When Life Gives You Squash

 It hasn’t been a good year for my garden. 

I suppose I should be prepared for off-times, but the bounty of the last several seasons has spoiled me. This morning, when I returned to my garden after a week away, I had to toss more rotting tomatoes into the compost than I was able to harvest. The birds peck a few holes and the heat does the rest. After some inspection and maintenance, it seemed like the only thing thriving was butternut squash. There must be a dozen full-sized squashes ripening all over the garden where the single vine I planted has spread rampantly. But along with squash? Come squash blossoms, a treat limited only to the growing season. 

And so that is the harvest we are enjoying tonight, stuffed and fried and served with a sauce prepared from the few tomatoes I culled from the birds.

C’est le vie!

I’ll Report Back

 It seemed like a good fit. All the way home on our drive from Atlanta we listened to a brand new mystery book that begins on August 3, 2022, in a small town in NC right off the Appalachian Trail. The time and the place were spot on, and the comparisons in the reviews to “The Lottery” and The Shining made the novel seem even more appealing. 

But,

Let’s talk plot structure, shall we? We are 80% through the story, and friends? If this book is all they say it is, there has got to be a hell of a plot twist coming.

Early for the Party

Here in Atlanta schools are starting tomorrow, so we’ve spent part of our visit shopping with Annabelle to get what she needs to start high school. I get it, that back-to-school is often synonymous with fall, but it’s still a little weird to see all the pumpkin spice and jack-o’lantern shaped cookies at Target when it’s still July and 90 degrees. But they’re not the only ones— when we went with my cousin Elaine to run an errand in Home Goods, all of their Halloween decorations were front and center. 

“We can probably find that at the store near us when we get home next week,” I told Heidi when she showed me a few cute things. “If they’re not sold out and ready for Christmas by then!”

Between the Raindrops

After a magnificent thunder storm this afternoon followed by a steady downpour, Heidi and I jumped at a chance to take the dogs out when there was a slight break in the weather around 6 PM. The air was thick and steamy, and fat drops plinked from the canopy of towering oak and silver maple as we weaved our way in and out and up and down the slick streets of Midtown Atlanta. Gray light filtered through heavy clouds and the green of the grass was popping. So was the neighborhood— it seemed like every dog owner was trying to catch the same break that we were, and several houses had loud music playing with folks gathered on the porch, partying and watching the rain. As for us, our route was a little more than a mile around, and the dogs got to stretch their legs and take care of some business, before coming home and going back to sleep.

The Shape of Summer, a Few Final Thoughts

Looking back over all those summers it occurred to me that there have been very few summers in my life where I had to go to work every day. I had a couple summer jobs: I was a counselor for a summer school program in England 1980, that waitressing job in 1982, which I wrote about, and in 1984, when I was in graduate school, I sold ice cream on the boardwalk for the summer. 

From 86-89 I had a full time job in the kitchen of a small catering and cafe business in Virginia Beach, and from 90-92, I worked as a cook for United Airlines in their flight kitchen at Dulles Airport. Those are the only 2 jobs I’ve ever had where summers were *gasp* included. I also taught summer school a few years at the beginning of my teaching career, but it’s been decades since I did that. 

Obviously, the shape of most of the summers of my life has been the privilege of having 8-10 weeks off and the resources to enjoy them. I do feel humbly grateful for that.

2019, Part 2

After a rough ending to her chemo treatment, my mom had a few weeks off at the end of June and beginning of July before starting 4 weeks of daily radiation. Her doctors were optimistic: the tumors were shrinking, and there was much hope that the surgery scheduled for the end of August would result in a good amount of quality time. 

Once the chemo was over, Mom started feeling better almost right away, but she was still on pretty heavy dosages of pain meds, so driving was out of the question. Throughout the entire ordeal, all of her treatments took place at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, 90 minutes from her home, and it was through the kindness of friends that she was able to commute.

Traveling there once a week or so was one thing, but making the round trip every day for radiation seemed prohibitive, and she would be in the hospital at least a week and probably more after the surgery, so Heidi and I decided to drive out there with the dog, and rent a place in Rochester for all of us to stay. I found a new, loft-style apartment with 2 bedrooms and 2 baths just 7 blocks from the Mayo downtown campus. 

If the circumstances had been different, spending a month in Rochester, Minnesota could have been a great summer vacation. The place we rented was right on a bike path and within walking distance of several parks. The weather was beautiful, low 80s and sunny most of the time, and there was a weekly festival with food and music every Thursday, a really good farmers market on Saturdays, and an amazing dog park 10 minutes away. The grocery stores were also very good, and we joined the Y to play racket ball, swim, and workout. 

My mom was tired, but in good spirits, and she usually felt up to getting out to a park or shopping at least once a day. On the weekends we drove back up to her home in the Twin Cities so she could sleep in her own bed, go to her own church, and spend time with her friends. I hadn’t spent so much time with her in decades, and in that respect it was a wonderful month.

The shape of that summer was an awareness of how precious each present moment was and being able to enjoy each day, despite the uncertainty we were living with. I loved Rochester for making that possible, even though it broke my heart a few months later when we all returned for the final act.

2019, Part 1

In 1995 my mom moved from our hometown of Washington, DC to the Twin Cities in Minnesota. After a delay of 25 years, she had recently finished her college degree, and she was ready to move from administrative assistant to legal affairs. So at the age of 55 she left behind her entire family to move to a new place where she knew not a soul.

I’m proud to say that she thrived there, building a happy and successful life. And when it came time to retire, after weighing her options, she chose to stay there in the community she had become a part of. With modern technology and the means to travel, the thousand miles between us didn’t seem so bad, and even as she approached 80 she was fiercely independent, and rightfully so.

But in March of 2019, when she was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, the distance suddenly became a sobering complication in our all out effort to support her in the battle for her life. 

I will be forever thankful for my brother and the fact that he was able to spend the month of March with her and help navigate her initial testing and diagnosis at the Mayo Clinic. And I feel fortunate that I was able to take a couple weeks off from school to get her started on chemo. And then my aunt came out for another six weeks to see her through, followed by my sister and my niece. Along with her friends, we all pitched in to support her through the grueling weeks of chemo, knowing that radiation and surgery were on the horizon.