permission to dine

    

 

 

Monday
08Feb2010

i guess this means i don’t control everything?

DateMonday, February 8

Morgan Freeman (God) leaves TV reporter Bruce (Jim Carrey) in charge of the world.

Oldest Son was potty trained at 18 months. We’re talking both pee and poop, in the potty. I KNOW. I’m amazing. I remember wondering why all the fuss in parenting books about getting one’s offspring to defecate in socially acceptable places. Then I had two more sons, and they taught me lesson number one in parenting: There will be times when despite your best efforts, you really aren’t in charge of outcomes. Turns out I’m not almighty master of my sons’ bowels after all, as neither of them had any interest in peeing or pooping anywhere but their dipes until their third birthday. Before then, I was under the delusion that there was something that *I* did that made things come out smelling like roses.

There are situations where I’ve caught myself still thinking like this. For instance, I’ve always had this subconscious belief that I’ve been spared a serious car wreck because I’m in control, because I drive safely. What happened the other morning put the brakes on that notion.

I was dropping Oldest Son at high school, when I turned off onto a residential side road to avoid morning congestion. I saw a large Sweetheart delivery truck barreling towards me on a cross street ahead, but didn’t think much of it because he had a stop sign and I didn’t. Perhaps because the stop sign was attached to a street light instead of freestanding, he blew through it and charged towards me with no time to brake as we met at the intersection. I swerved violently around the front of him, my heart hammering.

One second.

One split second difference and I wouldn’t have had time to swerve and he would have T-boned me through the passenger side. I pulled over, stunned. I turned around to see what kind of reckless jerk would drive like that and saw him pulled over as well, head in hands. It’s okay dude, blow it off. I’m okay, I thought tearily.

As I drove off I realized like never before that there’s a whole other side to avoiding life-changing events that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with statistical probabilities and luck. The experience made me think about dying or becoming physically debilitated for life. It happens all the time. Bad things happening to good people.

I don’t believe God or any higher power is at the controls when it comes making bad things happen. (I’m okay if you do.)  I don’t believe God made the earth shake in Haiti. But I do believe God can give us the strength and grace to pick up the pieces and handle what happens. And the compassion to help others when we’re watching it all go down from the sidelines.

Anyway, the image of a Twinkie truck smashing my car and crushing me like a ragdoll has me a bit in awe. In reverence for all the people who weren’t spared that second and have had to figure out how to accept it and move forward. Learn to forgive in a way I’ve never been asked to.

It’s humbling for this control freak to realize all the things I’m not in charge of. And a bit unsettling to think I’m not completely in charge of whether I get to keep my family, my health and all the other good things in life. But I’m thankful that for whatever reason, I was granted an extra second the other morning. Thankful for all the times you and I were granted that extra second, when we never even knew life was that close to changing. 

AuthorMegan Ault Regnerus | Comment3 Comments |
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Thursday
04Feb2010

my longest “to-do” list ever

DateThursday, February 4

 

# 46 — I used to love windsurfing so much I would shrinkwrap myself in neoprene and wear ski goggles, ripping across frigid Montana lakes in October. I want to windsurf again someday, where it's warmer.

“Bucket” Lists or Life Lists of things to do before you die have become popular lately. Mighty Girl actually got her Mighty Life List sponsored by intel after she blogged about it and has since made many dreams come true. The spirited, hilarious 20-something boys over at The Buried Life have MTV filming their quest to cross things off their list as they travel the country and help others cross things off their lists as well.

And maybe because I’ve always been a listmaker (*control freak*), this idea inspires me. I thought about what to include on my list before writing things down, often feeling blank and in turn anxious. There are many notions that have made repeat appearances in my brain, but what if they turn out bogus? Take number 3, for instance. I THINK I want to get into apiculture, and I even took a class about how to keep bees this past weekend. But bees sting. What if I get the shit stung out of me and decide the whole bee idea was painfully foolish?

Mighty Girl thought she wanted to parasail and tried paragliding as a substitute. Apparently her and paragliding? Notsomuch. Three years ago summitting Montana’s highest mountain, Granite Peak, with Shawn and Oldest Son would’ve surely been on my list. I even made some pathetic attempts at rock climbing with them that summer in effort to prepare for our adventure. When we reached the final climb to the top of Granite and had to rope up, I took a look down, then up, then sent Oldest Son with Shawn and our brother-in-law to experience the triumph of reaching the top without me. Turns out I’m just fine not conquering my fear of heights and have no desire to reach Montana’s high point anymore.

But really, what excites me the most about starting my own list (most people come up with 100, so I’ve still got some thinking to do) is that it’s a call to live. Something to help me remember as the days drag on at work and I feel like life is passing by that there are still things I am passionate about and intend to make happen. If you decide to put together a list, I’d love to hear what’s on it. It’s amazing what you learn about a person by reading their lists. So here goes — my publicly detailed commitment to living large:

  1. Experience Europe or other foreign country by road bike
  2. Raise chickens
  3. Learn to tend bees and put a hive in back yard
  4. Have small greenhouse in yard
  5. Max out yard’s “edible landscape” potential
  6. Pay off all debt (including mortgage)
  7. Become financially stable enough that I can work less
  8. Help sons pay for college
  9. Explore Alaska
  10. Live somewhere completely different for two years
  11. Go to Africa to volunteer/help in some way
  12. Adopt/foster or help a child in some way
  13. Buy more food locally
  14. Take another snorkeling/body surfing trip with extended family and the boys before they're out of high school
  15. Remodel house so that it feels “done”
  16. Get comfy furniture for back deck
  17. Sea kayak around Vancouver/Canadian coast
  18. Experience sons becoming men doing good things in the world
  19. Take a pampering/relaxing/cooking-type trip alone with my mom/Aunt somewhere
  20. Backpack into a forest service cabin alone for a weekend with good food and books
  21. Run the Devil’s Backbone relay race
  22. Backpack trip in the Grand Canyon
  23. Backpack trip in Glacier National Park
  24. Have a safe close-up encounter with a bear
  25. See wolves up close again
  26. Run in a trail race when I’m 70
  27. See Dave Matthews Band in concert — preferably outside
  28. See a whale close up
  29. Get “unplugged” with Shawn/the boys during a week-long rafting trip again
  30. Help boys personalize their bedrooms
  31. Get boys’ photo albums up to date
  32. Get an MFA/MA to allow me to teach college writing
  33. Write a book
  34. Fill the yard with enough summer perennial flowers to always have cut flowers on the table
  35. Take cooking classes
  36. Improve Spanish
  37. Travel around Latin America speaking Spanish
  38. Work on whole-family organization and neatness
  39. Install solar hot water system on house
  40. Become a better neighbor/reach out more
  41. Keep in closer contact with my brothers and their partners
  42. Learn how to make wine
  43. Buy a kick-ass espresso machine
  44. Buy area rug for front room
  45. Support artists/buy original art for walls
  46. Windsurf again
  47. Improve photography skills
  48. Throw a big party every year
  49. Get rid of anything not useful, beautiful or sentimental
  50. Compete in a Nordic ski race in another country
  51. Watch/ride Tour De France course with Shawn
  52. Donate clothing that doesn’t make me feel good
  53. Find meaningful ways to help alleviate global poverty
  54. Live near my grandkids someday
  55. Rip it up at a street dance on a perfect summer night in a pretty summer dress
  56. Find/handle rubber boa snake while hiking again, this time with Shawn and/or the boys
  57. Rock a (borrowed!) baby to sleep
  58. Experience at least one of the boys learning to sail/captain a boat on the ocean from their grandpa
  59. Continue annual group camping trip w/Shawn's family. Encourage more family & friends to join us each year.
  60. Cultivate a killer raspberry patch


    61. # 5 — I'm working to make this yard...

    ...look more like this. (Photo from pathtofreedom.org)
AuthorMegan Ault Regnerus | Comment9 Comments |
Monday
01Feb2010

the angus chronicles, chapter three: my award-winning book proposal

DateMonday, February 1

Oh, the things I've seen...

One of the things I’ve always wanted to do is write a book. I’ve published short fiction in the past and might get a Master of Fine Arts in creative writing someday, so perhaps I’ll write a novel. If everyone in my extended family becomes mentally incapacitated and is wearing dipes before me, then I can write a memoir about my batty, funny, sometimes sad and you-absolutely-won’t-believe-this-shit-but-really-they’re-generally-lovable tribe.

Since neither of those books are going to be written any time soon, I came up with another idea. I could travel the country collecting stories of what couples’ dogs do when they have sex. This fine idea came to me after over-sharing with friends some stories about Angus in the bedroom. Turns out both girlfriends had stories of their own, which made me think there might be lots of interesting tales out there about what Fido does when the headboard starts rattling.

One friend said her dog howls when things turn extra-lovey at her house. There must be some serious concentration going on if they can Close the Deal with that sort of racket. Another friend admitted she recently fell off the bed onto her dog while having sex, and had to take it to the vet. When queried about what sort of bedtime gymnastics were happening over at her place, her husband muttered something about oil and losing his grip. *Ahem* Apparently the story at the vet was in the neighborhood of, “I dunno, he’s just been limping a while…”

Angus pretty much does one of three things during Business Time: He sits down next to my shoulders and stares at us with his little, beady rat-eyes. (“I’m sorry, I just can’t do this with him staring at me like that.”) He jumps on Shawn’s back and looks at me over his shoulder. ("Yeah, forget it. He’s staring at me again.”) Creeper. Or he climbs under the covers and LICKS MY ANKLES.

I wish I was kidding. You know, maybe it would be nice if I could just go with it: I’ve got a wonderful man trying to make my day brighter, and a DOG! LICKING MY ANKLES! Kind of a two-fer. Except, every time it happens I involuntarily kick and hear myself screaming — and, just to be clear, it’s not the “Oh, I’m having such a fabulous time here,” sort of scream.

We tried pushing him out and shutting the door, but that’s why the paint’s all scratched off now. Turns out the desire to take a meat hammer to a small, persistent dog grew faster than the umm, romance. Dog: 1 point. Amorous couple: 0.

Do you have a dog in your bedroom?

AuthorMegan Ault Regnerus | Comment6 Comments |
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Thursday
28Jan2010

Permission to dine: muffins that belie my non-baking heritage

DateThursday, January 28

 I come from a long line of non-bakers. When I was little, I remember my hippy-feminist mom taking me to our family’s community garden plot with a salt shaker to pick and gorge ourselves on juicy-ripe Michigan tomatoes from the vine, but I don’t ever recall fresh-baked cookies from the oven. Cookies at our house were called Chips Ahoy and Oreos, and sometimes even Double Stuff. Biscuit dough came from refrigerated tubes that exploded when twisted open.

 I married into a baking family, where one of my sister-in-laws MILLS HER OWN FLOUR to bake ultra-fresh-tasting cakes and breads. I try not to hold this bit of baking showiness against her. Her mother, my mother-in-law, is Dutch and can give humble ingredients like flour, butter and water the stink-eye until they ship-shape into amazing pie crusts. Add some yeast, sugar and almond paste and they become sweet rolls. But I don’t ask her for the recipes — the recipes as far as I can tell are based on ratios and how the dough looks and feels to her. (My other sister-in-law unfortunately lives far enough away that I don’t know how the baking gene has expressed itself with her, but surely it’s there.)

 All this is to admit that I’m a closet baker. I don’t aspire to bake things and present them at extended family dinners, but I do bake cookies and non-yeast goodies for the boys that I can’t easily mess up. When the weather turns colder, I always get the urge to bake and make soup, which is why I made these muffins this past weekend.

 Anyway, I’m trying to figure out how to tell you how much these muffins rock without bragging, but I’m drawing a blank. So forget that and listen up: These muffins are the best I’ve ever tasted. They will win you friends you never wanted. You’ll find yourself fantasizing about these muffins at inappropriate times (whatever that means). They’re the Queen of Muffins. Try them, please.

 

Best Blueberry Muffins

  

Lemon-Sugar Topping

1/3 C sugar

1 1/2 tsp. finely grated zest from 1 lemon

 

Muffins

2 C fresh or frozen blueberries (I used huckleberries, and think you could substitute many types of berries instead)

1 1/8 C plus 1 tsp. sugar

2 1/2 C all-purpose flour

2 1/2 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. salt

2 large eggs

4 Tbsp. unsalted butter, melted

1/4 cup vegetable oil

1 C buttermilk

1 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

 

1.) For The Topping: Stir together sugar and lemon zest in small bowl until combined; set aside.

2.) For The Muffins: Heat oven to 425 degrees. Spray muffin tin with non-stick cooking spray, or use paper liners. Bring 1 cup of berries and 1 tsp. sugar to simmer in small saucepan over medium heat. Cook, mashing berries with spoon several times and stirring frequently, until berries have broken down and mixture is thickened and reduced, about 6 minutes. Transfer to small bowl and cool to room temp.

3.) Whisk flour, baking powder, and salt together in large bowl. Whisk remaining 1 1/8 cups sugar and eggs together in medium bowl until thick, about 45 seconds. Slowly whisk in butter and oil until combined. Whisk in buttermilk and vanilla until combined. Using rubber spatula, fold egg mixture and remaining cup berries into flour mixture until just moistened. (Batter will be very lumpy with few spots of dry flour; do not overmix.)

4.) Divide batter equally among muffin cups. Spoon teaspoon of cooked berry mixture into center of each mound of batter. Gently swirl berry filling into batter using figure-eight motion. Sprinkle lemon sugar evenly over top.

5.)  Bake until muffin tops are golden and just firm, 17 to 19 minutes, rotating muffin tin from front to back halfway through baking time. Cool muffins in tin for 5 minutes, then remove.

*Recipe adapted from Cook’s Illustrated

 END NOTE: If you wanted to be all uppity I’m sure you could substitute half of the all-purpose flour for whole wheat. It will change the texture a bit though, as these muffins have a more cake-like texture.

AuthorMegan Ault Regnerus | Comment12 Comments |
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Monday
25Jan2010

sometimes i still can't believe how it all went down

DateMonday, January 25

Last time I wrote about skate skiing, someone asked me what it is...Here's me skating in Yellowstone National Park. As you can see, skating requires pushing off to the side on one ski, while gliding forward on the other. It's really fun!

I first met Shawn six years ago at a Nordic ski race in Neihart, Montana, in the middle of nowhere, two hours north of our home. The Klister Klassic had become a favorite, due to the fact that it attracts only a handful of good racers (thus increasing my chances of placing well), always has great door prizes and a pot full of homemade chili at the finish.

Shawn was there with a buddy I knew as a coach in Bozeman who was also a former college racer. I beat Shawn, but not his buddy, who came in just ahead of me in first place. After the race, his buddy made a point of introducing me to Shawn, who was also in the midst of a divorce. I made polite chitchat over chili, walking away with two impressions of him: Dude skis slower than me, and he has really crooked teeth.

Fast forward a little over a year later, to the second time we met. We were at a mutual friend’s slide show of her travels in India, which was a crowded potluck gathering. I stood in the food line behind Shawn, and he turned and handed me a plate. I recognized him and noticed some things I hadn’t seen at the race, hidden beneath his ski hat and clothes...He had a nice head of sandy-colored hair, and blue, blue eyes that matched his button-down shirt.

We funneled out at the end of the food line and someone started talking to us both and said, “Have you two met before?”

“I think so,” I said, careful not to jump in with anything man-bruising like, “Yeah. We met at that one race where I whooped your ass? But anyways, I hardly remember. Probably because you were BEHIND me.”

“Yes, we have,” Shawn jumped in. “I met you at the Klister Klassic. You beat me.”

He said it just like that.

No, “Yeah you beat me. But I was really off on the wax that day,” or “I shouldn’t have worked out so hard the day before.”

He wasn’t embarrassed. Yet he had an unexpected sweetness beneath that quiet confidence and all of the sudden, it hit me like a cliché. Thunderbolts, a bee to honey, whatever you want to call it, but it was sudden and dramatic and it has never left me to this day. I wanted him. Not in a lustful way (that was later), but that odd, tingly sensation where you look at a near stranger and wonder what it would feel like if they wrapped their arms around you while you rested your head on their shoulder and memorized their smell forever. Like that.

But there was still a potential deal-breaker before I could indulge such a fantasy. I took a deep breath, and started babbling about my sons. Surely his buddy had warned this childless man that I had children? I paused to take a breath, and I swear he asked this question in slow motion: “SO. How many children do you have?”

 I looked down at the plate of food I hadn’t touched and felt queasy. “Three?”

“Three?” he repeated.

“Yes,” I blinked. “Three. Boys.”

I waited for him to politely excuse himself to go talk to someone else, but then he started telling stories about his three nephews whom he clearly adored and my heart started tapping Morse code to my brain: You Have Got to Be Shitting Me.

During the slide show we sat in the back row in the dark, whispering back and forth, unable to help our blatant rudeness. We told each other about our traveling dreams, and I can still remember how his breath on my ear made me feel giggly.

When it was time for me to leave I made a show of getting ready, and Shawn came over and told me he’d like to see me again. I tried not to let loose with the sloppy-dog dorky-assed grin fighting to take over my face.

Two days later I happened to see him at the annual West Yellowstone Rendezvous Ski Race, where I was racing the 25-kilometer skate, and he was handing water and energy gels to his buddy who was doing the full 50-kilometer skate ski marathon. Shawn shouted encouragement to me at several points on the race course, and unfortunately missed two scheduled hand-offs to his buddy, who ended up dropping out of the race and good-naturedly accused Shawn of being “distracted.”

Anyway, all this is to say that Nordic skiing is a special part of my history with Shawn. I’m fairly certain he’s going to beat me this time at the Klister Klassic (two weeks from now), as his technique has improved and I haven’t been able to keep up with him when we do speed workouts together. It’s fine. I’m not letting him out of my site without a fight, but really, there are no losers in this race anymore. Just me out there doing my best with him, feeling good.

 

Okay, I promise not to make you look at too many cutesy-scmootzie pictures of us...Just thought I could maybe get away with it on this post.

 

 

AuthorMegan Ault Regnerus | Comment12 Comments |
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