Malaga Almond Gazpacho — Dale Knows How To Host

Same as it ever was. Mom doing headstands with friends in 1948. Me and my sister doing headstands with friends in England in 1978.

Not sure how old Mom is here. Maybe 7 or 8?

A fave of mine! Mom on the QM2 the summer before she died, 2018.

Flowers sent by friends when Mom was in the nursing unit at Carolina Meadows. We showed up one morning and Mom asked us to very specifically move them around. She had been staring at them all morning and the composition had been bothering her. ha ha #virgovibes

Mom’s brother, Frank, visiting her in the nursing unit when we got her home from Newfoundland. This is probably a week or two before she died.

Mom napping with Foxtrot, our borrowed cat, when we finally got her back home.

My dad, me and my sister in Seattle, 2019. Our first memorial get together.

I always used to look forward to October because it contains my favorite holiday, Halloween, and because autumn is my favorite season. (I freaking love sweater weather!). Although I haven’t had a proper Fall for the last 26 years, due to living in Texas, the weather here at least gets a tad more hospitable in October. Since 2018 the month now contains another notable event, the anniversary of my mother’s death, October 19. When Mom was dying we planned her funeral to the letter. She had very specific opinions, especially about music (which won’t come as a surprise if you knew her). I told her that I wanted to say something at the service. Mom was down for that except, being a high church Episcopalian, there is no room in the funeral liturgy for “younger daughter’s wildcard musings”. I mean, I feel like my parents trusted me to be respectful but this kind of thing just wasn’t done in the service Mom wanted. So, I was relegated to saying a few words afterward at the reception. Fair enough. Once the timing was agreed upon I then was faced with actually writing something. It’s funny now that I’ve written a blog for almost two years on this very topic, but at the time I hadn’t written much. I didn’t have a distinct voice or a direction. I just knew that I wanted to say something of my own, out loud at Mom’s service.

Here’s what I came up with. I wrote it in a flurry and never touched it again.

Thank you for being here with us today. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Sarah, Dale’s younger daughter.

I wanted to say a few words.

First of all, thanks for all of the support you have offered my family in the past few months. It is heartening to see how a life, well-lived, plays out in its final days. We have witnessed grace and friendship beyond measure, and it is appreciated more than you can know.

Part of the dying process is remembering. When word got out that Mom was dying, we started hearing from you. People I haven’t heard from in years - from all over the world - chimed in with their impressions and memories. After hearing story after story of Mom's introducing people to exotic foods, taking time to listen to someone who needed a little extra attention, sharing her music and sophisticated ideas with friends, young and old, I’m realizing that Mom was, in effect, a surrogate mother to many lucky people in this world.

One thing I loved about my mom was she didn’t do anything halfway. She went deep. Build a harpsichord? Why not? Make three crazy quilts in 10 years? Sure! Scan and retouch every photo in our extended family collection? Of course! When writing a book: What do you mean? You only want 1001 things about the South?!

This zeal applied to cooking as well. I remember that when it came time to bring cookies to a grade school function, Mom made homemade pfeffernusse cookies and served them on a very classy mulberry china platter. I have to admit that all I wanted were snickerdoodles in Tupperware, but now I appreciate her effort. Dale Reed was always next-level. She made chocolate fondue for every piano recital. When cooking at the lake, it was never just hot dogs, it was hot dogs with sauteed peppers and assorted gourmet mustards on good seeded rolls.

Speaking of hot dogs, (something I never thought I’d say at my mother’s funeral), one of my favorite memories of Mom was when she sliced her hand badly and had to go to the emergency room. The doctor asked what had happened and Mom answered, cool as a cucumber, “I was wrestling a recalcitrant salami."

Mom was deeply brilliant, but I believe her best gift was her ability to share that brilliance and see potential in others. Whether it was teaching my young cousins to knit, or the countless musicians she taught and encouraged, Mom often saw the light inside people before they did. One friend called her “The Southern Matriarch of Music." I love that. No matter what medium, Mom firmly believed it was everybody’s fundamental right to create. She would get downright outraged when a lame day job of mine would get in the way of my art. It was simply unjust!

I would argue that Mom’s life was art. She approached everything very intentionally and with perfection. Her style was evident in all she touched. Mom loved beauty. She loved my Dad. She loved England and the South. She loved food. She loved her granddaughters. She loved proper English. She loved us, her family. And she loved you, her community. Mom lived a great, big, gorgeous life. Thank you for helping us celebrate it.

My father started a sweet tradition of getting together with me and my sister each year on October 19. In 2019 we met in Seattle where my sister was playing a concert. For 2020 and 2021 we had to make do with Zoom, due to Covid. Each time we get together my father asks me to read what I wrote for the reception and he asks my sister to read Mom’s amazing eulogy (written by our friend, Reverend Tambria (Tami) Lee). It’s surprising how much air time this thing that I wrote in a haze four years ago has gotten. I mean, it’s fine and it served its purpose but I told Dad that I want to read something different this year. And, now, I’m back where I started, wanting to say something but not sure what or how.

I’ve been sorting through poems that I’ve saved over the years. There are some good ones, Mary Oliver is always on point, I’ve got a good Edna St. Vincent Millay one, something from Mark Nepo. But, nothing is quite right. Today I received a poem from a course that I’m taking which focuses on pleasure: identifying it, celebrating it, and welcoming it into your life. (I told you in the last post that I was fruity!). This poem is perfect for today, a bit of kismet.

Lord, I Ask a Garden . . .
by Alfonso Guillén Zelaya - 1887-1947
(translated from the Spanish)

Lord, I ask a garden in a quiet spot
where there may be a brook with a good flow,
an humble little house covered with bell-flowers,
and a wife and a son who shall resemble Thee.

I should wish to live many years, free from hates,
and make my verses, as the rivers
that moisten the earth, fresh and pure.
Lord, give me a path with trees and birds.

I wish that you would never take my mother,
for I should wish to tend to her as a child
and put her to sleep with kisses, when somewhat old
she may need the sun.

I wish to sleep well, to have a few books,
an affectionate dog that will spring upon my knees,
a flock of goats, all things rustic,
and to live off the soil tilled by my own hand.

To go into the field and flourish with it;
to seat myself at evening under the rustic eaves,
to drink in the fresh mountain perfumed air
and speak to my little one of humble things.

At night to relate him some simple tale,
teach him to laugh with the laughter of water
and put him to sleep thinking that he may later on
keep that freshness of the moist grass.

And afterward, the next day, rise with dawn
admiring life, bathe in the brook,
milk my goats in the happiness of the garden
and add a strophe to the poem of the world.

“I wish that you would never take my mother.”
Oh, how, I wish that. What has Mom missed in the four years since she departed? I think the biggest thing she missed is watching her granddaughters blossom. They are both incredible creatures and, while I know that Mom saw their potential, I sure wish she could see them now. I’ve changed, too. Mom’s death has given me a voice I didn’t know I had. I also turned 50 and, with that, have become even more comfortable in my skin and even more confident in my convictions. My sister is continuing to kick ass in her own, less obnoxious way. My dad remains devoted to Mom but has also moved forward, marrying a wonderful woman. It’s really for the best.

So, I’m still not sure what I’ll say next week when we gather but I thought I would share my funeral speech and a poem today. The poet is Honduran and today’s recipe is Spanish. It’s Latin week! I actually picked the recipe before I discovered the poem. It’s still hot here in Texas so something fresh and cool sounded good to me. Mom didn’t like most nuts but she tolerated almonds, so this recipe is a rarity in her files.

MALAGA ALMOND GAZPACHO
Ajo Blanco Malagueño

This gazpacho from Málaga gets its pure white color and creamy consistency from blanched almonds. Sweet green grapes are the essential counterpoint to the tang of garlic and vinegar. The addition of shrimp comes from chef Bartolomé Rodrigo Lucena.

1 (3-inch-long) piece baguette, crust discarded
1 garlic clove
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 lb whole blanched almonds (3/4 cup)
1 tablespoon Sherry vinegar (preferably "reserva"), or to taste
1/2 cup mild extra-virgin olive oil (preferably Andalusian hojiblanca)
2 cups ice water

Garnish: 24 peeled seedless green grapes and 12 peeled cooked small shrimp (about 1/3 lb)

Soak bread in 1/2 cup water 1 minute, then squeeze dry, discarding

Mash garlic to a paste with salt using a mortar and pestle (or mince and mash with a large knife). Blend garlic paste and almonds in a food processor until nuts are as smooth as possible. Add bread and 1 tablespoon vinegar and, with motor running, add oil in a slow stream, then add ice water and blend well. Force purée through a fine sieve into a bowl, pressing firmly on solids. Discard solids.

Transfer soup to a glass container and chill, covered, until cold, about 3 hours. Season with salt and vinegar before serving.

Gazpacho can be chilled up to 2 days.

Makes 4 servings.

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