A year ago I wasn't posting to this blog because I was caring for my brother.

Bob is autistic and had been in my mother's care all his life, until she was no longer able to care for him and needed care herself.

When she died, Bob moved to supportive living and had his own room in a house with two other mentally disabled adult men.

When Bob moved in to the home, he couldn't button his shirt, make his bed or take care of a lot of his own personal needs.

In less than a year, he's doing all that, and more.  His many accomplishments made him an obvious choice for the Opportunity Enterprises Amazing Client of the Year award.

See for yourself how one amazing person, supported by an amazing organization and staff, can do amazing things!

Some things are just too pretty to be messed with.

Take, for example, these eggs from a friend's farm.  We hard-boiled them for Easter eggs, but they're just too pretty on their own.

Look at the pale blues and greens.  The dark browns. The pale tans. The freckles and speckles.

They're all different sizes, from elongated ovals to chubby little rounds.  

Aren't they just lovely?  And almost too pretty to eat.

This is the first year since 2004 that I'm not sending a child off to elementary school.

Which means I don't get the joy of buying the 24-count box of crayons, the slim and smooth drawing pencils, the sheets of posterboard and little pushup glue sticks.

I won't be buying boxes of tissues, bottles of hand sanitizer and containers of disinfecting wipes for my kids'  teachers.  

And there's no back-to-school ice cream socials or cookouts to start the year, either.

Instead, it's middle school orientation for my youngest, including the critical task of learning her locker combination and exactly how to line up the numbers on the lock so it will open.  Trying out band instruments and deciding which one will be right for her. Finding all the classrooms in a new school so she won't worry about getting lost. 

It's even worse for my older child.  Her orientation entails only picking up a schedule, finding her locker and getting her photo taken for her student I.D. The only thing the parents need to do for eighth-graders is provide a ride to school. 

As kids get older, back to school becomes less fun for the parents.  There's no supply list printed months in advance. The kids don't want their names written in Sharpie markers on ANYTHING they own.   Depending on the kid, they'll either want to stand out or fit in - and that means waiting to see what everyone else is wearing and doing before they decide on new clothes or activities.

But if my kids ever need them, I've got crayons. 

Lots of them.  Because I can't walk by box of crayons without getting a whiff of wax and nostalgia.

Create your own word cloud at www.wordle.com

I'm crazy for kale.

I love it sauteed and tossed with pasta.  I like it chopped into a salad. My kids used to eat it raw while watching movies (seriously, one of the freakiest things I've seen them do.)

I've roasted it with root vegetables, pureed it and added it to stews and sauces and snuck it into smoothies.

But there's no way I like kale better than baked as chips.

And there aren't many simpler ways to enjoy kale.

Take a pound of kale, wash it and remove the sturdy stems and center veins if you wish. Any kind of kale will do - curly leafed varieties will ruffle and crinkle and flat leafed kale will gently rumple.   Dry the leaves (your salad spinner works well for this) and tear into 2-3 inch pieces.    Toss in a tablespoon or so of extra virgin olive oil and sea salt and whatever seasonings you prefer (fresh ground pepper, curry powder, seasoned salt.) 

Line a jelly roll pan or roaster with parchment paper and spread the kale in a single layer (you may need two pans).  Bake in a 300 degree oven for about 20 minutes until your chips are crisp and slightly brown at the edges (if you have some soggy middles, leave them in a bit longer.)

These are light, delicate and delicious.  But they're extremely fragile.  You'll have lots of broken chips and crumbs.  You can add these to soups, stews or sauces or do what Smitten Kitchen does: Grind them up and add them to freshly popped popcorn!

If you need more inspiration to enjoy kale, you might visit the 365 Days of Kale blog, which offers a different way to enjoy kale every single day of the year!

I can sum up the 92 days between March 2 and June 2 with a roster of numbers.

92 days that I was personally, financially and at times physically responsible for my older brother with autism

76 days between my mother's first hospitalization and her death

35 days I spent in Indiana caring for my brother and tending to my mother's needs

29 nights I slept in my childhood home

22 days my mother spent in a private caregiver home under Hospice care

16 days Mom was cared for in a Hospice facility 

8 dedicated caregivers and social workers who helped my brother find his new home

5 phone calls and meetings to ensure my brother's Medicaid benefits wouldn't be cut off

3 exceptional caregivers who were constantly checking in, offering help and coming to our rescue

2 roommates my brother has in his new supported living home

1 funeral

At every point over those 92 days, when a door closed, a window opened.  When Mom needed to leave the hospital a spot was open at a Hospice facility.  When she was no longer eligible for 24/7 in-patient Hospice care because her condition improved somewhat, the only Hospice bed in the best private caregiver home in the area opened up. My drives to Indiana were never interrupted by snow or car trouble. 

During this time I was frustrated by the pace of action by doctors, hospital and bureaucrats.  I was astonished by how people I'd never met before went out of their way to help my brother.  I was moved to tears by the way Hospice and end-of-life caregivers tended to my mother in her last weeks and am convinced that they are angels walking on earth. I was disappointed by some people in my life who stayed away, as though dying was contagious and my family's troubles were too painful to acknowledge, or those who didn't do what they should have.  I was amazed by some people who I never would have expected to help stepped in, stepped up and took care of things.  And I felt the power of all the prayers aimed in our direction.

More than anything I realized how precious my husband and children are.  During the 29 nights I stayed in Indiana caring for my brother, I had never felt so alone.  I realized how important it is just to have them around for me to feel safe, secure and supported.  And they were real troopers, pitching in, helping out, and most of all, understanding when I had to leave suddenly, not knowing when I would return.

There are people I will never be able to thank enough.  My nephew, who cared for my brother when I returned to Michigan each week.  The owner of the caregiver home who was with my mother when she died, and who spent countless hours talking to her, playing her music and making sure she wasn't alone.  My uncle, who was with my mother every single day even though it hurt him terribly to see her that way.  And the amazing people who found my brother a new home where he's thriving.

My younger brother and I and are are settling her affairs, selling her house and going through the remnants of her life. 

And grieving.  Now, there's time for that.

But I do so knowing I did all I could to help my Mom travel as comfortably as possible from this world to the next, and helped my brother move safely from his old life to his new.  

June 3 was the beginning of the next chapter of all of our lives.

I haven't been on this blog for a while, because I've had other matters to tend to.

Like my mother, who's dying of recently diagnosed lymphoma and is in Hospice care in Indiana.

And my older brother, who's profoundly and severely autistic and now without his primary caregiver.  My nephew and I trade off caregiver duties and have been doing so for the past six weeks.

Oh, and of course my own family, who are patient and supportive as their schedules and lives have been scrambled as well.   

So I haven't been blogging here about food or family or anything else.

Because after taking care of the business of dying for my mother and the business of living for my brother until he moves to a supportive care situation, and updating various and sundry relatives, neighbors, friends, case managers  and agencies - sometimes I don't have any words left. 

It's a quiet time for the blog.

Consider this a hiatus, so to speak, until life becomes normal again and my interests can move from the immediate and urgent to the reflective and considered.

You'll hear from me again when the quiet time has past and it's time for a little noise. 

It's midwinter break for our schools.

Two days off in February because apparently winter has become too overwhelming and daunting for our children.

And midwinter break is a scant six weeks away from spring break, which in our school system has stretched from a week to seven days off of school.  And six weeks after the two week holiday break.

For kids who have had several snow days this year - and two the same week as the midwinter break - I'm wondering exactly what we need a break from.

Our children don't walk to school in feet of snow.  They don't chop wood to keep the home fires burning.  Their food comes from a market, not from their hunting and foraging.  They have warm coats and sturdy boots to protect them from the elements. When they're not in school they're doing all sorts of activities, not suffering from a winter of isolation.

Yet apparently they need a break.

And after two snow days and now two "midwinter break" days, so do I!

We started the year by instilling a meatless Monday policy.

It hasn't been easy.

Roughly half our household had to be convinced that this was a worthwhile endeavor for our bodies, our budget and our planet.  Repeatedly. And depending on their perception of the quality of the meatless Monday meal, they would ask,  "Why are we doing this again?"

And we had to set some ground rules.  Meatless Monday doesn't mean picking the meat out of something. So no cans of soups "turned vegetarian" by removing the chunks of chicken or beef. Or picking the meatballs out of a meal at a restaurant and saving them for "turning back to carnivore Tuesday."  My favorite was a petition to have fish, because fish don't have feet.

So I made everyone responsible by making them accountable.  We hit the library for vegeterian and vegan cookbooks for inspiration. Instead of trying to make some of our favorite meals meatless, we  focused on vegetarian favorites and trying new things we thought sounded good.

But sometimes, I keep the menu a secret until dinnertime. Because generally, if I mention things like sauteed kale or brussels sprouts, I don't exactly get rounds of applause.  This week's dinner was our best yet - store-bought wild mushroom ravioli sauteed with shallots, kale and spinach and a mushroom sage olive oil and topped with grated parmesan.  We served this with a roasted cauliflower and brussels sprouts salad dressed with a Meyer lemon olive oil and salt and pepper.  Everyone loved it - and even admitted it.

So how do we manage meatless Monday?

We plan. The quickest way to kill this is to neglect to plan ahead. Making sure we've got the veggies and grains we need ensures we have a meatless Monday meal.

We collaborate. We figure out what sounds good, what would be fun to cook and what we can cook on a busy weekday night.

We commit.  Instead of the January question, "Are we doing meatless Monday again?" in February I heard, "What's for meatless Monday?"

We celebrate.  We make meatless Monday meals special. We might have a theme (all-green, dishes from a particular country, etc.) But we make sure that the Monday meal doesn't feel like a sacrifice.

And we remind ourselves that there are good and important reasons for cutting down our meat intake.  Reasons like improving our health and reducing the impact we have on our planet.  Because we care.

That didn't happen.  But I did get a delightful gift that evening from one of my dearest friends - a set of plates commemorating every decade in the 1900s, from the "ots" to the 90s.  Each plate offered a handful of phrases to capture the mood of each decade, around the rim.  Phrases like flappers for the 20s and bell bottoms for the 70s.

There was a final plate that said "The Future" that had a crystal ball in the center.  That plate offered predictions for what the first decade of the first century of the second millenium would hold.  They were:

• Implantable e-mail
• Air-conditioned pants
• Tantric irony
• Kevlar jodhpurs
• Cruelty-free mohair
• Tattooed sportswear
• and programmable curves

While some of these phrases were clearly tongue-in-cheek, the 2000s seem to have defied prediction. The only passing reference to the Internet was to e-mail. The term social media hadn't been invented yet.  And of course none of us thought something like 9/11 was on the horizon.  

This led me to think about what phrases I'd use to create the plate for the 2000s.  The Internet would definitely find a place along the rim, as would social media.  Pandemics might also earn a spot. The iPod deserves recognition, as do the mobile phones that are ubiquitous today.

Reality TV would need a spot as well.  Terror attacks or homeland security are grim reminders of the last months of 2001.

What are your defining phrases of the decade we've just left behind?