Nov14

I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW

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I spent most of today washing off the mucky brown soot that coated the windows in our house. It was so thick that a gloomy darkness shaded the rooms – remnants of the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. I didn’t realize just how badly caked they were until I started scrubbing them first with a heavy-duty cleaner and then with Windex. I changed the filthy water in the bucket numerous times and streams of the gross sludge traveled down the deck, disappearing into the gravel. Paper towel after paper towel was blackened with the deposits. It felt good to be physically scrubbing and ridding the house of the leftovers and debris of the storm. I am grateful to have windows to wash.

Life is getting back to normal…sort of…for some, anyway.  Down the main street that leads to the bay, not so much. Heartbreaking loss and devastation surrounds us. On this unseasonably warm sunny day, it’s easy to get lost in positive thoughts and forget what happened only a few weeks ago.  It’s easy to feel like it’s a carefree summer day as I wash the windows and feel the warmth of the sun on my face.  But then a fire truck comes down the street, and I am jolted by the weird honking of its horn.  It reminds me of Christmas time when my kids were little and the fire truck with Santa perched on top visited our neighborhood, waving to the excited children and throwing out candy for them to catch.  This time, however, it is a woman working for the Red Cross, shouting through a bull horn that hot food, blankets and necessities are available at the local club. I hear her moving on and traveling from street to street, and it brings back all the raw emotions that are hidden just below the surface – the fear I try to cover up and at times forget about. Tears come to my eyes for the loss of so much by so many. Then two police patrol boats make their way up and down the lagoons. I wonder what they are searching for. The seriousness of the situation which I have pushed to the back crevices of my mind resurfaces.

At times I wonder about the picking and choosing of whom this storm affected and how and why.  But it is not for me or for anyone else to know or try to figure out. I join the other volunteers at the food bank and relief center and try to do what I can with what I have, but it doesn’t seem like much. It doesn’t seem to make a dent in all that needs to be done to help our neighbors to get back on their feet. And yet it is happening one day at a time, one helping hand reaching out to a multitude of others, one act of kindness that leads to another and then another. People are so good and genuinely want to help, and it is because of this human spirit that so much progress is being made.

So today I will take a deep breath and wash the grime from the windows and gaze out at the bright blue sky in heavenly gratitude. We can see clearly now; gone are the dark clouds that got in our way.

Nov7

HURRICANE SANDY TRILOGY

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PART I – IT’S GOING TO BE A WILD RIDE!

We’re all tense and already nervously picking at each as we await the arrival of Hurricane Sandy, aka “Frankenstorm.”  The anticipation and fear of the unknown is making us all crazy.  We’ve made all the preparations and are safely stowed away at my daughter’s home in North Jersey.  The ocean is only a mile and a half away, but we feel safe in this sturdy house surrounded by other homes and big, sturdy trees. At least we’re not directly on the water as we are in the house where we live. There are five of us here from three different households, along with three dogs and seven cats.  To say the animals are skittish and out of sorts in their unfamiliar surroundings is a major understatement.

We’ve had our last “hot” meal as I’ve called it. We sense that the power will be going out soon, so we try to relax, but it’s impossible to do so. Night is falling and the winds are kicking up.  The rain starts to sprinkle lightly at first, and then all at once it comes in torrential downpours.  We try to get the dogs outside to do their business one more time, but even they are afraid to step out into this storm.  All of a sudden the lights flicker and everything goes black.  We are in darkness now. We grab flashlights and light candles and decide to play a card game – 500 rummy.  We peer out into the darkness as the storm comes heavily upon us.  In the distance there is what we are calling “blue lightening.”  When it flashes, the sky is a brilliant blue and you can see shadows of trees bent and bowed in the storm. It’s the only time you can see anything.  I’m scared.  I’m praying. I’m hoping everyone stays safe. We drink wine as we play the card game and try to joke around, but our laughter is the nervous kind.  We finally turn to bed when we can’t stay awake any longer.

“Blue Lightening” – picture taken by my daughter Katie.

I am alone in a downstairs room with my three cats.  My dog Bella is staying in my daughter’s room with her dog Lulu because when they are together they are inseparable buddies.  And the cats are so upset that adding Bella to the mix would just make them worse. Two of my cats immediately jump on the bed with me and huddle on either side, sandwiching me for protection while the third peers curiously out the sliding glass window. She is intrigued by the storm. The heat, of course, has gone out in the blackout, and it’s very cold in the room. I huddle under the covers. Although it is not visible high above the storm clouds, the full moon is adding some light to the outside atmosphere. It’s going to be a long night.  I toss and turn as the wind howls and the driving rain smashes against the windows. Bushes blow and make eerie rubbing sounds on the glass of the window.  I worry that the huge tree in the backyard is going to fall right on the part of the house in which I’m sleeping. Will this night never end?!?

I pray, I plead and I beg. Keep us safe, dear Lord, my God.  Please keep us free from harm and deliver us from this horrendous storm.  My stress barometer is off the charts.  Somehow I drift off into a deep sleep, but I am awakened again and again by the howling wind and the loud hammering of the rainfall. I drift off again for the hundredth time, but the next time I awake everything is silent. At some point in the wee small hours of the morning, the storm has moved away. There is no wind, just a slow, even rainfall. It’s gone.  It has passed.  Frankenstorm has left the area.  I am so surprised by the quietness and the fact that it is actually over. I praise God for His goodness and protection. I am so grateful we have all made it through the night. We’re all right!

PART II – STILL STANDING

Outside we go to survey the damage.  Five 6 x 8 fence sections have been pulled from their posts and are strewn around on the ground.  We chase the dogs away from the openings so they won’t run away.  There are tree limbs peppering the backyard.  The neighbor next door had a tree split and fall on their front porch roof and with it took down a power line.  We walk the neighborhood, which is littered with debris and tree limbs. Some huge trees have become uprooted. We are beginning to understand the magnitude of the storm. There are wires down in places, and we decide it really is not safe to be walking through this mess.  I hear humming, like a lawn mower here and there and wonder gullibly why people would be cutting their grass.  I realize they are using generators, the sound of which I’ve never heard before.  As the days pass and more and more are put into use, the humming sound heightens to an almost deafening pitch. Neighbors are out cleaning up debris – chopping fallen trees, raking mounds of leaves and sharing stories with one another.

We’ve gotten the word that we’re not yet allowed back into our neighborhood, so we wait. Days pass. I just want to go home.  My pets want to go home. It frightens us as we wonder what is happening where we live and why we can’t go back and what shape our house is in. The days pass and we’re bored and cold and trying to get along as tempers flare with fear of the unknown.  The pets are the only ones who seem to be adjusting. We turn on the gas burners for heat until we realize we could die from carbon monoxide poisoning.  So we throw on another sweater or sweatshirt and wait.  It’s very cold – in the 30’s at night. We have makeshift meals; we play 500 rummy; we drink wine and try to forget about what is actually happening.

Phone calls to our neighbors also evacuated to other places are shared.  My daughter in Florida is keeping us updated as to what has happened in our own backyard since without the internet or TV; we are living in a world that only we exist in. Megan finds a picture of a bridge that you have to cross to get to our house. It is closed, and police are blocking people from crossing. We are worried.

The next day my daughter’s friend, who lives close by our house, somehow gets to it and takes a picture.  It’s still standing!  The sky in the picture is a brilliant blue, and the house seems to be smiling back at us. We’re not sure what awaits us inside the house, but at first glance, the outside seems untouched.

Picture by Meg’s friend Collette. The seaweed water line shown here came up 4 ft. from the house in the back – still standing!

We get word later in the day that we can go back, but it’s too late to travel now, especially with power outages across the board. In the morning we pack, put our now traumatized cats back into their crates, grab the dog and head south with anxious but hopeful hearts.

PART III – ANOTHER GREAT SURVIVAL

The Sunday before the hurricane hit, our priest tried to sooth us in his homily at Mass.  I don’t remember much about what he said that day for my mind wandered in a hundred different directions – none of them good.  His closing, statement, however, stuck with me and helped me through the entire event.  He said: I pray everyone will be safe and that this will be another great survival story that we will tell.

We drive home through a sea of debris. Getting out of North Jersey with no power – street lights, detours, heavy traffic and road blocks is no easy task. Every gas station has lines a mile long.  Some stations even have lines of people with gas cans.  Once we get on the Garden State Parkway, we sail home. We are apprehensive when we pull in our driveway. We can see that the seaweed-marked water line came four feet from the house.  My dog jumps out of the car and is wild with the smells of the sea on the ground and sniffs crazily.  We walk into the house and take a look around.  It is very cold and dark.  Miraculously, by the grace of God, there is no water in the house other than drenched towels we stuffed around the entrance of the sliding glass doors in the back.

The first thing I do is fall to my knees because the fact that we were spared is a gift from almighty God. I pray for those who face devastation, which is all around us. Just three blocks down the street to the bay resembles a war zone. Huge trees are uprooted. Debris is strewn like confetti. Piles of wood lay along the roadside.  The vegetation in the wetlands to the right where I take Bella for her daily walks is uprooted, flattened in places and bent. Some spots are bare. The houses on the bay, of course, are in the worse shape. That part of the street is blocked. There are front-end loaders hauling sand – construction vehicles run amuck up and down the road.  Transformers are destroyed. The loud hum of generators is deafening. You can clearly see the bay, where before the plant life formed a barrier. I look out across the brownish water, which is usually a pale blue, looking for the marker I search for each morning during our walk.  There I see it – The Barnegat Lighthouse, which sits at the north end of Long Beach Island.  It is still standing.  Like a beacon of hope and strength and survival.

Down the street in the other direction a whole neighborhood is devastated.  I hear that houses were uplifted and are not even close to where they used to be. I hear a house was floating in the bay.  No one is allowed in the area without proof of residence. T here is one fatality in this corner of the neighborhood. – an elderly woman who ignored the mandatory evacuation, stayed with her house and drowned.  God rest her soul. Sadness shrouds us like a cloud.

I won’t take pictures of this destruction. Pictures can’t begin to show you the devastation of this quiet little fishing town on the coast of New Jersey. Pictures can’t explain the emptiness in the pit of your stomach that makes you wretch. Pictures can’t show you the broken hearts, the stress and anxiety, the loss of so many, the unstoppable stream of tears.

But then there is the other side of the coin.  The man in the white truck who rides around the neighborhood to see if you’re OK and tells you they are serving hot coffee, hot dogs and hamburgers at the little league field around the corner.  It’s the cavalcade of 20 power company trucks from the state of Alabama making their way up Route 9 to help get power back to us.  It’s the churches taking in the homeless and providing hot food and clothing and a place to unload their frustrations.   It’s the groups of volunteers going house to house in the flood zones to rip up the wet carpeting and throw out the drenched furniture.  It’s the neighbor who gives you a line to his generator so you can have a light and can save what’s left in your refrigerator.  It’s the other neighbor who is keeping watch on everyone’s house on the street because of the two recent burglaries. The outpouring of kindness of people who want to help and give is overwhelming.  People are good – and sometimes it takes something like this to realize just how much.

Yes, personally, we were fortunate to have minimal damage around the house. I write this on our ninth day without power or heat, which is a minor hiccup in comparison to the devastation that surrounds me. I go to bed each night with three blankets, a comforter and my 90 lb. Labrador retriever Bella pressed up against my legs for warmth. Some people don’t have their bed or a roof over their head or a blanket or their pet. I fall asleep thanking God for His goodness and His strength and the hope I feel that we will all be well. I do what I can with what I have where I can.

I read a quote the other day:

             Life is not about what we have and who we know

                        but who we have and what we know.

We here in New Jersey we have each other, and we help each other out. We also have all you good folks from other parts of the country sending your generous supplies and coming to our aid to get us back up and running. The best is coming out of everyone from everywhere.  People are good.

We know that we are tough and strong.  We will rebuild, we will survive and we will live to tell about another great survival.

Oct27

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

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Just yesterday I took Bella on a wonderful, brisk autumn walk along a tree-lined tapestry of multi-colored leaves.  It was warmish – like Indian summer, and I remember how exhilarating it felt to stroll along surrounded by this beauty.  It was hard to believe that in a few short days we would be pounded by Frankenstorm, aka Hurricane Sandy.  I looked up into the sky and saw that the storm clouds were already brewing. The wind sock on top of a building was eerily still.  I couldn’t help but imagine how it would soon be flapping wildly. When I returned home I glanced out across the lagoon and saw the ominous site of our neighbor’s house already boarded up. Heavy sigh…

I am a newer resident to this sleepy fishing town on the New Jersey Coast. This is the second time a hurricane is due to hit since I arrived a little over a year ago. The first one side-swiped us, and we were lucky.  This time it doesn’t look as if that will be the case.  In a word, it’s just downright scary.  My stomach has been in knots all day.  We are stressed to the max as we tackle the jobs of buttoning down the hatches around the property – taking planters and bird feeders in, storing lawn chair items in the shed, tying other things down.

I shopped for bottled water – the shelves at Walmart were already cleared out, along with “D” sized batteries for the flashlights, but I managed to find the last box. The local grocery store had the bottled water, so I bought five gallons and two cases along with some food staples.  I filled my car up with gas and got some cash from the bank – did all the things the newscasters are telling us to do.  Speaking of that – I had to turn the television off because the minute-by-minute details are just making me crazy-nervous.  I’ll check later on in the day and first thing in the morning.  A constant thread of news on this hurricane could literally drive you to drink!

I’m so afraid of flooding that I’ve decided to get out of here, although some of the neighbors have chosen to stay.  At least I have a safe place to go over Katie and Blake’s where I’ll be comfortable. I try to go over a list in my head of the things I have to take with me when I evacuate – most importantly, my pets and their food and paraphernalia.  What an ordeal! The cats will have to be crated, which sends them into a tailspin.  I can tell they are already anxious. Or maybe it’s just me.

Another neighbor has boarded up his house and left town.  The neighbors next door have left.  It’s looking a lot like a ghost town.  It’s dark and dreary outside now, and the wind has kicked up tremendously since the morning.  In a few short hours the plummeting will begin.

So, I’m off now to pack.  I gaze out at the gloominess as the day draws to a close, and I whisper a prayer.  One way or another, I know everything will work out the way God has planned.

 

Oct25

FAVORITE FALL FUN

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Me and Katie at the farm.

The leaves are falling and the Southern-bound geese are cawing – time for my favorite fall fun!  Sounds corny, doesn’t it? But it is time to harvest the corn after all, so why not?! My family has a lot of fall traditions that mean a lot to us. When my kids were small, apple and pumpkin picking were looked forward to with as much excitement as Christmas morning.  Taking that hay-lined wagon ride out into the crisp autumn fields to choose our wares was a fall rite of passage.  Carving pumpkins was our ultimate pleasure.

Katie mixing her cookie brew!

Halloween cooking baking was the most entertaining.  By the end of the day, the table and floor were covered (as were we) with inches thick of flour, sugar and all kinds of assorted, colored jimmies of every shape and kind. It took a lot of patience because it always turned out to be a big mess, but it never bothered me. I realized this was precious, special time with my kids.

Flour-covered Susezit.

We would then settle into watching “The Worst Witch” all together on the couch under a shared blanket in the dark with candles burning eating our Halloween cookies and milk.  My girls loved it, and so did I!  The movie isn’t scary.  It’s a kids’ movie that lasts just a little over an hour about an awkward young girl trying to make it in a young witch’s academy.  It’s more about doing good over evil, and we’ve been watching it annually since my youngest was 4 years old. I’ve always had a thing for the handsome grand wizard/warlock (much to my children’s chagrin!) played by Tim Curry.  When he says “absolutely” my heart melts!My kids are grown now, but these are still revered traditions.  It’s a little harder with Megan living in Florida, but I know she tortures her fiancé Matt into watching the movie with her each year.  I usually send her the Halloween cookies that Katie and I still bake.  Katie is a die-hard for traditions as well and also tortures her beau Blake with the annual watching of “The Worst Witch.”  Blake also enjoys the pumpkin picking/carving. We’re all kids at heart!

So gather your kids, go out to a farm to pick some apples and pumpkins, carve them, bake cookies, cozy up together, watch “The Worst Witch” and have a very Happy Halloween!

(P.S. I thought I’d share the cookie recipe with you in case you want to make these cookies with your little ghouls and goblins.  It is a recipe I also use for cut-out cookies on all holidays – Thanksgiving turkeys, Christmas bells and stars, Valentine hearts and Easter bunnies.)

HOLIDAY SUGAR COOKIES

1 cup butter

2 cups sugar

2 eggs

2 tsp. vanilla

2 tbsp. ½ and ½ cream

4 cups flour

2/3 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. salt

2 tsp. baking powder

Cream butter and sugar; add egg and vanilla.  Beat well.  Sift flour, soda, salt and baking powder together. Add to butter mixture alternately with cream; chill thoroughly in refrigerator for at least an hour.  Roll very thing.  Use cookie cutters – different shapes.  Bake in 350 degrees for 8 – 10 minutes. Cool completely.

Icing

1 lb. bag of confectioner’s sugar

½ tsp. of salt

4 tbsp. butter

1 tsp vanilla

Touch of milk to creamy consistently (not too soft but spreadable)

Cream butter; add salt and vanilla and sugar a little at a time with a touch of milk to help in mixing.

Ice cookies and decorate with assorted jimmies.  You can also add a touch of food coloring to the icing if you want different colors.  Place finished cookies on tray and set in refrigerator for 10-15 minutes to set. Store in air tight container.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oct14

TRICK OR TREAT

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When I was a kid, Halloween was my second favorite holiday, with Christmas, of course, holding the top spot.  It even surpassed my birthday!  Nothing could match the excitement of going door to door for candy treasures. I was 5 years old when I first went trick or treating and wore a horse costume that my Mom made from brown felt since I was crazy about horses. I came home from school, did my homework really fast and could hardly eat dinner, which was surprising since it was my favorite – pizza!  I just couldn’t contain the butterflies in my stomach.  By the time I dressed into my costume, grabbed my pillow case, which served as a candy bag, and raced out the door, my heart was thumping with anticipation.  Off we went into the darkness, my brother and I, with my Dad trailing somewhere behind.  As we grew up, we eventually went out on our own and scoured every neighborhood in the tri-state area.  We were relentless Halloweeners. “Trick or Treat!” we’d shout gleefully at each door.  In those days, you were sometimes required to do a little dance or song for a treat, but thankfully, it was not that often.  In return, you got a full-sized bar of candy, not the little snack or fun sizes. You could go into a sugar comma from one of those bars!

When my brother and I got home, we immediately poured our treasures out onto the table and started lining up same-kind candy and trading for our favorites.  Mine is, and continues to be, Mr. Goodbar with Hershey’s Almond bar coming in a close second. There was no need to examine each and every piece for tampering since it was a different world where things were safe.  We would get a few apples that we immediately pawned off to our parents who actually seemed to like them.  Some people would throw a few pennies or a nickel in our bag, which we used for penny candy at the corner store. Then we stuffed our faces to our heart’s content until our lips were glazed with chocolate residue. Of course, we tossed and turned all night due to the sugar rush, then dreamt of sugar plums dancing in our heads.

Costumes were also a little different then the extravagant styles of today.  Most of the time, we came up with our own from whatever was in the house.  Being a “bum” was popular because we could just wear old clothes and tater them up a bit. Dad’s old hat was the topper.  A ghost was an old sheet with the eyes and mouth cut out.  If you were lucky enough to take dancing lessons, you used your tutu to be ballerina. A flannel shirt and jeans with a neckerchief made you a cowboy. Add suspenders to that and you were a farmer. Dressing in black with a pointed hat made out of stapled cardboard made you a witch. We were very creative and clever kids, and it was fun to use our imaginations to come up with stuff. There was no such thing as a costume store, and we were definitely not looking to make a fashion statement.

In our neighborhood the “pièce de résistance” would be snagging a homemade red-glazed candy apple from the house up the street on the corner. A plain apple was no big deal, but coat it with sugary glaze, and it became a prized conquest. Of course, every kid in the neighborhood ran to that house first, so you had to get there early before the limited quantity ran out. Since we knew the family, there was no need to worry about contents. Sometimes their kids would hide in the brush, jump out and scare the bahjeepers out of us, so we really had to weigh the worth of those candy apples! One year we successfully made our way through the scary darkness of their tree and brush covered yard in the misty rain only to find they had decided not to make them that year.  That was a real disappointment.

The sweets we attained filled at least two boxes and were stored on the top of the refrigerator so my Mom could monitor our intake.  Of course, I realize now that Mom and Dad had a hand in the disappearance of a good fraction of the goodies. No problem.  We savored those tasty morsels until well into the Thanksgiving season.

So, get your caldrons out and mix up an eye-of-newt spooky, toe-of-frog scary, outrageously Happy Halloween!  Pleasant nightmares…bahaha…

 

Oct9

LITTLE GIRL WITH THE CURL IN THE MIDDLE OF HER FOREHEAD

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I saw a little girl in the park the other day, whom I would guess to be about four years old, riding her shocking pink bike alongside her mom who was jogging. I spotted a silver tiara peeking out under her bike helmet that was as strikingly pink as her bike.  She wore a leotard, jean shorts, sported a tutu and brown cowboy boots.  In the front bike basket was a Barbie doll faced forward looking out and in the back basket was a baby doll with another Barbie sitting on her lap.  She was sure and confident and chatted animatedly with her mom about what seemed like something very important as she rode along.  I found myself smiling.

Four-year-old Susezit

I was that same little girl a hundred years ago, exuding the same self-confidence, “I’ll wear what I want” fashion sense, love of bikes and all things pink and western. I, too, cared about getting my dolls out to see the world (mine would go camping under a tree in my backyard).  I was also jewelry and nail polish crazy, and my parents couldn’t seem to keep me in those little plastic high heels with the elastic bands that you find in toy stores.  I guess you would describe me at that time as avant garde.

As you grow and life and people get in the way of who you are and dictate who you should be, you forget sometimes who you were.  You conform and you change and you go along with what others decide is the “norm” so you won’t be considered an outsider or weird.  You get so caught up in fitting in that you eventually forget who you used to be.

It’s wonderful to get a reminder now and again of the unblemished, untouched version of your youthful self when the world was your oyster and all of your dreams would come true. And if you’re lucky enough to realize what you’ve lost and want to go back to the free spirit you used to be, you have to brush off the conventional terms and dictates of those you somehow listened to and changed for. You have to question your capabilities and decide if who you are is making you happy, or if you have to go back and rediscover who you used to be in order to find that joy again.

In any case, I think I’ll go take a spin on my bike while I decide…

Sep26

“GARRA”

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In a devotional I read this morning by an author named Max Lucado, he describes a Portuguese word “garra” which means claws. A person with garra has claws that burrow into the side of the cliff and keeps you from falling.  His interpretation is that if you hang in there until the end…if you go the distance, you will come out on top and you will be saved.

I, like a lot of other people in the world, have been facing a lot of uncertainty with the instability of the economy and job market. I find myself burrowing into the side of the cliff to prevent myself from falling. There are a lot of people out there on that cliff with me at this very moment. Every person has their own set of personal challenges and cliffhangers. If we, each and every one of us, keep digging our claws into the rock of God and just keep hanging on, I know He’ll make sure we get to where we’re supposed to be.

Sep22

MMM, MMM, GOOD!

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When I was a kid and came home from a snowy winter’s day of making snow forts, having snowball fights and building snowmen, there was nothing that brought more warmth and comfort than a bowl of steaming hot tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.  Mmm, Mmm, good! I’m drooling.

With the abundance of the crop-end of Jersey tomatoes, I’ve been frantically trying to come up with things to make before they spoil.  I’ve made quite a few quarts of spaghetti and pizza sauces.  And then I thought about what it would be like to concoct a tomato soup that would taste just like those many bowls of soup from way back when. I came across a recipe that comes pretty darned close and wanted to share it with you.  I’ve also added a bruschetta (pronounced, I’m told,  “brusketta” in Italy) recipe and another recipe I found from Michael Symon of The Chew for fried green tomatoes.

Enjoy!

 Tomato Soup

4 cups chopped fresh tomatoes

1 small onion sliced

4 whole cloves

2 cups chicken broth

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 tsp. salt

2 teaspoons white sugar, or to taste

In a stockpot, over medium heat, combine the tomatoes, onion, cloves and chicken broth.  Bring to a boil and gently boil for about 20 minutes to blend all of the flavors.  Remove from heat and run the mixture through a food processor or blender and then pour into a bowl.

In the now empty stockpot, melt the butter over medium heat.  Stir in the flour to make a roux, cooking until the roux is a medium brown.  Gradually whisk in a bit of the tomato mixture so that no lumps form, then stir in the rest.  Season with sugar and salt and adjust to taste.

You can add chopped basil and cream for a creamier taste, or garlic and olive oil for a Mediterranean flavor.  I like just like it plain.

Bruschetta

2 lbs. fresh tomatoes

½ red onion

4 cloves garlic

1 cup fresh basil

4 tablespoons olive oil

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

Salt and pepper to taste

Chop tomatoes, onions, garlic and basil, mix all ingredients together, salt and pepper to taste.

 

 Michael Symon’s Fried Green Tomatoes with Buttermilk Dipping Sauce

Tomatoes:

3 green tomatoes sliced into 1/3 inch thick slices

½ cup flour

½ cup buttermilk

½ cup cornmeal

Vegetable oil to fry

Heat oil in a cast iron skillet. Arrange flour, buttermilk and cornmeal in three separate bowls.  Season the flour with salt and pepper.

Dip the tomato slices into the flour, then buttermilk, then cornmeal to coat and then put into hot oil and fry for 2 – 3 minutes per side until golden blown.  Do not crowd pan.  Transfer to a paper towel lined plate.

Buttermilk Sauce:

¼ cup buttermilk

1 clove garlic

1 tablespoon shallot minced

¼ cup parsley leaves

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 tablespoon mustard

Salt and pepper

Combine ingredients in a blender until emulsified.  Season to taste.

Sep11

REMEMBERING 911

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It was a sunny Tuesday morning, and I had just sat down to eat a bowl of Rice Krispies with peaches.  I was starting a new job in a few days and was savoring the last of my leisurely mornings as I turned on the news to catch up with the daily events.  The channel that was on showed a puzzled Katie Couric saying, “A plane accident has occurred at the Twin Towers.” As the camera panned to a live view, another plane appeared out of nowhere and crashed into the second Tower.  I watched in shocked horror, as did Katie, trying to make sense out of what had just happened.  She looked as amazed as I felt, not quite sure what to make of it.

My daughter called from college in tears.  I worried about my younger daughter attending high school.  Was everyone safe?

I switched around to other stations to see if this were real, and a little while later settled on Peter Jennings.  For the next 10 to 12 hours I sat glued to my set, watching in sheer disbelief – wanting to walk away but paralyzed in front of the TV – frozen in horror. And there was Peter Jennings, reporting up to the minute details and trying to give us some kind of reassurance as we slowly realized nothing would ever be the same.  I remember seeing the hundreds of rescue workers and ambulances lined up, ready to take people to the hospital. Waiting and waiting in eerie silence, not yet understanding there would be few survivors from those buildings. The magnitude of the loss of life was still unrealized.

I stayed with Mr. Jennings for most of the day, trusting his expertise and insight.  Way after 11 p.m. he was still there, sleeves rolled up, tie off now, looking haggard and drained but still telling us the details we needed to know. He was soothing and reassuring, trying to keep a nation calm in the midst of hysteria. When Mr. Jennings passed away a while later, my heart ached as thoughts of 911 came flooding back, along with the question of whom we could count on to see us through the next catastrophe.

My thoughts and prayers are with those who have lost loved ones in the horrible 911 tragedy.  My heart aches for their loss. Watching the roll call this morning brought tears to my eyes once more. I’ve been thinking about all that has transpired since then, and the word “trust” came to mind.  I realize that in this ever-changing world in which we live, filled with so much uncertainty, the only One we can really trust to see us through is God.

Where were you on 911?

Sep4

BACK TO SCHOOL

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First day of school – Meg & Kate, Grandmom & Pop

Fruit punch and cheese doodle stand.

By the time you read this, your children will probably be back in school.  Oh yes, I can hear you shouting, “HOORAY!” Now, I know we’ll all miss the slower pace of summer, whether it’s getting to sleep in later, going to the beach or lounging by the pool. It’s great just to be outdoors, and mealtime is so much simpler – burgers or hot dogs on the grill with some Jersey corn, and you’re good to go.  It’s the time when kids are less stressed since there are no tests to take or homework to do.  They get to hang out with their friends, ride their bikes and have sleepovers. Summer is just more fun, but eventually those little darlings are driving you nuts, and you feel it’s time to turn the page and get some kind of order back into your life. When school starts, parents who work get some relief since child care arrangements ease a bit.  Those who are lucky enough to be able to stay home with their kids will probably be happy that they don’t have to act as master of ceremonies for the daily game show, “What Are We Going To Do Today?” In either case, you just can’t wait until they get back to school, and you’re back to packing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and waving goodbye as the bus sputters down the road.

Kate moves into her first dorm room.

The kids may be back at school and out of your hair, but now all the other stuff starts. You’re driving them to dancing lessons, soccer and lacrosse games, school play practice, cheerleading and birthday parties, and life is zooming by at the speed of light. The house is a mess and laundry never gets done because by the time you return home from all of the activities, you fall into bed and crash to sleep. But autumn turns into winter then spring, and before you know it, summer is back, and you start all over again.

Kate graduates.

Elementary school, middle school and high school are all whizzing by, and you’re tired and wish you had a life of your own. Before you know it, you’re taking your kids, now sort of all grown up, to college, and you squeeze them so tightly they can’t breathe. Tears are pouring from your eyes, and you can’t stop them.  They graduate, they get careers and they’re off on their own, and you sit with that life of your own you wanted so badly where you can do anything you want, except now you don’t remember why or what that actually was.

Meg graduates.

You find yourself wanting to go back to those lazy days of summer when you ate ice cream cones with your kids on the porch. You want to build sand castles with them and color and play Barbie dolls and have tea parties and make lemonade for their stands, unless they’re like my girls who insisted on selling fruit punch and cheese doodles. You want to recapture those school days all over again and make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but that time is gone – in a wink of an eye.

Tearful goodbye – Meg moves to Florida.

Summer, autumn, winter, spring; summer, autumn, winter, spring – the seasons come and they go, and you don’t realize how fast until your children are all grown up.

Kids are exhausting and amazing, and the best thing you’ll ever do, so slow down and don’t rush time. Appreciate the precious present and give your kids an extra hug today while you still can. It will be winter before you know it.