Am…musings

My mom has a wonderful theory on relationships and old friends … that you will always have a bond with those who are meant to be in your life, even if you live apart, and whenever you see each other you will fall back into your relationship as though no time has passed.

The theory was put to a true test a year ago. Last Thanksgiving we traveled to Dallas to spend the weekend with my cousin Melissa, who we hadn’t seen in nearly 20 years, and her husband and 5-year-old son we’d never met.

As I mentioned on the eve of last year’s trip, I’m an only child and Melissa and I were like sisters as kids … weekend sleepovers, summer vacations, the same Christmas presents every year (matching clothes, roller skates and 10-speeds … gotta love the ‘70s!). As some friends … and I imagine even some siblings … do, we grew apart as we grew older. Then as a result of a little family drama that had little if anything to do with us, we completely drifted apart after 1990 or so.

After several visits with out-of-town friends last year, I blogged about mom’s theory. She’s always been right, and the theory rang true once again during our wonderful visit with Melissa and her family last year. This year, we are back again to celebrate Thanksgiving, and she and her family also visited us in St. Louis last summer.

Melissa and I also get a kick out of the fact that my mom’s theory is so right that we fell back into our old habit … matching shoes last year and the exact same boots and nearly matching shirts this year.

Last year, my birthday post was about dreading 37 … because of what I didn’t (and still don’t) have … a husband and kids. While I’m not overjoyed about 38, I’ve grown tired of worrying about what life is supposed to be. Honestly, if I could do it over again, I’d have to think long and hard about changing much … if it meant giving up any of the amazing experiences I’ve had and wonderful people I’ve met along the way.

To replace the dread this year, two recent blog comments … one from a friend since second grade (via Facebook) and one from someone I’ve never met (who has a blog I’ve been enjoying) … inspired me to make a list of the things I’m grateful for at 38 …

1. The love and support of and for the people in my life, including my family, my friends, my neighbors and D (Both of the inspirational comments were actually about D … basically to take it one day at a time and be thankful for each one. For an over-thinker like me, it’s not always easy, but I’ve been taking it to heart since they were posted.)

2. A job that I love … possibly the first I’ve had that I don’t dread heading to every morning … and that challenges me, as well as my wonderful coworkers and colleagues.

3. My ability to take pleasure and see the wonder in the small things in life … from playing with Chewy in the hose to experiencing a good coaster to watching my food processor slice a cucumber in about a nanosecond to seeing more than 20 deer playing in a farmer’s field (D’s family’s).

4. My health … it’s nothing to take for granted as I quickly approach 40.

5. The means to live comfortably in a cute little house with a car to get me around.

When I blow the candles out today, I’ll wish for many more days of gratitude.

One of the simplest recipes I have is my favorite. It’s my grandma’s recipe for cucumber salad. I’m making it tonight because we’re having Easter dinner this Saturday due to some scheduling conflicts next weekend. I’ve made cucumbers every Easter since my grandma passed away and my aunt was unceremoniously stripped of the duty a few years later when the cucumbers were so salty they were inedible.

I call the recipe simple not necessarily because it’s uncomplicated, but because it requires no real measuring and only two ingredients, minus the most basic spices – salt and pepper.

Although none are difficult, there are a few steps:
First, peel and slice cucumbers (I prefer the seedless English variety). I slice them in the food processor, which makes amazingly quick and pretty work of it … much to my delight (I guess it’s the simple pleasures in life).

Then, according to grandma, grab a handful of cucumbers, throw each handful in a bowl and salt them before adding the next handful. And … here’s where the psychoanalysis comes in. As a 9-year-old kid, I made dinner for the first time. It was potato soup, and after a few bites my dad jokingly likened it to wallpaper paste. It wasn’t necessarily a lie, but probably not the best thing to say to a girl who was proud of her first attempt at real cooking. I was crushed and poured over the recipe to figure out where I’d gone wrong. Ever since … while not necessarily anal about most things … I’ve been a meticulous cook. So … I layer the cucumbers carefully in the bowl, salting between layers to make sure they are evenly salted and perfect.

You can certainly try either way.

After they’re all in the bowl, stick them in the fridge, where they will “sweat” a good deal of their liquid.

After two to three hours, take handfuls out of the bowl and squeeze them over the sink to get as much liquid out as possible.

Throw them in a bowl (no anal-ness required for this step) and cover them with vinegar – plain old white vinegar, which I buy by the gallon because I also like to clean with it.

Top with pepper, stir and refrigerate. I usually do this a day or two in advance, which grandma’s recipe doesn’t call for, but I think it creates better flavors. And my dad … who complained about my first cooking foray … doesn’t like cucumbers so he won’t be enjoying this masterpiece.

My lovely mother Shar …

… and I are doing the diet I’ve mentioned together. This week we’re supposed to jump start it by sticking to a vegetarian menu as directed by our doctor. I called Shar earlier to whine a little because the diet is also lots of fruits and salads plus protein shakes, and I’m so darn cold today I just wanted something nice and warm for lunch. Here’s the conversation:

Shar: I know what you mean. We’re having tuna for lunch.
Me: Um … we can’t have that.
Shar: Why not? She said no meat. I’m not having meat.
Me: Yeah … this isn’t the Catholic version of vegetarianism. Fish is meat.

Sheesh!

I’m enjoying a relaxing stay at a B&B in New Hope, Pa. My aunt’s sister owns the quaint B&B and the fam is here to celebrate Christmas. This morning we ate the yummiest breakfast, which she typically serves to guests on the weekends. I’ve had a similar French toast casserole, but the challah and cream cheese make this one even more delicious. It would be perfect for a brunch or special breakfast.

FRENCH TOAST SOUFFLÉ

2 10-ounce loaves challah bread
16 eggs
6 cups milk
3 Tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 tub spreadable cream cheese

Topping:
4 Tablespoons butter, cubed
6 Tablespoons sugar
4 teaspoons ground cinnamon

Cut bread length wise two times. Spread with cream cheese. Cube bread. Place bread cubes in two greased 11X9 baking dishes.

Beat eggs, milk, sugar and vanilla, pour over bread.

Cover with aluminum foil and refrigerate for eight hours or overnight.

Remove from refrigerator 30 minutes before baking.

Dot with butter.

Combine sugar and cinnamon, sprinkle over top.

Cover and bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes or until knife inserted near the center comes out clean.

Let stand for five minutes. Serve with maple syrup.

At 10:15 a.m. this morning I opened the front door (the storm door isn’t a great barrier for the cold, but it lets light in, which I find worth the splurge on my heating bill). I had just rolled out of bed because I didn’t get to sleep until 2 a.m. I was still in my PJs, my hair was a bird’s nest of tangled curls. Behind me, the dining room table was strewn with a few half-empty glasses of wine and beer bottles … evidence of last night’s Christmas Cocktails party.

There was a car sort of in the middle of the street so I stood in the doorway a little longer than necessary. And here comes a woman. She was handing out Christmas cards … for the local Baptist Church.

It made me giggle. They probably don’t want me (or I figured I made her day … if she saves someone like me, her Saturday morning would be worth it).

By the way, despite the glasses and bottles, the party wasn’t too crazy (a lot of fun with some of the wonderful people in my life, but not too crazy). Although, I just had to post this picture of a drinking game that included … my mom!

The seventh leg of “the year of traveling to see important people I haven’t visited in a ridiculous amount of time” (a.k.a. the trips I’ve been meaning to take and finally did) commences tomorrow.

Here’s the history:
• The year started in Phoenix with college friend Aaron and his wife Jen. Last time I was there: 2003 … I think.
• I drove from Phoenix to L.A. to see Disney friend Scott. I don’t think I’d seen him since 1994-ish.
• Bean-town and Disney friend Nicole were the next stop. She moved there from Orlando in 2000-ish and I had never visited her there … or seen her since then for that matter.
• Up next: across the border to Alberta, Canada to visit my high school friend Chrissie (and the cute Canadian men!). She moved west (Canada, Seattle, then Canada again) after college in the mid ‘90s and I had never been to see her.
• I flew from Canada to Charlotte to spend time with Disney friend and roommate Natalie and her family. I hadn’t been to visit her since 2000.
• Chicago sort of counts … Nicole ran in the marathon and in an effort to make sure it wasn’t another eight years before I saw her again (sheesh!) I drove up to hang out

Tomorrow I’m headed to Dallas to visit my cousin. I’m an only child and we were like sisters as kids … weekend sleepovers, summer vacations, the same Christmas presents every year (right down to the same color and style roller skates and 10-speeds … it was the ‘70s!). Unfortunately, as we grew up, we grew apart. And then because of her move to Dallas, a little family drama and the general bustle of life, we haven’t seen each other since 1990 or so. I blogged about my mom’s wonderful theory on old friends after my visits with Chrissie and Natalie … I’m hopeful my cousin and I will prove her right once again.

My friend Jenny was gushing about a book. She admitted it was a teen romance, but she couldn’t stop saying how great it was. “Do you want to borrow it?” she excitedly asked. A teen romance … ummm. I read and enjoyed all the Harry Potter books, but a teen romance seemed a little pathetic. Ultimately, I justified it because it’s about vampires and … vampires are hot.

The book is Twilight. At the time I hadn’t heard of it, but with the movie coming out in a week, it’s everywhere and I’ve noticed the book in unexpected places, like Marshall’s, where I was returning some shoes Thursday.

I’m about halfway through. It’s well-written and very engaging and entertaining. Plus, it’s a quick read. I prefer my romances a little racier (a taste I developed as a teen when my mom let me read books I probably shouldn’t have … I was a voracious reader and when I’d exhausted the school lists, Shar would pass her trashy, sexy Danielle Steele novels along), but for a teen book Twilight is surprisingly romantic … and tales of forbidden love are always a little saucy. Not to mention, the vampire uncharacteristically doesn’t want to kill humans, instead he uses his superhuman skills to save the heroine’s life. A superhero with a neck fetish … it doesn’t get much hotttttter than that.

Because my neighbor Marsha and our friend Kelly did a supreme job of making me feel guilty …. because I’m an optimist … and mostly because I believe God plays jokes on us occasionally, I met Match-Herb for drinks tonight.

I was hoping for an ogre. He isn’t. He’s also a very, very nice guy. And nice absolutely makes a difference in my book.

Of course, I did have a good giggle on the phone with Marsha on the way to Harpos where Herb and I met. Also, hysterical laughing ensued during my drive home as I thought about H-E-R-B. And … I grinned all the way to the bathroom after the cute guy at the table next to us asked me (while Match-Herb was in the bathroom) if we were on a first date and for some reason I felt the need to share my name dilemma. (And here I’ll interject with another Damn It … where the heck are the cute boys asking me questions when I’m not on a date??? And couldn’t Match-Herb have taken a little longer to get back from the bathroom so the cute boy and I could have talked longer? Seriously?!?)

Despite the laughter (and the cute boy), I kind of like you-know-who. But, obviously, I’m still a little hung up on the name. Now what?

*Keith (and Jadea who noticed Keith’s funny comment), the rogue “n” the title is just for you!

Sure … there are the obvious reasons why I’d like a man in my life … opening jars, reaching things on high shelves, cleaning gutters*, among other things I won’t mention here because one of my co-workers cringed when I just mentioned kissing in the Match-Herb post.

Sopping up my basement last weekend in the wake of Ike’s remnants – and in the process, assembling a wet/dry vac all by myself – got me thinking along these lines. It also reminded me of the thing that makes me feel most alone in my aloneness … folding sheets.

In my family of three, two of us always folded sheets together. While I’m pretty independent and, as I’ve mentioned before, subscribe to the belief that it will happen when it’s meant to, not having someone here to help me fold sheets makes me … just plain lonely.

*P.S. Thanks to Dad-Herb for cleaning my gutters before the deluge.