La Mamacita

Accidental Voyeur

2006-07-24T21:48:00.000-04:00

Fred's birthday is January 30. Mom's is March 13. Sue Biggar's birthday is March 16.

I don't know who any of these people are, but I have to say that I'm becoming more curious by the moment. You see, I'm peeking into someone else's life.

I'm not doing it on purpose, though. Really! I just bought a used PDA on Ebay to replace the dead one that I've been carrying around for the past month. Before buying the new one, I decided I'd see if I REALLY needed one. Well, after a month I still don't know if NEED is the correct term, but I still WANTED one, and after all I AM more organized when I use one.

The truth is, I love the chase. I enjoyed reading up on PDAs and searching for the best deal. After several nights of staying up late reading about them and sharing important bits of information with my husband, he started to look pretty frustrated. I knew it was time to buy. (I wonder how many purchase decisions I've made because my husband reaches the point where he can't stomach hearing one more word about the items I'm considering?) I ended up getting a Palm Vx on ebay, and getting a right good deal, if I do say so myself.

The kids went to sleep at a decent hour tonight, giving me a little time to play with the new (used) toy. It's colorful and fast -- it even connects to my wireless internet connection! I wasn't able to synch to my laptop until I returned to work the following Monday, so I was setting it up manually when I noticed someone else's memos. There are always some risks in buying a used item (this one did not come with a manual), but I've been pretty fortunate in my Ebay purchases so far. Not knowing how to delete more than one memo at a time, I found myself looking at each title as it passed -- tips on healthy eating, notes to a contractor, directions. I know that this person keeps up with birthdays and Valentine's Day, works out regularly, and does charity work. Calendar items were even more cumbersome to delete, because some had been programmed to repeat, which requires one extra step to clear them.

Let's delete several together, shall we? OK: March has four remaining items: I'll keep St. Patrick's Day (the 17th) -- it's always good to be reminded. But I'm deleting Helen Cooper's birthday on the 18th, although I wish her the best, wherever she may be. I'll do the same with Patricia O'Connor's (the 20th) and Michael Coso's (the 22nd). Victoria Angier's birthday is May 2 (the word God Father is noted here -- The Sopranos comes to mind). And on May 5, the owner of this device planned (plans?) to send off the NY State AIA Competition Packages. I'm curious about AIA, so I google it and find that it has something to do with building interesting figures out of sand... On May 29, the entry exclaims, DAY OFF -OFFICE CLOSED - MEMORIAL DAY.

I'm curious what the previous owner of this PDA will do to celebrate Memorial Day. Will he or she meet up with Michael Coso and Patricia O'Connor at, say, a place in the Hamptons? Or are they more Jersey Shore types?

I realize that this could easily become an obsession. I know that he/she pays his/her Expo account by the fist to avoid "interst", and that he participated in a "Poonam Sharma Interview." On June 2 at 11:30, he had something to do with "Starr Review of Bid Documents" -- Could that be KEN STARR????

As I delete each of these items (I know there must be an easier way to do this, but would it really be this interesting?) I think about how much of MY (less busy, less interesting) life will take their place. If a stranger looked at my PDA, he or she would certainly notice the Saturday riding lesson that overlaps with the toddler ballet class -- how does she swing that? they'd wonder (sometimes I wonder that myself). They'd find a file marked grocery list that might prompt them to suggest that I could really save some money if I just didn't worry about ORGANIC. But I don't think they could've helped me to remember my nephew Will's birthday, which I plain forgot to enter into the calendar -- darn!

Tapas

2006-07-05T07:57:00.000-04:00

Recently we hosted a get-together for friends on our block, something that my friend Beth makes look really easy, but for me is always somewhat stressful. I enjoy the company -- we're blessed to live on a block full of interesting people with children of a similar age. What gets me is that lately, when I host a get-together, no matter how well I plan or how much cooking I try to get done in advance, I'm always running around like a crazywoman and don't get to sit down and enjoy my guests.

Until tapas night. The inspiration came admittedly late. Two nights before the party my husband and I were dreaming of planning a family trip to Spain in a couple of years, and memories of Barcelona tapas bars ushered in the idea. The Spanish eat dinner ridiculously late by my husband's standards, so during our summer there six years ago, we frequently joined the Spaniards in tapas bars, drinking a fino or sangría and eating small plates of potato and onion omelet, grilled shrimp, huge, delicious olives and countless other meditteranean goodies designed to get you through until the 10 p.m. evening meal. From time to time, we enjoy a potato omelet, green salad and glass of red wine for dinner and think about those wonderful weeks in Spain.

When the idea hit, I remembered my favorite tapas cookbook, Penelope Casas, and I turned to a couple of favorites (tortilla a la española, thyme-scented green olives) and a couple of new dishes (white bean salad, swiss chard omelet). The result was delicious, AND I found myself sitting with my friends, enjoying a glass of Rioja, watching the kids play. It was a great evening.

Tortilla a la Española (Spanish Potato Omelet)

1 c. olive oil
3-4 large potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/8 inch slices
1 large onion, thinly sliced
Coarse salt
4 large eggs

Heat the oil in an 8- or 9-inch skillet and add the potato slices one at a time so they don't stick together. Alternate layers of potato with the onion slices and salt the layers lightly. Cook slowly over medium heat (the potatoes will really "boil" in the oil rather than fry), lifting and turning the potatoes occasionally, until they are tender but not brown.

Drain the potatoes in a colander, reserving about 3 T. of the oil. Wipe out the skillet, scraping off any stuck particles. Meanwhile, in a large bowl, beat the eggs with a fork until they're slightly foamy. Salt to taste. Add the potatoes to the beaten egg, pressing them down with a spatula so that they are completely covered by the egg. Let the mixture sit for 15 minutes.

Heat 2 T. of the reserved oil in the skillet until it reaches the smoking point. Add the potato and egg mixture, spreading it out rapidly in the skillet with the help of the spatula. Lower the heat to medium-high and shake the pan often to prevent sticking. When the eggs begin to brown underneath, invert a plate of the same size over the skillet and flip the omelet onto the plate. Add about 1 T. more oil to the pan, then slide the omelet back into the skillet to brown on the other side.

Lower the heat to medium and flip the omelet two or three more times (this helps give it a good shape while it continues to cook), cooking briefly on each side. It should be juicy within. Transfer to a platter and cool, then cut in thin wedges or into 1-1 1/2 inch squares that can be picked up with toothpicks.

This omelet tastes better and can be cut more easily when left awhile at room temperature (score!)

White Bean Salad (Ensalada de Judías Blancas)

3/4 lb. cooked white beans or chickpeas (I used canned)
1 med. tomato, cubed
1 hardboiled egg, sliced, each slice cut in half
4 pitted cured black olives, each cut into 4 pieces
1 T. minced parsley
2 T. fruity olive oil
1 T. wine vinegar, preferably white
Salt
1 clove garlic, mashed to a paste or put through a garlic press

In a bowl, gently combine the beans, tomato, egg, olives and parsley. In a separate bowl, whisk the oil, vinegar, salt and garlic. Fold into the bean mixture and marinate in the refrigerator for several hours.

Real Life

2006-06-15T07:51:00.000-04:00

Growing up, I loved movies. I 'don't remember disliking a single one I saw. In fact, I had trouble understanding why critics picked apart the films that were, for me then, all so different and perfect in their own ways. I spent a good bit of my childhood in Atlanta, and I can remember sometimes walking, and sometimes being dropped off at Lenox Square or Phipps Plaza and paying $2 to see The Pink Panther series (I loved Peter Sellers), Escape to Witch Mountain, Monty Python's Holy Grail, Jaws (which I loved, but which, as the movie trailer and book jacket promised, kept me from ever enjoying the water again.) All of these are classics, except, possibly, Escape to Witch Mountain, which starred Eddie Albert as an RV-driving grump who is won over by two adorable children with magical powers. But I saw several that would be a bit more difficult to praise nowadays: Foul Play, with Goldie Hawn and Chevy Chase, and The Spy Who Loved Me (I had an inexplicable loyalty to Roger Moore as James Bond). I saw this one, and other Roger Moore Bond films, an embarrassing number of times.

Sadly, I didn't hold onto that unconditional adoration of cinema. A college roommate with discriminating taste in movies and music took it upon herself to educate me. Thanks in part to her, I am now much more particular about movies, and have so much less free time, so I find myself too often scouring the reviews to find one that's worth my time. But I guess my joy at finding a great one may equal the happiness I used to find at the theater as a child. It just doesn't happen as often.

One of the repercussions of spending so much time in a dark theater is that aspects of life start to take on characteristics of films I've seen. It's not that I lose my grip on reality, but a frightening number of the connections that my brain makes are to films instead of to books or, sigh, other life experiences. Sometimes it's because I don't have a life reference or an literary moment to refer to. Other times, though, I think it's because movies provide a safe and easy way to experiment with emotions that life and books, which require so much more imagination, don't offer as readily. The result is that some of the important moments of my life have a film-like quality in my memory. I think it's possible that I compartmentalize the strong feelings that come with these real-life events so that they might soften, as would happen when I walked out of the dark theater and squinted into the sunlight after watching a matinee and realized that it was daytime and that the shark was far, far away and I was safe.

I felt this way a couple of days ago watching my grandmother die. It was a surreal forty-eight hours in which my mother and I went to the nursing home in the mountains to visit her, knowing she was ailing, and ended up staying through the end of her life. Afterward, standing next to her lifeless body, so carefully and lovingly laid out on the bed, it just didn't seem real. You see, the whole event had every making of a cinematically scripted occasion.

My grandmother and I have always had a special relationship. I never did anything to earn it, and as a child I felt guilty that she liked me so much and, apart from being named for her, I didn't always merit her special feelings. I didn't visit often enough, and when I did visit, I sometimes dreaded making the trip. But when I would arrive at her house in Alexandria, we always had a wonderful time. She was never one for scheduled activities; she appreciated relaxation, and especially as teenager, I loved lying on her couch eating Captain Crunch out of the box after a day of swimming at her club and lying in the sun. That's about all we did. And maybe because I didn't require more, she enjoyed my company. Over the years, I tried to earn that special relationship we had. I visited as often as I could, and when it came time for her to go to the nursing home, I tried to be a regular presence. I never felt I quite lived up to the kind words she said to me, but it was a lesson for me that thinking the best of someone is a great way to help them raise their own expectations.

I didn't cry much during her death; I knew she wanted to go, and I wanted her suffering to end. A couple of times I felt a sense of deja-vu. Looking back, I wonder if watching the grief of too many characters in too many movies made my experience seem less authentic. From a directorial standpoint, it was quite a beautiful scene: My mother, brother and I stood around the bed and stroked Grandma's arms and hair and told her how much we loved her. After the nurses warned us that the time was rapidly approaching, she breathed shallowly and irregularly for about 30 minutes, and then she just stopped.

Apart from saying goodbye to my grandmother, my goal was to support my mother, for whom this has been very difficult. But when it came time to leave the nursing home, it was she who held me. I had a really hard time walking out of that place. Looking back, it was leaving that made it real -- walking out of the automatic doors of the nursing home into the late afternoon sunlight and realizing that my grandmother was still gone. That her body was still in that bed, and that it wouldn't be there the next morning. I felt myself crumble, and the emotions that I'd held at bay, behind that curtain of fantasy where I'd "tried on" so many feelings in the past, all came tumbling out.

My mother held me close in the parking lot and let me cry. I may have seen fifty sentimental deaths on the big screen, and uncountable moments of grief, but this moment was mine, and it was real, and it was clear and painful and full. And to soften it would be to cheapen it and rob myself of the true essence of what it is to live.

And here's to you...

2006-05-11T08:49:00.000-04:00

My husband's AP students have taken the dreaded exam and can now rest on their laurels a bit. In celebration, he's going to show them a couple of classic films, and last night he previewed The Graduate.

Both of us had last seen the movie while we were in graduate school, and we were surprised at how different our perceptions of it are now than when we were at such a different stage in our lives. It's interesting how much more I identify with the adults in the movie. When we last saw it, they seemed so ludicrous, and the Dustin Hoffman character's ennui seemed so understandable. Last night I found myself wanting to tell him to get out of the damn pool and DO something. What's more, Anne Bancroft looked GOOD! I think I may be older than she was at the time, and I kept finding myself thinking how cute her skirt was and if she'd just change the highlights in her hair a bit...

Anyways, it makes me want to go back and watch other movies that we enjoyed in college and early in our marriage. Some of my favorites, like Harold and Maude I fear, may not stand the test of time. Others, I'm hoping, like A Private Function, might even get better with age.

In the end, Jeff decided to shelve The Graduate and is showing Citizen Cane instead. Hmmm... That's a class I'd like to take!

Springtime visit

2006-05-10T13:07:00.000-04:00

The boys and I had a moment today. Lately, our moments have been made up of kindly (and not-so-kindly) reminders that we've still got three more weeks of school, exams loom, it's too early to throw in the towel, etc., and we were headed in that direction today. But we had an unexpected visit that completely changed our focus.

I'm not sure how he found us, but somehow a frantic little yellow bird made it into the school, down the hallway and into my classroom. He flitted under my projector, which I was warming up to show an installment of Julio y su Ángel, a Mexican film that I use as an authentic text at the end of each year. He then proceeded to fly over the lights and toward the back of the room, hitting the windows repeatedly in an attempt, I'm sure, to reach the familiar green and blue that seemed oh, so close.

A not-so-distant memory came to mind. Years ago, during my first week teaching at this all-boys' school, the headmaster walked in and sat down. I felt confident: I had the boys' attention, they were learning, I was teaching, just the things you want your boss to see. With the chirp of a cricket, though, my fortune changed. The cricket called just loudly enough for the boys to notice. It jumped out into the middle of the room, and in a fraction of a second my classroom was bedlam as every boy tried to be the first to stomp the poor creature. After I'd quieted the boys and gotten them back in their desks, I looked around to see that my headmaster had quietly left the room.

This time, however, the boys were great. One ran to open the windows, which unfortunately wouldn't budge, and another tried to protect the little fellow by steering him away from the glass. Finally, one boy was able to trap him against the blinds, cupping him in his hands. My worries of avian flu aside, all of us quietly followed the boy and the bird outside, where my student, whose favorite pastime is shooting quail, gently set the bird in the grass.

There were a few moments of silence (which is a rare event among a group of 8th grade boys) as the bird remained perfectly still. Two boys bent down and softly stroked the bird's feathers, and I felt a lump start to form in my throat. A couple speculated as to whether he was in shock or perhaps suffered from a broken wing. Then, as if scripted, the bird sailed into the air and disappeared into some tall bushes lining the basketball court.

The boys filed back into the classroom, and sat down. I felt euphoric, and I could tell that the bird's visit had touched the boys as well, as they sat quietly discussing the bird's coloring and speculating as to whether it was a goldfinch or a warbler.

I shelved my lecture. Somehow it didn't seem necessary anymore.

Shrimp Enchiladas Verdes

2006-05-04T13:20:00.000-04:00

Really, I do prepare other kinds of meals, too, but tex-mex does seem to be calling to me lately. These enchiladas from Eating Well turned out really well. I served them with cold black bean salad and plenty of cilantro and sour cream. Depending on the salsa verde that you use, they can be mild or muy picante.

Enchiladas

1 pound peeled cooked shrimp (21-25 per pound; thawed if frozen), tails removed, diced
1 cup frozen corn, thawed
2 4-ounce cans chopped green chiles (not drained)
2 cups canned green enchilada sauce or green salsa, divided
12 corn tortillas
1 15-ounce can nonfat refried beans
1 cup reduced-fat shredded cheese, such as Mexican-style, Monterey Jack or Cheddar
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 lime, cut into wedges

1. Preheat oven to 425. Coat a 9-by-13-inch glass baking dish with cooking spray.
2. Combine shrimp, corn, chiles and 1/2 cup enchilada sauce (or salsa) in a microwave-safe medium bowl. Cover and microwave on High until heated through, 2 1/2 minutes.
3. Spread 1/4 cup enchilada sauce (or salsa) in the prepared baking dish. Top with an overlapping layer of 6 tortillas. Spread refried beans evenly over the tortillas. Top the beans with the shrimp mixture, followed by the remaining 6 tortillas. Pour the remaining sauce (or salsa) over the tortillas. Cover with foil.
4. Bake the enchiladas until they begin to bubble on the sides, about 20 minutes. Remove the foil; sprinkle cheese on top. Continue baking until heated through and the cheese is melted, about 5 minutes more. Top with cilantro and serve with lime wedges.

Black Bean Salad

4 large Roma tomatoes, cored, seeded and chopped
1 can black beans, rinsed
1 cup frozen corn, thawed
Olive oil
Red wine vinegar
Salt
Pepper
Cilantro, chopped

Spread the corn in a flat baking dish. Drizzle with olive oil and mix. Broil until lightly browned.
Allow corn to cool.
Meanwhile, mix together the tomatoes, beans, and cilantro.
Add corn.
sprinkle with oil and red wine vinegar to taste
Add salt and pepper to taste.
Refrigerate until serving.

*If you plan to make this ahead of time, it keeps pretty well over night, but wait to add the cilantro until just before serving.

Sleep

2006-05-04T10:28:00.000-04:00

I'm getting emails from the Sleep Lady.

Perhaps she senses that there's change afoot in our house, or perhaps I somehow got onto her mailing list while perusing various ways to increase the number of hours we get bonafide zs each night. It's also possible that my husband secretly submitted my email address. Hmmm...

For $125 an hour, her website says, the Sleep Lady will consult with me via telephone to sort out my 3-year-old's sleep "issues." Don't worry, it cautions, the Sleep Lady will not, a la Ferber, tell me to let my toddler "scream it out." Instead, the Sleep Lady will train me as a "sleep coach," and her website is full of success stories.

I first became aware of the parental sleep debate after I had daughter #1. From her first night onward, I wanted her in bed with me. I didn't plan it that way -- in fact, that first evening in the hospital I remember worrying that it wasn't safe and trying to stay awake so that one of the nurses wouldn't come in and scold me for not putting her back in the bassinett (actually, one may have). But I wanted to hold her and feel her against me and know she was breathing. It was purely instinctual and the only thing that felt right.

My husband was supportive, especially when he learned that we wouldn't have to get up at night (or, wake up, even) if she could nurse lying down. So for the short-term, I think we both got more sleep in our Family Bed than friends who made a trip to the nursery every two hours. As the months (OK, years) passed, though, the nursing continued, and as my healthy daughter grew, we seemed to sleep less and less. My sister had the same struggles and tried Ferber (who in all fairness doesn't really advise letting them scream it out), but in the end didn't seem to have any more success than I.

So now that child is nine years old and sleeping through the night in her own bed. But child #2 is following in her sister's footsteps. She's down to just nighttime nursing, but my husband started getting up and sleeping in the toddler's bed because the more she grows, the more she kicks. I, too, find that as much as I love snuggling up to that warm little body, the 4-5 a.m. nursing sessions are getting a bit, well, tiresome. So, we've started putting the 3-year-old to sleep in her very own bed. We've met with a bit of resistance, and she still comes into our room sometime after midnight each night, but we at least get our bed (and my breasts) to ourselves for several hours in the evening. That's on the nights when I don't fall asleep in the toddler's bed with her.

I don't think I'll be calling the Sleep Lady, although I can definitely empathize with those who do. I think I know what she would say. I expect she would tell me that I've got to be more consistent, and that it's my actions and needs that have prolonged my child's sleep "issues." She'd probably remind me that it doesn't hurt the child to sleep alone in her room, and that there are plenty of ways to let her know she is loved and safe. She'd be right, of course.

But somehow, and I know this sounds nuts, somehow that seems like cheating to me. These days are so short -- in the blink of an eye, she'll be sleeping through the night and impossible to wake in the morning like her sister. I'm not sure there is supposed to be a magic cure for this; instead, I think I'm just going to keep listening for those little feet padding in footy pajamas down the hall to my room each night and savor the feeling of that warm little body climbing up to snuggle next to me for a little while longer.

Obsession, part two

2006-04-13T15:14:00.000-04:00

This comic strip, from SFGate.com, sums up my week pretty well.

Obsession

2006-03-30T11:04:00.000-05:00

I should be blogging, but I'm consumed by this.

Sweet

2006-03-27T11:02:00.000-05:00

Like Libbie, I have several cookbooks that I turn to regularly. I love Mollie Katzen, although my husband complains that she's too bland, and Deborah Madison taught me that there was more to vegetables than just broccoli and asparagus and that you can roast just about anything. Libbie has piqued my interest in Nigella Lawson, which may be my next purchase (Libbie, do you get royalties?) but my obsession with healthy food keeps me coming back to Eating Well.

I first subscribed to Eating Well in the early 90s when I was recently married and just learning how to cook. I liked the articles as much as the recipes, and began to look forward to seeing what Test Kitchen Director Patsy Jamieson and the other Vermont cooks would come up with next. When a new issue would arrive, I felt like my sister-in-law Anne feels when one of her favorite catalogs comes in the mail: "It's like a letter from a friend!"

But in 1999, Eating Well hit hard times. I started getting strange notes saying my subscription had expired (it hadn't), and when I ordered the magazine for my sister, it never arrived. One day, I received a letter saying that Eating Well was no longer in publication, and that I could choose from various other magazines to fulfill my subscription. My husband said I looked like I'd just learned someone close to me had died. And really, as corny as it sounds, I had. Somehow, that magazine was a perfect fit for me: The recipes worked, the articles fascinated me, and I loved its quirky New England NPR-listening, wine-sipping liberal humor. I was livid -- no warning? I pulled out my latest issue--it seemed jam-packed with ads. What was the deal? I actually wrote to the publishers, never to receive a response.

Until, that is, a couple of years ago. I happened to check Eatingwell.com, just for old time's sake, and there was a notice with the wonderful news that Eating Well was back! The first issue contained an explanation to loyal readers who, like me, never quite adjusted to life sans their favorite magazine. It explained that the food folks got tired of the tyranny of the business end of the publication and decided that they could no longer publish in good faith AND meet the demands of advertisers. The NEW Eating Well would have --gasp!-- no advertising!

Discovering that I had actually LIKED looking at the ads was a harsh realization for me, as it must have been for Patsy Jamieson and her colleagues when, a couple of thin issues into this high-minded atempt, they realized that they NEEDED advertising in order to stay afloat. So today's Eating Well has a large advertising base and the great health-oriented recipes that somehow ALWAYS work for me. What's more, they put a growing emphasis on meals that take a reasonable amount of time to prepare, which is more realistic for me. As a vegetarian, there are many recipes that I don't use, but I enjoy reading over them and cutting them out for meat-eating friends.

So, Satuday night my husband and I craved something different and tex-mexish, and I turned to my old friend. She didn't disappoint. I actually found this recipe (the potatoes, not the quesadillas) in her online offerings, not in the magazine. My husband and I put a movie on for the kids, opened a bottle of wine and did something we hadn't done together for a long time -- cook! It was fun ... and delicious. My 8-year-old actually cleaned her plate. Here's what we made:

Sweet potatoes with warm black bean salad and quesadillas.
Serves 4

You'll need:
4 medium sweet potatoes
1 15-ounce can black beans, rinsed
2 medium tomatoes, diced
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup reduced-fat sour cream
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro, divided
8 Corn tortillas
Grated Monterey Jack cheese

1. Preheat the oven to 425.
2. Scrub the sweet potatoes and prick them with a fork. Place them in a baking dish and bake until they're bubbly and crisp on the outside, about an hour. (For cutting time, Eating Well suggests that you can microwave them, but I prefer their flavor when baked).
3. Combine beans, tomatoes, oil, cumin, coriander and salt in a small saucepan; set aside.
4. Soften tortillas one at a time directly on the burner of your stove, turning them often with tongs, for about 30 seconds. Wrap the softened tortillas in a dishtowel to keep them soft until ready to use.
5. Once you've softened all the tortillas, place four of them on the bottom of an ovenproof dish or cookie sheet and top each with grated cheese (I put some canned chiles and cilantro on each before I added the cheese).
6. Place another tortilla on top of each one, and press down lightly.
7. When the potatoes are done, pull them out, decrease the oven temp to 400 and put the quesadillas in.
8. Heat the bean mixture 2-3 minutes or until heated through.
9. When cool enough to handle, cut each sweet potato lengthwise, press open to make a well in the center and spoon the bean mixture into the well. Top each with a dollop of sour cream and a some cilantro.
10. Pull out the quesadillas after 7-10 minutes (keep an eye on them!) and cut them into wedges.
11. Serve with salsa and extra cilantro and sour cream.

If you were in a real hurry to get dinner on the table, you could take Eating Well's suggestion and heat the potatoes and bean mixture in the microwave. That would free up the oven for the quesadillas, and you could probably get this baby on the table in 20 minutes or so...

Goodbye

2006-03-16T23:51:00.000-05:00

My friend and neighbor Linda died last night. This did not come as a surprise; strangely, it was more of a relief. Her condition had deteriorated so rapidly, and she was in so much pain, that I I'm glad her suffering has ended.

Watching from outside as her husband and daughter have dealt with her sickness and death has made me dizzy. So many emotions and feelings have buzzed in and around that house: Profound disbelief, boundless hope, darkest fear, relentless frustration, unbelievable compassion, fierce loyalty and willing denial. I've heard that dying from cancer can seem like a rollercoaster, and surely the ups and downs over the past months have been terrifying and exhausting. But from my vantage point, the process lacked the cyclical nature of the rollercoaster and resembled more closely the strange, unfamiliar deceptions, twists and turns of a house of mirrors.

I last saw Linda on Friday March 10, just before I left to go out of town. It was two days before her 49th birthday, and she greeted me with what I thought was drug-induced raving: "Someone's been playing with my candy!" But after she kindly explained it, I realized she was joking. Her husband, she suspected, in his endless quest to ease her pain, had changed the timing of her pills. She looked weak, and sweat dripped from her forehead in rivulets, but otherwise she was lucid and funny and positive. I drenched a washcloth in cool water and rubbed the inside of her wrists and elbows, then put it on her forehead.

Linda's husband was caring for her tirelessly and singlehandedly with the help of various family members who took turns staying at the house and taking Linda to her treatments in North Carolina. During the past month, he hardly went in to work at all. Friends and family urged him to bring in a nurse, but he fought the idea and equated it with giving up.

During our talk, Linda's 8-year-old daughter came upstairs several times to change clothes, and each time Linda called her in to evaluate whether she would be warm enough. Weakened and bedridden, Linda's concern for her daughter never wavered. Each time, the 8-year-old responded with the same fake exasperation that I've heard so many times from my own daughter -- she was obviously enjoying her mother's attention.

I left thinking that Linda looked better; I was surprised and excited at the possibility that perhaps it had been the brutal rounds of chemo and radiation that had left her so weakened, and not the insidious progress of the disease. I knew the prognosis wasn't good, but I left sure I would see her again. Looking back, I can see that she knew otherwise -- each time I tried to plan something or express a hope for the future, she responded with silence or changed the subject.

The day after I left, she took a turn for the worse. Her husband took pictures of her daughter opening presents on Linda's bed on the day before her birthday. By Sunday, her actual birthday, Linda was too sick to talk. Monday morning, her husband laid her gently in the back of the car and drove her down to Duke to the specialist who was their last hope. He was not sure she would survive the trip.

Linda died last night, Thursday May 16. Today, as I missed her, I found my thoughts turning to her family. We watched her husband come home, looking exhausted and devastated. How lonely it must have been for him to walk in to his house for the first time as a widower. How strange it must have been for him to watch his daughter play, knowing that she won't feel the full weight of the day's events for months or years to come.

A group of neighbors spontaneously gathered in front of Linda's house tonight, sharing wine and talking quietly. Her husband came outside and joined us; her daughter played with the group of neighborhood children running in and around the group of parents. As the husband took a glass of wine and sat down on the steps next to his sister, his eyes filled with tears.

Watching him, I felt admiration for the unceasing love and compassion he showed over the past year. My heart ached as I tried to imagine the pain that will fill the days, weeks and months to come. But I also felt hope for a new beginning for him and for his daughter, a chance to step outside that house of mirrors and get right back onto that rollercoaster that we all ride day to day. And, looking around me, I felt grateful for the community of friends and neighbors who will help make the ride is as smooth as it can possibly be.

Funny

2006-02-28T15:18:00.000-05:00

A friend sent me this link to Frank Caliendo's George Bush impersonation from the Letterman show. I used to love watching Letterman, but sadly, since the kids came along, I can't seem to stay up that late anymore. Help! I'm turning into my father-in-law! So, when I got this link I put on my headphones and watched it while I was monitoring a study hall, and I couldn't stifle it: I laughed out loud. Fortunately, it didn't phase my students one bit -- they just rolled their eyes and went back to work. These boys know me well.

Laissez les bontemps roulez!

2006-02-25T09:14:00.000-05:00

We're hosting a small neighborhood gathering in honor of Mardi Gras and, in addition to fried oysters, fresh shrimp, red beans, King Cake and Turbo Dog, we'll be serving up some vegetarian gumbo. My good friend Ella finds that scandalous, so she'll be bringing some meaty gumbo for the carnivores among us (including my 8-year-old, who can't wait to get her hands on REAL meat.)

Here's the meatless recipe, from Vegetarian Times several years ago. I may serve it with their White Corn Grits Souffle as lagniappe if I get my act together. Otherwise, I'll cook up some rice.

Tofu Gumbo

Ingredients:
1 Tbs. minced garlic
1/2 onion, diced
1/4 cup Dijon mustard
1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper
1/4 cup peanut oil
1/4 cup cider vinegar
1 Tbs. brown sugar
1 lb. extra-firm tofu, cut in 1/2-inch cubes
3 Tbs. plus 1/4 cup canola oil
1/2 onion, diced
2 ribs celery, diced
1 green pepper, diced
1/2 red pepper, diced
1 Tbs. minced garlic
1 cup diced canned tomatoes
1 tsp. dried thyme leaves
1 tsp. dried oregano
1 tsp. dried basil
2 bay leaves
2 cups vegetable stock
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
1/4 lb. okra, cut in 1/2-inch pieces
1/2 cup all-purpose flour

1. Combine garlic, onion, mustard, cayenne pepper, peanut oil, vinegar and brown sugar in large bowl. Place tofu cubes in mixture, and marinate 2 to 24 hours.

2. Heat 1 tablespoon canola oil in large pot over medium heat. Sauté onions, celery, peppers and garlic until onions are translucent and vegetables are soft, about 10 minutes. Add tomatoes, thyme, oregano, basil, bay leaves, stock, salt and pepper. Reduce heat to medium-low, and cook 15 to 20 minutes.

3. Heat 2 tablespoons oil in large skillet, and sauté okra until light brown. Remove from skillet, and add to tomato mixture.

4. Drain tofu, keeping diced onion. Reheat skillet, and sauté tofu until lightly browned. Remove from skillet, and add to tomato mixture.

5. Heat remaining 1/4 cup oil in skillet, and whisk in flour. Continue whisking mixture, or roux, until it is light brown and smells slightly nutty, for 3 to 4 minutes.

6. Reheat tomato mixture over medium heat, and stir in roux 1 tablespoon at a time. Continue to stir until gumbo is consistency of gravy. Remove from heat, and serve over rice, or, hopefully, white corn grits souffle.

Boys

2006-02-17T15:16:00.000-05:00

The weather outside is spring-like and my students, all of them boys, are restless. It's my fault, really. I opened the windows to let in the sunshine and the warm-ish breeze, and I should know better -- it's Friday afternoon for God's sake!

Right now I am keeping a stern demeanor. But despite the calm front, I feel as distracted as they do. It's beautiful out, freedom is less than an hour away, and the afternoon showers predicted by the weatherman are nowhere in sight.

Spanish is -- and I mean this literally -- the last thing on my students' minds right now. Pop quiz: In order of popularity, what are my boys thinking of RIGHT NOW? Answer: 1)Food 2) The Olympics 3) their favorite band 4) Will it really snow this weekend 5) Jessica Simpson.

In a year or two, the order of this list will change. For now, they are like Golden Retrievers, and I just love them.

¡Feliz Cumpleaños, Libby!

2006-02-16T10:32:00.000-05:00

As if she hadn't been offered enough cake today, I thought I'd hop on the bandwagon and wish Libby at Midlife Mama a very happy birthday by posting a link to my favorite recipe: Eating Well's Chocolate Hazelnut Cake. Libby, you may have this cake and eat it too.

Gifts

2006-02-14T10:55:00.000-05:00

As if this and this weren't gift enough, my husband celebrated Valentine's Day by surprising me with a cute necklace I'd just happened to be admiring in the Sundance catalog. At least, that's the story I'm telling my colleagues and, probably, my mother. It's not untrue. He did present me with the necklace, and he did pick it out himself. The only part I'll leave out is the small fact that I slipped the catalog into his computer bag last month. Don't get me wrong, my husband has great taste and I have total confidence in his ability to gift me with something I'll love. It's just that between working and trying our best to be good parents, it's hard to take the time to actually select a gift, purchase it and REMEMBER it on the big day.

OK, so some of you probably don't do the gift thing. I admire that. I actually tried it once. When we were first married we agreed that there are way too many Hallmark holidays, and that we wouldn't fall prey to those corporately contrived manipulations. However, after having to suffer through one miserable Valentine's evening after I'd returned from a graduate school class full of women who had received thoughtful gifts and dinners, etc., my husband realized that deep down, despite my noble aspirations, I WANTED A GIFT.

Over the years, I've come to terms with this, and I'm a little less embarrassed about it than I used to be. Basically, I see it as an opportunity to show -- yes, in some tangible form other than sex -- how we feel for each other. And no, it doesn't have to be expensive. But yes, it should be something (and this is where my wonderful husband winces) thoughtful. A tall order, I know. And so I help a little. Just a little. And, walking around today in my new necklace that my husband so thoughtfully ordered, I feel like a million bucks.

Now, what to get him?

Chocolate

2006-02-10T15:11:00.000-05:00

It's the end of a long week. Need I say more?

Never mind...

2006-02-09T11:22:00.000-05:00

Did I say this sickness thing was pleasant? Was I nuts? Actually, it's kind of like going into labor. I remember thinking in the first several hours of active laboring, "So this is it? It's not so bad... quiet music, attentive husband, all the ice chips I can eat...!" Then, several hours later, I retracted that pitifully hopeful and downright ignorant statement, sure that I was dying and would never see my beautiful, much longed-for baby enter the world. I felt like throwing the ice chips, cutting the music and saying words that would make the husband want to be, well, less attentive. When the "real" labor kicked in, it was a doozy.

This bug has been a doozy too. The 8-year-old is back on her feet, but her sister and father have since fallen prey to its evil evilness. Right now I'm the only one standing, and the anticipation is killing me! In the midst of taking care of my family, I am haunted by every little stomach gurgle! Is THIS it? Will it come for ME too?

Pleasant was NOT the correct term to describe this experience. So, to those of you who had read the post below, in the words of Emily Litella, Never mind!

Home Sick

2006-02-07T09:47:00.000-05:00

Shortly after 1 a.m. this morning my 8-year-old jumped out of bed and called for us, tripping her way through the dark to the bathroom. Poor thing didn't know it yet, but she was in the first few minutes of a 12-hour stomach bug. At least I hope it only lasts 12 hours...

Anyway, once I'd found a substitute and made lesson plans --no easy task-- I've found it to be (and I feel horrible saying this), well, pleasant. I sent the 2-year-old off to preschool in the probably futile attempt to minimize infectious contact, and right now my daughter and I are relaxing on the couch watching Spy Kids. I know, I know -- I urged The Secret Garden, but in our house, as my daughter reminded me, the sick one gets to choose.

I've managed to do a little laundry and, yes, a bit of blogging, but overall, we're having some nice, snuggly time together. It's amazing how rare that is these days. It seems as if we're always running from one place to the next, or she's out playing on the block or distracting her sister while we try to get chores done or dinner on the table.

She shouldn't have to get sick in order for us to have this down time together. We may need to schedule in some "mental health days" this spring and do our darndest to leave them... unscheduled!

My Superbowl Party Contribution

2006-02-06T09:25:00.000-05:00

This turned out really well. I served it with pita bread wedges, but to be honest, I like it just as much plain.

Marinated Chickpeas Tapa
doubled, from The Elegant Chef

1/2 Cup olive oil
6 Tablespoons balsamic vinegar*
6 Cloves garlic
4 Tablespoons minced fresh thyme
2 Tablespoon capers
Salt and pepper to taste
2 Hard boiled eggs, chopped
2 15 ounce cans chickpeas, rinsed and drained**

*I actually substituted vinagre de jerez, sherry vinegar from Spain, in place of the balsamic, which added a distinctive flavor.

**Check out the dried vs. canned bean discussion -- and some great recipes -- at Midlife Mama.

1. Blend the oil and vinegar, garlic, thyme, capers and the salt & pepper.
2. Add the egg and chick peas.
3. Cover and refrigerate overnight and serve at room temperature.
Makes four cups

Vegetarian Comfort Food

2006-02-02T15:20:00.000-05:00

Dinner tonight: Polenta & Vegetable Bake

This recipe is my 8-year-old's favorite. It's easy, quick, and great on a cold night.

It's straight from Healthy in a Hurry, a book of recipes from my favorite cooking magazine, Eating Well.

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium eggplant, diced
1 small zucchini, finely diced
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1/2 cup water
10 ounces baby spinach
1 1/2 cups prepared marinara sauce, preferably lower-sodium
1/2 cup chopped fresh basil
14 ounces prepared polenta, sliced lengthwise into 6 thin slices
1 1/2 cups shredded part-skim mozzarella, divided

1. Preheat oven to 450°F. Coat a 9-by-13-inch baking dish with cooking spray.

2. Heat oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add eggplant, zucchini, salt and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are tender and just beginning to brown, 4 to 6 minutes. Add water and spinach; cover and cook until wilted, stirring once, about 3 minutes. Stir marinara sauce into the vegetables and heat through, 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in basil.

3. Place polenta slices in a single layer in the prepared baking dish, trimming to fit if necessary. Sprinkle with 3/4 cup cheese, top with the eggplant mixture and sprinkle with the remaining 3/4 cup cheese. Bake until bubbling and the cheese has just melted, 12 to 15 minutes. Let stand for about 5 minutes before serving.

Makes 8 servings.

I serve this with a green salad and a full-bodied red, such as Ravenswood Vintners Blend Zin.
¡Aprovechen!

Disenchanted

2006-01-31T10:26:00.000-05:00

In an effort to get my daughter to read SOMETHING besides Harry Potter, I pulled Gail Carson Levine's Newberry award winner Ella Enchanted off my 8-year-old's shelf the other day. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big Potter fan myself, but when my daughter began reading the series for the FOURTH TIME I decided to step in to protect the sanity of the rest of the household. My daughter was a bit resistant at first, but she soon settled in to this clever take on the Cinderella story.

I was delighted. Ella, who is cursed by a fairy at birth with the "gift" of obedience, is smart, multilingual, and never needs to be rescued. Although bound by the curse, she uses her wits to get around it whenever she can, and her kindness, intelligence and sense of fun are what attract others, not her beauty. In fact, she and the prince strike up a friendship based on their mutual love of sliding down bannisters rather than dancing at balls. My favorite part of the book involves Ella, who has been captured by ogres, speaking to these people-eating monsters in ogre-ese and using their own gifts of persuation to talk them out of eating her. When the prince and his knights happen along and witness this, they are all impressed. In the end, (skip this next if you plan on reading the book!) she does indeed marry the prince, but theirs is an equal partnership based on mutual respect -- a model that's pretty rare in these kinds of stories.

Finally, I thought, an empowering fairy tale! My daughter, tom boy that she is, loved the fact that "this princess can have fun!" Grateful to Gail Carson Levine for creating such a brave, smart heroine, and excited after reading a favorable New York Times review, I put the movie version of Ella Enchanted at the top of my Netflix queue. We watched it for our most recent Family Movie Night and -- whoa. Boy was I unimpressed.

To be frank, I was distraught. This movie reverted in every way to the traditional fairy tales that have been thrown at my daughter since birth. Gone is the clever girl who runs away from finishing school, speaks many languages and uses her brain to get out of difficult situations. Instead, we get a pretty, lanky girl caught in a web of unfortunate situations and finally saved and married by, yes, the prince. What's worse, my daughter LIKED IT.

To be fair, the movie Ella is not AWFUL. She doesn't yearn to marry the prince or chase him around like her stepsisters do. But why, I want to ask Miramax, why did you have to take so much away from the heroine to make her appealing to a mass audience? Did you fear an intelligent, independent girl wouldn't seem prince-worthy? Or worse, would she bring to mind -- gasp! -- Hillary Clinton?

There are many movies I've loved as much as (Narnia) or almost as much as (Harry Potter) the books they were based on. Ella Enchanted is not one of them.

Cowboy in chief

2006-01-27T12:33:00.000-05:00

If you're less than happy with our Commander-in-Chief and you liked the Golden Globe favorite Brokeback Mountain, you'll love the sequel... Check out the preview poster at Curmudgeonly Crab. ;)

Ninety Six

2006-01-26T14:14:00.000-05:00

My grandmother turns 96 today.
At least we THINK so. She was never very candid about her age, or a lot of other things.
Like how exactly she got that tattoo on her thigh.
We know this: Grandma grew up in Washington, D.C. Her father worked for the Treasury Dept., and she was very proud of him. She didn't like her mother all that much, or her brother, for that matter. She was truly a Daddy's Girl.

She married a Merchant Marine who gave her three children and then left her to raise them alone when my mother, the middle child, was 13. Exactly why he left is unclear. He may have been an alcoholic, he may have had gambling debts. Whatever the reason, my mother never saw him again. He died of a heart attack somewhere on the West Coast a short time later. My grandmother did not attend the funeral.

To support herself and her children, she started a school on the first floor of her suburban D.C. home. Somehow, the school was successful enough to allow her to send her children to good private schools. This must have taken all of her strength, because although she worked hard to support and educate her children, she did not find the energy to love them. I think the dysfunction must have started in her own family. She only recently told us of coming home one day when she was twenty or twenty one and finding her beloved father dead. He had committed suicide, and she hadn't told anyone in our family because she didn't want them to think that was the right thing to do.

My grandmother has lived a comfortable life blemished time after time by disappointment. Her only son, a successful banker, went to jail for fraud. Her eldest daughter committed suicide. Her two living children suffer from autoimmune diseases.

She had hoped to live out her life in her own home. But after turning 90, she started bit by bit to lose the independence she valued so dearly. First we had to ask her not to drive anymore. Then we told her she needed someone at the house with her. But when the ceiling started falling in and she refused to let her children fix it, we knew it was time for her to be in a safe place. She did not want to live with her children, so we found a nice place in the mountains with caregivers who truly love working in geriatrics.

At first we made sure that she had a visitor every weekend. But lately she has lost track of the time and, more and more often, of us too. Sometimes I think she knows who I am, but then she loses me. I wish I could have one long, truthful conversation with her before she dies, or before she sinks irrevocably into her thoughts. I'd love to be able to ask her all of my questions: Why did my grandfather leave? What was he like? Did you love him? What are you most proud of? What do you regret? And the one I wonder about the most, What is the story of the tattoo?

But maybe, really truly, I don't want to know. Maybe the mysteries my grandmother will leave may actually be more tangible, more lasting, than the truths she would offer in their place.

I guess they'll have to be.

Happy Birthday, Gram.

Kids and Food

2006-01-20T12:16:00.000-05:00

I have a great friend, I'll call her Ella, who takes pride in preparing separate meals for each member of her family. Ella is an amazing cook by any standard, and the "grownup" fare she prepares would rival that of the finest restaurant. Her children, though, are fed a variety of chicken nuggets, pasta with sauce on the side, and grilled cheese sandwiches. I have to admit that it horrifies me!

I am not one of those mothers who prepares multiple meals to satisfy individual appetites. In other words, if the kids don't like what we're having, they don't have to eat it. Don't get me wrong, my kids don't starve. I know what they like, and I try to include something they'll eat at each meal. But I don't want to fall into the trap of preparing something different for each member of the family. It seems too... decadent.

I base my philosophy of family feeding on a strangely-named but great book on the topic: Ellen Satter's Child of Mine: Feeding with Love and Good Taste. Her basic premise, as I remember it, is that as the parent it is your job to put healthy and appetizing food on the table. It is up to your child to choose whether and how much to eat.

In practice this can sometimes be difficult -- I'm tempted more nights than not to offer my two-year-old something I KNOW she'll eat when she pushes away her meal untouched. But I usually keep myself from offering, hoping that she will learn to try new things. My 8-year-old has a pretty good appetite and eats just about everything (including meat!). Sometimes I take total credit, certain that my philosophy on food has helped her to become such a good eater. There's no way for me to know, though, whether it's nature or nurture-- I acknowledge the possibility that she was just born a good eater. I can already see that my 2-year-old has much more of a sweet tooth, so she may prove more of a challenge. I'm trying to keep Satter's advice close at hand.

A nutritionist, Satter provides knowledgeable advice from breastfeeding forward. One suggestion I followed was not to grind up grownup food to make baby food -- if you can't feed it to a healthy baby without sticking it in a blender, the baby's probably too young to be eating it in the first place. Satter is big into letting babies experience the joy of playing with food and connecting that to learning to feed themselves. She helps set up healthy feelings about food and prevent power struggles that can turn into dangerous eating disorders later in life.

What would she say about Super Moms like my friend Ella who lovingly prepare several meals a night to please each family member?

"Children learn to eat a variety of foods and take responsibility for their own eating when they are regularly offered a variety of nutritious food in a no-pressure environment. No pressure means getting a meal on the table and eating with a child rather than feeding her. Generating food especially for a child makes pressure an unavoidable part of the equation." (p. 3, italics are hers).

What could Ella do with the time she would save by only preparing one meal a night? Hmmmm... maybe have friends over for dinner more often?

Bargains

2006-01-20T10:49:00.000-05:00

I am not an efficient shopper. I like a bargain, and I have a deeply-ingrained need to research each purchase fully, so whether it's groceries or a new countertop, it takes me FOREVER to decide on a purchase. What's worse, at least from my husband's perspective, is that the purchase, no matter how small, becomes my major preoccupation and the topic of endless discussion. What's more, the time invested in the process makes me feel CERTAIN that I've made the best purchase possible, and I am always eager, and actually feel a duty (much to my friends' chagrin) to share my hard-earned knowledge whenever possible.

My latest quarry is a food processor. I got two new cookbooks for Christmas, The Essential Eating Well Cookbook and The Eating Well Healthy in a Hurry Cookbook, both compilations from my favorite food magazine, Eating Well. As part of my New Year's Resolution mentioned below, I've been trying to cook more often, and I need quick, easy, healthful, vegetarian meals that are low in refined carbs -- not easy to come by. Eating Well and, occasionally, Cooking Light, have proven to be my best bets. "What?" you wonder -- "A vegetarian who doesn't sleep with one of the Moosewood cookbooks under her pillow?" Well, I do own several of the Moosewood cookbooks (The New Moosewood Cookbook , The Moosewood Restaurant Cooks at Home, The Enchanted Broccoli Forest), and I especially love their comfort foods, but my husband often finds them to be too bland, and my obsession with "good" carbs limits the options. Anyway, whatever the source of the recipe, I find myself chopping, chopping, chopping vegetables with not-so-good knives and even worse technique. So I spend much more time cooking than I need to. And I'm hoping that a food processor (yes, we have returned to the primary topic!) will help me cut my cooking time.

After doing some (ok, LOTS) of research, I've decided that the Cuisinart DLC-5, a basic 7-cup processor with a couple of blades, is for me. And I've found that I can get it from anywhere from $79.99 to $139.99, depending on where I look. The bargain shopper in me purrrrrrrrrs! I can actually get this food processor for almost HALF of what someone else will pay for it!! (I'm sorry to show this sad, sad side of myself). So, I order it for $79.99 (and free shipping!) from Amazon although it is backordered because the satisfaction of the bargain will ease the pain of the chopping that will take place during the month or two before it's shipped.

All of this takes place while I should be grading papers. Or planning classes. Or planning menus.

But what a bargain!

Dinner

2006-01-19T13:27:00.000-05:00

As part of my New Year's resolution to organize my meal-planning and reduce the amount I'm spending at the grocery store, I'm actually planning TOMORROW's dinner. Unfortunately I have no idea what I'm serving tonight, so I'm not sure how effective this strategy is. Nevertheless, here is chez Turner's Friday evening meal, from my favorite magazine, Eating Well:

Squash, Chickpea & Red Lentil Stew

3/4 cup dried chickpeas
2.5 lbs. kabocha or butternut squash, peeled, seeded and cut into 1-inch cubes
2 large carrots, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 large onion, chopped
1 cup red lentils
4 cups vegetable broth
2 T. tomato paste
1 T. minced peeled fresh ginger
1.5 t. ground cumin
1 t. salt
1/4 t. saffron
1/4 t. freshly ground pepper
1/4 c. lime juice
1/2 c. chopped roasted unsalted peanuts
1/4 c. packed fresh cilantro leaves, chopped

1. Soak chickpeas in enough cold water to cover them by 2 inches for 6 hours or overnight. Drain when ready to use.
2. Combine the soaked chickpeas, squash, carrots, onion, lentils, broth, tomato paste, ginger, cumin, salt, saffron and pepper in a 6-qt. slow cooker.
3. Put on lid and cook on low until the chickpeas are tender and the lentils have begun to break down, 5 to 6 1/2 hours.
4. Stir in lime juice. Serve sprinkled with peanuts and cilantro.

I think I'm going to serve this with some cous-cous that my finicky 2-year-old will eat and maybe a green salad.

Next I've got to come up with dinner for a colleague whose wife just had a baby. I really need to have a "signature" dish that's easy to prepare so I don't have to rack my brain in these situations.

Enjoy Every Minute

2006-01-18T14:31:00.000-05:00

My nextdoor neighbor has lung cancer. She was diagnosed last April after complaining about back pain for a while. She went to her doctor, who prescribed muscle relaxants, as he had done before, and she insisted that she wouldn't leave his office until he gave her an MRI. Well, the doctor took one look at the MRI and put her in an ambulance to the Medical College of Virginia. Turns out she had lung cancer that had eaten into two vertebrae, which had to be immediately removed.

She's been through a lot in the past nine months -- back surgery, radiation, chemo. She lost her hair and lots of weight. After finishing her chemo regimen last month, her outlook was good. Her doctor was optimistic, and we all looked forward to watching her gain some weight and get more energy. That hasn't happened; in fact, she started feeling increasingly worse and noticed some lumps and pain in her ribcage. She went back down to Duke, where she gets her treatment, and got the news we'd all feared: There are more tumors.

She's not talking to us much right now. Each day when I get home from work, I look to see if her door is open (a sign she'd like visitors), but lately the door has stayed closed. I spoke with her on the phone yesterday, and we talked about several things, but she did not mention her condition, aside from the fact that she can't drive now. Her sister-in-law arrived yesterday to help with things around the house, because it's increasingly difficult for her to be home alone.

The worst part of this is that she has an 8-year-old daughter, born two weeks before my own daughter. She loves this child -- and her husband -- fiercely and is doing everything in her power to stay alive to be with them. But she's losing the battle.

It's hard for me not to personalize this. I can't imagine facing the possiblility of having to leave the people I love so much, to not watch my daughter grow up, to know she will lose her mother. It's a true nightmare, and it's taking place right nextdoor.

I'm trying to do the right things. I try to listen, to let her know I'm here for her. I join other neighbors in offering to bring meals. I'm trying to strengthen my relationship with her daughter so that I'll be able to help comfort her when the time comes. My own daughter knows that her friend's mother is sick, but she hasn't asked any questions yet about the future. I've broached the subject with her, but I'm waiting for her to ask the tough questions -- I don't want to force this on her before she's ready.

In the meantime, I'm doing a lot of thinking about life and death and justice and God. I've read (and will re-read) Annie Dillard's For the Time Being, which somehow helps me stop searching for the justice in awful things like this.

Mostly, I'm trying to use as a mantra my father's advice to all five of his children: Enjoy every minute. I know he's right. I know every minute is precious, and I know there is no guarantee we will get another. But it sure doesn't come naturally to me.

Welcome

2004-11-09T01:53:00.000-05:00

Welcome --
I started this blog after the most recent presidential election, hoping it would help me to vent the many frustrations that were bubbling up and out all over the place.

I've found, though, that life goes on, and that there are many other topics that may be mundane, but that have much more to do with my day-to-day life. So, although I doubt anyone other than myself will find this blog very compelling, I welcome any thoughts, comments and especially vegetarian recipes.

¡Ándale!