Every year, sometime around March or April, thousands of people (kids and adults alike) start yearning for the places they refer to as their summer homes along with their summer families. In the United States alone, there are over 2,700 of these places! Some new and some old; some are specialty camps and others are what they now refer to as Sports Camps.
For most people whose lives have been affected by them, these camps are priceless and whatever it is that makes them that way is indescribable. In fact, at one Camp in particular that's very near and dear to my heart, a song sung each summer sums it up as follows "...to describe it I would never, never try". Many have tried and never quite got there. It may end up being a feeble attempt but I'm going to join the ranks and give it a try.
Camp O-AT-KA is a sensory place. There is the smell of tall pines and clear lake water; wood smoke on cool nights and beach sand on hot days. Yankee Candle could never recreate those smells genuinely or accurately enough to give me the goose bumps I get when I smell them for the first time each summer.
In the Camp Prayer, my Great Grandfather wrote about "...all of nature's sights and sounds" but that alone doesn't project the vivid images of sailboats on the water. Nor does the prayer carry the sound of happy kids down on the waterfront the way a breeze can when you're rocking in a chair on the Bungalow porch.
Nothing can do literary justice to the feeling of dread that seems to live in every Junior unit camper who knows they'll be swimming soon after breakfast in a cold Sebago Lake. I take that back, one Junior came close in a note to Mom and Dad. "Swimming is a living hell" he wrote. "The instructors taunt me as I climb back on the dock, blue from hypothermia". A little dramatic but you get the general idea.
Any number of us who have been around for awhile can tell you what it sounded like to hear my Grandfather, singing one of the Hymns from chapel as he made his way from Camp back down to Greyledge on a Sunday afternoon but it probably wouldn't bring a tear to your eye.
You might be familiar with having heard a dinner bell but probably not like the one in the Commons that feels, simultaneously, like the most warm welcome and most solemn reproach.
Even as I sit here now, painfully lamenting the wane of summer, I can tell you with the exception of my family, nothing means more to me than this place. These people. These smells. These sounds and sights.
Each one of the 2,700 plus camps across the U.S. has veins and life blood that runs through it. They are each one unique in detail but all universal in feeling. They are each one true love. I think it's as simple as that.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Monday, January 13, 2014
Moonlight serenade...
A little while ago, Budward and I were outside for his final tinkle of the evening. Though I couldn't see the moon itself, it must be nearly full tonight because everything was bathed in that indescribable blackish, blueish, purplish, grayish light. It was so serene and I really do try to enjoy those moments so I was staring up at the sky while Buddy went about his business.
The trees looked kind of like the teeth of a comb, separated by moonlight and just as I was enjoying the optical illusion............
BANG!!!!!!!!
SHHHHOOOOOOSSSSSHHHHHH, THUMP, thump-thump.....
Jesus, Mary and Joseph in the foothills!!!!!!!!! (No idea if that was internal or external monologue)
Most of the snow left on our porch roof let loose and fell to the deck/stairs about two feet from where we stood.
Clad in my leopard print flannel pj's, Sorels and 3/4 length down coat (of course the hood was up - what, do you think I'm some sort of wild animal?!?!) I found myself in a semi-crouched position, ready for action, with Budward (also in a semi-crouch) between MY feet, tail firmly tucked between his own. By unspoken consent, we agreed we were done outside and made it indoors at a brisk pace.
Thank God Buddy had taken care of business and I made a quick visit to the bathroom to ensure I HADN'T.
It's all good.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
We're Full!!!
Well, it's December 5th already and, what with the gradual clearing of the Thanksgiving food-coma-hangover, it's time to take stock and look ahead. After all, I DID just get my LNA and am truly looking forward to traveling down that road. So, with the power of positivity compelling me, I looked.
Sometimes, don't you just wish you'd never looked?
It all started about a week before Thanksgiving. Not for nothing but it also happened to be just as I was set to take the State Board Exams to finish up the initial education portion of my LNA. Some might say this was a stressful time...
Let me just say this: If you've never experienced it yourself, you can absolutely take my word for the fact that no good comes from hearing your husband use a plunger in the shower. Trust me, there is no incident-free road to be taken. None.
Being who I am however, and my husband being who HE is, I did not panic. I don't even think the dog flinched at the odd noise. Had it been a life or death situation, I felt sure he'd have the energy to whack the wall with the plunger as a means to get my attention. On the other hand, if he was simply learning a new form of percussion, who was I to interrupt and stop the flow of creativity?
Apparently, it was something in between the two scenarios and there was more than just the flow of creativity being stopped. If you haven't already guessed, our septic was backed up.
A short time later and, sort of 'matter of factly', my husband said he'd be going outside in the morning to check the Baffles and clean any clogs. If that didn't work, he sighed, we'd be calling our best friends at the Septic Company.
Next morning, the very same morning I was scheduled for both my written and practical exams, he went outside, cleared what he needed to and felt we were in pretty good shape so he took a shower in the basement bathroom (aka the Boys Room). I DID mention I had exams that morning, right? I'll also share my theory that it would likely be a good idea to show up for said exams clean and presentable...
Shortly after my husband showered, I headed in to take my shower in the other bathroom (the Girls Room). I had my Scrubs all laid out, my watch with the second hand was ready to go, tunes were blasting and the showering commenced.
Now, I don't know about you, but I shower from the top down. I shampoo my hair, rinse it, condition it, rinse it, wash my face, ears and neck and so on down the line.
Approximately 15 seconds after I put conditioner in my hair, my husband threw open the bathroom door and said "You have to stop showering NOW!!! THERE'S A BACKUP!!!"
Getting scared or startled while in the shower always makes me think of the movie "Psycho" and I believe that's where hijinx like that belong. They do NOT belong in my bathroom on the morning of State Exams. "SERIOUSLY???" I cried. "I HAVE CONDITIONER!!!" but it was no good, I could already hear him running back down the stairs. So, now the water is turned off and I'm standing there. I'm wet, cold, conditiony and my exams were in one hour. More than slightly miffed, I toweled off, closed the drain to the sink and rinsed as much conditioner out of my hair as was humanly possible in a 4" deep basin.
Muttering the entire way, I threw on some deodorant, brushed my teeth in to the thoroughly conditioned water which, by that time, looked like something out of a Drano commercial and I got dressed....to go to my State Board Exams. I'll spare you the stress and let you know now that I passed.
Apparently, the entire situation looked, sounded and smelled a little different in the Boys Room. This is mostly hearsay so, normally, I'd assume there had been some exaggeration but I did see the post apocalyptic damage and it was pretty severe. No longer miffed, I did feel a little bad for my husband.
He said he heard the water pump kick on, there was a brief pause and then he heard a "gurgle"....coming from HIS shower. Apparently, moments later, "up from the ground came a bubblin' crude" and we're not talking Oil. With the detail I've provided, I'm sure you can use your imagination and come to the conclusion that none of us will ever be the same. It was truly the stuff of nightmares and, I assure you, the nightmares about vile substances and the inability to get away from them continue to haunt.
As sort of an aside, I'll also tell you that we had to get our Chimney replaced two days before this happened and that our tenant's Septic had similar issues two days after Thanksgiving.
As a 'silver lining', the tradesmen we dealt with on all issues were amazing! They responded quickly, knew what to do and only one of them charged an additional Emergency fee. Not for nothing, but if cleaning up (large scale) messes like that was my vocation, I would charge an additional Emergency fee every single time. There are some things you can't un-see or un-smell for that matter.
What can YOU take away from this? My most sincere wishes for Happy Holidays and a reminder that, as you get stressed out over the next month, remember that there are people out there who are not only stressed but are also up to their eyeballs in the septic tank. It could always be worse.
Sometimes, don't you just wish you'd never looked?
It all started about a week before Thanksgiving. Not for nothing but it also happened to be just as I was set to take the State Board Exams to finish up the initial education portion of my LNA. Some might say this was a stressful time...
Let me just say this: If you've never experienced it yourself, you can absolutely take my word for the fact that no good comes from hearing your husband use a plunger in the shower. Trust me, there is no incident-free road to be taken. None.
Being who I am however, and my husband being who HE is, I did not panic. I don't even think the dog flinched at the odd noise. Had it been a life or death situation, I felt sure he'd have the energy to whack the wall with the plunger as a means to get my attention. On the other hand, if he was simply learning a new form of percussion, who was I to interrupt and stop the flow of creativity?
Apparently, it was something in between the two scenarios and there was more than just the flow of creativity being stopped. If you haven't already guessed, our septic was backed up.
A short time later and, sort of 'matter of factly', my husband said he'd be going outside in the morning to check the Baffles and clean any clogs. If that didn't work, he sighed, we'd be calling our best friends at the Septic Company.
Next morning, the very same morning I was scheduled for both my written and practical exams, he went outside, cleared what he needed to and felt we were in pretty good shape so he took a shower in the basement bathroom (aka the Boys Room). I DID mention I had exams that morning, right? I'll also share my theory that it would likely be a good idea to show up for said exams clean and presentable...
Shortly after my husband showered, I headed in to take my shower in the other bathroom (the Girls Room). I had my Scrubs all laid out, my watch with the second hand was ready to go, tunes were blasting and the showering commenced.
Now, I don't know about you, but I shower from the top down. I shampoo my hair, rinse it, condition it, rinse it, wash my face, ears and neck and so on down the line.
Approximately 15 seconds after I put conditioner in my hair, my husband threw open the bathroom door and said "You have to stop showering NOW!!! THERE'S A BACKUP!!!"
Getting scared or startled while in the shower always makes me think of the movie "Psycho" and I believe that's where hijinx like that belong. They do NOT belong in my bathroom on the morning of State Exams. "SERIOUSLY???" I cried. "I HAVE CONDITIONER!!!" but it was no good, I could already hear him running back down the stairs. So, now the water is turned off and I'm standing there. I'm wet, cold, conditiony and my exams were in one hour. More than slightly miffed, I toweled off, closed the drain to the sink and rinsed as much conditioner out of my hair as was humanly possible in a 4" deep basin.
Muttering the entire way, I threw on some deodorant, brushed my teeth in to the thoroughly conditioned water which, by that time, looked like something out of a Drano commercial and I got dressed....to go to my State Board Exams. I'll spare you the stress and let you know now that I passed.
Apparently, the entire situation looked, sounded and smelled a little different in the Boys Room. This is mostly hearsay so, normally, I'd assume there had been some exaggeration but I did see the post apocalyptic damage and it was pretty severe. No longer miffed, I did feel a little bad for my husband.
He said he heard the water pump kick on, there was a brief pause and then he heard a "gurgle"....coming from HIS shower. Apparently, moments later, "up from the ground came a bubblin' crude" and we're not talking Oil. With the detail I've provided, I'm sure you can use your imagination and come to the conclusion that none of us will ever be the same. It was truly the stuff of nightmares and, I assure you, the nightmares about vile substances and the inability to get away from them continue to haunt.
As sort of an aside, I'll also tell you that we had to get our Chimney replaced two days before this happened and that our tenant's Septic had similar issues two days after Thanksgiving.
As a 'silver lining', the tradesmen we dealt with on all issues were amazing! They responded quickly, knew what to do and only one of them charged an additional Emergency fee. Not for nothing, but if cleaning up (large scale) messes like that was my vocation, I would charge an additional Emergency fee every single time. There are some things you can't un-see or un-smell for that matter.
What can YOU take away from this? My most sincere wishes for Happy Holidays and a reminder that, as you get stressed out over the next month, remember that there are people out there who are not only stressed but are also up to their eyeballs in the septic tank. It could always be worse.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Coming Around Again
Warm, homemade Tapioca Pudding.
There are times when I get an urge to cook or bake something like Tapioca Pudding. I never think much of it while in the process itself but, at some point I find myself smiling for no reason and, then, when I stop to think about it, she's there.
Perennial flowers in Spring and Summer.
Living in New England through long, cold winters, there are few things that can make me smile with wonder like a kid on Christmas morning. Walking through the yard in the Spring and reacquainting myself with Perennials as they pop up from the flat, brown ground like magic is one of those things. As I stop and enjoy the moment, she's there.
My Mother passed away on May 23, 2009 from Pancreatic Cancer. Hers was pretty well advanced at diagnosis. They tried, unsuccessfully, to do a Whipple procedure to remove the Cancer and she died 18 months later. We did not have a fantastic relationship at her death but we were geographically close and, therefore, I was with her for a lot of the year and a half from diagnosis to death.
To say I was not at my best would be an understatement since my Stepmother had died, from inoperable Lung Cancer three weeks before my Mom was diagnosed. For my Stepmother, I provided roughly 75% (maybe more) of her in home care as directed by the Visiting Nurses who would come in once a week or so. She was diagnosed late in May of 2007 and died early in November of 2007. The year the Red Sox won their second World Championship in four years. My husband and I went to Game Two with friends at Fenway Park. It was the first time I'd taken off from caring for her in months. That night, she would try to get up, by herself, to go to the portable toilet in her bedroom. She fell and, in doing so, broke her hip since the Cancer had spread through her bones. She was gone roughly a week later.
At any rate, it's safe to say I was an emotional mess from May 2007 through May 2009, the time from diagnosis to death of both.
For the next year, I was angry. Very angry. Angry that my Mom was far from perfect, angry that my Father and Step-siblings did the least amount to help care for my Stepmother as was humanly possible. Angry that I missed the better part of two years of my kids growing up while I was busy taking care of these two women. Angry that my husband had to take over doing just about everything at home during that time. He did it all without question but I always felt like I was letting him, the girls and myself down.
Two years out, I started remembering good things and forgetting bad things and quietly started mourning the loss of my mother.
Now, more than four years later, things are coming around again. Things like making homemade Tapioca Pudding and watching flowers come up in Spring. These things are every bit to me a warm hug as they are food or beautiful accents to our yard. My Mom is with me.
When I feel my Mother there, whether she's in my head or actually floating around the house, it gives me solace. It is stronger and more tangible than anything any organized religion has ever been able to provide. It melts off the candy coating of a cliché and turns it in to something personal and trustworthy. Something I will keep with me always.
Finally, it makes me smile a lot more at the experiences with my own daughters. I love it because I know that some day, when they're cooking or baking or even when they're laughing at a joke together, I will be with my girls.
To me, that's religion coming around again.
There are times when I get an urge to cook or bake something like Tapioca Pudding. I never think much of it while in the process itself but, at some point I find myself smiling for no reason and, then, when I stop to think about it, she's there.
Perennial flowers in Spring and Summer.
Living in New England through long, cold winters, there are few things that can make me smile with wonder like a kid on Christmas morning. Walking through the yard in the Spring and reacquainting myself with Perennials as they pop up from the flat, brown ground like magic is one of those things. As I stop and enjoy the moment, she's there.
My Mother passed away on May 23, 2009 from Pancreatic Cancer. Hers was pretty well advanced at diagnosis. They tried, unsuccessfully, to do a Whipple procedure to remove the Cancer and she died 18 months later. We did not have a fantastic relationship at her death but we were geographically close and, therefore, I was with her for a lot of the year and a half from diagnosis to death.
To say I was not at my best would be an understatement since my Stepmother had died, from inoperable Lung Cancer three weeks before my Mom was diagnosed. For my Stepmother, I provided roughly 75% (maybe more) of her in home care as directed by the Visiting Nurses who would come in once a week or so. She was diagnosed late in May of 2007 and died early in November of 2007. The year the Red Sox won their second World Championship in four years. My husband and I went to Game Two with friends at Fenway Park. It was the first time I'd taken off from caring for her in months. That night, she would try to get up, by herself, to go to the portable toilet in her bedroom. She fell and, in doing so, broke her hip since the Cancer had spread through her bones. She was gone roughly a week later.
At any rate, it's safe to say I was an emotional mess from May 2007 through May 2009, the time from diagnosis to death of both.
For the next year, I was angry. Very angry. Angry that my Mom was far from perfect, angry that my Father and Step-siblings did the least amount to help care for my Stepmother as was humanly possible. Angry that I missed the better part of two years of my kids growing up while I was busy taking care of these two women. Angry that my husband had to take over doing just about everything at home during that time. He did it all without question but I always felt like I was letting him, the girls and myself down.
Two years out, I started remembering good things and forgetting bad things and quietly started mourning the loss of my mother.
Now, more than four years later, things are coming around again. Things like making homemade Tapioca Pudding and watching flowers come up in Spring. These things are every bit to me a warm hug as they are food or beautiful accents to our yard. My Mom is with me.
When I feel my Mother there, whether she's in my head or actually floating around the house, it gives me solace. It is stronger and more tangible than anything any organized religion has ever been able to provide. It melts off the candy coating of a cliché and turns it in to something personal and trustworthy. Something I will keep with me always.
Finally, it makes me smile a lot more at the experiences with my own daughters. I love it because I know that some day, when they're cooking or baking or even when they're laughing at a joke together, I will be with my girls.
To me, that's religion coming around again.
Friday, October 19, 2012
There needs to be some sort of prize for being stuck on "Forever Hold"
Okay, so I realize that there are people in the world with problems so horrifyingly huge that, when compared on a chart, people keep trying to dust the crumb representing my problems off because it's just a distraction. I get that. That having been said, I'm reminded of an early episode of the TV Show "Ally McBeal". Georgia asks "Ally, what makes your problems so much bigger than everyone else's?" She gives it an honest moment's thought, matter-of-factly replies "They're mine" and walks away. So, now that we know just how narcissistic I am, let's move on, shall we?
This morning, I was making some calls from our land line, and one of those calls happened to be my Doctor's office. Nothing earth shattering, just calling in to pay a bill. I'm telling the representative on the other end my credit card number. It's important to note I'm speaking slowly and clearly because everyone knows, when you say "Nine", the person at the other end will invariably hear "Five". You say "Fifty", they hear "Sixty" and so on. So I'm marveling at my model citizenship because I've made this person's job a little easier by caring enough to enunciate. After reading the card number, pausing briefly and clearly stating the expiration date, I ask if she would like the numbers on the back of my card (model citizenship - anticipating her needs - wink). There's the first moment or two of quiet when I'm thinking 'Gee, this person really takes their job seriously and is taking as great care in recording the information as I did in providing it'. By moment four or five, I just think she's just being rude. Then I start to say "Hello? Anybody there?" Next I tempt fate by saying something really embarrassing like "Yo, Dinglenut, ya' still there or were the bagels in the break room calling you?" (Someday I will dig to the bottom of that thought process but not today. I have a gut feeling that it would make a fantastic blog and I don't want to blow more than one good idea per blog - it always seems like overkill and, quite frankly, gives the reader unrealistic expectations for each subsequent blog. I crack under that kind of pressure).
Back to the call. Due to my Clouseau like detection skills, I've determined the call has been disconnected. I hang up and try dialing again only to get dead air. Like an idiot, I start saying "HELLO?!?" progressively louder, thinking the person on the other end may have just inexplicably gone deaf during our phone call. Hang up again. Try to redial and now I'm getting a busy signal. As though I'm in one of those silent educational short films they use on programs like Sesame Street, I turn to the camera with a look of surprise tap my index finger to my temple, and seem to be saying 'Hey! I know, I'll use my cell phone!!' Using said cell phone, I try to call the land line. "Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try again". Even though this is my home phone number which has been the same damned number for 35 plus years, I second guess myself and click "Recent Calls" on my cell phone. Looking at the camera puzzled, 'Nope, not the wrong number....Hmmmmm'.
Our services are bundled so I check Cable. Nope, Cable's fine. Internet, well, I'm writing this blog, aren't I? Finally, I bite the bullet and call Customer Service where I am told by another recording that "Due to an increased call volume, wait times may exceed ten minutes". I decide I've got nothing better to do so I wait.....and wait............and take the dog outside......and wait......and have a piece of warmed up Banana Bread slathered with butter. (Yes, I deserved the extra butter because I was subjected to excessive wait times). THIRTY ONE MINUTES later, I decide I HAVE got better things to do and hang up. Why - after all of that waiting didn't I just suck it up and deal with it? I'll tell you why - Because with my luck, just as I sit down to pee, the perky Customer Service Rep would chime in with "Thank you for calling Comcast where we strive to make your life easier, my name is Jane Doe, how can I assist you today?"
After completing important matters, being the glutton for punishment that I am (AND sensing there's a blog somewhere in this experience), I call back. Now, I wait.....and wait.....and SUDDENLY there's a series of clicks, I get very excited and start doing the 'I'm the next customer in line and, therefore, the current VIP' dance in my head when another recording starts. "We apologize but due to higher than normal call volumes wait times will be extended........We are experiencing outages in your area and have technicians working to resolve the problem. Please call back at a later time".
Standing there, mid dance move, I'm speechless. This lasts roughly 1.8 seconds when it clicks that it's a recording that has just told me everything I already knew. A recording I waited more than a half hour for so I could hear everything I already knew. By this time I'm thankful it's a recording because I unleash a whole can of Frustration and Swearing Whoop-ass on it. "DO YA' THINK - GENIUS A**????? FOR F***'S SAKE - I KNOW I'M A LITTLE STIR CRAZY BUT I DON'T HANG OUT ON HOLD FOR *HITS AND GIGGLES YA' USELESS *OUCHEBAG!!!"
From there, I hung up the phone and just stood there, reliving the moment. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Sometimes swearing is excessive and gratuitous but other times there is just no substitute for an appropriately placed F-bomb!!
Now, if that's the worst problem of my day, I'm luckier than a whole big chunk of the world's population!!!
Have a fantastic weekend!
This morning, I was making some calls from our land line, and one of those calls happened to be my Doctor's office. Nothing earth shattering, just calling in to pay a bill. I'm telling the representative on the other end my credit card number. It's important to note I'm speaking slowly and clearly because everyone knows, when you say "Nine", the person at the other end will invariably hear "Five". You say "Fifty", they hear "Sixty" and so on. So I'm marveling at my model citizenship because I've made this person's job a little easier by caring enough to enunciate. After reading the card number, pausing briefly and clearly stating the expiration date, I ask if she would like the numbers on the back of my card (model citizenship - anticipating her needs - wink). There's the first moment or two of quiet when I'm thinking 'Gee, this person really takes their job seriously and is taking as great care in recording the information as I did in providing it'. By moment four or five, I just think she's just being rude. Then I start to say "Hello? Anybody there?" Next I tempt fate by saying something really embarrassing like "Yo, Dinglenut, ya' still there or were the bagels in the break room calling you?" (Someday I will dig to the bottom of that thought process but not today. I have a gut feeling that it would make a fantastic blog and I don't want to blow more than one good idea per blog - it always seems like overkill and, quite frankly, gives the reader unrealistic expectations for each subsequent blog. I crack under that kind of pressure).
Back to the call. Due to my Clouseau like detection skills, I've determined the call has been disconnected. I hang up and try dialing again only to get dead air. Like an idiot, I start saying "HELLO?!?" progressively louder, thinking the person on the other end may have just inexplicably gone deaf during our phone call. Hang up again. Try to redial and now I'm getting a busy signal. As though I'm in one of those silent educational short films they use on programs like Sesame Street, I turn to the camera with a look of surprise tap my index finger to my temple, and seem to be saying 'Hey! I know, I'll use my cell phone!!' Using said cell phone, I try to call the land line. "Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try again". Even though this is my home phone number which has been the same damned number for 35 plus years, I second guess myself and click "Recent Calls" on my cell phone. Looking at the camera puzzled, 'Nope, not the wrong number....Hmmmmm'.
Our services are bundled so I check Cable. Nope, Cable's fine. Internet, well, I'm writing this blog, aren't I? Finally, I bite the bullet and call Customer Service where I am told by another recording that "Due to an increased call volume, wait times may exceed ten minutes". I decide I've got nothing better to do so I wait.....and wait............and take the dog outside......and wait......and have a piece of warmed up Banana Bread slathered with butter. (Yes, I deserved the extra butter because I was subjected to excessive wait times). THIRTY ONE MINUTES later, I decide I HAVE got better things to do and hang up. Why - after all of that waiting didn't I just suck it up and deal with it? I'll tell you why - Because with my luck, just as I sit down to pee, the perky Customer Service Rep would chime in with "Thank you for calling Comcast where we strive to make your life easier, my name is Jane Doe, how can I assist you today?"
After completing important matters, being the glutton for punishment that I am (AND sensing there's a blog somewhere in this experience), I call back. Now, I wait.....and wait.....and SUDDENLY there's a series of clicks, I get very excited and start doing the 'I'm the next customer in line and, therefore, the current VIP' dance in my head when another recording starts. "We apologize but due to higher than normal call volumes wait times will be extended........We are experiencing outages in your area and have technicians working to resolve the problem. Please call back at a later time".
Standing there, mid dance move, I'm speechless. This lasts roughly 1.8 seconds when it clicks that it's a recording that has just told me everything I already knew. A recording I waited more than a half hour for so I could hear everything I already knew. By this time I'm thankful it's a recording because I unleash a whole can of Frustration and Swearing Whoop-ass on it. "DO YA' THINK - GENIUS A**????? FOR F***'S SAKE - I KNOW I'M A LITTLE STIR CRAZY BUT I DON'T HANG OUT ON HOLD FOR *HITS AND GIGGLES YA' USELESS *OUCHEBAG!!!"
From there, I hung up the phone and just stood there, reliving the moment. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Sometimes swearing is excessive and gratuitous but other times there is just no substitute for an appropriately placed F-bomb!!
Now, if that's the worst problem of my day, I'm luckier than a whole big chunk of the world's population!!!
Have a fantastic weekend!
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Stuffed French Toast
Okay, so every once in awhile I get truly inspired by something to try making a new dish. It happens to all of the great Chefs in history. Julia was often inspired by a particular region and, sometimes by the Vineyards in said region...
My inspiration? Typically it comes in the form of getting a "rumbly in my tumbly". You know how some people predict weather using their various aches and pains? I rely on my stomach for inspiration as well as predicting what culinary delight I will create. It's a gift.
This morning was like the Perfect Storm in terms of cooking. It's Sunday, dreary and a cool 68 degrees on the back porch. Finally, my daughters did the grocery shopping for us yesterday. Throw in the memory of a beautiful B & B in Vermont where my husband and I married and the Chef there made us Stuffed French Toast; Hearty bread dipped in egg mixture, slathered with a sort of peach frosting and another piece of the bread. I'd never heard of anything like that before and enjoyed every bite. Culinary Karma was in the air this morning....
STUFFED FRENCH TOAST
Serves 4 - 5
Ingredients
1 - Loaf French Bread (or bread of your choice)
1 - Pint Ripe Strawberries hulled and sliced (roughly 1/8 inch slices)
4 - Ounces Cream Cheese (Half a standard block), softened
1/8 Pound of good Prosciutto, shaved
1/4 - Cup Confectioners Sugar plus extra for dusting
3 - Extra Large Eggs
2 to 3 - Cups Milk
A few shakes of Cinnamon and/or Nutmeg
Cast Iron Skillet thoroughly preheated over Medium heat
Cooking Spray
Large piece of aluminum foil
Sandwich sized Ziploc bag
Instructions
Slice French Bread on a diagonal in (roughly) 2 inch wide slices and set aside.
In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs.
Whisk in Cinnamon and/or Nutmeg.
Whisk in Milk until all are thoroughly combined.
Set aside while prepping other ingredients to give the spices time to really flavor the egg mixture.
Meanwhile, in a small bowl, using a wooden spoon (or whatever works best for you), thoroughly combine 1/4 Cup Confectioners Sugar and Cream Cheese. Set aside.
Spray skillet with cooking spray.
Dip a piece of bread in the egg mixture and place it on the skillet.
On that piece of bread, layer the following: One layer of Prosciutto, then 1 - 2 Tbls. of Sweetened Cream Cheese (we used a frosting spreader for this) and Strawberries.
Dip a second piece of bread in the egg mixture and use it as the final layer in this 'sandwich'.
Repeat with remainder of ingredients.
Cover skillet with the foil, shiny side down.
After 2 or 3 minutes, remove the foil and using a wide spatula, lift the corner of the sandwich to see if it's browned. If yes, carefully flip over the sandwiches and replace foil over skillet. If no, give it another minute.
NOTE: If you're using Cast Iron, turn the heat down to low or medium low at this point to prevent the sandwiches burning.
Flip the sandwiches a couple of times more and remove them to a serving dish.
Fill the Ziploc bag with the remaining sweetened cream cheese mixture.
Squeeze all air out of the bag and close the Ziploc.
Shake the bag until all of the mixture has settled at one of the bottom corners of the bag.
Snip open a small hole at that corner of the bag.
Use this to pipe the mixture on to the top of the sandwiches.
Stick strawberry slices in to, or around, the cream cheese mixture.
Put Confectioner's sugar in to a sifter and sprinkle it over the sandwiches and serve.
This is so tasty and it goes as nicely with a Mimosa as it does an ice cold glass of Milk. Also, it's fun to cook this with a second person since it lends itself to an 'assembly line' method of preparation.
Enjoy!!!
Thursday, June 14, 2012
A Year of First Lasts...
With social networking tools like Facebook readily available to all, participants get instant updates and feedback on whatever fellows are experiencing at the moment.
This year and, particularly this time of year, there are lots of parents bleeding bittersweet emotion about their eldest graduating High School on the pages of Facebook. Since I am viewing that particular milestone through the rear view mirror, I thought I'd share some thoughts on the experience. Also, I will apologize in advance for, very likely, not making you laugh.
In the 1991 movie about a rock band made up of teenage misfits, there is a scene that includes one of the band member's Dad. Though I haven't seen the movie since then, I recall a certain line in particular. It hit home with me for two reasons; First, I was born a smart ass and I'll die a smart ass so I always appreciate quick wit. Second, I lost both of my maternal grandparents to Cancer that year. Believe it or not, it made me laugh out loud when the Dad (chastising his 'no-good' son) says "And you, yeh malignant little bastard...".
Now we've come 'round to the reason this particular quote recently resurfaced in my brain. From the moment they are conceived, we witness the never ending miracle of growth in our children. As parents, we are powerless to slow or stop it. The role and responsibility we are blessed with is similar to that of riverbeds and the rocks they hold while the water changes its course causing the rocks to smooth and soften with time. We are given an opportunity to teach, direct, redirect and watch as the water passes by toward its next destination.
The first year of a child's life is filled with "Firsts". First smile, first food, first giggle and first steps. My memories of my eldest's Senior year in High School are filled with what I refer to as "First Lasts". The last first day of High School; the last football game where she played in Marching Band; the last school concert; the last Equestrian Show. It seemed everywhere I turned, I was being reminded that our kids are with us for such a short time. This realization made me feel several things, not the least of which was sad. What I also felt was pride, joy, privilege, unending and always growing love, but most of all a very pronounced feeling of Awe. Our children hold us in a state of awe for always.
High School Graduation is an emotional time for parents and their children. Roles are changing with each milestone and measure of maturity. Lots of times, I didn't recognize these changes until well after they'd swept by like the water in that river I mentioned. Sometimes I felt as though I'd cried enough bittersweet tears to feed that river for eternity. Tears spurred on, sometimes by sadness at the loss of the little girl but mostly those spawned in complete pride and adoration of the young woman she has become. What I did recognize as it happened were captured as various snapshots in my mind. I'm not big on Scrapbooking, though I wish I was, but I have enough memories of my daughter from that final year of High School to fill up an entire Scrapbook. What's difficult to see, when you see that Cap and Gown or that Diploma, is that there are many, many more Scrapbooks in the future, just waiting to be filled. For me, that realization came on the day we brought my eldest to College for the very first time and got her as settled in as possible. I kept thinking and wondering if I could possibly live there with her and continue to keep her safe and comforted....I might be able to set up a little cot under her bed...
That second feeling NEVER quite goes away but it is ALWAYS the second feeling. The first feeling is that of letting go a kite that this young adult is flying on her own and watching the beautiful colors and patterns flying on the wind. It is my most sincere wish, dream and hope that my daughters continue to grow and amaze me as they make their way in life but, more importantly, that they wish, dream and hope for themselves and whatever the future has in store for them.
So, with every eye roll, sigh of frustration, tear shed and irritated "Mooommmm..." or "Daaaadddd..." you go through this year, the only advice I can give is to do your level best not to touch or mar the delicate and colorful new wings breaking through the chrysalis for the first time. Rather, take the snapshot in your mind and keep it there always. It may only be one tiny piece of the puzzle but to leave it out would forever leave the puzzle incomplete.
To my Daughters and Stepdaughters - I love you all so much more than you will know until you have kids of your own one day......a long time from now.... You each make me more proud than I can say.
To Parents watching their children complete this year of First Lasts, recognize it all for what it is and own the bittersweet feelings that accompany it. They will always be part of who you are.
This year and, particularly this time of year, there are lots of parents bleeding bittersweet emotion about their eldest graduating High School on the pages of Facebook. Since I am viewing that particular milestone through the rear view mirror, I thought I'd share some thoughts on the experience. Also, I will apologize in advance for, very likely, not making you laugh.
In the 1991 movie about a rock band made up of teenage misfits, there is a scene that includes one of the band member's Dad. Though I haven't seen the movie since then, I recall a certain line in particular. It hit home with me for two reasons; First, I was born a smart ass and I'll die a smart ass so I always appreciate quick wit. Second, I lost both of my maternal grandparents to Cancer that year. Believe it or not, it made me laugh out loud when the Dad (chastising his 'no-good' son) says "And you, yeh malignant little bastard...".
Now we've come 'round to the reason this particular quote recently resurfaced in my brain. From the moment they are conceived, we witness the never ending miracle of growth in our children. As parents, we are powerless to slow or stop it. The role and responsibility we are blessed with is similar to that of riverbeds and the rocks they hold while the water changes its course causing the rocks to smooth and soften with time. We are given an opportunity to teach, direct, redirect and watch as the water passes by toward its next destination.
The first year of a child's life is filled with "Firsts". First smile, first food, first giggle and first steps. My memories of my eldest's Senior year in High School are filled with what I refer to as "First Lasts". The last first day of High School; the last football game where she played in Marching Band; the last school concert; the last Equestrian Show. It seemed everywhere I turned, I was being reminded that our kids are with us for such a short time. This realization made me feel several things, not the least of which was sad. What I also felt was pride, joy, privilege, unending and always growing love, but most of all a very pronounced feeling of Awe. Our children hold us in a state of awe for always.
High School Graduation is an emotional time for parents and their children. Roles are changing with each milestone and measure of maturity. Lots of times, I didn't recognize these changes until well after they'd swept by like the water in that river I mentioned. Sometimes I felt as though I'd cried enough bittersweet tears to feed that river for eternity. Tears spurred on, sometimes by sadness at the loss of the little girl but mostly those spawned in complete pride and adoration of the young woman she has become. What I did recognize as it happened were captured as various snapshots in my mind. I'm not big on Scrapbooking, though I wish I was, but I have enough memories of my daughter from that final year of High School to fill up an entire Scrapbook. What's difficult to see, when you see that Cap and Gown or that Diploma, is that there are many, many more Scrapbooks in the future, just waiting to be filled. For me, that realization came on the day we brought my eldest to College for the very first time and got her as settled in as possible. I kept thinking and wondering if I could possibly live there with her and continue to keep her safe and comforted....I might be able to set up a little cot under her bed...
That second feeling NEVER quite goes away but it is ALWAYS the second feeling. The first feeling is that of letting go a kite that this young adult is flying on her own and watching the beautiful colors and patterns flying on the wind. It is my most sincere wish, dream and hope that my daughters continue to grow and amaze me as they make their way in life but, more importantly, that they wish, dream and hope for themselves and whatever the future has in store for them.
So, with every eye roll, sigh of frustration, tear shed and irritated "Mooommmm..." or "Daaaadddd..." you go through this year, the only advice I can give is to do your level best not to touch or mar the delicate and colorful new wings breaking through the chrysalis for the first time. Rather, take the snapshot in your mind and keep it there always. It may only be one tiny piece of the puzzle but to leave it out would forever leave the puzzle incomplete.
To my Daughters and Stepdaughters - I love you all so much more than you will know until you have kids of your own one day......a long time from now.... You each make me more proud than I can say.
To Parents watching their children complete this year of First Lasts, recognize it all for what it is and own the bittersweet feelings that accompany it. They will always be part of who you are.
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