Letter of Recommendation

INGRID THOFT
In 2015, the New York Times added a column to its Sunday magazine called “Letter of Recommendation.”  Each week, a writer makes their case for a place, person, object or experience they want to share with readers.  The subject matter is extremely diverse—Uni-ball Signo UM-151 pens from Japan, arroyos, William Blake’s grave, attending movies alone—but always thought-provoking.

It made me wonder:  What would I recommend if given the chance?

The options are myriad: fluffernutter sandwiches, the New York City subway system, scuba diving, but one experience is a standout, and that’s reading to a child.  As the aunt of fourteen, I could make a case that I’ve read “Is Your Mama a Llama” more than some parents.  When the kids were little, nothing made me happier than curling up on the sofa with a good book and a snuggly, curious audience.  I loved watching their eyes widen with excitement at the turn of the page and their delight that things always turned out exactly as expected.  Reading was a wonderful excuse to take a breather and share a few quiet minutes together.  I highly recommend it.

What about you, Reds?  What would be in your Letter of Recommendation?

RHYS BOWEN: What would I recommend more than anything for a healthy, happy life? Time with family and friends, sitting around a dinner table and laughing. Time in nature, wandering along the edge of the ocean, sandals in my hand, letting the waves wash over my toes and just letting my mind wander. And Ben and Jerry's Heath bar Crunch ice cream.

HALLIE EPHRON: Go for an early morning bird walk with birders. There's a whole world most of us miss. Here near Boston, the prime spot is Mt. Auburn Cemetery, prime time spring (now!).
And if you get seduced by the birds, put on your bucket list a trip to the Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge in New Mexico, south of Albuquerque. Join other birders driving down before the summer sun rises and stand with them at the water's edge and wait. And wait. And as the sun starts to lighten the sky, the birds start to stir. Thousands of snow geese and sand hill cranes wake and start to rustle their wings. And then, as if a conductor has tapped his baton, the snow geese rise into the air. All of them. At once. Darkening the sky. They soar low, back and forth right over your head before heading off to the fields where they spend their day grazing before returning. It's breathtaking. Stay a little longer and watch the majestic sand hill cranes take flight in twos and fours. Stop on the way back to Albuquerque at the Owl Bar & Grill and treat yourself to a green chili cheeseburger.

Oh, and don't miss sunset at Zabriskie Point in Death Valley. No birds, but oh, the shadows.

JENN MCKINLAY: I would recommend star gazing. Whenever I am feeling stressed out about life on our little blue marble, I try to carve out some time to star gaze out in the desert away from the light pollution where I sit and remind myself that we are mere specks of dust in the Universe and that all those pesky things like chores, bills to pay, and worries about success or failure, really don't matter. I find great comfort in the vastness of the Universe. I haven't been there yet, but I am planning a trip with a star gazer friend to Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, as it has been designated an International Dark Sky Park and has some of the best star gazing in the country. I'll be sure to report in when I go! https://www.nps.gov/chcu/learn/nature/darkskypark.htm

DEBORAH CROMBIE: I'm going to go for a very small thing. It is glorious spring in Texas, and I have a flowerbed full of fresh mint. So on nice afternoons, I've been making a cup of fresh mint tea with a teaspoon of local honey, then sitting on my deck while I sip it. And just thinking. That quiet half hour makes the world seem a little more manageable.


LUCY BURDETTE: Wow, this is hard because it could be so many things! I'm going to say bike with your sister and the husbands through Provence near Coustellet until you reach a cute little town. There, order an éclair (vanilla custard filling with mocha icing) from the local patisserie. You will deserve every bite! http://www.provence-cycling-holidays.com/how_tours_work.html

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: I always look at the sky. Day and night. Jonathan will say--what are you looking at? And I say--just checking in.  But a transporting experience? when we go to Nevis, we sit on the perfectly white beach, perfectly empty. I mean, not another person in sight, white sand, blue water. Then: the pelicans come. They fly parallel to the shore, skimming, looking down, watching for a fish. Then: Boom. They dive bomb, straight and fast and unerring and blam, into the water.  Boom.  They two seconds later, they're up with their fish. They gulp it down and twitch their little tail feathers in delight.    We watch them for hours. They never miss.  And: Pina coladas. Old-school, and foofy, but man. Delish.

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I'm going to step away from beautiful and life-fulfilling experiences and recommend the two most practical purchases I know: an AAA membership and a subscription to Consumer Reports magazine. I can think of a few people who wouldn't benefit from Triple A - city dwellers who rarely drive, car owners with emergency roadside assistance on their insurance or from their dealer, or a driver whose father/brother/boyfriend owns a towing company. For the rest of us, being able to dial that number and know that someone competent will show up to charge the battery, tow the break-down, bring the gas or fix the tire is worth far more than the annual fee. Hint: a membership makes a great graduation gift.

Consumer Reports is a boring magazine that has invaluable information on anything and everything you might ever have to pay money for, and a few things you won't. Just in the past few months, I've used its well-organized online search function to research oven ranges, house paint, used cars, and vitamins. CR has been around since 1936 and continues as a nonprofit and ad-free. They go to what seems like ridiculous extremes to test consumer goods, and when they say a product is a 'Best Buy' or 'Top Rated,' you can rely on it.

What do you say, Readers?  What would you recommend?

How to Say Goodbye to Your Child** **(Continued Absence Not Guaranteed)

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: Last week was a big week for saying goodbye to the children here in Southern Maine. Youngest left for a two-week intensive language course at the University of Illinois Champaign-Urbana, where she'll be studying Standard Arabic. No, I'm not sure why. It's the first time she's flown unaccompanied, and although she goes to boarding school, it's certainly the first time she's been housed at a university. Also her first time in flyover country America's Heartland.

The Boy, whom some of you may remember went off to college, came back after a year and a half, and spent a year working while he Got His Head Together, decided his head belonged in a "Dixie cup," otherwise known as a United States Navy sailor's cap. He shipped out to Naval Station Great Lakes (also in Illinois) last week, and if after he passes Basic, he'll be at the Defense Language Institute in California. Where chances are good he also will be learning Standard Arabic.

I don't know, I'm envisioning them as a brother-sister team of super spies, maybe?

Two farewells in one week made me think of the many, many times we've said goodbye to the kids over the years. (We keep saying it because so far, they keep coming back.) I'm going to share the benefit of my experience, dear Readers, with you, so you'll know what to expect at any age (up to 23, that's as far as we've gotten at this point.)

1. Daycare/Preschool. Peel child off your body, thrusting her towards Miss Ashley and Miss Taylor, the teachers. In a bright, cheery voice, tell her how much FUN she's going to have today. Flee up the hall with her screams trailing behind you.

Sit in your driver's seat and sob for five minutes.

Call after you get to the office to find out how she is, only to be told she started smiling and playing with the other toddlers twenty-five seconds after you left the room.

2. First Day of Kindergarten. Put him in his adorable new pants and shirt and take thirty pictures of him at the breakfast table, getting into the car, getting out of the car, walking through the school doors, exploring the room, etc. He is excited and distracted and barely notices when you say, "Goodbye! See you this afternoon!"

Sit in your driver's seat and sob for five minutes.

3. Second Day of Kindergarten. Kiss him goodbye before the bus comes, then encourage him up the steps. Introduce yourself to the driver, trying to make her like you because for God's sake, you're entrusting your tiny child to her and you saw that movie where all the kids die in a bus accident in Canada.  When the door closes and the bus pulls away, realize that from now on part of your child's life will always be unknown to you.

Go inside and stare into your coffee for five minutes.

5. First overnight stay at Grammy and Grampy's.  Go over the List of Dos and Don'ts  at Grammy's House. ("Do always ask to be excused from the table. Don't wear shoes inside on Grammy's wall-to-wall off-white carpet.") Remind children not to say anything about the hair in Grampy's nose.

If they're flying, take them to the gate, give them lots of hugs and kisses, hand them over to the flight attendant. Go home and pray.

If you're dropping them off, ease up on the hugs and kisses. You don't want Grammy to think you don't trust her, do you? Go home and pray.

6. Summer Camp (First Year). Hold her hand while you complete the registration. Assure her she's going to love camp. Tote three pillows, sheets, blankets, a quilt, a sleeping bag, a suitcase of clothing and a sack full of stuffed animals up to her cabin. Make introductions between the rest of the girls, who are staring at each other wide-eyed. "What's your name? Emily? Emily, this is Sarah. Sarah, this is Emily."

Make her bunk, unpack her clothes, set up the stuffies against the pillows and hold her hand as she walks back to the car with you. Assure her that if she still wants to go home after twenty-four hours, she can tell the camp director, and you'll drive up to get her.

Sit in your driver's seat and sob for three minutes. Stop when you realize if you get going, you and your spouse can make it to a real grown-up restaurant (one without paper placemats and crayons) in time for dinner.

7. Summer Camp (Every Year Thereafter) Haul the pillows, sheets, blankets, quilts, sleeping bags, stuffies and suitcase up to the cabin, along with face and hair treatments, her archery equipment, cake mix and frosting for a birthday cake, and every book in the latest hot YA series (all the other girls in her cabin will have the exact same books.) She will not help you with this, as she's too busy shrieking and hugging friends.

Give her a heartfelt hug at the car and watch as she dances off toward the lake with one of her cabin mates for her swimming assessment test.

Head for that restaurant. You deserve a drink.

8. First Day of High School.  Don't mention his hair, or his clothes, or his backpack. Do not helpfully point out a zit on his nose and don't ask him if he's got all his recommended school supplies in his bag (he doesn't.) In fact, it's best if you don't say anything.

When he's not looking, grab him for a quick hug and kiss. Watch through the window as he sprints toward the bus (don't let him see you!)

Wonder if maybe boarding school would make dealing with your moody, hormonal teen easier. (No, it won't.)

9. Moving In Day at College. This is the big one. It's first day of summer camp, first day of high school, and first day of the rest of your life, all rolled into one. Spend two hours lugging books, lamps, a printer, a rug, hangars, a mirror, bedding, speakers, laundry detergent, personal hygiene supplies and enough clothing for a round-the-world cruise up three flights of stairs. (Yes, there's an elevator, but every other parent is trying to get on it at the same time.)

There will be scheduled activities to which you can go if you didn't forget something vital and have to make a last-minute run to WalMart. Try and have a meal with your child. Go to the school bookstore and buy her an overpriced sweatshirt and a back-window sticker for your car.

Hug and kiss her in the parking lot. Assure her you won't call until she contacts you first. Watch her dance away across the library lawn into her future.

Sit in your driver's seat and sob for ten minutes.

10. Every Other Year of College. Since you've discovered your child's future includes a whole lot of time spent in your house, borrowing your car, and eating your food, this goodbye process is best described by the theme song to the classic western, Rawhide: Head em' up, Move 'em on! Move 'em on, Head em' up! Rawhide!

Kiss, kiss, bye-bye, see you Parent's weekend. You and your spouse could stop at a real grown-up restaurant, but college tuition means you can't afford to eat out.

11. Leaving for Basic Training/OCS. Ruffle his hair. Tell him you're proud of him. Do not ask about taking along his special hypoallergenic body wash. Do not ask what's going on with his girlfriend. Do not ask when he'll be able to write or call you.

If you can, have a meal together. Reminisce about silly things he did as a little kid. Do not express your deep reservations about the wisdom of the United States Government trusting him with leading soldiers/nuclear power/airplanes.

Take anything he's not bringing on the bus trip. Press money into his hand to buy a decent meal at the airport. Hug him, and let yourself feel how big he's grown, how strong, how ready to leave. Say goodbye briskly, smiling, remind him you'll see him at graduation.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.