On the road again

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View of I-70 as it turns North at Copper Mount...

Icy I-70

I miss the road. Mythic in the American psyche, the open road calls to us, beckons us to the next chapter, the next adventure, the grocery store. Ok, the last one wasn’t so romantic. But most of my life, that’s where my road has taken me.

Oh, I’ve had some amazing journeys. I remember moving cross country with three-week old Alex, driving toward a new house that I had never seen, twelve hundred miles from family and the world I had known. Turned out to be a great move, and the launch of our family. Forced us to be independent, to be us.

Then five years later, we drove to another new home, this one in Midland, Michigan, and driving across Colorado in February, we crossed Vail Pass, and my car went skidding on an icy patch of interstate. We were caravaning, Rob and I, he with our dog and one child, me with the other. I did a complete 180 on the interstate and came to a stop facing oncoming traffic. I still don’t know how I turned myself around and got out of there before I was hit. But I did it, passing Rob like the wind in a panic. Somehow we made it down to Denver, and I think we had stopped for dinner at a restaurant before I stopped shaking.

Over the years we did a number of cross country trips back to see family. Stephanie was in her permit driving phase on one of those trips, and I had taken the kids back to see family. I sat in the front seat next to her, carefully monitoring her driving skills as we headed west on I-70. The thing about I-70 is that so much of it is the same. After a while I got sleepy and nodded off. When I woke up we were headed east. She had come through some exit options and had somehow managed to turn us in the opposite direction. Fortunately it was a short nap.

One of our epic journeys occurred only a couple of years ago when we drove a 30-foot class C RV down from Anchorage, crossing Alaska, Canada, and 17 states, on a drive that began in September and ended in December. We had never driven an RV before. Rob practiced turns in a parking lot with the RV salesman before we left. We had the dogs with us, and we were novices at everything we were doing. But we did it. And I’m pleased to announce I drove that vehicle. Those ten miles of Texas interstate were the longest of my life. But I drove them, and no one can take that away from me!

I have a short commute, living on a small island. I live in town, and although the paved road goes from the north to south and stretches about 20 something miles in all, my trip to work from my neighborhood is only about a mile. I can hardly get through a song on the radio. And I don’t get much talk time in. In the past, time alone in my car has been an opportunity to talk things out, to plan my day, to hear myself think. But I must have larger issues than a mile’s worth. Can’t get through much in that morning drive.

There are some advantages. I only fill my car about once a month. When I’m asked about the price of gas, I don’t even know what it is. I fill my tank so rarely that when I need to do it, I just put gas in the tank. Of course, it’s all a matter of perspective. The price of gas for an airline ticket is just a wee bit more expensive. Tickets from Ketchikan to Phoenix are running about $1,000 right now.

This week is a reminder of what I like about the road. Anticipating a return to life more connected with driving, I realize I’m ready. And if you should pass me having an animated conversation with myself, just know I’m working something out. Just me and the road.

Kindle

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Cover of "Kindle Wireless Reading Device,...

Amazon Kindle

I finally got a Kindle. I’ve had the Kindle app on my iPhone for quite a while, and have actually enjoyed using it. I wasn’t sure, initially, if reading on a small screen would be good or frustrating. I’ve primarily used my phone app for reading when I travel.

But I took the plunge, and boy, do I like the full size version. It has taken a bit of adjustment. The functions are not built into a touch screen, so after scrolling from page to page on the iPhone app via touch, I’ve had to retrain myself to use the page buttons. But overall, it’s been an easy transition. I love that it arrived in my mail box already set up for me and with all the books I had previously downloaded to my phone app already synced. My device knew me by name, before we had even been properly introduced! It was a small thing, but oh so fun, to power up and find everything installed and immediately ready to use.

And I’m off this week, taking my new slim friend along. It looks like a book in it’s new case, fits neatly inside my purse, and I’m excited to use it while I’m traveling, knowing I’m not draining my phone battery, because….I might not make it to the next outlet before my phone dies. No, no, that’s just my phone phobia at work. I’m never  really in danger of that. But what if??

I’m rapidly becoming technology woman. I have my little netbook and the charger for that. My iPhone and the charger for that. My Kindle and the charger for that. Oh, I’m so modern! See kids, I told you I was a cool mom! Or maybe I just love gadgets. Anyway, without a gaming product to my name, I have an impressive number of ways to take advantage of any electrical opportunity.

Back to Kindle: I can see upgrades coming in the future. I would love the view to be in color. I would personally prefer a touch screen. But like any technology, it’s a work in progress, and you know when you buy in that there will be updates. It’s nice when new versions are digital downloads and don’t require a re-purchase of the hardware. But even that is just part of the package that comes with all the amazing function of this technology. I look at the list of books I’ve downloaded and the ones on my wish list. To take even a small number of books traveling would quickly fill my carry-on. Then there’s always the dilemma…keep a book forever, gathering dust on a shelf, or donate it? Now I can have the best of both worlds. I’m not adding to a stack of books in my physical space, and I can keep any of the downloaded books as long as I want. Or, if I decide to delete, it takes a moment and the push of a button. Pretty easy recycling.

Amazon offers thousands of books in digital format. You can purchase the latest New York Times bestsellers, blogs, magazines (although the magazine offerings are quite limited, from what I’ve seen). You can also download, for free, many of the “classics” that have been digitized and are copyright free. It’s a nice bonus that many books that I either read long ago, or always wanted to read, are available at no charge.

I haven’t cleaned out all of the books I’ve accumulated over the years, although I’ve thinned the collection. And I will surely continue to buy books in the traditional format on occasion…some books demand physical expression, for the color, the graphics, the presence of a book. But I suspect that the times I feel the need to purchase a “real” book will be fewer and fewer.

This isn’t really meant to be a review. There are thousands of reviews of the Kindle on Amazon’s site if you want technical information, pros and cons. This is just a personal endorsement of a favorite pleasure that has been repackaged for ease of access and portability. Reading has always been my first choice of a private pass-time. And now, in this format, one small item in my purse can take the place of a whole library. Pretty amazing. Pretty wonderful!

Riley at one year

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Riley on horseback, April 2011

A year ago Riley Elizabeth joined the family. Daughter of my daughter, Stephanie, Riley is my first grandchild.

I used to say that I couldn’t believe it when Stephanie and Alex had another birthday, moved into a new school year. Isn’t that the universal lament of parents? And now I say it about Riley. I can’t believe she is reaching her first year milestone. She was five weeks premature, and spent her first week in an incubator. She was a tiny little being, and at first, coming home on oxygen and a monitor, gave parents and grandparents some anxious days. She was a fragile little bundle attached to machines.

But she quickly outgrew her need for artificial support, and is now a healthy, active, and very vocal baby. She has dimples and five teeth. She loves to sing, making elongated noises that are more than the simple syllables of baby talk. She is on the brink of walking. She crawls, climbs, stands. She loves books and her rocking pony and her little car. She rides. She cruises. She’s transitioned to whole milk from formula.

Tuesday I’ll go down to Arizona to celebrate the big day with her. The official birthday is Friday, April 22. We’ll go shopping for the perfect birthday gift, we’re doing a photo book of her first year, and we’ll cap the big event with a little party, complete with a cup cake for Riley to enjoy.

Here I go again: giving my heart to another little person, entrusting my happiness, at least in part, to the child of my child. It’s a bit scary, putting myself out there again. But worth it. Oh, so worth it.

Happy birthday, Riley! And many more.

Me, organized?

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Typical Japanese sushi set, as sold in departm...

Yum!

Just when I think I’m doing so well…I’m a list maker, you know…I find that I have four…four…bags of sushi rice in my pantry! Three of the four had cunningly hidden themselves behind other items so that I’ve obviously thought I was out of this once-a-year use staple. Sometimes I amaze myself. How could I have bought this several times without realizing I was stocking up on something I so rarely need? To be fair to myself, I know I didn’t do this in the past few weeks. No, I’ve been beefing up my rice supply since we moved here two years ago. And it now appears…we don’t eat sushi very often. Who knew?

Then there’s the other end of the spectrum. Last week I went to the grocery twice and both times forgot to buy kitchen trash bags, although I had carefully noted, as a hint to myself…top of my list, big letters…not to leave without buying a replacement box. So, trash bags are on the hit parade again. Maybe the third time’s the charm.

I like to think I’m organized. This is not a subject I discuss with my husband. We don’t see eye to eye on everything.  I acknowledge that I have pockets of dysfunction…witness the pantry find of a small country’s supply of sushi rice. And I admit that I am not a freezer manager. In fact, the best way to permanently hide something from myself is to disguise it as a leftover stored in the freezer for future retrieval. I know that really, this is just a way to make peace with my conscience. My thrifty grandmother would be appalled if I threw out a perfectly good portion of leftovers, so I smartly detour these items through the freezer. Wrap in Saran or stash in a freezer bag, abandon for a few months, and presto! off to the trash with no guilt!  Even my grandmother would throw out freezer burned food. When she discovered it. (She’s not a freezer manager either, and there are legendary stories in my family of the age of some items she discovered in her freezer. But she turns 90 in June, so she’s off the hook for everything at this point.)

My mother-in-law stores cash in her freezer and found quite a stash in the process of cleaning out a few years ago. Turned out she had several thousand dollars tucked away among the frozen veggies. Not me. First of all, I don’t use cash, so it would be unlikely that I would find money stored anywhere in my house. But the idea of finding anything truly useful in my freezer, beyond ice and ice cream, is a novelty.

What to do, what to do? I think of the number of things I juggled this week: work, home, email, blogging, phone calls, friends, errands, chores, the daily grind. I’m sure that somewhere in all of this is a highly functioning person. I actually had a pretty good week and I checked off the majority of my to dos with a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction. I was on a roll…until this morning. Now I’m thinking of throwing a small sushi party for the residents of Ketchikan. I have some extra rice on hand…won’t even have to go shopping. I’m organized, you know.

Checked out: thanks, Dr. A!

/ Sheila / 2 Comments

This week I was so good…had my annual well-woman exam, a mammogram, and made an appointment to have my lipids checked. I work in the administrative department of the local hospital and there’s an OB/Gyn clinic literally down the hall from me. (Thank God I only need the Gyn services of the clinic…I’d have to kill myself if I needed the OB side! But I digress.) In anticipation of leaving this job when the house sells, I thought I should take care of some of these pesky things while it’s still an easy and relatively painless process. The mammography clinic is downstairs, as is the lab, so the excuse of having to leave work to get to these appointments doesn’t apply. Nice that it’s so convenient.

When I saw the doctor for my appointment, she went through all the routine questions, and since this was my first visit with her, asked the date of my last exam. I had to admit it was five years ago, shortly before we left Colorado. I know, I know…but I feel fine, and it’s incredible how quickly the years can slip by. And I’ve meant to get it done; I’m sure that counts for something. So now, I’m back on the straight and narrow. She made me feel a little better about my negligence. Told me it has been eight years since her last exam, so right away, I was reassured. I’m not the only woman in America who let this little life chore slip. And I was happy to report to her that I actually take supplements…flax seed oil, and the occasional Vitamin D, and now and then a calcium. Of course, I didn’t volunteer the frequency of my habit.  Still, I must be doing something right. I have all the parts I came with, except wisdom teeth, but that’s a different professional visit anyway.

After the exam, my doctor announced, in confident tones, that I would live forever, providing I schedule a mammogram immediately, and continue to follow my excellent program of diet and exercise. I do so go to the gym! No, I came clean with her. She gently encouraged me to get into a more regular exercise routine. Three times a year is simply not enough at my age.  Any day now I may wake up and have major issues. So far my knees are doing fine, thank you, and I have energy to burn. But the big M is just around the corner, and I have to be vigilant about my health. No more taking it for granted. Next time I see her the questions won’t be about my choice of birth control, we’ll be talking about the latest style in hormone patches and whether I’m experiencing my own personal summer.

I promptly scheduled the mammogram, was able to get that pleasure out of the way the same day, thanks to my ability to be worked in at a moment’s notice. The trip downstairs was just enough time to soothe myself, saying repetitively, “It won’t be too bad. How bad can it be? And besides, the waiting room is so well decorated!” Made me feel right at home, me being a woman, and as everyone knows, women appreciate the small decorative touches that take your mind off clamps pressing you quite mercilessly. The gown they gave me to wear during the exam had been thoughtfully warmed. The techs were extremely polite and pleased to note that, in fact, I had been a bit more responsible with my mammogram exams, having the last one only three years ago. I almost got a star on my chart. But not quite. However, the scolding was more in the form of encouragement to never again let more than a year and a day pass between these  tests. I’m at that age, you know. And really, they meant well.

After so much confrontation in the same day with my approaching infirmity, I couldn’t decide if I should celebrate the fact that I’m this old and doing as well as I am; or if I should go out with a bang and do something really meaningful to mark the end of life as I’ve known it. I’m going south (the Alaskan phrase for going down to the Lower 48) next week and have made a pact with myself to eat whatever I want for the whole week. I certainly won’t be exercising, and I’ll probably be living dangerously in other ways…staying up late, shopping extravagantly. Hope I can take all the excitement!

So if I can remember to skip breakfast on Monday (that fasting requirement) to have a blood draw to check my cholesterol levels, I’ll be set for a while. Of course, I still have to get the results of the tests I just had…but I’m going with the assessment that I’ll live forever…or anyway, long enough to wear out some essential part of myself…maybe a tummy tuck or brow lift will be life saving procedures I’ll need before long…have to stay on top of this stuff, you know.

Now if only my cream habit doesn’t show up in my blood work!

Friday funny (but true)

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This is for all the wonderful women out there, and for one in particular: an amazing woman I know and love, who is rising to the challenge:

“Women are angels.

And when someone breaks our wings, we simply continue to fly…on a broomstick.

We’re flexible like that.”

Sometimes you have to use your broomstick…but you keep on flying, whatever life hands you!

Sunsets

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A shared sunset, Kauai, HI, 2010

Rob is driving down the West Coast. He’s taking his truck to Prescott, AZ, where we have an RV stored. I’ll travel down next week and join him for the last couple of days’ drive.

But tonight he’s enjoying a sunset without me. I’m on the coast of Alaska; he’s on the coast of California. He sends me a text, “Beautiful sunset.”

The front windows of the house look out on the waters of the Tongass Narrows, and we’re fortunate to enjoy sunsets any day it’s not raining. Some are more photo-worthy than others, of course. You don’t get the perfect scene every day!

But the most important component of memorable sunsets is not the view. It’s the viewers. My favorite viewing partner is a long way from me tonight. Sometimes life is like that, and you have to watch a few sunsets on your own.

I’m looking forward to next week, to seeing the sunset in Arizona. Together.

If you’re fortunate enough to be with your sunset viewing partner, enjoy! And if not, like me, you have something to anticipate. Here’s to the good stuff, and best of all, recognizing the good stuff when it happens.

Perfect Biscuits; or, how to follow directions

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Southern Living Buttermilk Biscuits

I grew up in the South. I had grandmothers who cooked; a mom, aunts, cousins, a mother-in-law who are all stars in the kitchen. And I don’t do too badly myself, in some areas. But I’ve always been defeated by biscuits. I know, they’re such a Southern staple…tragic that I couldn’t produce a successful version of that breakfast icon.

Over the years I’ve collected a variety of recipes, each promising to be the best, the fluffiest, the epitome of biscuitness. And every time I’ve tried a new recipe, I’ve had another disappointment.

Last weekend I was doing a little internet surfing and stumbled across a classic Southern Living recipe for buttermilk biscuits. The photos looked so amazing, I decided to give it one more try. And I produced perfection! I’ve probably even made this recipe, or something very similar, before. So what was the variable this time? Well, for the first time ever, I baked the biscuits at the temperature the recipe specified! I know right now you’re thinking, why would you not bake at the temperature the recipe gives?

I like lightly browned breads, nothing too crisp or crusty. So I’ve always baked at a lower temperature, thinking that would keep my biscuits from browning too much. But when I actually baked them at 450 degrees, they puffed up to an amazing height. To my surprise, they were lightly browned on the exterior and were the perfect pillowy texture on the inside.

There are times that it is good to think outside the box. There are times when it is good to make your own rules, to do what works for you. But there are also times when following the rules pays off. You don’t need to reinvent the wheel for some things. Biscuit recipes work as they’re written. Math works according to known formulas. Sometimes the best course is to see what has worked for others and to copy what has been successful. That doesn’t mean you don’t have creativity or ability to be original. It may mean that you are smart enough and humble enough to recognize that others may know a thing or two. That you may not always have the best answer, the best idea.

The trick is to know what strategy to use for the given situation. From now on, if I’m making biscuits, I’m going to trust the recipe and “bake as directed.” How many times I’ve read that instruction, and how frequently I have not baked as directed! And what else have I mis-managed because I didn’t follow the directions? On the other hand, there are situations in life that demand that I listen to my heart, that I follow my instincts.

Maybe that’s the challenge for each of us…when to conform and when to stand up and follow our on path. I don’t have all the answers. A lot of the big questions of life are complex, and there may not even be one “right” answer for some things. But I’ve learned that’s not the case for baking biscuits. It’s good to follow the recipe. It’s good to follow directions.

Perfect Southern Living Biscuits

Ingredients

  • 1/2 cup cold butter
  • 2 1/4 cups self-rising soft-wheat flour
  • 1 1/4 cups buttermilk
  • Self-rising soft-wheat flour
  • 2 tablespoons melted butter

Preparation

  • 1. Cut butter with a sharp knife or pastry blender into 1/4-inch-thick slices. Sprinkle butter slices over flour in a large bowl. Toss butter with flour. Cut butter into flour with a pastry blender until crumbly and mixture resembles small peas. Cover and chill 10 minutes. Add buttermilk, stirring just until dry ingredients are moistened.
  • 2. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface; knead 3 or 4 times, gradually adding additional flour as needed. With floured hands, press or pat dough into a 3/4-inch-thick rectangle (about 9 x 5 inches). Sprinkle top of dough with additional flour. Fold dough over onto itself in 3 sections, starting with 1 short end. (Fold dough rectangle as if folding a letter-size piece of paper.) Repeat entire process 2 more times, beginning with pressing into a 3/4-inch-thick dough rectangle (about 9 x 5 inches).
  • 3. Press or pat dough to 1/2-inch thickness on a lightly floured surface; cut with a 2-inch round cutter, and place, side by side, on a parchment paper-lined or lightly greased jelly-roll pan. (Dough rounds should touch.)
  • 4. Bake at 450° for 13 to 15 minutes or until lightly browned. Remove from oven; brush with 2 Tbsp. melted butter.

Enjoy! And don’t under-bake!

In the company of women

/ Sheila / 4 Comments

My friend calls to see if I want to go to dinner…”girls’ night out.” Usually we get together on a week night so we don’t impact weekend family time. We all work, so weekend time is premium, and everyone respects that. And somehow, dinner out on a week night seems like an extra special treat. Nice to know I don’t have to think about what to make for dinner, just about what to order. As much as I love puttering around the kitchen and stirring up my favorite foods, I’m always appreciative of someone else doing the cooking.

There’s no set schedule for these outings. Sometimes we’ve made it a monthly event, but it’s always casual, determined by travel demands and how hectic life is for each of us. There are times when adding anything, even something that should be fun, is just too much. Some weeks are like that. Some months are like that.

We come from diverse backgrounds, this little group. All my adult life, I’ve been fortunate to have girlfriends. For a long time, the primary bond was formed through my children. You know, you meet the moms in your kids’ circle, in the carpool group, through youth group, soccer, etc., etc., etc. In more recent years, post children, and after a couple of relocations, my friendships grow out of work relationships or other ties, but I’m no longer connected through kid activities.

Although we are of similar ages, some of us are in the empty nest phase (me) and others still have kids at home. Our conversation reflects this. I now talk about a grandchild, and celebrating her first birthday. I have a son-in-law, a daughter-in-law. The women who are a bit behind me, either in age or in life cycle, still have school events to plan for, graduations, college. But regardless, we’re close enough in experience that we speak each other’s language.

The little circle of friends I have here comes from all over: Colorado, Arizona, Utah, Mexico, Washington, the mid-West. Alaska casts a wide net, drawing people for many reasons. Most of my friends came here with husbands, but a few came alone and have made a home here, drawn by the adventure, the beauty, the uniqueness of the state.

We talk about the same things that women everywhere speak of: family concerns, work, hobbies, new finds, frustrations, the next trip out (when you live on an island, travel is always a big event and commitment, both in time and money). Husbands. Children. What broke recently and how much it cost to fix it. Sometimes we share from the heart, expose bits of ourselves to the others. Sometimes the evening is all laughter and fun. But always, there is awareness that for a few hours, we are women as well as wives, daughters, mothers, employees. Actually, we are girls, and on a good night, diners at the tables around us smile as they recognize the camaraderie that occurs in the company of women. We giggle, tell our stories, sympathize, encourage, hug, share appetizers and desserts, tell each other we’ll do it again soon. Most nights we leave the restaurant just before the staff closes up, realizing guiltily that it’s late and tomorrow is a work day.

But no matter, that’s part of the charm. When you’re with girlfriends, enjoying “girls’ night out,” you don’t watch the clock or notice the passing time. You’re just celebrating the moment. Here’s hoping you have good women in your life. (And if you happen to be a guy reading this, just change the references from female to male. It’s good for men to bond too, and I hear that sometimes happens.)

Tulips

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Tulip, 2005 Floriade, Canberra

The color of spring

I pass by the floral department in the local Safeway and see the spring flowers with all their vibrant colors. The daffodils, hyacinths, tulips are on display, and walking up to choose a bunch for my table, I catch the fragrance of springtime.

In my current mode of cleaning and and preparing to move, I’ve given away the few potted plants I had here. I have three small flower beds outside, but of course those plants will stay with the house. No digging up and transplanting for me.

To take the place of green and growing plants, I’ve been buying cut flowers for my table. I have a different color of bulb every week. Sometimes I’ve mixed colors of tulips, or had a bouquet of a single hue. The deep purples and milky white flowers are stunning together, and make a showy centerpiece. I also like the freshness of pink tulips. Seeing a big double bunch spilling out of their vase in the morning brings a smile to my face.

I made a decision recently that I know would be scandalous to my 89-year-old grandmother. I’ve determined that I’m not going to have indoor plants again. For a person who comes from a long line of green thumbs, mine is surprisingly, disappointingly, brown. I can grow flowers outdoors. But when I bring a plant inside, it’s just a matter of time. I know it, and the plant knows it.

And here’s the thing. With my new-found freedom from potted plants, if I’m traveling for a week, I just don’t buy fresh flowers. Nothing invested, nothing lost. And since I’m at the grocery every week, any time I need to add a splash of color, it’s easy enough to do. Cut flowers liven up my dining room in a way that a potted plant never did. And they last amazingly well. I can keep a bouquet for almost a week.

I do like a fresh cutting of rosemary or basil on a regular basis, and I plan to put those outdoors in my next location. But I’m making a pact with myself right now. When I move, I’ll put effort into plants outside. But I’ll let the grocery florist do the work for the inside. Should be a pretty even trade, when I think about the number of plants I’ve bought and killed over the years. At least there’s no surprise when you buy cut flowers. You know they’re going to wilt and turn brown within a week. I guess, to be fair, I always knew that about the potted plants too…the timing was a bit more uncertain, depending on the heartiness of the plant. But the outcome was never in doubt!

So here’s another little declaration of independence: I don’t need a potted plant to make me feel at home, or to create a warm environment. I do need color and freshness. But like many things in life, there’s more than one way to fulfill the need. I’m focused on freeing myself from things that have taken my time, held me back, kept me in a maze, and not returned the investment I’ve made. Potted plants fit in several of these categories. It’s a small step, but one of several I’ve taken recently. And even better, voicing it out loud validates my decision, tells me I’m letting go.

It’s going to be a great spring. See you at the floral counter!