Lasagna

It was a famous comic strip cat's favorite food and is a staple of Italian cooking. For me, it's a way to remember my sister. She taught me the original recipe, which our former babysitter taught to her, and I don't know where the recipe came from before that. At any rate, it's a basic meal that I have adapted over the years, adding new ingredients here, altering proportions there. But I still remember her showing and explaining to me how to make this simple dish.

When I was younger I had a hard time with the idea women are supposed to stay at home all day, doing the cooking and cleaning. Then, once I went away to college, it occurred to me that these skills would be good to have regardless of whether or not I ever got married. Everyone should know how to cook for themselves, male or female. It helps not to think of it as "homemaking," but rather as "life skills." Some people may read this and shake their heads, thinking my distinction silly, but it really works for me. Sometimes changing the mental label is all it takes.

I remember being somewhat resentful of my parents when I was younger, telling me I could not see rated R films, that I was not "allowed" to do so. Then one day it occurred to me I really didn't want to see those types of films anyway. It was not my parents voice in my head--I genuinely had no personal desire to see them. That's also when I realized I didn't have to tell my friends, "No, I can't see that movie, my parents won't let me." (This excuse sounded really lame to me--I could imagine what my friends were thinking if I thought it was lame.) Instead, I would tell them, "No, I don't want to see that film. Oh, but how about [insert cool new PG-13 film title here]?" I'm still not watching those types of movies, but the distinction is what made the difference.

I also came across an old Valentine's day card from my sister today. Our family had the tradition to make each other Valentine's cards, ones where we actually had to write specific things we loved about each other. When we first started this tradition, my sister and I would write the minimal amount of nice on each card. The cards would read something like, "I love you because you're my sister," which doesn't actually give any real reason why we loved each other, but hey, we were like, eleven and thirteen. As the years went by, our cards became more sincere, with sentiments like, "I love you because you sing well," or "I love you because you're my best friend." 

Well, I love my sister because of everything she taught me or tried to teach me when she was still here. It's hard though, sometimes, because I remember bits and pieces of advice she gave and try to apply it to my current situation, as if she were here and able to help. Most of the time it works, but sometimes, like with the lasagna recipe, I have to make small changes or adaptations to better fit my life. I think they are still things she would say, though. I can't know for sure it's exactly something she would say, but I like to believe I know her well enough to imagine fairly accurately what she would say.

I still feel her influence in my life, and I still miss having her actually here. I often wonder how I could help her living friends and family--not that I could ever fill her role, I don't think I'm meant to--and I do wonder what God was thinking. Not with anger, more concern and curiosity. At this point I just have to have faith that we will all be okay without her, since God must have thought we didn't need her anymore when He took her from this life. Then again, with everyone who knew her remembering her, doing or saying things the way she would, in a way she is still here.

Perhaps that is why some people pass down family recipes, as another way of remembering loved ones. It's a way to let the deceased participate in the current generation (even if it isn't their exact original recipe or if they just got it from someone else). Apparently, in my family one of my grandmothers made the most delicious pecan pies, and everyone would wonder how she came up with such a good recipe. In reality, she had learned it off the back of a Karo syrup bottle! Even then, this story is as memorable as the pies, just like my sister's life story is as memorable as her recipe.