For my uncle, Donald Ray Durant

My Uncle Don Durant passed away at 2:30 in the morning on Tuesday, September 18th, California time. He was 58 years old.

I have gotten very behind on my blog entries, basically because I have been putting off composing this one. It seems like the right thing to do, to pay homage to this man who was a member of my family, especially since this online chronicle is dedicated to my far-away family and friends, but I have been unsure of what to say.

My Uncle Don was Family, and that makes him important. He was a husband, a dad, a grandpa, and many other important things to a lot of people. He was my dad's brother-in-law. I just thought he was a cool, funny guy, with a sense of humor that I would characterize as wry and blunt. He was a Marine during the Vietnam War. He was a guy's guy.

Uncle Don was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in the spring. When I found out about his diagnosis, I was angry. Pancreatic is just about the worst cancer diagnosis you can get. I was angry because it seems so unfair that this should happen to the Durant family, especially to my Aunt Linda. He lived long enough to see his kids grow up, start families of their own, start living on their own, and marry. He and Aunt Linda recently moved from California to Arizona, where they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. You spend your whole life planning and working for your future with someone, and that future gets taken away from you? This is wrong. This is unfair.

On Thursday, September 13th, my cousin Shellie, who is the eldest of my Uncle Don and Aunt Linda's three children, wrote the following in a message to friends and family: "My dad took a couple of bad falls over the weekend and since then he has fallen into somewhat of a sleeping state. He is real disoriented and sleeps most of the time. He knows we are all here and knows how much he is loved. A doctor was out here on Tuesday and has informed us that we have a few days left with him. Today a pastor came to see my mom and dad, my dad has not been able to say much at all since we arrived on Sunday, however he was talking away with the pastor. We all prayed and my dad prayed right along with us. We firmly believe that he is ready to go. He has told us that the lord is waiting for him and we have all told him to go be with him."

This news came much sooner than my dad or I expected. I am so glad that the Durant family has their faith to give them strength.

My dad made a very difficult phone call to me early on the morning of the 18th, and that afternoon, Shellie wrote in an e-mail that "He went peaceful and we are all thankful we were able to be with him."

There will be a memorial this Wednesday, September 26th, at 11:00 am, California time. We have missed many weddings, baby showers, births, and birthdays, since moving out here. But not being there with my family to say goodbye and pay respect to my Uncle Don, and to support the Durant family, pains me more than not being present for those other milestones. You only get one chance to say goodbye.

This blog entry is supposed to be for my Uncle Don Durant, so in his honor, I will close with a story about why I think ketchup bottle farts are so funny. When I think of Uncle Don, I think of ketchup bottle farts.

There was a time, while I was in elementary school I think, when my dad lived in a room in Uncle Don and Aunt Linda's house. So, when Dad had custody of me for weekend visits, I spent a lot of time around the Durant family - Aunt Linda, Uncle Don, my cousins Shellie, Jennifer, and Chris (who is about my age), and whoever else happened to be around the house for the weekend. I don't remember much about that time. I was very young, and I have a lousy memory. There are vague recollections of walking around the grounds of a local school, of being given a dollar or two to spend on trips to Pic-n-Save with my cousins (a store name that Chris usually explained using gestures involving his nose and his pocket), and of watching Shellie or Jennifer trying to decide what to wear for a trip to Disneyland - I keep picturing a sweatshirt with a Mickey Mouse head on it.

But what I remember most about my Uncle Don while I was growing up was that, any time there was food around that involved squeeze-bottle condiments - ketchup, mustard, barbecue sauce, etcetera, for use on top of hot dogs, burgers, whatever - he would make the bottle fart. You know that sound that a bottle makes when it transitions from squirting out liquid to squirting out air? Poot, phew, splurr! And when it made that sound, he would look at me or one of my cousins - more likely me, because I was a sucker - and in a shocked tone of voice, he would say something like:
"Geez, watcha' been eating?"
"Whew!"
"Lay off the beans, girl!"
I'm sure I'm not quoting him right, but that's the idea. And he'd keep this up each time the bottle farted.

So now that I am all grown up, when I squeeze some mustard onto a hot dog, I think of him. And if the thing farts, well, then I'm six or seven years old again, either laughing or pouting at my Uncle Don.


This is Don and Linda in November 1994?, in Chandler, Arizona for Kim and John's wedding weekend. It is the best picture I could find of my Uncle Don. You are missed.

a letter that probably won't accomplish anything

This is one of the few occasions when my blog will enter the realm of borderline-political, but just barely, just a teensy bit. I guess it depends on whether you consider eco-consciousness to be a political issue.

I just sent the following message to the housewares division of General Electrics:
"I am simply writing with a suggestion, or rather, an encouragement. I called about the possibility of getting a hand blender repaired (at my own cost) because the unit is entirely functional except for the cheap plastic gear that dry-rotted and fell apart just outside the warranty window. While I was offered the opportunity to purchase a new unit at a very discounted price with free shipping (which is certainly appreciated), my greater concern is that yet another non-biodegradeable consumer product has to go into a landfill when there is nothing wrong with it except for a part that needs to be replaced. I would gladly pay more than the purchase price of the unit in order to have it repaired, rather than tossing it in a landfill. I would like to encourage GE to distinguish itself among appliance manufacturers by making repair services more available for eco-conscious consumers. Or better yet, start a program such as those instituted by many computer companies, whereby old machines, batteries, etc may be mailed to the company for recycling and environmentally-responsible disposal. I have paid for such services myself, and would gladly do so if GE offered them, as well. Thank you for taking the time to read my suggestion."

I guess the reason I'm sharing this on my blog is that the purpose of my blog is to offer a window into my life here in Philly, for my family and friends who live far away. This is something that's important to me, so I'm sharing it. I have no grand illusions that my letter will actually accomplish anything, but I have to try. In the meantime, I'm listing my blender in the "free stuff" department on Craigslist in the hopes that a fabulous engineering geek or a tinkerer who likes to take things apart may want it for parts. If no one wants it, I'll probably hang on to it and add it to my list of projects for next summer: "take apart the hand blender to see what it looks like on the inside, and try to understand how it works, before submitting it to landfill wasteland." In the meantime, we'll pay more to get a higher-quality hand blender that doesn't have plastic gears.

Sorry I don't have any photos to share with this entry. I could take a snapshot of my blender, but it's really not that interesting.

Brussels sprouts?

This was a first in our household. I grew up with an aversion to cabbage, along with anything that looked or smelled like it. Brussels sprouts included. But I guess that it's one of those things that I have come to appreciate with age, along with dark chocolate (how could I have ever touched milk chocolate?), broccoli, and even cauliflower (another member of the cabbage family as far as I used to be concerned).

Val (my housemate on Big Mountain during my month working in Montana) made brussels sprouts one night, and insisted that I try them. I was shocked at how tasty they were, especially the way she cooked them. This was my attempt at copying her recipe: steamed, then braised in white wine, lemon juice, butter, and dijon mustard. I think I done good.

Bryce prepared the main dish, pasta puttanesca, which recently made it onto our frequent-use recipe repertoire. We use whole wheat pasta, and the sauce consists of tomatoes, olive oil, black olives, capers, anchovies, garlic, red pepper flakes, and herbs. Other variations exist, I'm sure. It's one of our favorites because we usually have all or most of those ingredients in our cupboards, and it's a lot better than spaghetti sauce from a jar. It makes for a pretty hearty meal even though there is no meat in it (anchovies don't really count).

According to my sources (and I just checked Wikipedia to confirm), "puttanesca" means "in the style of the whore." Legend has it that it was a cheap, speedy meal that prostitutes could prepare between customers, or that cooking it helped entice customers into the brothel. Regardless of the source, we sure appreciate the recipe.

B's climbing trip

B went on a 4-day climbing trip over the Labor Day weekend. I have been trying to convince him to write about it here, so I'm starting this for him. That way, he has to finish it eventually. He brought me back a present:Real maple syrup. I thought it only existed in old movies.

I baked a cake to welcome him home:It's called "Buttery Snack Cake with Broiled Topping," according to my Betty Crocker cookbook. I know it doesn't exactly look like a "welcome home" cake, with the burned edges and unflattering platter and all, but I really was happy to have him back home. I left it under the broiler just a bit too long. Okay, so baking isn't exactly my strong suit. But it's not from a box, and it tasted good, I swear.

Okay, now it's B's turn:

Globe!

If you're anything like me, you have probably spent much of your life thinking that maybe the secret to true happiness is to have your own globe in your living room. Well, prepare to be jealous:This will make trip-planning so much easier, too.

Just spin...And point!

"Oman," you say? Why, don't mind if do. Oh, man! My life will never be the same.