Wholotta Attitude; Little Bitta Eggplant

Yesterday I got a triple whammy. I called my mom to find out what the cardiologist said about my dad. He needs surgery on an aneurysm in his kidney, the size of some fruit, maybe a peach—my mom can’t remember which fruit because she’s old—and will burst for some unknown reason and kill him at some unknown time. But his stress test showed his heart isn’t up to surgery, so it’s a big risk. Whammy one: My dad won’t be my dad much longer.

My mom added that she was especially tired because she fell twice last night. The first fall was because she lost her balance and fell into the bathtub. The second fall was because her legs wouldn’t move when she tried to get out of bed. Now it’s just my humble opinion, but if legs aren’t working, don’t stand on them. But I guess when the toilet calls you at 82, legs or not, you try to answer. Here is an incomplete list of all the bones my mom has broken:

· Five ribs—five different falls

· Neck—hard brace for months

· Three back vertebrae—three different falls

· Hip—replaced

· Wrist—metal plate installed

· Two toes—in one fall

· She also had her knee replaced twice, not from falling but due to arthritis.

Whammy number two: My mom will soon be an invalid, will be replaced by metal and won’t be my mom much longer.

“Why didn’t your legs move?” I asked.

“I suppose it’s the Neuropathy.”

“What’s neuropathy?”
“Nerve damage.”
“How does that happen?”
“It starts in the back.”

Now here’s the thing: I was recently diagnosed with many back issues: beginnings of arthritis causing stenosis which is tightening around the nerves in the spinal column, mild osteoporosis, two bulging disks, and last but not least: degenerative disks. So, to be more succinct, I’m a cripple and disabled. For more than a month I’d been grieving the loss of my mobility and ability. In the past seven months I tried chiropractors, Chinese medicine and physical therapy. I am discouraged. And now, on the phone, I could see my future: wheelchair bound in a nursing home, unable to walk, being condescended upon by pipsqueak nurses who talk to me loudly and have no clue that in my 50’s I hiked the Bavarian and Tyrolean Alps or that I hiked Scotland’s 95 mile West Highland Way in eight days, or biked all over Chicago, Denver, Wisconsin and two days along Danube. Whammy number three: I’m not going to be my me much longer.

I was grieving three impending losses. After I hung up, I bawled like the baby who evokes condescension by pipsqueak nurses. Waa waa waa! That was yesterday.

Today I grew up (for the 778^th time in the past decade) and, by some miracle, walked away from my wheelchair! On a long bike ride north, I told my friend Madeline about my back issues. She seemed to know all the lingo and said she had some advice. “Not that you asked,” she said. She too had suffered from debilitating back pain, was unable to do much and felt similar despair. She had found some help from a couple of books on living with back pain. She gave me the cliff notes, which is good since I resist reading long technical stuff. “Basically,” she said, “Your attitude is the big thing. If you think of yourself as disabled and broken, you’re disabled and broken.” She said she stopped doing things that she knew were hard on her back, made little adjustments and kept on living. “And if you think about your pain, then you keep feeling it. But if you’re fully engaged in something else, you don’t notice your pain, so you’re not living in pain.” This made big sense to me. “Consider this,” she offered. “When you have pain, and some new and worse pain hits you, your first pain isn’t even noticeable.” How true that is, I thought.

It made me think about my daily wrinkle development. I used to fret over the prison bars on my upper lip. I’d baby them with expensive creams and scour them with facial scrubs. Then I noticed this awful new wrinkle forming under my right eye from sleeping comfortably on that side. My new project. I slept restlessly on my left side, scrubbed harder and applied more cream under my right eye and, oh yeah, you too, lip. But when I noticed the beginning of jowls…jowls! That was a different story. I could take all the wrinkles in the world, but a change in the shape of my face? I hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. I started noticing the jowls of everyone over fifty. When someone would ask me, “What’s new? I’d droop and say, “Jowls.” But I no longer spent time leaning into the mirror with old lady glasses examining my wrinkles. It made me think of the beautiful translation of the words of Geothe: “…days are lost lamenting over lost days…What you can do or think you can do, begin it. For boldness has magic, power, and genius in it.” Isn’t that beautiful?

My back was hurting and feeling weak by the ninth mile so we stopped and stretched and talked about the adjustments of aging. We didn’t complain as much as commune. Madeline said she no longer wears jogging bras in public because of the mini blinds hanging from her middle. I said I had a solution for my sagging little breasts: I could pierce my nipples and my upper lip, attach them with a lovely delicate chain, and any time a man looked my way, I’d smile and give myself a lift.

Life, I realize, is all attitude. As my friend Carol reminds me, “Nothing changed; I changed; everything changed.” I used to think that aging gracefully really meant keeping your physical flexibility and energy. Now I realize the challenge of graceful aging is finding inner flexibility for the external changes we have no power over. On the bike ride home, and for the rest of my day, my back felt stronger. Today I have my mom and dad in my life, I can walk, and I can laugh at myself. I’m so grateful for Madeline’s cliff notes, my sense of humor given to me by my parents, and my jowls.

Eggplant Pick-Me-Ups

One large male eggplant because they have fewer seeds (an outie belly button, not an innie)

One zucchini

Sweet onion

One red bell pepper

Asparagus

Two Portobello mushrooms

One lemon

Olive oil

Oregano

Basil

Salt and pepper to your liking

Small package of goat cheese

This is how I cheered myself up. You’ll have to find your own way, of course. I sliced eggplant at a diagonal for longer ovals and same for the zucchini, then sautéed them in a skillet with olive oil, spices and lemon. I sautéed wedges of onion, strips of red pepper, slices of Portobello and whole asparagus with the same yummy stuff.

Now comes the fun part. On the eggplant slices, arrange the veggies so they fit on only half. Top with a dollop of goat cheese and fold in half, like a smile. Place all those darling grins on a cookie sheet. You can’t help but smile at them. Get a friend to take a picture of you smiling next to them. Heat in the oven for, oh, ten minutes at 375 degrees.

If that doesn’t cheer you up, a large glass of Valpolicella might do the trick.

Spelunking in the Kitchen

7-27-11

Thought for the day: Cooking is a daring adventure or nothing.

I opened the door to the dark, overflowing refrigerator and announced, “I’m going in.” After taking out over half of the residents incognito, the blueberries escaped. They had fun rolling to freedom, the wee rascals, while I, blueberry rustler, quickly gave up my role as brave excavator in search of precious grated cheese for an historical meal.

The truth is, I was just an irritated, hectic cook looking for the asiago cheese in my unlit, jam-packed refrigerator, wishing I could blame someone else for this state of affairs and didn’t have time to chase down blueberries, let alone check through the contents of all the old containers I pulled out. I only embellish and glorify the story now because when it was over and I got up off my knees with a crack, crack, Gina, who watched from the counter said, “That was an adventure.”

Like Helen Keller said, “Life is a daring adventure or nothing,” even if it is spelunking in your own dark refrigerator.

I’m grateful for friends who sit at my kitchen counter popping blueberries in their mouths, spin me around, take off my blindfold, and allow me to see I’ve pinned the tail on my own ass.

Thanks, Gina, for eating my food and moaning.

Mushroom and Butternut Squash Risotto

1 cup Arborio rice
1 ½ c. chicken or vegetable stock
1-2 T. olive oil
½ a large onion—I like Vidalia or sweet onions best
2 large cloves of garlic thinly sliced or pressed
1 T. of sage (dried is okay in a pinch)
1 T. of chopped fresh oregano (dried is okay too)
Salt and pepper to taste
1 small butternut squash peeled and cubed (Sometimes you can get lucky at the produce department and find it already cut for you. But I figure, if I’m going to all the trouble of cooking a tasty meal, holding in a few more vitamins and a lot more freshness is worth the effort of peeling and cutting it up myself.)
3-4 good sized Portobello mushrooms cut in triangle chunks like a clock—holds in the juice better than sliced. I used 3 but longed for more.
¼ c. grated parmesan or asiago cheese.

Cook onion and garlic in olive oil for about 4-5 minutes in a skillet. Add the squash and at least ¼ cup of stock and cover over medium heat, stirring occasionally for about 7 minutes.

Cook the rice with the remaining stock and enough water to make two cups of liquid. If you want to use all stock, hey, it’s your kitchen, cookie.

Add the mushrooms to the squash and onion treat and toss ‘em around till they seem like they’ve been there forever. Cover and cook on low to medium heat for a couple of minutes until everything is just as soft or hard as you like. Add the rice and the grated cheese, if you can find it, and stir and serve. In the words of Gina, “Mmm.”