Dr. Marvin

At the very moment countless thousands cross busy intersections; as men vie for parking spaces; flight and dinner reservations are made; couples marry; families picnic; and, as children are born and elders die, a momentous event will unfold for our family which represents the capstone on years of hard work as well as a moment certain to inalterably affect a destiny. So, while the rest of the world goes about the business of their daily lives this Saturday, my family will be in Washington DC standing witness as a green velvet-trimmed hood is placed around our youngest brother's neck, a tassel is moved to the left facement of a motarboard, and an ancient oath recited, thus marking Blake's graduation from Medical School.

It gives me pause.

Can this grown man possibly have been the same baby who once brought renewed life to our aging parents; the ever-smiling boy in footed pajamas, pacifier askance, who led a ritual family march to bed at night; the little boy who worshiped his “Dimmy” and “Dott;” the little boy in a red apron who ran to greet Dad after school; the disengaged “Rudy Kazooty" of T-ball games; the young boy who sat on the shoulders of my medical school classmates; as well as the all-too-young man who eventually eulogized his own father?

Is it really possible?

Thousands of memories are swirling through my head; it is admittedly difficult to grasp the reality that Blake’s life to this point has passed by with the proverbial “blink of an eye.”

When Blake graduated from high school in 2001, I gifted him a copy of the "blessedly brief graduation speech" written by Dr. Seuss, "Oh, The Places You'll Go." As I struggled to come up with words which could adequately speak to my feelings now as he prepares to graduate from Medical School, I couldn't help but reflect on the same little book. After re-reading the inimitable text, I decided it remains a perfect sendoff as he moves forward with the "Great Balancing Act" that will be his life; "Oh, The Places You'll Go" succeeds where I would have surely failed, imparting upon Blake a "lifetime of wisdom."

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down a not-so-good street.

And you may not find any
you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.

It’s opener there in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.

OH! THE PLACES YOU'LL GO!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

     Except when you don’t.
     Because, sometimes, you won’t.

     I’m sorry to say so
     but, sadly, it’s true
     that Bang-ups and Hang-ups
     can happen to you.

     You can get all hung up
     in a prickle-ly perch.
     And your gang will fly on.
     You’ll be left in a Lurch.

     You’ll come down from the Lurch
     with an unpleasant bump.
     And the chances are, then,
     that you’ll be in a Slump.

     And when you’re in a Slump,
     you’re not in for much fun.
     Un-slumping yourself
     is not easily done.

     You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
     Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
     A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
     Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
     How much can you lose? How much can you win?

     And IF you go in, should you turn left or right …
     or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
     Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
     Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
     for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

     You can get so confused
     that you’ll start in to race
     down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
     and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
     headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
        The Waiting Place…
          ... for people just waiting.
          Waiting for a train to go
          or a bus to come, or a plane to go
          or the mail to come, or the rain to go
          or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
          or waiting around for a Yes or No
          or waiting for their hair to grow.
          Everyone is just waiting.

          Waiting for the fish to bite
          or waiting for wind to fly a kite
          or waiting around for Friday night
          or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
          or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
          or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
          or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
          Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That’s not for you!

Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,
once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

     Except when they don’t.
     Because, sometimes, they won’t.

     I’m afraid that some times
     you’ll play lonely games too.
     Games you can’t win
     ‘cause you’ll play against you.

     All Alone!
     Whether you like it or not,
     Alone will be something
     you’ll be quite a lot.

     And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
     you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
     There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
     that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go
though the weather be foul.
On you will go
though your enemies prowl.
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl.
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike.
And I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So…
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea,
you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

I hope no one will accuse me of being presumptuous when assuring you of how proud Dad would have been to be present in the DAR Constitution Hall as you take that walk across the stage to accept your diploma this Saturday afternoon, Blake.

Both he and your Mother would surely

Want you to always follow your most noble instincts,
Want you to always be a force for right and good,
Want you to defend the weak as they taught you,
Want you to always be brave,
Want you to know that whatever you do, or wherever you go,
     you walk with their blessing and love,
Want to you keep your faith in God, your humility and sense of humor,
Want you to allow nothing to deter you
     from getting what you want from this life,
Want you to know that while they may have had regrets or sadness in their lives,

     they have always been grateful to have you as their son.

Congratulations, Blake.

MY Chicken

I recently came across a book of “celebrity” chefs each of whom was asked a single question:

“What would you eat for your last meal?”

I was somehow overlooked.

Had the author bothered, I would assure him my choices change with time; my tastes are continually in flux. But, for the moment my all-time list might include:

Mylla’s roast, Karen’s potatoes, Paula Deen’s green beans with new potatoes, a field green salad with Jeannie’s dressing, ending with Ina Garten’s Frozen Key Lime Pie.

Sure, we have all eaten roast, but it is Mylla’s roast that I crave. People may be loathe to admit in public that they covet a good roast, but we all search for a way back to some special time or place in our lives through food; I think it is called "comfort food."

But, seriously, Mylla isn’t a classically trained chef; for that matter, neither is Paula Deen or Ina Garten. Mylla learned the secret to her roast; it didn’t appear to her in a vision. I would also venture a guess that Paula and Ina have recipes which originated on bits of worn paper discovered in neglected recipe boxes from long-forgotten kitchens. Moreover, these savvy women have gone on to sell books filled with the purloined recipes from those dusty boxes to people like me; if only I were so smart.

So, how is it that all of these people have come to hold proprietary claim over certain recipes? And, how many different recipes can possibly exist for pot roast? In my mind, there can only be so many ways to, “skin the proverbial cat.” Yet, bookstore shelves overflow with an ever expanding collection of newly minted instructional cookbooks.

Googling “pot roast," I was confronted with a staggering “1,150,000” posts. Adjectives describing the recipes include: Best, Classic, Simple, Slow-cooking, Oven, and Stove-top – to name a few.

The Food Network – today – lists a mind-numbing 541 recipes, most all of them with generic tag lines of: Meat, Mushroom, and Beef.

If I was new to a pot or even a roast, the choices would be all too confusing. I would need help. I might think to call Marilyn.

If ever in the vicinity of Lecanto, Florida – and desperately in need of resource material for a recipe or future cookbook – as well as a purient desire for a wee glimpse of “the crazies” – one need make a single stop (once past security) to see my good friend, Marilyn B. (That's her: she doesn't believe in makeup but never fails to have a blob of icing on her face.)

Some people collect stamps. Others save newspaper clippings. Some even horde – or have difficulty parting with – garbage. Marilyn has only one vice: Cookbooks. I will do my level best to locate incriminating pictures of her collection; suffice it to write that the shelves of her bookcases moaned and strained under the sheer weight of the collection when she moved to the Black Diamond Ranch community – and lost. The aggregate number totals some 800 or so books; she gave away a "couple hundred of them" before making the move. She has every cookbook known to man.

I guess one could write that I am a one-woman man; I very seldom stray from Ina Garten. (There are occasional dalliances with the likes of Paula Deen, and Tyler Florence – please, don’t go there.) So, when compared to Marilyn’s library, my eight or nine books might seem anemic. Well, to my way of thinking, the collection while small is also mighty.

What has Ina done for me? She has brought great food to the table for my family and friends. As a result, she has also made me a very popular guy. People think I can cook -- and when others come to believe you do it well? Forgetaboutit.

How is that? Look at the picture -- I cooked those beauties!

Ina’s ridiculously simple and fantastic roast chicken is now “MY” roast chicken. I made no claim; I let the recipe, my ability to follow instructions -- as well as the results -- do the talking. I should note that I may-have-also-kind-of-sorta (silently) laid claim to her homemade gravy – as well as her frozen key lime pie. It is an innocent sin of omission; I never declared ownership. By way of full disclosure, I should probably add that I pretty-much cook almost everything Ina offers up; I may very well be guilty of a multitude of similar sins.

I don’t imagine I will ever have the opportunity to meet her -- unless a lawsuit is filed for failing to declare that the food I cook, “is the intellectual property of Ina Garten.” Absent litigation, I certainly wouldn’t forfeit an opportunity to meet Ina -- if only to thank her and to relay how her recipes have greatly expanded our collective compendium of “comfort food.” And, I hope she would actually find comfort in knowing that some of her recipes, those which have now become MY crowd-pleasing favorites, will live on in the hearts and minds of my family and friends. She has my unflogging loyalty as well as some of my money; maybe she could spare a little of the credit?

And, if Ina really pressed, I would even consider asking Mylla, Karen, and Jeannie if I could share their recipes with her. (I doubt they would charge.)

Rest assured, Ina. I have no interest in writing a cookbook – y(our) recipes are safe.

I wouldn’t trust Marilyn, however.