Church Lady

             Yesterday,  I became a Church Lady, the kind that bakes and carries her goods to people who are sick or shut in. But let me give you some background before you think I have really lost it for good.

            I go to church on Sunday, alone.  Not a conventional church, but one for people who don’t like church.  I take from it what I need for the week.  I sit in the bleachers with a few hundred other people, all kinds of people.  Dressed in jeans, shorts, sundresses, flip-flops in casual California beach style.  I go to Bayside of Granite Bay and it has been church to me for the past five years.  It feeds me and lifts me up when I need it the most.  The music rocks me and reminds me that I am alive and that Jesus is too.  I like the anonymity of worshiping with hundreds of people.  It just fits.

            I got up Sunday morning, early.  I can’t help my internal alarm clock. Made coffee, read the paper and baked coffee cakes.   I planned to visit a friend, recently diagnosed with breast cancer and decided to take something baked with me, hence the Church Lady imagery.   I pulled out a package of Bisquick and made coffee cake.  I think this is one of the first recipes I ever made.  I made two, one for home and one to go.

            My friend was happy to see me and I her.  We worked together 8 years ago keeping in touch sporadically through the years. She knows my husband and knew my Grandma.  She is a beautiful woman, inside and out, a supportive wife and loving mother and grandmother.  And she is fun.  One of our most memorable experiences together was a Jimmy Buffett Concert in Mountain View where we wore Bikini T-Shirts that she sewed belly button rings on.  What a blast that entire day and night was! I will never forget sitting in the car in the venue parking lot, eating our Togo’s sandwiches before walking around, when a young man approached the car wearing a grass skirt and a coconut bikini top, carrying an ice chest and a sign that said, “Beer for Boobs”.  His gig was, show me your boobs, take a picture, and you get a beer, Corona.  We just laughed him off but she called her husband and told him we weren’t even out of the car and someone wanted to see our breasts!  Good times. 

            Now she has already had one surgery and is going to have another.  She is dealing with it just the way I knew she would, with humor and the support of her loving husband, family and friends.  We drank tea, ate coffee cake, told stories and listened with our hearts.  She radiated beauty as she sat on the couch telling me about her cancer.  I thought of all the women I know and have met who have battled and won this fight.  My mother of course and just recently the young mothers’ I met fundraising for Komen Race for the Cure.  I told my friend about the 100-year-old woman, a 20-year breast cancer survivor who spoke at the Survivor Ceremony at the Race.  She had some great advice on how to live.  I can’t remember exactly to quote her but I recall she said to use olive oil when you cook.  Have a drink, but not too much.  Eat your vegetables.  Surround yourself with people you love.

Good advice for all of us.

            I left there glad that I had made the trip and happy to see that she is in survivor mode and supported by people who love and care about her.  She did share with me that her mother used to make this coffee cake without the streusel, slice it horizontally, fill it with strawberries and top it with whipped cream.  Sounds yummy.  I wonder if I have two cups left…

Bisquick Coffee Cake - Taken from the back of the box

Cinnamon Struesel

1/3 cup Original Bisquick® mix

1/3 cup packed brown sugar

½ teaspoon firm butter

Coffee Cake

2 cups Original Bisquick® mix

2/3 cup milk or water

2 tablespoons sugar

1 egg

1. Heat oven to 375°F. Grease 9-inch round pan. In small bowl, stir streusel ingredients until crumbly; set aside.
2. In medium bowl, mix coffee cake ingredients until blended. Spread in pan. Sprinkle with streusel.
3. Bake 18 to 22 minutes or until golden brown.

 Did you know that Bisquick has been around since 1931?

Decoration Day

May 28, 2011

            I spent many a Memorial Day weekend visiting the cemetery.  My Grandma called it  “Decoration Day”.  We never bought flowers instead; we went into our own yards and cut whatever was blooming, roses, irises, hydrangea, and greenery.  We filled old coffee cans, mason jars or galvanized buckets with blooms.  My Grandma and I would load the car and go to the cemetery.  We were pricked by thorns and rewarded with the flower scent filling the car. 

            My Pop, Papa and Grandma Coote were there.  Now I add to the list my Grandma.  She and I usually went alone for years before I had children.  Then occasionally my kids would go, under protest.  I gained a respect and a lifelong habit of decorating in the cemetery.

            I do some of my best thinking there.  I’ve had family tell me that the dead people I mourn are not there so why do I go?  Sitting on the bench placed there when my Grandma died, under the ancient oak tree, in the breeze where it is cool even on the hottest Sacramento summer day, I am at peace.  I look to the west and see the graves and to the east, the field often changing my position on the bench as I ponder my worldly problems.

            But back to my visits with my Grandma.  My maternal Grandma Coote was buried in 1968 followed by my Pop in 1976, my Papa in 1986 and the hardest loss for me, my Grandma in 2008.  It still feels raw and emotional.  I had her 22 years longer than any other Grandparent.  Today, May 28th, she would have been 97 years young. She and I went regularly to the cemetery after my Pop died, holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, whenever she wanted to go.

            I go now when I am lost and lonely.  Alone.  I pray, I talk, and I always leave in a better frame of mind than when I first sit on the bench.  I’m not sure if it is the cathartic flow of tears or the heartfelt conversation and prayers but it works.

            I have a job to do there. I clean up when I go.  You could say I have a cemetery routine.  I bring flowers, a broom, a bucket, a couple of towels and a washcloth.  I sweep first and not just my Grandparents markers but also my cousin’s grandparents and my aunt’s.  Then I take the washcloth and wipe things off.  Sometimes I take clippers and a shovel to clean up the edges.  This Decoration Day I walked from the car carrying a broom, a bucket filled with roses and hydrangeas from my yard and some towels.  I was quite a sight.  And this day, I had company.

            I immediately noticed when driving through the iron gate that there were people there.  Many people, in cars, trucks with trailers and uniformed soldiers in white,  walking up and down the rows. I usually only have turkeys as companions, the feathered kind.  A rafter of turkeys live there protected from dogs and man.  I have had to chase them away from “my spot” with a towel so I could sit without them sneaking up on me.  They are creepy looking. Prehistoric.  Somehow they seem at home in the cemetery.

            After cleaning and placing the flowers, I took my seat on the bench.  I watched the people placing white crosses with American flags on the graves of all the veterans, remembering them for Monday’s Memorial Day Services.  It was a beautiful serene sight, in Technicolor, with white uniforms, white crosses, white clouds in the blue sky, green grass and the flags unfurling in the breeze.

 

            I sat there taking in all the movement in a place usually so still.  I saw a truck and trailer pull up.  There were two men riding on the trailer and two in the cab of the truck.  A man got out of the cab, grabbed a cross and a flag and started walking towards me.  I thought they must have checked on their map and forgot someone.  As he approached me, he held out the flag and cross.

            I took it from him and tried to say thank you without choking up but it was not possible.  I told him through tears that it meant a lot to me since my Papa was a veteran but never recognized on Decoration Day.  I told him, he would have been honored.  But it was I who was so touched in the moment, sobbing as he walked away.

            A total stranger, an act of kindness and recognition 25 years overdue.  I sat under the ancient oak, tears falling and memories flooding in.  Maybe that’s why I go. For the memories of the grandparents who adored and treasured me all of my life.  The love and the loss fill me until my tears spill out on the granite and brass.  Another Decoration Day is done.

Not Impressed by The Press

             Some of you will not like what I have to say about The Press.  Those who dined with me agreed it was not the experience expected.  Dining out for me is for a special night or a celebration, not just dining out of the house.  I am an observer of people and places.  When I walk into a restaurant, my senses go into overload.  What do I smell, garlic or fresh baked bread?  Can I see or is it dark like a cavern?  What do I hear, dishes rattling or laughter from diners? How is the greeting, friendly or nonchalant?  From all of those questions, I formulate an overall ambience within minutes, usually before being seated.  Wrong or right, that’s how I do it. 

            When I chose The Press, it was highly recommended.  Everyone I talked to told me I had to go there.  I chose it for our Ladies Night monthly dinner out. Prior to showing up for dinner, I emailed the restaurant and received confirmation of my reservation.  They were very accommodating and welcoming.  When I walked in the door, my first impression was another nearly comatose atmosphere set in under performing lighting, similar to many trendy downtown dining establishments.  Not welcoming or comforting but stating matter-of -fact, “Here we are, like us or not, this is the ambience we have chosen to feed you in.”

            I look at eating as a sensory experience as well.  How does it look, smell, taste?  We decided to order six of the small plates, reasonably priced at 3 for $10.  We were not wowed by flavor or appearance.  The dishes were underserved with no garnish or sauce and looked lonely in their little white plates.     We ordered the focacia and found it odd that they charge $1 for aged balsamic vinegar.  The focaccia was served warm and inviting.  However, the olive oil tasted musty and when I asked the server where it was from, she said it was local.  Not the best we’ve tasted.  I have better olive oil in my cupboard.

            The tzatziki chips were too hard and the dip uneventful.  The octopus salad was good but had too many peppers and onions and not enough octopus.  The piquillo peppers looked bright and inviting on the plate and were yummy, sweet and salty with just the right flavor.  The best of the six we decided.  The onion and bacon crostini was good. Although the potato croquettes had a tasty crunch and soft centered bite, they needed a dipping sauce or more flavor.  They were perfectly cooked.  The celery, blue cheese, dates, and almonds sounded like an exploding taste bite that would scream out yum but they carried a more ho hum flavor.  We ordered a soup and two entrees.  The garlic soup was without cream, yet creamy and full of garlic goodness.  We all laughed at the presentation.  The soup came in an over-sized bowl and seriously could not have had more than a ladle measure in volume for $6.  Very disappointing.  The two pasta’s were a carbonara fettuccine and a shellfish pappardelle.  No whining here.  They were delicate and delish. Overall, the company far exceeded the fare.

            What is it I desire from a restaurant meal?  Trendy, fun, new dining experiences?   I am tired of the same old dinner in the same tired décor with overpriced beverages and under performing food.  Our dinner for four exceeded $80.  Do I expect too much for that price?  Maybe.  But I do expect to be wowed.  Either by the food, the service or the atmosphere.  I wasn’t this time.  I doubt there will be a next time for The Press.

Looking Back at 2010

            At our January 2011 dinner, we looked back at our dining experiences in 2010.  I participated in the dinners at Matteo’s, Cosmopolitan Café, Lion’s Gate, Zocalos, Swabbie’s, California Pizza Kitchen, Kupros Grill and The Cafeteria.  We voted and chose our favorite restaurant for 2010 was Lion’s Gate.  Surprised?  Read my next blog about being wowed!

            There were extenuating circumstances that led us to choose Lion’s Gate.  We knew the chef personally, Michael Wright of the Sheraton.  He was at Lion’s Gate temporarily.  He gave us an exceptional meal. See the blog for March 25, 2010.

            Two of our dining experiences were especially memorable not because of the food but because of the announcements.  For one of us, a grandchild on the way.  Another an engagement. And another an elopement.  Three events, three daughters all so loved.

            We made a list of places to dine in 2011.  Pearl on the River (again but upstairs), Ambience, 1022, Tower Bridge Bistro, The Grange, Roxy and we want to go to Mermaids just to see it.

            We had a mayor sighting and an outdoor dining ant biting.  We celebrated together and we felt loss together.  Joy and sorrow.  Our monthly dinners are our therapy. Our dining expense is far less than what we would pay for professional advice. We can vent our frustrations about work or lack of it, parents, husbands, kids and friendships.  In the next breath, we celebrate those same life experiences and people. 

To my Ladies Night friends:

I am a better person because of you.  You support me when I need it and guide me when I get lost.  You care about me no matter what.  I care about each of you. Unconditional support is what we give each other.  For that, I am grateful.  And a fabulous meal.

Here is to our 2011 Dining and Whining experiences!