Once Upon a Piper

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Toti Nonna has been gone since January 28th and I have cried every morning just as a matter of course. She’s my first thought and my last thought every day, no exception.

Six weeks ago today I took myself over to Rbari, Ramapo Bergen Animal Refuge to see an available for adoption “in training” dog named Hilda.  First, who the hell names a dog Hilda and second, please define in training…  She looked like my Lina who, along with Toti Nonna, was put into training almost immediately upon arrival on Stowe Lane fourteen years ago. So I know my way around a crazy dog or two.  I could save another one as I promised Toti.  I could make her into another love of the neighborhood.  I could but maybe I couldn’t.  She was a pretty girl, I could see, even through the muzzle, she was tentative, she was cautious and so was I.  That is not a good combination for high intensity training.  Especially in a neighborhood with many many dogs at the end of extending leashes and no open outdoor space. I didn’t want to leave her but the circumstances would not have been to her benefit. Was it too soon?

But you know who would love your neighborhood?  Uh Oh…here comes the pitch.  Piper they said, she’s a Puggle.  Piper the Puggle…you know me, you know my eyes rolled involuntarily. What should I do Toti? Mom? Yes Toti? At least check her out. Yes Toti. And out came the cutest bundle of wiggle ass I’ve ever seen and she’s so soft and she’s got this face and and and twenty minutes later after just a moment’s pause she jumped into the back of the BMW. Ok Toti? Yes Mom.

Here’s the thing, she’s no Toti Nonna but she’s a funny little thing to have around and she’s wiggling her way further into my heart every day but for the first couple of weeks I couldn’t remember her name. People would ask and I was stumped, not good. What do you think Toti?  Rename her Mom, I know she rolled her eyes.  It’s a trait she got from me. But to what…

There are some people who you don’t see often and you don’t really follow along with their day to day but they still poke you once in a while and they still have a true sense of who you are and they seem to show up at exactly the right moments. They make you laugh, out loud, something I hadn’t realized I’d not done it months. You know the ones:

So bless you Michael you were just the respite from guilt and confusion I needed to rename the little chonk of a girl, who absolutely looks like a woman from the village that takes her walk everyday with her stockings rolled down to meet her shoes. Welcome Vecchietta.

In the last six weeks she has had exactly two accidents, (neither her fault as I missed the cues) had no preference nor need for the crate, ate beautifully, wacka wackas (loudest one ever from Lexi) her squeaky toys without trying to destroy them (thank you Aunt Fran and Aunt Maria for the abundance…of squeak toys) learns like an eager student and knows how to have a decent conversation.

She barks appropriately (Mom there’s someone at the door. You can’t come in til Mom says OK) and doesn’t suffer from separation anxiety, somehow Toti taught her to “take herself to bed” which she knows and understands, even when I say it.

Where we have differing opinions is on the walk.  I’m used to my dogs walking at my side, stop when I stop, no pulling on the leash.  This little girl is “enthusiastic” but come to find out they have harnesses for that, WHO KNEW? So the full extent of our training is in full swing and we walk miles a day.  My Fitbit is overjoyed to tell me I’m on a 41 day step streak!

Toti Nonna will never leave me, she will be with me my entire life, most likely I will continue to shed a tear for her each morning and when I close my eyes each night.  Except of course if I’m interrupted by the damn wacka wacka.

Mom? Yes Toti? I know, I sent a good one…yes you did Toti, yes you did.

Toti Nonna in the infinity of life

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In the infinity of life, where I am, all is perfect whole and complete.   Louise Hay

Hello February, I didn’t think I’d give a damn whether your notorious reputation for love and the promise of warmer weather came through or not. But here I am ready to move forward.

Forward from what?  Just shy of fourteen years ago, two fearful, beautiful, lost, then found, dogs made their way from Little Rock, Arkansas to Mahwah, New Jersey via the universe is unfolding in your favor express.  They were a handful in the best of circumstances, these were really the worst of circumstances having left a marriage and moved to a condo that had very little furniture because unencumbered was big in those days.  I’ll leave that there. We worked hard, we three, we learned and set boundaries and learned more and began a life that would envy any fairy tale…minus the prince. We three were a pack. The pack lost a member when Lina died. The pack was still strong even in its heartbreak.

All credit for that goes to Toti Nonna, the glue, the care giver, the boss of us all. Or so I thought.  She took care of her sister until she breathed her last breath. Then she took care of her Gramma until she too breathed her last breath. I believed I would be next in the line of recipients.  What I began to realize was that Toti had been taking care of me by taking care of them.  Now we were it, she and me, mutual caring to the very end.

The very end came on January 28th, 2022. She had simply grown old beyond her capabilities.  She had left it all in my hands. She believed I was ready, I wasn’t. I had never had more than 6 days without her on Stowe Lane, I’m here almost 14 years. My only capability was sobbing, in my pajamas every day, sometimes showering sometimes who gave a shit.  It was just me, going nowhere.

People were kind.  The core was surrounding me at arm’s length because they knew like they knew to leave me the hell alone.  I don’t do well in consolation, I do my work in isolation. But I do my work. And I am eternally grateful for their tiny pokes.

Thankfully, there has always been a moment in time for me to know my work is done.  I had cried a river and the river had run dry or changed course or simply returned to within its banks.   Toti and I will always be joined at the heart, she and I are the same; we take care of people, things, and situations. We herd people, figuratively and literally, into what is best for them because naturally only we know what that is…

She’s everywhere in this home, in my phone, in my writing, God knows Instagram nearly killed me but now I smile.  I’m a little pissed that Gramma got her back but my guess is Gramma needed her for something and I’m not going to question what. I promised Toti I’d save another one, I’m keeping my promise in Miss Piper who arrived on Stowe Lane less than a week ago.  You’ll hear more about her in the near future, she’s a great story too.

Mom

Yes Toti?

Well done…

Thank you Toti, you can rest now.

Posture

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Welcome to January, happy new year?

I’ve long ago given up on making/breaking resolutions, so if you’d like to tell me about yours have at it.  Perhaps one that’s worked, or was personally kind, or didn’t cause you undue stress…I thought so.  Instead I’ve chosen a word for the upcoming year.  It’s been part of Susannah Conway’s December daily reflections recap on Instagram.  I’ve participated over the last three years and found a lovely online group of people in return. Some of the prompts repeat year after year and many of those I find my answers also repeat. Such as:

A wish:   To live my life the way I want my story told.

Thank you for:   This day and everything in it:

  • Every walk and every sit
  • Every compliment and every slight
  • Every blessing and every lesson
  • Every binge and every fast
  • Every prayer and every curse
  • Every laugh and every cry
  • Every minute of every day that is #lifeonstowelane with #lovemytotinonna

And my word for 2022:

My word, you may have figured out is posture. It’s an interesting word, in the iceberg illustration of there being so much more below the surface than you can see, not the theater critic calling an opening night performance interesting. There are three definitions that resonate with me:

Physical, the most obvious and most important for healthy aging.  Yeah yeah aging.  I’m going kickin and screaming but I’m going. I don’t want to be a lovely bent lily as Jeanette used to say.  So my yoga classes will help and bringing my awareness to pulling my damn shoulders back will too.  I might need one of those slouching alarms.  Do not send me one.

Political, what a whirl wind we remain in.  I want my mind open, my attitude open, to other people and to social conditions.  I come from fighting for women, I can’t imagine I’ll ever stop doing that but divisiveness and blame are not my thing so I’ll be using my now famous: I don’t know what I don’t know frame of mind much more in 2022. Maya said it best, when we know better we do better. We all need to expand our mindset.

Psychological, HG Wells realized, “I don’t always rise to the new posture of things.” Obviously my retirement after this first year is still a new posture of things for me. In so many ways I have risen to new rhythms (I despise the word routine) I have purged more than half of my contacts in this year’s ritual, I have said no as a full sentence and I’m sure there’s more but those are the big three.  Hopefully I’ll continue to create a new posture of things.

Have I been posturing all my life? Probably. Mostly in terms of being a woman (car hag) in an industry that isn’t especially welcoming to us, especially the old broads that still carry the 70’s slogans, maybe not quite as severe as “kill the patriarchy” but you get my point.

My posturing now will surely be softer, kinder to those who remain, the ones I poke every January to make sure all is well.  The ones I want closer to me now that there are so many less insignificant distractions. The ones who got away, I want those back. 

So let us begin, together, in our own personal ways to make 2022 different, better, safer for ourselves and our people.  Shoulders back…  

Mirepoix

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Welcome to December, I’m not entirely sure how that could be but welcome anyway. It’s always been my time to take inventory of my freezer in anticipation of those fabulous snow days…turns out I have no Mirepoix in there. None, zero, one good snow storm and I’ll starve to death without it. So today was the day.

Onion, carrot, celery the magical base of almost every winter recipe either full or speed scratch for one. You already know which way I’m leaning. In keeping with the speed scratch way, I long ago stopped chopping those fabulous veg in lew of pre chopped. Where is it written that you must chop your own mirepoix? No where.

I start with good olive oil, I love the oils from Italy, and unsalted butter. Classic saute and stir in the veg, does anyone else have a favorite spatula? I thought so.

Here it comes, that smell. The only way to get mirepoix scented air freshener is to cook it. Salt, pepper and any special / signature seasoning and let the water render out. Slowly, until the onions become translucent. You’ll know you’re there when the sizzle begins to get louder as the water lets off. Perfect for freezing and using later.

Pack it up in your choice and size freezer container and let it cool completely uncovered. I use a “for one” size, I can always pull out more  if necessary. Dedicate a section of your freezer to these fabulous containers so that you can grab and go with your favorite ingredients.

If you’d like one of my favorite winter storm recipes you can find it here.

Buon Appetito

Speed Scratch Cooking for One

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I’ve been talking about writing this book for years, Speed Scratch Cooking for One, thinking I wanted to stop people living on their own from eating cold cereal for dinner.  What I’ve come to realize is that I want to honor all the women who’ve lived on their own and taught me many of these concepts, they would call them tricks and wink.

I’ve got hundreds of stories from these women, “my Aunt’, my beloved Jeanette, and yes Rere with all our stuff made a wonderful and enduring food impact. I’ve learned from many other women, not just my own, and really those are also stories worth telling. Many of these stories are sprinkled throughout Ordinary Legacy and I’ll link them along the way.  They have made me what I am today and I love them more and more as I get older and see what they’ve seen.

They loved food, they loved cooking (or they didn’t) and they refused to eat cold cereal for dinner. That said, they had many fabulous ideas for cold cereal sans the milk. Many of them lived on their own for decades and had endless “tricks” up their sleeves, or in their apron pockets.

I admit many of them were old school, or just plain old but that in no way makes them less relevant.  They didn’t have many of the modern conveniences we are blessed with, or is it a blessing?  These recipes and techniques very likely came from necessity, stretching a dollar, scarcity, dire circumstances, or boredom. They were then brought about with imagination, curiosity or sometimes abundance. Maybe some combination of all those things.  Who hasn’t received an abundance of zucchini from a neighbor or your own garden? That now becomes sliced, diced, shredded eaten on its own as a side dish, salad or pasta ingredient, rollatini, or lasagna. Perhaps pickled, frozen or baked into something like bread, cake, muffins, or frittata some of it returned to the giver or those who have less.  If you’re a single person at the farmer’s market chances are you’ve come home with more than you need, why not use these same options that same Sunday afternoon to create meals and choices for the week or freezer using simple prep possibilities. The Sunday scaries didn’t exist for these women and you might find they also disappear from your life.

A perfect example: Where they would cook a chicken, we have the luxury of picking up a rotisserie chicken from the supermarket but the concept of “for one” would look the same.

Rotisserie chicken speed scratch style;

Carve one breast off, cool and freeze whole in a freezer bag. Chop the other breast into chunks for salad, soup or omelet later in the week.

Wings and carcass onto a sheet pan and into the oven for browning, then into a pot of water with salt, pepper, parsley, and any leftover non starchy veg in the fridge for stock. Strain out the solids, store in the fridge for soups or pour into ice cube trays for single use in sautés, or flavoring pasta water.

Eat the two thighs for dinner immediately, never met an elder who didn’t do this, sometimes not even waiting until dinner. No side dish required, just a piece of good bread for the “juice” aka chicken fat. And a tiny (jelly jar) glass of wine.

If you’ve no desire to do all these steps, or just a few, honestly the damn chicken is so tiny you alone could devour the whole thing in one sitting. I can attest.

I’ve no intention of teaching anyone how to cook but I feel compelled to share some of these tasty bits. Whether you use them or not is completely up to you. Whether or not I gather them together in one place and call it a book remains to be seen but we shall see. No promises = no pressure.

See you in April.