shoot me now

For some reason I decided to abandon our normal New Year's solitary celebration and invite a whole hosts of guests. What was I thinking? Five or six people declined the invitation, or I'd be in deep yogurt right now. Perhaps it's time to lay off the sauce.

I am of two minds when it comes to guests: pamper the living crap out of them, and keep everything low key, for me. These qualities are often mutually exclusive but Marjorie and Rebecca have transcended all that and know how to situate themselves right in the center of both - so much the better that they both visited over the 4th of July weekend and got to know each other. I have another, quieter word for them: low-maintenance guests.

No doubt about it, I loves me my low-maintenance guests. They don't need me - they know how to raid the refrigerator, nagivate their way around the cabinets and drawers in the kitchen to find what they need, and aren't daunted by the irregular eating habits that we denizens of the labs tend to exhibit. They know where the bath towels are, and where the hot tub and pool towels are. They know how to operate the washing machine, and are known for bringing their laundry (which is encouraged). They do not need to be waited on and are adept at amusing themselves, which makes it easy for me to cook and tend to other daily matters. They are content to be here, with us, and don't have a burning desire to see the myriad cultural sites that permeate Ocean County, NJ.

Make no mistake, I love all our guests, no matter who they are and what they need to enjoy their visit. But let's face it, I'm pretty darned lazy, and so should you be, too, if you come here. At druid labs we're all about rest, rejuvenation, recreation and sometimes revelry. It usually takes place right here in our small acreage of heaven. Sometimes our "homebody-ness" gets a little old, I know. We need to get out for more live music. We need to walk through museums and art galleries and find fabulous ethnic restaurants and have drop-in visitors and places where we ourselves can drop in on friends.

Well, anyway, this weekend I have to prepare lots of meals for many people, and if I do the math, it's 52 individual meals over the next three days, for three, twelve, or six at the table. One of my guests will be making dinner for six of us, or that number for me would be 58. I'm tired just thinking about it, and I haven't even started. And that includes a night of nothing but hors d'oeuvres and another meal of leftovers. I'm nuts.

And since I like it that way, I'm not likely to change.

I'll take door #2!

No guests. No snow. No guests, and no snow. No guests, no spinach balls, no crab bites, no London broil, no snow.

spinach balls - not just for breakfast anymore

And you didn't even know spinach had balls, did you?

Spinach Balls with Mustard Sauce

2 - 10 oz. packages of frozen chopped spinach, thawed and squeezed dry
2 cups herb stuffing mix, crushed
1 cup packed freshly grated parmesan cheese (approx. 5 oz.)
1/2 cup melted butter
4 small green onions, finely chopped
3 eggs

Combine all ingredients in a large bowl and mix well. (This is a good application for clean hands alone.) Shape into 1-inch balls. Cover and refrigerate or freeze until ready to bake. (If you put balls on cookie sheet after rolling and stick in the freezer for a few minutes, you can then transfer them to a plastic bag until ready for use.)

Preheat oven to 350F. Set balls on ungreased baking sheet and bake until golden brown, about 10-15 minutes.

Makes 70 balls.

Mustard Sauce

1/2 cup dry mustard
1/2 cup white vinegar
1/4 cup sugar
1 egg yolk

Combine mustard and vinegar in small bowl. Cover and let stand at room temperature for 4 hours. Mix sugar and egg yolk in a small saucepan. Add mustard-vinegar mixture and cook over low hear, stirring constantly, until slightly thickened. Cover and chill. Serve at room temperature.

Note: It isn't necessary to completely thaw balls before baking, which makes this an excellent choice for hot hors d'oeuvres. Never mind that a child with clean hands and a dry nose can shape these balls once the ingredients are thoroughy mixed. Your guests will think you slaved. Which of course you did, right? I mean, not just anybody can open a Ziploc bag of spinach balls and pop them in the oven. Oh, they can? Never mind.

lessons learned

Note to self: do not invite aged invalids to druid labs for dinner during the winter season.

We're expecting snow today, the first of the season. Personally I'd like to see three feet of it or more, what the hell. I'm not going anywhere. But I had invited Aunt Grace and cousin J. to a post-Christmas dinner. Nothing too fancy - cocktails and hors d'oeuvres (spinach balls with mustard sauce and crab/cheese bites, the latter courtesy of Aunt Grace), London broil, roasted garlic and rosemary potatoes, some sort of vegetable dish, cookies and coffee. To that end I've got not one but two large flank steaks marinating in the back fridge. (Because here at druid labs, we're all about sending guests home with leftovers, especially guests who aren't quite able to cook for themselves much anymore.)

I'd worried about getting Aunt Grace home before it got messy, and called to move up the time of our meal to noon. She called back some hours later to ask me to postpone it altogether, since my cousin isn't quite steady on his feet at the moment, either. This meant that even if I didn't postpone the meal she'd be declining to leave home today, which wasn't all that much of a request. Of course I want her to be safe and she got no argument from me, and even my cousin was glad to not worry about driving back home in a snowstorm, however small it may turn out to be.

Yesterday was a lovely activity-free day, and the spinach balls didn't get made, the house didn't get cleaned, the dining room table didn't get cleared off. Now I don't have to rush around here like a maniac. I even have an extra day to get ready for my next-weekend holiday guests, though history has proved that I seem to work better under pressure, and it's unlikely I'll take advantage of this extra prep time.

Still, I have those two flank steaks marinating. I'm not sure but I think 5 days is a bit long to let them sit in the fridge like that, regardless of how much wine they're soaking in.

Guess what we'll be having for dinner?

where's that pesky space station?

I'm glad to hear that Sharipov and Chiao won't go hungry, that's for sure. But I was wondering if the Space Station would look different last night - brighter, I mean, since that's all I'd be able to discern. The moon was a little too full and the fly-over maximum elevation was a little too low for me to see it at all. Still, I was out walking around the yard and at the edge of the woods with my night vision monocular, having myself a wonderful time. Before coming inside I looked at the sky to the west and saw a very faint but very distinct satellite that I likely would never have been able to spot even on the darkest of dark nights. The scope reveals thousands more stars than I can ever hope to see from this populated location.

I am thoroughly geeked. Thanks, hobbitt! You always know how to make me exquisitely happy, even without presents.

I see you!

Santa did come here after all, and he brought me a night vision scope.



This is a Night Owl Vision NODS3 monocular, with integrated infrared illuminator. (Insert Tim Allen pig man grunt here.) I think it would be fair to say that I was jumping around and squealing like a schoolgirl when hobbitt let me open my present last night after midnight.

This thing is so cool! And he surprised me. I've wanted one of these for a while, but recently have forgotten all about it. Tant mieux!

We took it out on the deck last night to look around a bit, and watch the dog out in the yard. Now I can't wait for nightfall again so I can take a walk in the woods and freak myself out.

And I won't be stalking you. I promise. No, really.

do I hear Santa's sleigh bells?

Yes, yes you do. Those are indeed sleigh bells.

In years past at druid labs midwest, hobbitt and I would wrap up, harness up the pups and take a walk around the block at midnight on Christmas Eve. The final ingredient would be the sleigh bells that sat waiting all year. Duffy and Dale hated the freaking bells, so eventually we'd just hold them in our free hands and shake them as we trod the course. Here and there a family would turn on their outside lights to see who was masquerading as Santa. We were usually gone by then. The streets were narrow and there were no sidewalks, so we had to hustle. It was fun and it always made me cry. Magic does that to me.

Well, we stepped outside tonight (at 11 - so sue us) to shake the bells. There's no point in walking down this street. Most of the homes are way back off the road, and there aren't any children in the homes past us, as far as we know. We shook the bells out front for a few minutes, then softly, to fake the sleigh retreating. Then we went out back to do the same thing. I cried. The night was beautiful and black, with a huge almost-full moon, and the usual musical stars. Inti doesn't care much for the bells and the cat, Mollie, is positively terrified by the din, and Santa doesn't come here.

I could pretend that magic doesn't exist just because sometimes it doesn't seem to exist for us, but I won't go there. I believe in magic. I can't help it. Santa's up there and NORAD says so. Who am I to argue with them?

little ginger cookies

Delicious, and small, like the cappuccino coins and walnut crisps.

4 oz. (1 stick) cold, unsalted butter, cut into 8 pieces
1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar
1 Tbs. finely minced fresh ginger
1 Tbs. powdered ginger
1/2 tsp. vanilla
1 cup plus 2 Tbs. all-purpose flour
1/4 tsp. baking soda
pinch of salt
1/4 cup finely diced crystallized ginger (1/8 inch pieces)

1. In the bowl of an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar on medium speed until smooth, about 3 minutes. Add the fresh ginger, powdered ginger, vanilla, flour, baking soda, and salt; mix just until the dough comes together. Turn out the dough onto a lightly floured board, gather into a ball, and flatten slightly.

2. Lightly dust a large piece of parchment paper with flour. Place the dough in the center and roll out to an even 1/8 inch thickness. Lightly flour the rolling pin as needed to prevent sticking. Cover and refrigerate the dough until firm, about 1 hour.

3. Preheat the oven to 350F. Move an oven rack to the middle position. Line large baking sheets with parchment paper.

4. Using a very sharp knife or cookie cutter, cut out 3/4 inch wide (at the widest part) diamonds, crescents, or shape of your choice. Place 1/2 inch apart on the prepared baking sheets, and press a tiny cube of the crystallized ginger near one end.

5. One sheet at a time, bake the cookies until the edges are lightly golden, 10 to 12 minutes. Cool on the baking sheets set on wire racks.

Then be careful not to eat them all at once, because this makes 7 dozen cookies.

tiny chocolate cookies

I know you've been waiting, Allan. Sorry it took so long to post, but I wanted to go over the recipe to make sure it's right. Since I'm making them today (and the ginger cookies, and the cappuccino coins and walnut crisps - in fact, all the doughs were made within the space of one hour and are sitting in the fridge waiting to be baked right now), I was able to double-check the ingredients list. These cookies are delicate and not too sweet, but very chocolatey.

4 oz. (1 stick) cold, unsalted butter, cut in 8 pieces
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa
1/8 tsp sea salt
1/8 tsp. baking soda
1/2 cup (2 oz.) finely chopped semisweet chocolate (1/8-inch pieces)

1. In the bowl of an electric beater, cream the butter and sugar on medium speed until smooth and light, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the vanilla, flour, cocoa, salt, baking soda, and chocolate bits, and mix until well blended, about 2 minutes. Gather the dough into a ball and flatten slightly.

2. Dust a large piece of parchment paper with flour. Place the dough in the center. With a lightly floured rolling pin, roll out the dough to an even 1/4 inch thickness. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate the rolled-out dough until firm, about 1 hour.

3. Preheat the oven to 350F. Move an oven rack to the middle position. Line large baking sheets with parchment paper.

4. WIth a sharp knife or cookie cutter, cut the cookies to the desired shape, no more than 1-1/2 inches wide. Place 1/2 inch apart on the prepared baking sheets. The scraps can be re-rolled and cut.

5. One sheet at a time, bake until the cookies are firm enough at the edges to slide easeily off the parchment, 12 to 15 minutes. The cookies will be soft but will crisp as they cool. Cool on the baking sheets set on wire racks.

I think you could probably just go ahead and eat all these at one sitting, since the recipe only makes 4 dozen cookies. In fact, why not enjoy a nice big espresso with them, since you'll be able to get that caffeine and sugar cardio workout at the same time. You'll need it, since you'll have just eaten an entire quarter pound of butter.

I welcome the sun's return

I'll admit it, I'm not entirely of the Christian bent anymore. Not against it, but I have come to the realization that there's another focus that speaks to me more deeply and more immediately. I suppose I've always wanted to live in the woods, where I can immerse myself in the natural world that divine providence has made, uncluttered by the undue influence of the technological human. druid labs east is probably as close as I'll come to that - we're not getting any younger to seek a life off-the-grid and away from the conveniences that our old bones will soon require.

hobbitt has always wanted to live in a loft in some fabulous city. We probably will never do that, either. The clear energetic feel of open fields and woodlands is a bit too important to us now.

The changing of the seasons, and more precisely, the celestial events marking these turning points, is honored and remembered in our home. No, we're not "going native" but we do believe there is a powerful connection between where we are and who we are. I for one celebrate the return of the light, just as I do its retreat. It's perfect, this ebb and flow: the tides, the planets, the sun, all swirling and swinging a dance to some unfathomable sacred music that I can hear sometimes, faintly.

My friend Triskele posted this beautiful piece that resonates in my heart.

And earlier this year, on what would become the day my mother left us, I had a vision of spring:

My bones tell me spring
is out there, pensive, hidden.
It’s a knowing that cannot
be explained. The deer are
mindful of this fact even
in November. Of course
I understand the seasons,
and the calendar gives clues
but that’s not the spring
I’m thinking about – this
cycle, the turning, something
deep within speaks of life
and miracles. Maybe broken
hearts are better receptors,
or my fatigue draws the
curtains open to that light,
but how else can the
perfection of tall white oak
begin with nothing more
than what fell, heedless,
and gathered by squirrels,
stashed, forgotten, put down
roots in the cold earth
and reach toward what
it does not know? I ask you
this: how? I am so tired
in what should be my time
of rest, and still I know
that spring is out there,
that roots will plunge,
fawns will emerge,
and step into the light
with gratitude for all
that is made, and for
whatever mysteries await.

9 January 2004

take that, credit industry

druid labs has one simple rule: don't carry credit card balances. Well, that's an oversimplification. We have lots of rules. When you come here, we'll tell you about them, and kill you if you don't obey. Just kidding.

But we don't carry credit card balances. I've been having a strange holiday season watching the television commercials touting Jaguars, Beemers, and diamonds, but the ones that really creep me out are the ones about the fixed-rate credit cards. I've been there and done that and outspending my ability to pay just won't happen anymore. I can't take the ulcers.

Tonight, we outdid ourselves, or should I say, we're back in business. We spent $140 at the grocers, and $160 at the liquor store. And we're not even having a party for a few days. That's the proper way to do a weekend. A check for the groceries but credit cards for the booze. What the hell. If we don't survive, then our executor can just tell Willy's Corner Buy Rite to go scratch, while she's polishing off the Absolut we bought for Boosie's visit.

harvest rolls

This recipe came to me from my dear frend LinDuh in Westmont, Illinois. She can do anything, and everything she does, she does really well. Here's an example.

1 pkg. active dry yeast
1-1/2 cup warm water (105-115F)
1/3 cup sugar
1-1/2 tsp. salt
2/3 cup shortening
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup lukewarm mashed sweet potatoes (or canned sweet potatoes)
7 to 7-1/2 cups all purpose flour

Dissolve yeast in warm water in a large bowl. Stir in sugar, salt, shortening, eggs, sweet potatoes and 3 cups of flour. Beat thoroughly. Stir in enough additional flour to make dough easy to handle.

Turn dough onto lightly floured surface and knead about 5 minutes. Please dough in a greased bowl, and turn to grease all sides of dough. Cover and let rise 1 hour.

(Alternately, cover and refrigerate at least 8 hours. Dough keeps up to 3 days, if tightly covered.) If refrigerated, allow to come to room temperature and rise before proceeding.)

Punch down risen dough and divide into 4 equal parts. Roll each piece into 12" circle and brush on some melted butter. Cut into 16 wedges. Roll up each wedge (from wide part to narrow) and place on grased baking sheet. Let rise 1 hour.

Preheat oven to 400F.

Bake for 15-20 minutes, until delicately golden brown.

I'd suggest having room temperature butter ready immediately. She delivered some warm to us one Thanksgiving and they didn't last until dinner. It was sad, but delicious.

pine barrens finest chocolate chip cookies

Okay, there were originally called Connecticut's finest chocolate chip cookies, but I'm not from or in Connecticut so that would be lying. And no, I didn't steal this recipe.


1-1/4 cup flour
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup chunky peanut butter
1/4 lb. butter, room temperature
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla
1 egg
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350F.

Cream butter and peanut butter. Add sugars, vanilla, and egg. Beat in flour, baking soda, salt and lastly, the chocolate chips. Drop by tablespoons on baking sheet depending on the size cookie you want, leaving at least 1 inch between cookies. Bake on ungreased cookie sheets 8-10 minutes or until slightly brown at the edges. Cool on cookie sheet about 2 minutes before removing. This recipe easily doubles or triples, but you'd better be giving them away, or you should just call the paramedics right now. These cookies freeze very well also, but that information is likely as useless for you as it is for me.

chocolate decadence

In honor of Allan. I'm sure I've posted this somewhere else before, but I want to torture you people with it. It's incredibly easy, very pretty, and another one of those things you should probably keep insulin around for, just in case.

1 lb. semi-sweet chocolate - the very best you can afford
4 eggs, separated
5 oz. butter
1 Tbs. flour
1 Tbs. sugar
pinch salt

Preheat oven to 425F. Use an oven thermometer to be sure.

Melt chocolate and butter. Lightly beat egg yolks and stir into the slightly cooled chocolate. Add flour and mix well. Whip eggs whites and fold into chocolate. Pour into greased cake pan and bake 16 minutes EXACTLY. Cake will NOT look done when removed from oven. Cool in refrigerator until completely solid, then remove from pan.

Serve with unsweetened fresh whipped cream, and by god have coffee with this to cut the richness.

tiny pecan tarts

Do you have a pan for miniature tarts? No? Run out right now and get one. I'll wait.




Okay, I know it's the holiday season and we all should watch what we eat. But let's face it - I'm fat and you aren't exactly Twiggy there either, huh? So let's just lighten up a little and enjoy life while we can, and stick to our resolves come January, which by my book doesn't start until right about mid-February, then takes a break for my birthday. By March I've forgotten all about that nonsense.

Tiny Pecan Tarts

Crust:

1 3 oz. pkg. cream cheese
1/4 lb. butter
1 cup flour

Ingredients must be kept cold during this process. Cream butter and cheese, then add flour. Mix till smooth. Divide into 24 equal pieces and press into mini tart pan. Bottom and sides should be even and there should be no crust overlapping edges. If dough gets too soft, put it in the refrigerator for 15 minutes or so before proceeding. It is unnecessary to grease the tins. (Yeah, I guess so.)

Filling:

2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 tsp. vanilla
1 1/2 cup light brown sugar
2 Tbsp. melted butter
1/2 tsp. salt

1 lb. chopped pecans - you'll have plenty left over

Mix first five ingredients together well. Sprinkle a few chopped pecans in shells, then fill the tart crusts all the way to the top. Sprinkle a few pecans on top. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Carefully remove from the tart pan when cooled.

Finally, you should chain up any diabetics in the general vicinity and under no circumstances let anyone know that there are 24 of these in the house. They're bite-sized and therefore extremely dangerous. Well, enjoy!

nyah nyah

Lunch was good - a green salad and leftover pork chops with peppers and vinegar from a recent recipe in Cook's Illustrated magazine. Dunno how long ago we made them but they've been in the fridge waiting for us for almost a week, maybe longer. Here at druid labs we tend to roll the dice regarding food poisoning, though never when guests are involved. But criminy, these chops were better than when they were fresh out of the pan. Wow. Awesome.

Oh, and for all youse who are experiencing the thrall of winter wonderlands, it's almost 60 degrees here still, and sunny. I know I'm going to pay for thumbing my nose at y'all, but I can always keep my patootie warm in the hot tub.

whaaaa?

Okay, I'm confused. Winter has just begun, or so I'm told. We had a deep freeze the past couple of days. Ice on the deck, had to get the birdbath warmers out, etc.

Right not it's 60 degrees and sunny. Unbelievably beautiful in just about every way.

I'm not complaining, mind you. But I don't know whether to laugh, cry, or just go lie in the grass for a while.

a quick turn-around

Today with Aunt Grace I took a long ride west on Rt. 70 to pick up the neutralizing chemicals for our well water. Without the correction it's so acid it doesn't even register any pH when we test it. The real sign is when there are blue stains in the shower. Now we test it every month to avoid any more copper leaching, but I digress.

Aunt Grace doesn't get out much anymore, or more precisely, she cannot go out on a whim (and on the bus) like she used to. Her heart is functioning at only 10% but she manages to perform all the activities of daily living and have as robust a social life as one could have, considering how many family members and friends she's outlived. I thought she might enjoy the ride, and there's a pretty good diner on the traffic circle at 70 and 206. The plumbing supply store is just around the corner from the diner. I could probably get the chemicals closer, but it's a very pleasant drive and today was a magnificent day.

We had a lovely casual lunch and on the way back Aunt Grace asked if we could stop for some groceries. I call her when I'm going but usually she's well-stocked, and besides, she likes to pick out her own produce. She's only asked me outright once to take her grocery shopping, but the normal drill is that if we're out together for any other reason, a trip to the store is part of the itinerary.

It seems as though a few dozen monster dump trucks had just unloaded the entire Ocean County population of senior citizens at ShopRite in Manchester. I never had indigestion come on so fast in my life! Navigating up and down the aisled gave me a good visual representation of how clots form, or strokes begin. I didn't have much shopping to do, and I didn't have my list, and I was confused about what I'll need for Christmas Eve (I told Jill I'd make cookies); my Christmas dinner which is on Sunday, for just hobbitt and me and Aunt Grace and cousin J.; and New Year's Eve when I'll have several out-of-town guests. I got through pretty quickly and ran my groceries out to the car. Normally I can find Aunt Grace in a jiffy, but today the sheer number of short, white-haired ladies in beige coats was mind-boggling. I remembered she'd had on her sporty blue and green hat, but she's so short I couldn't even pick that out in the crowd. I did the perimeter of the store twice, glancing down each aisle and peering at the folks in the checkout aisles, to no avail. I was making my third trip to the foyer when I found her, panting but seated, near the exit door.

She was pretty shaky, had overdone it again. We sat there for ten minutes or so, and then I took her cart out and loaded her groceries into my car, and picked her up at the curb. She was leaning against a post, looking really beat. Luckily it wasn't too cold or too windy - that combo is pretty lethal for her.

When we reached her house I helped her in then unloaded the groceries. She needed to sit, but wouldn't as long as I was trying to put her stuff away, so we sat and talked for a while. I think she's just about ready for assisted living, and not because she can't take care of herself - it's more of a social thing. She cried and said she was struggling - and I had to ask her directly what she meant. "Socially" was her answer. She's been to Europe twelve times, has been on every almost every continent, and always had tickets to the Met in NY. She never drove but traveled extensively on the bus or train to wherever she needed to go, whenever she wanted. Even after moving into the village, she had the bus and her freedom. Now she doesn't have the legs, or the wind anymore. Many of her surviving friends have moved away, either to nursing homes or assisted living or to be closer to their children out-of-state.

She was supposed to go out yesterday on a village trip to visit a nearby town's holiday light display, but the wind/cold combo kept her inside. We had this date today and tomorrow she's going out with her nephew (her brother's son) and his wife. I believe she had an outing on Saturday too. This is all so much more excitement than I can handle, and it's hard for me to realize what loneliness is for her. I could never have kept up with her. Well, maybe 20 years ago.

Aunt Grace is no burden, but I'm going through my rebellious don't-want-responsibility stage again. When I got home, hobbitt informed me that my mother's only surviving sibling, Aunt Marie, called, stating she was disappointed that I hadn't called her since Thanksgiving, and that she'd call back this evening.

I'll be the first to admit I avoid her a little. There's an unhappy history there, and though it's minor it approaches the same territory as my feelings about my nephews. She has three grown children (children? They're all in the 50's and 60's) nearby and I have no reason to feel any obligation to her, though she is my godmother. My cousin J mentioned that she complained to him that I never called her, never invited her when I would have Aunt Grace (who has been a guest of my family at every family function since I can remember, which is at least 40 years). My first reaction upon hearing of her disappointment was to see red: her children didn't give my mother the time of day or ever went out of their way to stop in to visit. My family hasn't received an invitation from her or her family in at least 20 years. Of course I felt guilty and regretful and angry and annoyed and resentful.

I practiced some scenarios, and none of them were nice or kind or generous or compassionate. Mostly I didn't want to talk with her this evening, because I don't like to talk on the phone with anyone in the evening. The dog needed a ball game so I took her out back and stuck my cell phone in my pocket, feeling ugly and ratty and not knowing what to do, but not wanting to have my evening shaken by having to listen to her do her trip on me.

And for once in my life I remembered myself. I searched the place in me that doesn't have pride, that doesn't seek recompense, that can gratefully accept whatever is in front of me. I dialed her number while I threw the ball for Inti. When she answered, I started out immediately, "Oh Aunt Marie I'm so sorry I haven't called you since Thanksgiving! That was very negligent of me and I'm really sorry about it. How are you doing?" and she laughed and we talked for about an hour. I dragged out that mostly-sincere chirpy chatting voice and it was okay. It cost me nothing, and in fact it rid me of a boatload of angst. I don't care if it was the high road or not, but I turned my mood of dread around to one of satisfaction, and there's hardly a price tag for that.

flattery

My friend K.B. from Michigan was asked by her husband what she wanted for Christmas.

She said, "I'd like to spend a long weekend with BHD and hobbitt at druid labs."

He's looking for plane tickets. She'll be here in March.

And I am so incredibly flattered.

dude! you don't like your dell?

Yesterday hobbitt and I spent most of the day with my cousin J., who decided he'd get a new computer. We had spent a lot of time discussing it with him before he ordered it, so he got what he needed and not more than he could use. He went from Windows 98 to XP, and from AOL 6.0 to AOL 9.0. We made sure he got all his photos (and they are many) transferred from one machine to the other, and all his preferences and settings that we could transfer.

J. tried to be positive about it. He knows how to do what he does with his machine and nothing more. He knows the commands and icons but doesn't have a clue about what they really are or how it all works. Any change was going to be difficult, and we tried to make this as painless for him as possible.

He was pretty miserable. We are prepared to reinstall his old machine and buy his new one (what the hell - I think we have a room that doesn't already have a computer - though hobbitt's got 4 in his office now and frankly I think that's enough). I want to think that after we left, he was able to relax a little and start to poke around the new AOL screens. I know he signed on because I was on IM at the time. He immediately goes "away" now, as he hates hates HATES instant messaging, being a hunt-and-peck typist and probably a little ADD to boot.

Poor guy. It was hard for us to keep our enthusiasm down yesterday, because at druid labs we're all about the new gizmos and faster whatsits and bigger thingamabobs. Then again, we're easily amused.

cold

Okay, I admit it. It's cold out there right now. I took Inti out for a ball game when I got back from babysitting. It was a little after 5 p.m., but the sky was still light enough for her to find her ball as it bounced and thudded on the frozen so-called lawn. I should probably say it crunched the so-called lawn, because we never got to mow it before the cold weather set in. Luckily not many people drive down our street, and very few of them detour through our back yard anyway. So far.

My nostrils froze. My eyes teared. My fingers burned. I cannot for the life of me understand why that dog doesn't feel any of this.

But the sky was the most intense and delicate blue that I've ever seen. The faint stars will be singing in an hour or so, when the deep darkenss sets in. The moon was an icy wedge, and brighter than I can remember. That means it's dry here. We'll likely see record temperatures overnight. TWC predicts we'll get down to 11F tonight, but I'm betting we go a few lower than that. I'll be out there to check, too, on my way skidding across the icy deck fresh out of the hot tub. I can't miss a night like this.

sorrows

hobbitt and I put up our Christmas tree last night. We bought it our first Christmas together, 15 years ago. We've only missed a couple of holiday seasons, and even though it's been well-used, for a fake-o tree it's in pretty good shape. I have a collection of "sister" and "daughter" glass balls, and lots of handmade ornaments that Mom bought for us over the years, as well as her White House ornaments, which she ordered for each of us every Christmas. An old friend made woven-paper hearts; hobbitt came home once with a tiny ornament that says "Our First Christmas Together" and handed it to me like a shy little boy, which I'll never forget. We bought a fired-clay naked angel couple (who are also rather plump) at our favorite gallery in Akron; we have toy soldiers, musical instruments, long strings of colored beads, beautiful blown-glass witchballs, many hand-painted tiny cards from Lynn that were tags on gifts, but too beautiful to throw away. We have dozens of candles made during hobbitt's family's last Thanksgiving together, before his brother Kevin died. Everything on the tree is special and memorable. And we've never, ever had a topper. Usually we would hang an angel directly over the tree but in the foyer, the ceiling is just a tad too high for that. Maybe someday we'll figure out the perfect topper...

So it should have been a festive occasion, considering we were wearing holiday antlers and drinking champagne. But I was irritable most of the time and when we were finished and seated, still sipping champagne, I began to cry. I felt bereft, poor and empty. I miss my mother, not the way she had been in more recent years, but the way she was many years ago. She and Dad made Christmas so special for us every year with the many rituals our family shared. Wrapping greenery and red ribbon around the front light post. Dropping tinsel on the tree from the stairway was one of those things we children could do - and it seemed almost a wicked pleasure, to be messy. Unpacking the nativity pieces and setting them up on the mantle, and hanging the six stockings there before Dad would light a fire. Dad posing by the tree, usually with a goofy smile and his arm around the branches. One year, his new sweater caught a branch and as he walked away the entire tree followed him and fell. Dressing up for church after opening one gift each, and later, the treat of midnight mass and sleeping in the next day.

On Christmas Day, Aunt Agnes and Uncle Dennis would come, with Aunt Grace. As they arrived I was always anxious to kiss their icy cheeks and smell their perfumes before I hung up their coats. I remember warmth, and love, lots of laughter, wonderful smells of the filet mignon dinner (a treat that didn't come until I was a teenager, as poor as we had been), the clinking of ice in glasses, the myriad desserts, the big coffee percolator, and much lingering at the table.

It's not just Mom and Dad I miss. It's that whole notion, idea, memory, of family that no longer exists for me and probably never will again. It's the magic and feeling of security, the coming together of people who wanted to be in each other's company and didn't think of it as an obligation, but a festive occasion. There was so much anticipation entering the holiday season, and not just about presents. It was the whole package - the entire week of carolers and visitors and special foods and rare treats.

I don't know why I'm so attached to that image. I don't know why I can't open my heart and be unconditionally accepting of whatever is in front of me. I just know that I hurt deeply right now, yet it's not all a bad thing. For the past few years I didn't think I would ever feel much of anything again. So I guess this is good. I guess.

watching over me

So I'm heading east on 520, just off the Parkway and approaching Shrewsbury Avenue, in heavy traffic. For some ungodly reason I'm in the right lane. The last few times I made this trip I kept to the left, but today traffic is a little too wild and I know that it all goes down to one lane after Shrewsbury Avenue anyway. And another very strange thing is that I'm conscious of the speed limit and abiding by it.

About 200 feet shy of Shrewsbury Avenue, traffic is stopped in the left lane for someone turning. The car in the rear signals to come around to the right, and there's plenty of time, as no one is in front of me. Oh, wait, that green van that's flying past me (and I'm thinking he's going to rear-end the whole shebang ahead there on the left) and getting into my lane! Oops. The red Jeep is already there and *BANG* green van driver's side quarter panel strikes red Jeep's passenger door. Much glass flies. The van pulls over almost immediately but the Jeep limps on for another 100 feet or so, unsteadily, before pulling over.

Now I have an appointment in a half hour, and I'm at least 25 minutes away from Elaine's. What to do, what to do. Well, everyone else is cutting and running, but I just can't do that. I drive up ahead to that red Jeep, pull over behind it, put on my blinkers, and walk up to the driver's window.

A young (late 30's?) woman is shrieking and crying, but able to roll down her window. I reach in and put my hand on her shoulder, which is all I can reach, and press her back against the seat. "My name is Cathy. Are you all right?" She grabs my hand and crying, asks me to stay with her. The police have already arrived - the officer was traveling in the opposite direction at Shrewsbury Avenue when the collision occurred. "What's your name?" "Joy" she says but can barely speak, is hyperventilating. I keep my hand on her shoulder, tell her she's okay, ask her to breathe. I ask her if there's someone she wants me to call, but she just wants me to stay with her. She has to call her patients, she won't be able to see them now. I ask if she's a physician (I notice she's wearing scrubs) and she tells me she's a visiting nurse. She has to call her husband to come pick her up. Trouble is, she's not able to speak, so she hands the phone to me.

Now I'm not familiar with this area at all. I pass through it, but don't pay that much attention anyway. But ahead is Shrewsbury Avenue, and back there is the Parkway, so I was heading east, so I give him the coordinates. But the volume on her cell phone is jacked up so high his voice is making my eardrums rattle, and I'm not sure what he's saying, with the wind and traffic on the other side. "Can she bok?" he asks me again and again, as I ask him to repeat. I finally realize he's asking if she can talk, and she can, so I hand the phone back to her.

The cop asks me to pull off the road, which I do. Then I call Elaine to let her know I'm delayed, and I can't find my driver's license or wallet, and it's cold and I forgot to put my coat in the car (which I always do in winter in case the car breaks down) and I'm cold, but I finally find the cop and tell him my name, address and phone number and once more explain what (I think) I saw. Evidently it contradicts what the driver of the speeding green van stated. Oh well. Memory is a funny thing. What I remember most of all is thinking that the speeding green van was going to rear-end the string of cars waiting to turn left, so I'm fairly certain he was indeed on my left. Handsome black officer thanks me and tell me to drive carefully.

When I get back to my car, Joy is there taking her things out of the Jeep. She has syringes and medications, and the interior of the Jeep is a small disaster, and not only because of the accident. I ask her if she wants me to stay with her until her husband arrives, but she assures me she's better now (and is having a smoke, which is calming her, I can see), hugs me and thanks me for taking the time to give the cop a statement.

I am hoping this won't go to court.

aw, crap

For those of you who think of me as an enlightened and loving individual, don't read the next entry. I was venting big time and showing my bare and ugly shortcomings and disappointment. I guess families are supposed to be aggravating conundrums, and I guess I'm provoked by my own late holiday shopping fiasco.

But moving to Whidbey Island is looking better every freaking day.

screwged

We're sorry, due to an overwhelming response to our Holiday offer, we can no longer provide delivery by December 25 via Standard, Rush or Overnight shipping methods.

If you wish to place your order today for delayed delivery, we are offering a 20% merchandise discount. In-stock items will ship via Rush delivery at the cost of Standard Delivery the week of 12/27/04 for arrival between 12/31/04 and 1/7/05. Out of stock items will be sent via Standard Delivery as they become available.

Signals catalogue, gotta love 'em. Week and a half before the holiday and they're overwhelmed. Well, why not. I'm overwhelmed. Or maybe I'm underwhelmed.

I get to spend a rather chaotic and soulless holiday eve at my sister's house with her children. The same ones that I've been unflinchingly generous with - M. by selling him my 1995 Volvo for what the dealer would have given me; M. and M., who've just taken an apartment together, by offering them living room furniture which they accepted and then didn't have the decency to tell me they no longer wanted - as it sits waiting for them in our garage - and lied to their mother when she warned them to let me know; W. and O. - well, okay, they still get off their butts and kiss and hug me when I walk in the door, but after we get their computers set up I doubt I'll ever see them again.

Cold cuts, gift opening, go home. Whee. I can't wait to see their charming faces when they open my cash-infused card. I won't wait for a thank-you note from any of them, nor will I hold my breath. Yes, I no longer bother to make an effort to find them gifts, or even ask what they would like, since I've only once in 23 years received a thank-you note from any of them. This will likely be the last year I give them anything at all. Ever. They are not mentioned in our will, and unless somewhere along the line they bump their heads again and become reasonably sociable human beings, they never will be mentioned in there. And guess what? 'Tis the season for such kvetching as I'm doing - there's little likelihood that hobbitt and I can spend all our wealth before we die, so at the moment, I'm actually hoping they'll be a little pissed about it. I'd better get over that, huh? What's really bugging me at the moment? Eh, screw that. I'll just keep on this thread for a moment.

Who's in our will, and how do I get myself in it, you ask? Well - friends L., B., M., C. and S., and P. are mentioned. Our siblings. A few charitable organizations and our favorite internet radio station. Here's how you can get in it: love us, let us love you, remember us, be honest with us, show up, laugh with us, be true. It's simple. Of course it's no guarantee, but without those qualities you don't stand a chance.

Nobody taught those things to my sister's kids. But I learned them and yes, I do know how hard it is to live up to that as an adolescent and young adult. I never blew smoke up any relative's ass the way they do with me, and with their mother. I don't have time for that, nor do I wish to invite that into my house. Every holiday I struggle with it. What do I want? I want my family together and honest. What am I likely to get? One, sometimes, and never the other. Should I give up? Is it unreasonable for me to have expectations of them? Should they have to earn my love?

Truth is, I love them. But I sure as hell don't like them, or respect a few of the older ones, or trust them. That's sad. And there's no template within my family for how to proceed, feeling the way I do. I'd love some advice about it.

mesmerized

In Illinois, I liked to get to a forest preserve for a long peaceful walk, either in the woods or on the open prairies. Inti was always ready for that, as was Dale, and earlier in her life, Duffy. After the place at the end of our street was closed to pets, I had to drive in order to walk. My daytime driving was on open roads, highways mostly. To get to Danada or Fullersburg, Ogden Avenue or Butterfield Road - two lanes each way, in the flatlands.

Here, my daytime drives are usually on country roads, twisty, winding affairs with barely two lanes, and the woods close to the shoulder of the road. With the sun so low in the sky, there are long shadows from the bare trees thrown across the road, and across my moving car. The contrast and movement creates a blinking sensation, a mesmerizing effect. I find myself losing my eye focus, and entering a trance-like state. Not good when behind the wheel, I should think.

Remembering our lovely sojourns back at druid labs midwest, I am jonesing right now for such a walk. I'd like to get to Applegate and take a couple of laps on its 2-mile forest path, but it's hunting season. It's privately-owned land - held by the Land Trust of NJ, and hunting is allowed even though the area functions as a public park. (If I've deciphered the Fish and Wildlife web pages correctly, today isn't actually a hunt day, but yesterday was, for muzzle loaders. Do hunters pay attention to such things? Did I, in fact, read the dates correctly for each type of game and weapon?) So unless I want to drive 10 miles to the reservoir, I'd be taking chances out there.

Well, I guess it's going to be a mesmerizing drive and a walk at the reservoir. Not all bad, I suppose. It would be nice to have some company, someone interested in bird-watching, someone who'd want to share the sunshine and waterscape with me. Jill is a weanie and can't abide the cold (criminy, it's almost 40 degrees today with gentle breezes). Inti is pretty good company, but not much on conversation.

druid adrift in dell

On Thanksgiving Day, hobbitt lost his furry little mind and ordered three Dell PCs with 19-inch flat-panel monitors. (This act was immediately followed by a phone call from Discover Card's fraud bureau, of course.) One each for my nephews Will and Owen, and purchased by them via their inheritance, and one for hobbitt himself, including an extra backup drive, a surround-sound speaker system, and a multi-function printer/fax/copier/valet/auto detailer/bartender/lawn mower, or something like that. A few days later, on behalf of my cousin, he ordered a fourth.

They're all here. They arrived yesterday. In my foyer, which is a rather large space (16' by 21', approximately and don't ask me why, though with the stairway to the first landing taking up some of that real estate) are 14 immense boxes completely blocking off the entry to the living room. I had hoped to have the Christmas tree up sometime this weekend, but that seems unlikely since the foyer is where it goes. Maybe we can gift-wrap the Dell boxes, though they'd never actually fit under the tree now, would they?

My cousin's PC will be delivered to him on Sunday when we go out there to set it up and transfer his considerable collection of family photos from one hard drive to the other, so that will take care of three of the boxes. My sister is having central air installed in her house at the moment, with vents being cut in the ceilings of the boys' rooms. Every room in her house has been turned upside down to accommodate the tradesmen and she will not allow the two computers to be delivered to her (and set up, with the wireless network enabled by hobbitt) until after the dirty work is done.

At least hobbitt has taken his new toy upstairs. I don't particularly care if his office looks like a warehouse. Which give me an idea - perhaps the rest of the boxes can go up there! Well, not likely. His office isn't as large as the foyer in this house. Damn.

the money shot

Today I experienced something I'll likely never see again - the real-time ultrasound of a 4-and-a-half-month-old baby. I've seen pictures of such things, of course, but it's nothing like watching the eerie staticky white image of a moving fetus. It flinched, it moved its arms. I saw its spine, its kidneys, stomach, brain matter, eyes, 20 digits; all four chambers of its heart, beating at about 160 beats per minute; and then its tiny mouth began chewing, or sucking. At about 4 inches, it is a pretty good replica of a typical E.T., with its wide, blank eyes still at the edges of the skull.

Jill didn't want to know the sex of the baby but wanted me to know. The original plan was that I would be able to see, and I was sworn not to tell either her or her husband Brian. I can be trusted with secrets, and I hold many of them. Mostly I can be trusted because if I can't share a good story, I quickly lose interest and forget. But this wasn't something I would ever forget.

I kept telling Dylan that this was his sibling, but he (at 19 months) is hardly interested. When the doctor swooped in, he asked immediately if Jill wanted to know what she was having. Jill had changed her mind since we'd first discussed it, and said "YES!" The doctor positioned the wand so that we were looking at the creature's bottom. "Here is the anal area, these are the legs..." It was obvious to me what we weren't seeing there, and after a while, a little tweaking of the position of the wand - voila! labia. There's no mistaking labia. Those of us who have been lucky enough to gaze upon such beauty know this. Okay, anybody that gets porn spam has seen their share, but get the hell out of here. We're talking about my good friend's daughter-to-be.

So it probably wasn't a good idea to say, when Brian had finally arrived and had been suitably informed, "Yep. It's a girl and that's the money shot!"

the soughing wind

Some leaves hang late, some fall
before the first frost--so goes
the tale of winter branches and old bones.

William Carlos Williams

I heard it for the first time this season the evening before last. Soughing. There is no other word to describe the sound. Our first autumn here I knew the word for it, though for the life of me I can't remember learning it.

There are tall pitch pines on the northern end of the yard behind the solar panels. For forty feet or so they are empty of branches, their trunks straight and true. At the crown they have an open, branching habit. You can see the crowns here, in the upper left corner of the picture, about 150 feet behind the house. The place where they grow is one of my favorite spots on our land - in three seasons the sun warms the pine needles on the ground, and they release a dry, fragrant, intoxicating perfume. In that fourth season - now - they are musical instruments played by wintry winds.

The wind does not have to be high to play the trees. The past few days have brought breezes of 15 mph, and that is enough. It is neither a wailing nor a whooshing sound, just the mere suggestion of a low whisper. There is no discernible sibilance, but more of a deep, throaty frequency that enters my ears just below my awareness.

The best place to listen is from the hot tub. The best time to hear is twilight. As I soak my creaky bones and watch the stars emerge in the deepening sky, I enter a peaceful state of release. My grip on grief is loosened, sweet mournful memories waft by. The sound is not a lament, certainly, but a reminder, a stirring of chambers of my heart. It moves me, for now to dolor, yet not desolation.

We lost Dad in late September, during a glorious Indian summer, too soon, too soon. Mom left us well after first frost, in a bitter part of a particularly bitter winter. This is the next winter. It's finally here.

waxing table

I agonized over this table.



I had been looking for a harvest table (read, humongous table) to seat the hordes that tend to want to feed here during family events. Having been raised with mahogany, I wanted rustic. As in, gravy-spills-are-okay rustic. As in, I-don't-want-to-freak-out-like-my-mother-did-during-holiday-dinners rustic. At druid labs, we like furniture that will hold up to water marks and feet. The one and only criteria we insist upon for a coffee table, for instance, is that it must invite the feet, shod or not. Decorum? Hardly knew him.

Our furniture runs toward Mission style or Arts and Crafts, not that we have a style or anything. It's just what we like, and what we can't really afford. This Basque dining table from Crate and Barrel looked like just the ticket. I didn't like the price, though. And there isn't a Crate and Barrel within 70 miles of here. Since I couldn't picture me at the Short Hills Mall and I wasn't going to buy a table I never saw, I just put it out of my head.

Then I went to Illinois to visit my girlfriends. Lynn is always ready to spend my money, so she dragged me to Oak Brook Center (perhaps a notch beneath Short Hills, since Jackie O never, at least to my knowledge, shopped there) where I could see the table. Only they didn't have the big one, but just the small one. So off we went to the scratch'n'dent outlet center, where indeed they had a large table at half the price!

Cool! Except that one leg was about five inches shorter than the others, and the top was warped beyond usefulness. In any case, I approved of the table, and having searched for harvest tables elsewhere, I realized the price was very reasonable indeed. Tropical hardwood and all. Mango, I think. I ordered one. It got delivered July of last year, I think, and has been used for painting projects, tapestry-hanging projects, and meals.

Well, it was time for a wax job. The top is suitably wavy and irregular. If you've seen the Thanksgiving pictures you've seen the underside of the table. Well, this is a monster. It's a little bigger than an entire sheet of plywood. I believe I went through half a can of paste wax this afternoon. Now hobbitt wants to play air hockey on top.

And you know what? That's fine. If you can't have fun with it or on it, I don't want it.

copy chatte

Because I do everything that Alison does.

1) Name the last 4 things you bought:
1. electric candles for the windows.
2. Tanqueray gin.
3. garlic stuffed olives for my martini
4. Jumbo Blo-Pops, grape and cherry

2) name four drinks you regularly drink :
1. fizzy water
2. coffee
3. dry gin martinis
4. apple cider

3) last time you cried? A few days ago when I broke some of Mom's china.

4) what’s in your cd player? Soul Coughing, William Ackerman, Sonia Dada.

5) what’s under your bed? Erasers from my bed-time crossword pencils and perhaps a few empty bottles of fizzy water.

6) what time did you wake up today? 8:15. Why? Is there a train to catch?

7) current hair? Long virgin dishwater blond with white streaks - it's all the rage!

8) current clothes? Eddie Bauer knit shirts that my sister gave me, denims, dead New Balance walking shoes, gym socks. The usual.

9) current desktop picture? Me and Mike, AKA convention, Jacksonville, FL. 199? At the Fly-Mart. I think we were stoned.

10) current worry? Putting away Mom's china.

11) current hate? The suffering of friends.

12) favorite places to be? Rye Cheer. (right here, get it?)

13) least favorite place? Any shopping mall. Name one.

14) if you could play an instrument? The violin I've had for 17 years. Or the piano I know how to play, and own, but don't sit down to.

15) favorite color(s)? Purple and green. Together.

16) how tall are you? 5'8". One of the shorter ones in my family.

17) favorite expression? "I have infinite faith in your ability to cope."

18) one person from your past you wish you could talk to: Daddy.

19) favorite day(s)? Today.

20) where would you like to go? On a solo wilderness retreat. Say, a cabin somewhere in the Brooks Range. For a few months. I could so give up my broadband connection!

21) where do you want to live when you get married? Uh, with my husband?

22) favorite food? Roasted red peppers and sourdough pretzels.

23) color of most clothes you own: Solid earth tones or denim.

24) number of pillows you sleep with? Two, but one's just to keep from banging my head on the headboard.

25) what do you wear when you go to sleep: My birthday suit. I cannot wear clothing in bed. Remember this when I'm your houseguest. I do, however, keep a sleep shirt nearby while traveling in case of late-night bathroom trips.

26) what were you doing 12am last night: A cryptic crossword puzzle from Games Magazine.

27) how old will you be in 10 years: 57. This is also the year I was born.

28) what do you think you’ll be doing in 10 years: Gazing at the Pacific Ocean from my retirement house on the Washington coast, and holding hands with my hobbitt.

29) do you have braces? Not now, not ever. Unless we're talking about suspenders. Then I'd have to say yes, and they're blue, and they work like magic.

30) are you paranoid?! Probably. Why? Shouldn't I be? What do you know that I don't?

31) do you burn or tan? Oh, I sure do! And thanks for asking. I get a savage semi-golden tan by the end of the summer. Only another natural blond would notice.

32) what is the brand of your wallet? Eagle Creek. It's also my purse. It carries any money I might have, an emery board, a comb, and my Un-Petroleum lip gunk. And my passport. And my American Express Card. I don't need anything else that I know of.

33) first piercing/tattoo? Piercings - ears only. Mom took me and my sister when we were teenagers, and she got her ears pierce then, too. I have five or six tattoos for the alignment lasers for radiation treatment, but they're nothing more than small blue dots. Do they count?

34) first enemy? It depended on what neighborhood boy called me Joe Namath that day. Was it my fault that I had broad shoulders and a dead accurate spiral pass?

35) last person you yelled at? Other than while driving, probably my mother. A deep regret.

36) last crush? hobbitt. No doubt about it.

37) last thing you ate? A jumbo Blo-Pop. Grape. My mouth is still blue.

38) the last time you had sex it was? What, like in a bed? Or does on the floor of the foyer count? How about in the garage? Back of my Volvo? Please be more specific.

relief

I'm not deluding myself to think that anyone is riveted to this blog, but I just wanted to pass along that everything went well today, for the most part. I had polyps and this was not a surprise. I'm not particularly worried about what the biopsies will tell. Or maybe that's just the drugs talking.

I was very relaxed today for this procedure. In fact, I was in a trance-like pre-sleep while lying on the gurney waiting - and I had no chemical assistance for that. My blood pressure was 110 over 65. Perhaps I was weak with hunger or wrung out from the stress of the purge. I don't know. But I was comfortable and unafraid, and near sleep. Then they gave me the drugs, and I really did lose some time.

However, I woke before they were finished with me. For perhaps the last three minutes of the scoping, I was in intense pain, calling out, crying I think, and begging them to stop. Imagine the entire length of your colon taut with gas, with no way to force it out, because it is, in fact, being forced in. Nice, huh?

The beauty of the drugs is that as soon as it was over - as soon as they stopped pumping me with gas - I pretty much forgot how painful it was. At one point in recovery, my blood pressure was 85 over 28. Correct me if I'm wrong but I don't think that's a good thing. Then they readjusted the cuff and got a reading of 90 over 68.

Tomorrow I start on blood pressure medication. Maybe the trick is to just take a Fleet every day. I think it might be cheaper than the meds, which are going to cost me about a dollar a day.

Well, this ends my detailing for the year. I suppose the gastroenterologist will want to repeat this extravaganza in a year or so. I'll insist on better drugs. Otherwise, I'm just back to my regular maintenance schedule for this old body.

And tomorrow I'm going to celebrate that with an icy Tanqueray martini with garlic stuffed olives. Or two. Care to join me?

anniversaries

Ten years ago today, a day which will live in infamy, I had my first of 12 chemotherapy sessions. I was scared, a little. I refused to listen to the chemo nurses when they talked about what side-effects to expect, because I had no intention of expecting side-effects. I knew my particular cocktail wasn't terribly aggressive (I was to be given cytoxan, methotrexate and 5FU, or IV CMF therapy), yet everyone reacts differently, and some people die. Oh, yes. One of the possible side-effects of some of these drugs is "sudden death" which isn't a euphemism for anything.

How does one celebrate such things? Should one even try?

Well, that was a long time ago. I suppose it's fitting and just that I celebrate today by taking the purge for my colonoscopy tomorrow. Because here at druid labs, we're all about the celebration. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to hurry off the the loo.

stuff not to do

I believe I've established that I never wanted my mother's china.

But I also didn't want to break it. And while putting it in those cabinets, as I was pushing tacks into the shelf to hold the plates, the pins holding the shelf let go, and it fell, as did the shelf below.

That's two dinner plates in little itty-bitty pieces, and one badly chipped and cracked. Three gone, out of eight. Oh, and one of great-Grandma's Bavarian serving platters.

So it was off to Replacements.com, to the tune of $14.99 per plate for these. Plus shipping.

For dishes I never wanted in the first place.

uh oh

Now I've gone and done it.

I've aged.

And I wasn't as careful as I should have been. I've lived long enough to need blood pressure medication. This is a good thing, I suppose, since ten years ago I didn't think I'd even be here now.

Still. I've beat me up enough to need this. In two years, two months and 20 days I'll have completed 50 years on the planet. Will I have been able to deflect the diabetes that is creeping up on me? How will my joints feel, my feet after a long walk, my back after a sink load of dishes?

Damn. I suppose I have to admit, stupidly, that I'm not in fact immortal. And then live like I actually believe it.

I will celebrate the season

My dear friend Triskele has never passed on a recipe or made a meal for me that didn't snap my head back with pleasure. Remind me to beg her to post her recipe for Cheese Scones sometime.

Anyway, she is going to torture her co-workers with this treat of egg nog pie with pecans.

For me, this isn't just about pie. It's about celebrating the season. My friend's recipe is inspiring me to celebrate it, bigtime. I didn't get to do that last year, or even the year before that. I sure wish I was near my Excellent Friends back in Illinois, but I'll just have to find a way to make it work in New Joy Sea.

poor timing

I braved the after-church crowd at the local ShopRite today to lay in supplies, to the tune of $186.41. This included a couple of doses of Fleet Phospho-Soda and a couple of Fleet enemas, since I'll be having a colonoscopy on Wednesday. (This is just part of my detailing, and I'm not worried about it. I'm on the three-year plan because of polyps in the past.)

Right now there's a huge pot of black bean soup on the stove, from a recipe out of Cook's Illustrated magazine. This is for tomorrow, as this evening I have to make a pizza or toss the dough I made the other night. Tonight's pizza will be gorgonzola/walnuts/pineapple. If you haven't tried this, you truly do not know what you're missing. Oh, should I post the recipe?

Tomorrow, if I have time, I'll be making some jalapeno cheddar corn bread from the same magazine, to see if it's better than my recipe. That will be lunch, if I can plan my time properly, with the black bean soup and a salad. I got some endive and radicchio. And red leaf lettuce. And romaine. And spinach.

Also from this magazine, I've planned to make a glazed winter vegetable plate, and chicken teriyaki, and pork chops with vinegar peppers. Not for the same meal, of course. Which brings me to the point of this post: I can't eat on Tuesday. I don't know if I'll be up to eating lunch on Wednesday. I'll be babysitting Wednesday evening if everything goes okay with me.

I knew, when I was fighting my way through the throngs of witless shoppers today, that this is an abbreviated week as far as food goes. I know that all day Tuesday I'll be thinking of glazed winter vegetables, pork chops with vinegar peppers, corn bread, and molasses cookies. Perhaps I should have saved my floor-scrubbing for Tuesday.

What was I thinking?

stuff to do

I suppose today would be a good day to put away Mom's china.

I never wanted china. I never wanted dishes that couldn't be used every day, or that needed their own piece of furniture to be stored in. For the record, several Christmases ago, my present from Mom was a ton of Crate and Barrel cafe ware - heavy, substantial dishes, plain white, on sale. Dinner plates were $2.50 and the salad plates were $1.25. I got twelve of each. They go nicely with the white chili bowls and the white pasta bowls that we already had. And that was the first time in my adult life I had a matching set of dishes. My flatware was also a gift from Mom & Dad after my first wedding, a lovely Oneida stainless, simple brushed pattern. Perfect for me. After 23 years I've only lost a couple of teaspoons (but there were 24 of them to begin with) and a few salad forks. (I found one beneath the deck when we were repairing it prior to putting our house on the market.)

Anyway the white plates set a nice table, and with the colorful and mismatched collection of napkins I have, I can set a fun table. It's us, and it's not fussy. Though they're not easily replaced (they were on sale because they were being discontinued) they're also not easily broken. Perfect.

No one wanted Mom's china. It's an apple blossom pattern. Pink flowers. Nice, not too overly fussy, with many covered serving dishes. Place settings for 8, and a fancy set of stainless flatware to boot. There are some dishes from my great-grandmother that blend in nicely, and at least one piece that I found at a flea market that either blended or matched, I don't remember.

But the point is that no one wanted it. Nancy just downsized to a much smaller home and can't possibly store it - she doesn't even have a dining room. This stuff isn't even vaguely Terry's style, and John's wife has her own grandmother's set, or something like that. None of us could stomach the idea that one of the grandchildren would take it - none of us had any faith it would be cared for. So it came down to this: who's going to be hosting Thanksgiving? Who's got the most room? Who's got the dining room?

Well, that would be me, the one who never wanted to have china in the first place. When I packed it up this summer, I packed it as if it were being loaded on a truck for a long haul. It sat in the back room here until the day after Thanksgiving, which was when we were gathering for dinner. Nancy unpacked it for me.

Now, I never wanted china and I don't have a china closet. I could just stack all this stuff up in my pantry, but I wouldn't feel quite safe about it being around cans and jars and suchlike. I finally decided to use furniture that I already own - these book cases that I bought from my Aunt Helen's (Mom's older sister) estate. They were originally custom-built room dividers (delineating her dining room from her living room) in her bungalow-style home in Hillside, NJ. They were built out from the walls and had columns on top up to the ceiling. The columns are long gone, but not the hole in the top that tells the tale. They have the original wavy glass - all individual panes - and are made of chestnut. I emptied this furniture of all the detritus - kite books, feathers, candles, stones and whatnot, and moved them into the dining room. Of course, in preparing for Thanksgiving dinner, I put all the detritus right back in them, since I didn't have any other place at the moment.

We had a 16 foot table and 16 people to feed. My white dishes didn't detract from the lovely and formal (well, except for those colorful and mismatched napkins) appearance of our table. Mom's china brought a bit of comfort to us, I think. I can say without guilt or remorse that this year was one of the finest holidays in a long, long time. Mom was always tense, or upset about the way the little children were behaving, and lately she'd been disoriented, and last year we all knew she was dying. Without her physical presence there was more laughter, no tension, and I was able to just relax and cook and serve and not have to tend to Mom. She was with us, for sure, but in a gentle way.

Well, now Mom's china, the china that I never wanted, is sitting on my dining room table waiting for me to put it away. I also need to put away Grandma's beautiful glassware - several lovely etched glass cordial glasses, which I also didn't want. This is what I should be doing now, instead of writing about it and having a bit of a cry.

distinctions: for hobbitt

Let us not presume that just because I'm taking a master gardeners class that I will actually have a garden around here. We'll just have to see.

2 trimmed hearts of celery do not equal the 2 heads of celery I needed. This is important in soup-making as well as in preparing turkey dressing that must feed 17 people.

Yams in net bags are not easily examined. They were pretty shriveled up when I got to them. They were fine, of course, since such things have a long shelf life. But I wouldn't have wanted my guests to see them before they were boiled, peeled, sliced and sugared.

Yes, I want the kitchen and family room neat, and no, I don't feel like spending the effort to make them so. I can live with the conflict.

The only reason your sink in our bathroom is pristine (other than the fact that I clean it) is because I actually brush my teeth on a daily basis. And no, that's not all my hair on the floor. Most of it, probably. Okay, 90% of it. But not all.

Those crumpled up clothes on the floor are indeed mine. No question about that. After two weeks you can assume they need laundering. Be a lamb and put them away after you fold them up for me, will you?

I do not answer to those two envelopes of milkweed seeds by the back door. I'll plant them when I damn well feel like it. They'll last another year. I'm sure of it. But don't move them or I'll never find them again.

After only 2 weeks of my sweetly reminding you to turn off the pantry light, you learned.

Thank you for installing the timer on the switch, because I didn't actually learn. Now, the insipid and rather loud bleeping of the 30-second warning before the light is automagically turned off, will train me to not turn it on in the first place. Already I'm imagining a flashlight hanging on the inside of the door. Precisely what kind of conditioning this is, I do not know.

Just because a book has the word strange in the title doesn't necessarily mean it came off my Amazon wish-list. Nice try, though.

I thank the heavens every day that you love the food that I put on the table and don't mind the customary mid-week scrounging we have to do to put a meal together; that you never nag me about returning Mom's EZPass, which I should have done the very moment we got our own account; that you never complain about having to pick up the six empty seltzer bottles on the floor by my side of the bed every trash night; that you finish the laundry I start and then abandon for three days; that you have such high standards for your behavior but don't place any expectations on me. Thank you for loving that I'll vacuum the pool twice a day all summer but let the kitchen floor get crunchy. Thanks for keeping me.

what the?

Now, I don't want to get all stats-geeky like Alison or anything, but I'm getting confused about those of you who are visiting this blog.

Carrot-ginger soup and Stilton-celery soup are pretty popular. Dozens of you, from all over the world (Ireland, Malaysia, Sweden) have been googling that up. Surprise! You get me. Now you'll get this entry too.

You there, in South Africa. You wanted to know something about night lights that were also alarm clocks. Sorry about that.

Apologies also to you science teachers out there who've been looking for information on water boatmen. I don't have any information. Just a dream, and a tenant. And it's gone now.

What? No one wants the cookies? Sheesh. You guys are hard to please.

windy windy windy

Okay, so I called the broker and asked to back out of the annuity. I feel better. I doubt he does. I've worked with him for years, but I still cannot fathom how he'd come to the conclusion that it was the right vehicle for my goals with my inheritance. Oh well. He'll get over it. He'll be moving into that new house in Tallymawr in a month and won't miss whatever commission he won't be getting from that annuity. He's a big boy.

In other news, it rained here today. Well, rain isn't actually an apt description of the torrents of water that were propelled towards the earth this morning.

I wasn't home for it, since today is my babysitting day. At Dylan's house there is a sunroom, built for the exclusive use of the family's 13 large exotic birds. It's a spacious room with skylights, and a metal roof. It was hard to discern whether the din I was hearing was from the water hitting the roof or the birds freaking about about the same thing. The Amazons were trembling, and it seemed for a moment that the Blue Macaw would turn himself inside out. Dylan was fascinated by the commotion, but sat quietly for a while before he turned to me and smiled. Funny that he's scared of baby dolls and his talking dump truck, but the violent forces of nature amuse him. Well, we're a lot alike in that regard, I guess.

Then the winds came.

So the ground was spongy and the rain still came down. hobbitt was working at his desk, which faces the front of our property, when a tree lost its grip on the earth near the southern edge of our so-called lawn. It fell toward the telephone pole that adorns our front yard (above-ground utilities....grrrr....), bounced off the power lines and tore the cable line from its moorings on the house. Since the cable was intact, we didn't lose service, but the line drooped near the edge of the driveway for a couple of hours before the cable guys came to fix it. Meanwhile, there's a somewhat mature tree desperately crawling its way out of the woods and across our lawn.

When I was home briefly at lunchtime, we surveyed the detritus. Perhaps a bit more than our chainsaw can handle, but I think with the come-along we can drag that bad boy 150 feet to the south and begin to obstruct the footpath at the edge of our property that on some days is a ring-ding highway. I don't know where the kids come from but I'm just old enough and just grouchy enough to not want to hear their dirt bikes all day long. (I've had that tool for more than twenty years, but have only used it once, to fence in my 3/4 acre backyard in 1981. It worked great for stretching the horse fencing between the posts I'd sunk. I needed the come-along because the then husband couldn't be counted on to actually perform manual labor.)

Anyway, it was still quite windy, and we hurried away from the trees lest someone drop a house on us, too.