When Friends Know You So Well

It is always bittersweet exiting one door to open another. The biggest change and the one I will miss the most in changing careers, is not working with some of the finest people that I now feel privileged to call friends. And as good friends do, they know your routine, your norm, your preferences even better than some in your immediate family do.  While the gorgeous flowers and beautiful cake send off was lovely, I was given more than anyone deserves of truly thoughtful and personalized gifts.  I am not ashamed to say that even the silly ones moved me to tears because of the realization of how well these folks know me, and I know them. 

Here are a few of my parting gifts, chosen through careful thought.  There was theme that surrounded many, ahem, some maybe not my proudest traits. Some of these ideas might come in handy for others putting together farewell gifts for work friends.

Soup: As too busy people often eat lunch on the fly while checking e-mails at their desk or in the rush out the door, forget to bring their lunch, a combination of heated up leftover home made soup, or the trusty canned soup left in my desk drawer as back up was my usual meal. This week i received three cans of soup, a soup mug for heating and eating said soup, a set of lunch box storage containers, and a packet of restaurant "fake it" soup recipes. Recipes included Panera's Lemon chicken Orzo and Creamy Wild rice, and Olive garden Pasta Fagiole and Chicken Gnochi. The.The packet had nine recipes all together. 

Tissues: No one at that office ever seemed to have a box of tissues when they had a cold, a difficult day, or a sneeze fest.  It seemed that the poor soul that thought through this was constantly having their supply depleted.  I was that soul, but am now fully stocked for my new office. 

Chocolate and Candy: I am known for making candy as gifts at the holidays, but rarely eat a lot of it at other times unless, it's chocolate with caramel.  I also have  a little sweet tooth for Smartie's candy, those tiny little rolls of sour chalky bites-not the UK chocolate ones. Yep-I'm fully stocked in the Smarties and Snicker/Milky Way department.

Plants I can't kill:  Last week my managers held an intervention and forced me to throw the Christmas poinsettia.  It was not coming back.  Likewise, I was urged to give my ugly and deformed passion plant-I think that is what it is called, that are thriving in every other place in the office, to the the green guru to try and nurture back to life.  I received as parting gifts, a mug of fake flowers, flowers taped on the end of pens, pictures of flowers, and some cheeky gint gave me a pair of gardening gloves with a note, "to be regifted , unused,in the near future."

Beverages of choice: Coffee, and more coffee, followed by coffee was a welcomed gift. Likewise the Diet Coke, but since myself and the gifter, also a Diet Coke fiend, are trying to reign our habit in, it was the little bitty cans. Then there was wine.  Two big bottles were in  beautiful gift baskets with other luxuries, given by the whole organization, but I suspect, selected by a few.  I also received many single size bottles, including a red and white alcohol free from someone who has given up drinking herself, but thought we could have a toast together down the road.  

There were so many more things, inside jokes and personally touching like  the George Clooney (no more details shall come on this) photo collage and the Minneapolis Cherry and Spoon print from one of my favorite places in the Twin Cities, the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden, and a tote bin to manage my office clutter. There were so many kindly worded notes, which mean the world, and a department by department scrap book.  I know  several coworkers already at my new job, and I am hopeful that we will all gel as a team as I did over the years with this group. It's a new chapter, but I feel truly blessed to have closed this one having made so many friends. With the work place dynamics out of the way, I hope many of these can now be nurtured properly outside of the work place.

Broken Bowls-More Than Just Shattered Glass

Rather than dote on my sad disappointment yesterday I focused on getting some tasks done.  What happened before I started baking, I had pushed aside.  In pulling out a mixing bowl I absentmindedly pulled too quick, and out of my cupboard came a stack crashing to the floor.  Did I mention I have a clutter problem and desperately need better organization?  The victims to the shambles were not one, but two parts of my beloved three piece yellow stacking bowls.  There was nothing special about these bowls-just ordinary nesting mixing bowls. They were though precious to me because of what they meant in my family history.

These mixing bowls ended up being part of a master box of kitchen items that my mom had collected and assemble during the months that preceded my wedding.  Originally though, these bowls were not for me.  She would pick up measuring cups and spoons, rubber scrapers, wooden spoons, pie plates, and cookie sheets-all the odds and ends a simple kitchen cook should need, but likely a bride of 21 wouldn't think to know were more important than selecting wine glasses.  She had 8 daughters and two daughter in-laws, and I was the ninth wedding she attended showers for and picked out gifts. This collecting before the time came became an art. The bowls were actually bought for a Christmas present for my sister, but then my mom came across on sale, the Pyrex style, similar to her own, she knew my sister had really wanted. These bowls were picked up on a clearance table at the downtown Ben Franklin, no return after sale, so sat in a closet for nearly a year. 

I remember opening my "goodie box" at one of my wedding showers, and being so surprised to see the bowls in the box. I had forgotten about them. They were packaged loose, as I'm sure they were purchased, with the other kitchen utensils assembled around them, and some inside the bowls.  It just so happened that I had also received two sets of stackable Pyrex bowls at the same shower.  I remember driving home with my mom, and she being quite quiet.  I broke the silence by thanking her again for the gift, and that it must  have been a lot of work to find and put all those items together. She had a funny reaction, but I can't remember her words, something along the lines of  an apology for giving a second hand gift. I must have reassured her the bowls were terrific, and that I knew I would use them all the time. 

Well, it just so happens I did use those bowls-all the time.  The large one was my cake, and brownie bowl and also was great for baking huge hot dishes for family pot lucks.  It fit nicely inside a round basket I received at some point, and I got compliments on the set whenever I took  it places.  It made a great popcorn bowl for munching on  in front of the T.V. The medium bowl was the perfect size for  green bean casserole, a Midwestern favorite, and as the kids got older, perfect for them making their own packages of ramen noodles, because it was big enough to not have to break the noodles to cook them. The small one was perfect for reheating a can or even two of vegetables-being both oven and microwave safe, it did the job without having to move the racks.  When the kids got older, all three were used to  give each kid heir own bowl of popcorn and not having to share, even if from the same batch. At least one of those bowls was put to use on over 9,000 days. Ironically, I never even took either set of Pyrex out of their factory sealed box, and they have been sitting on a storage shelve for the 23 years we have been in this house. I didn't need them-I had my yellow bowls.  I will open one set now, as I will miss the functionality of the two smaller bowls in my kitchen.

Things break in houses all the time, and it is really a marvel with all the banging those bowls took that they survived this long.  I kept the other two sets for just such a time when one or all would break.  My mom passed away four years ago this November.  She worked hard to give all ten of us good lives, and it was not without struggle.  I'm sure the cost of providing a wedding to a household of girls, no matter how happy she was for us, caused financial angst.  I never looked at those bowls as second rate.  My mom knew what I meant when I referred to "my big yellow bowl."  See, she had her own big yellow bowl, the Pyrex one my sister wanted a copy of.  When my dad passed away two years later, and we were getting all their things sorted, having the  grandkids to take things that were meaningful to them, my sisters son only wanted Grandmas' yellow bowl.  I hope I can make mine last, and will be honored to tell my grandchildren how I came to receive it. 

The Beauty of Ordinary Days

"Well, that's what life is - this collection of extraordinarily ordinary moments. We just need to pay attention to them all. Wake up and pay attention to how beautiful it all is." -Alexander Payne

About half way through the movie Nebraska, I started realizing just about every character resembled someone either I knew or remembered from my childhood.  I was a little bored up until that point, but was a captive audience as it was a limited selection on a transatlantic flight, and I was wide awake.  The basic premise is a man thinks he has won a grand prize, and is intent to go claim it, despite his age and deteriorating health.  His son agrees to take him, and they end up bonding in an ordinary, yet unexpected way for both of them. I felt my mind drifting, remembering some of the events that were part of my life.  Well actually, none would be considered an event, but rather moments, ingrained in my memory.  Since losing my parents, mom four years ago, and dad two years ago, the memories while bittersweet, in looking back, become simply beautiful moments.

I'm old enough to remember the days before pump your own filling stations, and my dad pulling up to the pump Sunday mornings after church, filling the car for my mom for the week ahead.  There was one station with the "hot"  pump attendant, and getting a look at him while he used the soapy water and squeegee to clean the windows. While he was  beautiful to look at, the real beauty was in the weekly ritual, which meant my mom didn't have to start Monday morning, or any other morning with a stop at the gas station, an ordinary action that in its meaning was anything but ordinary.

I remember the memorial day services, and meeting up with other family friends for hot dogs and pop, at the VFW club later in the day.  These men, friends, more like brothers,  of my dad's, were of the Greatest Generation, WWII vets. I remember walking down to the same VFW club after middle school sports, where my mom sometimes, not often, stopped for a little beverage instead of going home after work, saving a trip back into town. If we weren't in a hurry, she would sit and visit with friends sipping her sloe gin and orange juice, while my sister and I munched on Old Dutch potato chips and a coke from the mixer gun, freezing cold over ice.  I remember wedding receptions of my sisters, and anniversary parties for my parents in the back social hall.  There is still a VFW post in our small town, but the cost of upkeep, and diminishing interest in a "club" meant the post sold the bar and accompanying hall, no longer deemed fancy enough for the weddings of today. The vets now meet in a space in a strip mall.

Being 10 of us kids, one of us was often the acolyte on Christmas morning, as my dad ushered. I remember my dad being beside me one Christmas morning, when I woke up in the little overflow room next to the church sanctuary, after fainting in the front of the church.  I was the acolyte, lighting the Christmas morning candles.  I foolishly wore a  new hot sweater, underneath the acolyte robe, which added to a crowded church, meant a recipe for disaster.

 My mom, each summer, used one of her precious vacation weeks, to  support our 4-H activities around the county fair.  As we girls were the ultimate procrastinators, it was not uncommon to be sewing a hem, or wrapping a loaf of bread the morning of judging.  She would get us to and from the fairgrounds, and take a full day shift working the 4-H lunch counter with us as well.  My parents were not particularly demonstrative, but they created beautiful moments in ordinary days. 

My dad found the styles his grand kids wore in his later years a bit perplexing.  He always got a chuckle at seeing the girls in their name brand blue jeans with fashionable wear and tear on new models. My daughter was running late yesterday morning to church, and threw on an old pair of comfortable jeans.  The jeans were clean, but even by our own casual contemporary worship standards, a bit "holier" than I would have liked. She sat and played with a hole in her knee during the sermon.  The words of my dad came in my head and I wrote my daughter a little note on the pew note pad. "Grandpa would be wondering if you paid for those holes."  She smiled, and wrote back.  "No he would have said, 'I could have made those holes and saved you a bunch of money."  I smiled, but felt a tear in the corner of my eye.

That's my dad and me in one of the "big moments".