Essential Skills for Fall...

Cooking that is, Essential Skills for Fall Cooking. That's what our class was titled Saturday afternoon at Sur La Table. In what's now become a two year tradition, I took another cooking class this October for birthday month. And this time I got to take it with Angela, who, just as I was that first time, was blown away by how much you learn, how much you get to eat, how good everything is, and how fun it is! In fact, we're on the waitlist for another class this weekend!

So Saturday's birthday class was, in the words of Chef Colette Christian, ambitious. We had six recipes to make and we were to learn how to fabricate a whole chicken. I had no idea what that meant. Now I do.

We started with the fall vegetable bisque and Parmesan crisps. I volunteered to start the soup on the stove and Angela and our teammates worked on the crisps. I love these classes for another reason, everything is already prepped for us. There's no chopping or dicing or cleaning. There are several assistant chefs running the kitchen and they keep things hopping with laid out ingredients and keep the dishwasher humming. Also, I'm making things I never would have tried at home but that I totally now will cook at home. Because they're really not that hard! Our fall soup had pears, parsnips, potatoes, celery, and so much more and it really was as simple as assembling the ingredients and seasoning them. And we're going to try the recipe at home this weekend!

Then we moved on to the chicken. Now, I'm not saying I'm going to be abandoning my large bags of frozen chicken breasts from Costco anytime soon but I have cooked a chicken several times in the past few years, a whole one. And I like the idea that I can do that now with more authority. I like knowing how to cut it up properly and how to make the best use of the pieces of meat. It's definitely something I'll try again soon, maybe over Thanksgiving vacation. Chef Colette cut the chicken for us but showed us just what to do. And she apparently has classes online we can view to review if we need them. 

Next was herb roasting the chicken and making the red wine pan sauce which was seriously, so so easy. And the crazy part? Our group almost wanted to lick the sauce off the plate when we tried it, it was that good. And it was basically onions, garlic, wine, oil, seasonings and some butter. So so easy, and things we almost always have on hand. (I am obsessed with Trader Joe's frozen garlic cubes. We couldn't keep garlic from going bad when we weren't cooking too much during all the heat waves so we switched to this and it's amazing. Tastes like it's fresh!)

After that we moved on to the vanilla bean ice cream. We just made the base, and tasted some that had been made by an assistant chef that morning because ours wouldn't have time to freeze but I love that the evening class would get to taste ours in turn later on! Chef tried to convince us to get the $60 Cuisinart ice cream maker but we held strong. I don't think the ability to make ice cream frequently is good for me or my healthy living plan. But maybe some day...

Then we finished our class by making the apple tarte tatin. Going in I thought this would be like a pie or a cobbler but it wasn't. It was a simple one-pan dessert you can really make while you're getting ready for dinner and then cook while you're eating and then have hot out of the oven (with our ice cream).

Basically we caramelized sugar and butter in a pan. We also learned several times what not to do or how to fix mistakes (when one group burned their sugar, we learned it was best just to throw it out and start over!). And we learned some tricks from Chef Colette, like cold better works best in the sauce, or to temper the eggs in some milk before adding to the ice cream base, or when to cook on high and when to cook on low (you can cook on high sometimes, I felt vindicated! I mean I always cook on high but that's part of my charm!). Then we added apples to the pan and then put a piece of puffed pastry on top. In the oven it went and VOILA! We had this amazing dessert that looked like it came from a magazine. And tasted amazing. (My favorite was when one of the husbands in the class came over for seconds when Angela and I were plating. Always a good sign!)

All of this happened in the course of about two hours, give or take. I really can't recommend these classes enough. And now we're going to be on the lookout for classes by Chef Colette too. And if you watch the website as the day draws nearer, you can score the classes on sale (half off!) like we did.

All in all, one of my favorite new traditions, birthday month or otherwise. I love the idea of making something from pieces. Of creating something that not only sustains but delights. Of being a part of making someone's, even my own, day a bit happier, a bit more delicious. And if it doesn't turn out? Who cares! You start over. Or you improvise. Our Chef was dealing with a new shopper Saturday who didn't get several necessary ingredients for the recipes. She made do by grinding sea salt smaller and by using frozen butter they had in the deep freeze. And when she sprinkled our soup with red pepper instead of black (or the white Julia Child would insist on), she said we were branching out, going spicy. And you know what? It was delicious. Because in the words of Ms. Child, "The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. In cooking you've got to have a what-the-hell attitude." I love that!

Our cooking team - Christiane, Me, Angela, and Kristen

This year just might be a bit better than the last...

Last night - birthday dessert!

Yesterday was the day. My actual birthday. What birthday month, birthday week, and birthday weekend had been leading up to. And we had no big plans. Church, maybe meatloaf (my favorite birthday meal growing up). We had to do a favor for an older neighbor in the afternoon so we had to stick close to home for a while. All fine, birthday celebration was almost over anyway...

Mom made me a birthday dishrag!

Of course it's Doris' cake!

But it wasn't. Last night I had one of those truly special evenings. It gets harder and harder to be excited about birthdays as we grow older. For one, we're growing older. For two, we have to fit it into every day life which is busy and tedious and full. For three, no one cares nearly as much about your birthday as you do (though I have some amazing family and friends who come close!). So this October Angela and I had been celebrating but just really by doing normal things and saying, "Birthday Month!" before and after. It's fine. It's good. It's life when you're about to turn 38.

Jamee is cheering me on!

But Saturday night I spent time talking to Angela and Andrew, eating cake, eating pie and playing cards. But mostly talking. And I've found that in reality, just spending time with people is the most important part of growing older. Whether it's new people or people we've known for ever, when people take time out of their own crazy worlds to focus on you and your stories, that's something to cherish, to celebrate. And it's oh so lovely. Oh so special.

Love from MI & Kerri, Rich & the boys!

Mom wants to make sure I'm stylin'!

New standup desk from Mom & Dad

From Mom & Dad!

And then Sunday came around. Lots of Facebook messages and texts and a Facetime with Mom and Dad to open such fun presents and then one offer to spend time with someone came in. My lovely friend Krista said if we had time, she'd love to have Angela and I come over and go swimming with her. I hemmed and hawed. It was overcast (yet still in the 80s). It wasn't what I was planning to do. It required a drive downtown. And then I stopped in my tracks. And I said YES.

Susie & Angela spoiled me!

One of the activities I love to do most in this world is swim. I love to be in the water. I love to float and kick and sit in it. I just love being in it. And someone had offered me a chance to do that yesterday, on my birthday. While also spending time with two of my favorite people. Of course I should say yes. And so I did.

Angela and I drove downtown and met Krista and we swam. We talked and we laughed and we floated and we swam. Then we sat for a long time in the cooling night air, with just the hint of fall in the air and the leaves, in the giant hot tub and shared our stories. And then Krista asked if we wanted to walk to this really good Mexican restaurant for dinner.

A handful of thoughts ran through my brain. It's Sunday night, Angela has to get up early tomorrow, we have dinner in the fridge at home, I shouldn't eat out after having splurged so much already this weekend, etcetera etcetera. And then I said YES.

Swim time!

We all showered at her place, put back on our bathing suits, and walked, damply, half a mile through the downtown night. We found the Border Grill, tucked away near a dark office building and I smiled as we were seated on the patio with it's paper lanterns strung above our tables and it's jazzy music and it's perfect temperature.

Card from Cedric & the gang!

And we ate. And we drank. And we laughed. And we talked about everything you could imagine. And Krista sang to me as the waiter brought over a little bowl of churro bites with a candle melted to the side.

Card from Cedric & the gang!

And then Krista said, wait, let's not go home just yet, I want to show you something. And off we went, three girls all dressed in damp skirts to this huge hotel right in the middle of LA. The Westin. We walked in and Krista led us to the glass elevator. We went straight up and Angela and I gasped at the beauty of Los Angeles at night all around us. And then we found another glass elevator on the other side of the building and did it again. And again. And again. We watched the skyline and the lights and talked about how Los Angeles doesn't look like this during the day, or really ever. Because well frankly, last night was one of those special nights where everything looks perfectly magical.

And as we walked back through the dark streets of downtown Los Angeles, three girls on an adventure, I couldn't help but think that this year just might be a bit better than the last...

Grief is love

I grew up knowing what grief was. Maybe not it's exact name but what the feeling was. How your heart hurt. How your soul ached. Grief surrounded us. And not in a horribly sad, black dress every day kind of way but in a we've lost people who are very important kind of way and it's okay to be sad and it's okay to think about them and it's okay to remember them and laugh about them. This became a part of me.

I have no memories of my own about my great grandpa Kenneth. As my mother tells the story, he knew he'd never live to see me be born although he knew I was on my way. Cancer sucked back then, and cancer sucks now. Those are the worst words I can say about cancer because in my house growing up sucks was a curse word. (No idea why really, since actual curse words were lobbied about quite frequently.) But his spirit was kept alive through photos and stories. So many stories.

Similarly I have no memories of my own of my Aunt Ginny. But I almost feel like I do because my Grandma MacDonald kept her memory alive so well with stories. Same goes for my Grandmother's father who died when she was 16. So many stories, so much to keep close.

When I wasn't yet three my mother gave birth to twin boys who didn't survive the day. I don't remember anything about that time but to this day I remember their birth date. I clean off their gravestone marker at the cemetery and I spent many a summer day trekking up the hill to water the flowers we planted. There and just above them, at my uncle's grave, an uncle who didn't survive the day he was born either.

We didn't really talk about the babies in my family but we didn't not talk about them either. Each year on their birth date I'd calculate their age and wonder what it would be like to have two little boys in the house. Or to have two brothers instead of one sister. As the years went on we mentioned them less but never forgot.

When I was not quite 10 my mother's father passed away. I have distinct memories from that day, from that week. Of knowing something so bad had happened. Of knowing that life would go on but never be the same.

We would go years without another death close to the family like that one. But the grief never went away. My grandmother would have a big family dinner in a restaurant around the time of my grandfather's death. We'd spend days planting flowers by his gravestone, watering the flowers at the babies' stones.

But then another grandfather passed away, my dad's dad, and I was older, in college, and I remember feeling the grief so differently, not completely yet, but knowing what it meant, at least in part.

When my Grandma MacDonald passed away I was a bonafide adult. At least that's what life tells me. And I will never forget the feelings that accompanied that death. That immediate sadness. That immediate emptiness. The moment of sitting there in the funeral home, listening to the pastor, holding hands with my sister and my two cousins, sobs racking my body. I'll never ever get that image from my brain. And I don't want to. I have to hold on to that. To that love. To that pain. To that hurt. To that grief. 

And then came the summer, three years ago, when all three of my remaining grandparents passed away within weeks and months of one another. I remember thinking I might never stop crying. I might never get a handle on things again. Life was so profoundly changed. Not like when I was a little girl and people would be sad for a while and then I'd not really notice the difference. I was so young, I couldn't pick up on the deep sadness that envelopes people when their loved ones pass. But I'm no longer so young.

The grief settled in and made a promise not to go away. It enveloped us and changed us. These were people, who as an adult, I had made a part of my daily life. These were people I called on a daily or weekly basis. These were people I thought of regularly. These were people I kept track of. I knew their schedules and their favorite candy bars and whether or not they'd be happy with the score of the game. I knew these people. These were my people. Not just family. My family. My every day support system.

And suddenly they were gone.

All at once.

Gone.

And then someone else passed away. And then someone else. And it felt like the world would never be the same again. Or okay again. Because, frankly, let's face it, it won't be. Ever. And we just have to deal with that.

And then last summer, in 2014, I went home and I saw Mom #2, Marilyn. I saw what cancer had done to her body, not to her spirit, never to her spirit, but to her physical being. I saw that she really was sick. She really was dying. And yet we all pretended it wasn't. Because that's what you do. You pretend it's going to be okay, because even if it's not, you have to believe it is. Because what else do you have.

I didn't say goodbye to her last summer. I thought about going to her house and walking up the porch, and petting Cyd hello, and wrapping my arms around her. I'm sure she thought about it too because she didn't come say goodbye to Angela and I. There were opportunities for both of us but we never took them. None of us. And I know why, at least for me. Because deep down I knew I wouldn't just be saying goodbye until Christmas. I'd be saying goodbye forever.

And I couldn't do that.

I believe in Heaven. I believe in my people smiling down on me when they aren't too busy doing awesome Heaven stuff up there. I believe in hope and I have faith and I have love in my heart. I do. But I also have grief. I have such profound sadness that strikes me at moments and it almost knocks me down because I'm not expecting it.

The grief over Marilyn has been that way. Knowing today, the day she died, was coming up over the past few weeks, even months, I had a keen sense that things were not okay. And I have come to terms with the fact that that is okay. Grief has no correct fashion. It takes no direct path. It doesn't happen and then end. It continues, just as life does. It reminds us hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, eventually yearly, that we had people in our lives we loved so much or who loved us so much that it hurts now that they are gone. And that is miraculous. That in all this world we are loved. And we love. And we hurt. And that's all life really is.

Some days I miss her handwriting on a bright envelope in my mailbox. Some days I miss the sound of her voice through the phone. Some days I miss the way she'd sit at my mom's kitchen table and talk for hours. Some days I miss just knowing she's there, in that little house, and that I can stop in and get a hug and shoot the breeze.

When we went home for Christmas in 2014 Marilyn taught Ang, Mom and I how to make rolls. Her mother's rolls. Eileen's rolls. She wrote out the recipe for us. She walked us through the process step by step. And she made us promise to practice. We haven't yet. It's been too hard. It's been too sad. But this fall, when the weather cools and there's spaghetti on the stove, we'll practice, Angela and I. We'll practice and we'll remember that day and we'll smile and we'll laugh and we'll probably cry a bit. Because grief is all of that. Grief is us. Grief is love.

January 2014

I have autoimmune issues...

That's a technical diagnosis. Apparently. I have autoimmune issues. No disease they've narrowed down yet. When I was younger it was simply arthritis. Grandma had it, Mom had it, so it's just a family heirloom passed down. My fingers ache. My feet ache. Sometimes just barely. Sometimes so slightly I barely notice and forget to worry about it. But sometimes? I can barely move a finger. Or think about anything but the burning pain in my hand. This can go on for hours or days or weeks. And then I can go long periods and not experience anything.

When I lived in Yuma and had my own health care insurance for the first time I made an appointment to see a rheumatologist. He did the tests and said I didn't have rheumatoid arthritis. We all breathed a sigh of relief. Rheumatoid is bad news, a scary disease. And yet? Mere aches and pains seemed more than I was experiencing. He prescribed a new drug, Lyrica, which I declined to take regularly since I didn't have pain regularly and I never made another appointment.

Fast forward to this year. Emergency room. Hospital. DVT. Pulmonary embolism. Gallstone. Kidney disease. Liver problems. So many more issues to deal with. And yet? No clear answers.

This spring I sat in my hematologist's office and listened as he read my test results out loud. He was flummoxed, which I took as a bad sign. The man has a PhD and an MD. He said I had lupus (an autoimmune disease) markers. But he didn't believe I had lupus. And he sent me back to my primary care doctor for followup. I sat in my car in the parking lot that morning and sobbed. I had no idea what lupus was other than the disease they never could quite diagnose correctly on the TV show House. That instilled no confidence in my prognosis.

At another doctor's appointment I was assured I didn't have lupus, even though I had lupus markers. Strange. I think so and I'm not a doctor. My doctor was again confused. I was again unimpressed. Then they moved on to possible kidney disease and now another new doctor is testing me for liver issues. So many issues, so little time to think about them all because frankly, I don't want to.

But I do, logically, know that I have medical problems. I have autoimmune problems. I've talked about this at length with the only constant health care provider I have, my acupuncturist Trace. She studies the blood work and test results. She knows how to treat my arthritis and she helps me deal with the other medical issues. She is working on the gallbladder. She's the one who diagnosed the gallstones, the pulmonary embolism and the DVT. I'm so thankful to have her in my corner.

But the autoimmune issues? The problem is that there is maybe no known disease to classify me under yet. The doctors and scientists haven't had the money or resources to investigate properly. So I can't be treated properly yet. One of Angela's doctors told us that medical scientists are making new discoveries every day and yet that still isn't fast enough. We don't know enough yet. But we can.

When I was sick this winter so many people reached out to me. One of those people was Barbara Ramm, a lovely woman I met at church. We bonded over making funeral cookies, she was organizing the luncheon and Angela and I were volunteering. This spring I learned that Barbara also has autoimmune issues - but hers has a name. She has relapsing polychondritis. Look it up, it's not good. But guess what? She's doing something about it. In a sea of so many medical issues being talked about and having awareness raised for and demanding our money and our contemplation, Barbara and her family are taking this issue on. They are creating the first annual Los Angeles Autoimmune Walk.

And Angela and I have decided to walk alongside them.

Because I have autoimmune issues.

Because people I love have autoimmune issues.

My Aunt Gloria has MS and has been in a wheelchair more of her life that she's been out of one. I will walk for her.

My dear little friend Abby who's just started school and this crazy life has celiacs disease. I will walk for her.

My mom and my sister have arthritis and will deal with it their whole lives. I will walk for them.

Who do you know that you can walk for? Or support with a donation? Or a few hours of your time on November 8th?

If you want to help, click here! If you want to pray for us, do it! It you want to share your story with me, come on over and chat! We can make a difference. We have to try.