A tragic lesson

I didn't know my cousin Rory nearly as well as I would have liked. It didn't help that we lived at least two hours away from each other at any given point during his life or that I was thirteen years his senior. I remember him being a spry and skinny little kid with a crazy dry wit at an obscenely young age. He motored around in that manic boy way, and if you got him to stop for a moment to talk, his raspy voice would spout a shocking amount of sarcasm wrapped around a dose of insight. Afterward, he would bolt away, all the while rubbing his hands together like a pint-sized mad scientist gearing up to do a touch of evil.

A lack of Generation Xers in my family forced me to learn how to interact with adults at a very early age. When the family baby boom finally began, I was already well on my way to becoming a self-absorbed teenager. As a result, I have a tendency to feel awkward around kids. My children are teaching me how to interact with other children, a skill I seemed to have missed learning while growing up. I feel a deep regret that I let my awkwardness get in the way of getting to know the Tomasello boys. A look through Rory's MySpace page tells me we would have gotten along well.

Rory died abruptly this week at 22 years of age when he was hit by an SUV while riding his bike. Somehow the death of my elders seems easier to handle. They lived a full life--death being the natural next step. But when someone young dies, well, a bit of my soul dies with them. Sequestered away in my heart, in that void that death created, is a vault that holds the stories of the people I've loved and lost. I will pull out Rory's story when I think about a bacon and white bread sandwich, hear the voice of a small child threatening to kick someone's ass, renew my license and check off the box that says "yes" to donating my organs, or when I reflect upon my missed opportunity to reconnect with my young cousins at the last family reunion.

Death is a harsh and demanding teacher. Grief pushes aside all of our filters normally clogged full of busy details and allows in a stark clarity. The lessons are immediate when death makes an example of someone we love. In the book, Journey to Ixtlan, The Lessons of Don Juan by Carlos Castaneda, the shaman teaches his pupil the importance of living life as an impeccable warrior. His lesson is, "In a world where death is the hunter there are no small or big decisions. There are only decisions that we make in the face of our inevitable death." So I get it, death. I hear you. My lessons are this: push past my awkward shyness and weakness for small talk and get to know people better; slow down and ask questions and make sure to listen to the answers; make decisions with the finality of death; reflect the best of myself; and always drive my car like a mindful Jedi knight.

Below is a recipe for a vegan BLT--a sandwich I am sure my late cousin would have shunned as a young boy for the lack of real bacon and written jokes about as an adult.


Vegan BLT

Ingredients
Sourdough bread
Lettuce
Tomato
Tempeh bacon (Yeah, it is a far cry from the real thing but the smokey flavor kind of makes up for the lack of bacon grease, kind of.)
Vegenaise (There are lots of other types of fake mayonaise out there. This is the only one that comes close to the real thing.)
Olive oil
Avocado (optional)

Directions
Heat a non-stick pan with enough olive oil to coat the pan. Separate and place the tempeh bacon strips in the pan and brown them. A couple of minutes on each side should suffice. While the tempeh is cooking, toast the sourdough and then slather with Vegenaise. Add a liberal helping of lettuce and tomato. If you need some extra triglycerides, Mash on half an avocado. Add the tempeh and cut that baby in half. Close your eyes and pretend you are eating the real thing.

No saints here

I broke my vegan vows and ate flaky, warm and fabulous cod while visiting Cape Cod. As I have always said, there is a time and place for breaking the rules, and well, when you are in Rome, eat the lasagna, when in Africa, eat what they give you, and when in Cape Cod, eat the fish and chips. When in Anaheim? Stick to being vegan.

Below is a link to a rerun of a post I wrote a couple of years back explaining why I choose to live a 95% vegan lifestyle. Yes, I am far from being a vegan saint, but I have never claimed to be.

http://fennelfiles.blogspot.com/2007/06/95-vegan.html

Four Advil and a peanut butter chocolate shake

As someone who is swiftly moving toward middle-age, my perception of who I am and what I am capable of doing physically, gets a bit more skewed each year. It is really only when I go to places like the doctor's office or am faced with recovering from an illness that I am reminded that my 30-something-year-old body doesn't necessarily reflect the youth I feel in my brain.

July was a rough month. Relatively, of course. My friends and family are dealing with much more difficult health issues than my out of office surgery and a follow up bout of bronchitis. But that doesn't erase the fact that my appointment with the periodontist to get a much needed gum graft and then a midnight trip to the emergency room to open my lungs left me feeling old and mildly depressed. To give me a sense of my recovery time for the surgery, my doctor compared the two-day healing process of my wisdom teeth getting pulled at 18, to the two weeks it would take to heal just the roof of my mouth alone. The graft itself would take six to eight weeks. He then kindly reminded me that I no longer had the body of a teenager.

Aging is sneaky. I don't pay much attention to the fact that my body is getting older because I feel young in my mind. I think that is a good thing, except when I am restricted from riding my bike and leaving my couch by two different professional men in white coats. Lying around the house watching bad daytime t.v. and movies is really overrated. I promise, it is. Sure, we all dream about rotting about the house after spending countless hours in front of the computer working on a bland report. But after a week of bad chick flicks and Harry Potter movies one, two, four and five, I began to feel restless for communication plans and email threads about LDAP servers. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating about the LDAP server part. But the bad t.v. left my brain feeling soggy, like an old bowl of oatmeal coagulating in the sink. I felt glassy-eyed and slow --certainly the Vicodin working its "magic."

I feel like my old self now--healthy and strong. And after a month's rest from cycling, I am ready to tackle hills. But mostly, I am reminded to be thankful that my body is back to performing those simple functions we all seem to take for granted--like eating and breathing, being able to walk down the driveway and take out the garbage without fear of falling, or in my brother-in-law's case, being able to make it through the day without the excruciating pain of a disabling migraine.

I keep wondering if the age of my brain will ever catch up with the age of my body. Probably not until I am forced to accept my old-age fate. I expect that I will grow crotchety, stubborn and unwilling to relinquish my car keys or submit to the fact that I can no longer physically function without a walker and a LifeCall. But I think we are programmed to not surrender to aging. It's what drives us to stay alive. To accept the fate of our age feels like growing old, and well, giving up. And really, who wants to do that?

While I was marooned on the couch, Scott kept my spirits from descending too far into the post-surgery, pit of pain by feeding me peanut butter, chocolate and banana shakes. The peanut butter and soymilk gave me a hit of protein, and the chocolate syrup and ice cream, well we all know the medical wonders of those healing foods. Four Advil and one of these smoothies and life with a mouth full of sutures hovered somewhere around bearable.

Peanut Butter Cup a' Love Shake

3 large scoops of vanilla soy ice cream
1 frozen banana
1/3 cup of peanut butter
1/4 cup of vegan chocolate syrup (give or take a squirt depending on how much chocolate you like. I like to use AH!laska.)
1 1/2 cups of soymilk

Before you begin, take some time to cut up a bunch of bananas into small rounds, place them in a ziplock bag, and stick them in the freezer. Once you have frozen bananas, place all of the ingredients into the blender and blend into a thick and decadent shake.

Lollipops and apple snacks

About every few months or so, the kids go through a mental growth spurt. The precursor is atrocious temper tantrums and attitude issues that make my insides shiver and speeds up the graying of my hair over the thought of the teen years. One would think that after 5+ years of these changes, Scott and I would have a grasp on how to handle the outbursts and boundary pushing. Silly naive me, thinking that because we figured out how to handle the last round of episodes that we would be ahead of the game for future rounds. But like most parents, we forget that children are mutating creatures with no owner's manual.

I think other people also forget that it is much easier to have the answers to why our kids are acting out and how us parents should be responding. Especially when they don't have to live, manage, handle and enforce the boundaries day after day after day. Even I forget what is like to manage a child hell bent on ignoring me when I see other parents reacting to angrily to their own child's crappy behavior. I think, "Yelling won't help," or "Wow, her kid is out of control, and she isn't doing anything." And then I stop myself, because I don't have the back story. I don't know how many times that kid pitched a fit before 7 am, or whether or not that parent just got off a full day of work dealing with adult-aged preschoolers only to have to come home to a fresh bout of tantrums.

People often comment to us about how great our kids are. And they truly are (pat, pat, pat). They don't always realize that our kids are good because we set rules, teach manners, and provide guidance on how to behave. My children may be young, but they are old enough to learn how to become respectful members of society. As responsible parents, it is our job to teach them what it means to be respectful. Our children are well behaved because we taught them to be that way. This society has way too many self-entitled, disrespectful people walking around, and I won't ease up on teaching my children how not to become one. Some may think we are being strict, I call it taking my job seriously. Sure, we can yell less. Us parents are human, and we sometimes forget that the best way to get our children to listen isn't by speaking louder. It is important for us to remember our own boundaries.

My little petunia called me into her bedroom the other night for the umpteenth time to delay her inevitable sleep. Her excuses to put off going to bed can get lengthy and cliche. Most nights, her requests for water, potty trips and favorite stuffed animals are a prelude to me taking a tedious, cement-footed trip down the hall. But more often than not, her requests are random, creative and remind me to relish her sweet, precocious personality. Calla called out her usual, "Mommy, I need you." When I arrived at her bedside, she said, "Can we go to the zoo right now?" I told her no, a night trek to the zoo was not in her near future but that we could go soon. Easily placated by fun to come, she said, "Okay. And when we go, can you pack lollipops and apple snacks and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"

Tonight both kids caught a terminal case of the sillies. Lennon, the dancing comedian, got out of his bed five or six times just so he could stand in the door to make me and his sister laugh. His enthusiasm at watching us giggle radiated through his smile. Sure it was way past their bedtime, but the laughter was infectious, and the memory-making opportunities were prolific. Sure they needed their sleep but tonight's fun trumped protocol. There is a time and a place for lifting boundaries.

I don't have a recipe that involves lollipops and apple snacks, but I do have one for a lovely and moist apple cake handed down to me by my mom, who received it from a kind woman named Mrs. Vlamis--who I am sure taught her kids the importance of respect...and maybe yelled once or twice in her lifetime.

Mrs. Vlamis's Greek Apple Cake (this is a "prepare the night before for the next day" kind of cake.)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Dice and peel 3 1/2 cups of apples (any kind will do) and set aside.

Combine in a bowl and then set aside:
2 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups vegetable oil (I usually use canola)
juice of half a lemon
2 tsp vanilla
3 tsp egg replacer whisked together with 6 TSP water

At this point, the mixture will be thick. Then add:
3 cups of flour
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt

Fold in:
the diced apples
3/4 cup of golden raisins (regular raisins work nicely too.)
1/4 cup chopped walnuts

Bake in a greased and floured 9x13" pan for one hour. When it is ready, an inserted toothpick should come out clean.

When the cake is almost done baking, mix together:
1 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup soymilk
1 stick of Earth Balance margarine
2 tsp vanilla (I like to substitute in brandy here)

Mix in a pan and stir continuously while the mixture boils for two and a half minutes.
Pour the mixture over the top of the hot, baked cake and let it stand overnight.

Try hard not to eat it for breakfast the next morning.

Not vegan for a day--a call for recipes

A co-worker of mine was recently diagnosed with cancer. And while she waits for her surgery to be scheduled, she is feeling stir crazy and would like to stock her freezer with tasty meals for her son that are easy to reheat post surgery. So for this post I am calling out to you for help. Please take a moment and post your favorite recipe (vegan, vegetarian, meat-filled) in the comments section so that my co-worker can gather some ideas on what to make. Think simple, home cooked, freezable, kid-friendly, comfort foods that make you feel taken care of. Quick breads, muffins, baked goods are also welcomed. Her son is particularly fond of Italian and Mexican foods but don't let that limit you. If you have some time, send a little inspiration wrapped in the directions of a good meal. I know your contributions will be much appreciated!

A vegan calzone love affair

I don't make friends easily in new situations. Every time I start a new job, place my kids in a new school or move to a different town, my ability to engage people in meaningful discussions or even hold something resembling a conversation diminishes. I can't even manage small talk. My vocabulary dwindles down to one syllable words, I struggle with thinking up questions to ask, and my tendency to make snarky, inappropriate jokes about my children increases monumentally. If my first impression doesn't offend or frighten people away, I eventually start making friends, but only after a lengthy period of time has passed and I have had a chance to redeem myself of that first encounter. My friend Erin on the other hand, is the Pied Piper of friendships. She could coax an agoraphobic recluse out a cave if given the opportunity. The community that has taken me three years to create, Erin can replicate in a foreign country with a language barrier in about six weeks. She is charming, extroverted, feisty, and funny. She walks into a room and people love her, almost instantly.

I would not have survived my six months of stay-at-home status without Erin. Only she could welcome and appreciate a desperate, "my child awoke at the crack of dark and if I don't get out of the house, someone is going to die" 6:30 am phone call and request to meet at the park. Especially because she herself had most likely already been woken up by 5:00 am. I can always count on Erin to be up for a bit of spontaneity, just as long as it is before the sun sets, which is fine because really, at this point in my life, late night outings cramp the little sleep I get, and I am not going to sacrifice the precious bits of rest I do get for a cheap drink on the town.

Over the last few years, we've taken to gathering our friends and their kids together for spontaneous Friday night dinners. They are spontaneous because we generally don't start inviting each other over for dinner until about an hour before mealtime. We've nicknamed these evenings "Noodle Nights" because after a full day of work, pasta and a sauce bar (vegan alfredo, pesto or marinara) is about all we can throw together in the 20 minutes between arriving at home and receiving hungry children and parents at the front door.

But lately, Erin has been rocking the homemade pizza dough and creating calzones. Vegan calzones. And now I want to eat those. all.the.time.

I had never really understood the point of the calzone while growing up. Who wanted pizza fillings wrapped in dough when you could just eat the pizza? So I skipped the calzone section of the menu and chose its cheesier, greasier, more popular cousin. But for the past 13 years, that popular cousin has shunned me. Most pizza, when you omit the cheese, becomes a dry, cardboard-like meal. I always end up eating copious amounts of vegan pizza in hopes that the more I eat, the more flavor I will taste. Oddly enough, that strategy never works.

Oh how I love vegan calzones. They keep the veggies hot, flavorful and moist all wrapped up in a blanket of soft dough. And the steam inside that tasty pocket of goodness actually melts vegan cheese. When you add grilled zucchini, caramelized onions, homemade pesto, and mushrooms, well, I could continue to gush annoyingly or you could just make one yourself. After a long week of work, nothing tastes better than a calzone (vegan or not) with a seasonal salad tossed with a rich, local olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and a cold beer with your best friends. Really.


The Best Pizza Dough

Ingredients
3 1/2 cups flour
1 cup warm water
2T honey
1/4 cup olive oil
1/2 tsp salt
2 1/4 tsp yeast (1 package)

Directions
Combine water, honey, salt and yeast. Leave it to rest for five minutes until it gets foamy. Add to the flour and oil and mix until fully moistened. Knead two or three times and then cover. Let rise for 45 minutes.

At this point you can either start creating pizza or calzones, or if you have more time and people aren't clamoring at your door, you can punch down the dough and let it rise again for another 45 minutes. Erin says punching down the dough makes an even better pizza dough, but I say it is fabulous either way. She also recommends using this recipe for foccacia.

Vegan Calzones

Ingredients (makes enough for four adult-sized calzones and four kid-sized)
One batch of "The Best Pizza Dough"
One jar of marinara (or make your own with a can of tomatoes, 3-4 cloves of minced garlic, salt, pepper and a dash of dried basil and oregano if you are feeling chef-y)
Pesto (one bunch of fresh basil without the stems, 3-4 cloves of garlic, salt and pepper to taste, a handful of pine nuts and about 1/4 cup of olive oil thrown into a food processor and blended to a moist paste. Add more olive oil if it seems too dry.)
St. Ives Vegan Pepperoni (should be able to find this in the deli section of your local Whole Foods or natural food store)
Grilled zucchini
Caramelized onions
Kalamata olives
Mushrooms
Whatever else you like on your pizza or in your calzone

Directions
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Take a fist size of pizza dough and roll out into a flat circle similar to a small pizza. Load up one side with sauce and yummy stuff (I like to do a pesto/marinara combo). Fold the other half of the dough over the ingredients to make a pocket and cinch the edges so that they are closed together (almost like folding a pie crust).
Lay on an oiled pizza pan that is sprinkled with a little corn meal and place in the oven for 12-15 minutes or until the dough is golden brown and baked completely.
Once baked, sit down to a nice homey meal and give thanks for your friends.

An unexpected question

My child alarm clock woke me promptly at 6:27 a.m. with the clearing of his throat. He stood there near my head in the dark morning, looking at me expectantly. “Mommy,” he whispered, “I have a loose tooth! Look!” He jammed his finger into his mouth and wiggled his bottom tooth back and forth. I mustered up the appropriate, “That’s great honey,” and groggily managed to cover up my distaste for all things teeth related. For someone who has had dreams of her teeth crumbling, loosening and falling out her whole life, the thought of transitioning into the phase of watching my son Lennon lose his teeth was not a comforting one.

Lennon’s loose tooth came right on the heels of teeth week at his preschool. He loved learning about his “exposed bones.” All week long he chatted about roots and cavities and drilling and gums and grinding. Lennon colored pictures of teeth, answered trivia questions, and talked about the importance of brushing and flossing. So it came as no surprise that he was excited to discover his first loose tooth.

After a day full of tooth wiggling, Lennon crawled into bed that night and blindsided me with the question, “Mommy, is the Tooth Fairy real?” Oh, are you kidding me? The kid had not even lost his first tooth yet and he was already asking me about the validity of the lady with the wings who goes around collecting teeth. Sure the story is hard to fathom, but I thought we might at least get to pretend for his first loose tooth.

“What did you say, Lennon?” I asked, thinking that by making him repeat the question he would think twice about asking questions with unfriendly answers. Of course he repeated the question. Unsure how to proceed, I stranded him in his bed with a “Hold on a second, I will be right back.”

Last summer, Lennon asked Scott and me if Spiderman was real, and when we explained to him that all the superheroes were fun pretend stories, he collapsed into a small pile and wept mournfully. I did not want a repeat of that day. This current situation required back up support. I ran into the other room and in a frenzied whisper, asked my husband what to do. He gave me a long look and said, “Don’t lie to the kid … but let him down gently.”

I went back to Lennon’s room and began drawing a parallel between Spiderman and the Tooth Fairy. But apparently the kid already suspected who collected the teeth and doled out the cash. He even had his trip to the toy store planned and his tooth money spent — so much for me being concerned about childhood devastation. Now if only he would figure out this Santa business …