Posted in Chef Lane, Howling Sea Lane

Rolling Stones and Baked Ziti

My mother has battled with kidney stones since I can remember. I can vividly recall the agony she was in, when Dad drove us from Denver to Colorado Springs, where I would stay with my Uncle’s family while Mom got medical treatment. It was pretty horrifying. I was three.

Off and on, since then, Mom has dealt with varying levels of stone pain. Three surgeries and countless days and nights of writhing, sweating, and heaving in pain. So, when B started groaning last night and told me it was a stone, I had a good idea of what we were in for–better or worse.

Thor had been very excited about starting his new school, so I didn’t get him to sleep until after eleven, and that required sitting in his bed until he succumbed. I came downstairs and thought I would give my new Wii EA Active Sport personal training thingie a try, and did a short workout while I waited for the laundry to dry. That’s pretty nifty, by the way, and I’ll write about it in another post.

I was on my way to bed at midnight, but B was already hurting so much he couldn’t lie still. At one, I gave up and got up. I couldn’t lie there while he hurt, and I couldn’t do anything to help him, other than just leave him alone and offer him water now and then. I figured if I got up, I could do something useful while he suffered.

So, I started prepping for our Tuesday night dinner of Baked Ziti.

I got my pasta cooked, and my onion chopped before B said it was bad enough to warrant the emergency room (and this is a man who can take a lot of pain, people), but we had to wait for my mother to arrive to keep an eye on Thor before we could go. I didn’t think I could manage to help B, who was hurting so badly he was having a hard time staying upright, and Thor, who would have been a very unhappy zombie child in such wee hours. While I waited for Mom to come, since I was already dressed and had opened my ground beef packet (I buy the tubes of 97/4 beef–I like it lean), I went ahead and browned my beef in the onions I had sauteed while the pasta was cooking. And by the time I had finished that and put everything in ziplock baggies, we had agreed that an ambulance was in order. (Thank God! And thank God for 9-1-1.)

Nero fiddled while Rome burned. Lane cooked while her husband’s kidneys tried to pass a rock.

To my credit, I knew I was going to be exhausted today, and I needed to cook the beef before it went bad.

Mom arrived just ahead of the paramedics, and she went up to watch Thor while I headed to the hospital, arriving ahead of the ambulance. B’s parents were en route to meet me at the hospital because I needed to be home by 7 to get Thor to his first day of school.

Thankfully, the ER was empty, so B was well cared for, and drugged into a happy quiet. I’m sure our neighbors think we’re into some pretty kinky stuff from the loud sounds emanating from our bedroom last night. Kinky like crucifixion, the rack, drawing and quartering, and Draino cocktails. You know. Your average slap, tickle, and riding crop.

B’s parents arrived as he was being discharged, and it was all of us back to our tiny home. Two grown up bodies and one little person fit tidily in this space. We did not bring our sofa, only our loveseat, and we do not have another adult sized chair, only Thor’s little straightback and his saucer chair. Thus, five grown up bodies and one little person make for some embarrassment as a hostess, but there were bigger fish to fry.

My mom left to go to work, bless her. B’s parents split up, his dad going to fill B’s prescriptions, while his mother stayed to look after B. I got Thor dressed (and he was so dapper it hurt) and took him to his first day at his new school. He was a trooper, even though he was clearly striving to be brave.

Back to the house, since I hadn’t slept a wink since Sunday, I went to take a nap in Thor’s bed. Much like John Taylor’s bite of tuna sandwich (that was for the Duranies), it was not to be. The call that ruined everything came from the school. Some administrative error had placed Thor in the wrong classroom, and there is still a possibility that we may have to move him to another school entirely. Stay tuned for that rant if it needs writing. I gave up and went to work.

I do love my boss, though. Actually love her. She sat with family at my wedding. Love. And she called me Gorgeous even though I was much less that, and much more Gorgon.

The good news is that Thor liked school, and that he had a friend who rode the bus with him. His after school teacher/bus driver reported that he came out of the building hand-in-hand with this little girl, looking cute as could be. Of course Thor can’t remember her name or tell me anything other than that, “Yeah, she wasn’t Ba-loo,” who is another friend of his. He thinks girls are gross right now. They have cooties. I did not teach this to him, but am happy to let the feeling persist for as long as possible. (Side note: Abigail, Annabel and Autumn are not girls, he said. They are good people. Sadly, every other female who is not a mama or a grandmother is gross.)

We got home and I started the rest of dinner. It turned out to be a very good dish! It was cheesy, but not runny, and the spices were just right. I divided the leftovers into 3 packets and have frozen them to serve as side dishes with other entrees.

I did two more loads of laundry, including the sheets, did the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, helped Thor with homework, wrote an introductory email to his teacher, fed the chickens, slopped the hogs, scrubbed the castle stairs, wrote an unedited blog entry about what I cooked for dinner and to what success (great, both boys ate it) and am now allowed to go to the ball. The ball being bed. Can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.

Posted in Uncategorized

Twu Wove

“Mawwage. Mawwage is what bwings us together today.”  –Impressive Clergyman, The Princess Bride
I waited a long time to get married.  Prior to meeting B, I had one near miss.  I am thankful every day for having dodged that bullet.  As far as I am concerned, that two other poor women married that sucker is proof that God does have favorites, and I am one of them.  But, I waited a long time.
While I was single and hoping, I heard a lot of advice about dating.  There were the advocates of online matchmaking (dating websites, web forums, chat groups), group dating, blind dating, and not dating at all (and trusting God to drop the man of your dreams on your doorstep.)  I think I got a lecture from and about every one of them.
There were also those who advocated making a list of what you wanted in a man, and trusting the Universe, or God, or The Secret, to bring him to you, right down to the part in his hair.  I made a list, but I could never decide what he should look like.  My list kept getting longer and longer, and I was feeling more and more ridiculous.  I mean, the list isn’t a bad idea because it helps you figure out what is important to you in a relationship, but hair color just isn’t a big deal, and I didn’t care what he did for a living, so long as I didn’t have to support him.
I was finally exasperated with my list and narrowed it down to this:  I want to marry a man with whom I can be 100% myself, without feeling shy or embarrassed, or like I should change.  He should feel the same way around me.
After all, what is better than that friend who loves you exactly as you are, and who doesn’t mind if you forget where Singapore is once and a while?  Nothing.
B, Andy, Scott, and Mark, somewhere between 2001--2002

When I met B, I liked him instantly.  He seemed very comfortable in his own skin, wasn’t putting on airs or trying to be anything he wasn’t, and he had a group of friends to be envied.  We met at Mark’s NYE party on December 31, 2001.  We had our first date 23 days later on January 24, 2002.  Exactly two years later, we married each other.

Today, B and I spent the day with Thor, sitting in the middle of a creek.  We had to hike out to a low point first, then we waded out hip deep to find a rock, and we sat down in a tangle of legs and wet clothes, leaning against each others backs, and we listened to the world go by.  It was one of those perfect days.  Just the three of us together, doing something silly.  Days like today make me love him even more.

I used to be afraid that if anyone ever really got to know me, it would be impossible for them to like me, much less love me.  I used to be afraid that when B had lived with me long enough, and found out enough about me, he would leave.  Somewhere in the last year, he made magic happen.  I’m not afraid of that anymore.  I’m not afraid of myself anymore.  It’s a lot bigger than it sounds in print.  I found out that at my worst, I’m really not so bad.  And in striving to be my most livable best, I’ve become better.

I married a man who let me be 100% myself, and in doing so, I’ve grown 100% comfortable in my own skin.  Frankly, I think that’s the best you can get out of marriage.

Posted in Uncategorized

The Skin Trade

I am blogging from a pedispa, where some poor woman is removing a winter’s worth of callousness from my feet. She has no way of knowing that I am going to tip her well. God bless. Whenever I think I might like to do nails, I remember my own groddy feet and reconsider.

I take pretty good care of myself and my feet still produce spaghetti noodles of dead skin. I don’t even want to consider what else might walk in a door. That, and I just hate touching other people’s meat.

Isn’t technology amazing?  A few years ago, I had just heard of blogs.  (In fact, it was mid-January of 2002.  I started a LiveJournal as a means of seducing my latest crush with my brain.  I’m not sure if it was the blog or my great smile, but something worked.  He married me.) And now I am blogging from a telephone while some stranger massages my calves with sea salt.  Amazing.

Speaking of my husband, I was thinking the other day how funny it is that I still get tongue-tied around him.  See, I still have a crush on him, and especially on his brain.  I still think he’s the smartest man I’ve ever met, and I respect his thought process, and his opinion, and desperately desire his intellectual approval.  Makes me smile goofily just thinking about it.