by jphilo | May 24, 2010 | Family
My sister called the day of baking 31 pies for our niece’s graduation the Pie Extravaganza. The party guests pronounced it a delicious success. My mother declared her decision to make pies for her oldest granddaughter’s graduation four years ago since it meant the same thing would be done for her other two granddaughter’s, too.
But four days after our baking day, I call it a learning experience. Here are a few of the lessons pie baking taught us last Friday:
- Sometimes even Grandma Conrad’s Never-Fail Pie Crust fails. When it does, a new batch doesn’t take too long to make.
- If you’re low on cherries, use 4 cups cherries and 1 cup sliced strawberries for a 9 inch cherry pie. The finished product elicits rave reviews.
- Strawberry-rhubarb pie is on par with fresh sweet corn, BLTS, sugar-snap peas and wilted lettuce for best summer foods.
- Minute tapioca is almost foolproof as a thickener.
- Mom has failed greatly in the past four years. Then she kept up with my sister and me, pretty much running things. This time, sitting down to peel apples, slice strawberries and chop rhubarb nearly wore her out.
- Peeling apples, slicing strawberries and chopping rhubarb is a great way to show your granddaughter you love her.
- My daughter, Anne, is becoming an accomplished cook. She filled in where Mom couldn’t.
- I’m really glad both my kids’ high school graduation parties are behind us. They’re a lot of work.
- My daughter has earned my undying gratitude for not requesting homemade pie as her wedding dessert.
I could go on and on, but it’s time to stop. The list of lessons is substantial, and it’s time to attend to everything that didn’t get done last weekend. Who knew pie baking could be such a good teacher?
by jphilo | Dec 1, 2009 | Family
My sister is three years my senior. For all my life I’ve looked up to her, at least when we weren’t mortal enemies, ready to scratch each other’s eyes out in defense of our respective sides of the bed. Other than that, she’s been a font of wisdom and sophistication, and when we were younger and the age gap seemed bigger, I pretty much idolized her.
As we’ve gotten older, the age gap has narrowed, but there are times when I still rely on her guidance. Over the years, I’ve complied a list of ways she’s guided me down the path of life. Here are some of the things only a big sister can do:
- Put her arm around a little sister’s slumping shoulders to hide her slouch.
- Outgrow her sister dress and pass it down for another year or two of wearing.
- Get Mom to help after her little sister throws up or wets both sides of the bed.
- Teach a klutzy little sister how to jump rope, play jacks, and color between the lines.
- Warn her not to date certain guys with bad reputations.
- Fight for a reasonable curfew that benefitted her younger siblings.
- Encourage her sister to make a risky career change.
- Tell her sister she was a good mother, no matter what choices her kids made.
- Get up early the day after Thanksgiving to drive around Minneapolis so her sister could bargain shop for wedding presents.
- Provide feedback about mother-of-the-groom and mother-of-the-bride dresses on the day after Thanksgiving, never once mentioning her little sister’s stomach pooching out because of too much Chex mix, too much pie and that extra helping of mashed potatoes on Turkey Day.
Once the weddings are history, “arranging flowers” and “being a pillar of strength during emotional meltdowns” will make the list, I’m sure.
Maybe someday, I’ll get to help my sister as much as she’s helped me. But if I can’t, it’ll be okay. Because there’s one more thing only a big sister can do. She loves you no matter what.
And that’s the best thing of all.
by jphilo | Sep 17, 2009 | Reflections on the Past
Mary Travers is dead, over forty years after Peter, Paul and Mary hit the charts. My sister was in high school at the time. With the infinite wisdom of a big sister, she told me to listen to them. Their music was groovy, she said, but it wasn’t just groovy. Their songs had messages about civil rights, which she was passionate about, and lots of important stuff. They were politically active, she said.
So I listened to their music with her. I liked it because it rhymed and was pretty, and Mary was pretty, and I coveted her long blond hair. But I couldn’t make heads or tails of the politics and thought my sister was reading way too much into their lyrics. Still, we listened together, and while she dreamed of marching on Washington to If I Had a Hammer and Blowin‘ in the Wind, I stood in front of the mirror and imagined growing out my short, brown hair, dyeing it blond and tossing it over my shoulder just like Mary Travers.
In the fall of my sister’s senior year, when I was in ninth grade, the school was buzzing with news of a youth group coffee shop above one of the Main Street stores in town. A live trio (two boys and a girl) of high school students who sounded just like Peter, Paul and Mary sang at the coffee shop on the weekends, and according to our junior high scuttlebutt, it was the coolest of all the cool places to be after the football games on Friday night.
When I asked Mom if I could go, she said no. But my sister, who didn’t think the trio was quite as good as we ninth graders did, went to bat for me. She convinced Mom the coffee shop was not a den of iniquity, and that it was safe for me to go there with a friend. The romantic atmosphere nearly bowled me over the night we went: the checkered table clothes over empty wooden spools, the kind used to hold electrical cable. And every table had a candle stuck in an old wine bottle. I was certain no one had drunk the wine in the bottles, just poured it down the sink and stuck in the candles.
When the trio started to sing, I was transported. My sister had been right. They weren’t all that good, but maybe because I was hearing the music live and not on a recording, the power and poignancy of the lyrics touched something deep inside. From that moment on, I loved Peter, Paul and Mary not because my sister said I should or because the kids at school thought they were cool, but because their music made me believe I could help make the world better.
Almost forty years later, I’m not sure if I’ve accomplished the dreams they instilled within me. But I do know this. Mary Travers and her music (along with my big sister) made my world a better place. She’s gone, but what a legacy she has left us.
Thank you, Mary Travers. You’ll be missed.
by jphilo | Sep 2, 2009 | Family
Yesterday morning, I was tapping away at my computer when the doorbell rang. Surprised, I headed for the kitchen and spied the Hy-Vee floral delivery truck. “That’s weird,” I thought. “Who would send flowers to me?”
The friendly Hy-Vee delivery man waited at the door. “Does Jolene Philo live here?” he asked.
“That’s me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Special day for you, is it?”
I thought a minute – no birthday, no anniversary, no windfall on Wall Street – before it hit me. “Well, my first book is being released today.”
“Congratulations!” He held up a finger. “I’ll be back in a minute.” And he was, carrying a huge balloon bouquet up our rather long sidewalk.
I went partway to meet him. “Thank you so much.”
Then, as I grabbed the bouquet and turned toward the house, he held up a finger. “We’re not done yet,” he said.
Surprised, I hurried into the house, set down the bouquet and ran outside in time to meet him halfway down the sidewalk and grab the second bouquet. “Thank you so much.”
He held up a finger. “We’re not done yet,” he said and headed for the truck.
By the time we were done yet, the two of us had met our exercise quota for the day, and he’d delivered five very large balloon bouquets from Mom, my sister’s family, my brother’s family, and my Le Mars relative. The kitchen was full to bursting, and having seen the Pixar movie Up not to long ago, I was a little bit worried. (How come my son didn’t have “house uprooted by helium balloons” on his worry list Sunday night?)
But I was more flabbergasted than worried. See, I don’t come from a gifty family. Now, we’re darn good at birthday cakes, because birthday cakes are dessert and our family is exceptionally gifted at consuming desserts. And over the years, we’ve gotten better at saying “I love you,” sending birthday cards, and the occasional hug. On the other hand, no one will ever engrave “Our beloved celebrated special events with hoopla and flair” on our tombstones.
So I stood in the kitchen for a long time staring at the balloons and wondering what on earth possessed them to spend money so frivolously and where on earth I will put the bouquets this weekend when the rellies – Mom, sister, nephew, brother’s family, uncle and aunt, cousins and their families and my kids – arrive for our Labor Day Reunion weekend.
And then, gone giddy with the scent of latex, Mylar, and slowly leaking helium, I lost my head and did a little happy dance. What else can a girl do when her family says, “We love you?”
by jphilo | Jul 14, 2009 | Family
The purpose of this blog is to show the world what a good sister I am. To do so, I am honoring a request from my oldest sibling. We stayed with her this weekend after moving Allen from her house into his apartment. Her house has a wee bit more room than Allen’s hobbitesque digs and she has mattresses, two plusses we couldn’t ignore.
Anyway, she suggested I post a picture of the view from their deck in suburban Minneapolis on my blog. She sent it by email Sunday evening, complete with the subject heading “the view off our deck in **** *******.” And even though I don’t remember the view looking like this, I’m posting it because she is my much older sister and since birth, I have believed everything she told me.
So if this view has you thinking “Rome” instead of “Minnesota,” keep those thoughts to yourself. Remember, the purpose of this blog post is not journalistic accuracy, but making me look like a wonderful, trusting, loving and much younger little sister.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s just a coincidence that Sis and her family just returned from a trip to Rome. My much older sister would never lie to me, now would she?
