A Quote by Dick Strawbridge
There was always laughter in our house. And I have great memories of my dad making an Ulster fry on a Saturday morning. They were legendary even though he couldn't really cook.
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My dad was always there, even though he wasn't living in our house. He was always on the phone, always just a car ride away. Whenever he had a new recording, we would be the first to get the acetate. And it would say, in Dad's handwriting, 'Play it loud.'
I missed my dad a lot growing up, even though we were together as a family. My dad was really a workaholic. And he was always working.
This house was our dream-the gardens, the study, even the swimming pool. Even though I can't see John when I wake up in the morning, I can always feel him here with me.
My mum was the most wonderful cook and our house was always full of delicious food and interesting people. I remember dad entertaining the likes of Des O'Connor and Bruce Forsyth. But what really shaped my childhood were the amazing Jamaican dishes that mum produced so effortlessly.
Before I cook, I always have to put on music that parents listened to while cooking. I remember waking up in the morning and seeing my dad making breakfast with music and cutting up the tomato and singing to it and just handling food with such care. So when I cook, I put on salsa, vallenato, cumbia, or anything that reminds me of Colombia.
I love to cook, man, I'm the short-order cook of the house. It's also my creativity. The kitchen is my space. I'm always cooking, I'm always making something.
My mom is a great cook, and family dinners were a must growing up, even if that meant eating at 10 p.m. when my dad got home from the hospital. It's where we did our family bonding.
Of course, thanks to the house, a great many of our memories are housed, and if the house is a bit elaborate, if it has a cellar and a garret, nooks and corridors, our memories have refuges that are all the more clearly delineated. All our lives we come back to them in our daydreams. A psychoanalyst should, therefore, turn his attention to this simple localization of our memories. I should like to give the name of topoanalysis to this auxiliary of pyschoanalysis. Topoanalysis, then would be the systematic psychological study of the sites of our intimate lives.
I've always thought that a Saturday morning at home should be education time. I mean fun education, for example learning to cook a dish or reading about something new. So I put on documentaries, get a bunch of magazines and newspapers and use the morning to make myself better.
Both my mum and dad were great readers, and we would go every Saturday morning to the library, and my sister and I had a library card when we could pass off something as a signature, and all of us would come with an armful of books.
There was always a strong sense of femininity in the house, always that presence. And while it wasn't founded by a woman, the family always had this brilliant intuition for being surrounded by great women. Not that I am a great woman - I don't want to say that! - but there were always great women in different ages who had really a strong idea of style and could really translate the know-how of the house.
Mom was a school teacher, and she had to be at work at 7:30 every morning. So Dad was in charge of us three kids around the breakfast table. He always made it creative: he did the bananas with the smiley face and the eyes with peanut butter on top, made us drink grapefruit every morning even though we had to do it holding our noses.
My daughter loves to cook. At first, I found myself making her be really neat and precise. Then I realized it's OK if things get all over the floor and counters and ceiling. We're making memories.
Mobile is a seaport town, and we ate a lot of seafood. We'd go fishing, we'd catch our fish and we'd eat our fish. It was a ritual on Saturday morning for all my family - my grandfather, my brothers, my uncles, my father - to go fishing, and then the ladies of the family would clean the fish and fry them up.
The question of identity has always been a murky issue in my own life and my writing bounces that right back. My father was adamant that my sisters and I were "Arab," and even though our house was in Syracuse, it was filled with the food, language, music, and overbearing relatives of Jordan. Unlike my gorgeous sisters, though, I inherited my mother's lighter complexion - it really is amazing what a difference a little bit of pigment can make on a person's experience!
We often talk about people with great memories as though it were some sort of an innate gift, but that is not the case. Great memories are learned. At the most basic level, we remember when we pay attention. We remember when we are deeply engaged.
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