Immigrant Advantage

Living in Durham has great benefits. Not just that we have a world class university, or access to the best medical care, but those are important. It’s the large number of immigrants and the variety of foods they bring.  
Today I was cooking a dish for international day at Carter’s school. I needed corn tortillas. Not a mile from my house is a Mexican tortilleria where they make tortillas fresh all day. I used to drive to northern Durham to get fresh tortillas, but my friend Maricela, who is Mexican told me about this place, which is so much closer to my house. Not only are they closer, but the warm tortillas are cheaper at about $1.20 per pound, which is about a dozen tortillas.
It’s not just Mexican food that is available close by. A couple of stores away is a very fine Indian grocery store where I get big bags of red lentils less than half the price from the regular grocery store. Across the street is Li Ming, an Asian grocery superstore. Russ stocks up on frozen dumplings from his favorite Brooklyn dumpling maker there.
If Durham did not have so many people from across the world we would not have access to these specialty grocers where I love to shop. Walking the aisles of these stores is like going on a trip. I find ingredients I might have read about or eaten while traveling, but are not stocked at the Harris Teeter. Not only are can I get a better garam masala at the Indian store it is half the price.
Please God don’t let the current administration scare off people from far off lands with more interesting cuisines. They are not just good for our economy, but are better for our palettes.

Bring Your Balls Back To NC

3.5 Billion dollars, that is what it is estimated was lost in revenue to the state of North Carolina over the “bathroom bill” HB2. It was a discriminatory ridiculous law that singled out transgendered people trying to just do what is necessary, use the bathroom. One stupid governor staked his career on it and now says he can’t find a job after he was voted out of office. Seems like all the politicians in Raleigh who voted for this stupid bill need to have the same fate befall on them.
Citizens protested, and the small minded politicians did nothing. Concerts were cancelled, they did nothing. Businesses that were planning on relocating or expanding operations in North Carolina and they did nothing. The NBA all-star basketball game was pulled from Charlotte and they did nothing. Then the NCAA said they were not going to schedule any basketball tournaments in North Carolina for the next seven years, and they caved.
Strange bed fellows, college basketball and transgendered people. But thanks to the NCAA for finally putting a deadline that those small minded politicians wouldn’t ignore. The repeal of HB2 is not exactly a repeal, but a compromise. There is still discrimination in the bill but not in the bathroom. Improvements can be made, but it is going to take changing many of those legislators to do it.  
If you live in NC and you don’t care about the rights of transgendered people just think about the 3.5 billions dollars that was lost as well as what used to be the stellar reputation of a once progressive state. The cost of that reputation is way more than many billions of dollars.  

The big orange balls might be back in North Carolina but it is time to drive all the politicians and their little balls back out of Raliegh like we did to Governor Mc Croy.  

Just When You Have Them Trained

Tonight I had a social event to go to, leaving Carter at home to fend for herself. She had plans to cook dinner with a friend, which was a first. While I was enjoying myself at the party, talking to my friend Missy I got a text on my watch. Without my reading glasses on I could barley make out that it was from Carter. Worried that she had a cooking problem I asked my friend Missy to read the text off my watch.

“Shay went out to poop and had a little poop stuck on her butt…”. Missy was reading me out loud, thank goodness she is a close enough friend. “She got it on her bed. I took the zipper bedding off and put it into the wash on sanitize setting. Hope that’s OK.”
Despite the text being about my dog getting poop on her bedding I felt like a choir of angels had just sung while a rainbow appeared over a beautiful sunset. My child had not only let the dog out, but she noticed that she brought poop inside, and wiped it on her bed and she cleaned it up all without being asked. What planet am I on? I can go ahead and die now, my job as a Mother is done.  
This is one shining moment in mother world. She also paid close attention in “new washer usage training” and was able to pick the appropriate setting for the cleaning situation.  
Then it hit me. She is actually a very useful member of the household. For a while now she has been good at going to the grocery, or getting the oil changed in the car. Now with this washer usage for something other than her own clothes I realize I could have her doing more, but just as she has gotten fully trained I am about to lose her. So many years of teaching her how to be self sufficient and I am not going to get the benefit of her training. Who am I going to train now?

Why Daffodils Are My Favorite

With the early spring we have had my Daffodils have come and gone. I was thrilled to find bunches and bunches of the happy yellow flowers cheap at Trader Joe’s yesterday and treated myself to $4.50 worth. My love of daffodils is deep rooted in my history.
When I was just about four years old my parents moved us from Dayton, Ohio to New Canaan, Ct. We lived in a little house that was twice the size of out tiny Ohio house. I had a fenced back yard and a swing set and I spent many an hour outside alone since I had a new baby sister. One day while I was rooting around our garage unsupervised I came upon a bag of peat moss. I did not know then that it was peat moss since I could not read, but the smell made a big impression upon me and later in life when I encountered it again I recognized it as my four year-old first foray into gardening.
As clear as a non-pollen filled day I can remember dragging that half used bag of peat moss out of the garage to the strip of dirt the lay between the building and the fence that ran between our house and our neighbor’s the Smith’s. I dug out of the bag handfuls of the brown dirt and mixed it in with the lose soil next to the garage. I then went and got the hose and sprinkled water all over the area where I had put the peat moss. My memory stops there of that event, I probably got bored and left the bag and the perhaps the running hose and went off to swing on my swing set.
Fast forward a few months to spring in Connecticut and there in the very spot where I had sprinkled the peat moss and watered it grew up the most glorious wall of yellow daffodils. I ran and told my mother that I had planted them. Since it was our first spring in that house she had no idea that daffodils were there so she just believed me.
Three years later I was very sad to leave our little New Canaan house and move one town over to Wilton where we had a much larger house with lots of property and a beautiful stream that meandered down a hill to a lovely pond. Since we moved in the late summer and I did not have any friends in this new house yet I spent lots of time digging around the stream and letting little boats made of leaves go at the top of the stream and watched them float the hundreds of feet down to the pond.  
When spring came to our new house in Wilton I was delighted to see that the daffodils followed us from New Canaan. On the banks of the stream dozens of yards on both banks all the way down to the pond were thousands of daffodils. I used to go and pick great handfuls and take them to my teachers and it never made a dent there were so many.  
I was still young enough to think that my digging around in the dirt by the stream somehow had something to do with the flowers appearing. Year after year there would be more and more flowers I had no idea that they reproduced themselves. However it happened, they always made me happy and still do to this day. Even now when I smell that pungent, not very attractive smell of peat moss I smile and think of it as Magic flower making dirt. I’m so glad my mother let me believe I planted those daffodils.

Nice Sighting

Yesterday I was thrilled when UNC walk-on basketball Luke Maye made the winning shot in the game yesterday elevating UNC to the final four for next weekend. Not only did the nonstarter make the winning point, but he was named Most Outstanding player of the South Regional.
Imagine my surprise when My friend Hannah and I saw Luke walk into the little Franklin street eatery Sandwhich today at lunch. He was all alone, obviously looking for someone as he circled the tables. We wanted to congratulate him, but thought we should give him his privacy. A mother and her young son came in the restaurant and were standing right beside our table when Maye came up to greet them, with a pat on the back for the young boy. They were the people he was waiting for.
Hannah and I could not help but overhear their conversation since Maye was standing right beside me. He took off his final four hat, with the section of net from the winning basket tied to it, to let the little boy look at it. It was obvious they were friends, but were not related. Eric Montrose, ex- UNC basket star and now commentator, came in and joined them. Luke told the young boy that he was here for just today since the team is leaving for the final four tomorrow.
Hannah and I decided not to bother them and neither did anyone else in the place. Hannah showed me the Tar Heel report that had just been posted showing Maye at his 8AM class this morning where he got a standing ovation. It was so nice to see that someone who was the star last night on the court was just a student today. Yes, he was a student who had gotten a standing ovation, but he also was someone who was spending his one lunch back in Chapel Hill with a little boy. I hope that Maye continues to win, but keeps that humility that he appeared to have today.

March Madness Changes Me

This is the big weekend with the sweet sixteen and elite eight in college basketball. I came more about teams I never followed this weekend than I ever have before. The really big thing is how watching these games makes me opposite of myself in every possible way.
Today while I was walking on my treadmill watching the South Carolina/Florida game I found myself upping the speed to a full on run. I never run. I hate running. I am a terrible runner. I could have a large dog chasing me and I still would not run. I can’t explain why watching two teams I have no investment in run up and down the court on my TV entices me to run. But I did run. I ran the whole last fifteen minutes. Believe me, this was a miracle.
The final game of the weekend was the only game I actually cared about, the UNC/Kentucky game. Sadly our neighbors Laurie and Colin who have been living across from us for the last six months while they renovated their house were having a goodbye to Westover road party. It started right at the start of the game. Normally I would be thrilled to go to a party across the street. Many neighbors were there, the food and drink was great, but the game was on silently. I was not alone in being interested in it, but I missed the commentary.
I stayed for the first half of the game, but had no guilt leaving to go home and watch the final half all alone. Russ and Carter went out and Shay snuggled down with me for the last half of basketball for the big weekend. The elite eight made me antisocial. I didn’t want anyone with me. It is best I am alone when I am screaming these obscenities at the TV. 
The final four with only three games is not the same basketball orgy. Of course I will be watching my Tar Heels. Hopefully I can have the same running experience I had today. If this works out I am going to see what watching the Masters does to my treadmill work. Somehow I am not sure golf will energize me in the same way.

I Missed National Puppy Day

Apparently I was not alone in missing celebrating National Puppy day which was Wednesday. In the past three days I have seen many mea culpas on social media to four legged friends whose owners forgot to celebrate them. I was worried that Shay might get on Facebook looking for my tribute to her and give me a guilt trip over it.
Then I got to thinking, Shay is not a Puppy. Neither were most of the dogs that were belatedly honored. Does it make any difference? Isn’t your fourteen year old dog always your puppy? Just like my adult daughter will always be my baby.
I do have a number of friends who have recently gotten actual puppies. Is there anything better–the puppy breath, the high energy excitement, the way they pass out the second they come in from a walk. It is easy to love someone else’s puppy when you are not the one cleaning up the mistakes on the new carpet, or having to wake up in the middle of the night to go out.
Puppies make everyone feel happy, that is why they are brought in as a stress reliever to kids taking exams. So of course they deserve a day of celebration even more so than national pencil day or liver appreciation Wednesday. Ok, liver appreciation might also be on a Thursday, but celebrating puppies is a no brainer.
To all you dog parents who did not post a photo of your sweet love, don’t feel bad. Everyday is a dog’s day. They are never going to hold it against you that you did not throw them a party. Just rub their belly and all is forgiven.
To Shay Shay, you will always be our puppy, no matter how old you get. Happy day to you!

No Artist in the Oval

I apologize now that this is going to be a political blog, but there is a lesson for us all in what happened today.
45’s promise to repeal Obamacare died today despite his having a historic one party control of the executive and legislative branches. This was the main stay of his political promise. Calling Obamacare the worst thing to happen in America and something he would “easily” fix was not so easy.
Now even Obama himself agrees that the first iteration of universal healthcare could be improved, but healthcare is an intricate web of medical providers, insurers and payers. Pulling on one string affects the whole web and throwing it our completely and starting over is more difficult than the President ever imagined. So 45 came to admit.
What 45 did not learn is that just because you have the numbers in terms of majorities in both the house and senate does not mean you can do anything you want. The self proclaimed deal maker is no artist when it comes to negotiating. He forgot to even talk to democrats about it. Today he blamed the democrats for the failure to get the bill passed which is really rich since he has done nothing to build any bridges to compromise with them. If he couldn’t get his own party to vote with him, why would he think the opposition would help him out, especially when he just calls them names.
Maybe this humbling moment will teach him that he needs to be the leader of whole country and work to craft legislation with both parties, not just within the multiple sides of his own party. The republicans practiced obstructionism for the last eight years since they refused to work with Obama and now they don’t know any other word than, “no.” No is not legislating. 
So congress, take this opportunity to reach across the aisle and do the hard work to make compromises, find middle ground and work on improving Obamacare. You don’t have to throw the whole thing out, but you can make amendments. Our best legislation comes when a leader from each party works together to craft a bill. It certainly takes more work, but nothing good is every easy. Hey 45, being President is harder than you thought.

I Just Look Like I’ve Had a Lobotomy 

File this under “watching the washer is the new TV.”
My new washer and dryer arrived today. It has been two weeks since my old one broke and although we were away for most of that time I was really missing having a washer. Times have really changed in the twenty years since it last got a washer. I actually read both manuals and there is a lot to learn about doing laundry.  
First, I have a giant tub without an agitator so it just feels weird to put the clothes in the machine sans a middle pole. Apparently there is a right way you put the clothes in. I learned that I did it incorrectly as I watched the washing action at first. I could only do this because it has a glass lid. I have no idea what happened in my old washer since once I closed the solid metal lid it just did everything in the dark.
It was down right mesmerizing to watch the machine first “sense” the load before the water poured in waterfall fashion. I was shocked by how little water actually went in. That is one of the reasons why I hung around to watch it work. I was concerned that some of the clothes were not actually getting wet. Silly me. I had not yet experienced the dance that is a new fangled wash tub.
Staring like a fool with half a brain at the wash under the glass I must have looked like someone who was just seeing TV for the first time. I realized that I was standing there with my mouth open and just the tiniest drop of drool beginning to seep from the corner of my mouth. Why was that? This was not like watching the Great British Bake Off. Oh, but how I missed having a washer, I guess.
Since I am just now running my first load I cannot report on the quality of the washing, but boy does this thing ever put on a good show. If I ever get a lobotomy you can just park me on a stool looking down at the glass lid and give me a dozen or so baskets of dirty laundry. I can’t wait until I have a comforter that needs to be washed. Life without a center agitator is going to be grand.

Deals and Steals 

My sister Janet owns a cool company that is in the beauty biz. She is the US distributor for a line called Treets Traditions. It is a bath and body product line that is new to the US? Tomorrow morning on Good Morning America in the 8AM hour on the east coast her line is going to be offered on the Tory Johnson Deals and Steals segment. You can log into GMA to get the code to order products at a greatly reduced price.  
Here is what my sister J says about it:
TREETS TRADITIONS is a beautiful line out of Holland…100% made in Europe and 100% natural. We are the only distributor in all of the Americas and it is exclusively available at ULTA for the next 3 months and then will be available at other retailers.
It is completely natural in every way and free of colorants, detergents, SLS, paraben’s, animal testing, purchases all raw materials as free trade…so is really doing it right in terms of being good to the world. It is a product you would be proud to put on your families skin. The Body Butter’s are the BOMB and they are famous for their bath fizzers and their body scrubs.

Here is the link to the web site: https://www.treets.com

Silent No More

File this under, “the miracle of Dana’s silent phase.” Most anyone who knows me knows that I have never had a silent phase. Despite my inability to keep from talking I do have the ability to keep a secret. No one would ever think so, but I have kept quite a few secrets, but that is another story. Just because I am talking I might not be telling you everything that is going on.
Officially my silent phase is over today, that is in relation to the “So all may eat” campaign for the Food Bank of Central and Eastern North Carolina. Eighteen months ago the Food Bank quietly began our campaign to raise ten million dollars for our new 114,000 square foot headquarters in Raliegh as well as some new and exciting programs to help people not need the services of the Food Bank any more.  
Our wish to raise the capital money as quietly and quickly as possible was so that we would not impact our annual giving that goes to food. It was a big goal. It had been fifteen years since we had our last capital campaign the “breaking bread” campaign. That is too long between campaigns. Some people were worried that we might not make it. Not me. I was fairly certain that when we told people about what we do for hungry people in one third of North Carolina they would generously support us.  
We had done a feasibility study and the experts thought we might be able to raise the money in two years and would have to go public and ask our regular donors for the last million. Instead we did it in 18 months and never got out of the silent phase. Thanks to Ed Carney, a previous board chair who headed the campaign with Ron Doggert as honorary chair. I chaired the board division and did not have to twist many arms thanks to the deep commitment that current and past board members have for the organization. I also had the wise wisdom and council of Ash Pipkin, godfather to the board and former board chair Al Ragland to help me.
Today was the thank you lunch to officially announce we have passed our goal, not that we still won’t take pledges from those last few generous organizations. Now I no longer have to be silent about this. 
I am so proud of the leaders at the Food Bank, CEO and President Peter Werbicki, who started life at the Food Bank as an operations guy and over the years has morphed into a great fund raiser and communicator about the good work the Food Bank does and Amy Beros, VP of Development who came to us from another feeding organization as a lieutenant and during the course of the campaign rose to be the leader. Working with these professionals has been an utter joy. That is not something most campaign workers say at the end of a big capital campaign.
So I can shout it from roof tops, “Congratulations to the Food Bank for exceeding your goal.” So now all may eat.

Risottoed Quinoa with Shiitake Mushrooms and Spinach

In the quest to add more protein to every meal and reduce outright starches I made Quinoa risotto style tonight. It was the perfect blank slate to add veggies to. It could be a complete meal.
8oz. shiitake mushrooms – stemmed and sliced

2 shallots minced

2 cloves of garlic minced

1 T. Olive oil

1 cup uncooked White Quinoa 

1/2 cup white white

5 cups of broth (chicken or veggie) – hot

1/2 cup Parmesan cheese

5 big handfuls of baby spinach
Spray a big skillet with Pam and put the sliced mushrooms in on medium heat. Cook stirring every so often for five minutes. Remove mushrooms from pan and set aside. Spray more Pam and add the shallots and garlic and cook on medium low for three minutes. Add the oil and the Quinoa and stir coating the Quinoa in oil and toasting it at the same time, about three minutes. Turn the heat up to medium.
Add the wine to the pan and stir, cooking until the liquid is absorbed. Once done add a half a cup of simmering broth and stir and cook until absorbed. Continue this routine until all the broth has been used up, should take about half an hour.
Remove the pan from the heat. Add the mushrooms back in and the cheese. Stir well and add the Spinach. Mix well and put back on low heat for one minute while continuing to turn everything over in the pan until the Spinach is just starting to wilt. Serve and eat

No Tea Like Home

Apparently I am supposed to live in a very skinny section of the world, known as south of the Mason Dixon line and above the hard core confederacy. We spent last week in Mexico, which is technically in the south. I was able to find iced tea, but it was just not quite right. Between the just a little too weak to hold up to the melting ice, and the lack of any free refills I was able to barley hold on by my fingernails in my needed tea consumption. At the airport lounge Russ gave me a can of iced tea that I considered should be illegal to call iced tea. It was a brown sugar water with a splash of some acidic chemical to act like a lemon.
The first thing I did when we finally got home three hours late last night was make a new pitcher of iced tea so that in the morning I could return to being a human. A strong tea, with a good splash of fresh lime juice and a sweet ‘n low with lots of crushed ice and I am a happy camper.  
The only problem with going on vacation most anyplace that is not North Carolina is my tea fix is hard to satisfy. If I am able to procure a satisfactory glass of my elixir of life the establishment that I have found it at often wants to charge me full price to refill my already used cup. Now I am all for just refilling a cup I have already soiled, no need to be wasteful, but really the cost to produce iced tea is so minimal that I take great offense to paying full charge for a second glass.
I know restaurants are in business to stay in business, but if the tea and limes or lemons cost you ten cents a glass and you charge $2.95 you could afford one more ten cent refill. In Mexico I was able to have free refills if I was having the breakfast buffet because it was all you could eat, but at the pool, forget it, no refills for you.
Perhaps I should go on a local vacation and just consume Iced Tea. It would be healthier for me and I would not get delayed at an airport since I would just drive myself. That would be a double bonus to my mood, no flight delays and perfect practically unlimited supply of unsweetened tea. Maybe I should just stay home where my tea is the best tea.

Eavesdropping

In the way travel goes these days we got to the airport in plenty of time, security lines were long, but went fast and we were through with lots of time to spare. Then the notice that our flight was delayed almost three hours came in. What else is the for us to do but sit in the airport.
We found a “club” we could pay to sit I and so here we sit. At the table next to us is a group who are also delayed. I am not sure how they are related, but they are some how. One pair is going to New York, the other to Florida. This is how their conversation goes, all four talking at once
“We are always delayed.”
“Will my wheel chair escort reschedule or do we have to let them know?” 
“Judy’s daughter is getting married today and they have a green theme for St. Patrick’s day.”
“Is the groom Irish?”
“No, Jewish.”
“Last year we were delayed on the way to Fort Lauderdale.”
“Is Judy’s daughter’s dress green?”
“I still want the wheel chair.”
“How do I know if her dress is green? I’m stuck here and not at the wedding.”
“We went on this trip to get out of going to the wedding.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Maybe we should not travel anymore.”
“If we get home early enough let’s go to the wedding.”
“I want to see this Irish wedding.”
“They aren’t Irish. Judy is our cousin. They are Jewish. How many Irish Jews do you know?”
“Why are they having a St. Patrick’s day wedding?”
“Our flights are always delayed.”
“Maybe I should get a wheel chair for at home, then I could be at the front of the line everywhere.”
“Judy doesn’t even look good in green.”
The joys of listening to other people’s conversations. I may be delayed but I am very entertained.

Eavesdropping

In the way travel goes these days we got to the airport in plenty of time, security lines were long, but went fast and we were through with lots of time to spare. Then the notice that our flight was delayed almost three hours came in. What else is the for us to do but sit in the airport.
We found a “club” we could pay to sit I and so here we sit. At the table next to us is a group who are also delayed. I am not sure how they are related, but they are some how. One pair is going to New York, the other to Florida. This is how their conversation goes, all four talking at once
“We are always delayed.”
“Will my wheel chair escort reschedule or do we have to let them know?” 
“Judy’s daughter is getting married today and they have a green theme for St. Patrick’s day.”
“Is the groom Irish?”
“No, Jewish.”
“Last year we were delayed on the way to Fort Lauderdale.”
“Is Judy’s daughter’s dress green?”
“I still want the wheel chair.”
“How do I know if her dress is green? I’m stuck here and not at the wedding.”
“We went on this trip to get out of going to the wedding.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Maybe we should not travel anymore.”
“If we get home early enough let’s go to the wedding.”
“I want to see this Irish wedding.”
“They aren’t Irish. Judy is our cousin. They are Jewish. How many Irish Jews do you know?”
“Why are they having a St. Patrick’s day wedding?”
“Our flights are always delayed.”
“Maybe I should get a wheel chair for at home, then I could be at the front of the line everywhere.”
“Judy doesn’t even look good in green.”
The joys of listening to other people’s conversations. I may be delayed but I am very entertained.

Farewell Beer

For our final night in Mexico we went to dinner at a place my friend Stacey had recommended, Coco’s Cabanas. She and her family somehow found this tiny hole in the wall place at Christmas and liked it so much they went multiple times. Although it did have a small sign on the main road we had no idea that it was tucked between many larger resorts and down a bumpy dirt road. It was worth the searching for.
The six table open air cafe and bar was staffed by a friendly young man who my father would have loved. He was gregarious and funny. We ordered drinks and when Russ him about beers he told him to get one that was not on the menu. “It’s my favorite beer,” he told us.
“When the beer salesman told me to start selling it I told him how can I sell it if I don’t know what it tastes like,” he volunteered. “So I popped one. Not sure I popped another. BY the third one it was my favorite beer.” This story sounds as if it came out of my father’s mouth.  
When I was little my father told me a lot of stories that involved beer. Not just stories, but even math problems used beer. “…if you drink six beers for six day and on the seventh day drink eight beers how many beers will you have drunk in a month?” I think my dad thought words problems were much more fun with beer. One day I asked him what his favorite beer was. I will never forget his answer. “The best beer is the last beer I just had.”  
Tonight I wish my dad was on this trip with us just so he and our waiter could compare beer notes. Nonetheless I know my Dad would be happy to know that Russ was enjoying some fine Mexican beer. He hates it when he hears Russ is not drinking.
It’s back to no drinking reality for the Lange’s tomorrow. “Sad, sad each bitter wail,” as my friend Judy likes to say. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but it deals appropriate at this time.

Things I’ve Learned in Mexico This Week

I don’t like speed bumps on the highways.
Everyone’s car is white so using that as the descriptor to say which car is yours does nada.
You don’t want any people who bought the all inclusive package to sit near you at the pool. They are trying to maximize their investment by drinking four times as much as the plan cost.
If you are in the market for a pan flute you can find one on every corner cheap.
Mexican food on the Mayan Riviera is never spicy enough for Russ Lange.
The Mexican waiters with the best English all lived in the states in grade and or high school, but chose to come back and live and work in their homeland.
Guacamole is an every meal option.
Driving in Mexico is easy as long as you practiced in New York City at some point in your life.
Imodium is a prescription drug here, when it is over the counter in the states, but viagra is over the counter.
Mariachis must keep playing in their bands because their matching pants are so tight they can’t get them off to do anything else.
I should just order an appetizer as my dinner because the portions are always too big.
I don’t really like pan flute music.

A lot of the clothes look alike.

Everyone is friendly, even the people on the all inclusive plan.

It Used To Be Called A Rubdown

When I was a kid there were no spas. Massages did not exist. You could get a facial if you went to Georgette Klingers or Elizabeth Arden’s in New York City. Old grown men I knew who belonged to the Athletic Club or the University Club would go and “take a steam” and get a “rub down.” Since I was not a man and did not belong to one of these men place I am not sure exactly what a “rub down” consisted of but I think it was the cave man equivalent of a massage.
I was well over thirty before I ever had a massage. I can’t remember exactly where or when it was, but I think my thought about it was, “Why the hell did no one tell me about these things before now?” Now getting a massage is not just a huge treat, but practically part of my wellness care. I apparently get some serious knots on my hamstrings, from what who knows. It certainly isn’t from some major athletic endeavors.
I introduced Carter to massages at a young age and she is equally hooked on them. Today as our vacation treat we spent the better part of the day in the spa. Apparently no one else at this place knows about massages because we had the run of this huge spa to ourselves. Carter went earlier than I and texted me that she was all alone at the spa outdoor mineral and regular pool. Later we were the only ones in both relaxations rooms and whirlpool, steam, sauna and Swiss shower.  
Having a good masage turns me into a lose rubber band. I walk a little wobbly and being a little greased up does not help keep me in my sandals. But there is no better feeling than that relaxed muscle post massage euphoria. 
I am thankful for those old men getting rub downs from brutish men in white tee shirts and white pants. It opened the door for young women with soothing voices and strong hands to make a good living and have me addicted to something that is calorie free. It also created a whole new genre of pan flute music that otherwise would have died a quiet useless instrument death. Oh Spas, you may be a young industry, but please keep growing.

No Wall 

We must do everything possible to stop 45 from thinking about building the wall. If there is a wall it might prevent Americans from being able to come into Mexico and that would be a shame. The people here could not be more lovely and are very kind about not bringing up that man in Washington, even in the face of his racism.
If 45’s son’s who are now running the empire wanted to hire the best people they would include the Mexican people we have met here. Why would 45 want to build a wall and keep out the best workers. On the other hand why would any of the people here want to leave? The weather is fabulous, the food is yummy and the culture is strong.
Of course no place is perfect. The peso is weak against the dollar right now and the government is, well the government. But there are a few things they have here that we don’t have at home, one being cenotes. Centones are underground caves filled with water. They are limestone so the water in them is so clean because it has seeped through the rocks to get to the cave. Today we took Carter for her first cenote experience. There are literally hundreds of them so I found one that was off the main road. It was very quiet and even though the property was huge with four open cenotes, and one enclosed underground cave we hardly saw another tourist there. We had what turned out to be a private tour of the enclosed cave where we got to float through the caverns being careful not to touch the stalactites coming down from the ceiling. Our tour guide Miguel could not have been nicer. It was a very fun day off campus.
Another thing they have here that we don’t have at home is “purse trees” to hold your bags at restaurants. I have seen them everywhere we go and they range from the industrial to the artistic. A favorite was this tree branch “purse holder” we had at our dinner spot last night. Why has this idea not crossed the boarder? The wall will not help spread these good ideas north.
Now we can’t import cenotes, but we can make “purse trees.” If you gave me a couple of more weeks down here I am sure I could find other things Mexicans do better than we do, well besides making tortillas and guacamole. We already knew they were superior in that. 

Obnoxious Spring Breakers

We parked ourselves at the “adult pool” today to stay away from screaming children. In the morning that was good, but by the afternoon the hung over Texans, all fifteen families with their teenagers, who were also hung over, descended on the adult pool. The fathers smoked cigars while sitting in the pool, the mothers discussed their plastic surgeries gone wrong and the kids, who were freshmen or sophomores in high school complained about their algebra tests while ordering liquor drinks.
I think that the non-Texan guests would be happy if our hotel gave the Texans their own pool, “Just tell us where they are so we can stay away from them!”
My favorite conversation that I could not help but over hear thanks to their Texas volume, which for reference is twice as loud as my incredibly loud voice, was the one two mother’s were having with four of the teens.  
“Colin, what are you doing this summer?” Uber thin bikini clad fifty year old Mom asks fifteen year old boy, who was finishing his third Jack and Coke.
“I applied for an internship, but I am too young.”
“You should do the First Pres. camp. They give priority to kids who just got confirmed.”
“Sounds like work.”
“Not too bad, you can still drink. It will look good for your college application and then you can head the Bible study group at college, even though that is a long way off.”
I can’t even begin to list all that is wrong with this. The only good news is that they got their obnoxious portable speaker wet and now they are not blasting music, the parents that is. Rich entitled parents are producing rich entitled kids for whom no rules apply, but at least they are “god fearing.” They are Texans after all.

Sitting Around Vacation

For the last five years the only kind of vacations we have taken are the go and see and do vacations, not the and do nothing ones. We got good at sight seeing and studying and learning. Today we got up with no agenda and it was hard, not that we didn’t fill the time, but it seemed lazy.
It started early when Russ and I got up well before Carter and went to breakfast. Carter said she wanted to sleep in and said not to wait for her to eat. We had a lovely table on a porch overlooking a river. First we had coffee, for maybe an hour. Then we had fruit for another half an hour. A text came in from Carter that she was up. Surprise, we still haven’t really eaten breakfast. So she came to join us and we were there at least an other hour. An almost three hour breakfast is just not what we usually do on vacation, but I guess this is what vacation is.
Then we went to sit by the pool. That was a good four hours of not doing anything, but read, play some games and do a little needlepoint. Finally Russ and I got antsy, so we changed into clothes and walked the mile to the beach and back. The only thing sightseeing we did was meet an iguana. A siesta from our taxing day and then dinner and now I am exhausted from doing all this nothing.
Tomorrow looks similar. Really the three hour breakfast is the highlight. You can really talk about things in depth when you don’t have work to run off to or a dog to walk. I may not be learning any cultural history, but time spent with Russ is the best education. Carter should be fully rested and ready to learn when we get home from all this nothing.

The Sitting Around Vacation

For the last five years the only kind of vacations we have taken are the go and see and do vacations, not the and do nothing ones. We got good at sight seeing and studying and learning. Today we got up with no agenda and it was hard, not that we didn’t fill the time, but it seemed lazy.It started early when Russ and I got up well before Carter and went to breakfast. Carter said she wanted to sleep in and said not to wait for her to eat. We had a lovely table on a porch overlooking a river. First we had coffee, for maybe an hour. Then we had fruit for another half an hour. A text came in from Carter that she was up. Surprise, we still haven’t really eaten breakfast. So she came to join us and we were there at least an other hour. An almost three hour breakfast is just not what we usually do on vacation, but I guess this is what vacation is.

Then we went to sit by the pool. That was a good four hours of not doing anything, but read, play some games and do a little needlepoint. Finally Russ and I got antsy, so we changed into clothes and walked the mile to the beach and back. The only thing sightseeing we did was meet an iguana. A siesta from our taxing day and then dinner and now I am exhausted from doing all this nothing.

Tomorrow looks similar. Really the three hour breakfast is the highlight. You can really talk about things in depth when you don’t have work to run off to or a dog to walk. I may not be learning any cultural history, but time spent with Russ is the best education. Carter should be fully rested and ready to learn when we get home from all this nothing.

Final Spring Break

When I was a child we did not have this thing called spring break. We had Easter holiday, but that involved Good Friday and Easter Monday off and a lot of church going. That in no way equaled a vacation. When Carter started school we fully embraced spring break as our best family vacation time. It was easier to schedule Russ off from work for one definitive week in March than to get him to block out a week in the summer when he had so many to chose from.
Today we left on our final spring break as a family while Carter still lives at home. We got to talking all about our trips. Things were so different than those early years. Today she packed for herself and was up and ready to go at six in the morning. She gladly sat in the seat on the plane that was three rows away from ours and I did not have to read her the same book over and over again. But I longed for those early spring break trips.
When we arrived at our hotel at three in afternoon, hungry from the trip without food instead of going to get a hot dog like we would when Carter was young we went to the bar and shared some apps. The sharing of food was also new.
We discussed our favorite trips, trying to remember which were the Disney years and thankful for the non Disney trips. As we sat there Russ saw a little girl about three or four years old, wheel her tiny suitcase into the lobby. He pointed her out to Carter. It reminded us of Carter’s first rolling suitcase with an A, B, C on it.
“That suitcase is still in the attic,” I told Carter. 
“Maybe I can get it out and use it for like one pair of shoes,” she said.
Russ, in his typically cheeky way said, “Or maybe it could hold one bra.”
Lines like that are what make our trips memorable. Time together, away from routine is what is most special.  

Is It Real?

Back in the day when you had to pretend to be married to get to take someone on a prize trip I got a really good fake engagement ring. It was just part of the whole fake marriage story, but the ring really sold the whole thing. It wasn’t an cheap ring since it came from Niemman Marcus, but it was one hundredth of the cost of a ring with real diamonds. It was also definitely not my style, but the people I had to fool with this ring loved it and thought I had hit the jackpot.
When Russ and I got real married I put this fake ring in my jewelry box and more or less forgot about it. Today I decided to pull it out and change it with my real ring since I am going on a trip. I could just go without any ring, but my finger feels funny without one and it is nice to have one that if I get accosted I can throw at someone giving me time to get away. I guess this is my plan in place of having learned to run.
The older I get the less I care about jewelry. I used to council my friend’s husband’s about the benefits of giving their wives good jewelry. Once I explained to them what “jewelry sex” was my friends started getting better and better presents. Today I might tell them about retirement savings as their best aphrodisiac.

Never a Good Time

When Carter was in Preschool she had a friend whose Mom was an expert house renovator. I remember going to a house she had recently moved into and redone and was instantly envious of her laundry room with its new fangled front loader washer and dryer. They were cherry red and more beautiful than appliances he a right to be. I went home and looked at my standard, no frills white top loader in my garage. My washer and dryer were only about eight years old, but looked as if they had been designed in the seventies. I waited for them to fail so I could get one of those front loaders.
Fast forward two years and Carter at six and I were walking through Sears on our way to another store in the Mall. We lingered at the colorful washers. A lonely salesman came right up to us inquiring if we were in the market for new appliances. Before I could say anything Carter responded, “We are just dreaming.”
The years went by and friends who had front loaders began to complain about the way they smelled and the size of the loads. I came to appreciate my old reliable top loader. I stopped coveting new machines and saw my twenty year old appliances as great investments.  
Then today, as I had two loads to wash for spring break the washer gave up the ghost. I put a load of whites in and when I returned 30 minutes later I was accosted by a burning smell from the motor and a machine full of water and still dirty clothes. Twenty plus years was a good run, but why did it have to stop working today?
I retrieved the whites and took the wet laundry to my neighbor’s Mary Eileen’s house and imposed on her laundry room. Between loads I went to Lowes to purchase a new washer and dryer set. No dreaming, no front loader, just the pair that consumer reports told me to get. They were not in stock, so maybe breaking right before spring break was a good thing. At least I won’t be home wanting to do laundry looking at my broken old standard washer. You served me well.

Dog With The Finest Taste

Somehow pets are all attracted to the best thing in the house. Today I found Shay, who has her run of the house, drooped across the bunny pillow I so loving needlepointed. It is in no way the most comfortable pillow in the house, for that she has her chose of many down pillows. It was not in the sunniest spot, for that she could go to the sunroom and perch atop a soft sofa dappled in the warm glow of the spring light. It is not the coziest seat, unlike my low number side of the sleep number bed. It is not the best place to watch the wild life outside, for that she could sit in the chair in the living room with her head perched on the big arm that has a great view of the front yard. No, Shay has to sleep on top of bunny face pillow, covering his eyes so she can prove she is the queen animal in the house.
This is somehow similar to whenever I am dressed up in my finest outfit just about to go out and she comes in the house with dirty wet paws and decides she need to jump up on my legs. Normally Shay is happy to just walk inside and wait on her bed in the kitchen for a freeze dried liver treat, except if I have silk on. What is it about the finer things that attracts her so?
It is not just me she does this too. If a guest enters the house and has jeans on Shay tends to just saddle up to them and encourage some petting without jumping. The second a well dressed, and often animal indifferent person comes in, Shay feels the need to jump, paws first, up on their clothes. Yes, this is a training issue on the part of her owner’s, but how is it that she is so selective? Do you think there is such a thing as a blue blood dog?

Eating the Refrigerator Clean

It’s is about to be spring break around here. Seems weird since we have had spring for the last two months. It has hardly been a harsh winter that needs escaping. Instead it has been a pleasant weather calendar year so far that is barely making up for the nightmare political year.

I need spring break to run away from news.
The only thing I hate in these pre-spring break days is the feeling that I need to eat the food in my fridge and not purchase anything new that might go to waste. This goes only for fresh, not frozen food, which can’t languish in the zero tundra of the freezer for months after I get home from break.  
So now I look in the fridge and lament the asparagus and Brussels sprouts I bought days ago and have not eaten yet, along with the leftover container of broccoli and multiple small chucks of various cheeses. Since I really don’t want a meal of these items it dawns on me that if I put some of them together with eggs I can make a frittata where the sum of the parts is better than they are alone.
I vote the Brussels sprouts out of the dish since those mini cabbages are uncooked and might survive an extra week in the veggie drawer. I blanch the asparagus, saute an onion and put it all in a baking dish with the leftover broccoli. A dozen eggs whipped up with some salt and pepper poured over the veggie and the many bits of leftover cheese on top finishes up the dish. Thirty minutes on 350 and I have a brand new main course from what was just sides and apps. I have decided the frittata is the pre-vacation best friend to cleaning out the fridge. The combinations of things that can be put together are endless, but almost all of them will benefit from addition of onion.
Now I am looking at the half full bottle of milk and am thinking that if I go very light on my morning cereal I can make it last just the right number of days, that is as long as it does not turn before hand. Sometimes I wish I was not so frugal, but I know I still won’t drink milk that might make my stomach unhappy, especially right before a trip. Thank goodness I don’t have any leftover fish.  

What’s in a Name?

Today at an emergency Mah Jongg gathering (yes, there are Mah Jongg emergencies, but that is a different story) I learned that two very long time friends had different birth names than the ones I call them now. This was interesting since I too was given a different first name at birth, that I never went by after day three. Eventually I legally changed my name to Dana after I got married, but there was a lot of confusion with driver’s licenses, passports, social security and other official forms.
Since I was given the name Jane at birth, which was also my mother’s name, my godmother declared, “there are too many god damned Janes around here, I am going to call her Dana.” Or at least that is story I was told, I was only three days old so I don’t remember. What I do know is I am no more a Jane and my God mother was right to declare me a Dana. One of my friends today told us her name had been Wanda and never in a million years would I see her as a Wanda. Eventually she started going by her middle name. But getting people to start calling you a different name, is hard even if it is one you legally own.
What I wonder is if you could chose your own name would it be something different than you were given? Names come and go in fashion and what if you have a very old fashioned name, or you happened to be named the most popular name of the year and by the time you get to third grade you are just one of six Taylors, and they re not all the same sex? Are you tempted to create a nick name for yourself that ends up sticking and if you do what do you do about your legal name? Is your new name more like a Grandmother name, one you just created for yourself?
I am very thankful that my godmother so quickly came up with my true self name. Maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to name children and instead let them hang out with us for a few days until we find the name that fits. Changing your name later is just a lot of work.

Pickled Pineapple

I cut open a pineapple I had bought last week. When I bought it I did not think it was ripe enough so I left it on the counter to ripen. That plan did not work. The fruit was not sweet, but flat and a little tasteless. I turned to the internet and found out that once a pineapple is picked it stops ripening. I have been under the illusion that letting a pineapple sit on the counter can help it improve. I am still unsure if the source I read on the internet is right.
No matter, I now had a container of what I thought was useless fruit. Since it was not sweet I could not make a cake so I decided to go the other direction and pickle it, enhancing the tartness with spice. It is going to be the perfect accompaniment to roast pork.
1 tasteless unripe pineapple (certainly a good pineapple will work too)

3 jalapeño’s thinly sliced

1 cup of white vinegar 

2 T. Salt

2 T. Sugar

Handful of cilantro 
Put the vinegar, salt and sugar in sauce pan and heat until the salt no sugar are dissolved. Let the liquid cool. Put the pineapple and jalapeño in a bowl and pour the liquid over it. Cover and put in the fridge for at least a day. Add the cilantro a few hours before serving.  
Not only would this be good on pork, but would be excellent on fish tacos or grilled salmon.

A Rare Family Meal 

In a rare moment these days I had Russ and Carter with me at the same meal. It was such a treat. Russ flew in late this afternoon from a week in Chicago, Minneapolis, New York, and Washington, DC. Tomorrow Carter is going to Charlotte and Russ is back out to Chicago.  
The times that Russ and Carter get to see each other are fleeting so I am doing my best to maximize these opportunities. Tonight I enticed Carter to have dinner with us before going to watch the DUKE UNC basketball game by taking her to JuJu an Asian restaurant she had never been to. My plan worked perfectly. Carter wondered, “Why have I never been here before?”   
When all my parent’s kids had moved out on their own my parents built a house at the beach. I asked my Dad why he was building such a big house with a pool and he told me, “I have to make it really nice so you and your sisters will want to come visit us.” I thought that made us sound very shallow, like what, are we not going to want to visit our parents anyway?  
Now I find myself in that same position. In order for us to get time with Carter we have to offer something better than her friends. It works out fine that we can go to an early dinner and then Russ and I get to come home and go to bed early and Carter can go out, but that is not always the case.
We are about to embark on our last spring break. I figure that Carter may want to do spring break with friends, at least that is what I did in college. But maybe I can learn from my Dad. Maybe I can create someplace so fun that Carter will still want to visit us. For now I am happy if we eat a meal or two a week together.

Congratulations Graduates

This was a fun week in my Mah Jongg world. I had a class or I played a game everyday this week. Sounds decadent. Monday was the first day of Durham beginners class with Lucy, Kathryn, Kay, Trena and Page. Tuesday was third class of Chapel Hill friends Alice, Kim, Lisa and Linda. Wednesday was my regular game where I got to play and not teach. Thursday was Durham’s second class and today was Durham’s third and final class. It also happened to be Kay’s birthday.
I am happy to report that there are many new Mah Jongg players in the area. Everyone caught on to the game and improved to the point of being able to figure out what to pass without help. If you do not know what that means it is time for you to learn to play Mah Jongg.
Teaching everyday but one was a fun way to spend the week. If I was not such a natural born salesman I probably would have liked being a teacher. When I was a kid playing “school” was a favorite game for me. I used to love to make worksheets up for my much younger sister who did not find math a fun game. It is too bad, because she might have gotten further along in math if she had stuck with the “school game” a little longer. She always wanted to quit playing school and play beauty parlor instead.
Now that my week of running Mah Jongg school is over I am going to miss it tomorrow. I know there are other people who have asked me to teach them and I am happy to start up a new class, I just need to know if you want a day or evening class. Now that basketball is over evening is easier.
In the past month I have had beginners, intermediate and advanced Mah Jongg classes and it is amazing to me to see how much more there is to teach people who have been playing a while. One of the friends in the beginners class today asked me what else I taught because we were having such a fun time at Mah Jongg. Now I am trying to think of what else I know that I can teach. I know it is not math.

Progress? 

Today a friend stopped by the house after her yoga class. She told me how yoga had solved her bulging neck disk that was caused by too much driving and hovering over a key board. She credited yoga with her ability to open up her shoulders and solve her own ailments. I told her the story of the massage therapist who told me I needed to work on opening up my shoulders because of too much keyboard time also. I asked him how my shoulders were for a seventy year old. “Oh, great,” he told me. “Good, since I am only fifty.” (I wa just trying to find out how bad I really was.)
After that conversation today I got to thinking about all the secretaries that worked at Avon, where my Dad worked when I was a kid. They were beautiful women who sat at their typewriters all day, except for the times they were going to the Xerox room or to get coffee.  
My Dad was a prolific writer, scribbling out page after page of his left handed scrawl across many yellow legal pads. Goldie, his secretary, had hours of typing daily just from the things he wrote on the three hours he spent on the train going to and from work. Then there was all the typing that she had to do from what he dictated, not just in person, but also on his dictaphone.  
I knew Goldie for years and never once did I ever her her complain about neck or shoulders pain despite the many hours spent at her IBM Selcetric. I also never ever saw Goldie hunch over her typewriter. She sat at her desk with the most perfect of posture.
I took typing back in junior high school. My teacher Mrs. Green and her army of typewriters were housed in a portable classroom out back of the gym. It was perfect because that kept the noise of us all banging away on the keys sequestered from where the real learning was going on inside the building. The first thing Mrs. Green taught us was how to sit at the typewriter and hold our hands in position. At the time it seemed like over kill, especially for someone like me who had terrible posture to begin with. Now I am understanding the importance of all that.
Along the way, with the advent of lap top computers and now IPads, we have detached ourselves from always having to work at a desk and sit in an appropriate chair. I am terribly guilty of writing my blog every night from my bed where I certainly do not have good posture. Those old school ways of sitting up straight with both feet on the floor, shoulders down, neck stretched long have disappeared.  
We have taken the convenience of being able to work anywhere and have ruined our bodies because of it. And now we have to go to trainers, classes and physical therapy to fix the damage we have done because of that convenience. Perhaps I need to look for an old IBM typewriter and a little typing desk and chair and go back to sitting properly when I write. I can just take a photo of the paper with all the cross outs and edits and post that on the blog. I might lose every reader, but at least I won’t be risking a bulging disk.

Past Life Feeder

My friend Lynn asked me the other day if I might be making some Jambalaya soon. Lynn is a very picky eater who consumes practically nothing but Starbucks green tea lattes and movie theatre popcorn so if she wants some real food I figure the least I can do is make it for her.
So after working out and playing Mah Jongg well into the afternoon I decided I should not continue to do fun things for me, but instead make that Jambalaya. Since I was making it for Lynn I might as well make some for others, I thought. So I went about chopping and cooking and before it knew it I had made 32 quarts of chicken and chicken andouille sausage jambalaya.  

The pot in the picture holds just half of the total amount made. The crazy thing about this is that Lynn will eat about half a cup and be full.
I am wondering exactly what syndrome I have that makes me unable to cook small amounts? There must be a name for this. I can not blame this from my years catering. When I was a young child and cooked for my family I over cooked even then. My parents gave me a biblical/American Indian name of “Feeds the five thousands.”
I must have run a major food business in a past life. Perhaps I was a chef to a royal court, feeding not just the royal family, but the staff and hangers on. Or maybe I ran a school food service, or a prison kitchen. Somewhere there has to be a past life feeding experience.
I know there are all these little libraries popping up around the country where people can just pick up a book on a corner. Maybe I can have a little soup kitchen out front of my house. Seems like my need to feed people is deeply bred in me.