Happy Mother’s Day to all you moms and to my stepmom, Roula.

I didn’t send her flowers because the last time she was here, I had made some of my caramel corn.  She tried a bite and loved it but said she was too full and would have some later when we watched TV. But while we were watching TV, she fell asleep.  So Denis and I started snacking on it and before we knew it, it was all gone. (I’m telling you, you can’t stop eating it!). The next day, she was going back to Vegas and asked if she could take the caramel corn with her. I had to confess and she couldn’t believe we ate that much caramel corn, but we did. We laughed about it and I promised I would make it for her another time. So I made a batch of my delicious caramel corn with almonds and walnuts (her favorite) and fedexed it to her overnight so it was fresh for Mother’s Day. By the time I called yesterday morning to see if it arrived, she already ate about half! I’d say she liked her Mother’s Day present, but now I need to make more… for me.

I haven’t seen the Baron since last Friday when that nasty squirrel claimed my yard, waiting for our plums to get ripe. I would have gladly shared those plums with the Baron, but then if he didn’t like my eggs, I’m not sure he’d appreciate the fruit either. I keep looking for him every morning but I will always have the memory of my transient beautiful pet. He’s not the first exotic pet in my life.  When I was ten, my mother let me get a monkey. Oh, yes she did! What was she thinking? I begged and begged, “If I can have a monkey, I’ll never ask for anything again for the rest of my life!” It was a complete disaster. It was a squirrel monkey and I refused to keep him in a cage – that would be no fun. The first time I let him out, this thing flew – and I mean FLEW like he had wings… across the kitchen, knocking over cups and glasses and food, and frankly, scaring the hell out of me. Luckily, the pet store had a return policy (probably standard for monkeys and pythons). I had a little more sense when I was younger. At nine, my dad let me get a little bunny rabbit. Every kid wants a bunny rabbit at Easter time. But things didn’t go well for “Sniffles.” I had fun with him for a while but once he got bigger and fatter, my dad cooked him. I didn’t strike me as odd but even this neighbor’s kid knew something was up. Those zombie eyes were trying to warn me…. “I see dead rabbits.”

Denis’s family was in from New York and Spago Beverly Hills was the place to go for dinner last night. It’s always an experience to dine at this famous landmark but I could not eat my food.  I wanted their famous pizza but it wasn’t on the menu. Our waiter recommended the short ribs so I thought I would try them. Since I make my own, lean, melt-in-your-mouth short ribs, I decided to see how mine compared. These were so laden with saturated fat, they should have come with a cardiology team standing by. It was like chewing on meat-flavored gummy bears. I casually removed the first bite from my mouth, then moved my entree around the plate so it looked like I actually ate some, hoping not to make a scene. This was upscale dining: we had a waiter, a wine guy, a bread guy, a food bringer, a plate taker, and Wolfgang Puck was walking around. So the bread guy kept coming by and must have heard me say the kitchen looked amazing (you could see it through glass windows) and he said, “You know, you can take a tour through the kitchen.” We all said we would love that and he said we could go after our dinner.  When the waiter brought our check, I told him that we understand we can take a tour in the kitchen and he said, “Who told you that?”

I didn’t know what to think.  Was I overstepping my bounds? I didn’t want to get bread-man in trouble but I had to say that he was the one who told us. “I’ll be right back,” he said, as we assumed he went back to fire bread-man and we’d see him leaving out the back in his street clothes, final paycheck in hand, glancing back to give me the evil eye for rolling over on him. Or… security will be escorting us out of the restaurant, being asked never to return… the Spago walk of shame. Our waiter came back a few minutes later and said someone would take us through. I didn’t want to go now. Not this way. But if we declined, wouldn’t that be worse? Mind you, the kitchen is very visible and we never saw anyone walking through except the staff. This just felt wrong. But we went, walking right past Wolfgang himself, barging into his kitchen, where no one else had gone all evening. I wanted to be invisible.  I wanted to leave.  I wanted to eat – I was still hungry.

There must have been fifty people in there, all dressed in white, each one tackling his or her own specialty.  Then I saw a pizza oven (with pizzas cooking in it!) and I asked who they were for. Our guide said, “Oh, we always make pizzas, you just have to ask for them.” What?! I could have had pizza?! I want it now! I’m starving! But alas, it was too late. We left, went home, and I had a sandwich.

My father was a veteran and I remember when my sister and I were growing up, he used to tell us stories about the war and his time in a Russian prison camp, and I never really understood how much he gave up.  To be honest, I used to roll my eyes, thinking, “Here we go again.” But I was just a kid. Today, I’d give anything to hear those stories again – and to tell my dad how proud I am of his service to his country.  My stepmon’s husband was also a veteran, may he rest in peace. This is our day to honor and respect all of our veterans for the sacrifices they have made for their country.

“As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.” – John Fitzgerald Kennedy

We are back home after Victor’s memorial service and burial in Las Vegas.  The service was held in the Greek Orthodox church with their ancient traditions including song, prayer, candles, and incense.  The incense is carried by the priest in a beautiful metal censer, which also contains charcoal, and is suspended by chains and twelve bells symbolizing the twelve apostles. The censer is swung by the priest during prayer.  

There will now be 40 days of mourning during which time his widow will wear black and then at 40 days, there is another memorial, and again in 6 months and one year. Victor had a lot of old friends who came and I heard many of them say, “I’ve know Victor for 48 years…. 29 years….,” etc. And Victor’s entire family was there, flying in from all over.  His sister from Pennsylvania, a daughter and granddaughter from Ohio, a daughter, her husband, and three grandchildren from Switzerland, and my stepmom, Roula’s family came too: her two brothers and sister-in-law came from Canada.  It was a beautiful sendoff for a man who was loved by many. Later, we all had dinner together at the home of a family friend. 

My stepmom’s husband, Victor, passed away over the weekend. Denis and I are going back Wednesday for the funeral.

“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.” ~Mahatma Gandhi

We came back from Las Vegas last night after my stepmom’s husband was taken to a hospice. It’s a comfort to us all to have him there. My thanks to everyone for their kind words and prayers.

My stepmom’s husband has taken a turn for the worse so I am headed to Las Vegas where they live to help get things in order. I was going to go by myself but Denis insisted on driving me. He’s doesn’t want me driving alone on a desert highway with trucks the size of buildings passing me doing 90. Plus he wants to be there for us. He’s my hero.

My stepmom’s husband is not doing well. He had stomach cancer surgery last June and since then the cancer has spread to his bones. He is back in the hospital after suffering a small stroke. It’s been a tough time for them both and I hope he can recover. It’s hard to think about anything else.

My sister left this morning back to Canada. We had three days of non-stop fun with lots of shopping. Her best bargain was a pair of Old Navy cotton summer pants (it was 98 degrees!) at the Goodwill store for $4.00! We also went to Universal Citywalk, Farmer’s Market, and we ate Italian food until we hurt. We also found time to sit in my back yard and watch the hummingbirds. We had a great time… only one problem:

It’s three hours later where she lives and she gets up at 5 am which is 2 am here. So by 6 am here, she’s ready to have breakfast and go out, but nothing’s open. Wait, there’s more.  She gets ready for bed around 8 pm at home, which is 5 pm here. That’s not even dinner time! So bottom line: we were both jet lagged, each with our zombie moments. Her trying to stay up late and me trying to get up early. But we were both great between 10 and 2! Good times.