Second Blooming

Grownup Problems

One Friday, a couple of months ago, I booked a commercial which shot in New York.

WOOHOO! Nothing better than being paid to travel. And it's a commercial which should air a lot, fingers crossed. And they take really good care of you on these jobs - first class travel, a meaty per diem, nice hotel, ground transportation. I was rather excited. I could see my girlfriend Lannyl, take in a museum all by myself, go out to dinner with Aunt Grace. JUST what I needed, in every way! 

My only concern was...

I have two volunteer jobs at Jude's school. 

1. I am co-chair of the Booster Club. We fund-raise for the Athletics Department by running/stocking/staffing the snack bar in the gym during any home games. It's far more work than you'd guess. And I am completely obsessed with it. I actually have anxiety dreams that we've run out of the blue Gatorades, or that nobody bought the seaweed snacks which I insisted on getting as a "healthful alternative". 
2. Bingo Night. One night a year. I get the equipment, set it up, organize the games and prizes, and run the show. 

I was supposed to leave for New York on Wednesday and return on Saturday. During those four days, I had three home games in the gym and...Bingo Night.

Great. So I went into high gear to get myself covered. Not easy. But I could do it if I got super organized and delegated efficiently.

Then on Saturday morning...

Jude and I got home from his 7 to 9 am swim practice (oh yes, that happens every week...) just as Jimmy was about to leave to drive to Beverly Hills to meet a friend for coffee. Jude says hi to his dad and jumps into the shower to wash off the chlorine. Jimmy turns to me as he's walking out the door.

JIMMY

Hey. So I'm meeting Devin. Can you give me some cash for

the parking? They always eobguahs;dffkvuaw'gweilkalk

gwogslk/lzsdlgjdlfjsdkflsskflsakjfllkasjfksffjlsfjalsjf.

GRETCHEN

What?

JIMMY

Dvmnak;fjhsdhf'lasdlfkjlskdfjlsa;kjdf;lkajl;sdkjf;laksdjfll

asdglhsa;dlkfhl;afkj;aslkdjf;laskjdf;lksajdfl;kjasadllfkjas.

Gretchen calmly lifts her phone and dials 911.

GRETCHEN

(to Jimmy)

You need to sit down. Something's wrong with you.

JIMMY

(indignant)

Eiasddv;akng;kv;dk sdkfja;lskdjgl;sdkhg;alkds?

GRETCHEN

(to Emergency Operator)

Hello. I think my husband's having a stroke.

He was.

For 12 years now, I have complained that we live two blocks from a fire station, and have to deal with the constant wail of sirens. I will never complain again. Those guys were here within a minute. They accessed the situation, took his vitals, loaded him into the ambulance, and were about to drive away when I realized that Jude was still in the shower. It went down that fast. And with strokes, Time = Brain. The more time passes before treatment, the more brain is damaged.

I found someone to leave Jude with, then rushed down and met them at the emergency room. They got him there, ran him through a CAT scan, and started pumping him with drugs. As it was explained to me, this miracle drug they gave him works like Draino. It just powers its way through the bloodstream and clears out anything blockages. Luckily, we got him there quickly enough for this Draino to do its job well.

The brain is very interesting. Apparently, Jimmy had a number of small strokes on the left side of his brain, the area which controls speech. And language/speech was the only area damaged. He had no drooping of one side of his face or issues with movement. He just temporarily lost the ability to speak and connect with language. It's at this point that I should remind everyone that Jimmy is an actor, and an acting teacher. So speech? Important.

A crowd of neurologists kept coming in and hovering around him, asking questions. They had a written list of words which they kept making him say out loud. "Huckleberry". "Fifty-fifty". When he first got to the ER, these came out "Hlvrono;e;lvlk" and "Frvnj-veflve". Then after about an hour on the Draino they became "Hookklbuuey" and "Vivity-Vifffffy". By the time they decided he could safely be moved out of the ER to a room, he could say the words, but only with great effort and concentration. He had aphasia. Which basically means the loss of the ability to understand or express speech. But he would heal quickly, and the doctors were certain that he'd have a full recovery.

The man was damned lucky. I mean, really, really lucky. If Jude and I had gotten home two minutes later, we would have missed him and he'd have been in his car driving to Beverly Hills when he had the stroke, instead of speaking right to my face. All the doctors kept going on about how lucky he was. I guess it's not very common that someone has a stroke while somebody's actually standing right in front of them and able to call 911 within seconds. One doctor actually told him he should do some soul-searching about God and the meaning of life, because somebody was clearly watching out for him. The other doctor suggested that the person watching out for him was HIS WIFE. I think it was a combo.

He had to stay in the hospital for two days so they could make sure he wasn't going to have another stroke. He will be on blood thinners for the rest of his life, and he has to seriously be good about his diet and exercise. I have now purchased FOUR Mediterranean Diet cookbooks. But for the most part he's expected to be fine, and his speech is back to normal.

Did I spend the next three days comforting my sick husband and son (who was being very stoic but was probably scared to death)? No. I spent the next three days freaking out about Bingo Night/Snack Bar/Work trip to New York. Because I now not only had to find people to take over all my damned volunteer jobs, I had to leave my 12-year old home in charge of his father who'd had a stroke. It's times like this when one truly appreciates friends. After all, it takes a village. A gang of excellent women swooped in and brought them meals and managed driving Jude to school. All sorts of blessings here.

Jimmy's well, the trip was great, the commercial a success, and Jimmy, Jude, Bingo Night and the Snack Bar survived without me. 

Oh, and everyone has to remember...DON'T TELL MOMMY! Jimmy's parents don't know about the stroke, and absolutely can't. Seriously, it might actually kill Mommy. Ignorance is bliss. 

So that happened.

The other day I was talking to my childhood friend Flavia about Jimmy's stroke, her aging mother's health, and the endless planning for her daughter's upcoming wedding and she suddenly asked "When did we get all these grownup problems?" It's true, right? When did this happen? I clearly remember the days when my biggest worries were what to wear that day and if some guy liked me. 

So that's what I've been doing lately. Taking care of grownup problems. I'll try to do better with my blogging.

 

The Feast 2015

Merry Christmas everyone!

Yes, I know, Christmas was last week, but I'm still recovering from all that cooking.

But...

Before I start whining, I should say right up front that I think it was a lovely Christmas. Our usual stalwart group of friends came...

The ladies.

The men. Plus Laura photobombing.

The children. Who are suddenly impossibly grownup and lovely.

Everyone was in a good mood.

Jimmy. In a good mood.

This year we even had a little entertainment, y'all - 12-year old Teagan treated us to a few Christmas carols on the piano...

Nobody had had a fight right before they came. No one's children were sick. Nobody drank too much and had to go lie down. The children occupied themselves for the entire evening (not sure if this was a Christmas miracle or if they've just finally reached that age). The food turned out really well and everybody ate themselves silly.

But...

Here's the thing. It was a lot of cooking. Too much. Yes, I did say that. Okay, I'm actually going to go a step farther...

Next year I'm going to cut back. There, I said it. Really. I swear. Streamline. Simplify. Yeah, that sounds good. Perhaps I should explain for any newcomers...

Every Christmas Eve we celebrate with The Feast of the Seven Fishes. It's an Italian-America thing. An all-seafood dinner, based in the Catholic tradition of fasting from meat on the eve of holy days. Jimmy's family has always celebrated this way, and when we married, I excitedly jumped into the fray with both feet. For the last seven or eight years (I should know this, but I don't, I'll blame middle-age) we have forgone a trip to New York in the dead of winter (thank God) and I have cooked it myself here in LA. Happily. There is really little that I enjoy more than planning/preparing/serving an elaborate dinner party.

But...

The whole Feast of the Seven Fishes tradition is a little loose. Every family does it differently, and has different "rules". Everybody seems to have a different take on the "seven fishes" thing. Is it seven different kinds of fish? Seven courses? Seven seafood dishes? Mommy was always kind of fast and loose with the fishes, nobody would ever have actually counted them. All of the menus for the feast that I've found online have five courses, with a lot of fish,  not necessarily seven.

But...

At some point, those people up there in those pictures sort of daaaaared me to go all out - seven complete seafood dishes, served over five courses. And I have never dodged a dare. Nobody has to triple dog dare me. I'm always all "OH, you think I can't do it? You think I can't? Well I'll show YOU!". 

So that's what it's evolved into. A lot of cooking. This year's menu...

Antipasti:

Steamed Mussels with Italian Sausage and Fennel. So good. Roughly based on this recipe here. But I vamped and kind of made it my own. Served with a bowl of crusty bread to sop up the juice. Mmm.

Salmon Tartare. Cold and fresh to contrast the mussels. And kind of amazingly yummy the next day in an omelet!

Insalata:

Octopus and Squid Salad with Celery, Potatoes, and Leeks. My reinvention of something I had at Osteria Mozza. This group always loves their octopus.

Tuna Crudo on a salad of Fennel, Radishes, and Apple. They also love their raw tuna. Always a favorite.

Primi:

Linguine Frutti de Mare. A marinara sauce with crab, baccala (salt cod), scallops, shrimp, and clams. Jimmy's favorite food on the planet.

Secondi: 

Petrale Sole Poached in Olive Oil served over a Broccollini and Arugula Pesto.  Exactly what it sounds like.

Roasted Shrimp with Feta. A favorite which I've made several times now. Good old Barefoot Contessa. 

Dolci:

Red Wine Chocolate Cake. I had this at my friend Elizabeth's a while back, and have actually been thinking about it ever since. SO moist and rich. A Smitten Kitchen recipe from here.

So there you have it. The Feast of the Seven Fishes 2015. All turned out well. Everything went smoothly. Lots of stuffed and happy guests.

But...

It took me THREE full days to recover. Seriously. And I don't mean recover like clean up and get the house in order. I mean physically recover from the state of exhaustion I found myself in. My feet and legs ached from standing, my hands were actually swollen from all that chopping and washing. It's not just a lot of cooking, it's a ridiculous amount of shopping. I drive all over the stinking City of Los Angeles. Monte Carlo Italian Deli in the valley for the baccala and the imported tomatoes. Little Tokyo downtown for the sashimi grade tuna, the octopus and the squid. The Ralphs and the Vons and the Trader Joe's AND Whole Foods because no store has all the specific things I want. It's just so damned much work. Which I love.

But...

I mean, look at me in this picture with Melissa...

I mean, despite a ridiculous amount of shiny eyeshadow that I had smeared on my brows, and a courageous smile, I look like I'm about to fall over! (I also look fat, but that's another topic altogether)

So...

Next year I'm simplifying. Sorry guys. I'm thinking just a standard five course meal. That would cut out three dishes. I'll make sure there are at least seven fishes in there just to satisfy everybody. I think that if I simplify, I'll be able to put more love and soul into each dish. Is that hokey? I don't care. I think that I'll be able to concentrate more on making each course special. I've taken on the dare and come through. Over and over. But now I'm moving on.

And...

Ooooo, now that we have a pianist in our midst, maybe Teagan and I can work up a couple of numbers. Yeah, baby. If I'm nice and rested, I'll be able to sing a couple of carols with my then 13-year old accompanist. It will be fabulous! Hmm...time to start planning the Feast of the Seven Fishes 2016!

RTT: Nativity, Foot Odor, and Prurient

Oh yes it is! It's time for another Random Tuesday Thoughts!

 

 

 

I have finally mostly decorated the house for Christmas! Tree. Check. Door wreath. Check. Mantle. Check. 420 sad looking Christmas decorations handmade my my child. Check. It's looking very festive around here. Yesterday, while I was dragging the tree into the house and getting it up and decorating it all by myself while Jude and Jimmy both hung out in bed sick (grrrrr), Jude came in and asked me if I liked decorating Christmas. I said "Of course, it's one of my favorite things." He nodded thoughtfully, "Cause you don't seem to be enjoying it much." Ah, that would be because of the excessive cursing and sweating and complaining. Well, yes there's that. But I really do enjoy it. This year I decided to count how many Christmas tree ornaments I have, and it turns out to be 217. Which seems like a lot for a small tree. Is that nutty? How many do y'all have?

 

__________________________________________

 

I want to make one of these!

__________________________________________

 

I would like you all to help me with a terrible problem. Several months ago, I bought a pair of these...

 

 

Skechers Go Walks. THE MOST COMFORTABLE SHOES ON THE PLANET EARTH. Seriously. Like walking on a cloud. I adore them. And they're washable, which is crazy wonderful. Just toss 'em in the machine. Amazing. 

 

But now, suddenly, they have developed a terrible problem. They stink. Really stink. Like...some kind of rotten cheese has rotten in the rotting shoe. I mean, it's BAD. The other day I took them off in the car and when Jude got in he shouted "Whoa! Did you fart?!" Yes, fart feet. 

 

I wash them, I Febreze them. Nothing helps. I have websearched this, and while it seems to have happened to other Skechers Go Walk wearers, nobody has a remedy. Anybody have any ideas? Please? I don't want to throw them away!

 

_________________________________________________

 

Since we moved into our house 11 years ago, I have suffered with the most terrible dishwasher on earth. This thing was a piece of crap when we moved in, and has only gone downhill. I know, I should have replaced it long ago, but something in me, something about being the child of parents who survived the Depression maybe, keeps me from getting rid of something until it has actually completely bit the dust. Example: I kept my old laptop until it literally fell apart - keys popping off, the screen came off TWICE. 

 

So finally, finally, the old dishwasher came to an end. It reached a point when I had to completely scrub the dishes before I put them in, and even then, they came out all spotty. So I took advantage of a Black Friday sale and bought this beauty...

 

So shiny and handsome.

 

I can't tell you how much I love him. He has changed my life. Who knew how far dishwasher technology had advanced in the last 20 years?! I mean, I don't even have to rinse. Just stick in those nasty dishes with grease and dried on food and he does his job. Sometimes I just sneak into the kitchen and stare at him lovingly. Ahhh!.

 

__________________________________________

 

Oh dear...

 

___________________________________________

 

The other night I had one of those long, convoluted, anxiety dreams. I honestly don't remember anything about it. But I woke up from it, at about 3 am, and was absolutely sure that I MUST REMEMBER the following phrase...and I was so sure that I even got my phone and wrote it down so I wouldn't forget...okay, here's the phrase..."prurient sealant". Yes, "prurient sealant". What the what? It was terribly important. Hmmm, let's see...

 

prurient - 

1. having, inclined to have, or characterized by lascivious or lustful thoughts, desires, etc.
2. causing lasciviousness or lust.
3. having a restless desire or longing.

sealant - 

1. a substance used for sealing, as sealing wax or adhesives.
2. any of various liquids, paints, chemicals, or soft substances that may be applied to a surface or circulated through a system of pipes or the like, drying to form a hard, watertight coating. 

Wow. The mind goes lots of places. Anybody want to venture a "prurient sealant" definition? 

_________________________________________

The following video is courtesy of Jude. He, who is now a full-fledged tween, thought all of you might think this is funny. He is a bit of a music snob and classic rock lover, and often lectures his friends on the merits of Led Zeppelin, and he thinks anything that makes fun of Taylor Swift is hilarious. Enjoy.

  

 

 _________________________________________

Okey dokey, that's my random for today. Go visit Stacy and the other Random Tuesday Thoughts!

Thanks Given

I'm a little bit slow with my Thanksgiving recap here. I blame the fact that Aunt Grace is visiting more than an overdose of tryptophan. Though I have eaten a considerable amount of THE BEST TURKEY EVER. And because, well frankly, it wasn't particularly eventful. All went well. Food was good. Company was good. A fine time was had by all. Yawn. Nothing interesting like an oven fire, or a snow storm, or a trip to the emergency room. Just a nice day. I'm bound to have something to say though...hmmm, let me see...

In looking back over the last several years of Thanksgiving recaps here on Second Blooming, I have realized that every year I say that it is THE BEST TURKEY EVER. Clearly, I love me some turkey. And either I'm getting better and better every year at turkey roasting, or I have short-term memory loss and don't accurately remember the year before. But seriously, this was a particularly damned good one if I do say so myself. I am now a dry brine convert. SO easy, and flavorful. And...I have to give a shout out to Darren, who did a particularly damn fine job of carving again this year. He studied a few YouTube videos on the subject, and went with Alton Brown's thick sliced method, which was an excellent choice. Mucho moist.

The weather has been super duper good. Yes, I am writing about the weather. That's how unremarkable Thanksgiving was. But really, it's been delightful. Cool and crisp and autumnal. I love that word, autumnal. Usually, we get a week of nasty Santa Ana winds around Thanksgiving, that drive the temperature up to the 90s right when you have to keep the oven on all day. But this year was a lovely high in the 60s and a low in the 40s. Autumnal. Yeah, I know, nobody cares.

Hey, I have a question for y'all. Do you put eggs in your stuffing? I always make Mama's cornbread stuffing, and there's no actual recipe, I just dump stuff in until it looks right. But the other day I decided to actually look up a recipe for the hell of it, and about half of the cornbread stuffing recipes on the internet say to mix in a couple of eggs. I feel sure that Mama never did that. Doesn't it make it kind of gummy? Is this one of those things that every family does differently? Hmmm. Fascinating.

Have I ever shown you my cornucopia? Well, it was Mama's cornucopia first, and I kind of love it. Not many people have a cornucopia nowadays. Here is the ubiquitous holiday table shot...

Didn't your family always used to take a "table shot" every holiday meal?

 You can't really see the cornucopia there can you? Here's a close up taken today...

The plenty in the Horn of Plenty is a little worse the wear by now, but you get the idea. It's pretty, right? I think Mama would be happy that I still put one out every year. So that was interesting.

Decided to serve from a buffet this year instead of having to pass everything at the table. Everyone was pleased. So that went well. 

Okay, this is just pathetic. 

Oh yes! I know you are all dying to know what I came up with for an appetizer! (Where's that sarcasm font when you need it?) I took everyone's advice, then kind of mixed it up and added in some shrimp for Jimmy. Many folks suggested some combo of cheese/crackers/bread/meat/olives/relish stuffs. There's this great store near us called Larchmont Wine and Cheese that makes amazing meat/cheese trays, so I decided to do my best to copy it and make one of my own. Cheeses, grapes, dried figs, good olives, ham rolled up like they do, sliced salami/sliced baguette, sprigs of rosemary for a garnish. Looked really good, I must say. Then I too Katherine M's advice and made Jimmy this Southern Living recipe for Marinated Shrimp. It was  super easy, do-ahead and delicious! Thanks everybody!

 Alright that's all I got. Y'all can go back to watching Adele videos.

 

 

Best Laid Plans

Anybody who's been hanging out around here for any length of time knows that I love me a good list. I'm the Queen of Bullet Points. I enjoy using bullet points for the following reasons...

• They help organize my addled brain.
• They help organize my addled brain.
• They help organize my addled brain.

When I'm planning for a holiday event, oh, say...Thanksgiving, I make copious lists using copious amounts of bullet points, and sometimes...an ordered list. I enjoy using an ordered list for the following reasons...

1. It helps me remember the order...
2. in which I should organize...
3. my addled brain. 

So since next week is Thanksgiving, and Jimmy's Aunt Grace is coming to stay with us for 9 (9! 9! Did I mention 9?!) days starting on Monday, I have filled an entire legal pad with lists made with my favorite good pen. Lists such as...

Things to do before Grace arrives

• Clean porch.
• Steam clean carpets.
• Hang curtains in Jude's bathroom.
• Haul all the Halloween crap back up into the attic.
• Haul all the Thanksgiving crap down out of the attic.
• Hang all the pictures back up in the kitchen. [Did I mention that I repainted the kitchen during my blogging hiatus? No? Ah, another post.]

And...

Thursday Timeline

1. Make giblet broth.
2. Make chocolate pie.
3. Make sweet potatoes.
4. Roast turkey.
5. Whip cream for pie.
6. Make gravy.
7. Heat  stuffing.
8. Heat mashed potatoes.
9. Put together salad.
10. Carve turkey.
11. Put together Brussels sprouts.
12. Rolls! [Rolls gets an exclamation point because I always forget to put them in the oven!]

Many, many things to do. Very, very organized. But then...

Sinus infection. Sigh.

• Misery
• Z-Pacs
• Prednisone
• nasal spray
• DayQuil
• NyQuil
• Vitamin C
• steam, steam, steam
• Bed rest.

So every day I've been lying in bed staring at my lists, unable to check one single thing off them. Bummer, man. 

An interesting side effect of all this wasted time is that I have...

• Spent a little too much time shopping on the internet. We now own... 1. a new 6 foot folding table which I'm setting up in the corner of the dining room to use as a buffet (smart!). 2. a new non-lumpy mattress pad for Grace to sleep on. 3. a new dishwasher that actually washes dishes! Hurray pre-Black Friday sales!
• Fussed and obsessed over the Thanksgiving menu far too much. I mean, I have changed this damned menu so many times it's ridiculous. 

Here is the menu as of today...

• Turkey. Dry brined with this recipe HERE. Which I used last year to excellent results.
• Gravy. Oh man, Mama's Good Gravy.
• Cornbread Stuffing. With sage sausage and cranberries and pecans.
• Brown Butter Mashed Potatoes.
• Sweet Potatoes with Bourbon and Maple. Because...bourbon.
• Shaved Brussels Sprouts with Pecans and Parmesan.
• Fresh Goat Cheese and Radicchio Salad with Figs. 
• Mama's Chocolate Cream Pie.
• Apple Pie.

When you look at this list, you will see the areas over which I may have had too much time to think. Like...pretty much all the side dishes are little outside the box. A little...chefy. No green bean casserole. But I don't care, they're getting their turkey and stuffing. They can give the Brussels sprouts and radicchio a try. This is a deviation for me, I am usually of the firm belief that nobody wants anything healthy or green for Thanksgiving. Just carbs and fat. But we'll see. It's something new.

You will also notice that I don't have any kind of appetizer on the menu. I have, over the past week, had about 45 different appetizers on this list, but I keep changing my mind. Nothing sounds good. Here are my issues with the Thanksgiving appetizer...

• I want something for people to nibble on, but don't want it to be too heavy so they fill up.
• Jimmy always wants something seafood because he's a seafood freak, but nobody but Jimmy and Lynn want to eat it. It's a constant argument.
• It needs to be something that I can make completely ahead of time - the last thing I need is more last minute work. I need a dip or something I can make the day before and just stick out, no complicated canapes that need to be put together right at the same time I need to be making that good gravy.

Does anybody have any ideas? Seriously, I need help here. A favorite Thanksgiving appetizer that is a real crowd pleaser?

So here I am, staring at my lists and hacking up phlegm when I should be hauling crap in and out of the attic. 

Rosa's here today (see previous post for explanation of this new member of the Second Blooming family), thank the good Lord. She took one look at me, wheezing and moaning and said in her kindest voice (and again, please forgive me if the voice of Rosa is a bit like Consuela on Family Guy)...

ROSA

Oh, you seeeek?

GRETCHEN

(sadly sick)

Yes.

ROSA

You cook turkeys?

GRETCHEN

Yes, everybody's coming here.

ROSA

How much peoples?

GRETCHEN

Thirteen, counting the kids.

ROSA

Is too much peoples! You cook too many food! Is too 

much work!

Don't you just love Rosa? She understands everything.

So how are your Thanksgiving plans coming along? Leave me a comment if you...

• Have an excellent Thanksgiving appetizer idea/recipe to share.
• Feel sorry for me and want to tell me how sorry you are for me.
• Want to come over and steam clean my carpets.
• Want to share your own sad story and don't have a Rosa to sympathize with you.

And check out other Thanksgiving doings over at the Spin Cycle at Lemon Drop Pie!

 

 

 

 

 

Help

When I was a little girl growing up in Texas, most of my friends families had "help". As in "The Help". As in a woman hired to come over and clean your house for you. When I was little, these women were usually black, but by the late-seventies the maid was usually Hispanic. Never a white woman. It was a cultural thing, I will try not to place a judgment on it. Most "maids" came once or twice a week. Kaysie's family had a long-time and much beloved maid who worked full time.

My family? No. The help was Mama. And so the cleanliness level our house was never anything close to that achieved by "help". Kaysie's house was pristine. Perfect, always. Every corner dedustbunnied, every sheet and towel freshly laundered and neatly folded, all clothes perfectly ironed, the kitchen and bathrooms bleached, the wooden surfaces and good silver shined so you could see your reflexion. It was a beautiful thing. A life of beauty and privilege. A life that I dreamed of, aspired to. Of course, I never thought about how hard these housekeepers must have worked, or what their lives must have been like. But that's another post.

So why have I never had a housekeeper? Well...broke. Those of you non-Californians should know that "help" in Los Angeles is relatively inexpensive. I mean it's, dare I say, affordable. But not affordable to occasionally employed actors. If you're gonna commit to paying somebody on a regular basis, you'd better be confident that you'll have the cash.

But the community we have joined through Jude's school? Everybody has "help". Well, not everybody everybody, but pretty much everybody. I'd say...90 percent of Jude's friends have a housekeeper. Some come daily, some twice a week. These homes are things of beauty and order. And the women who live in these homes have excellent manicures because their hands are not always in toilets, and excellent figures because they have time for things like...tennis. Many of these women have never experienced life without "help". Imagine such a thing.

However, I had resigned myself to a life of semi-squallor of my own making.

Then one day, my friend Lynn called and told me that she had found a housekeeper through our church. She wanted to know if I wanted to split her. As in, she would work for Lynn two days a month, and I would take the other two. So...she would come to us every other week. I thought, I pondered, I imagined a home filled with beauty and order. I went for it.

And so Rosa has entered our lives. 

I have to admit, that having someone clean your house twice a month is not enough to achieve beauty and order. It is, however, a damned nice thing, and makes my life immeasurably easier. She doesn't have time to do the laundry, or sort through the drawers, but I am now able to keep our house fairly tidy, just knowing that every other week, someone will come and do all the deep cleaning - vacuuming behind and underneath stuff, dusting all the everythings, scrubbing all the corners. 

My favorite thing to do is to leave about two hours before Rosa has finished and come back after she's gone. I walk into the house and just inhale the clean. Aaaaaaaaah! Clean! And my fingernails are intact and I don't stink like bleach and Pine-Sol! Happy, happy, joy, joy.

It has been an interesting adjustment for us non-"help" people. I still find myself cleaning the house for the housekeeper. Which Jimmy thinks is ridiculous, but I know is not. First of all, if I just leave all our junk everywhere willy-nilly, then Rosa is gonna have to spend all of her time tidying, when I'd rather have her spend that time scrubbing. Plus, she doesn't really know where everything belongs, and therefore many things are "Rosaed". As in, put away where Rosa thinks they should go, not where I think they should go. 

For months, Jude was actually afraid of Rosa. He was horrified about what she must think of him. The idea of a stranger coming into our house and cleaning up his mess was terribly embarrassing to him. Though not embarrassing enough for him to keep his room cleaner. Ugh.

I have to admit that it's taken me a while to know how to behave with her. First of all, I've never had an employee before. I feel weird telling her what to do. And it's hard to get used to having someone else all in your stuff, you know? I mean, since she doesn't do laundry, she's not all intimate with my intimates, but she is scrubbing our toilets, and possibly counting the empty wine bottles in the recycling. 

But we've managed to kind of become friends. Her English is poor, and my Spanish is even worse, but we manage to share about our families and our days. Since we go to the same church we have that in common, and it makes me more comfortable having her around and we have things to talk and gossip about. She's a comfort. Weird, right? But she really is. She's a constant comfort who appears and Mary Poppins everything and doesn't judge me and makes my world better. And I pay her. Which is doing her a favor too. So it's all good.

Oh, and please don't mention this to Mommy or Aunt Grace. For old-school Italian-Americans like them, paying a stranger to come to your house and clean for you is a sign of abject failure as a housekeeper. They would consider this ridiculously indulgent and lazy of me. But I don't care.

It's nice to have a little help.

 

Eeeeeek!

I pulled the microwave away from the wall to clean behind it and there it was.

Poop. Tiny poop. Two little drops of teeny tiny poop. On my kitchen counter.

EEEEEEEEEEK! 

Okay. I am not a fearful person. I'm really not. Well, heights. And bridges. But really, I'm not too bad. However...I go into a full body "Eeeeeew" clench when I am around anything...rodent. Just freaks me out. Hair standing up on the back of the neck kind of thing. So this tiny poop discovery did not make me happy. I decided to ignore it.

But later that night...I walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water before I went to sleep, and whooooooooooooosh", a tiny furry thing shot across the kitchen counter and down into a hole behind the sink.

I screamed. One of those really painfully girly high-pitched screams. Jimmy and Jude were both asleep already, and neither woke up. This was, in itself, disturbing. I mean, what if I had been attacked by a burglar or had fallen and couldn't get up? But anyway... I ran to Google and typed in "how to get rid of mice".

I then pictured Stuart Little. And Ralph S. Mouse. Sweet little anthropomorphic mice who have sweet little non-disgusting adventures. I added "humanely", then hit Enter. Ah! Peppermint oil. Apparently, mice hate it. I could do that. No need to mention the whole rodent infestation thing to Jimmy or Jude. I would rid our home of the sweet little tiny mouse all on my own using peppermint oil. Despite trying to cutify the rodent by deciding to call him Little Stinker, I spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, imaging scratching noises and tiny poop in my bed. 

The next day I ran to Whole Foods and purchased a bottle of peppermint oil which I used to wipe down the entire kitchen. I then proceeded to stuff the hole behind the sink with peppermint soaked cotton balls and seal it with a plastic strip. Done. Don't you mess with Mama, Little Stinker.

But later that night...

About ten minutes after Jude went to bed, he showed up in the living room.

JUDE

Uh, Mom?

GRETCHEN

Yes?

JUDE

Something odd.

GRETCHEN

Yes?

JUDE

I think I just saw a little mouse in my room.

GRETCHEN

(EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKK!)

A mouse? No, I'm sure you must have been dreaming.

JUDE

I don't know. He was standing on my backpack looking at me.

GRETCHEN

(EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKK!)

Really? I don't know, honey. We've never had mice. I'll check it 

out tomorrow. Go to sleep.

Damn you, Little Stinker. You are not allowed in a room with my sleeping child!

So the next day, I searched Jude's room. Sure enough, there were two more tiny poops behind the books on his lowest bookshelf, and two more behind his bed, next to the HOLE in the wall by his electric socket. Damn.

I called my friend Scott, who knows how to do things. He assured me that mice were very common in our area, told me an amusing story about a mouse infestation in his own house, then suggested that I putty over the hole in Jude's room, then cover the putty with tape. I got to work. First I wiped everything in his room with peppermint oil, then pulled out my putty and sealed up that hole. Take THAT, Little Stinker!

By now, friends had started commenting on our homes minty freshness. Yes, clean and fresh, and certainly not RODENT INFESTED. 

Two days went by. I felt successful. Then the next morning...

I pulled the microwave away from the wall to clean behind it and there I found...okay, this was weird. Two tiny plaster statues of poop. Yes, plaster mouse poop. Little Stinker had tried to eat through the plaster I'd sealed the hole with, then digested the plaster and pooped it out! On my kitchen counter!

But how had he gotten in this time? I did more detective work and discovered a little pile of sawdust in the corner. That Little Stinker had gone under the house, up the tile backsplash in the kitchen, and tunneled down behind the cabinet! Clearly, Little Stinker was highly evolved.

Okay, you f&$%#ing Little Stinker. That is it! Humane/schmumane. It was time to call...the professionals. I dialed up Western Exterminators because my friend Julie said they got rid of the horrible RAT infestation at their house (I mean, rat? Much less cute than mouse.), plus they have the best logo in town...

The next day, Johnny Mouseman showed up at my door. Okay, that's not really his name, but that's what I call him. I know this is crazy, but I swear to God, he looks...like a mouse. You know how in Cinderella the Fairy Godmother turned the little mice into coachmen, and they still sort of looked like mice? Like this guy...

That's Johnny. Little buck teeth, big eyes, pale eyelashes. Freaky, man.

Anyway, Johnny investigated. Yes, he confirmed, you have mice. Not rats, but mice. He can tell this by examining the scat. Whew. I told him of my peppermint oil use, and mentioned the word "humane". He hesitated, then asked "But you do want me to take care of it, right?"

Ah! I see. Johnny was like Paulie Walnuts "taking care" of some guy for Tony Soprano. 

I thought of Stuart Little. I thought of poop under my child's bed. 

"Do what you gotta do," I answered in a serious tone.

Johnny put out traps. Lots of traps. I was told to check them daily, and Johnny would return every other day to check on the mouse situation.

Days went by.

On the day of Johnny's second return visit, it just happened to be the day Rosa, the housekeeper, comes and brings me joy. (Have I failed to mention the arrival of Rosa in my world? Ah, another post!) When Johnny arrived, he started to walk around checking on traps, when Rosa suddenly chimed in...

ROSA

(please forgive my attempt at her accent)

Oh. I find mouse. He dead.

GRETCHEN

What? You found a dead mouse?!!!!!

ROSA

He dead.

GRETCHEN

(doing a goofy, eeeeeek, there's a mouse dance)

Well...what did you do with it.

ROSA

I pick him up and throw him in trash. He dead.

Clearly, Rosa is a far braver woman than I.

Johnny Mouseman dug through the trash while I continued my freaked out, hopping from leg to leg, eeeeeeek dance. Until he found the aforementioned mouse.

Little Stinker had been taken care of.

It's been two weeks since the murder of the mouse. I realize that it's naive to believe that Little Stinker was a lone mouse, living all  by himself under our house like Ralph S. Mouse. It seems more likely that he had a large extended family somewhere under there, pooping and chewing and doing all sorts of disgusting rodenty things. But so far so good. 

I still have my bottle of peppermint oil at the ready. But I think it's time to bring in a family member who is less squeamish than I am. Our very own Paulie Walnuts. I think it's time...for a cat.

 

Hello Out There

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Helloooooooooooooo. Is this thing working? 

Tap, tap, tap.

(Screech of feedback)

Oh, sorry. 

(Muffled fumbling noises)

Hello. Is anybody out there? 

Yes? No? Maybe?

Greetings from Second Blooming land! It has been a while. Mmmm...quite a long while. Uh, yes...7 months. Wow, really? What is up with that? 

I have been negligent. Many reasons for this. I think it's time for my favorite form of punctuation. That's right...drum roll...bullet points.

Gretchen has not been blogging because:

• I feel that I have nothing to say. Well, I've had much to say, just nothing that I think anyone wants to hear. I'm certain that you're all sick of listening to me whine. I'm feeling boring. 
• I've been feeling like everything in my world is out of my control. Self, work, family, home. SOOO much to do, and so little time, and I get so little help. Just overwhelmed. 
• Yes, overwhelmed is a good word. Worth repeating.
• Once you stop blogging, it's very hard to come back. You keep thinking that you'll do it tomorrow. And I kept thinking that I needed to come back with a bang, with something scintillating and exciting. Not just my usual rambling. Like I'm doing right now.

So in summary: No blogging because...boring, overwhelmed, stuck-in-a-rut.

So why am I here now? 

I miss y'all. I really do. 

Plus, over the last month or so, I've been trying to take back control of my life. I've cleaned and organized and paid bills and purged. I've been on a tear. I have now sorted through every closet, drawer, shelf, and cabinet in our home. I have thrown out bags and bags of junk, and donated an entire Prius full of stuff to charity. It's been very healthy. 

So I'm back. For now at least. I'm feeling that I finally have a little freedom and can get back into some kind of groove. Probably nothing scintillating, but...I'll see what I can do.

All I really need is a little encouragement.

Ah! Did I say "Encouragement"? That just happens to be the topic of this week's Spin Cycle, hosted by Ginny Marie at Lemon Drop Pie! 

 

So leave me a little encouragement here (we actors are so needy). Let me know if there's anything you'd like me to fill you in on. Then head over to Ginny's and give her some encouragement too.

I'm baaaaaack!

I Am Job

That's Job. With a long "o". Like the guy from the bible with all the troubles. Not a job. With a short"o". Like something you do for money. Though a job with a short "o" is involved. And I might be being slightly melodramatic. My trials and suffering over the last few days aren't actually biblical in proportion. Nobody is sick or dying, nobody's wife turned into salt. No wait...that was Lot. Now I'm getting my old testament analogies confused. Suffice it to say that the last few days have been a series of trials and tribulations. But I might just be whining.

The week started out pretty good. After a lovely Easter, we decided to take a two day car trip up the California coast to Cambria, a sweet little coastal town with an amazing coastline. We chose to take Jude's friend A.J. along with us, both so Jude would have more fun and so we would have more fun not having to entertain the 11-year old. 

Then...Jimmy's back went out. This happens periodically. He'll bend wrong or twist wrong and BAM, he's flat on his back with an icepack for a week. It's sad.

But that was workable. I could drive the boys myself. Just the three of us. I figured they'd hang out on the beach and try to make friends with sea lions, and I could do a little work on the computer.

Here's where the job with a short "o" comes in. I have this once-a-year job line producing a health fair. Glamorous, I know. Basically, I organize and assign and communicate with about 100 volunteers and 40 exhibitors. It's mostly a lot of emailing. Like...really a LOT of emailing. During this last week, I was getting upwards of 30 emails a day about this stuff. And the event was just a few days later, on Saturday. But I didn't think it would be a problem. The motel had wi-fi, and I could just hang out at night after the boys had gone to sleep and do my endless emailing.

So we drove the what the hotel said would be a three hour drive, which I assumed would be more like a four hour drive, but turned out to be like a five hour drive. Because it rained. It never rains in Southern California. Seriously, we're in the worst drought in history. So the rain is a good thing, but damn it, not when I'm driving two whining tweens on a road trip by myself. 

I feel that at this point I should point out an interesting new social phenomenon. Since the dawn of the automobile,  "Are we there yet???" has been the bane of every car tripping parent's existence. But now, with the dawn of GPS, they no longer ask "Are we there yet?". They look it up on their phones, then say things like "Dude! It's still twooooooooo more hours!" I can't decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing. But I digress...

We got to Moonstone Beach in Cambria and it's lovely. Really. 

And after I got the boys interested in nature...

...I went back to the motel to bang out a little work and damn if their wi-fi wasn't out. Well, not completely out. I could perch on the edge of the bed and lean out the window and get a bit. But it kept cutting out right in the middle of sending emails. After a while, I finally took my computer and wandered around the parking lot and found one spot where the connection was strong, then parked the car in that spot and managed to get some stuff done. But not much. So...I was concerned about the amount of work I had to do when I got home. This becomes more important as this rather long story goes on.

We had fun. Really. We toured Hearst Castle, which I highly recommend.

The boys were hearteningly interested in the history and architecture.

We watched a sunset.

Which the boys deemed "cool". Which is about as much excitement about nature as a tweenage boy can come up with. 

We looked at molting elephant seals.

Which was better than mating elephant seals, which apparently we would have seen if we'd arrived two weeks early. So that's a good thing.

And then we started the drive home. Which the motel said would be a three hour drive, but I figured would be more like a four hour drive and turned out to be...brace yourself...a seven hour drive. With the whiny tweens. This horror was caused by five things...

1. Traffic sucks.

2. Whiny tweens insist on stopping at every In-N-Out on the way.

3. I had to stop and make a phone call. Not just any phone call, but a ONE HOUR business conference call for the job with a short "o". I'd known about this call when I planned the trip, but had figured that I could take it while Jimmy was driving. But alas... So after loading the boys up with In-N-Out and plugging them into their electronic devices, I pulled off the highway into a small town, parked under a tree next to a cow pasture, fired up a personal hotspot on my phone, connected my computer and made my call. 

4. After finishing the call, I decided to use my GPS to get back to the freeway, and it took me FIFTEEN miles in the wrong direction before instructing me to "turn left" and then "turn left" which was essentially a U-turn and then it led me back to where I needed to be. So...about thirty minutes of wandering aimlessly on a small country road.

5. Traffic sucks.

By the time we dropped A.J. off and got home it was 8:00 pm. Oh my. 

Kindly, Jimmy had managed to order take out for us for dinner. However, in a very Jimmylike move, he had ordered me what he wanted for dinner, linguini with clam sauce, which I wasn't in the mood for at all, but I ate anyway, because it wasn't from In-N-Out.

I then tried to bang out some more emails, but was so tired that I kind of collapsed.

I woke up the next morning...with food poisoning. Clam sauce food poisoning. I know. You just went into a full body "ewwww" clench. I spent the entire day Friday communing with the toilet. Oh dear God.

But I had SO MUCH WORK I had to do, that I sat there on the floor of the bathroom with my computer next to me...sending emails to volunteers. Many, many emails. And drawing a diagram of the exhibitor table layout. Please feel sorry for me.

During all this, Jude was preparing to leave for a Boy Scout campout. He managed to pack himself (I say this but truly I don't have a clue what he put in that bag. It looked a little empty to me. I doubt very much that he had underwear. Or a toothbrush. Whatever.) A kind scout dad picked him up and whisked him off to his camp.

About three hours later, I got a panicked phone call from Jude. Somehow, I had failed to print out and send with him the medical release form he had to have in order to be allowed to stay at Boy Scout camp. That's right, without these forms...he had to GO HOME. Which meant I would have to drive to pick him up - three hours each way. Because I had by now stopped vomiting, but Jimmy's back was still so twisted that he couldn't sit in a car. I started to cry. Luckily...the wonderful scout dad who was with Jude talked the powers that be into allowing me to scan the medical form and email it to the director. But of course...I had failed to even fill out the medical form, much less have a doctor sign it. But after a hysterical thirty minutes spent filling in the lengthy form and having it signed by Dr. Gretchen's Left Hand, the boy was saved from leaving camp, and I was saved the drive.

I continued emailing, then went to sleep.

Saturday morning, I woke up at 6:30 am, took a shower, ate some saltines and drank water (the only sustenance I'd had for 24 hours, and started packing up the car for my big event for the job with a short "o". I could do it. I was weak and shaky, but I could do it. I am, after all, from hearty farm stock, people who traveled across America in a covered wagon. I could deal with car trips, and tweens, and lack of wi-fi, and traffic, and vomiting, and failed medical forms. 

I reached down and picked up a box of donated snacks I was hauling to my health fair and BANG. My back. Electric pain up and around my back. I dropped the box and froze. 

NO! NO! NO! I actually, really truly threw my arms up to heaven in a dramatic gesture and shouted (seriously, I fear my neighbors heard me) "NO GOD! I DO. NOT. HAVE. TIME. FOR. THIS!" Which was my version of a Job (with a long "o") moment. I took a deep breath, dragged that damned box to the car, drove to my event, and spent the next eight hours working my ass off.

The event went very well.

Is anybody still here? Because this is the longest damned post I have every written. "Helloooo?"

I went home after my event and collapsed. In bed. Icing my back and drinking Gatorade. And wine.

So...how was your week?

 

 

Gretchen's Very Own Adventure: Part Dos

Saludos desde Madrid!

According to Google Translate, that means "Greetings from Madrid!" I wouldn't know, because my Spanish is muy, muy bad. But luckily, everybody here in Madrid is muy, muy nice, and smiles patiently while I try to make myself clear using my phone app and mucho hand gestures. 

Madrid is so cool! It's beautiful and cosmopolitan and friendly and modern and ancient. Sort of like New York, except older and everybody speaks Spanish. I am loving it! 

So far, I haven't done a lick of work, just wandered around and looked at things and eaten a lot of ham. Who could ask for more? I spent FIVE hours at the Prado Museum, two hours at the Museo Reina Sofia (modern art), and several hours looking at churches and palaces and stuff. I had dinner both last night and the night before with some of the other actresses here for the shoot - they are all terrific. Today they sent me for a manicure at an uber-lovely salon, Tomorrow, I actually shoot the commercial, so tonight I'm laying low and going to sleep early.

Here are my impressions of Spain thus far...

Spaniards love pork.

That's right, the Ham Museum. They have these all over town.

Pork, pork, pork.

Considering bringing a ham home in my suitcase. Maybe not?

Little funnels of meat to-go.

I found the perfect meal.

While wandering around looking at old things, I rounded a corner and found this...

A chocolateria! And what do they serve at this chocolateria?

That is a big bowl of chocolate and a plate of fresh churros. YES!!

Spanish men are very attractive.

And willing to flirt with middle-aged women. Don't tell Jimmy I said this.

Madrid has a weirdly large number of dead-kings-on-horses statues.

La paella es muy deliciosa!

Why don't I ever make paella? It's totally up my alley. All I can think of is that long, long ago, when I first moved to LA, there was this smarmy guy who kept asking me out and saying that he wanted me to come to his apartment because I had to try his paella. Eww. I have hereby upgraded my thoughts on paella.

People should really run things by someone who speaks the language before printing something on a mug.

 

Okay, that's all for now from Madrid. I'll check back in after my shoot. Adios!