Instant Chazerai

I was shopping at Key Food one afternoon with my three-year-old daughter Esther, and I saw Archway cashew cookies. My mother used to buy these when she had parties at our house. She never bought sweets unless she was entertaining, so every time I tasted a cashew cookie, it was usually bridge night. My father would take out the card tables and set them up in our living room. The scrumptious spread of goodies was laid out on our dining room table. My mother Ruth always cooked the same menu - Swedish meatballs, stuffed mushrooms, and crab dip with tiny pieces of rye bread.

For dessert, Ruth made her specialty, apple cobbler. It was my grandmother's recipe, and it was delicious. She used only Granny Smith apples, so it was tart, not sweet. Ruth brushed the crust with milk and sprinkled sugar on top, and the sugar would caramelize when the crust was baked. She used Betty Crocker crust mix from a box. It wasn't homemade crust, but it tasted great - a perfect combination of moist, sweet and salty.

It was such a treat to have delicious food in our house because my father Phil was always on a diet. He was thin as a young man, but was a heavy smoker. When he was in his thirties, he contracted walking pneumonia and almost died. Phil had to quit smoking after he was sick. His new addiction was to eclairs, mallowmars and ice cream. Year after year, he put on weight, until he became obese.

So instead of the usual junk food that all kids ate in the 1970's, we had diet food in our house. Our snacks consisted of Jello, Rice Krispies and American cheese slices on melba toast. I craved the delicacies my friends had in their lunch boxes: Twinkies, Yodels and Snack Pack pudding. I begged my mother to buy me a box of Twinkies once, and my father ate the whole box in one day. I later hid food in my closet, so my father wouldn't eat it.

My mother Ruth was the queen of convenience food. She went back to work full time when I was in second grade, so she had no time to cook savory meals for us. Our typical meal was Jennie-O turkey roast, which was so salty, it was barely edible. My lunches included instant Giggle Noodle soup, which was basically yellow powder until you added hot water. Other lunches were frozen pot pies and macaroni and cheese. I actually liked the macaroni and cheese, it had a nice brown crust on the top and was creamy and cheesy.

One particular dinner was so disgusting, I can't believe I actually ate it. She made porcupines, which were meatballs mixed with tomato paste, and rolled in uncooked rice. The rice was supposed to be cooked first, but my mother didn't have time for such preparations. The porcupines where crunchy on the outside with pieces of burnt rice stuck to them.

Ruth hated cooking and periodically she announced, "If you had to cook meals for twenty years, you would hate it, too." I never learned how to cook, and I still don't cook much. My husband Kevin doesn't like my cooking, and neither do my kids.

That suits me fine. I think I'll just open a box of chicken nuggets or fish sticks for dinner tonight.

Lady in Waiting

My mother lives in a place called Renaissance Gardens. When I think of Renaissance Gardens, I think of proper ladies in powdered wigs and fancy dresses fanning themselves, surrounded by exotic flowers and spouting fountains.

The Renaissance Gardens where my mother lives does not have such upper crust inhabitants. Instead, there is a woman in a wheelchair shouting, "Help! Help me!!" to no one in particular, and a man who repeats "Awesome!" and seeks a high five from everyone he sees. Some people are slumped over and staring at the floor.

This is a nursing home for people with Alzheimer's and other disorders, who require 24 hour care. There are gardens at Renaissance Gardens, but the residents rarely go outside to see them.

The patients here participate in activities like a virtual visit of Paris or Touring the Louvre. They play Jeopardy and have sing-a-longs of Broadway show tunes.

Most times when I visit Renaissance Gardens, my mother and the other residents are in their wheelchairs in front of the television. Their eyes are not looking at the screen, but at some random spot on the rug or the arm of their wheelchairs.

Today when I walked into the activity room next to the dining room, I scanned the back of the heads of the patients to find my mother. One woman looked like her and I had to stare at her a few times to make sure that my mother's appearance hadn't changed drastically. No, that wasn't my mother, just someone who resembled her.

I walked to her room, and she was laying in her bed. I thought she was asleep, but she wasn't.

"Hi Mom! Happy Birthday!" I said. "Happy Birthday!" my mother repeated. She often mimics what is said to her and doesn't initiate much conversation.

I showed her the flowers I brought for the occasion. "Beautiful!" she exclaimed.

For the next two hours I held her hand, rubbed her back and told her she was the best mother. I tried to choke back tears. It's difficult to see your mother making raspberry sounds and repeating, "Da, da, da, da, da, da," periodically grimacing and growling.

When I held her hand, she scratched me with her fingernail. I pulled my hand away for the moment, but then held her hand again.

I sang to my mother. Usually we sing in the activity room with the piano, but today there was no musical accompaniment. I sang, "Lullaby of Broadway" and my mother's favorite, "New York, New York." She hummed some of the tunes and sometimes she sang along. I can always get her to sing a few words of "42nd Street". I sang one last song, "Happiness" from the show "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown". I started to cry, and I had to stop singing. This song always makes me sad because I remember my mother taking me to see that show when I was a little girl.

My son Trevor has a hard time visiting his grandmother. He is a sensitive boy, and he often tears up when he sees her. Today he was strong and kissed her and wished her a happy birthday. I felt proud of Trevor because he helped some of the other residents and visitors in the nursing home.

My daughter Esther doesn't really know that my mother is sick, and she likes to make silly noises with her. They like to make each other laugh and they both give each other air kisses. Esther doesn't feel sad when she sees her grandmother.

When it was time to go Esther said, "I want to stay!" She was having a good time joking with the nurses and waving to the patients.

I felt suffocated by the stale smell of feces and I had to leave. I was relieved when I got outside and breathed the fresh air.

The Safety Dance

I was just reading an article in the New York Times about a woman who was visiting her family in Karachi, Pakistan during the time that Benazir Bhutto was assassinated. She writes about a friend she had known all her life who was arrested at a protest. The only reason that the author was not arrested as well, was that she had been at the beach that day.

The article really made me think about what we take for granted in the United States. I can't stand our materialistic, celebrity-driven, intellectually-deprived culture, but there are times when I appreciate living here.

As an undergraduate at Penn State University in the mid-80's, I lived with Nooshin, an Iranian girl who was getting a degree in Architectural Engineering. Nooshin and her friends seemed so exotic to me, a suburban girl from New Jersey. I loved hanging out with them. I always felt different, like a third wheel, but I liked her friends, and they didn't mind my company.

Not everyone at Penn State enjoyed the presence of the foreign students. Many students made racist remarks about the Iranians, and called the local Iranian run convenience store Irani-Mart instead of Uni-Mart. Those remarks made me angry and I would try to think of something smart or clever to refute these comments. I never had a quick comeback, but I did tell some people that they were being small-minded and racist.

Nooshin's parents were wealthy Iranians, and they had sent her to boarding school when she was about 13 years old. She hadn't seen her parents or her brother since she left Iran.

At the time, I thought about how difficult it must have been to be away from her family for so long. She didn't have anyone helping her through life; she had to figure things out for herself. She seemed older and more mature then I did. I still depended on my parents and older sister to help me find my way in the world.

Nooshin was afraid for her family's safety, as they were wealthy and educated, and now that the Ayatollah had taken over after the fall of the Shah, they were in danger.

Nooshin showed me her passport picture, in which she was wearing a chodor. She was embarrassed by the picture, and she told me that she dressed differently when she was growing up. She said that now, you could be arrested for wearing lipstick. I couldn't imagine that. Nooshin was always so stylish, and always wearing lipstick.

She also said that there were spies at Penn State who listened to what the Iranian students were saying about the government. I couldn't believe what she was saying. There were spies here? In the middle of white bread Pennsylvania?

Nooshin met another Iranian student, Shariar, and they started dating. He seemed very sexist and demanding compared to American boys. Nooshin fell in love with him, and I later heard that they got married. Nooshin and Shariar were both on student visas, so they continued to get advanced degrees so they wouldn't be sent back to Iran.

When I saw the movie "Persepolis," about a young girl growing up during the Iranian revolution, I thought about Nooshin and her family.

I hope that they are safe and, hopefully, still wearing lipstick.