Rylee’s Last Batch of School Cookies: The Art of Embedding an Essential Memory

“We’re like bookends,” I thought. “Michael’s musings over how sweetly tender a small moment like blow-drying a baby’s hair can be; my musings over my bowl of peanut butter cookie dough at 7:30 a.m.”

The bowl of peanut butter cookie dough was the “last batch of school cookies” I would be making my youngest. I was baking them yesterday, as she got dressed for her last official day of instruction at the Academy of Hair Design. And, I was working very hard on trying to force-feed my memory embedding system with some sort of signal that would capture this moment and freeze it, or perhaps bronze it, for posterity.

I reached down to grab my heavy duty, several-ply stainless steel half baking sheet that I love so much. I hesitated, and instead opted for a small, flimsy baking sheet I knew had come with a toaster oven from a marriage gift twenty-five years ago. I wanted to make sure that the equipment I was using honored the entire nineteen and one-half years of my daughter’s existence. Continue reading Rylee’s Last Batch of School Cookies: The Art of Embedding an Essential Memory

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The 2011 Imaginary Family Project – Week 24

#24 of 52 : CINDY
Imaginary Family Project Week 24

External Photo Clues:
None

Imagine:
The man eases me against the curb in front of a house the color of red mud.  About ten inches out; just right, and he corners the tires.  He’s a pretty good driver — way better than my last owner, who never remembered to shift and always scraped the curb.  New neighborhood, I think — no trees, and the road’s still smooth.  Hot though; the tar feels a little squishy against my tires.  No sign of a garage; at least there’s a driveway.

A boy and a girl come pounding out the door of the house, followed by a woman in a housedress.  The woman’s tall and thin; she looks a little worn.  No surprise — the girl looks to be maybe 8 and the boy might be 11, and that combination would tire anyone out.

The man opens my door and gets out.  He closes it gently but firmly.  No slamming. Another good sign.  He spreads his arms wide.  “Ta DAH!”

The boy jumps up and down.  “A new car!  Is it ours?  Can we keep it?  COOOOL.  How fast will it go?”  Continue reading The 2011 Imaginary Family Project – Week 24

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Regret Prevention

A book I was reading the other night contained the following quote from, “Gift from a Hairdryer” by Mary Jean Irion. Although it’s from the perspective of a mom as she combs and blow-dries her seven year old daughter’s hair after bath time, it applies equally to fatherhood:

Comb and dry, comb and dry, Soon I won’t be able to do this any more, you say to yourself, knowing that the little straight bob must inevitably yield to grown-up coiffures and ugly curlers. What will she be like at fourteen? Where will her hair be blowing then? And sixteen and eighteen—you suppose boys will love to watch her hair blow as you do now. And some of them will feel it on their faces, and one of them will marry her, and her hair will be perfect under the veil, and there will be her hair spread out on his pillow… oh, you hate him a little and wonder where he is at this moment and whether he’ll be good to her… they will grow old together… the gold-brown hair will be gray, and you will be gone, and then she will be gone… this very hair that now your fingers smooth…

All the tears of the world swim for a second in your eyes as you snatch the plug out of the socket suddenly and gather her into your arms burying your face in the warm hair as if you could seal this moment against all time.

Needless to say, I immediately put my book down and quietly walked down the hallway to my daughter’s room where she lay sleeping peacefully in her crib. Without turning on the light, I tiptoed into her room and just stood over her crib for a bit. I listened to her breath softly in her sleep. I admired her tiny beauty. I stared down at her pajama pants and t-shirt and wondered to myself how in the world she’d already outgrown her infant onesies. When did that happen?

And how, might I ask, is she already 8 1/2 months old? It seems like just yesterday I was carefully strapping her into her car seat for the first time to take her home from the hospital. And yet here we are, just a few short months from her first birthday.

She’s been crawling for a little over two weeks now and I know that soon that too will be replaced by walking as she continues to grow and develop.

Deep down inside I know these days with her are fleeting, and the fact that there’s nothing I can do to slow them down is a sobering realization. Not a sad realization. Just sobering. Maybe even helpful. Continue reading Regret Prevention

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On the Horizon: Silly, Silly, Silly

No matter where I travel, nearly everyone I meet shares something in common: A love of home. It is a hometown pride that can often take a strong prescription of rose-colored glasses. But unlike successful personal relationships where we overlook a loved one’s flaws, overlooking your hometown’s shortcomings can be disastrous.

I live in an historic neighborhood that borders Oklahoma State University. Built in the 1930’s, it has parks and boulevards of what where well-maintained, tree-lined streets. Recently though, a troubling trend emerged. Family homes were quickly being bought up by out-of-town investors; turning them into rental property. In an effort to make a quick buck, landlords subdivided rooms cramming as many students in as possible. With no place to park, lawns became parking lots and my quaint, easy neighborhood began to spiral downward quicker than I could have ever imagined.

Many of my neighbors moved away, but others decided our neighborhood was worth saving. What started as a grassroots effort, has evolved into a proposed conservation district. Just as you would protect vulnerable eco-systems, they hope to preserve what is Stillwater’s last remaining historical neighborhood. Their efforts are not alone. Across the state, people are realizing maintaining older neighborhoods is a wonderful form of recycling. In today’s video blog, I want to take you to a similar neighborhood in Oklahoma City that is finding new life.

Rob McClendon

 

On the Horizon: Neighborhood Alliance from Alisa Hines on Vimeo.

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My Little Victory Garden: “Potpourri for 200, Alex”

 

Last week I had a mid-recipe creation crisis. It happened in the kitchen and I decided that rather than write an entire entry about how many fails I experienced while trying to braise short-ribs with Oklahoma Sandhill Plums, I would just avoid the topic altogether.  Seriously, I was beginning to think that my recipe creation was the reincarnation of Groundhog Day, and that redemption in my life would only happen if I finally pulled out the perfect center of the plate post.

Then I started thinking about this rant I went on two years ago in my little research world.  One of my colleagues from a university in the northwestern U.S. was really down during one of our professional conferences and I asked him about his glum face.  He stated that he had devoted approximately three years and lots of money toward an on-line relationship education program only to find out there were no effects (no statistically significant findings).  So I asked him, “Why don’t you share THAT information?  Don’t you think the fails are as important as the wins?”  Then he said, “No research journal publishes ‘fails.'”  Maybe I embedded that little downer-nugget into my subconscious last week?

But hey – THIS isn’t a research journal, right? It’s a blog about my garden and by golly, I’m going to publish the fails! Continue reading My Little Victory Garden: “Potpourri for 200, Alex”

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Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.