on New Directions stationery
November 30, 2009
Edward Espe Brown
Peaceful Sea Zendo
Fairfax CA 94930
Dear Mr. Brown –
How I’ve longed to write to tell you how much I’ve loved the Tassajara Bread Book since receiving it as a gift. As a Jewish girl in an unhappy marriage in Austin, TX, some 30 years ago, your book gave me immense solace for a then unhappy life. Baking bread became the love of my life. I’d cut thick slices and serve it to my neighbors with loads of butter. Who would know that many years later I would teach The Ancient Art of Breadmaking at our local library and other venues?
I remember making chopped chicken livers back then in Married Student Housing at the University of Texas and serving them on your rye crackers complete with caraway seed. I cut the shapes with the removable top of the blender which resides now in my happy home here in suburban Philadelphia.
I like to think, Mr. Brown, I treat food with the same love and respect you do. I can’t bear to throw anything away – yes, I have a compost heap - so for example for breakfast this morning I have boiled a cinnamon stick and a spent lemon in some water and am drinking it as tea, adding a teabag of chamomile.
Although it is a rainy day here in Willow Grove, PA, my kitchen is always cheerful. I have some organic low-sodium chicken broth on my green table reminding me to make fish chowder today with loads of veggies from across this huge land we call America in addition to soaking succulent chick peas – how we love our delicious healthy foods, Mr. Brown! – and later I shall add some fresh tilapia bought at our organically-conscious supermarket.
Over Thanksgiving, my 35-year-old daughter Sarah introduced me to a Yellow Lemon Squeezer which has now found a permanent home in my kitchen.
You have long been there, as well, Mr. Brown, sitting on my recipe shelf next to the only cookbooks I own: the first edition of Joy of Cooking, Tassajara Bread Book (copyright 1970) and Tassajara Cooking (1973).
Wishing you many more days of happy love and cooking, I am
Very sincerely yours,
Ruth Z Deming
Monday, November 30, 2009
Bring out the Tassajara Bread Book!
Written in 1970 by zen priest Edward Espe Brown, my well-used copy of the Tassajara Bread Book is filled with my annotations and I blush to say my renaming of some of his recipes such as Honey Cheesecake Bars for his Cheesecake Cookies. But, I say to myself, what would a gentile truly know about Cheesecake even if Buddah loves him.
So. Wanting something different to serve with our delicious onion omelet for breakfast yesterday (and remember! I buy the most delicious fresh eggs that are laid just for me by local cage-free grain-eating hens) I leafed thru the book and found Flakey Biscuits. Sorry, Ed, but I've gotta rename them. Flaky they were not. Delicious and filling they certainly were.
When I was married and lived in TX biscuits were a staple in the diet. My mom/law used Pioneer Biscuit Mix and made the most scrumptious chicken and dumplings using the biscuit mix. I of course have always made things from scratch. So when it came time to make the Nonflakey biscuits my fingers remembered the procedure tho I hadn't done it for - what? - 35 years.
I was so prouda myself and got flour on my back from patting myself there.
Actually I was wearing my green Starbucks apron.
I've always wanted to write Ed a thank-you note and shall do so today on my New Directions stationery. Shall I enclose a brochure? Or my Steps to Recovery from Bipolar Disorder? Meditation is high on the list for many people with mood disorders. How come I can't get into meditating?
When I was biking yesterday I wondered if that activity constituted meditating, as I've often thought swimming does.
Scott and I biked on trails close to home on Pennypack Trails. At one point, I went faster than I've ever gone. You've gotta keep your eyes open for danger. We were on our way home, on a hilly street where a squirrel could dash into the street as could a car. We always wear helmets when we're out on the street.
Scott, the weightlifter, always feels it in his legs afterward. We can't figger out why my legs feel nothing. During our trek however the hills were so steep we had to push our bikes uphill. My heart was pounding outa my chest. "You all right?" Scott would call.
So. Wanting something different to serve with our delicious onion omelet for breakfast yesterday (and remember! I buy the most delicious fresh eggs that are laid just for me by local cage-free grain-eating hens) I leafed thru the book and found Flakey Biscuits. Sorry, Ed, but I've gotta rename them. Flaky they were not. Delicious and filling they certainly were.
When I was married and lived in TX biscuits were a staple in the diet. My mom/law used Pioneer Biscuit Mix and made the most scrumptious chicken and dumplings using the biscuit mix. I of course have always made things from scratch. So when it came time to make the Nonflakey biscuits my fingers remembered the procedure tho I hadn't done it for - what? - 35 years.
I was so prouda myself and got flour on my back from patting myself there.
Actually I was wearing my green Starbucks apron.
I've always wanted to write Ed a thank-you note and shall do so today on my New Directions stationery. Shall I enclose a brochure? Or my Steps to Recovery from Bipolar Disorder? Meditation is high on the list for many people with mood disorders. How come I can't get into meditating?
When I was biking yesterday I wondered if that activity constituted meditating, as I've often thought swimming does.
Scott and I biked on trails close to home on Pennypack Trails. At one point, I went faster than I've ever gone. You've gotta keep your eyes open for danger. We were on our way home, on a hilly street where a squirrel could dash into the street as could a car. We always wear helmets when we're out on the street.
Scott, the weightlifter, always feels it in his legs afterward. We can't figger out why my legs feel nothing. During our trek however the hills were so steep we had to push our bikes uphill. My heart was pounding outa my chest. "You all right?" Scott would call.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Road report on Black Friday
Just got home from driving Sarah and Ethan to the Jenkintown train station so they can catch a train back to NY. I drove mostly the backroads (won't do you no good, thanks Bruce)as I always do, esp. today to avoid the madness of Holiday Shopping. The Times is just waiting to tell us Retail Biz is up .09% this year.
So, we're passing La Pergola restaurant in J'town. Sarah is on the cellphone with my mother, saying g'bye, and I say Look how windy it is, when suddenly a lamppost falls boom to the ground. A woman driver in a long car had backed smack into it.
No sweat getting to the station. We left in plenty of time. I did not tell my dtr and Ethan that I couldn't remember how to get to the train station. I figgered it would come to me, which it did.
Earlier I asked Ethan if he wished to drive my car. It's fun for him since they don't need cars in NY. I also photographed him sitting in my car. Forgot to show them my new license plate holder. I don't like advertising other people's products so I got rid of the dealership's license plate holder and replaced it with a plain chrome one that I painted with red dots. It looks great!
My dtr/law Nicole loaded some awesome T'giving photos on Facebook. Are you the family photographer, Nicole? She also put on some videos of us all singing.
We are a family that loves having fun. We love food, music, sex, and the joy of being together.
Ethan thoughtfully brought copies of Beatles' lyrics for a singalong after dinner. He accompanied us on the piano as we sang loudly and w/great gusto tunes such as Hey Jude, Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Eleanor Rigby. I marveled that the Beatles were only in the their 20s or 30s when they wrote the deep Eleanor Rigby about lonely people. What cosmic minds they had to consider all segments of society. Their songs contain numerous characters such as Dear Prudence.
Sarah noticed I replaced my Gettysburg photo montage with one from Barcelona. Hanging on the living room wall is a huge bag from La Pedrera, the apt house Gaudi designed, with a map of Barcelona tucked inside, and then ticket stubs from museums and the Metro taped to the bag, along with the see-thru blue plastic spoon from which I ate Italian gelato. The gelato, it should be noted, tasted richer and more flavorful than our ice cream.
Traffic was heavy. I so enjoy driving my new car. While I was in Europe for 14 days, I gave Scott a couple assignments since he was on strike for 4 days. One was to wash my car which was inexplicably full of mud. He not only washed it, but waxed it, and showed me how, after a rain, the raindrops form beautiful beads on the car.
Keep it short, Ruthie, keep it short.
Will do.
Life is meaningless if I'm not working on a major project. MY major project may be different than yours. The thing I'd like to do more than anything else is write a good poem. It's been awhile. I sure loved swimming in the salt water pool aboard our cruise ship. How could I work that into a poem?
So, we're passing La Pergola restaurant in J'town. Sarah is on the cellphone with my mother, saying g'bye, and I say Look how windy it is, when suddenly a lamppost falls boom to the ground. A woman driver in a long car had backed smack into it.
No sweat getting to the station. We left in plenty of time. I did not tell my dtr and Ethan that I couldn't remember how to get to the train station. I figgered it would come to me, which it did.
Earlier I asked Ethan if he wished to drive my car. It's fun for him since they don't need cars in NY. I also photographed him sitting in my car. Forgot to show them my new license plate holder. I don't like advertising other people's products so I got rid of the dealership's license plate holder and replaced it with a plain chrome one that I painted with red dots. It looks great!
My dtr/law Nicole loaded some awesome T'giving photos on Facebook. Are you the family photographer, Nicole? She also put on some videos of us all singing.
We are a family that loves having fun. We love food, music, sex, and the joy of being together.
Ethan thoughtfully brought copies of Beatles' lyrics for a singalong after dinner. He accompanied us on the piano as we sang loudly and w/great gusto tunes such as Hey Jude, Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Eleanor Rigby. I marveled that the Beatles were only in the their 20s or 30s when they wrote the deep Eleanor Rigby about lonely people. What cosmic minds they had to consider all segments of society. Their songs contain numerous characters such as Dear Prudence.
Sarah noticed I replaced my Gettysburg photo montage with one from Barcelona. Hanging on the living room wall is a huge bag from La Pedrera, the apt house Gaudi designed, with a map of Barcelona tucked inside, and then ticket stubs from museums and the Metro taped to the bag, along with the see-thru blue plastic spoon from which I ate Italian gelato. The gelato, it should be noted, tasted richer and more flavorful than our ice cream.
Traffic was heavy. I so enjoy driving my new car. While I was in Europe for 14 days, I gave Scott a couple assignments since he was on strike for 4 days. One was to wash my car which was inexplicably full of mud. He not only washed it, but waxed it, and showed me how, after a rain, the raindrops form beautiful beads on the car.
Keep it short, Ruthie, keep it short.
Will do.
Life is meaningless if I'm not working on a major project. MY major project may be different than yours. The thing I'd like to do more than anything else is write a good poem. It's been awhile. I sure loved swimming in the salt water pool aboard our cruise ship. How could I work that into a poem?
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Birds sing on Thanksgiving Morn
When I awoke at six this morning I heard birds singing in my backyard. How I miss the little creatures as they began their trek to warmer climes with many of us to follow later this year. Why is it that the sounds of birds invariably lift our hearts?
Walter came to visit yesterday. The one thing this 90-year-old sage hasn't mastered is using the computer. 'Perhaps I will,' he told me, 'if I'm still alive.' He'll spend Thanksgiving with his girlfriend Amy and her three-month-old baby Jaiden who spent a harrowing two months at Children's Hospital. I'd met Amy and baby previously, before the hospitalization, when all was well. She nursed the baby at the kitchen table and actually asked if it offended me.
I told her I'd nursed both my kids. Amy started her own business but had to give it up to take care of Jaiden full-time because of his medical problems. The prognosis is excellent and she couldn't be a better mother. She's a devout Catholic. Walter said his own father, back in the 1920s, disabused Walter of the notion of a deity by introducing young Walt, who grew up in the seaside town of Bristol, PA, to the writings of one Mr Ingersoll.
Did I tell you I felt a vast sense of relief when I too decided my relations with the Deity were nil, my prayers felt false, and I feel liberated at having declared yet again my deep pride in being Jewish and being a godless woman.
My gods are You, the people - my backyard maple (of course it's not mine) - and the water I gratefully drink each day.
My sister Ellen and I went apt. hunting for her yesterday. She needs a big place where she can store the stuff she sells on EBay. I suggested she move into my old apartments Village Green and found the following video. Click here.
When I was making my dinner salad last nite I remembered to cut up the lettuce into tiny pieces. I watched my hands nimbly tearing the Bibb lettuce and thought What a marvel are these hands. You simply command them to do something and presto, it gets done!
It can never be said I don't appreciate life. And this new window in my living room! A room air-conditioner was stuck in there until I had the idea of making a window out of it. I see rhododendrons with their sticky buds preparing to bloom next May when I come down the stairs.
Last nite I read a very moving piece in the Times by a veteran from the Afghanistan war. Here's the short piece plus my comment (the 5th one down) below it. Life is too thrilling not to get involved when we feel so moved.
Listen to your heart. Life is short, gone in a wink. Do it now.
Walter came to visit yesterday. The one thing this 90-year-old sage hasn't mastered is using the computer. 'Perhaps I will,' he told me, 'if I'm still alive.' He'll spend Thanksgiving with his girlfriend Amy and her three-month-old baby Jaiden who spent a harrowing two months at Children's Hospital. I'd met Amy and baby previously, before the hospitalization, when all was well. She nursed the baby at the kitchen table and actually asked if it offended me.
I told her I'd nursed both my kids. Amy started her own business but had to give it up to take care of Jaiden full-time because of his medical problems. The prognosis is excellent and she couldn't be a better mother. She's a devout Catholic. Walter said his own father, back in the 1920s, disabused Walter of the notion of a deity by introducing young Walt, who grew up in the seaside town of Bristol, PA, to the writings of one Mr Ingersoll.
Did I tell you I felt a vast sense of relief when I too decided my relations with the Deity were nil, my prayers felt false, and I feel liberated at having declared yet again my deep pride in being Jewish and being a godless woman.
My gods are You, the people - my backyard maple (of course it's not mine) - and the water I gratefully drink each day.
My sister Ellen and I went apt. hunting for her yesterday. She needs a big place where she can store the stuff she sells on EBay. I suggested she move into my old apartments Village Green and found the following video. Click here.
When I was making my dinner salad last nite I remembered to cut up the lettuce into tiny pieces. I watched my hands nimbly tearing the Bibb lettuce and thought What a marvel are these hands. You simply command them to do something and presto, it gets done!
It can never be said I don't appreciate life. And this new window in my living room! A room air-conditioner was stuck in there until I had the idea of making a window out of it. I see rhododendrons with their sticky buds preparing to bloom next May when I come down the stairs.
Last nite I read a very moving piece in the Times by a veteran from the Afghanistan war. Here's the short piece plus my comment (the 5th one down) below it. Life is too thrilling not to get involved when we feel so moved.
Listen to your heart. Life is short, gone in a wink. Do it now.
Monday, November 23, 2009
If you wanna be sad, read the newspapers
Each day I check the NY Times to see what's happenin in the Big Bad World. Ach! Don't ask. My primary concern is the Healthcare Package. A lead photo showed a female senator ascending the stairs and I said to myself, Senators: What pompous assholes. This, as distinct, from the pompompitous of love as espoused by Steve Miller.
What I'm trying to say, Dear Reader, is I'd rather be Anywhere but Afghanistan. Which is why, when I went to the Willow Grove Post Office, I picked up a flyer announcing Moms Stuffing Stockings for the Marines in Afghanistan. I thought this would be a great thing for our group to get involved with.
A small group of us went forward to the Upper Moreland Intermediate School. I got to ride in Fontaine's borrowed Lexus where at the touch of a finger you can control every aspect of driving comfort including starting the car with a push of the button. My jaw dropped open and she and her daughter laffed.
Arnie was following us in his beautiful newly painted van.
The moment I got there an attractive blond woman came up to me.
Are you Ruth Deming? she asked.
I was in a state of confusion cuz there were no signs telling us where to go in the huge gymnasium.
I am, I said.
Dyou know who I am? she asked.
I looked at her and her beautiful blond hair.
Denise so-and-so, I said. You called me twice and never left me your phone number.
Anyway, Denise is a former member of ND and wanted to reconnect about 6 months ago. How frustrating not to have her phone number.
I called her this a.m. and invited her to be our first Spotlight speaker in December. She's been off all meds for about 8 years - hallelujah! - and thanks the Lord for this great feat.
Whatever works!
Here's some of the gifts we're sending the Marines in Afghanistan at a cost of $20,000 to ship. Each volunteer took a stocking and went to various stations where young voluntters, such as Cub Scouts, or children of Marines, threw a gift in our stocking. When finished, we put our stocking in a huge plastic tie-able bag where more gifts were thrown in.
Everything was tiny:
Whitman Sampler
Cigar
Harmonica
Tastycakes
Lunch was furnished afterward, some tasteless hoagies which I doctored with hot peppers and mustard. Ada sat next to me on the bench. Denise came over to her and thought Ada was a Family Members. No, said Ada, I run the Depression Group.
But you keep smiling, said Denise.
That's because I'm feeling fine, smiled Ada, who looked even more beautiful than usual.
Just then her husband Rich walked into the room. We stood up and waved so he'd find us in the crowded room. They were gonna stop in to see Ada's mom, who turned 100 last month.
Fontaine dropped me off at home and I went to Scott's house. He was in the basement lifting weights. He wears a belt when he does it. I watched him do it once but never again. He said he procrastinates sometimes for 45 mins cuz it's so demanding.
It's beautiful out, I said. How bout a bike ride? Jack goes to a certain Pennypack Trail in Philadelphia.
Sure, he said. Just lemme finish lifting.
We went for the most arduous and wonderful bike ride ever, up these excrucatingly difficult hills where we'd walk our bikes, and then zoom quickly down very steep hills. I love going really fast but you must be really careful cuz you share trail space with
whole families
moms pushing babies in strollers
people walking dogs
other zooming bikers
piles of manure
mud and leaves
Fortunately I only fell once cuz Scott passed me on the right and didn't say, Coming thru! As soon as I fell, I called I'm fine, cuz there was a walking couple behind me and I didn't want them to worry. To my left was a steep cliff where I could've tumbled down to the Pennypack Creek. It was actually no big deal.
I did nap when I came home and then made a fab dinner of salmon, asparagus, brown rice, cranberry sauce sweetened with maple syrup. Scott's dad gave us a bunch of movies so we watched This Gun for Hire, a film noir which made Alan Ladd a star.
What I'm trying to say, Dear Reader, is I'd rather be Anywhere but Afghanistan. Which is why, when I went to the Willow Grove Post Office, I picked up a flyer announcing Moms Stuffing Stockings for the Marines in Afghanistan. I thought this would be a great thing for our group to get involved with.
A small group of us went forward to the Upper Moreland Intermediate School. I got to ride in Fontaine's borrowed Lexus where at the touch of a finger you can control every aspect of driving comfort including starting the car with a push of the button. My jaw dropped open and she and her daughter laffed.
Arnie was following us in his beautiful newly painted van.
The moment I got there an attractive blond woman came up to me.
Are you Ruth Deming? she asked.
I was in a state of confusion cuz there were no signs telling us where to go in the huge gymnasium.
I am, I said.
Dyou know who I am? she asked.
I looked at her and her beautiful blond hair.
Denise so-and-so, I said. You called me twice and never left me your phone number.
Anyway, Denise is a former member of ND and wanted to reconnect about 6 months ago. How frustrating not to have her phone number.
I called her this a.m. and invited her to be our first Spotlight speaker in December. She's been off all meds for about 8 years - hallelujah! - and thanks the Lord for this great feat.
Whatever works!
Here's some of the gifts we're sending the Marines in Afghanistan at a cost of $20,000 to ship. Each volunteer took a stocking and went to various stations where young voluntters, such as Cub Scouts, or children of Marines, threw a gift in our stocking. When finished, we put our stocking in a huge plastic tie-able bag where more gifts were thrown in.
Everything was tiny:
Whitman Sampler
Cigar
Harmonica
Tastycakes
Lunch was furnished afterward, some tasteless hoagies which I doctored with hot peppers and mustard. Ada sat next to me on the bench. Denise came over to her and thought Ada was a Family Members. No, said Ada, I run the Depression Group.
But you keep smiling, said Denise.
That's because I'm feeling fine, smiled Ada, who looked even more beautiful than usual.
Just then her husband Rich walked into the room. We stood up and waved so he'd find us in the crowded room. They were gonna stop in to see Ada's mom, who turned 100 last month.
Fontaine dropped me off at home and I went to Scott's house. He was in the basement lifting weights. He wears a belt when he does it. I watched him do it once but never again. He said he procrastinates sometimes for 45 mins cuz it's so demanding.
It's beautiful out, I said. How bout a bike ride? Jack goes to a certain Pennypack Trail in Philadelphia.
Sure, he said. Just lemme finish lifting.
We went for the most arduous and wonderful bike ride ever, up these excrucatingly difficult hills where we'd walk our bikes, and then zoom quickly down very steep hills. I love going really fast but you must be really careful cuz you share trail space with
whole families
moms pushing babies in strollers
people walking dogs
other zooming bikers
piles of manure
mud and leaves
Fortunately I only fell once cuz Scott passed me on the right and didn't say, Coming thru! As soon as I fell, I called I'm fine, cuz there was a walking couple behind me and I didn't want them to worry. To my left was a steep cliff where I could've tumbled down to the Pennypack Creek. It was actually no big deal.
I did nap when I came home and then made a fab dinner of salmon, asparagus, brown rice, cranberry sauce sweetened with maple syrup. Scott's dad gave us a bunch of movies so we watched This Gun for Hire, a film noir which made Alan Ladd a star.
Friday, November 20, 2009
A Day in the City
They get up in the morning and go to work. I used to be one of them. Yesterday morning I pretended I was one of them again and made the 7:59 train to downtown Philly for my allday kidney appointment at Jefferson U. My son Dan met me on the train. Sarah was to meet us at Jefferson.
Look who I see, Dan said, while we were walking down some dirty street in Philadelphia. There, in her new gray suede boots she bought in Italy, was Sarah! She didn't see us and was walking really fast.
Let's surprise her, I said to Dan. Follow me.
I began running, with my backpack on, and my Kidney Packet under my arm. I passed a well-dressed woman and said, Pardon me, I'm playing a trick on someone.
Dan and I jogged across the street.
In our wonderful American healthcare system, it takes 4-6 weeks for one of my doctors to fax out crucial information. So I dunno if I'm a candidate for a kidney transplant cuz this vital info is still sitting in the doc's office in Abington PA. Four to six weeks!
Because the kidney recipient must be on immuno-suppressants their entire life, diseases find us. Cough cough cough. Ah-choo! Oooh, look at this weird thing on my skin. Is this the skin cancer Dr Maria was talking about? I didn't catch her last name since her badge was turned around. She was from Madrid.
Seems like doctors still do not believe in prevention. I DO, however, and have ordered from Amazon The 12-Step Program to Prevent Dialysis. I've scheduled another appt w/Mary Ann Moylan at the Willow Grove Giant Supermarket. I still can't get the hang of the kidney diet where we watch our intake of
phosphorus
sodium
potassium
protein
but are still allowed to
do great home interventions for people in denial
use artwork to reach some of our opaque clients
moderate the coffeeshop writers group
listen to coldplay on youtube (the scientist and when i ruled the world - did he have bipolar?)
hey, we have a nice group of folks gonna help stuff stockings for the Marines in Afghanistan tomro at a local school. Grabbed a poster from the PO.
Must I hop on my stationary bike now?
Yes, you must, Ruthie. Dyou wanna keep your kidneys?
Oh, all right. I'll put a few more pages into the library book I stole off the cruise ship, Ruth Rendell's The Rottweiler, a fine story about a serial killer. We actually feel sorry for him. Exercising is so frigging boring I read while I pedal.
Look who I see, Dan said, while we were walking down some dirty street in Philadelphia. There, in her new gray suede boots she bought in Italy, was Sarah! She didn't see us and was walking really fast.
Let's surprise her, I said to Dan. Follow me.
I began running, with my backpack on, and my Kidney Packet under my arm. I passed a well-dressed woman and said, Pardon me, I'm playing a trick on someone.
Dan and I jogged across the street.
In our wonderful American healthcare system, it takes 4-6 weeks for one of my doctors to fax out crucial information. So I dunno if I'm a candidate for a kidney transplant cuz this vital info is still sitting in the doc's office in Abington PA. Four to six weeks!
Because the kidney recipient must be on immuno-suppressants their entire life, diseases find us. Cough cough cough. Ah-choo! Oooh, look at this weird thing on my skin. Is this the skin cancer Dr Maria was talking about? I didn't catch her last name since her badge was turned around. She was from Madrid.
Seems like doctors still do not believe in prevention. I DO, however, and have ordered from Amazon The 12-Step Program to Prevent Dialysis. I've scheduled another appt w/Mary Ann Moylan at the Willow Grove Giant Supermarket. I still can't get the hang of the kidney diet where we watch our intake of
phosphorus
sodium
potassium
protein
but are still allowed to
do great home interventions for people in denial
use artwork to reach some of our opaque clients
moderate the coffeeshop writers group
listen to coldplay on youtube (the scientist and when i ruled the world - did he have bipolar?)
hey, we have a nice group of folks gonna help stuff stockings for the Marines in Afghanistan tomro at a local school. Grabbed a poster from the PO.
Must I hop on my stationary bike now?
Yes, you must, Ruthie. Dyou wanna keep your kidneys?
Oh, all right. I'll put a few more pages into the library book I stole off the cruise ship, Ruth Rendell's The Rottweiler, a fine story about a serial killer. We actually feel sorry for him. Exercising is so frigging boring I read while I pedal.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Reality versus The Dream
Ah, yes, I did indeed just return from my first trip overseas, not counting the Carib and Alaska and Mexico, memories all tightly packed into my cerebellum or wherever memories go.
While putting in my contax this morning in my downstairs bathroom, I flashed to the cruiseship's bathroom. Darn. I forgot to take a picture of the tiny but ever-so-compact room. Imperative not to drop one's contax down the drain. That was no. one on the WorryList.
Best part of the trip was the food ashore. We went to plein air markets in Barcelona, Antibes, and Florence. Will I ever forget the way the strawberries tasted? They were not all bloated and spongy like American mass-produced berries. And the dates! They're sold on a sprig as they come off the tree. Never knew dat, did you?
I can't get over how beautiful my house looks. You see things afresh when you come home from vaca. I love my house. I still have Carl Yeager's photograph on the wall and a collage by Claudia McGill. I so love my artist friends. To greet me when coming home from Europe I picked some blue hydrangea and pink hydrangea from the backyard and they look so nice in the windowsill.
Leaning against the front door is a big brown packet labeled Kidney T'plant for my appt this Thursday. Both kids will accompany me but I'd prefer a cadaver transplant. Our Irish buddy Coleman Smith, from Cavan County, works in the ins. business and says they don't insure motorcyclists or scooter drivers cuz of the high fatality rate. Terrible to think that in the future one of these people might furnish me with their kidney.
My friend Denis also lost his kidney function due to lithium and he and his wife are wonderful guides as to what I might expect.
Life, for me, will become Before and After the transplant. I try to keep in as good shape as possible and will mount my stationary bike for 15 minutes later on. I did this aboard the ship while reading a Ruth Rendell mystery I got from the prison library. Oops, ship library.
After our bike ride at Lorimer Park yesterday, Scott and I were starving. BTW, he was very pleased with the SEPTA contract. The union negotiator worked very hard to ensure the workers received a 3 percent pay increase this year, no increase in amount paid for health benefits, and a continued secure pension plus audit of pension plan. The contract is for five whole years, guaranteeing peace of mind for all concerned.
So, I know you're all wondering what I made for dinner. Quite frankly, my dinner was better than anything on the cruise ship where the food was only mediocre.
POST-BIKE RIDE DINNER FOR TWO
Baked chicken - basted with olive oil and sprinkled with sodium-free Mrs Dash spice
First-time ever Broccoli Slaw - it comes in its own package, trim strips of broccoli stems and carrots. I added Craisins, chopped onion, and olive oil mayo mixed w/cider vinegar
Brown rice
For dessert I drank a glass of cranberry-raspberry juice.
"I'm out of control," I said to Scott. "I can't stop drinking the stuff."
Yes, I'm a juice-a-holic. So I poured it down the drain. Sadly.
While putting in my contax this morning in my downstairs bathroom, I flashed to the cruiseship's bathroom. Darn. I forgot to take a picture of the tiny but ever-so-compact room. Imperative not to drop one's contax down the drain. That was no. one on the WorryList.
Best part of the trip was the food ashore. We went to plein air markets in Barcelona, Antibes, and Florence. Will I ever forget the way the strawberries tasted? They were not all bloated and spongy like American mass-produced berries. And the dates! They're sold on a sprig as they come off the tree. Never knew dat, did you?
I can't get over how beautiful my house looks. You see things afresh when you come home from vaca. I love my house. I still have Carl Yeager's photograph on the wall and a collage by Claudia McGill. I so love my artist friends. To greet me when coming home from Europe I picked some blue hydrangea and pink hydrangea from the backyard and they look so nice in the windowsill.
Leaning against the front door is a big brown packet labeled Kidney T'plant for my appt this Thursday. Both kids will accompany me but I'd prefer a cadaver transplant. Our Irish buddy Coleman Smith, from Cavan County, works in the ins. business and says they don't insure motorcyclists or scooter drivers cuz of the high fatality rate. Terrible to think that in the future one of these people might furnish me with their kidney.
My friend Denis also lost his kidney function due to lithium and he and his wife are wonderful guides as to what I might expect.
Life, for me, will become Before and After the transplant. I try to keep in as good shape as possible and will mount my stationary bike for 15 minutes later on. I did this aboard the ship while reading a Ruth Rendell mystery I got from the prison library. Oops, ship library.
After our bike ride at Lorimer Park yesterday, Scott and I were starving. BTW, he was very pleased with the SEPTA contract. The union negotiator worked very hard to ensure the workers received a 3 percent pay increase this year, no increase in amount paid for health benefits, and a continued secure pension plus audit of pension plan. The contract is for five whole years, guaranteeing peace of mind for all concerned.
So, I know you're all wondering what I made for dinner. Quite frankly, my dinner was better than anything on the cruise ship where the food was only mediocre.
POST-BIKE RIDE DINNER FOR TWO
Baked chicken - basted with olive oil and sprinkled with sodium-free Mrs Dash spice
First-time ever Broccoli Slaw - it comes in its own package, trim strips of broccoli stems and carrots. I added Craisins, chopped onion, and olive oil mayo mixed w/cider vinegar
Brown rice
For dessert I drank a glass of cranberry-raspberry juice.
"I'm out of control," I said to Scott. "I can't stop drinking the stuff."
Yes, I'm a juice-a-holic. So I poured it down the drain. Sadly.
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