At the heart of love

February 14, 2014 by Beth Shepherd

When I was a little girl, giving and receiving Valentine’s Day cards was what February 14th was all about. What great fun we had opening our pile of brightly cartooned cards, eating candy hearts with sweet sayings. I can still remember the childish nervousness I felt as I slipped my own tiny cards into my friends’ cubbies at school.

As I got older, Valentine’s Day was a mixed bag, full of excitement and anticipation on the Valentine’s Days when I had a sweetheart and, quite frankly, somewhat depressing in the years I didn’t. In those years it appeared that everyone was coupled (except me) and I felt a heightened awareness of my single status.

Then, last year, my sister died on Valentine’s Day. Since that day, I haven’t been able to think about Valentine’s Day without thinking about her, along with a few of my close friends who, like my sister, got sick or had an accident and left this world much too soon.

There is so much emphasis placed on the romance of this one day, Valentine’s Day–red hearts, chocolate, flowers, candlelit dinners, looking deeply into your lover’s eyes, kisses and caresses. And what’s not to love about all of that? Whereas sitting beside your beloved as they lie in a hospital bed, bald from chemo, throwing up, in pain, scared, sad, angry, even dying? Not what usually comes to mind.

On this Valentine’s Day, I am reminded how easy it is to love someone at their very best, their finest dressed, when they are their most romantic, sexy self. Yet in those moments when someone we love is at their worst, their sickest, their most depressed, revealing parts of themselves that rarely see the light of day–the moments when loving is the hardest–those are the moments where the heart of love can be found.

In memory of my sister, Caren: April 15, 1962-February 14, 2013

Take the road less traveled, Beth

The heart of food

December 18, 2013 by Beth Shepherd

Only the pure in heart can make a good soup.

– Ludwig van Beethoven

Food and love. For me the two go hand in hand. And, no, this isn’t a post about romantic moonlit dinners.

With many of my close friendships and family members, I have a clear memory of a dish, a drink, a meal or a restaurant that comes to mind whenever I think of them. There’s my friend Alice and Thanksgiving (oh that mouth-watering turkey), my college housemates and artichokes (what a big deal they made about me being “an artichoke virgin”), my Aunt Sue and her amazing paella (the woodsy Cape Cod backdrop didn’t hurt either), my father with his pickles and kraut, Big Papa and Shepherd’s Pie (looking forward to setting off the smoke alarm for the eighth year running). And then there’s Dee and Moosewood’s Mushroom Barley Soup.

There is so much wrapped up in that savory bowl of soup. Memories from my college days and my first taste of independence, a time in food history when being a “vegetarian” was still considered trendy, even revolutionary (Moosewood Cookbook really broke new ground), and how the loss of those most close to us remains deeply embedded in our hearts (the last time Dee cooked Mushroom Barley Soup for Big Papa and me was the last time I saw her).

Holidays hold especially keen food memories for most of us: the almond-spritz cookies we made with our mom at Christmas, Easter egg chocolates hiding under backyard bushes, a recipe for eggnog or crown roast that distinguishes your family from any other. We are indeed what we eat…and who we eat it with.

So this Friday, December 20, I’ll be filling my belly with Mushroom Barley Soup. And filling my heart with love for my friend, who passed away five years ago on that day.

Mushroom Barley Soup from the Moosewood Cookbook

Serves 8

Ingredients

1/2 cup uncooked pearl barley
3 tablespoons butter
1/2-1 teaspoon salt
3-4 tablespoons tamari or soy sauce
4 tablespoons dry sherry
6-1/2 cups stock or water
1 medium onion, chopped
2 medium cloves garlic, minced
1 lb fresh mushrooms, sliced
fresh ground black pepper

Preparation
Cook barley in 1-1/2 cups of the stock or water in a large saucepan or Dutch oven. Bring to a boil, cover and simmer until barley is tender (20-30 minutes). Add remaining stock or water, tamari and sherry.

Meanwhile, melt the butter in a skillet. Add the onions and garlic. Sauté for about 5 minutes over medium heat. Add mushrooms, and salt. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until everything is very tender (about 10-12 minutes).

Add the sauté with all its liquid to the cooked barley. Add fresh ground black pepper to taste and simmer, partially covered, for another 20 minutes. Serve with a slice of hearty bread.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

Warm your heart with more foodie posts. Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!

Love at first sight

September 28, 2009 by Beth Shepherd

Before Big Papa and I became an item I spent a few years in the land of internet dating. Clicking on a profile is the first step down fantasy lane. You see a picture or two and read a bit about the person. Sometimes they answer standard questions, like “Would you rather be at the beach or in the mountains?” or “Given the choice would you prefer beer/wine/ martini/milk?” Typically there’s also free-form essay where your prospective date tells their story. A few minutes later, you feel as though you’re beginning to develop a sense of someone.

Then you exchange a few emails before deciding to get together. When the moment of truth arrives, “great on paper” might not translate in real life. Outdated photos promise youthful physiques and many profiles showcase creative marketing, where “I’m ‘intellectual” means “I read the Sunday New York Times.”

In the online phase, it’s easy to let your mind run amok. I’ve heard more than one tale where china patterns have been chosen before a potential paramour is even within spitting distance. Creating faux relationships is tempting. “He likes to hike,” I muse as my mind wanders to a sunlit September afternoon and the feel of the dappled light as we laugh and meander up the trail. The conversation flows easily like the alpine stream running beside us and…WAKE UP…oh-yeah-right, we haven’t met yet.

International adoption is a bit like online dating. You get a few photos and maybe a video or two. Accompanying the visuals is a ‘fact sheet’ that might include height, weight and head circumference and a random assortment of medical details.

Emotions surge as you imagine the first time you hold your child or the first time they jump in the autumn leaves. You conjure up imaginary memories of the day you put a Band-Aid on a skinned knee or made popcorn before snuggling on the couch for a movie. You create a virtual bond in the corners of your mind. I would even venture to say doing so is a survival technique of sorts to make it through the painstaking process of adoption, where months pass without a shred of information and time feels like it’s standing still.

‘Love at first sight’ adoption stories are plentiful. “I knew he was ‘our child’ the moment they sent me our referral photo.” “She was born in April and my mother’s name is April, so it was meant to be.” Revisionist history or not, it is easy to fall in love with a dream. You invest so much of yourself into making it happen, and so much of your soul into wanting it to be true. For some of us the stakes are high, with adoption our only option for parenthood.

The trouble is, at this stage, the relationship is one-sided and only exists in the safety of one’s mind. You haven’t met this child and this child hasn’t met you. While I feel the heart has infinite capacity to love, I also believe depth of connection comes from the flesh. You rise at 3:00 a.m. to change a diaper or soothe a nightmare. You plan for a morning feeding and anticipate an afternoon nap. One is not born a mom, but becomes a mom by meeting the most basic needs in life which, in my opinion, is how love grows and lasting bonds are formed.

At one time or another, every adopted mom will hear the question, “Who’s his real mom?” Adoptive parents will tell you that being a “real” parent has little to do with the biology of birthing and everything to do with the moments that exist from birth and beyond.

I remind myself of this as I look back on the past six months and reflect upon what happened during our recent visit to Armenia. While I feel tremendous loss about what is not to be, I also feel incredible hope for what will be, when we find the child who is the right match for us.

The baby lust I experienced prior to our September trip was powerful stuff. I spent half a year imagining and hoping, only to discover that this little boy had some serious issues we didn’t feel prepared to take on. As heartbreaking as our decision was, I know it was the right decision for us. When we say ‘yes’ to a child it has to feel right and be backed by reality; we parent in the world of flesh and blood, not fantasy.