by Tracy Ellen
Stella is trying to be vegan, but is totally depressed with her progress. Try as she may, she can’t stay away from the cheese. As she struggles with her inner dairy demons, she compromises and eats cheese produced from dairy farms where the cows are treated gently. Thanks to my niece, I’ve learned way more than I ever wanted to know about the standard processes used in the production of dairy products. My oldest sister, Mac, has a lot to answer for in the raising of Stella. I figure Mac has to be the one to blame since it’s never once crossed my mind to wonder about the status of cow’s teats, or the levels of blood and pus acceptable in the milk we buy at the grocery store. Those kinds of facts completely disgust me, and maybe Stella was having a hard time transitioning to vegan, but she’d grossed me out for life.
My only niece initially made the decision to be vegetarian at the age of fourteen and got flak from a lot of the adults in her life. Pushing the great age of twenty-nine, I’ve observed the older some people get, the less they seem to remember what it was like to be a teen full of zest and purpose. They thought it was just a phase and humored her. Four years later, when the phase hadn’t gone away but became a way of life, it made some people uncomfortable. Beats me why, but Stella is often patronized for her beliefs and asked stupid questions. She generally handles intrusive, arrogant questions with a patient grace, always on the lookout for potential converts.
My personal favorite is from Marge Clausen, an overweight, sedentary busybody in her forties who has been coming to Bel’s Books since I was a kid. I overheard Marge asking the lithe, athletic, glowing-with-health Stella, “Are you sure you’re getting enough protein, dear?”
Aside from the obvious, her question brought home to me that when you’re vegetarian people take an uncommon interest in whether or not you’re getting all your protein and vitamins. I can’t recall ever hearing an adult ask a flesh-eating teenager those types of questions, regardless if their physical condition is bulimic skinny from barfing up their vitamins or morbidly obese from a steady diet of junk food and no exercise.
Eating organic wasn’t as trendy four years ago. To be a vegetarian, paired with insisting on organic whenever possible, is to some people downright un-American and threatening. I get a good chuckle out of that attitude, as if slaughtering cows and chomping down Big Mac’s built character, good health, and a powerful nation.
Personally, I am a chomper, but I buy organic and local wherever possible. I take an interest in knowing where my meat comes from, especially beef, for two reasons.
One, can you say Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease? It’s the disease named for the human related result of eating cattle infected with Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy, more commonly known as mad-cow disease. That disease scares the-you-know-what out of me. Not enough so that I’ve completely eliminated beef from my menu, but I do consider eating it an extreme sport.
Two, try having your fourteen-year-old niece sadly shake her head at you when seeing the burger in your hand and chiding mournfully, “Auntie, you know you are eating sad, sick meat that once had a face.”
My God, I am only human and have a heart, even if on the shriveled side, and a brain, hopefully not spongy. Stella masterfully plays me like a violin. Now I try to make sure the animals I eat had a happy life first on a nearby farm. I like thinking they are running around frolicking and eating grasses free of pesticides. I like the idea their poor teats are not abused for my dairy products. I like imagining they don’t know what hits them when they’re butchered locally for my eating pleasure.
I’ve always steadfastly supported Stella in her convictions- just because. More and more, I was coming to believe she has the right way of it with many of her beliefs. They’re sensible and realistic, if uncomfortable to practice. My niece is full of true grit and determination, two traits I admire greatly in women when used in the pursuit of self-discovery and personal goals.
I have to give her kudos for being able to pull off the shoes, too. They look like a throwback to old pictures I’ve seen of the seventies fashions. The saying, “Keep on Truckin” flashed across my brain. The girl was stylin’. That’s a good thing since she’s majoring in fashion design.
Stella’s eighteen and a freshman at St Catherine’s College in St. Paul. She also works at Bel’s as my right hand woman. Mac’s footing the tuition bill for the private college and it’s not trivial. But Stella’s a hardworking kid. She is earning her own money to help contribute to the cause and otherwise supports herself.
When Stella chose St Catherine’s, I think we were all a little stunned. At first glance, the only thing she seems to have in common with the private, all girls, Catholic St Kate’s was the fact she has a vagina. We’re a heathenish lot when it comes to organized religion. Most of my siblings went to state schools and majored in partying for their first couple of years.
I’m the only one without a degree. I considered it a waste of time and money for me since owning Bel’s has always been my focus. NanaBel, surprisingly, didn’t try to dissuade me, but said I could always go to school should the urge arise. I haven’t regretted the decision not to pursue a traditional college career, but initially, I did miss the continual learning a structured school setting had given me. I hadn’t understood how much I loved soaking up knowledge until I was done with high school and putting in long hours at the store. For the first couple of years, Bel’s Books consumed my every waking hour. It was exciting. I kept taking on more and more responsibilities. I had tons to learn, but as I became more familiar with all aspects of managing the store, I knew it was not enough.
Loving the business I own and run doesn’t mean its continual fun and games. Mainly, my time’s spent with routine tasks, a lot of the same old, same old. Once I had determined what my restless problem was, I solved it.
I came up with a life action plan I refer to, please forgive me, as the Bel Curve. Continued education is the overall goal, and having fun while achieving this broadening of my horizons is the overall focus. The subheadings Brain, Body, and Spirit organize my pursuits of a well-rounded education. The system has worked well for me over the years. I’ve always devoured books, but sometimes I take a class on a specific subject. Sometimes I learn an active skill, try a new hobby, or take on a sport. My only rule of operations, I gotta love what I’m learning or doing. It is fine to continue on one subject and delve as deeply as my interest warrants, but if I don’t love it, I move onto the next challenge.
At our gentle teasing and questioning, Stella stubbornly insisted St. Kate’s had the program she wanted. She proved once again she knows her own mind and has thrived in her first quarter in the diverse, small class environment. It’s a great school.
My heart swelled with love for my niece while I watched her today unawares. She’s extremely pretty in a vibrant palette with her lustrous, dark chocolate-brown hair and aquamarine eyes under slashing, dark brows. Rosy cheeked with the MacKenzie dimples, she has a beautiful smile with white, slightly crooked teeth. She insisted she didn’t want braces in the interests of perfection once the dentist had admitted her bite was fine. She thought her one or two, slightly crooked teeth were interesting. Such confidence from a sixth grader boggles the mind.
Mac had Stella at seventeen. My oldest sister had gotten pregnant by her high school sweetheart, Freddy DeVere. I recall vividly the drama at the time. From my nine-year-old perspective, I was repulsed at the idea of Mac having a baby. NanaBel had promised to support Mac in whatever choice they made about the pregnancy- keeping the baby, adoption, or abortion. Her only requirement was that Mac discussed what she was thinking, feeling, and reasoning with her family, as she made her decision with Freddy.
I kept my lips zipped so I could listen, round-eyed and big ears, to all the discussions around the dining room table without being sent out of the room. Years later, I grasped how NanaBel had expertly turned a difficult situation that often rips families apart into a time of family unity and excitement. She showed us all by example the stepping stones to making sound dec
isions while incorporating our very human strengths and weaknesses into the equation.
One of NanaBel’s favorite axioms has always been, “Your actions should bear scrutiny- your own.” All my life, I’ve watched her in action practicing what she preaches. I have come to greatly admire her philosophies.
My grandmother doesn’t give much credence to public opinion other than as a tool to weigh the lay of the land, and then manipulate it to her own ends. She also doesn’t consider “manipulate” a four-letter word. NanaBel’s quite Machiavellian in her thinking. You’ve got to love that trait in a woman, especially a woman solely in charge of your family’s future.
What NanaBel does believe is that it’s very important to be able to sleep at night after deciding on the path you’ll take, so don’t ever lie to yourself in the privacy of your own mind.
Self-delusion is a major no-no in our family, even if it’s admitting you’re selfish, unfair, unethical, immoral, twisted, or just plain wrong. Vigorous self-honesty, self-examination, and self-acceptance promote the eventual best choices.
Liking yourself and striving to be the person you want to be; along with plenty of exercise, regular meals, and a good night’s sleep, gives you the energy to have a fun, hardworking, and productive life. NanaBel’s formula is all about life being hard work and a good time. After twenty some cognizant years of my own empirical observations, it’s my conclusion my grandmother has to be the coolest woman in the world.
Mac and Freddy chose to have the baby. Freddy was a year older and going to school at the U of M. They waited until after Mac had graduated high school, and baby Stella was born in July, before getting married. After the wedding, they lived in a tiny apartment in Dinkytown near the University. They were a happy, little family- deliriously in love and overflowing with plans for a bright future.
Seven months later, Freddy was T-boned on an icy, February day by a delivery truck running a red light while doing fifty. Poor Freddy had been hit on the driver side and killed instantly.
A devastated Mac and baby Stella moved home to our Division Street family. Eventually, Mac used the resulting insurance settlement to pay for schooling to become a nurse. She socked away the rest. We all chipped in our time and it was a group effort raising baby Stella. For the first few months, Mac was sleepwalking through the days while dealing with the reality and grief of being a new mother, a bride, and a widow- all at the age of eighteen.
I was just eleven when they moved back into the apartment with us in Northfield. It was a sad time; Freddy had been dear to us all. My sadness eased a little when it took about one nanosecond for me to fall irrevocably in love with having baby Stella around 24/7. Time went on, Mac dealt with her loss, and she slowly moved back into the sunlight of the living. At that point, she had to tackle me to wrest baby Stella out of my grubby, little arms. We agreed to share the baby.
I now thought about how hard Stella works going to school while holding down a full-time job. I thought about how friendly and kindhearted she is- the girl took a spider outside rather than kill it, which in the winter is an interesting choice. Pressing my hands against my chest, I almost felt my heart swelling; I was so proud of her. Stella’s probably the closest I’m going to get to a daughter of my own, even though she’s only ten years my junior.
Stella glanced up, her pretty face inquisitive. “Why are you standing there holding onto your boobs like that, Auntie Bel?”
She grinned at me when I dropped my hands while laughing at her valid question. “Oh, I was enjoying feeling myself up on this fine Saturday morning. Those are the kinds of things I get up to, if left to my own devices for too long.”
Stella burst out laughing, shoving me playfully in the shoulder. She unlocked the deep drawer under the checkout counter near where I was standing. She stowed away her Big Buddha purse.
“Nifty shoes, hippy chick.”
Stella pointed her foot, the better for me to admire. “Thanks. I ordered them online through a website on Etsy. Only thirty bucks!”
I pointed nonchalantly to the yellow gift bag tantalizing me on her arm. “What’s that little morsel?”
Stella held the bag up in surprise, as if just noticing it. “This gift bag, you mean?”
“Yes, that gift bag. Is it a present for someone….like me, for instance?” I asked without shame.
“Now why would I have a present for you?” Stella teased, pursing her lips in thought. “What have you done for me lately?”
I clapped my hands. I love presents. “Hmm…let’s see. What have I done for you lately? Good question. Does it have to be something I have actually done, or does what I intend to do count?”
Stella giggled. She handed the bag over to my greedy, clapping hands. “I believe you would do anything for a present, wouldn’t you?”
Distractedly, I pushed my long hair behind my shoulder while murmuring, “You ask that like its wrong. Have I taught you nothing, Stell?”
I opened the sparkly bag and pulled off the decorative, tissue paper that served no purpose other than to keep me from the loot underneath. Inside were two wrapped items. I took both out and laid them gently on the wooden counter. Savoring the gifts was as fun as opening them. Well, not really, but a close second.
I carefully folded the gift bag and handed it back to Stella. “You really shouldn’t have, Stella sweetness, but here you go. Recycle this for next time.”
She stuck the yellow bag under the counter while dramatically snorting and rolling her eyes. I don’t know where she gets some of her facial tics from; must be my sister, Mac.
I opened the gift on the left first. “Thank you so much! What is it, exactly?”
Stella took it out of my hands. Using scissors, she sliced off the tab wrapping covering up the white, slim tube. She popped off the lid. Her bright blue eyes were intent and serious, little frown lines of earnestness on her forehead. “It’s called lip stain. You are going to love how it feels and looks. Jane Iredale’s line may not be certified organic, but I have checked out the ingredients. There is no propylene glycol in her stains. Or sodium lauryl sulfate. It’s safe and nontoxic for you to use.”
Oh, man, I could just squeeze her endlessly for being so incredibly cute when she’s so serious, but I settled for a quick hug and warm praise. “I appreciate your research. Thanks for being so smart. I cringe at the poisons I’d consume without you policing the profit-hungry, corner-cutting, bastards of the cosmetic industry.”
Eyes sparkling, she nodded, pleased. “Put some on and try it. Then hurry and open the next one.”
I live to obey. Stella was right; the lip stain felt great and tasted even better. Jane and I had a future. “Mmm…delish.”
Stella handed me the second wrapped package. I laughed in delight when I opened it and saw the earrings. They were shiny, delicate silver in the shape of an elongated sphere with a blue topaz stone dangling in the center.
“Stella, they’re perfect! I love them. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome. They reminded me of your eyes. Sammy made them. Isn’t she good at jewelry design?”
“She is good.” Without thinking, I put on the earrings. I went over to a mirror hanging on the wall right inside my office door to check them out. I curled my hair behind my ears and turned my head this way and that to catch the sparkle in the light.
“We should talk with Sammy about selling her jewelry here,” I idly mused, thinking about Stella’s talented best friend. “What do you think, Stell?”
Stella came to lean against the door frame. “Sure, we could do that. Those look totally cute.” She got a perplexed look on her face. “I just noticed something. This is probably the first time in my life I’ve ever seen you without earrings on already. What are you, psychic or something?”
I watched my blue topaz eyes widen in the mirror and saw my Pretty Pink Just Kissed lip stained mouth stay closed. I felt tongue-tied, although Stella had no way of knowing why I had no earrings on. For once, I had no facile answer for such an
easy, simple question. I felt like a complete idiot standing there and saying nothing.
Stella’s straight eyebrows drew together. “Why are you looking so strange? What’s wrong?”
A voice behind her at the door inquired, “Who’s looking strange?”
It was Anna. Stella and I both turned to her. I was relieved at the interruption until Stella said, “Can you believe Bel had no earrings on this morning and won’t tell me why?”
“Wait a minute…” I protested, but Anna overrode me.
“What do you mean? She’s got earrings on, Stella.”
Stella’s arms were folded and her platform shoe was tapping. Her eyes narrowed. She was on the scent, but still confused.
“These are earrings I just gave her as a gift, Anna. She didn’t have any of her own on to begin with, and she keeps staring at me like she’s guilty of something when I asked her why.”
Anna peered at me suspiciously. I shrugged and went for clueless. Without hesitation, I threw Stella under the bus. I did a circular motion with my finger near my head, signaling Stella was a kook.
This is what I get for shaking up my routine, and for having a nosy niece that keeps an eagle eye on me and knows all my ways. No wonder I have no children of my own if this is the peppering you get for not wearing a pair of earrings one damned day. All because I had a lousy sleepover, I have resorted to lying to my niece and best friend.
“I saw that!” exclaimed Stella, laughing. “I’m not nuts, and you’d better tell us what’s going on or I will drive you crazy until you do. You know I can do it…”
I did indeed. Relentlessly single-minded as a rat terrier is another trait she, no doubt, got from one of my sisters. I learned a long time ago, Stella is not a female you can depend upon to take a hint and shut up in public when you don’t want her to pursue a delicate subject. Nuance and subtleness are not words in her vocabulary. You have to drag her off to the side and threaten her with bodily harm to get her to be quiet if there’s something she has sunk her teeth into and wants an answer on. I either had to come up with a quick explanation after screwing up my timing so badly, or spill the beans I had Luke upstairs. Then I’d really be in for a waterboarding session.
