Time to cut the apron strings

My baby sister was born when I was ten years old. It often fell to me, as the oldest child, to decode the mysteries of life to her, and my strongest memories of her childhood was being bombarded with "why this" and "why that" and "why, why, why!"; that and "please take me to so-and-so's to play" Looking back, I cannot have been more than 13 or 14 at the time I had the power over whether or not she could go down the road to play with her neighbourhood friends.

Fast-forward 20 years: she is a young lady, recently graduated from her Masters, widely acknowledged as stylish, poised and responsible. All agree that under her family's combined tutorage, she cannot set a foot wrong; her future is all but assured. Sure, she has had the odd mis-step, a major heartbreak, and a few bruises, but it would be stretching it to say that she has faced any truly trying moments (except perhaps for the heartbreak - that was pretty rough, how rough we may never know)

I know you hear a "but" coming, and you are right: I find myself unable to relinquish the power that I once held over her going down the road to play with her friends, or provide all the answers to her "why" questions. In short, I am unable to cut the proverbial apron strings. This flash of realisation hit me on the first day of 2011, when for the hundredth time I caught myself bitterly complaining about her choice of boyfriend. In my opinion, and truth be told, many of her friends and family share it, she is totally wasting her time with him. By her own admission, he was the safe choice after her big heartbreak, and she while she can be with him now, she does not see a future with him!

Believe me when I tell you that I have examined myself concerning my motives regarding this matter, especially being the unmarried older sister for whom apparently no one has ever been good enough. Maybe I have no business imposing my impossible standards on her, or more precisely, imposing MY standards at all. After all, when I pressed her recently to tell me what really drives her to continue in this relationship she told me that the man makes her happy. Now really, what else do I want to hear? Nevertheless, I pressed further:

"Happy?" I asked "Why? How?"

"Well, he likes me; he is good to me; he, I mean..." she trailed off.

"Chick, so what if he likes you? That is irrelevant if you do not feel the same!"

"Yeah, I know, but - well, he likes me! He is nice to me. He has been there for me... Given all this, I recently decided to give it a chance, and date him properly"

"Date him properly?" I exclaimed, "What, out of gratitude? How can you say you see no future and then in the same breath decide to 'date him properly'? Both those statements cannot be true: one has got to be a lie."

Sighing, she admitted that this was indeed true. Before I could ask her to tell me which it was, her phone rang and she told me she had to go, he was at the gate and they had to go.

It was at that point that I decided to simply stay out of it in future; I mean really! The girl could not be helped. Starting with the new year, I would keep all my opinions to myself, and would ask her also to simply keep mention of him to me to a minimum. Discussing this resolution with an aunt of ours a few days later, she advised me to indeed keep out of it, but that rather than forbid her from mentioning her boyfriend to me, I should endeavour to keep our lines of communication open, and assure my sister that I would respect her choice henceforth. This way, she would know that I would still be there for her whatever happened, and not force her to choose between him and I.

"After all," she reasoned, " we have all made mistakes in our lives, and we survived; not only that, we were even stronger and wiser for it"

Truer words were never spoken, and this is what finally cut through my blind obsession with this issue: I too had made some spectacularly bad decisions in my life, and I was infinitely better for the experiences that followed! I just had to trust that she would be o.k. too, and that I ought to quit trying to control and manipulate her (which was the essence of my threatened ultimatum concerning mentioning her boyfriend to me). Boy, was that a severe wake up call: who would have guessed that all my efforts were aimed at trying to control her and keeping her under my thumb? I certainly couldn't. Not a sweet pill to swallow, but hey, I guess I too still have a thing or too to learn!

You have a brother??

I recently mentioned, in casual conversation with a close friend of mine, that my brother was born 11 months after I was born.
His reaction? Disbelief: "You have a brother??"
I smiled, waiting for the punch line: from the moment we met more than 5 years ago, the Godfather has spent nearly all of our time together teasing me. We, his friends, call him the Godfather because he is usually off doing God knows what, not responding to e-mail or text; plus, he is Italian and fancies himself very wise! In reality he is is extremely naive, more than me even, and that is saying A LOT; nevertheless, very generous, and a really smart guy so a great pleasure to hang out with.
"Yeah, why not?" I reply, "I'm afraid there is someone very much like me hanging about somewhere in the world."
"No, seriously, you really have never mentioned a brother! In fact, not long ago I was reflecting on what it was like for you to be an only child!"
"An only child??" I asked, equally incredulous now.
"Yes!" he replied, "Oh, wait, what's wrong with me? Of course: you have a sister! How could I have forgotten that?"
(And two nephews thank you!)
"Why would you think I was an only child?" I asked, puzzled.
"Well, because you are so self-centred, and spoiled!" he smiled, back to his teasing.
"But seriously, tell me more about him!" he prompted after a while; and so I did.
My brother and I, as far as I can remember, were quite close growing up. Being the only boy, of course, meant that he was a little spoiled, but luckily I was perfectly secure in my first born status and didn't mind too much.

"I cannot believe that I really have never mentioned him" I said to the Godfather, "But thinking about it now, we do seem to have really drifted apart in the last few years. I think it all started when he moved out of home for the first time, at quite an early age too."

"When was this?"

When was it indeed? I could not remember! I thought for a minute.

"Well, he wasn't that young probably, maybe 25? I think I did not live at home during that period either so I cannot recall exactly," I said.

"And why would you have lost touch - didn't he visit?"

"Yeeeah, I guess, though I don't remember him visiting that much; nobody really even knew where he lived exactly!"

"What? How?!? Not even his Mother"

(Did I mention that my friend was Italian?)

"Sure!" I said, "It is quite normal for people not to know where a boy lives - it is part of letting him start his own life I guess. Of course we knew the general area but I don't recall actually going there until he had been living there for some years!"

"So what's he like then, your brother?"

"Oh, really brilliant, I have to say. And sooo funny, even funnier than me, if you can imagine that" I teased

"Oooh, believe me, that is too easy," he teased back.

"Yeah, anyway; he is also really social: he has A LOT of friends!"

"Hm. that's just like my own brother" my friend returned; but you know, having so many friends and being so funny does not always mean some one is happy, or well really" he added somberly.

"Hmmm," I mused.

"My brother is also really brilliant, and very very funny. In fact, even though he is generally a reserved person, when there is a big group of people he can really make entertain you!! Yeah... he almost becomes a clown!" he finished quietly.

"Really..." I smiled. "Hey, did you know, by the way, that very humorous people are also highly intelligent? Someone told me this recently..."

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

"Was it you?" I continued.

"No, but it is quite obvious" he remarked dryly.

"You know you are one of the least humorous people that I know actually..." I begun.

"Yeah, yeah, Vive," he countered, "But I am funnier than you so you really don't want to go there" he countered with a smile

"Whatever" I smiled back. "Well anyway, thinking about it now, I wonder why we drifted a part like this. For sure he has not been very well for some years now, your observation about having so many friends not necessarily meaning that he is happy is quite accurate."

"Hmm." he agreed. "My brother certainly was not doing well for a long time, I don't know what happens to these brilliant people but at one point, they seem to lose it. Sometime after he turned 21 he simply couldn't be bothered to do anything with himself, failed to finish his studies and basically..."

"Weird...This is more or less what happened to my brother"

Nodding his head he continued "In my brother's case, it was not until he met this girl that click, he got his act together. He will finally finish his degree next February. His friends have already been out of school and working for almost 10 years!"

"Oh my! But that is great. On the other hand, I think my brother's crisis was accelerated by a girl. They lived together for a while and he told me several times that he loved the girl to death but that the constant fighting was driving him crazy! No matter how careful he was not put a foot wrong there was always something. One day he just turned up at home and told us they had broken up!"

"Ah."

"Yeah. The way I remember it, he was so distraught that stayed at my parents' home for a few days to stabilise, and then I don't know how that story went but I think he never left again.

"Oh, and is he still there?"

"Yeap!" I replied.

My friend looked at me quizzically, "Really? Aaand how old is he?"

"34! No, 35, one year younger than me, remember?"

"NOOO!" he laughed, "Vive, 35?? What does he do?"

"He is self employed; ICT. He doesn't have a registered company or anything but he does get quite a lot of work. And from what his clients say, he does a very good job too."

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad," the Godfather said.

"Yeeaah, well, there is only one problem" I added sceptically "His clients can only contact him by phone, and he is always losing it! I think it is part of his self-destructing behaviour"

The Godfather nodded thoughtfully "Self-destructive behaviour, yes. I recognise that."

I shook my head in wonder "Seriously, he has maybe lost 90 telephones, I don't know! Luckily, he gets quite well paid when he does finish a job so it keeps him for a while"

"Well paid, huh?" he said.

"Yeah, the guy make more for three days' work than I, I don't know, than I - "

"Than you make in a month?" he threw his head back and guffawed "In a YEAR? Heheehhehehe"

"Silly!" I said, kicking him under the table "No, seriously. The only problem is that as soon as he makes the money then he parties for days and days with his friends, and then suddenly has no money, and he has NO phone!!"

"Hehehehe, that's funny"

"I know. Well, not so funny but anyway, when he is on one of these drinking sprees my mother cannot sleep a wink, waiting for someone to ring her and tell her her son has been run over or been injured in a bar fight or something! As for my Dad, the whole thing frustrates him so much he doesn't know which way is up anymore. One day he is trying to be conciliatory and fatherly, the next he is pulling his beard off and screaming at my brother! Their only son and all that, it gets pretty crazy"

"Well, can't you guys say something? Help him?"

"Ah, I have to say that we have not been too successful. For my part, our communication has broken down so much that we always end up shouting at one another and storming off! It is really too bad because he has so much wasted potential"

"Yeah, I can imagine; with my brother, of course, none of us dared say anything so... It has to come from the person himself I think."

"Well, there you are. I personally do not know what to do, and I have kind of given up. My Dad and Mom try their best but sometimes I wonder if the best thing is not to just cut him lose and let him find his level, maybe something will happen that will bring him back to his senses. I don't know."

The Godfather was due to present a paper in Israel the following week, so I decided to change the subject and asked him if he was looking forward. When I got home later that day I thought back to our conversation, and the question still reverberated in my head:

"You have a brother?"

A Bowl of Spinach

I find the weekends that I spend away from the city, and in the little village where I live and work, very relaxing indeed. I have no want of electricity, flowing water, internet, and even World Cup action, which I can catch on an ancient and fuzzy television at the staff pub. Not to mention fresh produce, cheap fruit and more fresh air than anyone can use! The best part of these weekends is the opportunity to try out new recipes, but even better, to dust off old endlessly modified favourites, and this weekend was no exception. On Friday afternoon I bumped into a villager selling fresh spinach and I wasted no time buying myself a bunch, thus setting myself up on a date with some creamy spinach for lunch on Saturday.

Midway through my lazy Saturday, I get up from watching the final season of 'Ugly Betty' (riveting stuff!) and quickly dice the spinach, wash it and stuff it into my biggest saucepan (which is not all that big to begin with). I have some left over rice in the fridge and figure this will go well enough with the spinach and cut cooking time. I cut up some onions and tomatoes and add them to the spinach. In deference to my housemate, I desist from the garlic; she is not even home this weekend but that girl can smell garlic on you one week after you eat it; and since I have been eating liberal amounts of the stuff for a whole week, and given her gracious suffering through the ordeal, I am prompted to go easy on the garlic for a little while.

I grind some black pepper and rock salt over the spinach, and finish with a sprinkling of mixed herbs and a drizzle of olive oil. I plonk the pan on my one burner gas stove, turn down the flame and return to the Ugly Betty. One episode later I return to put the finishing (and essential) touches to the spinach - it usually tastes pretty good without these but I am in the mood to treat myself: out come the cream (a modest dollop mind you) and 'Royco' - a wonderful invention if you ask me: it is a soup thickening agent made up of God-knows-what, and probably a healthy dose of that salty stuff you find in Soy Sauce what's-its'-name. Once things are bubbling away again, I take one of my airtight freezer food-keeping-containers (what are those things called?) and fill it up with some of the spinach, leaving just enough for my lunch. I take the cold rice and, wanting to minimise dirty saucepans, plop it into the spinach that is still simmering on the stove - I know - I am losing the gastronomical plot here but hey - it will all end up in my stomach anyway. The rice proves to be too voluminous for the spinach left in the saucepan so I reach for the one in the food-keeping-container so that I can add some more to the pan but suddenly the stupid container begins to slip out of my hand and a frantic heart-stopping second later the container is face down on the floor!

With a gut wrenching 'NOOOOOO!!!' I dive to save some of the spinach by turning over the container and feverishly picking off the leaves on top and back into the container. 'No, no, no...' I whimper. I subconsciously wonder when my floor was last swept' but block out the answer and step up my efforts by scooping the creamy sauce off the floor with both hands thinking the spinach was hot when it poured so it must have sanitised the floor - ouch, ouch - hot, hot. When I can scoop no more sauce off the floor, I turn to the walls but stop myself in mid-reach; only then does the smell of burning penetrate my awareness. I pick the container of rescued spinach off the floor and spin towards the stove, knock off the cover with my bare hands and pour some more spinach into the rice, vigorously scraping the sides and bottom of the pan to dislodge the sticking rice. I cover the pan and turn back to the carnage to survey the damage.

Spinach is clinging to the wall and to the curtain hanging over the door that leads out of the kitchen into the backyard. There are smears of sauce on the door itself, and splotches of sauce and spinach on my trouser bottoms and on my leather sandals. I hold up my hands and seeing the layer of sauce on them, briefly consider flicking my fingers dry into the rescued sauce but abandon the idea. I take myself to the sink and wash my hands, then take a kitchen cloth and wipe down the wall and door, all the while inwardly mourning my creamed spinach - that stuff is seriously delicious.

I take my warmed rice & spinach mixture (or gunk, if I am honest) off the stove and pile it, steaming, into my soup bowl, and kicking off my soiled sandals climb back up on my bed and resume watching 'Ugly Betty'. I take a moment to reflect over what I would normally consider mad, unhygienic behaviour and feel not the least bit of concern - if you had ever tasted that spinach, or if you could have smelled it as it cooked, you would have done the same.

So: I watch my show, and sure I occasionally bite on some grit, but I still enjoy my spinach very much :-)