Sweet. Tart. Flaky. Tender. Warm. Nourishing.

There were a very few things I needed to accomplish today - coffee run, grocery run, get some stamps for now-overdue thank you notes (oh - drat - that too - write the overdue thank you notes) but mostly I wanted to stay put.

A recent adjustment to a prescription has caused my body temperature to drop even lower than usual, so while it is beautiful and sunny outside, I'm in sweaters and under blankets just trying to stay warm. This isn't completely unusual for me and it's not dangerous but it also isn't comfortable. It'll pass, and I'll adjust, but until then ... brrrrrrrrr.

While I was running my around-town errands, I received a call from a business I used to be involved in with a request to please stop by. I had dropped off some "vintage" jam to the cafe about a month or so ago, on a whim. I gave about a flat of various berry-filled jars from 2006 to the bakers and told them to please make whatever they wanted for their holiday feasts. The only rules were that they absolutely, positively could NOT sell any product with the jam in it, and they positively, absolutely could NOT use the jam in the bakery or cafe kitchen. (I have insurance, and the cafe and bakery has insurance, but we'd both rather not have to use it, I'm sure.)

So that's the set up.

I gave them this ...

... and they gave me this.
The scent from this plate of drool-inducing amazingness has already caused my body temp to rise. My heart is for certain beating a bit more quickly than it was just a little while ago. (Granted some of that increased heart rate isn't because of food ... but *blush* anyway ...) Y'all go right on ahead with your champagne toasts at midnight and whatnot. I have a raspberry shortbread tart that I can warm up in the oven and serve with just a bit of additional jam on top while we ring in the new year.

In keeping with the above "gonna be scarfed at midnight" snack, I'd like to offer this toast:

May 2009 be sweet to us all, with enough "tart" to keep it interesting and may the occasional flaky moments be firmly balanced with true tender times. May warmth, comfort, and nourishment come in all forms, from places and people far and near, from the friends we've always had and those we've yet to meet, and from family we inherit at birth and family we choose with our heart.

Take fun.
Have care.
Be good.

Put It There

A friend of mine dropped Tim and I a note on the eve before Christmas Eve. She sent some "recipe cards" (yes, I'm gonna leave that in quotes) that most foodie-types are very familiar with. (They live here ... and do yourself a favor and notice that the tab names change with each new fabulous dish. I especially love that part.)

I responded to her in the fashion with which we typically communicate ... in staccato - dribs and drabs. She's witty and quick and, most of the time, we say things specifically to crack up the other. So my response was something like "that first card looks like something may be infected. I dunno that it'd be going anywhere near my mouth".

She responded with a 5 line, 6 sentence reply. "Guess who's mom has breast cancer? Give up? Yeah. It's mine. She has lump surgery on Friday. Say a prayer." and it made me sit upright as I took in the words and hit "reply". I wrote not as a patient, but as a daughter. I didn't stop to think - I just typed.

I wrote things that I wish I could have said to my friends, to my family, to those who meant well ... things like "yell and scream and cry and freak out as necessary - and often - but, inbtween those times, be the strong daughter she raised" and "laugh with her about the lack of privacy, the wonderful new terms you'll both be learning" and advice like "do NOT whisper around her, do NOT tiptoe. If she wakes up one day and looks like hell - and if you woulda told her so in the past, tell her so again. Make future plans - for next week, next Christmas, for eight years from now. When she's blue, don't talk her out of it. When she's overly confident, don't tell her she's brave. When she's tired of talking about 'it', change the subject."

The day after Christmas I received a reply. "The lumpectomy went well with no sign of cancer in her sentinel nodes. The lab will return results in a week but things look very good. By the time we got the good news at the end of the day, I wandered into a bathroom so I could have a good, relieved 'thank you god' sob. I mean, I know it's all going to end someday, but I'm just so not ready to lose her yet." She wrapped up by asking me how I was doing.

This was days ago, as I've said. I haven't replied yet. The honest truth is that being told this news - not because of anything I've experienced but because I am a friend and she wanted to tell a friend - was exactly the kind of thing that I needed, and exactly what I was trying to convey in my response. I'm not a patient. I'm not a survivor. I've said all along I have no designs on becoming a face or voice for breast cancer.

But "friend"? That's a title I'll very willingly embrace. I can be "friend".

Give me your hand, I'd like to shake it. I wanna show you I'm you friend.
You'll understand, if I can make it clear. It's all that matters in the end.

"Put it there, if it weighs a ton." That's what a father said to his younger son.
"I don't care if it weighs a ton. As long as you and I are here, put it there.
Long as you and I are here, put it there."

If there's a fight, I'd like to fix it. I hate to see things go so wrong.
The darkest night, and all it's mixed emotions, is getting light so sing along.

"Put it there, if it weighs a ton." That's what a father said to his younger son.
"I don't care if it weighs a ton. As long as you and I are here, put it there.
Long as you and I are here, put it there."

- "Put It There" .... Paul McCartney

Dear Julia

I gotta share this with a fellow foodie, who would "get" how cool this is gonna be. Psychiatrists write to Freud - I figured writing to you made sense. I hope you'll indulge me.

I write this note from my Blackberry device at 3:45pm on December 10th while sitting in the Ferry Building in San Francisco, CA. I am an hour early for my "appointed task" and my mind is racing.

My best group professional meal - meaning my best restaurant meal with friends - was at Tru with "my guys" (Andy and Scott) when we were at a sales meeting in Chicago. I told them they'd be expected to dress for dinner and that the entire menu was open to us - no barriers whatsoever. It was 4 hours long, 17 courses, 4 bottles of wine and a tab that was steep - but worth every cent. (We all still very fondly remember the asparagus soup.)

My best solo professional meal, however, was at The French Laundry. I stopped on a whim, was graciously seated immediately, and was overwhelmed by the food, the staff, the kindness, and the experience. I have been a few times - but I remember that one time the most fondly.

Now it is 3:50pm.

I will shortly wander to the end of the building, pick up the books I purchased more than a month ago, and stand patiently (but eagerly) in line. Chef Thomas Keller will arrive at 5pm, I will request his signature on the copies of his book and ... I'm practically high thinking about how much joy these gifts will bring.

One of the gift books is an "expected" present. I informed the person I'd be doing this so that she didn't go get her own copy. I mentioned it quite awhile ago though, so it will still be a bit of a surprise. The other giftee, however, has *no* idea I'm doing this.

He is, for lack of any other more gracious term, the man in my life and he's talked of enjoying a meal there but hasn't done so ... yet. He has great respect for the culinary arts and, 'tho it his not his "day job", I've seen what he can do in a kitchen and I am intimidated by his natural talent and artistry (which he'd shrug off if I were to tell him point-blank).

And now it is 4:00pm.

After the gifts have been given - in fifteen long days - I will probably blog of this experience. I hope I'll have a photo of Chef Keller signing a book - I likely won't have the nerve to pose with him for a photo. But that I can grant this unrequested wish fills me with SUCH joy. And I wanted to share it with you, Julia.

And now it is 4:05pm and I'll walk closer to the designated waiting area.

Bon Appétit!

******************
December 26th ...
Chef Keller signed both copies of his book and had the good humor to suggest that we use the camera I was holding for a photo of the two of us together. Chef Keller probably assumed I was nervous to meet him, which was partially true. I was mostly anxious because I knew the books would be appreciated as gifts. And I'm happy to report that they very much were.

Dear 2008, Stick it.

Ok ok - not really.

Honestly, this hasn't been my worst year. In fact, 2008 may not even be in my top worst five years. Granted, it probably won't be ranking at the top of the favorites side either ... as a year in total, that is. If I were to break it into months, or even seasons, then yes - there would be 2008 entries HIGH on both lists - heck, even some individual months within 2008 would be high on both lists. Along with moments of giant suckitude (which is a word if I say it is), 2008 has had moments of extreme fabulousness.

If I were to do a lost/gained comparison (and, as is my nature, that wouldn't be unlikely for me), I'd have to note that the sides were equal - surprisingly so. There were things I prepared for that, in their own way, happened (perhaps just not as originally planned). There were things that were TOTAL surprises that worked themselves out in ways that hurt, but hurt less than they would've down the road. For every moment of "ok - this just blows", there is an equal moment of "wow - this is amazing". For every pity-laden "why me?", there is another awe-struck "why me?" waiting right beside it.

(And, as an aside, I have no issues with complimenting myself for keeping the pity-laden "why me?s" to myself. I've shared quite a few things with my family and closest friends, but I have no problems saying that my "why me?s" were silently noted. I didn't stifle saying them - I gave myself permission to feel that way at times - but I did not wallow or dwell in it for unending weeks.)

And when did all this enlightenment occur? Today, about 5 hours ago, as I waited for yet another hospital visit to begin so that I could be stuck by yet another needle at yet another doctors appointment. But here's the thing ... I was waiting for another hospital visit to begin after sleeping in my own bed. I wasn't hooked up to any machines. I wasn't sick every 40 minutes. I wasn't finding clumps of my hair on my pillow. I wasn't in any pain. I had driven myself to this appointment and would be turning around and driving back home in less than 30 minutes. I would be celebrating Christmas Eve in my own fashion, spreading a message of hope and warmth that I still believe in and live every day, and I would be spending Christmas Day as I saw fit surrounded by family and friends not as a patient, but as a participant. These were my terms, and I would be allowed to carry them out.

And if noticing all of those blessings - and being grateful for them - makes me some starry-eyed optimist in your eyes, then allow me to suggest the following:

Your car not starting in the morning means you have a car.
Your being late for your job means you're employed.
The knucklehead who just pulled into the prime parking spot at the mall ahead of you means you have the freedom to run your own errands.
The pet who is demanding to be walked or fed or held or stroked means you have unconditional love and a life to care for other than your own.
The neighbor who plays his holiday music too loud means you have a home to protect you from the elements.
The TV station that runs the same stupid movie over and over means you have entertainment options at your fingertips and enough money in your budget to have those options.
The weather changing your plans means you were able to have plans in the first place.
The family members staying with you over the holidays that are driving you nuts mean you have family to spend your time with, and who traveled to spend time with you.
The pine needles dropping over the gifts beneath your tree mean you get to wake to the scent of pine tree each day, and that you have people you're sharing the holiday spirit with.
The refrigerator not having enough room in it for one more thing means you have food to enjoy for several days, and likely folks to share it with, too.

And before ya' think "sure - 'cause she never allows herself to think the negative stuff", I'm the first to say "like hell I don't". I've just found that it takes less energy this way. So even though I woke up today knowing that 2008 was gonna stick it to me just one more time, I'm here to say right back - 2008 can stick it.

And You Can Tell Everybody That This Is Your Song.

There's a tradition of sorts that occurs in my family. The last song at a memorial or funeral ... pretty much any kind of farewell ... typically is selected by the individual who has uh, "left the building". That is, if the individual (1) had the time to select a song and (2) had a specific song they wanted to share.

When my cousin Karen passed several years ago - and FAR too young - the song was "On Eagles Wings". It wasn't enough that Karen was beautiful and loving, warm and terrific, and in our lives for so short a time. It wasn't enough that she was taken so quickly, so stupidly, so horridly, and left behind a husband who would never recover and sons who would be too young to remember her. The church was reduced to a giant sobbing mess as we listened to her selection of "On Eagles Wings". It was, as my mother remembered today, "almost dirty pool" to have to hear it sung so sweetly. It was the best worst musical moment I've ever had in church.

Until today.

Today at the memorial service, we were all doing alright - until a letter was read ... a full-page love letter from Verna to her husband of more than 54 years. In it, she apologized for having the occasional short fuse while dealing with her nearly unmanageable pain over this past year. She thanked her husband for asking her to marry him so long ago, praised him for being such a great father, friend, lover, business partner and husband, reminded him to be strong and happy in his remaining time on the planet, and ended by saying how proud she was to have been in love with him for all these years. That it was the single smartest thing she'd ever done - falling in love with him.

And, while we all tried to catch our breath, Ella Fitzgerald began singing "their song", the one they had danced to at their wedding so long ago.

This one is for Verna and Ernie ... Someone To Watch Over Me

Smoke signals

About once a year, I participate in a book-burning.

Now before ya' get all up in arms, they're MY books. Not as in "I purchased these, therefore they belong to me". No, as in "I wrote these. They are notebooks, filled with my thoughts and feelings and therefore they are mine to do as I see fit."

Typically as I reach the end of a year, I allow myself a period of reflection (which can include thumbing through the pages to see where I've been and how I got to where I arrived) and then I drive to the coast and toss the book(s) into a fire. Especially during crab season, the beaches are often host to extended families and friends enjoying feasts around bonfires - and I'll walk up with a log or two and my books and ask if I can help stoke the fire. I've never been refused ... and have received a few awesome tastes of cioppino this way, too.

I filled my last 2008 book today. This year was a four-book year. Suffice to say, my head was busy.

If the contents of my notebooks were a weather forecast, 2008 started out with shadows and clouds, and then there was rain. The shower was followed by a perfect storm of sorts. Next came calm, and then a deep fog rolled in. This eventually was moved by a blustery bit of wind and, once that passed, the sun broke through on less destruction than I expected to see. There was new growth, previously untapped strength and resolve, stronger roots. I surprised myself. Pleasantly.

If 2008 was a reactionary year, then perhaps 2009 will be a discovery year.

"Boom de yadda" along with me, people.

Size. Does. Not. Matter.

A container of homemade fabulousness to brighten cold mornings.
A hand-decorated, hollowed-out egg.
A Christmas tree decoration of a small ceramic house.
A magazine with an article on a home (and family) I know well.
A coffee mug with my name on it.
A bag of still-on-the-ear popcorn.
A single, hand-made drink coaster.

Those who know me best realize that I prefer generosity that is born in their heads and hearts, not in their pocketbooks. Recognizing that times are tight, we can still all afford to be generous and extravagant this year ... with our creativity. Challenge yourself to see what you can come up with because you just never know the kind of lasting impression you'll make.

The Unluckiest Woman In The World

The holidays are a time of great joy, immeasurable love and overflowing kindness.

So why, I wondered to myself this morning, was this woman in line in front of me so completely pissed off? She had two children, both of which were warmly dressed and very well-behaved. She had driven up to the coffee house in a nice vehicle that appeared to be in good running condition. She had warm clothing, she was buying a hot beverage and treats for her kids without having to seemingly think twice about her budget but, as far as she was concerned, she was the unluckiest person on the planet.

Apparently, her coffee order was taking a few more minutes than she believed was necessary, her cellular phone reception wasn't as strong as she would have liked and she discussing the problems she was having with "the family cabin" to whomever was on other other end of the phone.

Well, she just must be right ... she must be the unluckiest woman on the planet, or I'm just not smart enough to find the "crappy" stuff of my own. When I take stock, I see that I have amazing doctors who help me keep a stiff upper lip for my next blood count. I have a great extended family who are keeping busy as we all prepare for my Aunt's memorial service this weekend. I have a tremendous circle friends who are generous and thoughtful beyond all comprehension - who give of their time, their humor, their skills, their laughter, and their love. Best (and MOST amazing) of all, I have a future that I'm willing and capable of seeing - and shaping - and having - and sharing.

No sarcasm intended - today I stood in line behind the unluckiest woman in the world, and I really wouldn't trade lives with her.

This one ... this one is all mine.

An eye for an eye

will make us all blind.

- Mahatma Ghandi







Even though I was only 12 at the time, I remember where I was. Hard to believe it was so long ago.





War is over if you want it.

My bridge, my city, my water, my goodness

Have ya' ever taken photos that turned out to be so good that you wanted to use them as holiday cards, even though they're not really showing a "holiday" image?

Nope ... me neither.

Way Better than "De Colores"

For the past three weeks now, there's been pretty extensive remodeling work going on during working hours - pretty hard work, too - removal of carpets, tearing out of kitchens and bathroom fixtures, reflooring, etc. I was warned it would be loud and some days really have been. Mostly though it's been fine.

The construction crew is VERY respectful of me, which I appreciate. There's been no cursing (even when I've heard "not that - we weren't supposed to remove that"), no big piles of things sitting for days on end - in fact, they've been really quite neat in their work, which I appreciate since I live here.

There is, however one VERY entertaining aspect. The guys listen to the radio all day - always some Hispanic station, and one of their choices plays nothing but power rock ballads ... dubbed in Spanish. I can honestly say that I've heard it all now that I've heard "Love Hurts" in Spanish. One of the guys has a GREAT voice - and with the new flooring, the acoustics are pretty good - and he's been teaching the rest how to sing, too.

Throughout the days, there's power Spanish floating over the sound of hammers and broken English with directions on what to do next.

Ohhhhh - gotta go - "Rosanna" by Toto just came on. This should be good ...