Food, Family, and Being a Regular

“I miss the banter with friends and family, which more often than not takes place within the confines of a decent public house. So I miss the pubs.”

—Chris Vance

 

Ok, full disclosure, I had to look up who Chris Vance is. Turns out he’s an actor, from England. Well, I guess if you can’t be Irish, that’s close enough. He’s right about the pubs though. Having a regular place to go to, where they remember you, where your friends hang out, and you don’t even have to look at a menu, because you know what they have is priceless. Sometimes, if you are a true regular, they start making your order when you walk in the door. It doesn’t even have to be a pub, though. I am a fan of small pubs where they greet me like family, but honestly, if you have a favorite coffee shop, bistro, or diner, it’s the same thing. It’s knowing that when you walk in the door, you’ll be among friends. You’ll get asked about your kids, your dog, your day. The waitress will remember that you like extra cream in your coffee, which will probably be waiting for you at your regular spot. Having a spot is important if you’re going to be a regular. Every old sitcom that has a restaurant or a bar in it shows the characters always sitting in the same place. Norm at Cheers, Seinfeld at “The Restaurant,” and of course the iconic orange couch from “Friends” that was magically always available, despite being the best seat in a crowded coffee shop. Having a spot means that you sort of own a tiny bit of real estate in a favorite place. It’s an honor that comes with the designation of being a regular.

Luckily there are a lot of local pubs and restaurants around that I like, and that, to their credit, keep letting me come back. There is no place like The Barnacle in a storm, the Muffin Shop lobster rolls are perfection, and Scott and Emily at Sea Salt know just how I like my lettuce wraps. Years ago, when the Salem Diner wasn’t just a write-off for the university and was actually owned by a real family, it was my first stop most mornings. Before anyone was awake, I’d creep out of the house and go there for a coffee, at my favorite spot at the counter. I’d catch up with the owner, chat with other regulars, and start my day on a positive note of community and connection. 

I thought I wouldn’t find another spot like that for coffee, but luckily, a cafe opened up in Swampscott, with delicious food, excellent service, and people that know me and welcome me. Cafe Avellino’s owner Teresa Siriagno has saved my bacon (or should I say prosciutto) more than once with takeout family meals, good music, and a place to sit and chat with new friends and old friends. It was especially nice when a storm knocked power out at our house, but Teresa was open and made room for us to have a hot meal, a cold drink, and charge up our phones.

 

What’s even better than a really nice Italian place, that has good coffee, authentic cannoli, and is across from a beach? A sister restaurant, right downtown Marblehead! La Sirena is the second spot opened by Teresa, and it’s been a most welcome addition to a street of fun shops, and locals. La Sirena also has live music, well, at least it did in the “Before Times” when you could sing and play the harmonica without it being a hazmat event. The pandemic has been hellish for restaurants, pubs, and coffee shops. Many have closed their doors and may not open again. 

 

Teresa has met the challenge head-on, however, and when she couldn’t hire a band and host people, she turned to family meals and take out. Remember back in April and May, when going to the grocery store was like some kind of decathlon of obstacles, stress, and fear? That’s when Cafe Avellino became the lifeboat that kept my family from drowning in yet another boxed rice and dried out chicken. Teresa knew that family meals that come ready to eat, with crusty bread and good sauce are a bright spot on the dark days. I did my part by telling everyone I knew (and even a few random strangers) to go get some of her food, and it turns out there were so many customers from Marblehead going over the line to Swampscott, that she just had to make it happen here too. La Sirena is becoming a one-stop-shop for fresh pastry, gourmet coffee, small bites, and family meals. I’m so happy I can stay here in the ‘Head to get my favorite food, because, hey, there’s still that Marblehead/Swampscott rivalry thing, so staying local matters. Stop by La Sirena soon, get some good food, and say “Benvenuta” to Teresa.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wrong You Are: There Is Always Try

“Do or do not. There is no try.”

---Yoda

 

Ok, who am I to argue with a tiny Star Wars puppet that is beloved by so many, but…sorry my little green friend, you are so wrong. Because we are on this frustrating pandemic times calendar shift, it’s finally graduation season. Well, at least it is at my house. If I might just brag for a quick second, since December, my daughter has held a co-op job at a medical practice, passed the state boards for cosmetology, passed the state written and practical exam to be an EMT, and passed the national EMT license exam. She also navigated losing her last season of track, kept up with her duties as a class officer, and arranged college classes for the fall. I mostly stood by watching, and occasionally writing a check. The rest was all her.

 

Sure, that is a lot of doing. However, if you think there was no trying behind that, you’d be wrong. Like all of us, she tried, tried, and tried again. Also, like all of us, some of what she tried didn’t work out so well. And so it goes. We were chatting about everything that’s coming up for her in the next few months, and there will be a ton of choices she has to make. It’s daunting when you think of it.

 Last week I talked about decisions, and the times we have to choose between multiple options, even when none of them are ideal. There’s a big decision coming in November, and it’s going to be wicked hard for me to look at all the facts, search my soul, and try to pick the right one. So far, I think carrot cake will be the winner. Come November 6th, my birthday cake will be carrot cake, with cream cheese frosting. Decision 2020, made.

Kidding aside, I know that the Yoda quote is supposed to be inspiring, but honestly, it’s not for me. It's like this. I’m a big fan of space exploration. The research, the cutting-edge technology, the going where no man has gone before and all the rest is exciting, and, in my opinion, crucial to our survival. The Star Wars movies get that. Sure, it's fiction, but they show us that there’s so much out there. Truly, we should be looking skyward every day and finding new ways to get to, “infinity and beyond.” Space exploration starts with someone, somewhere, saying, “What if we tried this?” If you look back at the very beginnings of NASA, there were a lot of attempts that, well, flopped. Did we stop trying? Nope.

 

As we look toward schools reopening, the economy righting itself, and a political landscape that seems fraught with peril around every corner, it’s important to remember how to try. We need to think of new ideas, even ones that sound a little off the wall. Before this year, who would have thought of a drive-by commencement? Who could have conceived of a virtual baby shower, via a Zoom video call? An event I always love to attend is Harrington Reads, at Harrington Elementary in Lynn. I get to meet young readers, authors, and educators and share what they love about literacy. This year, it went virtual. All videos, posted on YouTube. It was that or cancel it altogether. Someone was smart enough to ask, “What if we tried to…” and then made it happen. That is try. It leads to doing, but first, there is try.

 

So far no one has asked for my advice on any of the conundrums we are facing, but, for the record, here it is: There must always be a way to try. No doing can happen before we dare to try. If you’re job hunting, try looking in a field you might not have considered. If you’re facing a decision on whether or not to send your kid back to school? Try it, see what happens. If it’s not the right move, move on to another option. My father was always spewing forth what he thought were incredibly wise words. Some were, and others, not so much. One of my favorite pieces of advice from him was this: “Brenda, the only part of your life that will be carved in stone are the dates on your headstone. Everything else is up for grabs. Try it all. If one path doesn’t work, go another way. You’ll get there.”  He was so right. Let’s keep trying.

 

 

Being a Five Year Old

“Play is the highest form of research”

--Albert Einstein

 Now that we have plodded through a couple of phases of COVID re-openings, fifty-seven days of June, and a dozen or so senior parades, and socially distant graduations, it’s a proper summer.  Family corn hole games on the lawn, beach buckets, and BBQs are back again. As the pandemic progresses, every week brings some new item that's in short supply and high demand. Toilet paper, jigsaw puzzles, home gym equipment and so much else. Right now, kiddy pools are sold out almost everywhere. At my house, the TP is all stocked up, puzzles are lined up for the next bunch of rainy days, and I find myself turning to toys. Little kid toys. It’s like I’m five years old again.

Mr. Potato Head, Play-Doh, and Matchbox cars have all made an appearance in the last few weeks. The other night, when two friends came over for some backyard distantly social snacks, we pulled out craft kits and made plastic mermaid sun catchers, with stained glass gel paints.

Perhaps one good thing that could come from this pandemic is the return to the fun parts of our younger years. When my high school senior lost her last season of track, her senior awards night, her prom, and her job, refuge was found in coloring books and board games. Most people I know with Class of 2020 kids have said that watching them lose so many milestones, brought back their own memories of sweating it out on a football field in a polyester cap and gown, staying out until dawn on prom night, and having that last team dinner. I got to experience all of those events, but my daughter didn’t, and that is a real loss. When I graduated, the world was my oyster. I had college to look forward to, new people, travel, and so much more. I was going places. The Class of 2020? Quarantine and Zoom classes. Face masks and empty classrooms. Canceled plans and almost constant worry that their world will never be the same.  Is it any wonder that turning to the playthings of childhood would be a comfort?

Playtime doesn’t keep anyone safe, it usually doesn’t bring in a paycheck, but sometimes you just have to head for the toy box. Think about it. If you’re five years old, and the world isn’t teetering on its axis, one chest x-ray away from a corona-pocalypse, what makes you happy? Toys and food, most likely. Scraped a knee? Have a Freeze Pop. Having a bad day? Go play dollies and racecars. I’m way older than five, and confession time: I built a pug out of Legos this week and spent a few happy hours playing with Silly Sand. Also, they still make Super Elastic Bubble Plastic, in the tubes with the little straws. It still burns your lungs out, and it’s still wicked fun.

When my kids were little, I was the terrible mother that hated crafts. I never wanted to do activities with a whole bunch of little pieces that needed to be assembled. Paper chains, pipe cleaner caterpillars, and paint by number kits were all necessary evils, stashed away for snow days. When there was a five-year-old at my kitchen table, it was about fighting off the spread of glitter glue and crushed Oreos. These days it’s all about fighting off dread, fear, an invisible and insidious virus, a few creditors, and an Internet full of lies, damn lies, and statistics that I should shut off, but never quite manage to do. Maybe there is something to be said for putting away the adult worries, the job hunting, the Netflix binges, and sitting down to play with something.

Then I found it, this week’s little bit of happy fun time. I was in Marshall’s, a place I hadn’t been since February. Finally, I could return the blouse that didn’t go with the jeans that are now a wee bit too tight. On a clearance shelf was a tiny plastic space ship, a small bit of fake grass, and a magnetic cow. When you press on the little alien inside the UFO, the lights blink, the toy whistles, and then you wave it over the cow until the magnet activates and sucks Elsie right up. It even lets out a long “Mooooo” as she is whisked off to outer space. Does it get any better than that? I giggled like, well, a five-year-old with a fresh tube of glitter glue.

I have no answers about COVID-19. I cannot solve the racial issues that are everywhere, and just as illness-inducing as the virus. I can’t holler anymore at the news on TV; I’m going to barf up a vocal cord. What I can do, however, is take the time to pick up a stupid toy now and then and do some serious playing around. It won’t solve any of the big issues, but it will provide a few light moments. We all need more of those. Stay safe and play nice, OK?

Politics, Local and Otherwise.

This is a column I wrote in 2016, before I knew the results of the Presidential election. I'm not a fan of the President, but he's got the job, so, here we are. I am running for office, locally. Because I believe it's important to show up. My father taught me this, he was wise, he was kind and he was everything a father and man should be. I so wish he could see me now.

“Just because you do not take an interest in politics does not mean that politics won’t take an interest in you.”

— Pericles

By the time this is printed, we will have a new president. Whoever it is will have made history. It’s been quite something this time around. No matter where you stood on the issues or whose sign was on your lawn, this election probably caused some stress, anxiety and maybe even fights with friends and family. There were new lows in some of the campaigning and definitely some high points too. Everyone could likely agree on that even if no agreement could be reached on who was best for the job.

Early voting was a thing this year, and while a quick check of Google tells me it’s not really new and that some states like Texas and Oregon have had it for awhile, it still seems both new and old at the same time. I am used to voting in the gym at the Rec and Park building, but early voters went to Abbot Hall. It’s definitely hometown bias and pride, but is there any place more historic, more American and more suited to this crucial part of democracy than a building that houses a famous painting of the very beginnings of our republic? Still, I decided to hold out and vote on Election Day because growing up, even for small races, it was a very big deal. There was an energy to it that just doesn’t happen, for me at least, until the actual day.

My father entered politics early and often, having been elected to some imaginary office by his classmates on the school bus at the beginning of his freshman year of high school. From then on if there was an office to be held, chances were good that he would throw his hat in the ring. School committee was by far his favorite and where he spent most of his “political” career. Whenever town elections were held, I knew that a large part of the day would find him holding a sign on the sidewalk and the night would be spent waiting around town hall, the smell of paper ballots and cigarettes in the air. A chalkboard was the 1960s version of an electoral map, and a long table with a few telephones on it was the communications center. On this night only, I was allowed to stay up late and wait for the votes to be counted. Some years it took almost an hour in the little town of Nahant to count all the votes. That was politics back in the day, and as much as I love social media and advanced technology, there’s something to be said for going old school.

What hasn’t changed in politics, however, is the concept of being part of the process. Not everyone wants to run for office, and, certainly, not everyone should. That isn’t the only way to take part, however. Did you vote this week? For anyone who didn’t, it’s now time for you to sit down and keep quiet. Early voting went on for 11 days here in town with a total of 89 hours of availability. Then, on Nov. 8, polls were open from 7 a.m. to 8 p.m., offering another 13 hours. Absentee ballots were available for those who might have been out of town. There was plenty of time to get out and vote. Perhaps some people just chose not to vote. Honestly, it’s easier for me to comprehend the Periodic Table of Elements than it is to understand the choice not to vote, and that is saying something since I flunked high school chemistry.

My father gave me many things, from red hair and green eyes to a wicked attitude and a love of car rides to nowhere, but the most important of them has to be the belief that voting in elections, at every level, is vital to all of our lives. He believed in the process; he believed it was a citizen’s sacred duty to cast a ballot whenever one was offered. And he believed it started at home, in our own communities. For him, it was about standing up and showing up. Here’s to moving on, to another four years, to new laws and old battles and to the never-ending cycle of determining who we are and how we will run our towns, our states and our country.

What’s next?

Is The World Really Your Oyster?

"To each his own magic."

--Libba Bray

Of course, we all say something similar. "To each their own" or "Everyone is different" or "Each to his own way." My personal favorite is "You do you, honey" but I have to cop to it being a bit snarky most of the time. These phrases that essentially say, "I'm OK, you're OK, everyone is OK" are somewhat meaningless platitudes, however. They are trendy like "You only live once!" or "You go your way, and I'll go mine," but they add nothing to the discussion.  Sure, we can all do what we like, within reason anyway. The problem becomes when everyone is sitting around just doing their own thing there is no community. Where is the joining together?

World events, political and otherwise, seem to get more chaotic every day. No matter where you look, it's getting a little loony out there. Call me picky, but while I like a good national defense, I'd prefer there not be saber-rattling and button pushing on Twitter. I would rather there be a debate, some discourse, a lively discussion and probably drinks too, now that I think about it.  We don't all have to hold hands and buy the world a Coke, that's useless, and not everyone even likes Coca-Cola. Also, it's flu season, and I'm not touching anyone's hands if I don't know where they've been.  Still. Everyone is off with "their own," and it's not getting us anywhere, seriously, it's just not.

In high school, I read a short story by O. Henry called, "The Third Ingredient." Two people, both down on their luck, have one ingredient a piece for a stew. They still need a third though.  Eventually, they do find someone with the final item, and these three enjoy a lovely meal because, while each had "their own" it didn't amount to anything without the rest of the parts. That's where "to each, his own" isn't always the best way to be. There would have been no hearty meal if all three people hadn't come together to make it happen, each with their own…magic. Read the story; trust me.

It does work, however, when it comes to personal taste. I have a good friend who lives in Vermont, and while the short days of winter and the lack of sunlight can be problematic, she likes nothing better than a good storm that will dump a foot or two of snow at her door. If I never saw snow again, I would be delirious with joy. She says it's the perfect example of the grass always being greener on the other side of the fence. It's true. I'm sitting home now, still in my jammies, watching #Bombogenesis2018 rage on outside my window. While she would describe it as a winter wonderland, for me it's a harbinger of danger and disaster. She doesn't have children, so she often takes mine. I never have a quiet house, and so I frequently jump in my car to go sit on her couch where the only sound is the cat and the fireplace, both roaring, in their own way.

Someone I know, but have never met, was saying recently in a Facebook post (where all my imaginary friendships happen) that she told her son, "The world is your oyster!" To which he replied, "Well yes, unless you don't like seafood. Then it's just where you live." I've never met her son either, but that kid is going places, even if he does have some offbeat quirk that keeps him from liking nature's treasures from the sea, those delectable bits of shrimp and cod and yes, oysters, always the oysters. Perhaps the world is his steak sandwich or his piece of the pie? Smart kid that one, because he's not limiting himself to just one kind of world.

We all look around our lives with our own preferences, our own beliefs and that's as it should be.  Rather than letting that divide us, perhaps it should be what causes us to gather together? I like oysters; this kid doesn't. My friend loves snow, and I'm cursing the weather gods and searching homes for sale in Del Boca Vista, Florida. Why can't we look over at the person next to us at Starbucks, or in the grocery store, and ask them why they like the Yankees instead of the best baseball team on the planet, the Red Sox? Maybe if there's a discussion between a Bills fan and a Patriots fan, there will be something learned. At the very least, the Bills fan and the Yankees fan are both going to hear about some fantastic games; at least if they are sitting next to me. They don't have to switch teams, but since when is it a bad thing to glance over the fence and try to see another point of view?

I came, I saw, I signed

"Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide

No escape from reality

Open your eyes

Look up to the skies and see"
---Freddy Mercury

So it happened, and went well enough. Do I dream of a line snaked around the block waiting for my book? Sure. But what actually happened is way more important. Good friends, a local independent book store, getting to chat with so many book lovers, that is what today was about. As it should be. Was I panicked last night? Definitely. That is the quintessential dilemma self-published authors face. Constant promotion going hand in hand with constant self-doubt. I signed up for it, I'm good, but it's hard sometimes. It's quite surreal. On the one hand, every writer dreams of being discovered by Oprah's book club and catapulting to fame and fortune. On the other it's enough to just realize that, Holy  fuck, you wrote a damn book! Who does that?

Writers do that. Not always well, not always on point, but we do that. And we keep doing it. It is is who we are. Our kids get it, hopefully significant others do as well, but that's often not the case. Still, everyday a writer writes. We cannot help it. For me, it comes naturally, if not coherently. What is mind-blowing is when you've managed to pound out a book, that is literally a body part you must then shop around and gain the approval of others for, well, then it gets dicey. I am so very grateful for friends, family and readers who continue to hold me up, support me and read what I write. "Is this the real life?" It sure isn't what I could have imagined, but for now, I will take it. 

Keeping it Local

So, people say it's all about staying local. All politics is local, shop local, think globally, act locally etc. The communities we are part of are definitely part of us. It's an exchange of sorts, everyone puts in what they have and takes out what they need. Hopefully at the end of each day or week, it ends up fairly even. That neighbor that needs help shoveling snow and raking leaves might be the one that makes homemade pumpkin bread and choc. chip cookies. It's a marvelous give and take and we would all be poorer without it.

Social media is no exception. While it's hard to define the concept of local when you talk about the Twitterverse or the vast, some would say wasteland, of Facebook, I have been lucky enough to find a sense of community there as well as in my local area. A group of friends that I've known since my kids were wee babes, and AOL was the sum total of the information highway, is still part of my tribe, my posse, my go to gang of wise women and wise asses. Thank G*d for them. Local can definitely be extended to those we know but have never met, and those we have encountered only a handful of times but remain close to through the magic of the 'Net.

As a self-published author, community is everything. There is no publicist for my book, no marketing team, no name brand publishing giant putting me on a whirlwind book tour. There's me, my Twitter and Facebook accounts, local friends and a box of books I lug around in my car. Welcome to independent authorship. It's all good though, because I've met some of the nicest people doing this. There's a feeling of home and hearth when it turns out that the local bookstore is run by the child of someone who graduated in the same high school class as I did. When the gourmet grocery store that I treat myself to every now and then welcomes me with open arms and provides a book launch that was nothing short of epic. When badminton buddies, co-workers and neighborhood moms all pitch in to offer their advice, their expertise and their contacts to help me along the way.

And then, in the vast cyberspace of Twitter is a local businesswoman who has made it her mission to promote all things Marblehead and is generous with retweets and kind words. I do love me some good old fashioned local support. It means the world to me. Find your tribe, know your neighbors and reach out to others. You have something to offer them and they in turn will offer you something, I guarantee it.