Chasing Serenity

 

Sunset Beach Pier, Sunset Beach, NC

I haven't written anything in so long, except in my head, that I am not sure where to begin. The only use this blog has seen has been the search bar as when I look for recipes. I still have this blogspot blog and still haven't figured out how to transfer the content to my other one. Maybe one day.

Life got in the way of writing. I thought that the life events of the past few years would inspire me to write, but that just did not happen. Oh, I wrote stories in my head while in the shower, but they never made it to either paper or my keyboard. I bought journals. They sat empty, staring at me, hoping to be of some use. I bought pens. It's kind of an obsession with me. I used them to make to-do and grocery store lists. They have a higher purpose. They stand at attention in my pen cup, waiting to be called into active duty.

So, what happened? Life turned to black and white for me. Covid hit the world. I had a student trip to France planned for March 2020 that was cancelled about 10 days before departure. I thought that our head of school was being unreasonably paranoid. But by the time we would have returned, the US borders were closed. So, I had one last weekend of fun attending the wedding of my BFF's oldest son in Wilmington. Alone. The Ex-Ex believed that the Covid threat was real. School shut down. I learned how to use Microsoft Teams, Zoom, Loom and any other number of online tools for teaching. I took online courses on how to teach online. I hated every second of it. I did a lot of neighborhood walking. It was a lovely spring. Thank you, God. I baked a lot of bread. When I could find yeast. Seems I wasn't the only one firing up the oven. Thank you, SG, for supplying yeast and to all who graciously accepted my misshapen loaves. We wore masks and we stayed home. For what seemed like an eternity. None of my close friends or relatives died. That was a blessing. Once again, thank you, God. I finally got back to traveling with my students in June 2022. I caught Covid and tested positive the day I returned. I lived upstairs, recovering from Covid and jet lag. Thank you, doctors and scientists, for the vaccines I gladly received. My case was minor. Life is back to normal. Well, our new normal anyway. A story for the history books.

The second blow to my life was much more difficult. I learned that Son #1 is an addict. There were signs that I refused to heed until I could no longer deny it. I write about it with his permission. He talks openly about it at his meetings and we talk about it as a family. I cannot imagine his struggle. I can only speak about mine. I felt cheated. I came into this life as the child of an alcoholic and I am going to leave it as the mother of an addict? Seriously, God? What did I do wrong? I felt overwhelming guilt and examined every mistake I made as a mother. And to be honest, there is still some lingering guilt. I saw my therapist. She suggested finding a Nar-Anon Family Group. I found one that meets just right up the street from me (although the meetings are now online due to Covid). I got some literature from the group and read through it and realized, after reading the Serenity Prayer and the 12 Steps, that I had found my people. People who knew exactly what I was/am going through. We got Son #1 home finally after he detoxed. The world's most amazing little girl, my granddaughter, moved in with her maternal grandparents. Thank you, T and G. We still did not know what we were dealing with however. We didn't realize that addiction can rarely be helped by oneself. Relapse happened right under our roof. More denial. More sleepless nights. More resentment. Mostly fear. Fear robs you of joy. My life was joy-less. What do you write about when you have no joy? And who would even want to read it? We were not ready to share our story. Neither Son #1 nor me. A friend of mine in whom I confided because she had confided in me about her son's addiction told me about a program in Raleigh. Thank you, Friend. I called, left a message, and a person called me back. He had been through the program, was now employed there, and he gave me his cell phone number and told me to call him when my son was ready to get help. Thank you, B. That day came the Saturday before I was to leave for my June 2022 student trip. I had been planning it for months, I had 16 people who had invested thousands of dollars depending on me to make this an amazing experience. The Ex-Ex was rightfully afraid to be home alone though. Our son had overdosed and had been home from the hospital for only a few days. We had a heated discussion about it standing in the hallway of our home. Son #1 came downstairs with his backpack and announced that he was ready to go. As he now tells the story, I had him in the car as quickly as possible and came only to a rolling stop at Healing Transitions before kicking him out. My contact met us there and took over. That was 13 months ago. He only called us once to come get him, about three weeks into the program. We said no. He had by then figured out that I did not tell him that he would be sleeping on the floor at first and that this is a 9-12 month program. After he moved into HT, while I was in France, I got a call from the woman in charge of families. She reached out to me about their support group. I found another group of people who know what it is like to have an addicted love one. Thank you, RS. I have learned so much about addiction. I can put away the anger that I have felt for so many years for my dad. I realize now that it wasn't just weakness on his part or a lack of love for his family. My dad's alcoholism and my son's addiction are not about me. I probably passed on a gene, but that is not my fault. I have learned that I am in control of very little in this world. I am in control of me, my actions and my thoughts. I have learned that self-care is of the utmost importance if I am to get through this. I have learned that acceptance brings hope. Son #1 has made some incredible life-long friends. Friends who will see him through this if he continues to allow them to. Thank you, JC (and family), FJ and many, many more. He is learning to accept himself just as I am learning to accept myself. Shortcomings and all. I have rediscovered joy and found a slice of serenity. I am trying to take life one day at a time and not "borrow trouble" as Mama Mildred has often reminded me. Thank you, Ex-Ex, Son #2 and Amazing Daughter-in-law, the BFF, and others who allowed me to rage, cry, and generally lose my sanity. Thank you, Son #1 for your courage and bravery.

I still feel the need to post a recipe, just like in the old days. I found this one and gave it a try and plan to make it again soon. It's that good.

Baked Gruyère Tomato Bruschetta from Half Baked Harvest

I shopped for the ingredients at my local Trader Joe's. Yep, I left my zip code and drove to Chapel Hill!

1 baguette, halved, each half cut into 4 pieces

1/4 c. basil pesto

1 lb. shredded Gruyère cheese (it can be expensive, but less so at Trader Joe's) or Gouda or a mixture

1 Tbsp. chopped fresh thyme or rosemary

4 cloves garlic, grated

Sea salt, black pepper, chili flakes, to taste

2 tsp. honey

1 c. cherry tomatoes, sliced in half

3 oz. prosciutto, torn in pieces

Olive oil, for drizzling

Fresh basil, for serving

Preheat oven or grill to 425˚F.

Arrange baguette halves on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Spread evenly with pesto, then add the cheese.

Mix the garlic, rosemary/thyme and chili flakes with your fingers, then sprinkle over the cheese. Drizzle with honey. Add the tomatoes. Drape the prosciutto over the tomatoes. Drizzle everything with olive oil.

Bake for 10 minutes, until cheese is bubbly. Top with fresh basil. Eat warm and enjoy with extra honey, sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, if desired.

Bon appétit and a grand merci to all out there who are our supporters and cheerleaders. You know who you are.

God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the Courage to change the ones I can, and the Wisdom to know the difference.

Procrasti-baking and The Power of Love

Yes, it’s a thing. I saw it on Facebook and, frankly, I was relieved. The article, from the New York Times on-line, entitled Why Work When You Can Procrastibake? starts this way:

All procrastibakers do not bake alike.

Procrastibaking — the practice of baking something completely unnecessary, with the intention of avoiding “real” work — is a surprisingly common habit that has only recently acquired a name. Medical students, romance writers, freelance web designers: Almost anyone who works at home and has a cookie sheet in the cupboard can try it.

“I started procrastibaking in college as a way to feel productive while also avoiding my schoolwork,” said Wesley Straton, a graduate student in Brooklyn. “Baking feels like a low-stakes artistic outlet.”

 Hooked me pretty quick. There is a name for what I do to put off doing other stuff. As I said before, relief.

I have projects to grade, quizzes to mark, letters to write to 8th graders, lessons to plan and placement tests to score. So, how did I spend my afternoon? Making strawberry shortcakes. And just why not?  I have heard that some suffer from procrasti-cleaning. Thank God I don’t have that affliction.

I found the recipe on Two Peas and their Pod.  They are really just sweet biscuits. Some of mine turned out lop-sided, but that’s okay. I am not a perfectionist. Just don’t have it in me.

Our final Supper Club “meeting” at Dear Friend’s house was a lot of fun. And crazy delicious. Beck’s Mom made her signature appetizers, Brie Bites. Phyllo dough “cups” with a piece of double creme Brie, some raspberry-jalapeño jam, and pecans baked in the oven, then a sprinkle of (French) sea salt added and baked a bit longer. (I ate two, showing great restraint, because I could have eaten every single one of them.)

Miss Molly brought Caprese salad- another of my all-time favorites. I took two of these as well. Symmetry?

Dear Friend and Hubby provided roasted potatoes,

salmon cooked in his outdoor smoker and very tender roast beef.

I had a very special helper when it came time for dessert. Dear Friend’s oldest granddaughter, who is the spitting image of her mom at this age, helped me make the whipped cream and was my taste-tester par excellence.  She also served everyone their dessert. Not that I want my Darling Granddaughter to grow up too fast, but I cannot wait to give her her first apron and a stepping stool for my kitchen!

Et voilà! Our strawberry shortcakes.

Strawberry Shortcake and I go way back. Growing up, I always asked Mama Mildred to make this for my birthday. You can use Angel food cake, regular yellow or white cake or real shortbread. I opted for sweet biscuits. Strawberries are in season. Go for it!

I need to get this post done or I will start suffering from procrasti-blogging… The stack of work is staring me in the face right this moment.

Strawberry Shortcakes

makes 8

for the strawberries:

• 1 1/2 pounds strawberries, stemmed and sliced or quartered
• 1/3 cup granulated sugar

for the shortcakes:

• 3 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/4 cup granulated sugar
• 2 tablespoons baking powder
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 3/4 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
• 1 1/3 cups cold heavy cream
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 2 tablespoons heavy cream, for brushing on shortcakes
• Turbinado sugar, for sprinkling on shortcakes

for the whipped cream:

• 1 cup heavy whipping cream
• 3 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• Pinch of salt

1.  Hull and slice the strawberries and place them into a large bowl. (I saved a few whole ones to use as garnish.) Cover with granulated sugar and stir. Cover and refrigerate the strawberries while you make the shortcakes so they can get juicy.
2. Preheat oven to 425˚ F. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper. Set aside.
3. In a large bowl, sift or whisk together the flour, sugar, and baking powder. Mix in the salt. Add the small pieces of cold butter and use a pastry blender, fork, or your clean hands to cut the butter into the dry ingredients. Mix until you have pieces that are the size of peas.
4. In a small bowl, stir together the cold heavy cream and vanilla extract. Pour the mixture over the flour mixture and stir until just combined. You may need to add a bit more cream, if the mixture is too dry. Turn out onto a floured surface and lightly knead the dough together to incorporate all of the crumbly dough pieces.  Do not over mix or your biscuits will not be as tender.
5. Press the dough into a circle, about 1-inch thick and cut into rounds, using a biscuit cutter. Place the biscuits on the prepared baking sheet, about 2 inches apart. Place the pan in the refrigerator and chill the biscuits for 20 minutes before baking.
6. Using a pastry brush, brush the chilled biscuit tops with heavy cream. Sprinkle tops generously with turbinado sugar.
7. Bake the biscuits until golden brown, about 15-20 minutes. Let cool completely.
8. While the biscuits are cooling, make the whipped cream. Using an electric mixer, whip the heavy cream, sugar, vanilla, and pinch of salt together until the cream reaches stiff peaks.
9. To assemble the shortcakes, cut the biscuits in half horizontally. Spoon the strawberries over the bottom of the biscuit and add a dollop of whipped cream. Top with the other biscuit half. Add more strawberries and whipped cream on top, if desired. You can also break up the biscuits and top them with strawberries and whipped cream or leave them whole and add strawberries and whipped cream on top.

Make Ahead-if you want to make the shortcake biscuits ahead of time, you can. Place unbaked biscuits on a lined baking sheet and freeze. When frozen, transfer the biscuits to a freezer bag and freeze for up to one month. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 425 degrees and bake for 23-26 minutes. You can also freeze baked shortcakes in a freezer bag for up to one month. Defrost before serving. You can warm them up in the oven, if desired.

Bon appétit to all strawberry lovers out there. I am deeply sorry for you if you are allergic to these heavenly delights. Substitute juicy ripe peaches or blackberries. If you didn’t watch The Wedding (I didn’t), at least listen to or read Bishop Michael Curry’s sermon. Amen, Reverend. Let’s spread the message of LOVE. There is power in love.

The right place at the right time

It has only been a little over a month since I returned from France. It was an amazing trip with my co-chaperone and 13 of my eighth grade students. While planning the trip, I discovered that there would be a guided tour in English at the Mémorial de la Shoah. My students and I discuss the Holocaust and La Rafle, the round-up of the Jews in Paris in July of 1942. I show them the movie Sarah’s Key, based on the novel by Tatiana de Rosnay. I have had the pleasure of meeting Mme de Rosnay twice, once by design, once purely by chance. Being in the right place at the right time. In front of the Paris Hôtel de Ville during a rally for women in 2013. She was the guest of honor. All of the women were on motorcycles, including Mme de Rosnay.

I’ve been to the Mémorial de la Shoah several times in the past few years. While in Paris in January of this year, I decided to visit Drancy, the site of one of the deportation camps used during the Holocaust. I have read stories of women who survived the camps or who were hidden children during the Holocaust. I have also read fictionalized accounts of the occupation of France by the Nazis such as All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr and The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah. My high school French teacher, Mme Christiane Roze Buchanan, lived in occupied France.

On this particular March Sunday afternoon, I arrived with my crew in time for one young lady, who became a Bat Mitzvah in November of 2018, to make a presentation about the Mémorial. (I ask all of the students to sign up for one of the places we will visit and prepare a short presentation about it.) We also had time to take a look at the Wall of Names before our guided tour began (see first two photos). We found a place to sit inside the Mémorial to wait on our guide. There weren’t many places to sit and when another woman came over to join our group, I gave one young man a look that meant “Get up and give your seat to this woman. Now.” He read me well and got up. This woman struck up a conversation with the students she was sitting next to– Where are you from? Why are you in Paris? What have you seen so far? Then the tour began and we took a two-hour journey through the history of anti-semitism and anti-Judaism in France. The tour ended in a relatively small room, with just a few glass benches, and black and white photos of children on the walls. Photos of children taken from their families during the Holocaust. By this time, I was in tears. Just thinking of having my children or granddaughter taken from me is almost more than I can stand. As I sat there, I heard a voice behind me say in French to the guide “J’étais un enfant caché.” I was a hidden child. The voice came from the woman who had joined our tour. The guide asked her in French if she would be willing to share her story. The right place at the right time.

(I am taking this from Monique’s bio- she tells the story much better than I could.)

A “hidden child” of the Holocaust taken in France in 1942, Monique Saigal dedicates the new edition of her book to her grandmother Rivka Leiba pictured on the cover, gassed at Auschwitz September 30th, 1942. A month earlier, on August 24th fearing for Monique’s life she threw her on a train carrying non-Jewish children whose fathers like Monique’s had died. An organization called “the house of the prisoners” helped war widows by sending their children to spend a one month vacation with a host family in Southwest France. Scared and alone, Monique arrived at the train station but there was no one to pick her up. However, a young lady Jacqueline Baleste, waiting for a little boy who did not come off the train, saw the little girl with no name-tag crying in the corner. She embraced her and brought her home where Monique lived with the Baleste family for 8 years in a small village. She was baptized and raised Catholic for fear of surrounding Nazis in this occupied zone.

After she spoke with the group, Monique gave me a postcard-sized card with her bio. And her email address. I attempted to wipe away my tears and hugged her. Later that evening, I emailed Monique to thank her for sharing her story with us. She quickly emailed back and told me that she would be happy to meet us and share more of her story if we had the time. We settled on a time, she came to our hotel with her power point presentation on her computer, and told us more of her story. Several of my students bought a copy of her book. When she ran out of copies, she told me that she would send some more to me as soon as she got back to California. (She was in Paris to visit her uncle, her mother’s brother.)

Monique’s book, French Heroines, 1940-1945, available in both French and English, contains the stories of women “who are little known yet who stand out because of their extraordinary courage during the German occupation in World War II, when they risked their lives, engaging in clandestine activities to overcome the Nazis.” There are eighteen stories because in Hebrew “chai” or the number 18 stands for life. I read these eighteen stories and have even reread most of them because their acts of bravery seem unbelievable to someone who spends most of her time worrying about “first world problems.”  I want to believe that I would have been one of those brave women. But I hope that I never have to find out the limits of my bravery and courage.

Merci, Monique. I will never forget our chance encounter. Thank you for being so very brave. God bless your grandmother and the Baleste family.

The right place at the right time. How very fortunate I am.

As I read about the people who were starving during the war, I realized that although my family didn’t have very much money when I was growing up, Mama Mildred always managed to put food on the table for her four children. I made a very simple soup today and I will pass that recipe on. My recipes such as this one are always a guess-timate, as we say in English. Soups do not have to be exact. That’s probably one of the reasons I enjoy creating them. Someone left a bag of Wegman’s Salt Potatoes in the faculty lounge this week and I claimed them. A 5-pound bag of potatoes with a small bag of salt inside. Go figure!

Potato Sausage Soup

Andouille sausage, cut in bite-sized pieces

1 medium or large onion, diced

Minced garlic, optional

Olive oil

Thin-skinned potatoes, scrubbed (and peeled, if you wish), cut into bite-sized pieces

Chicken stock or broth (you could also use vegetable stock or even water)

Herbs (I used Weber’s Roasted Garlic and Herb Seasoning)

Salt and pepper, if desired

In a heavy bottomed pot, heat olive oil over medium high heat. Brown the sausage on both sides. Remove to a bowl and set aside.

Using the same pot and oil, sauté the onions until soft. If using minced garlic, add it at the end, for about 2 minutes, stirring with a wooden spoon.

Put the potatoes in the pot with the onions. Cover the potatoes with chicken stock, broth or water. Add back the sausage. Sprinkle in herbs. Stir. Cover and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until the potatoes are tender. Taste and adjust seasonings, if needed.

Bon appétit to heroes from all walks of life. Big and small. Rich and poor. Old and young. Jewish, Catholic, Protestant or non-believers. And all in-between. To all who perform intentional and/or random acts of kindness in this world. And remember, everyone has a story. We just need to open our hearts and ears and listen. Really listen.

Searching for serenity

http://www.actsstore.org/

It’s been one of those weeks. I am lucky that I have the Ex-Ex, some very good friends who love me, listen to me, and make me laugh (google tarantula burger and you will see what my BFF has been up to- hearing about that made me guffaw during our walk/therapy session this morning). I spend a great deal of time telling myself that all families have “stuff” and that our “stuff” isn’t as bad as what many are dealing with. I have said before that I am not a particularly religious person (Sorry, Mama Mildred and Best Mother-in-law). I do, however consider myself to be a deeply spiritual person. One friend recommended that I recite the Serenity Prayer over and over to myself. I’ve added it to the Lord is My Shepherd and Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. And today, at the BFF’s suggestion, I decided to go over to Duke Gardens for an hour or so.

First, some wise advice–

Let’s start with the tulips… I love them. In all shapes, sizes, and colors.

Up close and personal

I found a few critters. A very elusive cardinal. Maybe he was just teasing me, flitting from tree to tree.

One of the ponds-

Another sign to respect… but I saw no frogs. And I looked very hard. Is it too early?

The azaleas are stunning here right now.

A squirrel… and a bird. Didn’t see the bird until just now!

My Daddy loved pink dogwoods. So do I.

I found a quiet spot in the section devoted to native plants to sit and listen to the wind in the pine trees.

And check out the NC plants. No mountain laurel or rhododendrons quite yet.

Yes, the trip to Duke Gardens was just the right recipe for the afternoon.

When I got home, after a stop at Harris Teeter, I decided to try a recipe that I found on a cooking/eating website last week. My boys have always loved rice pudding. I discovered riz au lait a few years ago in France. Kind of the same, but different. In March, I ate it at Odile’s apartment in Paris. I asked her what kind of rice she uses. She told me dessert rice, as if I would know what that is. When I told her that we don’t have that (at least I haven’t found it), she suggested arborio rice, the same one I use to make risotto. Voilà!

Coconut Riz au Lait

from The Novice Chef (Coconut Rice Pudding: Disney Copycat Recipe)

6 servings

1 cup Arborio rice

1-1/4 cups whole milk

13.5 ounce can of coconut milk (not in the dairy section- this is really thick, more like cream)

1 cup sweetened condensed milk

1/3 cup heavy cream

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 cup sweetened shredded coconut, toasted

In a large heavy pot, mix the rice, whole milk and coconut milk/cream together. Place over high heat.

When the mixture starts to boil, place the lid on top and reduce to low heat. Cook for 13-15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the rice is completely cooked.

While the rice is cooking, place the shredded coconut in a pan and toast it over low heat, stirring constantly.

When the rice is cooked, add the condensed milk, heavy cream and cinnamon. Stir well to combine.

Cook on low heat, until the rice has thickened and the mixture is creamy, about 10 minutes. Stir to keep the rice from sticking to the bottom of the pan.

Remove from heat, stir in most of the shredded coconut, saving some to sprinkle on top. Serve warm or chilled.

Bon appétit to all! I wish you all serenity and a beautiful spring, filled with flowers and critters. Take a picnic and enjoy the outdoors. It helps put life into perspective. Even with all of the yellow dust covering everything at the moment!