In the kitchen

fresh cilantro, ginger root, limes, mango, yellow heirloom tomato, garlic, vidalia onion, eggplant, crook neck squash, avocado, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, bamboo rice, basmati rice, red kidney beans, satsuma, extra sharp cheddar, havarti cheese, cucumber, red seedless grapes, figs, cashews, papaya, tikka masala sauce, chocolate, espresso, greek yogurt...
santoku knife, microplane, immersion blender, ginger grater, mango pitter, non-stick wok...

These are a few of my favorite things in my kitchen. Ingredients and tools I use often- until last year. Last year when I couldn't eat anything more than vegetable broth for several months- when a lifetime of "stomach issues" culminated into a months long, drawn out, invasive search for what ailed me because it could no longer be ignored. The verdict- I no longer have a gall bladder and I can no longer can eat gluten. I have to take 1 little pill a day. I have to read labels on anything I buy that's processed. I am a pain in the ass to eat out with ((mostly)vegetarian + gluten free = nightmare dinner companion) BUT, I can eat without pain and without consequence, so as annoying as I am to others, I am happy. I haven't missed what I can't have.

So what did I learn?
1. Don't put off taking care of yourself. I've never been one to go to doctors, so I am lucky to get a clean bill of health after all of this (or as my surgeon said, "You have the insides of a 16 year old!")- I plan to keep it that way.
2. I have an amazingly understanding and supportive workplace- filled with caring people who don't just see me as a title.
3. I was reminded that I have the best family anyone could hope for. My parents and M propped me up- at times literally. They took care of me during all the procedures and tests, drove me to appointments, held my hand when all I could do was cry, and didn't flinch when all I could do was vent. Sometimes, they jauntily bowed to surgeons and nurses as they left the room to get me to laugh- ok, only one of them did that. They softly cheered me on and grilled doctors when I didn't have any fight left in me. I learned the importance of family at a very young age, but I've always been fiercely independent. I never thought a day would come when I could not fight my own fight, but damned if it didn't and without skipping a beat, my family stepped right in and handled it.
4. Know a good general surgeon- my surgery was given a 3-4% chance of fixing the problems because all previous tests and procedures came out fine. After the doc got in there, he saw I had a duct that basically drains the gall bladder that was 5 times longer than normal- that didn't show up on ultrasounds, ct scans, a Hida scan, or any bloodwork. If he weren't willing to take a gander despite the odds, I'd still be sick now. I paid him back- I allowed one of the student surgeons to practice removing stitches on me.

Have a happy and healthy new year- I plan to. :)

Due. Firenze. Per favore.

I've started learning basic Italian. Thankfully, studying Spanish and French a million years ago is making things a lot easier. I have an admittedly freakish ability to learn languages- but that could be to my detriment. They're so similar, I could mix all three and sound like the most confused tourist EVER. So far, Italian is closer to Spanish than French, I spent more time studying Spanish, so I think we'll make it. I mean, I first learned Spanish, and gato was a cat. Then, I learned French and gateau was a cake- not 2 things you want to confuse. Now, with Italian, gatto is back to being a cat. That's a good sign. I'm more comfortable with it being a cat.

Makes me think of one of my foreign language teachers back in high school. He was fluent in 7 languages- he was amazing. I took 2 years with him, 1 year in Spanish and 1 year in French. He spoke only the foreign language in his class and would allow us to speak only the foreign language. Cool thing was, in French class, he would be speaking to the class in French, turn to write on the board, turn around see me, turn back around and start speaking Spanish without skipping a beat. I'd have to interrupt him and remind him we were in French class. That is geeky awesomeness.

Anyway, I may not get it right speaking it (keeping up with conversation when you never have an opportunity to practice is difficult and that's with languages your comfortable with), but I'll definitely be able to read the basics enough to get us around. And fed. And happy on awesome wine. And to the gorgeous hotel. And to Via por Santa Maria for Camper shoes. What? The museums and galleries are closed on Mondays- and a girl's got to shop for her favorite shoes! We'll have all the other days for the museums and galleries.

That's called having your cake and eating it, too.

How To Overachieve in Passive Aggressive Behavior

Years ago when I bought this big old beautiful house, I hated the doorbell box in the hallway. It was just a large, old eyesore- it may as well have been a Yugo plastered to the wall. Our first renovation, we took it out and replaced it with a wireless one that we could hide a little better. Today, while my sick self took a "work break" (note: techies don't really get sick days. you take a sick day, but you still work from home. same goes for vacations. 2nd note to self, next time I choose a profession with no real time off, choose medicine. at least I'd have a title. )

There I sit, on the couch, having just closed my laptop when I hear someone walk up the stairs on the front porch. I waited... no doorbell, no knock. The dogs didn't even wake up from their naps. I answered the door, politely whispered to the Jehovah's Witness to excuse me, but I was sick and didn't feel like talking, took his pamphlet and he went on his way.

Later, when my lovely boy was on his way out to the post office, I asked him to test the doorbell. Sure enough, dead battery. He said, "I'll put in a new battery when I get back." And, as is the case as both of us get older, neither one of us remembered. Until tonight. I remembered.

Here's the thing. Usually, when someone has to ring the doorbell, I don't know them. They're coming by to sell me something like a religion or school fundraiser fare or steaks. When the pecans are prolific, sometimes it's an older man wanting to take some home. Every now and then, it's the kid looking for a beloved pet that has run away. I can count on the firefighters taking donations once a year. I don't mind the old man, or the lost pet, or the firefighters but those times are so few and far between. For every one time they come by, there must be twenty religion or school wrapping paper peddlers. It's the same scene, they ring the doorbell, the dogs go ballistic, then I'm trying to hold them back while shouting over their ear piercing yelps to the person outside that I'm not interested in whatever. Let's be honest, if I need a new religion, I'll probably go to you, not wait for you to seek me out. And I can go anywhere and buy overpriced, poor quality crap. But then I thought, "If I leave the dead battery in, I'm off the hook! The person rings a doorbell that doesn't work, the dogs don't go nuts, I'm not bothered, no tripping over dogs and yelling, the person outside has done their due diligence for whatever cause they are supporting, leaves, I'm not disturbed, and I haven't spent any money- everybody wins!" The firefighters always mail something, I'll still be able to donate. The old man will get his pecans- I've already told him he's always welcome to them- I think he asks because he knows I'll help and he likes the conversation. He always catches me outside anyway. Unlike those gypsies my neighbors tell me scour our front garden without permission at 4am with 5 gallon buckets so they can sell them for a pretty penny. And although I've tried, I've never found Fluffy. The dead doorbell can be my filter. Who needs gates and fences and security? At this moment, I realize, I have just reached the pinnacle of passive aggressiveness.

How do you overachieve in passive aggressiveness? Let the doorbell battery die.

A for-profit mind and a not-for-profit heart don't mix

During a wonderful conversation with great friends, one made the comment I should try to care less. A straightforward solution to a myriad of my problems, and yet an impossible goal. A for-profit mind and a not-for-profit heart just do not mix well. Changing course is moot- the same show in a different venue- a set change doesn't change the story's ending. Business is business, even at not-for-profits, except at NPOs the injustices and inefficiencies are amplified tenfold by the criticality of the mission. No, friend, I should care more. I should care so much I have the courage to risk everything to try to better the situation, but I allow the traps of daily existence to force me into cowardly inaction. I'm torn knowing I have the courage, but the price of action is the possibility my loved ones will become sacrificial lambs- a price too high. My solution is to learn to externally channel the constant imbalance of one extended hand and one fist in the air until the day I can afford a "bad attitude"- to have the courage and resources to place myself in front of the weak with both fists in the air and shield them from the unmerited wrath of the strong despite the inevitable personal consequences. Consequences which, at the right time, would be my burden alone- not my family's. There is solace to be found in knowing that day will come almost as much as in the day itself.

All this came to me while looking out the window of the plane last night. I noticed the layout of the neighborhoods made their twinkling street lights look like constellations. As I was finding "Orion", I laughed at the contradiction that while on the ground, the stars were above me- but in the air, I had to look down to see them. Perspective is everything. Miro and Moon- thanks for dinner and for listening Saturday. One day, I'll be back. I'll have the cayenne etouffee and a glass of an Italian red. And dinner's on me.

How to Survive a Knife Fight You Didn't Know You Were In.

While walking to the bus stop on a bright sunny morning in Denver, a car drives up and turns down the alley in front of me. Two men jump out and run over to one of the apartment buildings flanking the alley. They start jumping up and trying to look into one of the 2nd story windows. One guy looks toward the street, sees me, and starts walking in my direction. I know this because I'm watching him intently, but I have on dark sunglasses. I notice the guy has a machete- a freaking machete- in his hand. There are no other cars on this normally busy street, and no one is walking anywhere in view. Cap Hill in Denver- always busy except for right now. The guy's stopped walking. What do I do? "So far, he doesn't know I've even noticed him. Face forward, dark glasses. He's obviously crazy, on drugs, something- they're looking for someone. What if they decide I'll do since there are bars on that apartment window and they're not getting in?" I'm getting closer to him, I keep my head up and face forward. "If I cross the street now, he'll know I've seen something. If I run, he may catch up." So I do the only thing I think makes sense: Face forward, don't break stride. "Once I'm directly in front of him, he'll be able to see my eyes from the side." I turn my eyes straight ahead and towards the ground. 10 seconds- all of that happened in no more than 10 seconds. As I walked by him, he's holding the machete by his side, standing in the alley maybe five feet away, perfectly placed to intersect my path on the sidewalk. My mind races, but there's a mantra forming, "I didn't see you, it's not me you want. I didn't see you, it's not me you want." Head up, face forward, eyes on the ground- "I don't see an extra shadow, just my own," but I hear him take a step- that telltale sound of grit and gravel crunching against the asphalt...but only one step..."Stay the same pace, breathe normally, he doesn't think I've seen anything, I'm not who he wants..." I take three maybe four more steps, and I know he can only see the back of me now... "Only my shadow, no noise of footsteps running towards me, no noise at all- where the hell is all the traffic and people?" With my back to him, lifetimes seem to pass. I reach the end of the street, and suddenly, there are cars coming down the road again. I breathe. "I'm not alone any more." I see people halfway down the next block. I briskly cross the street, pass others on the sidewalk. "No one's screaming, he's not behind me." I never looked back.

I have no idea what the "right" thing to do is in that situation. When I got to work, I called the police- not for me, but for whoever lived in that apartment. I was lucky. Well, I was unlucky first- then lucky. The whole incident was mere seconds. I think about that day 13 years ago every now and then and wonder what if. I always come to the conclusion that if I didn't have those sunglasses, things may not have gone so well. If I can't identify him, I'm not a risk to him. If I'm not a risk, he'll leave me be. With the sunglasses, he didn't know whether or not I saw him.

It's not unusual to be getting ready to leave work for the day and realize I still have my sunglasses on my head from the drive in. Most days when I get home after dark, my sweet man greets me with a kiss and takes my sunglasses off my head for me. I usually forget to take them off. I just chalked it up to absentmindedness until tonight. Maybe, deep in my subconscious, sunglasses are my version of Linus' blanket. My armor, my sword, my shield. Hey, I'm pretty sure they saved my life one time.

3 Medications to Always Carry

I know what you're thinking- the Pondering Polymath is also Possibly Psychic, but Possibly Psychic Pondering Polymath is just too much. You're thinking, "That's what drug stores are for. I don't need to carry any medication on me at all times." For you, our next scenarios take place on a plane- 30,000 ft in the air (take that smarty pants!).


1. Benadryl Fast Dissolving Strips. My childhood doctor called Benadryl a miracle drug. He was right. Benadryl is primarily an antihistamine used to combat the effects of allergies. Typical allergic reactions are itchy eyes, runny nose, rash, sneezing, etc. But, Benadryl is also used for severe allergic reactions, as a temporary sleep aid, to combat motion sickness and nausea, and to lessen tremors such as those caused by Parkinson's. All of this with no long term side effects. I hope it never happens, but if you were to come into contact with something that causes a severe enough reaction that you feel your throat is closing up (anaphylaxis), after you let people know to call 911, ask for an EpiPen(think the OD scene with Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction but with far less drama) and oxygen, take 2 of those strips. It just may bide enough time to get you the emergency care you need.


2. Acetaminophen. Why? The way it works is different than ibuprofen or aspirin. Aspirin can cause an allergic reaction. Ibuprofen reduces inflammation but can exasperate pain in people with ulcers or liver problems. Acetaminophen (like Tylenol) basically works by telling your brain you're not in pain. Pretty genius. It is a fever reducer as well. Typically, it does not cause reactions. So, good pain reliever to have until you can get to a doctor.

3. Antacids. I once found a Chocolate restaurant in NYC at midnight after spending a day eating an enormous breakfast with mimosas, then a ridiculously huge Indian dinner with a bottle of Barolo. To say the least, I spent the rest of the night groaning and pondering the possibility of actually eating so much you implode (think Gluttony in Seven). This post would've been about 2 medications if not for that night.

How To Turn The Water Off at the Road

Sometimes owning a home isn't fun. For instance, when you get a call at work from your lovely guy saying, "I dreamt I lived next to a babbling brook, but when I woke up, I could still hear the brook..." This type of statement could cause you to A.) throw up or B.) wet yourself, or possibly both. (Thankfully, I did neither, but both crossed my mind.) It is not natural to hear a rushing river under your house- so congratulations- you've got a busted pipe. Now, let's suppose your awesome plumber is called in a panic and he says, "I'm on a job, but I'll be there as soon as I can." Fantastic! But what to do in the mean time? As visions of driving down your street trying to find your home as a nosey neighbor flags you down yelling, "It went that-a-way!" cloud your normally lucid thoughts, you do what any 33 year old kid does- you call Dad. "Busted pipe! How do I turn the water off!?!!?"

In newer homes, there's a shut off valve somewhere on the house. Go to it and turn it off. But, if your house was new over a century ago, as was mine, you may not have that little convenience. You may have to turn it off at the road. In my case, up the front path, on the sidewalk, under a small but heavy metal cover is the main shut off. You simply slide a screwdriver in the small hole to lift off the cover. Now you should be able to see a valve with little slots. The problem is, a simple wrench isn't getting that sucker to budge. What you need is a water meter key. It's about 2.5 feet long and shaped like a T. The long end of the T fits on the valve (the bottom of the T is shaped like a U- that fits the slots on the valve). Turn the top of the T 90 degrees and Voila! No more river sounds under the house! You have minimalized the damage until your saintly plumber arrives to save the day.

In my case, my awesome Dad, a realtor by trade, happens to carry one around in his car trunk during the winter. But you can get one here http://www.acehardwaresuperstore.com/b--k-water-meter-key-12-x-30-long-p-33019.html?ref=42 for less than $10. Don't call my Dad. He's got enough to do.