For the young parents who must travel

Matthew, this poem by Mary Oliver arrived just a minute after I read your email this morning. It seemed especially a propos, with a new baby, and back on that horrific schedule that you and Larisa keep, as well as many, many others who manage to do a good job of making sure their children feel secure in their lifestyle.

You are a wonder. You do it so well.
Mama



Logan International

In the city called Wait,
also known as the airport,
you might think about your life --
there is not much else to do.
For one thing,
there is too much luggage,
and you're truly lugging it --
you and, it seems, everyone.

What is it, that you need so badly?
Think about this.

Earlier, in another city,
you're on the tarmac, a lost hour.
You're going to miss your connection, and you know it,
and you do.
You're headed for five hours of nothing.
And how long can you think about your own life?

What I did, to save myself,
was to look for children, the very young ones
who couldn't even know where they were going, or why.
Some of them were fussing, of course.
Many of them were beautifully Hispanic.

The storm was still busy outside, and snow falling
anywhere, any time, is a wonder.
But even more wonderful, and maybe the only thing
to put your own life in proportion,
were the babies, the little ones, hot and tired,
but still
gurgling, chuckling, as they looked --
wherever they were going, or not yet going,
in their weary parents' arms (no!
their lucky parents' arms) --
upon this broken world.

~ Mary Oliver ~


(Thirst)

Thanksgiving

This is not what you think.

I think of Thanksgiving as a mark in time when fall starts to seriously move toward winter. There are things to do to "close up" the outdoors and get ready for the world to change from color to black and white, and to live indoors.

Greg's really good at keeping up with things outside, but sometimes he needs me to help him remember what needs to be done. I should probably make a big check list and hang it in the garage, but I'll put it here because I know he'll read it! (Most of these are done, Greg's been busy.)

Rake leaves
Clean gutters
Drain and disconnect hoses
Drain water line to gurgler and to the garden and blow out with air pressure
Dig tender plants and bring them into sunroom
Bring in the houseplants
Get the gurgler in the sunroom working, and bring the goldfish inside
Clean up the flower beds
Change the vents from a/c mode (open upstairs) to heat mode (close upstairs)
Move the Fiat
Winterize the small engines, fuel stabilizer, etc.
Change the furnace filter
Put mouse poison around in the basement
Take screens off windows and store in crawl space

I guess this really means I'm a micromanager, huh?

Justice / Pad Thai

Why do people torment themselves looking for justice in the world? In this cancer game, you hear it all the time "What did she do to deserve this?" or "It's not fair!" Of course it's not fair. If the world were fair, there would be no starvation in third world countries, babies wouldn't have to live lifetimes of disability because of birth trauma, farmers wouldn't lose their crop and go into bankruptcy because of bad weather....you get the picture.

But we humans, in our need to explain the cruelty of nature, have come up with all sorts of reasons that bad things happen. Really, think about it. How many times have you heard, "Everything happens for a reason." Or from the religious, it's attributed to God's master plan, which we, with our lowly human idiocy, can't comprehend in its complexity. These folks come on strong, but their logic is circular. It's part of God's plan, we can't understand, we should pray for healing, etc. But what I don't understand is that if God has a master plan, then isn't it egotistical for us to think that our prayers will make him change his mind? Wouldn't that be an insult to God, like suggesting that he made a mistake and should change his plan? Especially since we've already admitted that his plan is too complex for us to understand?

In cultures and religions that believe in multiple lives, justice reaches across lifetimes. If you are bad in one lifetime, you will be born next time with fewer prospects, uglier, poorer, or some such. I spend a fair amount of time on the online breast cancer discussion forum, and when women are emotionally distraught, and anonymous, they express a lot of their innermost feelings that they might hold inside in a face to face conversation with someone they know. Often a bc patient will come on line desperate to find an answer to WHY ME? Sometimes they go through a litany of all the things they did right (I ate right, I breastfed my kids, I exercised, I didn't smoke). It sounds like a kid trying to weasel his way out of a punishment because he doesn't think he deserves it, it's too harsh. Other women wonder if God is punishing them for something they did as a child, or for not being a good enough wife or mother, sometimes even naming the "crime" they have felt guilty about for all these years.

Randomness is scary. If we can name the reason something bad happened to someone, then we can assure ourselves that it won't happen to us. Remember after Hurricane Katrina when John Hagee said that the storm was God's punishment because a big gay rally was to have been held on that Monday? How anyone can link in their minds cause and effect on a scale that grand is beyond me, but this "reasoning" was not only logical to many, but reassuring.

I think "Why me?" is the wrong question. A better one is "Why NOT me?" A toss of the dice, that's all. There is no blame for your body succumbing to disease - that's what bodies do in Nature. Time goes by, bodies give out. In the meantime, babies are being born to take their places. Sure, there are healthy practices that probably make a difference in your susceptibility to certain diseases, and you'll certainly feel better if you live a healthy lifestyle. But disease, injury, and death have nothing to do with justice or fairness. Imagine walking through the woods and there's a tall, majestic oak that has been hit by lightning, badly injured, probably will die. Do you think, "It's not fair for that oak to be hit when that hemlock didn't"? No, you likely pause and think, "Too bad that oak got hit by lightning. It was a beautiful tree and I will miss it."




Pad Thai

Imagine that you are a common person of Thailand, what would you make for a quick and easy supper at the end of a hard day? Something gourmet, with a lot of specialty ingredients? Not likely. Maybe you'd look into the fridge and see a bit of this, a bit of that, some leftover noodles, some tofu, some eggs. Certainly fresh vegetables and bean sprouts, lime and cilantro, peanuts.... things that are part of the daily Thai diet. Pad thai seems difficult because some of the ingredients are not familiar, and may be hard to find. But it's basically pasta with a sauce and bits of protein and veggies in it. Quantities aren't fixed, use what you have on hand. This is a casual supper, don't overthink it!

If you are from my area, you can get lots of the Thai foods from Marc's. They sell Roland brand foods, and have different sorts of ethnic foods. Mostly they display them on the endcaps of the aisles. Their rice noodles are perfect. However, I've never seen tamarind paste there. In North Olmsted there's an oriental grocery on Brookpark Road Extension, Kims Grocery. They have everything there. www.kimsgrocery.net




8 ounces thai flat rice noodles - soak in hot water until softened, about 20 minutes,
or leftover in the fridge. If you're in a hurry,
you can boil them for about a minute, but they'll
tend to get mushy later.

tamarind paste 1/4 cup or so
fish sauce 2 tablespoons
limes, juiced 2 to make about 1/4 cup of juice
brown sugar 2 tablespoons - you may like it a bit sweeter, if so, add more

This is the sauce. The tamarind paste may be only available from an Oriental market. I keep it on hand. It's about the texture of a loose fruit puree, and tastes very tart. It's used as a background flavor in Worcesterchire sauce, by the way. There's really no flavor substitute, sorry. Mix all this together.

Now, some protein. There are a couple of ways to do this. One way is to cook the proteins separately, pull them out and then add back in at the end. This keeps everything in distinct pieces, but is a lot more trouble. When I'm in a hurry, I do it all in one big stirfry.

Tofu, extra firm, cut into squares or small chunks. I like to presalt it for flavor.
Use whatever you want, depending on the other proteins. For vegetarian, use the whole block if you want. Otherwise, about half of the block.
Chicken cut into little strips (boneless thighs or breasts) 1/4 to 1/2 pound
shrimp, peeled and deveined, 1/4 to 1/2 pound
two eggs, beaten
Two cloves of garlic, chopped fine

Veggies:
Fresh bean sprouts, you'll need at least two cups, but you can use to your own taste.
Green onions, a bunch. Cut into pieces about an inch, and save some of the green tops to garnish.
Peanuts, I crush them with a rolling pin. You'll need a few tablespoons for garnish.
You will use part of the beansprouts and onions in cooking and the rest as garnish.

OK. That's all you need to call it pad thai. In my opinion, though, pad thai is a plate of flavored noodles begging for color. So, for garnish I use lots of chopped cilantro, red bell pepper cut into slivers, red onion cut into slivers, sometimes mango chutney, roasted red pepper paste (yum) and sambal oolek or rooster sauce (oriental chili sauce).

So, here we go. Everything is ready and at hand. Not much cooking, mostly stirfry to heat and assimilate.

Heat 1/4 cup of oil in a wok or a big frying pan.
Add chicken and garlic.
Add tofu.
Add shrimp. Stir till it's hot and shrimp are starting to turn pink.
Add eggs. Stir fry.

If pan seems dry, add a splash of oil.
Add noodles and sauce. Stir to combine all. The noodles will easily get overcooked, so be careful and don't let it happen. Add a big handful of beansprouts and a handful of green onions.

You're done.

To serve, pile the stir-fried noodles on a plate, and garnish with toppings, ending with peanuts. Serve with fish sauce, wedges of lime to squeeze, rooster sauce, etc.

Brain is good!

Today I had a followup MRI after Gamma Knife last month. I was expecting some bad news, because when they did the high resolution MRI before the treatment, they found four more tumors, so treated five total. Dr. Vogelbaum said then, that it was probably time to start thinking about whole brain radiation.

So, today, I was expecting to hear that more little ones had sprouted up. I always think of the cancer as being a weedy garden that looks clean but has dandelion seeds just waiting to sprout. I was at the Clinic, in the super-duper high power machine. But it was all clear! "We'll check you again in February." So, that's one area I can not think about for a few months. We'll get onto chemo probably the week after Thanksgiving. Pulling weeds.....

Childrearing, randon thoughts

I wanted to talk about children, but every time I start to think about my own, it feels like saying anything is boastful, and maybe unlucky. Even though I don't believe in luck.

Truly, my children are wonderful. They have grown into four responsible men with great wives and kids (Justin's not married but the older three are) and I wish I could know what we did to get them to turn out so well, because it doesn't always happen that way.

So it's hard to try to analyze what makes a normal kid grow up to be an exceptional adult. I think that having high expectations is right up at the top of the list. I believe that it is an honor to our children for us (parents) to expect the best of them. I would never expect my children to put in a mediocre performance, I think too highly of them for that. On the other hand, if you demand a level of performance that he simply cannot achieve -- you expect so much that your child has no chance of success, and then if you browbeat, humiliate, or ridicule them, you have a child who expects every day to fail, who meets every morning with not a sense of joy and curiosity, but of impending doom.

Let him take chances, but let him be assured you've got his back. With media always looking for a story, you'd think there was a predator on every block. Normal families in regular neighborhoods don't make news, and we don't hear about them. There has been a steady downward trend in rape and murder per 100,000 people, since 1992, but because of the mass hysteria created by the media, we can't believe that's true, and would never let our children out of our sight, even when they're older. Teach your children safe behavior, but try not to make them paranoid. Teach them to make calm decisions, but not to fear every stranger. Most strangers are good and kind people who have your children's safety high on their priority list.

Make sure that your children know that even though you love them to death, and are astounded at their excellence, that they are still ordinary. They can't expect reward without work, the world owes them nothing more than anyone else, which is zero. They are responsible when they make a mistake or do something stupid. They must make amends or fix things if they screw up, and not expect to be excused because of their coolness.

Teach them to respect and talk to old people. There is nothing that cheers an old person like a child that will chat with them. Teach them to be kind to animals. Teach them to walk gently on the earth, to pick up litter they didn't drop, and to put the wayward grocery carts in the carrel. Dads, don't allow them to speak to their mother with disrespect. Moms, likewise.

Don't think you have to entertain them. Let them hang out with you, and do the things you are doing. You are the role model here. It's the time to show that you are patient with your work, that you treat your coworkers fairly, that you take the time to do an excellent job.

Cancer update - boring

Wow. It's been almost two weeks since I last posted. During that time I've had radiation treatment daily, and been in the hospital for two days for surgery. So let me update about that first, since I promised I would use this blog for the boring cancer news.

I have been suffering from superior vena cava syndrome, where the major vein into my heart is clogged with scar tissue from my port/catheter, in addition to being squeezed by swelling lymph nodes in my chest. I was given the choice of whether to radiate the lymph nodes to try to bring down the swelling, since I already had angioplasty to try to clear out the scar tissue inside the vein, and got no relief. I was ready to skip the radiation, but my oncologist thought it was worth the try, for a 50% chance it would help. Symptoms are swelling of the face, neck, and arms, because fluid cannot drain from the upper body. Also an increase in shortness of breath, which was my major discomfort, given that my right lung has given it all up, and I'm a fairly large woman to operate on only one lung.

Anyway, I was getting more and more short of breath, distressed trying to breathe, really uncomfortable. On Wednesday I realized that the sensation I was experiencing was the same as when I'd had the pleural effusion in the other lung. So, I told the docs I was pretty sure that's what I had, and he told me to wait another day to see if it improved any with the radiation treatments. On Thursday when I went in for radiation I told the doc it was worse, so they sent me over for a CT scan, and admitted me for surgery the next (Friday) morning. I had surgery where they drained the fluid plus put in a catheter for me to drain when I get uncomfortable from fluid building up, and on Saturday I came home. I was in the old section of the Cleveland Clinic this time, with a roommate who liked to keep the TV on all the time and had lots of visitors. Plus she needed nursing care in the middle of the night. Not nearly as snazzy as the brand new, private room with a view that I stayed in for the recent surgery in August. Yeah, this one reminded me why I don't want to be in the hospital, for sure.

I still have the remainder of the radiation sessions to complete. I can't keep up with what's happening when; I should probably make a spreadsheet. I will complete this round of radiation on Monday, then on Tuesday I have a brain MRI and an appointment with the neurologist. Then the following week, or maybe the one after Thanksgiving, I will start chemo, unless there's a brain issue that needs to be addressed first. Oh, bother.

Indian Summer

This time of year tears my heart out and rips it into tiny shreds. My emotions run all over, and always did, even before throwing cancer into the mix. I can't understand the people who say they love fall best of all. I'll give you that there's lots to love about the colors, the certain angle of the light as it glows from beneath the leaves in the late afternoon. The mushrooms growing up through the leaf mulch. For plain ole' riotous beauty, there's a lot to be said for the colors of fire, and dramatic presentation. But there's that undertone of sadness, of remorse and regret. There's the memory of all we didn't do over the summer, the tomatoes we left to rot, the late crops we didn't plant, the perennials that didn't get separated. And then the trees themselves, who after carrying a pure persona of LIFE!!!! has now tucked in and will show to the world the expression of death. For six months the sky will be cloudy and gray, the sun will only manifest itself as a strange glow moving across the sky, and no moon, no stars, either. Just that odd orange glow to the northeast- the high pressure sodium night lights of Cleveland.

Yesterday I got a visit from a couple of women from my church. I tell them that they have designated themselves "church ladies" because this was the second week in a row they had gone out to visit "the sick." We sat outdoors on the deck in 70 degrees weather, it was quite breezy, there was a cacophony of wind chimes in the background, so much that it was difficult to carry on a conversation. But absolutely delightful weather! It makes me glad I didn't check the forecast. It rained overnight and while I wrote this entry, but now that I'm back to edit, the sun has come out!

I ordered a bunch of tree seedlings from the Arbor Day Foundation this spring, and we planted them right away, just as you're supposed to...but we still had a high failure rate. On of the big disappointments was American Beech. Beech is a slow, slow grower that you'll only find large samples of in old forests. When Greg moved with his family to this property in the early 60's, there were many beautiful, huge beeches. The portion of the acreage that the old house was on had never been clear cut for farming, so the trees were huge! Old, old oaks and beeches, with some maple in it was the primary forest. The building lot Greg's dad gave us is on the opposite end, and has partly overgrown farmland, and partly second growth forest, which is mostly ash and maple. We're very close to the old section back in the woods. We are trying to help the forest along with seedlings, and also by protecting the trees from deer damage. American Beech is a gorgeous tree, great to climb (yeah, I know, but one must consider these things for future generations), and it's a food tree in desperate circumstances. We've been looking at all the garden and tree centers with no luck.

Earlier this week Greg and Molly vanished just before dark. When I tried to be a little irritated with them, he told me he had found two more little seedlings on our land, plus a whole bunch - at least thirty - across the property line into the railroad right of way. We'll get those moved in the next week or so. I want to plant several up near the street, a few in the back yard on each side, and spread the others throughout the woods. I don't know how they'll grow without sunshine, since they're "old growth" they started first, on bare soil, but the seedlings that have taken root in subsequent years are growing in full shade. I imagine they're adaptable. I'm happy to invite them to live in our yard. I think we are doing OK at practicing out tree stewardship.


Here's something quick, easy, and hearty for the upcoming fall chill.

Spaghetti Carbonara

Cook 12 oz to a lb. of spaghetti, linguine, or fettucine, while you're making the sauce. Use that big pot with the pasta insert that you bought for the boiled chicken.

In a separate big wide pan or a wok, saute about a half pound of bacon, rough chopped. When it's about half way done, add four or so chopped cloves of garlic. Let them cook as the bacon finishes, but don't let the garlic get too brown or it will be bitter.

Now, pour off about half of the bacon grease, but save it in case you need to add some back. In the pan with the bacon and garlic, add about a cup and a half of half and half (nonfat is ok) and 2/3 cup or so of grated parmesan cheese. Put back onto lowest heat.

In a separate bowl, beat two or three eggs, and add, a little at a time, about a half cup of the pasta water that the pasta should be draining over by now, cause it's done, you cooked it until it was barely done, right?

Stir the egg-pasta water mixture into the rest of the sauce, then put the wet noodles into the pan, too, and stir while you heat it all up to finish cooking the noodles and smooth out the sauce. A good handful of chopped Italian parsley and a lot of fresh ground black pepper goes in now, use tongs to serve.

READ THIS PART!!!!!

I know people who skim over directions and don't come away with an understanding of why it's important that things be done in a certain sequence. So I want to talk about the pasta and the eggs.

First, always salt the pasta water. You can never do a good job of salting pasta except by cooking it in salted water. Second, I know that a lot of people pour oil into the pasta water to keep the noodles from sticking together. That's counter intuitive. It's the starch from the noodles that sticks to itself as it absorbs liquid that makes food like gravy, or pudding, or risotto, or pasta sauce, creamy, smooth, and delicious, with that great mouth feel. You know when you eat spaghetti and it tastes really delicious, but something is not quite there? It's probably the mouth feel, and the sauce is sliding off the pasta because it's oily. I always save some pasta cooking water to mix with the sauce.

EGGS. Eggs are protein and they cook and turn rubbery at low temperatures. You prevent this in sauces by tempering them, and to do this, you beat in some warm liquid to the eggs a little at a time. Then you can bring up the temperature gradually and you will have a lovely, creamy sauce.

This is one of those recipes that depends a lot on technique, not so much on ingredients. The way you treat the eggs will make or break the sauce. Pay attention.

Cancer update first

You know how it is when you're a young healthy person and it seems like every old person you come into contact with feels a need to torture you with and update on his hemorrhoids, or arthritis, or ingrown toenail? I mean, who cares? I'm boring myself silly.

But I do know that there are those who care and really want to hear the detail, and I've made a bit of a promise to keep distant family updated, too. So I will separate the clinical updates and you can skip over them or not. Really, it doesn't hurt my feelings if you don't want to know about this part.

Last week was my "off" week for Xeloda so I scheduled to go in on Thursday for bloodwork and a visit with the Nurse practitioner, Machelle, since the oncologist was out of town at a conference. My breathing issues have actually been getting worse, as has my chronic pain around my ribcage. So, even though the bloodwork cleared me for starting a new Xeloda cycle, Machelle wanted me to confer with the radiation oncologist Dr. Mackliss, about the superior vena cava syndrome. Maybe you remember that I had treatment to these blocked veins in August by angioplasty, but the relief - what little there was - only lasted a couple of days. The plan back in August was for me to consult with the vascular surgeon AND Dr. Mackliss before deciding on treatment, but Dr. Macliss was on vacation. When I mentioned to Machelle on Thursday that i never had had a radiation consult about it, she wanted to get one in between cycles. So, quick scheduled a CT scan within the hour, and a followup with Dr. Mackliss and Dr. Moore (radiation and medical and radiation oncologists) on Tuesday. Confused yet????

So, my appt. on Tuesday happened to have me see Dr. Moore (she's the team captain, as it were) before Dr. Mackliss. Dr. Moore, never to be confused with PollyAnna, is concerned that this means the cancer has become chemo-resistant. So, no more Xeloda. At least one bright lining. I expected this would happen, but hope for not so soon. She sent me off to see Dr. Mackliss and hear if he thinks there's a benefit to radiating the enlarged hilar nodes that are associated with the SVC syndrome. Dr. Mackliss was behind schedule, and uncharacteristically brief. 50-50 chances of some benefit, but also 5-10 chance it could harm healthy lung tissues (and there's not very much of that left). Greg and I couldn't make that decision on the spot, but he's out of town next week at a conference. He said he would schedule a simulation appointment and I could keep it or not. This was on Tuesday. On Wednesday I emailed Dr. Moore asking for her advice (forgot that this was her day off), but by seven pm I hadn't heard anything. Greg and I decided to forego the radiation and go straight to strong chemo, one more time...... and blow off the appointment. Within twenty minutes I got an email, she recommends radiation, thinks it has a better chance for quick relief for the SVC and breathing issues. So, back on. I will start daily radiation on Nov. 3, for ten days. Then a week break to heal (Yeah, not much!) then on to chemo avastin and abraxane. The hope is that my vein will open, my head will drain, and I won't have a chipmunk face, or, as I was comparing Baby Sidney and me, using Nathan description the day Justin was born, "fluffy cheeks." I do have me some fluffy cheeks.

So that's it. Don't ask me again because I'm bored to tears.

Keeping Time

I remember being a girl and going to summer camp for the first time, for a week. I was probably nine or so. The anticipation was unbelievable! Of course I had to get all new clothes (why??) so there was the shopping weeks in advance. Then I packed my suitcase, at least two weeks ahead. Then I unpacked and repacked it several times. Now, I know that I was obsessive, because my sons never behaved like this before going to Boy Scout Camp - just the opposite, we'd be flying around town the day before - getting last minute necessities. But those three weeks as a child waiting for camp went so slowly, I thought the time would never come.

When you are a child, there are so many momentous events, that in your mind they become a placeholder that you mark time by. Trivial things are paced by the more life-changing, like, "I got that new skirt before I went to see Romeo and Juliet."

Later, there were the children's births and family events that hold a place in time in my mind, that other events are relative to. We moved to the mountains six months after Tristan was born. Nathan got bitten by Rupert soon after we moved to Winston-Salem. Matthew lost his pinky just before we went to Nag's Head, in seventh grade, the last year we lived on Bridle Path. Justin was a toddler when my father died, and eleven,, I believe, when my mother died. When there's a death in the family it is a dramatic marker because it changes the dynamics, as well as the routines and traditions of the family.

I wonder how it is for people who don't have children to mark their places in time, to grab their attention away from the mundane. Do couples go from weekend to weekend, eating at restaurants, buying a new car, painting the kitchen? To say, years later, um, yeah I think that was in 2001, remember, dear, we put new carpet down. Instead of saying, 2001, remember, that was the year we took state in football, remember how the weather was so crappy we always took huge sheets of plastic to cover up with? Remember how they had to keep sweeping the snow off the field?

There were years in there, where the kids were growing, and we weren't all that happy about the direction our lives were going, and it seemed that time passed slowly and without events of note. No plans, no long term goals, just go to work, get a check, pay the bills, hope there's enough left for groceries - for four starving boys.

We built this house with our sons in 1995, and right now I'm looking at two gorgeous maple trees, I'd guess thirty feet tall, that we planted soon after we moved in. I wanted to be sure that there were young trees growing up around the house to take the place of the older ones, when they die. They may have a long time left, but when they do, we won't be left with a treeless lawn. Our neighbors, who moved a few years after us, haven't planted any young native trees, and they've lost many trees due to careless construction. The nature of their yard has changed from a woodland, to an open lot with a few trees and ornamentals. Each year goes by and I wonder why they aren't doing something to maintain the population of the native forest trees. Procrastination.

Time still passes, no matter how we ignore it. On Monday of this week Greg mowed the grass around the house so the leaves would be easier to get up; today the leaves are almost all on the ground. And I've not walked in the woods for weeks.

I like to think of my time as open ended, though it takes conscious thought sometimes. I catch myself thinking of the future in terms of "this will probably be our last trip to Maine," or "I probably won't see the fall leaves again." But what I want to think is about all these trees we have planted, this year lots of nut trees, and a few years ago a small orchard. Two years ago when I found out I was metastatic, I asked for a ginkgo and the boys got a big one. They are extremely long lived and hardy. I don't want to get into the trap of not planting and building for the future because I won't be here for them, but to remember that others will. We have to live on the earth as though it has a future beyond ours, and our stewardship is meant to benefit the generations yet to come.






The best cream of broccoli soup.

You'll need

A big bunch of fresh broccoli
an onion, rough chopped
A clove of garlic, rough chopped
about a quart of Half and Half, fat free, regular, or a combination

In a three quart pot, put a couple of inches or water on to boil. Throw in the chopped onion, and the garlic. Chop the dried up ends of the stalks off and throw them away, then cut the rest of the stalk into chunks (half inch to an inch) and throw them into the pot with the onions. Put the lid on and turn down to a fast simmer, for about ten - twelve minutes. Next chop the tops or just divide the stalks, and thrown them in. Add salt and pepper. Let this cook until it's well done, about ten minutes.

Now scoop out the veggies into a bowl. This is a good time to boil off some of the water left in the pot if you think you have too much. About an inch should be right. Puree the veggies in a blender or food processor in batches, adding some of the liquid from the pot, then put them back into the pot. Add the half and half to the consistency you like. Check for salt and pepper, heat it up, and serve. It's good with a little fresh parmesan on top, but not necessary. This is great diet food if you use all fat free half and half, because it's tasty and quite filling.

Laughter

Last night we babysat for Nathan & Katie's three kids. It felt normal, and good, though I was exhausted at the end of the evening. Sidney was born in early June, just as my cancer had decided to blossom in several locations, and over the summer I had a lot of treatment, brain radiation, bone metastasis pain, angioplasty, lung fluid drained, just seemed like everything hit me at once like a ton of bricks and I was overwhelmed. My back pain is bad enough that I couldn't hold Sidney, then I lost my right lung when it didn't re-inflate after surgery. I'm a mess, really. But last night the kids got dropped off while their parents went out to eat and we had fun.

Sidney was actually awake for quite a while and I talked to her and gave her a bottle and she had a poop explosion out the back of her diaper so I got to change all her clothes, too. I'm almost embarrassed to say what a feeling of accomplishment I had that I could do this all by myself, that's how weak I've been.

Grayson is not quite two, but he's a sweetheart rough-houser. And he loves his Pa-pa (Greg) like you wouldn't believe. He and Greg built a fire in the woodstove, and Grayson kept going down in the sunroom to check on it. He loves his racecars, and over the years of garage sales I've got a collection of matchbox cars that he heads straight for. Nathan is Papa (say poppa) and Greg (grandpa) is PaPa, with equal stress on both syllables. But to keep the sound different, Grayson tucks his chin down and lowers his voice to say PaPa.

Annabelle is three, four in February. She's a woman in charge, make no mistake! She insisted on having a bath before getting her pajamas on, and of course Grayson wanted to get in, too. So I settled on the toilet seat with a glass of Gentleman Jack and they had a blast making tea, drinking coffee, making potions, giving shots, squirting each other. When they started taking turns pouring water over each other's head and giggling, Greg had to come and see what was going on. We all had a good belly laugh and it felt so good. It was a grand time until Grayson pooped in the water and we had to re-lather them and switch to the shower. Greg held the hand shower down low for them and Grayson just squirmed and writhed in ecstasy.

I've been down in the dumps, I admit it, even though I'm quite a jokester it's hard to laugh through discomfort. The month of clouds and rain we've had doesn't help, either. Those kids were a good dose of medicine. Laughter increases endorphins, which are a mood enhancer and pain reliever. There's laughter therapy that you can pay for, where you force a belly laugh without the involvement of humor. Look it up on YouTube, there's a yogi that'll show you how it's done. Somehow, I just can't get into that, even though "they say" that the physical benefits are the same as for real laughter. My kids are worried about me, and it's turning them serious when they're around. I don't know how to take my kids being serious. Enough of this! Time to laugh!



HOW TO COOK A CHICKEN

One of the handiest things to have as a base ingredient is a boiled chicken, and the broth from the pot. Everybody needs to know how to do this, because it's simple, and as long as you plan for the steps, it's easy.

Whole chickens are cheap by the pound. So buy yourself a fryer, and reach in and pull out the paper wrapped giblets. Open it up and take out the neck and gizzard for the pot, (not the liver) or if you don't want to mess with it, I'll forgive you if you throw it away. But you know I would never do that, even if I just fried it all up for the dog.

You'll need a big, deep, pot, and if you don't have one yet, you need to get one. I have an eight quart pot with an insert that I use for pasta and for things like boiling a chicken, because I can lift out all the goodness and leave the liquid in the pot without needing to strain it. If you don't have an insert just use a big pot, but think about getting one because you're going to be boiling a lot of chickens and it's really a timesaver.

Into the pot, add about three inches of water, a quartered onion or two, a couple stalks of celery cut into big chunks, and a couple of carrots, also in big chunks. If you have herbs in the garden, good ones are thyme, rosemary (not too much), sage, and parsley. Oh, parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, Simon and Garfunkel must have been cooking a chicken! Put them in the pot with the chicken, whole, and about a tablespoon of salt and a big grind of pepper. Bring to a boil, turn down to low, and let it simmer on the lowest heat you can manage, with the lid on, for 45 minutes or so. Then, turn off the heat and let the chicken cool in the liquid for at least two hours.

You can see that this is a proposition that is great for a couple of days, even though the time involved is minimal.

When the broth is room temperature, you need to pull the chicken out, and the other solid stuff. This is where the insert comes in handy. Get a pie plate or something similar to put the chicken on. The veggies have given up their goodness, they go into the compost. The broth now needs to be chilled overnight or for several hours so it can be defatted. If you don't have room in the refrigerator for the pot, the best container is a plastic pitcher - probably a gallon size. Let it chill, the fat will solidify on top, and you just lift if off with a spoon. You'll probably need to strain the broth before you use it - use your own judgment. You can also freeze it. I use quart freezer bags, I stand them in a big measuring cup to fill them, and just put them carefully in the freezer. When they're frozen, use a magic marker to label with name and date.

Now, back to the day before, and the chicken. The chicken is on the pie plate, smelling heavenly. You'll need a bowl for bones and skin, and another for the meat. Just use your hands, it pulls right away from the bones and you can scrape all that good meat away from the ribs. Your dog will be at your feet. That's all there is to it! And what can you do next????

Chicken enchiladas
Chicken soup
Casseroles
Chicken salad
Sandwiches
Chicken and dumplings
Chicken and gravy over biscuits. Yum.
OK, I'll admit I don't know all the things you can do, because we almost always make enchiladas or chicken salad.

When I have fresh made chicken stock, I'll make risotto lots of times. This week I made chicken noodle soup with the chicken and the stock. It's been that sort of fall weather.

Water

Since we moved to this house we built in 1995, I have had a sort of obsession with draining the standing water. Finally last year, we bought a little red tractor with backhoe and front end loader, and got to work on it. Last year we dug a trench to take the water from the rain gutters to the pond that we built, and dug an overflow that carries it away to the river. It made a huge difference in the mosquito population this summer, and I'm really glad we did it, but wish we had bought that tractor years ago.

This summer I've been sick a lot of the time, but we have managed to dig across the front to collect the snow melt that makes such a longstanding mess in the wintertime. It still needs grading, but it will carry water. That was a big item on my "bucket list." I'm so looking forward to NOT having a pond in the front yard.

Coming to Cleveland to live in 1989 was a geographical shock for me, because I couldn't grasp the flatness of this little area just on the edge of the Great Plain. Seriously, on the East Side of Cleveland, it's hilly and stretches toward the eastern mountains. But you get on the Ohio Turnpike and drive twenty miles west and you won't see a hill for - I don't know how far, farther than I've been. And when it rains, the water just sits in puddles mostly, because the clay soil won't let it perk through and there's no downhill.

I always compare it with the terrain of the mountains of Grayson County, Virginia, where a part of my heart will always be. There was water everywhere, bubbling right out of the earth, clean and pure. And never standing still, or breeding mosquitoes. Water knew what to do there, tumble down the mountain over rocks, to settle in a rich bottom where it caught the silt that made the soil so deep in those bottomland fields.

When we built our house in the mountains we captured a spring that we piped over to a reservoir, then pumped up to the house for our water supply. We weren't lucky enough to have a spring up the hill behind the house, which would have enabled us to have gravity feed, depending on the pressure created as the water flowed downhill into the house.

Right beside the driveway coming up to the house was a little tiny spring that ran down and connected with the other stream from up the hill, that was the overflow from the house water supply. One fine summer day the boys and I (Tristan, Matthew, and Nathan) were playing in it, and decided to do some excavating. So we dug into the dirt crevice where the water was trickling from, all the way back until we found the rock with cracks the water flowed through. We cleaned out the dirt and made a stone basin. And then, I remembered we had a bit of a bag of concrete left over from something. So, we mixed it up in a bucket, and with our hands and kitchen spoons, we made a dam, and so, a little pond with a tiny waterfall. That was a good time! The boys were very young, maybe four, six, and eight, because Justin wasn't born yet.

I can only imagine the projects I might have done if I had had my Little Red Tractor back then! Oh, what digging I could have done! We did without so many material things, and I'm happy about the choices we made, but I sure wish we'd had a little (red, preferably) tractor.

What a couple of days! Gamma and Gramma

I had mentioned that I would be having Gamma Knife for another (third) brain metastasis on Monday. No big deal, screw the metal frame in my head, send me off for hig resolution MRI and CT scans, and then the team makes a treatment plan (programs the computer to carry out the treatment), then go lie on the table and let it do its thinkg while I listen to music. OK, so when they had been working on the treatment plan for two hours we got called back, where the neurosurgeon said they discovered "quite a lot of new disease"- four additional tumors that would be added to treatment today, plus several more shadows that we would take a look at in six weeks. He also said those dreaded words, "It may be time to consider whole brain radiation." That's what I have been putting off till it's absolutely necessary,but I thought I would have more time. Side effects are deep fatigues that lasts for many months, loss of hair permanently over all the scalp, loss of memory and cognitive deficits. Plus, it's done with that god-awful hard mesh mask that I wore for IMRT just two months ago when I had the pituitary tumor.

I'm on chemo now, and we'd have to stop chemo to do WBR, I believe. I can't imagine more fatigue piled on top of the chemo fatigue I'm suffering from now, but I hear that's what you get. And then there's the darned inconvenience of the whole think = getting to the Clinic every day, either getting a ride or parking two blocks away, or paying nine dollars for valet parkint for a fifteen finute treatment. Well, we've got some of the best minds in the world working on me, so while I will express my preferences and concerns, I'm not going to try to outguess them. We really do have world class care at the Cleveland Clinic. I have been considering hiring someone to help me keep up with the housecleaning, and maybe it's the right time to do that. Greg says he can do it, but I have his time prioritized pretty well with projects, not scrubbing toilets. Iknow how his time is best used.



But let's go back a day or two in time. Larisa was past her due date on Thursday, I believe, so every day we were waiting for a call. We knew it was a girl, their third, and the sixth granddaughter (two grandsons). By Sunday, the 11th, I was hoping they could hold out till Greg's birthday on the 12th, since I wasn't doing anything fun for him - just brain surgery. But, we got the news by text message that she went in to the hospital at around noon, then no updates until we got another text at 6:50. Her name is Brynne Rene (Named after me with an updated twist), and she was 7# 10 ounces. A gorgeous, sturdy girl that looks to be all muscle. Must be from going running with her mother so often. Welcome to the world, Brynne, and welcome to the family. You will have high expectations placed on you, because it is how we honor you. And you will be showered with love,

Full Moon

Finally we have clear skies, and a full moon. I had gone to bed, utterly exhausted, at about nine o'clock, too tired to go out for a look at the moon. From the bedroom window it was behind the big maple. Then, when it rose high enough, I woke with a start like someone had switched on the light, and as I lay motionless, I was wide awake.

We measure time by the moons, whether consciously, by watching the phases change, or unconsciously, by marking time in months on the calendar. But I always note the moon when the sky is clear, and in Cleveland, where it is so often overcast, I'll find myself lost in time sometimes for weeks when it's cloudy and overcast and I don't know what phase the moon is in.

I remember as a girl, always a light sleeper, waking up in the night and slipping outside in the moonlight. It's a magical world, the light is bright enough to do anything you want, there's nobody else out, and it's so quiet. I would go to bed early, as usual, and three or four hours later, wide awake. We lived in a small town and sometimes I'd go out walking. Never would I see another soul, except for the police cruiser once in a while, and it was easy enough to duck behind a tree to avoid being seen. I think the insomnia runs in the family, because I heard my Daddy get up in the night many times. Once when I was a teenager I went outside and he was there already, looking at the moon. We just stood there in the quiet for a little while, then both turned to go inside and back to bed.

Whenever it works out, I plan a beach vacation for the week when the moon is waxing gibbous. It's a delight to watch the moon grow into full as it rises a little earlier and a little rounder over the ocean every night. And when we lived in the mountains, we had a double sliding door on the east wall. I remember so clearly the shape of the horizon as the moon would rise behind it.

Soon, maybe even next month, when the full moon comes, there will be snow on the ground. Then, it really is almost a bright as daylight. That's when we have to make sure Molly is closed in the bedroom with us, because when the deer come and gather in the yard, she can see them through glass doors on three sides of the house, and like a good watchdog, she will let us know. Greg yells at her, but she's just doing her job. December, January, February, and March we will likely be snow covered, and as I think ahead to those full winter moons I wonder what they will bring - to the country, to the world, to my family, to me... Next March I may be wide awake on the night of the full moon, looking back to the fall, wondering why I did this or didn't do that. I hope I still am well enough to get up in the night and write about it.



Today we worked out on the ditch, and even though I had the easy part, sitting on the tractor or looking through the transit, I overdid it, and was too tired to make dinner. So bless Greg's heart, he pulled together a great Mexican burrito buffet - always a winner.

I had cooked a whole bunch of chicken thighs earlier in the week, so he started by cutting off the meat from several, and warming it in a pan. He cooked some jasmine rice while I was in the shower and when I came out the aroma filled the kitchen and I realized I hadn't eaten since my breakfast bagel. So, here's what he put out for make 'em yourself burritos.

Chicken
Grated cheese
Rice
Black beans
guacamole - we had the ripe avocado so he made it fresh
salsa
sour cream
lettuce from the garden (the late planting from August)
chopped red onions
flour tortillas
We often put out chopped black olives, sometimes tomatoes if they're in season.

What a good meal this makes out of leftover chicken and odds and ends. It's one of those desperation (don't want to cook, don't want takeout) meals for us, and it's great when there's a crowd of hungry Funk family around, too.

Time for a cancer update

If you're interested in reading about the cancer, this is it. If not, pass it by, this is ALL CANCER INFO day.

I promised I would use this blog to update about the progress of the cancer and treatments, and which is currently winning. Here's what's new.
On Tuesday I had a brain MRI to follow up on the IMRT therapy that I had on the pituitary tumor in August. Seems like yesterday, but I think it was August. When I went in to see the rad onc we were talking about other symptoms in general as a lead up and I mentioned the superior vena cava syndrome that I had angioplasty for, in August, but had not had the radiation consult because the Dr. was on vacation. Dr. Suh seemed confused, as I was, why only angioplasty was done to clear scar tissue from the veins, when there is obviously pressure on it from enlarged mediastinal lymph nodes. He examined me quite thoroughly for SVC syndrome, noted my puffy face and eyes, as well as the proliferation of new veins across my right upper chest and arm. He asked if my shortness of breath had improved since the angioplasty treatment. Am I reading too much here to think that it should have? Dr. Google said it would.... I have scheduled a follow up with the vascular surgeon next week, and Dr. Suh wants me to call afterwards, and says he will also talk to Dr. Moore, my medical oncologist. Since I'm doing chemo, I don't know if focused radiation to the offending mediastinal nodes is still an option. I also wonder if it means that the chemo is not working, if the nodes are still swollen. I HATE feeling like I'm the go-between for all these specialists who don't really want to talk to one another. And each one wants to treat me with his own tools. Remember the saying "to a man with a hammer, every problem is a nail"? I wish they would all confer at the same time, preferably with me in the room! I know it's not going to happen, of course, and I guess this sort of tunnel vision is the price we pay for specialized medicine. It makes you wonder if it's always better.

Anyway, sort of casually at the end of that conversation, he said, " that spot we've been watching has grown so we need to get you scheduled for gamma knife." This is a tiny spot that showed up in May but too small to define, then had not changed in August, when the pituitary tumor was noted, so thought not to be cancer after all. Well, now it has grown, definitely a tumor. Still quite small, three mm or so, but needs to be zapped. After having the sequence of IMRT in August on brain tumor #2, I find myself being thankful that this one is in a location it can be treated by gamma knife. Sure it's a pain, and the metal frame screwed to the head not so cool, but it's done in one day. I'll take it. I am also immensely grateful that these are still appearing one at a time so whole brain radiation is not yet necessary.

Just to make this a full cancer update, the right lung does not show any signs that it might decide one day to reinflate. One of those odd occurrances, I guess. No one has seen this before, but my thinking is that it's because the diaphragm on the right was already dead and can't pull down to open the lung. The breathing I was doing on that side was totally with chest muscles, not diaphragm. I don't know enough about the anatomy but for some reason now that the pleura is attached to the lung, the chest muscles don't have any control. Had I known this would happen, I would have opted for a permanent pleurex catheter (chest tube) that could be drained when fluid built up. This is way worse than being filled with fluid.

Oh, yeah, I also saw a shrink that deals with oncology depression only. (Talk about a specialist) I had asked the dr. about an anti-depressant because the tears come too easily, and once the conversation turns to my cancer, they flow and I blubber. End of conversation. It's embarrassing, mostly - I'm not a pretty crier. And it only lasts for a minute. It's not like I'm clinically depressed, just sad to be dying of cancer and I cry about it in short bursts. So we went through a long question - answer series and she gave me an older drug, Celexa, to try. When I went online to ask Dr. Google, who referred me to Dr. Wiki, I found out that this drug was also use to reduce the pathological crying sometimes seen in stroke victims. I thought, yeah, sometimes that's what it feels like. But then I saw the common name given to that syndrome and nearly peed my pants - "emotional incontinence." Yeah, that about sums it up.

A really good poem turned up in my inbox today - by Mary Oliver

I just discovered Mary Oliver less than two years ago. Turns out she's a Northeast Ohio native, Chagrin Falls if I remember correctly. She writes about Nature, and the spirituality inherent in reverence for Nature, but not about God. I suspect she's a Natural Pantheist.

Can You Imagine?

For example, what the trees do
not only in lightning storms
or the watery dark of a summer's night
or under the white nets of winter
but now, and now, and now - whenever
we're not looking. Surely you can't imagine
they don't dance, from the root up, wishing
to travel a little, not cramped so much as wanting
a better view, or more sun, or just as avidly
more shade - surely you can't imagine they just
stand there loving every
minute of it, the birds or the emptiness, the dark rings
of the years slowly and without a sound
thickening, and nothing different unless the wind,
and then only in its own mood, comes
to visit, surely you can't imagine
patience, and happiness, like that.

~ Mary Oliver ~

Back home

We drove hard Saturday and Sunday (well, Greg did) and passed on the original plan to spend the night in Bennington, VT, puttering around. By then I was at the end of the two week chemo cycle and feeling pretty ragged around the edges. Well, that's putting it mildly. This is a week earlier than we usually make the Maine trip, and since we came home the more southerly route through Massachusetts, there was almost no leaf color.

The week in Maine went by quickly, but we didn't fill the days with activities or road trips like we usually do. I found that my limit was about two hours on my feet, and one day we went north up the coast to Camden and Belfast, stopping at a few stores along the way. Another day we went into Portland, where I really, really thought I was going to be up for a walking tour. We had taken a self-guided architecture tour when we were there in 2005, and really wanted to do another one of the three tours. Last year we went, but I had a bum knee and wasn't up for the walking. We did walk a little bit, and did a little shopping. Portland is a city that just oozes hipness. I'd love to go and spend a week there poking around all the old buildings that now have funky businesses. Cobblestone streets, and many of the streets look right down on the harbor.

The highlight of the trip was lunch at Benkay sushi restaurant. It would have been worth the drive just for the lunch, so that assuaged my guilt at wimping out on the walking.

Greg had told me when we were planning the trip, and I was dubious about my condition and whether it was worth it, that he would do everything, and boy, he did! He was Mr. Step 'n' Fetch It! No ,matter how many times I asked him to do something, or to get something for me, he was sweet and kind, and never complained. He cooked a couple of pretty good meals, too, in addition to the nights we just boiled lobster and pan fried potatoes. It was a house that was really close to the water, but not so accessible because of the huge rocks along the shore, and every day while I rested Greg went out walking - who knows where. It's a very rural area, so the road is lightly travelled and a good place to wander. I'm sure that he uses this time to clear his head and destress from the trials of caring for me. He makes me feel blessed.


Here's the fish chowder he made. Haddock was locally fresh, cod would be good, too.

Chop up a couple of slices of bacon and an onion, and start these in a pot at a low to medium heat, with the lid on. We had an electric stove there, and it was so hard to manage quick changes of temperature. In the meantime, dice or chunk two or three potatoes and a couple of stalks of celery. When the onions are soft and the bacon has rendered some of its fat, remove the lid to let the steam escape, turn up the heat, and let the onion brown slightly in the bacon fat. Doing this as a separate step adds an extra layer of flavor to the finished soup that you wouldn't get if you just dumped it all in together.

Next, add the potatoes and some liquid to just cover the potatoes. Water will do, clam broth is nice, chicken stock would be ok too. It will only take about a cup and a half, put the lid back on and simmer the potatoes in the liquid until they are mostly cooked, and then add the celery. I like the celery to still have some crunch because it adds texture to counterpoint the creaminess of the potatoes and milk.

Now, add the milk, depending on whether you like it light or rich. Use about 12 - 16 ounces , depending on how much broth is left from cooking the potatoes. It's a pretty inexact science. You can use half and half, but I find that regular whole milk is about right. Heat the milk slowly, you can't bring it to a simmer or it will curdle.

Now the fish, which I forgot to mention you have cut into chunks about an inch. About a pound and a half of fish will do nicely, and put it in the milk as it warms up, so the fish doesn't overcook and the milk doesn't curdle. When it's nice and hot the fish will be cooked. Add salt and pepper to taste (lots of pepper) and float a chunk of butter on top. This will make four servings, more or less. If you have some parsley garnish the top of the soup.

Be careful if you have leftovers that you don't heat it too fast or too hot, or the milk will curdle.

Sunday morning in Maine

We are definitely geographically challenged. We decided to make a pilgrimage to the coast of Maine, as we do every few years. We came last year, with those thoughts in the backs of head "one last time" but then here it is another trip around the sun and Maine is still here, and so am I.....



Nathan and Katie made the fall vacation trip that we always did when the kids were young - September to Nag's Head, N.C. Katie's on maternity leave until early October, and since she's a teacher, this might be a once in a lifetime opportunity for her. They invited us, but we had already planned the trip to Maine for two weeks later. However, I had not rented a house, and when I found one available the week immediately after Nathan's trip to N.C., it seemed the perfectly logical route to come to Maine by way of Nags Head, then spend the night in Maryland at Matthew's and Larisa's to break the trip into two parts and visit even more grandchildren. That's a lot of miles! Greg drove every one of them so far, it's a tradition on vacation, even though I do most of the "around town" driving.



The oral chemo is both a blessing and a curse, I guess, when you're trying to fit in a trip. With IV chemo, you get the dose, hang low for three or four days, and then slowly start climbing out of the hole. With this every day stuff, it's less intense suffering, but spread over the whole two weeks, so just generally feeling crappy all the time. Not really crappy, just enough to not take much interest in doing anything, or having an appetite. Unfortunately, it hasn't affected my weight yet. Last evening we stopped at the grocery store on the way in to get something quick for dinner, so we wouldn't have to go out. Boxed salad, frozen potatoes, couple of lobsters and some steamer clams. The smell of the garlic rosemary potatoes was the end of my appetite. I had to eat to take the chemo with food, so it was bread (very good bread, I might say) and 7-up. Though I did have a few of the clams.



There's such a difference in the quality of the ocean between Nags Head and here. Sometimes the beach at Nags Head is still, this time it was quite windy and rough for the two days we were there. And the Outer Banks, being a barrier island, always gives the sense of the ground moving beneath your feet. It's measurable, of course, from season to season they will have lost so many feet of shoreline, the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse has been moved - twice, I believe. The sand shifts and you can't stand in one spot or you sink. Houses we have rented in the past thirty years have fallen into the ocean. I remember the very first time we went to OBX in September, we stayed in a house called the "Beach Baby" that was cheap because it should have been abandoned. At high tide you could step off the back step (it wasn't on stilts) right into the water. It had a room with bunk beds and another room that was a combination kitchen and bedroom, basically a double bed in the corner where you might have put a table. We went in September, the weather was absolutely glorious as it can be only in September or October. But the next week a hurricane hit that area directly and took out most of the beach along that strip, including a lot of the beach road. In the footage shown on national news, there was video of a wave coming up and taking the Beach Baby. I have a confession to make. I stole something from that house, well, I traded. I had taken my own cookware, not knowing what the house provided, but the Beach Baby had a square cast iron frying pan that I really liked, so I traded one of my pans for it. I still have it and use it very often. I felt so guilty for that short period of time before I saw the Beach Baby tumble into the ocean, and for a while after that I had pangs of guilt.



The Maine coast, however, is completely different, being built of huge boulders and very little sand. It's not a beach for walking, unless you're a bit of a mountain goat (I'm not). On the other hand, the air is moist and temperate this time of year and so the vegetation is lush right to the edge of the water. The houses that are for rent are old, old family home places that have been retrofitted with plumbing and sometimes cable tv, and wireless internet (yay!). Many old families live here year round, and you don't get the feeling of transciency that you do in the southern beaches. It all seems very old and solid and New English. But you don't get the rolling, rhythmic surf, either. In that way it's kind of like being beside a great big lake. Except with salt water, and lobsters.

It's chilly here, and it makes me think of the fall chores that we'll have to attend to at home. Greg has pretty much taken over everything except the thinking about them, since I'm on oxygen most of the time. But I can still make lists! The sun room needs just a light cleaning before the plants come back in. I always prune them hard, even though it's the wrong time of year to do it, they grow so much over the summer outside that they have to be cut. And it's the one time I really go against my organic gardening principles. I spray them down with Sevin, let them sit for a few days, and then give them a good bath with the garden hose. I don't want to bring in spider mite and scale, and Sevin is the most reliable way to de-pest everything at once. I'm thinking about getting rid of some plants this fall, so let me know if you want something, maybe you can have it. The sun room is so full that by February I can't see through the plants to the outside very well.

We haven't yet decided what to do about housing for the chickens, so that's the issue that will require the most effort on my part (making a plan). Likewise, there's a pile of mud on the back side of the pond that washes back into the pond when it rains hard - don't want to think about leaving it there all winter long. There's the drainage ditch that I started digging with the backhoe - it has to cross the driveway, not an easy task, and possibly be encased in concrete for that section. I'll do the tractor work and the planning, but not the shovel work, you can be sure! Some time during that time, the leaves will fall and need to be gathered, and that begs the question of what we're doing about changing the gate to the garden, and then we're back to the question of the chicken accommodtions. Oh, my. On the way home from vacation, we'll make a master plan.

Saturday night

Today was a rough day. I always have done this - start the day with a huge list of things I'm going to do, then get about a third way through and run out of time, or energy. We're getting ready to go on a long road trip, so there are lots of loose ends to tie up. Today I started with mowing, and got the front field done, then came in and had a coughing fit that lasted for most of the rest of the day and completely wore me out. I washed three loads of laundry and could only find the energy to fold half a basket load. I'm stressed out because the furniture is dusty and the toilets are scummy and the garden is full of weeds and I'm too exhausted to bend over to pick up a sock. Greg works non-stop and he tells me to just tell him what I want him to do, but there's only so much one man can do. I'm amazed to think that just a couple of years ago I was working in my studio full time and doing art shows on weekends and keeping the yard and the house. My gosh, what would I do if I had children at home?

When we built this house and moved in, in 1995, Justin and Nathan still lived at home, Nathan was half was through his senior year. Greg's mom had brain cancer and was failing, and we had Greg's parents, "Wally" and Judy over for dinner just about every Saturday night. Nathan would be on the way to somewhere, and Justin would be wishing he were, but always we listened to Prairie Home Companion while I cooked and Greg made salads and drinks. Nathan went away to college in fall of 1996, Justin gradually did find some kind of trouble to get into on Saturday nights, but still Wally and Judy came over for dinner every week.

The Gramma (Judy) died, and it was just Wally. Every Saturday night Wally came over and had a martini, and we listened to Prairie Home Companion. Justin got big, became a football jock, and got his drivers license, and would wolf down more groceries in a sitting than you could imagine, and he'd hang out with Wally for a bit, and then go out hound dogging on a Saturday night.

Wally used to sit in the hammock chair on the back porch with his martini and I'd throw the frisbee for the dog to catch, and we'd listen to Prairie Home, and then make dinner. And then one day in 2004 he had a stroke and never came home again. He died this year in January. I can only imagine what it was like for him to be trapped inside his body for those last five years.

Every Saturday night in summer we still sit outside and have our drinks on the back porch, and the hammock swing sits empty. Garrison Keillor had a stroke this week. The summer is at its peak, but dying, and the hummingbirds have mostly flown. I don't have high hopes that I will be here next summer to have drinks with Greg on the back porch. But I'll bet that some of the kids and grandkids will, because it's a great back porch to sit on, and a great hammock swing. But I'll always see Wally there, martini resting on his tummy.



This week Justin and Amanda invited us for dinner and Justin grilled salmon. It was great! We love it with jasmine rice and mango salsa alongside. Here's the salsa recipe: Serves four generously.

2 mangoes, a little underripe, in small cubes
1 red pepper, chopped
1/2 red onion, small chopped or sliced
fresh cilantro, chopped, we like a lot, about a third cup loose

Dump all this chopped stuff in a bowl and then make the dressing:

juice of two limes
about 2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil
about two tablespoons honey - more or less to taste depending on the ripeness of the mango
salt
chipotle pepper, ground - optional, but we really like the smoky heat with the toasted sesame

Mix this all together, let it sit for a half hour before serving if you have it.

Note that I don't measure so I'm just guessing about measurements here.
This stuff is good! And it's so colorful, with yellow, red, and green.

It's great alongside anything grilled, or spicy, especially pork or chicken.

Cancer update, briefly

Just the news, which isn't much. I finished the first round of Xeloda pretty uneventfully, saw the oncologist today just to check in and make sure I'm up to start a new round. Apparently it's doing something, whether or not it's killing cancer we don't know. It did knock my hemoglobin down as low as it was after six cycles of carpoplatin and taxotere (fondly known as taxoterrible) last year, when I was so exhausted and couldn't breathe. So that's a little worrisome, since this is just the end of round one, but explains the bone-numbing fatigue that is so much a part of cancer treatment. We won't scan to see if it's working until after three rounds, so late October, assuming the treatment hasn't killed me by then. Gallows humor, always in good taste.

I decided to break down and get a disability placard, since we're about to go on a long road trip. So, really mixed feelings about that. I've always been independent and strong, and this whole chronic sick thing is remarkably humbling.

I'm looking forward to going to Maine, but realizing that there won't be any mountain trail hiking or lighthouse climbing this time. Makes me really glad for all the times we did that when we could. We'll be about a mile up the road from where we were last year, in Owl's Head, and the house looks like it's got a great ocean view with a lawn that goes right down to the water. I'm sure we will think of fun things to do that don't require me to do too much walking. We always manage. It will be a new experience to load the car with an oxygen concentrator and portable tanks. I'm awfully lucky that Greg is such a sturdy man to do all that lifting and toting.

Tristan is taking the chickens, pen, house, and all to his tiny lot in Lakewood for the duration. Bless his heart.

Housing for the Girls

A desk should always be in front of a window. I know that in an office it's not conducive to the business environment where you're sitting and working hard, and someone comes to the door and you look up at them and have your important business conversation. Also, in an office you don't want people to have a perfect view over your shoulder to your computer screen, which they would if you were facing the window.

I used to sit at the kitchen counter every day with my laptop. In the morning I'd set it out, and just putter around all day with everything up and running. This is why I get email so quickly, because I have an audible alert, and I'm trained to go check. Last winter, after we had the inauguration party here, I had a foldable 2 X 4 table in the living room, and I set it in front of the french doors that open into the sunroom, which has a wall of windows ten feet tall, and found that it was the perfect place to sit. The sunroom was full of plants then, so I had to look beyond them, but as far as a bright place to spend time in the winter and hatch plans for projects, this was it. Then, in April I decided to get a nice Amish writing desk instead of the cheesy white plastic table, and I found a shop that would build a simple one, in cherry, with a drawer, for surprisingly little money, and it does look much nicer.

This time of year is one of retrospection for me, something about watching the cycle of the season as everything reaches the end of its annual growth. It was in the early, early spring that I had the brainstorm that having chickens would be a great idea - inside the garden fence until time to plant the garden, where they would scratch for grubs from japanese beetles and nasty garden pests. Then outside for the summer where they would free range and give us eggs and eat the mosquito and insect larva.

Sometimes things just work out. One of my "church ladies" has friends that farm, and their kids had been raising hens for 4-H, and they wanted to get rid of some of them. So, not only did I get full-grown laying hens, instead of baby chicks that I would have had to wait five months to get eggs, but they were delivered to my house! Thanks, Arlene and Bruce! We've had eggs all summer, and very few mosquitoes, and they have completely turned last years mountain of leaves into compost. They have done some damage to the more delicate flowers in the gardens, especially the alyssum, but they have done an outstanding job cultivating around the perennials, and the asparagus bed looks better than I have ever seen it this time of year, big and bushy plants and zero weeds, and I'm assuming, well fertilized.

Well, now it's September and there's a list of fall chores and having hens adds a whole new list of things to get ready for a Cleveland winter. We haven't done this before, so we're going to have to make it up as we go along. I think we'll put the girls back inside the garden area, but I think they need a more serious henhouse and they'll need a little heat and some way to keep their water from freezing. So, do we put an addition on the tiny house we have now, which is narrow enough to go through the garden gate? It would have to be something that detaches, so it can come back out of the garden in the spring. Or, do we make a new, wider gate for the garden? This definitely has advantages. The gate is barely wide enough to get a wheelbarrow through, and it would be great to get the lawn tractor inside to dump the leaves that we vacuum up. We have serious leaves in the fall. I'm not kidding. And the chickens have proved that they can make compost happen.

Or....we could turn the tool shed into a chicken house. It's got power to it, which would be a big plus because then we could get one of those nifty chicken water heaters for the sub-freezing weather, and install a light bulb for some heat. But then what would we do with all the tools, the lawn tractor, tiller? How about this -- we could do a Funk family project and start that pole barn that Greg has been wanting. We would just build one side of it, big enough for the tractor to be under cover, and the chickens in the rear. Or better yet, put the lawn tractor and tiller under roof with the red tractor, and turn the existing tool shed into the chicken house. A big advantage to this is that I can see the tool shed / future chicken house from where I sit here, at my lovely cherry writing desk in front of the tall windows of the sunroom, where I sit and hatch my project plans.



How many ways can you have eggs for dinner?

Fried. Scrambled. Boiled.
Deviled. Baked in a casserole.
Egg drop soup. Souffle. Frittata.
Omelets. Pad thai. Fried rice.
Raw, in a chocolate milkshake. Oh, yeah.

When one finds out that their cancer has returned and this time it's terminal, there's a whole lot of time to think. Now, there are benefits to this, I suppose, time to plan, time to change, time to make amends if that's what's called for. But given the choice, most people would not want to know when they're going to die. There was a study done, I forget the numbers, but it seems that most people understand how crazy-making it can be, living on death row, and not having a due date.

When we learned that the cancer was terminal, back in November of 2007, we were sad a lot, me, I cried all the time. Greg's not a crier, but he started drinking more to offset the moisture I was losing in tears. But, we knew we had some time, that this wasn't imminent, so we jumped into projects. I had always wanted a tractor, and one day in March '08, while I was sitting and (probably) crying, I thought, I have a retirement fund that I'm not going to be able to spend on retirement. I'm going to buy a tractor. So, within a week or so, we were the proud owners of a brand new red (RED!) Massey-Ferguson with front end loader and backhoe. Now we're talking! And last summer we built a path through the woods, a loop all the way around, so the whole woods are accessible to the grandkids, as long as they watch out for poison ivey.

And then, one day I started pulling out the compacted clay from the low spot in the back where I always got the lawn mower stuck. It just peeled off in layers. It was easy to see what had happened, once I started disassembling it. The contractor that dug the basement just put the clay from the hole back there and spread it out, with no place for the water to run to. And since it's clay, it won't perk through, it just stays wet until it dries and cracks. I used the front bucket and peeled off layer after layer until I created quite a depression in the ground, and quite a "mountain" to the side of it. There seemed to be much more clay coming out of the hole than the size of the home would indicate, so I started making a pile near the driveway for a present for Nathan. He needed fill dirt. At this point it was obvious that here was going to be a pond, because I've dug a hole that water runs into and doesn't run out of.

So, lightbulb in the head! About fifty feet from this low spot that's filled with stinky, sticky clay and anaerobic decay, is the pipe that we had put in to drain the basement and goes deep underground down to a ravine that leads to the river. But there's a stand pipe that's accessible. I didn't know how to use the backhoe yet, but I figured it out, on possibly the most difficult part of the dig - adjoining this pipe, curving back and away from it, between trees on both sides, keeping an even slope, and having to jump down off the tractor seat with each scoop because the mud was so sticky that it had to be pulled out with a shovel.

Needless to say, working like this, I didn't get so very far, and Greg got home from work. Time for me to put on my most adorable sheepish grin and tell him "the plan I had thunk up". So in fifteen minutes or so he was out, shovel in hand, and we set up the transit and when I dug really too deep he shoveled the mud back in. We got to where the pond was going to be, and we put in the vertical pipe that would be the overflow drain that would set the depth of the water, and we set perforated drain pipe wrapped in landscape cloth, and bedded in gravel, back to the standpipe for the basement drain. That was part one.

When I started writing this today it wasn't to talk about building the pond, it was to talk about fall garden chores. Because it's September 2, and if you've let them, the gardens have gotten really scraggly. Over the weekend I was feeling a mite poorly, Saturday, I guess it was, and I looked out from this great vantage point and there was Greg, looking intent, with MY garden clippers. I have a bit of a "watch out - Mama's got scissors" reputation but Greg had that same slightly fanatical look. He was cleaning up the garden beds, something that always is burdonsome and has been known to be totally left undone in some years. He cut down the peonies, the bleeding heart, the columbine (though I believe they have already dropped seeds), he cut back the monarda and the daisies. He deadheaded the pots on the back porch and the phlox and the black-eyed susans. He pulled weeds. He's made digging thistles his personal mission this year and has made more progress than I ever did.

So when I started to write today I was going to say that I've had plenty of time to worry about things that might be left undone, and one of my biggest worries was the garden maintenance. But Greg has taken charge of the gardens, and that has been a huge gift to me. Thirty-five years ago you wouldn't have guessed that this would be a man who would come to appreciate gardens so well. You just never know, do you?

The moon, and family

I have a perfect spot just here, where my computer desk sits in fron of the french doors between the great room and the sun room, which has glass on the south side, where my view is. So, in the summer, I don't see so much because there are two maple trees which shade the sunroom and keep the solar gain to a minimum. In the winter the view is great, the maples will have lost their leaves, and I have a clear view to the Cleveland sky, grey and leaden from November until May, with barely any relief. But I do see some distance, all the way to the turnpike where I can see the 18 wheelers pass. I can hear them, too.

I figured out the reason for my depression that's been building over the past few weeks. It's because over the course of the last three months, my job description has changed. I am now a full time cancer patient. I had three surgeries, a pleural effusion drained, and eight sessions of radiaton for a brain tumor since June 30. I have a chronic cough that is so intense that I nearly black out, and I dribble urine (how embarrassing). I have a row of brown medicine bottles on a shelf in the bedroom, several on the kitchen window sill, and then all my alternatives in the kitchen cupboard. Apparently they didn't work. Should I keep taking them? Would I be even sicker if I had not? Greg makes me his special Jack Daniels, honey, and lemon cough syrup every night and I believe it's as effective as any of the prescriptives. It's likely rotting my teeth, though.

Today I felt pretty good. On Friday, I was looking at the garden's bounty of tomatoes and realized that we have not made pizza margherita even once this summer, from fresh home grown tomatoes, though we did push it and buy tomatoes once or twice. So I was thinking that we'd make pizza on the grill for the family on Sunday, and apparently great minds think alike, because Greg came home and said that Nathan had suggested pizza on the grill for Sunday. Well, since Greg had to go into work briefly at 6:30, it seemed a good idea to do it here. And since we're half way between Tristan's family, it seemed logical to invite his family, too.

Now, before I start to talk about making pizza on the grill, let me just say that I have spent the best money ever at yard sales buying dress-up clothes for little princesses. Over the course of the evening I saw Annabelle and Casey in probably six outfits each, most of which involved a wand, a tiara, high heels, and satin or netting. Being the mother of four sons, this never ceases to amaze and thrill me. And Quin, playing with the action figures - also from a garage sale- that I missed by seconds buying the whole set up. I didn't even know what it was, but I knew we needed the whole set. We do what we can.

Paige called today while I was resting and talked to Papa. They raised over $200 from their lemonade stand to donate to Triple Nagative Breast Cancert Foundation to work for a cure. I am surrounded by incredible people, and their parents are my children and their wives.

So, the pizza. I made the dough, and sliced tomatoes from the garden, and put them on a rack in the oven with the convection fan on to dry them out a bit so they wouldn't make the pizza soggy. I made the dough, and decided to cook one side, so that it would only take half as long when we were cooking with hungry people waiting.

The recipe for "pain ordinaire" calls for four ingredients, flour, water, yeast, and salt. The ratio is basically three to one, flour to water, a handful of salt, half a package of yeast. I do it in the ancient KitchenAid mixer (really, it's 35 years old). Six cups of flour, about a tablespoon of salt go into the mixer bowl. Then, two cups of warm water (body temp) and a package of yeast in a cup, let it start to bubble. (I cheat and put a sprinkle of sugar in usually). Then, start the mixer, add the liquid to the dry, and let it mix with the dough hook attachment for five to seven minutes. If it's stubborn, stop the mixer, stir it all together with a spatula and let it mellow for five or ten minutes. then turn the mixer back on and let it knead. It should all come together as a mass on the dough hook, perhaps with some raggedy shreddy stuff on the bottom. You might need to add another tablespoon of water - not too much. Since I was doing this four times, I pulled it off the dough hook and tossed it into a big bowl. Repeat, three times. Knead the whole mess together for a couple of minutes, then cover with something - in my case it was a pizza pan large enough to cover the bowl. I have about a pound of dough left over that's in the fridge, and I can make a nice baguette tomorrow, and that dough will tast incredible for having fermented an extra day.

Now, the thing about a yeast dough (or beverage) is that yeast really develops its flavor over time. You've got bread machines and recipes for one hour dinner rolls, but don't be fooled. Yeast likes to work slow. When I have the time and I'm making bread, I'll use half the amount of yeast in the recipe and double the proof time. In fact, because I'm such a scrooge, and beer yeast is so expensive, I only ever use one bottle of yeast for two batches of beer. I split it, and give it a couple more days fermentation time. I think it's a better product, and it saves me six dollars.

For pizza dough, or any kind of yeast bread that you will be serving in the evening, start as early in the morning as you can. Work in a cool room, and let the yeast work its magic with flavor. I mixed my dough before noon, had a nap in the afternoon, and started making crusts at about 4;30. Two circles at a time, slide onto the hot grill, close the lid. The point is to prebake the top so you can assemble the pizza onto cooked dough, then put onto the grill and bake the bottom while the ingredients do their dance on top. I had sliced up lots of fresh tomatoes from the garden, but they seemed really wet, so I put them on a baking rack and held them in the oven at about 150 degrees with the fan going, all afternoon. I pureed garlic, basil, and olive oil which Nathan brushed on the crust, and on top of the ingredients. So - pizza margherita, brush crust with olive oil/basil/garlic mixture, layer with fresh sliced tomatoes, top with fresh mozzarella. Nathan also made some traditional style pizzas for the kids with jarred sauce, pepperoni, sausage, and cheese. We did the whole thing outside, picnic table by the grill, tapped a new keg of homebrew, opened a bottle of red wine, and a half gallon of chocolate milk. What cold be better than that?

These times are precious, cooking outdoors with the family. One of my regrets, though i have very few, is that we didn't eat enough meals outdoors. Sometimethe bugs were really bad, but mostly it was just more convenient to eat inside at the table. Don't make this mistake. Eat outside, with the family, and enjoy the summer. It passes so quickly.

Screen doors and fried food

Greg's been irritated with me for fourteen years now. Every spring, when the weather warms up, I open the doors. I love having the doors open. He doesn't like screen doors. I open the doors anyway and the bugs come in. I tell him he has to put up with the bugs if he doesn't want screen doors. For the last few years, he has said he'd put in a screen door if I would get one. Well, I've looked and looked. The doors that go onto the back porch are strange sized, I got them at the Pella sale years ago and we built the house to fit the doors. But, there are no off the shelf screen doors that fit. The front door is a standard size, but I haven't been able to find something that's not ugly at Home Depot or Lowe's, and buying off the web is expensive and uncertain. So, still no screen doors, still getting bugs.



At this particular moment, I have a problem. I have a hummingbird in the house, upstairs where there's a tall cathedral ceiling. Yesterday I heard a chirp/squeak that I decided was the ceiling fan, but now I'm wondering if it wasn't this hummingbird. I've had a chickadee in the house before, but never a hummingbird. I don't know how to lure it outside, and I hate the thought of losing a hummingbird. The only thing I can think to do is to open the windows upstairs, and take out the screens.

I just this minute learned something that I did not know five minutes ago! Those little sea snails, you know the tiny ones that cover everything at the beach? They're called periwinkles, and they're edible. Well, most everything is edible, but The Joy of Cooking has a recipe. Boil them for three minutes, pick them out with a skewer, and dip in garlic butter. By golly, that sounds like a perfectly reasonable thing to do with a sea snail. But periwinkles? I thought periwinkles were flowers, blue ones, like in Joni Mitchell's song...."peridots and periwinkles, blue medallions, gilded galleons spilled across the ocean floor..." It turns out it's the name for both the marine snail, and for the common groundcover with blue flowers called vinca, or myrtle, or...periwinkle.

Greg says he's making fried seafood dinner tonight. That's one of those things that seems more suited to a "fry house" than to my kitchen. When I make it, it's a huge affair, and makes a terrible mess. I've been teaching him to cook, and in typical Greg way, he now thinks he can go straight to the head of the class. I think I convinced him to fry two kinds of fish, oysters and shrimp, instead of four, and maybe only three kinds of battered vegetables. We'll see.

When I make fried seafood platter I've found that oysters are better with a crushed cracker coating, other shellfish with a double dip of egg/milk, then cornmeal and flour, and vegetables in egg and flour batter. That's probably why it's such an ordeal. I think we will try to make a pretty dry batter and use it for the veggies and shrimp, and then dip the oysters in egg and then in cracker crumbs. I have told him that he needs to start really early so that the batter can set on the food, but it's two o'clock and he's still at work - on a Saturday. This is going to be a learning experience. Maybe between the two of us we can actually come up with a workable system. Stay tuned.

Later that same night ........ when Greg got home I told him to see about opening windows upstairs to see if the hummingbird would find its way out. He found the bird, sitting forlorn on the windowsill in the loft at the peak of the cathedral ceiling. Greg, the hero and rescuer of all things, went and got a ladder to open the window where the bird was looking out. I think this hummer may have been there since yesterday because I was hearing a chirping then, so she was pretty tired and thirsty. When Greg opened the window she just sat, dazed and confused, but he was able to pick her up and when he held her aloft, she flew away. Whew! I hope she made it to the feeder ok and will recover. The air traffic on the back deck is so busy now with the hummers preparing to leave, it'd be impossible to keep track of one.

And the fried dinner was a success! He made shrimp and scallops, mushrooms, eggplant and zucchini. And even though I already said no more zucchini or eggplant this season, I ate it again, and it was good.

Feeding the kids

There's something about having leftover biscuits that calls the boys home for lunch, I swear it. It's the same thing that used to make Tristan appear at the door just as pizza was coming out of the oven, or just before it arrived. So yesterday I got home and Tristan was making himself lunch (he's allowed because he's here painting the deck) of biscuits with boneless chicken thighs, cheese, and sliced fresh tomato. It looked pretty darn good, and I thought I'd have one, but then the phone rang and the other two said they were coming for lunch. Oh, well, I knew they'd want the biscuits. Made short work out of them, too.

In my adult life I can't think of any one thing that has brought me more satisfaction, again and again, than feeding my sons. As infants, they were noisy, vigorous nursers, and took everything they wanted from me until they were satisfied, and that was all, each for over a year. As toddlers and youngsters, you couldn't keep food in the kitchen. It was nothing to go through thirty or more pancakes or a couple dozen eggs on a Saturday morning. I cooked, they consumed, and then ran, played, worked it off.

Now they're grown, big, sturdy men, and they can still put away some groceries, but they can also work like no one else, especially when you get them together for a little friendly competition. But the thing that they have that makes me proudest, is not their strength, or their intellect, or their drive, or their handsomeness, but their kindness and compassion. And that now that I am sick, they are making sure that I have everything I need. It's a good man who takes care of his mother.

Sleep

Never in my life have I been a napper. I don't sleep in cars. I have chronic insomnia. My kids' friends knew not to call after 10:30 because if I am asleep and get awakened, I stay awake. So what's with the sudden somnolence?

In June, on the day of Quin's birthday party on a Saturday afternoon, I felt pretty lousy, so I decided to try lying down for a while to see if I could pull it together a bit. By golly, I fell asleep, and felt so much better. Since then I have acquired a new skill, of napping. In fact, if I miss my nap I'm useless.

Yesterday I went down for a nap at one o'clock. At three I looked at the clock and turned over. At five I woke up and decided I felt like babysitting. Nathan and Katie, in true form, did not mind the last minute offer, and we had a wonderful evening watching 101 Dalmations with Annabelle and Grayson on the big bed. It was very much like I imagine Heaven would be, if there were such a thing. I have put up with a lot of physical abuse in the past few months, so I imagine that my body is healing from radiation starting in April to my spine, then surgeries in June, July, and August, and radiation to my brain in August. Sleep is good, and when I'm asleep nothing hurts.



Here it is, Mama's Biscuits!

You'll need:
5+ cups self rising flour. Don't attempt biscuits without self rising flour, unbleached if you can find it, and fresh.
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
2 sticks butter - the real stuff - cold
2 1/4 cups buttermilk

A heavy canvas cloth
Biscuit cutter - I use a can with both ends cut out. I have three sizes.
Rolling pin, but in a pinch, a wine bottle.
Pastry blender - not absolutely necessary but it's what I use to cut in the butter. Otherwise a couple of knives or forks.

Heat oven to 425.
Sift flour with baking soda into a large, wide bowl.
Cut the butter into chunks, drop into the flour, and then use the pastry blender to cut in the butter until it's in small pieces. If you like a flaky biscuit that makes layers, leave the butter in pea-size bits. If you like a more consistent cake-like biscuit, cut it in until it resembles grainy corn meal.

Add most of the buttermilk and use a rubber spatula to gather it into a dough ball. Let it rest for three or four minutes to absorb the liquid. If it seems dry, add a little more buttermilk. You just have to practice to know what it should feel like.

Spread plenty of flour on the pastry cloth and dump out the dough. Knead by folding it over on itself gently as little as you can to get it to hold together. Then roll out (put flour on top of the dough and on the rolling pin) and cut, and put in a 12 X 18 baking pan. I let mine touch each other. Bake for 14 or so minutes.


Now, here are some facts. Biscuits are tender because they are made without developing the gluten (protein) in the flour. Two things go into this. One, the flour is soft wheat, which is a low protein flour, like cake flour. All purpose flour has much more protein and is hard to keep tender. The second is in how you handle the dough. Rough, heavy kneading develops the strands of protein. This is good in bread dough, bad in biscuits, cookies, cakes.

The size of the clumps of fat (butter) matters. As the wet dough surrounds pieces of butter, it makes layers. When the dough bakes, you have little pockets of butter that will melt, forming layers in the dough, and the water in the butter makes steam. Together this makes those nice buttery layers that let you pull the biscuit apart without cutting it. High oven temperature is a big part of this, too.

You can make biscuits on a work surface that isn't a canvas cloth, but it's a lot harder to handle the dough without adding too much flour. The result, if you're not careful, is a dry, tough biscuit.

When you cut the biscuits out, try to cut straight down, and don't twist. Twisting seals the edges and your biscuits will be dome shaped instead of cylindrical. Flour the cutter between each cut if you need to. I've never had good results trying to cut biscuits with a glass.

I use a silpat liner for my baking pan. You can use parchment paper, or grease the pan very lightly. I bake on the top shelf. The biscuit will not quite double in height, so use that as a guide to how thick to roll them. About 3/4 inch or a little taller is good.