CORN BREAD & OYSTER STUFFING

2 loaves of cornbread - enough cornbread to fill a 9x11 baking dish - broken into chunks or cubes (double or triple this recipe)

1-2 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil

1/2 cup chopped onions

1 cup sliced mushrooms

4 cloves garlic, minced

3/4 cup diced celery

1 tsp. chopped basil

1/4 cup chopped flat leaf parsley

dash nutmeg

dash smoked paprika

salt & pepper to taste

32 oz. strained fresh oysters - as fresh as possible - chopped or whole

!! reserve oyster liquor !!

2 tbsp. melted, unsalted butter

1 egg

1/2 cup chicken or vegetable stock

Optional - reserved oyster liquor

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Bake cornbread 2 or 3 days ahead of time so it's dry.

In a large pan that can transfer to the oven, add olive oil over medium-high heat.

Add onions, garlic, mushrooms, and celery.

Sautee veggies in olive oil for approx. 5 minutes, until soft.

Add basil, parsley, nutmeg, paprika, salt and pepper. Mix in well.

Stir in oysters.

Add cornbread.

Whisk butter and egg together, mix into stuffing.

If stuffing is dry, add chicken broth plus some oyster liquor if you like the flavor. Oyster liquor is the liquid left behind when you strain the oysters from the jar, bottle, or the shells.

(I always add it because I usually eat too many of the oysters while prepping the stuffing so I need the flavor from the liquid to fortify the stuffing.)

Bake for 20 minutes.

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN...

So, my kids are all of a sudden fascinated by Michael Jackson, since airplay of his music and footage of his dancing are everywhere and all the time since his recent death.

At the video rental store today, This Is It was being previewed, and they stood in front of the big screen showing parts of Thriller, in total awe. Like I did when I watched it for the first time, near their age now.

They've watched MJ on YouTube, they sing Ben or I'll Be There when they hear them on television, and they're just curious about the reach of his talent, stardom, and absence on the world.

So I started thinking. When they're older, saying "When I learned Michael Jackson died," will be like "Where were you when Kennedy was shot?".

Where was I when I heard that someone famous passed away, what was I doing when history was made?

I can tell you exactly.

When Elvis Died: I was sitting in between my grandparents in their silver Caprice Classic on a little cushion called the "kid's seat", right in front of the dashboard. On a highway in Ohio, listening to the broadcaster talk in what I thought was a weird accent.

When Reagan Was Shot: In 6th grade, and they wheeled in a television set on which we watched the same scene over, and over, and over, and waited for news of the President's surgery and welfare to break. I am pretty sure we ate lunch in the classroom.

When The Space Shuttle Blew Up: In 11th grade, sitting in class (a two-hour class called Cultures", social studies and literature). Someone walked by and yelled in the window "The space shuttle exploded!"

When We Went to War with Iraq, 1st Time: In a VCR Repair Shop in Ocean Beach, California. A guy with dread locks told me "We just went to war, ya know." I rushed to my boyfriend's house, and we sat in front of the television all night.

When The O.J. Simpson Verdict Was Announced: I was in college at UCSD, in a Women's History class. When the teacher asked who thought he would be acquitted, I was one of three students out of 150 who raised my hand. Then I quickly pulled it down, and I still don't know why.

9/11: It was 6 - something in the morning here on the West Coast. I was pregnant and snuggling with my 2-year-old son in bed still. The phone rang once and I ignored it (probably a telemarketer anyway). Then it rang again, and I let it go to voice mail a second time. When the third call came in, I knew something was wrong. I picked up the phone and my Mom kept screaming WORLD TRADE CENTER! I turned on the television, wrapped one arm around my belly and the other arm around my son.

When We Went to War with Iraq, 2nd Time: At my stepson's ball game. A guy I'd gone to high school with said to us "We started dropping bombs about half an hour ago." I put my face in my hands, shook my head, then watched the ball game.

All of these things I remember that had such profound national or global impact, they're all so negative, these things are sad. I don't want to remember only tragedy in this time lapse manner just because I was present for my own history-making moments.

So what I'm going to do is this...go to sleep now and think about all of the wonderful news I got via phone calls, radio and television broadcasts, or the varied verbal deliveries.

That's going to be a longer, better list.

scattered PICtures

Are you old enough to remember the movie BIG? Do you remember the scene when Tom Hanks calls his mother (after he becomes big and runs away to the city), and she (Mercedes Ruehl, one of the best actresses of my time) says to him "If you're Josh,what song did I sing to you as a baby?"

And the song was Memories. So he sings it quietly so no one else around him will hear, with the following intonations...

Mem'ries....likethecornersofmymind

Scattered PICtures...

My best friend Kim and I did (well, sang) this all the time when we were young. I have files in Outlook Express, on my laptop, in my picture boxes in the closet labeled "scattered PICtures."

Because it makes me smile or giggle. Or it makes me misty. Or all three (at once).

Like these pictures do.

I have taken pictures of my feet since I was a kid. First, just because I was happy an adult would let me hold a camera, I took pics of everything. Years later, I took pics of my cute summer sandals. Now I take pics of m feet wherever, whenever, because I think it's indicative of stages in life. I need professional help (I don't mean a better photographer).

My family on ice.

Saturday was the dog's birthday. It breaks my heart to see my one year old pooch hobbling around on bad hips, so I spoiled her with a doggie cake. The lady who runs the dog and cat bakery (Paw Pleasers) became an instant friend.

Christmas List & GO CRENSHAW!!!

G = Grandma's getting it for me

P = Parents getting it for me

1. Demarini CF4 31 inches/20 ounces - G

2. A Good Fishing Pole - G

3. A Really Good Tackle Box For Fishing - P

4. Some Good Trout Bait That Works - G

5. A Lot Of Money To Help My Dog Lulu

6. A Larry English Chargers Uniform - P

7. Some New Nike Cross Trainers (Black/White) - P

Reading his list, I think to myself that life is simple when you're a 10 year old boy.

It's not for all kids. I hate this fact of life.

Tomorrow, my son's football team competes in a playoff game to get to a championship. It will be raining, we'll be cheering them on as we shiver from the wind coming off the ocean, but we won't be complaining. It's a privilege. It will also be my birthday, and of course my wish is for glory.

Not just for my son's team.

The story of Crenshaw High in South Central Los Angeles reads like a movie (several movies in fact, but that's another blog), but it's non-fiction. From the homeless student players to the losing record, to the gangs in the area. But they're one game away from a State Championship, thanks in part to their benefactor, Snoop Dogg. Go Crenshaw! I will be thinking of you, wishing championship bowl games, dreams fulfilled, and a peaceful world for all kids. I will be 39, and you will be #1.

Read more about Crenshaw in the Wall Street Journal here. I love this story.

Photo courtesy of Squidoo - holiday cards for pet lovers that help animal charities - buy some!

The Age of Hypocrisy Awareness

"Great, kid! Don't get cocky!" Han Solo to Luke Skywalker, Star Wars

Come to find out there is a developmental stage when kids start to question if their parents are living by the same rules which they profess.

I am living through such a stage.

The kid is 10 years old. Participating in the dichotomy of how things are (what I tell him about the world) and how he sees them (becoming his own critical, independent thinker) has been an enjoyable journey, until now.

The kid has started to call me on things.

You know how in Star Wars Luke Skywalker's idealism bounces off the smug Han Solo's occasionally clouded values? It's kind of like that.

My kid: "We can so beat that other team."

Me: "Don't be cocky, dude."

Later that day -

Me: "My home made refried beans rival those of any taco shop!"

My kid: "Don't get cocky, Mom."

When my child said to me last year "I can't follow a rule unless it makes sense to me," I suppressed my Cheshire Cat grin and resisted the urge to jump up and down in victory, feeling pretty good that I was succeeding in raising a non-conformist, or at the very least, another INTJ. But what if it doesn't make sense to him to clean his room, what if he "doesn't see the point" in feeding the dog? He may be developing an individual approach to data and circumstance, but he is a little guy. This forming-his-own-identity thing still needs some guidance.

Like when Skywalker says "I got one!" in a battle with Han Solo, and Han Solo delivers the now famous line about being cocky.

Another example:

Me: "You need to do your [baseball] hitting drills. When you set a goal, you need to do something each day towards that goal."

My kid: "Like you and your book? You only blog. Or play on Facebook and Twitter. I don't see you writing your book every day. Mom."

Alright, that's it. All of a sudden the kids are sippy-cup philosophers.

But really, they're just doing what I've taught them to do. Question they way things are when they don't seem balanced or fair. (Damn it).

Since my son began his streak of parental awareness, I've been up late at night, every night, with my ultra-fine point red Sharpie making notes in my book. I've made less excuses, and I have dark circles under my eyes to prove it. The lessons I'm imparting to the kids are unexpectedly jump-starting my own goals and refreshing my ideals, it's a developmental stage in parenthood, I think.

But I, trying to maintain authority while disguising fallibility, will never tell my son that. What are the chances that he already knows? What are the odds that I can make a good man out of the smart mouth kid without a getting a little bit of mud on my face?

Don't tell me.

Saving the Pooch

Doggie doc says hip dysplasia in both hips. Surgery anywhere from $2,500-$10,000. For our dog, Lulu.

Which presents the dilemma about ten to fifteen years sooner than I wanted to deal with it; how much is it worth to keep your companion living? Because I've never been the type of person who would put down an animal that could be saved. I've never been in this situation, before either - well, not exactly.

Terra, our last dog, was a pit bull/Rottweiler mix with hip dysplasia that caused mild, continuous discomfort. With Terra, the vet initially said surgery was likely, with 6 to 8 years of quality life thereafter, and then we'd have to make "the decision." Terra lived to be 10 years old and never required surgery. We medicated her and she frolicked, jumped like a rabbit, and chased us around the house for years until one day she just couldn't walk anymore.

But Lulu, oh, our Lulu...who started limping last month about the same age that Terra began to show signs of lameness, and this caused my heart to sink. It's two weeks before Lulu's surgical consult and I am doing things quite contradictory: detaching as I pull closer, being frugal about Christmas and December birthdays as I prepare to burn our savings on the family pet, and cursing our bad luck with animals while I enjoy the pleasure of Lulu's loyal, endearing company.

All those contradictions in action make me feel like I have a mental grip on the situation. I can weigh the emotional cost of losing a dog to the financial burden of keeping her around with practicality, because that is what adults do. I do this without anyone knowing what I am thinking.

Then, as if on cue, the dog walks up to me and gives me those eyes. Feed me. I don't want to be put down, I really love this family. I'd rather have a body that works and doesn't cause you any trouble. If the dog could talk, that's what she'd say.

Or an ASPCA commercial comes on, showing a neglected dog behind big white letters on the screen that say things like AM I GOING TO DIE TODAY? or WHY DID THEY ABANDON ME? And then not only do I want to save my pooch, but every other animal on the planet.

And the kids. The kids, who cry at the mere mention of a shortened life span for the dog. The kids, who cried every night for months at bedtime when we put Terra down. The kids, who ask me if I am going to decide to put the dog down, "because the vet said we could fix her, Mom!".

I make hundreds of decisions a week that are easy, simple, or only cerebral - whole wheat or white? PB & J in the lunches or tuna fish? Spinning class or yoga?

Then I have to make a decision that has no easy answer. And about this, I should not complain.

I suppose I am only asking...what is it going to take to save the pooch?

I hope I can save everyone else in the process.

End to a Family Feud

I didn't have brothers or sisters growing up. An only child, I didn't evolve with sibling rivalry and until now as a parent, had no idea what siblings do to each other, and so tired of it unrelenting, how parents will ignore the less offensive and violent squabbles.

When I met my husband, and we dated over a summer and got to know each other, he mentioned his brothers and slowly I got to know them, two younger ones, pretty well. Well enough for them to let me see their familial anger erupt with each other, yelling and screaming, infantile behavior, over....[drum roll please].....sharks and whales.

Also, Godzilla and Gamra. And lions and tigers. And bears, when you bring sports into it. My husband and his brothers fought over whose team was superior and going to the Series, or the Super Bowl. Fighting over which animals, teams, or fictitious creatures were better.

You know, brother stuff. Which I was entertained by and happy to leave alone, for the most part.

I had to get involved in the shark and orca, lion and tiger debate. I couldn't help it. That summer of hubby courting me and my introduction to brotherly "dynamics", we watched Shark Week and the arguing was so assesine, I called my voice mail, recorded them, and then played it back for them so they could see what dumb asses they sounded like. But the truth was, I enjoyed every minute of it. I laughed in ways I didn't think possible. I hoped I got to marry into the family because they were just as crazy as mine (in my family, we fight about politics and religion).

I've had a thing about lions all my life. Don't know why, I just find them majestic. Naturally, the guy who would become hubby preferred tigers (also, the Auburn Tigers, for reasons unknown to any of us). I insisted, as did his brothers, that lions were not called "The King of the Jungle" for nothing. Argument over. Not really.

But I was working at Sea World of San Diego at this time. Killer whales are kind of Sea World's thing. I believed then, and still believe now, that a killer whale - big brain, socially advanced with young to protect - would destroy a great white shark. Also, I had known animal behaviorists, biologists, trainers and caregivers of Orcas for years. So I asked the head of Animal Care myself, "Who would win, an orca or white shark?" And the answer I got was "Orca." It wasn't a wishy-washy answer, it didn't even come with a "Well, if the whale was sick or injured..."

The answer, from the trenches, was ... orca.

You can't argue with a guy who's been on the ocean for three decades. So that was the end of it. Not really.

But my hubby-to-be affirmed then, and still does now, that the brute strength, bite pressure, and longevity of the shark species give the great white an advantage in a duel with a killer whale.

I found it very heartening that his brothers always agreed with me. That was almost as good as the hilarity the brothers all provided. That fellowship and chance to get in silly arguments with siblings I so missed as a child was irresistible later in life, even against the guy I loved. His brothers accepted me and it was just fun to playfully disagree and verbally spar with my man, making him so red-in-the-face mad.

After almost 19 years with my hubby now, the debates still rage on. At holiday dinners, someone always mentions Godzilla, or Shark Week ("it's Shark Week because no one would watch Orca Week" hubby says), and hubby and his brothers all give their Mother reason to be proud. They, all much older now, will argue anytime, anywhere, even on special occasions, over things no one else gives a crap about.

I so would not change that about them. I have what I always missed. And science, my brothers-in-law, former colleagues, and now, National Geographic are all on my side.

This video just surfaced. I e-mailed it to my brothers-in-law and hubby. One of my b-i-l's replied within minutes, so enthusiastic to see the footage we've needed all these years to prove our point. Who surfaced after the underwater battle between two oceanic creatures, the fish or the mammal? Huh?

The argument is over. Really.

Behold the fiercest creature in the animal kingdom - not the orca, not the shark, but the Momma.

THE PLAYDATE MENU

Prior to Thanksgiving vacation, I vowed that the ONLY television we would watch would be Elf, Charlie Brown, and new Food Network Thanksgiving episodes. NO Disney Channel. NO Nickelodeon. No widdling away time in front of a television when we could be using our time off from school and activities to, just, be. Be with each other, not rushed from one place to the next, not scrambling to get homework, dinner, and bath done before 8:00 p.m. I wanted free unstructured time, and not in front of the television.

So I scheduled play dates for the kids, against my nature of seclusion. The kids could play while I baked, chopped, sauteed, and rendered fat from pork.

I have never doubted the existence of Guardian Angels, but I am starting more and more to believe in an "I'll show you!" Fairy. Some sprite that hangs around in anticipation for jest, whispers "IRONY" on the wind, and cracks up every time Samantha lays out some meticulous plan for this or that, despite making a plan not to have a plan at all.

Because I operate well under duress, and I seem to see things the most clearly that way. It makes perfect sense that I am pushed into the path of fate by my own take-it-all-on approach.

The television stayed mostly off and spared my sanity that way, but this of course created a new problem - the kids had to get their kicks somehow. My plan to limit the resistance to serenity went awry when the kids trashed the house and I had a minefield of toys, games, dress up clothes and otherwise useless plastic kiddie crap strewn everywhere in my home, even in the kitchen, where I almost tripped several times with full pots, hot pans, or sharp objects in my hands.

However, we accomplished the unstructured part pretty well, through a back door of sorts.

And that's what I get. That's what I get for talking a good game. I got what I intended by sacrificing something else, and it was always meant to be the way it was. Plans are an illusion.

Four pots over-boiling as I juggled the proverbial balls in the air; phone ringing, neighbor at the door, dollhouse jammed shut - I really did see my options clearly. My plans may have gone to hell, but at least I had choices....

1) Eliminate all household safety hazards and then quickly lock myself in my room.

No, I'll get a bad reputation as a careless woman and that would suck for my kids.

2) Get on my hands and knees and pray for mercy, despite which child may be watching.

Too dramatic.

3) Put all kids in the car and go for yogurt.

Don't have everyone's car seat. Wasn't meant to be.

4) Channel Nurse Ratched as a means of control.

Too mean. And that would come back to haunt me for sure.

5) Laugh...open myself up to this so-not-a-crisis, privileged, all-I-ever-wanted day.

And eat some fish sticks to make it absolutely perfect.

I don't know about all of the other parents of kids on vacation last week, but I used up every last chicken nugget (Mickey Mouse shaped, I love those), fish stick, baby carrot and frozen pizza I had in the back of my freezer.

And I set aside the cornbread, cranberries, and all-purpose flour for a while to make homemade tartar sauce and homemade cocktail sauce for the fish sticks, then dug out a family recipe to make holiday cookies with the girls.

I've since had to replenish our fish stick supply twice, and the homemade sauces are requested more often than I can keep up.

I may have inadvertently created a new holiday tradition. Don't talk, don't plan. Just, be.

And never forsake your fairies and angels.

HOMEMADE TARTAR SAUCE

1 cup mayonnaise

juice from 1/2 a lemon

2 tbsp. sweet relish

optional: minced gherkins and/or capers

Mix all ingredients together.

HOMEMADE COCKTAIL SAUCE

1 cup ketchup

juice from 1/2 a lemon

2 tsp. horseradish

Mix all ingredients together.

DUTCH NUTMEG COOKIES

My Mom's recipe.

1 cup butter

¼ tsp. baking soda

¼ tsp. salt

¼ tsp. ground cloves

½ tsp. nutmeg

1 tsp. cinnamon

1 cup sugar

½ cup chopped nuts (we prefer almonds)

2 cups sifted flour

¼ cup sour cream

Cream butter with first five ingredients until fluffy. Gradually add sugar until batter is fluffy.

Stir in nuts. Add flour alternately with sour cream. Mix well. Roll into logs and refrigerate overnight, or put in the freezer for about an hour. Cut into 1/8 inch slices and bake at 375º for approximately ten minutes.

Watch them closely – they burn easily!