(Very) Misty, Watercolored Memories

I've long maintained that my decreasing ability to remember things is due to the fact that I have an ever-increasing number of things to remember.

Think about it. At age 46, I have 33 more years of classmates, co-workers and neighbors, dinners, vacations and parties, phone numbers, e-mails and gift ideas to remember than my kids have. I may not remember what we had for dinner last night (or whether we had dinner last night), but I do remember what I ate the night of the Fort Johnson High School Junior-Senior Prom, 1980. We splurged at the Cork and Cleaver, and I had a whole artichoke with lemon butter, mushrooms sauteed in wine, medium-rare filet mignon, and cheesecake. The cheesecake wasn't very good.

I could be wrong about that, though.

Last week, 60 Minutes aired a story about the fallibility of our memories. Apparently, when it comes to recall, "crystal clear" can be Cooper River murky. In the report, we meet a woman who, based on her unwavering, eyewitness identification of the rapist in a lineup, helped convict a man to life in prison. Even when she saw the actual rapist, she didn't recognize him. Twenty years later, DNA evidence proved that the convicted man wasn't guilty, and he was released from prison.

My own memory lapses don't have such life-altering implications, but after only a month or so on Facebook, I'm finding more and more examples of how we remember things differently.

Our recollections can be small, single events or larger, longer-lasting ones. According to the posts I've read, some of the musings of Fort Johnson High School alums include: Remember when you had your wisdom teeth out? Remember that night at Big John's? Remember the (very painful) last Fort Johnson-James Island football game? Remember that week at Folly Beach our senior year? (OK. I admit that there could have been some contributing factors to our collective memory loss that week.)

On the Facebook discussion board, "You Know You Went To Fort Johnson If ..." several alums fondly remember our French teacher as the hottest teacher at school.

Really? I've got to admit, I had to do a double-take there. Then again, I was pretty naive in high school. OK, now that I look back, I can see where kids may have thought that, but back then, it never, ever occurred to me. Ick. (This, despite the fact that she was, in the vernacular of the day, built like a brickhouse. By the way, you know you went to Fort Johnson if you're now singing, "she's mighty, mighty, just letting it all hang out" under your breath.)

Particularly shocking in my Facebook communications to this point is how people claim to remember me: "always smiling," "energetic," and "witty."

Here's how I remember me: awkward, uncomfortable, inappropriate.

Sadly, no one remembers me as having "great hair," "glowing skin" and "fabulous clothes." Rightly so. Nobody's memory is that inaccurate.

Is it always this way? Is there always a vast divide between one person's perception and another person's reality?

Seems like this was once the discussion of a philosophy class I took in college -- but to be honest, I can't remember.

Here's what I can remember: to pick the kids up on time, to make sure the dog is fed and to take care of teachers' gifts. I can remember that my son likes extra cheese on his nachos but no cheese on this tacos. I can remember that my daughter likes potstickers, but only if they're panfried, not steamed. I remember what it felt like to become a mom. And I remember that being a mom is the most important job I could ever have.

And about that prom night cheesecake -- it may have been great. Maybe my memory was tarnished, though, by this recipe, which I acquired a few years later and is truly the best cheesecake ever -- dense, creamy, sweet and slightly tart. (And I'm pretty certain about that, as I've "refreshed" my memory many times in the 20 years I've been making it.)

David's Mom's Cheesecake
Crust

1 cup graham cracker crumbs

1/4 cup melted butter

1/4 cup sugar

Filling

2, 8-ounce packages of cream cheese, at room temperature

3 eggs

1/2 cup sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

Topping

2 cups sour cream

1/4 cup sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 375. Mix crust ingredients together (will be crumbly) and press into a 9" springform pan.

For filling, beat cream cheese until fluffy. Gradually add sugar. Beat in eggs, one at a time. Finally, stir in vanilla. Pour filling into crust. Back 20 minutes (no longer) and remove from oven. Cool 15 minutes.

While cheesecake is cooling, increase oven temperature to 475. Mix topping ingredients together and carefully spread on cheesecake. Return to oven and bake and additional 10 minutes.

Cool completely, and then, refrigerate before serving. If you must top with something, sliced fresh kiwi is ideal.

Tonight Is All About Mom

I spent the better part of today with my feet up in the air. And I'd appreciate if you'd get your mind out of that gutter. I sprained my right ankle yesterday afternoon, and the medical experts (i.e., WebMD) agree that the key to a speedy recovery is elevating my softball-sized ankle above my chest. Ice and ibuprofen are also recommended. Sauvignon blanc probably is, too, but I gave it up for Lent. Next year for Lent, I'm giving up spraining my ankle.

Nevertheless, I'm a mom, and as long as I still have my hands and senses about me, I'm in charge of everything that no one else wants to do. It also means I have the powers of prophecy. I can absolutely foretell that, in the next hour or so, someone's going to be bold enough to ask, "What's for dinner?"

Between you and me, it's lasagna.

For reasons that escape me, my kids aren't fans of lasagna. Sure, they manage when it's on the plate in front of them. I've even heard them choke out "thank you, that was good" when served lasagna at someone else's house. But at home, it's a dish that elicits an overly prolonged, overly vocal sigh. That single exhalation could inflate a small raft.

Too bad. I want lasagna. My ankle hurts, I can't have wine, the dog peed in the dining room and homemade lasagna's in the freezer. If the kids dare ask what we're eating tonight, I'm invoking "don't ask, don't tell."

I love lasagna and consider it a parental failing that the children don't share my enthusiasm. I learned to make it in college and still have an overblown sense of accomplishment when I sprinkle on that final layer of cheese. I bet you know what I'm talking about. Lasagna requires both culinary sensibility and architectural expertise. With 38 years of cooking and 10 years of Lego construction under my belt, I have both.

So lasagna it is. Lasagna -- and an ice pack.

No-Boil Lasagna With Sausage

Sauce

1 lb. sweet italian sausages, casings removed

1 large onion, diced

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 large carrots, grated

3 large cloves of garlic, minced

(1 zucchini, grated, optional)

2 teaspoons dried oregano

1 28-ounce can crushed tomatoes with puree

1 14-oz can diced tomatoes

1 cup water

1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

1/2 cup chopped fresh basil

Filling

1 10-ounce package frozen spinach, thawed and squeezed dry

2 15-ounce containers of ricotta cheese

3/4 cup fresh grated Parmesan cheese

2 large eggs, beaten slightly

salt, pepper, nutmeg and dried oregano

Lasagna

Sauce (see above)

Filling (see above)

12 uncooked lasagna noodles

1 cup fresh grated Parmesan

4 cups grated mozzarella (or 1 lb, sliced)

Make sauce. Saute onion and sausages in hot oil, using large spoon to break up the sausage. (I sometimes simply grill the sausage and slice them.) Continue browning, adding garlic, carrots, (zucchini, if using) and herbs. When all vegetables are soft, stir in remaining ingredients, bring to a boil and simmer at least 30 minutes. Salt and pepper to taste.

Make filling. Thoroughly mix all filling ingredients in a large bowl, using hands if necessary.

Preheat oven to 375.

Assemble lasagna. Spray a 13x9 inch baking dish with nonstick cooking spray. Spread 1 cup of sauce in bottom of dish. Arrange layer of 3 uncooked noodles on top. Spoon 1 1/2 cups of filling over noodles, spreading evenly. Sprinkle with 1 cup of mozzarella and 1/4 cup of Parmesan. Repeat layering two more times. Top with another layer of noodles, and spread remaining sauce on top. Sprinkle with remaining cheese. Spray a large piece of foil with nonstick spray and use it to cover lasagna.

Bake 40 minutes, remove foil, increase oven to 400 and bake another 20 minutes, or until noodles are tender and sauce is very bubbly. Let rest 15-20 minutes before serving.

One Dog's Life

A few weeks ago, we adopted a beautiful Brittany rescue dog, Josie.

She'd had a rough life prior to her arrival Chez Wiles. She'd had parvo, been starved nearly to death, and had never been in a house. So here's what she wants of us. To be loved. To be fed.

Here's what we want of her. To sit, stay, come and "go." To be docile and obedient. To not pee on the floor. To not pee on the rug. To not pee on the most expensive rug in the house. (This morning.) To not eat my 6th grader's course registration form. (Too late.) To not eat my 8th grader's French homework. (Again, too late.) To lie calmly at our feet. To zoom in circles around the coffee table. To jump up and catch treats in her mouth. To not jump up on us. To welcome our friends -- whom she doesn't know. To ward off strangers -- whom she doesn't know either. To play with the cat. To leave the @#%$!! cat the **&%^$@! alone.

And that's just Month One.

Not really a fair relationship, I guess. Sometimes, you can see in her eyes that's she's not 100% sure of us just yet. Still, it's somehow working.

Maybe I shouldn't be focusing so much on what we want of her, but instead, on what she does for us. She's the best alarm clock I've ever owned. Just the threat of me unleashing the "canine clock," makes both sleepy-eyed kids pop up like life-size jack-in the-boxes. She's a grueling personal trainer for our cat, Lionel. Jillian, from The Biggest Loser, would be shamed by the intense workouts that Josie gives. Best of all, though, she's helping us happily re-define our post-divorce family, making us feel more complete.

For all she does, maybe I should be doing more for her. I may have to start researching some dog biscuit recipes. Until I figure out a canine version, though, I bet Josie won't mind these a bit.

Buttermilk Biscuits

2 cups flour ("soft" Southern flour, like Red Band or White Lily, really is best)

1 tablespoon sugar (I know most Southern cooks don't include it, but I think it makes the dough more tender)

1 teaspoon salt

3 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

6 tablespoons shortening (chilled, cut in small cubes)

2 tablespoons unsalted butter (chilled, cut in small cubes)

3/4 - 1 cup buttermilk

Preheat oven to 425. Blend together dry ingredients. Using pastry cutter or two forks, cut in shortening and butter until mixture is crumbly and mealy. Quickly blend in 3/4 cup of the buttermilk. Dough should be soft and sticky; if needed, stir in remaining 1/4 cup buttermilk. Scrape dough onto well-floured board or counter. It will not (and should not) be as elastic or dry as bread dough. Using floured hands, gently pat out dough, and fold it over itself several times (patting, not kneading). Pat dough out to 3/4 inch thickness. Cut out biscuits, placing on ungreased cookie sheet. Repeat with remaining dough scraps. Bake until very lightly golden -- about 10-12 minutes.