Dark Of Night

I am officially closing this blog.  Originally a school project, it has been a source of comfort and joy.  Now, in the dark of night, I am choosing to close it down and take back a little privacy.  The changes in the seasons hit me fully today.  The leaves are gone, the sky is dark an moody, and there is the feel of the holiday season in the air.  Morning runs are miserable adventures, and cycling has become an indoor, stationary sport. Yes, winter has arrived to my corner of the world and with the changes in the season, there are personal changes I need to attend to.

Nutrition in Season will be back in the new season.  There will be a garden.  There will be joy.
Eat well.
Be well.

Farewell to Summer

Summer 2009 left today. The end of summer is always a little bit melancholy. I noticed the transition Sunday morning when I racked my bike in the pitch black for the Trek Triathlon. There was nervous chatter about the lake temperature (cold). I have noticed lately that mornings have a chilly bite and it is harder to leave a warm bed for a cold run or swim. The farmers' markets are chock full of this summer's harvest. My internship starts Monday. There is transition everywhere. Summer 2009 was a great summer. The warm days resulting in vegetables, herbs, fruit by the basketful. We ate well. There were bike rides: on Cape Cod, in Boston, in Bellevue, in the mountains. There were sunrise runs where I could leave my fretting and worries out on the road and out of my house. There were swims in the pool, in the lakes; black water and brilliant blue sky. There was a perfect day of hiking and pondering on Whidbey Island where I had nowhere to be except there. I had driven P up to a cancer retreat and my sole purpose for the day was to simply be until she was ready for a ride home. That day was a gift. A gift to spend a day celebrating the beauty that surrounds us all in this corner of the planet.

 Last night Ken and I biked down to the lake and watched the sun set over the Olympics. Chasing Ken's bike home down along the lake through the fading golden light and shadows with the bunnies bounding back into the bushes was the perfect last summer night. He promised me that soon there will be pumpkins and squash at the markets. There will be holiday gatherings with friends and family. There will be snuggly sweaters and the magic golden light that only happens in the fall. Yes, fall is coming and all will be well but for right now, I am cherishing these last final (literally) minutes of summer.

Addiction in the kitchen

Today I spent my last day at PMSC as a volunteer. PMSC is a day shelter for adults over 55. Many who visit here are homeless. This is a place where you can get a hot lunch, often a hot breakfast, classes, or just a sense of warmth and safety. For 2 years I volunteered in the kitchen and then facilitated a diabetes support group. Managing diabetes when you don't know a) what your next meal is or where it will come from b) when you might have a kitchen to call your own c) security and stability is a challenge I cannot begin to understand. The stories are funny, tragic, often long-winded, and always wildly entertaining.

Today as I walked in the kitchen I asked one of the staff members, J, "how are you?". "Homeless" was the answer. He is 3 months out of a stint in rehab so I stopped and talked. "How long have you been homeless? What is going on? Talk to me." He talked. He talked matter of factly as they all do about rehab, about how noone wants to rent to a junkie, about his regrets for the drugs, prison, the relapses, all of it.

He talked until my single attendee for the diabetes group stopped by and yelled into the kitchen. "Misha, I NEED you. My blood sugar is over 200. WHEN are you starting the group?? I NEED you." I have never had that reaction before, and I was wary of what state of sobriety (or not) this gentleman might be experiencing. Actually I was pleased. As grumpy as I was due to yet another eye infection and as many times as noone has showed up: today was great. I felt useful. We talked. We talked about specific choices for snacks, for fiber, and how to manage in a candybar now and again. The candybar is not going away anytime soon and we both knew that. More calm, he left for his walk to get his blood sugar down below 150 before lunch...... and a donut.

Back in the kitchen, L, grumps at me about where have I been, and why haven't I been working in his kitchen, and have I been off sleeping and being lazy. This is his way of saying I have been missed. When I share that my internship is starting, he gets somber. "Good luck with that. Noone deserves it better. They are shutting down the Lazarus shelter and this place is about to get crazy. Best that you not be here when THAT happens" When I ask why they would shut down a shelter just as the weather changes he gets even more gentle. "Baby girl, noone cares about the homeless in this town. There is only one you." I will never hug Leroy. When I try and tell him thank you for teaching me so much he grumps and walks away. That is his way. But he knows that he means the world to me. And I know I mean the world to him.

While I have not yet gotten permission to tell their stories and give a voice to their experiences, I carry their stories with me. I carry their kindness and laughter with me. I learned more about drugs, poverty, how to get a bed in a shelter, and which pawn shops carry the best selections of TVs in that kitchen than I ever thought imaginable. I never expected to volunteer so long at this place. I never expected that some of my greatest teachers would be the old, the addicted, the recovering, the crazy, the forgotten. But they were and they are, and I will not forget them.

I found the prototype for the herb garden of my dreams. In the courtyard of the Inn at Langley, I found nirvana. Diamonds of herbs bordered by boxhedges. Tomatoes protected from invaders by cosmos loaded up with honeybees (I recently read that caterpillars and some nasty bugs are afraid of buzzing bees - who knew!) I wandered around sampling a leaf of this, a leaf of that. THIS I could do in my yard. Langley is basically a giant garden trying to be a town so it is no surprise that I found an herb garden that knocked me off my feet. Later in the evening I found a vegetable garden so wonderful I spent more time in it than at the wedding reception I was attending. I got home to stare sadly at my pots of herbs that are picked clean. I am just fresh out of herbs. Even the spearmint has been completely used up. The chives are hiding among the patio squares to avoid the same fate but their days are numbered. As the summer threatens to wind down transform into fall I am again considering my garden. In my newfound favorite magainze "Herb Companion" I am finding all sorts of resources, along with more sorbet recipes to make with herbs, to soundbites for why to incorporate as many herbs into all aspects of daily life as possible. The soundbites remind me of what I have just finished reading in The Body Toxic, by Nena Baker - yikes!

I'll leave you with pictures of what a herb garden can be....and what mine will look (vaguely) like..in time.

ABCs of Mindful Eating

"Tell Me What You Eat and I'll tell you who you are." Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin.

I want you to think about eating differently. No, wait, let me back up. I want us all to re-examine the what, when, why, and how we eat. There are countless blogs about this food and that nutrient: this supplement and that miracle cure. I spent the weekend up on Whidbey Island; the woo abounds in every corner shop. Take the right pill, use the right soap, chant the right mantra, and hallelujah, amen, you will be perfected.

Forgive me but I think it is a whole lot simpler than that. And a whole lot harder.

One of my favorite books is "Eat, Taste, Heal", by Thomas Yarema, MD, Daniel Rhoda, and Chef Johnny Brannigan. It is an "Ayurvedic guidebook and cookbook for modern living." There is a section on the ABCs: Ambiance, Blessing, Consumption. Me, being me, desperately wants to change it to: Ambiance, Blessing, Companionship. Get THAT straight, and the eating will come, in time. So let's chat about the ABCs.

Ambience: How often do I eat in front of the nightly news, in front of my laptop, in my car, standing over the sink? How often am I frantically squishing a Hammer gel in my mouth mid-run, mid-tri, sprinting into the locker room before a hellish Wade workout. Now, let's flip it. How often do I cook slowly, light candles, set a table? When was the last time we had company over for dinner? When was the last time I had a delightful time chatting with dinner companions I had never met before? I give myself a score of about 50/50. This summer we have been blessed with a farm dinner, family dinners, amazing dinners. This summer I have also blown through a lot of hammer gels: I think I like the espresso flavor best but then again I am not entirely sure gels have flavors!

Blessing: I have blogged it before, and I'll blog it again. I believe in the case for grace. If nothing else - inhale your breath before you inhale your food. At a wedding this past weekend, I slipped away into the vegetable garden and prowled among the late harvest berries. I experienced full-on basil envy. I was amazed at the drifts of parsley in the small orchard. I believe if we each had a small garden - either a pot of herbs or a garden with rows of chard and tomatoes, we would eat with more gratitude. I believe the old adage "never go to bed angry" is wrong. I believe the adage should be "never eat angry". I truly believe you do more harm eating angry than sleeping off a rage.

Companionship: We enjoyed one of the Dog Mountain Farm dinners and had a delightful time with two sweet ladies who shared the secret of the Mercer Island Fig Festival, and secrets of growing some herb that I can't remember. Earlier this summer a nephew spent an entire Sunday cooking a meal for us that was beyond heavenly. I have taken a lot of meals to a lot of people this summer facing a health crisis. Funny - we instinctively know to take food when someone is in crisis. The challenge is this: how often do we offer food to avoid a crisis? I believe in more picnics and dinner parties, and less dinners alone with Channel 5. Consider this part of health care reform.

To follow the ABCs, the basics takes time and thought. Time and thought is something that as a culture we don't equate with food. We think of fast food, convenince paks, take-out. It is time to re-think how, when, what, and why we eat. It is time to re-think of who we are.

Alice's Restaurant

I have finally learned how to cook.
I was always a pretty good cook: never one for following recipes and always one to cook with the seasons but I have always loved herbs. I have dreamed of herb gardens and really knowing how to cook with herbs. I am still not there but I have found the key. I am suddenly starting to cook the way I always wanted to - always knew that I could make food THIS good, just didn't know how.

The key is Alice. And yes I am talking about the one and only Alice Waters. Last fall on a quick visit to Oakland, we found Chez Panisse and somehow got a table upstairs in the cafe. I ordered chicken. I remember that chicken. I never knew chicken could taste like THAT. After watching the movie Julie and Julia about a New Yorker who cooks every recipe in Julia Child's book I thought (like everyone else who sees the movie) - how fun would that be. Only.... not Julia. Not French, and heavy. I opened Alice Waters' book, "The Art of Simple Food" and found what I had always been looking for. Herb Nirvana.

Lesson 1 is sauces. All the sauces are basically fistfuls of herbs bound together with a vinegarette, or butter, or some other emulsion but herbs. I just never used enough herbs in the past. Alice gave me the ratios that really work, not just sortof work when I played in the kitchen before. I got the idea that this would be good when I read "my favorite butter sauce is deep green." Suddenly, I got it. Herbs in abundance. The flavors of our food started to sing.

Our first dinner from Lesson 1:
Grilled salmon with basil butter sauce. Probably over the top on salmon but jaw dropping amazing.
Green Bean Tomato salad with basil, violets, and a light vinegerette. The beans and tomatos were from my mom's garden, the herbs and violets from my front door. This salad was the highlight of the meal.
Roasted beets I just happened to have in the fridge kissed with sea salt and just a little olive oil.


My pre-race dinner:
Potatos with salse verde. No, not Mexican salsa, Italian salsa verde: parsley by the fistful with capers, lemon zest and garlic.
Grilled salmon with lime.
Sliced tomatos toped with basil leaves that snuck over into the salsa verde to play.

Post-race dinner:
Lamb patties studded with spearmint leaves. Lots of spearmint leaves
Tomatoes with cucumbers and lemon balm leaves in a vinegerette and just enough goat cheese to add creamines.
Ken had fresh bread with leftover butter sauce.
We had Coconut Bliss for dessert and you know what, the tomatoes were better. We gave up on bliss and went back to salad.

In one weekend, I used more herbs than I typically use in a week. Sunday afternoon I asked my husband, "how do you want to spend the afternoon?" The answer, "anything that involves cooking with Alice." Lesson 2 is salads. I thought I knew salads too but now I am thrilled to learn what a salad can be!

Oh I know - I should add recipes. I actually am following the recipes from this book. I literally dream about them. But currently I am too busy eyeing my front and back yard to figure out where to stuff more herb plants. Stay tuned for the expanding herb garden and Lesson 2!

It's Sunday Morning: Danskin Sunday Morning

This morning marked the 17th year of the Danskin in Seattle and 20 years of the Danskin Women's Triathlon Series. The Danskin honors women who face their fears and take on challenges: be it cancer to wearing lycra in public. The Danskin is also a fundraiser for Susan G. Komen. This event honors the spirit of all women and has a spirit found nowhere else.

This morning marked the 6th time I registered for this race and the 5th time I actually started (and finished) the race. Each summer I train with a group. It is sortof like sumer camp. But this amazing group of women inspires me. Oh sure, there are new faces each year and faces move on. This year, we trained in the memory of Leah McCollough: a woman whose heart and spirit was so big, it could not be contained. Leah passed last fall from a sudden heart attack.

This year was different. While my team dedicated this year's race to Leah - I trained and raced for Patti. Patti is fighting Stage 3 cancer. This intention added a whole new level to the event. I am incredibly lucky - in addition to an entire team and Coach Cathy, I had Ironman Carol chasing me around and going over - literally - every inch of water, bike route, run route with me over and over and at ever increasing heart rates. There was one morning where I had to ask "Please stop", my hands were numb, my chest was doing something ...odd. Carol pushed - hard. But I still hear her calm voice... "Nice...nice pace....NICE."

On Wednesday, Patti took infusion #6. She hates Wednesdays. I posted on her blog the following:

Red is your new favorite color. It is the color of Christmas, and Valentine's Day, and Buddhist robes. It is the color of romance and life. Red is the ultimate color of speedy little sports cars. Red is the clear, sparkly color hanging in an iv bag that will bathe every cell you have with protection from wandering cancer cells. Red is the color of healing. Tomorrow starts cycle 6: on schedule, on time, onward. She called and thanked me for that post - it got her through drip #6.

Wednesday night - Cathy handed out team shirts. They were red. On the back was a quote... from Leah. Of course. I never knew Leah as well as some but I am sure she didn't mind. From her vantage point with the angels, she knew how to help - she knew what to give. Leah had fabulous fashion sense: I used to tell her "some day, take me shopping: you, girl, have style." So of course, the team shirts were red. Leah is dressing me from the great beyond.

Sunday dawned - a perfect morning. Sunday mornings are the mornings that Patti comes out of cycle and reverts to her bubbly, positive self. A perfect morning to start to a race. A race I had trained for like no other. And while I had a great time and a great race, there was a catch. The spirits of Danskin took my timing chip and sank it to the bottom of Lake Washington. Yup - I lost it and have no official time. At first I was really frustrated and then I remembered my intention for this race. This was not my race to finish. The spirit of Danskin acted as only happens at THIS event. This event that honors the strength of spirit, and the friends that see us through.

Tonight I posted again on Patti's blog:
My official time is DNF - as it should be.
This race is yours - your official time comes next summer and it will read: Survivor.

A little bit longer and I'll be fine.

Today was a home day. Sort laundry, hydrate. Catch up on emails, hydrate. Make doctor appointments, hydrate. Apparently today was a day to catch up on tv watching, and yes hydrate: I have a race fast approaching. About the tv watching....

This afternoon I had the tv on and saw a segment on Nick Jonas. He apparently is one of the Jonas Brothers and they, apparently, are people to get excited over. Nick has diabetes. Managing diabetes while on stage and on tour is quite a trick and in the segment of whatever show was on, he talked about just how hard that is. He is working with Bayer to create medical dogtags with lyrics from one of his songs that read "A little bit longer and I'll be fine." Having just come home from diabetes camp, I was touched and intrigued. Just having worn a pump for a couple of days (saline - not insulin) I cannot imagine having to be tied to a pump or injection syringe 24/7 for life. There is no break, just a non-negotiable rule that if you don't manage highs and lows all day every day, it will end badly for you.

Earlier today, i was folding laundry and James Earl Jones was on The View. James Earl Jones: the voice of CNN, the voice of Darth Vader, a voice that stutters - like me. I had heard he never, ever did interviews to protect his livelihood but here he was on The View chatting it up. I stopped and stared - and cried. Approximately 3% of the adult population in the U.S. stutter. It can be one of the most isolating, frustrating, despairing, depressing, disorders on earth. I have been exceedingly blessed to have always had great support. But I face the dark place from time to time. When the mouth locks and all of my tricks fail, talking is an awful place to be. I like Nick Jonas's dog tag - a much nicer expression that what I sometimes want to snarl out at people, "if you'll just give me a frickin' minute, I'll talk for myself - thank you very #$%^@! much." Aaahh that is why he is famous! "A little bit longer and I"ll be fine."

My exceedingly sweet husband brought home the current issue of Wired magazine. It contained an article on spasmodic dysphonia that afflicted Dilbert creator Scott Adams. Spasmodic dysphonia "SD" affects the basal ganglia of the brain and your speech abandons you. Without warning - yikes! The article was amazingly articulate on describing how speech takes on rules and every day the rules are different. One day you can speak, the next you cannot. One day Scott Adams could read Dr. Seuss, the next he could not. One day singing helped: nope - not the next day. I could relate to "the rules". Stutterers have rules too. One day "W' words are impossible, the next day it is words that start with "T". The best part - "the rules" do not arrive with breakfast. Knowledge of "the rules" arrive when they damn well decide to show up. I used to order a latte every morning on my way to work or school to learn "the rules" for the day. That trick didn't always work but at least I got a warm cup of comfort out of the deal.

I spent quite a bit of time with P recently and had the amazing experience of being with her as she came out of a chemo cycle. From curled up in a ball in bed trying not to moan and scare me to quietly asking for popcorn with lots of butter (the smell of popcorn helps), to jumping out of bed Sunday morning all chirpy and bubbly and stating "I think we should walk up the street and get a bagel". She called the other day to share she can travel in a couple of months and wanted me to fly with her. The phone call ended something like "a little bit longer and I"ll be fine."

I have talked to a lot of people facing non-negotiable health issues: from Celiac to chronic pain. Diabetes to depression. It took Scott Adams 3+ years to find a medical answer. For those with diabetes, cancer, a stutter or whatever else, we are still waiting. We can all learn a lot from Nick Jonas, Scott Adams, and James Earl Jones. We all have a challenge to face - and manage. We can learn from, and be gentle with, each other.

A little bit longer and we'll be fine.

Space Sticks and Tang

40 years ago today, Apollo 11 launched into space. The Apollo program and gardening are the two areas where my mother and I truly connect. We were living in Houston and I was a toddler at the time of the Apollo program. Everyone in our neighborhood was involved in the space program. Everyone's dad worked for NASA, Boeing, Northrup-Grumman. I remember once sitting on my father's shoulders at a neighborhood block party to welcome home astronauts. I attended Edward White Memorial Elementary School and it was years later that I realized Ed White died on the launch pad of Apollo 1 and why my elementary school had such a long name. My husband and I toured Kennedy Space Center one time and loved it - I got extremely emotional standing on the Apollo 1 launch pad that has never been used. I went back this past December - back to Seabrook, Kemah, Galvaston Bay, Clear Lake City. I took a drive down Saturn Lane and also a drive down memories I didn't realize were so strong. I was pulled strongly towards an internship that would afford the opportunity to do nutrition research at Johnson Space Center. I still find that a jet engine screaming down a runway moves my soul like no other sound. The TV image of liftoff makes me cry everytime. I stayed home the day John Glenn returned to space and jumped up and down screaming during countdown. I was standing in the Louvre when Challenger went down and felt like I had just be punched - hard. I was home when Columbia went down and both my husband and I could not stop crying. As a toddler, I was a space child. That still resonates somewhere in my core.

As a small child I drank Tang and ate Space Sticks. Tang became mainstream. I drank it hot at summer camp and poured the powder down my throat on the starting blocks of swim meets as an age-grouper swimmer. My grandmother made Tang Ice Tea: sometimes when I get extremely lonely, I still crave it. Space Sticks were something else. We LOVED them. I cannot tell you what is in them. But I would spend time at the Shepherds house and all the kids would fight over the last space stick in the box. Today I found them on Amazon (of course I did! Where else would they be?!) And while I am darkly fascinated, terrified, and frankly - disturbed, by a space stick, I may just have to get myself a stick or two and celebrate.

40 years ago today - someone of about my current age, climbed on top of one unimaginably huge rocket and dared to go to the moon. They went with nothing by a slide-rule, bad ice cream, Tang, and a box of space sticks. They went with the dedication and support of the brightest minds on earth. They went with the hope and inspiration of the entire world. Just how cool is that?

Good Food

Last night we had a picnic in the park by Lake Washington. In a thunderstorm. And downpour. With Shakespeare. Yes, really. It was perfect! Friends from Oregon were up and had spent the day watching baseball so we met them and other friends at Luther Burbank Park. We grilled burgers in the rain and then gathered around one of the two tables under the shelter for burgers (man food), tomato/basil/mozzarella/violet salad (girl food), watermelon (kid food), and raspberry sorbet (pretty food). We learned that the Shakespeare in the Park had been cancelled due to lightening so a group decided to picnic with their Richard the 3 library books. So we shared the shelter. We gave them watermelon and they did readings of Shakespeare - while waving the watermelon knife, wine bottles, and cookie dough! Huddling under blankets with long time friends and their families watching the lightening and counting to thunderclaps while laughing hysterically at the antics of our collective kids and the thespians made for the perfect meal - even if it was slightly damp and a meal fit for a warm summer night and not quite the stormy night we had.

All food shared with friends and strangers is good food. Our meal was heavy on the fruits, herbs, and laughter making it great food.


I had spent the weekend taking an Ayurveda intensive. There may be a post on that later. The part of the class that I loved was the premise in ayurveda that:
Our souls are guests in our bodies so treat your body well; be a gracious houseguest.

Eating well is how we thank our bodies for providing housing for our soul.

Having satisfaction and happiness is the goal of life. Not things mind you - happiness. Happiness like picnics in the park during thunderstorms with lifelong friends and random strangers.

Biking to Visit the Angels

Yesterday I biked with friends and my guy up Blewett Pass. Well, sortof. The 4 ladies biked 70 miles from Lake Wenatchee up Blewett and back down to Leavenworth. My guy joined in at Leavenworth. I took one look at the thermometer at 8:30 in the morning and thought "uh oh". So I did water patrol up the first 10 miles of Blewett Pass and then joined the fun on the old highway road and did the last 7-10 miles UP. Good thing too - we went through 15 liters of supplemental water in the 98 degree weather. Somewhere along the line I got hooked on biking UP hills. I hate, with a passion, descents. They scare me and I suck at descents. But climbing, call me crazy, I think is meditative. Your heart pounds, all you can hear is your own breathing and it sortof hurts but then the pain fades and all you hear is your breathing and the birds and you feel the sensation of the cadence and where exactly your feet are in the pedal stroke. There is a rhythm to it that is rewarding. Yesterday on the quiet road in the forest with the heat radiating off the potholed pavement I thought I had died and gone to heaven; just me, 5 friends and a bike going UP for hundreds and hundreds of feet. Oh - the down part down all the curves (don't go off the road - nothing but air) was frightening - but when I stopped to unclench my hands from the brakes the views about broke my heart they were so beautiful.

Dinner was grilled salmon, veggies, fruit, and champagne overlooking Lake Wenatchee - wonderful.

Raspberry Heaven

Oh my. Really. Oh my.

Yesterday I drove down to my mother's house to check on the house, the garden, and the cats AND to pick raspberries. Her raspberries are taking over one of the abandoned chicken coops so I could stand with raspberries dangling right in front of me through the chicken wire and just pick and eat myself into raspberry delirium. The buzzing of the bees was so loud, at first I worried that there might be a hive nearby but no, the bees were just buzzing their striped, fuzzy selves into raspberry delirium as well. I also picked lettuce, rhubarb, onions, and an armload of roses.

Tonight, I sent both Ken and I into serious raspberry heaven: raspberry sorbet with a shot of lime, and a garnish of spearmint. We ate sorbet for dinner. For dessert we ate more. You are about to learn why I rarely write recipes and never cook from them, but this will get you really close!

Make sure the bowl from your sorbet maker is frozen (can be anywhere from 6 to 22 hours in the freezer).
Approx. 1 1/2 quarts raspberries
Juice of 1 lime
1 cup agave

Combine all ingredients in a blender until a consistent puree. Pour into sorbet maker. Hit "go".
Garnish with spearmint leaves.

Past, Present, Future

Wednesday.
5:30 am
"Do you want coffee?"
"Yes, Please"

This is how every morning starts at my house sometime between 5:30 and 6:00 am. Since my household lives and breathes aviation, morning starts early and starts with news. Ken makes coffee and it is a sprint through breakfast, packing lunches, frantically comparing schedules, grabbing bags and dashing out the door. The day begins. This is my present.

10:00 am
My amazing groupmates and I present our grant proposal. The final presentation I will ever do for grad school. Laine sets a relaxed tone, Claudia throws detail after detail on the screen. I close with a photo of the kitchen seniors from the Pike Market Senior Center. Unexpectedly I feel a pang of emotion. The Senior Center taught me much - but it is becoming part of my past.

1:00 pm
I am sitting on P's bed watching the ceiling fan and holding her hand. Her other hand holds an icepack where her right breast and a boatload of lymph nodes used to be. She is telling me a story that cracks me up. But then I ask, "Do you get angry?"

"No. Someone asked me what do I think about first thing in the morning and it isn't anger, or why me. It is how awed I am to be alive. I have a past, and a present. I want a future."

The answer and the fact the person giving the answer has honored me with her friendship for almost 30 years, leaves me speechless.

7:00 pm
Standing in the back of the Bastyr chapel I am watching my future. Every year the graduating nutrition students cater a dinner for the interns and their preceptors. There are candles, truly amazing food, and flowers from my mother's garden covering almost every surface. The interns are thanking their preceptors and the director is thanking them. Next year, I am an intern. This is my future.

11:00pm
The swim technique video finishes. Cathy's house (my tri coach and personal trainer) is cooling off after the 90 degree day.
We sit there in the almost dark and talk: about how to fix my swim stroke, how to fix my terror of riding a bike downhill fast, surfing, chocolate, paperwork, her own past fight with cancer.

"Do you have a time goal this year for a sprint tri?"
"For the first time ever, I do have a time goal, and a plan for what the splits have to look like."
"OK - you'll be doing the level 3 workouts this summer." "Misha, you'll be fine."

The last comment is in response to my whining. She never - ever raises her voice but the message gets sent. She knows what she's doing and more importantly she knows what I should be doing - don't whine, just do it. She is a great coach and tonight especially she gets in my head and soothes my fretting. Close to midnight, I head home.

5:30am
"Do you want coffee?"
"Yes please".
"What are you thinking?"

I give P's answer from yesterday. "I am in awe of being alive. I am lucky to have my present. I want my future."

In a Time of Silver Rain

The name "In a Time of Silver Rain" was the theme of one of my high school dances. Yikes. That theme came from a song and I have no idea which one. But the idea of silver rain has stayed with me all of my life. I love rain. This is good since I live in Seattle, a city known for....well... rain.

I used to spend summers with my grandparents in rural Alabama. We would have amazing thunderstorms in the afternoons. To this day, give me a screened porch, a glass of sweet tea, a wicker chair, and a good old thunderstorm and I can hear my grandmother's voice. In a time of silver rain.

I scattered my father's ashes high in the North Cascades, one of the few places he found peace. When the time came, I left Ken and Patti safe and snug at camp brewing tea while I wandered alone higher to a place of granite and small tarns. A place where granite peaks will keep watch and the seasons will keep him company. It had been sleeting all day but suddenly the sun broke through reflecting on the sleet and it looked like diamonds falling all around me. In a time of silver rain.

My husband Ken and I went backpacking in New Zealand shortly after we got married. Our luggage was sent ahead and lost so when we arrived at the hostel covered in mud and soaking wet, there was a long wait before our luggage was found and we could be unmuddy and not wet. Ken bought a 6-pack of Kiwi beer and we sat bedraggled in our room telling jokes and laughing harder the more beer we drank, watching it rain so hard we literally could not see across the road. That was a flood - and not really silver.

Last summer there was a deluge at my house. I opened the front door, sat on the doormat and watched it rain through the screen door while Tay kitty slept in my lap. Sadly, we lost Tay the next week to a coyote. I treasure that perfectly peaceful summer evening with Tay just watching the silver rain.

This morning I ran a half marathon in a town that has always opened its arms to me. I finished my undergrad in Tacoma and found in that town a place to have a little success and my first sense of permanent place. Today Tacoma again opened its arms and gave me a hillier-than-all-get-out course but a sub-3 hour gun time. (a crap time for most, but for me - I'll take it). Tonight as I tend to blistered, sore feet and twitching back muscles, I am irritable and restless. But the sun is filtering through the trees giving a golden glow to my little yard and there is suddenly a bright flash a light followed by a huge boom of thunder - and then rain. Calming, comforting, silver rain.

Water is necessary for life. For us, for my garden, and for the earth. Water is the medium needed for the reactions in our cells and provides structure for plant cells. Without water, we don't have much. Without rain, I don't have a little garden that is lush and green tonight. Without water, I don't get far on any run, or bike ride. I just don't function - and neither do you. Some of my most treasured memories involve rain, and water. Drink up.

Sundays and Mondays

Sundays are my long runs.  I run with a dear friend named Pam. She chats and keeps mile times and I navigate.  We start with 30 women but Pam and I run together.  We check out houses that we love, yards I wish mine looked like, and chat up anyone that will listen.  Our coach, Cheryl, claims that "if Pam and Misha would put some of the energy from their mouths to their feet, we could all go home sooner."  I once followed a group of guys down an alley to finish a conversation to emerge back from the alley with Cheryl standing there, a look of astonishment on her face.   And I take pictures from time to time.  The miles get long but I am learning to love the repetition. What could possibly be more spring than a beautiful proposal for someone in Cowan Park.   Finding this sign made our run.   

Mondays I volunteer at Pike Market Senior Center.  I hear stories of depression, hope, addiction, recovery, and grumpiness.  Mostly I laugh.   I have learned from homeless seniors about joy and finding the funny in the everyday.  There is sometimes heartbreak when we run out of food on a snowy cold day.  But they keep me grounded.  Mostly I have learned what "no judgement" really means.  I will never change or save these seniors.  I will hear their stories, witness their courage, and accept that their view of the world and how to function in it is completely different than mine.  And that is OK.    Enjoy some pics of spring in Pike Market. 

Hooray For Asparagus

I get the best supplement questions from my mother.  She is forever on the hunt for the supplement to end all supplementation.  The emails are always entertaining and keep me on my toes.   Before I go into this weekend's e:discussion on the wonders of asparagus, let me explain the need for the ultimate supplement.    

You see my mother is a closet smoker.  Well, maybe not so closet, but not really out there either.  This leads to some wild predicaments.  My favorite is the day when we went out to lunch.  We arrived at the restaurant and I went to lock the car and my mother stopped me, "Hold on. I need something."   She flipped back the thick blanket on the backseat and BEHOLD.... chocolate bars the size of Ouji boards and cartons upon cartons of cigarettes.  I stared.  "Uh, hey Mom.... what else do you have stashed back here.... black market babies?  Cocaine?  Wow."  She breezily answered, "Just the essentials.  You know... chocolate, cigarettes, duct tape."  And off we went.  I don't remember that lunch other than envisioning my mother taping herself into her car while it filled with smoke,  a civil defense siren blaring, and her happily taking on one of the giant chocolate bars.    So, we are on the hunt for the right supplement to add to the emergency kit in the car.  Egads.  But... we meet people where they are and I will not judge.   She has made amazing changes in other areas so that we'll celebrate.  

But back to asparagus.   I got an email last night.  The first part read: 

THE ARTICLE:

 Several years ago, I had a man seeking asparagus for a

 friend who had cancer.He gave me a photocopied copy of an

 article, entitled, `Asparagus for cancer' printed

 in Cancer News Journal, December 1979.

Case reports followed describing various purees of asparagus and miracle cures for cancer.  

I could have jumped for joy.  Nooooo - not because I think an asparagus patch should be planted underneath the magic blanket in my mom's car but because eating asparagus in spring is such a fantastic thing.  Last night Ken and I were having friends for dinner featuring grilled salmon and grilled asparagus and other essential vegetables.  Little did we know our guests were crazy for the stuff.  The grilling of asparagus promptly became their project with much arm waving and various tongs tried to find the perfect asparagus flipping utensil.  

Asparagus is in season in Washington in spring.  It grows in the vineyards along with some of the best grapes in the world.  Asparagus is very high in glutathione and a host of other amazing nutrients.  What I love most is that is signals spring.  It is THE vegetable that tells the body that winter is ending, a natural spring cleaning for the body and for the soul.  There is nothing, and I mean nothing, as wonderful as asparagus rubbed just a little with olive oil, kissed with salt and grilled for 6-8 minutes.   Serve with white wine if you like, dipping sauce if you must, my husband's family famous mustard salmon, and it is a perfect dinner.   One of the guests at our table last night is an Ironman.  Yup - scary fit.  It delights me that asparagus delights her and my mother at the same time.   The ultimate supplement?  Maybe.  The ultimate spring vegetable?  Absolutely.   Hooray for asparagus! 

The Case for Grace

Warning - I am venturing into religion.  It is ok - I'll be gentle.    Grace before a meal was a ritual I was raised with.  My husband was raised in a tightknit family in a farming community as the youngest of 4 boys:  take time for grace and you won't eat.  As the years have gone by I lost the ritual of grace before a meal.  During various discussions about mindful eating, taking time to eat, eating slowly, meditation in general etc. etc. the topic keeps turning over in my mind.  Why do most cultures take a moment to toast before a meal, say grace, say Bon appetit, offer some form of gratitude? Why do we historically offer thanks before eating but not before say a dogwalk or date or before changing the oil in the car?  Why have we lost this simple ritual?   

I love saying grace before eating: offering a gratitude before I enter into the act of nourishing my body and soul, and preferably nourishing friends as well.   I find it interesting the grace became a lost ritual when fast food became .... well so dang fast.  And maybe that is the answer.  Do we really feel thankful for a twinkie or hoho?   Do we really want to acknowledge the cheez whiz?  Maybe if when I sit down to eat (or don't sit down to eat) and I don't say grace - it is a sign that I am about to ingest something that is not healing, or nourishing, or maybe not even really food.  

The case for grace is this:  eat when you are thankful, not mad or sad.  Eat what you are truly grateful for.  Eat with friends and cook for them.  If you cannot boil water, cook for them anyway.  Better yet, have them teach you! Food crosses all boundaries.  It is how we show comfort, show joy, show support, find common ground.  And yes, how we show gratitude.  

In thanks,

 

Eat Local - Live Local

Today is our neighborhood community workday.  Every spring and every fall our cluster of 28 homes gathers to spend a morning taking care of the community areas,  pulling weeds, planting annuals,  painting, and reconnecting with each other.   Granted if you miss this day the fine is steep, but for most of us we fulfill this obligation because we want to.    

This morning like so many mornings I realize how many of my neighbors I have not met.  As we shovel and spade and the annuals get their roots settled in, I think about how we as neighbors are settling our roots in.  My next door neighbor is running the Rock-n-Roll half marathon, as is another neighbor.  How did I not know this?  We are all laughing and I immediately start planning a neighborhood dinner.  

I had wanted to run the Rock-n-Roll half but had plans to be out of town at a wedding.  A wedding fraught with a lot of drama.  And thinking of that made me question:  why are we drawn like moths to flames to drama?  Why do we spend so much time and energy in travel, and exotic adventure?  Why do we need to be told to eat local food?  Why in comparison do we not know our neighbors, or local farmers, or the seniors at the local old-folks home?  

Like out of climate flowers growing in chemical soil, we buy foreign food for its cost and convenience, and fly about the country or the world on business and ignore the tending of our own gardens, our own health, and our own communities.   In my neighborhood, people get angry to have to spend a morning together and bicker about the fine that makes them do it.  But this morning, I cherished time with my neighbors.    And when I offered to host a dinner before the race, my neighbors were thrilled.   

Nutrition is tending to our health.  Gardening is tending to our soil.  I have spent a lifetime trying to be somewhere else.  In this season of new growth, I am pulled to my own corner of this world - where I have been all along.  This time, I want to put down roots.  

Nutrition In Season

My name is Misha Henshaw and I am an unlikely gardener.  This may be a surprise to many as I am finishing a master’s degree in nutrition.  Growing food, cooking food, eating food, all seem to go together right?  Well, maybe not.  Not if you’re me.  And not if you have had as many previous lives as I have had.   So come along on my adventure as I dive headlong into organic gardening this season and together we will celebrate nutrition in this season and all seasons! 

One of my happiest memories from high school was walking the 2 miles home from school with a friend.  We would rant about school, the looming financial aid challenges of college, and boys.  We were both going to major in nutrition.  And then life happened.  I became an accountant.  The why and how of me becoming an accountant is a whole other blog, but I did.  I finished college, got a job, paid my bills, bought a house, worked in a cubicle.  And while I had a lot of amazing adventures, I forgot about food.  I forgot about the joy of picking beans and tomatoes in our family’s garden growing up.   I lost touch with the seasons and with how to truly nurture myself. 

Flash forward to this spring.  A lot has happened.  I have rediscovered food and vegetable gardens. But now I want to really know how to garden properly.  Not just stumbling around in the dirt with a shovel and slug bait.  As entertaining as that can be, it may not result in the most tasty of arugula!  Growing nutrition should be fun – and I would love to have your company as I head out the door into the dirt with my shovel.