Ohhh, Bacon Chicken, How I Love You!

Isn't it lovely. That's not a question. It's a statement. I had a serious craving for TJ's bacon, which is the absolute best bacon there is. I know this because I've tried every brand of bacon out there. So, I got some packs just to have on hand.

But my journey to Bacon Chicken didn't begin with the idea of Bacon Chicken. I just had to come up with something for dinner. First, I brined the chicken according to the Goddess, Alice Water's, and her proportions for brining poultry. I did this in the morning. Then I let the bird air dry in the fridge for a while, breast up; this removes excess water from the skin which makes it get crisp. So, there's the bird in the fridge sitting right next to my half a dozen packages of TJ's bacon, yes, that's 6 packages of bacon. Then the idea struck me and, well, you can see the outcome. I used all the bacon in the package. I even minced some up and stuffed into the cavity along with some apple, onion, garlic, rosemary, lemon, lime, salt, and pepper. And, oh my, it tasted like the stuff of bacon dreams. Even my son loved it and he's pretty picky.

Will Ferrell

I love Will Ferrell. That's it, I love him and I love his movies. He makes me laugh. Nothing more to say.

Swimming

My son loves being in the water even though he can't swim. Earlier this week, he would just hang onto the side or bounce on the bottom until he reached the side. Wayward splashes bugged him and he'd hold his nose if he had to go under the water.

He's been taking swim lessons at the community pool for years now. In the community lesson, the teacher wants the kids to wait at the side (and do nothing if you can believe that) while they take one kid at a time to do back floats or blast offs, etc. So, the kids spend quite a bit of time just waiting and getting really cold. Since my son has little body fat, he gets extra cold, even with his wetsuit. So, I decided to add some private lessons. Sure, they're more expensive but he gets 15 minutes with the instructor as opposed to 3-5 minutes in his half-hour community pool class.

So, he's been taking 2 weeks of private swim lessons every day. Yes, he was tentative at first. He pinched his nose if he went under water. He'd cling to the side. It really looked like he was a long way from learning to swim. And yet, yesterday, my son put it all together; he learned to swim. It was glorious to watch. When he purposely dunked his head under water, I leapt to my feet and cried out with joy, "You did it!" Then he kept dunking his head under water without holding his nose. He was so proud of himself that he did it twenty more times. Then his lesson came and the teacher lead him across the pool while he took four strokes by himself, by himself! Mind you, this is the same boy that pinched his nose closed just a couple of days ago.

I felt tears welling up as I watched him testing out his new skills. It was beautiful. And, he's so proud of himself that he keeps dunking, splashing, and telling everyone that he can swim!

Tofu Can Kiss My A@#!

Yeah, I don't like tofu. It belongs in the garbage right next to all those other soy products. Why is it bad besides the fact that it tastes like crap and bounces when dropped on the floor? (I like my protein to land with a thud when it hits the floor). It's bad for you because it has these things in it called phytates. Phytic acid inhibits the uptake of vitamins in our bodies, major ones like these: calcium, magnesium, copper, iron and zinc. If you do eat tofu, you're going to need more Vitamin D. (Vitamin D helps calcium do its job in our body.) Soy is listed in some toxic plant lists published by our own government. You might also need more B-12 if you eat soy. (B-12 is important in making blood cells and maintaining the sheath around our nerve cells.) Children of soy-pushing parents are developing at earlier ages. MSG is formed when making soy products, MSG is bad for us, remember? Thyroid cancer, anyone? How about abnormal development in children? Oh yeah! I'll take pancreatic disorders. How about plain old crabby about having to eat something that tastes like crap.

I wouldn't eat soy if you paid me. I wouldn't eat soy if I were starving. I wouldn't eat soy if it were wrapped in bacon. That says a lot, because I'll eat anything wrapped in bacon, except...

Read more about studies about with the evil soy bean: http://westonaprice.org/soy-alert/667-studies-showing-adverse-effects-of-soy.html.

I should be cleaning the house

But I'm not. I'm sitting here writing about something that I love and that's ghost stories. Imagine a ghostly voice saying, "Wooooooo, woooooo, woooooooo." Yes, I do love ghost stories. I've loved them from a very young age. I think that comes from my mom telling us all kinds of ghost stories during those dark and stormy San Jose, CA nights (ok, there weren't that many stormy nights but there were lots of ghost stories).

Yes, I watch Ghost Whisperer, not for the cleavage (though there is a lot of good cleavage in that show) but I watch it for the ghostie things that happen. Ghostie, not ghostly or ghastly. It's not scary and there's not a lot of blood, maybe a dab here or there. The ghosties can pop in and out when they try to get Melinda to help them but sometimes they don't know they need help, much like many of the living.

The shows are predictable and that's OK with me. I also have to suspend my beliefs about the world in order to watch and that's OK too. My mind needs a break from hearing about road side bombs killing another soldier or hearing that my niece's mom pushed her onto a hard surface actually hurting her back. Oh yeah, while my niece was pregnant, no less. The world can suck but it sucks a little less when I can watch shows like Ghost Whisperer where they work things out.

Italy Sketches

My husband likes to sketch things. So when we were in Italy last year (my first time ever in Europe!), he tried to get in as much sketching as he could. He did some drawings in Venice but it rained on some of his sketches causing the ink to run. It was a lovely effect, water on water. He lugged our day-pack complete with his drawing supplies, our son, and any extra bags that I couldn't handle. And although he didn't do much actual sketching due to all the lugging and the jet lag, the sketches that he was able to complete were simply amazing.

When I look at his sketches, I immediately feel the essence of the place. I can feel the close-in quarters of the cafe, the tiny shops that we popped into, the artisan shoe maker's cubby-hole shop. And, though it felt hemmed in while I was there and I could stand in the middle of the street and touch each building that framed the street, I also felt peaceful while in Venice. I think it's because of the lack of traffic. Plus, there were no Vespas whizzing by with 2 bags of groceries precariously perched on the front and back. And, as we got closer to our place, the crowds thinned out and the revelers stayed away. That feeling comes through in his sketches.

He also did some amazing sketches while in Lucca and Rome. In Lucca, we had a lovely day of riding bikes around the walled town. We rode up on top of the wall, which has been turned into a nice bike path, with picnic areas, playgrounds, sculptures, and a few restaurants. Then we descended into the town and found a little place to eat located off an ally on some unnamed street. This is where he did another of his sketches. My son loved his spaghetti dinner that night then he did some great drawing on the sidewalk while we were able to chat and drink wine, just lovely.

There was a particular sketch that he did in Rome from the terrace of our apartment. It was the night that we almost burned down the building. Ahh, yes, Rome. The night of almost burning down the building. Anyhoo, suffice it to say that we didn't burn much except a foil dish and we have a really great story and a sketch to go along with the memory.

Back to the present, for the past 6 years, I have been hanging my son's art on our walls because we have NO other art or anything to put on the walls. We're the kind of people who have to love what we put up. And I love my son, bless him, but I'm really getting tired of looking at loopy train drawings done in light yellow. So imagine my surprise when I went to get something from the basement and I saw that my dear husband had taken his 5x7 sketches and had them blown up to poster size which he then mounted onto frames.

My heart lurched in my chest, my eyes welled up with tears and I whispered aloud, "Our Italy trip." So, for our anniversary present, he hung those in our bedroom so that we can wake up each day to see these beautiful sketches and works of art which remind us of our moments in Italy.

Musings While Exercising

I began doing this walk/job combo a while ago when walking with my son who rides his bike with training wheels. I have to run to keep up with him. And, actually, I'm getting pretty good at jogging. So, while jogging, I'll often pass more serious joggers. I can tell because they're wearing skin tight lycra which probably wicks sweat away from the body, they have their music strapped around their bicep, and they don't stop as often as I do. I usually wear jeans or whatever I happen to be wearing that day. It's a very rare occasion that I get dressed to exercise. I figure if I have to plan one more activity around exercise then most likely I'd never go.

Today, I passed this guy who wore lycra with big patches of black and white on his legs 'Wow, 80's dude,' I thought. He was really making a statement. Most serious joggers seem to wear shorts or lycra and a performance t-shirt all from REI of course (which isn't such a great store, by the way). Seattle jogger etiquette calls for no acknowledgment of the other jogger, no smiling, no nothing. So, for kicks, I do the forbidden Seattle thing, I smile at other joggers. Some people smile back, some nod, but most just ignore me like I'm that bothersome moss on the north sidewalk.

I think to myself, "Self, what is it about most of these joggers that prevent them from smiling at me." Here are my responses to myself:

"Gasp, gasp, gasp."

"Oh yeah, they're exercising and don't have time to smile."

"But, it's easier to smile than to frown."

"What a jerk."

"Oh wait, they were probably shocked that a stranger showed any emotion. Since we're in Seattle and strangers don't talk to each other, why would they even smile."

"But, it only takes one second to smile and when you smile, your body releases those feel-good hormones. Aren't joggers and runners looking for that runners-high. Gasp, gasp, gasp. They could just stop running and start smiling to get at the seratonin. No jogging, no drugs, just smile. Stop talking to yourself and just jog and don't smile, damnit!"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot, I live in Seattle. I keep forgetting that part."

"Gasp, gasp. gasp."

My Basil

Ok, it's June 3rd already and already my basil is looking all yellow and upset from all the over-watering it has received due to El Nino. It was very green and happy looking when I bought the basil starts. Now, it just looks depressed from all the rain. It looks how I often feel throughout the wintertime here in this god-awful, soul-sucking winter weather we're forced to endure. June in Seattle and we still have the heat coming on.

We've had so much rain and gray weather that I was blinded this morning when the sun finally came out. But, yes, it finally came out and it's glorious. The warm sun makes me feel like I can have fun adventures. It makes me feel alive. It makes me feel like replacing that yellowing basil. Oh, the basil, my favorite herb. I've got it growing against the house on the South side. Usually, the sun warms the stuccoed side of our house which in turn keeps the basil really warm and happy. Hey, maybe I should go set up camp with the basil so I can be warm.

I suppose our depressing and bone-chilling Northwest winters have their pluses. The big one I can think of is how incredibly happy I feel when summer finally arrives. I'm also able to see more vistas because the trees have all lost their leaves. I also don't have to worry much about sunscreen. And, I don't have to take care of the garden. So, I guess winter has a few good points. But, honestly, I'd rather slather sunscreen and garden all year in exchange for warmer and sunnier weather. So would my basil.

Friends From High School

Wow, I guess I thought I didn't have any old friends but this weekend, two of my pals from ninth grade stayed with me and we reconnected. The years can change a lot in a person's life. I was completely delighted to find that Tracy and Toni had lived full and exciting lives. I did feel a connection to both of them. It's strange but even though millions of years have passed, I still felt like we were united.

Sure, I was worried. Especially when Toni mentioned that she could sleep in her van with her rescue dog. I pictured a yellow VW van complete with painted pot leaves and purple peace signs with smoke billowing out the windows (you can guess what kind of smoke). I pictured her leveling the van on my hilly rain slicked street with my neighbors cautiously peering out. When she pulled up in a soccer mom van, I really had to laugh at myself.

Tracy was always very outgoing and sweet-natured. When I picked her up at the airport, she launched into talking, but then she always did that. I remember I used to love to listen to her. Even though we were the same age, she always seemed so wise. It turns out that we were all from dysfunctional families and we needed something extra, some place to call home, someone to help and heal our hearts. I think we found some of that in each other.

Tracy became a real estate agent. Toni became a massage therapist. I became a stay at home mom.

Toni had the greatest memory for the details of all the adventures that we had. Tracy and I pretty much forgot everything. Like much of my childhood, that year with Tracy and Toni was a blur. Did my missing chunks of memory stem from the amount of drinking that I did or is it just the passage of time. Maybe it stems from not wanting to remember how lonely I felt as a child. I do recall laughing with Tracy and Toni back then and that it felt good to be with them. I can hang onto those chunks and let the other ones slip away because I've already come to peace with my childhood. It feels good to remember laughter and connection and it sure felt good to reconnect with two wonderful women who probably helped save my life.

Cheers to you Tracy and Toni. And, there was something about the chicken arm? But, I completely forgot what it was. Oh well, cheers to you and the chicken arm, what ever that may mean.

Store Bought Asian Sauce

That's what they must have used the first time I tried Vietnamese food when I lived in San Francisco. My husband's co-worker, who is from Texas, raved about this little hole-in-the-wall place and he made us eat there. It was torture from the very first bite. I wanted to dump my pho on his head. Never one to completely give up on a cuisine, I then tried a flashy, up and coming, much lauded Vietnamese restaurant and still wasn't impressed. In fact, I was really disappointed because I can make this stuff at home with store bought Asian sauce.

For years, I'd been wary of Vietnamese food. It wasn't until yesterday that my palate and mind were completely changed. It feels like a new space has opened up, a space where there's room to keep trying new things, to keep enjoying and loving life, to keep living. Yes, good cuisines can do that to me.

I think I owe my thanks to Anthony Bordain. I've seen pretty much all of his shows. I love No Reservations. I love it because Anthony likes excellent food done in unpretentious ways. I love it because I get inspired by his adventures. I love it because I can see myself eating and experiencing what he experiences. Anthony loves Vietnamese food; he's been there several times in No Reservations. And I think he actually lived there. His love of Vietnamese food kept popping up in my mind over the years. The saying, "if he likes it, then maybe I might like it" lingered in my thoughts.

My husband and I love this restaurant called Portage here in Seattle. It's all fresh Northwest cuisine. In fact, the chef/owner, who is of Vietnamese descent, lives right near some good friends of ours. And, that's how we found out about his new restaurant called June. The food at June is fantastic because Chef Vuong has created the menu and the space. His menu is Northwest inspired French, it's all flavor both delicate and robust but without heavy Frenchified sauces. Simply divine. Anyway, while reading about his new restaurant June in the PI and the Times I came across Vuong's favorite Vietnamese restaurant, Green Leaf Vietnamese Restaurant, http://greenleaftaste.com.

I did a quick search and the Green Leaf website popped open and there sat Mario Batali (of Molto Mario fame; also, his dad owns Salumi here in Seattle). I thought to myself, "Okay, if Vuong likes this place and I love Vuong's creative cuisine and Mario Batali is eating there plus the fact that my idol, Anthony Bordain, loves Vietnamese food, then I think I need to give this place a try."

To sum up our Green Leaf experience, I was blown away. I ordered way too much food but I really wanted to sample different parts of the menu. I think every single thing on the menu would taste fantastic. Everything we tried was wonderful. All of our dishes were fresh and the exotic flavors mingled and danced on my palate. Fragrant, floral, slightly acidic, barely sweet, hints of mint and spice, caramelized onions all met and melted together to create unique flavors.

I am a complete convert. I love Vietnamese food. And, this has opened a whole new world for me.

Is salt really my friend?

I slid my arm into the cuff, the blood pressure cuff at the drugstore. My son took his and wanted me to take mine. I pressed start and it squeezed off the blood flow then slowly released. My son was delighted with the numbers. "Look at how high they are mom." I frowned. Yes, they were high, too high. Something has to be done.

It took me a few months to decide how to address this. According to WebMd, I wasn't in the danger zone yet but I was approaching. My dad just had another surgery to place yet another stent. It's genetic, he told me and then advised me to get an MRI just to make sure I didn't need a stent. 'What if it's not genetic," I thought. My dad lived high on the hog for many years. I even learned  how to make him a gin and tonic when I was a kid. He drank a lot, smoked even more, and ate rich food for most of his life. And, that behavior really took a toll on his health. I took stock of my life, my son, my husband and I decided that I needed to drop some pounds and make some major changes before it was too late.

I decided to give 6 Week Body Makeover a try. They offer a money back guarantee and I thought what the hell. I can do this for six weeks. If I'm still overweight with high blood pressure, I can try something else. I still have time.

I knew going into the diet plan that after it's over, I can't just go back to eating salt, sugar, and butter slathered on my bacon. What I'm searching for is a healthy way of eating that I can deal with for the rest of my life. In the process of following this eating plan, my taste buds are supposed to be getting used to eating without added salt, oil, butter, or sugar. Those are my four favorite food groups, along with bacon. I've always been a salt fiend. I stopped using Morton's years ago and only used sea salt. You know, the one with all the minerals and it's supposed to be better for you than table salt. But if you use too much, like anything, then it's not good for you.

So far, I haven't been hungry (a big fear of mine which makes me reach for the Cheez Its) and I've actually lost 12 pounds and shed inches from my body. And, today, for the first time, my unseasoned food (actually, I loaded it with ground pepper, fresh thyme, garlic, and hot peppers which are all ok to eat) actually tasted pretty good. I was surprised because just last night I was whining about how I couldn't eat salt or soy sauce. Do you know how hard it is for a girl with Japanese blood NOT to eat soy sauce. I grew up seasoning everything with soy sauce. I used to drink shots of soy sauce.

I'm hoping that after I've reached a healthy weight for my age and size that I can add back in just a few of my favorites, like soy sauce and salt. Maybe a dash instead of a steady pour. And, perhaps I can drink a glass of wine once a week. I just have to wait and see. But I need to do this for myself and my family. I want to be active and healthy and my bacon on bacon lifestyle just won't do anymore.

What I love About Spring

The thing that I love the most about Spring is the fresh smell in the air. If hope were to have a smell, it would smell like Spring. The sweet air swirls and carries the scent of unfolding flowers. Sometimes, the air is tinged with winter's wicked chill and sometimes the sun comes out to banish it. In Springtime, you need a rain jacket and a t-shirt just in case the sun comes to warm your back.

I love the beautiful blossoms. I love seeing people out in their gardens snipping here and there, planting flowers, reshaping a garden that got pushed around by winter. Speaking of the word winter, it doesn't deserve to be capitalized. Yeah, I know we need winter in order to have Spring but I still don't have to capitalize the damn word.

Maybe it's the vitamin D that I've been taking but right now, I feel alive and happy. I love my garden and my husband is building a new fence. It looks good. Oh Spring!

Don't Do Taxes On Four Hours Sleep

The title says it all. I told my husband that I probably made mistakes but I think I got everything in there. I could not sleep last night and I think it was fours hours tops. Maybe there was something in the air. Finally, Spring is here maybe that's it. Maybe I was kind of nervous about doing the Faith Ringgold presentation for my son's class, or maybe it was the tv that I began watching. Once I started watching Medium, I couldn't stop. I tried. I even turned off the TV but as I lay there in the dark, I couldn't help but wonder if they'd catch the evil person. I really enjoy how those stories come together, sometimes the evil doer gets away but they seem to always catch the morally corrupt person. Speaking of morally corrupt, Jane Lynch was amazing on Glee and in her debut music video. I love Jane Lynch. I wish she'd come over for dinner and make us all laugh.

Oh dang, I am tired.

Those Books That I'm "Reading" Right Now

I have a pile by the bedside and if the mood strikes me to read about luscious cakes, then I read about that. If I feel like I need a sassy narrative about her year of cooking with Julia, then I read that. Today, I saw this HUGE and I do mean HUGE tome in the cookbook section. Well, I just had to check it out. Turns out it's a whole 500 plus pages of the life and times of one of the most famous chefs in the word. In fact, his restaurant is rated the best in the world and it's damn hard to come by a rez. You can't just call up Ferran and ask for Friday at 7. Oh no. You need to plan years, yes, I said years in advance. You see, they only have 8000 reservations a year and they have over 200,000 people vying for those spots. So, yes, I checked it out. Who ever saw a 500 plus page cookbook? Oh yeah, it's hard bound and is 9" by 11", that's right. It looks like a dictionary. I'm happy to say that it has lots of glossy pix and only smaller inserts of text. At least it fits in with my lazy reading style. I'll write more on this book find later.

So, yeah, I've always got some book going on how to make a better kid, I mean how to make him do what I want, I mean how to make him behave better. And of course, I always have a dessert cookbook or two that I read because my husband LOVES sweets and I love my husband and I want to make him sweet things.

What is WRONG with people?

This is hard to write about. I'm really upset about what happened to that little girl, the one who was attacked at a party in NJ by at least 12 men and teen boys. I can't even begin to imagine the horror that she went through and will continue to go through for the rest of her life. And, what is WRONG with people. Maybe the attackers were abused as children, maybe it was the perfect storm of society giving up/poverty/misogyny, maybe they fell into madness as it started and then others thought, 'Oh, what the hell.' That whole thing of accepted group behavior is as strange one. Someone else started the attack and then no one did anything about it and this sent a signal to the crowd that it was ok. I've read studies about this peculiar human behavior and most of these studies show that people do nothing or join in. Look at the Holocaust, how was that allowed to happen. I guess I'm just looking for some kind of explanation about how a 15 year old girl can sell her sister and it's accepted at this party.

I cried as I read this story and then I cried again. I didn't mean to click on it for Christ sakes. I was doing a search on Jerry Seinfeld's TV dad, who just passed away and this, horror popped up. I felt it like a stab to my heart.

Haiti

I watched a bit of a show on public TV about the situation in Haiti. I cried. There's so much devastation, so much poverty, so much rubble. It broke my heart and made me sad and angry. What can I say? I feel hopeless about the situation down there. I watched as a shiny giant excavator scooped up a pile of cement bits, an old blanket, and a body and dropped it into the massive dump truck. The body dangled like a piece of trash. Somewhere, maybe here, maybe in Haiti, there's someone crying over that person that they just picked up with the machine.

Then they took rubble and trash mixed with bodies and buried them in a mass grave. I guess I understand from a cleanliness point of view that bodies need to be buried as quickly as possible but emotionally, it tears me apart to see them dump bodies in what seemed like unmarked graves. It makes me feel empty. Who is crying over this person?

Left Over Sour Cream

I have a bunch of left over sour cream and decided to bake some kind of sour cream chocolate creation for my husband. When I asked him to name his favorite chocolate cake, he merely said all of them. Well, ok then. So, I decided to make a chocolate cake that had the most sour cream.

The one that I made is called Black Chocolate Party Cake. The recipe is from Rose's Heavenly Cakes (by Rose Beranbaum, author of The Cake Bible). This cake really is dense, tender, and very chocolaty. I added some things to enhance the flavor, such as espresso in the cake and Kahlua in the glaze. This one truly melts in your mouth. Even I like it and I'm not a huge chocolate fan.

Since it will be my husband's birthday in late April, we decided to light a candle and sing to him. I'm really happy that he liked it. Plus chocolate is supposed to be an aphrodisiac, so maybe I'll get lucky tonight!

Natural Deodorant

I've been looking my entire adult life for a natural deodorant. I've tried them all: solid salt, enzyme enriched, glycerin with lichen, yeah, lichen of all things. None of them worked, not even Tom's of Maine (which is now owned by a mega corporation and Tom is happily retired on some island with his millions). They ALL left me smelling terrible and causing awful sweat stains. This search of mine is always present. I have always looked for something that will work for me, something that won't pump nasty chemicals and heavy metals into my body. I have quite the collection of deodorants.

In the meantime, I've been using Dove antiperspirant. It did an OK job but it still delivered aluminum into my body. Since no one really seems to know if this is damaging, I went on using it, hoping against all hope to find something natural. Well, lo and behold, I found it. I was reading my Zappos Digest (yes, I know, a shoe digest of all things but shoes are a love of mine and it makes me happy to read about them and they just happen to be discussing sweat stains of all things) and I came upon an article about how to get rid of underarm sweat stains. Several contributors suggested trying milk of magnesium in place of deodorant. They said: you just dab it on with a cloth and it handles the body odor, cuts down on perspiration and won't leave those damn sweat stains on your clothes.

I've tried a salt lick, might as well try milk of magnesium. What the hell, I thought. Yep, it's a laxative and I found it at Bartell's right there next to the Metamucil. So, I took it home and after my nightly shower, I dabbed. I have to wear deodorant at night, period, otherwise, it's a very stinky situation. Anyway, I woke up that first next morning smelling like blackberry and vanilla (my fav perfume). Amazed, I dabbed more under my arms. And I smelled wonderful ALL day. I felt joy that I had found my natural deodorant alternative and I felt worried - would it last or would it turn out like the lichen crap? So, I did the milk of magnesium dab for two more weeks and I still smell better than I've ever smelled even using an antiperspirant. Better, I smell better.

So, yeah, I use milk of magnesium as a deodorant and it really does work. I'm basing this on my lifelong quest to find a natural alternative to antiperspirant along with my three weeks of testing. My only question is what to do with all those Dove antiperspirants that I bought at Costco.

The Navy?

They sent me a mailer espousing the wonders of a NAVY education. It's taken me a long time, but I think I might be ready to join the NAVY. WHAT! I'm too old? Yes, I am. I guess it's a good thing. I probably couldn't make it past boot camp. Maybe they have a baking boot camp. Whisks ready?!! Whisk! I said WHISK Ensign, NOW!

I really do like my country but I'm  not sure I could put my life in danger to protect it.

I think if someone was coming up the shore to capture my flag, I'd fight them. But really now, I'd much rather relax and read a good book. Like a book about someone who struggles to find their way. I like writing that envelops me and allows me to take a journey inside the heart of the characters. But, honestly, I've become a lazy reader. I've pretty much abandoned my search for complex novels that take me in and refuse to release me. I've been reading mysteries, which I love. I've also lapsed into Harlequin Intrigue, they all have the same effect: strong girl is in trouble, bad but virtuous boy sweeps in, muscles and beauty collide in a stormy connection, and sometimes they make it past the first time and sometimes they don't, but there's always hope. Hope. I think there might be hope for my return to fiction. I love the feeling of being infused with the essence of a story. I love complex and lovely prose. I do love lovely prose. And, when I read something spectacular, even if it's sad, I feel exalted. It's almost as if this author has touched my soul and spoken directly to me. It truly feels amazing.

Every Cook Has a Bad Day

And mine was last night. I was too ambitious for the time that I had. Or the stars were misaligned. Or it was my husband's fault. You know what I mean. I had been planning to make train cut-out cookies for my son to take to school. They looked lovely, in my mind's eye.

For birthdays at school, the principal comes in and he leads the class in a birthday song. Then my son gets a personal card and a special birthday pencil from the principal. And to finish off, they have cookies that I bring for my son. I really wanted to make these fancy train cookies with three colors, outlined in black, with a window, and with wheels. Oh, they were so cool looking.

After I put the boy to bed (this takes up precious time and I have to do it because my husband is on a business trip - this is why it's his fault) and have a quick rest, I make the frosting. At nine thirty at night! This should have been my first clue. I make a thick frosting; it's so thick that it won't spread. Naturally, I add water to thin it out, only I didn't measure it. Since I'm in a hurry, I dumped it in from our crappy faucet. By the way our faucet has two settings, on and off. But, what the heck, right. I mix it and put it in the piping bag. This is my second time using a piping bag (another clue, right?).

I pipe blue on all the cookies and it looks average but I really need to hustle if I want to get to bed. I go too fast, the tip is too big and I put too much frosting on. The blue is dripping off of many cookie edges. Yeah, this might be my second clue; but it's not. I mix up some pink only to realize that I don't have enough frosting for the three other colors- the wheels, the window, and the outlining. I quickly add too much water from my crappy faucet and make the pink way too runny. But, I go with it because I'm tired and I want to get these cookies done. It's ten thirty by now and I'm yawning like crazy. So I pipe on runny pink frosting. And, boy does it run and drip all over the place. These cookies look like they've got multiple stalagtites hanging off their edges. I know my son will be thrilled with all the blue and pink colored icing on the counter that he can pick off and eat. Being a trooper, I think I can salvage it, somehow.

After I pipe on all the runny pink I realize that the cookies look terrible. At this point, I should have gone to bed but I really wanted to make these cookies. So at eleven o'clock I had the bright idea of scraping all the pink and blue off of all the cookies and putting on one solid color with perhaps a few sprinkles. Brilliant. Yawn, yawn. Really, I am yawning like crazy now. I also feel like crying. When I scrape, I realize that I can't really get at all the frosting that oozed over the sides. I end up with blue and pink stained cookies with pink and blue stains off the sides. Yet, I am hopeful. I see these perfect lovely train cookies and I think I can...

I make up a new batch thick red frosting. This time, I think I get the consistency correct and I begin piping. But wait, what's that oozing on my hand. Of course, it's red frosting from the bag that just burst because I put too much pressure due to the frosting being too thick.

Remember the scraping, well in the process of scraping, I break a couple of cookies. Only, I don't have any extra because I just don't (this should have been another clue). All I could think to do at this point was eat the broken cookies. So here I am with icing that needs to be used, a bunch of pink and blue stained cookies with stained drips off the sides, not enough cookies, it's about eleven thirty, and I'm tired of cookie decorating.

As I stood at the sink dipping into the vat of red frosting, I think I got my final clue. I'll just go buy some lovely cookies on the way to school. Got the clue. Done.

Baking

Yep, I love to bake. I love making cupcakes and drop cookies. They are so easy to make and split into individual portions. Then I can make different frosting with different flavors. And, what I don't want to eat, I can send away to friends.

While I love cakes, they are too time consuming and then I have to eat the whole thing. I mean, my family has to eat the whole cake.

Once I made a cake that I didn't like. I didn't taste good. My son absolutely adored it though, so I said he could look at it a bit but then I was going to toss it. His face bent inward and crinkled with horror. "WHAT!?" He demanded. "NO!!!"

'Wow.' I thought to myself. I guess chucking a cake is the worst imaginable thing possible to a child. "Ok, ok, we can keep it around for a bit. But the flavor isn't good and blah, blah, blah." He only heard: we can keep it around for a bit.

Flash forward to the next day. I was doing something int he kitchen and my son came tearing out of his room at top speed while he yelled out, "The cake, where's the cake?" He spied it sitting on the counter and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

My mom's voice

I love hearing her voice. When I'm not here, she leaves a message and I like listening to them. Often, I roll my eyes and smile, a practice well rehearsed from my teens. Even with my eye rolling, I love to hear the sweet loving timber in her voice. "Just calling to tell you I'm cleaning out my house. Wow, what a job. Well, I love you. Give me a ring sometime." I can't imagine if she weren't in my life. She's always been there for me no matter what. Whatever I was trying out in my life, whatever stunt or persona, she'd always be there for me. When I stumbled and fell, she'd be there without judging me. Life goes on, she'd say. It sure does. But, does it?

Both of my brothers have died. Two of her sons. I'm her only child left. I'm here, holding on, living, exploring life, raising a son with my husband. I'm here and yet, she's really physically absent from my life. I feel her through the phone, I feel her love, I feel her sorrow. Yet, my son, her grandchild, doesn't get to feel anything from her. He's only met her a handful of times and he doesn't recall any of those moments. She stayed with me after my second brother died. My son was three at the time and wasn't used to her and so he treated her with disdain. Well, it hurt her feelings. But, I thought she'd understand since he was only three. She told me that it hurt her feelings. And, that's the last time she's visited. She doesn't even remember telling me that my son hurt her feelings. Really?! Well, she must have had some sort of emotional downfall, because she's decided to stay away from us, away rom her only family left.

It makes me sad that she doesn't visit. I don't understand it. I guess it's one of those human mysteries. But, I want to be there for her. I know she must still be grieving over the loss of her two sons. And, so, even though I don't understand her distance, I accept it and I love her from afar. At least I have her phone messages.

Our National Anthem and the Olympics

I think I was in my twenties when I first listened to the words of our national anthem. I listened enthralled as the song unfolded. Sure, I'd endured years of my childhood saying the Pledge of Allegiance but it never inspired me as much as our national anthem. I love our anthem. I love it so much and it makes me proud and often it makes me tear up. The flag, our symbol of freedom had lasted through the night. Yes, it was still there. Wow, we are still here.

I feel so proud when I hear it. Especially when I hear it at the Olympics. The emotion of the moment plays across the US gold medal winner's face. A life time of dreams, a life time of sacrifice, a life time of work. It finally pays off, the US Olympian has won gold. Then they play the Star Spangled Banner as they raise the flag in salute. I see their tears, I feel my tears, I feel their pride. The highest achievement for a life time of work.

Yet, this pride for my country has a double-edged sword. I love my country, yet, I see that my country hasn't always acted in ways that make me swell with pride. I can't control what my government does but my hope it that I can behave in a way that is respectful of humanity.

Supreme Court

I’m not a very political person but the recent ruling by the Supreme Court has really mad me mad. Well, it’s not surprising since they have five conservatives and four liberals. As I understand it, they’ve decided in favor of a ruling “that opens the door for corporations, labor unions, and other organizations to spend money directly from their general funds to influence campaigns. (from Yahoo! News)”

So, my non-political brain interprets this as WalMart, Warren Buffet or RJ Reynolds gets to choose who will serve in any and all of our public offices. Here’s my nightmare: my next public school official will be someone supported by Wal Mart and RJ Reynolds. Their private agenda? Buy all supplies from Walmart. Lighten smoking campaigns targeting our youth.

I just looked at a list of rich people in America and it scares me to think that they will all have access to controlling how our political campaigns turn out. Yahoo! News reported that 80% of ALL Americans of all political backgrounds are against this ruling. I think if most of the country is against this ruling, the Supreme Court should take notice.

One thing that I like about local politics is that ordinary men and women have access to it. I fear that with this new ruling, ordinary people will be left out and our important local decisions will be left to corporations. Dang, I hope it doesn’t turn out this way. I hope I’m just making a mountain out of a mole hill.

Bad Dates

A friend of mine is promoting her book, Good Drinks For Bad Days at a local hotel bar this week. They're having a bad date contest. So, I began to think of my past bad dates. I guess I can't include dates with my husband. If so, I might have to include the time I yelled at him on his birthday.

Back to bad dates, I can think of a few. I met this man at a book store and we chatted over the fiction books. He seemed interesting. He liked jazz. I don't like jazz but I thought maybe his interest in jazz might be a window into a deeper person. We agreed to meet for breakfast. This is a bad first date choice because if it doesn't work out, well, you know, you're stuck. And, I was really stuck. He talked mostly about himself and when he asked me anything, I was so spaced out from ignoring him that I had to ask him to repeat his question. It dragged on and on. Finally, we split the bill with him pointing to his throat while he muttered that he had a sore throat and had to leave. I shrugged and said, "Yeah, me too." Then I left.

More bad dates. Hmmm. I got stood up by the Kinko's guy. He'd been making deliveries for months and finally he asked me out. Yay! It was the first time I'd been asked to go swing dancing. I was thrilled. As a former ballerina, I loved dancing, especially anything that was romantically restrained. You know, stolen glances, the heat of your partner's hand on the small of your back, spins that end in a second-long tight embrace. Needless to say, I was really looking forward to this date. I got ready with care, which is saying a lot for me. I'm a jeans, t-shirt and no make-up kind of girl. So, I got ready and waited and waited and waited. He never showed. He never showed at work. The new Kinko's delivery guy told me that he quit.

A couple of months later, I was on another date and ran into him. I just said hi. I wasn’t hurt or angry and there was no need to go into why he stood me up. But he persisted and shared with me that he had a nervous breakdown and had been in the hospital. He said he was better and I was happy for him. He was a nice person. He seemed to pause like he wanted to ask me out again. Quickly, I wished him well and thanked my lucky stars that he stood me up.

My Pal

When I first met my friend Ann, I was in college. I'd had best friends before but being friends with Ann was something special. She was the kind of person who made you feel worthy and special just for being you. She sees positive attributes in everyone she meets. She has a great sense of humor and she cares about humanity. She's probably intensely upset about the earthquake in Haiti. She is the kind of person who creates a delicious meal, sets a simple and lovely table, and shares it with friends.

When we'd hang out, we wouldn't really do anything specifically. It was more about being near each other and sharing. We'd ride bikes around, pick flowers, watch TV, drink coffee, cook things. Normal stuff.

She was the first friend that I had who actually voiced the words, "I really like you, Camille." I was really astounded when she told me that. I appreciate that Ann told me how she felt. In the past, I had just assumed that my friends liked me. But she made me see how important it is to tell people how you feel about them. I told her I really liked her too. We were bonded from that moment and I still feel close to her, even though we don't live in the same city or  talk as often as I'd like.

She is definitely a once-in-a-lifetime kind of friend. I miss my pal. I wish we could spend idle time gathering moments. I wish we could spend time cooking stuff. I wish we could be having coffee right now.

Under the Knife

I love that phrase, under the knife. My mom is a nurse and she chuckles about the patients who refer to their surgery this way.

Speaking of surgery, I asked my dad if he saw my brothers when he went under the knife. He said didn't see anything. "Any bright lights? I asked. Even though my dad is quite self sufficient and reserved, I still think there's a part of him that likes all the attention that being sick garners. I sensed this in him while he was repeating the story of his surgery for the fifth time.

After he finished with his aneurysm story, he solemnly said, "My days are numbered."

Thinking back to when my brother died instantly after slamming into a rock wall, I replied, "Aren't they all. I mean, how much time do any of us really have here."  Then I asked him, "So, how long did the doctor give you?"

"Well," he said in a drawn out way, "the doctor actually didn't say that. I just think that I won't be around for much longer. It'll be quick though. I'll just drop dead when the aortic aneurysm bursts and I won't feel a thing."

Wow, what exactly do I say to that. Finally, I settled on saying, "that's how I wanna go. I want it to be quick, maybe doing something that I love." Then I add, "I'll miss you dad, I'll miss you a lot."

 

Fathers and Children

Seeing fathers and children together during a tender moment has always made my eyes tear up and my heart swell with emotion. I feel happy that the child has such a nurturing male figure in their lives, grateful that there are caring people in this world, and blessed to be in the presence of a loving exchange between a father and his child. Yet, at the same time, I also feel some longing tug at my heart because I never had such a close and caring relationship with my own dad.

I’m thinking a lot about my dad these days because he’s going in for surgery soon. They’re putting a stent in his heart. A stent in a man-made tube that’s inserted in a passageway, an artery in his case, to keep the fluids flowing along.

 

At this point, I’m not really sure what to write. My parents divorced when I was three and I grew up without knowing him very well. When I did happen to see him I always wanted to leave right away. Throughout my whole life, he’d basically ignore me. He’d only say what was necessary which meant he was silent for much of the time. I was about 35 or so the first time he told me he was proud of me. So, he’s mostly been absent from my life until recently.

He moved nearby after my brother died. He only began telling me he loved me after my second brother died and he only says it at the end of our phone conversations. Maybe it’s his way of making up for lost time. And, it’s sad but, we’re not really any closer emotionally. He lives nearby but I don’t see him very often. Even though I’ve always wanted a supportive and nurturing relationship with my dad, I know that it won’t happen. It’s just not his way. In the face of his possible demise, the best I can hope for is an, “I love you,” from him. This is miles from how he used to treat me. The funny thing is, I’m okay with this.

He’s a reserved and very proper person. But lately, he has surprised me with some silliness. By the way, silliness is unheard of in his realm. I made dinner for my husband, my small child, my dad and myself. Sometimes just before we eat, we like to hold hands and say, “One, two, three…Blah, blah, bugga, bugga, boo!” I expected my dad not to say it because it’s goofy. Dad amazed us all by joining in. It makes me smile when I think about it. If this surgery doesn’t go well and he ends up dying, I’m going to think about the time that he said, “Blah, blah, bugga, bugga, boo!”

I never thanked my mom for making my tutu

She made it out of kelly green tulle netting and added dark green sequins on the ends to make it sparkle. It was for my dance recital. I absolutely loved it! I played with it for many years and when it no longer fit my waist, I’d wear it on my head and rock out. 

This one simple act of my mom’s gave me years of pleasure and creative play. I imagined I was a ballerina performing on stage or a princess dancing at a ball. Sometimes, I used it as a mega car ramp, a tumbling tumble weed, or a volleyball. Some of my fondest memories are from when I’d rock out. I’d put on my sparkly green tutu-hair, tune my air guitar, and perform my latest hits for all my fans. My fans, AKA stuffed animals, loved it.

When she made my tutu, she was a single mom in her thirties with three kids and she worked full time. She must have been exhausted. In fact, now that I’m a parent that I can empathize with how physically and emotionally tired she must have been. 

Thanks mom for making my tutu. I loved it and thank you for taking the time to give me such a wonderful gift.