Reminisce

I know that there are some cultures who believe you shouldn’t speak of the dead – that it will bring bad spirits upon you. I think it is quite the opposite. This evening, I spent a great long dinner with my mom and our family friend, Wendy, whose mother (my mom’s best friend) passed away 15 years ago from breast cancer. It had been several years since we had been together and, honestly, many more since we had really sat down to talk. It was a great evening. There is such comfort in good friends who have shared common joys and sorrows. I believe that Americans, as a whole, feel compelled to hide their emotions and simply move on after a personal loss. And there’s this idea that if we talk about it, emotions will emerge and all hell will break lose. But that’s a lie, pure and simple. It is fear of vulnerability and it causes us to miss out on some amazing moments.

This evening, the beautiful patio of Veni Vidi Vici’s was a place of much reminiscing, a few teary eyes, and a lot of great heart-felt laughs. I believe it is so important for us to keep our yaps open and to remember all of those who have impacted our lives. Far from dreading evil spirits, I now feel Nancy’s presence (Wendy’s mother) more than I have in years. Stories of old microwaves, wallpaper trees, 1970’s furniture, impractical yet sentimental clothing, and deathbed struggles made her almost real again for just one evening. I knew words were powerful, but I often forget their ability to construct more than sentences. In this case, they constructed memory, emotion, connection, and, in so many ways, a person.

At the risk of sounding maudlin and a little cheesy, I hope that this inspires you to open up a photo album of a loved one you have lost. Sit around drinking good wine with friends and family, share stories and see how tangible your own memories can be.

Irish Coffee

I come from a very vocal family and I love to engage others when I'm out and about. My husband knows this and thinks that I sometimes cross a line. I disagree. However, this time my inquiries were a little awkward...

This summer, my husband and I visited Portland, OR and discovered a restaurant, Huber's.  It is the oldest in Portland and we though, what the heck, let's give it a go! It's a very old world-feeling place with dark wood and old black and white photos - just the sort of thing we love. The waitress comes over and we (well... I) quickly let her know it's our first time and she starts to fill us in on the specialties of the house, one of which is Irish Coffee. It's not what you're thinking. It's a dinner-and-a-show-style pouring of coffee and various liqueurs, along with a setting fire of the rim of the glass, all table-side. The guy who does it has been there for 25-30 years. Sounded awesome, so we ordered it. 

When the guy comes to the table, I am already interested in his story and want to hear more. So, I ask, "What keeps you here?" In my mind, the response is a passionate story about a sense of tradition, loving the extravagance and showmanship of this very unique craft, of owning a little piece of history. My husband, on the other hand, sees an embarrassing train wreck just ahead. The guy looks at my bright and inquiring eyes and says, "I can't do much else. This isn't a very marketable skill." Queue images of crashing planes, breaking hearts and plummeting sound effects. Needless to say, the show itself was amazing, my husband was embarrassed, I was disheartened, and the guy got a really big tip.