Seventy is the new...what was I saying?

Today is my last day in my sixties.  Tomorrow I cross the threshold into a new decade.  Holy moly...how did that happen? How can I be Seventy?

Seventy  year old women are old, like orthopedic shoes and blue hair old.  They tell the same stories over and over (ok...guilty!) and complain about their aches and pains to strangers. They shuffle along stooped over, wear adult diapers, and drive at half the speed limit. I can check those off my "not applicable" list.

Neither of my parents lived this long so I don't have a frame of reference from them.  My grandmothers seemed ancient at ages I now realize were much younger.  So what has changed? Why don't I feel old and decrepit (at least most of the time, anyway)?

Brendan, my husband, is fond of saying, "The world is passing me by."  He seems resigned to the fact that the times-up buzzer is looming.  When a fresh-faced young man appeared at the door one day to sell us solar panels for the roof, Brendan abruptly ended the conversation once he heard that it would take twenty years to reach a break-even point to justify the expense. "I won't be around that long," he said emphatically, closing the front door on the startled salesman.  Oh, Mr. B! (*sigh*)

I, on the other hand, intend to stick around as long as I can.  There are too many things left to do.  Besides, I have enough yarn in my stash for five lifetimes of knitting and I am determined to use up as much as I can! 

I realize that every day is a gift, some better than others.  But even the Booby prize days have their silver lining.  And those make the Gold Star days shine even brighter:  A crisp sun-spilt autumn day, reading The Wonky Donkey to my grandson, an afternoon spent with a friend laughing and enjoying the sounds and smells of the ocean...there are many more of those ahead, I am sure.  

So bring it on, Seventy!  I'll take the wrinkles, the sore knees, and even those moments grasping for a familiar name in the vast databanks of memory.  Those memory  cells are pretty  full but there is still plenty of room for new input. You're just a number and mine ain't up just yet!  And remember 70 is only 21 in Celsius!

 

Into the light

We cautiously poke our collective heads out the door, masks in a back pocket just in case. The sensation of being around other peoples feels strange and, at first, a bit unnerving. With the invisible strength of our vaccine shots we finally dare to do what a few months ago would have been unthinkable: hug our friends and family, plan visits to places both new and familiar, attend get-togethers in celebration and in memoriam and most importantly, learn to live together again.

There is no doubt that the last fifteen months have changed us both individually and as a society.  The common experience of coming through a world-wide pandemic has left scars but it has also taught us contrasting lessons of resilience and fragility. We are not indestructible as a species. But we can harness the tools of science, technology and individual strength, patience and innovation to prevail.  We need to embrace the lessons and affirmations of the experience, never losing sight of  the high price we paid for them. It truly has been a seismic event in history.

I, for one, can attest to some of the residual effects.  I still feel a sense of agoraphobia in a crowded environment. Many other people seem  uncomfortable being in public spaces.  We all seem to be mourning the many lives lost, the connections disrupted, the families split apart.  There is a residual anxiety and, at times, a toxicity clearly evident in society.  Rage and  tempers flare at the smallest provocation and I have noticed the continuation and even escalation  of  "it's all about me"  episodes.  It's almost as if people feel a sense of entitlement to that attitude because of the events of the past year.  Perhaps we need to  relearn how to get along together, understandable maybe because we are out of practice. Hopefully, with time, we can regain the civility and empathy the pandemic stole from us.

We each have our own take-aways from the past fifteen months.  As an extrovert, I keenly felt the lack of social contact and a busy calendar of activities.  But I rediscovered the joy of reading, even venturing  into a new genre for me: Murder Mysteries.  Thanks to Louise Penny, Julia Spencer-Fleming, Tana French, Elizabeth George and  others, I super-sleuthed my way  through the Pandemic.  And, of course there was my knitting to keep my hands and mind  busy.   I dug into my stash and produced socks, mittens, sweaters, hats, toys, cowls, afghan squares, shawls, and booties.  And I still have a stash big enough for four lifetimes of knitting! I have posted some pictures of my finished products below.  Then there was the garden!  With unlimited amount of time to devote to it, it thrived last summer in ways I never could have imagined.

The inability to visit with my baby grandson tore at my heart throughout the quarantine.   Liam was born in August 2019 and was just asserting his quirky personality when our visits were curtailed.  I last saw him in March  2020 when we visited before I started radiation treatments for breast cancer and just before the Covid-19 door shut.  We managed  an outdoor picnic in August just before his first birthday at an orchard halfway between our homes in Maine and Massachusetts, complete with masks and distancing.  In October we met for a picnic in York ME, again about halfway between our homes and  again with masks and distancing.  My urge to cuddle and smooch that little munchkin had to be stifled.  Our first post-vaccine visit was in late April of this year and I savored every minute with that little squirmy-worm in  my arms.  FaceTime was a huge help, ensuring that Brendan and I were not complete strangers. And I confess to making sure a few surprise packages found their way to him.

Fifteen months of near 24/7 companionship with Brendan was another unique experience  and a bit challenging at times. He also has become an avid reader and we are both so grateful for our local  library which early-on designed a convenient on-line order system with curbside pickup, initially by appointment.  He also threw himself whole-heartedly into jigsaw puzzles, ordering on line in bulk.  Over the past  fifteen months he completed (or attempted) dozens of puzzles, even investing in a  sophisticated puzzle carrier so our dining room and kitchen tables could remain free. We devised a "hands-free" giveaway process using Facebook posts and offering pick up out of a cooler in our  driveway when the "used" puzzles threatened to overrun the house.   We are opposites in so many ways but  we have learned to respect our differences, giving each other space as needed and enjoying shared time doing things we both enjoy.  When the walls closed in (for me) we took a number of  car rides just to provide some new scenery as needed.  Our 45th Wedding anniversary is later this month and we will jubilantly  celebrate with a long-awaited trip to one of our favorite inns.  We always have much to celebrate but coming through the pandemic healthy  and together  is near the top of the list.  We will also belatedly celebrate my successful breast cancer treatment, now 15 months in the rearview mirror!

Technology helped us through the experience in so many ways. Like many others, I became a ZOOM-er, by necessity.  Doctor's appointments, book club meetings,  even knitting groups were held in  front of the computer.  My funniest experience came early on with my first oncologist appointment in May.  My doctor (name withheld to prevent embarrassment) is a gifted physician in his field but, being of my generation, has had to adjust reluctantly to modern technology.  He confessed early in the call that the technology was a little baffling to him and, sure enough, as he attempted to adjust volume, completely lost the connection.  I next saw him sitting sheepishly nearby as a young office assistant  reconnected to me and kindly but firmly admonished him "not to touch anything."  He was mortified until I assured him that I had done the same thing on my first ZOOM call.  We agreed that some of the technology had clearly passed us by!  With time, we both became a little more techno-savvy...as long as we weren't asked to deviate from the original instructions!

The Pandemic was a lonely time for so many, especially those living alone.  Early on, we "adopted" an elderly neighbor who has lived alone for a number of years.  Brendan picked up groceries for her since she was terrified of venturing out.  I sewed her a few face masks to use when anyone came to the door and we always cooked a little extra each dinner time to bring to Madeleine.  Our visits were short...masked and distanced...but gave us a chance to see how she was doing and gave her a chance to talk to someone in person.  We have continued the relationship even though we are now all vaccinated.  She's an amazing person with a colorful and diverse background which we enjoy hearing about.  It's so nice to be able to sit down with her, unmasked and hear about her interesting life.

One thing I won't miss is the machinations that went into every encounter that we used to handle effortlessly.  Doctor's visits, Vet appointments, Dental cleanings, Dog Grooming, house repairs, Doggie Day Care, house deliveries...all so convoluted in their planning that we dreaded having to deal with them.  One of the worst was a mattress delivery on a hot sultry day last summer.  We had ordered a new guest bed mattress from the same company we had ordered our master bedroom mattress the year before.  In that case, they delivered the mattress, brought it upstairs, installed it on the bed and removed our old mattress.  Easy Peasy.  Covid-19 threw a major monkey wrench in the works.  We were told they could not bring it in the house.  We would have to do that ourselves.  AND bring it up the stairs to the guest room.  So, we wrestled the old mattress down the stairs and out the front door to await delivery (and, presumably, removal of the old one).  The scheduler neglected to tell us that not only would they not bring up the new mattress, but they were not allowed to take the old one.  So the delivery truck took off, leaving us with  two heavy double bed mattresses on our front lawn...one old, one new.  We looked at each other, already feeling our backs begin to stiffen up, and somehow managed to get the new one up the stairs VERY slowly and onto the guest room bed.  That still left a mattress lying on our front lawn, not an attractive look.  After a brief rest, we dragged it around the  back to the garage where it remained until it left in a load of yard waste, broken furniture, a dilapidated dog house, miles of old garden hose, and  various and sundry other junk, courtesy of  "The Dump Guy"...money very well spent.  Another Covid-19 adventure!

So, while we aren't out of the woods yet...the infection numbers are not at zero...I tend to feel as if we have seen the worst of it.  The vaccine has been nothing short of miraculous. As a side note, my daughter Meredith has just begun a new job in Cambridge MA working as a Senior Scientist for Moderna so I have full confidence that our future is in the best of hands, regardless of surges and variants.  We need to remain vigilant and maintain the protocols recommended by scientists.  But I am hopeful that the future is promising.

I don't think there are enough ways to say thank you to the people  who helped us through this  horrible event.  So many courageous individuals put their own lives on the line to help combat the horrific effects of this pandemic.  They include First Responders, Medical Personnel, Public Health Officials plus the many people who faced danger in their  jobs just by being exposed to the public: retail workers, technicians, educators,  care-givers and so many others who did not have the luxury of staying home to ride this thing out.  So many paid the ultimate price and my thoughts and prayers go out to their loved ones. The millions  of deaths worldwide are a testament to the vulnerability of the human race, even as its ingenuity has proved critical to our survival.

So let's welcome the return of the light, the joy of gathering together, the freedom to live our lives the way we want. But let's never forget the ones who aren't with us to share the joy.

 

  

     

     

A Welcome Dose of Adorable

 

Pictures courtesy of MSSPA

I have written before about my ongoing love affair with the Maine State Society for the Protection of Animals.  The work this shelter does for horses, mules and donkeys who have fallen on hard times is often nothing short of miraculous.   As a volunteer for the past three plus years I have watched neglected and abused horses regain their joy for life and trust in humans with the doting attention of staff and volunteers.  I have seen the lucky ones adopted as companions or even competent saddle horses.  Others have settled in to their "retirement" home with the assurance of a life of predictable nutrition, excellent health care and the companionship of loving two-legged and four-legged friends.  I have seen some reach their final rest in a dignified and humane manner, mourned by all of us who were privileged to know them and care for them.

As a non-breeding facility, the presence of a pregnant mare is rare and, yet, we were blessed two years ago with the birth of a feisty foal, Windy River, whose mother, Daphne came to us undernourished, suffering from a variety of ailments and, unbeknownst to us, carrying her precious cargo.  She blossomed at the farm and was recently adopted herself.  Windy River has remained with us, a happy, mischievous two year old, totally spoiled by staff, volunteers and visitors.

This past month we had a second miracle.  Eva, a young Arabian mare was brought in with Emir, a young Arabian stallion who quickly became a gelding as farm policy dictates.  Eva's pre-arrival pregnancy was confirmed last fall and we settled in to await the outcome.  On a cold February night two weeks ago, the colt arrived, hale and hearty and full of energy.  He and Eva spent a few days at a local equine surgical facility as a minor precaution and then they made their triumphant return to the Windham farm with great fanfare.

He has been nicknamed "Little B" until a more formal naming process is established. As expected, he has endeared himself to all.  Due to the pandemic, the farm has been closed to the public and even the office staff and most volunteers.  We are all anxiously awaiting our chance to get to know Little B and indulge him with pets and rump scratches.  He will most certainly become a local celebrity just as Windy River has.

Little B's arrival coincides with another major event at the farm, the annual Buy-a-Bale campaign.  Horses eat...a lot! As a 501c3 charity the farm depends entirely upon donations to provide food, medications and veterinary care to the 35+ equines they care for at a budget of approximately $1M (that's million with seven digits) annually.  The Buy-a-Bale campaign goes a long way to support the effort.  Each bale costs $5 and each horse eats about a bale a day.  If you do the math, that means 35 horses eat 12,775 hay bales at a cost of $63,875. That's why the campaign is so critical.  I make a recurring donation, taken from my bank account directly each month in such a way that I barely know it's gone!

If you are interested in participating in this event with either a one-time or a recurring gift you can find a direct link here.The horses will make good use of your gift to be sure. To illustrate, here are some pictures of them at their happiest.

Spring is a season of birth and renewal.  This year more than ever, we need reminders of a universe that holds hope and optimism for the future.  Little B and his stablemates represent the promise of better days ahead.

Let's Be Honest...

The world has been out of sorts for a while...like a constipated toddler or a cranky old man whose favorite diner has suddenly stopped serving meatloaf.  We have been on edge, dealing with multiple stressors, some in our faces like the pandemic and others more under the radar, like less public civility.  We've experienced friends, family and neighbors becoming more polarized in their political views and building walls of intolerance that have threatened relationships, stoked by social media and a divided press.

How have we let this happen?   We're all dealing with the same realities yet our understanding of the situation is all over the board.  Conspiracy theories spring up daily and dangerously grab hold of millions.  What are we missing?  Perhaps it is BALANCE. As ideologies and beliefs scew dramatically in one direction or the other, we have become an "all or nothing" society.  You are either entirely on one side or the other and, most dangerously, the other side is "the enemy" not to be trusted or respected. You are either Pro-Trump or Pro-Biden, Pro-mask or Anti-mask...you get the idea. Civil discourse on the issues is impossible since both sides are firmly entrenched.

In the interest of full disclosure, I voted for Biden for President.  I voted against Trump.  But I feel it is important to say that I voted less for or against the individual than for or against their policies and my feelings about what direction our country needs to take.  Both candidates had merits and flaws.  That is the nature of our democratic process. We choose the candidate who we feel will more closely align with our views, knowing full well that we will not see perfection or infallibility.  That being said, I did feel a palpable sense of joy and relief watching the inauguration ceremonies yesterday.  The message was clear: Let's put aside our differences and get to the task at hand.  We need to heal our country on so many levels. The young poet, Amanda Gorman provided an eloquent call to the task in her amazing poem.  Here is the transcript:

Amanda Gorman's "The Hill We Climb" Poem Transcript

Dr. Biden, Madam Vice President, Mr. Emhoff, Americans, and the world.

When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never ending shade?
The loss we carry, a sea. 
We must wade. 
We've braved the belly of the beast.
We've learned that quiet isn't always peace.
And the norms and notions of what just is, isn't always justice.
And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it. 
Somehow we do it.
Somehow we've weathered and witnessed a nation that it isn't broken, but simply unfinished.
We, the successors of a country and the time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president only to find herself reciting for one.
And yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn't mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect.
We are striving to forge our union with purpose. To compose a country, committed to all cultures, colors, characters, and conditions of man.

And so we lift our gaze, not to what stands between us, but what stands before us
We close the divide because we know to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside.
We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another. We seek harm to none and harmony for all.
Let the globe, if nothing else say, this is true.
That even as we grieved, we grew.
That even as we hurt, we hoped. 
That even as we tired.
We tried that we'll forever be tied together victorious.
Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.
Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree and no one shall make them afraid
If we're to live up to our own time, then victory won't lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we've made.
That is the promise to glade the hill we climb.
If only we dare it's because being American is more than a pride we inherit.
It's the past we step into and how we repair it. 

We've seen a force that would shatter our nation, rather than share it. 
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.
And this effort very nearly succeeded, but while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated in this truth. 
In this faith we trust for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us. 
This is the era of just redemption. 
We feared it in its inception.
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of of such a terrifying hour, but within it, we found the power to author a new chapter.
To offer hope and laughter to ourselves.

So while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe? 
Now we assert how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?
We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be a country that is bruised. 
But whole benevolence, but bold, fierce, and free.

We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation.
Our blunders become their burdens, but one thing is certain.
If we merged mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy, and change our children's birthright. 
So let us leave behind a country better than the one.

We were left with every breath, my bronze pounded chest.
We will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one. 
We will rise from the gold limbed hills of the West.
We will rise from the wind swept to Northeast where our forefathers first realized the revolution. 
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the middle Western States.
We will arise from the sun baked South. 
We will rebuild, reconciled and recover and every known nook over our nation. 

And every corner called our country.
Our people diverse and beautiful will emerge, battered and beautiful. 
When day comes, we step out of the shade of flame and unafraid, the new dawn balloons, as we free it.
For there was always light. 
If only we're brave enough to see it.
If only we're brave enough to be it. 

I love the message of hope she conveys. No, we will never be perfect but striving for improvement is the message of America. We must never stop trying.  We must continue to build connections and strive to understand each other. We must never turn a blind eye to injustice or corruption.  We must always feel free to speak about issues that concern us. And, most importantly, we must always protect all of the freedoms that separate the United States from every other country in the world.  

We also need to accept that actions have consequences.  That understanding is what makes us reasonable adults.  My rights can never infringe upon yours and vice versa.  Violence or the incitement to violence means facing repercussions which need to be swift and just.  That is the basis of the American legal system.  It should not be tainted with  deals, bargains, special considerations or compromise. If you do the crime, you do the time...period.

I have no doubt that the elections of 2020 were a fair and binding mandate.  I am proud of the turnout, the largest in history, and feel that whatever incidents of irregularity, if any, were too insignificant to have affected the final outcome in any way.  There were no mass numbers of votes from dead people or duplicate ballots.  I believe the courts who ruled on those issues had their facts correct and ruled appropriately.  Rumors, lies and vague suppositions were overruled by facts and the truth.  That is what should happen...and it did.

Now we need to turn our attention to the future.  We have a pandemic to suppress, an economy to rebuild, a social justice system to redefine, an environment to rescue and, perhaps most critically,  trust and relationships to reestablish at all levels.  Let's bring some balance back to our lives to expedite those tasks. We're all in this together.

It's Been A Year...Now GET OUT!

 

The symbols have been surreal: Flaming dumpsters, toilet paper Christmas trees, Murder Hornets, A nearly empty Times Square on New Years Eve, Netflix binges, Conversations in lawn chairs six feet apart, Sports Stadiums with cardboard cutouts in the stands, Family Gatherings via Zoom, Masks, Face Shields.  A most bizarre year to say the least.

The human costs of this year have been staggering, leaving scars that will remain with us for many years.  Millions dead worldwide, many more millions infected and dealing with a diminished quality of life, collapse of small businesses, social systems, neighborhood connections and a fundamental trust in the power of our government to keep us safe. Families are still separated from loved ones, lifelong friends cannot get together, and everyone must still operate under a code of separation and isolation in everyday encounters for the near future.

The stories of dedication from First Responders and Medical Personnel have reminded us that there are Heroes among us. But this has taken an enormous toll on them, forcing them away from their families and leaving them feeling overwhelmed and helpless in the face of this monster, especially in those cases where the virus could have been prevented with simple precautions.

January 1st is just a date.  It looks no different than the day before, or the 365 before that.  But it marks a seismic change in our attitudes and expectations.  In our minds, we have crossed from a landscape of fear to one of cautious optimism.  A new calendar means new possibilities for recovery and hope.  The rollout of two powerful vaccines felt like a much deserved Christmas present to the world. We are desperately hoping that our salvation lies in a couple of hypodermic needles.  Will this strategy work?  According to the scientists it will if we can get the vaccine into enough people to create a "herd immunity" and stop the virus and its mutations from further spread.

What will January 1st 2022 look like? Will we have been able to resume life as we knew it prior to March 2020? I suspect that even if the virus is brought under control it will be a very long time before it leaves our collective memory.  The casual hug or handshake will be hesitant.  The assembly of a crowd watching a concert or a baseball game will make us feel uneasy.  Large gatherings among strangers will send up red flags.  Even boarding a plane or a train or a bus packed with strangers will feel uncomfortable.  We can't easily forget the devastation of this silent killer.

I desperately hope that among the lessons learned from this horrible experience are the fragility of our humanity and the need to be vigilant.  We especially need to be protective of the most vulnerable of our population.

So, I cautiously raise a glass of optimistic cheer for a year of hope and promise while opening the door to kick out a year of devastation and sorrow! 

Happy New Year! 

 

    

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!