Blackberry Madness

Sure, the blackberries are late this year and yes, it's harder to find the big, plump, juicy ones but with a little persistence and knowledge of the geography of Discovery Park, D and I hit the "mother lode" of bushes yesterday morning. We walked out an hour later with a bucket of sweet blackberries, enough for a large cobbler and the rest for "juice". I ran the leftover berries through the juicer which is a miraculous way to get those pesky seeds out, leaving pure blackberry syrup which we use to make ice cream, sorbet, and to flavor those infamous summer mojitos. Love it.

The cobbler recipe has been a summer favorite for almost 15 years; I bought a recipe book shortly after we moved to Seattle called Wild and Free Blackberries which features drinks, desserts, and even soups and vinegars made from Northwest blackberries. The cobbler recipe developed by Shirley Patterson of Carnation, Washington is the best, especially with vanilla ice cream or whipped topping. This is the taste of summer to be sure. Most years it's early August and we're pulling these cobblers out of the oven; this year it's late August but, oh well.













Blackberry Cobbler.....

Combine 4-5 cups of clean berries with water in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Add sugar and cornstarch to thicken. Cook and stir mixture until thickened.

Pour mixture into a baking pan. Mix flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in a bowl. Add beaten egg and mix with a fork until crumbly. Spread over berries and drizzle with melted butter. Sprinkle with cinnamon and bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.



























Dish it out, serve with whipped cream and enjoy.
P.S. The recipe is available for the asking.

Mish Mash Mind

You know it's bad when sleep is disrupted by ideas for blog posts. If that isn't creepy enough, then consider waking up to a mind overflowing with multiple snippets of blog posts swirling around in a caffeine depleted mind only to become an overwhelming number of bigger ideas that don't gain good traction because they are just that: "small plates".

I've decided to post my Mish Mash Mind today in the form of photos (and words) that have been ping ponging around my heart and mind these last three days.

The weather, ever since the grand family/friends picnic in Discovery Park last Saturday, has been overcast, rainy, and unseasonably cool. Is summer gone, we ask? I've resisted starting up the furnace in the mornings but we have the down comforter back on the bed. The new bank of Leylands revels in the much needed natural moisture and I imagine their microscopic rootlets pushing out into the soil, exploring a new home. It feels like autumn in late August.

My Birthday came and went. It was bittersweet all around. Visiting Mom and Dad and posing with them while Catie snapped this picture (notice the extra clothing; it's chilly) reinforces the feeling that each day with them is precious. Time is running out but the energy and ideas and enthusiasm to make more of the time is a great challenge (see Rockbridge Times post).

Sharing a Birthday evening out for dinner with D and the kids was a romp through calorie overload but still delicious. The blackberry shake that accompanied this burger was over the top and by the time we got to cake later in the evening, I wondered why we were continuing to eat. Thanks to Denny who baked the cake. We didn't have the proper candle numbers so figured the number 5 was just fine. The porcelain "August Angel" figurine on the left stands by all August birthday cakes if we remember.

One of my birthday requests was to watch a movie at home, just the 4 of us. D and I introduced Animal House with John Belushi, one of our favorites from ancient days, to the uninitiated. I think they enjoyed it; we did anyway. Some of the lines in that movie are priceless; D and I quote them frequently. Thanks to Laura for the dozen red roses. Very sweet. I'm looking at them now from my bed as I write this post.

The view of these lovely roses segues into the fact that you, Ms. L are leaving very, very soon for an eight month trip to Europe and studies abroad. I'm so excited for you but at the same time coming to grips with emotions so powerful that I can barely write about them. The feelings manifest in our push-pull dance of preparation, packing, purchasing, and running through never ending lists of "to-do". Although the leave taking looms large, I see you infrequently, making our time time together burdened down with tension and anxiety. God grant me grace. I'm in such need.

Packing and organizing and hoping that things forgotten can be easily replaced and things unneeded are kept to a minimum. The bags can weigh no more than 50 pounds; we have a scale handy to confirm. There is so much she wants to take and no amount of wisdom from the packing gurus means much when "stuff" is so important.

Which brings me up to present day. Saturday. I don't have many plans but would like to fill a basket with blackberries and make a cobbler before the month of August passes. This year, the unseasonable chill and wet, has made berry picking a challenge. Unlike most years when cobblers, muffins, ice cream and mojitos garnished with blackberries abound, we've had none.

I'll go in search of ripe blackberries and try to clear out this tangled mish mash mind.

Redux

In June, I wrote and posted this poem entitled Safe. In my conscious mind, I was writing about my Mother although deep inside I knew the intensity of emotion bubbling up while writing was a signal that I was also writing about myself.

This morning, after a long night and an even longer day and night ahead, I know that all I want is embodied in the word Safe. With my tight and restrictive definition of that word, I won't get there because, like the word Perfect, safe does not exist.

Safe

All she ever wanted was to be safe.
An elusive place, found intermittently
when least expected, impossible to design,
Refractory to control.
The prized nugget, often the purpose to living.
Comfort and assurance.
Peace and restful sleep.
Living backwards, noting that what had passed was safe.
Rejoicing in retrospect that life was full; fun.
The moment of now uncertain, only perhaps safe.
Tormented by dread of future loss, unsafe territory looming.
Always.

What is safe? Depends.
So little of it comes from the interior landscape,
although she knows this is the only place where safe resides.
External factors and desire for control over a restless,
moving shoreline that defies comfort,
Even in the beauty of its unpredictability,
the breath of moments, one after another.
A consuming battle to the end of life, terminal.
Seeking the peace that passeth all understanding,
Yearning for the safe that resides everywhere and nowhere
A life, incomplete, paralyzed by anticipatory loss
until the precious arms of safe come to welcome her home.

Great Choice of Words, Bill

This is my first political post on Ahead of the Wave; I steer clear for a number of reasons.

I can't resist this one, however.

Last night I watched most of former President Clinton's speech at the DNC. He told the crowd,

"Everything I learned in my eight years as president, and in the work I have done since in America and across the globe, has convinced me that Barack Obama is the man for this job."

Notice carefully: He did not say person for this job, individual for this job, or candidate for this job. He said Obama was the man for the job. Great choice of words, Bill because we and you both know who the woman is for this job. Yes, we do.

The Last Birthday Cake

The Last Birthday Cake

I wonder; what flavor was that cake?
What taste the icing
made by those most precious hands
baked in her own kitchen
on my birthday three years ago?
Racking my mind, wanting to remember with certainty
the small details, wanting to carry the crumbs
of memory close to my heart.
Always.

There were no more cakes to come,
the last one a precious symbol of her love.
I struggle to find details through the murky veil of memory.
Her hands and mind now unable to mix and stir
and pour and bake,
Unable to assess and assemble.
Today she may not know this day comes again.
If she does, she may feel sad for times past when the cake
stood as a sign of her love.
Homemade and from the heart.

Angel Food with added vanilla, moist and delicious.
Drizzled with bittersweet chocolate, hardening to hold in place
a ring of walnut halves. Perfect.
Waiting for the scoop of ice cream.
Was this the last cake?
I will never know for sure. No photographs as proof.
Only misty thoughts of a night out,
returning home for our dessert,
The cake she had prepared, left on my kitchen counter.

Random Thoughts on Work

Almost two years ago, on a Friday in mid September 2006, I made a rather sudden decision to take a leave of absence from my full time work as a Nephrologist. I left my practice and took two months off, using the time for many purposes, including hands-on care of parents whose health was in rapid decline. In the in-between moments, I racked my brain, pondering how (or if) I could possibly return to the work I had been doing for over twenty years. Knowing that fundamental changes were necessary to reclaim myself from punishing mental and physical exhaustion, the time off was critical. I learned that the analogy of a lobster placed in tepid water with the heat slowly rising is a relatively painless process until the bitter end of ultimate sacrifice when it's just too late. In my case, I had slowly ramped up the intensity of my work until I hit the wall running full speed, never realizing how burned up I'd become.

I'm musing today, some two years down the line as I consider how different my work life is these days. When I got back in the game after my two months off, I accepted that I had to change fundamentally the way I practiced medicine. Gone was the traditional model of working five days a week, in clinic and hospital, with one week in four "on call". I now work "mostly weekends" as I tell my family, friends and colleagues. Although I have a few clinic days a month, I no longer have a panel of patients. I no longer serve as a primary care doctor. I believe these days are over. My work continues to challenge me; it just comes in smaller doses although the intensity in the midst of the fray is unchanged.

Is this work schedule sustainable? I wonder constantly. For now there's a need and a niche for me, despite the unusual schedule. But, for the long haul? I don't know. I feel under pressure to figure out the next step, wanting to stay ahead of the wave (hmmmm) and prepared for the day when I'm told that the more traditional path is what's needed of me; take it or leave it. I'm ramping up my creativity, hoping to cull out what I do best and make it what's needed by patients and the institution that pays my salary. I need the healthier work-life balance as we all do. In the olden days (of medical careers), people didn't worry too much about work-life balance. Medicine was supposed to be your life. Thankfully, this dinosaur is dying off.

So much for random musings. I'm tired after my 4 day/night stint as the on-call doctor. It was a full, chaotic, challenging but rewarding romp through territory with unpredictable frustrations, wins and losses. Awakened every night multiple times, I'm weary and ready to sleep through the night. Glad for the next few days off, I'll recover in time for the next sprint.

Tick Tock; Tick Tock

The days and hours count down to the moment when we bid Miss Laura goodbye and send her on her way to Europe for the long anticipated year of "studies abroad" in Florence. She leaves in less than two weeks for the opening tour to Berlin, Krakow, and Prague. Then, it's on to Florence, life in a pensione and classes Monday to Thursday with three day weekends designed to explore all that Italy offers. A dream come true; I'd love to be in her shoes and am more than envious of what looks to be a trip of a lifetime.

She may elect to stay in Europe the entire eight months. The study abroad program offers a "Christmas Tour" each year and most students opt for that instead of the long, expensive trek home. This year the holiday tour is going to be chilly and dark (northern latitudes) but likely quite wonderful with travels to Denmark, Sweden, and St. Petersburg, Russia. Seattle hardly stands a chance unless homesickness prevails.

I feel under the gun to get an endless list of stuff accomplished (and that doesn't include the task of thoughtful packing which is by far the hugest challenge) by the time September 5th rolls around. But, it's not my stuff; it's hers. Trouble is I seem to be the only one getting tense. If I had the guts, I'd restrict myself to asking a single question around about September 4th, "What time do you want to leave for the airport?" and let the in-between details play out on her timetable. But, like I said, that takes guts and I have none.

Meantime, we are all up in each other's faces about said details and drama prevails. She knows I have her back and I know I'm up to my old tricks. A wise adviser suggested I back off (as usual) but do I listen? How likely is it that I can suddenly turn around habits of a lifetime even though I "get it" on an intellectual level? The annoying "tick tock, tick tock" of time passing is not only making me restless, it's making me miss her even though she's still in my house! As I try to avoid that most desperate and helpless feeling generated by a phone call from 7000 miles away about something that could have been done beforehand when time was ample and un-pressured, I'm fueling the fire with my own shit. Alas.

Chill out, meddlin' mama. Chill out. Where's the vitamin C?