girl on the Drumline, or as One of Those Kids Who Took Too Many AP Classes. Or perhaps you remember her as One of Those Rare Girls Who Managed to Hang out with Kartson Carr Without Drooling Over Him. What you probably do not remember about Sarah is that she always had a passion for Africa. Ever since she was too young to remember, she wanted to trek to Africa and learn Swahili.
As a junior in college, her opportunity finally came to go to Tanzania, on the East African coast, with a study abroad program. Armed with two semesters of Swahili language courses and some anthropology, she arrived on the tropical island of Zanzibar, 30 miles off the coast of Tanzania. She was majoring in International Development, and hoped to study how village women made money in the informal economy. But fate had a different path for Sarah. Two weeks after arrival, she found herself sick with body aches, fatigue, and a high fever. She had malaria. Her husband of only five weeks, Justin, took her to a Russian-trained Zanzibari doctor, who treated her with some drugs. The drugs did not cure her malaria, though, and she tried treatment after treatment. Finally, after five weeks, five rounds of drugs, a dozen malaria tests, two nights in a hospital, four different medical clinics, and some crazy drug-induced dreams, Sarah overcame the resistant strain of the parasite.
Instead of doing the sensible thing of just flying home, Sarah stayed in Zanzibar. Inspired by her harrowing experience with malaria and the local health care system, Sarah decided to focus her attention on public health issues in Africa. The rest of that semester in Tanzania, she studied peoples’ experiences with malaria, a preventable and treatable disease that kills at least one million children every year worldwide. Sarah went back to Tanzania again two years later, in 2001, this time leading a group of college students. Three years later, in 2004, she returned once again, bringing her two-year old son along (he got malaria, but Sarah knew how to treat it properly this time).
In 2005, Sarah began a graduate school program at Yale in public health and African Studies. For her summer internship in 2006, she returned to Tanzania to study maternal anemia in a high-poverty area where 50% of infant deaths are related to anemia. She is currently drafting a paper for publication that gives recommendations on how to improve the situation there. This fall, she will once again travel to Tanzania with her husband and now five-year old son, to do research on how poverty, illiteracy, and local culture affect access to medicine for people living with HIV/AIDS. She will graduate with a joint master’s degree in 2009, and hopes to work to improve public health interventions by making them better fit the local political, social, and economic context.
She has never gotten malaria again.
......
Sarah Wilson Beckham, MVHS 1997
You may remember Sarah Wilson, now Sarah Beckham, as That One Girl on the Drumline, or as One of Those Kids Who Took Too Many AP Classes. Or perhaps you remember her as One of Those Rare Girls Who Managed to Hang out with Kartson Carr Without Drooling Over Him. What you probably do not remember about Sarah is that she always had a passion for Africa. Ever since she was too young to remember, she wanted to trek to Africa and learn Swahili.
As a junior in college, her opportunity finally came to go to Tanzania, on the East African coast, with a study abroad program. Armed with two semesters of Swahili language courses and some anthropology, she arrived on the tropical island of Zanzibar, 30 miles off the coast of Tanzania. She was majoring in International Development, and hoped to study how village women made money in the informal economy. But fate had a different path for Sarah. Two weeks after arrival, she found herself sick with body aches, fatigue, and a high fever. She had malaria. Her husband of only five weeks, Justin, took her to a Russian-trained Zanzibari doctor, who treated her with some drugs. The drugs did not cure her malaria, though, and she tried treatment after treatment. Finally, after five weeks, five rounds of drugs, a dozen malaria tests, two nights in a hospital, four different medical clinics, and some crazy drug-induced dreams, Sarah overcame the resistant strain of the parasite.
Instead of doing the sensible thing of just flying home, Sarah stayed in Zanzibar. Inspired by her harrowing experience with malaria and the local health care system, Sarah decided to focus her attention on public health issues in Africa. The rest of that semester in Tanzania, she studied peoples’ experiences with malaria, a preventable and treatable disease that kills at least one million children every year worldwide. Sarah went back to Tanzania again two years later, in 2001, this time leading a group of college students. Three years later, in 2004, she returned once again, bringing her two-year old son along (he got malaria, but Sarah knew how to treat it properly this time).
In 2005, Sarah began a graduate school program at Yale in public health and African Studies. For her summer internship in 2006, she returned to Tanzania to study maternal anemia in a high-poverty area where 50% of infant deaths are related to anemia. She is currently drafting a paper for publication that gives recommendations on how to improve the situation there. This fall, she will once again travel to Tanzania with her husband and now five-year old son, to do research on how poverty, illiteracy, and local culture affect access to medicine for people living with HIV/AIDS. She will graduate with a joint master’s degree in 2009, and hopes to work to improve public health interventions by making them better fit the local political, social, and economic context.
She has never gotten malaria again.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
jokes
Juma has discovered jokes, though he's still trying to figure them out, and we have to explain almost every pun to him.
His current favorites:
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Boo.
-Boo who?
-You don't have to cry about it, it's just a joke!
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Apple.
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Apple.
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Apple.
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Orange.
-Orange who?
Orange-ya glad I didn't say apple?
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Interrupting cow.
-Interrupting co--
MOO!!
What do you call cheese that doesn't belong to you?
-What?
Nacho cheese!
The ones he makes up are, well, 4-year-old jokes.
What do you call a jagga with a boji?
-What?
A window!
[fake laughs from Sarah and Justin]
What does a zebra on the ground, with blood, do?
-[shocked at the mention of blood] Uh, what?
Stays there.
[real laughs from Sarah and Justin]
Why is it so funny?
-Because it made sense.
I still remember making up my first joke when I was 3 years old (?). My older siblings and I were hanging out in the Relief Society room while my mom was at a church function (homemaking meeting, I suppose). The others were telling jokes, so I wanted to join in.
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
[looking wildly about the room for some inspiration] Piano!
-Piano who?
[again, looking around the room for something to say] Piano that goes through the wall sometimes!
I remember that as I said this, I imagined the piano floating through the air and going through the wall near the ceiling. My siblings dutifully laughed, bless their hearts.
His current favorites:
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Boo.
-Boo who?
-You don't have to cry about it, it's just a joke!
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Apple.
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Apple.
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Apple.
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Orange.
-Orange who?
Orange-ya glad I didn't say apple?
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
Interrupting cow.
-Interrupting co--
MOO!!
What do you call cheese that doesn't belong to you?
-What?
Nacho cheese!
The ones he makes up are, well, 4-year-old jokes.
What do you call a jagga with a boji?
-What?
A window!
[fake laughs from Sarah and Justin]
What does a zebra on the ground, with blood, do?
-[shocked at the mention of blood] Uh, what?
Stays there.
[real laughs from Sarah and Justin]
Why is it so funny?
-Because it made sense.
I still remember making up my first joke when I was 3 years old (?). My older siblings and I were hanging out in the Relief Society room while my mom was at a church function (homemaking meeting, I suppose). The others were telling jokes, so I wanted to join in.
Knock, knock.
-Who's there?
[looking wildly about the room for some inspiration] Piano!
-Piano who?
[again, looking around the room for something to say] Piano that goes through the wall sometimes!
I remember that as I said this, I imagined the piano floating through the air and going through the wall near the ceiling. My siblings dutifully laughed, bless their hearts.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
memories
This past week, I've been bringing to mind some memories from childhood that made me smile. Wilsons, you remember these?
We're all sitting or laying around the living room of the house on Main Street. It's late, and probably a school night. We are gathered for family prayer, waiting for Dad to say the prayer or to call on someone to pray so we can all go to bed. He didn't call on anyone, which usually meant he was going to say the prayer. So we wait. And wait. Did we realize Dad had fallen asleep? Or did we just wait, wondering what was going on. Suddenly, Dad leaps up from his seat on the fireplace hearth and is all the way across the living room in under a second. Everyone looks at him in shock (How did he more so fast?) as he says in exasperation, "Not one soul has gone to bed!" The kids look around at each other in amusement, as someone explains that we were waiting for him. (I'm giggling as I write.)
____
Mom, in her commendable and ongoing effort to have us eat healthy meals (we'll all thank her later for cracked wheat for breakfast and three veggies at dinner when we don't get cancer), she buys The Worst Vegetarian Cookbook of All Time. The problem with this cookbook is that, instead of taking great recipe ideas from places with long traditions of no- or low-meat diets, like India or the eastern Mediterranean, this book tried to adapt the classic meat-and-potato diet of America. I say if you aren't going to eat meat, than just don't bother with hamburgers. That simple.
But The Worst Vegetarian Cookbook of All Time disagreed and tried to pass off Happy Chicken Burgers as actual food. "I tried these on my family, and they loved them!" the book beamed. (I'm making up that quote, but it could be true.) So one summer day, Mom whipped up a mess of shredded veggies, tofu, and who knows what else, shaped them like burgers, and plopped them on the table with all the regular hamburger fixin's.
To the pack of us wild and hunger kids, they did not look appetizing. In fact, they looked a little more like food that had already been eaten, if you get my drift. But Mom had had a hectic day, and was frankly tired of cooking dinner every day just to hear at least three kids complain about the food. So in a preemptive strike, she put warned us firmly, "Not. A. Word."
We were duly obedient and each took a bite of our Happy Chicken Burgers. They were the most awful pieces of slop we'd ever had, but in an effort to be nice to Mom, we swallowed.
To our delight, Mom started laughing. She, too, realized that The Worst Vegetarian Cookbook of All Time had given us The Worst Vegetarian Dinner of All Time. She acknowledged that the Happy Chicken Burgers were simply disgusting and excused us from eating them. We all laughed and laughed, and started making jokes about the burgers and how the author of the cookbook must be insane or lack taste buds to try to pass of this stuff as food. Randall, our resident comedian brother, dubbed the things "Vegetarian Roadkill," and the name stuck.
We're all sitting or laying around the living room of the house on Main Street. It's late, and probably a school night. We are gathered for family prayer, waiting for Dad to say the prayer or to call on someone to pray so we can all go to bed. He didn't call on anyone, which usually meant he was going to say the prayer. So we wait. And wait. Did we realize Dad had fallen asleep? Or did we just wait, wondering what was going on. Suddenly, Dad leaps up from his seat on the fireplace hearth and is all the way across the living room in under a second. Everyone looks at him in shock (How did he more so fast?) as he says in exasperation, "Not one soul has gone to bed!" The kids look around at each other in amusement, as someone explains that we were waiting for him. (I'm giggling as I write.)
____
Mom, in her commendable and ongoing effort to have us eat healthy meals (we'll all thank her later for cracked wheat for breakfast and three veggies at dinner when we don't get cancer), she buys The Worst Vegetarian Cookbook of All Time. The problem with this cookbook is that, instead of taking great recipe ideas from places with long traditions of no- or low-meat diets, like India or the eastern Mediterranean, this book tried to adapt the classic meat-and-potato diet of America. I say if you aren't going to eat meat, than just don't bother with hamburgers. That simple.
But The Worst Vegetarian Cookbook of All Time disagreed and tried to pass off Happy Chicken Burgers as actual food. "I tried these on my family, and they loved them!" the book beamed. (I'm making up that quote, but it could be true.) So one summer day, Mom whipped up a mess of shredded veggies, tofu, and who knows what else, shaped them like burgers, and plopped them on the table with all the regular hamburger fixin's.
To the pack of us wild and hunger kids, they did not look appetizing. In fact, they looked a little more like food that had already been eaten, if you get my drift. But Mom had had a hectic day, and was frankly tired of cooking dinner every day just to hear at least three kids complain about the food. So in a preemptive strike, she put warned us firmly, "Not. A. Word."
We were duly obedient and each took a bite of our Happy Chicken Burgers. They were the most awful pieces of slop we'd ever had, but in an effort to be nice to Mom, we swallowed.
To our delight, Mom started laughing. She, too, realized that The Worst Vegetarian Cookbook of All Time had given us The Worst Vegetarian Dinner of All Time. She acknowledged that the Happy Chicken Burgers were simply disgusting and excused us from eating them. We all laughed and laughed, and started making jokes about the burgers and how the author of the cookbook must be insane or lack taste buds to try to pass of this stuff as food. Randall, our resident comedian brother, dubbed the things "Vegetarian Roadkill," and the name stuck.
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