Keep Walking

My cousin Beth and her two daughters are going out this weekend to walk with PanCan, the Pancreatic Action Network, to raise funds for the fight against pancreatic cancer. They are hoping to raise $500 between them. I thought I would help out in their fund raising efforts.
If you would like to donate to their team go here. Their team is the Lovely Lillo Ladies. Thank you.

I am very glad that they are getting out to do this. It must be so frustrating to be helpless, to know that all you can do is hope for one more day. At least this is something to do and it gets them out of the house. My thoughts go with them.

Overheard...

from the apartment below mine. They have some loud fights.
Woman to man:
You couldn't make love your way out of a paper bag.

Weekend Shopping

Fall is really here now. The days are getting crisp and cool and apples have come back to the farmer's market. I love apples. Love love love love love apples. One of my favorite varieties is red delicious though you have to get them at the right time. They have to be just on the edge of ripeness when they're still really crisp. After that they get mealy and no one wants that. This weekend I found one with a nose.






I also really love having fresh flowers around. I don't indulge myself very often but this weekend I felt the need. I bought these irises in a shop near me. I don't know about the rest of you, but I have real trouble getting blues and purples right when I take digital photos. For example, these irises should be much more purple, less blue. The color correct in Photoshop, which sometimes helps, was of no use at all. Still, I think it's a pretty good picture.

Joining Up

Following Lady Epiphany's lead I have joined NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month). It will be a challenge to post every day. But I will have incentive: the need to not fall flat in front of the whole wide web. I can be self motivated but it's much more effective to have the expectations of others, to have an audience.

So join up and then repeat after me: I will post every day and every post will be scintillating.

Edible Brooklyn

This past Saturday 4 friends and I went on a little walking tour of Brooklyn, eating as we went. We started in DUMBO (district under Manhattan bridge overpass) at Almondine bakery for croissants, pretzel bread, and baguettes. We then strolled across the street to Jacques Torres' chocolate shop. In spite of the extra warm weather some of us got hot chocolate. The other two got ice cream sandwiches. It was agreed that the banana chocolate ice cream was fabulous.

Years ago, when I moved back to New York DUMBO was kind of a wasteland. Nothing but old warehouses and junk. Now it is completely gentrified. There are restaurants, boutiques, art galleries, and gorgeous apartments. And no wonder. It's an amazing landscape, made of odd angles and textures. One gallery we visited would make a fantastic living space though you would need to fill it with soft, round furniture to offset the concrete and steel. An old garage space is now home to From the Source, a store that sells hand made wooden furniture.
I couldn't walk out with the beautiful high backed chairs that I loved so instead I bought a duck. A wooden duck. Not the kind you usually see, originally meant to be a decoy for hunters. This is a dignified duck, standing tall, made of bamboo and teak.

Our plan was to have lunch at Grimaldi's pizza. However, when we arrived the line was even longer than I had feared. 40 minutes, just for take-out. I have no idea how long the wait for a table for 5 would have been. But in the naked city one must be prepared to improvise so we moved on, down through Brooklyn Heights to Atlantic Avenue. We stopped in Sahadi's for olives and cheese then went on to Brawta, a Caribbean restaurant. It was very tasty. I had pan fried porgy that was crisp and delicious.

From there we went south, through Carroll Gardens, past the Gowanus Canal and into Park Slope. There we ended our day at the Cocoa Bar. They sell chocolates, coffee, and wine. A marvelous combination.

We decided that we should meet every month to go eating. I'll let you know where else we go.

Joining M.A.

I've sat down just about every day this week with the intention of posting to this blog. But all that happens is that I stare for a while at the empty frame and then log out having found nothing to write. I have written in my journal but that's a whole other thing and you certainly shouldn't be subjected to it. This morning, however, I have found something to write about. I was inspired by Karen's post on Worst Mama Ever.

On Saturday I went out shopping. It was a serious trip. I started at Columbus Circle, walked all the way up to Columbia University and then back down to 85th Street. I really enjoy walking around New York though by the end my dogs were barkin'. Concrete is tough on the feets. On my way back down from 116th I passed my old hood, the place I spent the first 7 years of my life. After 30 years a lot has changed. There used to be a handball wall in the playground on Amsterdam between 97th and 98th. It had a fabulous graffiti tiger on it that seemed to leap out of the wall. And there was a pizza parlor that sold Italian ices in those little paper cups. There was also a Woolworth's. Do any of you remember Woolworth's? I loved it when I was a kid. It seemed to have everything including a lunch counter. I never got to eat there since my grandmother would have to have been starving before she ate at a lunch counter but it was great anyway. And I loved the sewing section, filled with ribbons and thread and patterns. I miss Woolworth's. It's kind of been replaced by the Duane Reade which carries everything from cold medicine to nail polish to cookies to light bulbs. But it just isn't the same. And there's no lunch counter.

I realized, as I was wallowing in nostalgia, that I've reached an age where I've started to really notice how things have changed-what's gone and what's new. Progress always brings loss with it as it grinds forward. I love being able to access all sorts of information on the web and I love being able to keep up with friends and family with the ease of email. But I miss real live letters and I hate cell phones. I really do. I think they are vile, nasty things that have attached themselves to our lives like parasites. Work has bled into our private lives and we have become incapable of waiting for anything.

I'm also appalled by the fact that I multi-task all the time. It has become so difficult to do just one thing. If I'm watching tv I do things during the commercials. If I'm surfing on the web I may have the tv on in the background or the radio so I can hear the news. I don't just cook dinner, I do computer work while I wait for water to boil or a pan to get hot. Being completely present for just one task has become very difficult. Silence has become deafening. I might be forced to contemplation and I certainly don't want that. I am also much more impatient than I used to be (not that I was ever the poster child for patience). A line of two people at the coffee bar is too long. Why, I might have to wait a 2 whole minutes. Interminable.

They do say that accepting that you have a problem is half the battle.

My name is Plaid Sheep and I am a multi-tasker.

There's only one thing for it. Cold turkey. At least at home. I don't think I could get away with it at work, there it's actually necessary. But when I 'm at home I will do just one thing at a time. We'll see how it goes. I should probably get a sponsor. Someone to talk me down when I have the urge to watch tv, surf the web, and make dinner while knitting a hat.

More News

First of all, I would like to thank everyone for their kind words and support. As you can imagine, I haven't felt much like blogging.

Ed and Beth have spent some time doing fun things like go-cart racing and skydiving. These are not exactly Beth's cup of tea but I think she'd happily sit and watch paint dry as long as they could do it together. But now the situation has deteriorated. They attempted to put a stent in his liver so the bile trapped there by the tumors could drain and stop causing jaundice. When they got inside they discovered the situation was worse than they thought. Time is now very short and the rest of us are planning to visit next weekend.

I suppose there is something to be said for having the time to put things in order and say goodbye to everyone. We've always had a good time together as a family and I hope that we can lift their spirits, if only just a little. Your last days should be filled with as much joy as possible.

The Best Laid Plans...

I had a post all planned for today. It was all about food. I had pictures lined up of purple beans and pancakes and dumplings. I was going to warn you not to read on an empty stomach.

But things have changed since yesterday. This morning I learned that my cousin's husband, Ed, has pancreatic cancer. And it is in stage four having spread to his liver. A week ago he had a stomach ache and now he's been given 8-12 weeks to live.

I have a hard time wrapping my mind around this. It does not seem real somehow. I cannot imagine what my cousin Beth is feeling. (You may remember, she's the nurse who won the scholarship.) And then there's Ed's mother. She lost her husband some years ago, he was only 53 and we all thought that was way too young. Now her son will not reach his 50th birthday.

I want to provide some comfort but I have no idea what I can do. Also, I dread seeing Beth. She's always been so bright, as if she carried a light around inside her and I know that that light is probably out now.

And how quickly the past tense creeps in. I was thinking that he was one of my favorite in-laws. But that's not right. He is one of my favorite in-laws. We've always gotten along. We both like being right and we usually agree. He likes Mallomars so we always buy him a bunch at Christmas. They've got a serious shelf life so they last him until spring. I was thinking I could send him a box if I can find them. The nurses would probably object but if you can't eat junk food on your death bed...

And what must he be thinking? We've all wondered, haven't we? What we would do if we were given 6 months to live? Do you really go through all those stages of grief before you get to acceptance? Do you let them do what they can to prolong your life or do you reject that in favor of staying at home? I've spent time in a hospital and it no place to have your final moments on this Earth.

We're often advised to live each day as if it were our last. But that's so hard to sustain. So much of living is routine, slipping by as we deal with all the details of our modern lives. Then you get smacked in the face and find yourself thinking about the choices you've made and will make. I know that eventually the mind returns to the routine but I will try to use the questioning while it lasts, perhaps learn something about what it is that I truly need and value. Maybe I will manage to be more grateful each day, even in the midst of daily life. Perhaps that is all we can ask of ourselves, to be aware of life as it happens and to take a few moments every now and then to appreciate it before it's gone.

One More Thing...

A friend of mine works at a gourmet grocery store. Recently they were all given a sample of a new product, Dark Cherries in Merlot. She called me up and told me I had to try them and then I had to figure out a way to duplicate them. Not one to shrink from a culinary challenge I have taken a stab at it. When I tasted them I decided there was vanilla, cinnamon and something else. It gave the syrup an almost medicinal taste, but good. It wasn't quite peppermint but what...
I found the product online and it listed some of the flavors. Cinnamon, vanilla, black pepper, bergamot, bay and... galangal root. That was the taste I couldn't identify. Galangal has an almost camphor-like taste. I did not have any in the cupboard nor did I have any bergamot. So instead I used cinnamon, vanilla, bay, pepper, lavender, and anise. The original cherries are not pitted. They are packed raw into the jar then covered with hot syrup and processed. This cooks them a bit. I did not intend to process them so I pitted them and simmered them in the syrup mixture for a couple of minutes. Then I removed them and reduced the syrup. It's not the original but it's pretty tasty anyway. I'll have to get some vanilla ice cream or some pound cake to have them on. I think they would also be good with game or pork.
For those who want to make some themselves (and I recommend it despite the price of late season cherries) here is my version.

1 1/2 cups pitted dark cherries
1 generous cup merlot (about 10 oz)
3 Tbs corn syrup
1/3-1/2 cup of sugar (I'm not exactly sure how much I added-start with less and add if needed)
1 bay leaf
1 cinnamon stick
2 or 3 pieces of star anise
1 tsp dried lavender
pinch of peppermint
ground black pepper or several whole peppercorns
1 Tbs balsamic vinegar

Pit the cherries with a pitter or a paring knife. Put them in a pot with the wine. Add the syrup, sugar, and vinegar. Put in the bay leaf and cinnamon stick. Put the other spices in a tea ball and suspend in the mixture. Bring to a simmer. Simmer for 1-2 minutes, just to exchange some juices. Take out the cherries with a slotted spoon and put into a jar. Bring the mixture to a boil and reduce by about 1/3 or so, until it's a little syrupy. Remove the tea ball, bay leaf and cinnamon stick. Pour the hot syrup over the cherries and seal the jar. If you intend to keep them for a while they will need to be in a canning jar and they will have to be processed in a hot water bath for at least 15 minutes per pint. But if you're just going to eat them up then any old jar will do. You can store them in the refrigerator if it's going to be a few days. But they may not last that long.

Saving Summer

Remember when I was going on about preserving summer in a jar? Well I've done some work on that. Last week I made some jam. Here it is, bubbling away.

Caramel Peach Jam with Anise and Vanilla

This week I made some tomato sauce. I used two Marcella Hazan recipes. One is just tomatoes simmered with a halved onion and butter. The second has:

Purple carrots! But they're not purple all the way through.

Can you smell it? Breathe deep.

The jar on the left has the simple tomato sauce (good for gnocchi) and the one on the right has the more complicated version. I added some basil too. They are about to go into a hot water bath to seal them up until some really nasty gray day in January when a bit of sun will be very welcome.

Remember, Grasshopper...

If you've been over at Lisa's you know that the tank top is a success. I admit, I had my worries about the size since I couldn't try it on myself. Nick, however, never wavered in his belief. See how serene, almost Buddha-like, he is. No thoughts of sagging or poor fit enter his mind. I can only kneel at the feet of the master and absorb the wisdom.

The Real Bogey Man

When you were a little kid you might have been afraid of the bogey man in the closet or the monster under the bed. Or maybe you were afraid of the dark, or of the thing lying in the deep end of the pool. We think that when we grow up the monsters will go away but they don't, they just change shape and get new names. The monster under the bed becomes bankruptcy, the bogey man becomes cancer. One of the scariest grown up monsters is Alzheimer's. I picture it as a shapeless gray mass that sneaks up on you and wraps your head in a thick fog as it slowly eats up your brain. Never mind the thing under the bed, this is the real stuff of nightmares.

My uncle has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. For the last year or so he has been getting more distracted, more vague. He forgets recent events but is eager to tell stories from his days in the navy during World War II. We thought he was just getting older, after all, he's 82. You should be allowed to forget a few things. But it seems it is more than that. If you know anything about the disease you may know that it can't be diagnosed with complete certainty until an autopsy is performed. The doctors look at symptoms, go with the probability. There is a range of symptoms and different people deteriorate at different rates. There's no medicine that really works and all you can do is go with the flow, do the best you can moment to moment.

So far, my uncle's symptoms are pretty mild. Forgetfulness, distraction, and a reluctance to be left alone for long periods of time. These days he goes with my aunt to her volunteer job at the library. He just sits in the corner and reads until she's ready to go. He's still cheerful and likes to putter about the house, putting things away in odd places. It is my aunt who I really worry about. It must be very lonely to be the only witness to the changes and the oddities. She tried a support group but found it very depressing. She's not one to ask for help, even from her family. I understand this, I am much the same. So I've been thinking about how to help her out. I think I'm going to make some care packages. Boxes filled with fun or odd little things all wrapped in pretty paper and ribbon. I can't take any of her burden but perhaps I can add some light as the days grow darker.

I will also go to visit them in the fall with my sister. I want to see them and yet I also desperately want to remember him as he was, not as he will become. But I will go, and keep going, I will be there for them. This is why we tell children scary stories, so when they grow up they will have the courage and the strength to face the monsters that lurk in the dark.

Taking it Easy

This week has been blessedly uneventful. I'm really looking forward to experiencing some real boredom. Some time to wallow in nothing, maybe watch something truly trashy on television though I will probably draw the line at reality tv. That stuff is just toxic and studies show that if you watch too much of it your brain will begin to deliquesce and leak out of your ears. No one wants that.

But I don't have too much time for wallowing. Summer is slipping away and I have yet to make any jam or preserves. I've been to the farmer's market a lot lately, thank goodness. I think it's against the laws of physics to feel down after visiting the farmer's market. But I've always been on my way to somewhere else and so I couldn't buy a ton of stuff. But this Friday I plan to load up on summer's bounty and preserve it for the winter days to come. When I was a kid I would visit my grandmother in Belgrade. There they have a real market. It's several times the size of of the market in Union Square. Piles of strawberries, mountains of watermelons, heaps of beans-you get the idea. People there still preserved the summer harvest. It's called a "zimnica". It's hard to translate, there's no English equivalent, but essentially it means "for the winter" (zima is winter- not to be confused with the bad but trendy alcoholic beverage). My grandmother's pantry was always lined with jars filled with brightly colored fruits and vegetables. Her apricot jam was pure bliss. I have a lovely vision in my head of having my own zimnica. Because even though one can get apricots from South America in winter they just aren't the same. Preserves are more than just food. They're a moment in time caught in jar, a memory of warm days to savor during the cold winter.

August

"What dreadful hot weather we're having. It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance."

Jane Austen

If You Were Wondering Where I"ve Been...

Dear sweet Christ on a cracker. These past two weeks (and this one is only halfway over) have left me wondering what god we managed to piss off. I'm not going to torture you with tons of details but here is a list of recent happenings.

1.My shower leaks into my neighbors place. The repairs are still not finished due to the rest of this list so I still have the Silkwood shower.
2.Two important people at my job leave prior to a big event we were participating in and which they had been organizing. This leaves me and the other manager in charge though we had stayed as far as possible from said planning. Until now. One of these people was generally useless and left a number of things undone and badly done. We've spent a lot of time trying to find and collect all the dropped balls. At least one rolled under the metaphorical furniture and was a pain in the butt to retrieve.
3.We have a serious lack of people and information about just about everything. I am working 6 days and the other manager 7.
4.Our main phone line decides to crap out and no one can reach us for several days. Much time is spent talking with three different companies and repair people.
5.The plumber still has not come to clean some drains and fix a leak.
6.Yesterday a co-worker had some kind of seizure which resulted in her not knowing who we were and being taken away in an ambulance. (She is feeling better now but it was very scary for her and everyone else here.)
7.And today the skies opened up and stranded various people on their way here or to the aforementioned event.

There is one bright spot in all this. One of the people who left really needed to go. She was both irritating and incompetent. This is a terrible combination. We all agree that despite the shortage we are glad she is gone. And she chose to leave so that is also good and we need not have any latent guilt about wishing her fired.

So there we are. I will be making an offering to whatever gods might be listening and hopefully we will return to some semblance of sanity.

Not Quite the Sistine Chapel

The shower job has turned out to be more complicated than I expected. When I started to take out the old grout the bottom row of tiles came loose as did chunks of backing. Here are the chunks of what is either plaster or some kind of cement that came out from behind the tile. The walls in the apartment are plaster but this was applied on top, presumably to build out the wall. It may also be a thick layer of tile adhesive.

I did not take a picture of the holes at the start but here you can see some of the space left after removal. The extra build out does not extend down the side of the tub. There is just space there. I mixed the plaster extra thick so it would stay in place.

Some of the tile came away without the backing. I think the leak was less at this point so there is not as much water damage.

At this point I will just have to use the tile adhesive.

Here is the first layer of plaster. It is thick enough that it should be applied in two layers.
I tell ya, those cake decorating skills come in handy at a time like this. Not to mention my trusty offset spatula, perfect for small spaces.

After the second layer is in place I will cover it all with a thin layer of adhesive and after that has dried I can stick on the tiles. Then more drying, then grouting then still more drying and curing. So maybe by Friday I can get rid of all the plastic though in this humidity I may play it safe and wait until Sunday to take it down.

It is quite clear that the tiling job was not well done and that at some point in the not too distant future the shower wall will need to be completely re-done. But not just now. My dream would be to re-do the whole bathroom, get rid of the awful pink tile.

Silkwood

This morning I showered in plastic. After yesterday's debacle I went to the Home Depot. In addition to grout, grout seal and some tools I also bought a shower curtain and a plastic drop cloth. Now my shower curtains enclose the whole tub in a U shape from wall to wall and I hung the drop cloth over the tile wall. Not so much as a drop went anywhere but down the drain. But it was little odd showering in a plastic tent. I felt like I was part of some hazmat team showering off noxious chemicals. This weekend I will re-grout. If all goes well I can lose part of my tent on Wednesday.

When it rains...

...it pours. In this case into the apartments of my downstairs neighbors. It seems the grout in my shower needs to be replaced. I had thought on several occasions that it was looking a bit worn but I didn't realize how bad the problem had become. Until this morning when the super rang my bell and told me water was leaking into the two apartments below me. The plumber tested the tub and the shower and the toilet. Nothing. Lastly, he tossed water at the wall. That was it.

I don't know how bad the damage downstairs is. I'm hoping it just needs a little re-plastering. The super says the damage is not too bad, medium, she said. The people directly below me are not home. This will not be a nice thing to come home to. I feel very bad that my procrastination has caused these people a really annoying problem. I'm wondering if I should get them something as an apology. Nice bottle of wine maybe? I also don't know if I will be responsible for paying for the plumber and for any ceiling repair that has to be done. I will hope for the best. My horoscope predicted splendor. I'd like some right about now.

Well Done!

Many people complain about the US Postal Service. I have nothing but praise for them and the British Royal Mail. Amazon UK dispatched my copy of Harry Potter on Friday and it was in my mailbox when I got home yesterday.

The Road Home

Last night a friend and I went to see Harry Potter at the Imax, the midnight showing. It was pretty good. They did a fine job of cutting in order to turn a 750 page book into a two hour and fifteen minute movie. But this is not a post about that but about what happened after.

My friend and I parted ways on the sidewalk, she going to the 1 train on Broadway and I to the A on Central Park West. At 2:30 am the A runs local so rather than go downtown to Columbus Circle I went north to 72nd. No sense backtracking. I entered the station at 70th street. When I tried to go through the turnstile I discovered my Metrocard had expired. No worries, there was a machine right there. I tried to buy a new monthly card. But the machine could not read my debit card, nor my credit card. I could have left the station and walked to the entrance at 72nd but I risked missing a train which at this time of night would be a real pain. So I used two dollars to buy a single ride. There was another woman there. We waited. About 20 minutes into the waiting a D train passed on the express track, as it should. But then 10 minutes after that an A did the same. I ran down the stairs to the downtown track to discover an A local pulling out. I climbed back up the stairs feeling very very heavy. There were some MTA workers in the station collecting the trash. I asked one of them if the A was running express uptown all night. He said he didn't know but pointed to some service posters. Indeed, the A was running express uptown. I had missed the posters because I'd had my back to them while fighting with the Metrocard machine. I did some swearing and left the station. Rather than go all the way down to 59th I went to Broadway and 66th to take the 1.

It was now 3 am. There were three others in the station. A woman with suitcases, a young man, and a young woman with her head on the man's lap. She appeared to be asleep. We waited for about 10 minutes which seemed like 3 hours during which I pleaded with any deity who would listen for a train. I didn't know that I was about to get a lesson about self-pity and about what constitutes a real problem.

When the 1 arrived it became apparent that the girl was asleep because she was really drunk. The young man half carried her into the car and they collapsed into a corner seat. Three men standing near them eyed her warily. The young man assured them that she would just pass out. He was wrong. Moments later she threw up. On the seat, on herself, and on the young man. The three men moved away and at the next station left the train after wishing the young man good luck. The rest of the train made various comments. At 3 am people are louder, more ready to engage with others. There was one group of 4 men who were particularly loud and obnoxious. At this point I began to search through my bag. I thought I had some tissues. When I found them I walked over and gave them to the young man. It was only a few, enough to wipe her face and maybe her hands which is what I told the man across from me who said that wouldn't do any good. But that's not why I gave him the tissues. It was a gesture of sympathy. Here he was, covered in vomit, unable to do anything to help the girl or himself, having to listen to the car laugh about it. I wanted to give him one tiny decent moment in all of that. They got off the train at 116th street. I wondered if they would have to pass a doorman to get home. Not a nice thought. At least the people on the train were strangers. You have to look the doorman in the face every day.

When I got on that train I'd been feeling angry. Mostly at myself for missing the information I needed to keep me from waiting 30 minutes for a train that wasn't going to stop but also at the MTA for putting the posters in the last place anyone would look as they entered the station. Especially late at night when the information is particularly needed. I had spent an extra two dollars and had to walk all over the place to get a train. I wouldn't get home until almost 4 in the morning. But now the anger was gone. All of those things were still true but I had not thrown up all over myself on the train nor had I been thrown up on by someone I was trying to take care of while being laughed at and wondering if I was going to be able to get this person all the way home. Perspective, it makes all the difference.