Baking Brothers

David was home last weekend for the beginning of spring break. After staying through the weekend, he left on Tuesday to go down to Florida with his girlfriend, where her family is renting a house for a couple weeks. He wanted to bring a small token of his appreciation for having him, so he decided to make cookies, which I helped him make.

First we made orange zest snowball cookies with grated coconut topping. We quickly learned that making cookies takes more time than we assumed! But when you pop them in your mouth, it is all worth it.

The next cookies we made (one of my personal favorites) were peanut butter cookies with a chocolate kiss pressed in the top of each one. I took the above photo while the cookies were cooling. One of the benefits of making cookies yourself is that you get to eat them while the chocolate is still soft. They were delicious!

I was busy with an appointment the next day when David made the final batch: chocolate chip walnut cookies.

I rarely bake, but it was a good experience, and especially enjoyable doing it with my brother.

The Silence of Stigma

I was having a conversation with David yesterday, and he mentioned that he had been reading about schizophrenia. He said, "I read that one percent of America's population has schizophrenia?"

"That's the statistic that I always hear," I replied.

"That sounds like a high number!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, it's amazing that that many people have schizophrenia, and you never hear about it."

I explained that, in comparison, about one in six-hundred people have Crohn's disease. Yet when I tell people I have Crohn's disease, I'm always hearing that they know someone with the disease.

I continued, "It shows how little people talk about schizophrenia, because of the risk of stigma. If people were able to about it openly, everyone would realize that they know someone with the condition, and people would understand it better."

This evening David left to drive down to his girlfriend's house to celebrate her birthday. He will go straight back to college after that.

After he had left, I said to Mom, "It was nice having David home for winter break."

"Yeah, it was," she replied. "You must really miss him when he leaves. He's your peer, you have a lot to talk about and share."

"I do miss him when he goes."

I feel sad that he won't be around the house to laugh with and talk to. Still, I'm happy to see him return to his college life with all his friends, where he is building his future.

A Tasty Breakfast

This morning Roby, Mom, David and I went out to breakfast at Roby's favorite breakfast place. It is a small, cozy little restaurant that actually more resembles a coffee shop. On the walls hang paintings by different artists, some oil, some watercolor. The floors, tables and chairs are all wooden, and there is a big counter facing the entrance with a glass display of various delicious-looking baked goods. Behind the counter is an area where all the food is cooked. The owner, who appears to be late twenties/early thirties, cooks, rings up checks, buses tables, and even takes orders when it isn't too busy. I'm amazed at what she pulls off. At one point David dropped a fork, and she heard it fall from behind a corner and called over, "Need a new fork?"

"Yes, please," David replied.

"How did she know it was a fork? I wonder if she can tell by the sound?" I said.

"Maybe that's part of the training," David joked.

Roby and I both ordered the apple crisp French toast that comes with a side of cheesy scrambled eggs. The French toast is covered with cooked apples with granola sprinkled over them, topped with whipped cream and syrup. David and Mom had poached eggs laid on top of spinach, tomato, and English muffin, with potatoes on the side. The food was fabulous. I look forward to going there again.

A Wish for Clarity

Every year on Dad's birthday, Mom would make an icebox cake. So in honor of what would have been my father's 64th birthday today, my mother made one that we ate this afternoon. I believe there are many variations of icebox cake, but the recipe that my father taught to my mother consists of layers of graham cracker, banana, and chocolate pudding, all repeated, and stacked within a baking dish. It is not cooked, but refrigerated (hence the name). It is simple but good.

One of my friends from high school who lives in Boston is applying to graduate programs in Library Science. She knew I was considering doing the same, and emailed and asked me where I was in the application process. I wrote her back a rambling email about how I'm still feeling indecisive about whether I want to be a librarian or not.

How does one really know what career they want? In college I quixotically wanted to be a poet; I never actually knew what job I desired, aside from teaching poetry at a university. Since then I have decided that I am not cut out for the competitive literary and scholarly world. Maybe I should not be focusing on a career at the moment, considering I have not even gone back to work in any capacity as of yet.

Still, a library career is appealing. I would be surrounded by books and learning all day, helping people find information. It seems like a job without too much stress, which is important because I'm not sure how much stress I will be able to handle on a job.

I wish I had some clarity. I guess I just need to take things one step at a time, and see where it takes me. Tomorrow I'll finish filling out the volunteer application. One step at a time...

Christmas Day

We woke up Christmas morning, and gathered around the tree to open gifts. "Why don't you pass out the presents, like Dad used to do," my mother asked me. I agreed and got down on my knees to reach under the tree. We opened gifts, and afterwards had a big breakfast of eggs, bacon, potatoes, coffee and orange juice. It was a pleasant morning.

After breakfast we drove down to Cromwell, Connecticut where my grandmother lives. She was having the annual Christmas dinner with all my aunts and uncles and cousins on my father's side. It was nice seeing everyone. A couple of my cousins just had babies in November, so there were a couple new babies around for us to dote over. It was my cousin Eric's first child, and he cradled his son with the proud smile of a new father.

Before eating, we always pass out small glasses of Asti, an Italian sparkling wine, and somebody gives a toast. David was asked to speak this year, and we all crowded into the living room, holding champagne glasses, listening to his words. He started, "First of all, I want to remember Grandpa and my father, who will always be with us in spirit." Continuing, he congratulated the parents of the new babies, and Mom and Roby for their marriage. Then he thanked Grandma for having the party and staying strong all these years. His delivery was great, and the content was moving. When he finished, we all clinked glasses together, wishing each other a Merry Christmas.

The food was delicious, especially the much anticipated lasagna. My Italian grandmother has made it for years, and recently she passed down the recipe to her daughter Dianna; now they make it together. Aunt Dianna said that she went to three different specialty shops to get all the sausage, ground beef, noodles, and fresh ricotta cheese. It was perfect.

After dinner many of us fell asleep in the living room, despite drinking my grandmother's strong coffee that she always brews. The smell of coffee will always remind me of her house.

Overall I was able to handle the socializing and activity pretty well. I went upstairs to the guest bedroom to take a couple breaks, and once in a while sneaked outside for some fresh air and a cigarette. Eventually people started leaving, giving everyone big hugs and well wishes.

Later David and I were sitting alone with Grandma in the living room. She said, "Roby seems like a really nice guy. I'm glad to see your mother has found someone she is happy with." I was relieved to hear these words, because we were a little worried about how Grandma was handling my mother's remarriage. I think it was hard for her, because it was a strong reminder that her son is no longer with us.

Soon we all went to bed, content with a nice Christmas celebration.

A Party With the Family

David finished his last final exam yesterday and was supposed to drive home from college last night to avoid the huge snowstorm that was to start early this morning. However, he fell asleep at his girlfriend's place and did not wake up until four AM, and by the time he hit the road, the storm was in full force. Fortunately he navigated the storm safely, and jumped into bed as soon as he arrived at seven AM.

I first saw him a little before noon, when he got out of bed. I noticed how groggy he looked. "A little tired?" I asked.

"Man, I'm exhausted."

"How was the ride?"

"I could only see fifty feet in front of me, and the median line was completely covered with snow. I had to go at forty miles an hour the whole way. At least there wasn't much traffic at that time of day."

"Well, I'm glad you made it OK!" I said.

"Ha, me too! It was a long drive. So... is the Christmas party starting soon?"

"Yeah, people should be arriving in a half hour."

David jumped in the shower, and pretty soon my relatives started trickling in.

The party turned out well. I did not suffer from much anxiety, which was nice. A few weeks ago I was starting to dread the holiday season, because of all the socializing and family parties I could see on the horizon. But now that I've made it through Thanksgiving and the wedding, and the first Christmas party, I'm starting to feel more confident. It does help to have David around, because we stayed by each other for much of the party, and he is easy to converse with. I am glad he is home for winter break.

Getting in the Christmas Spirit

I awoke this morning to a knock on my bedroom door. It was Mom.

"Roby and I are going out to breakfast, and then we'll pick up a Christmas tree. You want to come?"

"Sure!" I replied. "I'll be up in a minute." I was pleasantly surprised that we were going to get a tree today.

Soon we were in the station wagon driving to a nearby town where there is a tree farm that lets you cut down your own tree. On the way we stopped at a small restaurant. To my delight, they had a breakfast buffet. I loaded up my plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, home-fries, and a small pancake with strawberries and real whipped cream. All that with a hot cup of coffee. It was delicious. After I was finished, I even went back for a piece of apple pie! I shouldn't have, but it was a small piece, and it was calling to me.

We left satisfied, and drove to the tree farm. It is a nice family run business, and the mother came over to tell us where to go for the trees. We grabbed a saw and a plastic sled and started stomping through the snow up a hill to a clearing where all the trees sat. Right away we found a full, round tree. We brushed off the snow to get a better look at it, and decided that we all liked it. After cutting it down, we plopped it onto the sled and pulled it down the hill.

Walking through the snow covered woods, smelling a freshly cut tree really put me in the Christmas spirit. I thought of my friend Andrew, who is also getting a tree today. He's really excited, and I hope everything goes well for him.

After tying down the tree, we went to a tent the owners had set up that had cookies and hot chocolate. We each had a cup and chatted with the workers.

We finished our hot chocolate and began our drive back home. The radio played Christmas songs the whole way.

Here is a picture of our tree on top of the station wagon. I'll take another picture when we get it up and all decorated.

A Day of Reflection

I woke this morning to an empty house. I thumped down the stairs and put some water on the stove for my coffee. When the kettle started whistling I picked it up and poured it over the coffee grounds I had scooped into my French press. As I waited for the coffee to steep, I rolled a cigarette and thought about how quiet it is here now that everyone is gone. My brothers left yesterday, and my mother is off on her honeymoon with Roby. I suppose I grew accustomed to the companionship of my brothers; now I found myself in the social vacuum created when they all returned to their busy lives.

Despite experiencing some loneliness, I felt pleased with how everything went. In fact, I had surprised myself: I anticipated becoming run down and mentally weary with all the activity and socializing, but I feel I handled it rather well.

I ate breakfast, drank my coffee, and went out to smoke my cigarette. I thought of Fay, who sat next to me at the wedding. She knew my father from a kidney support group, where my father had gone when he was on dialysis. When she was leaving the wedding, she said to me, "Your father was a great guy. Very calm and content." Her words struck a chord within me, and I thought of my father's own words, "The most important thing in life is to be content." It amazed me that Fay described my father the same way he would have described himself. Despite his protracted illness, I never heard him once complain. He accepted what life gave him with a positive attitude.

Back in the house, I watered the flower arrangement that we had given to my mother. I'm trying to keep it alive until they return from their honeymoon. Some of the flowers are already starting to die, but I believe some of them will survive. I'll just weed out the wilted ones so only the live ones remain.

As the day continued I found myself dealing with bouts of nostalgia, triggered by a song on the radio, or a movie on TV. Apparently the wedding stirred up my feelings, making me more emotionally sensitive.

I'm going to try to get to bed earlier tonight so I can rise at a reasonable hour.

I hope to wake up to a world covered in snow.

Slivers of Time

Roby took me and my mother out to dinner tonight. I ordered stake tips, which were cooked just right- medium rare, and charred on the surface.

Afterwards we stopped by my Aunt and Uncle's house to see my cousin, Tara, who is in town from Ohio. I haven't seen her, or her kids, in over a year, and the children have really grown (like children tend to do).

"Come look at these pictures, Mike," Tara said. I followed her into the den.

She grabbed a stack of old pictures, and we started flipping through. There we are, all dressed up for Halloween- cute kids in costumes without anything on our mind except how much candy we'll be able to rake in from the neighborhood.

The more pictures we looked at, the farther back in time we went. There was a Christmas from the 80's, with frizzy perms and rat tails. We came to a poker game that, judging by the gaudy clothing, had to take place in the 70's. Chips are on the table, and there is my father, mustache and big cigar, peering down at his cards.

My father loved poker his whole life. He saw it as a game of strategy and psychology, where the best man will win in the long run. When a young man, he entertained dreams of becoming a professional poker player, although he stuck to his accounting business. Regardless, he always went to his weekly poker game, and once retired, made plenty of trips to Foxwoods to test his skills. It was a passion for him, like hunting and sports are for other men. Even during his last couple months, when he was too weak to leave the house, he was able to enjoy playing online poker- a respite from the fatigue and illness.

And there he was in the photo, frozen in time: young, healthy, doing what he loved.

We finished looking at the pictures, and I left soon after. But my thoughts still linger on that photo, a piece of time stolen from decades ago, showing my father, forever smoking a cigar while playing cards.

A Thanksgiving to be Grateful For

Today I went with Roby and my mother to Roby's daughter Jackie's house. We walked up the front pathway to her house, rang the doorbell, and pushed inside. Paul, Jackie's husband, greeted us with handshakes and "happy thanksgiving!" We walked up the stairs from the entryway, turned, and I saw them- a group of about eight people I had never seen before. "Oh hell no," I thought to myself. I'm rather shy, and get intimidated by being around a number of people I don't know. But the introductions came and went, and the afternoon was underway.

My fears were unfounded, as everyone ended up being very pleasant, and nobody asked me any well-meaning questions that I'd be embarrassed to answer, such as "So Mike, what do you do for work?" "Well, Mr. person I just met, I'm on disability because I had a psychotic breakdown and the doctors tell me I have schizophrenia. Don't worry, I'm heavily medicated and like most people with my condition, completely harmless. Ha ha, what do you do?"

Of course I'd be more discriminating with my reply, but that's how I imagine it to amuse myself. Such simple questions such as these, however, are at the root of some of my reservations with meeting new people. When presenting myself for the first time, I feel like I can't fall back on the typical life that one is expected to have. I'm pretty much OK with the life I do have, but it can make casual conversation rather intimidating.

So, although there were no questions- there was a surfeit of delicious food- resulting in a satisfying afternoon. While I am disappointed that we didn't have the traditional feast with all my relatives at my grandmother's house, I am grateful to be welcomed into someone else's home and made part of their holiday. I remind myself that it is a lot more than many people have, and my thoughts go out to those who are in need or don't have family to share with on days like today.

I hope everyone is finding a way to have their own wonderful day, even if it is just taking a moment to reflect on what there is to be thankful for.

I am thankful for a lot of things, including a clear mind to compose these thoughts and a healthy body to type them with.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.