by Christine | Cooking, Observations
Sorry about the lack of blog posts the last couple of weeks. I’m finding healing takes up a lot of energy! I am, however, getting a lot of work done on my latest book, so that’s a plus.
But as I get stronger, I am at last cooking again and enjoying it. Getting adventurous. So, yesterday I made this terrific recipe that ended up being more of a pain than it needed to be. (Afterwards, I was a zombie. And it wasn’t the wine I drank that made me a zombie! I guess I need to cook something less ambitious for now.)
I’d bought this book called Vegetarian, over 300 healthy and wholesome recipes chosen from around the world, pubbed by Metro Books with Nicola Graimes listed as the Consultant Editor. (If you click on the link, it’ll take you to Amazon.)
So there’s no one driving Chef force behind the recipes, which may account for the rather randomness of it. And while this is a Vegetarian cook book, they use a lot of dairy and eggs and cheese throughout, which surprised me. Plus there’s NO nutritional information, so don’t go looking for it.
There is, however, a comprehensive introduction and discussion on the basic vegetarian whole food diet, the essentials you need for good health, and over 100 pages on The Vegetarian Kitchen and what to stock and why. Interesting reading, and I’m glad I picked it up in the bargain bin when Borders was going out of business. (Sniff…I miss my Borders!)
Anyway. I’d found this meal in the book called Potato Rosti and Tofu with Fresh Tomato and Ginger Sauce (pg. 312). Since we’re trying to eat a couple meals a week meat-free, and since I have a back yard full of tomatoes, this looked like a good start.
My first hangup? The recipe called for 3 3/4 cups of tofu, cut into 1/2 inch pieces. How do you buy 3 and 3/4 cups of tofu? I went by weight, only later realizing that weight doesn’t equal – well, never mind. I wish they had just said buy one 16 oz block of Tofu. I ended up buying 32 ounces of tofu (two 16 oz blocks) – which frankly was 16 ounces too many (but they were on sale, so I lucked out).
Then the recipe had me marinating the cut-up pieces in a TERRIFIC marinade – but there wasn’t enough marinade, so I had to double the recipe. (I’m finding that to be true very often. Is it just me? Or do recipes tend to skimp on marinade amounts?) After an hour of marinating, scatter on a cookie sheet then bake until crispy, 20 minutes in a 400 degree oven. Um, let me just say – there is no way, even with turning, that you’ll get crispy tofu in an oven. No way. The only way, in my experience, to get crispy tofu is to fry it. If I’m wrong I’d love someone to explain how to do it! My tofu, after baking, was still soft (and yes, I used extra firm).
The rosti was fun – 2 lbs of potatoes cut in large chunks and boiled, cooled, then grated into shreds. Season with salt & pepper, then form by hand into potato cakes, and fry in a thin layer of oil for 6 minutes per side. This recipe made more than we needed, and we ended up using the leftovers for dinner tonight – but would be spectacular with breakfast, as well.
Then there’s a sauce – you add the marinade to 8 chopped up tomatoes and some olive oil in a hot pan, and cook the heck out of it. The recipe called for me to strain the sauce to get rid of the skins, but by that time I’d been in the kitchen far too long to do such nonsense. (By the way – this is a long slog in the kitchen. Easily two hours, with minimal time to just sit and stare at nothing. This is not a recipe you want to make on a busy weeknight with the kids screaming in hunger.)
Two rosti, a scatter of tofu, and topped with the delish sauce. Add a tossed green salad, and it was a wonderful meal. EXCEPT – when I make this again, I will split a cake of tofu in half width wise, then cut in quarters before marinading. None of this 1/2 inch crap. After marinating, I’ll probably dip it into some – oh darn, forgot the name of it…rice based dry stuff – anyway, dip it in that and then fry it quickly for the crispy.
I might add an egg to the rosti, just to keep the potato cakes from separating so easily in the pan. That was a minor headache.
All in all, the men loved the dish. LOVED it. It was a light and yet filling meal, with an 
Asian flair that everyone appreciated. The hubby and I shared half a bottle of Alexander Valley Vineyards 2010 Chardonnay, regularly $18.00 but on sale for $11.99 at Vons. A terrific addition to the meal, though a Sauvignon Blanc would have worked as well.
This is the first recipe I’ve made out of this book, and I think before I make another one I will read the recipe carefully and see where the traps are for the unwary cook. I’d much rather change something up as I go, than buy ingredients I don’t need.
Wrestle Factor (time + grrr moments): ~ High ~
Taste/Likeability Factor: ~ High~
A Remake? ~ Yes, Absolutely, With Variations ~
Do you have cookbooks that you always have to “fix” the recipe? Or are you a slave to how it’s written? AND – What’s your favorite cookbook? With the advent of the internet, I do a lot of last minute “what do I want to make tonight” searches, but I still prefer to skim through a cookbook in my lazy time and think of filling happy bellies. What about you?
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Thanks so much for stopping by! If you like this post, do let me know. I’m thinking about having a regular feature on recipes if there’s any interest. Of course, I may do it anyway, because I’m like that, lol! Cheers, and remember to drink responsibly!
by Christine | Life, Observations
Well, the title isn’t entirely true. I do get the internet on my phone, but there are some places I can’t comment, and I find it a lot more tiring to deal with Facebook and websites on my phone than on my laptop.
So technically, in the laptop-connecting-to-the-internet way, my family has been without phone service and internet for the past week due to an unfortunate snippage of wires in the attic while hooking up a ceiling fan to electricity. (In my hubby’s defense, there were a LOT of non-essential wires from the previous owner’s alarm system. Shoddily done in the attic and sprawled all over. Plus, it was 90 outside – well over 100 in the attic.)
But as I’ve been in and out of reality anyway while on pain meds, I haven’t really missed it (with the exception of the blog posts I wanted to write). I’ve read close to two dozen novels at this point but haven’t reviewed them. I find I’m slowing down more, I’m learning which emails I read and which I really don’t, and paring down my email groups accordingly.
I also am learning what I miss, twitter being one of them (and the ability to easily do research the other one). My first day out of the house this week was Wednesday, and I headed to Coffee Bean and the free WiFi…and reconnected with the good folks at #MyWANA. I even did a couple #1k1hr rounds, which kickstarted my writing again.
The really interesting thing is, no one at the house is overly-itchy about not having internet. Hubby has been valiantly sitting in the ugliest sauna ever (our attic) while painstakingly tracing wires and connecting things up (we now have a landline that works – in our closet), and yes we’re checking our cell phones to keep on top of our email, but other than that, we’re all pretty loose about not having it. Which frankly is something of a relief.
Of course, the boys are back at Moorpark College, so they have WiFi there. And the Hubby has gone off to Coffee Bean without me when he really had to have connectivity. But there are no overt signs of withdrawal, and that’s all to the good I think.
The last time I went a week without the internet was a couple of years ago, when we went camping for 10 days and I deliberately left my laptop at home. And now that I think about it, the week prior to losing internet I found I was sitting too much and staring online (not writing, not yet) and that wasn’t good for the incision, even when I did use an icepack. So not having internet this past week has allowed me to read more, nap much more, and begin to write (at Coffee Bean) and continue to write (at home) and, most likely, has helped speed the healing process.
I really wanted to get a wine blog posted today, but I was writing on the novel yesterday and I didn’t feel good about bringing empty wine bottles to Coffee Bean. I will do my best to get one written today at home, and post it tomorrow. For as I mentioned to my dear friend Maria, while I’m not drinking wine at the moment due to the drug consumption (and the fact that it tastes bad to me currently), I do have empty bottles sitting on my desk, waiting for their moment in the sun.
At this point, I think we’ll have connectivity next week. If, after this weekend the hubs can’t figure it out, he’ll call a friend of his that’s a phone guy.
So, that’s my week in a nutshell. When was the last time you were without Internet? Did you do it deliberately, or was it accidental? Are you one of those people that checks their smartphone before you go to sleep, and is it the first thing you reach for when you wake up? I’d love to know!
by Christine | Life, Observations
Welcome to the last installment of The Uterus Chronicles! If you need to get caught up, here’s Episode 1 and Episode 2.
As mentioned at the end of Episode 2, I had found the right doctor for me (who ended up being a surgeon), and had scheduled my hysterectomy for August 7th 2012, a week and a day ago.
(There are other places to go for in-depth information on hysterectomies, alternatives, risks and whatnot – one of the best places being the HysterSisters, celebrating their 14th anniversary this month. I learned a lot at their site, though I wasn’t a frequent contributor. )
So, last week I had my hysterectomy. I actually walked into the operating room – wow, what an experience! I tried to catalog as much as I could with my writer’s brain. It’s true, operating rooms are very white, very bright (even without those huge lights over the bed turned on). Two nurses were counting surgical instruments (of which there were LOTS – like, way too many to be used on my body); the Chief of Anesthesia was there doing his thing prior to giving me an epidural; a couple other nurses were busy doing something (but they were behind me, so I couldn’t see what they were doing).
As soon as I felt the numbing go down to my toes, I swung up my legs and settled on the operating table before the epidural settled into my butt. And that’s pretty much the last thing I remember before waking up in recovery.
Soon, I was happy to get settled in my own room. The doc took pictures of my incised uterus (which I am NOT sharing here – you’re welcome!) and showed the hubs before I got to see them – and I must say, the photos were impressive. As reported elsewhere, the typical female uterus is 6-8 cm. Mine was 22 cm. I liken it to the size of a little kid’s soccer ball (for four-year-olds). Plus, my uterus held over 40 fibroids of all sizes and calcifications, the largest of which was 8cm. Apparently, my OR team was impressed (and I ended up being the talk of the doc’s office staff, as well, lol). All in all, it needed to come out. I’d made the right decision.
After some hemoglobin issues during recovery (my body recalibrating itself), and some pain med issues (they bumped me up to percocet), I finally came home Thursday evening. Grateful to be here, despite the heat.
One of the takeaways from this experience for me is, surprisingly, the pain management. I had a low, bikini-cut incision that was carefully stitched internally and seamed with glue on the outside (kinda neat, I think). I can tell when I’m in pain (besides, you know, the pain) – the area around the incision gets hot. It never got hot in the hospital, nor did it when I was on the percocet. (I switched over to the vicodin when it became apparent that I’d never eat solid foods again while on perc.)
“Staying on top of the pain” is more than mere med-speak. It’s real, it’s vital, and it’s damned hard to do. Do I sleep, or set my alarm to take my meds at the right time? I’ve gotten all discombobulated the past three days, which has made the pain management difficult. The boys are working with me, and I’ve got a whiteboard telling me what to take when, but still getting the right pills inside me at the right time has been interesting, frustrating, and an intellectual exercise (how in the hell do soldiers, who live by “toughing it out”, deal with pain meds?).
Other writers may write really well on drugs – I, however, am not one of them. It’s too hard for me to keep my story in mind as I write, so until the pain meds get tapered to just ibuprofen, I’m sticking to reading and blog post writing (because that’s about my attention span, lol).
As my doctor said, the body heals slower when in pain (which is why he advocates an epidural during surgery – keeps a lot of the pain at bay those first 12 – 24 hours). Staying pain-free is imperative to healing, at this stage. I’m also learning that just because I might not be in immediate pain (when the vicodin has kicked in and I’m floating) doesn’t mean it’s okay to haul around cast iron pans, or gallons of milk, or that I should bend over to feed the cat. My old nemesis friend, patience, keeps patting my hand and telling me to relax and about an hour after the meds kick in, I do relax. But I’m looking forward to this part of the journey being over.
The big takeaway for me, however, is to encourage everyone to pay attention to your body. When I was in my twenties, I kept a couple pages in my day planner to detail my monthly cycle. Days I started, how heavy the flow, etc. I only wish, now, that I had kept it up through the years. If I had, I might have caught that my periods were getting heavier; that I was gaining weight without changing my eating habits; that my stomach seemed hard, and bulgy (because, you know, it wasn’t my stomach).
I wish I had mentioned the heavy periods to my doctor; that I’d complained more about the little things that could have led them to a diagnosis of fibroids sooner. More than anything, I wish our culture wasn’t so afraid to talk about uterus issues. I wish I had had a community of women to turn to when things started to change (the curse of being in a small nuclear family without an extended family).
I have that community now. Women I’ve been friends with have opened up to me and shared their experiences. They’ve taken me under their wing and assured me all will be well and I believe them, completely. But not having that community is why I posted such a deeply personal topic on this blog in the first place. I didn’t know where else to go, didn’t want to whisper about it, and saw no reason to hide an issue that may face every woman (or her friend) at some point or another.
Speak up. For yourself to a doctor. To a friend in need. Reach out and help where you can, and ask for help when you need it. Women’s health, while it has come a long way, is still in many ways a shadowy part of medicine (in the fact that uterus issues aren’t openly talked about) and it doesn’t have to be that way. It SHOULDN’T be that way.
Plus, we’re all getting older. PAY ATTENTION to your body. Make notes of how you feel, maybe once a month. I’m not advocating being paranoid; I’m advocating being aware. Its so easy to ignore stuff that may be bothersome; but if you can catch a health issue before it becomes an emergency, you and your loved ones will be far better off.
Okay my chicks, lecture over! Back to our regularly-scheduled Wine Fridays…thanks for listening.
~ ~ ~
This concludes Christine’s two years of health issues. She will be back to her regularly healthy self very soon, and appreciates your patience with her. She has renewed her warranty for the next 50 years, to her hubby’s satisfaction.
by Christine | Observations, Writing
This week has been an up and down week. Sure, I’ve gotten 6k in over three days, an excellent total for me lately; but the book is turning on me. It’s not keeping the tone I had set at the beginning; rewriting already is a PITA. I can’t say who the target publisher is, so I won’t. Ahem.
Of course, I’m working on something out of my comfort zone. Well, I’m working on TWO projects – whoops, make that THREE – out of my comfort zone; one is going swimmingly, being half done, and I’m itching to get back to it. The other – that’s got the 6k in it. One-tenth done. SIGH. But I’m finding that if I just keep my head down and do the work, some words – even words with the wrong feel to them – are better than no words. (The third project? That’s a new play. No, seriously. STOP LAUGHING!!! Okay, it’s a comedy, but really…must you bust a gut?!!)
I’m also thinking that maybe I started this story in the wrong place. As much as I REALLY like the opening scene, maybe that should just be the heroine’s intro? Maybe, in order to make the hero much more sympathetic, I need to open with him and his travails? See, he’s a grounded-for-life pilot who now runs his family’s private charter plane company…his brother died over in Iraq and his parents (who don’t like him in the first place) can’t forgive him for not enlisting, too. So…well, he does something his parents REALLY want him to do because he just doesn’t care anymore. And then he meets this girl. In a bar. Who will never get a tattoo because she’s boring as hell, as she puts it. And meeting her changes everything he thought he knew about himself and the world around him.
Hm…I’m just thinking this might be the way to go. Sometimes I need to talk out a book over coffee or wine…and when I’m at work, I can’t really “talk out” a book aloud, so I’m using the blog for my “talk out”. Hope you all don’t mind!
Well? Am I on the right track? Is this a book you’d want to read, or should I toss the idea? Let me know!
One lucky, randomly-selected commenter will win an ARC of DEMON HUNT if I get more than just me talking to myself here…so let your friends know, too, and make sure you leave your email address in your comment!
by Christine | Life, Observations
Yesterday, Tom and I went to visit my dad down in San Diego. One of the highlights, always, is the Garden Tour. Every time I’ve visited since I moved out thirty years ago, the first words (after initial greetings) from dad have been – “How about a garden tour?”
The man has magic in his hands. About twenty years or so ago, he decided to dig up his lawn and plant. Tomatoes, cucumbers, pumpkins – you name it, he planted it. This section of used-to-be-lawn now regularly gets tilled (the old fashioned way – with a shovel) and prepared every February for planting.
These are his tomato plants. They make mine look puny. PUNY, I tell you! (Note the sunflowers facing away at the top of the photo!)
And take a look at his pumpkins. Mine got started about a month after his did, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed that eventually they’ll really take off. Neither of mine are the gigantic pumpkins like his are, but still…aren’t those leaves pretty?
This one is about 12 – 15 inches across.
The leaves are about knee high.
Then there are the sunflowers. Freaking gorgeous! When I told him about my spindly ones with lots of flowers, he said he’s always wanted to grow those. So…this fall, we shall have a sunflower seed exchange, lol. Hopefully next year I’ll be able to grow dinner plate beauties!
These stand about 17′ high.
Plus his apple trees, berry bushes, and the Meyer Lemon tree that started my fixation with all things lemon, a long time ago. I always make sure to pick as many lemons as I can, and stash them in the fridge to keep them as long as I can. I may actually have to learn how to preserve lemons!
(So far, my own little Meyer Lemon trees still have their lemons – and they’re getting to be a good size, too. So keep your fingers crossed for those trees!)
Here’s Dad’s Meyer Lemon tree…
The tree that started it all…
And now, of course, a photo of my dad, resting in the garden.
Chet Cunningham
Though you can’t see it, behind the lemon tree to the left is the berry bush – beyond that is a pear tree. You can see just a bit of the Grapefruit Tree that Ate the House on the right.
This is the yard I grew up in, missing only the swing and the above-ground pool (which used to stand where the tomatoes are now).
Now you know why I garden. Thanks, Daddy. Love you!
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I hope you enjoy the re-design of the site. I’m still working on it. Do check the Writer’s News page for all the writerly news.
Thanks so much for stopping by. I’m so glad to see you!
by Christine | Life, Observations
Welcome to the Midsummer Night’s Blog Hop! Several authors have gotten together to bring you interviews between our characters. Today I’m happy to present Gregor Caine, of my novel DEMON HUNT, who has asked some probing questions of Circe, the heroine of TIDAL WHISPERS by Claire Gillian. One lucky commenter today will win an eCopy of Tidal Whispers, and below the interview is the list of all the blogs taking part in the hop. Enjoy!
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Gregor smiles at the pretty woman sitting across from him at the Starbucks. “So, you’re a Siren. When you’re in the water, what do you wear?” He waggles his eyebrows.
Circe pulls out pad of paper and pen and begins writing. I can’t speak but I can use sign language or write on paper to communicate with humans…so unless you advise otherwise, I’ll continue to write out my responses.
To answer your first question, yes, I’m a Siren. Circe smirks at Gregor. Humans are always so interested in clothing. I only wear it when on land. I shuck it all off before I enter the water so I can move faster and not look like drowned rat in my wet clothing if I’m spotted on any of my favorite perches. My skin in the sunlight, or any form of manmade light, has a reflective quality that gives a mirage-like illusion of clothing. To most observers, I appear to be wearing a long, form-fitting gown of turquoise and navy and aqua with flecks of silver and gold.
Gregor, reading what she’s written, nods. “My lady, Serra, has lovely, pearlescent skin – I can understand the mirage-illusion. Okay, so tell me. Why, specifically, do you sink fishing ships? People have to eat, right? I mean, why not go sink pirate ships, or something useful?”
Circe rolls her eyes and writes. This is my job, or was. I never cared what kind of ship they were. I sank pleasure crafts too, but in Alaska, there are a lot more fishing vessels about so that is mostly what I end up luring.
I have sunk many a pirate ship in my day. I just haven’t run across too many in Alaska, unfortunately. Pirate ships were always fun. “Useful” is in the eye of the beholder, of course. To me, all ships are intruders to be claimed for my shipwreck quota. I care not for their humanly purpose. My boss is ruthless and does not tolerate slackers. I don’t have the luxury of being picky. I have always taken any that heard my song, never spared any, which is why Otis’s getting away galled me so much…at first.
Gregor’s eyebrows rise. “Go, Otis! The human who got away. Okay, so you’re not sinking ships right now. Did you lose the use of your voice? or just your self confidence?”
Circe writes. My voice is gone now. Totally. Poseidon could give it back if he chose but he’s still ticked off at me. Rumor has it he misses my expertise and has been reconsidering, but I’m not so sure being on his radar is a good thing or that he is trustworthy. The Olympic gods are not known for their integrity. I was once the best siren in the Pacific, but Poseidon wanted more from me than just someone to feed Davy Jones’ locker, if you get my drift. I don’t mind being voiceless, and I am not going to mess with a good thing.
Gregor nods. “That makes sense. So, if I were to hear you sing, would I go crazy, drown myself, or fall in love with you? Or all three?”
Circe stretches, and Gregor enjoys watching her move. She bends to write again. I’ve been told you’re most likely to go a little crazy with desire to move toward the source of the sound. An aural madness, if you will. If you were in a boat, I would only need to draw you close enough for the rocks I sit upon to do the rest. If you were swimming, however, you’d drown in your frenzy to get close to me. I can throw you off course if I like so you’d eventually swim to exhaustion and drown trying to get at me. That’s only happened once that I can remember and it was not pleasant. I prefer shipwrecking. It’s less personal, more business.
“Less personal? Hm. So tell me, is your speaking voice as seductive as your singing voice? Can humans even hear your speaking voice, or is it too high, like on dog frequency?”
Circe sighs. Yes, my speaking voice and my singing voice have…or had…the same impact on hearing humans—a frantic desire to get closer to the source of the sound. Some of the tones I use are audible, some are sub-sonic while others are supersonic. My frequency is extremely wide. Don’t ask me how many octaves. Suffice to say, Mariah Carey couldn’t even come close to competing. Both dogs and marine life can hear me if I use a pitch in their frequencies.
Gregor smiles. “Interesting comparison. I really like Mariah Carey, myself. Don’t you ever get lonely, sitting on a rock out in the ocean?”
Circe nods emphatically. Gracious yes! Sirens in the Alaskan waters are pretty rare, one reason why my quota is so high. The elements are harsh enough on their own, making my job easier, but very lonely. That said, I’ve been part of a siren co-op before. We were a trio, called ourselves Roxanne’s Red Light, but that was in the Aegean Sea where sirens are practically tripping over each other.
Gregor grins. “Red Light? Nice. What do you tend to wear on land? Are you a dresses kind of gal, or a jeans and t-shirt person?”
Circe frowns. You do have an inordinate interest in my clothing! If you must know, I wear clothing that is quick and easy to remove but also allows me to blend in and not attract attention. I prefer the faster drying fabrics so I lean toward floaty dresses, but jeans tend to attract less attention when I’m around larger groups of people.
“Right. Consider my hand slapped.” Gregor grins again. “Is Poseidon really all that scary, or is he a softie?”
Circe’s eyes widen. He’s kind of scary, but he’s also really susceptible to flattery and is generous to his sycophants…so long as they are in favor. Fickle is an apt description for him as well. All the gods, really. You tangle with them at your own peril. She shakes a finger at him.
“No problems. I’m happy to leave Poseidon alone. Tell me, if you grew up in the ocean, where did you learn sign language?”
Circe smiles finally, which dazzles Gregor a bit. I’m actually amphibious. I spend time on both land and in the ocean. Many years ago, a very famous siren named Helen learned sign language by spying on a group of deaf children who had made a field trip to the shore while she happened to be on furlough. One of the children left behind a primer on sign language that Helen found and kept. She taught it to her friends who in turn taught others. It really caught on because it’s a discreet means of interacting with humans and each other without revealing our true natures. My mother taught me as I will one day teach any daughter I may have.
Gregor leans forward, his interest caught. “That’s fascinating. Amphibious. What is it about dry land that draws you to it, and why for all that’s sacred did you choose Homer, Alaska? What’s wrong with Los Angeles?”
Circe’s eyes twinkle as she responds. I do love the occasional Starbucks and that brown, bubbly stuff called Coca-Cola. I also like to get away from my aquatic friends, who I love dearly but they tend to swim in large circles and gossip endlessly. I like my privacy. My best friend is a selkie, and she invites me a few times a year to her cabin in Friday Harbor near Seattle. Most of my closest friends are amphibious like me, equally comfortable on land or in water. Until recently, I shied away from humans, but I made an exception for Otis…for business purposes, at least at first. As a whole, humans are much scarier than Poseidon.
As for a place, I didn’t have a choice about Homer, Alaska. Poseidon sent me to Homer to punish me for spurning his advances. I used to live near Greece. However, in the frigid waters I achieved great success—the men here adore women and fishing and crabbing are huge industries for the area. Foiled yet again, when Poseidon discovered one measly ship had eluded me, he was all over it. Yet I can’t regret that Otis survived.
Gregor kisses Circe’s hand gallantly. “Thank you so much for spending time with me. It’s nice for us otherworldly types to get to know one another.” Gregor turns to talk to the readers. “So all of you out there, put your name and email address in the comments. One random commenter will be picked to win a copy of TIDAL WHISPERS, and you can read all about Otis and Circe’s grand adventure. Trust me, it’s worth the read!”
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So there you have it! Below is a listing of all the blogs in this hop, and every one consists of character interviews. Enjoy!
