Dogs, diets, and an alarming start to the day

Before: Shaggy Sophie. After: slim and trim

Well, I got my day off to an exciting start today. I let the dog out before disabling the alarm; then I made it worse by leaving the door ajar so she could come back in. The alarm’s “voice from nowhere” was issuing me stern warnings while I stumbled around to find the remote control. Then the siren went off. Sophie howled and came barreling inside to pick up her chew toy from last night—I suspect her thought was if there was an intruder, he was darn well not going to get her treat. Finally, things got beyond the abilities of the remote, and I had to deal with the actual control panel. But I did get it all stopped, so I could make myself a soothing cup of tea.

I’ve been lax about posting on the blog for a couple of evenings, but I have had such a good excuse. Jordan has been out here talking to me most of the evening. We’ve talked about family and friends, people who make us joyful and friends who disappoint, birthdays and celebrations, dogs and kids—and of course food and menus. We laughed and got teary-eyed. And yes, we drank a bit of wine.

One big topic of discussion was Colin’s upcoming fiftieth birthday—a great jolt for me. But we just got word yesterday that the children’s half-sister from California will come for the celebration, and we’ve known for some time that Uncle Mark, Aunt Amy, and cousin Emily from the Bronx will join us. A wonderful, rousing family affair. I anticipate a lot of high jinx and laughter.

On one of these evenings, Jordan looked at me and said, “I’m really upset with you.” My heart sank. How had I overstepped the bounds of the mother-daughter relationship? But I burst out laughing when she said, “It’s the biscuits. The whole cottage smells like fresh-baked biscuits, and I can’t eat one.” I had baked a tube of Pillsbury biscuits to stash in the freezer for my breakfasts. Jordan is on a self-imposed “Whole 30” diet, so no carbs. I guess all is well in our relationship, biscuits aside.

I dislike this dieting that pops into our lives occasionally – Christian is on it too, and it severely limits the things I can cook for Sunday dinner, rules out a lot of things I’d like to cook. For this week, I gave them a list of possibles, hoping they would choose trout or a lamb stew; Jordan chose one of two chicken dishes. Christian hasn’t voted yet, but he did give everyone a good laugh when Jordan caught him in the kitchen complaining, “I’m so hungry! I’m so weak!”

I’m just old-fashioned enough to believe in a regular diet of three balanced and modest meals, and I harbor a lingering suspicion that alternating dieting and splurging is not good for the body. Of course, I was this fall in the enviable position of needing to gain weight, and while I no longer have that excuse, my doctor still says, “Your sodium is low. Eat all the salt you want.” Jordan and Christian came they are in recovery from the excesses of the holidays and the rodeo season.

A former neighbor was here for happy hour last night and kept saying how good I look, slim and with a sparkle in my eye and a sharp new haircut. I wanted to urge her to continue, but then she’d say, “You really look so much better. You didn’t look so good the last time I saw you.” I’m sure my voice was weak when I asked, “How long ago was that?” I don’t like to be reminded of my down periods.

For several weeks now, friends coming into the cottage have exclaimed about the weight Sophie has gained—I discarded the idea of putting her on the Whole 30 but did cut down on the size of her supper. Today, she’s back to being slim and trim, all due to a haircut. Bobo who grooms her said it was her winter coat, and he took it back a little more than usual this time. She seems to know and prances around here as if proud of herself.

A moment I wish I’d had my phone to take a picture: when I went to brush my teeth last night, Sophie lay between me and the commode, keeping guard. You must be protective when your human is brushing her teeth! I love life with a dog.

Dinner becomes a production

The kids—you know, those mid-forties kids I live with—were busy getting rid of the last of the Christmas decorations today (the tree finally went out to the curb) so I volunteered to cook supper, something I’m always anxious to do anyway. There ensued great discussions.

I went through my file of recipes I want to try, but I didn’t take into account Jordan (and her sister in Austin) are following the South Beach diet. So she shot down hamburger Stroganoff, which sounded wonderful to me—no noodles and sour cream. Then I suggested Craig Claiborne’s smothered chicken—nope to the flour. We finally settled on garlicky chicken thighs with scallions, lime and soy. She would have to go to the store, since I didn’t have chicken thighs on hand—gone is the day when I had that well-stocked freezer. I emphasized that the recipe called for bone-in, skin-on thighs (why anyone buys anything else is beyond me).

Turned out Christian did the shopping, and she failed to relay that message, so he presented me with boneless, skinless chicken thighs. I know he gets tired of my “cooking lessons,” but I pointed out that bone-in chicken always tastes better.  He had no way of knowing crisp skin was essential to this recipe.

By the time I started to cook, Jordan had gone to bed not feeling well, and Christian had gone to watch Jacob’s basketball game. The recipe was fairly straightforward, and my feeling is that lime juice and soy sauce make anything better. I had the chicken and a salad ready about seven, which was our target time.

Jordan didn’t feel well enough to come out to dinner, so the boys—Christian and Jacob—came, bringing boiled potatoes. All was well, except that it took forever to prepare the potatoes with butter and sour cream. And Jacob had a sore toe, which he kept fiddling with, which of course elicited such comments from me as “Go wash your hands. Don’t play with your feet at the dinner table.” His protests earned him a reprimand from his father.

We agreed the chicken had a great flavor, but I know it would have been better with crisp skin. Another nail in my protest about wanting my car back. I could have gone to the grocery this morning, gotten exactly what I needed, and maybe even saved some money. As it is, I have three chicken thighs left over (plus two I had in the freezer)—a puzzle for tomorrow. The recipe will go into that cookbook I’m slowly working on.

I worked hard today—checking more edits on the manuscript, making a list of people to notify when I “cross over.” Not sure why but that struck me in the night as important. When I wrote Colin and told him I’d done that, he replied, “Sounds like a fun morning, Mom.” It didn’t particularly depress me, but I know that since I developed the afib I’m much more aware of my own mortality—even though the cardiologist said the other day he didn’t need to see me for a year. Also sorted out files and taxes, so that my desktop filing system is not so crammed. Once I finish these edits, I’ll go back to organizing tax info. Medical information from last year looms big, with surgery, home health care, hospitalizations, lots of prescriptions. It will be a mess.

Now, dishes to be washed and more edits. Sleep well, my friends.

Diets…and education

Okay, friends and followers, I find that some of you need a bit of education. A good friend was bringing me lunch today, and she called to confirm. She was bringing split pea soup, one of my favorites and something I would never make for myself. So when she called, I told her I was really looking forward to it and asked her to just be sure there was no dairy anywhere in it. I felt safe about that—how could there be dairy in split pea soup?

Dairy? She asked. “I thought it was gluten you couldn’t eat.” It’s a common misconception, too common. The gluten-free diet has become almost a fashion trend in recent years. For a while it seemed to me every third person I met was on a gluten-free diet. For a while, a good friend lived in my garage apartment who was gluten- and dairy-free. Cooking for her was a challenge but I often did it because I enjoyed the fellowship. I remained a skeptic, and it does amuse me that today she has let go of those dietary restrictions and seems no worse for it.

But in the meantime I developed food intolerances and have gone from skeptic to firm believer. So here it is: gluten is a protein found in wheat and related products. There are of course many theories about why more people today are gluten-sensitive but one that makes sense to me is that wheat etc. today has been super-bred to make the wheat stronger and more durable…and hence more people are sensitive. I on the other hand can eat wheat with freedom-problem there is I’m not a bread eater.

Lactose on the other hand is a product of dairy, though I can’t explain the complicated chain of chemistry. But it affects people who are intolerant in a variety of ways—in my case, about six hours later it causes galloping diarrhea. You can imagine I’m anxious to avoid it. And I’m still learning: last night a waiter cautioned me against fried chicken because they dip it in buttermilk. The dairy-free taco soup a friend brought? It had Hidden Valley ranch dressing—dehydrated dairy products. You never know where you’ll find dairy lurking, and it’s a continuing education project.

Meantime, I grieve for blue cheese, cottage cheese, Manchego, all the things I loved. Do you suppose I o.d. on them, as I did thirty years ago on shrimp? Or is it simply, as my doctor says, an aging thing—as we grow older, our gut grows less tolerant. There it is again—that aging thing!

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