The following was forwarded by a lawyer-friend with whom I used to share an office in Makati. The anecdote, whether fictitious or based on facts, appears in dozens of blogs and web sites in various versions. This is the version that was sent to me. I love it. I love it even more every time I read it and I have read it again and again.
Last month, my husband and I visited a couple of appliance stores for a new cooking range and a new refrigerator. We compared prices, zero-interest installment options and delivery rates. We finally settled on Abenson’s at the Sta. Lucia East Mall in Cainta. Since we were not due to move to our new house for another month, we simply noted the models that we liked (Elba for the range and a Kelvinator for the fridge), got the contact information of the Elba salesman that entertained us and gave him our contact number as well. We told him we would come back in a few weeks when we had a definite moving date.
We had not even gotten home, and Antipolo (where we live) is not even a thirty-minute drive from Sta. Lucia East Mall, when Daniel, the salesman, started sending one text message after another reciting the reasons why the Elba model we chose is a good buy and urging me to place a reservation fee. I told him I already decided we were going to buy it and he didn’t have to do the sales pitch on me.
For the next two weeks, I would receive text messages from Daniel, once at 2.00 a.m., urging me to place a reservation fee or make a downpayment despite the fact that I made it clear from the start that we were following a schedule and I could not make the purchase until we knew the actual moving date. Still, he persisted.
Finally, last week, I texted back that if he did not stop bothering me, I would buy from Western Marketing instead despite the higher delivery charge. His tone changed after that, pleading that I finalize the purchase before the end of the month so he could earn his commission. Gee, was I buying the cooking range and the fridge as a personal favor to him or because my family needs them? I was supposed to buy something I wouldn’t need for a couple of weeks just to accommodate him? I was supposed to bear his incessant text messages until he wore me down? He was messing with the wrong person. For the record, the text messages have stopped. But whether it’s because of my threat or because the end-of-the month quota deadline has passed, I do not know.
Sam has her boyfriend, so does Alex. Unlike Sam, Alex sleeps with her boyfriend. We don’t mind.
Almost two weeks ago, I wrote about the flowers of the banaba tree. We planted the tree in the front garden years ago and waited patiently for the flowers. The tree finally bloomed but, by that time, we had already decided to move. Speedy said it was as though it was asking us to stay.
A sentimental way of looking at what I’d consider a mere coincidence. But strange things have been happening over the past two weeks that make me wonder. I’m not superstitious but this isn’t just a few things. It’s more like a series of unfortunate events.
Every time we pass by a shop window displaying girls’ dresses in pretty floral pastels, I reminisce about the days when I chose all of Sam’s and Alex’s clothes. That was a long time ago. Thing is, as children grow older, they form their own preferences and sense of style. That’s why there was a lot of hullabaloo about what they would wear to the prom which was finally resolved when they got to choose what they wanted from the tops to the shoes.
It’s the same thing with their private space in the house. When we moved to the suburb, Sam and Alex were eight and seven and I decorated their bedroom with Winnie the Pooh stick-on borders. Even their wall clock had a Winnie the Pooh design.
Times have changed. Young girls do not really complain when mothers take it upon themselves to decide what young girls’ bedrooms should look like. You can’t do that with teenage girls unless you want to go to war with them.
There is a section in my food Web log about the packed school lunches that I prepare for my daughters. For over two years, I have been trying to document the school lunches with the goal of encouraging mothers to pay more attention to what their children eat. I cook early in the morning, take photos before the food containers go into the lunch boxes, then I share the photos and the recipes with my readers.
Understand that it isn’t something I do religiously. Some mornings are more rushed than others and it isn’t easy setting up the photo gear in the kitchen when my husband’s screaming that everyone’s running late already or that the school bus is already waiting outside the gate. Out of five schooldays a week, I’m lucky if I am able to take photos on three occasions.
Sometime in May, I received an e-mail from a reader reacting to the idea of documenting school lunches. The e-mail was in Filipino – in Taglish, actually. Below is a translation.
“Good day, Connie.
“I am a long-time reader of Pinoy Cook. In particular, I have been following your school lunch entries for inspiration on what to pack for my 7-year-old son who is in the first grade.
“While I am amazed at the kind of packed meals you manage to prepare for your daughters, most of the time, I can only ogle. I am not an inexperienced cook. I’m a pretty good cook, actually, but I am a working mother and the thought of preparing a full meal in the morning, in the midst of all the rush to get to work, is too much.
“I’m not a Super Mommy. Most times, I feel guilty and insecure and I wonder why other mothers can and I can’t. I envy your dedication. I even envy your herb garden.
“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate everything that you share with your readers. Maybe, someday, I can find the time to prepare my son’s school lunches too and maybe replace the orchids in the garden with herbs. – Greta.”
Honestly, I didn’t know whether to feel good or bad with that e-mail. Am I making a lot of mothers out there feel guilty and insecure? Am I suggesting that I am a Super Mommy, that I somehow set a standard that should be emulated? If I am, it’s not intentional.
I am not a Super Mommy. Goodness knows how human I am with all the frailties and shortcomings. But parenting style is a matter of choice. We decide how we’re going to do certain things based on what we believe is best for our children. That choice includes setting priorities and determining which is most, or least, important.
Ben sent me a link to a New York Times article about a hotel selling TV dinners for $30 a tray and passing them off as comfort food. My first impression was How weird! and How ironic! The weirdness and irony multiplied as I read through the article and realized that the hotel’s executive chef considered TV dinners as comfort food although in a topsy-turvy way.
Comfort food is nostalgia. It is about being reminded of happy memories of aromas permeating the kitchen where mom is cooking, of family dinners and barbecues and picnics… My Mac’s dictionary widget defines it as food that gives a sense of well-being, often high in sugar or carbohydrate content, and associated with childhood and home-cooking. Dictionary.com’s definition is “Food that is simply prepared and associated with a sense of home or contentment.” It’s all about feeling good. That is why many people often confuse good food with comfort food. For many, comfort food is the best food.
But for Mr. Rubin, the chef, it’s different. His fondest memories of food are those of with times when mom and dad weren’t there and he was alone with the babysitter.
Mr. Rubin waxed nostalgic: “I got TV dinners when my parents was going out to dinner and the baby sitter was coming over. That was a treat for me: Oh, cool! I got the little cake thing. There were the vegetables I could ignore because my mom wasn’t around.” [New York Times]
I thought that was really sad. It reminded me so much of Roald Dahl’s Matilda and her sense of wonderment when she first discovered real food on her visit to her teacher Miss Honey’s house. And I actually felt sorry for the guy. But then I realized he is trying to sell the idea that TV dinners can actually be comfort food and the sympathy flew out of the window.
But what’s even more weird are the findings of the Cornell University study mentioned in the article.
We needed to replenish the stock of vegetables in the house so I went to the supermarket yesterday. Typhoon Frank lashed across the country over the weekend and resulted in massive blackouts so a lot of food items were on sale. You know how it is — food items need to be kept at a certain temperature; otherwise, the freshness is affected.
So, there I was, leisurely pushing the grocery cart from aisle to aisle. That’s the best thing about going to the supermarket alone — no one’s rushing me, no one’s whining to buy this and buy that. If that needs explaining… See, when the kids go with us, the bill goes sky high. And Speedy doesn’t like spending too much time in the supermarket — more time equals opportunity to BUY MORE and that’s not good. When there’s just me, I have all the time in the world to read labels, compare weights and prices and check out new products.
Yesterday, on almost every aisle, there were huge red tags screaming silently at me. 50% OFF! 70% OFF! Buy two, take one FREE! Easy enough to turn my back on products we don’t use like spaghetti sauces. I make my own spaghetti sauce so even if it’s 70% off, there’s no temptation there. But it isn’t as easy with things that I USED TO BUY. You know, before the low-fat, low-sugar diet.
I was in the baking section when I saw the Ghirardelli chocolates. Hard to miss, actually, with the large red tags with the discounted prices. Ghirardelli chocolates are a luxury (I’ve often used the less expensive Hershey’s) but the few times I used Ghirardelli for baking, well, the quality, to this day, remains unparalleled. You can imagine how I felt. The chance to bake with Ghirardelli at such LOW, LOW PRICES. But chocolate bars are in the “Avoided” column, rather than the “Allowed” column, in the list that the doctor gave me. I struggled with my will power and…
