Consider this:

Has Your Family Tried A Pound Of Milk?

It’s a hot Sunday morning, and we’re driving with the boys to play a round of miniature golf (see Forced Family Fun). My husband turns on NPR, and the deep, resonant voice of our favorite Garrison Keillor fills the car. Knowing that he’s about to retire from A Prairie Home Companion after more than forty years of broadcasting, we listen even more attentively than usual. Garrison Keillor, my husband and I agree, is a genius.

“Ugh, what is this?” pipes up Son One from the backseat.

“Noooooo!” despairs Son Two, sitting next to him. “Not this guy!”

“It’s the sound effects guy!” I tell them, hoping my enthusiasm will convince the boys they actually like the show. “You love sound effects, remember?” They’re quiet as we listen to a perfect imitation of a cappuccino machine heating frothy milk.

The quiet ends quickly.

“I hate this show,” declares Son Two. “What’s he singing about, anyway? ‘A pound of milk?’ What the heck is a pound of milk?”

“Powdered milk, not a pound of milk,” explains my husband, referring to a classic Keillor jingle.

“Okay, what the heck is powdered milk?”

“It’s the stuff that comes out of an old woman’s boobs!” says Son One, laughing hysterically at his own joke. Son Two joins in, and my husband and I share an eye roll. Nothing quite compares to a fourteen-year-old’s sense of humor.

Son One is on a roll. “I can picture exactly what this guy looks like. Remember the old man from Up? I’ll bet he looks just like that, with a really droopy face, sunken eyes and the facial expression of someone dead.”

“Yeah, with a few strands of gray hair sticking straight out,” adds Son Two for good measure.

“He probably wears a girdle, too. Man, I can’t wait for my new noise-cancelling headphones to arrive so I don’t have to listen to this junk …”

Garrison Keillor, please accept my deepest apologies on behalf of these ignorant children. But as I listen to the barrage of backseat insults and complaints, I start remembering some of the terrible things I was forced to experience when I was a kid.

Like Rod Stewart, for example. “I don’t wanna’/Talk about it…” This song used to drive me nuts. I didn’t like Rod’s husky voice, and I really hated those lyrics. Which is no wonder, because my parents would sing them to/at me anytime they wanted to bring a conversation to a close. (Uh oh. I just realized that this very morning I sang Frozen’s, “Let it go! Let it go!” to/at the boys when they were bickering over whose turn it was to eat the “heel” of the cinnamon bread.)

Or history. Specifically, my dad would drag us to see Chinese mining camps from New Zealand’s Gold Rush era. “You’ll love it!” he’d promise, certain his enthusiasm would convince me I liked looking at broken rock walls, evidence of where miners once lived and toiled. To be clear, it never did. (Hmmm. Use of over-the-top enthusiasm to cajole complaining kids… Methinks a pattern is emerging here.)

And then there’s opera. You know, the theatrical and musical expression revered world-over. Unless you’re a kid. And then it sucks. Although my parents tried to educate me in this sophisticated art form – with a visit to the Sydney Opera House, no less – all I really wanted was to plug my Duran Duran cassette into my bright yellow Walkman. Hello, noise-cancellation device, circa 1980.

Okay, okay. I get it. On one hand, I guess I’d better accept that I can’t convince, cajole or coerce my kids into liking something just because I do (let alone because I think they should). Cheerleader-level enthusiasm will n-e-v-e-r persuade my boys to enjoy what they are determined to loathe. Truth is, these days I try to avoid phrases such as, “Come on, you’ll have fun!” That’s just offering up a challenge my kids would happily accept – and then enthusiastically stomp all over.

On the other hand, Rod Stewart. Somewhere along the way, probably in my twenties, I realized I love the guy. Husky, sexy voice. Great lyrics that sometimes swim around in my head all day. “I don’t wanna’/Talk about it…” And get this: I recently read Man Booker prize-winning The Luminaries, a fascinating book set during New Zealand’s Gold Rush. It was filled with references to the very Chinese mines I was forced to visit.

I could never have predicted that my most dreaded childhood experiences would one day seem like gifts. But if I could change my mind about aging British rockers and old mining towns, I’m confident my boys might one day appreciate NPR, Garrison Keillor and a song about powdered milk, too.

In the meantime, when it comes to opera, thanks – we’ll pass.

---

Cook this:

Two Tasty Toppings: Artichoke, Basil and Olive Tapenade and Parsley Mint Drizzle

Do you ever get so sick of your go-to recipes you want to cry, just a little? I feel that way about grilled chicken (and believe me, so do my kids). Sure, it’s nice to have some grilled chicken on hand to toss into a salad or mix with pesto and pasta. But sometimes my taste buds just beg for something a little more … interesting. With that in mind, here are Two Tasty Toppings. These quick and easy palate pleasers will perk up your most standard fare, even when it’s grilled chicken again. Both recipes are from Rebecca Katz’s The Longevity Kitchen.

Artichoke, Basil and Olive Tapenade

½ cup prepared artichoke hearts, rinsed and quartered

20 pitted kalamata olives

¾ cup loosely packed fresh basil leaves

2 Tbs extra-virgin olive oil

1 Tbs freshly squeezed lemon juice

1 tsp grated lemon zest

1 clove garlic, minced

¼ tsp sea salt

Combine all ingredients in a food processer and pulse about 15 times, scraping down the sides of the bowl once or twice. The mixture should be well blended but still have some texture. Taste and adjust for salt or lemon juice (I always add more lemon juice!).

Parsley Mint Drizzle

1 cup tightly packed fresh parsley leaves

½ cup tightly packed fresh mint leaves

2 Tbs freshly squeezed lemon juice

¼ tsp sea salt

1 tsp Grade B maple syrup

¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil

1 Tbs water

Combine all ingredients in a food processor and process until well blended. Prefer a thinner drizzle? Add another tablespoon of water and blend again. Taste, and add a dash more salt if you so desire.

---

Read this:

The True Deceiver by Tove Jansson

Best Translated Book Award 2011

You may not know Finnish author Tove Jansson by name, but you might know her famous character Moomintroll, a sweet, adventurous philosopher-hippopotamus. There are no Moomins in The True Deceiver, but there’s an enormous German Shepard who guards a sharp, yellow-eyed young woman, plus her seemingly simple brother and a rich, solitary artist who makes incredibly detailed paintings of the forest floor. And there’s snow. Lots and lots of snow. The True Deceiver reads like a quiet mystery, filled with tension, unpredictable behavior, strained relationships and frayed nerves. In Jansson’s small, snowy Finnish village, outsiders rouse wariness, suspicion and downright mistrust. Given the title, it’s no surprise the theme of deception runs deep. The real question is: Who is deceiving and who is being deceived? I definitely enjoyed finding out.

Award worthy? Yes.