Jazz with grandgirls and daughter,
Melt-in-our-mouths braised short ribs,
Apple tart, the chef’s ice cream
With Holly, Don, and their friends.
This is winter therapy --
The best of mid-season dreams.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Forget Cabin Fever
I’m not sure how I could have had a more perfect storm of my fears of living in the forest. Driving dark mountain roads to get Richard to the hospital. No major medical facility within an hour’s drive. Icy road conditions not made for Cajun drivers. Doctors who wouldn’t listen. None of our medical friends to pull strings and explain things. Pets who needed tending, and neighbors unable to navigate to our house. Family fuming because we’d moved so far away, and friends fussing because I hadn’t called on them for help. And ice everywhere for days, after I took my convalescing honey home. Forget cabin fever; how do you spell panic?
Last year’s cure for my cabin fever was putting my mind to publishing Jack’s first book while Richard was my own personal wood sprite. As I sat for seemingly endless hours teaching myself the tricks of publishing, Richard, like magic, made marvelous meals appear, kept clean clothes in our closets, and fanned fanciful flames in the fireplace. No wonder I was losing my mind while fearing that I’d lose Richard during our latest medical melee.
I began to write this blog as a way to make my peace with the quiet mountain life. I find myself unable to tolerate sameness and ritual for long without either getting “ants in my pants,” as my teachers used to say, or becoming completely complacent. In spring, summer, and fall, no two days are ever the same when you live this close to nature. Winter, however, can close in on Coker Creek with a blanket of gray above and a mess of mud below us. What were we thinking, moving a solar powered person like moi into the dark?
As it turns out, many people here have cabin fever. Some head to Florida for the winter, but the die-hards and those who grew up here hunker down and handle what’s here: friends, faith, family, and folk arts. Some, like Anita, sew. Some, like Eda, bake. Some, like Mary, make soup. Some, like Jack, spin tales. Mamie makes a point of having friends in for lunch and dinner, and Charlie and Deborah continue their year-round bluegrass and car club adventures. Adam rides the roads as a policeman and one-man community morale booster. Josie celebrates every day that she can get outdoors with photographs of the smallest changes in our many miles of scenery. One thing none of them do is sit around wishing winter was over.
I’m so glad that Jack’s fan club has been clamoring for his next book. There’s no better way to get my mind off the mud than to keep my nose in a manuscript. And every day that the weather permits, I’ll go visit someone with a bit of information or joy to add to the wit and wisdom I’m attempting to amass.
I do hope Richard will still keep the fire burning and cook at least some of the meals.
Last year’s cure for my cabin fever was putting my mind to publishing Jack’s first book while Richard was my own personal wood sprite. As I sat for seemingly endless hours teaching myself the tricks of publishing, Richard, like magic, made marvelous meals appear, kept clean clothes in our closets, and fanned fanciful flames in the fireplace. No wonder I was losing my mind while fearing that I’d lose Richard during our latest medical melee.
I began to write this blog as a way to make my peace with the quiet mountain life. I find myself unable to tolerate sameness and ritual for long without either getting “ants in my pants,” as my teachers used to say, or becoming completely complacent. In spring, summer, and fall, no two days are ever the same when you live this close to nature. Winter, however, can close in on Coker Creek with a blanket of gray above and a mess of mud below us. What were we thinking, moving a solar powered person like moi into the dark?
As it turns out, many people here have cabin fever. Some head to Florida for the winter, but the die-hards and those who grew up here hunker down and handle what’s here: friends, faith, family, and folk arts. Some, like Anita, sew. Some, like Eda, bake. Some, like Mary, make soup. Some, like Jack, spin tales. Mamie makes a point of having friends in for lunch and dinner, and Charlie and Deborah continue their year-round bluegrass and car club adventures. Adam rides the roads as a policeman and one-man community morale booster. Josie celebrates every day that she can get outdoors with photographs of the smallest changes in our many miles of scenery. One thing none of them do is sit around wishing winter was over.
I’m so glad that Jack’s fan club has been clamoring for his next book. There’s no better way to get my mind off the mud than to keep my nose in a manuscript. And every day that the weather permits, I’ll go visit someone with a bit of information or joy to add to the wit and wisdom I’m attempting to amass.
I do hope Richard will still keep the fire burning and cook at least some of the meals.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Cabin and Kitchen Conversations
I was a real country girl today; spending all day visiting. Mountaintop Mary is planning on helping with the typing of Jack’s manuscripts, so we met at Jack’s house and had such a good time chatting with Jack in his cozy living room. It felt like we had our own little writers’ group going. Jack has thirty or so years of writing: poetry, children’s stories and romances waiting to be published. The first step is getting them all digitized.
I thought digitizing would mean re-typing every manuscript, as I did for Jack’s first book. When I began to scan a story to email to Mary, I was having trouble reading the impressions. Jack’s typewriter ribbon is old, and the words on the page are very light. This glitch made me look for a setting that would darken the copied text. I discovered that I can send his typing directly to a Word document. Now, all I need is help scanning, formatting, and editing to publish Jack’s second book. I just love serendipity.
After leaving Jack’s, Mary and I went up the hill to her house where she served me a delicious lunch of turkey soup with what her husband Don calls stuffing dumplings -- Move over matzo balls! Mary is quite the cook and baker; she even bakes her own bread. Since she doesn’t use her bread machine, she lent it to me. Having homemade bread could be dangerous to our waistlines; I guess we’ll be waddling next time we see our friends in Louisiana.
Mary and Don have been applying their experience in emergency medical care to Richard’s records. We should be able to get the information across to the EMTs after Mary and Don are finished fine tuning Richard’s medical history. How lucky we are that Don was a corpsman in the Navy and Mary was an EMT – and they’re willing to share their expertise with us.
Anita’s almost-ninety-year-old mother Eda had sent me a sweet note asking me to drop by for some of her most marvelous biscotti. I hadn’t made time before the holidays to bring them their yearly gift of roasted pecans, so I packed up the pecans and a jar of jam, and headed to their house. I also brought Anita’s husband Ray some Brunswick stew.
We sat at the kitchen table having a wonderful time talking about how much talent there is on this mountain. Anita makes absolutely beautiful quilts, and her mother does all sorts of needlework, in addition to her daily baking and cooking. All these talents to share, and we’re hidden in the hills. We really need to get artists’ retreats going up here.
Not only did I receive biscotti, Eda also gave me her recipe and an invitation to come back and bake with her. She served me her latest creation, Mexican brownies, and packed some for Richard – along with several grapefruits. With all of Eda’s baking, she uses lots of eggs. I can’t wait to introduce her to Mamie, especially since Eda has never had the opportunity to pick up eggs directly from under a chicken. I don’t think anyone should reach their ninetieth birthday without that experience.
I thought digitizing would mean re-typing every manuscript, as I did for Jack’s first book. When I began to scan a story to email to Mary, I was having trouble reading the impressions. Jack’s typewriter ribbon is old, and the words on the page are very light. This glitch made me look for a setting that would darken the copied text. I discovered that I can send his typing directly to a Word document. Now, all I need is help scanning, formatting, and editing to publish Jack’s second book. I just love serendipity.
After leaving Jack’s, Mary and I went up the hill to her house where she served me a delicious lunch of turkey soup with what her husband Don calls stuffing dumplings -- Move over matzo balls! Mary is quite the cook and baker; she even bakes her own bread. Since she doesn’t use her bread machine, she lent it to me. Having homemade bread could be dangerous to our waistlines; I guess we’ll be waddling next time we see our friends in Louisiana.
Mary and Don have been applying their experience in emergency medical care to Richard’s records. We should be able to get the information across to the EMTs after Mary and Don are finished fine tuning Richard’s medical history. How lucky we are that Don was a corpsman in the Navy and Mary was an EMT – and they’re willing to share their expertise with us.
Anita’s almost-ninety-year-old mother Eda had sent me a sweet note asking me to drop by for some of her most marvelous biscotti. I hadn’t made time before the holidays to bring them their yearly gift of roasted pecans, so I packed up the pecans and a jar of jam, and headed to their house. I also brought Anita’s husband Ray some Brunswick stew.
We sat at the kitchen table having a wonderful time talking about how much talent there is on this mountain. Anita makes absolutely beautiful quilts, and her mother does all sorts of needlework, in addition to her daily baking and cooking. All these talents to share, and we’re hidden in the hills. We really need to get artists’ retreats going up here.
Not only did I receive biscotti, Eda also gave me her recipe and an invitation to come back and bake with her. She served me her latest creation, Mexican brownies, and packed some for Richard – along with several grapefruits. With all of Eda’s baking, she uses lots of eggs. I can’t wait to introduce her to Mamie, especially since Eda has never had the opportunity to pick up eggs directly from under a chicken. I don’t think anyone should reach their ninetieth birthday without that experience.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Pity Party
I hate that I’m not low profile;
I hate that I am proud.
I hate that I’m not submissive;
I hate that I am loud.
I wish to be a Southern Girl,
Waiting for my master.
I’ve tried this method in the past;
It led to disaster.
Oh, what am I going to do
In this situation?
It appears submissive woman
Is not my vocation.
I hate that I am proud.
I hate that I’m not submissive;
I hate that I am loud.
I wish to be a Southern Girl,
Waiting for my master.
I’ve tried this method in the past;
It led to disaster.
Oh, what am I going to do
In this situation?
It appears submissive woman
Is not my vocation.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
EMS and Email
I was extremely impressed when I got a phone call from the 911 center. A woman had been assigned to follow up with me, double checking our address, and making suggestions for better marking our right-of-way. That’s a service I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get in the big city.
The second step of my plan to track down a solution to my worries concerning Richard’s emergency care was to visit the EMS ambulance service. The director of the EMS gave me as much of his time as I needed to plead my case, and had the first responder coordinator sit in. They made several suggestions for making Richard’s medical information obvious to whoever arrives on the scene.
The director has an uncle who received a liver transplant, so he had some knowledge of what we’re up against in terms of special knowledge required for post-transplant medical care. The first responder coordinator lives in Coker Creek, so she has knowledge of our logistics issues for expedient transportation off the mountain.
The next step will be the EMS director talking to the medical air lift helicopter director, and me contacting the director of the private subscription air evacuation service serving Coker Creek. Meanwhile, my concerns are driving Richard to distraction. I think he may rather be dead than have all this attention focused on him. Too bad for him, I don’t feel the same way.
Whenever I talk about the situation Richard involuntarily rolls his eyes and purses his lips. I told him that I saw those eyes rolling and asked if he’d like for me to get him a pair of mirrored sun glasses so I wouldn’t see it. He did like this idea, but I let him know his pursed lips would still be a tell. I offered to give him a big paper bag to cover his face when I bring up these issues. He likes this idea, as long as I give him warning before speaking.
The big problem with that is he’d have another excuse for not hearing a word I said. As my granddaughter Miya says to her brother, “I see your mouth moving, but all I hear is ‘Blah, Blah, Blah , Blah, Blah’.” Or, he might be silently slipping into sleeping while I think I have his rapt attention. Poor thing, I’ve taken to emailing him my worries. Maybe that’s why his computer began shutting down on a regular basis; I melted the hard drive.
I love email communication. I never feel guilty about anything I email to someone. I figure they can read it or not. I also figure they can wait until they’re in the proper frame of mind before reading the missive. It’s great therapy for me; I can get the worry off my mind while it’s still fresh -- like when it awakens me at three in the morning. The recipient has all the time in the world to respond – or not.
The second step of my plan to track down a solution to my worries concerning Richard’s emergency care was to visit the EMS ambulance service. The director of the EMS gave me as much of his time as I needed to plead my case, and had the first responder coordinator sit in. They made several suggestions for making Richard’s medical information obvious to whoever arrives on the scene.
The director has an uncle who received a liver transplant, so he had some knowledge of what we’re up against in terms of special knowledge required for post-transplant medical care. The first responder coordinator lives in Coker Creek, so she has knowledge of our logistics issues for expedient transportation off the mountain.
The next step will be the EMS director talking to the medical air lift helicopter director, and me contacting the director of the private subscription air evacuation service serving Coker Creek. Meanwhile, my concerns are driving Richard to distraction. I think he may rather be dead than have all this attention focused on him. Too bad for him, I don’t feel the same way.
Whenever I talk about the situation Richard involuntarily rolls his eyes and purses his lips. I told him that I saw those eyes rolling and asked if he’d like for me to get him a pair of mirrored sun glasses so I wouldn’t see it. He did like this idea, but I let him know his pursed lips would still be a tell. I offered to give him a big paper bag to cover his face when I bring up these issues. He likes this idea, as long as I give him warning before speaking.
The big problem with that is he’d have another excuse for not hearing a word I said. As my granddaughter Miya says to her brother, “I see your mouth moving, but all I hear is ‘Blah, Blah, Blah , Blah, Blah’.” Or, he might be silently slipping into sleeping while I think I have his rapt attention. Poor thing, I’ve taken to emailing him my worries. Maybe that’s why his computer began shutting down on a regular basis; I melted the hard drive.
I love email communication. I never feel guilty about anything I email to someone. I figure they can read it or not. I also figure they can wait until they’re in the proper frame of mind before reading the missive. It’s great therapy for me; I can get the worry off my mind while it’s still fresh -- like when it awakens me at three in the morning. The recipient has all the time in the world to respond – or not.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Medical Miracles and the Mountains
Josie’s working on a project for me. Adam, who is a policeman, had offered to introduce me to the 911 dispatch team. We’re trying to work out some accommodation for future emergency care for Richard. I invited us over to Adam and Josie’s house for lunch; we’d bring the lunch. We had leftovers of pork tenderloin with apples and cranberries and Brunswick stew. I gave Adam a choice, and he chose both. So, both it was.
We ate the pork over white rice with sides of Josie’s yummy homemade apple sauce and cranberry compote. Even though both Camille and Adam had requested the Brunswick stew alongside the tenderloin, I opted for stowing the stew in Josie’s refrigerator for a future feast. We still had some of Rachel’s ricotta cookies with cherries, so we served these for dessert.
Once we finished lunch, it was about time for Josie’s afternoon siesta. Richard headed over to drop stew and cookies off to Jack and Mamie while I ran the roads with Adam to the dispatch center. The initial reaction of the director upon being told that Richard had a heart transplant and lived in Coker Creek was a bit disconcerting. “Why would anyone with a heart transplant move to Coker Creek?” I admitted that we were still in shock from losing our home in Hurricane Katrina when we made the choice, and that I was beginning to share her doubts about how prudent our choice had been.
Although we didn’t get all the answers we need there, we did accomplish getting one goal. The director of the center flagged Richard’s address as having a post-heart transplant person in residence. She then suggested that I talk with the EMT director.
Mountaintop Mary used to be an EMT in her former home state. She’s looking over the medical records we keep in our freezer for the Air Evac service. I asked her to review the information on Richard’s special medical needs, and prioritize the information from an EMT “need to know” viewpoint, so that we won’t have a repeat of last week’s mistakes. She had told me that having Richard’s address flagged by 911 may be a possibility. I was very pleased when the dispatch director offered to do so with no prompting from me.
I know it would break Richard’s relatively new heart to have to move from the holler. Although I’d be sad, I found out a long time ago that the only losses that I can’t recuperate from are the losses of my people. If I lost Richard, I’d soon lose my Coker Creek neighbors because I would never have the courage to live alone anywhere, much less in the deep dark forest.
Coker Creek has many retirees moving in from major metropolitan areas. Most of them take for granted that there are great trauma and emergency units within a short driving distance. Whatever accommodation can be made for individuals with special needs because of the major medical miracles of today can only increase the value of their lives in their dream homes in the mountains.
We ate the pork over white rice with sides of Josie’s yummy homemade apple sauce and cranberry compote. Even though both Camille and Adam had requested the Brunswick stew alongside the tenderloin, I opted for stowing the stew in Josie’s refrigerator for a future feast. We still had some of Rachel’s ricotta cookies with cherries, so we served these for dessert.
Once we finished lunch, it was about time for Josie’s afternoon siesta. Richard headed over to drop stew and cookies off to Jack and Mamie while I ran the roads with Adam to the dispatch center. The initial reaction of the director upon being told that Richard had a heart transplant and lived in Coker Creek was a bit disconcerting. “Why would anyone with a heart transplant move to Coker Creek?” I admitted that we were still in shock from losing our home in Hurricane Katrina when we made the choice, and that I was beginning to share her doubts about how prudent our choice had been.
Although we didn’t get all the answers we need there, we did accomplish getting one goal. The director of the center flagged Richard’s address as having a post-heart transplant person in residence. She then suggested that I talk with the EMT director.
Mountaintop Mary used to be an EMT in her former home state. She’s looking over the medical records we keep in our freezer for the Air Evac service. I asked her to review the information on Richard’s special medical needs, and prioritize the information from an EMT “need to know” viewpoint, so that we won’t have a repeat of last week’s mistakes. She had told me that having Richard’s address flagged by 911 may be a possibility. I was very pleased when the dispatch director offered to do so with no prompting from me.
I know it would break Richard’s relatively new heart to have to move from the holler. Although I’d be sad, I found out a long time ago that the only losses that I can’t recuperate from are the losses of my people. If I lost Richard, I’d soon lose my Coker Creek neighbors because I would never have the courage to live alone anywhere, much less in the deep dark forest.
Coker Creek has many retirees moving in from major metropolitan areas. Most of them take for granted that there are great trauma and emergency units within a short driving distance. Whatever accommodation can be made for individuals with special needs because of the major medical miracles of today can only increase the value of their lives in their dream homes in the mountains.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Carpe the Cash
This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Not with Richard – we already have a beautiful relationship – but, with my baby sis Camille. I never “got” Camille when she was growing up. I could make most of my other siblings howl with laughter, but not Camille. She’d just sit in her little jumpy seat and study me with her solemn brown eyes. As a toddler, she was very fond of following our mother around. How boring! I was six years old when she came along. I had school and other adventures to pursue.
By the time Camille became a teenager, I was an adult with a husband and house to tend. We entered each other’s lives for short periods over the years, but with Camille’s military service related relocations, her many years of education, her career, and her own husband and child rearing responsibilities, we never had time to explore our adult relationship. I have, however, heard over the years that I’m “just like Camille” – and it never sounded like this was a good thing.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that Camille is smart and funny and cute; and she’s also deeply interested in becoming an arts agent. I have long been a patron of the arts, and have toyed with the idea of expanding my small publishing company to include promoting other arts media. Now that we live in a cradle of creativity, it seems like the perfect time to make that move.
I’ve been in business for myself several times and have managed businesses for others. One thing about which ‘m absolutely positive is that it’s not smart to have a business with one person wearing too many hats. If you’ve ever seen a plate spinner, you know what happens if the entertainer takes a misstep – all the plates fall and break into a bazillion pieces. Richard is my perfect domestic partner and household business partner. I don’t want him to wear too many hats, even though he does have a super large skull housing his super active brain. Besides, he has his own interests including production of a favorite family toy.
Camille’s fortunate enough to work a four-day week, and her daughter is grown and in college. Both her husband and her mom-in-law are extremely talented painters. Camille loves to travel, possessing the same Gypsy blood that courses through my veins. She also has an inquiring mind, an MBA and an adoring domestic partner in her husband David.
I’ve always believed in employee/management partnerships. Bill Gates built his empire on this same concept. Who better than the people whose talents and value systems I’ve drawn to me on a personal level to pair their talents with mine in a business venture?
I’ve started small, with Richard and Jack. I’ve been approached by several other budding writers to represent them. I have a wide range of visual artists that I’d love to represent. With energizer bunnies like Camille and my journalist/editor friend Susan in my corner, it’s time for us to move boldly forward and Carpe the Cash.
By the time Camille became a teenager, I was an adult with a husband and house to tend. We entered each other’s lives for short periods over the years, but with Camille’s military service related relocations, her many years of education, her career, and her own husband and child rearing responsibilities, we never had time to explore our adult relationship. I have, however, heard over the years that I’m “just like Camille” – and it never sounded like this was a good thing.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that Camille is smart and funny and cute; and she’s also deeply interested in becoming an arts agent. I have long been a patron of the arts, and have toyed with the idea of expanding my small publishing company to include promoting other arts media. Now that we live in a cradle of creativity, it seems like the perfect time to make that move.
I’ve been in business for myself several times and have managed businesses for others. One thing about which ‘m absolutely positive is that it’s not smart to have a business with one person wearing too many hats. If you’ve ever seen a plate spinner, you know what happens if the entertainer takes a misstep – all the plates fall and break into a bazillion pieces. Richard is my perfect domestic partner and household business partner. I don’t want him to wear too many hats, even though he does have a super large skull housing his super active brain. Besides, he has his own interests including production of a favorite family toy.
Camille’s fortunate enough to work a four-day week, and her daughter is grown and in college. Both her husband and her mom-in-law are extremely talented painters. Camille loves to travel, possessing the same Gypsy blood that courses through my veins. She also has an inquiring mind, an MBA and an adoring domestic partner in her husband David.
I’ve always believed in employee/management partnerships. Bill Gates built his empire on this same concept. Who better than the people whose talents and value systems I’ve drawn to me on a personal level to pair their talents with mine in a business venture?
I’ve started small, with Richard and Jack. I’ve been approached by several other budding writers to represent them. I have a wide range of visual artists that I’d love to represent. With energizer bunnies like Camille and my journalist/editor friend Susan in my corner, it’s time for us to move boldly forward and Carpe the Cash.
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