A very bad night

This morning at about 4:00 Trip and I woke to the sound of Scarlett slamming herself against his closet door.

It was confusing. At first I thought she was just rolling around or having a dream or caught on something…

But she was having a seizure.

I petted her and tried to soothe her and then held her. When I held her she went completely rigid in my arms with her legs out straight. I thought she was dying in my arms. I tried to stay calm and soothing and tell her she was a good girl. I thought those were her last minutes and I tried to make them peaceful instead of screaming and flipping out like the basket-case I am.

Then she stopped. Her heart was racing and she was disoriented and couldn’t walk at first, but she had stopped seizuring.

Trip called the Vet ER and I carried her down to the living room. He got some shoes for me and drove us there while I sat in the back with her. By then, she seemed totally fine.

The Penn Hospital took her immediately and ran a bunch of tests. They couldn’t have been nicer or handled it any better. All of the tests came back normal and now I’m just watching her. They think she may have canine epilepsy.

I spoke to my Vet this morning after we had a nap. He said that his dog was actually suffering from seizures, sometimes 2 a day and that he had changed his diet to a low gluten one. Apparently he had recently attended a talk on the subject and the test results showed a very strong correlation to the diet and the seizures.

Today was a normal day. We went to the dog park and played fetch.

Marshmallow

Through my misty eyed gaze of Percocet, everything is striking a chord with me lately. I’ve been feeling all euphoric (yep, definitely the drugs) and grateful.

Aside from eating my own face every time I attempt to chew, my life is feeling eerily perfect lately.

After one particularly bucolic afternoon at the Schuylkill River Dog Park (we were there for 2 hours, easy) I took a long ambling walk home. On the walk I passed by the Philadelphia School and it was like a particularly sappy movie. There were cherry blossoms making pink snow, through which , my perfect little pup was obediently trotting (slack leash and all). Then i heard it, a coir of children singing “All you Need is Love” from some after school music practice. It was one of those sensory overload moments. The air smelled clean and sweet ( I believe I was standing next to a dryer vent actually) the sky was a perfect shade of blue, the cherry blossoms were framing the scene, the children were singing, it was neither warm nor cool, just soft. If I’d been eating a marshmallow I’m pretty sure my brain would have overloaded and I would not be here to type this.

But in all seriousness, that is something I cherish about living in Philadelphia, every once in a while you are treated to a moment of absolute beauty. It usually involves a particular play of light and overhearing something beautiful, but these serendipitous moments are less rare than one might think.

It hurts to laugh.

Sometimes when I get nervous or upset, I…well, this will sound weird….I laugh hysterically.  I mean uncontrollably.  Like, I can’t breathe.  No sound comes out.  My eyes tear.  It’s ugly and often, inappropriate.

Once I was overcome with a laughing fit at a business meeting.

Once, when I broke our house. (The first floor was in the process of flooding, but I couldn’t speak to tell my poor husband…I just pointed down…he figured it out eventually.)

Once I was overcome with the nervous giggles when the whole family was lost in western Maryland in the middle of the night due to a faulty GPS. (Happy Birthday Hubby.)

Tonight was the worst EVER!  You see, I just had my jaw dissected on Monday.  Yep, four impacted wisdom teeth.  Consequently, I cannot open my mouth more than a centimeter. I’m in pretty constant pain, bla bla bla, all that.

Then it happened.  I don’t know what exactly triggered it, but I’m sure it was my husband’s fault.  He must have made a funny face or a funny noise or SOMETHING. (It could have been that BREATHING thing he does.)

Whatever it was, I giggled.

But that hurt, so I panicked.

Which made me laugh nervously.

Which HURT.

Which made me cry.

Which made me laugh hysterically.

Which REALLY REALLY HURT.

Which made me even more anxious…

and so on and so on…

It was like some sort of demented feedback loop.  The husband had to leave the house because every time I looked at him it got worse.

I sent him to a bar around the corner.  Yes, I drove him to drink.

The poor man was trying to amuse his pathetic, swollen, recuperating wife, and she sent him away as she cried in agony.

It was like walking away from the speaker.  I calmed down and popped two extra painkillers. (I think I really damaged myself. OUCHIE!)

Hubster has since returned, but he won’t risk mentioning the episode until at least next week.  In my fragile state I could relapse at any time and I don’t think either one of us could take it.

Take it! Take another little piece…

Of my head, er…mouth more specifically.

Tomorrow I am having all of my wisdom teeth removed.  Blech.  I’m really not looking forward to it.  But who would be right?

I’ve stocked up on smooth foods: applesauce, yogurt, tapioca pudding and butternut squash soup.

Hopefully, in a few days I’ll be able to move onto eggs and tofu. Dream big!!!

Tonight is my last meal, so I had wild rice, Frenched lamb chops and green beans.

It was so good.  Good enough to tide me over for a week?  We’ll see.

I plan to spend the next 4 days as high as I can get on my painkillers.  I didn’t bother to buy magazines or rent videos.  I figure I’ll either be blind with pain or so hopped up on meds I won’t be able to open my eyes. Sweet!!!!!!!

(Hold me, I’m scared.)

Whippit, whippit good.

Let’s be frank, the nitrous oxide is really the only reason to go to the dentist. Today I went in for my final filling after a grueling , 2-year, search-and-destroy journey of decay elimination. The only thing that made today’s visit different is that I was also interviewing my dentist for an article on cosmetic dentistry.

My dentist, a master of efficiency, scheduled the interview piggy-backed onto one of my appointments. Naive little beauty editor that I am, I assumed that we’d do the interview first, then move on to our more sadomasochistic coupling.

BUT NO!

Evil dental man had other plans. Before I knew it I was on the chair under a light with the gas strapped to my nose and a needle in my jaw. He had me right where he wanted me. He drilled away, I sucked nitrous like it was my life-line and we both got what we wanted out of the experience.

Once we were done, he re-oxygenated me and then I interviewed-away, drooling on myself and biting my swollen cheek the whole time.

Was it a good interview? I have no idea. Did he maintain the upper-hand? Like a master. The whole thing was very Blue Velvet, except, you know, not really.

Land Ho!

Last year, when hubby and I were feeling particularly flush, we bought land. I mean LAND. We stomped all over the woods, all over Pennsylvania. We brought the dog. she frolicked. After about 4 months we found THE SPOT.

18 acres, check.

Picturesque stream, check.

Pond, check.

Hills, boulders, forest, check, check, check.

One wild turkey, CHECK.

We put in an offer, eventually it was accepted and we spent a summer lolling around in hammocks and wading in the creek.  It was lovely.

There is just one teensey little challenge with said land.  That would be the afore mentioned stream.

Yesterday we met with the surveyor to talk about a driveway and a bridge.  We humped around the land and talked about wetlands delineations, and flood planes.  Bog turtle habitats ($800 survey right there.) and concrete footings.

Long-story-short, we cannot afford to drive onto the land, let alone build a cabin.  And even if we could afford it, we are bound to be tied up in local bureaucracy for the next six years.  Oh the humanity!

Next week, the surveyor is calling a meeting with all of the federal officials and township boards and conservationists.  Hubby is staying home and sending me.  I’m on the lookout for a Sierra Club visor or pen or something and I will spend the days leading up to the meeting perfecting my pound cake recipe.

If a little theater, combined with sugar and butter, can’t grease the wheels of progress, I don’t know what can.

Wear shoes, for the love of GOD.

I like to think of myself as non-judgemental, I also like to think of myself as fluent in French.  (We all have our dreams.)

I only saw one person on the street, wearing an outfit I wanted to rip off of them yesterday.  ONE.  Now, considering I live in a city with over 1.4 million residents, that’s not to shabby. (Large woman, 40’s, 70 degrees: stretchy lace-print shirt, black and maroon, floral-print tight skirt , tan pantyhose and uggs-inspired boots.)

But can I tell you about Wednesday?

Wednesday I was helping out a friend on a product launch by distributing Dropps laundry detergent (LOVE IT) at area Walmarts, specifically the Walmart on South Columbus Boulevard.

As Walmarts go, this particular box is just about as close to hell as I ever want to get.  There are pallets of discounted mass-produced junk left on the floor for the animals, sorry, customers, to just tear into with one hand while they drag and beat their toddlers with the other.  It’s filthy, slow, noisy and generally unsettling.

And people shop in their pajamas.  Yep.  They don’t bother to get dressed.  They wear slippers and pajamas and wander the aisles for hours.  I observed more than one family spend literally 30 minutes choosing laundry detergent.  30 MINUTES!  Could you imagine how many hours it must take them to fill a cart?

Oh and the sniffing.  How did I get through life without uncapping every chemical-aroma  bottle I’ve encountered.  Apparently it’s all the rage.

I even had one woman complain to me that she couldn’t get the safety seal off of a particular bottle to sniff it.  (I believe she ended up using her teeth to break the band.)

She scared me. But not as much as the conspiracy theorists.  You know, the ones that wouldn’t take any free-samples because of the whole 9-11 mortgage crisis. (WTF???? I was held verbally captive, by this genius who had connected all, and I mean ALL the dots.)

I left that Walmart shivering and pale and afraid for humanity.

I mean SLIPPERS IN PUBLIC?????

Arcane sports, where it’s at.

Last night my husband and I enjoyed our first foray into real tennis.  Oh what’s that you say?  You play tennis?  It’s not arcane?  What am I talking about?  You, I am willing to wager my life’s saving on (which amounts to precisely one red dog and an unused Talbots gift card) play lawn tennis…not real tennis.

You will argue that you actually play on a hard court, etc, but you really have no idea what the hell I’m talking about.  It’s not your fault. I played a sport with about 25 enthusiasts world-wide.  In fact, our instructor is ranked 2nd in the WORLD.  That’s like having Tiger Woods teach you to putt.

Real Tennis is also called Court Tennis.  It is the first racquet sport, and the game upon which lawn tennis is based.  It is played on the weirdest court ever.

The balls have no bounce and they are all hand-made. The racquets are wooden and irregularly shaped. The scoring is impossible.  All in all, it is a nearly perfect sport in every way.

The best part for me was definitely the wardrobe, but that doesn’t differ in any way from traditional tennis whites.  I simply had no idea that a tennis skirt was so flattering.  I’ve been parading around the house since I bought the damn thing; so much so that one day, when my husband came home early I had to made a mad dash upstairs and rip off all of my clothing, lest he suspect that I had been prancing around the living room in my new kit AGAIN.

Although the sport doesn’t seem all that athletic at first (could this be because I spent the hour mainly slicing at air with my racquet?) I woke up stiff.  All of that athletic bounding gave me a terrific core workout.  And the whole thing is so delightfully snobby.  WAY more so than yoga or pilates.  I may have found my one true calling.

If you want to check it out, there is a tournament at the Racquet Club of Philadelphia on Monday.

The type that has a cooking club

I’m that type.  You know, the sophisticated urban, wine-swilling, dinner party throwing, oh, lets make it a CLUB type.

Last night was the commencement of our cooking club.  The rules are simple: one person hosts, cooks the food and records the main recipes.  The other guests come, eat said food and compliment the chef ad-infinum.  Oh, and they bring wine…lots and lots of wine. (The really nice ones also bring a perfect bouquet of tulips.) Then next month one of the guests becomes the host and the process repeats itself.

Because I’m Miss Bossy Bosserson, I had the first one at my house. I leaned heavily on Trader Joe’s, as always, and the menu consisted of:

3 goat cheeses with blackberries and bitter Italian honey

Cold asparagus soup

Grilled London Broil and Portabellos with fresh Pesto

Roasted tomatoes

Cous-cous pilaf (Thanks Trader Joe’s)

And dessert was my favorite non-cookerson, but still tres fancy: Affogato (ice-cream topped with a shot of espresso.

It was a good night.

Cold Asparagus Soup

Ingredients:

Leeks – 2, trimmed

Asparagus – one bunch, woody bits trimmed

Garlic – about 1/2 of a bulb, or, to taste

Olive oil – about ¼ cup

Salt – generously

White pepper – miserly

Chicken Broth – One box, not can, of the best organic free-range low sodium stuff that you can buy.

Half and Half – about ½ of a pint (one cup)

Method:

Slice trimmed leeks

Sauté in olive oil until clear

Add chopped garlic

Add chopped asparagus (with the heads reserved)

Add salt and white pepper

Add broth

Bring to a boil and then simmer for about 20 minutes.

Let cool

Then, puree in batches in a blender (hold the lid down…trust me on this)

Strain through a fine sieve

Cool completely (about 4-5 hours)

Right before serving, return soup to blender and add the cream.

Blend and serve in your grandmother’s best soup tureen.

Garnish with (raw) chopped reserved asparagus heads.

Pesto

Ingredients:

Basil – a lot, (one package) with the stems generally removed

Garlic – a lot (1/2 of a bulb?)

Pine nuts – a couple of tablespoons – ¼ cup (you can sub walnuts)

Parmesan cheese – about ¼ cup

Olive oil – about ½ cup, maybe more

Lemon or lime juice – a dash (don’t use too much)

Salt – generously

Black pepper – generously

Method:

Combine in a food processor.

Use that day.

It will last for a couple of days in the fridge, but the color will start to turn, and the whole point is the fresh yummieness.

A wrinkle in time…

You know those days when you really should be able to get your life totally and completely organized, once and for all?  You woke up at the crack of dawn, ate breakfast and marched the pupster out the door by 8:00 for her daily romp around the dog park.  Everything else should fall into line right? RIGHT?

Like you should have stayed at said dog park for a modest 45 minutes instead of an hour and a half.  Then you should have gotten down on your hands and knees and prepped and painted that stairway.  Of course, you were filthy when you got home from the dog park, not to mention the grit that was encapsulating said pupster, so maybe you showered with the dog.

I mean, who paints right after they are all freshly showered and moisturized? No one! That’s who.

Moving on to cleaner pursuits, you fire up the ole’ laptop to finish the next great American novel…but, normal people check their email.  Well, sometimes when checking said email you get a few intriguing messages from long lost friends that simply must be forwarded onto your contemporaries….suddenly it’s lunchtime, and you are STARVING.

So you cook.  I mean, it’s not like you can write on an empty stomach.  One bowl of steamed dumplings, and some soybeans later, another hour has passed.  The only logical step is to remove yourself from the time vacuum that is your home, so you head over to your friendly neighborhood cafe.

Damn that cafe and their free wifi. At least you updated your blog.