spring break 2024

Last week, Liz and I took off for a few days to South Carolina to visit my mom.  It was UVM's spring break, and although Carolyn was traveling to Georgia with her rowing team - Liz didn't have any plans. I thought it would be a great opportunity for some one-on-one time with my girl, and a wonderful chance for her to spend time with our one and only Noni. 

After departing our house at 4:20 AM, we arrived in Greenville by 10:30 AM.  There was a slight snafu at the airport when luggage tags and identifying objects from someone else's suitcase, were placed on my suitcase, and I thought for sure someone had accidentally grabbed my bag (which looked identical to their bag - right down to the turquoise blue pipe cleaner I have wrapped around my handle) and departed the airport. For the next 90 minutes, Liz and I took turns calling the owner of the luggage tags no less than 70X.  When I sent Charlie a photo of the baggage tag - he also started calling them.  Seeing as this individual worked with Amazon, per the tag on the bag, I also sent an APB to several of my Amazon friends with the plea that they help me track down this person and implore them to return to the airport. Aside from needing my toothbrush, when we left Vermont it was 12 degrees, it was now 65 degrees warmer and I desperately needed to swap out my flannel for linen.  

See, I never check my bags for this very reason. But because we were flying in to Greenville on a regional jet with virtually no overhead space, everyone had to gate check their suitcases.  Suffice to say, it was only when I'd finally left the airport - and was nearly at my mother's house - that the person finally checked their messages and/or was tracked down by colleagues, they called to tell me that they had the correct suitcase and asked, "Did you open the suitcase to confirm it wasn't yours?" 

Uh, no.  Why would anyone ever do something logical like that? 

After driving all the way back to the airport to retrieve what actually was my bag, we had lunch with my mom and her friends in the lovely dining halls at Furman University.  Over the next few days, we accompanied mom to a doctor's appointment where she was diagnosed (and treated) for bursitis in her hip.  We lounged about watching movies (Cinderella, 2015 for the win!)... 

Visited my aunt Grace and numerous cousins... 

And made a fun event out of raking up 1,000,000 gum balls from Auntie's front lawn. This was the payment for Liz and Liz's hard efforts!  

We visited my sister, Marylou... 

And Liz got advanced lessons on knitting and crocheting from her grandmother and aunt. 

Before we left on Monday afternoon, we stopped for lunch at a Mexican restaurant near my mom's house where we played a raucous game of Crazy Bridge.  These days, I never leave home without a deck of cards in my purse; they're right next to my Altoids, First Aid Kit, multi-purpose tool and headlamp.  Scouting has clearly rubbed off on me, I'm almost always prepared. 

Not surprisingly, the Mexican food didn't sit well with me. Increasingly for the past few years, I've come to realize that I generally cannot eat out at restaurants without significant gastrointestinal upset.  Mom loaded me up with some Maalox and Tums and we bid adieu for the airport.  After landing in DC, Liz pointed out that because there are no Chic-Fil-A restaurants in Vermont, this would likely be our LAST CHANCE to have the world's best chicken nuggets for who knows how long?? The thought briefly crossed my mind, "I probably shouldn't...." but that didn't stop me from dashing in and adding an 8-count to her 12-count order before we boarded our final leg home.   

I was feeling great. 

We landed just before midnight, in the midst of a blizzard that was sweeping across Vermont. After dropping Liz back off at school, Charlie and I returned home and went to sleep.  A mere three hours later, I woke up with what felt like a rock in my stomach.  After getting up and moving about, the pain only intensified.  By 6:30 AM, Charlie awoke to my moaning and retching.  Expletives were issued when he asked what was wrong with me.  After pacing about the house for a while, by 8:30 AM in my pajamas and snow boots, and holding a bucket which I kept filling, my husband loaded his delirious wife in to the car for a trip to the Emergency Room.  I kept telling him I really thought it was just gas, but Charlie insisted that I be checked. 

God bless this man for staying by my side: in sickness, the worst of me most definitely comes out. I was cursing everything and everyone, including S. Truett Cathy, the founder of Chic-Fil-A.  He may have been a Christian man, but the devil is surely in those chicken nuggets.  

For the next two hours, as I literally writhed around in pain and cries, clutching and filling a disposable cardboard bowl the nurses gave me ... we waited in the lobby of the ER before being placed in a room.  They asked me what my pain level was on a scale of 1-10, and I gasped "12."  They gave me warm blankets and an IV with morphine and asked if there was anything else they could get me and I said, "A GUN."  The morphine didn't touch the pain. Nor did the oxycodone which they added to my regiment. They gave me even more morphine.  The only time I laid flat is when I had to for the CT scans and ultrasounds. The rest of the time, the most comfortable position I found was standing, with a slight bend over the gurney, with my head propped on a stack of pillows.  The painkillers didn't kill the pain - they just made me so groggy I couldn't complain as loudly. 

Charlie called to tell my mother I'd arrived home safely, but was now in the hospital. After 12 hours, my diagnosis was a splenic infarction.  We have no idea how or when this would have happened and visits to specialists are in my future.  But I remain unconvinced that my purportedly injured spleen had ANYTHING to do with the acute illness I experienced Tuesday.  Because it was ultimately determined to be a "nonsurgical" emergency, I opted to leave the hospital and return home where I would feel much more comfortable bending slightly over my own bed with my head propped on a stack of pillows. 

Although I was loaded up with prescriptions for Zofran and oxycodone, once home, I took two Dulcolax, and drank a hot cup of water with a capful of Miralax. Within two hours, like holy, glorious magic, I started to feel better.   I then downed two more Dulcolax and chased it with 119 grams of Miralax which were mixed into Gatorade, replicating the cleanse protocol that was required before the colonoscopy I'd had in 2022.  Wednesday was largely spent in the bathroom, but for the first time in 36 hours, I could stand upright and didn't feel like my body was possessed by dark forces.  Charlie took off his garlic necklace and extinguished the prayer candles.   

Laxatives did what morphine and codeine could not.   

Holy sh*t.  Gas is no laughing matter.  

I've already added Dulcolax and Miralax to my purse. 

yo - yo - yo, we're hooked on the dough

Last week was Henry's spring break from school, so we took a drive to Boston.  It was a great trip: we visited my sister, Beth and her son, Michael - and went out to dinner with my brother Wally and his spouse, Donna.  One of the days, I went in to my company's office to work - while Henry found a gym to work out for a few hours, and Charlie found a Starbucks to get some work of his own, done.  We had a chance to visit my Dad's younger sister, Peggy, who lives in Boston and spent the afternoon walking all around the city and to the New England Aquarium. 

On the drive back to Burlington, we stopped by King Arthur Baking Company which I'm so proud to announce: IS IN VERMONT.  OUR state: which I'm convinced is the coolest little state in the nation. 

There's a Bakery - A Cafe - A School - And A Store.  At the factory, just down the road a spell, you can buy all kinds of flour in bulk.  

Here I am with Henry...  he's 6'1 and still growing.  His goal was to be bigger than his brother before William returns home from Germany. While it's unlikely he'll surpass 6'4" in the next four months, he has become fanatical about working out and spends hours every day at the gym.  He'll be entering his first powerlifting competition next week and is very happy that he can lift insane amounts of weights. I've found this is very helpful for lugging bags of insanely heavy flour. 

Here's a picture of one of the classrooms, inside.  Look at all the pretty bright red matching Kitchen Aids!!!  This is now on my bucket list, to drive down and take a class @ KA with a KA!   

They have clothing! 

Hats! 

Beautiful baking sheets, bowls, and all kinds of gear that I didn't know what it was, but I'm sure would make cooking and baking so much BETTER. 

I'm happy to report we didn't go completely crazy. This was our haul. I bought the hat, Charlie and Henry both both shirts which they've been wearing this week.  Oh how we all love to bake!! 

Charlie and I have a pact that we will strive to not buy new gear and supplies for the kitchen until we redo our kitchen.  I'm not sure when exactly that'll happen: we're hoping for next year, but TBD.  Will admit, the one thing we *do* miss about Texas is our brand new gourmet kitchen which we had just finished remodeling before we left on vacation.  But, whenever I start to get weepy about the loss of our Wolf steam oven, I dream about our future kitchen. It might look something like this. 

Then I snap out of it and think about how blessed we are to have a functioning kitchen and although it is quite dated, I am reminded of our old appliances in Fairfax and how they lasted forever.   

(BTW: that oven fire didn't actually destroy our oven like I thought it would!) 

Here's my setup: ready for action - new scale and bread whisk - which has been great. 

Here's the sourdough I made earlier this week, which went went quite nicely with the corned beef and cabbage that Charlie had made for dinner.  It was delicious - but next time, I think we will cook it longer.  We read that you can cook corned beef for up to 24 hours in a slow cooker.  That sounds like a fun experiment we may have to test out for St. Patrick's Day. 

The "crumb" of the bread is the soft part within the crust.  Real sourdough bakers will say things like, "LOOK AT THIS CRUMB!"  LOOK AT IT!  Doesn't it look beautiful?  I still have a lot to learn with shapes and fun patterns, but appearance aside: this is the best tasting bread I've ever had. 

Another highlight of the week was receiving a case of wine from our niece, Alice, who lives in Northern California and works at Handley Cellar vineyards.  Charlie's brother, George (Alice's dad) had sent us a couple of bottles for Christmas, and Charlie thought they were so good - that very night, he went online, bought a case, and joined the wine of the month club. They'd been waiting to ship the wine since December because they wanted to make sure it wasn't at risk of freezing in transit. Since we had warmer weather this week - it was finally shipped and got here just before the storm that is currently dropping two-feet of snow on our mountains.  

So, we have a house full of yummy wine, and another batch of bread going in to the oven, today. 

AFTER TODAY, I've told Charlie that this was my prayer and intent for the REST OF THE WEEK. Even though I mostly wear wool and flannel, which are very stretchable, my friends have told me that if I'm going to lament going up a pant size, I must break up with King Arthur. 

This was Charlie's response, as he was awaiting his haircut. 

So it is, I've become quite the domestic: I cut hair AND bake bread.  

Now, if only I could just savor the smell of it without inhaling an entire loaf, I'd be all set. 

Vermont just keeps getting better and better

Our good friend, and former boys' Scoutmaster, Keith, came to visit us last week.  Keith recently moved to Vermont from Texas - and was in town to help support a STEM Merit Badge University day at UVM.  He arrived Friday night with a mason jar full of sourdough starter and thus we launched in to an entire weekend of baking. 

 

(So much for our plan to try and shed 25 pounds by April. Ha!) 

For whatever reason, when the rest of the world was going wild over sourdough during the pandemic, we never even attempted it.  But Keith did - and over the past four years - he perfected his recipe and technique.  As an original New Yorker, he also perfected the art of bagel-making, which he also shared with us, last weekend. 

In case you didn't know (I didn't!) sourdough has been around for thousands of years, originating in Egypt. It doesn't use "commercial yeast" to rise, but rather, a "starter" which is fermented flour and water. It rose to big fame (get it, rose?) in the US, during the California Gold Rush of 1849, because miners could easily make or obtain starter.  And that's why sourdough bread is such a big deal in San Francisco. Don't you love history? I do!! 

The sourdough bread we baked with Keith was phenomenal. 

It was a heavenly experience consuming this bread, hot out of the oven, with a pat of butter.  My spirit left my body for a moment. 

The bagels, however, which we made with yeast, sank like rocks when we boiled them.  What we learned during the process, is that the 3-gallon bag of yeast we bought at Costco two (five? ten?) years ago, and have been storing in our cabinet, is completely kaput.  We might have clued in to this earlier seeing as we bake with it frequently, and often lament that our dough has a dismal rise.  But alas, the light didn't fully come on until Keith observed that the bagels which had been stored in the refrigerator overnight, were flat as pancakes, and he had to scrape them off the bottom of the pot as they boiled. His comment, "This isn't yeast. This is least." 

That didn't stop us from scarfing them down, though, while making a mental note that we would buy fresh yeast and repeat the process. Soon. 

Soon arrived yesterday.  Charlie and I spent the afternoon in the kitchen - he on one side making bagels, me on the other side, "feeding" my starter and making more batches of sourdough. 

After letting everything "proof" in the refrigerator last night, this morning was the grand test. 

The bagels had risen! 

They floated! 

They baked to perfection! 

I'll bake the loaves of sourdough, tonight, just in time for the scores of college students that will be arriving home for a monthly home-cooked dinner.  Currently debating if we should serve more than bread and butter....?   Honestly, that's enough for me.  With a nice Pinot.  

The most exciting development in all of this, however, is that during this baking frenzy we've discovered that King Arthur, the KING OF FLOUR,  is *just* down the road a spell.  

King Arthur flour is in Vermont.    

The factory. 

The store. 

The cafe.   

Anywhooo.  You'll never guess where Charlie and I are headed this week? 

the fourth quarter rundown

So where were we?  Oh yes ... I'd start updating my blog with increased frequency!  The fact is, I do think about this blog nearly every day, even if I've been positively dismal about keeping it current. 

Life is so different around our house these days, most notably - cleaner and much more organized.  Although when I went upstairs to drop something off in Henry's room for the first time in several weeks, I quickly recognized that more random and routine inspections might be warranted.  I'm not as strict nor as disciplined with "just one" child at home, because it doesn't feel like the house is perpetually teetering on the edge of a hoarder's dream. Turns out the abysmal mess is just limited to the upstairs where that just one child predominantly resides.

Not only did I find several of our dishes which if I didn't know better, might have thought were part of some biology experiment cultivating multi-cellular life forms, the dirty laundry pile on the floor moved before my very eyes.  As I quickly shut the door before whatever it was in the pile came after me, I thought it's really a good thing he sleeps with his window open, even in the dead of winter.  I am quite certain, if the stale air in my teenager's son room had hit me, I might have passed out with a smile on my face before I could summon the exterminator.  Smile on my face because these are all such precious times for me.  I'm savoring all of it - even the messy stuff - because that rapid reduction from a headcount of six to three, has shaken me to just how fleeting this time all is. 

Henry does miss his siblings, but they connect quite often. As in, every day.  Thanks to modern technology, he is able to play video games with his brother in Germany, and the kids have a group chat that is always lighting up.  This recent screenshot of a telephone call they had and shared with me, made my heart so happy. I pray that they are always so close and William never loses the ability to make all of his siblings (and himself) crack up. 

It also helps that we have a standing date with the girls where once a month, we will drive down the street, pick them up from school, and make the less than 10-minute drive back to our house for a home cooked meal.  Last month, Elizabeth called and said that a few kids from the cross-country team were craving fajitas. If they brought the supplies, could they come over and use our kitchen?  I'd been at a campout with our scouts, and arrived home to find the UVM freshman cross-country team in our kitchen.  

As in, the entire UVM freshman cross-country team, minus I believe only two.

So glad we picked out that table that could expand to seat 3X our immediate family size. Never realized just how handy it would come in, but it is indeed the perfect furniture piece if your dining room ever needs to be transformed to a cafeteria. 

 

Last week, we had all three girls home, Elizabeth, Carolyn, and Lucy - our "honorary" daughter that moved to Vermont from Texas and is studying nursing at UVM.  Lucy is a good friend of the girls, and was in our Texas scout troop.  It's been so much fun having her here, even if she did finish all the puzzles in our house over Thanksgiving break.  

She also introduced us to an incredibly good Jack Daniel's chocolate pecan pie, hailing from her grandmother's Mississippi, the likes of which we've never experienced.  Absolutely yes: Lucy can stay.

 

Carolyn has been having a blast on the UVM rowing team and with all of her classes, and although both she and her sister have each changed their college major no less than 12 times since the start of the semester - it definitely feels like she is headed in the right direction.  

Over the summer, I happened to notice that Carolyn's hair was looking a little thin because as the kids can all attest: nothing gets past my eyes.  Unless I'm not wearing my readers and then I'm blind as a bat. 

When it didn't appear that her hair was getting any thicker despite all the fancy conditioners that claim to increase volume - during her recent visit to the doctor, I asked that they run a blood panel. A few days later, when the results came back and I learned that her calcium levels were above the average range, and TSH an order of magnitude below the average range, it took less than 30 seconds of me Googling her lab results to determine she was terminal.  

To say that my mind went to the worst case scenario is a gross understatement. I don't know why the mind does that to us, or my mind does that to me specifically (does no one else have this affliction??), but I honestly could not function for nearly three days.  Thank goodness Carolyn was off living her best life in college - still getting up every morning at 5:30 AM to row - and didn't witness the spectacle that her mother had become as she summoned all of her prayer warrior friends, while tearily slumping about the house, despairing a life without her.   

The happy news, we went back to the doctor last week and although all of her numbers are not yet back - the preliminary results are extremely positive.  Also, she stopped taking biotin, which it turns out can make the TSH levels go completely wacky.  I've since STOPPED THINKING ABOUT IT and am doing my best to direct my energy to our upcoming Christmas vacation to Europe. 

We're taking our first family trip across the pond and are really looking forward to seeing all of the sights. The most important of which will be our William.

Of course THIS ONE hasn't been keeping me up at night.  

Oh, meine nerven.  To think I was ever skittish about when they were little. 

the phenomenon of free "me" time

This morning, I woke up at 4:40 AM to take Charlie to the airport for a 6:00 flight. The beauty of living in a small town, with a small airport, is we left the house by 4:53 and were at the airport by 5:01. By the time I returned home, he had already checked through security, purchased a cup of coffee, and was sitting at his gate.   

When I arrived home, Henry was awake preparing his breakfast, which consisted of a chocolate protein shake. Henry's been on a major health kick and in addition to being scrupulous about his diet, works out for at least 2-3 hours, every single day.  Seeing the transformation in his physique over the past few months has been incredible; but seeing his devotion and discipline to following this regimented program he has established for himself is even more awe-inspiring.  I've always known he was incredibly headstrong. Now he has the chest, shoulders, arms, back and legs to go with it. 

After trying his hand working at the local grocery store last year, Henry decided that rather than sell food, he wanted to cook food, so is now working at a nearby restaurant; posturing himself for a team lead position.  Quite ambitious for a 16-year old, but he feels he's ready.   The only catch is that he works the morning shift, so has to be there by 6:00 AM on Saturday and Sunday morning to fire up the oven. Thankfully, we live along the Champlain Bike Trail, and the restaurant is also along the Trail - so he can easily ride his bike to and fro.  He can actually get there faster than if I drive him, and, since his gym is across the street from the restaurant - he can pop over for his work out, then ride his bike home. 

All this to say, after Henry left this morning at 5:55, I realized that I have the entire house to myself for the next 11 hours with nothing scheduled.  All the laundry is done. The house is clean. The yard is in good shape. The plants are watered, bills are paid.  The fridge is stocked. I'm racking my brain and cannot remember the last time I had the house all to myself for that span of time with nothing pressing to do?  It might have been early October 2004, before I was admitted to the hospital? 

I poured myself a cup of hot tea, lit the fire - because the sensation of autumn is in the glorious Vermont air - and snuggled up with my day planner to contemplate what in the world I wanted to achieve, today. 

If anything at all!  

Two sips in, my phone rang. It was Elizabeth calling to alert me that she was on her way to a 7:00 AM appointment for an MRI on her knee which has been bothering her for the past several months. When the appointment was first scheduled, she had asked if I wanted to go with her.  Since her appointment was scheduled before I knew that Charlie would be flying out of town at O'dark thirty, and I would thereby, already be awake .... I cringed at the idea of waking up early to sit in a hospital waiting room for an extended period of time on a Sunday morning.  

Rather than dwell on whether my lack of desire to attend an MRI appointment with my 18-year old makes me a bad mother, I considered that perhaps this was a unique opportunity for her to navigate a specialist appointment, all on her own?  It's really all in the perspective we take:  I'm not a bad mother, I'm a great mother who wants her children to be independent.  While I enjoy a cup of tea at home on a Sunday morning.

Elizabeth called me while she was still in her dorm, and because her building abuts the UVM hospital, within three minutes of leaving her room - she was in the Radiology department.  

Her check-in was supposed to be at 7:15, her scan at 8:00, and she arrived a whole 25 minutes early because she abhors being late to things.  We chatted for 25 minutes, and then another 50 more, when no one had arrived to check her in.  The conversation we had in those 75 minutes was so awesome, nearer and dearer to my heart than any conversation I've possibly had with her in the past 75 months. 

(OK, that's an exaggeration, but it's been a long time since we've had such a heart-to-heart.) 

We talked about school. Roommates. Parties. People drinking too much. What they were drinking. How it's important to know your limits. How she used her first aid skills to help people who didn't know their limits and blacked out. She said she had a drink, but then consumed 32 ounces of water (a full Nalgene bottle) and was passing out granola bars so people had food on their stomach. That night she made a batch of Ramen noodles before she went to sleep.  She loves the cross-country team and is so grateful to be on it; especially because of the camaraderie with all of her teammates. They're good, good kids, not really "in to" the party scene, which is a perfect fit for her.  She is very aware of her surroundings, and while at an outing last week, felt the tiniest twinge of uncomfortableness when a few guys got too close; so she grabbed her buddy and left. Her intuition is on high alert, but next time I come to campus, can I please bring her taser?  She has taken the bus all around town and is keen on knowing the routes.  Last week, she got off at the wrong stop so had to walk a mile... pretty sure that won't happen again.  She joined the Red Bull ski and snowboard racing team for winter, and is excited at the prospect of riding out west.  She loves her geology class, much more than she thought she would, and spends hours rewriting her notes from each lecture.  Although she's All-In at college, she still wants to help me with the Scout troop and plans on attending our Court of Honor, tomorrow night.   Next Sunday, she is coming home for dinner and bringing a few friends.  How many is too many???  

If we were sitting next to each other, I doubt we would have spoken so openly and freely, and laughed so heartily. What is it about talking on the phone with your mom that is just so good for the soul?  No distractions. No scrolling on the phone because you're on it.  No unintentional body language, or inadvertent eye rolling, that might set someone off.  It was just MAGIC.  

Elizabeth and I have a very good relationship, but I feel like it has gotten even better since she has been away at school. She was desperate for more freedom, we were desperate for less drama; and she now has the space and opportunity to figure things out... as she SHOULD at this age.  The education that happens when kids move away to college, occurs across so many levels that young adults desperately need.  And parents need to let them experience.  On their own.  

We wrapped up our call when she realized that no one was there to check her in and she had to go sort things out.  She texted me a few minutes later to say she's all set and was on her way to the MRI.  

See, it was really good that I didn't go!  She figured things out and feels empowered; we had a wonderful talk in the midst of it, AND I never had to leave the comfort of my living room.  Win-win-win!  

I've since poured my third cup of tea, updated my blog and am refocusing on what I want to do next with the next EIGHT hours of free time before me.  

Oops. Gotta go. Carolyn's calling. 

What a wonderful, happy stage of life we have entered! :)