Hey, J...it's been a year now since you left us and I still can't quite keep from crying whenever I think too close about it. The Boy Wonder named one of his "sleepy toys" after you, telling me that maybe a "new" J. would help me miss you less. Sweet in the way that only a four year old can be, but I can't think of a thing that would stop me from missing you. Not even time, apparently.

I wrote that terrible priest a letter after your funeral, you know. I'm convinced he was more concerned about his tee time than you or the hundreds of people who came to say good-bye to you. I never got a response, but never really expected one, either. He probably didn't appreciate the "alternate" homily I included or the suggestion that he substitute it for the one he used. Well, that and the recommendation that he learn people's names before conducting their funerals. Just as a basic courtesy and all, right? What a tool.

I drank a toast to you last night, as we all promised to do evermore. It wasn't an Alabama Slammer, of course, because I had to drive home. Besides, Slammers were always your department and we're not ready to fill the position yet. So you have to settle for the cheap Chardonnay available at Baja Bean. I know, I know. I'll plan ahead better next year. Planning was your department, too.

We're not going to the beach this year. We went last year because you had made the point of organizing R.'s birthday celebration and we all wanted to be there for him. I couldn't bear the thought of going this year, though. I know you believed that ocean air and a good swim could cure just about anything but we never tested it against a broken heart, did we?

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In this month's Vogue, Plum Sykes describes NYC night life queen Amy Sacco as having a "rigorous aesthetic." I like the sound of this and have decided that I, too, should enjoy a rigorous aesthetic. Starting now. Don't say you weren't warned.



Despite high winds that gave our landscape a rather Whomping Willow effect we had a lovely day. We took a little drive, starting with a quick trip to the Plow and Hearth outlet tent sale and ending with a tasting at Barboursville Vineyards. And, because I announced that I was disinclined to cook tonight (well, really to clean up from cooking but whatever) we had a lovely meal at our favorite Mexican place. There's nothing like a couple of enchiladas verdes, you know? With a lime iced tea they're probably just about one of the most perfect things you could ever eat.

Once Entropy Girl went to bed I set about going through today's coupons and sale circulars to figure out what I should buy this week and where I should buy it. Depressing. If I were given to "add water" rice mixes, frozen peanut butter sandwiches in doughy envelopes, and cheese snacks cut in ocean-themed shapes I'd "save" a good deal of money this week. But as I am in the market for a few onions, some barley, a decent blue cheese and rice milk it appears that I will be paying full freight.

I remember my home economics class back in the day (1983, to be exact) didn't use a textbook. Instead, every week we received a 8- or 10-page leaflet produced by a major packaged foods company that included a few coupons and "recipes" using the company's products. One such recipe I remember vividly instructed students to add a can of mixed vegetables to a prepared box of macaroni and cheese for a "healthy, attractive one-dish meal." You can imagine how I feel about this these days.

I understand that it's not really in packaged food companies' best interests for anyone to really learn how to cook. And I'm not talking about the kind of cooking that we do to impress, where we look up recipes on Epicurious for when some college friends are coming to dinner. No, I mean instead the kind of cooking one does every night for oneself and/or a family, where you broil a chop or two and serve with mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli (and the chop doesn't come prebreaded/cooked and the mashed potatoes aren't generated from flakes or - worse - come already mashed in a zip closed poly bag). So I guess if, when you're growing up, the cook in your house makes lots of boxed rice mixes and augments them with pre-cooked sliced chicken breast and your school's cooking curriculum (assuming one is offered at all) offers the same, you're unlikely to be able to roast a chicken and boil up a pilaf of your own making. And so you buy...boxed rice mixes and pre-cooked sliced chicken breast and the cycle is complete and the companies are secure in the knowledge that you have none, not about everyday wholesome cooking, anyway.

Writing about this is difficult because of all the many social and economic issues that come along for the ride. I understand that most high schools have dropped cooking and shop classes to make room for ever more academic subjects. I have to wonder though, and this is from someone who enjoyed Moby Dick as much as the next person, if we wouldn't be better served as a nation in the long run if kids learned how to feed themselves and if doing so isn't more useful than any number of things I, at least, learned in high school. We may be living in a time when no child is to be left behind but I can't help but wonder what will happen when these kinds of life skills are completely extinct from our educational priorities. I fear that we may just be graduating class after class after class of future "cooks" who know nothing besides "Boil 2 tablespoons of butter or margarine with two cups of water and...".

And all the while our food pyramid gets revised again to account for less and less nutritional knowledge and the AMA rings its figurative hands about diabetes and heart disease. How much of this could we avoid if only we taught our 18 year olds how to broil a chicken breast and steam some broccoli, remembering to point out that doing so is often faster and cheaper than one thinks.

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