A Shumaker by Anyother Name Would Smell as Sweet

Memory:
I was twenty-two years old. I wasn't married at the time in 1970, and I had a baby. A wonderful, blue-eyed baby who terrified me to death.

I was going to be the next Barbara Streisand. I was going to travel to Europe and live in New York. All my furniture was going to be made of chrome, and I was never going to have children. I didn't really like them. Maybe I'd get married when I was in my thirties, but I had plans.

Now the only plans I had were to figure out what to do with this tiny invader who had changed everything, and I was clueless. I handled things pretty well alone in our first floor apartment in Devon, Connecticut that I shared with my mother. That is, until one day when Shannan was a few month old. I had put her in the middle of my bed and surrounded her with pillows so she couldn't move, but darn it all if she didn't figure out a way to do it anyway. She rolled off the bed and landed on the floor right in front of me, and there was nothing I could do to stop her. I was still in my nightgown when I picked her up off the floor. She was crying. I was crying. I ran out the front door barefooted into the street holding her in my arms so afraid I'd crippled my baby for life and screamed, "Help me. Somebody help me."

Thank God no one came out. I was always a drama queen, but this would have secured my reputation beyond all hope. I finally skulked back into the apartment and called a doctor's office to ask how badly my daughter might have been damaged from my stupidity. The nurse told me not to worry. Just check a few things and, if they still worked, everything was OK. I checked; she worked. I hadn't killed her. From that point on we did better.

A few weeks later a neighbor and younger high school classmate of mine, Linda Shumaker, who lived across the street from me with her mother, saw me and asked how my baby was doing. She told me that her mom had seen me in the street that day and hoped I was doing alright. I can't tell you how much I loved Linda's mom right then. She hadn't come out to make me feel even more stupid than I did already. She hadn't told Linda what a jerk I'd been. She just cared about us, and so did Linda.

Shannan was about a year old when her dad, John, and I finally had her christened. He picked a friend of his from New York to be Shann's godfather. Never seen him since. I asked Linda to be her godmother. Wise choice on my part. Years passed between that time and now. I married Shannan's dad; moved away; divorced; remarried; inherited my son-in-law; had grandchildren. And one day I found out Linda had been searching for Shannan and me all that time, but now her name was Martin.

A while back Shannan called me to say it was Linda Martin's birthday.
"Linda Martin; Linda Martin, who the heck is that?" I asked her.
She said, "You know -- my godmother?." Once again I felt so stupid around my daughter (never the invader anymore, but the best thing that ever entered my world. Besides, who really wants chrome furniture anyway?).
"Oh, you mean Linda Shumaker?" I said red faced. In my mind and in my heart Linda would always be a Shumaker - my little, blond, big eyes "Shumaker" not a "Martin." I'm not good with change.

The best present I ever received from anyone was a gift Linda gave me back in the scary days; a Gourmet Cookbook, Volume 1. It was enormous. It was the first cookbook I'd ever received of my own. It lit a light in me that has never gone out. I love to cook, and I'm good at it. I love that cookbook even when I can't afford the ingredients; even when I can't read the French titles. But, of the titles I can read and the ingredients I can afford, I have made recipe after recipe and seen Linda Shumaker in every one of them. She was my spark! I love her still.

Recipe:
Out of my Gourmet Cookbook: Volume 1. (The way it's written in the book, and with an English accent. Anyway that's how I've always read it).

Chicken Cacciatora
In a large skillet in 2 tablespoons olive oil saute 2 medium onions, coarsely chopped, until they are slightly browned. Remove the onion from the skillet and reserve it. Cut into serving pieces two 2 1/2 to 3 1/2-pound chickens and dredge the pieces with seasoned flour. Saute them until they are well browned on all sides in the oil in which the onion was browned, adding 3 tablespoons olive oil. Add 2 cups fresh tomatoes, peeled and seeded, or canned tomatoes, one cup seeded and coarsely chopped sweet green peppers, and 1 garlic clove, finely chopped. Return the reserved onion to the pan and simmer chicken and vegetables together, covered, for 15 minutes over very low heat. Add one cup white wine and season with salt and pepper. Simmer the mixture, covered for about 30 minutes longer, or until the chicken is tender.

Thought:
Names change; people change, but friends never do - still as sweet.