Letter to my dad on his 81st birthday

Sitting here eating a scone and drinking a cup of coffee.

Your alter on the shelf above my computer holds your missal, buck knife (god only knows where and how that was used by my suburbanite father); a framed photo of you and mom on Tunnels Beach the summer the Gillards were here; a bottle of “Goats Do Roam” South African red wine I bought for the bitchen Capricorn motif on the label, a scone (of course served with coffee in a mug I made); and all the usual alter stuff: Buddha, Quan Yin, a couple unfired bowlie heads, Tibetan bells and a Zuni fetish of a horse.

Happy Birthday Dad.

I’ve pushed you to another plane the past few birthdays. It was Jennifer Weigel’s book, “I’m Spiritual Damnit” that woke me from my denial that you are still near and accessible.

Thanks Jen.

I can’t help but consider all I’ve learned in the past 4.8 years of your absence:
If you were still alive I’d definitely make a copy of Adele’s CD “19.” You’d love her lush voice and very sexy restraint. I’d also turn you on to “Radio Lab,” my favorite story telling podcast that is deep, intellectual and funny; thoughtful, mostly.

I’ve been really self-centered lately. I’d call you and complain about how my mother-in-law is driving me crazy and you’d give your pat response of “Tough shit,” and the conversation would move on the next topic; probably what you were making for dinner that night.

By the time you discovered your love of cooking I was living in San Diego off and on, as I chased boyfriends around the West Coast. Most our food exchanges were over the phone.

I have a Polaroid of a lentil roulade. In the white rectangle below the shot you wrote, “We must try this together sometime.”

I still haven’t been able to locate that recipe. It’s in neither of your “Vegetarian Times” cookbooks.

There’s so much to share, but most of it you know already since you are "in the next room."

Happy birthday dad.

I miss feeding and hugging you.

Here's to you Dad

Dad died over four years ago, but I've decided to continue celebrating his life. My sister Laurie is calling it, Semana de los Muertes: A life celebration. His birthday is January 19.
In his honor I am cooking some of his favorite foods this week. Happy birthday Dad! Have a scone. Thank God for making you my dad.

Cranberry Date Scones

Preheat oven to 400 degrees and then bake for 20 to 25 minutes minutes.
Combine:
3 cups flour
½ cup sugar
1 Tbl. baking powder
½ tsp. Baking soda
½ tsp salt
Then cut in 1 and ½ sticks cold butter. Mix until gravelly.
Add:
1 cup chopped dates, 1 cup cranberries.
Mix in 1-cup cold buttermilk. Do not substitute with regular milk. Be careful not to over mix. May need a bit more buttermilk, just add until the dough pulls together.
Sprinkle with cinnamon sugar.
Plop spoonfuls of dough onto ungreased cookie sheet. Scones bake faster on the black cookie sheet.

ALTERNATIVES
Mango-coconut scones, use:
21/2 c. flour
1-cup oats
1 cup of coconut, you can double the amount of coconut if desired
1 cup mango
½ cup orange juice in place of buttermilk

Substitute pecans for dates
¾ cup cranberry
¾ cup toasted pecans

My dad's 81st birthday is this week

Ceremony Under Artificial Light

It was a tiny afternoon—it
fit inside a thimble.
To kill time we shopped,
while at the hospital:
the surgeon’s scalpel
the drill-

The lid of his skull
a porcelain bowl
for a tea ceremony—

Dad sailed from Borneo to Singapore
a hundred times
and sang karaoke
at the sushi bars in Osaka.
On a Navy base in Vietnam,
he won a medal for diplomacy
and produced "A Lion
In Winter" for the troops.
(When Walter got drunk and mean, Dad
dressed in the dark to walk barefoot
across the street).

In the surgeon’s palm, my
father’s tea bowl—
the spiced smoke of incense
the echo of a ringing bell
foot-lights tracing a dark stage