Am…musings

OK … I’m scheduling this to post while I’m recovering from my surgery. I prefer to post things real time, but I wanted to squeeze in one last post from my December Glamour in December, and this is pretty much it.

First Lady Michelle Obama was another Woman of the Year. Whatever your politics I think some of the advice that she shared in an interview with Katie Couric is worth hearing:

“I have always tried to put my kids first, and then … put my self a really close second, as opposed to fifth or seventh. One thing that I’ve learned from male role models is that they don’t hesitate to invest in themselves, with the view that, if I’m healthy and happy, I’m going to be a better support to my spouse and children.

“All we can do as women is make the best decisions for us. And that includes everything from how you look to how you dress to whether you choose to stay at home or work when you have kids. All those decisions are so personal, and we have to start with finding what brings us joy and what brings us our own individual confidence. And if we’re feeling good with those choices, then it makes what everybody else has to say less important.

“Cute’s good. But cute only lasts for so long, and then it’s, Who are you as a person? That’s the advice I would give to women: Don’t look at the bankbook or the title. Look at the heart. Look at the soul. Look at how the guy treats his mother and what he says about women. How he acts with children he doesn’t know. And, more important, how does he treat you? When you’re dating a man, you should always feel good. You should never feel less than. You should never doubt yourself. You shouldn’t be in a relationship with somebody who doesn’t make you completely happy and make you feel whole.”

In my last post about tomorrow’s surgery I talked about how my prep was going to be like a fast at a fancy spa. Umm … not!

I imagine at a fancy spa, I’d have an awesome (hopefully sexy) chef named Sven (I love men who can cook) creating healthy juice smoothies and other fast-friendly concoctions. Unfortunately, the Slurpee for lunch and beef broth and Jell-O for dinner at my “spa” haven’t been exactly satisfying … and there certainly wasn’t a “Sven” serving them to me.

Plus (as Val suggested in the comments Monday) spas should offer foot massages and lavender scented baths. I don’t see that happening here.

I also envision that spas that offer fasting are mostly found in gorgeous, warm locations. That is absolutely not the case at this “spa.”

But the real reason this spa sucks … the nasty-ass bottle of magnesium citrate I had to drink about five hours ago and its results.

New Year’s Eve has never been particularly high on my holiday list. I always have a great time, but it seems like the hype and expectations are usually much higher than the reality … which tends to make it a bit of let down, no matter how much fun I have.

This year my expectations are pretty low. I anticipate hanging out with my parents, sleeping lots and taking copious amounts of prescriptions drugs.

What? Well … it seems I’m a bit of a withholder when it comes to health info. When I finally told you about my fibroid surgery (seven days after it happened), I wasn’t entirely forthcoming. I said “all went fairly well,” but didn’t elaborate. Well … “fairly well” meant there was a possibility I might need a second surgery. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that … and figured why worry you needlessly or bore you with the details.

So here’s the scoop … when they went into remove the fibroids, they found endometriosis and removed what they could. But some of it was adhered to places it shouldn’t be and I wasn’t prepped for that surgery (ok, yes … I’m withholding again, but this time, you won’t be hearing about it later … it’s just a little too gross and personal to share). The verdict at the time was to wait and see how I was feeling … sometimes women can have endometriosis without even knowing it, as I did.

Unfortunately, a majority of the pre-surgery pain returned. I’d also met my very high deductible this year. I figured the endometriosis wasn’t going to get better … and given that I’d already invested so much into my health this year, it just seemed to make sense to have the second surgery.

I’m told the recovery time will be a fraction of the last surgery. And although it sucks that my (and my parents’) New Year’s will be ruined, at least I’ll have the extra days off work to bounce back. And the surgery prep, which starts Wednesday morning, will be like a fast at a fancy spa … perfect for recovering from the Christmas and pre-Christmas gluttony.

December, of course, was a crazed month. But I still have a few days to fit in a couple of wonderful excerpts from my December Glamour. I found this one particularly inspiring … a poem I’d never seen from another Woman of the Year … Maya Angelou. Here it is:

Phenomenal Woman
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I’ve been experimenting in the kitchen lately, which is really unusual for me … so unusual, that I began pondering why.

Last spring I blogged about cooking for the first time when I was 9 years old and my dad poking fun of the not-so-tasty outcome. Ever since, I was reluctant to stray from a recipe and its exact measurements. As silly as it sounds, maybe sharing that on this blog was cathartic for me and that’s why I’m cooking without my net. Another theory … bringing the herbs inside this fall may have forced me to be a little creative to use them up.

Ultimately, I think those two things may be contributing factors, but that the main reason is one of the great loves of my life … Google . I search recipes for specific dishes, as well as recipes including ingredients I have on hand. And instead of being locked down by one recipe in a cookbook, I can glance at several recipes, using them for inspiration and guidance, but not as gospel.

Tonight’s concoction – homemade croutons.

We had Christmas dinner last weekend because my uncle, the Christmas chef, and his family are out of town tomorrow. Without plans or the need to cook the traditional meal (that I really don’t like – sauerbraten and potato pancakes – yuck!), my parents and I decided to splurge with steak and crab legs for tomorrow. I’m in charge of sides – loaded baked potatoes, sugar snap peas and salad. I had some nice leftover bread that I hated to pitch and decided homemade croutons on our salad would be a nice touch.

I Googled “crouton recipe stale bread” because that’s exactly what I had on hand, and then scanned several recipes, picking the directions and ingredients I thought sounded best.

The only problem with not following a recipe is that it’s sort of difficult to share. But here’s the general gist … and I imagine I’m pretty much the only freak that follows a recipe to a T anyway.

Homemade Croutons
Stale French baguette or other artisan bread
Olive oil (roughly 2/3 cup for 4 cups of bread cubes)
Spices to taste (I used garlic powder and fresh thyme)
Sea salt
Fresh cracked pepper

Preheat oven to 275 degrees.

Slice the bottom crust and any really hard pieces off the loaf.

Cut loaf into cubes and place in large bowl.

Whisk olive oil and spices (not the salt and pepper) together in a smaller bowl.

Drizzle spiced oil over bread cubes and toss well.

Spread bread cubes on cookie sheet or 9X13 pan.

Sprinkle with salt and fresh cracked pepper.

Check and stir the cubes every 10 minutes, but the baking time will depend on how large your cubes are and how saturated they are with oil. Mine took about 30 minutes (they won’t brown, but should be crisp on the outside and fairly chewy on the inside).

After a year of living fairly frugally, and without the requirement of buying holiday gifts for a boyfriend/husband or kids, I’ve been splurging a bit with a “one for you, two for me” approach to Christmas shopping.

I do have a small family and several of my friends decided spending time together for dinner or whatnot was better than spending money on presents so it hasn’t been a total free-for-all. But here are a few example:

• A bunch of clothes for me, while getting gift cards for the office adopt-a-family and stuff for my folks (that I won’t mention here in case they read this before Christmas morning).
• A really cool, slightly expensive necklace while buying ornaments for gifts at Third Degree Glass Factory.
• An awesome bottle opener, a foil cutter and two ornaments while shopping for my office Secret Santa recipient.

I also indulged in a mani-pedi tonight (something I don’t normally do in winter when I try to do my own to save some cash).

That said … would I trade all those things for love and a family? In a heartbeat. And does Christmas mean more to me than the presents? Without a doubt. But since I’m single and childless this Christmas season, I figure I might as well enjoy my freedom, rather than dwell on my singledom.

I’m guessing this post isn’t going to be popular with many people … even some I call close friends. But when I hear grumblings about having to say Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas, it bothers me a bit … ok, really, it bothers me a lot.

I felt exactly the same way when some people zealously said “we are a Christian nation” after our President uttered these words, “One of the great strengths of the United States is … we do not consider ourselves a Christian nation or a Jewish nation or a Muslim nation. We consider ourselves a nation of citizens who are bound by ideals and a set of values.”

Yes, Mr. President, I agree … because last I checked, we were the land of the free … free to be whatever religion (or lack thereof) we want to be. The very first amendment of our constitution makes it pretty clear … Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

So to those that would prefer to say Merry Christmas … particularly in public settings like the mall, offices or public schools … I say to you that not everyone believes what you believe.

To me, saying Happy Holidays (whether it be to my friends who I know have different beliefs or to strangers or acquaintances who may or may not believe what I believe) doesn’t mean my faith or beliefs are jeopardized or weak, rather I think it shows an openness and empathy towards others, which for me is part of the true meaning of the season.

Happy Holidays!

Winter is the price I’m willing to pay for spring and fall. Winter is the price I’m willing to pay for spring and fall. Winter is the …

My sweet, slightly philosophical line at all other times of year becomes my mantra in winter … repeated over and over as I can see my breath and no longer feel my fingers and toes when I’m standing outside for any extended period of time in this 20- and 30-degree frigidness.

The line came to me when I needed a pithy reply after about the fiftieth time of being asked why on earth I’d returned to St. Louis after living in Florida.

Spring … with her tulips, blooming trees and excitement of fresh beginnings … and fall … with her gorgeous foliage, crisp air and desire to relish every last minute of pretty weather … really were instrumental in my decision. Those things simply don’t exist in the Sunshine State. I also missed Missouri’s lush rolling hills and rivers and streams. Don’t get me wrong … Florida is beautiful too, and I count a few of its residents as some of my closest friends. Because of that, I’ve always said I have two homes … when I’m in Florida, I miss St. Louis. When I’m in St. Louis, I miss Florida. But ultimately … at least at this point in my life … St. Louis has won my heart.

Of course, there’s still this bitter cold to contend with. My mantra and another reminder of something I didn’t have in Florida are getting me through so far this year. The other reminder? It’s this great song by Owl City about fireflies. I didn’t even realize Orlando is nearly firefly-less until I moved back to St. Louis. As crazy as it sounds, the little bugs just make me smile … as does this song … even as I listen and sing along with visible breath in the car as I wait for it to warm up.

I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a bit of a “Martha,” but my favorite projects, recipes, etc. are those that look or taste impressive, but really aren’t too much work. Before this year, I would have completely scoffed at making a pumpkin pie from a real pumpkin … rather than from a can. But this was the year I finally planted a garden and as I mentioned in the “seed” post, I felt like my homegrown pumpkins deserved a more fitting end than the trash.

“A Googling” I went, and found this helpful site that gave a very detailed, step-by-step guide for making a pie from fresh pumpkin. Was it as much of a pain in the tooshy as it sounds? As I was making it, I thought … well … absolutely, yes it was. But honestly, in hindsight, it wasn’t at all difficult. It just required an extra hour or so and some extra dishes (stove-top steamer, food processor, utensils).

Sure … extra time isn’t something many of us have. And who likes extra dishes? But then again, the results were pretty amazing. I think partly because the recipe on the site is good, but this pie also tastes fresher and better … brighter is another words that comes to mind … than one from a can. The pumpkin itself is beautiful after it’s been cooked and processed … especially when you see how gross the pumpkin looks in the can.

Will I do it again? Sure, but I think only with pumpkins from my garden … if I had to buy a pie pumpkin, I think I’d just get a can instead (or my neighbor is a Aldi’s shopper and they have a pretty amazing frozen pie). And, of course, it would need to be at a time when I wasn’t in a huge hurry … like say when prepping for a holiday meal.

P.S. For those of you that don’t like pumpkin pie, I recommend you try a slice warm from the oven or warmed in the microwave for 15 or 20 seconds. I’d hated it for 38 years, but tried the Aldi’s pie I mentioned above warm from the oven. It was delightful, and now I’m a pumpkin pie fan.

I sometimes feel guilty for having a cleaning lady … a splurge basically because I’m lazy.

When I feel that way (or when I feel the need to justify it to others), I go back to the reason I did it. My third spring on Kit Drive was approaching and I was starting to feel the same stress I felt the two springs prior … the stress of trying to keep up with the yard, the cleaning, the laundry, etc. all by myself. A cleaning lady or a lawn helper were the obvious solution (although as much as I hate doing laundry, I really did give a lot of thought to getting out of that). I decided I much preferred being outside and getting the exercise of mowing (a decision I only question when I have to mow on 98+ degree days).

Yet, as the economy has tightened, I often wonder if I should have her come less frequently or not at all. The past week or so has cured me of that. I was out of town the entire week of Thanksgiving so I had her skip her regular cleaning time that Friday after Turkey Day. Fast forward a week and my house looked like a tornado hit it. Being out of town for week meant there was less dirt in the tub, the sink, etc. … but what I think is just as important for me is that her coming forces me to straighten all the clutter. When I get busy (which is typically always … and particularly so this time of year), it’s easy to let the crap pile up. The every-two-week cleaning schedule keeps me in line … the week after she’s been here, I’m reluctant to mess it up … and I know if I keep it relatively uncluttered the next week before she’s back again, I won’t have to scramble the night before she’s here.

I’m looking forward to getting back on track after she cleans tomorrow … now off to finish cleaning for the cleaning lady.