My parents moved away on Friday.

Of course, they moved away in many ways over the years, but this time, it feels very final. They sold their house north of Milwaukee, the house where I grew up. They hadn't been physically living in it full-time for the last year or so, but it was there. They would come back from the Las Vegas home they had bought, and they would stay there, or could, while they were in the midwest. We went there with our children as often as we could before they put it on the market to sell, and several times in the past two months as they readied it for the closing.

I am not very sad about them selling that house, unfortunately -- I've spoken about it at length with my brother, and both of us feel more nostalgic for the concept of "home" or "my childhood home" than we are for the actual place. So much anxiety is associated with it for both of us -- difficult relationships with our parents that became more complex as we got older -- that we are just as happy to never go back. The people who bought it are planning to tear it down and build something else, and I would like to see that happen. I would like to stand on the street and watch it fall.

Goodbye, bedroom my parents built for me when I was fifteen, when all I asked was that it be dark enough for me to sleep in the mornings. They built it with a picture window and skylight, and True and I nicknamed it "the room on the surface of the sun" when we would come to visit. My mom asked me, when it was done, "what kind of curtains would you like?" and I said "anything but pink." Goodbye, curtains with the pink flowers.

Goodbye, back porch with the light I forgot to shut off when I came home after my parents were asleep. Goodbye to that sound on the stairs at three a.m., when my father would come up, bark, "Deborah, you didn't turn out the light. Again! Go down and turn it off!"

Goodbye, closet in my parents' bedroom, where I found my mother shaking and crying after an argument with my father. Goodbye to the sound of her crying, "I should never have been born. Just go away and leave me here, forever."

Goodbye, dining room, where, for two whole weeks when I was in high school, my father refused to speak to me. I don't remember why. I had done something wrong, been something wrong. Dinner for two weeks, silence from my father, knot in my stomach, mother pretending it wasn't happening, little brother confused -- goodbye, furious silence.

Goodbye, living room with two couches facing each other, where my father accused me of hiding money in our joint college account, the one for which he got the statements. Goodbye, brick wall I stared at as he called me a thief.

Of course, I have far more positive memories of my childhood home than these negative ones, but as I've become a more conscious parent, I've become more angry about these. There will be memories of angry or disappointing times in our home for Doodlebug and Shmoo, too, but I hope, like all parents do, that the beautiful ones will hold more power for them. I hope our adult relationship will make them more generous in their memories than I am.

For now, I am ready to let new buds form in my relationship with my parents, now that the site of so much pain for me will be destroyed. It may be winter, but I'm ready to prepare the ground for a new garden. What we all plant remains to be seen.

Believe it or not, I actually went to see Billy Joel this weekend and saw this performed live. Before Billy Joel brought Dillon out to sing this, he said "This song is going to be available on iTunes on Tuesday, but it will probably be on YouTube tonight." He was joking, but basically he was right. This is not the typical kind of music I like, but you can't argue with the power of these lyrics, and somehow, the screaming vocal sound seems the only one for the song.

Billy Joel's music isn't something I listen to much anymore, but the nostalgia it creates is so positive and beautiful that I couldn't turn down a chance to relive high school by seeing him in concert. I remembered so much so quickly during the show. I couldn't stop thinking about my old friend Andy, who introduced me to the music in the first place, and the way my unrequited teenage crush on him turned into a real friendship that I've managed to pick up again just recently, after years of distance. With each song, I saw Andy seventeen years ago, dancing around on the stage of our high school auditorium, feeling every note everywhere in his heart. I saw myself, lying on the floor of my bedroom, on the phone with him until late at night, playing music to each other. I know now, looking back, that the passion for performance that made Andy (who goes by another name, now) seem so destined for fame to me, back then, was real. He's doing much of what he said he would -- involved in making entertainment, still loving the real, honest music of an American legend.

Getting back to the song, though...it was wonderful to see Billy Joel address this very real issue, just as he did years ago with Allentown and The Downeaster Alexa. This time, he even let go of pride long enough to admit that the song needed a younger voice, and he gave Cass Dillon the chance to show that same passion. Congratulations to both of them...and thanks, Andy, for introducing me to that passion in the first place.

I made two batches of latkes yesterday -- one in Doodlebug's classroom, with the help of 17 little friends, and one at home, with my great friend Clare and her family. Anyone who has ever made latkes knows that the smell they create in the cooking space and surrounding area penetrates everything. I think (well, I hope!) they even penetrate the soul. Happy Hannukah, everyone!

Being nice.

It sounds really simple, doesn't it? But I think the foundation for most dilemnas can boil down to just that: what's the nice thing to do?

Just be nice to people. Really!

It would depend on why I was exiled, and the state of the world around me, and where the people I loved wanted to go.

In a vacuum -- but whoever lives in a vacuum? -- I would run to Israel. This is where Jews are always welcome, always protected, always home. This is where, if we go down, we go down fighting like hell. The feeling I've had in the two trips I've made there has been an instant feeling of relief as I get off the plane. The heat hits when the plane doors open, and it's like an oven in a grandmother's house -- love and comfort full in the face. There's a sense of timelessness everywhere. I can't wait to take Doodlebug and Shmoo when they're older.

But as for moving in exile...gosh, I just really hope it never happens!

One of my favorite short stories is Raymond Carver's "A Small, Good Thing." Go ahead and read it; to explain the title is to give away the story. The concept, though, of small things really being meaningful is one that I fully embrace. I have been trying to make some changes that may seem small, but that I hope will someday, somehow, make a difference. Here's the first one; I'll write about more of them in the next few weeks.

Small, Good Thing #1
I do not want to drive Doodlebug to school. Her elementary school is about three blocks away, and that would be a huge waste of energy. It does get cold here, though, and walking is not going to be fun in February, but I have done my best to prepare us. So far, I've made some investments (long underwear for us all, good boots, a stroller with bigger wheels so I can safely transport Shmoo) and I've talked up our plan to enough people that I'll feel accountable should I look out the window one morning and see, as I did two weeks ago, this view of True:

Small Good Thing #2: Know Doodlebug's Classmates

Doodlebug's school is a really interesting community. There are three curricular strands running at the school. One is your standard, vanilla elementary curriculum, known to the school community as "gen ed" (general education). That's where Doodlebug is, one of two "gen ed" kindergarten classes. The other two curricular strands are more specialized, and interesting experiments.

One specialized class type is called TWI, or two-way immersion. Kids in TWI classrooms spend a large percentage of their day learning in Spanish, with the goal being that by third grade or so, the day is split evenly between Spanish and English. The goal here is to get the Spanish-speaking population, who may come in speaking very little English, fluent and comfortable without shocking their little minds when they start school. The nice side-effect is that the English-speaking kids -- who compete for seats in these classes on a lottery system -- learn to speak fluent Spanish very quickly. The TWI kindergarten class is across the hall from the two "gen ed" classrooms, so all the TWI students come out the same door as the "gen ed" students. Because of this, I see these kids and their parents every day. The students also see each other in the halls, and sometimes do activities together. Doodlebug has several friends in this class.

The second specialized curricular strand is called ACC, or African Centered Curriculum. This one is harder for me to define, since I get very little exposure to these students or classes. The ACC classes, while technically open to any child in the school, are currently 100% African-American students. The goal of the ACC program seems to be to offer kids in that population group an opportunity to learn in an environment that focuses on the needs of their community and augments the standard "gen ed" curriculum with lessons and activities that celebrate African-American history and culture. The ACC classes -- all of them, from kindergarten through third grade -- are in a separate wing of the school. The kids come out a separate door, and the teacher has opted not to include her students in a several grade-level collaborations, so I don't know a lot about the students or what their classes are like.

And this really, really bothers me.

I don't want to let it bother me for a long time. I don't want to wait until Doodlebug is in middle school and doesn't know 25% of the students her age with whom she went to elementary school. I don't want to see the community where I live just give up on creating friendships across ethnic groups as a result of this program. Also, though the parents of children in this program may have different needs from mine, I don't want to give up the chance to know them, either.

So, after winter break, I am going to see the principal and ask about all of this. I want to find a way to approach this subject without sounding accusatory, or angry, or -- worst of all -- insensitive to the needs of a community I really don't understand. But to me, that is the biggest problem: how will I understand our neighbors -- Doodlebug's classmates -- when they are kept so separate?

Does anyone out there have ideas of ways to talk about this with the principal? I am a fairly high-income white woman about to have a conversation about how to get to know a largely low-income African-American community. You can see how that could get awkward pretty quickly. But this is a small, good thing I want to do. Wish me luck.

Small, Good Thing #3: Add vegetarian meals to the world

It's no secret that I am a vegetarian, and that I enjoy cooking delicious vegetarian food. I've gotten more enthusiastic about this in the last few years, and I love to share the good recipes that I find and augment/edit myself. Part of this is just standard-issue-Debi-enthusiasm, wanting to share the things that make me happy, but another part is secretly trying to subvert the standard American diet of the people I love. Everyone doesn't need to be vegetarian (though, boy, would it be nice if they were!), but I consider it a small victory when I can add another vegetarian meal to the repertoire of a family who does eat meat.

Most of my favorite recipes are soups. I love a meal that consists of great soup, great bread, and great dessert. Ahhhhh. So, here's a recipe I shared with some friends this week. Everyone in this house liked it, and a friend described it as real soul food.


In a large soup pot, saute the onion, celery, and mustard in oil until the onions are translucent. Add the ginger and garlic and saute for another minute. Add the stock, potatoes, carrot, chickpeas, tomatoes, and stir in the turmeric, cumin, cardamom, garam masala, salt, and cayenne. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low. Simmer for 20-30 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the mint, fennel, and broccoli. Let stand covered for at least 5 minutes (or, in my case, all afternoon). Warm and serve. Mmm!

Small Good Thing #4: Remember this face!

When Shmoo is awake in the middle of the night ,or refusing to go to sleep or put on her coat or stop poking me in the side or get her hands out of the VCR or take her medicine, I am going to try to look at this picture. I know this is a gratuitous "look how cute my kid is" post, but really: look how cute my kid is!