Thursday, May 29, 2008

Weight-Bearing Hunches

Hunches, little voices, intuition, weird feelings, dreams - they are all the same thing. I believe some things, and some people we are tuned into better than others. I am certain that when we ignore these things, trouble and pain inevitably follow.

Luckily, our pediatrician believes in hunches too.

For more than a month, my daughter Zoe has complained of ankle pain. She had no fever, no swelling, good mobility, so we waited to see if it went away.  It didn't. After weeks and weeks of watching her not run as fast as she can, hearing her say "It still hurts, Momma," I called our pediatrician and we got her in for an x-ray. Turns out Zoe has something I have never heard of: an osteochondral defect of her talus bone.

When we got the call after the radiologists read the x-ray, I clenched the cordless phone, listening intently to the doctor as my anatomy class from college - the class from which I thought I retained nothing - came streaming back into my needing information mind.

You know, necessity, mother(s) invention, that thing. Some things wait dormant in your head until you need them.

It comes down to this; Zoe has a growth problem where her leg bone meets her foot bone, causing chronic pain. And it can be fixed.  It's not sinister. It's weird and unexpected and but she's going to be okay, thank heavens.

And the worst case scenario - which the doctor was savvy enough to give me immediately - is surgery, no weight bearing on her ankle for six weeks. Hmmm, inconvenient, but tolerable. Already she has been pulled from recess, P.E., and t-ball, but swimming will be therapeutic. Her six-year-old face was sad but her form gracious as she was a spectator of her own t-ball game Tuesday night. She rooted on her team and visibly wanted to be squatting, baseball ready at third base, but she's in the pool every chance she gets.  

If you can follow a hunch, you can certainly find a silver lining. 

Good thing this happens at a time when the sunlight will fill our days, school is almost out, and the only thing on the agenda is the pool and beach (well, maybe the beach).

There are more times than I realize when I rely on signs or hunches to set me at ease about what I don't know for sure.  This, like Zoe's condition, may be congenital or due to past injury. I will never know.

But I do know there is fact to be found in unconventional wisdom. I know there is truth hiding in patterns, charts and gut feelings.

I'm paying very close attention.

Posted by Sam at 10:53:26 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Monday, May 26, 2008

Our Outdoor Grill Runneth Over

Burgers with bleu cheese crumbles inside, peppers, brats and bread on a grill while kids hit baseballs, brave the chilly early summer pool water, while the sounds of watermelon cracking, toddlers squealing and old friends catching up fill May air of clean gray and oceanic blue.

That is what Memorial Day means to me - because I am exceedingly lucky.

I didn't wait until 3pm as requested, starting this morning when my daughter came into my room and I tried unrealistically to continue sleeping, I said my silent prayers and gave thanks until I almost did fall back into sleep so I could dream up an end to all wars, tragedies, and suffering.  What a wonderful world it would be.

My father and grandfathers served, and made it back okay. I am so fortunate that sometimes I begin to feel guilty, but that seems a futile way to honor a sacrifice. So I say those prayers. And I honor the Earth and her abundance and breathe air into my lungs and try to live as fully as possible (occasional bitching allowed), and smile from beside the outdoor grill where I hope to make happy memories for happy children becoming peaceful adults.

I've heard peace begins at home, and this philosophy keeps me on my toes. It helps to stick with what I know...cooking love and serving it with abandon; bread in the oven, meats and veggies on the grill, sour cream, buttermilk and herbs mixed together to be licked off fingers.
I'd cook a Memorial Day feast for the whole world if I could, starting with those people who should be at home with their families. But for now I will start in my own and acknowledge what is going right. 

Life tastes sweet when you look at it that way.

BURGERS WITH BLEU CHEESE

3 lbs. ground beef - sirloin is best
2 tsp. sea salt
2 tbsp. Worchesthire sauce
1 tsp. tomato paste
1 tbsp. garlic powder
1 cup bleu cheese crumbles

Mix all ingredients but cheese together. Make patties as usual , but put a palmful of bleu cheese in the middle of each patty until cheese is "covered" with beef, or sandwiche inside of the patty.  Grill as usual.

Mix some pureed sun dried tomatoes, lemon zest and basil into some mayonnaise for a quick aioli. Grill burger buns on grill for a couple seconds, and serve with sluices of romaine and heirloom tomatoes.

God Bless America and American Food.


Posted by Sam at 13:41:24 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Sunday, May 25, 2008

I'm Officially Freaked Out & A Steamed Shellfish Recipe From My Book

One of my favorite one-liners of all time is "Never tell me the odds," which Han Solo says in one of the Star Wars movies about successfully navigating a space craft through an asteroid field.

Until now, I had taken the never tell me the odds approach to shark attacks - the chances being about 1 in 10 million - because my fear/fascination of sharks is rivaled only by my love of the ocean (that doesn't mean I'm going surfing in Northern California during dusk near the mouth of a river meeting the open ocean). But four shark attacks since April in the Pacific - two of them fatal - and I think the odds needs to be revised, my freaking out given some reconsideration.

Because logically speaking, we are overfishing our oceans, killing and taking too many species out of the water, and tipping the balance of the aquatic ecosystem. Those big boys and hungry mamas off our coast have to eat something. And maybe, just maybe, they're biting back ("Fish don't take things personally, Mr. Brody.") Well, being hunted and having my dinner taken away sure would piss me off.

Well, I am not a marine biologist, haven't done extensive research on this topic, and whatever the cause, the fact is shark attacks are up. Up, like me in between the hours of 2 a.m. and 4 a.m., wondering if we should go in Mexican waters this summer during our vacation, and go boogie boarding like usual this summer just a few miles south of the last fatal Great White attack last month in Southern California.

Never tell me the odds, just tell me everything is gonna be alright, and make sure there is a hero - Martin Brody, Indiana Jones, Han Solo, my Dad or hubby - nearby to keep the monsters away.

I'll deal with the ones in my head.

STEAMED SHELLFISH
or, A GOOD ALTERNATIVE TO EATING MAKO OR THRESHER SHARK!!!
Clean the shellfish before you put them in the pot…I read once that if you put shellfish (clams) in a pot of water and add cornmeal, it will draw out the sand.  However you do it, clean the shells, and discard any shellfish that do not open during cooking.  Toss out any cracked shellfish, too.

 

3 lbs. shellfish (mussels, clams, cockles, or a combination)

Diced or pureed onion

Shallots

Garlic

Chicken broth

White wine

Extra virgin olive oil

Butter

Herbs (parsley, basil, oregano)

Old Bay Seasoning

Salt & pepper

Juice from 1-2 lemons

 

Heat up a pot, then add olive oil.  Add onion and shallots. 

Sweat both, then add garlic.  Sweat garlic a little, then add shellfish. 

Add a splash or two of wine.

Add enough chicken broth to cover the bottom half of the shell – but don’t cover the shellfish with the broth!

Add seasonings – salt, pepper, Old Bay , herbs, juice of one lemon.

Cover.

Steam over high heat about four minutes, maybe a little longer, until the shellfish open.

When shellfish are open, all of them, turn off the heat, add a pat of butter to round out the sauce, and the juice of the second lemon.

 

The “juice” in the pan can be used to dip crusty bread into, or tossed with pasta.  Don’t waste it, pour it over rice the next day and you will have a rich seafood rice soup for lunch.

 

For a spicy variation…

Add chorizo with the garlic.  Add lime juice instead of lemon, and use cilantro and parsley.


 

Posted by Sam at 15:19:07 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Don't Think Too Much (Dreaming Is Better)



I have this tendency to think too much, to "over-intellectualize", because figuring things out, I have hoped, will fix them. Come to realize that doesn't always work, sometimes the nature of things trumps the why of things. And not everything can be explained.

Like last night, after we got home from Open House at the kid's school and soccer sign-ups, bedtime was already postponed too long, but my kids needed to talk to me. Only me, they wanted Momma. "You'll be cranky in the morning," I told them. "You have a game tomorrow," I said. "Concentrating will be hard for you if you don't get the maximum amount of sleep tonight," I insisted. But they needed to talk, and I had to listen. The nature of curiosity and sadness is this - no schedule, no consideration for what else is going on. And it doesn't matter why.

We put our dog, Terra, down yesterday. I got the kids early from school, told them our 10 year old doggie couldn't walk, wasn't eating, and was suffering. So we spent some time with her before the inevitable vet appointment, and the rest of the day was touch and go. Life went on as usual, play dates, school events, sports commitments. My kids dragged their feet, hung their head, were quieter than usual, but managed to keep busy until climbing into bed. The tears started welling as their minds began to take them someplace where the answers are grasped for and guessed, at best.

What happens when someone dies? What happens to Terra's body now? Can we get another dog? Why do I keep seeing Terra everywhere? Why do people die? Am I going to die?

To which I said, after an hour of painting a fuzzy, beautiful picture about All God's Creatures, "Don't think too much. Dream instead."

Dream about Terra hanging out with St. Francis. Dream about that time she was running so fast and clipped Poppa from behind, causing him to fall hard on his rear end. Dream about how she used to protect you - like when she jumped through the bedroom window screen as two other dogs approached you - and she still will protect you, because energy (like love) does not end, it just changes form.

Don't think too much, dream instead. This is advice I give myself everyday. Because I find, that even when I dream about things I have no right wanting, my imagination brings the internal and external vibrations up a bit. The possibility of positive outcomes becomes greater. If I think too much about what if's or inevitabilities or hypotheticals, my body tightens, my consciousness slips, and prayer or a quick daydream become the rope that pulls me out of a choppy sea.

Some questions I just can't answer, my guess is as good as anyone's. But hopefully, I offered my children a good mechanism for dealing with the unknown. Don't think too much. Dreaming is better.

Blending reality with a manifested daydream...that's how I roll. 

Love you, TerraGirl.

Posted by Sam at 09:50:45 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Mommy Moments, and a Plug

My favorite mommy moments have not been on Mother's Day. Although I LOVE the cards, framed pictures, poems and crafts the kids make for me at school, along with the cards from hubby, and eating whatever I want for dinner (Chinese take out this year), as much as I love buying climbing roses in pots for the two women we're lucky to call Mom, the times that I have felt most loved by my kids - thereby making everything else worth it - have happened randomly and unpexpectedly. This makes perfect sense.

When my son Alex was two years old, he put my pasta strainer on his head and pronounced himself "Strainer Man." Strainer Man walked around the house playing his first "guitar", and sang a song of three chords with these lyrics...."Momma....is my....Momma." Very inventive, don't you think? A little guy in the kitchen serenading his Mom while she cooked dinner. Barely tall enough to surpass my knees, with big brown eyes and a gift for timing, he had me at "Momma."

Last summer, as my girlfriend Krissy pitched wiffle balls to her kids and mine in my parents backyard, I, in my bathing suit, climbed walls and hills of iceplant - although this makes me break out in hives - to retrieve the wiffle balls they hit. Alex, reeling from swimming-ball playing-summer evening-Mom let me have 2 (count 'em) Cokes!-type happiness, got into his hitting stance but before he swung, pointed at me and said, "Look at my little Momma,", so endearingly, it made me almost teary. It takes a lot to make me teary.

So I stayed in the iceplant most of that night, retrieving wiffle balls for my son, even though I itched from that damn iceplant for three days thereafter.

Two nights ago, my littlest girl, Melia, who we call Boo-Boos, came out into the kitchen where I was finalizing my son's report. "Come to bed, Momma," she said, but so into what I was doing - pounding away at my laptop like usual - I didn't even look at her when I said "Go snuggle with Poppa, honey,". "No," she replied softly, in babyish diction yet very persuasively, "Boo-Boos wants you," if that wasn't enough, she added, "Boo-Boos wants Momma." I finished Alex's report the following morning and snuggled with my little girl.  I was tired anyway, and little kids talking about themselves in third person is irresistible. 

My proudest Mommy moment with Zoe, my middle child, is undeniably this; at age 3 - not even very close to age 4 - Zoe jumped off a 3 meter diving board at a nearby recreational pool. In her turquiose green tankini with white flowers, Zoe climbed that tall ladder to the top, tender little feetsies I was afraid would slip, but once at the top, she noticed people with hands over their mouths, "Oh my gosh, look at that little girl," and "You rock, kid!". So she stood on ceremony, ten feet high and twelve feet of clear water beneath, and waited until her cheering section got as loud as possible. She even faked a bit and walked towards the ladder as if to climb down, at which point people yelled "No, jump!  We gotta see this!" So she did. Fearlessly, she jumped, and did so every chance she got for the rest of the day. True story.

What would I be without these moments? These are moving pictures I frame in my mind and look at when my kids really, really piss me off. Or just when I want to smile. Or just when I want to know the meaning, and continuum, of life.

I know my mother-in-law has memories like these of my husband, so when I hear her yell at him in Greek and smack him, I let it go and laugh. I know my Mom has memories like this of me, so when she hugs me and says "You are still my baby," I don't fight her. I just hope no one else is listening.

Someone has listened though, and heard me ask for things I never knew I wanted.

#######
SIDEBAR:
Here is a pic from Parenting Magazine of my hubby, Alex and Melia. He's gonna kill me.
http://www.parenting.com/gallery/-/Hot-Dad-Alert!-1000021500/3

Posted by Sam at 12:37:16 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Covering Up

This past weekend, I had two occasions which required covering up a past mistake.

This mistake was definitely an "if I knew then what I know now" kind of mistake. It was the kind of mistake that illicited scorn - harsh, yelling, cursing scorn - from my father right before I did it, yet I did it anyway (and that may be one of the reasons why I continued on the path of stupidity). It was one of the mistakes that people make in their 30s and call "temporary insanity", and, most regrettably, the kind of mistake that stays with you forever.

But I covered it up this mistake because I am resourceful andalso because I got to know MAC Cosmetics very well when they were a Catering client of mine.

The three little daisies tattooed on the inside of my right ankle was invisible at the rehearsal dinner on Friday night. That mistake I feel that everyone sees first on me and judges me about immediately wasn't visible at all as I walked down the aisle as a happy, supportive bridesmaid - the only bridesmaid in her 30s - and with probably the longest list of mistakes, simply because age dictates many things.
 
But tonight, after all of the wedding festivites are over - my brother in law and new sister in law are on a plane to their tropical honeymoon destination - I feel that age, if we are lucky, dictates wisdom.

I got used to not seeing that *** *** tattoo on my ankle.  I love my pre-tattoo ankle. It's blank, it's nude, it's almost adolescent. That ankle, for 48 hours under good, heavy concealer, looked like it didn't have any mistakes yet. This morning when I woke up and had slept with the concealer on, the three daisies tattoo was more visible again, but not completely. The concealer was kind of orange-y. The tattoo looked worse half-concealed than invisible or not hiding at all.

Let's see; blank ankle, half-concealed tattoo ankle, or unhidden tattooed ankle that the world can see, for better or worse?  I've tried them all now.

A tattoo of three little daisies.  Like three little birds, or three little...kids. It is what it is. Mistake or proof of life? Flower or scientific name? Regret or moving on?

I won't say I'll never cover it up again, but I will say, mistakes don't stay concealed very long.
I should know.
Posted by Sam at 21:58:50 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Thursday, May 08, 2008

This Goes Way Beyond Animal House

I usually do not write about current events because I like food more than politics and I stress enough about daily family life, let alone watching the news/reading the paper to know what horrible things happen in the world and could find their way into mine.

But San Diego - which I've idealized in many of my blogs - has been in the news lately for some unfortunate reasons.

1) Fatal Great White shark attack.
2) Padres doing, um, not so well.
3) Huge drug bust in the college five minutes from me, SDSU, where my hubby went to school and my kids attended pre-school.

It seems even paradise has it's troubles.

The up-side: these things keep me grounded. Because if I could go on believeing that my calm, pristine waters do not hold potential peril, I would. If I could look at a college campus and imagine the only bad guys were Neidermeyer and Dean Wormer, I'd stay in that fictitious place. If you told me the Padres had fight in them and there would be some glory this season, I would make a conscious choice to believe you.

Notice, I said, IF. I not only live in San Diego, but in another place where reality and imagination intersect, where I believe my mind set has something to do with the best possible outcomes.

I'm not changing locations, either. My happy place has nothing to with geographical locations, and even less to do with what I know I can't control. It sure has taken me long enough to arrive here.

So when I learn that one of the SDSU busted was getting a Masters Degree in Homeland Security, I'm reminded things are not always what they seem. When I hear about a fatal shark attack in Mexico, not to mention the 16 footer off my piece of shoreline, I get a little scared about our upcoming trip to and planned beach excursion in Cabo San Lucas. And when I see in the paper again that Maddux was denied his 350th career win, I read between the lines. "There is no big picture in baseball," he said. "Everything is right now...The big picture is what you do now." He is so right.

Besides, what are the alternatives...keep my kids from attending college? Never going in the ocean again? Stop watching baseball?

That is what I find most unacceptable.




Posted by Sam at 10:52:11 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Everything Is Gonna Be Alright

Bob Marley got me through college.

No, I am not talking about contraband. I mean Bob Marley and his band, The Wailers, and their prophet-like words (lyrics). They played to me at times when I really, really needed to hear them.

I'm a liberal arts girl, and although while in college I excelled in math, science classes reduced me to a stressed-out, blubbering mess, especially before exam time. I couldn't even re-sell my Human Anatomy textbook because I threw it against the wall so many times during the semester of hell in which I tried to read it.

But the day before my myology exam - the exam which scared me the most - I found and picked up a penny (heads, not tails, up) right outside of the classroom. More importantly, that morning, at work, I had heard a song I'd listened to hundreds of times, but the words had never sunk in.

I was standing in the employee lounge where I worked, getting coffee, and the speakers were tuned in to a local station, 91X, that played "No Woman, No Cry."

Bob Marley sung, over and over, "Everything is gonna be alright, everything is gonna be alright, everything is gonna be alright, everything is gonna be alright..."

And it was.  Bob Marley songs became a sign for me. I would often hear "Three Little Birds" on the bus I took to class at UCSD ("Three Little Birds" also  reassures me that "every little thing...is gonna be alright"). Before boarding planes, I'd hear Bob Marley at Starbucks. Before my very first sonogram, I heard Marley in my car. On my very last exam in college, I wrote at the bottom, Thank You Bob!. I knew it wouldn't have an impact on my final grade, and I felt it necessary to write a thank you note somewhere appropriate, not only to Marley and his lyrics, but to the Divine force that put Marley in places I could hear him.

When I graduated from college, I noticed these lyrics in other songs. Old songs, new songs, the verses manifested like magic. While hubby and I were planning our wedding, broke but happy, we'd sing "Danny's Song" by Kenny Loggins, at times we were sure no one could hear us. Most people only sing the first two lines of the chorus in Danny's Somng, teetering off at "...I'm so in love with you, honey..." because it's very sentimental to sing Kenny Loggins songs unless you are Kenny Loggins. But if you keep singing or listening very carefully, he says "Everything is gonna be alright."

And it was. And it is.

Marley could keep me calm before an exam, and I believed Kenny Loggins when he said love can run on it's own evergy and not necessarily money in the bank. But parenthood, what a different story. Nothing I read - or wrote - in college preapred me for that. Even the strongest marriages get shaken up with the change that a child brings. With my first little vulnerable baby, I was scared all the time. I would stay up at night and just look at him sleeping, praying and promising that I would never let anything happen to my little guy. He was so fragile.

Like a little bird.

I had Marley in my CD changer, and I still played "Danny's Song", though I sung "House at Pooh Corner" to the baby. It's not a leap to say I was an anxious first-time mother and what I needed was a new sign to renew my faith in things.

"Lullaby" by Shawn Mullins was serendipity over the air waves. It found me - and put my baby to sleep - with the coveted lyrics..."Everything is gonna be alright," with a "rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye..." thrown in to make it sweeter like honey stirred into warm tea. And as you may know, I do not believe in coincidence.  

It's no coincidence I have three little (ceramic) birds on my front porch, in addition to the other three little birds, Alex, Zoe and Melia who live in this musical nest with hubby and me. It's no coincidence that someone or something somehow hears what's inside my head and my heart and responds accordingly with melodic words, the easiest way to reach me. It's no coincidence that I have heard all of these songs in the last week, when I am stirring, stirring like usual, at one turning point or another.

What is called by some a coincidence, or serendipity, is really a sign, that everything is designed, everything is part of a plan, and even if it may seem scary at first, everything, every little thing, is gonna be alright.

I promise you a penny.
Posted by Sam at 12:01:28 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Shark Dreams

I was five years old when Jaws came out. My grandfather took me to see it and typical of my Grandpa, he fell asleep as soon as he sat in a chair ; a chair in a movie theater, a patio chair next to the grill, or the rocking chair in my parent's living room so he wouldn't have to listen to my Grandmother. So I sat in the theater - alone, basically except for the sound of Grandpa's snoring - petrified, but unable to look away from the unintentional Hitchcockian-type scary movie that was based on a true story, well written, and superbly acted. 

Today, it remains my favorite movie still. Every Memorial Day, July 4th and Labor Day I scan through the online television guide to see if it is on cable - TNT, TMC, whatever - because I like it more when it is on television as opposed to watching it n DVD or DVR, for the same reason I am thrilled when my favorite song comes on the radio, although I have the CD in my disc changer. 

But I digress.

The mechanical shark in Jaws left an imprint in my developing childish mind. I have had recurring dreams about sharks since I was a child. To this day I have these shark dreams when life is plodding along happily and without any joy obstructions. Sometimes these dreams expectedly show up in my REM cycle when stress is pulsing through me quicker than oxygen and reason. I can count on shark dreams during Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, but those are more benign and scientific. 

In my shark dreams, I am chased, pursued while water skiing, they appear beneath the surface as I stand on a sinking boat, circle me as I am treading clear - sometimes murky - water, and do their gliding thing all around me as I sail in wooden, white day boats indicative of a New England Cape town.  

I love the ocean, but it's inhabitants scare me so much. I can't stay away from the water, but fear for our safety every time I am near it. Sharks, tsunamis, rogue waves, rip currents, random accidents involving sting rays flying into boats...danger, danger everywhere. Two fatal shark attacks in one week on the Pacific Coast - one in my city for the first time in 50 years - and I'm ready to stay in the pool and not go to the beach all summer long.

So last night, the big great white that has visited me so often in my subconscious mind since childhood paid me a dreamland visit again.  I was at the beach with my husband and children. I was on the shore, my husband and two of my three kids in the water. I scanned the surface for shark fins, and guess what? I found one.

I dreamed it. I made it happen.  I guess you say the seed was planted years ago but I nourished my own nightmare because my mind is strangely quirked that way. 

After I yelled "SHARK!" in my dream, and I think everyone got out of the water fine, I said to the shark, "There you are," calmly. "Here I am. Have you seen me now? Am I free to go?" he replied (I'm sure it's a he, it was a male voice I heard). "Yeah.  See ya," I said. He swam away, the tail fin making two strokes, "See," and "Ya". 

The sharks never get me, or anyone else (well, once my dreams replayed the Quint getting eaten scene when I was 22 years old). They're always just there, reminding me that beauty coexists with caution. Realistically saying to me that worry is my drug, obsession is my fix. And showing me that I don't control everything, however hard I may try. Death is imminent, but not around every corner. So shut up, Sam, dream a happy dream...let the fascination of an awesome creature move you into respect, and let fear swim in the other direction.

I woke up at 3:30 am, like I usually do, and knew I had a choice; calm my mind and go back to sleep, or stay awake, obsessing about this or that, until it was time to get out of bed and get the kids ready for school. 

With a sleepy but successful focus, I was able to go back to sleep after my latest shark dream. And after that shark dream, I had a different dream about filet mignon and baked potatoes. I looked into the brown eyes of someone I know in this dream and I said, "I love meat and potatoes," as I sliced pieces of filet to equal the number of hot, buttered, sour creamed baked potato pieces waiting for me. I enjoyed a meal in my dream with no fear of judgement or calories. With no worry.

I still have the 10,000 Dreams Interpreted book I got for my 16th birthday. It sits on a shelf, in three diferent pieces, but still held together by the red and black cover. It was useful to me once, but I don't think I need it anymore.

Posted by Sam at 08:34:08 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |