TAB (Take A Breath) Lauren's Cooking!

My oldest child is entertaining for the first time this evening in her own abode. She has had friends over before but to a Mom beer pong festivities do not count as REAL entertaining. This should be interesting. Lauren is great at making grilled cheese on her George Foreman, fried eggs, the occasional hamburger and of course reservations. 

It is truly hard to believe that a young woman who can stick tubes up people’s orifices as an ICU nurse is the same woman who called her mother up to learn how to make a pizza. I was so proud! I told her that I had some dough in the freezer she could use, fresh basil in our garden and there was a jar of homemade sauce at her disposal. She quickly stopped me in my tracks and said, “Wait Mom, wait! TAB (take a breath), I just wanted to know if I take the cardboard off the bottom of this before I stick it in the oven.”

I shouldn’t be surprised. On the way to the airport she told me how she mastered titrating drugs, and bonded with a man that was constrained which led to her being sent in other “challenging” patient’s rooms. I slowed down to five to drop her off for curbside check in and she began to panic. “Wait! Where do I get my boarding pass? Where’s the gate? Can I take this bag on? Where are you going?” she asked. I told her I was in total disbelief that she had just finished telling me how she responded to a code but couldn’t get herself on a plane. 

Like I said tonight should be interesting. One thing she has going for her is her tremendous childlike enthusiasm. She is the only 23 year old ICU nurse I know that still stands on couches when she is bursting with excitement and does a “happy dance”.  Good luck tonight Babe with your first non-kegger”. Remember to take things out of the box before heating them up.

Is it Time to "bust" out the Tree?

I did something I NEVER do; take someone of the male persuasion to work with me. I cover the social events of my community and was invited to a lovely (AKA jaw dropping gorgeous) event in which I actually took a male friend.

The party was very subdued, the conversation light and the food could have been someone’s last request before departing this world. I thought we were in for an evening of quiet elegance especially when we found ourselves seated next to two lovely ladies from the opera guild. One of the women asked if I was finished with my holiday decorating. I told her that I was except I was debating whether it was worth the effort of taking the Christmas tree out of the attic that I put in my bedroom. The other woman then asked my date if he thought my room could use some holiday spirit. He told her that he has yet to see my bedroom.

The women who are both aware that I have been through a cancer journey looked at me and informed me in no uncertain terms that they believed it was time for me to get my “tree” out. I reminded them that my tree has been in the attic a LONG time and that it is now missing a few ornaments and even though they have been “replaced” I am still getting used to them. The ladies would not retreat. I was then told that having a firm base and warm welcoming branches are the most essential criteria for a good tree and that MAYBE it was time to light that baby up!

Advise to ponder ladies! 

TRYING to Make Sense Out of the Senseless

I have been blessed with the ability to lift myself and I hope others, out of the minutia of life with humor.  It has been my coping mechanism that has gotten me through the murky waters of everything from a failed marriage to cancer survival. My editor (I have shoes older than she) is demanding…I mean firmly reminding me, that an article for my column is due.  After the recent unimaginable assault on the innocent in Connecticut, I just have not been able to “find the funny”. I am numb.

Paul Simon wrote lyrics about grieving. I am paraphrasing but as I recall he refers to a great loss as “A broken window on the soul where everyone can hear the wind blow.” Recently I had breakfast with my dear buddy and fellow cancer survivor Mike. He has buried a beloved son and a grandson. Mike is a man of faith and miraculously carries on even though there are still audible “gusts” of loss. Being with him, I understand there is no greater loss than that of a child.

I know no words of comfort for the families of such a senseless slaughter. The pain is beyond our comprehension and somewhere parents of the deceased are at this very moment reminding themselves to breathe. I had the pleasure of bonding with a bright eyed little 6 yr. old at a holiday party who told me all about the inside scoop of being a “mouse” in the Nutcracker while putting 8 layers of shiny lip gloss on me and giving me “princess eyes” with her stash of make-up. I had an “exhibit A” reminder of that magical age of twirling in dresses, Easy Bake ovens, and endless wonderment standing before me. How does one go on after the loss of one of these treasured “twirlers” and “explorers”?

I have lived peacefully with hunters up in our retreat up north and understand the right to bear arms (although I am more for “arming bears”) but could someone please explain to me why a semi-automatic weapon is needed to “harvest” a mammal or for target practice? Could someone please fill me in why parents of troubled teens have multiple weapons of destruction in their homes? I am the mother of an ICU nurse that deals with heroin addicts and gunshot wounds. Is it normal for me to be equally concerned about my middle daughter who will soon to be entering a classroom as a Special Ed teacher? Like the many educators I am blessed to have in my life, I know she would protect a child at all costs. PLEASE tell me when “hiding children in a closet from gunfire” became part of the criteria of being an effective teacher.

I pray that constructive dialogue, change and steps toward keeping our children safe emerge from the carnage. I have nothing to offer to the victim’s families but my prayers and concrete knowledge that even though HOPE is at times frail, it is impossible to kill and that love truly does conquer all.

I'm Back!

I’m back! Let’s see a brief update: Dad in ER, insurance company had my birthday wrong then figured out how much I under paid all this time and took it out of my checking (also found a few bills from “the war” that weren’t processed thanks to their error) and after having a busted water heater, and garage door issues I had to prove that things come in threes by turning on my flat screen TV and seeing pretty vertical lines. It is VERY tempting to WALLOW (especially on a bleak day) but instead I am going to “get my big girl panties on” as Gram would say and face the world with the knowledge that better times are waiting just around the bend. Of course I have a handful of dark chocolate acai berries currently doing the slow melt in my hand that always seem to make things look brighter. Hey, we all have our own ways of coping! Here’s to hoping that things are going swimmingly in your neck of the woods. If not, there is chocolate.

Finding My Inner Wench

The city in which I reside will never be known as the sunshine capital of the world. We run around vitamin D deficient and stare appreciatively skyward when the seldom seen golden orb appears above. Therefore it is more than a tad disturbing after arriving in what is supposed to be SUNNY Florida that I am currently looking out a glass slider at a scene that includes multiple forms of H2O. Rain, mist and fog have joined together in preventing us from appreciating the desirable forms of water we do want and need known as the pool and the Atlantic.

 

A Few of the Darah Women are Getting a Bit Goofy Being Stuck Inside!

 

 Being what I like to think of as highly resourceful (my family calls me “Julie the Cruise Director”) I have been searching online for alternate activities of family fun. Ah! Here we go; “Moon tour of the Lighthouse.” We tried that “fun” in years past during the day and almost threw my oldest into therapy.  It’s what I like to call a “twofer”. We managed to hit both of her fears of height and closed in places in one nightmarish experience. Next…

Hey this sounds more like it. “Cork and fork”; two nouns that could easily turn into action verbs! Here’s one my older daughters would love; “Paranormal Pub Crawl though Historic St. Augustine.” You might actually see a few “beings” after that.

What really caught my eye was not an event or activity but a want ad. “Enthusiast cast members needed for sing along pirate ship.” Reading further, I came to the disheartening conclusion that I am too old to be the “damsel in distress” but I have a real shot at being a wench. Who knows, if this nor’easter doesn’t blow out of here soon you may see me hoisting the colors, raising me rum to grand fortune and saying “Hello Puppet” in my best Captain Jack voice to all who come aboard.  

I told my family my dreams of high sea adventure (well actually the ship makes a loop around the bay) and they are now doing what I think is a primitive “sun dance”. My Mom is opening what she is calling “pirate juice” and frantically searching for a lime. I think she hopes to find her “inner wench”. They say that some of the bleakest days turn out to be the most memorable later in life. Keep you posted.

A Few Words for our Beloved "Double Mary"

I have had a “slam you on the couch” bug all week and have been a bit out of the loop. I was so disheartened this morning when reading the Mary Beth Zolik, who brightens everyone’s morning on 101.5 the River has been diagnosed with cancer. MB came into my life during my days as “critter girl”. I would take animals from the Humane Society to the station in hopes of finding “forever” homes for them through the airwaves. MB connects. She listens. She gives. She is the kind of gal you would want to include in a family dinner and hope she returns for pancakes in the morning. We always joke around that we are born nurturers because we are “double Marys”. I know technically (as my anal retentive physician buddy pointed out) that would mean “Mary” “Mary” but we “get it”. We believe that as a “Mary something” we have an unspoken responsibility and need to make everyone a little better off than when we met them. I still strive for that goal. MB has mastered it.

I am sorry that cancer has come knocking at your door MB. I know you will let it in with grace and dignity. The “unwanted guest” arrives with a suitcase of fear and a backpack of guilt. If you think as you like to call it “Catholic guilt” is heavy, wait until you try to lift the weighing questions of “Why did I let this into our home?” and “How are my kids going to handle this?” As a member of the “C” survivorship fraternity (incredible members BTW but the initiation is brutal) I can tell you that you will be amazed at the blessings to come. So open the door MB, and embrace the unknown foe that entered. As with any unwanted houseguest you will survive its stay with your incredible wit, positive outlook and baked goods. It’s difficult to believe, but this unwanted intruder also arrives with a big hunkin’ duffle bag of grace, love and above all HOPE. It will strengthen your faith and teach you a few lessons. I also know, that in the very near future, you will kick its a** out the door.

In true “double Mary” form, I will pray and pray and pray some more. I carry you in my heart MB.  One final note; I am available 24/7 for panic attacks rarely occur between the hours of 9-5, nose hairs are not only decorative but functional (stock up on tissues) and if you have to “wig out”, go for the dramatic. I was far too conservative and ended up looking like Leave it to Beaver’s Mother June.  

Sleeplessness, Moose Boxers and an Abundance of Gratitude

 I attempted sleep last night (key word here is attempt when you are waiting for the return of a teen from a night out) and hunkered down under my favorite blankie with thoughts of Veterans’ Day firmly planted in my head. I am the granddaughter of a Marine surgeon who spent years operating in the Pacific theater during WWII. We have his diaries where he horrifically recalls the nameless pained faced of the mutilated that he tried to put back together under harsh conditions. The numbers are staggering. Once he operated on 1,300 men in a week, working around the clock

My Dad was an Army guy. I am in constant amazement of how anyone could get through basic training after hearing his stories. I had a miniscule taste of what he went through when I was under the misconception that taking a semester of ROTC as a college sophomore would lead to an easy A. Easy “A” my A**! Speaking of which, Sgt. Major Walters put his foot on mine when I was firing an M16 with a firm “Keep you’re a** down unless you want it shot off!” I wished him a Merry Christmas before winter break and his knee jerk response was spitting out “Christmas is like any other day cadet” two inches from my face. I told him that it isn’t. Somewhere after I pointed out cookies and twinkle lights, he had what I believe is called a conniption.

Here’s the thing that kept me from slumber. How do you adequately express gratitude to someone who willfully leaves their family, their children, their country knowing they may not make it home? Someone I have never met is keeping guard and willing to take a bullet for ME and my freedom while I go about my busy life until I wind up snuggled in my toasty bed in my moose boxers.

The unique thing about Veterans’ Day is that we have the opportunity to honor the dead and living. THANK YOU to those who rose to the occasion in times past and those who currently serve, for having my family’s back and protecting this great country.