Deep Water Starts a Breeze!

As you may recall if you follow my blog, back in early May I blogged about the new slalom ski I purchased that was going to solve all my water skiing issues. Well, I'm happy to report -- thumbs up to the Pilot.

Old School -- New School

Here's the comparison of my "equipment." The ski on the left is what I have been using basically since I finally mastered (if you can call it that) slalom skiing about 27 years ago. It's actually my sister-in-law Janis' ski. Back in the day...it was pretty awesome. Enter the Pilot. As you can see, the Pilot gives a lot more surface area, which is what is supposed to make skiing so much easier.

I think my blog on May 1 included some customer testimonials that you would "pop right up" with the Pilot. Well, I can't say that I popped right up, but I will say that the deep water start was significantly easier with the Pilot. I didn't nearly drown myself before exiting the water, and I did not displace my contacts on the start. So, what was probably a 15-20 second (I'm speculating here) ordeal with the wooden Connelly, was reduced to maybe 7-10 seconds. That might not seem like a lot of time, but try it when you are:

• Old
• Fat
• Out of shape 
• Holding on to a rope attached to a boat that is going 25-30 mph

I did, however, still get a wedgie coming out of the water. For the sake of the poor people we might pass on the river, I always address that issue first. Here's an action photo of the Pilot at work.

This is about as good as it gets!

It's perfect getting out on the river early in the morning (that's before 10 a.m. in our family). Smooth waters, few boats, cooler temps. Now, here is my niece Amanda really showing how to put the Pilot to work. Oh, to be 23 again, although I'm not sure even at 23 my form was this good.


This is what I wished I looked like!

Here I am with a post-water skiing after glow.

Me and my new best friend!

We tried to get our littlest skier out of the water today. As stated in his own words, "That was not gweat!" He then asked if I could box the skis up and send them back to the store because he would not need them anymore. Oh, Carter....

All decked out.

All in all, a great day skiing. I think my Couch to 5K has improved my skiing stamina as well. I guess we can call that a win win.

Little Red Corvette


On the road to Farley today, I was caught up in a Corvette Cruise. I got sandwiched in the middle of them just outside of Marion and didn't shake them until I hit Cascade.
 

We got a big ol' convoy...

As I drove along, I remembered that my cousin Mike once blogged about, "Will I Ever Buy a Corvette?" His blog was actually included in the Michael Dregni book celebrating the 50th Anniversary of the Corvette, "This Old Corvette: The Ultimate Tribute to America's Sports Car." I think Mike's answer to the question was "yes," it was more just a matter of "when." His essay reflects on the effect the common car has on our every day lives and the lust many of us have to own a Corvette.

Funny thing about passing these 20-25 corvettes -- gray hair is required! Every single driver of the Corvettes I passed had to be 60+ years old. I guess the thing about owning a Corvette is that it is a totally impractical car, and you have to have it as a weekend toy. Most of us commoners can barely keep one vehicle operational, much less having a car that you can drive only on a handful of weekends in the year (at least in this part of the country).

But, this group of Corvette lovers sure seemed enthusiastic. Almost all had personalized plates on their cars:

• SNARL
• BCINGYA
• RSN2CRZN
• RSN2NJY
• CRZN247
• BLUEDMN
• SPIRITS
• JCUB

RSN2CRZN

They take this Corvette cruising seriously. Another apparent requirement must be a CB radio. 10-4 Rubber Ducky.... Most of the 'vettes were outfitted with big radio antennae.

CRZN247

They all jockeyed for position on the highway. Who was going to be in the lead? Like a flock of geese, they kind of took turns being the leader, eventually falling back and letting someone else head the pack. They liked being all in a row, too. Ummm, yeah, so there I am in my 2005 Accord...I'm sure I was annoying them, but they could not maintain steady speed! First they were going 60, then 75, back to 65. I didn't know whether to attribute this to "old age" driving, the fact they might not have cruise control, or if it was part of their master plan to keep in "funeral formation." JCub (with a handicap plate no less) in the red Corvette must have gotten annoyed because he blew ahead of the pack. I found him on Highway 136 at the Cascade exit, but I think he got goofed up because he was just sitting off the highway like he was lost and waiting for the rest of his Corvette buddies to catch up.

When I was 17 and got my first car, a Camaro, I swore I would *never* drive anything but a sports car. Now, I think I am more impressed with a distinguished looking man driving a Jaguar or Lexus or BMW. I guess I'm just too practical. I honestly don't see myself driving around town in a two-seater again.

Shortly after his high school graduation in 1976, my brother Tim did a short stint as a car salesman at the Chevy dealer in Dyersville. I can recall him trying to convince my father to purchase a 25th anniversary Corvette as an investment. Well, if you know Raymond (my dad), you would know he was like "hell no, I am not buying that." In retrospect, it probably would have been a pretty cool thing to do. Tim would totally fit into the Corvette Club look (you know, the white/gray hair required look):

Tim (with Pearl)

So, the answer for me to "Will I Ever Own a Corvette?" is most likely "no." As for my cousin Mike, well, the jury is still out. He did recently buy a pretty sweet little red Mazda Miata convertible...so he's getting closer. His kids are out of college now, so he said he finally had the extra cash to indulge.

oooooooo

I'm blogging again today because I'm totally in work avoidance. I need to write a proposal section for an effort at work. Of course, I'm thinking of 99 other things I'd rather be doing. It's sort of like being in college again with a 10 page term paper due tomorrow.



Julie and Julia and Carol

"Life itself is the proper binge."

Great quote? Who said it?

The blog title is a clue. It is a tale of inspiration, information, and execution. Flashback to November 2009. I was flying to Perth, Western Australia to visit one of my best friends. What I tell people about going to Perth is that it is far…very far. To get to Perth from Cedar Rapids, it is a total of 25.5 hours in the air. With layovers and crossing the international dateline, it takes two full days to get there. LAX – Melbourne is 15.5 hours trapped in a flying tube. Needless to say, I got caught up on a lot of movies on that trip.

Enter Julie and Julia – the inspiration. This was the 2009 movie with Meryl Streep as Julia Child and Amy Adams as Julie Powell, a woman who blogged about cooking her way through Julia Child’s book "Mastering the Art of French Cooking." Watching that movie on my long long boring flight made me (A) hungry and (B) inspired to attempt to master French cooking myself. Before watching this movie, my limited knowledge of Julia Child was that she had some cooking show on PBS when I was a kid and that Dan Ackroyd did a spot-on spoof of her once on Saturday Night Live. It’s no secret that I love food and I enjoy cooking for my family and friends. I thought to myself that French cuisine would be a new challenge for me, and I could impress my friends with my culinary delights. I mentioned this lofty idea to my friend Liz shortly after my return from Australia, and a few weeks later on my birthday, she gave me a copy of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking."

I got to the third page of the forward before my blind enthusiasm started to turn to fear. I’ve always been comfortable working in the kitchen and experimenting with new recipes. Part of the forward reads, "Our years of teaching cookery have impressed upon us the fact that all too often a debutant cook will start in enthusiastically on a new dish without ever reading the recipe first." Guilty!! It continues, "We therefore urge you, however much you have cooked, always to read the recipe first even if the dish is familiar to you." I read on. I have been breaking many of Julia’s rules. I needed more information.   

• "Precision in small details can make the difference between passable cooking and fine food." I’m in trouble here…I never measure anything, I just eyeball it.
• "Allow yourself plenty of time." Hmmm, I like to work fast when I cook, it allows more time for the cocktails with my friends...this will be a challenge.
• "Be sure your oven is hot before the dish goes in." Really? I never wait for the preheat bell to go off.
• "A pot saver is a self-hampering cook." Evidently, Julia promotes the use of every bowl and pan in the kitchen.

Oh, I have so much to learn. I read and re-read the cookbook for over a year before I finally worked up the courage to attempt some of the recipes.

Normally, I would invite a group of friends over for dinner whenever I was in the mood to cook, but Julia had me scared of my ability to execute a dinner of French food. For my first foray, it was going to be a party of 1. My selections: poulet au porto, risotto, and peas. The risotto and the peas were fairly straight forward, the poulet au porto on the other hand proved a bit more challenging.

First of all, I had to purchase a whole chicken. Typically I’m a boneless, skinless chicken breast kind of gal and occasionally will buy some wings for the grill. The recipe called for a 3 pound fryer. Well, a lot of chickens must be on steroids these days because all the chickens I saw at the grocery store were more like 5 pounds. OK…I can adapt, right?

The first step in the recipe is to smear the inside of the chicken with 2 tablespoons of softened butter. That is messy. Next, it says to "truss the chicken." OK, now here’s where not reading the recipe in its entirety has already gotten me in trouble. I needed a mattress needle and string for this procedure. I had neither, so I had to improvise with a needle and thread. The goal is to basically tie up the legs, wings, and neck skin so it all stays in a neat little package when you cook it. It was a very awkward procedure. I felt like I was manhandling a baby. That slippery little chicken did not want to cooperate. Per Julia, a 5 pound chicken should take a little under 2 hours to fully roast. I was thinking I’d have a little time to relax before I started working on the risotto. Not so much…I had to baste the chicken with more butter every 10-15 minutes and flip it around in the roasting pan three or four times. I see now why Julia recommended learning how to handle hot food.

In between my basting duties, I was chopping shallots and slicing mushrooms to begin preparations for the cream sauce. By now, I’ve got every burner on the stove and nearly every pan I own in use. The risotto and peas were coming along without any real issues. As the chicken was finishing its roasting time, things got a little hectic. I had to deglaze the roasting pan with the port wine. Meanwhile, I was supposed to be cutting up the chicken into serving pieces and placing them in a large skillet. I’ve never actually cut up a whole chicken and attempting to do so to a chicken that just spent 2 hours in a 350 degree oven was even more of a challenge. I finally managed to hack off the drumsticks and wings and cut hunks of the breast meat off the bone. I’m sure this was totally incorrect, but Julia did not include any instructions on the proper method for carving a chicken.

But, then, came the exciting part. With the cut up chicken in a "well buttered" skillet on the stove, I got to add ¼ cup of cognac and light it on fire. Whoosh! Now, where was my fire extinguisher? After the flames burned out, I added in my mushroom cream sauce and let it simmer. It was time to pull it all together and rate my execution. The chicken was very moist and buttery, the port cream sauce seemed a little on the salty side…my fault for eyeballing instead of measuring. The risotto was a little dry, but I might have bought a different type of rice than what was called for in the recipe. The peas….well, there was more butter there, too. Total execution time, not counting my planning period, was 3 hours. That seemed like it took a really long time. Of course, I was painstakingly slow. Thank God I hadn’t invited anyone over to eat it.

What I learned during this initial foray in to French cooking:  

• Julia was right – Precision in small details. I’ll measure everything next time so I don’t inadvertently get salty food.
• Allow plenty of time – Check! I have figured out where I could do some of the chopping and prep work in advance.
• Plan to use every bowl and pan in the kitchen. Man, you’d have sworn I had cooked a meal for 12 by the amount of dishes I had to wash.
• The French love their butter. Wow…I guess I’ve tried to eat low-fat for so long that I was overly sensitive to the buttery flavor in everything. But, again, I probably wasn’t always precise on the amount of butter I was using.

"Life itself is the proper binge."

That’s what it’s all about…enjoying the journey of life. So I’m no Julia Child…and will never be. I may not master every recipe in "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," in fact I may not even attempt every recipe in "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," but the joie de vie is trying new things and sharing them with friends and family. It was a good way to spend a Sunday afternoon…in solitude…with my dog watching me and waiting for me to drop scraps of food to her. A day to recharge doing something I enjoy.

Bon Appetit!

Happy Birthday America!

It was 235 years ago today that church bells rang out over Philadelphia, as the Continental Congress adopted Thomas Jefferson's draft of the Declaration of Independence. The opening lines read, in part:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

As I read these words, I am reminded how truly lucky we are to live in America. Certainly, America is not without its problems, but there are so many things we take for granted that thousand -- millions -- around the world have to struggle for.

• When I wake up each morning on my super-comfortable pillow-top mattress, I do not have to worry about walking a long distance to fetch water. I walk 10 feet and turn on a faucet from which I can drink the water without worry of contamination or parasites. Then, I turn on the shower that pulses warm water. The thought of hiking to a river or lake to bathe is not even a consideration. Similarly, I can carry my pile of dirty clothes downstairs and throw them in the washing machine, instead of trying to clean them against rocks and allowing them to dry by putting them over a bush.
• I don't worry each morning whether I will have enough to eat that day. Sadly, for me and millions of Americans, we have too much food!
• As a woman in a America, I embrace and cherish all my personal and professional freedoms. I go to work without fear of sexual harassment, abuse, or exploitation. I assume that I have equal opportunities for advancement and compensation. I trust that upper management values my work based on my knowledge and experience and that the fact I am a woman is immaterial. I do not feel awkward being a nearly 50 year old single woman with no kids. In fact, I love all the choices that my status affords me.
• I am grateful for the educational opportunities that I have had. Of course it was assumed I would graduate from high school and it was almost certain I would go to college. Around the world, many women are restricted from seeking education.
• I've been driving since I was 14 and think nothing of it. Yet another freedom that not all women across the globe are entitled to.
• If I am ill, I have the luxury of going to a world-class teaching hospital and receiving the best in medical care. I am lucky to have health insurance. I have access to simple over-the-counter medications to cure ailments that cause death for some in third-world countries.
• I'm sitting in my comfortable climate-controlled home...protected equally from heat and humidity in the summer and from cold and rain or snow in the winter.
• I have access via the Internet, public libraries, newspapers, news shows, and bookstores to information on any subject imaginable. Many citizens across the world still receive news that is filtered/censored by their governments. With knowledge comes power.
• Our government might not always be doing what we think it should be doing, but I can at least feel confident that we have a voice in the government. At any time, I can fire off a letter, e-mail, or phone call to any of my congressional representatives or the president without fear of retribution. I know that if the government does not act, we have the power to vote them out of office. We do not need to stage ongoing protests and riots to try and remove someone from power who as been in control for over 40 years. 

So, yes, it's easy to complain about what's wrong in our lives. But, for many Americans, we have no room to gripe. I still believe that the U.S.A is the greatest country and we are all lucky to live here. With props to Lee Greenwood:  

And I'm proud to be an American,

where at least I know I'm free.

And I won't forget the men who died,

who gave that right to me.

And I gladly stand up,

next to you and defend her still today.

'Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land,

God bless the USA.

Neda Ulaby and other interesting names

Anyone who knows me well knows that I am an NPR fanatic. I hang on every word that comes out of Bob Edwards', Sylvia Pojole's, Nina Totenberg's, Cokie Roberts', Mandalit del Barco's, Ira Glass', David Sedaris', Tom and Ray Magliozzi's, Dick Gordon's, Lynne Rosetto Kasper's, and Lakshmi Singh's mouths. To be truthful, the only NPR show that I can't stand is Prairie Home Companion. There is something about Garrison Keillor's voice that just irritates me, and all those odd Minnesota stories conjure up weird memories of my early career days in Minnesota where I met some full on Norwegian types.

Today, when I was driving to meet two co-workers for dinner, Neda Ulaby was reporting on the use of "That's racist!" as a common retort used by kids these days. If you missed the story, you can listen to it and read about it here. As I listened to the story, I recalled that I, too, have sometimes jokingly made this comment about things that truly had no correlation to the ugly reality of racism.

When I got home, I opened the front door to let Bailey out. I noticed that my neighbor was walking his dog, a young pit bull mix, across our common green space. Because I hadn't planned on putting Bailey's leash on, I waited inside the door for him to pass. I realized that he was motioning for me to come out. When I got out on my step, he commented that his dog is "super friendly" and he starts walking toward me. I explain that Bailey is "super old." He then replies, "Oh, I see, OK" and turns around but continues to say that his dog is friendly.

Now, I never doubted that his dog was anything but friendly, but the dog is clearly young and exuberant. My neighbor is a young fit man, but he was having to strain to keep the dog on the leash in check. Bailey is not a dog's dog. And, especially, she doesn't like bigger hyper dogs who get all up in her face. I'm quite certain she would have given this dog the growl and most likely the snap. So, as my neighbor walked away, what was running through my head was  "That's racist!"

You see, my neighbor is a young black man. As I watched him going up the street with his dog and Bailey was doing her business 5 feet from the door, I felt guilty. Does he think that I was afraid of him? Does he think I assumed he was like Michael Vick and his pit bull mix dog is a trained fighter? Both, of course, are not at all what I was thinking. I thought I was being a considerate dog owner for letting him pass by before Bailey and I came out the door, particularly because I was "breaking Iowa City code" by having Bailey off-leash.

What was he thinking about me? Did he think I was typecasting him and his dog? Did he think I was intolerant? Did he think, "God, what a bitch! I've seen her walking her dog for a year now and just wanted to say hello."

As the NPR story reported:

Regina N. Bradley, who teaches classes in African American literature at Florida State University, says she thinks kids are using "that's racist," to establish that they're not — but even the college students she teaches get confused about the difference between race and race issues. Saying "that's racist" is sometimes a way to get out of difficult discussions about race, she says — which is still a sensitive topic.

Next time my neighbor and I are out walking our dogs, I'll introduce myself and hopefully avoid awkward moments in the future.

Lazy Sunday

I do love me a Sunday with nothing to do. I've been on the move the past three weekends. Today, I anticipated my Sunday with no plans like a kid on Christmas Eve. I moved from the bed to the couch at around 8 a.m. and lounged there until about 10:30. I was moving in and out of consciousness at that point. You know that "oh my God, somebody drugged me, I can't move feeling..." That's where I was.

So, I forced myself off the couch and went to the gym. I'm on Week 2 of my "Couch to 5K" program and needed to get one more workout in this week to keep pace with the program. I still dislike running, and I dislike running on the track even more. But, I haven't thrown in the towel yet. Still working toward that 5K in October. Good thing that's still three full months away. I don't feel like my progress is very good at this juncture. Then, for the first time in years, I got in the pool for some lap swimming. What a feeling....refreshing, peaceful, easy on the body.

Back home....back on the couch. Wow....I think the lap swimming zapped all remaining energy. Christ I'm tired. Another two hour nap. I've been glued to the TV all afternoon, too, taking full advantage of the free HBO/Cinemax weekend compliments of Mediacom. Of course, mostly what I've watched are movies I've seen 25 times. Still love "Waiting to Exhale" with pre-crackhead Whitney Houston. Now, Ocean's 11, with a really stellar cast including Don Cheadle!!

Six more hours before I'll think about going to bed. Most of that time will be spent right here on the couch. I guess this is pretty much what Bailey's day is like. Damn, she's lucky.

The only thing better than a Sunday with no plans is a three-day weekend with no plans! Bring on next weekend and the Independence Day holiday.

Thank You For Being a Friend

On my 4.5 hour drive back from Minneapolis this afternoon, I had time to reflect on how blessed I am to have such fabulous friends. As I cruised south on Highway 52, I kept hearing the song: 

Thank you for being a friend

Traveled down the road and back again
your heart is true you're a pal and a confidant
I'm not ashamed to say
I hope it always will stay this way
My hat is off, won't you stand up and take a bow

And when we both get older
With walking canes and hair of gray
Have no fear, even though it's hard to hear
I will stand real close and say,
Thank you for being a friend.

By the luck of the draw, really, you can be dealt a royal flush when it comes to your family or, sometimes, you are dealt some really crappy cards and come up with nothing.

But when it comes to your friends, you have choices. I am profoundly grateful for my friends--friendships that began in kindergarten that are comfortable and grounding to friendships that are still newly forming and that make me think in new ways and find appreciation in things I had taken for granted. Friendships begun based on a single common thread, with a classmate or co-worker, but friendships that grew because of deeper threads that reinforced the friendship.

When I think collectively of my friends, I think in some ways they are all very similar. But, really, they are all very different and each enriches my life in unique ways. I can't explain exactly why one or the other has become such an important part of my life. But, when I don't see a friend or communicate with a friend for some time, there is a definite void that is not automatically filled by another friend.

My friends know when I am down, can make me laugh almost on demand, and are hopeful for a world that should be better than it is now. We are comfortable in each other's presence and can relish the quiet times shared when two friends are merely sitting in the sun enjoying the company of the other without the need to fill each minute with chatter.

Thank you, my friends, you know who you are.