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Revisiting: Ellen DeGeneres - The Generous Idol Worshipper

Truth Thursday

I've been following the Supreme Court hearings on California's Proposition 8 and the Defense of Marriage Act over the past two days with wonder and amazement. I believe that marriage equality is the civil rights issue of our generation. It took Obama some time -- some would posit too long -- but he has changed the course of human events in our country.

Earlier this week, NPR ran a great story about Ellen DeGeneres, which reminded me of a piece I had written three years ago about her and a conversation with my daughter, who was 10 at the time. Rereading it, it still says almost everything I want to say about this issue today (including the fact that I basically worship Ellen DeGeneres.)

So here's to the death of DOMA, the defeat of Prop 8, the growing understanding in our country that everyone should be free to love who they want, and that GLBT couples should be afforded the same marital rights and privileges (and headaches) as their straight neighbors.

 

And here's my paean to Ellen:

 

 

Sharing Saturday  

I was very excited about the selection of Ellen DeGeneres as the replacement for Paula Abdul on "American Idol" this season. I think she's hilarious and brave and beautiful, as well as a great foil to Simon.

My kids and I just discovered "Idol" last year – yes, I know we were about seven years too late, but never the less, it's great family entertainment. No cursing, no inappropriate plots, no kissing or yucky stuff, but just enough raciness and tension to keep me interested. And some decent music too.

When the selection of Ellen was announced, my 10-year-old daughter apparently heard her name as "Ellen The Generous." For a few weeks, she walked around thinking that Ellen The Generous would be the new Idol judge. For a lot of reasons, I love this moniker. But the best thing about Ellen's rise on Idol happened on our home turf.

My daughter and I were having a quick dinner after basketball practice, and we were laughing about the fact that she had thought Ellen's name was "The Generous." She asked who Ellen was. I told her she was a comic, and that she had her own talk show. She asked, "Like Oprah?  Like Tyra?" Indeed, I told her, and chuckled to myself because not too long ago she had trouble distinguishing between "Oprah" and "Opera" and she didn't understand why I also found that so funny.

The Poor Man's Foie Gras -- Chopped Liver

Meal Monday

It's my turn to host the cousins' Passover Seder tonight and we will have 19 of us around the ritual meal table. Our Nana was the family matriarch, and though she's been gone a long time now, we feel her presence at every gathering.

So it just wouldn't be a Nana family occasion without her chopped liver. When I was a kid, this was one of my favorite things and I used to park myself by the little black folding table in the den where she'd put it out at every party. By the time I got to dinner, I'd be much too full, but no matter. That chopped liver was so good!

Chopped chicken liver is ridiculously easy to make and it really does approximate foie gras, which is, of course, goose liver. The old school recipes use chicken fat, but I really can't bring myself to use it, so I use olive oil -- so healthy and Mediterranean of me. It tastes just as good and I can feel just a teensy bit more virtuous this way (I know I'm splitting hairs, but I'll take whatever advantage I can get).

This is a very rich dish, so a little really does go a long way. And please remember, I am not a food stylist, but the photo is my best attempt to capture a lovely little bite on a (Kosher for Passover) cracker!

Chopped  Chicken Liver

1 lb chicken livers

1 medium onion, chopped

4-5 large hard boiled eggs, peeled and halved

olive oil

salt and pepper

sherry (optional)

1. Saute the onion in a little olive oil until translucent, then transfer to the bowl of a food processor.

2. Using the same pan, saute the livers until done, browned, but still a little pink. Transfer chicken liver to food processor.

3. Add hard boiled eggs, about a tablespoon or two of olive oil, salt and pepper to taste and a splash of sherry if desired.

4. Pulse to desired consistency -- smooth, but not pureed.

Settling In

Truth Thursday

After a long, three-month dry spell, I finally had a day like I remember from before. A day where I felt accomplished, one in which I remembered why I love my work. A day that bolstered me instead of defeated me. A day in which I remembered why I was willing to step up and take on a full-time job that is actually three jobs and why I was willing to rework my relationship to my family, my life and myself.

It wasn’t a remarkable day in terms of what I did. I had the chance to meet someone new and begin a conversation about how we might work together. I had the chance to meet someone I’ve known for a long time and have a conversation about how we are already working together. And I had a chance to talk with the person who oversees my work (I have decided to stop using the word “boss” – it feels patriarchal and intimidating) and have a conversation about the many pieces I’m juggling, most of it seemingly successfully. 

That’s it. Three interactions. That was my whole work day. Very few emails. Little if nothing actually moved forward. But three incredibly satisfying, emotional and important interactions. 

At the end of the day, a day that also included incredible sadness intermingled with the satisfaction, as I had learned in the morning that the father of a very close friend had died, at the end of this day and after these conversations that fed me, I felt grounded in way that has eluded me for several months.

I have been twisting and turning since I took on the mantle of these new jobs, nervous about the many moving parts, overseeing a big move in our office that affects everyone – both physically and emotionally. Being responsible for how other people are feeling. Planning a trip to another country and not knowing how to land on the exact right dates for the trip, trying to please a lot of different players in the decision-making and not trusting my own instincts quite yet. Overseeing a dedicated group of volunteers who look to me for leadership and yet, feeling like I don’t have quite enough arms to ensure that their direction is clear.

Theft 101: Or, How My Kindergartner's Purple Backpack Came Back

Truth Tuesday

Guest post by Amy Rogers Nazarov

The other day, someone stole my kindergartner's backpack off our front stoop.

We'd walked home from school together, like we did every day. Upon arrival, Jake grabbed his crotch.

"I have to pee, Mama!" he yelled as he wriggled out of his backpack and tossed it onto the steps.

I unlocked the door fast, helped Jake throw off his coat, and cheered him down the hall to the potty. He made it in time, so we celebrated with a banana smoothie, sweetened with chocolate sauce, discreetly enhanced with wheat germ. I poured most of it in a glass for him but siphoned off a little for me.

I like these mundane after-school rituals and I hope Jake does, too. He's got big days at kindergarten: social interactions with peers to be negotiated, a tripod pencil grip to be practiced, numbers and rhymes to be learned. I think he benefits from chilling out at home with me, where the biggest decision we face is whether we'll make a skyscraper out of blocks or try to replicate a stop sign in chalk on the blackboard.

"Your backpack is still outside, honey," I suddenly remembered. "Let's get it."

We walked back up the hall, the door and looked at an empty stoop. The purple backpack – containing his lunch bag and homework folder – was not there.

A Working Mom's Holiday

Truth Thursday

Passover is around the corner. Seders, which are one of my favorite Jewish traditions, are filled with delicious, ritual foods, the preparation of which requires days (and days) of cooking, baking and freezing.

But there’s more to Passover than just the seder. There’s the ritual spring cleaning of the house. In a traditional Jewish home, one is required to remove every single crumb of bread from every corner of the house, so much so that you are supposed to use a feather the night before the holiday to check the corners for crumbs.

There’s also the changing of the dishes. A kosher home requires not only separate dishes for meat and dairy meals, but a whole separate set of meat and dairy dishes that taken out only for Passover.

Then there’s the food shopping – since people who observe Passover cannot eat any leavened product for the entire eight days of the holiday, special Passover foods must be purchased. To shop in a kosher market the week before Passover is taking your life in your hands.

And of course, there’s still laundry to do, homework to oversee, sports to attend, dishes to wash, lunches to prepare and everyday life to attend to.

How on earth is a mom who works outside the home supposed to make all this happen? A fairy godmother? The wave of a magic Passover wand, much like Moses’ famous rod that turns into a serpent?

Or just days and nights of exhausted preparation on top of work and home life?

I’m thinking number three.