Roasted Summer Vegetables with Tomatoes, Basil and Pasta

Zucchini or summer squash, sweet corn, bell peppers and red onion

I scooped up a piece of zucchini with my fork. “I feel like a lot has changed.”

Roo looked up from his plate. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw a child today; thirteen, maybe fifteen-”

“So you saw a teenager.”

“A child,” I reiterated, setting down my fork, “who was walking in front of me at Fenway and I could see her butt.  Hanging out of her shorts.”

“Like her pants were falling down?”

“Like they were so short, that I wanted to hug her and give her my yoga pants.”

“You do realize you sound about eighty five right now.”

I picked up my water glass and took a sip. “That’s kind of my point. I mean, when did I become so conservative?”

“You’re really asking me this.”

“I know! But I can’t remember caring about how short a girl’s shorts were when I was in my twenties. I don’t think I even noticed what children were wearing.”

“Well, we all change. It’s part of growing up.”

“I guess.” I said, fumbling with my napkin. “Like, when I was in college I didn’t eat carbs.”


“I know. This,” I said, tilting my pasta dish towards Roo, “is delicious. Why would I give that up?”

“But I thought you drank Natty Ice in school.”

“Correction, The Beast.”

“So you didn’t eat carbs, but you drank beer?”

“I know, totally logical, right?”

Roo laughed, “I am so glad we all change.”

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Quinoa Salad with Lemon Pepper Tahini Dressing

With tomatoes, red onion, cucumbers, yellow peppers and cilantro.

I looked up from my laptop. “Sometimes I really hate Facebook.”



“Expressing their undying love for one another?”

“I wish that was it,” I said, spinning my laptop around and pointing at my Newsfeed. “Another couple, going at it with passive-aggressive status updates.”

Roo glanced at the screen. “They know people can see this, right?”

“Maybe that’s it? Maybe they’re looking for some kind of justification from friends? Although…” I paused, turning the laptop back around, “I don’t think anyone in their right mind would comment on this.”

“It could be worse.”


“Your mom could have finally decided to join Facebook.”

I sighed. “For once I’m thankful my mother is self-proclaimed luddite.”  I said, closing my laptop. “I just don’t understand why couples use Facebook to communicate. Whatever happened to talking?”

Roo shrugged his shoulders and picked up his iPad.  “What’s for lunch?”

“None of your business,” I joked, as I uncrossed my legs and stretched my arms over my head.  I stood up and walked towards the kitchen, mentally going through what we had in the fridge and the cupboard.

I crouched in front of the crisper drawer, pulling out peppers and cilantro when I heard my iPhone vibrate on the kitchen table. “Who’s calling me on a Sunday?” I wondered out loud, picking it up to see Facebook: Roo mentioned you in a comment just before the screen turned off.  “You wrote on my Facebook wall?” I asked, and unlocked my phone to look at my profile page.

You know what I hate? Not knowing what’s for lunch. – with Lys.  Roo wrote.

I laughed and typed back, It’s quinoa salad. Asshole.

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Quick Pickled Vegetables: Marinated Peppers and Pickled Red Onions

“That book bored me,” my mother said, as she handed me a bowl of peppers from the refrigerator.

I paused, trying to figure out if we were talking about the same book. “Fifty Shades of Grey. Really?”

“The writing was terrible. And there are only so many times -”

“Before getting hit by a riding crop repeatedly becomes hilarious?” I joked.

My mother turned her back to me and stood on her tip-toes to open the top cupboard. “Yes,” she replied, retrieving a parcel of tightly wrapped flatbread.  She set it down on the island and started to unravel the packaging.

Impatient from hunger, I grabbed it from her. “I haven’t read it myself, but I can’t believe you thought it was boring,” I said, ripping off the layers of seemingly never ending plastic wrap. “It’s basically porn for bored suburban housewives.”

My mother folded her arms. “Well I’m not one. Your father and I -”

“Jesus, Ma, I really don’t want to talk about your sex life,” I snapped, finally freeing the flatbread.

“Jesus has nothing to do with it!” my father called from the living room.

My mother smirked as she tore off a piece of flatbread and dipped it into the hummus.

I yelled back, “Dad, are you really eavesdropping on a conversation about Fifty Shades of Grey?”

“Your mother said it was boring!”

“Let’s just go back to where I’m adopted,” I muttered, horrified about what the conversation between the two could have entailed.  They did say it was boring after all.

“You’re not adopted!” my mother protested, “You were a product of love.”

“Will you stop!” I said, stabbing a pepper with a fork.  The vinegar marinade splashed onto the granite countertop.

My mother glanced at the spill but didn’t move to clean it up. “We love you very much.”

I folded my piece of flatbread over the pepper, “I know, but that doesn’t mean you need to pull out the easel from the basement and illustrate ‘How You Were Made,’ again.”

“I wasn’t going to do that.”

I sighed.

My mother tore off another piece of flatbread.  She handed it to me and pushed over a different bowl she had taken out of the fridge. “Try it with the pickled onions.  And I promise I won’t bring out the easel.”

I moved my hand towards the bowl.

“Unless you want me to of course.”

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