I Hide My Chocolate

Midlife observations

Month: September, 2015

September 29, 2015

What I Eat For Dinner

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When It’s Just Me

It’s 9:30 at night and I’m just getting home after choral rehearsal. It was a fun rehearsal. (Not all of them are. Some of them drive me to tears of frustration.) The music is beautiful (Durante’s Magnificat). I’m beginning to find my voice and hear the notes and get friendly with some of the other members.

My son is doing homework. My husband is reading in bed. The house is quiet. Even Cooper is hushed. I am alone!

Ahhh. I just love not having to cook dinner for the family on weeknights! I just love eating something simple just for me. I haven’t eaten yet, because I’d rather wait until I get home late and have time for a quiet meal with just me.

Here is what I ate tonight for dinner. It is one of my favorite go-to dinners when it’s just me.

Baked Potato with Broccoli Rabe

I microwave potatoes when I’m in a time crunch, but they are much more delicious when they are baked at 350° F for 75 minutes. The texture is improved and the skin is drier, not steamed. When I don’t have time to bake, I cheat with a 2-step process:

Preheat the oven to 400° F. While the oven is heating, microwave the potato for about 3-4 minutes. When the oven comes to temperature, put the potato in the oven. Bake for 30 minutes. Or turn off the oven and leave potato in the oven for 2-3 hours while you go do something else. (I go to rehearsal.)

When I come home, the potato is perfectly done. I cut it into bite size chunks and put it into a sauté pan with a moderate amount of olive oil. (Did I mention that this recipe is not low-fat? But if you use olive oil, it is good for you and very satisfying so you won’t eat a lot of other junk.)

I use a medium low heat to lightly sauté the potatoes until they get a little bit crispy brown.

Add some leftover already-cooked broccoli rabe. I make it regularly and always save some just for this purpose. Heat up with the potatoes.

Serves 1 for a quiet late night dinner when it’s just you.

4 Comments
September 25, 2015

Ginger Died This Week

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(Cooper, blue, on left.  Ginger, yellow, on right.)

Ginger died this week. She was not easy to love. Wild, wary, aggressive. She had a lot of anxiety. I could identify.

We got Ginger to be a companion for Cooper. Sweet, sociable Cooper. Cooper was a baby when we got him and he bonded with us for the year that he was on his own. He hung out on our shoulders and our heads, climbing all over our eyeglasses, happily exploring his surroundings, making our world his.

Cooper was the substitute for the dog that my children really want. My husband stubbornly refuses a dog. We think he is selfish and overly consumed with not wanting a dog peeing on our rugs. The secret truth is that he can’t stand loving and losing a dog. He can’t stand not being able to properly take care of dog. He loved and lost a dog before and doesn’t want to do it again. Who’s to say that he is not the more selfless and compassionate human in our family?

So, we got Cooper. And fell in love. And fear his loss.

All my guilt about not taking good care of the pets I had as a child resurfaced with Cooper. I dream frequently about Cooper, worrying about him, a stand-in for my worries for all the people I love. This time, I was going to be a good pet-owner! I read the books. We got a nice cage, but let him fly freely when we were home. I memorized and avoided the list of poisonous foods and carefully gave him healthy dark leafy greens to supplement his diet. He chirped happily. All the time. A member of the family.

We wondered if he was lonely when we were at work and school. He didn’t seem lonely or unhappy, but all the books said that parakeets are very social and want to flock with other birds. My husband joked that we were his flock. Still. We wondered. After a year, we decided to get another bird as his companion. The store warned us that his attachment would shift from us to the new bird. We wanted what was best for him. We observed the latest crop of baby parakeets. A pretty yellow female caught our eye and we brought her home. Ginger.

The second Cooper saw her he squawked with excitement. He was thrilled! We introduced her slowly and they seemed to attach and bond. But Ginger never bonded with us. She learned to tolerate us, but was never particularly comfortable or happy with us. Cooper gallantly protected her from us and showed her the ropes. She became the alpha female. Demanding her spot, her food, her toy. Cooper just wanted her to be happy, as did we all. She never seemed happy. One pet shop showed me anti-anxiety drops for animals. Really? That seemed extreme.

But it was crystal clear to me that different animals have unique personalities. Unique souls. When I look Cooper in the eye, he looks right back at me, with his soul shining through. More and more I question, how can I eat an animal? Obviously, I am not going to eat Cooper, but don’t all animals have souls? Look an animal in the eye and tell me what you see. I see another being as alive as me.

A week ago, Ginger started making a squeaking noise and we wondered if she was finally beginning to tame and find her voice. She started sidling up against Cooper to be close to him instead of squabbling with him or scolding him away. I wondered if she wanted to mate. It occurred to us that she might be ill, but we were busy busy busy and chose to deny the signs and hope for the best. The day before she died, I woke them to find her huddled so close to Cooper he couldn’t move. The day she died, I offered her Reiki, sensing, like Miss Clavel, that something was not right.

My husband found her and called me. I knew something was wrong. I steeled myself for bad news, praying my children were all right. After imagining the worst, I was almost relieved when he told me it was Ginger. Sad, but accepting. When he told my son, my husband sobbed the news to him. It is my son’s deepest desire to have someone younger and needier than him in the household that he can love and take care of. It is my son’s yearning for a dog, a pet, that led us to Cooper and Ginger. Telling him of her death brings up our own love for our son, our own guilt at not doing better by these little animals we take on (selfishly?), our own mortality.

We are fearful that Cooper might get sick or depressed at Ginger’s loss. So far, he seems healthy and as happy as can be. He has reverted to his human flock, hanging out on our shoulders and chirping happily. Cooper is easy to love.

We buried Ginger in the back yard. A quiet moment. Good-bye Ginger. I am sorry you did not have a happier life. Perhaps it was not meant to be. I hope you are flying freely now.

2 Comments
September 7, 2015

The Light Is Always On

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For You

Last night, your first night of your second year of college, I tiptoed into your room and turned on the light. That simple habit I have from your teen years, welcoming you home on the nights you are out late.

I like to go into your room and soak you in. I look at the mementos, always surprised and touched at something new (to me) that you found meaningful that someone gave you, indicating what a rich life you have – apart from me. I smell your perfume and lie on your bed looking at the posters on the wall. And bask in my pride and my wonder of you.

A year ago, this quiet, occasional ritual would sometimes make me cry. Missing you and wondering where the time went. Now, well, it still can make me cry, but I am so happy you are happy. Confident in your body and your soul, taking your place in the world with energy and intelligence, so honest, wise and compassionate.

While I do miss you, I now know, a year later, that even though your daily presence is gone, we have new traditions for staying connected and a deeper and more mature relationship.

I suppose that a decade from now I will speak with my younger friends about their children going to college and smile indulgently. The trauma having faded. Just like the joys and crises of having a newborn have faded. How could I have thought that was hard! It is SO much harder to have teens. And cope with dying parents. And watch one’s career ambitions shift toward achieving something less material and accomplishing something more meaningful. And cry with frustration at one’s arthritic hip, knee, shoulder. I am looking forward to the increasing peace and contentment that comes with each decade.

But what does terrify me, right now, is that I can now imagine my final good-bye to you. If the last 20 years have flown by, then surely the next 20 or 30 will go by even faster. I try to be present, but my mind races to the future. Like reading the last page instead of enjoying all the details in the middle, I hurry to the end, skimming.

My wish for you as you embark on this next year, this more grown-up year of college, is that you not skim ahead to the end. As you grow up and deal with life’s inevitable losses and disappointments, everyday stress and busyness, new friends and adventures, honor it all. It hurts to see you lose some of your childhood dreams, your childhood heroes, your childhood illusions. But it is through loss and sadness that you gain a richer life with moments of deep passion and joy. May you have a year, a life, filled with passion and joy. And may it move slowly enough for me to savor it with you – as well as apart from you – as we transition to an increasingly mature adult mother-daughter relationship, side-by-side.

The light is on in your room. Always.

2 Comments
September 5, 2015

Comfort Food

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Jangled

I’m a little jangled right now. My son started his first day of 11th grade, which I dealt with by feeling overwhelmed with stress on the work front. My daughter leaves tomorrow for her second year of college, which leaves me feeling excited, proud, melancholy, and old. Less stressful than Year 1, but still emotional. I took a too-hard, too-crowded, too-much-rap-music (wtf?) yoga class, which made me angry and tearful: My hip is cranky; who are these people who CAN do this class? Clearly I am getting too old. Maybe I will just sing and knit and get fat. Yowza!

Jangled.

Thursday night, I dreamt that my pet parakeet had a new water dispenser and I realized that she could drown in it if I didn’t watch over her at all times. Do you think I am worried about my children? As our pediatrician counseled us at baby-proofing stage, only half-joking: “Never let them out of your sight.”

Friday night, I dreamt that my hair suddenly was much grayer. I wondered if I should begin to color it, debating between being my authentic self and not wanting to look too old. Do you think I am worried about aging? Who IS that woman in the mirror and what did she do with my 35-year-old self?

When doing some back-to-school errands with my daughter, someone made a strange turn at an intersection. I thought about my son beginning to drive and was overcome with the dangers of driving and the fear of losing them to an accident. Which would be devastating.  Which led me to musing at how wonderful both my children are. Precious, good, honest, empathetic, better than me, better than my husband. How is it possible that these two amazing human beings are my children? Which led me me to tears at a stop light. Praying that they survive the dangers of everyday living.  Overcome with love and gratitude.

Jangled.

Clearly, I am in need of some comfort food. The problem is that traditional comfort foods (Macaroni and Cheese, Oreos and Milk, Pot Roast with Gravy) are too rich. I don’t enjoy these foods. I feel too guilty.  And too full.  For me, comfort food is simple and easy, includes favorite childhood foods, can be eaten in large quantities, and is healthily guilt-free.

When I was a little girl, we had a neighbor with an extensive garden who would let me eat tomatoes warm off the vine. They were perhaps the most delicious food ever. I never tire of good tomatoes but am usually frustrated that they never live up to my memory of those garden tomatoes.  Every summer, my mother would make a simple salad of tomatoes and avocado.  She must be one of the first people who put together a simple composed salad without any lettuce. Who needs lettuce!

The local tomatoes have been pretty good this summer. And, ballerina-eating-trick: you can eat vast quantities of tomatoes without incurring a lot of calories. No need for lettuce, the tomatoes form a delicious base for salads and require minimal dressing. While I don’t eat very much meat any more, I do love chicken and indulge in it occasionally.  This is one of my favorite go-to salads and is what I had for lunch on this day of mixed and jangled emotions.

Grilled Chicken Salad with Yogurt Vinaigrette

  • 1 small grilled chicken breast
  • ½ cup leftover brown rice
  • ½ beefsteak tomato
  • ½ avocado
  • Corn, cut from 1 leftover cob (I always make extra corn on the cob for leftovers)

Dice everything into roughly equal sized small pieces. If you are OCD, like me, you can even make sure that you have the same number of pieces of each ingredient, insuring that each bite has a little bit of everything.

Yogurt Vinaigrette

  • 2 Tablespoons plain greek yogurt (ballerina-eating-trick: Replace some fats with plain greek yogurt. Adds tang and has fewer calories and fat. I use plain greek yogurt instead of mayonnaise on sandwiches.)
  • 1 Tablespoon olive oil
  • 1 Tablespoon white wine vinegar

Whisk together and spoon over salad.

1 large salad for lunch – good for jangled nerves, especially if you share the salad with your college-bound daughter.

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