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Don’t Mess With The Lemon

What? It's only March 3?

The cherry is in bloom.

I thought it was April

The daffodils are up, but looking sheepish, like an alarm woke them up early and now, here they are, squinting into the sunlight.

What time is it?

This is the toughest time of the year for the Meyer lemon. Right about now he’s (yes he is a he and yes he is a diva) pretty pissed about this winter business. He’s dropped most of his leaves and he’s waging a fierce battle against spider mites. I’m tempted to put him outside, but if it freezes again he’ll start throwing spikes. Bet you didn’t know a lemon could grow thorns. I think it happens when the new green growth is arrested by cold. They’re not really thorns, but the effect is the same. It makes for one very angry-looking lemon.

Just plain sad

Thems Must Be Some REALLY Good Peppers

Or, as my mother would say, what, are they filled with diamonds?

Yoo-hoo, criminals, come-out, come-out, wherever you are!

Last week, I got a little note in my mailbox from a neighbor. Actually it was an email chain printout in which a handful of people on our block recounted stories of prowlers and break-ins. There was one legit break-in (and, from the sounds of it, the victims knew the perpetrator), but most the stories were of kids lurking in the bushes with crowbars. They wait until we leave then pry our doors open and rifle through our freezer and medicine cabinet looking for drugs or cash or drugs for cash. (Hey kid, you really want my hormone-blocking cancer drugs? Help yourself. Welcome to the world of hot flashes and night sweats. Enjoy your stay.)

You’d think this news would scare me. I mean, I stay up at night thinking about flame retardants and dry cleaning chemicals (stay tuned). And sure it creeps me out, but nothing incites more dread and terror than…. Wait for it, wait for it… The urban Trader Joe’s parking lot. Gasp!

Some of you who are lucky enough to have a nice big suburban TJ’s may not know what I’m talking about. Trust me. You’ve never encountered such a tightly packed, poorly planned, small, exhaust filled, impossible-to-get-through-even-if-you’re-done-and-just-want-to-go-home, parking lot. And once you find a spot, don’t even think of opening your door to get your kid out. There. Is. No. Room.   

I really resisted the whole Trader Joe’s movement. Partly because of the lots but also because I didn’t want to add another grocery store to my list and there isn’t really a store close to my house. But, you know, I have a few friends who are die-hard TJ’s fans so I decided to do a little price comparison. Here’s what I found:

Product W. Foods PCC TJ’s QFC**
½ gallon organic whole milk 3.99 3.89 2.99 3.99
Pacific organic almond milk 2.59 2.59 1.69 2.99
Organic grass-fed ground beef 6.99 5.99 5.99 5.49***
Organic extra virgin olive oil (per oz) .65 .60 .38 .78
Organic Fuji apples (per lb) 1.99 1.99 2.07* 2.49
Organic red peppers (per lb) 3.99 3.99 3.52* 8.00*

 

*This produce was priced per piece instead of per pound. So I made some estimates and created some complex equations to come up with these numbers. I like to think Mrs. Runyan would be proud, but probably not.

**QFC overcharges you retail then makes you give them all your personal information in exchange for one of their bullshit loyalty cards that gives you “discounts” at the register. The rates listed here are what their price tags say and do not include their “discounts.”

***QFC did not have any organic grass-fed ground beef. The closest I could find was “natural.”

Seriously? $8.00 per pound for red peppers? Before this, I would have guessed that QFC would be the cheapest of the stores. Perhaps they don’t buy enough organic or natural products to get volume discounts.

As you can see, in most cases, TJ’s is WAY cheaper. I mean way. Look at almond milk. (For those of you dairy-free-ers, I really think that almond is the best of the alternative milks. I actually feel better when I drink it than when I don’t.) Anyway, the brand, size, everything is the same. How can TJ’s sell it for 40% less?

My experience with Trader Joe’s produce is inconsistent at best. I’ve heard that sometimes they have great watermelons and mangoes, but frequently their fruits and veggies lack flavor and substance. Limes without juice. Soft apples. Tasteless peaches.  

So, now I do fight with TJ’s parking lot on occasion. I shop there like I would Costco. I buy a gallon of milk, 10 cartons of almond milk (it lasts forever), 7 boxes of Paul’s favorite cereal, etc. I load up on prepared food but save my produce purchases for the co-op.

And in the last post about grocery stores  some of you brought up farmers markets. On the Neighborhood Farmer’s Market Alliance site they have a nice little article about produce price comparison studies conducted from 2003-2008. They all find that farmer’s market produce is cheaper than their grocery store competitors. Here’s one interesting example:

Spring 2008: study by Stacy Jones’ SU statistics students found that the average cost per pound of all organic produce at QFC was $2.98, at Whole Foods is was $2.53, and at the Broadway Farmers Market is was $2.36.  A few items were more expensive at the Farmers Market, but most items were more expensive at the grocery stores, so the total average was less at the Farmers Market – which means that a shopper’s grocery bill would average lowest at the Farmers Market. 

Now that we know how much cheaper TJ’s is, perhaps we should encourage them to charge us more and use the extra revenue to make their parking garage slightly less horrific. But then, what would be the point? If it’s not cheap, it’s just another grocery store.

Perhaps the miserable parking lot is the price, or the penance, we pay for the luxury of inexpensive ground beef. Maybe that’s why they give out free samples, to soften the blow. Oh Honey, they say when you burst through the front door waving your crow bar like a sword, after using it to pry open your door and scare away the criminals lurking in dark corners. Here, they say, have a chocolate covered strawberry on a stick and a tiny cup of coffee. Then they press a bottle of olive oil into your hand. Now here, they say, take this. Take home some of our cheap packaged goods. There, now the world doesn’t seem like such a scary place, does it? Don’t you feel better already?

Decoration

 

Reclamation

We made a giant box into a bus. We cut out windows and made a steering wheel from the scraps. She filled it with pillows and bowls of hot-cookie soup. She decorated the bus with stickers then reclaimed the stickers for her face. We disassembled her crib and moved it to the garage. She spent her first night on her big girl bed.

The big girl

Saving. Babies.

Good Samaritan Hospital in the Dominican Republic (COTNI Photo)

So here I am, sitting down at my desk to write my usual neurotic drivel, whining about the challenge of finding natural bedding, how the CEO of Whole Foods may, in fact, be the devil, and blahblahblah, wahwahwah, when I get an email from my friend, Peggy. She’s a doctor and writer who flew to the Dominican Republic to work with Children of the Nations (COTN), providing medical care at a hospital near the border of Haiti.

Here are some excerpts from the email. 

The first two quakes on Saturday night caused all 350 patients in the hospital to evacuate themselves to the yard.  EVERYONE left their rooms with their belongings, mattresses–hobbling on amputated legs, being carried by family members, jumping off the balconies.  You name it, they got OUT of there–utter pandemonium and the most raw panic I have ever seen.  Now we have all patients in a self-made tent city on the dirt and gravel.  It is unbelievably difficult to deliver care to open wounds in the dirt, but we’re doing it.  Today, a few patients were convinced to go back in the building. Tonight, no sooner than we had finally achieved some sort of order–in conjunction with the day shift–the 3rd quake occurred.  Now the hospital is totally empty again and no one–I guarantee it–will be convinced to go inside again. 

COTN has a very nice clinic, constantly staffed by top-notch docs in Barahona. COTN has committed to provide/pay for all of the medical needs for 11 children, provide housing for the kids and their families and then help the families relocate in Haiti when they are healed. Believe me when I say it was like moving heaven and earth to get the Dominican Republic to allow a bunch of wounded Haitian kids into the interior of their country.

But the worst was that Vicki and I were given the very difficult and heartbreaking task of picking out 11 children to bring back to Barahona. I cannot tell you how hard it was to wander through the tent city that had grown up in front of the hospital knowing we could only take 11 kids. The word got out quickly and parents began following us around, begging us to take their kids. The grief Vicki and I have shared … Well… you can imagine. Or, maybe not. This day job was performed after crawling around in the dirt all the previous night trying to keep wounds clean and was followed by a very long evening caring for a 3 month old baby. The baby had been buried under 4 collapsed stories and the 5 dead bodies of her family and she was brought to us by her auntie. The baby was critically dehydrated and had gangrene of her thigh. It is an absolute miracle she didn’t die last night. Vicki and I took turns at her bedside, (we took care of her in an O.R. instead of in the dirt) in between trying to arrange the transport out of those 11 children, and worked until 1 a.m. when a wonderful, merciful surgeon from our team and a nurse from another offered to relieve us. 4 hours sleep never felt so good.

This morning we tagged and listed all the kids and the family members accompanying them and got them staged and ready for evacuation. I made one last trip through the tent hospital to say goodbye to some patients I had come to know. I can only justify the taking of the few with the knowledge that there is no way we can help everyone. I know the powers that be are working hard to get the critical patients out of there, but there are so many that are not considered ‘critical’ enough to be relocated. I have no idea what will happen to those people, but devastating infection is high on the list given the conditions.

The Puerto Rican arm of the US Air Force provided us 2 Blackhawk helicopters to evacuate the kids and their family members to Barahona. Vicki flew in one helicopter with half the people, I flew in the other. I have to admit it was pretty damn cool to fly in a Blackhawk helicopter—I only wish it was under different circumstances.

 

Peggy helping load patients into helocopter (COTNI photo)

This afternoon, members of a new COTN medical team that arrived in Barahona yesterday are getting the kids bathed and ready for some serious wound dressing changes. The smell of infected flesh is everywhere. One of the happiest experiences of my life was walking into that clinic this morning with all those injured kids and seeing THREE PEDIATRIC ICU NURSES had arrived with the newest team. Wow!! Exactly what we needed! Not only that, but it is such a relief to have these kids in a place where we can actually get them clean, care for them properly and hopefully save any remaining limbs that they have.

Go ahead. Take a minute. Pull yourself together.

No more compulsive, self-centered, naval-gazing for me today. There are babies to be saved. Did you hear me? Peggy is saving babies. Saving. Babies.

It’s hard to know what to do about Haiti, how to help, where to give. You can see the work Peggy’s team is doing. You can make a donation here.

Go do it. Now.

Compartmentalized Grief

Well, we’re nearly three weeks into 2010 and I’ve finally made a resolution. I’m going to be nicer to the dog, Norah. It seems like that should be easy. She is a golden retriever, after all.

But you see, Emily was the dog-love of my life. She was a beautiful, bold, mean, brown, shelter-dog that had a bad habit of biting people. She licked the back of my bald head while I napped on the couch in my chemo days. She slept under my desk while I wrote my book. She read my mind. I loved her too much and I knew it. Emily died in July.

My Girl

Emily had only been gone for two days, and I was hoping to get a little sleep without the assistance of my good friend Ambien, when Paul climbs into bed and says he’s been to the pet shelter site and seen a lab-mix that is “good with children.” What what?

I’ve been known to battle insomnia from time to time and I have a rule that there is no talk of taxes or attorneys in bed. Paul seems to need to unpack things at the end of a long day or he needs to tell me before he forgets. I need to push things aside and hope they go away. I’d never thought to add dog acquisition to the list.

I say (or perhaps screech so loud that only dogs can hear) something like – we can’t have a dog for like five years because I can’t deal with a puppy and a toddler and we can’t train another shelter dog! Have you lost your mind?

He says something like, sorry babe, but that’s not going to work for me. I’m a dog person. I need a dog.

Goodbye night’s sleep…

A few days later, my mother, sister and I are sitting on the deck and when I tell them this story my mother says she knows just what I need. A breeder’s dog! A 2 to 4 year-old, trained, nice, momma dog that’s done having puppies.

I wave my hands and shake my head, no, see, in fact, I don’t need any dog at all. I love dogs but with the kid, there are days when I just don’t feel I have any more love to give. A few minutes later, amid the chaos of three toddlers preparing for dinner, my mother slips away to email her dog breeder/friend.

I have an email from the breeder and photos of the perfect dog by the next morning. Do you see where this is going?

A few nights later, Paul and I have a date night. Really? I ask. A dog? What about Emily? Won’t you think about her every time you see this dog? Won’t you be comparing her to Emily?

He says it’s not about replacing Emily. It’s about getting another dog. Our grief will be the same.

Silence.

My life is better with a dog in it, he says. I want a dog.

I’ve got nothing. I can’t argue with that. The truth is that Paul rarely makes proclamations or mandates. Our marriage is more of a… collaboration (perhaps that’s code for: I’m a controlling bitch). This time he’s really insisting. Two weeks later we agree to watch Norah for the weekend. Of course she’s great.

I mean she’s fine. Norah’s a fine dog. Not many bad habits. Sweet. Small for a golden. Great with Josie. She doesn’t bite people. She doesn’t eat bananas (peel and all) off the counter. She doesn’t steal soap from the shower. She doesn’t leap over six foot fences to eat the sandwich sitting in the new neighbor’s moving truck and then drink all the water from their bird bath. She doesn’t steal tortilla chips from my hand while they’re on their way to my mouth.

Instead of a big brown mutt, there is this ethereal, waifish, golden dog who ghosts around the house. I hardly hear her but every time I turn around she’s there (boo!) with her paw under my foot or her nose hovering centimeters from my leg. I do not really know her but I do know that she’s no Emily and in 2010, I’ll try to forgive her for that and maybe love her just a little because of it.

Norah and Her Evil Twin, Ruby

Look Closely

“Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” -Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Do you see?

Not just green buds but blue sky. Blue! Right there!

I put my hair in a ponytail and went for a walk. I chewed some cinnamon flavored gum. It was delicious.

Take Pity on the Aged Snowboarders

Tough Girl

My friend A’s birthday is the 29th of December and it gets lost in the mess of the holidays every year. No matter how hard I try, I always forget. This year, just before Christmas, she says she wants to go skiing with me and another friend to celebrate. Now, I switched from skiing to snowboarding many years ago but I take no offense. I dig out my gear and cut off the lift tickets that show it’s been almost three years since the last time my board came out of the garage.

We head to the mountains early. It’s beautiful. We get to the top of the first run and I sit down to clip into my board. Getting back up is harder than I remember. I’m thinking, can’t they install some benches up here? Or even just a metal bar, like a bike rack, where we can balance so we don’t have to get all the way down on the snow? Come on people; take pity on the aging snowboarding population. We’re not all punk kids anymore.

Eventually I manage to scoot to the edge of the hill and carve a few turns into the mountain.

I’m feeling okay. It’s coming back. The sun is shining. We break early for lunch. We eat nachos. In the afternoon the skiers want to explore the new double black diamond that just opened up. Icy moguls are no fun on a board so we separate and I do a few runs by myself.

Later, we decide to head down my favorite run. This is when I realize that, after 15 years of snowboarding, my favorite run is called… (wait for it, wait for it) Tinkerbell. I know (hanging my head in shame). But Tinkerbell isn’t all fairy dust and flowers, oh no. She’s not always as nice as she seems. She can be a cold, hard, little bitch when she doesn’t get what she wants.

About halfway down the nicely groomed run my friends pull off to the side so we can rest. (I know, we need rest on Tinkerbell?) I pull up alongside. When, I’m nearly stopped, I bend my knees, shift my weight from heel to toe edge and BAM! Someone pulls the snow right out from underneath my feet. I hit my knees on solid ice and feel the shock rise up my spine into my brain. I roll over onto my back and I’m writhing, moaning and hugging my legs to my chest. I’m a pile of bones, disassembled. After a few minutes of cursing the evil little sprite I sit up. I’m fine. Of course, I have a bruise the size and shape of a baseball on each knee, but I’m fine dammit.

My friends lean into their poles and peer down at me. They offer to help. Poles. How I miss ski poles. There’s something so beautifully stable about them. But it’s over between me and skiing. We broke up years ago and when I said we were through, I meant it.

We make it the rest of the way down the punishing pixie run and I manage to stumble into the Drooling Moose or whatever-the-hell-its-called-just-somebody-get-me-a-goddamn-drink Bar. By then I’ve reached full snow-sport crisis. There’s this voice inside my head saying you can’t do this anymore. You just can’t take a fall like you used to. It’s not right. By the second drink I’m dreaming of having poles again. And, maybe it’s the kahlua, but making the switch back doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

Who knows, maybe three years from now, when I hit the slopes, I’ll rekindling my relationship with skis. Maybe I’ll get to the top of a mountain and not have to sit down or clip in and maybe I’ll actually remember how to keep my tips from crossing. Maybe I’ll give my old two-faced pal, Tinkerbell, another chance and maybe I’ll discover that she’s kinder to aged skiers.

Genius

Josie’s camera sits on the kitchen counter. Anyone can use it. But it’s pretty easy to tell which ones are hers. Here are some of the highlights.

Josie Helps Make Dinner By Taking Pictures

 

I Wonder Who Took This

 

Tell It!

You’re Cold?

Photo By Lance Douglas

This is from my friend who works in the Arctic. He says it’s -70 F there now with wind chill.

That’s a big fire. Good thing they’ve got whales around. Just in case.

Post-Holiday Vegetarianism

A Terrible Photographer But A Decent Cook

I don’t know about you but after the holidays, or really any period when I spend a lot of time with my Atkins diet-loving parents, I tend to want to eat vegetarian for a little while. Don’t get me wrong, I love meat, but sometimes I need a little break — a detox of sorts.

This recipe comes from my (current) favorite cookbook, Feeding the Whole Family by Cynthia Lair. It’s sooo good. Even my I-don’t-eat-lentils-they-have-too-many-carbs-pass-the-bacon Dad loves it. Prep time says 50 minutes but that’s because the rice and lentils take time to cook. The hands-on prep time is really minimal. 

Recipe: Indian Rice and Lentils with Carmelized Onions

Ingredients

  • 2 tablespoons ghee or olive oil, divided
  • 1 cup short-grain brown rice, rinsed and drained
  • 1 cup dried brown or green lentils, rinsed and drained
  • 1 bay leaf
  • 3 3/4 cups water
  • 2 teaspoons salt, divided
  • 2 large onions, sliced in thin rounds
  • 2 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 1/2 teaspoons ground coriander
  • 1 teaspoon ground cumin
  • 1/8 teaspoon cayenne
  • 1 cup plain yogurt with 1 teaspoon snipped fresh dill mixed in

Instructions

  1. Heat 1 tablespoon of the ghee in a 4-quart pot and add rice and lentils. Saute until nicely coated. Add bay leaf, water, and 1 teaspoon of salt and bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer 45 minutes, covered. To pressure-cook, use 2 3/4 cups water and cook at pressure 35 to 40 minutes.
  2. Meanwhile, heat remaining ghee in a skillet on medium to low heat. Add onions and 1 teaspoon salt and saute. When onions begin to soften, add garlic and spices. Cook until onions are golden and have begun to carmelize.
  3. When all water is absorbed from rice and lentils, remove from heat and take out bay leaf. Serve rice and lentils topped with carmelized onions and a dollop of dilled yogurt.

Cooking time (duration): 50

Diet type: Vegetarian

Diet (other): Gluten free

Meal type: dinner

Microformatting by hRecipe.