My family likes to joke about the fact that I never have a way to finish the sentence, “I really miss my mom’s…” There are no gooey chocolate chip cookies to crave, no bubbling casseroles filled with cheese and holiday memories, no sun tea to slurp through a straw. My mom still asks, every time I come home, if I have any special requests for dinner, and then we both laugh and I remind her to pick up my favorite cereal from the store. It’s not that my mom can’t cook, or doesn’t cook; it’s just that for her, our kitchen has never primarily been a place of recipe crafting or apron wearing. Rather, it serves as the perfect space to enact her identity as a do-it-all mother of three with a firm belief in joy and a Scarlett O’Hara attitude about worries (“I’ll think about that tomorrow”). Continue reading
A Product of the Home
I woke up early every morning to read my science textbook and cook breakfast burritos before my dad left for work. I wrote essays in front of the fireplace after I had finished shoveling snow off our driveway. I discussed Dostoevsky’s novels with my mom and sister while we prepared spaghetti for dinner, growing so absorbed in the conversation that I accidentally burnt the tomatoes. From kindergarten through senior year of high school, my education took place completely within my own house, and I am a proud graduate of the Lisko Home School. Continue reading
Awareness with a Side of Homegrown Sunshine
“Until we step together out of the shadow of denial and into the brutal light of honesty, we will only be repeating those patterns, and standing in the way of a truly just and healthy food revolution.” -Natasha Bowens, “Brightening Up the Dark Farming History of the Sunshine State”
In “Brightening Up the Dark Farming History of the Sunshine State,” Natasha Bowens describes the restorative effect farming has had on Miami’s Little Haiti. The “dark side” of farming in Florida refers to the disturbing presence of modern slavery. Bowens is outraged by the racial injustice that has been perpetuated for centuries while people continue to eat produce sourced from these operations, blissfully unaware of its origin. The essay presents a stark contrast between locally grown and unethically grown food. Continue reading
Things Forgotten
My mother is not an easy person to pin down. Describing her is like describing the sky; I know her many sides too well to prioritize one attribute over the other. I want to describe her as serious, but the image of her that is fresh in my mind is of her on my brother’s wedding day, and she looks brilliant and radiant in flowing sea foam fabric over a brilliant skirt full of pinks and yellows and browns. I want to describe her as strict, but she has a habit of following her pleasures when they arrive. She will take trips to New York to visit her son, or pick up a trinket at an artist’s market that strikes her fancy. She fills her life with beautiful things in whatever ways she can. Continue reading