Plumbing Adventures

Bill and I spent all day yesterday futzing with plumbing issues at one of Ray's rental houses. Bill (the expert) knew that it was going to be a day of frustration; I, ever the optimist, thought we could bully our way through it and things would work out all right in just a couple of hours.

Nine-plus hours later, the tenant had a new bathtub faucet and control, but it entailed much pounding, sweating, sawing, trips to the hardware store, tweaking, sighing and yes, a little swearing. But it's done. Why is it that plumbing repairs are always eleventy-billion times more complicated than you think they are going to be? You can't just take something new out of the box, unscrew the old one, screw on the new one? I think it's because you're always following someone else's mistakes or lazy adaptations, trying to fix things that should have been done differently to begin with. Short of replacing the whole bathtub, we did what was necessary, hacksaw in hand, and were able to walk away with just a day's frustration behind us and some small measure of satisfaction.

There is probably a lesson in here somewhere, but I'm too tired from actually working all day to figure it out for sure. Perseverance? Adaptation to adversity? Smugness that we didn't have to call a plumber at $150 an hour? I'll keep you posted if anything else comes to mind.

Rebellious Knitting

MaryAnn reminded me yesterday that I need to stop being such a contrarian and follow the pre-class instructions for the knitting class that starts a week from today.

Somehow, I was under the impression that this was a knitting "group," as in we all get together and knit our individual projects, the beginners getting expert advice from the more advanced members. But that is the result of having skimmed rapidly (as usual, missing the cogent information), the announcement of the class. It really is a class, taught through the UT Extension. We are supposed to show up with two sets of #9 needles, a skein of cotton (for knitting a dishcloth), and a skein of worsted weight (for a scarf).

I have never knitted with anything smaller than a #10.5 (I am all about the instant gratification, so I use BIG needles that make things move along much, much faster). I don't use dishcloths (unsanitary), I'm getting pretty comfortable with the scarf thing (I want to knit a beret), and from somewhere in the depths of my whiny-child brain rises a protestation of "do I have to?"

Yes, Pam--you do. So stop with the kvetching already, and get your sorry butt over to Walmart for a hunk of "Peaches & Cream" yarn and some baby needles.

I am so immature.

We saw Rock City!

Our quick little trip to Chattanooga was proclaimed successful by all participants. Bill got his TWIC card, which was the first reason for going (the receptionist handed him the oh-so-important-new-photo I.D. and asked, "Is this you?" I guess it's not a very good credential if the issuers have to ask).

We then navigated to our motel room for a quick stop and then went off to Lookout Mountain to see the local sights.

The first was a tour of Rock City, amazing cultivated and indigenous gardens winding through natural giant boulders on top of the mountain. The walk of about 90 minutes was strange and wonderful, and included the promised breathtaking views and cool caverns, mixed natural wonders with man-made tackiness of gnomes and colored lighting. Echo was a trouper, even on all the scary steps and tight squeezes through the rock fissures.






We did not take her across the swinging rope-and-wood bridge however!








At the summit, the promise of "See 7 States!" was fulfilled, even though the sky was overcast.





And there were spectacular waterfalls and the obligatory balanced rocks too:

After our nature hike, we went to Point Park and viewed the 30-minute animated diorama of the Battles of Chattanooga, where the Civil War siege and battles of the area were explained.

We wound our way back down into the city, and took a swim in the hotel pool to cool off. Observation: this is the first time I've been swimming in the new body. I am frighteningly buoyant! It makes it a little awkward to gain any forward motion, because my chest keeps rising from the depths, bobbling along, ever topside! I may have to attach weights in the underarms of my suit, some sort of anti-waterwings! Weird.

Dinner and reading and sleeping. In the morning, we cruised the new downtown areas, but it was raining and not conducive to foot-exploration (also the spectre of driving home in a car with a wet dog restrained us). We had an easy drive back to Hawkins County.

After unpacking the car and going through the mail, we saw this headline in the new American Maritime Officers newsletter:

TWIC Deadline Extended to April 15, 2009

Sheesh.

Ch-Ch-Chattanooga

We're off on another Chattanooga adventure today, this time to pick up the stupid-ass TWIC card for Bill. They can mail a Driver's License, they can mail a Passport, but this puppy has to be applied for and picked up in person, necessitating TWO round trips of almost 500 miles each.

This time we're going to stay overnight, so we can maybe see some of the sights and get the full tourist experience before trekking home again. On the agenda: Chickamauga Battlefield, Lookout Mountain and the very famous Rock City (as in "See Rock City!" painted on barn roofs all across America in the 1930s). All are dog-friendly, as is our lodging for the night.

So, we're off to see the Department of Homeland Security wizard. Wish us luck...

Memorial Day

It is humbling to remember that whatever freedoms we enjoy here were purchased with the lives of American soldiers all around the globe.

There are times when I am dismayed by the things my country's politicians do, but I am almost always proud of my country's soldiers. Their sacrifice awes me, and today is a good time to remember what so many gave up, in order for us to have the easy civilian lives we have.

They are ordinary people called upon to do extraordinary tasks, and they get little credit for their efforts or their devotion.

Thank a soldier the next time you see one in uniform. Thank a veteran for his or her service. It's the very least we can do.

Gardening Joys

It's going to be a beautiful day out there in the TN sunshine.

My little garden is coming along beautifully, as I finally found two Brandywine tomatoes at Lowes last week. The raised bed is now officially "full," with no more room for plants. (Well, if something really grabbed me, I suppose I could find a place to tuck it in, but just one)! One benefit of the bed is that it actually encourages me to weed. Because it is so compact, it is easy to pluck out the offenders who spoil the symmetry of the whole.

Bill has always been dismayed by my lack of enthusiasm about weeding. When we had a huge family garden each summer in New York, my philosophy was to plant everything (a monster task in itself) and let nature battle it out unassisted--the strongest would survive. In any case, I wasn't about to stand out there in the heat and bugs and pull weeds all day, everyday. This is how our yard became an overgrown mess. Going out to pick produce was a scavenger hunt of epic proportions, and occasionally, I came face to face with a woodchuck (or groundhog, as they call them here) who was also there to harvest the vegetables, and scaring the bejabbers out of me. We got plenty for the family table and canning pot each year (though probably not as much as we would have, if the plants weren't competing with the weeds), but I didn't worry about it. The stress-free garden. At least I didn't have to weed. And I felt completely guiltless about it too.

Maybe I'm getting older and more persnickety, maybe more orderly and responsible, but now I just weed my little patch without complaint or drama. I hum while I'm out there, and dream about fried okra and BLTs for breakfast. My own sweet pickle relish lined up in the pantry in sparkly glass bottles. Kosher dills with fat cloves of garlic in the bottom of the jars. Ziplocks of baby beans and peas, stacked up in my freezer.

Harvest time will probably bring much complaining and sweating and bug-bite slapping, but for now, tending my garden patch just gives me unadulterated joy at basking in the sunshine and contemplating the promise of produce to come.

Off to the showers...

Hooray! I can shower today! I suppose I could just strip down and step outside, it's raining today. With my luck, I'd get all soapy and the sun would come out! So off to the boring old bathtub instead.

Yesterday's doctor visit brought no new surprises. I'm healing well (itch, itch), everything looks "good," and I am to return in 2 weeks. When I got home I realized that the appointment they gave me conflicts with the first meeting of the new Rogersville Knitting Club that I have been awaiting with anticipation. So, I'll change the appointment, because I'm not going to miss that gala affair!

I know, I'm weird. Bill and I went to town last night for the Car Show/BBQ/Bluegrass Music. It was mildly pleasant, but the best part was that I got to sit in my lawn chair listening to the bands and knit away contentedly on my almost-finished pastel basketweave scarf. I figure I have about 20 more rows to go on that puppy, and then I can start a new project with my fancy-dancy bamboo needles. I find I am becoming increasingly annoyed with the scrape-and-clink of the aluminum needles, and even though I am a beginner, the needles already have nicks and scratches in them, which catch on the yarn, making annoying little "pills" that have to be picked off. I don't know whether this is a result of the needles or the yarn I chose, or a combination of the two. This is why I need a club of knitters! People to tell me what the heck is going on. Also, someone who can decipher pattern instructions that so far look like gibberish to me. Nothing like jumping into a new hobby with absolutely no clue as to what I am doing!

Daughter Juli emailed to tell me she is completely thrilled with her new Cutco knives. She was so taken with the Super Shears, she confiscated them and decreed that no one but her was to touch them on pain of instant banishment! Maybe she's just worried about the boys and sharp objects? There are now 4 of them living in the two-bedroom apartment, Kerne's brother Beorn staying with them and occupying the giant beanbag chair for his "bed." Juli says she likes having Beorn around, because he is a compulsive housekeeper. She leaves a dirty house and comes home to a clean one. Wow. I need a Beorn for my abode! (Don't we all)?

But for today, the only goal is to get clean myself. So I will go do that...

Unveiling Today...and GOOD news from a friend

I'm off to Kingsport this morning for a dressing change and an initial viewing of the new nips. This should be interesting, in a disinterested, distracted way, of course. I'm still having a hard time associating all of this with me.

Bill says that he is concerned about my apathetic attitude toward all these cosmetic improvements. He can't understand why I'm not the least bit excited about what he sees as one more step toward normalcy. I come from another perspective, I think. From inside here, nothing about this is normal, no matter how many visual improvements are piled on. I can understand that he really wants to move on, get away from the events and fears of last year, and get on with the adjustment to what it will be like from now on. I am skeptical, even cynical. Part of me agrees with the notion that scars will eventually fade, and terror-memory will be replaced and supplanted each year that I get further away from it. But right now, I am still too freshly horrified by what was done to me, what was necessary, and what was sacrificed.

For me, it's like dressing up a badger and putting it in a baby buggy (not that anyone would ever do such a thing)! You can put the evil creature in a frilly dress and wheel it around the neighborhood, but it's still a badger, and it will bite you if you give it a chance. I need more time. And a better analogy, probably.

Last night brought truly great news from friend Rob, who is at the National Cancer Institute in Bethesda. His scans yesterday confirmed that the two Interleukin-2 treatments he suffered through over the past two months are working--his tumors are shrinking--and even more importantly, his brain MRI was clear. Big sigh of relief all around. Thank you for your good wishes and fervent prayers for him and his family. He also met a patient there who has had Stage IV malignant melanoma for 21 years, and is still going strong. It gave him hope that he might well have many more years in his future. That is my wish too.

This insidious disease. I just shake my head at the capricious nature of the beast, and the rapacious appetite it seems to have. I just wish someone, somewhere, was working on causality and prevention with the same diligence currently applied to treatment.

Pain Amnesia

I am surprised this morning by my post-op discomfort. While mild compared to my previous surgeries, it is curious to me that I apparently forgot that all of this hurts afterwards.

I guess I figured I was such an "old hand" at this surgery thing (and who really wants that experience on their resume?), it would be no big deal to do another. I really have moved on, and the memory of all those months struggling to get out of bed, twinging with movements that involve pectoral muscles, and general constant ouchiness somehow got put in the "delete" pile in my brain.

It's back. I have to be fragile and slow again. Drugs instead of wine with dinner. Sigh.

Daughter Juli came up with a great word for my mental state as well: Dysmorphia, the disconnect between body image and body reality. While Dr. Huddleston was cutting and stitching yesterday, I asked him about it. He says that in his profession of plastic surgery, dysmorphia is an actual pathological condition, where patients continually undergo surgery after surgery because they are never satisfied with the results.

But this morning with my now-remembered pains, I don't think I'll be going down that particular road to imagined perfection. As my friend Melanie says, "no surgery is minor, it all hurts." Codeine for breakfast, Amen.

Home and Itchin' in my Stitchin'

Well, that was weird, being awake for a surgical procedure!

It wasn't bad, even with the registering, undressing, being wheeled around, sitting around, scooting on to the op table, lying still for a half-hour, then scooting back onto the gurney and doing the whole routine in reverse.

At one point, the local anesthetic wore off and I had to tell the surgeon I could feel him cutting and suturing. He explained that I would feel "pressure, but not..."

"No," I replied, "I know the difference and I really do feel your scapel cutting!" Quickly, he shot me up again and continued his job. The whole surgery only took about 35 minutes.

Afterwards, Bill and I went to Lowes and got plumbing supplies and I mooned over new refrigerators. I secretly keep hoping that the awful side-by-side monstrosity that came with the house will just die. It did, about a month after we moved in, but my marvelous fix-it husband repaired it with a used $15 part. Dang!

We came home, had lunch and took a walk. Then I came back up to the house and took a nap. Not a bad day. The chest itchies are a very familiar feeling at this point and will abate soon. I know this routine.

Back to the Land of Surgery

Tomorrow, it's back into the clutches of continuing medical procedures.

I've had a quite wonderful time these past few weeks ignoring my reality, but it's time to deliver myself into the maw of medicine again tomorrow, 9 am.

The subject is cosmetic surgery--again--and I have to just get on the post-cancer treatment bus and stop my whining. Whatever. There will probably be no time to blog tomorrow, just so you know. I'll be back online as soon as I figure out how I feel about this...again!

Moving Trees and other Rural Pursuits

While I putter along in my day-to-day relaxed routines, Bill has hit the "energetic" part of his vacation. Having successfully built the Turtle Trap (though yet to successfully capture said turtles), he has now turned his attention to defoliating the encroaching forest, machete and chainsaw in hand.

Yesterday found him out in the woods, attaching eyebolts to 10 foot sections of oak trees, rigging cable and then using Alex's van to "tow" the logs up the steep slopes to "level ground" (this being a rather relative description anywhere on our property), where he can deal with them. One of these oaks was a dead tree that Bill cut to prevent it from coming down on car or roof in a storm. The other is...well, it's my fault.

When I was having trouble with internet satellite reception a few months back, "the boys" from Wild Blue came out and declared that a tree would have to come down or the satellite moved to solve my problem. Rather than take the time to go tromping into the woods and have the guy put his hand on the tree to be removed, I asked him to just point out which tree. Thinking he was pointing at the straggly locust I wanted gone anyway, I told him to go ahead. Twenty minutes later I was still hearing the drone of a chainsaw and went out to discover he was halfway through a 14" diameter monster oak. All I could think was that Bill was going to kill me when he found out that I was responsible for the death of this magnificent tree. Cut halfway through the trunk though, there was nothing to be done but to finish the job. I confessed my laziness and remorse to Bill in an email, and he was very nice about it, considering. I'm still here, chastened, but alive.

Now the chore is to get these fallen giants out of the forest before they begin to rot. Bill's idea is to cut these oaks into 10 foot lengths, take them (somehow) to the sawmill and have replacement bridge timbers made out of them. This is a good idea. So would cutting them up into planks and replacing all the rotten decking around the house, but who has that kind of energy? Not me. So I'll just shut up on this project.

To get the Pam-Killed-Me oak out, some clearing will be necessary to build a path to drag it down to the backyard. So Bill was out there hacking away with abandon and a 3 ft. machete he bought at the discount tool store for $2.99. No, it's not a quality tool--but it is, as Crocodile Dundee would say, a BIG knife.

There is something elementally primal about men chopping down the forest, I think. My happy guy came home sneezing at sunset (it is Spring, after all, and the pollen abounds), and hungry for his dinner. My hero.

Berries!

We are going to have SO many berries!

I can already see myself sweating over the canning kettle on the hottest day of the summer, putting up jam and loving every minute!

Addicted to Sales

Most of you who know me, know I am all about the direct-selling business. I love buying stuff from people I know, I love selling stuff to people I know, and I adore being able to work at home in my P.J.s late at night or early in the morning, making my living without punching a time-clock.

My son Alex says that if we had a Family Crest, it would sport two mottoes: "Needs More Garlic!" and "Never Pay Retail." Whenever I see a product I love, I sign up to sell it--why not get what I want at deep discount? Why not share the joy with family & friends?

I started my first adventure in direct sales when I was 16, selling Jafra cosmetics. My best customers in college were not my peers, but the Hispanic housekeeping staff in the dorms. After they finished their shift, they would come to my dorm room en masse, sit on the floor for the afternoon, trying lipstick colors and making up each other's faces. I loved it.

In my single late twenties, I sold Avon door-to-door in my Costa Mesa neighborhood, mostly as a way to get to know my neighbors. When Bill and I were living with my parents in San Pedro and I was pregnant with Juliana, I did it again in that neighborhood, for spending money and exercise. People bought from me, maybe because they felt that anyone who was hugely pregnant and stomping around the suburbs, selling door-to-door, was desperate? True, we were pretty desperate then, but I enjoyed the walking and the personal interactions. And I even got to see inside some of those fabulous houses by the ocean.

When my kids were little, I fell in love with Discovery Toys and wanted most of them for my own children. I built up a nice little side business doing parties for moms who wanted developmental toys in bright colors for their kids. The home demonstrations were chaotic (because there were always a pack of whirling dervishes in the living room and crying babies in the kitchen), but the products virtually sold themselves, because the moms could see immediately what their kids liked right away.

Over the years, I've done direct selling for Pampered Chef, Tupperware, and of course, my enduring love, Longaberger baskets and pottery. I did it mostly because I have fun demonstrating products I believe in. And then there's that wholesale price thing.

When daughter Juli was visiting last month and said she wanted a good set of knives for a wedding present, I had her try out all the cutlery in my kitchen to see what she liked. She test-drove Lamson, Gerber (I'm glad she didn't fall in love with those, they no longer make kitchen knives, unfortunately), Victorinox, Henckels and Cutco. Being her mama's daughter, she decided she liked the Cutco best.

Now, these are the best: Made in the U.S.A. (still!) since 1949, high-carbon surgical stainless steel (Bill has had the stitches to prove it!), molded ergonomic thermo-resin handles, nickel-silver flush rivets, patented recessed Double-D serrated edges, perfectly balanced and pretty darn pricey, unless you're the type of person who thinks long-term amortization rather than buy-now, throw away next year. They also have a "forever" guarantee, which means if you own a Cutco knife or tool, it's warranted forever. And, anytime it loses its edge, Cutco will sharpen it for free. I just sent all of mine off to the factory for reconditioning this week, when I realized I've been using them for 14 years without rest.

I bought my first set when I enrolled in culinary school in 1994 and never regretted it. My parents liked them so much, they bought a set from Terry's brother when they came to visit us in NY one year. My brother and sister-in-law own them. Mark and Jo in Charlottesville got a set for a wedding present 30+ years ago, and use them everyday. Yes, it's a cult, but a nice one. When we see Cutco on each other's countertop, we know we are like-minded people.

It seemed logical when Juli made her choice, that I go online and find out if I could sign up to sell them (and save on that wedding present)! So I did that last week. I filled out an online application, got a call from the branch manager, went in for an interview, and was selected to become a rep.

Then came the training this week: Three days in Johnson City, with a dozen other trainees, all of whom were high school and college students, with no experience with direct sales at all. Talk about a fish out of water? I have 35+ years on these youngsters for one thing, and my butt doesn't sit in a metal folding chair for 6 hours without complaint! Actually, they were all very interesting, engaging people, though they did treat me as sort of a doddering grandma at times (maybe it was the knitting I brought along because I knew I would be bored)? They can't help it, these humorously arrogant youths. At times, it was even uplifting, as no one in the room guessed my real age--the oldest estimate they could come up with was 40 (ancient!), giving me a 15 year face-lift in one fell swoop! Ha! Fooled them! They really couldn't even conceive of someone being 55 and not in a home?

I tried very, very hard to behave myself for three days, and only slipped a couple of times. The manager who led the training was very enthusiastic, but a complete control freak. I think she was afraid, this being her first big responsible management job. My guess is that she is about 21 or 22, tops. She was highly disorganized, stupefyingly repetitive to the point of internal screaming frustration (mine), and inwardly terrified of not doing a "good job." Her butt is on the line, and it shows. The actual training could have been done in one painless six-hour session, if we were dealing with real-world, business-oriented adults. But the company is committed to training young students as their primary marketing force, so it was like being back in high school. And I wasn't all that compliant then, even when I was a student of that age. It was a sacrifice, and it was torture to sit there for 3 days, but I did it, and tried to enjoy what moments I could. Now I am free to sell Cutco cutlery.

Except that the manager still wants to be my mommy. She wants me to call her after every appointment, every freaking day! I rebel. I chafe. I don't even call my real mother everyday! And certainly not to be hounded, coached, cajoled, patted on the back or exhorted to do better. I know who I am. (I am so ancient and wise, after all)!

So, now that I have a contract, a reckoning will have to occur this week. Manager-mommy and I will have to have a discussion about the definition of an independent contractor versus her insane personal need to direct my every waking minute. I will be kind, but firm.

In the meantime, if you want Cutco, you now know who to call...

Busy Day Ahead

I am up early because Bill and I are out and about today.

Bill and Echo are off to go see Fort Watauga, near Johnson City. The historical site there has many activities planned for the weekend. I am sending the camera with him.

I am in my final day of training in a sales seminar. More on that later, it's been an interesting 3 days, if only for the stories it will give me to tell later.

Off to the showers...

Bill's Secret Project

Yesterday, husband Bill finally let me take a picture of his new "girlfriend," the project he's been spending all his free time with. It is (ta-da!), done and ready to be installed in the pond.

When his baby ducklings disappeared, Bill vowed to track down the culprits and bring them to justice. With the help of the instructions on the internet (fount of all knowledge), he built The Turtle Trap:

This will sit semi-submerged in the pond like an iceberg (most of it below the water, only the ramp where Bill has his hand and the top part above the surface), and capture any snapping turtles we have in the pond by luring them with rotten chicken bones suspended over the open water.

The turtle smells the bait, discovers the ramp and climbs it, reaches the top platform and overbalances the "tippy" plank, which dumps him or her into the large 4 x 4 foot cage. The large bent-nail spikes around the top edge prevent the turtle from climbing the wire and getting out over the edge again:

Now all we have to do is figure out how to get the evil biting turtles out again, once they are trapped. I'm thinking along the lines of a steel mesh pike-net, or perhaps a pair of four-foot forceps. And then what? A trial or summary execution? Perhaps relocation to a turtle re-education camp? I'm not sure we're cut out for the ultimate responsibility of playing parole board to murderous amphibians.

Making the pond safe for nesting wood ducks is turning out to be a little more complicated than we anticipated.

The Encroaching Forest

It is only May, and already the foliage is taking over. We are going to have amazing quantities of blackberries--this is just one little patch in the front yard along the driveway:

All those white flowers are going to be blackberries (or maybe raspberries too, I forget). There are even more down by the pond (tons, really) and up on the far ridge. I can already anticipate that I'll be spending the summer making jam, and freezing berries for pies and cobblers, etc.

While tromping around for berries, one has to be mindful of the natural habitat. And now, for the educational portion of the show:

My mother-in-law taught me 20+ years ago, when you see Virginia Creeper, look for the poison ivy too. They grow together. The Creeper has 5 leaves, Poison Ivy looks very similar, but with 3 leaves. So that's Creeper on the right and top, Poison Ivy on the left. Interestingly, Anne told me that if you're in the woods and get the Poison Ivy resin on your skin, you can quickly pick the leaves of VA Creeper and rub it on the affected place. She said that it was an antidote. I haven't ever tried it, mostly because I don't want to get into the problem in the first place. As it is, I always wash thoroughly with soap and water when coming in from outside.

Last year I made the mistake of rubbing my face affectionately on the dog's fur (don't ask) and ended up with a poison ivy rash on my face. Lesson learned: Don't kiss the dog, at least not Spring through Autumn. The way she runs through the forest, she picks the oil up on her coat. So I have to wash after touching Echo too.

Although here, she doesn't look like she's going anywhere soon:

I'm not sure what this posture is all about, did she have a headache?

Garden adventures continue around here. I've planted the new raised bed that Bill built, and the beans and peas are doing great:

We can look forward to eating out of the garden instead of spending the big bucks at the grocery in about another month. Hooray!

What's For Dinner?

Most people wake up thinking about what to have for breakfast. I wake up wondering what to have for dinner. Does this make me odd?

Bill and I have been working our way through the mountain of leftovers from the hordes of houseguests in April. We finally made it through the refrigerator leavings last night, and now we can get started on the leftovers I stashed in the freezer. We still have most of a pork roast lurking in there, along with a packet of home-grown asparagus from Elaine's mom, lovingly transported from Vermont in an ice chest. And the four steamed new potatoes I saw way back on the fourth shelf last night. That will make a nice dinner tonight. Okay, now I can get out of bed, dinner plans are taken care of.

Cooking for two is hard sometimes. I'm used to preparing groaning quantities of food for family and the friends they dragged home, and I'm still having a difficult time scaling down my cooking to something Bill and I won't have to be eating night after night. Cooking for one when he's gone is somewhat of a sacramental exercise for me. I like taking the time and trouble to cook something wonderful for myself; I like the meditation of it, and the respect for myself it signifies. But the eating of it, alone, is dissatisfying.

Cooking for Bill is easy though, because he will eat whatever I put in front of him, as long as it's on time. Years of eating at set hours on a ship has given him a stomach with a timer, if not a discerning palate. And some nights, when we're both feeling lazy or busy, we'll just have snacks instead of a meat-and-three-sides plate. One of the things I really like about this guy is that he thinks that anything I cook is wonderful.

But what I really crave, what I really want, is Reuben Hush Puppies. These high-calorie bombs of fried goodness is what I've been hankering for, despite my disciplined healthy dinner plans.
I may just have to make them and get it over with, and then pay for it on the elliptical exercise machine for the next month.

The list of ingredients is long, but they are easy to prepare. They make great leftovers too. They must have about 100 calories each, and no one can eat just one. They are my downfall.

Reuben Hush Puppies

Mix in a bowl:

1 cup leftover cooked Corned Beef, diced (or 4 oz. deli wt. diced)
3 slices Rye Bread with seeds, pulverized in food processor or blender to crumbs
1/2 cup sauerkraut, squeezed dry and minced
1/2 cup dill pickle, diced
1/2 cup milk
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup yellow cornmeal
1/4 cup scallions, thinly sliced
1 egg
2 Tbls. dill pickle juice
2 tsp. baking powder
2 tsp. dry mustard
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. sugar
1/4 tsp. cayenne
1/4 tsp. baking soda

Mix together--batter will be very wet and sloppy. Refrigerate 15 minutes.

While it's chilling, cut a chunk of Swiss cheese into 24 pieces --1/2" squares -- and heat 2" peanut oil in a 2 quart deep saucepan --you're shooting for 350 degrees.

Use a Tablespoon or medium scoop, press a cube of Swiss cheese into the middle and enclose completely in the wet batter, and drop into hot oil using a soup spoon (you can do about 6 at a time in a 6" wide saucepan).

Cook for about 3 minutes, turning occasionally until crisp and very brown, drain on paper towels. Check temp of oil and adjust heat, make another 6 wet balls and cook those. Etc. Serve hot with 1000 Island Dressing as a dipping sauce.

Postscript: After a dinner of these, plan on spending 60 minutes a day on the elliptical or treadmill until you lose those extra 5 pounds you gained from eating these until swooning and overstuffed. Meditate on the sin of gluttonous overindulgence.

Mother's Day

I loved being a mom.

Not that I was that great at it when I was actively doing it day-by-day, but it was simply the very best job I ever had. The pay was lousy, the hours were long, and in the kind fuzziness of retrospective thinking, yes, I loved every minute I spent with my children.

When they were small, I loved thinking up things to occupy their time and energy. I loved playing board games, singing silly songs, making a game out of every chore, finger plays and bathtime. I loved scavenger hunts in the neighborhood on our daily walks, picking up bits of rock or metal for making collages later, or just to look at and marvel. I loved painting, clay, glue and glitter, and baking. I loved the roadtrips, and the daily routines, the special outings and the quiet of just snuggling together, telling stories or reading.

When they got older, I loved them bringing home their friends to gather around the dinner table.
I loved listening to them postulate, argue, tell jokes and banter. I loved picnics outdoors on sunny days, either away or in our own backyard. I loved working with them in the garden, listening to them whine about how hard it was, and showing them how to fix things or figure things out. I loved teaching them all the things I thought they would need to know.

I did not love myself very much in those years though. I was angry too often, frustrated and self-absorbed. I was often anxious, tired, snappish, scared and depressed. I berated them for their supposed failings, forgetting how that kind of criticism made me feel when I was just learning, just trying my hardest to grow up. I wasn't very patient. I wasn't very kind. Not always, of course, but enough to make me regret now the time I wasted on trivial demands and
unimportant details. I somehow forgot that I would not have them and their company with me always.

Now they are grown up and living independent lives, far away from me. I am so immensely proud of them and grateful that they have turned out to be interesting, creative, self-sufficient people. But on Mother's Day, I wish I could go back in time and do it all again--just this time, do it better. I wish I could do it all over again, this time with the knowledge that it wouldn't last forever, and make every moment a positive one, a generous and giving one.

I know they love me, and I know they probably forgive me for my failings as a parent (or are at least working on that part of becoming adults). The full measure of one's own hubris comes of course when your children have children of their own. After Juli was born, I started calling my mother every day and apologizing--for everything, it seemed. It was my self-imposed penance, and one undertaken with newly-found humility.

So today I reflect on my own mother and my gratitude for who she is and everything she does, loving me with the fierce loyalty and protectiveness that mothers know deep in their bones. And I reflect as well on my children, who created the best part of my life by their existence and their presence. I have so much to be thankful for.

No Blog? Must be outside!

I realized at midnight last night that I hadn't posted anything on the blog. Now that the weather is nice, it seems criminal to spend the days on the computer when I could be outside, enjoying the benefits of Tennessee Spring. So that's where I am. Outside, soaking up the sun and fresh air.

I planted okra, cucumbers and potatoes in the raised bed that Bill made for me, along with some annual flowers, just for cheerfulness. The beans and peas are doing very well, though I think caterpillars might be chewing on the leaves. I have a tomato in one of the pots on the porch. Though the lettuce is struggling in containers, I hesitate to put it in the ground, as we are overrun with rabbits--at least if they come up to the deck to eat my lettuce, I'll have a chance at catching them at it (and maybe the possibility of a rabbit dinner too)!

We are waiting to see if we're going to have the problems with drought that we had last year. Though it means staying indoors, I welcome any rain we get, hoping that we can make it through the summer with enough water for daily showers and occasional laundry. I notice that Bill has been researching well-drilling equipment on eBay--I think we need to drill a new well for a number of reasons (bad tasting water, and the fact that the well is downhill from the septic tank and not far enough away, for starters). We don't drink the well water, even though it is sanitized by a complex UV light and filter system, but eventually, we will need a new well if we ever decide to sell this place. Oh the things we learned, after we bought this wreck!

Bill was fussing yesterday about the one corner of the deck sinking each time it rains. Yesterday, he did some exploring with a shovel and found that the 4x4 post supporting that corner is actually not sunk into the ground at all--it's just "resting" on the soil below it! No concrete, no support. At this point, after all the knucklehead things we've discovered about this property, all we can do is laugh.

I have a bit more deck painting to do around the perimeter of the house (underneath where the eaves drip water), and then that chore will be done for the year. Bill says he's going to be putting up more gutters to prevent this in the future, but right now his attention is on his big construction project (photos to follow soon), and the incredibly sinking deck.

In the meantime, I'll just be out on the porch reading under the umbrella or working in the "garden," rather than at the computer. There will be time enough for the indoor activities when it gets too hot in July & August to enjoy the outdoors.