I am not dying.
I am aware that each of us is slowly inching towards the grave with marching finality, but that’s not the kind of dying I’m talking about.
I covered some serious pavement today. To some runners out there who routinely do this, please don’t tell me. Let me be excited for one measly day. Or several measly days would be nice.
I switched my route from last week because I just couldn’t mentally handle running all 8.5 miles down backroads filled with row after row of corn and soybeans. There were too many one-lane curves and ginormous pick up trucks and I found myself running in the long grass beside the road just to save my hide from being plastered on the blacktop. Believe me I saw enough frogs last week in just that state to strike some serious fear and respect into my heart for farmers and their trucks.
It’s your road, I see it now. I won’t bother you again.
I headed down a more familiar road this morning, more liberally sprinkled with homes and friendly people. Several times, I had people encouraging me from their yards, some telling me that my chaser car (my lovely, lovely husband and three children…hauling my water and cheering for me) could park in their driveway instead of having to sit on the road with their emergency flashers on.
I can’t tell you what that did for my morale. Long, straight, relatively flat roads and friendly people. Almost no trucks and only one squashed frog. That says something to a runner.
It helped me seriously beat my time from last week. I covered 9 miles today and was even able to sprint at the end. And I lost my cell phone somewhere in a friendly person’s yard but found it later.
So there you go, I ran and I didn’t die. And I found my cell phone, to boot.
Aren’t we all happy?
9 more miles and a kazillion more to go before November. And perhaps a few more squashed frogs.
Fast food.
Not exactly words that conjure up visions of wholesomeness in this world of drive-thru’s.
However, I maintain that in this existence of ‘on the run’, we can find things to eat that serve not only our time well, but also our bodies and our pocketbooks.
Enter the new "fast food".
Over on the Nourishing Gourmet blog, Kimi is hosting a bit of an idea fest. She’s calling it something like ‘The Portable Food Challenge’. When I read her idea some days ago, I felt stuck. I didn’t think I had anything fast AND nutritious AND portable. Something that would taste fresh, delectable, and would appeal to almost anyone.
Goodness. That felt like a tall order.
Until I sat down and started going through my mind for recipes that reside only there, never on paper, and thus never end up being quite the same thing two times in a row.
However, there was one item that when my husband mentioned it, it flew into my mind with such giddy clarity, I almost squealed. Almost. But I WAS very excited.
It has been ages since I have fixed this particular dish. I don’t know why. Perhaps it fell into that predictable shift of seasons changing, life going on, children being born. New recipes taking precidence for no explainable reason.
It’s back. And it’s big. And as I fixed it this morning, it was impossible not to snitch little licks of the creamy hummus tinged with the juicy spiciness of the green onion. Fresh, round, crisp circles of cucumber, in season, offsetting the crunch of the cracker underneath.
Simply too wonderful.
I made one of the versions authentic to how it began. With a crunchy, pumpernickel-rye bread, each side browned in olive oil and topped with a savory vegetable hummus.
The other version I put together substituted a gluten-free cracker for the bread.
Heavenly.
I’ll quit rambling now and get the recipe on the screen:
Cucumber on Hummus and Rye
Photo of original recipe:
Gluten-free version…
Homemade Hummus
1-16 oz. can chickpeas (garbanzo beans)
4 T. lemon juice
1 1/2 T. tahini
1-2 cloves, minced garlic
1/4 C. purified water
1/2 t. sea salt
2-3 T. olive oil
*Put all above ingredients in a food processor and blend until smooth and creamy, stopping, if needed, to scrape sides of canister. Garnish with paprika or green onions, if desired. This is a very basic recipe. You can add any sort of vegetable, herb, or seasoning that feels right to you. It is so versatile and I have never had one of my children turn it down.
Head over to the Nourishing Gourmet for more great ideas.
The new craze in our home is everything Michael Phelps.
I don’t really mind, seeing as his example of work ethic and respect for his mom and family seems exemplary.
A few days ago, we had a long day full of errands and shopping. All the kiddos were with me and these are the little faces I saw in the rear view mirror all_day_long.
Swimming lessons were kind of the "thing" this summer. So, Phelps winning over, and over, and over didn’t hurt our devotion to all things aquatic. We did try watching the water polo, but with all that splashing, we couldn’t tell which team was which. Diving was another favorite.
All told, we enjoyed our first family foray into the world of the Summer Olympics.
Now, it’s just matter of waiting for the semi-permanent oval indentations on their foreheads to fade.
They do fade, right?
There is nothing, nothing, nothing like a home-grown, fully-ripened-on-the-vine, tomato.
Added to that, there is nothing like a savory, fresh salsa.
My eldest, a fine strapping boy of seven, is also a cook. I would even say he is a fine cook. He is particular in his tastes (except when it comes to cookies, there isn’t a cookie he has met that he doesn’t like), and especially right now he is into fresh tastes. Omelets with fresh tomato and cheese are his thing. And they are goooood.
So when my hubby and I came home from a date a couple weeks ago, we brought with us a container of fresh, organic salsa from the local outdoor green market. Oh boy, it was fabulous. Mango, peach, red onion, tomato, cilantro and a melding of tastes that boggled our minds.
Of course that meant our boy had to go pick fresh ingredients for a batch of our own. I let him have carte blanche and so when we visited our little outdoor grocer on the corner, he made his selections with a discerning eye. He knew exactly what he wanted and as he picked the produce I bagged it, enjoying the variety that began appearing on the counter in front of us.
We brought it home and ended up getting busy (big surprise), and the actual making of the salsa was put off for a few days.
By the time we got around to it, the produce had only gotten a bit better. Juicy and ready to go under the knife.
It really ended up being very simple. A perfect solution for that produce that is very ripe or a bit over-ripe and isn’t the prettiest to look at.
We decided to do a salsa that required nothing spectacular as far as preparation. We refused to seed the tomatoes, we cooked nothing (it is all raw), and decided to eliminate the hassle of the whole hot peppers thing. We don’t care for hot salsa, and with three little ones, it just didn’t make sense.
So here is the very, very simple recipe:
Peach Salsa
*Chop green pepper, onion, and herb very fine. Everything else can be chunked in any sort of way. (The goal here is easy. There was no peeling of anything…we left all the skins on.) Combine all ingredients in a bowl and toss lightly. Allow to sit for a few hours, if desired.
We ate half of ours right away and it was simply more fabulous than we had hoped for. The leftovers a day later were even better. I bought two avocado as a side dish, added another large peach to the leftovers and it was perfect.
I quite simply can’t get over it. The sweet, salty tang just got hold of us and didn’t let go. I do believe I will continue to take my son’s word for it when it comes to picking and choosing the right ingredients. He seems to hit a home run almost every time.
So, enjoy the slow days of August, the abundant harvest from your garden (or someone else’s), and the time to gather your family around for a few last, lazy moments before the full force of a winter schedule hits.
Taste, savor, linger.
Well, it’s happened.
Never thought it would, but it has. I’m getting hooked on running.
I know. Nuts, huh? But this is something I have wanted to do for a very long time. I decided to register for a mini-marathon here in my grand city and so I did. However, my health continued to suffer (see previous post) and I started losing hope I would be able to do it.
Happy to report, though, that the last week has been great. No fatigue, burning joints or muscles…I’ve got my game on.
Today is my first ever weekend long run in preparation for the biggy in November. 8.5 miles is what I have to run today, or 13.7 km for you over-the-big-water people.
I’m going to now go stretch, hydrate, and try not to die. Wish me luck.
It’s here.
The reckoning.
The something that says, "it’s time".
I have been in serious denial. It’s so much easier to tell yourself you are imagining things. That the migraines, the nausea, the rashes, the hair loss, the muscle and joint aches, and the fatigue are all just a vapor of your over-active hypochondriac mind.
In fact, I have been told that very thing. To get over it and muscle through it and stop thinking about it so much and it’ll go away.
If only that were the case. I don’t know how many migraines I have muscled through in just the last few months, but I know for a fact that when I have my head over a bowl and I’m losing my dinner (sorry, but hey, it happens) because of the sheer pain, it isn’t just in my vain dreams.
It’s oh, so very real.
It started about 6 months ago. I started to realize my symptoms were interconnected somehow as they all seemed to flare up at the same time, the origins being mysterious and almost impossible to pin down.
I felt frustrated, knowing I was suffering from something, but not knowing what.
The nausea has been with me much longer. In the beginning it was intermittent and vague, like the feeling after eating too much at Thanksgiving. That was 5 years ago. It built until after our third little one was born and I kept thinking I was pregnant again, the mornings were so bad. I don’t know how many pregnancy tests I purchased, thinking I must be expecting, only to find one lonely, pink line while the other white space stared back at me, blankly.
I had no idea what to think.
I’m not one to necessarily run to the doctor for something nagging. I know it’s stupid. I’m not saying it’s a great trait, it’s just how I am. Anyway, I talked to a few friends of mine and the same words kept coming back at me over and over.
"It sounds like celiac disease."
Celiac disease? Sounds horrible. Of course I don’t have that.
I then did what any American would do in my position. I Googled "celiac disease". I’m not sure there was a symptom listed that I had not experienced. Down to the unexplainable loss of tooth enamel, iron-deficiency anemia, and depression.
Ok, then.
I sat up and decided to check it out. I tried to contact (on a long shot)
Shauna James Ahern of the renowned Gluten Free Girl (book and blog). She, much to my amazment and admiration, actually responded personally to my email encouraging me to pursue answers.
At the time I actually think I was still believing it to be an allergy or something. An inconvenience that could be stepped over long enough that eventually, it would be blessedly gone without explanation or reason. After all, I have survived years of hayfever and I just press on. Hayfever, indeed. What can I say? I’m as slow as molasses on a January day when it comes
to being honest about my physical self. It’s too easy to pass it over
and keep plodding.
The more I read, the more I realized my understanding was flawed. It is most definitely not an allergy.
It is a disease. One that can eventually be fatal if not addressed in a complete and dedicated manner. Basically, my body cannot tolerate gluten, that protein in several types of grain that holds breads, cakes, cookies together. It’s in other commercially prepared foods as well listed as an assortment of ingredients. It’s toxic to me and it inhibits my ability to live a full, healthy life. Allowed to continue uninterrupted, the damage could be irreversible.
The time has come for it to end. I have stepped over it, but it continues to get bigger and ever bigger, consuming my resolve to ignore it. It simply refuses to be passed over.
And so, I have finally admitted to myself the necessity for change. Big change. Most people have no idea the places gluten hides. The list seems enormous, impossible, frustrating.
On the face of it, quite frankly, it comes across as terrible and restrictive. To me, however, the reality of a future without headaches, nausea, and pain is like Christmas.
Only better.
And it doesn’t stop with me. My daughter, Anna, has been beginning to suffer from the same symptoms. She’ll lay awake at night, sick to her stomach, her back, elbows and knees aching and ask me if the pain will ever go away.
She is five.
Tonight, I told her she probably has what I have. That she may have to eat foods with no gluten.
She replied with, "Mommy, my tummy sure is telling me, ‘no gluten for this kid’."
I laughed and welcomed her to the gluten free life. I saw no regret on her face, just relief.
We are going to do this and it’s going to be fun. New recipes, new foods, new experiences. Already it has been amazing how inventive and delicious food can be when parameters are expanded and a new path embraced.
So, here we are stepping out and, remarkably, already loving every moment of it.
Years ago in another life (or at least it feels like another life), I was well acquainted with the world of food preservation.
I grew up in southwestern Wyoming where nothing grew unless you spewed threats at your garden in an intimidating tone of voice. And even then, it probably didn’t grow.
I was flabbergasted (love that word) when I moved to Indiana, via a short stop in Texas, to find that people had gardens that could have FILLED my childhood home’s entire yard. And we had a big yard, people.
I saw beans, peppers, squash, pumpkins, cucumbers, tomatoes, tomatoes, and more tomatoes. Lots of tomatoes. And beans. Lots of those, too. I think that is why the Indiana state dish is Green Bean Casserole. I had never eaten that until I transplanted here from the Wild West. Out there we fried and ate toads and snakes and heated our homes with cow chips.
I am totally kidding.
Mostly kidding, anyway. We most certainly did NOT heat our homes by burning cow chips. If you do not know what a cow chip is, that is okay. No loss on your part.
We knew what tomatoes and corn and peppers were, but we thought they were MEANT to be the size of plums. And carrots? Yeah, we planted carrots. And every single, solitary one was exactly the size of the fake ‘mini’ carrots you see out here in the Indiana supermarkets.
Copy cats. They are simply jealous. Ours were so sweet, we called them candy carrots. Our planting season was short, a mere 8-10 weeks on average and the cooler temperatures at night and into August turned the starches into sugar. Never have had a better carrot.
Everything else we tried planting took so much coaxing and encouraging and protecting, it wasn’t worth it in the long run.
That didn’t stop my mother. She was determined to acquire healthy, economical food for her family of seven. She was like the Proverbs 31 woman who traveled far distances to acquire sustenance for her household. I don’t know where the Proverbs lady went, but we went to Utah.
Man, oh, man. If you have ever been to the Salt Lake City valley you will know what I’m talking about. It feels like a veritable Eden. Just three short hours from our home, it was an accessible and highly sought-after source of highly nutritional produce.
Most years we would go with friends and pick fruit in the vast orchards for one day.
One. Day.
This is what we would typically pick in that one day:
Not kidding. In an average summer, we could put up 500-600 quarts of goodness. It would easily carry us through the winter up there in the high desert wasteland that was called Rock Springs.
So at the end of the very looooong week following our picking day, we made everything from freezer jams to preserves to grape juice concentrate. We dried a portion of our apricots, peaches, and apples for healthy snacks and canned whatever hadn’t turned into jam. We washed, dried and froze tray after tray of green and red grapes and then poured the individually frozen treats into quart bags, sucked the air out and stored them five bags deep in our basement freezer. And mom made the best, best, BEST tomato soup I have had in my life. It was healthy and better than the canned variety by a long shot.
And my mother wasn’t like the mothers of today. She had absolutely no problem with slave labor. At least that is how my sister and I viewed it. But Mom’s slogan was "you don’t work, you don’t eat". So by the end of the famed Death By Fruit Week, our hands were stained a semi-permanent purple/gray, our feet were swollen and we didn’t want to see another cherry for at least another 9 months. The intense gratefulness sunk in, however when winter came and we had all manner of goodies stored away just waiting to fill a pie crust…with no trip to the grocery store.
Good lady, that Mom of mine.
I’ll never forget the first 6 quarts of applesauce my sister helped me preserve after I married. I was so proud that I had carried on the tradition, even minus the other 594 my mom would have put up.
All of this great ‘putting up’ thinking was brought to the forefront of my mind this morning when I sat down to see the latest on The Nourishing Gourmet. It has to do with blackberry picking, eating, preserving, etc. She has great tips and ideas for using them. The wild blackberry is one food I have never really picked, preserved or used. I do, however, have wild strawberries on my property.
They taste horrible. But they sure are pretty.
As soon as I finished reading her post, I looked into what it would take to plant some berry bushes of our own. I found a helpful resource here. It filled me in on what bushes to invest in and what their sun, moisture, and pruning requirements are. Basically, they are a very easy bush to maintain.
I may take a jaunt through our countryside to see if I can spot a wild source for berries, but due to our diminishing hedgerows, I think I will be hard-pressed to find anything.
Who knows, I may be surprised, but in the meantime, I’m in the midst of planning an ‘edible landscape’ as next year’s project.
Until then, I’ll do my best to find what is here, in season, readily available, and locally harvested. I may never be like my mom, but there are plenty of ways to enjoy food in it’s natural state.
Later this week, I will be posting a homemade sweet salsa recipe made entirely from ingredients found at our local farmer’s stand. Our eldest, who is seven, picked the fruits and veggies himself and has talked extensively about how it is all going to go together.
I am so excited to see the results of his creativity.
Until then…find a fruit and ‘put it up’. It could actually be fun.
Every season of life for me brings a whole new slew of likes. Things that increase efficiency, make life brighter, or are just plain great for no ascertainable reason.
This is my own personal list for this week. It’ll change next week…it always does.
2. Wall-mounted pencil sharpener. Which means we’ll always know where to find it.
3. Black velvet burn-out wrapping paper(early birthday present from my sister)…
so I can do this………….besides the obvious of being able to wrap really beautiful gifts.
4. And, last but definitely not least, a plastic-cup angel with a one-cent halo. Anna made it and it has a bona fide penny perched on it’s noggin. Sigh. So great.
What things are you enjoying this week?
:learning to crochet:
:ahhh, love:
:goin’ places:
:in the heartland:
:learning new things:
ne of my favorite pictures taken while in Africa, August 2007:
:she captivated me. always one step behind me, following me around. one tiny face in the mass of hundreds of children. August 2007:
:another cherubic baby boy, holding his precious craft…fascinated with the camera:
:little boy, patiently waiting for the bread and hard boiled egg provided by the mission for his lunch. August 2007:
:perpetual smile, so proud of that dress…wore it every day I saw her. Cameroon, Africa, 2007:
:Cameroon, Africa, August 2007:
I have always wanted to, but I never have gotten around to it.
Playing marbles, that is.
The pictures are there in old-fashioned picture storybooks. A bunch of children huddled around a circle in the dirt, the tiny balls of color standing out in stark contrast to their surroundings. Little heads bent low, studying the lay of the land, planning their next shot. Boys bragging about their "lucky shooter".
I had no idea what the game was or how it was played.
Until today.
Anything involving some dirt, some circles and lines, and little balls filled with vibrant and eye-catching colors sounds like a game I would enjoy. So, last week when my seven-year-old ball of fire asked if we could get some marbles and learn how to play, I jumped at the chance.
I looked and looked all over town, and couldn’t find one marble. I don’t know where our townspeople have hidden their marbles, but I am beginning to think they have lost them. *grin*
I ended up purchasing some online for around six bucks and even with shipping it came in well under the cost of a typical board game. Not a bad investment in my way of thinking.
So, we received them in the mail on Friday and this afternoon after church, a long walk and some rest, we pulled them out, drew a circle according to the instructions, chose a "shooter" and went head to head.
Let me just say, marbles is totally cool. My son would probably say something like, "marbles rocks!", or "sweet!". But, I figured the whole "marbles rocks" could get confusing, so I decided to stick with my outdated and antiquated "cool". Hey. It works.
To begin the game you will need at least 13 marbles and one shooter (it’s ideal to have several, but if needed, you can share.)
Using chalk, draw a circle 10 feet across (we made a slightly smaller circle inside the larger one for the benefit of our smallest, Bear. He’s two and we wanted to improve his chance of hitting something. There was a point we were questioning our decision as he didn’t seem to be having as hard a time as we were hitting them.)
Anyway, after drawing your circle, step away to another clear place on your playing surface and draw two straight lines ten feet apart. One line is the lag line and the other is the pitch line. To decide the order of play, each player "pitches" their shooter (rolls it underhand) toward the lag line. The person to get the closest to the lag line without going past it, is the first to play. The remaining players are then ranked in order based on their shooter’s distance from the lag line. *Note: The winner of each game automatically becomes the first to shoot in the next game. The remaining players "lag" to decide their order of play.
Once you have determined order of play, set up 13 marbles in the center of the circle (see the picture above.)
The goal is to use your shooter to hit as many marbles out of the circle as possible. Lest this seem too simple to be fun, let me assure you it isn’t easy. At all.
The first player to hit seven marbles out of the circle wins the game.
**Another important note: When a shooter or marble decides to land on the ring line and the center of the marble is outside or exactly on the line, it is considered "out". If it’s center is inside the ring, it’s "in".
Some tips for shooting:
By the way, the picture above is of my winning shot.
Yup, I won. I sure did.
This is the pic of my "lucky shooter" and the handful of winning marbles. My husband came in close with five.
Well, I feel as if I have conquered yet another dream, another skill, another day.
Gotta love it.
So, go find your marbles. Your family will thank you.