Nothing but a walk

Had an interesting couple of moments while I was walking the dog during the kids' ballet classes. My knee isn't really in good enough condition to take my regular long Saturday run. If I had been able to run, I wouldn't have had these moments.

Before

After

Near the end of our exercise, I was in front of the Bethlehem Public Library. Walking westerly, I came across the 9/11 memorial sculpture that was created from the slurry walls of the Twin Towers. I stopped to take a picture of it's 'adjustment.' I don't know what compels a person to think it's OK to put their own mark on public art. Like it or not, the object isn't for anyone to play with. THe small cube on the top used to site level between the inside part of the "V". I don't think the piece is very aesthetically pleasing, but the story of it, and what it represents ought to be respected. It's too bad. Maybe its a general statment, but the less we value art as a community, the more we will see people take these kind of liberties just because they can...

It was only a few feet farther down the block when I saw a friend, Peter Crownfield. Peter is an avid social justice/ environmentalist; keen to see Lehigh University students fully engaging in Bethlehem on issues relevant to having a decent city. It's been a while since I've seen him, so I stopped to chat for a bit. About 4 minutes into our chat, a stranger walked up to us to ask me for ideas on what to see while she had a couple of hours to spare before her daughter's basketball game. She drove in from Pittsburgh the night before. Luckily for her, she can leisurely walk just a few feet to get to the Kemerer Museum, and walk around a 1 mile perimeter to see some of the proudest historic buildings and the lovely Main street shops. The Historic Industrial Quarter is also a great place to walk - as my dog will attest.

It was only another 10 feet farther when a man called me over to his car to give him directions to the Ice House.

Not a problem - I'm pretty good at giving people directions. I do it a lot. I can't for the life of me figure out why I'm tagged for this request. It happens frequently on campus. My attire isn't very special. This morning was particularly odd since my make-up from last night was smeared under my eyes in the best heroine chic. I had a baseball cap covering my bed head. Donned in sweats with a dog pulling on his leash, I at least had that distance to protect others from my morning breath.

What is it about my face that people target for helpful direction? It could be that I actually look them in the eye. If that is what it is - then.... good.

Sr. Virginia

Because of the amazing power of email, and social media, I can respond to a news item I just read about a tragic accident. Last night, one of my most revered high school teachers, the one who would not let me BS my way through intro to psychology, was hit and killed by a car.

According to the local news report, the driver was not speeding or drunk. But I'm sure that person is hurting. The more they learn about the person they inadvertently killed, the worse it will get for them.

Sr. Virginia was demanding. My friends who had her for English, German or any other subject were in her class because they were the smartest ones in our class. She knew how smart each of her students were. She also knew the difference between confusion and laziness. She recognized that teenage hormones and social demands were challenging - but not in her class room. She knew how to keep us focused on work, not boyfriends.

She was like a mirror to me. She reflected the parts of me that I wanted to ignore; to explain away. Kind of the way one exhales when they see their paunchy stomach in the dreaded three way mirror of the department store changing room. She didn't coddle me. She protected me from myself.

In college, I thought of Sr. Virginia's critical review. When I would read drafts with her eyes, I would end up turning in work that would reflect my best effort; not what I needed to do to get by. She helped me define my standards. I think of her when my standards get the best of my nerves. When I start over-editing, I hear her saying, "... Just start writing. Get the thoughts out, and then shape them."

She also raised money for school trips to Germany by selling Haribo Gummi bears. I will order some of them online right now in her memory. Any of my St. Joseph High School classmates who want to do the same: here's the candy maker's website:
http://www.haribo.com/planet/sprachauswahl.php

And while we're at it. I'm thinking of making a special donation to my alma mater high school. After all, it's those teachers that saved me when I needed it most.

Define Panic - and a new way to process it

This morning started well enough for a bad night of sleep. Got the kids' lunches packed, drove them to school and headed to the Greenway for a lovely pre-writing walk with the dog. The weather was beautiful: warm sun on my face, light breeze at my back, darker rain clouds visible but far off to the west, over the blue ridge mountains.

This is a great time for my brain to settle down after a weekend of single parenting, lessons, Nutcracker rehearsals, and a few household chores. With the dog fully exercised, I was ready to shower and get to work on more video editing and book writing with a nice hot cup of pumpkin flavored coffee.

Then I saw it. The flier from the kids' school about the Thanksgiving luncheon. My son said yesterday he thought the luncheon was Monday. I said,

"Excuse me!? I'm the one who reads the stuff that comes home in the family envelopes. Do you?"

He let it go. Wished he hadn't. I would have been forced to find the flier yesterday to prove him wrong - only to find out how right he was. This is the same luncheon for which I had been working with the girls scouts on all the decorations for the past three weeks. It wasn't so much the schedule of the luncheon. I also volunteered to roast one of the Turkeys. ACK!!!!!

I turned the oven on to 500 degrees. Thank goodness the turkey had been thawing the fridge since last Friday. I knew the time would be tight. This one actually had me stumped. More than likely, if was the loss of my wits as much as my sense of calm.

I had trouble falling / staying asleep last night as I waited for Steve to arrive from another weekend trip to Detroit. After I put the kids to bed, I was flipping between the American Music Awards and the FOOD TV network - my comfort channel. Last night, a group of Chef/Personalities were doing a "Thanksgiving Live" with opportunity for viewers to call, email, skype and tweet/FB cooking questions. None of the suggestions were about panic cooking times for forgetful mommies.

To the internets!

Many of my Facebook and Twitter friends (mostly the guys - interesting....) offered suggestions for local stores that might have one ready to go. One friend who owns a restaurant even offered to help. (What a sweetie, Kristophor Sandholm at Starfish Restaurant!!) I found out that buying a cooked turkey at a local store would still mean I'd have to heat it up for 45 minutes and carve it.

My friend, Hillary Kwiatek suggested cutting the turkey like a chicken and hoping for the best. (Sensible, mommy cook Twitter friend). I thought I remembered something like that on Chopped; except it was duck... Whatever. I backed the heat down to 400 and hacked through the bird, really wishing I can a huge horror movie-like meat cleaver. It wasn't pretty.

Drizzled olive oil over all the parts, generously salted and peppered and shoved it in the oven.

After about 90 minutes, the internal temp finally reached 165. I left the turkey on the stove to let it rest while I showered. While rinsing the shampoo, I had visions of Buddy becoming of the Bumpuses' dogs. (Name that movie reference) I jumped out of the shower - trail of water and soap to the kitchen to see a confused sleepy-eyed pooch lounging on the living room couch. (Really need curtains on the windows, btw)

Dry. Dress. Time to "carve/hack/destroy" what I hoped would be edible.

By golly that turkey was juicy and delicious. Sliced, with a little bit of the juices poured over it, I drove it to school still wearing my apron. The luncheon had started, but I brought in my turkey just in the knick of time - almost as if planned.

This Thanksgiving, I'm grateful to my friends who know how my hand needs to be held. I'm thankful for social media; once again keeping me laughing at myself. I'm also grateful for the FoodTV network. The hours I invested in that truly paid off.

Is 12:30pm on a Monday too soon to drink a glass of wine?

I can't help myself

I shouldn't be blogging. I find myself with 50 minutes of unscheduled time. All pressing emails have been reviewed. I'm sure there's others I could answer, but don't have the focus for it. All phone calls have been returned. It would be best if I sit at my desk and quietly dump a thought that has been swirling in my brain.

Ever notice a lingering flavor or taste in your mouth? Ever notice that what lingers is often associate with a particular routine? I've been noticing a funny blend of toothpaste and coffee that accompanies the drive into work. Coffee eventually overtakes any freshness washed through mint flavored floss, Colgate paste and Listerine mouth wash. (Yes, I do all three religiously. I won 1st place in my 8th grade science fair on the topic of dental hygiene. It stuck)

I wonder how much of the coffee taste has turned into offensive breath by the time I greet my co-workers. I don't get too close to whispers in meetings for fear they will be so distracted by the dragon breath that they will completely miss what secret I'm sharing. Guess that means that I have often been distracted by bad breath that I didn't hear something either.

The coffee breath is fed with a few more cups of fuel until lunch. If I'm lucky, the flavors of lunch will occupy my taste networks to being somewhere between satisfied or pleasant. If not, I reach for the Almond M&M's in the candy jar on my desk. Sucking on one at a time tends to keep my mouth happy.

Or else it's the more offensive gum. Ever get annoyed when someone cracks their gum, or chews it like cud while talking to you? I love being the "waitressaurus" when I'm popping gum on the phone with a rude salesperson or customer service agent. Aren't they supposed to be paid to make me a happy customer? If they are rude - I smack gum in their ear. (no, I don't - but I think about it)

I'f I've eaten more than a handful of M&M's, it's time for more offensive coffee. The afternoon brews are usually laced with some flavored syrup - just to break up the monotony of plain old French Roast.

By this point, I've consumed about 4-5 cups of coffee and haven't yet gone to the bathroom. I've allowed only 3 minutes to get from my office to my kids' school to pick them up. Of course, there will be a car blocking me in, so the urgency comes over me from lack of time as well as my bladder.

Is that blood I taste in my mouth or bile?

If I'm not scheduled in the evening, I will actually eat the dinner I've prepared. I'm usually a little reserved on strong flavors, and salt. Not sure why the low salt - it just happens. I like to cook. I like it even better when my family eats what I cook. There is nothing more satisfying than a pleasant lingering flavor on the palate - and not because of something I burped up. Although.... a good craft beer's after effects cannot be helped.

What I like most - is when the lingering tastes in my mouth match the lingering smell of roasted chicken or freshly baked bread. As soon as I notice that - it must be killed with a good ice cream. Or, if I'm being good - I'll brush my teeth and rinse with Listerine once more in order to retire with a virginal mouth.

And now that the random thought has been excised - I just discovered an activity that should take only 35 minutes to complete. The instructions on the survey say that, so I must trust it's a better use of my time.

And yours. But before I close - notice any lingering tastes in your mouth? Is it time to rinse and spit?