My mind is somewhere else. Far off into the past, and far off into the future.  Today, I will try to bring myself back to the present moment — my son’s cast will be removed today. What a milestone this is. Although, we must not get too excited… he’ll be back in a boot, non-walking for up to three months. But physical therapy starts today… and that shrunken leg, which breaks my heart to see, will start its rebuilding process. This is a first step toward healing. For this, I am grateful.

If I can find that open window of time, when we are all at home from sports practices at the same time, I will bake Brownies to celebrate this moment in time, in real time.

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Then, the water dried up. An evil one, seeking to gain the kingship over the country, built a dam against the river, and kept the water from flowing down to the villages.

“People! Your crops are withering. Your animals are gasping. And your children – don’t you care for your children? Your children are weeping for water. People! Your People are dying!”

Suddenly, apples, walnuts, cheese, chicken and even black raspberries lost their allure. When the dam finally broke, and the water was set free, it was the water that became delicious. No one could argue. Everyone agreed. Unanimously, water became the most delicious food. Everything else was just a fringe benefit. My kids are water connoisseurs… saying they like the well water from the lake much more than this city-filtered water here. And when they’re really hot and thirsty… it’s water they want… with lots of ice.

As I read these words to my boys tonight, each one eager to finally get to the end of the book to find out if their own guesses were right, there was a look of revelation on their faces as they realized they too had overlooked the most obvious, yet prized resource.

Sometimes, you have to loose everything to discover what really means the most to you. Here’s to all of you still searching.

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He asked if he could jump off the diving boards. I didn’t know. Could he swim to the ladder? So hard to know, as the lake obscures so many of the boundaries that he swims around.

“Sure,” I said, gingerly, keeping my watchful gaze over his body, while scanning the distance from the diving board to the ladder.

He Jumped, and easily swam to the ladder.

Shot from my htc Google phone.

Beaming from his success, he looked back at me and said, “Can I go off the high dive?”

“Sure,” I said.

He marched up the ladder. Took a break, and looked down, and carefully, climbed back down the ladder backwards.

“Mom, you were wrong. I can’t do that.

And Happy Birthday.

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We’ll be up tomorrow, and this will be a big weekend for star/planet gazing. They tell us we’ll be able to spot Mars. Will you stand on that pier waiting for us, in the dark, like you did that one night when we were watching shooting stars? We barely knew you were there, so close to us, standing so majestically in the dark.

I wonder, has your little offspring made it over to our side of the lake yet?  I love how his downey head, with his bold stripe,  looks so much fluffier than yours. He stands proud, just like you. Are you teaching him about us?

You’re a good friend Charlie. Can’t wait to see you this weekend.

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Like a true girlfriend, she sat down on the bed beside me, and snuggled up close to see how I was, before checking on the baby. I lifted the sheets, and showed her how magically this birth had just “flattened my belly like a pancake.” A weight had truly been lifted off of my lungs, and air was much easier to take in. I was thinking how lucky I was to get off so easy – no crunches required. The second I gave birth, my stomach was instantaneously “concave.”

Except when I lifted the sheets and saw her eyes, I sadly realized my perception was a little skewed from reality. Maybe it was all those percocets I had been taking. She looked at my belly, and back up to my face and said, “yeah, it takes awhile to loose some of that.” A bit embarrassed, I pretended to know what she was talking about, brushed off her words and turned our attention to the little baby lying beside the bed.

Fourteen years later, she surprised me again by standing on my doorstep, her black hair falling forward, framing her face. Like a true girlfriend, she plopped down on the sofa with me, and she held me close, knowing a hug was what I sorely needed. Her hand dropped slowly across me, and we both noticed the four-inch wide gap between the waist of my pants and the now truly concave shape of my belly.

A girl may carry her emotions on her face, but it is her belly that reveals what’s happening in her spirit. The belly is the center of power. Yogis tell us that strengthening the belly is vital, as all the energy centers radiate from the frequency given off by the belly. That little pouch that first appears signals the arrival of a new life, or the “extra tire” reveals her satisfaction with the people she loves, and in her confidence to eat just two more of those chocolate chip cookies. Sometimes the belly is not just flat, but seems to be missing. The cookies have lost their charm, and greasy indulgences of junk food are simply passed over. Nothing seems to fit. Almost as if she is getting rid of everything that no longer belongs to who she is. When the belly is truly concave, this is a time when a girl is quietly giving birth to herself.

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He was standing on his crutches, looking out at the back window into the yard at the lake house.

I looked there too, but still didn’t see what he was talking about. So, politely, I said, “yeah, nice.”

He saw through my indifference, and said, “Look at how the sunlight is shinning only on the tree.”

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When we ran out of “supplies” and we’d all run to shore for a pit stop — bathroom breaks, drinks and snacks — chips were all we wanted. Those 8 of us who boarded her boat (her husband’s boat) got a bit more than just a few snacks. Before we even stepped foot inside of her kitchen, she was already pulling turkey and cheese out of the fridge making “turkey benders.” Turkey and cheese on bread, folded over. (If you’re bigger, you get a double bender — two slices of bread.)

In what seemed like less than 30 seconds, eight of us were filling our empty stomachs wtih sandwiches. “How can she always be so girl-scout ready,” I often wonder. My picky kids, gobbled them up without saying a word. I liked her “swoop” method of feeding kids… just make it fast and put it in front of their face before they have a chance to say no.

I miss you.

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On Friday, I fell, and my right ski was far off on the other side of the lake. So, rather than sending the boat off for my ski, I said, “Let’s just try one deep water, and then I’m done.” (Deep water meaning, getting up on one ski, rather than two and dropping one.) This takes tremendous strength and skill. Simply “trying” would teach me something, even if I didn’t make it up. Yet, to my utter amazement, when the boat pulled, I stood right up. There were cheers over the water again. No longer did we need to haul around that extra ski, and I accomplished more than I dreamed in just a few short weeks.

After deep water starts on Friday, Saturday and one Sunday morning, I was assured that the technique was well under my belt. Yet on my second run on Sunday, I could not make it up. There were four, maybe five attempts, and nothing. I took the defeat as simple bumps in the water, even that I could feel victory literally pulled out of my hands each time the boat took off, and I stayed down in the water.

Later Sunday afternoon, I waited for the water to clear, so that my husband could take me out again. After 8 tries, and no success, my body said, I had to give up. I fought back tiny tears of discouragement. I discovered new muscles – flexor carpi radialis. Those are the muscles in your forearm that radiate from your fingers when you grip something — like a rope handle — for dear life. The pain prevented me from curving my fingers around the throttle on the boat when it was my turn to drive. The ache lingers, preventing me from holding a pen properly, days later, when I fill out schools forms.

My spirit was sunk to the bottom of the lake.

On Monday, I loaded my extra ski into the boat, and thankfully, my ski trainers didn’t utter a word about that odd ski showing up again. When it was my turn, I said, “Let me do three deep water tries, and then throw me the ski.” The familiar maxims were shouted, and I tried to comprehend their meaning as if I were hearing them for the first time: Knees to chest, arms straight, pull like you’re playing tug-of-war with the boat. Yet, I couldn’t get it together. My body acted as if it had never skied a day before in its life. My flexor carpi radialis just wanted me to stop the madness. Three tries later, they ended up throwing me the ski. We just needed to get the job done, at that point. Kindly, the driver said, “You need to feel what it’s like to be back on top of the water again.” Easily, I stood right back up, and dropped that extra ski as quickly as I could. He was right: standing up on the water melted away my frustration…. at least I was up again.

My summer ski days are extremely limited now. My muscles are screaming for a break, and a break is what I’ll give them as I head back home to handle the necessities of first day of school paperwork. Yes, it would be nice to dock the boat for the winter while knowing I still have it… but for now, I’m having a dry spell in the deep water.

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Add a layer of a sliced fresh-off-the-vine tomato.

Sprinkle with salt and pepper

Place under broiler in oven for 5 minutes.

Take pizza from oven, and cover with fresh herbs, a bit more salt, and, this is the most important part –  a drizzle of balsamic vinegar.

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Sometimes, by the time you’ve heard a squeal, you’re too late to look where they’re looking — because the streak will be gone already. But every once in a while, you’ll get one that lasts, and lasts, and lasts, and everyone sees it at the same time. More fun than a MilkyWay candy bar.

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camera

so that when

I jump off the dock,

I’m invisible.

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The cardboard flaps were peeled back, and out popped two glistening bottles of sparkling wine, with gold-foil labels, from a winery in California, Chandon. “What is my husband up to now?” I wondered. A text from him simply said, “Oh, you got them?”

What to serve with those glistening bottles? Flowers, of course, but what could I do to mix it up? Never mind the fact that in spite of how delicious and rich this meal is, the combination of the sugar in the champagne, and the richness of the cheese sent my stomach in a surprising tizzy. This meal was, and still is, one of the most amazing meals I have ever cooked — and probably eaten. I gathered some fresh zucchini blossoms from the garden, with the baby zucchini still attached. I found only four blossoms, and knew that wouldn’t be enough. To round things out, I added some Day Lilies to the mix.

I soaked the flowers in cold salt water to get rid of the ants and dirt.

Meanwhile, I mixed

• A cup of ricotta cheese
• ¼ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
• One egg
• Handful of chopped basil
• One minced garlic clove

In another bowl, I mixed a cup of flour with just enough soda water to make the flour frothy and runny.

Then, I carefully opened the flowers, and spooned the cheese mixture inside the flower, and twisted the ends shut to hold the mixture. Next, I dipped the stuffed flowers into the flour water, and laid each blossom in a hot skillet, already coated with olive oil. I fried until crispy on one side, and then flipped, and crisped them up on the other side.

N0w, if only I could get my stomach strong enough to try the combination again… because this was a meal I truly enjoyed cooking and eating.

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Frogs like to live in the tall grassy weeds, and there, unbeknownst to my son, was a big bed of Poison Ivy. He had marched right though the weeds, and there was not one spot of his body that didn’t hold some welt of the inflamed itches. I mean everywhere. Even his ears.

His eyes were soon swelled (not shut) and his itching was relentless.

But yet, there is a cure, and I must feel compelled to share this — because I can’t stand to see kids suffer. I did not get this stuff for free, (I wish! The stuff is expensive.) This is not a review. Zanfel Poison Ivy Cream is a Poison Ivy, (or Poison Oak or Sumac) soap that will eliminate the posion — not just the itches. The sooner you treat it, obviously, the better. But even my son’s poison, which had been growing for about 4 days, was curable… just took several applications. This stuff is a soap, but it comes in a tube, and squeezes out like lotion… kind of weird. Would have preferred it was a bar of soap. And, this stuff is quite expensive… $30 for a tube of the stuff, but considering what a visit to the doctor would have cost, combined with potential steroid shots, we came out pretty easy.

The hardest part was figuring out how to apply the stuff… very specific instructions.

1) Get a shower and get all wet.

2) Squeeze out EXACTLY 1.5 inches of Zanfel (there is a ruler enclosed in the packaging) and rub this stuff in your hands for 3 minutes with water to create a lather.

3) Rub the soap onto the affected areas.

4) Leave soap on until the itching stops. Which, for my son, was quite complicated… because he had different stages of the poision, so when one area felt like it was “cured,” and he would jump in the shower to wash it off, he suddenly remembered there was another spot that still itched. So, we had to do this several times before we got him all settled.

Then, he was happily, again, comforatble in his own skin.

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The first time I heard such cheers came on Sunday afternoon, when I doubled-skied with a girlfriend. Neither one of us is a great skier, but we can get up on two skis – but could we do it at the same time? All summer, over glasses of wine, we’d say, “we’re going to double ski this summer and wave at everyone on the lake,” until one day our words put us smack dab in the water together, side by side, behind a boat while our husbands checked to make sure the ropes were the same length.

The crowd of sons and friends was beginning to form on the porch, and we looked at each other and said, “Why are we doing this?” She said, “I don’t know.” Then, she said, “we have to get up… look at all those people watching.” One rope was too long, and while the men worked, we said the inevitable “We’re ready,” and off we went… both of us at the same time. The people on the porch cheered, and we laughed.

She is a much better waver than me… my fingers were always too busy gingerly grabbing the rope handle to let go long enough for a good parade-style wave like hers. We talked and laughed all the way across the wake, and tried to give each other a high-five. After one lap, I looked for our people on the porch to give them a good wave, only to see that they were already gone…

because they had all jumped onto a pontoon boat so they could get good pictures, and cheer. This picture was taken after the ski run… because everyone was so busy taking pictures of us, that no one took this one.

I couldn’t help but notice that skiing was starting to feel “comfortable,” rather than life threatening. Plus, there was no pain, and the “weird walking-on-water sport” was becoming effortless, and FUN. That terrified panic I felt standing behind a boat was long gone. Instead of allowing the boat to pull me at its will, I was deciding where I would go and when… the right side of the wake was my favorite, and I noticed that my left leg was the strongest when it came to moving across the wake.

Now might be time to lift one leg and find out what it felt like to slalom. “All you need is some clear water,” they said. So, I ventured out, on Monday morning, to join the 10 a.m. Ski Club – this is where the pristine waters thrive. Just after the fishing boats leave, just before the tubers have rolled out of bed, and the “wake” is officially opened on the lake. The slalom skiers are out there every morning, driving the boat slowly across the water (so as not to make a wake) at ten till ten, sitting in position and ready for the first skier to cut through the glass-like water at 10 on the dot.

That morning there were four slalom skiers. Each skier went up and down the lake one time, at least 30 mph, creating a great wall of spray that went well above their heads.

They are so amazing. But, I told myself, “All you’re going to do is get up… and maybe try to balance and then fall… and you’ve got great coaches in the boat to help you get there.”

On my turn, I went to the right side of the wake, lifted up one leg, and to my surprise did not fall. “Now, to get this ski off my foot…” I struggled to get my foot out, looked down, and immediately fell flat on my face. The pros in the boat laughed and said, “You could of told us you were going to slalom this time.” Except, I didn’t know I was going to do that until then.

Second time, they made the bindings looser… and then, I made them even looser. I wondered if I could get up with that big ski flapping all over my right foot, but I did. As soon as I was settled on the right side of the wake, off went the ski, and away I went. I dared to breathe, and let out a cheer… and I still didn’t fall.

The boat cheered, and I laughed, and still didn’t fall. OK, so, I was only going 20 mph to their 30s. Yet, I could not in a million years believe this was happening. Until we hit a turn, and down I came. But that half-lake slalom run was enough to earn my glass of champagne on a Monday morning.

I still can’t believe this happened. Thanks for all the coaching.

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Yet, summer is not cooperating with me. Summer wants me to identify its memory with something more sinister. This was before my husband started crossing the continent on airplanes, and we started just missing each other at home, and at the lake. Our schedules are completely out-of-sync, and in late-night panics, I wonder if there will ever be a time again when our heartbeats occupy the same time in space.

This was before the great accident of the summer, which, in the words of my husband, “changed everything.” Since that accident, I’ve been on my own, while my husband is busy traveling, and the workload seems to have tripled. All the things that my son could do before he can no longer do. So, I am doing all the work that he once did, and we are taking care of him. The younger boys haven’t quite embraced the concept of “picking up the slack.” When people ask my husband, “How’s Susie’s break at the lake,” he says, “It’s not really a vacation any more.”

I know how to be strong, and I want to appear that all is under control — but sometimes I am not. I’d really love to have an adult give me a break in the evening. But my husband and I have been like ping-pong balls in opposite sides of the court lately. When I was home for surgery, my husband was in Seattle. Then, through some fluke of flight scheduling, I came back to the lake, anticipating seeing him here, only to learn later that an emergency meeting sent him right back home less than 6 hours after he arrived. The kids are happier here at the lake, so that makes life easier here, and the thought of packing for another 3-hour car ride with the boys, only to turn around and come back in a few days seemed silly. When we were home, the boys rarely ventured outside. So we settled in and stayed. Besides, you lake friends do make life bearable.

While those solo moonlight boat rides to watch the shooting stars may have happened only a few weeks ago, they feel stretched in time, sitting in past decades. Uncle Bud and Aunt Joyce are coming Friday morning; they always are a refreshing break. If all goes as planned, I’ll be in my husband’s arms again by Friday afternoon. Until then, this is my touchstone.

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Read my article in the August issue of Columbus Monthly to learn how he rememered just how fun the sport is, and the great things he’s doing for Pelotonia.

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Yet, everyday that bright kale greeted me, undaunted by the heat. Then, I would say to myself, in my insomnia-stressed state, “I really should be making a shake out of that,” but didn’t.

Finally, I gave in and set out to rescue the greens. There was no way I could drink it all, no matter how much I stuffed into my immersion blender. So, I Googled, “How to freeze greens.” There were the familiar steps of blanching; cold-water bath and then storing in zip lock bags. Yet, somehow, the idea of putting soggy, goopy blanched frozen kale into my morning shake (even with the blackberries) did not appeal to me.

So, I dehydrated the greens. Why I didn’t think of this before, because it is so simple, fast, and easy, I don’t know. But it’s perfect. Takes up less space, requires no freezing, and all the nutrients are intact – and not soggy. This powder tastes great, and can easily be dropped into soups, shakes and salads. Now, I have jars of that expensive green powder they sell at health food stores in my pantry. I kept the oregano separate from the sage, but I put the kale and spinach together and called it “greens.” From there, I pulverized the powder with my food processor to make a “stealth” powder.

Wash the greens first, just like you would do as you were cooking them. On Google I learned all kinds of ways to dehydrate food. Some people put them in their hot car! Could work. But dehydrators are cheap, and does it fast. Others use an oven at 150 degrees on screens. Each batch of greens took about an hour to create crispy – and quite tasty leaves. Amazing, to me, how that big bunch of greens dried up into this small little amount. I also learned the zucchini; carrots and beets also do quite well dehydrated… so this might be a new option for me. Of course, there are always tomatoes, which I do in the years when I am blessed with tomatoes. (This might be one of them.)

So, all of you Deceptively Delicious fans, trying to get more veggies in your kids food by doing all that prep work of cooking and pureeing the veggies, might want to consider dehydrating instead. Now, the kids will never know what hit them when I sprinkle some of these greens into their food.

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and some flowers, just for good measure.

He handed me the bundle, still covered with dirt, and said, “Happy Birthday,” and took off back to the dock to play.

I was very grateful.

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