The Sandwich Life

Good Lord. I Really Am This Boring.

I got home late last night after a work meeting. Ernie and I sat around talked and eventually I realized it was 8:00 and I should think about dinner. I was too tired to do much of anything so went dead simple with sauteed salmon with a bit of lemon juice and a salad with a basic vinaigrette. It tasted wonderful and then an hour and a half after we eventually ate Ernie went happily to bed and I entered the danger zone and got so sick with stomach issues that I felt like I'd been beat up with a baseball bat. I fear I may have lost a few organs in the resulting melee. This morning I felt like I could barely move and my stomach is still furious with me. I tried to figure out what I could have eaten to do this to me. I have no freaking idea. And yesterday I got back the results of my hydrogen breath test....all normal. I knew I shouldn't pin my hopes on that explaining things but of course I did. I meet with a PA at the gastro...oops, Digestive Health Center, next week. We shall see. I'm not feeling particularly hopeful.

The low fodmap diet has helped. When I think back to April and how horrible I felt I know I am better. It just hasn't solved everything. And I still miss garlic! I still find it confusing too. I have the little Monash app, which seems to be the gold standard, but I still have to look a lot of things up and it's a bit overwhelming at times. Not the hugest problem in the world of course, but mildly frustrating.

In other news I am still afraid to go out into my yard. I must get my zinnias planted. Good lord but I'm boring. 

Comfort

I felt so raw yesterday. Ernie and I gave up any attempt at productivity and curled up in the media room and binged on the new season of Bloodline. We cursed the sky whenever it was blue and nodded approvingly when it was gray. Later we headed over to our dear friend Sasha and Dick's for their annual appetizer/summer kick off party. Those people know how to entertain and Dick makes damned fine margaritas. Margaritas usually get too sweet for me but Dick's are sublime. It felt so good to get an extra long hug from Sasha and I took such comfort in seeing friends like Nick and Jeff, who also had been part of the Record Service family. For it was a family. Not that I even recognized it as such at the time, but it was. Another chosen family and those are so damn important in our lives. And the friends that weren't part of that time understood too, and their presence comforted me so much.

It's also at times like this that I value the role social media can have. Thank you to all who left thoughtful comments on my blog or Facebook or sent messages.

Thank you all. Your love is so important to me.

Five Snakes, and Now I Sit

Friday we decided to go to lunch with a couple of friends. Ernie was taking forever to get ready, as always, so I stepped out on the porch to wait for him. And there, lying right in the middle of my yet-to-be-seeded-because-it-keeps-raining zinnia bed was a snake. It had its little head in the air to add insult to injury. I, of course, screamed and pounded on the door because I was too hysterical to find my key. Owen and Ernie opened the door (Leo slept through the whole thing) and I screeched and pointed. They went out and relocated it. I sat and trembled on the couch. Really, what the fuck is wrong with me? They came in and calmed me down (and chuckled at me but I couldn't argue, I am indeed an idiot about this). They led me out to the porch again, I stepped out and screamed, "THERE'S ANOTHER ONE".  I heard Owen say, as I slammed the door, "Oh, there's two of them." Shiver. They were relocated and then Owen tried to lure me back to the door. Ernie looked out and said, "there's another one," and I practically passed out. Owen took care of that one and after lots of reassurances, Ernie pulled the car up and Owen led me to the car. As we stood there saying good bye to him, he got quite serious and said, "Go Ernest, GO." Evidently there was another snake. Would you like to go back and count? That's FIVE. Then I had to run to work for something and ended up arriving extremely late for lunch. Luckily they had missed my text saying, "Can't go. Too many snakes." And THEN at lunch Ernie told me that one of the snakes had been on the first step of the porch. I screeched, "WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME THAT?" Sigh. The rest of the day was fine but I refused to go outside.

Yesterday morning we got up and it was too wet to do much in the garden. Well, honestly, I was too afraid. We were restless so we went for a drive. A little time in a cemetery in the country does me a world of good. I feel so calm in cemeteries. We took a few pictures, stopped and had a few drinks, went home and I read the Rosanne Cash memoir while Ernie drove Owen and the band around. They stopped and got Popeye's for the band and came back here and ate. I listened to them a bit, read my book, and laughed at them every so often. Later Ernie and I (read Ernie) grilled some chicken and we watched a bit of Netflix. Not a bad day. As Ernie had said, this is our weekend to relax. It's been a busy spring and it wasn't a great week, so rest.

This morning Ernie and Owen walked into the bedroom as I was coming awake. I could hear Ernie sniffing. He tried to talk but then gave the iPad he was holding to Owen. "Just show her," he said. Owen started to give me the iPad. At first I thought, "Oh, he broke the iPad. That's ok, it was already cracked." Then I saw the message on the screen. My dear friend Renee, telling me her husband, and our dear friend, Michael had died this morning. We all sat on the bed and looked at each other. I couldn't even cry. I just covered my face with my hands.

I came downstairs and pounded out a blog post about Michael. It helps to write.

Ernie scrambled me a few eggs. I ate and took a shower. Now I sit, not knowing what to do. What to think. What to feel.

This page from the Rosanne Cash book hit me hard yesterday afternoon. And of course, it hits me even harder today.

In the months since my father’s passing I had come to understand that the loss of a parent expands you–or shrinks you, as the case may be–according to your own nature. If too much business is left unfinished, and guilt and regret take hold deep in the soul, mourning begins to diminish you, to constrict the heart, to truncate the vision of your own future, and to narrow the creative potential of the mind and spirit. If enough has been resolved–not everything, for everything will never be done, but just enough–then deep grief begins to transform the inner landscape, and space opens inside. You begin to realize that everyone has a tragedy, and that if he doesn’t, he will. You recognize how much is hidden behind the small courtesies and the civilities of everyday existence. Deep sorrow and traces of great loss run through everyone’s lives, and yet they let others step into the elevator first, wave them ahead in a line of traffic, smile and greet their children and inquire about their lives, and never let on for a second that they, too, have lain awake at night in longing and regret, that they, too, have cried until it seemed impossible that one person could hold so many tears, that they, too, keep a picture of someone locked in their heat and bring it out in quiet, solitary moments to caress and remember. Loss is the great unifier, the terrible club to which we all eventually belong.

 

 

RIP Michael Pollock

I feel drained and empty. My beloved Michael Pollock has died. I knew it was close; I've been waiting to hear, and yet, these things still feel like an electric shock.

I think I was 19 or 20 when I got a job at Record Service. I was leaning against the front counter chatting to my cute boyfriend and long time employee Deb Scheurich and she said, "Oh, you want a job? Come with me." And so I worked at Record Service. I wasn't really friends with Michael at that point. He was one of "the bosses." He intimidated me a bit. All of us girls at the store marveled that he was tall and good looking and yet we never caught him ogling the co-eds as some did. And he had an 8x10 of his wife sitting on the shelf in his office. Huh, we thought.

I've always been the obsessive sort, so when I loved a record I would play it over, and over, and over. I remember him coming half way down the stairs one early morning when I got had just gotten in and started blasting the Romantic's In Heat, and saying, "Take it home ok? Just take it home." I happily agreed. That still makes me giggle. Ernie just did an imitation of Michael saying that for Owen. His wife Renee would come in, Elisabeth was just a baby, and chat and chat and chat to us. We decided Michael was ok. We left town for Michigan in 1985, and all 'the bosses' took us out to dinner.

Life has its owns twists though and we ended up moving back here in 1994. Ernie started working for Periscope but I started working in the Record Service office. That's when we truly became friends. We became work spouses. We knew far too much about each other and could roll our eyes at one another. The only wrinkle in our work marriage was music. He loved the Dead. Sometimes he'd yell over the wall, "Sorry Cyn, gonna play some Dead." I would sigh and say ok. 

I really loved him. And he loved me. He had the sweetest smile and loved to talk about his garden. Despite that he turned down my brilliant idea of a floating gardening holiday. His wife Renee, although we don't see each other face to face all that often, became one of my dearest friends. One of my rocks. Michael and Renee were one of the few other couples that have always reminded me of Ernie and me. I always thought of Renee as Michael's furnace. He had this intense will to fight for justice and was blazingly intelligent. But Renee gave him the warmth of family to be his fire, and was always, and will always be, his fiercest advocate. Their children grew up to be brilliant and beautiful as well and their whole family has always been one I admire.

After Record Service he found his calling when he became a history teacher. An absolutely brilliant and creative history teacher. With everything he did he spread a lot of seeds. When this wretched fucking cancer came he met it with determination and narrowed eyes. He was born a fighter. Some people just are. He found new challenges and focused on squeezing every drop of joy out of the time he had with Renee. He never stopped fighting in life. He never said enough is enough. It might have been easier on him if he had, but he couldn't. He lasted years longer than anyone could have imagined, and weeks longer in this last stretch. 

I kind of hate the 'fighting cancer' metaphors but Michael truly was a warrior, but not just in dealing with cancer (he had the spirit, Renee the determination to find anything possible, and she did), but in life. I remember Renee telling me he was convinced that if they'd been in the Holocaust he would have saved the family. I'm sure he had figured out a plan. Brilliant. He had the fighting spirit my father had. It's not always the easiest way to live, but it was so right. So terribly, terribly right. 

I send my unending love to Renee, Elisabeth and Henry.

These words barely scratch the surface of how I feel about Michael. Barely scratch the surface.

A few pictures.

I think Mabel's Night was the last time I saw him.

Record Service sometime mid-late 90's. I'm at the bottom right with Michael right behind me.

Two years ago

 

Onward, with Complications

What a week. I could have sworn yesterday was Friday. We were watching a DVR'd Chew and I said to Ernie, I don't understand, this seems to be yesterday's." He broke it to me that it was still Thursday. A long week. I did my breath test thing yesterday which was painless. I drank some thick stuff that tasted like nothingness and then sat in the waiting room for three hours. Someone popped out and had me breathe into something every 15 minutes. It still sort of seemed like somebody was playing a joke on me but we shall see. They said to give them seven days for results. 

The first time the nurse took my breath she told me she could tell I had followed the diet I was supposed to the day before (white rice, baked or poached chicken, eggs, tea, water). I said, "You mean people don't?" and she just laughed. Man, if you feel lousy enough to have to have this test, why would you fuck it up? Then again, why do we all fuck up things we know we shouldn't? Question for the day.

I headed off to work afterward and had a semi lousy day. I came home in a foul mood but my sweet boys were nice to me and I got my newest Uncle Mistletoe Christmas ornament in the mail. Small pleasures.

Today I did some work and then went and got a mammogram. For a few terrified moments I thought I had locked myself into the little dressing room. The thought of having to pound on the door and yell, "I can't get out!" panicked me but I finally figured it out. Man I am ready for a weekend.

I'm looking forward to the three day weekend even though it may be too wet to garden, but it is layered with thoughts for friends who are dealing with the end of life for a loved one. 

It's all so complicated.

Onward.

 

Random Notes and Pictures from the Sandwich Life

1. I wish it would stop raining. I want to plant seeds. I've got zinnia anxiety.

2. Last night I convinced both Ernie and myself that it made perfect sense to drive down to Nashville on Friday night to see our beloved Peter Cooper at the Station Inn. Today, not so much. By the time you add up everything it doesn't really make sense, but hell, think about it. Peter Cooper. Station Inn. And these folks: Peter Cooper / Eric Brace / Thomm Jutz / Kim Carnes / Lloyd Green / Don Schlitz / David Olney / Fayssoux / Jon Byrd / Andrea Zonn / LynnMarie / Mark Fain / Lynn Williams / Chris Richards / + more surprise guests. Damn.

3. Today I am on an all day diet of only eggs, chicken, white rice and salt and pepper. Oh, and tea, and water. Then I start fasting at 8:00 and tomorrow I go and get a hydrogen breath test in which they give me something sweet to drink and then test my breath by having me blow into something every so often for a few hours. Reportedly this will give us insight into my gut and whatever the hell is going on in there. Sometimes it seems as though maybe somebody is just playing a big joke though.

4. And a few pictures because that's all I've got to say.

Anniegirl

I'm going with 'lush' instead of overgrown and full of weeds. Oh, and it's officially summer because the last strand of Christmas lights died.

And look...there's the top of our dead Christmas tree which we were going to burn in the fire pit. It will never find its way out now.

Spring evenings in the year. Ernie's got a newspaper, I've got a novel on the laptop, a little basil to sniff every so often and a glass of wine in one of my favorite goblets.

I got this plant in the mail and sort of forgot about it. The other morning I found it and grabbed a mug and set it in it with some water. All seemed ok until Ernie and Owen found out I had used the Flaming Groovies mug. Uh, that did not go over well.

First strawberry of the season.

blanched kale and some cherry tomatoes. Pretty damn nice. I just cooked it a bit til the tomatoes got smooshed. No garlic, sigh, but good nonetheless.

Onward.

Adam and Chris Carroll: House Concert with Heart

Adam and Chris Carroll brought their hearts, their charm and their incredible music. As wonderful as they were a year ago, this was even better. Wow. They both are powerful and with the combination of Chris's narrative and Adam's dry humor and twinkling eyes, their songs just hit you in the heart with every kind of emotion.

There were some new faces there who were delightful and lots of old friends as well. Such good company....and of course everyone brought great food and drink too. Last night was the perfect storm of a house concert. Thanks with all my heart to Adam and Chris.

The only downside was that we sorely missed our beloved Richard Hill. Chris did a wonderful shout out to him when she did this song. Next time Richard, next time.

Thanks to everybody that came---I hope I hugged you all properly!

 

Cooking With Ernie

Last night we ended cooking our dinner late. To those who know me, yes I know, surprise, surprise. We had some leftover quinoa and so I added some of the smoked salmon we got at Calumet Fisheries to it, flaking it up as I went. It was a gorgeous piece of fish.

The pepper and garlic salmon had looked great, but you know, low fodmap me went with the plain. It was luscious though. I added some avocado, and a little mustardy vinaigrette too. It really needed the pop of some sweet red or yellow bell pepper but I didn't have any, and it was late and everything in the refrigerator looked fodmappy, so I left it at that. Then I decided it needed a nice squeeze of lemon juice. I asked Ernie to grab me a lemon and he handed me this.

I love that man. Ernie I mean, not the lemon. I don't know how the lemon identifies.

Go Forth and Make Salads

I can't wait for tomorrow night's house concert with Adam and Chris Carroll. It's been a long haul with lots of events all spring and I feel like this is our reward. A big, fat, happy house concert with food and friends and incredible music. Ahhh. Yes. I am making some sort of Greek-ish chicken thighs and a batch of pistatsio (sort of a Greek lasagne kind of thing). I was going to make a salad but I am going to leave that to you who are coming. Bring salads, sides, sweet, appetizers, or nothing at all. Everybody is welcome!

And since our beloved Richard Hill is under the weather, I'm putting everybody on photography duty.

Can't wait. Can't wait. Can't wait!

Message me if you need info.

 

Post Ian: Mother's Day, Guitars, Etc.

Sunday we slept late in our surprisingly nice hotel room. We laid around and giggled a bit while I tried to figure out where we should go to breakfast. I finally said, "the hell the with it, let's just get in the car." So off we drove; we were heading for the Chicago Music Exchange because Owen wanted to look at guitars and pedals. Wishbone was right down the block so we decided to go there. I thought Mother's Day might have it packed but we got in right away. We all toasted Ian Hunter, Ernie and I with our Bloody Mary's, and Owen with his lemonade. The food was great and service nice....we paid our bill at about 11:05 which meant Owen was only vibrating with anxiety for five minutes...he wanted to get there right when they opened. Of course the guitars all took his breath away. I could feel how hard he was yearning and it about broke my heart. Fortunately for me they had delightfully comfortable couches. I told him he had an hour and I think we made out before an hour and a  half, so not bad.

Please not, if you will, the batching bass and Ian Hunter t-shirt....

We popped onto Lake Shore Drive and took it all the way down to 95th Street and Calumet Fisheries. I've always wanted to go there and Owen was up for it once I explained that it right next to the bridge that the Blues Brothers jumped over. Please note the James Beard award over Ernie's right shoulder. You may have seen it on one of Anthony Bourdain's shows too.

We headed west toward the highway, stopping only at a White Castle as Owen wanted to try one. I de-pickled it and held it for him. Sometimes I'm a good mother. He, being my son, thought the box was adorable. I said, "SEE? That's why we have an old one as a Christmas ornament," and he nodded happily. Eventually our yard welcomed me back home with roses and I got Mother's Day kisses and hugs from Leo. Of course then it went to hell later in the evening and we never did even eat any of our smoked fish, but it still was a pretty great Mother's Day. My sweet peas. All three of them.