It is hard to imagine life without girlfriends. I think I have been particularly lucky with the lot that I have had through the years. Just last night I spent an hour on the phone, talking long distance with Kari, a close girlfriend I have had since the fourth grade! I'm not sure if it is a fair measurement of a person, but I definitely pay attention to how many old friends a person has. It has a been a fairly reliable gage as to whether or not we will become friends. People that discard their friends easily, give me the feeling that they see most things as disposable...those are not the types of people I tend to get along with. Although, I do feel there is a limit as to how much bad behavior is acceptable. The old phrase "misery loves company" has come knocking at my door more than once-but just one time is enough to discover that it is not the company in which I wish to be in.
A while back, I spent a little over a year renting a house with my dearest girlfriend, Diana. We had both just ended serious relationships, and needed each other. Emotionally and financially we began our residence together on a rather low note. We gradually made a home of our little house, and things got better. Soon we were enjoying the freedom of being single, and began to again appreciate old interests. We had a few rituals, that to this day I miss. Diana was up first, she would start the morning coffee, shower and then bang on my bedroom door.I quickly learned that she was not a morning person! I would shower, while she did her hair and make-up. Then it was time to wake up Michael, who also was not bright eyed or bushy tailed in the morning. This was kind of tough on me because I wake up happy and ready to greet every day. They were having none of that! Off we would go in a various directions. At that time in my life I was trading commodities at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, and was usually the first one home. Michael came home after school on most days and would get started on homework. Diana would call when she was leaving work and I would start the evening coffee. I consumed a lot of coffee when I lived with Diana!
Once she arrived home, I would start dinner, which no matter what we had as a main course ALWAYS started with a garbage salad. After that Michael would disappear to watch television, and Diana and I would discuss all the details of our day, over more coffee. The amazing thing is that we would very often end up laying in my bed chatting until 2 or 3 in the morning! We talked about everything, like only best friends can do. Eventually, she got back together with her ex, and they married and had 3 beautiful children. That year with Diana was a great time in my life. Had we not been there for each other, it could have ended up being a very sad time for both of us, but instead it was wonderful and full of self discovery. I hope everyone is lucky enough to have that one friend in their life like I have Diana in mine.
Garbage salad:
(put dishes you will serve the salad on in the freezer until ready to eat)
head of chopped romaine
1/2 head chopped iceberg
chopped tomato
sliced cucumber
sliced onion (use sweet vidalia's whenever possible)
chopped carrot
avocado wedges
raisins or craisins
chopped cashews
boiled egg
1/2 can corn (or fresh when available)
1/2 can red kidney beans
shredded cheese (whatever you have on hand)
fried bacon
grilled chicken
croutons
dressing of your choice
and the most important ingredient-
a good friend to talk to while you slice and chop all of the above!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Oh Dear
School is back in session and ... oh dear! Perhaps 5 classes is a bit much during the summer session. I have no fear! Unfortunately, posts will move to the back burner. So be sure to catch new posts on Fridays!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
This really happened
Memorial day has come and gone. I wish all the calories I consumed over the holiday weekend were also gone, but to no avail. Not being around friends and (the bulk of my) family can be so overwhelming, but it really affects me hardest during any kind of celebration time. Of course I realize that how I imagine the gatherings back home, are far more fantastic than they really are…I still long to be apart of all of it. So to make myself feel better, I went down the path that leads to high numbers on the scale. I also went on several hikes – so all in all, I’m feeling all right about my choices.
I am always aware that I need to keep a focused eye my weight. If I lose sight of what I need to be doing, within a week I can gain up to 10 pounds, if not more. When you think about it, one month of blurry vision can be a brutal size difference! So to get myself back on track I thought I would share what brought me to this point. About a month ago I was at the store. Remember, I live in a tiny town that I know almost no one. I was wearing a pair of very old capri’s, a t-shirt and a pair of flip flops, I never wear makeup, and my hair was pulled back in a pony tale/bun. This is not exactly how I would look if I were to go out of my house back home. But, there is a certain feeling of freedom that comes with not caring. It was right before the dinner hour and there were a lot of people shopping for their evening meal, before they headed home for the night. I had my I-pod on full blast, as is my routine when I shop (blocks out the noise of screaming children), and was happily going up and down the aisles trying to figure out what wonderful creation I could come up with for supper. Out of the corner of my eye, a blue, rectangular plastic item caught my eye. It was the Windex wipes I had been looking for, for months! We have 4 dogs, and the car windows are the canvas for their doggie nose juice artwork. Driving can be almost treacherous with all of the “culture” caked on the windows. Eagerly, I bent over to snatch up the wonderful discovery. At that same exact moment, I knew something had just gone terribly wrong. On the I-pod Duran Duran was singing “Girls on Film”, but through the song I could swear I heard the sound of fabric tearing!
O H M Y G O D ! I just tore my pants! As fate would have it, prior to going to the store, I had been in the swimming pool, and when I was getting dressed decided I would skip the underwear, as I would be just putting my suit back on when I got home. So, there I was - with the entire crotch of my pants torn, in the middle of the store. I quickly looked around to see if anyone had witnessed my catastrophe. It appeared that I was in the clear. Now I had a decision to make; do I ditch my cart and high tale it out of there OR do I pull my t-shirt down as far as it will go and finish my business? I laughed out loud, and shopped on! After seriously considering going home, I remembered where I was. I knew no one. The thought of being known as the crazy lady at the grocery store, with her pants split just made me giggle. Needless to say, I didn’t do a very thorough job shopping that day, but I did realize that I could make some changes in the way I shopped, that might prevent me from letting it all hang out while I shopped!
This is a recipe request from Michael, the finest young man I know.
MDP French Toast
(This one takes a little time but is well worth it. Start the night before you want to eat it).
Tear apart 1 boule (from the French for "ball") Kings Hawaiian Bread
the bread pieces should be about the size if 1 inch cubes
spread the bread pieces over a clean counter, and let sit out for a few hours to let it get dry (stale)
Place the bread into a buttered 12x12 pan
In a large bowl, mix together:
7 eggs
1 ½ cups heavy cream
1 ½ cups milk
pinch of salt
1Tbsp. sugar
½ tsp. ground cinnamon
¼ tsp. ground nutmeg
Mix it together until all ingredients are blended (be careful-don’t let it get too bubbly, too much air is a bad thing)
Pour the mixture over the bread and cover (plastic wrap or foil is fine)
Place in fridge until the next morning
In the morning pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees F
Cook your French toast for 30-40 minutes or until a toothpick comes out of the center of the pan CLEAN. The top should be a golden brown.
As soon as it comes out, place pats of butter over the top, so that it is almost covered, then dust powdered sugar over that. The butter and the powdered sugar make a glaze. Slice and serve, repeat until gone!
Sometimes we add fruit (peach would be my favorite) – but this recipe never needs syrup! The melted butter and powdered sugar on top of the sweet bread is all you will need.
Enjoy!
I am always aware that I need to keep a focused eye my weight. If I lose sight of what I need to be doing, within a week I can gain up to 10 pounds, if not more. When you think about it, one month of blurry vision can be a brutal size difference! So to get myself back on track I thought I would share what brought me to this point. About a month ago I was at the store. Remember, I live in a tiny town that I know almost no one. I was wearing a pair of very old capri’s, a t-shirt and a pair of flip flops, I never wear makeup, and my hair was pulled back in a pony tale/bun. This is not exactly how I would look if I were to go out of my house back home. But, there is a certain feeling of freedom that comes with not caring. It was right before the dinner hour and there were a lot of people shopping for their evening meal, before they headed home for the night. I had my I-pod on full blast, as is my routine when I shop (blocks out the noise of screaming children), and was happily going up and down the aisles trying to figure out what wonderful creation I could come up with for supper. Out of the corner of my eye, a blue, rectangular plastic item caught my eye. It was the Windex wipes I had been looking for, for months! We have 4 dogs, and the car windows are the canvas for their doggie nose juice artwork. Driving can be almost treacherous with all of the “culture” caked on the windows. Eagerly, I bent over to snatch up the wonderful discovery. At that same exact moment, I knew something had just gone terribly wrong. On the I-pod Duran Duran was singing “Girls on Film”, but through the song I could swear I heard the sound of fabric tearing!
O H M Y G O D ! I just tore my pants! As fate would have it, prior to going to the store, I had been in the swimming pool, and when I was getting dressed decided I would skip the underwear, as I would be just putting my suit back on when I got home. So, there I was - with the entire crotch of my pants torn, in the middle of the store. I quickly looked around to see if anyone had witnessed my catastrophe. It appeared that I was in the clear. Now I had a decision to make; do I ditch my cart and high tale it out of there OR do I pull my t-shirt down as far as it will go and finish my business? I laughed out loud, and shopped on! After seriously considering going home, I remembered where I was. I knew no one. The thought of being known as the crazy lady at the grocery store, with her pants split just made me giggle. Needless to say, I didn’t do a very thorough job shopping that day, but I did realize that I could make some changes in the way I shopped, that might prevent me from letting it all hang out while I shopped!
This is a recipe request from Michael, the finest young man I know.
MDP French Toast
(This one takes a little time but is well worth it. Start the night before you want to eat it).
Tear apart 1 boule (from the French for "ball") Kings Hawaiian Bread
the bread pieces should be about the size if 1 inch cubes
spread the bread pieces over a clean counter, and let sit out for a few hours to let it get dry (stale)
Place the bread into a buttered 12x12 pan
In a large bowl, mix together:
7 eggs
1 ½ cups heavy cream
1 ½ cups milk
pinch of salt
1Tbsp. sugar
½ tsp. ground cinnamon
¼ tsp. ground nutmeg
Mix it together until all ingredients are blended (be careful-don’t let it get too bubbly, too much air is a bad thing)
Pour the mixture over the bread and cover (plastic wrap or foil is fine)
Place in fridge until the next morning
In the morning pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees F
Cook your French toast for 30-40 minutes or until a toothpick comes out of the center of the pan CLEAN. The top should be a golden brown.
As soon as it comes out, place pats of butter over the top, so that it is almost covered, then dust powdered sugar over that. The butter and the powdered sugar make a glaze. Slice and serve, repeat until gone!
Sometimes we add fruit (peach would be my favorite) – but this recipe never needs syrup! The melted butter and powdered sugar on top of the sweet bread is all you will need.
Enjoy!
Friday, May 22, 2009
The JRP Tuna Sandwich
Do you remember your first true love? We all had one. Do you remember his face and his name? I do. For me it was Jeffrey Robert Powell. He was the first true love in my life. I was a senior in high school, he was a few years older. I thought that he was handsome, smart and funny. I felt as though he had everything in the world to teach me, and I couldn't get enough of him. Once on a late,cold winter night, we were outside, clearing snow away and spent hours talking. With every word he spoke, I fell deeper in love with him. I didn't want it to stop snowing because I didn't want our shoveling task to come to an end. I wanted that moment to last forever. Eventually we stopped shoveling, and sat in the alley staring up at the sky as the snowflakes gently landed on us. It was if we were the only two people in the world..it was magical. The temperature eventually drove us in. After all the shoveling, we had worked up an appetite, but nothing was open because it was after 3am. Jeff started to dig around in the fridge and cabinets, and said he had a plan. What he ended up putting on the plate for me was wonderful! Eventually, we grew apart, broke up, and lost touch with each other. Years later, it's easy to forget the sad occasions, and what is left are the memories of the good times, recollections of joyful experiences and the JRP Tuna Sandwich!
Combine in bowel:
drained can of tuna (pat it dry with a paper towel)
2 Tbsp. finely chopped onion
2 Tbsp. sweet pickle relish
2 Tbsp. finely chopped celery
2 Tbsp. finely chopped carrot
1 chopped boiled egg
3 Tbsp. mayo
1 Tbsp. yellow mustard
season to your taste with celery salt and fresh ground pepper
Spread the tuna salad on toast and add lettuce and tomato.
I learned a lot from Jeff, and when I think of him...I smile and then I got a mean craving for the above!!!
Combine in bowel:
drained can of tuna (pat it dry with a paper towel)
2 Tbsp. finely chopped onion
2 Tbsp. sweet pickle relish
2 Tbsp. finely chopped celery
2 Tbsp. finely chopped carrot
1 chopped boiled egg
3 Tbsp. mayo
1 Tbsp. yellow mustard
season to your taste with celery salt and fresh ground pepper
Spread the tuna salad on toast and add lettuce and tomato.
I learned a lot from Jeff, and when I think of him...I smile and then I got a mean craving for the above!!!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Once upon a time...
I don’t have many good feelings when I think about my grammar school years. There is the occasional fond memory, but overall it was a painful experience full of self doubt and frustration. By the time I graduated from 8th grade, I knew I was one of those people who couldn’t learn and my grades proved it. My experience in an Outward Bound Wilderness Course showed me that the school system at that time taught students what to learn but did not develop skills for how to learn. That summer, I saw firsthand that you didn’t have to be in a traditional classroom setting to be educated. In Outward Bound, we saw, we did, we taught and we collaborated.
The summer before starting my freshman year at Oak Park High School in Illinois, my parents sent me to the Minnesota Outward Bound Camp, which I thought was just another summer camp. This was not what I wanted to be doing with my summer, I kept saying to myself. I was about to enter high school and, having given up on the academic side, had social things to attend to. My mother kept telling this was going to be very different than anything I had ever done before. She said I had an opportunity to learn things in a new way. I knew she just wanted peace and quiet for the summer.
Departure day came and I flew out of Chicago from O’Hare airport and into Duluth, Minnesota, as did several other dozen kids. We looked as if we were about to go on an African safari. Several vans showed up, and adults wearing the Outward Bound logo on their shirts, gathered us together and drove us to a large field surrounded by woods. The instructors informed us that through the woods there was a pond, in the middle of the pond was an island, and on that island was our luggage. The counselors gave us a few basic instructions, and informed us that if we wanted our belongings we had to go get them. Through the woods we trudged, angrily proclaiming the unjustness of it. 10,000 mosquitoes later we arrived at the pond. An older kid suggested that we form a human chain, so no one would sink into the muddy water. All I could think of was how my parents just bought me these expensive hiking boots, and that I was wearing brand new, beautiful hiking shorts, all about to be ruined. Eventually, I found myself in the middle of the pond with kids on either side of me, duffel bags being passed overhead from one kid to the next until we had all our belongings. Some of the bags were wet and muddy, and now so were our heads. We followed our counselors back to camp at last.
My feet, socks and shorts were filthy, wet, and uncomfortably cold. I was hungry and tired. In the big lodge, the smell of food made us realize it was dinner time. I don’t remember what we had to eat or if tasted good. All I could do was eat. Stopping for a moment to look around, I noticed that no one was talking; they all seemed to be feeling as I was: pitiable. After dinner, we were split into groups and given our bunking assignments. There was no conversation that night. I was so exhausted that I fell into a deep sleep.
At sunrise we were woken by several counselors, told to get dressed and ready for breakfast. We rushed through a hot shower (a luxury we would not have many opportunities to indulge in while there) and dressing. No one tried to look cute; absolutely no make-up was worn by the girls. It was all a blur. Stumbling into the main lodge we didn’t have time to be angry about the ungodly hour or manner in which we had been awoken. Over breakfast we learned that our camp counselors were called “guides”. For the next two days they would advise us as to how to prepare for the next three weeks. They would demonstrate, we would demonstrate back and then teach another camper. We mastered the art of paddling a canoe, how to read maps with the aid of a compass, and all kinds of things that I couldn’t imagine I would truly need. Ten teams were going out into the Boundary Waters, which are thousands of lakes connected by short trails. It was a race back to be first. We had two and a half weeks to get up to Canada and back. When we returned, a wonderful celebration awaited us: a huge BBQ, a dance and an awards ceremony, everything that camp was supposed to be!
We learned that we would decide what gear, and what kinds of food, and how much of it we would bring. It would all be carried in a backpack by us. We would choose the course that we took. Our guides would travel with us for the first two days, but we would make all decisions. We would be broken into teams of fourteen, portaging and canoeing into the great Boundary Waters, two to a canoe, seven canoes plus two guides. People were smiling and looking excited. I felt the exact opposite. I would be the one who weighed the team down. I didn’t understand all this camping stuff. I wanted to go home, I was filled with dread. Before I could figure out the details of my escape my name was being called. I was pointed in the direction of a blonde hippy looking woman. Next to her who was a man who could pass for her brother. “Great! Tree huggers!” I thought. I did not belong here.
Jane and Matt, our guides, showed us how to canoe and portage (carrying your canoe over land, over your head in teams of two, until you reach water) and explained what to do if there is lightning. Once they started talking, just like in school, I stopped paying attention, and instead focused on how unfair this was, and how much I wished I was home. Did anyone want to be here? Some of the kids were really into it. They seemed to actually want to be doing this. Others looked as scared as me. I went back to dictating in my mind the letter of pure hatred I would send to my parents; especially to my mother who had insisted I would love my summer trip.
The day passed. We timed ourselves getting out of the canoes and running to shore to squat on our life preservers (the correct way to break the shock of lightning hitting the ground), more time practicing how to paddle correctly, starting fires with rocks, and all the things we would need to know out on the lakes. I found myself wondering what kind of camp this was. I never had to learn any of this at horseback riding camp.
Anger was turning to sadness; I felt alone and trapped. I began plotting. I would feign an illness or injury, and then they would have to send me home. Then I was snapped back to reality. Matt, the guide, was saying something about “maps” and “very important”. He told us that each team would map out our course to Canada. What!? We were just kids. There was no way we could do this. I felt this was way too dangerous. Before I could let the panic settle into my belly, maps in Ziploc bags (to protect them from getting wet) were passed around. One boy was pointing to the map and saying something about the shortest way to Canada when Jane warned that we should all be looking at the maps, because the way he was suggesting had a lot of portaging. I knew that portaging seemed like a lot more work than paddling. Wow! Where did that come from? I’m thinking in their words!
The next day was dedicated to a high ropes course. I felt a combination of fear and excitement, like when you’re waiting in line for a rollercoaster. This was supposed to be a team-trust building exercise. Looking fifty feet up, I could see poles connecting the trees and all kinds of ropes and harnesses. I couldn’t wait to get started! It looked like something out of Robinson Crusoe. At last something I might be good at! I looked around impatiently and saw that Kimmi, the youngest girl on our team was crying. I asked her what was wrong. In a voice not much louder than a whisper, she said she was afraid and wanted to go home. I held her hand, and promised that I would be right next to her, that we would do it together. First Kimmi went; I was on the ropes next. I found it was thrilling, better than any amusement park ride I’d ever ridden. When I got to the bottom, Kimmi ran up and hugged me. It was a strong meaningful hold she had on me, and all the while she was laughing and thanking me. I felt wonderful.
The third morning we were already awake and dressed when Jane came. The anticipatory silence was ear shattering. We stood there wide eyed, rigid and ready. As all of the teams packed their canoes, you could feel the electricity in the air. The entire camp staff was there, including the Outward Bound dogs, who were barking with excitement. As we shoved off, a couple of the kitchen guys started blowing horns. I felt like a great explorer going off to find undiscovered lands and treasures.
Within a few hours the thrill had faded and we were left with the monotony of paddling. Jane and Matt led the way for those first couple of days. They showed us the correct way to set up and break down our camp. After that, they canoed a half day behind us. I was a bit nervous not having them with us. We were just kids.
The days melted into each other. It seemed like it was always raining. If it wasn’t raining our clothes and shoes would still be wet from the last time. We hung our clothes out, praying they might only be damp in the morning. But it was to no avail, as we were never on land for very long when the sun was up. One morning I was sitting on the cold wet ground, with my dirty, smelly socks and I lost it! I could not put on wet clothing today and began to sob. Everyone rushed to me, seated on the ground behind the tent, afraid that I had fallen and was hurt. I whimpered that I didn’t want to continue, that I had had enough. Enough of being dirty, wet and being eaten alive the by the always thirsty mosquitoes. I didn’t want to drink the unfiltered lake water anymore. I wanted to quit. Two of the boys did my morning job of dish washing. One of the girls gave me a pair of dry socks. They were dirty, but I put them on gratefully. They let me know that they needed me, that I was an important part of the team. Then as if God knew we needed some serenity, the sun came out, and shined for almost the next five days. We grew closer in this time. It was magical. The Boundary Waters glistened, and we were hearing the music of nature around us.
We made it to Canada, and deep inside I was thankful to be in one piece. We learned from border patrol that at least five teams had made it and were on their way back to camp. We committed ourselves to not being last. We checked our maps, and plotted out a new course – one that would shave at least a day and a half off our return trip. It would be challenging, but we all agreed that it could be done.
We were exhausted. Our muscles ached; our skin was sunburned and scabby from the insect bites and I noticed that everyone’s clothes seemed much looser. But there was a new strength in us. Somewhere along the way our confidence bloomed. We were strong, compassionate and could endure anything. That is until we reached the entry into the next lake.
In front of us was the largest beaver dam any of us had ever seen. We started yelling and pointing at each other, blaming all but ourselves for the change in the directions home. After more than an hour of fighting, we decided we could not afford the time to backtrack and that we would get out and force the canoes through the beaver dam. Low and behold it worked, and it only took a couple of hours for all of us to get through. We were laughing and feeling so accomplished as we set our paddles back to work, when we noticed that those of us who had pulled the canoes through the dam were covered in leeches. Panic set in as we pulled black, shiny monsters from our legs and ankles. The result was even more horrific, because when we pulled them from our flesh they released dozens (which seemed like millions) of their bloodthirsty offspring. Our legs were black with the parasites. The boy that we all looked to as a leader was hysterical. This was quite scary because he was considered the strongest, both mentally and physically. There he was screaming and flailing his arms. I swam to his canoe. I remembered hearing (learning?) that baby oil cut off the leeches air supply. I had put a small bottle in one of the pockets of my army fatigues and forgotten about it. I got to his canoe and calmly poured oil onto his legs until the last monster fell to the floor of the canoe. Our leader sat there with a blank look on his face. I asked him was he all right? He leaned over and looked deep into my eyes and squeezed my hand. I had done it! I saved our leader.
It seemed like only moments later we were back at camp. It actually took about four days. Something was alive in me, an all consuming feeling of calmness and belief in my own strength. We were not the first back, nor were we the last, but we had finished. I had finished.
Our showers were enjoyed with hot water and soap, and everyone rejoiced in deodorant and clean clothes! The great feast and celebration was like something from a fairytale.
As I boarded my plane to go home, I knew I was not the same person. Once up in the air, looking down on the earth I smiled. I realized that really, when you’ve stripped it all away (the make-up, the clothes, and the cliques) you’re left with just yourself, and only then can you see what you’re made of and what you can accomplish. Outward Bound had taught me not just what to learn, but more importantly, how to learn.
The summer before starting my freshman year at Oak Park High School in Illinois, my parents sent me to the Minnesota Outward Bound Camp, which I thought was just another summer camp. This was not what I wanted to be doing with my summer, I kept saying to myself. I was about to enter high school and, having given up on the academic side, had social things to attend to. My mother kept telling this was going to be very different than anything I had ever done before. She said I had an opportunity to learn things in a new way. I knew she just wanted peace and quiet for the summer.
Departure day came and I flew out of Chicago from O’Hare airport and into Duluth, Minnesota, as did several other dozen kids. We looked as if we were about to go on an African safari. Several vans showed up, and adults wearing the Outward Bound logo on their shirts, gathered us together and drove us to a large field surrounded by woods. The instructors informed us that through the woods there was a pond, in the middle of the pond was an island, and on that island was our luggage. The counselors gave us a few basic instructions, and informed us that if we wanted our belongings we had to go get them. Through the woods we trudged, angrily proclaiming the unjustness of it. 10,000 mosquitoes later we arrived at the pond. An older kid suggested that we form a human chain, so no one would sink into the muddy water. All I could think of was how my parents just bought me these expensive hiking boots, and that I was wearing brand new, beautiful hiking shorts, all about to be ruined. Eventually, I found myself in the middle of the pond with kids on either side of me, duffel bags being passed overhead from one kid to the next until we had all our belongings. Some of the bags were wet and muddy, and now so were our heads. We followed our counselors back to camp at last.
My feet, socks and shorts were filthy, wet, and uncomfortably cold. I was hungry and tired. In the big lodge, the smell of food made us realize it was dinner time. I don’t remember what we had to eat or if tasted good. All I could do was eat. Stopping for a moment to look around, I noticed that no one was talking; they all seemed to be feeling as I was: pitiable. After dinner, we were split into groups and given our bunking assignments. There was no conversation that night. I was so exhausted that I fell into a deep sleep.
At sunrise we were woken by several counselors, told to get dressed and ready for breakfast. We rushed through a hot shower (a luxury we would not have many opportunities to indulge in while there) and dressing. No one tried to look cute; absolutely no make-up was worn by the girls. It was all a blur. Stumbling into the main lodge we didn’t have time to be angry about the ungodly hour or manner in which we had been awoken. Over breakfast we learned that our camp counselors were called “guides”. For the next two days they would advise us as to how to prepare for the next three weeks. They would demonstrate, we would demonstrate back and then teach another camper. We mastered the art of paddling a canoe, how to read maps with the aid of a compass, and all kinds of things that I couldn’t imagine I would truly need. Ten teams were going out into the Boundary Waters, which are thousands of lakes connected by short trails. It was a race back to be first. We had two and a half weeks to get up to Canada and back. When we returned, a wonderful celebration awaited us: a huge BBQ, a dance and an awards ceremony, everything that camp was supposed to be!
We learned that we would decide what gear, and what kinds of food, and how much of it we would bring. It would all be carried in a backpack by us. We would choose the course that we took. Our guides would travel with us for the first two days, but we would make all decisions. We would be broken into teams of fourteen, portaging and canoeing into the great Boundary Waters, two to a canoe, seven canoes plus two guides. People were smiling and looking excited. I felt the exact opposite. I would be the one who weighed the team down. I didn’t understand all this camping stuff. I wanted to go home, I was filled with dread. Before I could figure out the details of my escape my name was being called. I was pointed in the direction of a blonde hippy looking woman. Next to her who was a man who could pass for her brother. “Great! Tree huggers!” I thought. I did not belong here.
Jane and Matt, our guides, showed us how to canoe and portage (carrying your canoe over land, over your head in teams of two, until you reach water) and explained what to do if there is lightning. Once they started talking, just like in school, I stopped paying attention, and instead focused on how unfair this was, and how much I wished I was home. Did anyone want to be here? Some of the kids were really into it. They seemed to actually want to be doing this. Others looked as scared as me. I went back to dictating in my mind the letter of pure hatred I would send to my parents; especially to my mother who had insisted I would love my summer trip.
The day passed. We timed ourselves getting out of the canoes and running to shore to squat on our life preservers (the correct way to break the shock of lightning hitting the ground), more time practicing how to paddle correctly, starting fires with rocks, and all the things we would need to know out on the lakes. I found myself wondering what kind of camp this was. I never had to learn any of this at horseback riding camp.
Anger was turning to sadness; I felt alone and trapped. I began plotting. I would feign an illness or injury, and then they would have to send me home. Then I was snapped back to reality. Matt, the guide, was saying something about “maps” and “very important”. He told us that each team would map out our course to Canada. What!? We were just kids. There was no way we could do this. I felt this was way too dangerous. Before I could let the panic settle into my belly, maps in Ziploc bags (to protect them from getting wet) were passed around. One boy was pointing to the map and saying something about the shortest way to Canada when Jane warned that we should all be looking at the maps, because the way he was suggesting had a lot of portaging. I knew that portaging seemed like a lot more work than paddling. Wow! Where did that come from? I’m thinking in their words!
The next day was dedicated to a high ropes course. I felt a combination of fear and excitement, like when you’re waiting in line for a rollercoaster. This was supposed to be a team-trust building exercise. Looking fifty feet up, I could see poles connecting the trees and all kinds of ropes and harnesses. I couldn’t wait to get started! It looked like something out of Robinson Crusoe. At last something I might be good at! I looked around impatiently and saw that Kimmi, the youngest girl on our team was crying. I asked her what was wrong. In a voice not much louder than a whisper, she said she was afraid and wanted to go home. I held her hand, and promised that I would be right next to her, that we would do it together. First Kimmi went; I was on the ropes next. I found it was thrilling, better than any amusement park ride I’d ever ridden. When I got to the bottom, Kimmi ran up and hugged me. It was a strong meaningful hold she had on me, and all the while she was laughing and thanking me. I felt wonderful.
The third morning we were already awake and dressed when Jane came. The anticipatory silence was ear shattering. We stood there wide eyed, rigid and ready. As all of the teams packed their canoes, you could feel the electricity in the air. The entire camp staff was there, including the Outward Bound dogs, who were barking with excitement. As we shoved off, a couple of the kitchen guys started blowing horns. I felt like a great explorer going off to find undiscovered lands and treasures.
Within a few hours the thrill had faded and we were left with the monotony of paddling. Jane and Matt led the way for those first couple of days. They showed us the correct way to set up and break down our camp. After that, they canoed a half day behind us. I was a bit nervous not having them with us. We were just kids.
The days melted into each other. It seemed like it was always raining. If it wasn’t raining our clothes and shoes would still be wet from the last time. We hung our clothes out, praying they might only be damp in the morning. But it was to no avail, as we were never on land for very long when the sun was up. One morning I was sitting on the cold wet ground, with my dirty, smelly socks and I lost it! I could not put on wet clothing today and began to sob. Everyone rushed to me, seated on the ground behind the tent, afraid that I had fallen and was hurt. I whimpered that I didn’t want to continue, that I had had enough. Enough of being dirty, wet and being eaten alive the by the always thirsty mosquitoes. I didn’t want to drink the unfiltered lake water anymore. I wanted to quit. Two of the boys did my morning job of dish washing. One of the girls gave me a pair of dry socks. They were dirty, but I put them on gratefully. They let me know that they needed me, that I was an important part of the team. Then as if God knew we needed some serenity, the sun came out, and shined for almost the next five days. We grew closer in this time. It was magical. The Boundary Waters glistened, and we were hearing the music of nature around us.
We made it to Canada, and deep inside I was thankful to be in one piece. We learned from border patrol that at least five teams had made it and were on their way back to camp. We committed ourselves to not being last. We checked our maps, and plotted out a new course – one that would shave at least a day and a half off our return trip. It would be challenging, but we all agreed that it could be done.
We were exhausted. Our muscles ached; our skin was sunburned and scabby from the insect bites and I noticed that everyone’s clothes seemed much looser. But there was a new strength in us. Somewhere along the way our confidence bloomed. We were strong, compassionate and could endure anything. That is until we reached the entry into the next lake.
In front of us was the largest beaver dam any of us had ever seen. We started yelling and pointing at each other, blaming all but ourselves for the change in the directions home. After more than an hour of fighting, we decided we could not afford the time to backtrack and that we would get out and force the canoes through the beaver dam. Low and behold it worked, and it only took a couple of hours for all of us to get through. We were laughing and feeling so accomplished as we set our paddles back to work, when we noticed that those of us who had pulled the canoes through the dam were covered in leeches. Panic set in as we pulled black, shiny monsters from our legs and ankles. The result was even more horrific, because when we pulled them from our flesh they released dozens (which seemed like millions) of their bloodthirsty offspring. Our legs were black with the parasites. The boy that we all looked to as a leader was hysterical. This was quite scary because he was considered the strongest, both mentally and physically. There he was screaming and flailing his arms. I swam to his canoe. I remembered hearing (learning?) that baby oil cut off the leeches air supply. I had put a small bottle in one of the pockets of my army fatigues and forgotten about it. I got to his canoe and calmly poured oil onto his legs until the last monster fell to the floor of the canoe. Our leader sat there with a blank look on his face. I asked him was he all right? He leaned over and looked deep into my eyes and squeezed my hand. I had done it! I saved our leader.
It seemed like only moments later we were back at camp. It actually took about four days. Something was alive in me, an all consuming feeling of calmness and belief in my own strength. We were not the first back, nor were we the last, but we had finished. I had finished.
Our showers were enjoyed with hot water and soap, and everyone rejoiced in deodorant and clean clothes! The great feast and celebration was like something from a fairytale.
As I boarded my plane to go home, I knew I was not the same person. Once up in the air, looking down on the earth I smiled. I realized that really, when you’ve stripped it all away (the make-up, the clothes, and the cliques) you’re left with just yourself, and only then can you see what you’re made of and what you can accomplish. Outward Bound had taught me not just what to learn, but more importantly, how to learn.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Soooo hungry...
I am finishing up day 4 on my new "healthy eating" lifestyle-but somwhere, somehow I need to find a way to bring bedtime brie-en-croute and warm baguettes into the fold. That makes sense, right?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Does less sex mean more eating?
A few years ago I ran into a guy I had dated. I hadn’t seen him in a couple of years, and I was wearing a size that was probably two larger than when I had last hung out with him. I could feel him looking me over, and he asked if I had gotten married. He smirked, and I understood that what he was implying was that I had obviously let myself go. I replied that no I had not married…but WOW, he sure was looking old! What a JERK! Didn’t I handle that like a grown up? Haha. I know that my weight fluctuates depending on where I am at in a relationship, or if I’m even in one.
Does less sex mean more eating? The answer is absolutely… yes, and not necessarily…no!
When I’m single and happy, and busy with my life I find that I take care of business. I eat appropriately, and get out and move! This doesn’t mean that I eat a perfectly balanced food pyramid and go to the gym five days a week. I just manage to keep everything in check. When I’m with a guy who has this outlook on health and weight, I usually tend to find him boring and dump him almost immediately. You will discover as you read, that I am 100% my own worst enemy! I am currently a full time student. I have a really positive out look on my life right now, but my weight does not reflect that. In my efforts to get good grades, my sex life is at zero and the scale is showing some “other numbers”. Zero and “other numbers” are not balanced! Some how through it all…I know I’m going to be ok. Just that statement tells me my numbers are already starting to change-if for today, only in my mind. It was in the upper 90’s today, I spent a few hours at work, and just as many in the pool. Things are already finding balance.
Me and My Wonton Ways
Peanut Butter (I like smooth)
Jelly (apricot is my fave)
Wonton wrappers (found in the produce aisle at the grocery store)
Place about a tsp. PB
And a tsp. of Jelly in the center of the wonton wrapper
Fold one side of the wrapper across to the other (kiddie-corner style)
Use your finger to smear peanut butter on the inside edge of the wrapper to seal shut
In a pot bring 3-4 cups peanut oil (or vegetable oil) to 360 degrees
Gently drop your wontons into the oil (one at a time- BE CAREFUL!)
Fry for about 3 minutes, or until they’re golden brown
Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on a paper towel
Repeat until finished
Sprinkle with powdered sugar
Get down on your goodies-Enjoy!
Pictures and Bio coming soon!
Feedback is MORE THAN WELCOME!!!!
Does less sex mean more eating? The answer is absolutely… yes, and not necessarily…no!
When I’m single and happy, and busy with my life I find that I take care of business. I eat appropriately, and get out and move! This doesn’t mean that I eat a perfectly balanced food pyramid and go to the gym five days a week. I just manage to keep everything in check. When I’m with a guy who has this outlook on health and weight, I usually tend to find him boring and dump him almost immediately. You will discover as you read, that I am 100% my own worst enemy! I am currently a full time student. I have a really positive out look on my life right now, but my weight does not reflect that. In my efforts to get good grades, my sex life is at zero and the scale is showing some “other numbers”. Zero and “other numbers” are not balanced! Some how through it all…I know I’m going to be ok. Just that statement tells me my numbers are already starting to change-if for today, only in my mind. It was in the upper 90’s today, I spent a few hours at work, and just as many in the pool. Things are already finding balance.
Me and My Wonton Ways
Peanut Butter (I like smooth)
Jelly (apricot is my fave)
Wonton wrappers (found in the produce aisle at the grocery store)
Place about a tsp. PB
And a tsp. of Jelly in the center of the wonton wrapper
Fold one side of the wrapper across to the other (kiddie-corner style)
Use your finger to smear peanut butter on the inside edge of the wrapper to seal shut
In a pot bring 3-4 cups peanut oil (or vegetable oil) to 360 degrees
Gently drop your wontons into the oil (one at a time- BE CAREFUL!)
Fry for about 3 minutes, or until they’re golden brown
Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on a paper towel
Repeat until finished
Sprinkle with powdered sugar
Get down on your goodies-Enjoy!
Pictures and Bio coming soon!
Feedback is MORE THAN WELCOME!!!!
Monday, May 18, 2009
Boredom=Hunger... no no no!!!
How wrong is this? I am bored so I am thinking about things to make in the kitchen. I am NOT HUNGRY in the least bit. But.... some home made cookies seem to be just the cure for my boredom. In Hawaii there is a guava cookie and it is simply delightful. I (not being able to get back to the islands recently, and also not being able to find them on any web site) decided I would concoct my own version. Unfortunately, for my diet, I totally nailed it!!!!
Sitting here now, I find myself unenthusiastic in regards to any self-restraint. I know that getting up and going for a walk, is the superior idea-BUT THAT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN! It’s almost 5:00pm and it is still in the 90’s. So we will get through this weak spell together and I will tell you (and give you the recipe) about the tender little pink tropical cookie.
Guavas are found in tropical places, like the Philippines. They range in color from white to yellow to dark purple. The fruit is ripe and ready to eat when the flower end smells sweet, also it should be relatively firm, but yield to gentle pressure when held in the palm of your hand and squeezed. This has nothing to do with our cookie…it’s just a little piece of diet-knowledge ; ) We will be using guava paste, which is available in the “Latin” section of your grocery store or you can order it on line from Goya (www.goya.com). The first time I saw it, I thought of membrillo. Membrillo is popular in Spain and comes from the Quince fruit. They serve it with Manchego cheese and Marcona almonds (again – NOTHING to do with the cookie). Paste is made from both the Quince and the Guava by a tedious process of chopping, boiling, straining, adding sugar and all sorts of other steps – but I just buy mine. Anyway the end result is like a jello consistency that had too much gelatin added. It comes in a round tin, and looks really cool. It is not the pretty reddish color I had imagined it would be, more like a muddy orange color. After you open the tin, you want to take a butter knife and cut the paste into cubes. Leave about a third of the cubes in the tin, put the rest in a bowl.
Heat your oven to 375 degrees F.
In a small bowl: Stir together
2 ¾ cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
½ tsp baking powder
¼ cup chopped pistachio nuts
In a large bowl: Cream together
1 cup of (room temp) butter
1 cup white sugar
½ cup dark brown sugar
1 tsp. Vanilla extract
2/3 tin of guava paste
Mix dry ingredients into the wet and add 3-4 Tblsp. of heavy cream to moisten the dough (should not be wet – just soft). At this point WE CHEAT and add 5-6 drops red food coloring and mix until the color is pink and even. I just love the cookie to be this color because this is the color they are in Hawaii!
With your hand roll out little cookie balls (about a Tblsp.) and place on a cookie sheet (parchment paper on the cookie sheet is the best way to remove the cookies later). Get the guava in the tin and cut the cubes in half, take the half-cube and smash about a third into the raw cookie.
Bake for 8-10 minutes (longer if you like them crispy) until they are slightly golden. Let them cool for 2 minutes on a metal rack …
YEA RIGHT !!!! That’s what I do (NEVER) hahaha
Enjoy the little yummies and let me know what you think!Until the next slow, boring afternoon!
Sitting here now, I find myself unenthusiastic in regards to any self-restraint. I know that getting up and going for a walk, is the superior idea-BUT THAT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN! It’s almost 5:00pm and it is still in the 90’s. So we will get through this weak spell together and I will tell you (and give you the recipe) about the tender little pink tropical cookie.
Guavas are found in tropical places, like the Philippines. They range in color from white to yellow to dark purple. The fruit is ripe and ready to eat when the flower end smells sweet, also it should be relatively firm, but yield to gentle pressure when held in the palm of your hand and squeezed. This has nothing to do with our cookie…it’s just a little piece of diet-knowledge ; ) We will be using guava paste, which is available in the “Latin” section of your grocery store or you can order it on line from Goya (www.goya.com). The first time I saw it, I thought of membrillo. Membrillo is popular in Spain and comes from the Quince fruit. They serve it with Manchego cheese and Marcona almonds (again – NOTHING to do with the cookie). Paste is made from both the Quince and the Guava by a tedious process of chopping, boiling, straining, adding sugar and all sorts of other steps – but I just buy mine. Anyway the end result is like a jello consistency that had too much gelatin added. It comes in a round tin, and looks really cool. It is not the pretty reddish color I had imagined it would be, more like a muddy orange color. After you open the tin, you want to take a butter knife and cut the paste into cubes. Leave about a third of the cubes in the tin, put the rest in a bowl.
Heat your oven to 375 degrees F.
In a small bowl: Stir together
2 ¾ cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
½ tsp baking powder
¼ cup chopped pistachio nuts
In a large bowl: Cream together
1 cup of (room temp) butter
1 cup white sugar
½ cup dark brown sugar
1 tsp. Vanilla extract
2/3 tin of guava paste
Mix dry ingredients into the wet and add 3-4 Tblsp. of heavy cream to moisten the dough (should not be wet – just soft). At this point WE CHEAT and add 5-6 drops red food coloring and mix until the color is pink and even. I just love the cookie to be this color because this is the color they are in Hawaii!
With your hand roll out little cookie balls (about a Tblsp.) and place on a cookie sheet (parchment paper on the cookie sheet is the best way to remove the cookies later). Get the guava in the tin and cut the cubes in half, take the half-cube and smash about a third into the raw cookie.
Bake for 8-10 minutes (longer if you like them crispy) until they are slightly golden. Let them cool for 2 minutes on a metal rack …
YEA RIGHT !!!! That’s what I do (NEVER) hahaha
Enjoy the little yummies and let me know what you think!Until the next slow, boring afternoon!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
So it begins....again!
I love food and everything to do with it. Spending the morning at a farmers market, carefully selecting each ingredient that will become part of the celebration meal thrills me. What you might ask is the celebration meal for? Well.....life, I guess. I can turn any simple, daily life event into a reason that a huge gathering MUST happen over a dining room table. My problem with all of this love,celebrating and eating is that I AM CONSTANTLY FIGHTING MY WEIGHT! I long for the age of pre-Raphealite, voluptuous beautys! Not really, I just want to eat and not get fat.
Today, I am re-starting a program that I have had success with in the past, to take the unwanted pounds off. After steppng on the scale, I have topped out at my heaviest EVER. The Happy Heffarina is Up in the weight and down in the happy departments. Here I go again........diet days are here.
Today, I am re-starting a program that I have had success with in the past, to take the unwanted pounds off. After steppng on the scale, I have topped out at my heaviest EVER. The Happy Heffarina is Up in the weight and down in the happy departments. Here I go again........diet days are here.
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