Onions Cry Too, You Know

Recently I drove out to the suburbs with Gina to meet my poor sister Leslie who has to have a knee cap replacement. She’s my favorite sister. Okay, she’s my only sister, but she’s a dear. She’s been in a lot of pain for most of her summer vacation. Her surgery is scheduled for next week, the same day as my dad’s surgery on that fruity aneurysm I wrote about last week. In fact, she’s hoping to book a room for them together for the night. Cute, huh? My mom and dad once shared a hospital room. The nurses were so funny. One started to walk out the door, then turned and said, “Now you two behave yourselves tonight.” And there lay my parents, shrunken in their hospital beds, barely able to hoist themselves up to a sitting position. The nurse grabbed the door to close it, and on second thought said, “And I want this door left open!”

But that’s got nothing to do with onions, does it? So back to Leslie who has been on pain pills which, coupled with constant pain, make her impatient and irritable. But she’s a trooper. While I was at my parents’ house trying to pack her up for her four hour drive back to her home in southern Indiana, and cleaning up her dog’s diarrhea that the dog tracked all over the family room, I called her to see if she’d left her pre-op appointment and made it to Panera’s where I had left Gina waiting alone for her.

“Where are you?” she said.

I explained that I was packing her car up and walking the dogs and doing a few errands to make my parents’ life a little easier.

“I’m not taking my car; I’m taking dad’s car and I have it right now. Just get over here. I wanted to sit and enjoy coffee and conversation.”

So we did the cell phone you go no you go blackout thing, talking at the same time, me trying to explain what I was doing, her trying to get me to do what she wanted me to do. And we couldn’t be heard and couldn’t hear. Finally she yelled at me, and I mean yelled at me, “Stop talking!” I tried once more to say I was on my way but she continued her pressured, loud speech. I hung up and unloaded her car then got in my car and cried. I hadn’t been yelled at since a mean, witchy co-teacher yelled at me. Wait. I should clarify: I haven’t been yelled at by an adult in quite some time. I’ve been yelled at by plenty of students; I don’t like that either. But somehow being yelled at by an adult makes me feel instantly like a little kid filled with shame and hurt. I knew in my head that my sister wasn’t yelling to be mean, only to be heard. But after working hard to be helpful, it hit me in the wrong spot.

On the five minute drive to meet up with Leslie and Gina, I cried and rehearsed my grievance out loud alone in my car. It helped me reassure myself that I was okay and not worthy of the shame I had felt.

I prepared myself with retorts to further scoldings, like “Well, I’m here now. Nice to see you,” and “How are you feeling?” I felt softer and calmer.

When I walked to her table, my sister was pleasant and seemed unaware of any tension in our interaction. There was no scolding and our greeting was smiley and light.

It’s easy to have compassion for my sister when I know that her behavior comes from a place of pain and distress. It’s much harder when strangers, students and grumpy teachers snap or growl at me. If I can trust that negative actions are coming from their own distress, that their behavior is a reflection of their pain and not of my value, I don’t have to be a victim, the little girl trapped in shame.

It reminds me of something my son’s principal Dr. Freynd said at graduation: “When people act in mysterious ways, assume the best intentions.” I can remember that onions weep, too.

It’s true. When you slice off the bottom, they tear up. I like to make good use of those tears instead of wasting them on the cutting board. So as soon as I slice the onion open, I scrape those tears into the pan with a knife. And as I chop, I cry too, just as I cry for my sister’s pain.

Here’s a recipe that makes good use of onions, tears and all, with lovely surprises hidden beneath the crust.

Chicken Pot Pie

Double crust pie dough

2 c. flour sifted together with 1½ t. salt. Combine ½ c. salad oil with 5 T. cold water. Make a crater in your hill of flour and pour water and oil in. Fold flour until all is moist, but not perfectly mixed. Overdoing it makes the crust tough. Divide into two balls, one a smidgen bigger than the other. Wet your work area slightly and lay a large piece of waxed paper down. Flatten the larger ball a bit and round out the edges. Place another sheet of waxed paper on top and roll out dough moving from the center out, applying more and more pressure. When the dough is large enough to line your 9 inch pie plate, carefully peel off the top sheet. Lift the dough using the bottom sheet of waxed paper, turn it over and center over the pie plate. Slowly peel off the wax paper. Pat in the dough, leaving the edges hanging over the sides about a ¼ inch. Cut off any extra and add to the other ball of dough. Cover both with waxed paper.

Roux

On low heat, melt 6 T. of butter and stir in 1/3 c. of flour, stirring constantly to avoid lumps. Slowly add 4 c. of milk, again, stirring constantly, letting boil for about 5 minutes. As it thickens, add 2 T. bouillon. Set aside.

Innards

1 T. sunflower oil (or any other high heat oil)

Half an onion with tears (If you want to include yours, too, then reduce the salt.)

2-3 medium carrots

2 stalks of celery

3 medium red potatoes

½ red pepper

1 large package of white mushrooms

1 lb. or more chicken breast or chicken tenders (for the tender hearted, get free range)

1 t. rosemary

Salt and pepper to taste.

Sautee chopped onions, then add sliced carrots and celery and chopped potatoes. Add spices and stir a bit more. Add a little water (about and 1/8 c.) and cover, letting simmer on low heat for 5-7 minutes, stirring occasionally and adding more water as needed to prevent stickage. Add chopped peppers and sliced mushrooms and cover for 2-3 minutes more. Add chopped chicken, stir and cover for 2 minutes. Spoon into the roux. Leave the liquid in the pan so the mixture isn’t too wet. I never use all the roux so try taking a cup or so out first. You can always add more. Pour into pie shell. Roll out top dough as you did the bottom. Carefully lay the dough over the pie and fold it under the bottom dough, pinching dough together around the rim of the pie plate. Cut a star shape in the center for heat to escape.

Bake in oven at 375 degrees for about 40-50 minutes until crust is golden brown and the insides bubble up through the star. Let cool and set for at least 15 to 20 minutes before serving.

I know all this is complicated, but so are relationships. We, and this pie, are so worth it!