The History of Ellen

I think it was at least 30 years ago, I watched Julia Child make cassoulet, I was intrigued.  I loved JC then, I watched all her shows, and for Christmas, I got one of her cookbooks.   I don’t really like to cook.  Today, I realized I only like to cook once in a while, and then it is very complicated recipes that I prefer.  Good to have some self realization, I guess.

so, for some reason (actually a specific reason is: not being able to visit and be a real grandma to my granddaughter in the way I imagined)  I needed a distraction.  I just read Julia Powell’s book on the Julie/Julia project, and was itching to make something.  Boeuff Bourgignon was high on the list from Scott, but I’ve made it before.  I kept mulling over ideas, perfect roast chicken (I’ve done her roast chicken already) and then suddenly, I remembered.  Cassoulet.

It required a $100 purchase of an enameled dutch oven.  Not Le Creuset, as I would have preferred, but an off brand at BBandB.  I couldn’t find duck confit, so used duck breast.  I had to guess on the sausage, only to find out that any will do, and you can combine types.  But in the end, the very delicious end, to me, I made good choices.  The one duck breast was almost $15, the sausage $6, the lamb $4, the veg, on hand mostly – celery, onion, garlic, tomatoes, probably $3, the butter, (on hand, duh) $2,  the herbs, $6-7 total (I so want an herb garden, and can have one if I just do it.)  So, 36-40 bucks for the entire pot, most of which will be thrown out, I’m sure.

I didn’t have one recipe to follow – Julia’s takes a week Tony’s a few days, Pepin’s quick version 30 minutes.  I found a random blogger and made it in several hours.  Plus shopping time.

First, I washed the new pot.  Next, I heated it, melted butter and dumped in the bacon.  Sauteed that for a few, then threw in the lamb. Browned it.  Took it out, Chucked in the duck.  Browned, repeat with sausage.  Tossed in veg (I cut it while meat was browning) and made the bouquie garni  All the while, I was doing a quick soak on the washed and picked over Great Northern beans.  It was almost perfect timing – the bean quick soak and the prep of the other stuff at the same time, with a small break in there somewhere.

It all came together, and was put in the oven.  My new casserole is heavy!  I confessed to being a brand name girl and wishing it was a Le Creuset, much to Scott’s disconsternation.

I did the two bread crumb applications, requiring the use of my new Ninja blender system, which needs it’s own cabinet, at the least, since I have to figure it out each time.

Fresh bread crumbs from a fresh baguette, with parsley, garlic and butter are delicious.

Once the bubbling, crispy topped dish was brought out of the oven I put it on the stove top, and froze.  I stared at it.

I actually did something that I’ve looked forward to doing for over 30 years.  I burst into tears.  I’m sure somebody out there understands what can’t be explained.

I wrote to my first politician (Nixon) at age 9.  i started planning JC meals shortly after that.  I am a nerd  A politics junkie.  A cooking junkie, if you cout reading and watching it, but only really ever wanting to make complicated recipes*  so it is no surprise that I decided within a few days of meeting him, I wanted to marry my hubs, from New Orleans, who loves to cook.

cassoulet

beouff bourgignon

cog au casserot

9 – 9 – 10 – Well, I guess I am sort of intrigued by numbers/numerology.  My one and only baby was born at 9:09 on the 9th.  My grandaughter has a name with 9 letters in the first and 9 letters in the second.  9+9=18, 1+8 = 9.  I was born on the 19th.  My daughter was born on 12/9, as was her father, paternal grandmother and maternal great-grandmother.  Just stuff that is probably meaningless, but still interesting to me.

2011 was a weird year.  Definitely not a bad year.  Seems like a long time since I could have written that.

So, I began the year knowing that Marianne, my one and only neice (besides Scott’s side, whom I’ve never met) would be having a baby boy way down in San Antonio. I had no idea that there would be two more additions to the family. More on that later.

I had no idea that I would be taking an actual vacation.   Let’s talk about that first.  Scott, while on a conference – which means long days and many days away from home, told me to plan a vacay.  Since money is limited, I declined and that was that.  Until my mom mentioned that Scott never has wanted to spend money on a vacation in all the time I’ve known him.  So, I thought, ok, beach trip.  After a bit of internet research, I found a place in New Hampshire that was cheaper than any VA or Outer Banks locations.  We had a wonderful time.  So good that there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of that trip.  I will probably write an entire post on it (if I haven’t already and forgot) soon.

Visiting San Antonio was great!  However, that trip and the other airline trip made me realize I hate flying  – actually I had bumping around that I don’t understand.  And, the landing at Dallas was bad!  But the visiting of my adorable nephews and the nice house and neighborhood that their parents have was worth it.  Avery is so cute and lovable, and Christian is a hilarious comedian.  And it was a nice way to tribute my big sister, Jane.

Another highlight was taking my daughter to the ER because she was dehydrated from vomiting.  Highlight because that is when we found out she was pregnant.  I waited with nervousness as she reacted, but was happy when she started thinking out loud about names.

And then school started, ugh,  and I got busy and before I knew it, our newest, most precious gift was here.  The tiny, beautiful baby was here.  And everything changed.

And she is perfect.  And my heart grew ten sizes.  And 2011 will go down as a good year.  The first good year, of what I hope is many.

I wish

I could blog daily, have ads and make money on blogging.

I had no debt and all my money was for living expenses and saving.

I wish I had all that money to travel far and wide.

I wish then, that I could conquer my fear of flying, sailing, cruising, and riding in a vehicle.

Because then I could tour Europe, Russia, China, India, New Zealand, Australia, North America, Peru, some of Canada, and a few islands.

I wish I didn’t feel guilty for wishing such selfish things.  I wish I could wish for an end to hunger, war and hatred.  I do wish for those things, but I doubt them.

I wish I could end ignorance.  That would be my super power!

I wish I could crinkle my nose like Samantha to clean my house and yard.

I wish I could be enlightened enough to not wish for things but to  be glad in what I have.  Which I am  for the most part.  But there are still a few more,

I wish there was a cure for Alzheimer’s and Cancer.

I wish no one got either.

I wish my husband would put the dang toilet seat down.  — trying to lighten the mood.

I wish potato chips and dip were calorie negative.

I wish I could go on forever, but this post is long enough.  What do you wish for most?

Inspired by Mir of http://wouldashoulda.com/ and her post at http://offourchests.com/wp-content/themes/offourchests/images/logo.png There are times in my past that I insisted on a level of independence for which I was not fully prepared.  In retrospect, I am glad I did it that way (cue Sinatra “My Wayyyyyyyy”)  but I also wonder why I put myself through such turmoil.

It was no accident that the ship I sailed to America on was named the SS Independence.  Seriously, my parents chose sailing to New York from Spain when it was time to bring me to the States.  I was born on a Navy base in Spain and 3? 4? years later orders came for California and my parents headed back.  In contemplating my book (ahem, someday I’m going to write a book)  I have drafted only the first line:

I sailed to America on the SS Independence, and spent the next several decades trying to achieve just that.

At this rate of writing, I’ll never have to worry about book signing parties.

Anywho,  I remember times I was hard headed.  Trying to tie my shoes.  I recall the frustration!  Trying to read, another frustration.   I could count, so I had this little yellow record player and I counted words.  I had little books with  45s in the back – 45s are records, kind of like a CD before digital stuff.  So, I would put the record on, count the words read, lift the needle, and match the number to the word and memorize it.  What a nerd.  But, I taught myself to read!  At age 4!

That was a positive one.

I’ve had plenty of times of over dependence, too.  The training wheels episode for one.  I insisted upon having them (on my brilliant green bike with a banana seat and a long chrome poley thing on the back)

And, my dad knowing I didn’t need them, screwed them on so they didn’t even touch the ground.  He even weaned me off one at a time!  How ridiculous that bike looked with one training wheel all up high!

Another episode of extreme, and not too bright independence was going through my divorce.  I could have taken Katie to my parent’s and lived there while I finished college/worked etc., but noooooooooooooo, I had never lived on my own, so I found an affordable apartment.

A former frat house (it was so bad that even the lowest of frats wouldn’t use it) I got the best apartment in it. I can’t imagine how bad the others must have been, but in my bathroom, you could look through a hole in the floor to the basement.  Not mentioning the drug dealer lot next door… there were bugs.

I didn’t even know they were roaches!  My privileged upbringing prevented me from identifying such a creature.  But our kitty, Whiskers, proudly caught one and brought it to me ALIVE!  one night while I read some book for school on my bed!  EEEK.

Recently, I am much less independent.  As I write, my husband preps dinner, tidies up, and cares for the animals.  I lounge, relax and write.  I CAN still do it all.  I’m just glad I’ve reached the point where I am perfectly fine letting someone else take care of things.  I’m blissfully unaware of our debt, bills, bank accounts, investments and various other things.

But, I still have to do all the driving.

I guess I’ll write the history of the past summer.

June: not really summer until school was out and my room cleaned. I was late doing that as usual. I remember going to Olde Towne Steak and Seafood for our anniversary on the 26^th. It was a nice time, I bought a new blouse to wear and haven’t worn it since. I had stuffed shrimp, but they were only mediocre.

July: pretty much a blur. I remember a lunch or two with friends. A crab feast with friends. Several unproductive days of wallowing and self pity and turmoil. Staring into space. Not going outside since when I did, I literally could not breathe it was so humid and hot. Scott away for a million days (ok, 10) and going to visit him in D.C. Mainly to use the swimming pool at the Hilton. Scaring people with my excema at the Hilton. Dinner at Ruths Chris. Interesting, expensive, very slow service. A shell in my gazpacho with crab meat – I should have complained, but was still too depressed and apathetic. Reading, all about FDR and his betrayal of Eleanor. Poor Eleanor. By late July, I had the revelation: “If Eleanor could endure that childhood and marriage and sum up the courage/gumption to impact the lives of others so positively, then there is no excuse for me to wallow any longer.” And then: August hit!

Finished a painting. Went to San Antonio with no fear of flying, until that landing in San Antonio! Loved having that wonderful baby to play with and hold. A real life enriching experience. Laughing my guts out at the wit of his big brother. Our family always has someone who has a quick wit, and I see he has that trait, too. Awesome! Some turbulence of many forms on the way home and upon arrival, and then a quick 10 hour turn around and on another flight, this time to Boston.

Side note: I have a genetic propensity to dislike Boston. I can’t explain it much. It is ugly, dirty, ill planned, and just gross. And, don’t get me started on the Red Sox. Ok, so Harvard may be awesome and even Boston College, but I’ve not been there as a student or even a friend/parent of one. We managed to land and procure our rental car unscathed.

Our arrival at our final destination (which is confidential, lest I inundate “our place” with people) was glorious. Cool, crisp, blue and lavender. Green and lush with a salty wind. Paradise. A simple cottage – a deck, a sreened porch big enough for two, inside a tiny table for two, a couple soft chairs, a queen bed, dresser, shower, loo, and a tiny kitchen with a retro fridge – redone in an awesome bright candy apple red. Knotty pine, no a/c, perhaps some cable TV?, no cell service. Wow. Owner and his wife in the big house with two gorgeous pure bred Irish Setters: Rita and Lucy. Veggie patches and ocean views. By Monday evening we were unplugged and relaxed. I’ll spare details, but we didn’t argue, spat or fight at all for the duration. Hurricane? We had no idea. I had not followed news, no internet really – slow so I only updated photos and facebook once a day. If we went into a town we might have checked something, but that was only for wine/food runs.  I had a lobster one night, we walked on the rocks on the ocean, on the beach, drove past gorgeous Victorian seaside mansions, read books, sat in silence and stared at the sailboats going by, watched the lobstermen bring in hauls, and did other private things that were fun and stress reducing.  Paradise!

And then. Thursday evening, our cottage neighbor, an impossibly nuclear family from MA with identical twin girl kindergarteners (beeeeuuuteeeful!)  mentioned to us that we must be worried about the staahm headin up. And then. The landlord and I had a conversation in which he ended by saying: Ya naht goin anywhayaa if ya don’ leave tomorra. I chose denial. Head in sand approach. Scott took heed. (He’s all smart and shit). He called Delta. We were offered a flight out Thursday night (we would have to leave immediately – and seriously? It was 70 with fog rolling in….duh, I wasn’t budging!) another on Friday morning…we would have to leave our place at 4 am and it was already like 8, and I didn’t want to get up early, and there were no two seats together and since my fear of flying had returned, thanks to American Airlines, I refused. So, the next was Saturday am, a few hours earlier than our original flight. We snapped it up with no fees, and we felt proud and safe.

So, we treasured the foggy evening and gorgeous Friday. Went back the beach, did a few other things like tour a historic home in Portsmouth. It was once home to a Whipple, however, not one I am directly descended from, but might be indirectly. Found a really old cemetary, enjoyed the gorgeous day oblivious. I noted some staahm prep: awning removal, loose item securing. But, I remained indifferent.

Then Saturday dawned. We were both up before alarms. We got dressed, packed and headed south for Boston. Clusterfuck lied there in wait for our juicy limbs. All seemed well upon arrival. Our plane was at the gate, and flight was scheduled on time. I perched in my leather chair, book in hand and dug in for the wait. The big flat screen TV in front of me began to show those pretty, colorful radar storm images over the map of the U.S. Scott was oblivious. I am not sure he knows the map of the U.S. I began to hyperventilate, get naseous and cry. Fun! I held out until noon, then I went to the bar. Upon swallowing my last swig of a decent red, Scott appeared and said, “Our flight is cancelled.” I guess he expected me to be upset, but what I felt was relief. No flying!

Then, reality hit. We took this trip as a lark, spending all of our reserves foolishly since we were really stressed/depressed and had never taken a vacation just the two of us. We were mostly broke. Hee hee…

Sooooooooo…. we waited in line, and Delta, being so kind once I said I was a public school teacher expected in class on Monday morning, gave a full refund! (It would take 3 days to go through). We tried Amtrak, all sold out (and eventually all cancelled). We contemplated staying: hotels 250+ a night, plus food – not happening. And so renting a car was the choice. We tried to extend our rental from Alamo. We had a car for a week for 130, but they wanted 650 for one more day! We had no mor e room on credit cards and if you know rental car companies – they don’t take cash.

Long story shortened: thanks to my mom, Marian, who wired up help to us in Marian, MA (fun fact) we got a car. A tiny Kia Rio. Surely strong enough to drive through a hurricane?

A major marital battle later, and we drove, err, I drove being a control freak, through MA, CT and NY all in the upper bands of Irene. We saw an overturned car, flooded off ramps, white out conditions, got blown off the road by semi-trailers, and saw many a downed tree. An adventure that was not fun.

Just south of Harrisburg, PA, about 36 hours after we started the ordeal, we saw sunshine.

From then it was smoothish sailing. We returned the rental, got our car, and picked up take out pizza on the way home. And a bottle of wine.

In the driveway, I tripped on a downed limb, saved the wine (duh) and dropped the pizza. Then we entered our kitchen to find a sea of olive oil from a broken decanter that happened either in a) the freak 6.0 earthquake in VA while we were gone (!?) or b) a freaked out cat from the hurricane.

We went to bed, got up 6 hours later and returned to normal. Perhaps we were not meant for vacations?

End.

Ok, so this is the list of things I need to do this summer.  Plus some I want to do.  I really need a schedule since so far all I have done is menial housework (mimimal?) and loaf around.

Clean!!! Literally every room needs a thorough cleaning. Also, the deck and porch need attention.

For the porch, I’d like to clean it, have Scott repair the screen and then make it more of an oasis (fan, plants, pillows, etc.) but this will cost some money – not a lot.   For the deck: power wash and re-stain, some renailing needed.

Kitchen: paint the cabinets, trim and walls – removing border, get new table and chairs, TV and fix the shelf/jelly cupboard situation.  The table, chairs and TV will be the last to get done, but that is ok.

Living room: get rid of junk!!! Paint a nice light green color. Also, want to paint the kitchen a soft tanish/grayish/khaki color so may do the same in here.

Bedroom and hall: clean, organize and paint. New blinds/curtains.  Shamefully, we have sheets over the windows.  Still.  (I’ve lived here 15 years).

Extra room: some cleaning, junk removal, finish the border, put up brass bed, curtains or blinds (or both).

Yard: Ugh.  Try to find a nice person to do the work for me for cheap.

Also, go back to paint class and get some painting (oil) done.

Visit Farmville – lake?

Visit a beach…. preferably on the Pacific – but that won’t happen.

Go to San Antonio!!!  Tickets bought.

Visit Richmond – always mean to go to Shockoe and that one area whose name escapes me but has all those funky little shops.  Oh!  Cary Street, that’s it!

Thinking of finding a yoga class for me and Katie to take together.  Or, I could just pop in the yoga dvd I already have.  Or just do the stuff I already know how to do, since being in yoga class causes me to have fits of giggles.  I’m weird.

We went to the Capital Home Show today and on the way home stopped in Manassas for an early dinner.   La Catilla sounded promising, and I have been wanting tapas for a long time.  It is in an old church and the atmosphere was cozy.

We were seated by what appeared to be a 7 year old.  He was cute.  I refrained from telling him about child labor laws.  The darkly paneled walls, pretty sprial staircase and mirrored bar were charming.  The menu was extensive.  Probably too extensive, as I’ve been warned if they have that many things, they can’t all be that good.  We were quickly given water, but waited for a waiter.

He finally came, and I had already decided on the serrano jamon and manchego plate as a starter for both of us.  Anthony Bourdain’s visit to Spain has made me crave the jamon and cheese, but I’ve yet to be willing to part with the buckage at Wegman’s to try it.  I asked for a wine recommendation, and immediately was trying a delicious red whose name I have already forgotten.   My excitement rose, Scott’s dwindled.  He hates trying new things and the salsa was green.

The salsa and homemade tortillas were ok, and they were our only company for a long, long time.  Scott finally ordered a diet coke, and several minutes later (2 water refills) he got it.  Other diners arrived, and promptly described their Hawaii honeymoon in detail that was quite annoying and loud.  “I kid you not!  It’s paradise!  The grass skirts! The coconut bras!”  (actual quotation).

Finally, finally, we got the jamon and manchego, and quickly put in our orders for New Mexico enchiladas and Pork Tenderloin.   The jamon was fantastic.  I’m definitely not afraid to buy a hunk at Wegman’s tomorrow.  I feel the same about the manchego….like cheddar in texture, but with a milder, nuttier taste – hints of parmesan.  Some sort of salami was also on the plate, but it tasted like it was just one week past prime…..  we left it.

Eventually our pork and enchiladas came.  The tortillas on the enchiladas were delicious – homemade.  Since I was a tiny girl in Carmel Valley I have remembered homemade tortillas that the Mexican family nearby made.  So different from store bought.  I must bribe a student to bring me some.  I KNOW they make them at home.

The pork was promised to be in a wine reduction with rosemary.  It was skewered with apple chunks and the glaze was like maple syrup  – I could see rosemary, but not taste it.  Too bad.  The meat was tender and well cooked.  Just not what the menu promised.

Not a horrible experience, the service was not good.  But not a stellar one, either.  I guess a real tapas experience should be in Sevilla or Madrid, not Manassas.

Is it lazy to spend a day reading?  Why should I feel guilt over that?  Should.  Hmmm.  I am going to declare that reading is not being lazy, that pursuits of the mind are acceptable forms of movement.  My body may be relaxed, but my mind inspired.

At the forefront, the trigger for many of my issues is an event that happened I 2005. On a Wednesday evening in the first week of school of my daughter’s junior year of high school, she and I sat on my bed and had a wonderful, intimate heart to heart that left me going to bed contented, hopeful and proud. Less than 24 hours later, those moments were forgotten and sheer terror invaded my life. I called home as I ended my school day. As a middle school teacher, my day ended later than hers, so by the time I was done, she was usually home off the bus and doing school work. No answer. And then I remembered! She said she was joining debate team and would need to be picked up at some time in the evening – I think 5. I headed over to her school, eagerly waiting to hear of her excitement over debate team – she is an awesomely smart girl with a ton of debate skills which she honed in years earlier.

I arrived at the school and got in the line for pick up for after school activities. I listened to NPR, and called her cell to tell her I was there – left a message as I knew they couldn’t always have their cell phones on. When every parent had received their child and left, and I was still waiting, I got a bit concerned but not much. I imagined she was still debating the coach, holding her ground on some topic she held in passion.

I entered the building. In my new slim figure (recently losing massive weight due to gastric bypass) and high heels, feeling pretty, I strutted through the entire building. I finally found some kids and asked where debate club was…. their response was chilling. “There is no debate today, it’s on Tuesday.” My heart sunk. I thought immediately that she was with her new boyfriend hiding out somewhere goofing off. I felt my anger rise.

Headed off toward home, I called his mother. She answered with a moan/cry/wail sound and moaned out words that didn’t compute: They ran away! Oh my god, I found a note……….Mark left a note…. they’re gone….

Heart racing, racing around the corner I squealed the tires and raced furiously into my driveway…. I ran into the house and on the counter waiting for me a

Four page note written in red………. I barely read it…. I called 911.

I ran to the neighbor…… I stood in their front yard screaming asking if they saw anything……all the neighbors came out….the sirens came… I called a fem trusted friends……… that evening we tried all we knew……. I called Scott, he got on the next train. I may have thrown myself on the ground in the front yard. The pain increased because the county police didn’t understand. They didn’t know that my girl wrote she was long gone and had a big plan. They thought she was typical and was in the neighborhood. They didn’t believe me that she was under influence of another student (not the boyfriend) who IS a sociopath, and they thought I was crazy -even questioning my sanity in private to my friends. “Is she always this crazy and dramatic?” friend: “No. Only when her only child is missing and in danger.”

That first night was only the beginning of the next several nights and days of pure and utter hell. And the years since have been good and bad and never free of that night. That experience has changed me for good and bad, but I find that I am stuck in some sort of cycle.

The next few weeks were pure torture. Two a.m. Walking Du Pont Circle. 8 a.m. Posting flyers on Metro station walls.

4 a.m. Calling Covenant House’s nine line leaving heart felt messages for her.

Hours in between scouring MySpace, stalking and messaging all her friends.

Hounding detectives who ignored me. The one guy called me back to yell at me and tell me “How dare I ruin his kid’s birthday party.” I replied, “I may never see my kid again birthday or not.” He was uncaring, unfeeling, cold, and mean.

Walking every street in downtown with flyers. Crazy street woman telling me she saw her that day! Hours wasted looking.

Not eating for days. Mom feeding me a sandwich, forcing down. Emergency room visit. Sitting on the floor rocking. Family searching state parks.  Tears.  Fears.  Watching, waiting.  Panicking.  Mourning.

Call from NYC to her “friend.” SCSO ignoring the info, saying NYPD won’t help YOU. Calling Port Authority and the guys all took patrol around the pay phone she used, had no problem helping, called in NYPD, they helped – no problem! They took the flyers I faxed them and handed them out in the city.  New York City!!!!!!  More help than SC.

Resolution. She is gone. Must go back to work. Must go to bed, take meds, go to bed.

Phone call. I can’t answer. Scott answers…..several minutes of him listening. I hear, “You have her there?”

She was found. Farther away than she said in the letter.

After consulting professionals (I was unable to make any decisions on my own) I followed exactly what they said. Verbatim.

We got her. Time to heal….

Back then, I liked wine. I had it a little bit – maybe twice a month. I could actually keep a wine collection.

Back then, I could go to sleep easily since my job tires me so much.

Back then, I could look in the mirror and find a good person.

Back then, I wasn’t afraid to feel happy.

Now, if I feel happy or contented, I stop myself. I must not be happy, for if I am, tomorrow will bring great sorrow. I must not deserve happiness.

I’ve gained back a lot of the weight, and wine is no longer a special treat, but a medication.

My healing is not happening. Despite her success. I am still damaged and hurting. How do I get over it. How do I heal. When will the pain end?