Silver Palate's Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins: Culinary Superheroes

 

The Silver Palate (@Silver_Palate of silverpalate.com) just liked my tweet about my Orange Oatmeal and I almost had a heart attack I was so excited.  They will never know, but they made my day, month and possibly year with that favorite.  Their website carries on the legacy of Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins and the beloved, stunning cookbooks born of their catering business in New York City in the early 80's.  To this day I use their tried and true recipes and experiment with new ones all the time.  They inspired me to be the most creative cook I could be.

When I moved to NYC for acting school in the 80's someone told me there was an opening at the Silver Palate, and that it was only a few blocks away from where I lived on the upper west side.  I had been in awe of Julee, Sheila and their cookbook since it came out in 1982.  They could do no wrong, and they made me look like a far better cook than I was when I followed their recipes.  To this day, I still make my all time favorites like their Thanksgiving Potatoes several times a year.  (There is actually half a batch in the freezer at this moment, as a test to see if it actually works to freeze them and bring them back to life in the oven weeks later...we shall see!)

I applied for the job, certain I wouldn't get it.  Being anywhere near them was going to be worth the rejection.  Shockingly, I passed the interview process and was asked to join them in the kitchen for 1/2 a day. What? A professional kitchen!  No way!

I was actually so shell-shocked by the opportunity that the only thing I remember, other than how fun the kitchen chit-chat was over the course of the afternoon -- is being humiliated when someone lovingly showed me there was a better way to julienne a bell pepper.  I am sure I turned as bright a red as that damn pepper.  I'm also sure I didn't do anything right that day, but since they had no judgment of my mistakes it soon became clear that the "audition" was all about personalities, not skills.  Thank God!

At the end of the shift, one of them -- yes I know it's unbelievably crazy that I don't remember which one - almost positive it was Sheila but they were both merged into one for me, possibly because when I was with them I had the experience of only seeing big balls of blinding light.  So, one Ball of Light took me out to the front steps of the store front, sat me down and I expected her to sweetly say that I hadn't passed muster because I was such a moron and needed to be shown even the most basic skills.  Instead she said they were delighted to offer me a full time job.

I burst into tears, not the pretty happy tears, the ugly cry tears. The Ball of Light didn't really know what to do with this reaction.  She had been under the assumption that I would be ecstatic!  I explained I hadn't known it was a full time gig, that I would be in acting school full time and couldn't do a full time job.  She somehow got past my overreaction and asked me to think about it, pointing out  -- as I already knew of course -- that it was the chance of a lifetime.  She didn't do it in a self-aggrandizing way.  She did it to honor me, a young thing just out of college, who loved to cook their recipes. 

I did think about it overnight and knew which passion was winning this battle, but the walk over to the storefront was excruciating.  I wanted to have my Silver Palate cake and eat it too.  Whichever Ball of Light I spoke to was very lovely about my choice and I walked away wondering if I had made the right choice but knowing that I would have a long history with Silver Palate dishes, just not in their beautiful kitchen.

I just found out -- in my post-twitter-elation-googlefest-- that Sheila truly is a Ball of Light as far as I'm concerned.  She died in 2009.  I didn't even hear about it.   I would have wanted to give her spirit a hug from afar when she passed.  But I suppose I hug her every time I make one of her amazing recipes. She rocked my world, and she inspired me to make the dinner parties that fill my soul to this day.

One little tweet...and all this.

Orange Oatmeal for Wintry Mornings

 I got inspired by my Italian mandarin-infused honey when I started to add it to my oatmeal over the weekend...Wait! ORANGE OATMEAL?!  Oh yes... Oh yum...

 

 

I love mixing tart and sweet. This is my new favorite way to make oatmeal for these cold mornings where I can't have a cold smoothie first thing. 

 

Oatmeal + Orange Zest (more than you think but do it to taste) + One Whole (peeled, of course, post-zesting) Orange Chopped Up.  I added a little of my Orange Honey + a little Maple Syrup + MY NEW FAVORITE ALMOND MILK + toasted nuts (if you like nuts in your oatmeal -- I used almonds, pecans and sprouted pumpkin seeds). 

 

Califia has been my go to Almond Milk of choice for a couple years now. I always get the Unsweetened Original but oh my god you've got to be kidding me!  If you like Almond Milk, run, do not walk, to get this Califia Toasted Coconut Almond Milk (a lovely toasty fusion of Coconut and Almond Milk).  It is seriously delicious in coffee too.



 



Catch the Wave, Moms! Catch the Wave, Dads! Girl Power: You Are Enough

This is a call to action to jump into this Superhero ocean.  Jen Pastiloff is a Superhero of Love, for sure.  Even when stripped down to just her yoga clothes, you can see her tucked-in cape peeking out.  After class she lets it loose to fly off to her next heart-opening adventure.  

Now she is turning her attention to girls.  Her superhero laser beam is focused on having them realize they are enough just as they are right now.  That's a passion near and dear to my heart as it is the core theme of the book I am completing "Superhero of Love: Heal Your Broken Heart and then Go Save the World."  We are perfect exactly as we are and exactly as we are not.  

We all need to get that mighty heart lesson, and Jen lives, breathes and teaches that every day.  Most thrilling of all is she is about to launch the rocket that will carry this teaching to the hearts and minds of hundreds of girls.  They will get it.  Can you imagine truly imbibing this lesson as a teen?!  What a gift!

Yes, there is a lot of great work being done with girls trying to undo the societal pressures to fit into the Kardashian molds, but man oh man, let's support this woman who is going to do it on a holistic and holy level. 

Follow Jen on Twitter and Facebook.  Help spread the word.  Every mom and dad should at least open the window to having their daughter be a part of this.  Every mom and dad will hopefully want to be a part of this!

Superhero Moms! Check out these Back to School Recipes!

Two super easy recipes are in this one post over on the Lazy Woman Blog, so click the link to make your life easier right this second!  Go!



Lazy Ass Back to School Recipes

If Only Moms & Dads Could Go to Their Own Funerals

 

I went to a beautiful funeral yesterday of a woman gone far too soon.  Even at 81, people can be considered gone far too soon.  She had one of those zestful spirits that everyone wanted to be around forever, and frankly, she just seemed like she had the will to do it, no matter what ill may fall upon her. 

I hadn't seen Margie in a long time.  She was the mom of my college boyfriend.  I have always continued to adore her from afar, and his entire family, including his beloved wife. I'm always thrilled when our paths cross, and am so grateful for Facebook.  But, I didn't see Margie often over the years.  And yet she left a deep, lasting impression on me: her quick smile + laugh, her wry wit, and the way she teased me, a combo like no other - with brains + heart, and in a way that I somehow appreciated (even though I seem to have an only child allergy to teasing).  

The first thing I thought when I heard she was gone was that she must have been grateful near the end that each and every one of her kids carry her most precious attributes into the future.  They are all quick to smile, laugh, and share her humor.  Each and every one of them is funny.  They carry her forward in all the very best ways.

Margie's daughter, Cecily, gave the moving and smart eulogy, which was mighty impressive as it was able to speak eloquently on behalf of all 6 kids, as if they had all taken part in its writing.  I couldn't help but think -- as we all do at funerals -- wow, she would have loved this and felt so very loved.

Even when they know we love them and we even get to tell them all the ways we loved them before they die, there's something specific about funerals that could really make a mom or dad proud.  This family lost their dad long ago but I have a fantasy that they were both floating Bewitched-style high up in the back of the church yesterday, thinking "Damn, we did good."

So, if you are a mom or a dad, even if you don't have the most harmonious relationship with your kid, just know that when push comes to shove you have passed on to them everything they need to be their best, and left out all the right stuff, even if that right stuff is something they need to pick up at a different venue down the line. 

And, hopefully you can imagine your funeral and in your mind's eye watch them rise to their highest selves to get through the terrible grief, and to fully honor you.  Because damn if it isn't always what happens.  People rise to the occasion.  A lot of us learned that from our parents.  So, all you moms and dads please know that you are loved and appreciated far beyond your wildest dreams.

Open Sesame: A Way of Life

Lookie, lookie here to open that door:  Huffington Post "Open Sesame" Article

Superhero Cooks Unite: We Bow to Scott Conant!

 

I doubled the recipe and got 3 jars like this

 

 

I usually post recipes on my Lazy Woman blog.  Most are "lazy" meaning less stress with a delicious result.   I have actually posted about this recipe on that blog because it's such an extraordinary and perfect recipe.  But it's not LAZY actually.  In fact, as I made this the other night I realized that it's really a superhero recipe.    Scott Conant is a superhero chef.  This is his recipe (see story: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7BeGj38J4k). And I felt like a superhero when I was making it.

 

If you LOVE cooking this is an incredibly fun adventure.  You get to cut, prep, seed with your hands, score, blanch, sautee, simmer, boil, mash, strain, drizzle, and even give and ice bath!  I always feel like I'm in a chemistry lab when I make this pasta.  It is wondrous fun!

 

I decided to make the sauce because I'm making lasagna (as well as this sauce over pasta) for a dinner party tomorrow and decided I really wanted to try this sauce in a lasagna.  I will add another post with that recipe and photos later.

 

You get to sautee garlic and basil in olive oil until it's just the right level of infused:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Straining the extra left over tomato debris...

 



 

 

I'm ashamed to say that the Roma tomatoes at my normally spectacularly produce-d local store were not great, but I bought them anyway due to time constraints, and really sort of as an experiment.  This sauce is fantastic -- different than if tomatoes were robust, but I could literally drink this sauce it's so good, even with the less than stellar tomatoes.  BUT I did have to use my immersion blender -- which was super fun:

 

 

 

 



 

 My favorite part: drizzling the magical infused olive oil into the cooked tomatoes: 

 

 

Learn how to do this step-by-step:  http://newyork.seriouseats.com/2009/10/making-scarpetta-tomato-basil-spaghetti-scott-conant-scarpetta-meatpacking-district-nyce.html

 

UNSTUNG HERO: The Summer Shield for Every Active Superhero

I bought this at the end of last mosquito season, so I was excited to try it out tonight.  I'm sitting on the patio writing.  I was being regularly dive-bombed by the little bloodsuckers, but no more.

And, it smells really good - citrus + grass to my nose.  It does not in any way shape or form smell like citronella.

There may be other places to get it now but I ordered it online from Shen Beauty.

Highly recommend.

Don't Let Your Shadow Self Drive the Car: It's Probably Not 16!

As I typed the word shadow above, a crow landed right outside the patio door!  I always think of crows as a playful shadow reminder.  This one was particularly shiny and elegant, strutting his dark shadowy self.  He then flitted over to the tree where two endlessly-chasing-each-other squirrels were un-phased by his presence only inches away.  The shadow and the light in a lovely dance.  

I wish it were always that way inside me.  The little kid in me wants to say "Can't I always be the squirrel? Can't we just play?"  Yet those shadowy crows are nestled inside us right next to the light and playful squirrels.  The bullying, domineering, sometimes attacking crow is inside me, as is the hilarious, jokester squirrel.  But it always seems like way more fun to deal with light than shadow.  Recently, though, I'm finding the hugest relief in dealing head on with those shadows. 

If we don't acknowledge that the shadow is there, it will silently, stealthily, move into position behind the steering wheel of our car of life and start driving, shoving the light over into the passenger seat without even being noticed until he crashes the car.    That happened to me last week -- FEAR drove my car right into the FLU.

After a few months of dealing with buying a house and getting settled, I have been delving back into rewrites of my book, getting comments from friends, strangers and writer's groups.  Soon my head was spinning from the feedback and I was so afraid I had to check out.  Perfect solution: stomach flu.  It allowed for unabashed complete check-out.

Once I figured out I let the shadow drive me into a wall, I got out of the car, looked through the debris and pulled that shadow self out from behind the wheel.  Who was she and why was she so afraid?   We had a good chat and I realized she was the little girl who felt incredibly unsafe when my parents divorced.  I had never realized that I felt "unsafe" during that transition time.   I didn't want to be alone with my mom who I sensed, even at that tender age, was not completely stable.  Nor did I want to be alone with my dad, because he wasn't a mom.  Neither option was completely safe, each held its own sense of danger.  As a 53 year old adult, this transition time with my book was feeling equally unsafe, and that that shadow self who was born when I was 7 years old, was crying out in fear.  I'm glad we got to talk.  Of course, as soon as we did, I was on the road to swift healing.

Doing shadow work takes far less effort than pretending the shadow isn't driving you into walls.  The more you do it, the faster you get back into the driver's seat.  I can't more highly recommend Debbie Ford's work which I've been practicing now for over 4 years.   I mention it a lot in this very fun interview I did with Ted Lyde who is himself very adept at the brave work of looking at his own shadows while making us laugh about the whole game of life.   

His interview with me:
Learning Not to Swear with Ted Lyde

The Never Never Jar

Today a friend shared on Facebook a "never" she has that was a "never" I actually had until a couple months ago.  It seemed like every turn I made I would run into someone who was having a glorious experience with Bulletproof Coffee or "Butter Coffee." 

I have had a lifelong disgust of butter, mayonnaise or anything oily.  One my favorite
"excellent daddy" stories was about the time he took my 7 year old "boyfriend" and I out to lunch.   Patrick ordered a tuna sandwich. I wanted to be like him but I hated mayonnaise so I ordered a tuna sandwich with no mayonnaise.  I vividly remember the waitress being dumbfounded and a conversation with my dad ensuing with instructions to literally take some tuna out of a can and slap it on some bread.

She came back -- after a good long while, of course -- and my dad saw my eyes swell with tears after I took my first bite.  He looked down and saw we had been served the wrong sandwiches.  I was too embarrassed to say anything in front of Patrick, of course.  I contend that my dad waited waaaaaaaay too long (and remember full on tears silently streaming down my face) to come to our aid, but he always maintained that he immediately remedied the situation for fear we might both projectile vomit on him.

My tolerance for butter and mayo has, of course, grown.  But I still only use scants of each in any culinary situation.  I got a little sick to my stomach even imagining butter coffee in my mouth the first time I heard about it.   But, one day a couple months ago when yet another good friend was extolling the virtues of her new discovery I heard myself speak exactly like a 7 year old about how I would never try it, that I didn't NEED to try it, it wasn't for me, etc. 

Just hearing that petulant voice made me realize I should possibly push through it and try.  The next day I bought the damn butter, and the coconut oil, and soon found myself flicking a pat of butter into a blender.  I had to psych myself up for the first sip, and even the next, but eventually I realized my disgust was all in my head, that really it just tastes like frothy coffee with heavy cream, which makes sense: cream being the precursor to butter, after all!

I actually gave it a shot for a month and came away with the biggest win: that the Brain Octane (highly purified coconut oil by the Bulletproof Coffee company) was my ticket to my happiness. It unequivocally cured the brain fog caused by hormone fluctuations.  Gone!

So I got something great out of pushing against a never.  That being said, I can't tell you how happy I am that I don't have to touch butter every morning.  Ew.

We all have to push through our "nevers" from time to time.  I have heard parents speak of theirs on many occasions.  But I am keenly aware that as I get older I can be even more convincing - to myself and others -- and firmly entrenched in my nevers.  Friends will concur "Good idea, Bridget, you probably should NOT ever do that again." 

So, I've decided to up my elasticity game.  I have some lasting body elasticity issues due to a running injury, so I've recently increased my yoga game.  Now I'm going to up my inner elasticity game too. 

I made a NEVER JAR so I can stay conscious of how often I create hard edges and build walls with my nevers.  Every time I come against a never, I'll write it down and throw it in the jar.  I will try to bust through one every once in a while because it does appear that every time I do bust through a never (never run a marathon, never buy a house without a second income, never try Bullet Coffee, etc.) something pretty amazing comes out of the mix.

I will confess that one of things in my jar is never dating a Virgo again.  It didn't turn out splendidly all 4 times I've done it and I'm pretty fricking firmly entrenched (aka Aries bullheaded entrenched) in this never.  Watch me meet another charming Virgo in the near future just to test my never resilience.  I shall pray for some heart elasticity if that occurs!

Everything Has Its Place

 

Perfect Place for Wisteria I'm Planting in Honor of My Friend Jim Hamilton

 

I’ve been unequivocally blessed in the housing department since I moved away from home when I was 18.  The year I went to Berkeley, many California residents didn’t get into dorms.  The year I moved to Paris there was a bizarre housing crisis.  New York is always New York.  Yet in even these most extreme cases, even though it sometimes took a while, I miraculously ended up in the most beautiful, convenient spots. 

My homes have been of various sizes, some super tiny (first place in NY, but lovely setting so I didn’t care) and some huge (a mansion I rattled around in with sheer glee), but I have never fit a home so perfectly as the one I just bought.  It’s a glove of a house, not too small, not too big.  For Goldilocks and her two furry bears, it fits just right.

The internal cheer that I keep hearing myself repeat silently to myself as I continue to get settled is “Everything has its place.”  There’s a drawer for the hummingbird food.  There’s a perfectly sized and placed drawer for baggies.  The bijillion cooking and/or eating utensils that I have amassed (and proclaim to be over-the-top by friends) also each have a perfectly situated spot.  The furry bear girls are serene and happy here too.  They have all their perfect happy places too.

My heart is happy right where it is too.  Many times a day I thank my lucky stars, even when I’m in the middle of the crisis.  Yep, even that has its perfect place because crises – whether mine or that of a friend that needs my attention – makes me connect with people in a different way, makes me appreciate.

I’m starting to get that this phrase I found myself repeating throughout my days as I’ve been doing my necessary nestling is becoming a new mantra for me: “everything has its place” brings me delightfully into the present, and reminds me to be grateful. 

It’s not about stuff.  It’s about being here right now in this perfect spot: even as I write this, overtired, having dealt with difficult news today, working too late, many more tasks ahead of me before bed.  All of it is perfectly placed.  With a furry bear girl snuggling on either side of me, it’s hard to doubt the perfection.  Even in the pushing through, there is perfection.

Sometimes “be here now” is too much for me to take on.  I aspire to it daily, but I sometimes think only Eckhart Tolle and a few others have that one down.   I’ll continue to strive, but this new mantra has the training wheels I currently need, perfectly placed until they no longer serve me.

Self-Criticism: The Bullying We Can All Address

 

Sagging chin.  Need to lose weight.  Flabby here, saggy there.  Why does that jiggle?  That neck, oh my god that aging neck. 

The never-ending inventory of my aging body continues between my two ears and has been the topic of many a conversation with my girlfriends.  As we age, my friends and I seem to carve out more and more of our together time doing an inventory of all of our detestable bits and pieces.  One friend says her eyelids are too heavy. I just don't see it.  I love her eyes just the way they are, exactly, precisely the way they are.

Often friends don't see what we see.  Other times they are simply polite and offer the obligatory "I have no idea what you are talking about, I just don't see it."  Sometimes, as with my friend's lovely lids, we either don't notice or don't perceive what they do as a flaw.

A few months ago an older friend who has had several successful plastic surgeries suggested I should consider addressing my chin's unattractive saggy situation.  It appears the floor is beckoning it with a treat.  I protested inside and out, thinking I was too young to start waging this war (I'm not, it turns out) and confirming to myself "I'm not the plastic surgery type!" I have had dreams of aging gracefully and loving my body in all of its incarnations.  Methinks I doth protest too much though. 

In response to her suggestion I proceeded to get obsessed with my chin, looking in the mirror more often than I ever had before, hoping to catch a glimpse of it that would either prove my plastic surgery proponent friend right or wrong. I was keeping a tally in my head.  The more I watched it, the more swiftly it seemed to lose its elasticity, as if my vigil was encouraging the aging process.  I started thinking my obsession might actually be making me age faster!

The day after Valentine's Day I was sitting at a dinner with friends and suggested to the women at the table that it would be a great Valentine's gift to ourselves if we gave up criticizing our bodies for a year.  I asked who was up for the challenge, assuming that others would and that I, too, would rally.  But none of us wanted to commit.  

I haven't been able to stop thinking about the fact that of all the kick ass women at that table not one of us was up for the challenge.   Since that night I have found myself averting self-criticism about 50% of the opportunities that presented themselves.  It's a start, but not enough.  A higher part of myself is craving a moratorium on public floggings.  So in a few weeks on my birthday I will be taking one year off from the public self-criticism of my body.  I don't get to speak negatively about how fat or old I look in front of another human from March 22, 2015 through March 21, 2016. 

Will I slip up?  Probably, but  if I fall I'll get back on the wagon.  And I know I won't be able to eliminate the chatter between my ears, but I will get to see how much it decreases because of this experiment.

Honestly I can't imagine not speaking ill of my body's weight with someone, anyone, for an entire year.  No matter what weight I have been, it's been a lifelong topic of conversation.  The aging thing is a hot new topic of the last several years.  It's still got a lot of juice left, particularly with the recent chin debacle upon me.   I'll have to look for other adrenaline rushes.

I've got a few weeks to milk it all for what it's worth, but I don't think I will because I'm starting to enjoy the winding down from the highest heights of the self-judgment mountain.  Just thinking about the prospect of proclaiming this publicly has curbed my desire substantially, and makes me want to help my friends curb theirs as well.  Self-criticism hurts.  It's one of the worst kinds of bullying around.

Happy Birthday to me.  I get to start learning how to be my own better friend. 

 

Superhero Smoothie Wars: Vitamix Stomps the Ninja

 

My superhero food of choice is the smoothie I drink every morning to start my day.  So my blender is really important.  I was a Ninja girl for two years.  The Ninja had come highly recommended by two dear friends, so when my last blender broke I bought one and became an instant fan.  I found elements of its design to be annoying, but all of my pet peeves were overridden by its power, which now reminds me of a muscle car.   Strong looking but it tries too hard to show it.   It sounded like a jet engine and the blade demands careful handling.  I always felt like I was holding a handful of mini ninja swords when I had to insert or remove it.  But I was swayed by the seemingly kick ass ninja show.  It seemed to take the kale and frozen fruit I fed it, battering it into a smoothie with rapid fire consistency.  Or so I thought.

I should have known my love was blind when I would proudly serve my kale smoothies to guests who would find themselves concentrating on the surprising opportunity to chew something from the glass I had proudly served as a drink. 

I was always trying to figure out what foodie memory was evoked by Ninja smoothies.  Recently I saw a box of cornflakes at the store, and all my childhood cornflake memories came flooding in to explain why I didn't question chewing my smoothies.  Kale smoothies made in a Ninja remind me of what I consider the perfect cereal eating moment, where the balance of soggy to crunchy is just right.   I really actually DID enjoy the flavor and texture.  Truly I did.  BUT, it’s not called sog-crunchie.  It’s calls a SMOOOOOOOOOTHIE.  Vitamix understands that.

When the carafe for my Ninja cracked and I had to replace it for the second time in two years I started researching blenders.  I had heard wonderful things about the Vitamix over the years but never wanted to go to spend that much.  But after reading a bunch of blogs and watching some great YouTube videos that compared them, I realized that the perfect fit for me, and the most cost-effective solution (last longer, less breakage) was the Vitamix.   The article that ultimately swayed me mentioned the Vitamix Certified Reconditioned option and I knew that was the answer for me.

You can buy them on the Vitamix site but if you buy on Amazon it's a little cheaper and with free shipping.  The downside is you don’t know the exact model you are going to get when you order.  I was hoping for a 5200 because I had seen comparisons that put it ahead of the 6300 in my mind.  But I got the 6300.  And, thank god I did, because man oh man is it the perfect blender for me!

The 6300 has an automatic smoothie setting, so you turn it on, walk away and do other stuff and it shuts off automatically when it’s done!  There’s also a frozen dessert and soup setting.  Yes, it makes HOT SOUP out of cold ingredients out of your refrigerator!  One day I accidentally hit the FROZEN DESSERT button and it started to make a beautiful sorbet out of my smoothie ingredients - in seconds!

Let me count the ways I think the Vitamix wins the blender superhero wars:

·         Blade – That damn blade that looks so ferocious in the Ninja is dangerous.  I have accidentally cut myself a couple times.  It's a pain to clean too. Getting between the blades without slicing a finger is a feat.  Frankly, I couldn’t keep it perfectly black so it never appeared perfectly clean even when it was.  It developed a film on it that I could never scour off completely.  With the Vitamix, you don’t ever have to touch the blade and it's so damn small it's baffling how it works.  Seriously, I don’t get it. Amazing.

·         Clean-Up – There is simply no comparison.  To clean the Vitamix you put soapy water in it,  blend it up, and then rinse.  I usually have to do a little more sponge work than that, but not much.  Ninja clean-up is a huge, unsatisfying hassle. 

·         The Lid – Again, no comparison.  You have to line up the Ninja lid (which I always found to be awkward) in just the right way to get it to work.  There is only one way to put on the lid and it takes three steps to do it!  With the Vitamix you put it on from any angle any old way and you don't even have to push hard to see that it's secure.  Done!

·         Affixing Carafe to Base – Yet again, no comparison, there is no lining up in just the right way that the finicky Ninja demands. You just put it on the base.   Done.

·        Noise – One of the blogs said the Vitamix was loud.  Have you ever heard a Ninja?  It sounds like you are inside a jet engine.  The Vitamix is a lullaby in comparison.  I put a ton of frozen fruit in my smoothies.  With the Ninja, it sounded like a bunch of marbles being ground up.  With the Vitamix, if you were in another room, you would never guess the level of grounding up that was taking place in that thing.

 

This is a ton of kale, an orange and a bunch of frozen mango (plus coconut oil and protein powder) and it barely let on what a big job it had to do...

 

·         Carafe Shape – The Vitamix carafe shape is far more beautiful and user friendly being wider at the top.  And the pour spout is wider and works better.  It feels lighter to me, although I didn’t weigh my Ninja carafe before I tossed it.  Bottom line: it's far easier to work with, and far better looking than the Ninja.

·         Beauty – I noticed that a few blogs said the Vitamix isn’t great looking. I disagree. If nothing else it is far more attractive than the Ninja in shape and proportion.  I have no issues keeping it on my counter and I'm pretty adverse to all things unattractive.

·         Smoothie Perfection –   Throw ingredients in the carafe.  Set to SMOOTHIE.  Turn it on.  Drink the blissful concoction that doesn’t leave one morsel-unblended. End of story. 

 

 

 

 

Racing with Nature: A Superhero Errand

I slept in and awoke to the beautiful sound and view of rain falling in the canyon.  Snuggled in bed with Lucy and Tulle at either side I had a moment of sheer bliss, and yet again thanked my lucky stars that the bank and I own this amazing house.  Wow, wow, wow...OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!

 

I suddenly realized that my convertible was outside the garage with the top down.  I sprinted to the car which was already soaking, put the top up, because I couldn't pull it into the garage.  A couple days ago I had to tear apart the garage looking for something and had filled the car's space with a sea of boxes and crap (aka treasures from the past).

 

I moved in exactly four weeks ago and had committed to getting the garage organized this weekend.  It was supposed to be yesterday but after a 3.5 hour hike my body would have none of that.  So I jumped into action to organize it as quickly as possible so I could get the car in there and put the top down again so it could dry.

 

Now I have 11 boxes in my living room.  All need to have their contents properly put away where they belong in the house.  One of the boxes had to be immediately emptied because its box had already been water-damaged on the bottom.  Yes the rain had already made its way into the garage.

 

I've been waiting for the plumber to have time to put a drain outside the garage to avoid rain damage like this, but he's been busy.  So, this whole rain-in-the-car debacle was a blessing because I immediately got to work moving the cardboard boxes to the back of the garage.  The damaged box (just wet on the bottom) was full of first aid supplies. 

 

My dad's business was first aid and rescue supplies, and he loved nothing more than keeping me safe, sound and happy.  Therefore I have a ton of first aid supplies.   I ran in the house and dumped the contents of the box into a big basket.  The basket wasn't quite big enough so a bunch of stuff fell at my feet including... Cortaid for poison oak!

 

 

 

Yesterday's amazing 3.5 hour hiking trails were lined with poison oak which the girls brushed against many times.  Look how innocent they look in this photo!

 

 

 

As soon as my friends left after the hike yesterday, I bathed the girls, and threw all my clothes in the washer, but apparently not fast enough (again, racing nature) to avoid the poison sinking in.  My dad always had the magic elixir for body, heart and mind.  One week ago would have been his 77th birthday.  He's still giving me gifts.

 

Today's race with nature had some fun rewards.

 

 

 

The Grief Joy Rollercoaster

This Friday I will be moving to a beautiful new house with a 180 degree view of a lovely canyon.  It's a beautiful modern house, just what I wanted. It's more than I thought I could afford.  It will be a stretch for me, but I decided to jump and grow wings on the way down.  Fingers and budding wings crossed.

With less than a week left, it's mighty inconvenient that I have the flu for the first time in several years.  So much to do, so little time.  Still not enough energy to do anything physical.  When I do, my cough doubles me over and zaps me of all life force.

I thought I must have the flu due to my first time home buyer stress whittling down my immune system. I thought I must not have been handling it as brilliantly as I thought I was.  But yesterday a friend reminded me of that body/mind connection of lung issues.  Lungs represent grief.  I remember being quite conscious of this when my father was battling three different lung ailments in the last years of his life.  It was true for him.  My dad bore the weight of many losses - his own and his friends' and family's.  He was a very sensitive man.   His beautiful blue eyes even when sparkling with joy or excitement would belie the sadness underneath.

We aren't taught in school how to process grief.  That would be a handy class.  I might not have the flu now if I had taken it, because I didn't realize until my friend pointed it out that I too am grieving the loss of my current house, a most magical rental that I have been in for almost 4 years.  A lot of amazing things happened in my life while I was here: I wrote my book, ran the marathon, made a lot of new wonderful friends, started creative projects that will hopefully come to fruition in the next couple years.  It was a fruitful, miracle-making house for me. 

I moved here just a year and a half after my dad passed away. I lived here when I experienced harrowing dramas with my dad's business, where I really grieved his loss, and developed a new relationship with him, where I lived when I spread his ashes finally.  

His portrait is in the center of the house so I see it multiple times a day.  And the house is surrounded by birds and squirrels, both of which my dad taught me about when I was a tiny little girl.  We would pour over his many books on birds when I was little and he would tell me about each one. I wish I had retained any of the knowledge, but the most important thing was that it daddy time where I got to share his passion. 

The birds seem to know change is coming.  They greet me at every entrance and exit a little more dramatically than usual.  And one sits just outside the patio door, perched on the firewood cart, between sessions of banging repeatedly into the window.  No, he's not trying to get in, because the door is wide open.   When not there, he is about 25 feet away outside another window sitting on a table looking into a mirror, at intervals, repeatedly flying into the mirror as if attacking his mirror image.  It's not violent looking.  Here is a snippet, from the end of one of his rounds. Excuse the through-the-screen bad quality!

 

 

This little bird has never exhibited this behavior before this week.  I think he was trying to tell me something about my grief.  As my friends have all reminded me, it's OK to be sad about leaving one magical house for another.  And this place will always have a place in my heart.

 

And now I know one of the first things I will do is plant two trees like the ones just outside the patio door - jacaranda and bottle brush-- in my dad's honor.  The birds and squirrels adore these trees.  That plan even eases the grief a little bit.



 

 

Stretching Out Into 2015

 

 

 

Today is the day I write my Manifesto 2015.   First step was to check in with my Manifesto 2014, which is conveniently taped under my glass desk so I can see it every single day.  I don't necessarily LOOK AT IT every day, but it's there to remind me from time to time. 

 

While I did not get a publishing deal this year as intended in Item #1, I did a few short weeks ago received excellent notes from a potential publisher, who believes in my book,. So I am busily addressing all of her brilliant suggestions.  That item will go to the top of my Manifesto 2015. 

 

And while I am not done "buying" a house with grace and ease, I'm smack dab in the middle of escrow.  With no competition on my offer in this uber-competitive LA real estate market, I am calling that a win. 

 

All the other items on my Manifesto I did accomplish to varying degrees and will continue to work on in 2015.  One can never open one's heart too much or listen to too much music!

 

In contemplating my new manifesto I looked up the derivation of the word INTENTION and found this:

 

Intention: "purpose," early 13c., from Old French entente, from Latin intentus "a stretching out," in Late Latin "intention, attention," noun use of past participle of intendere "stretch out, lean toward, strain," literally "to stretch out"

 

I love the image of "stretching out."  You don't have to know how you are going to accomplish something to make it happen.  On 1/1/14 I still had no clue - literally none -- as to how I was going to finish a marathon.  I had no idea how I could afford a house on my own in LA. 

 

 

 

Just yesterday, I showed a friend this vision board I created when I started looking for a house in November.  I remember thinking when I created that it was mostly a picture of trees.  I wondered how on earth am I going to afford a view like THAT!  Well, somehow this vision board helped me stretch out, reach out and find it.  I kept it right next to my TV to remind me every single day.  I was showing my friend the photos of my new house next to the photos on this board and even she had to admit how extraordinary it was that my vision board is now fully translated into a 3D reality.

 

The main lesson I got from 2014 was that my timing on when things should happen is not necessarily for my highest good.  I don't necessarily have the widest bird's eye view.  And, very time I stopped trusting, I felt pain.

 

For instance, I fell in love -- mad love -- with a house.  I was the first back-up offer but I didn't get it.  That house was AMAZING and yet this house is far, far, far better!  Thank God I didn't get the first one I fell in love with!  Rejection is God's protection.

 

I didn't get the book published this year, and I was in pain for a good part of the year as I waited and wondered and ran into closed doors, etc.  Now I know this book will be born when it is meant to be born, so that it can help the most people in the optimal way.

 

I don't think I will ever be done with this lesson of trusting that I don't always know what, where, when and how things should happen.  But 2014 was certainly a gift in delivering the lesson on a silver platter -- over and over and over again!

 

So, now as I sit down to draw up my Manifesto 2015, I will stretch into my vision, do all that I can do to make all of my intentions a reality, and then I will stretch several notches more into TRUSTING that all is well, all is perfect, and the timing is nothing short of miraculous -- no matter what I say!

 

Here's to stretching, stretching, stretching into our 2015 dreams!