If Lillies Grow in Heaven...

That time of year again has come. Today I honour and remember the life of my departed and beloved great-grandmother. This time of year is the hardest and most emotionally taxing time for me. I feel, sometimes, that it is silly for me to let myself get so emotional; however, I cannot think of another way to pay tribute to someone who has made such an impact on my life.
It has been twenty-four years since she died. It happened in the afternoon of September 24, 1987 at the Bon Secour Hospital. I have thought carefully of what I would do if I had a time machine and could take one round-trip to the past. I would not choose to go back to the moment she had her heart attack. My instinct as a medical assistant would be to intervene and try to save her life. I have thought a million times that I would try, and I would make every effort to keep vital oxygen to her brain, an attempt that might have given her a chance to survive this ordeal. However, over the years, I have come to the understanding that it was her fate to come to her time of dying in this manner. It was quicker, less painful, and how she would have chosen to leave this life behind her.
If I had the choice of a time to revisit from my past, I would choose to be at the hospital where she died and be sitting by her bed, holding her hand when the angel of death called her name. I think it would be fitting for me to be with her for the last moments of her life, as she was there for me for the first moments of mine. I think if I could witness those moments unfolding, somehow I would find some completion. The circle of life is unending, but I feel like a part is missing from mine.
I realize that there is no method in this world for such an eventuality, but that will never stop me from hoping some H.G. Wells – style of events could find me and bring to that time and place. For now, I will have to just keep wishing.
To my Me’mere I can say only this: I love you eternally. I will never forget you. I will never stop missing you. I will speak of you as often as I can. And when my time of dying comes, I hope you’ll be on the other side waiting for me.
The Time Returns…

Il est longtemps que je t’aime, Jamais je ne t’oublierai, Me’mere.

Tonsillectomy...

Holy CRAP!!!!

I haven't updated my blog in MONTHS!!! I have been so busy and in many ways lazy that I have not informed those select few of you who read this, what has been going on in my life and kitchen. Here goes:

I've tackled a few simple things in the kitchen that I am proud of. Brownies from scratch, pancakes without a box or bisquick, Hollandaise and Bearnaise sauce and finally...Boston Cream Pie. Also, this coming September, I will be making all the pastries for my roommates' wedding. On the menu will be cookies, cupcakes, brownies, mini tarts, and cheesecake bites. I'm putting together platters of these delicious little yummies for each of the tables at the reception. I am nervously looking forward to the date. I get to use the kitchen facilities at the hall where the reception is planned. I think this will be the biggest undertaking I've ever, well, undertaken.

Currently, though, I am recuperating from the second surgery I've ever had in my life. After much ado, and an excessive amount of choking on food, water, and air, I finally had my tonsils removed.

I am two months shy of 28 and at my age a tonsillectomy is a BIG deal. I even went all-caps on the big. When I went for the consultation the first words out of the surgeon's mouth were, "You realize this is gonna hurt, more than you can imagine, right?" I wanted to smack him. Yes I knew it would hurt. Yes I've seen other people go through it. And, no,I didn't want to have it done. However, by the time I went to the Lahey Clinic's department of Otolaryngology my tonsils were so big they were preventing me from breathing properly at night. In fact, several times I woke up choking.

So last week I went under the knife, and as a nurse of sorts, I hate being a patient. Thanks to some abnormalities on my pre-op EKG I was convinced that this minor surgery would kill me. I was obviously mistaken over my pending death, but that didn't help my nerves half as much as the versed they gave me to send me off to cloud nine.

I had my operation 8 days ago, and have been recovering at my grandparents' house. I am going home tonight and returning to work tomorrow. My convalescence has gone extremely well. Everyone predicted agony, but I guess 27 years of horrible sore throats prepared me well. My face looks thinner now that those massive golf balls are gone, and my voice sounds less like I swallowed a tennis ball. I am still in some pain from the sutures that will soon melt away, (I hope!) but the pain has been very manageable. My grandmother has been taking very good care of me, another value to having good grandparents. I am anxious to get home, but I am going to miss being here. My grandparents have a very simple routine that I have adapted well to, and it has been so stress-free being here.

I just hope I can handle all the talking I'm going to have to do tomorrow. In the meantime, here I sit with a cup of tea, the new Kindle my mom got me as a "get well soon" gift, relaxing by the pool. It's been better than being on vacation, except for the pain and the stoned-ness from the meds. All in all, I have to say it's been a success. I just can't wait until I'm fully healed, I'm dying for a slice of pizza, or a focaccia sandwich and I can't have anything hard or crusty until I'm healed.

Wish me luck!

The Value Of Grandparents...

I speak often of how lucky I have been in my life to have lived in a time when five generations of my family were alive. The hard part over the years has been saying goodbye to many of them. I take small comfort from the idea that they are all a part of me, in some way, and I of them. Like the Beatles' song, "In My Life," I think often of yesteryear, and look back fondly on the family dinners, holiday celebrations, the laughs and the tears.

Something I don't think I talk often enough about are my maternal grandparents, Grammy and Grampy; ages 68 and 72. It was not so very long ago when they became first-time grandparents, in their forties; and they could hardly have foreseen how our lives would turn out...

As a disclaimer I must point out that I can hardly complain about the quality of life my sister and I had as a children. We were very well provided for, and had a good home, an abundance of love, and no wants...except maybe to be grown-ups. However, my relationship with my father was always a tense one. My father was a great believer of the antiquated phrase: "Children are to be seen and not heard." I must admit that this sad little philosophy did at least develop good manners, and people often remarked to our parents how well behaved we were in public; in the house was another matter altogether, but this entry isn't about that specifically.

It is sufficient to say that my father and I have not spoken in many years. In fact I doubt that we ever will again speak in this lifetime. After all he put me through as a child, I simply have nothing left to say to him. The bright side to all of this is that I was never at a loss for for fatherly love. It just came from a different source, and that source was my grandfather.

In all of my life, for as long as I can remember, my grandfather has given me complete and total unconditional love. He has indulged my every craziness, encouraged my strangest fixations; pocket watches, skeleton keys, and trains just to name a few, and he has always been there for me.

Several years ago my grandfather was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He underwent surgery with success, we thought the cancer was gone. However, it crept into his colon and started to fester there until several years later when he had another surgery. This one, however, left him with a colostomy. To prevent the cancer from spreading the surgeon had to cut up my grandfather's bowels and re-direct them from his rectum to a small bag on his abdomen. The surgery was brutal, and it has left him without the ability to digest some of his favorite foods like oranges, nuts,and popcorn. Not even this sad consequence to his continued health could get him down. Right after the operation, he booked flights for us all to go to Disney World. We all had a blast!

Unfortunately this colostomy has brought other problems. There have been six incidents so far where he has had bowel obstructions and they required hospitalization to clear up. One such incident is still in progress now. At this very moment, my grandfather is lying in a hospital bed at the Lahey Clinic. He is receiving care and treatment to pass the most recent blockage; and while he is not in urgent or critical danger, I worry about him.

I don't think I say enough how much he means to me. My grandfather has worked hard his entire life to support his family. His small real estate agency, Harvest Of Homes in North Andover, Massachusetts has seen some highly prosperous days. Of course with the current economy things are not going so well, but he and my grandmother still work very hard at it. It upsets me so much to see my grandparents suffering right now, when they should be enjoying the fruits of their labor and not having to worry about health complications.

What I think is most important for me to express right now, is how proud I am of my grandfather. I am so proud of both of my grandparents, and I know that I cannot have them in my life forever, but for now I am so happy for the time I have had. I do not know what my life would have been without the love of my grandparents. And in my child-like hope I'm going to ask God to let them live forever, because I simply don't know what I would do or who I would be if I were not Ron Landry's grandson, or Rosemarie Landry's grandson.

So if you are reading this, and you are still someone's grandchild, be thankful, and cherish it because it cannot last forever. And if you are reading this, and your grandparents have left this life behind them, then be very proud for having had them because no one can ever truly measure the value of grandparents.

Fifty and counting...

Why is it that I only get the idea to write something as I am falling asleep?

I was lying in bed last night and thinking about the new and wonderful changes in my life that this year has brought. Since the dawn of 2011 I have moved out of my mother's house, made wonderful new friends as well as strengthening some friendships that already existed; I have started a new job, and of course I have tackled some food-firsts like my own chicken and beef stock, croissants from scratch, and my own relatively decent bread.

Of course, for some reason, I have had no desire to write anything down. This is most likely due to the fact that I have been telling my recent successes to just about anyone who might mistakedly lend me their ear. However, there are plenty of things that I like to write down and record for...well...who knows for whom I record them, but the fact remains that I started this blog as an effort to keep track of my progress through my many endeavours of food and healthcare.

So let's take it back a bit. On New Years Day I made a little trip to the home of my friends Brian and Natalie. Brian had done me a huge favor for Halloween and carved a beautiful wooden staff as part of my wizard's costume. The staff is truly excellent and I have used it as a walking stick practically every time I leave the house to walk. In payment of this token of wood-carving skill, I agreed to bake him a cheesecake, which I promptly did. However, Brian had a party shortly thereafter and the cake got eaten up. I returned on New Years Day with my mobile kitchen and baked another one. When Natalie started eating her peice of cake she made the coment that I could move in at any time. At first I thought she was joking, but when she showed me the empty spare bedroom I was hooked on the idea. Within five days I'd moved my most important furnishings and cookware in.

Since that time, I happened across an ad on Craigslist for a Medical Assistant with Laboratory experience. I didn't think much of it but a few weeks and three dollars an hour more later, I was living in Ayer and working for a private practice in Wellesley. The change from corporate physician services to a private solo provider office has been quite an adjustment but the every day stresses and feeling of constantly watched and scrutinized feel so far away. I miss my co-workers, for the most part, but the new environment has a lot to offer. Urology is a unique branch of specialized medicine, but now I am helping to save the world, one penis at a time!

Toll House Cookies, hrm...

One of my earliest and fondest memories of my Me'mere had to be her Toll House Cookies. There was something magical about the way she combined butter, sugar, flour, eggs, walnuts, and chocolate chips. My Aunt Michelle has done a fairly decent job duplicating the flavor, but for a long time I have been of the opinion that something was missing. I decided it was time to try and figure out what.

Toll House Cookies, as some of you may know were originally invented by Ruth Baker of Massachusetts in 1930. She and her husband owned and operated a Toll House where hundreds of people would stop and pay a toll, take some rest, and enjoy a home cooked meal. (Makes me wish that toll booths offered such hospitality in modern days.)

While making cookies, one day, Ruth decided to mix in chocolate bits; thinking the chocolate would melt and form a swirl-like pattern. Of course the chocolate did not melt quite that way, but the end result was one that made history, and will be remembered, at least by me and my family for hundreds of years to come.

Last month, my co-workers orchestrated a cookie swap. Sixteen of us made eight dozen specific cookies and exchanged them a week before Christmas. I was happy to pick my Me'mere's Toll House Cookies, and was hopeful that I would be able to make them as well as she did. My mother helped arm me properly for the attempt by informing me that Me'mere always made the cookies by evenly mixing light and dark brown sugar.

Unfortunately for my great-grandmother's legacy I did not succeed in my first attempt. I discovered after the fact that Jumbo sized eggs are not ideal for the original cookie recipe. Not being as experienced in the art of cookie-making I did not compensate for the excess moisture with extra flour. The cookies came out a little cake-like and somewhat flat. The taste was there, and the first one almost made me cry from the nostalgia. However, the texture wasn't quite right. I pressed on though, through the eight dozen cookies I made at my friend Dee's house; and did all that I could think of to ensure they came out well.

Today though, in my new residence, in my own kitchen, I hit the nail on the head...and drove it in with one stroke. My new roommates liked the cookies, I liked them, and what's more I have my Me'mere's giant cupcake cookie jar to fill with them. I can remember it being in her house, and I am filled with happy memories and the belief that if my Me'mere were alive today she might be proud of me and my desire to bring a little sweetness to the home I have been welcomed to.

Love you, Me'mere!