A confluence of reasons have prompted me to be thinking about being a grandmother.
Reading NiKki Giovanni's obituary by Penelope Green in today's The New York Times with the electrifying title—"Poet With a Fire in Her Bones Tackled Race, Love and Truth"—reminded me of a book she edited that I received as a gift when I became a grandmother in 2003.
That first grandchild, Sophie, turned 21 three days ago!
Yesterday 10-year-old granddaughter Quinn told me that her teacher said they were going to have a potluck. "We have to bring something someone in our family makes," she said and went on to say she had volunteered—"the 'green salad'. Will you make it, Grammy? Can I help?"
Of course, I said, "Yes and Yes!'
I asked Quinn what people would most likely think would be in a "green salad?"
"Oh, lettuce" she said, recognizing the disconnect . . . "guess they are going to be surprised!"
Indeed they are for the Quinn's favorite dish that she hasdubbed "the green salad" is actually— Pasta Salad With Spinach Pesto with sun-dried tomatoes and pignoli nuts!
(The recipe is in "The Perennial Political Palate: The Third Feminist Vegetarian Cookbook"that I bought in the early 1990s when I visited a restaurant in Bridgeport, CT that is still serving dinner on Wednesday-Saturday, lunch too on Saturday—"Bloodroot: A feminist restaurant & bookstore with a seasonal vegetarian menu.")
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