Identifying My Leprechaun

Sometimes I’ve been lucky. Most times my successes are directly attributable to my efforts. Interestingly enough, today, St. Patrick’s Day, marks the 24^th anniversary of my relocating from Chesapeake, Virginia to Wilmington, Delaware. It was March 17, 1989, and I had accepted a General Manager’s position with Capes Shipping Agencies, Inc. which was the steamship agency representing Chiquita Brands. Chiquita had very favorably negotiated the move of their vessel operations from Newport News, Virginia to the Port of Wilmington.  At the time, I saw the move as merely a stepping stone (in the right geographical direction) to advancing my career in a manner that would ultimately lead me to working in Manhattan in connection with moving freight via ocean liners through Port Elizabeth, New Jersey.

Within a couple of years and after being recognized as influential in creating increased efficiency and an additional profit center through the development of a successful European imports business, I was offered a position with Chiquita as Operations Manager. In this role, 60% of my time was to be spent in Costa Rica with the remaining 40% in Cincinnati, Ohio at Chiquita’s global headquarters. This sound career proposition prompted a full review of my options considering that I had been a dual-career woman since age 22 when I had obtained a real estate sales agent’s license primarily for the purpose of investing.  I had been sure to get my Delaware license to practice almost immediately upon my relocation, and I had been listing and selling a property here and there with plans to continue with investing after I became more knowledgeable of my new marketplace. 

In assessing my options it became clear to me that if I took the position with Chiquita I would not have the time to practice real estate. I also knew that the potential for the greatest income receipts was through real estate so at age 28 I made the calculated decision to become a one-career woman and chose my real estate career over the maritime industry. It was a very difficult decision because there was never even one day over my eight-year history working in ocean transportation that I did not absolutely love my work. Particularly gratifying was the fact that I had worked my way all the up to my current role from the lowliest position in the business, manifest clerk. I knew the business. I loved the business!

It was an interesting time when my ultimate decision came down to the final question of which option would yield the greater income. I loved both careers and was willing to work long and hard in either occupation.  My speculation that real estate sales and marketing would produce greater revenue proved to be grounded in truth. During that first year, wholly devoted to my real estate business, I proceeded to gross more than twice the income that I was offered to join Chiquita as Operations Manager. I suppose it could be considered luck, and if it was, I guarantee you that I was the leprechaun who produced that pot of gold!

Now, did someone say corned beef and cabbage? Well, here's my version of a St. Patrick's Day meal.

I cooked the corn beef in a crockpot and shredded it. The sauce for the sandwich is a blend of mayonnaise, ketchup, white vinegar, sugar, relish and onion. Delicious with a little coleslaw and potatoes on the side.

Irish Blessing

May the road rise to meet you,

may the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

and the rain fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again,

may God hold you in the hollow of his hand.

Matters of the Heart

It is said that all human actions are motivated by either fear or love. I make a concerted effort much of the time to be conscious of my actions and where they are rooted. When I notice that I'm coming from fear, I stop and reassess my intentions to modify my course, and get back on track because fear-based decisions typically produce negative results.  Last week I couldn't help noting that this year mid-February brings an even tighter than usual focus on the most powerful and life-defining emotion I experience, love. While there's no escaping the flurry of activity around February 14th, Valentine's Day, and its significance as a day to celebrate relationships, this year February 13th marked Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent that begins the 40-day annual ritual wherein Christians repent, fast, pray, and reflect upon the love of God for humankind as demonstrated by the ultimate sacrifice of His only Son, Jesus Christ so that we may have life everlasting. 

This week my daughter, Abigail and I began a discussion about the Lenten season that branched into two subsequent conversations; one around the question: "Is God subjective," followed by: "How the Study of Physics Highlights Our Lack of Understanding." I can't think of a better way to spend a Saturday morning than exploring such matters of the head and heart with my daughter who brings a keen, open mind, her knowledge and experiences as well as her uncertainties and opinions to such discussions. I always leave these conversations with something new to ponder and with a deeper understanding of who my child is which is probably of even greater interest to me than the intriguing subjects we discuss.

With love and the heart occupying my subconscious mind all week, today I created one of the best new fish dishes I've come up with in a while. Fish, in general, is heart-healthy. While Tilapia actually carries less Omega-3 (anti-inflammatory) and more Omega-6 (pro-inflammatory) than some other fish, it is still nutrient-dense, loaded with essential vitamins and minerals such as B12 and potassium, high in protein, and virtually free of saturated fat, thereby; supporting cardiovascular health. Here it is!

Tasty and loaded up with nutrients!

Tilapia with Zucchini & Orzo

5 pieces Tilapia

S & F Lemon Dill Marinade (all natural)

4 Cloves Garlic

1 Zucchini (chopped)

1/2 Sweet Onion (chopped)

1 c. white mushrooms (chopped)

1/2 c. Sundried Tomatoes in Olive Oil (chopped)

3 tbsp. Olive Oil & Spices from Tomatoes

Whole Wheat Orzo (cooked)

Directions: Brush each side of fish with marinade, place in a baking dish, cover, and refrigerate until ready to bake. Pre-heat oven to 375. Chop the garlic, zucchini, onion, sundried tomatoes, and mushrooms. Put 3 tbsp of oil infused with spices (from the jar of sundried tomatoes) in a sauce pan over medium-low heat, add garlic and onion followed by mushrooms, zucchini, and tomatoes. Cover and simmer to retain moisture. Cook the orzo according to the package. Bake fish for 10 minutes, turn and bake another 10 minutes. Plate the orzo, add the fish and finish with the veggies. It's delicious!

What I'm Giving Up for Lent

A Criminal, Two Teens, and a Beagle

I arrived home from work at 5:00 on Friday evening to find that Abi wasn't home from school which is unusual, however; she had mentioned that she was planning to catch up with some friends and spend the night away from home so I wasn't particularly concerned, but I figured I'd better hunt her down anyhow so I called her, and she answered, "Hello?"

"Hey, Boo, where are you? Are you spending the night at Sam's?"

"I'm on my way home, and, yes, but that's not why I'm late getting home today.  I'm late because I've been at a crime scene."

"A crime scene?  Where?  What happened?"

"You know the Charter parking lot where there is a fence between the residential homes and school lot?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Sam and I were sitting in my car there talking after school, like we usually do, when this guy in an ill-fitted black suit carrying a knapsack came running past the tennis courts through the parking lot. He stopped directly in front of my vehicle and looked from side to side before throwing his bag over the fence into someone's yard. He then jumped on the fence and began climbing. A barking beagle immediately darts past the bag, and rushes the fence making a huge ruckus which startles the guy on the fence. The guy crashes to the ground with fence and all!  At this point Sam and I are laughing hysterically watching this guy trying to get out from under this broken fence and regain his composure. By now he has seen us, we've all made direct eye contact, and I'm sure he could even hear us laughing. He runs to another section of fence, and this time, he makes it over, but his bag is still in the beagle's yard, and the beagle is systematically and diligently marking and re-marking everything in the yard including the bag."

Well, by this time I am in stitches at the vision of this story. Abi interrupts my laughter, "I have to go. I think one of the police officers is calling me."

I make a mental note to confirm that Abi is using an earpiece or speaker function to talk on the phone while driving because we have a "no handheld devices while driving" law here in Delaware which I wholly support. I knew she was on her way home so I decided to wait to hear the rest of the story. Sure enough about 15 minutes later, Abi is safely home, and I meet her her in the foyer. She follows me to the kitchen.

"So why did the police call you?"

"Oh, he wanted to thank me for sticking around to provide the details of what I witnessed. He also asked for your contact information, and once again took my detailed physical description of the guy, before telling me that they had apprehended the suspect and had him in custody."

"Did you call the police when you saw the man?"

"No, a minute or so after the man got over the fence a barrage of patrol cars stormed the lot. There were no less than a dozen city, county, and state cop cars-- even canine units. They barreled right passed us, got out of their vehicles; dogs and all, and assembled approaching the fence and looking around."

"Did they approach you?"

"No, I thought the guy was going to come back for his bag, but I guess he saw the cops and decided to try to save himself.  I drove down to where the cops were assembled, got out of the car, and told them that the guy had left his bag behind. They followed us back down and retrieved it in spite of the barking beagle."

"What was in it?"

"I don't know. They unzipped the bag and pulled out a gray plastic grocery bag. They untied that and pulled out a cellophane package that was probably drugs, but I didn't see them. I was only sticking around at that point because when the beagle continued to bark as the officers tried to get the bag, one of the officers pulled out a taser, and I wanted to make sure that no one hurt that beagle."

Again, I was laughing, and not surprised at what Abigail would deem to be of most importance in this situation. We talked a bit more about her day and the description she was able to provide of the suspect including the event that she witnessed. Then she was off to get ready to visit with her friends and spend the night with Sam.

This morning we have the full story. The suspect was charged with reckless endangering in the first degree, assault in the second degree, felony resisting, possession of a deadly weapon during the commission of a felony, possession of marijuana (tier 1 quantity) and related traffic offenses.

If I had known about that whole "possession of a deadly weapon during the commission of a felony" part yesterday, I doubt I would've been laughing as hard when Abi gave her account of the scene. I'm proud of my daughter. This is the third time she has gone with her intuition that something isn't right and proactively provided information to authorities. She's a good citizen and much less fearful than her mother.

Berry's Biscuits for the Blue

I've been called competitive, and I suppose I am on some level, although; I assure you that I'm neither mean-spirited, nor dishonest in my gaming pursuits. In fact, I've always believed that a cheater never wins. Why? Well, how in the heck can one who is not even playing the game actually win the game? Most competitions involve rules by which a win can be obtained. Cheaters can, at best, only create the illusion of a win. I have never had any interest whatsoever in that. Good grief, I figure about anyone ought to be able to accomplish a false win (otherwise known as a loss.) What a waste of time to practice honing the skill of deception when few things require less thinking or ability. These days, more often than not, I find myself competing against my personal best with little regard for what my counterparts may be up to. In fact, I hope that they, too, are winning! I do, however; recall a time in the 4th grade when I definitely was fine with everyone else having a red or yellow ribbon, or even no ribbon at all. 

It was March of 1973, and I was 11 years old when I entered a baking contest while participating in the Henry County 4-H Club. From the first mention of the competition there was no doubt in my mind that I would bake and enter Berry’s biscuits for a sure win! Now, my mama and sisters cautioned against my choice suggesting that I might do better with something more widely appreciated and less risky like a dessert-- maybe a good ole fashioned apple pie or a buttery pound cake. I would have no part of their ideas.  My decision was firm, and, as far as I was concerned, an unequivocal winner.

Being from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, and by the fourth grade, relocated to the foothills, I knew I had a wealth of biscuit-eating experience, and I figured that all of the judges had also enjoyed many a biscuit in their days. I was also no less than 100% certain that none they had ever tasted could begin to approach the pure goodness of the light, golden delicious hunks of heaven that were Berry’s biscuits. I got her on the phone, and to her utter delight, I carefully took down her recipe and explicit instructions. I ended that call knowing that I had the 1973 annual 4-H baking contest all wrapped up, and that the coveted, first place, blue ribbon would surely be mine!

No sooner said than done! Feast your eyes on this well-documented accomplishment.

I bet you wish I'd share the recipe! Oh, it's just a handful of this, a pinch of that, a dollop here, and a smidgen there mixed, worked, and kneaded then rolled, cut, and baked into the best biscuits I've had to this very day.

Room to Make Her Big Mistakes

A new year brings anticipation and excitement about all of the growth in store for me. That anticipation provokes reflection, and I ponder where I've come from and where I'm headed next. Having achieved my fifty year milestone in the final weeks of 2012, this year's self-assessment has been a bit more profound, prompting a full review of my adult life including major decisions and the outcomes of those decisions. So what's on my agenda moving forward?

Improvement. Personal improvement -- physical, mental, emotional, spiritual improvement.  That’s the goal of the next 30 years. What was the goal of the last 30? Personal Improvement--physical, mental, emotional, spiritual improvement. Okay, so on a scale of one to ten with ten being the greatest how would I rate myself on my goal over the last 30 years?  Why, a TEN, of course!

Thirty years ago I was an ambitious, 20-year-old who had moved away from my home in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia to the Tidewater region which includes the three largest cities in the state--Virginia Beach, Norfolk, and Chesapeake--and is home to over a million people. This area is literally about as far away from Collinsville (population of maybe 7000) as one can be while remaining within the state of Virginia. I remember making my decision to relocate as though it was twenty minutes ago.

Collinsville rarely makes the map, but it's a little town located about 60 miles south of Roanoke.

It was 1983, and I was enrolled at Patrick Henry Community College -- a Dean’s List student with aspirations to become an English Professor. I had just begun the second semester of my sophomore year, and I was living at home with my mother and younger sister. I had taken a part-time job at a knitting mill where I pressed, folded, and stored sweatshirts. I loved the new knowledge derived from a variety of college courses, and didn’t love the monotony of second shift factory work.

It was a Friday evening in February when, while lying in bed listening to the old clock/radio my dad had given me, I heard the radio announcer stating that Roanoke, the largest city in the Piedmont region where I lived, was experiencing the highest unemployment rate in the state at over 8% with the lowest unemployment rate in the Tidewater area. I envisioned happy, bustling folks over at the coast having employment options while I was limited to a mundane factory position. I've always preferred room to maneuver. I need options. Sure, I did love school, but I needed employment to survive, and I figured if I could continue my education in Collinsville, I could do it in Norfolk just as well. It was becoming fairly clear to me that I should probably relocate myself. Over the weekend, my thoughts were around this potential move, and on Sunday evening, I told my mother that I would be moving to the coast on the coming Wednesday.

On Wednesday, February 9, 1983, I rose at about 5AM to find that my mother had “slept,” apparently, in an upright position, with her light on all night. She got up with me. We chatted a bit. I got showered and dressed in a wool suit, grabbed my bag and clock/radio before heading to my car, a 1974 gray Ford Granada. I had loaded up my only other belongings the day before-- clothes, shoes, my journal, a blanket, pillow, and a few toiletries. I had $12. in my pocket, food and water, a full tank of gas, and another $34. in my checking account. 

One might wonder why I had chosen to wear a wool suit on the five-hour road trip to my new life. Well, with a grand total of $46., I would be interviewing for employment immediately upon my arrival. I had no appointments, and with my resume in-hand, was prepared to solicit walk-in interviews within the retail industry. My pastor had given me verbal directions to Norfolk. Raising his arm and bringing his hand back to his shoulder, he said, "Get on 58 east." Then casting his arm forward to full extension, "Stay on it...all the way.” With that in mind, I kissed and hugged my mother and told her that I would not be back to visit for at least six months, but that I would let her know as soon as I was settled and had found work. I was off to begin my new life!  It was, in a word, exhilarating!

"Wide Open Space" written by Susan Gibson and recorded by The Dixie Chicks. Photography by Lea Michelle

Infant Imposes Paradigm Shift

I've been a professional salesperson for about 28 years now. Overall, it's been a satisfying career that has yielded income sufficient to meet my needs and a good many of my wants including my deep desire and intention to maximize my time with my, now, 17-year-old daughter, Abigail, and to fully participate in her life. Remaining engaged in my child's day-to-day growth is the very foundation of my brand of  a mother's love. Fortunately, like many sales folk, I'm also entrepreneurial. My real estate career afforded me the opportunity to work a flexible schedule that enabled me to drive my daughter to and from school, attend her in-school activities and celebrations, volunteer with her schools, church, and clubs, and to have two meals a day with her for most of her life. Those are the things that are most important to me -- what I consider hands-on parenting.  I've never regretted a single moment spent with my child.

"The best thing you can spend on your children is your time." ~Louise Hart

Still, with all of the perks of being in sales, it can be stressful. I had worked myself ragged in preparation to be at home with my baby for the first year and a half of her life. Over time, I learned to reduce stress levels by anticipating and effectively negotiating the inevitable ebbs and flows of an ever-dynamic marketplace--the feast or famine aspect, if you will... and by changing my approach to my business operations. In fact, it was the year that I delivered my daughter that I made the very calculated and firm decision that I would, from that point forward, be running my business rather than allowing my business to run me.

One might suspect that this sort of paradigm shift would create uncertainty and insecurity on a personal level, not to mention professionally. One may certainly question the timing of such a major life change with a new baby depending upon my financial resources derived from a thriving sales career. I'm sure I had many a question and reservation myself. Had my business practices to date not worked well from a profit perspective? Had my business not yielded the means for me to essentially take off to provide primary care for my new baby for the first 18 months of her life? Sure, my mode of operation had exacted a toll, but wasn't that to be chalked up to merely the cost for success?

"Motherhood is near to divinity. It is the highest, holiest service to be assumed by mankind. ~Howard W. Hunter

Before I became a mother, my business was my top priority--the focal point of my life. There were rarely even a few moments of the day that were truly away from work with ringing phones in the office, at home, in the car, and strapped to my waist. There were many times when I had a handset to one ear and a cell phone to the other if you can imagine that sort of insanity. It was rare to get through a meal uninterrupted let alone a vacation. Everything in my life revolved around serving my clients and customers, and, interestingly enough, that had been acceptable to me right up until the day my daughter was born. You know what they say...having a child changes you.

So what about this shift?  What was the end result for my business and for my life when an 8 pound, 3 ounce infant came along and with one powerful push redefined my list of priorities, placing the business that I had nurtured and coddled, beneath her tiny feet? Curiously, this dramatic shift of priorities allowed me to take my business to a much higher level. Peculiar? Not really. When I decided that my business would not run me, I was forced to get outside of the box in which I had contained myself. This mental and emotional shift required that I develop systems that would give me control of my personal life. Designing, implementing, and executing on those systems contributed to my ability to manage a higher volume of business that resulted in, not only increased revenue, but increased profits, accompanied by what I wanted most, maximized quality time with my child.

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new." ~Rajneesh

Suppertime

I was born in 1962, and spent the first seven years of my life, in the small south-western Virginia town of Hillsville set atop the Blue Ridge Mountains. Both of my parents came from farmers, and my early childhood was largely around gardening, preserving, and cooking. Berry, the woman who raised my mother, vigorously worked her half-acre garden from the time she could get a hoe in the ground until the first frost. No matter how early ole man winter set in or how long he tarried, come suppertime Berry would tap into her bounty of preservation to produce a hearty, hot supper for whoever was around between five o'clock and five-thirty.

Berry planted, nurtured, and harvested her crops over three seasons. She put up corn, carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, kale, collards, spinach, mustard greens, peas, lima and green beans, beets, pickles, strawberries, peaches, apples, raspberries, blackberries, rhubarb, relish, applesauce, apple butter, and jam of every sort. She was quite disciplined, and her rigid work schedule was critical to her success. 

During the high gardening season, Berry was up before the rooster, had finished breakfast by six, and after a trip down the road to fetch a couple of pails of water, was in her garden just as her morning glories were awakening. She took a mid-morning break at about 9:30 a.m. when she might put on a pot of beans for supper before taking to her glider for a spell--usually with an apple and a paring knife. Then she was back at it--hoeing, weeding, sowing, gathering, washing, snapping, peeling, chopping, canning, freezing, storing. This woman, at age 65 was nearly single-handedly producing and stockpiling enough food to carry three families through the winter and into the next spring with some to spare.

Berry paused for dinner at midday. Dinner was a lighter meal, maybe a tomato sandwich and apple sauce, or cornbread and buttermilk. After dinner Berry was back to her work. Sometimes she took an afternoon break depending upon heat, her workload, and rain predictions. If she had a little time to spare, she might spend a few minutes bringing in clothes from the line or dust mopping her floors, but these tasks would have to take a backseat to Berry's garden. Come what may, by four o'clock, or thereabout, most days Berry was in for the evening to be found in her kitchen where she would spend the next hour fixing the biggest meal of a southern farmer's day, supper.

Berry at age 74, still gardening, still gliding, still stringing and snapping her beans for supper.

Pescatarian: To Be, or Not To Be

My daughter, Abigail and I share a common interest in nutrition, and we both enjoy a very wide variety of foods and cooking. Abi’s self-imposed study of nutrition and food sources have led her to consider adopting a vegetarian lifestyle several times now, the most recent being just last week. We were hanging out in the kitchen together when she said, “Mom, I want you to watch this documentary I saw yesterday. It's about the handling of the meat we eat.” I told her I would, but I wanted to know what she had learned from it. She indicated that it had prompted her once again to consider a vegetarian lifestyle. Our discussion continued as it had in previous years when she had brought up the topic. I said, “We don’t really consume much red meat, and many of our meals include no meat already.” I noted that I was at that moment preparing a dinner salad absent of any meat and including walnuts as a primary protein source. She took that in, and we moved on to her anxiety around her pending college applications decisions.

      

 A couple of days later we were back in the kitchen meal-preparing when Abi, again asked, “So when do you want to watch the food handling documentary?” Again, I replied that I wasn’t sure yet. I asked if she was thinking of eliminating fish and poultry as well as red meat, and she stated that based upon the documentary and the fact that poultry sometimes upsets her digestive system that she was leaning toward removing red meat and poultry and keeping fish in her diet. “So, you’re leaning toward a pescatarian approach then?” She replied, “Yes, I think so.”  We continued our discussion on what that sort of lifestyle change might look like and agreed that we could definitely live a very satisfying life on fish and plants with the option of adding eggs and dairy from time to time. 

        

 Another day passed to find us once again in the kitchen, and this time Abigail said, “Hey, Mom, I’ve been pondering the idea of choosing a pescatarian lifestyle, and here’s the issue I’m having with it:  I’m not comfortable with the imminent scenario where I’m invited to someone’s home for a meal, they prepare foods that are not compliant with my dietary restrictions, so I decline to partake of the foods they have prepared for me. I just feel that would be very rude, and I know that I would not be comfortable with accepting their kind invitation and then rejecting their meal.”  We went on to discuss our experiences with encountering this very social situation, and she recounted a time when she and several other of her then 9^th grade buddies were invited to a friend’s home. The friend’s parents were in Europe so her Italian grandparents were watching the teens. They prepared an Italian summer dinner feast including fresh bruschetta, eggplant parmesan, and chicken piccata with linguine among a table full of other fine Italian dishes.  Abigail was mortified by her friends rejecting these beautiful food gifts for this reason or that – “it has onions,” “it’s purple,” “it’s meat,” etc. Now laughing, Abi said, “The more they rejected, the more I ate – first, because all of the food was delicious, and then because these grandparents looked so disappointed that the kids were refusing to indulge in the occasion, complaining, and picking at what little bit of food they did put on their plates. I can’t be that person who even politely declines to at least enthusiastically try all of the dishes that a host has spent the time to prepare for me. It just feels rude to me.”

        

Our discussion moved to a European trip Abi took to Paris, Swiss Alps, and Germany a couple of years ago and the one upcoming this spring to Athens, Florence, and Venice. “That’s another reason why I can’t declare myself vegan, vegetarian, or pescatarian – it will hinder my cultural studies. So much of the human experience is around foods. I can’t go into another country open to gaining understanding of their social habits while wholly rejecting their cuisine."

 “So, we’re going to continue with the idea of moderation then?” I asked.  

Abi concludes, “Yes, this is my fourth time considering this sort of lifestyle change, and once again I am back to the thought of eliminating nothing from my diet, but keeping a watchful eye on practicing healthful eating habits that include primarily whole grains, legumes, fish, and vegetables with small portions of red meat, pork, and poultry infrequently.” 

      

Having that settled, I went grocery shopping!  I’m also working toward clearing out some small portions of ingredients hanging around since my Thanksgiving meal preparations. This morning I decided to use the final bits of a couple of ingredients that usually are not found in my house:  pork breakfast sausage and half-n-half—both on the list of “small portions and infrequently.” Here is the breakfast I created around the goal of using up that sausage this morning:

More often I might omit the sausage and use skim milk to create a healthier alternative.

Breakfast Tarts

5 eggs

½ c. sage infused breakfast sausage

½ c. half-n-half

¼ c. parmesan cheese

¾ c. chopped spinach

3 white mushrooms (chopped)

olive oil spray

Preheat oven to 350. Spray a tart pan with olive oil. Cook pork with mushrooms until just done.  Add chopped spinach simmer together for 3 minutes. Wisk eggs together with half-n-half and add parmesan.  Blend sausage, mushrooms, and spinach into egg mixture. Ladle mixture into tart cups. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes.

Another of my once-a-year food treats is Thomas' Cranberry English Muffins. I picked up a dozen during my last grocery-shopping trip and decided they would be great with my breakfast tarts this morning. I was right!

Not the most healthful breakfast, and not the worst either!

Getting S.M.A.R.T.

A couple of weeks ago I noticed my clothes were fitting a bit differently—a little tighter. Now, I’m by no means overweight, however; I did inherit the extra small phenotype of my paternal grandmother so every pound gained is noticed. I’m one to make the needed adjustments with a five pound weight increase on the basis that it’s no easier to lose 20.  I stepped on the scale Wednesday, September 5^th to find that I was up not 5, but 7 pounds! Well, that explained the discomfort.  First, I gave some thought to how I had created this weight gain over the year.  Ah, it was those 7 trips back home to Virginia. The Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia:  where the air is fresh and the food FRIED…in butter! Well, there’s no denying it I love that good ole southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and cornbread, not to mention the fried eggs, bacon, red-eye gravy, and buttermilk biscuits! Nothing tastes much better than a home-cooked, southern meal. Okay, so that’s where the extra 7 pounds came from. Now, the question was how to shed them.

I decided to begin the 48-hour quarterly cleanse that Dr. Oz recommends for good health. You can find details including a complete shopping list here:  http://www.doctoroz.com/videos/48-hour-weekend-cleanse.  Dr. Oz suggests that in order to detox we must consume nutrients that promote a well-functioning liver, colon and kidneys. I printed the shopping list, and checked off what I had on-hand before heading out to Trader Joe’s for those items needed like kale, flax seed oil, and rice milk. In total I spent $43 and some change to pick up the items I didn’t already have.  Over the 48-hours (Friday and Saturday) I stuck to the plan which required little effort. I wasn’t at all hungry over the 48-hours, but I was careful to eat enough throughout the day beginning with the suggested breakfast of quinoa with chopped prunes. It’s delicious! All of the recipes are provided on the link. Throughout the day I ate an endless supply of fresh veggies including, green beans, celery, radishes, and cucumbers. I had a fruit smoothie for lunch using blueberries, banana, chia, and almond milk then finished with a vegetable broth soup for dinner.  Overall, it went well. The recipes were simple to make and tasted okay—some even good!

On the second day, Saturday, I memorialized my commitment through a written S.M.A.R.T goal:

Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, Timed

Writing the goal in my journal keeps my goal in front of me daily as I review my commitments each morning. It keeps me on track and focused on achievement. My journal entry of Saturday, September 8^th reads:

On October 19, 2012 I will weigh 120 pounds.

It’s specific, measurable, achievable, realistic, and timed. Now, I believe in all likelihood that I will achieve the desired weight prior to the deadline, however; by forcing the continuation of proper nutrition and exercise over a 43-day period, I will solidify the habits that promote the needed lifestyle adjustment.

Having defined, stated, and written the goal, I decided to put some teeth in it by sharing the goal with a friend. In doing so, I create an accountability partner.  I speak to this buddy weekly anyhow, so I didn’t need to create much hoopla around the “accountability” end of my process. Just knowing that it will likely become a topic of brief discussion at some point during each week is enough to keep me focused on succeeding. Some folks require more from an accountability partner, and that is okay. What is important is that you ask for the level of assistance that you need. 

With the goal now hanging out there, it was time to outline a loose meal plan for the following week to include three meals a day, low-calorie, nutrient-dense snacks, and 64 to 100 ounces of water daily.  I decided to substitute tofu to limit meats in week one to fish and maybe a little chicken breast.  Any bread consumed was of whole grains. My snacks were fresh vegetables, and breakfast was steel cut oats with chia or flax seed and almond milk topped with chopped prunes or blueberries, or smoked salmon on a thin, whole wheat bagel spread with a teaspoon of reduced fat cream cheese.  I have a 20 ounce water bottle that I filled 3 to 5 times daily and packed a lunch of green vegetables or wheat salad each day. My dinners last week included a delicious, spicy Indian dish-- Tikka Marsala with Tofu and Veggies, whole wheat penne with grilled cod in a tomato/greek yogurt sauce, chicken salad made with apples, celery, grapes, and sliced almonds turned in a mixture of greek yogurt and a little mayo wrapped in multigrain flatbread with lettuce. A couple of nights I had leftovers along the same nutrition lines.

I stepped on the scale this morning to find that I am down 3 pounds! This week I plan to increase my physical activity. Last week I did get in at least a 30 to 40-minute bike ride or walk 4 of the 7 days. We all know that isn’t enough to maintain good health, and I have no excuse for avoiding exercise. In the coming week I plan to continue with my improved diet and to increase my physical activity.  Now, that is an example of what is NOT a S.M.A.R.T. goal – I will increase my physical activity.  The statement is weak and lacks commitment because it is non-specific; vague. I’ll have to get on my bike and give that one a bit more thought before beginning week two.

Today I created this delicious mid-day meal rich in nutrients.

Colorful, Nutritious, Simple, Delicious

Chicken Florentine Sausage with Kale

6 Chicken Florentine Sausages

1 Pound Bag Chopped Kale

1 Red Onion

1 Red Bell Pepper

1 c. Chicken Stock

2 tbs olive oil

Salt & Pepper

Preheat gas grill to 400. Put chicken stock in a large pot, add kale, cover and cook on medium low for 20 minutes. Slice onion and pepper, place in aluminum foil, drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper. Close foil and place on grill. Reduce heat to low. After 5 minutes, place chicken links on the grill. Grill for 20 minutes or until chicken reaches 165 degrees.  Remove onions and peppers from foil to a mixing bowl.  Remove chicken, slice, and add to mixing bowl. Spoon kale into a serving dish, top with the chicken sausage, onions and peppers. 

My Bizarre Return to Poetry

From a young age I’ve enjoyed various forms of writing. It’s an area of commonality between my mother and me. Growing up, Mama used to write letters to us three girls—addressed to Tammy, Angie, and Karen. I still have a couple of them. These were not letters outlining daily expectations or weekly chores. Rather, they were heartfelt accountings of where she stood as our mother, the pride she took in that role-- her love for us. Sometimes they even included statements acknowledging her personal shortcomings and/or why she had taken this action or that. Mama also wrote creatively from time to time—poetry and short stories. My older sister, Tammy, kept a journal from a young age. She, too, is a writer—in fact, the most gifted of us all. She had written volumes of work before we were grown, and since she never parts with anything, I would wager that she is sitting on enough excellent writing to constitute several books at this stage. As for my younger sister, she and I, to this very day fondly remember and, from time to time, recite one of her poems that she wrote to me in my autograph book when she was in the second or third grade.

I wasn’t much for keeping a journal growing up—mainly because, while my desire and ability to write comes from my mother, my strong desire for privacy which is prevalent throughout my dad’s family superseded any inclination to journal given that Mama was…well, nosey… when it came to her kids. It was more or less a fear-driven sort of nosiness. As a single mother working multiple jobs throughout my childhood, Mama was compelled to know everything about her kids for their protection.  This was easier to do with my sisters than with me because I value my privacy—particularly around my feelings, and to me, journaling is a way to release feelings as opposed to documenting the weather and such.  I gravitated toward creative writing from about age 14. I still have a good bit of the poetry, songs, and stories written during my teenage years.

During my sophomore year of high school I transferred from my county school to the city school where I could focus more on improving my writing through an extensive writing curriculum offered there. It was indeed a fantastic learning experience for me that boosted both my quantity and quality in various writing forms—everything from essays, technical, and journalistic writing to all creative genres, and, of course, research and theme papers.  Writing, like most skills, requires continued practice to maintain proficiency and to support growth. For over a decade, during my 20’s and into my early 30’s, I got away from all forms other than business letters, memos, marketing pieces, and college course-related themes, essays, and articles. Then during my pregnancy and throughout my daughter’s first 18 months I kept a journal of both my pregnancy and Abigail’s growth and development. Returning to the workplace, I reverted to strictly need-based writing for over a decade until May 31, 2011 when I returned to journaling.  I include many different thoughts in my journal. It’s where I note my goals, plans, feelings, and completed actions toward my intentions.  I read and re-read my journal entries often to assess my progress.  On July 28, 2011 I write, “I want to blog.” 

Blogging was and continues to be a means of my contemplating, reflecting, observing, gaining understanding, connecting my thoughts to my feelings, and honing my writing skills. In a twist of what can only be deemed ultra-bizarre, about eight months after I began to blog for my own personal benefit and without any thought of anyone reading the blog, I received a comment on a recipe from a person bearing the name of a man that I had not seen or heard from in 34 years. I knew the name, Curtis Dunlap, immediately.  I could not be sure this was the same person that I had known over 3 decades back—not without a word-association game that the Curtis Dunlap I knew would, undoubtedly, relate to immediately, thereby; solidifying that my blogging was, indeed, the source for this unexpected, improbable  reconnection. The words:  Camaro, machete, Friday nights, Rolling Stones, guitar. Yes, believe it or not, it was him, as verified on the comment thread of my blog entry on September 26, 2011, “Supper from a Sauce Packet.” Now, to add another layer of plain odd, this was the very first of my blog posts.

Turns out Curtis Dunlap went on to lead a productive life. He raised his two sons and is raising his daughter. While he has made his living in the field of information technology in academia he has never relinquished his arts interests and abilities. He is a writer who honed his skills to become a published poet. Curtis coauthors a weekly blog that I enjoy and recommend to anyone who is into the culinary arts. His partner, Susan Nelson-Myers, is functioning at an expert level in the area of growing, managing, and preparing foods. Curtis, as a single father, is appealing strongly to the vast population looking for ways to save time and money in the kitchen while keeping the benefits of sitting down with the family for a home-cooked meal at least once a day. Their multi-facetted blog incorporates cooking recipes and tips with poetry woven into their story-telling for high-yield entertainment. You can find Curtis and Susan’s blog, The Frugal Poet, at http://www.frugalpoet.com

No one could possibly have predicted the bizarre twist of events that led me back to poetry.  In July of 2011 I re-engaged in journaling that prompted me to start blogging in September. Eight months later in May, 2012 my very first blog post pops up in Curtis Dunlap’s Google search for “shrimp recipes” compelling him to leave the comment that resulted in our becoming reacquainted after 34 years. Reconnecting with Curtis reminded me of a time when writing creatively was a passion that I routinely acted upon.  Having re-engaged in the writing process, I have found that there remains a plethora of emotions derived from my life experiences that flow effortlessly from my pen—sometimes like a still, easy lake on a hot summer day, and other times like a gushing waterfall in a hail storm. Last month I decided to submit some recently-crafted pieces to various journals. The first of my own published work can be found in the current issue of Contemporary Haibun Online at http://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/index83.html

Grab the Good Stuff

Abi chose a nice, firm, multigrain baguette for the bruschetta I made yesterday. We enjoyed it immensely as an evening snack since I drug my feet a little getting to it. I figure it this way—bruschetta is good just after it’s made and better with a little time after the savory flavors have blended. That brings me to today’s culinary adventure.

I decided I was in the mood for Coquilles St. Jacques. This is a delightful French dish featuring scallops which I hadn’t had for a while before today.  Now, the roux for this recipe is half dry, white wine and half cream. I don’t bother using cooking wine because I’d just as soon take advantage of the opportunity to have a glass while preparing the dish.

Now, let me barely scratch the surface of a funny story about how I came to know of this absolutely splendid dish. When I was about eight months pregnant my husband's ex-wife invited us to her home for dinner. This was a bit questionable to me because it was a well-known fact that the woman loathed my very existence. Still, I went, hoping, once again and against nothing other than hope itself, that she was sincerely extending the olive branch of friendship. She wasn't. She was simply taking advantage of the fact that I was big and pregnant; somehow surmising that my husband would find his way back to her through his favorite dish, her Coquilles St. Jacques. Not a terrible plan, I suppose. While I was, indeed wrong again about her motives, the meal was, as clearly... remarkable. I always say, grab the good stuff and throw the insanity back, so that’s what I did when I hung onto my awesome coquilles St. Jacques experience. Of course, as is usual, I made it my own, and, in this case, I quite intentionally improved it which surely one might expect. ;) 

The flavors work really well together as you'll note when you read the recipes.

  

I'm careful with the delicate subtly of scallops. If they are to be the star we mustn't get too bold with other flavor so you'll see I pair it up with a non-competing side dish.

One of the best things about this meal is that all components bake at 400 degrees which is wonderful for bringing the meal together at one time. All I have to do is put the asparagus in first, wait 10 minutes then add the bread, wait another 10 minutes and add the scallops to the oven. Ten minutes later everything is ready all at once. Gosh, I love it when that happens!

    

I’ll share the recipes for all components today. Naturally, the bruschetta was a leftover from yesterday. A nice addition of color to the plate, although; normally, I would hesitate to add basil to the palette. It worked today because I used the bruschetta as more of an appetizer, although; it isn't pictured above as such. 

Baked Asparagus

1 lb fresh asparagus

1 tbs extra virgin olive oil

1  garlic clove (minced)

½ tsp thyme leaves

½ tsp lemon juice

Salt and Pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 400. Wash asparagus and snap the ends off.  Lightly coat a baking dish with olive oil and minced garlic. Lay asparagus in the dish in a single layer. Sprinkle with salt, pepper and thyme leaves. Drizzle with olive oil. Bake for 15 minutes. Turn asparagus and bake for another 15 minutes.

Coquilles St. Jacques

1.5 lbs scallops

1 shallot (finely chopped)

2 c. white mushrooms (thinly sliced.)

1 c. dry white wine

1 c. half-n-half cream

½ c. gruyere cheese (shredded)

3/4 c. bread crumbs

1 lemon

5 tbsp butter

1 bay leaf

¼ tsp thyme

¼ tsp white pepper

½ tsp salt

Preheat the oven to 400. Saute mushrooms and shallots in 3 tbs of butter and lemon juice until golden brown. Remove from heat.  Bring wine, bay leaf, thyme, salt and pepper to a boil in a sauce pan for 4 minutes.  Add scallops and reduce heat to simmer for 3 minutes.  Remove scallops to mushroom pan. Reserve 1 cup of the liquid from scallop broth. Melt remaining 2 tbs of butter in sauce pan, add 4 tbs flour whisking constantly. Slowly add broth from scallops and half-n-half, stirring constantly until roux thickens. Add mushrooms, shallots, and scallops to roux. Spoon onto baking shells. Sprinkle with bread crumbs. Drizzle lightly with melted butter. Top with gruyere cheese. Bake for 10 minutes.

Oops, is that a tomato seed I see? Oh well, it tastes great!

Garlic & Chive Bread

1 multigrain baguette (sliced.)

½ stick butter

1 tbs fresh chives

1 clove garlic (minced)

Preheat oven to 400. Soften butter in microwave maybe 20 seconds. Stir in garlic and chives. Spread over bread and back for 18 minutes.

Bruschetta

7 Roma tomatoes

1 small Vidalia onion (chopped)

1 c. fresh basil chopped

2 cloves garlic (minced)

1 tbs extra virgin olive oil

1 tsp balsamic vinegar

Salt and Pepper to taste

Parboil tomatoes. Peel, seed and chop eliminating most juice. Add all other ingredients and chill.

Out-Quiched!

Today I got off from work at about 1pm so I had a good opportunity to drop by the produce market for some fresh goods on my way home. My daughter, Abi, is good about assisting with foods management. She was particularly interested in seeing what fruits and veggies will be on-hand over the next week as she begins her senior year of high school Tuesday morning and packs her lunch daily. As I passed apples, peaches, and plums she told me about a pumpkin latte she wanted to make using almond milk, so we began to make a list of items we wanted to pick up from the grocery store.

Putting away the last of the produce, I quickly checked the freezer, both for available space and for inventory. I, once again, found myself repositioning two frozen pie crusts that have been occupying premium freezer space since last year’s holiday season when Abi had gotten into a pumpkin pie-baking mood. In an instant I decided that today was the day when these two freezer anomalies would be utilized. Tossing the crusts onto the countertop, I added half-n-half and eggs to my mental list asking Abi to start brainstorming  a couple of quiche creations for dinner. Together, we headed for the grocery store discussing the pros and cons of universal healthcare en route.

As is usual we split up upon entering Super Fresh. She’s getting her latte ingredients while I shop the seafood counter. We meet at the bakery because Abi always wants some decision-making power when it comes to fresh bread. I told her I’m making bruschetta this weekend, so she chose a good, multigrain baguette to accommodate the topping. Proceeding through dairy we begin to share our quiche ideas. We decide that she will create one and the other using a basic recipe of 6 eggs, 1.5 cups half-n-half, 1.5 cups cheese, and 2-3 cups of meat and/or veggies. We figure we’ll decide when we get home because we know we have plenty from which to choose to fill in the gaps in our recipes.

We finished up our trip grabbing a variety of cheeses, eggs and milk, and discussed our quiche ideas during the trip back home.  We both were stuck on using fresh spinach so while I made spinach the feature ingredient in my spinach & mushroom dish, Abi chose to make smoked salmon the star of her recipe with the spinach playing second fiddle. While it is usually not the case, Abi kicked my butt in the kitchen this evening. She totally out-quiched me! Her salmon, spinach, and goat cheese quiche is outstanding which is why I’m sharing her quiche recipe with my salad creation of the day.

Fresh Greens & Fruit Salad

Mixed greens

cucumbers

strawberries

mandarin oranges

sliced almonds

sweet onion & poppy seed dressing

I love salad and create a variety of both side and entree salads all year long!

  

Smoked Salmon & Spinach Quiche

6 eggs

1.5 cups half-n-half

1.5 cups goat cheese (crumbled)

1.5 cups smoked salmon (slices cut to ½ wide pieces)

1 cup fresh spinach leaves

1 9-inch pie crust

Pre-heat the oven to 400 and bake the crust for 10 minutes. Remove and lower oven temperature to 375. Lightly beat the eggs and whisk in the half-n-half. Add salt and pepper.  Layer spinach, salmon, and goat cheese in the pie crust. Pour the egg mixture over the ingredients. Bake for 45 minutes.  Let cool for 5 to 10 minutes before slicing.

Abi's Smoked Salmon & Spinach Quiche is delicious! The goat cheese was an excellent choice for the dish.

A Mother's Love

I’ve been engaged in the preliminary aspects of my daughter’s college applications process. I am so blessed to have such a wonderful daughter, and  I’ll elaborate upon a mother’s love as I know it, but not before noting my present emotional state around my motherhood which is that I am struggling; struggling with this milestone in my daughter’s life that leads her further away from me. She has been the primary focus of my existence since her conception; about 18 years now. It is difficult for me to fathom my life redirected—much more difficult than it is for her to imagine her next step. It is an exciting time for her. It is a time when being her mother means embracing her exuberant leap toward independence while trying desperately to conceal my sorrow for the loss of my life’s purpose over nearly two decades. I suppose I should see it as just another completed project, and break out the balloons and whistles, but it is…just different, and while I know what my role and responsibility to her at this time are, it is a time peppered with bittersweet emotion that can move me from laughter to tears with no warning whatsoever as trailers of our lives flash through my mind.

It appears that it is not too early to claim a victory in that my daughter is a well-adjusted, thriving 17.3 year-old, rising high school senior with high ambitions scheduled for 5 out of 8 Advanced Placement courses in her senior year and with a primary goal of nothing other than learning. What is to question? What is not to love? To boot, she is a gifted technical vocalist (according to the state of Delaware) with not only a beautiful face, but a sensational sense of humor, and a keen knowledge that these are subjective to the opinion of the observer, with whom; she is not particularly concerned. Abigail, my daughter, is quite an amazing and intriguing individual.

I’ve heard many a pregnant mother talk about the innate love they have for their unborn child. I can’t speak to that. I only know that while I felt keenly responsible for the well-being of my unborn child, I definitely did not have the same love for her in the womb that I have for her now.  I did take great care of her even relinquishing caffeine as she was in utero and throughout her nursing year. I ate well. I was physically careful with myself as I carried and nursed her. Her well-being became my primary focus, and that has not changed to date, while my love for her has developed, grown, and deepened immeasurably with each passing year.

I’ve also known mothers who lived vicariously through their children. I’ve not done that. It has been of much greater interest to me to know who my daughter really is and to nurture all the she is intended to be. I’m comfortable that I’ve done that. I spent a great deal of time and energy exposing her to every sport including swimming, soccer, gymnastics, snow-skiing, tee-ball, baseball, field hockey, lacrosse, horseback riding, and tennis.

 I exposed her to the arts. Her first music class was at 12 months. She completed every level of Kindermusic  followed by choir from grade two to present.  Abigail is a placing state-wide competitive soprano I vocalist. She also has practiced karate, dance, piano, steel drums, musical theater, drama not to mention bass guitar and, most recently, ukulele-- both purely self-imposed.  Abi has auditioned and won community theater roles as well as professional voice-over and film work. She has done various forms of fine arts including drawing, painting, and sculpting, clay and pottery making.  She’s knitted, crocheted, sewn, and made quilts. She’s been exposed to all genres of writing, and won district-wide writing awards as early as third grade.  Most of all, Abigail has been an avid reader with an affinity for fantasy, and she has excelled at languages with an emphasis on English and French from age three. Yet, Abigail mostly loves science, and her love of science drove her to math.

Not only has Abigail been exposed to an array of sports, arts, and academics, but she also was exposed to a rigid schedule of Christian education from birth through grade 8, and Girl Scouting from Kindergarten through grade 6. She knows the Bible stories (both Testaments,) and she can survive in the woods over the weekend in about any weather orienting herself along the way and navigating back to civilization. She has traveled enough of the U.S. and Europe to know that landscapes, time zones, seasons, climates, languages, and cultures vary, and that people are really just people anywhere she goes, and she has a great deal of respect and reverence for diversity.

As my daughter completes her summer AP work, pursues her college applications process, and anticipates the rigors of her senior year that she has planned, I have no doubts about her preparedness for this next phase of her life, yet I don’t even know how I feel about my own. I do know that to date I’ve upheld my definition of motherhood, and I do know that it includes a love that is different from all other forms of love. There is nothing quite like it, and I’m not so sure that there is enough of me to have done multiples so it is probably a wise decision that I limited myself to just one daughter for she is most certainly sufficient.