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Julie & Julia

May 13, 2010



 I couldn’t sleep much more this last morning of being in Idaho.   I raised the blinds and was greeted by the fleeting sight of orange rimmed snow-capped mountains, the sun not yet risen above their peaks, but already offering up its warm colors.  I slipped on my jacket and Dad’s gigantic thongs to get out there to snap a photo.  The air is cool, but not freezing, my feet had no complaint about the lack of socks.  It’s May in the Big Lost River Valley, and spring has not blown its kiss here quite yet.  By the time the coffee was dripped and I settled down to write this, clouds had covered the mountain tops and I realized that yet again, life had offered me a special moment. 

My father and I have never spent time like this before.  Together 24-5  and counting, our lives lived mostly apart, have now circled back to a point of common understanding.  I asked Dad to bring a few movies since we don’t have TV yet.  The first film we watched was Julie & Julia.   The perfection of that choice has rolled around in my mind for the entire stay and the reason is simple and straightforward.  I cook and I blog.  Being here in Idaho gives me the chance to cook in way that is not possible in Santa Cruz where the business of life usurps my openness in the kitchen.  Delicate pie crust chilling in the fridge, the apples peeled and sliced while sitting outside on the deck, then joining in marriage to sugar, cinnamon and lemon while waiting for their delicious blanket.  Pizza dough rising, covered with a brushing of olive oil and a sheet of Saran Wrap while small balls of local Italian sausage sizzle in a nearby pan.  I serve the food at our small table abutted against the window that look out across the open expanse of sage brush, past small buttes and then ultimately to the Lost River Range.

There are many opportunities for regret in life, too many.  Between my father and me, this is true more than it isn’t.  We talked about so many things that we never previously had the maturity to address openly.  Dad told me that this blog has changed everything in a way, has given him the chance to know me on a level that he previously didn’t understand.  It has gotten me thinking about the movie, how towards the end, Julie finds out that Julia thinks her blog is disrespectful.  She asks her husband the magic question, “Did she read my blog?”  If Julia really had, would she still feel negatively or would she have the chance to connect with a different generation and see how her legacy had touched someone so profoundly.  This idea of blogging, sending out personal writing into the world to unknown quarters, hoping that it is meaningful in a way that encourages evolution, was so foreign to me just months ago.  Now I see that the production of thought, written with good intention, has the ability to reach across unspoken barriers to bridge generations and soothe ancient wounds. 

When I prepared for this trip with my father, I did not know what to expect.  Will I need to simply tolerate the time?  Would it be strange sharing a motel room?  Could I express the true essence of me, a 52-year-old grown woman, to my aged father?  But, I found out Dad now knows more about me through reading this blog, than I have ever been able to express to him verbally.  So here I am again at this point of connection between two seemingly separate realities.  Sitting in the middle of nowhere in Idaho, yet basking in the benefit of what modern technology has brought to my personal life.


2 Comments leave one →
  1. Dad permalink
    May 13, 2010 3:35 am

    I feel the nostalgia already. Your photos make me yearn for more.

  2. May 13, 2010 4:15 am

    Wow, fantastic photos–thanks for sharing. I have never been to that part of the country, but sure want to some day.

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