Sleep and Floods

Sleep evades me tonight like so many nights since TBHITW passed on.

It is hard to believe that a year of "firsts" has come and gone.

I find it difficult to cook. The one thing that has always brought me solace. Peace. And nourishment eludes me.

My tiny town has been devastated by Hurricane Irene. So many people's homes and lives have been forever altered. Yet, I remind myself that it is just stuff. Thankfully no one lost their lives in my community. Yet so many others up and and down the east coast are just beginning the grief journey. A road full of twists and tormented turns that they will have to travel alone. Even with the help of wonderful friends and family they will have to find their own route. Mothers, fathers, children, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews, co-workers, grandparents.. so many people touch our lives that it is hard to imagine how many grieve when someone leaves this world.

For every one person gone, a village weeps.

I have forever changed my opinion on death. At one time when I read or heard of someone passing on I would think "poor thing.. so young, or so tragic or too soon". Now - I think of the survivors and what they have to bear. The sadness sometimes threatens to take my breath away.

I spent 36 hours defending my home against Irene. Thirty-six hours of my heart beating out of my chest as the winds and rain battered our home. At one point my youngest son and I  bailed water for 3 hours -from one in the morning until four am. Arms screaming with the exertion. Water coming in through the laundry tubs and sump pump faster than we could bail. I prayed. I bargained. I asked both Jim and God to help me. And my prayers were answered. Unlike 50% of my little town my home suffered just minor damage. A cracked chimney. A downed tree. Some water damage to the ceilings. Others were not so lucky; they had to be evacuated from their homes, walls collapsed as did foundations. Cars were washed away along with precious family memories. But they survived. And I survived, albeit lonely, scared, and wishing every minute TBHITW was here to help us.

Now the clean up begins. Power was finally restored to our town. The community will rebuild, fix, move forward. Like grief, the torrent recedes and everyone moves forward.

Life goes on.

More Things I've Learned and Chocolate, Cherry & Pistachio Biscotti

I have been on a very personal, very painful journey of discovery these last almost six months.

My journey has taken me places in my soul, heart and mind I have never imagined.

Here are some things I have learned:

Silence can be deafening.
Shoveling snow alone can be spiritual.
Music can heal and music can bring such pain as you could never imagine.
Loss is something everyone at some point in their lives experiences.
Grief has physical ramifications.
Guilt (real or imagined) has no place in grief. Kick it to the curb early on and leave it there.
You are capable of more than you think.
You are stronger than you think.
You are braver than you think.
There is always someone who is worse off than yourself.
Pity is self inflicted and is damaging.
Actions speak louder than words.
Seeing a qualified therapist is a courageous commitment to one's own future.
We need so much less than we have.
Food can be therapeutic.
Sleep can heal.
There are inherently good people and there are inherently bad people. It is good and wise to recognize the difference.
It is okay to ask for help.
It is okay to not answer the phone.
It is okay and necessary to speak of the dead. Please mention his name to me. It tells me he lived. It tells me he lives on.

I don't have a good segue into this recipe except to say Chocolate-Cherry-Pistachio Biscotti is sweet, and salty and challenging and a little nutty... kind of like memories.

Chocolate Cherry & Pistachio Biscotti: 


2 cups all -purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) softened butter (room temperature is fine)
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
3 ounces dark chocolate, finely chopped
1 1/2 cups toasted pistachios, chopped*
3/4 cup dried cherries, plumped and coarsely chopped**
Additional flour as needed

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Sift together the flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Set aside.

In a mixer, cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Mix in the eggs and vanilla, blend well until incorporated. Add the flour and mix to create a dough. Add the chocolate, nuts and cherries and mix to combine.

Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface and divide into two equal portions. With lightly floured hands roll the dough to create two 12 inch logs. Place on a lightly buttered or parchment lined cookie sheet.

Bake biscotti for 25 minutes (or until firm to the touch). Remove from oven and let cool 10 minutes. Cut logs on the diagonal into 1-inch thick cookies (12 per log). Place biscotti cookies 1/2 inch apat on cookie sheets, cut side facing each other. Bake for 10-12 minutes. Cool biscotti and place in an airtight container such as a cookie tin.
Biscotti can be stored for 2-3 weeks or frozen for 2-3 months.

*to toast pistachios simply place nuts in an ungreased frying pan over medium heat and toast until fragrant. Be careful! Nuts can burn quickly. You can substitute almonds or walnuts for the pistachios or omit completely.

**to plum cherries simply soak in hot water for 10 to 15 minutes, drain and dry between paper towels.

Weather As A Metaphor and Souffles

Another five inches of snow fell from the sky here in the Northeast last night. This is the 5th. major snow storm in just a bit over three weeks.

As I was shoveling the driveway this morning I was thinking that shoveling snow is much like grief work. I have been digging myself out of the snow and digging myself out of grief every three to five days only to get dumped on by both once again.

sigh.

Speaking of digging. Digging into a soft, creamy, perfectly baked souffle is one of life's pure pleasures, but many home cooks won't attempt a souffle proclaiming them too complicated, too temperamental or just plain difficult. Not so I say! (have I steered you wrong yet?)

Souffles are easy to make; take very few ingredients and with a little time and attention can be a delicious evening meal or late lunch. Why not reward yourself and those you love with a tender, perfectly baked souffle? You will be hooked in no time.

Goat Cheese and Chive Souffle (with two variations) makes one 1 1/2 quart souffle or six individual 8 ounce souffles*

Unsalted butter and grated Parmesan Cheese for preparing the dish
1/2 pound fresh goat cheese brought to room temperature
1/4 cup sour cream
5 large eggs, at room temperature, separated
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground white (or black) pepper
3 tablespoons minced fresh chives
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
3 tablespoons Parmesan cheese, grated

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Position the oven rack in the lower third of the oven. Butter a 1 1/2 quart souffle dish or six 1 cup (8 ounce) ramekins and dust bottom and sides with Parmesan cheese.

In a large bowl, using a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment or using a hand mixer, cream the goat cheese on medium-high speed until light. Beat in the sour cream, egg yolks, mustard, salt, nutmeg, pepper and chives until combined. Set aside.
In another large, clean bowl, beat together the egg whites and cream of tartar on medium-high speed until stiff, glossy peaks form.

Using a rubber spatula, fold one-fourth of the beaten egg whites into the cheese mixture to lighten it. Then gently fold in the remaining egg whites just until no white streaks remain.**
Spoon into prepared dish(es) and smooth the top. Sprinkle the top with Parmesan cheese. Using your thumb, run it along the inside rim of the ramekins or souffle dish, this will ensure the double crown that souffles are famous for.

Bake the souffle until set, puffed and the center still jiggles a bit when the dish is shaken, 20 - 25 minutes for a large souffle or 8 to 10 minutes for individual ramekins. Serve immediately.

*I prefer individual souffles. It is a special treat for each person to have a perfectly puffed, golden wonder set in front of them.

** Folding: the proper way to fold egg whites into a batter is to place about 1/4 of the egg whites in the middle of the batter, using a spatula, cut down the center of the egg whites away from you and sweep the whites through the batter. Give the bowl a quarter turn and repeat.

A Cook's Notes: serve souffles with a simple spinach salad tossed with pine nuts and a mild vinaigrette and a good cold, crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

Variations: Use all Parmesan cheese and Rosemary or Cheddar Cheese and Thyme in place of the Goat cheese and chives.

As always, whatever you are digging into today, Bon Appetite!

Five Months, Seven Days and How to Reheat Pizza

It has been 5 months and 7 days since TBHITW died.
There.
I said it.
He died.

What have I learned?

I learned:
that one can be alone without being lonely.
that it is okay to cry.
that it is okay to laugh.
Anywhere. Anytime.
that asking for help does not make you weak.
that no matter how many times I ask God to bring him back, TBHITW is not coming back.
that asking why is futile.
that love doesn't die.
that I didn't die; just a part of me.
that tears are endless.
that sleeping and eating and exercise are important; more now than ever before.
that people care.
that people don't understand (mercifully).
that life is truly a circle.
that many, many people mourn.
that grieving has no time frame.
it is personal.

I've learned a lot the last 5 months and 7 days. Much more than I can write about here. Like I said, grief and mourning is a personal journey. It takes you places you never dreamed. Or want to dream about.

I've also learned the best way to reheat leftover pizza. Leftover pizza was never a problem when TBHITW was here.

So. Let's review:

Oven. nope.

Microwave (don't even think about it)

Frying Pan - read on.

Wipe a large, nonstick skillet with a paper towel saturated with a bit of olive oil*
Place over medium-low heat.
Add as many slices of cold, leftover pizza the pan can hold. Or as many as you can eat.
Place a lid over the pan and wait.... (theme song from Jeopardy playing in your head)
Check after 2 minutes. Recover if the cheese is not melted.
(theme song from Jeopardy repeat).
Check again.
The cheese will be melted, the crust will be crisp and you'll swear the delivery man just handed you a piping hot fresh pie.

*Do not, I repeat, do not use spray oil (aka Pam) on a nonstick pan. This will ruin your teflon - it will become sticky and useless. I have forewarned you. Go forth and use a paper towel saturated with olive oil.

Love,
The Good Cook

Swimming Through Grief

I joined our community's indoor pool.

I used to swim. A lot.

I was nervous when I entered the Ladies Locker room today. I hadn't done any lap swimming for many  years.

I had my brand new Speedo swim suit (modest cut) on. I had a brand new Speedo swim cap and goggles.

I stowed all my stuff in a locker and wrapping a towel around me followed the signs to the indoor pool. Six lanes were marked off for lap swimmers. Three were occupied. I choose lane #5.

The air was warm but the water was cold. I eased myself into the five foot deep water, did some stretching and looked around. The teenage lifeguard looked bored. The other swimmers were deep into their own exercise routine.

I pushed off from the side and glided easily into the water. One stroke, two. It all came back. Freestyle, Breast Stroke, Backstroke, Butterfly, rest. Side Stroke. Ease back into freestyle. Breathe. No one was watching. Everyone was occupied with their own rhythm, their own strokes.

Four laps, five. Ten. Fifteen. My heart was beating out of my chest. I remembered to kick. To breathe. To ease into each stroke. My body remembered. My brain went into autopilot. Stroke. Breathe. Kick.

The water eased over me and through me. I forgot about everything. Time. Grief. Loneliness. Stroke, Breathe. Kick. Turn. Another lap.

Fifteen minutes passed, thirty minutes passed. I swam. I breathed. Twenty laps.

When finally my legs were shaking, my shoulder aching and I could barely raise my arms over my head I climbed out of the pool.

I am swimming through grief. I am going back tomorrow.

The Face of Grief

I looked in the mirror this morning and saw a woman ten years older than myself.

I was surprised, but not shocked.

I can now recognize the face of grief.

I have met many people (mostly women) over the last few weeks who have shared with me their grief story. I recognized that they had one before they ever told me.

The local florist who has now been to my home at least a dozen times lost her husband seventeen years ago. She held my hand and cried with me and told me to call her, anytime. Then she called me, to remind me to call her, anytime.

My neighbor's mother, whose husband passed this February. She slipped a piece of paper into my hand with her phone number on it. And whispered, "blessings". I saw the same look in her eyes that is now in mine.

A client of my husband's told me that he still has a voice message on his phone from his sister. It is five years old and is the last time he heard her voice before she was killed in a car accident. I recognized our friend grief in his voice as soon as I picked up the phone.

My sisters voices when we speak. I know they are grieving. I hear it in their voices and see it in their faces.

My children who are no longer littles, middles or kidadults. They are adults now. Living in a grown up world of sorrow.

My parents, who have aged more over the last few weeks than in the past few years.

My in-laws, my husband's family. All of them with a new sound, a heavy heart.

To know grief is a terrible, sorrowful thing.

Some of you may remember that during Christmas last year I was grocery shopping and a woman and her college age son were behind me at the checkout. She was sobbing quietly and the young man was gently rubbing her shoulder and telling her "it will be alright". At the time I thought they were having financial difficulties, you know, making ends meet during the holidays.

I now know that what I saw was the face of grief. They were suffering a terrible loss. At the time I did not recognize that face. Now, I will never forget it.

Racking Sobs

I thought the days of racking sobs were behind me.

For a week or so now when I cry tears would just roll down my face. The physical sobbing and shaking was gone. It was like my body just could only do so much.

Not so.

Today for whatever reason (do I need a reason?) the racking, gut wrenching sobs came back. It started in the shower. In full force. And lasted for hours.

A new little treat that was added today was vomiting. For the first few days after TBHITW died every night I would wake up in the middle of the night and vomit. It was like my body was trying to purge itself of this evil poison bestowed on me.

Today it all came back. All morning long. And into the afternoon. And now, late evening, it has returned.

When does the pain stop?
I am giving this everything I have. I am trying to remember all the good and blessed and wonderful and smiling times we had.
I am. I really am.
Harder than I've ever tried anything before in my life.
But give me a clue someone. When does my stomach and head and heart stop hurting?
Can someone just tell me when the pain stops?

My sister dreamt of him again the other night. She said,

"He was sitting in the play room, playing a game on her son's playstation. She said to him, 'you're not real, you're dead' and he said, 'I'm real'. And she repeated to him, no, you're dead. To which he replied, no, I'm right here. I'm real. You can touch me if you want.' And she touched him. And he was real.

In The Beginning

When TBHITW and I first met we were two broken people.


You see we had both been married before.


We had been married to people who were unsuited to us, people who did not love us the way we wanted to love or be loved.


And that broke us.


Because who we were, and from where we came from, marriage meant something. Marriage meant promises and commitment and love and respect and all the good things that being in a solid partnership can bring.


But we were married to the wrong people. People who didn't share the ideal.


Long before we met, we both ended our marriages. And it was sad. It was sad because divorce is the death of dreams. Of hopes. Of promises. Of the future that we all imagine when we imagine we are in love.


And then we met each other.


He courted me. And I courted him.


And over the course of two and a half years we came to trust each other. And love each other. And know each other. And respect each other. And we both thought, "hmmm... this is the way it is supposed to be". "This is what happiness and partnership looks like".


So we married.


The April before we got married (August 4th.) we went to Europe together. We spend two and half weeks traversing England and France. We visited London, riding the tube and walking the squares and eating and drinking in smoky pubs.


We crossed the channel from Portsmouth to Bayeux and biked the entire D-Day map. TBHITW was a history buff and we used Stephen Ambroses' book, "Citizen Soldier" as our map.


We slept in an 11th. century manor house.
We drank Calvados, the local apple brandy.
We drove to Mount St. Michel and watched the tide roar in at 60 miles an hour.
We rented an Alpha Romeo and with the top down, we drove to Caan and took the train to Paris.
The City of Lights.
We stayed on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées  and witnessed the finish to the Paris Marathon. 
We strolled under the Arc de Triumph. 
We went to the Eiffel Tower. And Notre Dame. And the Louvre.
We walked beside the canals. 
I spoke high school french. 
We ate wonderful food and drank cheap wine. Everyday we ate cheese, chocolate and bread. And because we were young we didn't gain a pound or worry about cholesterol.
People mistook us for honeymooners and we didn't correct them. 


When we got home we began planning our wedding. And our new home. 
I was moving from Pennsylvania to New Jersey where TBHITW already owned a home and a business. 


So it began. 


Our rehearsal dinner party was a picnic at a local suite hotel, with a pool. People swam in the warm summer evening. We BBQ'd and ate sushi. My sister's room was on the pool side so guests climbed in and out of her window to get to their own rooms or grab an extra drink. Other guests of the hotel, thinking it was a hotel happy hour, joined us and we let them. 


Family and friends came from all over the country to celebrate our wedding. Everyone said, "you look so happy" "I haven't seen you so happy in years" "Look at the two of you". 


We walked down the aisle together. 
No one had to give us to one other. 
We had already given ourselves to each other. 


For our "real" honeymoon we both decided that it wasn't fair to people (or to us) who had travelled so far to only get to spend a day or so together. 


So we rented a 10 bedroom beach house and invited anyone who wanted to come along with us. 


The beach house was not one of those new monolithic McMansions you so frequently see on the Jersey Shore. 


No, this house was old. It was clapboard. With porches that wrapped around its floors on every level. The kitchen had an enclosed screen porch that sat 18 for dinner.


It did not have air-conditioning, but had whirling ceiling fans in every room. Even the four bathrooms. 
It did not have a dishwasher because, really, if you are cooking for 18 people don't you think some of the 18 will help with the dishes. Over music and wine? Of course everyone pitches in.


Seventeen people came on our honeymoon and stayed the week. 


It was glorious. 


And I wouldn't go back and change a thing. 

Fifteen Days

It has been fifteen days now.

I am coping. Minute by minute, day by day. I had no idea that death could be so hard. So lonely, so empty and so complicated. 

Just when I think I am cried out, I cry. 

Just when I think I will drop, I move.

I go through the motions. 

I miss him so. 

It has been two weeks. I know, I know, a drop in the bucket. 

I am muddling through all the complications of death. 

TBHITW did it all. He handled all the finances, the business, the complicated stuff of daily life... taking out the garbage, oil changes, paying bills. We always said that if he "made the living, I would make it worth living"... 

I got lazy in the last two years since I left the "corporate world"... now I am trying to pick up all the pieces. His business, my business, the house, kids... dog... ugg. On top of that I would just like to lay around in his robe with his picture and a glass of wine. I'm trying my best. That has to do for now. I get up, get dressed, and go through the motions of life. I walk the dog. I watch the clock until it is a respectable time to go to bed. Then I get up and do it all again the next day. I feel like a puppet on a string. Or a fragile glass. Any one twitch or bump and I will shatter and break. 

Everyone says it will get better with time. Really? I want to shout at them REALLY???? How??? Is he going to walk through that door? Is he going to hold me in his arms? Is he going to kiss me one more time and tell me I'm beautiful?? Well, if not, then how is it going to get better?

But I don't shout at anyone. I just nod my head and say thank you and agree with them. 

And while I am screaming inside I am getting two kidadults ready for college and one 16 year old ready for his junior year in high school. And I'm doing the laundry and running the vacuum. And all the while I'm thinking... how can this be?

He came and kissed me the other day. I was napping. I always read or napped (okay, okay, napped) between 3 & 4pm on the weekend (okay, okay, during the week too)... he would be up in his office and would ask me what time I would like to wake up if I happened to fall asleep (while reading). I would say, "oh, four o'clock. I was in that half way zone of awake and asleep and I felt someone sit down and gently kiss me. It was so nice, so gentle.. I opened my eyes and it was four o'clock. 

That is what keeps me going.