Past, Present and Future All in the Same Day

Using a calendar in 2020 has felt a bit strange, to put it mildly.  One of the most useless purchases I made at the end of last year was a 2020 planner.  I started relying on my SMTWTFS pill holder to help with the day of the week. Which month it was became anybody's guess.

But, every once in a while there comes a day unlike the rest.  The square for 11/11/20 actually got a bit crowded with events.  Veterans Day loomed large for a number of reasons.  Of course, it has meant honoring the selfless contributions of heroes like my Dad (WWII Marine-Pacific Theater), my Father-in-Law (WWII Army- European Theater) and my husband, Brendan (Air Force 1974-1978), as well as Uncles, my Aunt Anne (WWII Navy WAVE), Cousins, and Friends.  Thank you all for your service! 🇺🇸 

November 11 is also my parents' anniversary.  This year marks 70 years since their wedding day in 1950.

I know that they are together again in a wonderful place and looking down proudly on their four children, eight grandchildren and six great grandchildren.  I also know they have been watching over us all, busily intervening on our behalfs and, at times, steering us in the right direction. My mother especially has become heaven's equivalent of the Helicopter Mom.  My siblings and I can list dozens of times when things should have ended badly for us (or at least differently in a negative way) and we felt her presence turn the tide.

Which brings me to the Present part of this blog.  Today was my followup mammogram and surgeon consult after facing down  a breast cancer diagnosis one year ago.  Last November I listened in shock as a radiologist outlined complications from my mammogram and referred me to the Maine Breast Care Center. It was a new and terrifying experience after many years of routine results.  December brought biopsies, ultrasounds, and MRI's and, after the delays brought on by holidays, surgery in late January.  Six weeks later I began sixteen sessions of radiation, coinciding with the onset of the Pandemic shutdown, making for a truly surreal experience for patients and staff alike.  Hormone treatments were scheduled to begin in early April, complicated by a severe set of adverse reactions that sent us back to the drawing board. A different course of medications began in May and [knock on wood] all is going well except for some insomnia and the occasional hot flash  But today loomed large in my psyche, causing additional hours of sleeplessness.  During many of those hours, I held conversations with my parents, both lost to cancer, to ask them for courage and support.  Today I learned that all is clear, no evidence of any cancer in either breast and the surgery and radiation have accomplished their purposes with no lasting effects.  Chalk another one up to parents in high places and, especially to a super-amazing team of professionals: Nurses, Technicians, my Surgeon, Radiologists, and my Oncologist.  

Early in the ordeal, a dear friend sent me this shirt which I wear proudly!

As to the future...that one is a bit trickier but today I am feeling optimistic.  We are still in the vice grip of this horrible pandemic with some very rough sledding ahead but the faintest promise of a vaccine seems to be on the horizon.  We have just elected a leader who is willing to confront this thing head on with a team of scientists and researchers who will be taken seriously.  Politics must now take a back seat to information based in evidence and medical expertise. Let the game-playing stop and the business of helping a wounded country heal truly begin.

All in all, it has been a good day.  Past, present and hopes for the future have made it a stellar day to circle on the calendar.  Let's hope we have many more of these soon!

It's a Great Day to be a Lefty!

Today is International Left-Handers Day...Hooray!  I am one of the 10% of people who ends up seated at a corner at the Thanksgiving table to avoid elbow-fencing with my next door neighbor.  Manual can-openers,  punch ladles, spiral-bound notebooks, and scissors laugh at us.

But maybe the joke is on them.  We are more likely to be better at multi-tasking than righties, tend to be more creative and better problem-solvers and have a distinct advantage in some sports (that would NOT be me in the last group).  Some studies say that we score higher on intelligence tests. 

All that aside, it isn't easy being a lefty. Most environments just aren't set up for us.  Remember those little half-desks in most high school and college classrooms.  They were designed for you to just lay your right hand on your notebook to take notes.  You could always spot the lefty (me!) twisted in her seat like a contortionist to reach that little mini-desk.  I once had a professor storm over during an exam, convinced I was reading my classmate's test results because I wasn't facing front.  When he realized what was happening HE MOVED MY DESK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE EXAM so I would be facing the wall.  I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me at that point.  

As an adult, it hasn't become much better. If businesses lock one of their double side-by-side glass doors to control access, they usually lock the left door, figuring that people will reach out with their right hand to open the remaining open door.  Not me.  My left hand reaches out, expecting a functional result from the door handle and, since I am usually moving quickly, I end up with a painful and humiliating vertical face plant against the glass door window pane.  Lesson learned?  Not necessarily.  Even a sign that says "Use other door" is no guarantee of a repeat performance.  

But I'm in some very distinguished company with my left hand orientation.  Five of the last ten Presidents were left-handed: Barack Obama, Bill Clinton, George H. W. Bush, Ronald Reagan, and Gerald Ford. Ronald Reagan was left handed but was forced to write right handed. Gerald Ford was left-handed, but switched back and forth.  Prince William of Britain is left-handed, as was Winston Churchill.  Some of the most talented entertainers of past and present are in the club: Paul McCartney, David Bowie, Jimi Hendrix, Lady Gaga, and Oprah Winfrey are in our club. Historical members include Einstein, DaVinci and Michelangelo.  We're a pretty elite group.

But we haven't always been recognized and lauded.  The latin word for left is Sinistra (as in "Sinister"), as opposed to Dexter (as in "Dextrous") for right...that should tell you the prevailing opinion of our situation back in the days.  Also the French term for left is Gauche, not exactly a compliment.  Lefties were considered odd at best and demonic at worst.  Some of our fellow club members were considered witches and hanged or burned at the stake.  As late as the mid-1900's, lefties were "cured" of their affliction by being forced to convert to right-handedness.  School children were taught to write with their left hand tied behind their back. 

I went to Catholic School in the fifties and early sixties.  Back in 2006 I wrote a blog post about learning to knit as a lefty.  It devolved to an essay on my experiences with the Sisters of Mercy (a major misnomer for many of them) and my experiences navigating a righthanded world as a school kid.  It was at times harrowing and other times just plain bizarre. Now, of course I can look back at it and laugh.  Dealing with Marching Practice and Square Dancing with Sister Mary ("Nikita") Cleta and the handwriting debacle were straight out of a sit-com.  The link is Your Other Left.

Being left-handed really doesn't define me that much.  I've learned to navigate in a right-handed world fairly well.  But every once in a while something pops up to remind me of my uniqueness.  When my grandson was born, a wonderful friend sent me a mug that says "My favorite people call me Grandma".  To read it I have to drink my coffee with my right hand...A small sacrifice which I make each morning most willingly!

Cheers to all you Lefties out there! Enjoy your day!

When Life Gives You Cucumbers...Burp!

This is a repost of a blog entry I did in early August  nine years ago.  I made this recipe today and realized I had to share it again. It is SO delicicious!  Enjoy!


The garden is on full throttle, those nasty hornworms seemed to have packed their little bug-hauls and moved on, so every day I wander out with my collection basket and do some picking. This was this morning's harvest. 

The cherry and grape tomatoes are my favorite and there were substantially more of them in that bowl before I walked in the back door. They are so delicious to pick and eat right off the vine. 

In our house, cucumbers usually mean one thing: the world-famous summer salad recipe dating back to Meredith's earliest day-care days. I tasted this recipe and knew I HAD to have it. So my mission this morning was to sacrifice my gorgeous cukes for this time-honored tradition. 

There is an assumption in our household that I can't cook. Granted, compared to Mr. B. and his apt pupil, Meredith, I am a rank amateur. But the truth is, I can hold my own in the kitchen and avoid either 1) starving or 2) poisoning anyone. Given the chance, I might even be able to put an entire dinner together that wouldn't be half bad. But I'm no fool. I have someone who lives for the food preparation process, all the way from grocery shopping to cleanup (sort of). I'm not looking THAT gift horse in the mouth! But cucumber salad is one of MY special recipes so when I can gain access to the kitchen without a food critic glued to my shoulder, I'm off and running. 

Once I locate the recipe (no easy feat in this house), the first step is to crisp the cucumbers. I have found this is the true secret to this recipe. The crunch adds so much. To do that you will need kosher or canning/pickling salt, ice cubes and water and at least an hour of "crisping" time. The longer you can leave them in this icy brine, the crisper they will become. 
Don't worry, you will rinse the salt later so you are in little danger of driving your blood pressure skyward (unless, of course, you have that food critic hanging around second guessing your every move and questioning your choice of utensils, ingredients, or need to make this thing in the first place). My secret? Pick a day when said food critic is not EVEN IN THE HOUSE and not due back for hours. Geez, Louise... 






The first thing to do is to peel the cucumbers and discard the ends. They need to be sliced as thinly as possible, so much easier if you have one of these handy gadgets, sometimes called a mandolin (not to be confused with the musical instrument). If you strum this baby you're going to end up at the ER. It is extremely sharp and will slice your fingers in a heartbeat. Use the plastic guard if you are smart. (Voice of experience speaking here!) Our version came to us thanks to the ingenuity of the Japanese who seem to have perfected the "As seen on TV" marketing model. This thing sells for substantially less than a genuine french mandolin but does a heck of a job. 

For legal reasons, I'm sure, it has been renamed the "Benriner", actually the new Benriner, so as not to be confused with the old Benriner, I guess. But the only thing that matters is that this thing can do a heck of a job slicing everything that crosses its sharp little blade. The picture shows a happy Japanese housewife but she's NOT using the guard that comes with it. Shortly after this picture was snapped she was probably whisked off to the hospital missing the tips of three of her fingers while screaming in agony because her lucrative hand modeling career was abruptly and so needlessly cut short. Don't make the same mistake...use the guard. 

The directions are plainly printed on the backside of the box in case you aren't sure how to use this valuable tool.

The fact that they are in Japanese should pose no problem since, of course, everyone has a fluent speaker of Japanese in their circle of friends. Actually, the addition of the instructions in English helps too. Not that you need to be a rocket scientist to figure this out but some people do benefit from that added boost of written instructions. 

Okay, now we are ready to crisp the cukes. After being sliced paper thin, layer them in a bowl with alternating layers of the kosher or pickling/ canning salt. Be generous with the salt. Most of it is going to be rinsed later. 



Put as many whole ice cubes as you have on hand on the top of the cucumbers. Whole cubes are better because they will take longer to melt and keep the mixture colder longer. The longer it stays cold, the crisper the cukes will be. 








Now pour cold water over the entire mix, filling the bowl as much as possible. This will dissolve the salt but keep it in contact with the cukes. Put the bowl in the refrigerator to slow the melting of the ice cubes and keeping the temperature at ideal "crisping" level. Trust me, you'll thank me for making you do this when you taste the difference in the cucumbers from the mushy, droopy ones that are in your neighbor's cucumber salad at the pot luck! 




Ok, this next step is for women only. We know that men are genetically incapable of filling ice cube trays so they get a pass on this one. But, you gals know how important it is to replenish those ice cube trays that you just used. Avoid the frustration of reaching for some ice for the mojitos only to find a tray with a single cube sitting lonely in there. Some might argue that with the summer we are having, this could be a life-saving tip...especially if there are mojitos or margaritas or bloody marys involved. This has been a public service announcement.


While the cukes are crisping you can make your dressing. It won't take you the full hour, unless like me you discover at the last minute that you don't have any %*@#& vegetable oil and have to make an emergency trip to the supermarket where you get caught up in conversation with your mechanic whose sister just got divorced and found out that her ex had an affair with her hairdresser and...oh, never mind. Anyway. you mix together a cup of cider vinegar, a cup of sugar, 1/2 cup of vegetable oil, celery seed (not salt!), parsley flakes and generous amounts of pepper. Slice an onion (or two) very thin...use the mandolin/benriner...and USE THE GUARD for the sake of your own hand modeling career. 

Now you are ready to drain the crisped cukes. Remember the longer you have left them to crisp the better! Pour off the the water and ice and put them on multiple layers of absorbent towels. Only use paper towels if they are heavy duty. Otherwise you will end up with a cucumber and paper towel salad...not particularly appealing unless you are desperate for fiber. Roll them up and squeeze out as much water as possible. Put the cukes in a bowl and cover with the the dressing. Refrigerate and enjoy! 






You can season with additional parsley flakes, celery seed and pepper (my favorite) but you should not need any more salt (unless you're plotting a murder by hypertension). It has plenty! 






Here is the complete recipe with just the facts: 

Ingredients: 3-4 large cucumbers 
Salt (kosher or canning/pickling) 
dressing: 1 cup sugar 
1 cup cider vinegar 
1/2 cup vegetable oil 
parsley flakes 
celery seeds 
lots of pepper 
one large (or two small) onions, thinly sliced 

Peel cucumbers and slice as thinly as possible. In large bowl layer cukes with salt between layers. Cover with ice water and ice cubes. Let sit for at least one hour, refrigerate if possible. Drain and squeeze excess water out. Mix with dressing. 

Happy Crunching!

For Better or For Worse, In Sickness and In Health...

Today is Anniversary #44. That young (and totally clueless) couple in the picture above is us on July 17, 1976.  Brendan is humming the A&W Root Beer song and we both seem to be walking into the future with our eyes closed. (Here is the song by the way: The Great A&W Root Bear Song)  Blue tuxedoes were in, as were Juliet Caps for the bride. We were truly stylin'!  

It sometimes amazes me to realize that I have been with Brendan for nearly two thirds of my life. As anyone who has been married can attest, "it ain't all sunshine and rosesbuds."  We have grown so much since then, sometimes together and sometimes apart.  

He started out the adventurer, willing to take risks: 

B: Why don't we buy  that deli in Blue Hill, ME and open a business? 

MA: Because we don't have any money and we don't know squat about running a deli business...or any other business for that matter!

Over the years, the roles have been reversed. Now I would be the one itching for an adventure that he shoots down:

MA: Now that we're retired, why don't we take a roadtrip across the country and see as many states as we can?

B: Because we would have to leave Maine and sleep in strange beds and use strange bathrooms and eat strange food and interact with new people and what would we do with the dog?... 

That's not to say we haven't had adventure in our time together. In  1977  we moved to New York City (an adventure for me but coming home for Brendan). We spent five action-packed but exhausting years living in a wonderful neighborhood in Brooklyn and commuting into Manhattan to work every day. We survived a garbage strike, a transit strike, the blizzard of 1978, and Mary Adinolfi, our next door neighbor.

Mary introduced herself the day we moved in by leaning out her front door and yelling to me, "Do you have a sister for my son Dennis?" Thankfully, I did not at the time. After a year or so of living next door, she decided that it was time for us to have a baby.  She announced loudly from her front porch that the jockey shorts I was washing and hanging on our back clothesline were strangling all of Brendan's "swimmers" and he should change to boxers. [People, I can't make this stuff up, seriously!] She lived with her husband, Vinnie, a quiet, long-suffering man who took long daily trips to "fetch the paper" and most likely get a few moments peace, the aforementioned son Dennis, and a goofy mutt Charlie who looked like Scooby-Doo and loved to sing. Mary would play opera recordings so Charlie could tackle all of the soprano arias for the entire neighborhood to enjoy. Beverly Sills he was not. Good times.

Our next adventure came five years later when, tired of the two hour work commute each way, we seized the opportunity to move to Portland ME in 1982. I was offered a position at the University of Southern Maine and within a month we were here. The transition was a bit bumpy but we were still young and flexible. Brendan set out to look for a job in a tight market during a recession. His New York experience as an international expediting agent for a multinational construction company had no comparable equivalent in this economy so just getting an interview proved painfully difficult. He ended up woefully underemployed in the beginning but we were happy to be in our beloved Maine. We got our first dog, a wacky Golden Retriever named Molly who ate everything: ant traps, Christmas tree ornaments and rug fringe, all yielding nothing worse than a burp. A year later we took a deep breath and bought a house, and in 1985, our daughter Meredith was born. We were now officially grownups. Let the real games begin.

The ups and downs came fast and furious over the years: promotions, layoffs, house renovations and emergencies,  the arrivals and departures of various dogs, cats, fish, rabbits, summer family vacations, the deaths of our parents, Meredith's milestones and daily calendars that overflowed with activities. Time seemed to accelerate. At one point we found that we were barely communicating with each other. That's when we got scared. Things had become too complacent, too easy to take for granted...and too likely to build resentment and alienation. We were drifting too far apart.

In 1992 we made the decision to renew our vows at a wonderful resort called the Balsams in New Hampshire. We picked a June weekend and stood in their lilac grove, surrounded by thousands of Monarch butterflies completing their migration north. The wife of the resort owner was our "witness" as we read our vows to each other.  

That truly was a turning point in our marriage, as we promised to always put each other first, make time to do things that we enjoy together but give each other space for our separate interests. Most importantly, we promised to keep communication open and honest.

In the interim years, we have continued to grow as a couple and as individuals. We recognize and respect each other's differences. Brendan is an introvert who cherishes order and routine. He enjoys cooking, baking, grocery shopping and maintaining the kitchen. I am an extrovert who thrives on social situations and spontaneity and detests routine housework. I like handling the finances, doing the outdoor lawn and garden work and tinkering with computers, cellphones and electronic gadgets of all kinds. [Brendan is basically a technophobe who just recently relinquished his flip phone but still keeps his new cellphone turned off at all times so no one can call him.  He has no idea how to use most of its features, nor does he care.] He hates dealing with the news. The first thing I do when I am in the car alone is turn on NPR to lap up news of the day like a sponge. We are opposites in so many ways but, knowing that, we  can work with it.

The isolation that the current pandemic has caused has been excruciating for me. To Brendan it is no big deal since he does not need the social contact the way I do. During the past six months, I have forced Brendan out of his comfort zone in only one crucial area: dealing with medical info. My breast cancer diagnosis in December mobilized him completely. He has always been uncomfortable in doctor's offices or hospitals. He went years without having routine physicals done and only began having them when I started making appointments for him. Even then, he would whine like a toddler when I made him go, and then insist that I come with him for moral support. But once he heard my diagnosis, the tables were turned. It was he who was my moral support.  And he never missed a single appointment.  Even towards the end of my radiation when, due to Covid, he wasn't even allowed in the facility, he insisted on driving me to the appointments and waiting for me in the car. He was part of every video appointment and on the other extension for the phone appointments. I know he would rather have been doing just about anything else but he knew how much I needed his support. He dropped his usual pessimist outlook in favor of cheerleading me to a positive outcome.

Has our time been together been perfect? HELL NO! There have been sullen silences, tears (always mine), retreats to opposite ends of the the house, uncomfortable discussions, stubborn opinions held fast on both sides, and times when one of us (usually me) would idly check the gas gauge in my car to see how far away I could get before my absence was noticed. But all that would pass and we would either come to a compromise or agree to disagree.

One month after we were married, my mother gave us a present. It was probably something she picked up in the local dime store, one of her favorite haunts. It sat on our dresser for over forty years until I gave it to Meredith and Kevin on their wedding day, replaced with a picture from their wedding.  

Our scorecard is mixed on how well we did over the years, but we get A's for effort.

So, as we mark another trip around the sun together, it is with an even deeper connection and commitment than that breezy, sunny July day forty four years ago. But perhaps it was a wise choice to keep our eyes closed on the trip down the aisle. It has made the trip a lot more interesting and that's a good thing. Because, it seems, we're in this for the long haul together. Happy Anniversary to us!

 

Mother Nature soothes our worried brows with summer

Summer is truly a gift in Maine.  As the wind howls and the snowstorms rage in February, we are sustained by memories of crisp, fresh June mornings.  This year the need for solace and serenity has been urgent as we battle the uncertainties and heartaches of a worldwide crisis.  The pandemic has rendered us virtually helpless and created a society divided by fear, lack of answers and a leadership vacuum.  Along comes Mother Nature to help ease the pain.

Maybe it is that critical need that has amplified the wonderful sights, sounds and smells of summer this year.  Early in the spring, the daffodils and hyacinths exploded with unprecedented vibrance and vigor. 

The tulips followed with depths of color I hadn't seen in years. The Irises and Peonies made their debuts with amazing flourish.

And then came the roses...Oh, the roses!

My favorite yellow floribunda roses were first, as usual. Their delicate fragrance always brings me back to my first "fancy" gift of english soaps sent by my godmother when I was about ten. There have been years when we only saw a few blossoms or even no blossoms at all.  This year it was as if the bush sensed our need for that beauty and calming scent and stepped up her game. The relatively short bloom period was compensated for by its intensity.

Not to be outdone, the two Henry Hudson rosebushes have budded and bloomed faster and with more enthusiasm than ever before. 

Adjacent to them, the taller "Grumpy Old Lady" rose said, "Ok, if you want to play THAT game" and has come out with bigger, more plentiful blooms that envelope the entire yard with a sultry fragrance. 

The "Grumpy Old Man" rose who sits on the other side of the vegetable garden has seen what was going on and, not to be shown up by the Old Lady, has blasted out the most amazing blanket of blooms, aiming to surpass her visually since his fragrance, while potent, is no match for hers. 

The little rosebush with flame colored buds has done her best, despite her size and a tough beginning to the season.  Brendan cut her back quite a bit, removing some dead branches and she has rewarded us with gorgeous orange  blooms. 

Finally, the newest addition, a little scarlet, overcame some aphid issues with the help of a spray bottle with water and dish detergent and is now producing blooms of deep crimson with a heady, rich aroma. 

And so the "War of the Roses" rages on, much to my delight!

As a special addition to our backyard biosphere this summer Mama Robin constructed a nest within a few yards of our back porch, visible (with foliage obstruction) from our upstairs windows.  We held our breath since a similar attempt a few years ago yielded four beautiful eggs which met with disaster, most likely due to a young, inattentive mother bird and an opportunistic predator.  This time would be different.  We now have four new avian denizens to add to our backyard census of finches, hummingbirds, chickadees, woodpeckers, catbirds.  Their parents are extremely attentive, tirelessly returning to the nest in turn with scrumptious goodies for those demanding open beaks.

  

Mama tidies up the nest frequently since like kids everywhere those little ones make quite a mess. They don't seem to mind our proximity but woe to the squirrel that ventures too close.  They swoop in on him and peck at him mercilessly until he is out of the yard. Even the poor, hapless catbird cannot escape their wrath.  He sneaks in to grab a little suet and they are on him like white on rice.  Poor guy just can't catch a break.  Meanwhile,  the search for food is relentless.  

We watched as Papa Robin was engaged in a tug of war with an earthworm who decided it didn't want to be on the menu.  He won...or at least part of him did.  Lucky for him that earthworms can regenerate since  quite a few of his segments went to feed those growing babies.  The nest is becoming tight quarters for those four rambunctious young 'uns.  There has been a noticeable increase in flapping and jostling.  I can almost hear them complaining in baby bird language "He's touching me." "Move over." "This is MY part of the nest." "Hey, you're stepping on me!"  It will soon be time to head for the lawn and then the real fun begins.  Papa will stick around and teach them how to do their own grocery shopping and ward off danger until they can fly. Mama will head off to build another nest and get another brood going. (She could probably use a spa vacation in the meantime but that will have to wait.)  We have felt so honored to be able to watch one of nature's true miracles.

We finally have a vegetable garden again after a two year hiatus.  It is securely fenced in to guard against the squirrel "all you can eat buffet" which has plagued our efforts in recent years.  

Zucchini are flowering, Peppers are growing, Tomatoes are making slow progress and cucumbers are sending off their climbers.

  

No garlic this year since Brendan wasn't able to secure any last fall but he has more than made up for it this year.  In the early fall a delivery will come that may end up taking over my entire veggie garden area.  It could be a standoff in the making but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

The annuals and perennials are having a good summer.  The echinacea, bee balm, phlox and Joe Pye weed are thriving which will hopefully draw more butterflies and hummingbirds to the yard, much to my delight. The petunias near the back door are blooming  and expanding, and we even have a surprise stand of daisies at the bottom of our porch steps.

The last three months have been some of the hardest of my life, for sure.  Dealing with the aftermath of breast cancer and being separated from friends and family have been surreal and disheartening.  I especially miss seeing my ten month old grandson and watching his milestones.  I am genuinely afraid that he will not recognize me when I do get to see him.  The chance to be his GeMa and share special moments is out of grasp and it breaks my heart.  But I know I am not alone.  So many families are separated and grieving their lack of contact.  And many are grieving much worse. Our mantra has become "This too shall pass."

In the meantime, we must let Mother Nature become our comfort.  She is certainly doing her best this year.

Stay safe and, for all of our sake's, PLEASE wear your masks!