For A Good Time, Just Add Water.

I opened a bank account yesterday. Kinda.

It’s out in the middle of Lake Wylie. Sorta.

Yep. It’s one of those “liquid” bank accounts – a hole in the water into which you pour money without hopes of ever making a withdrawal. I bought a boat.

I’d been pondering it for some time now. There’s nothing like the freedom and fun you can have out on the water. I grew up on the water, on the beach, on the docks, in the creeks – boating, skiing, cruising, fishing. To me, it feels like an essential part of childhood, and at ages 15 and 13, Son and Darling Daughter won’t be “kids” much longer. As rising 8th and 10th graders, they won’t even be with me much longer. (Son’s clearly-stated college choice is “away.” Followed by, “Do they have colleges in Colorado?")

Plus, it’s that time of year when it seems as if every commencement speaker on the nightly news is urging new graduates to “pursue their dreams.” True, I haven’t matriculated in over 25 years. Still, my dream has always been to use “matriculate” in a sentence. And to have a boat. So now I have one.

This, despite the face that there are at least three good reasons I shouldn’t have done it. First, I didn’t “buy” a boat. I went into debt for one. Second, the boating season isn’t all that long. I know, because I tried to justify the expense by dividing it by the number of times we could get on the water each summer before Darling Daughter graduates from high school in 2015. That kind of math never adds up. And third, well, the truth is, I don’t know how to drive a boat.

As Son’s seventh grade teacher would say, it’s time for me to man up.

It's also time to get cooking, because I can’t think of boating without thinking of food.

When I was a kid, we’d eat a PBJ on the bike ride to the Yacht Club (which is not at all what you think it is), knock on the bar window, put a can of Coke on Daddy’s tab, and think we were gourmands.

That’s one dream that has changed. Nowadays, I think icy beers, hunks of juicy watermelon and French bread and cool, refreshing salads – something like this Shrimp and Cucumber Salad with Dilled Yogurt Dressing.

But first, can someone show me how to run this thing? And what happens if you push that red button?

Shrimp and Cucumber Salad
The salad is easy to assemble, but you have to begin a couple of hours in advance, to allow time for straining the yogurt.
8 ounces plain Greek yogurt, strained
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons fresh chopped dill
2-3 tablespoons fresh minced chives
pinch of ground cayenne pepper
generous grinding of fresh black pepper
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 seedless cucumber, peeled, quartered lengthwise, sliced thickly
1 pound peeled, cooked shrimp, cut into bites and chilled
1 rib of celery, chopped fine and chilled
Leaves of Bibb or butter lettuce

To strain yogurt, line a sieve with a paper coffee filter. Spoon in yogurt and allow to stand for at least two hours, to drain off extra liquid. Remaining yogurt will be very thick and creamy. In large mixing bowl, stir yogurt, lemon juice, dill and peppers together and set aside. Put cucumber slices in sieve, sprinkle with kosher salt, and allow to drain about 30 minutes. (This keeps the salad from getting too watery.) Stir drained cucumber, shrimp and celery into yogurt dressing. Serve, chilled, over lettuce leaves.

Who's Afraid Of The Big, Bad 50?

I’m now 47 and a half. True, I’m still two and a half years away from 50, but I already know lots of people who actually are 50, and I’m not talking about my parents’ friends – I’m talking about mine.

Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t want to be a kid again. But I’m not entirely crazy about getting older. I’m pretty darn happy where I am. And when I think about getting older, I worry. And me worrying is never a good thing.

I don’t worry about absolutely everything, though. For example, I don’t worry too much about wrinkles, although honest to Pete, we live in the 21st century, right? Don’t you think by now some smart little scientist would’ve whipped up a skin-shrinking-serum to tighten us up sans surgery – and make himself a bajillion dollars?

And I don’t worry a whole lot about the sagging “girls,” although I could very well be elected president of the “support” lingerie fan club.

Gray hairs don’t get my panties in a wad, either. Have I not mentioned my fabulous hair stylist, Crystal?

What I should worry about is falling and breaking my hip, which is a distinct possibility given that my sole source of daily calcium is a Starbucks venti, nonfat, no-foam chai tea latte. But I’m not even worried about skin cancer, which defies all reason, given that I spent the better part of my youth dunked in Johnson and Johnson Baby Oil, sprawled on towel at Folly Beach in a two-piece.

What I do worry about – what really consumes me – is losing my memory as I get older. This is the one thing I worry about constantly. Or at least when I remember.

Every time I misplace my keys, or forget to return an e-mail, or leave my grocery list at home, I worry. Every time I can’t seem to find a word that was on the tip of my tongue, or I forget the way to someone’s house or one of the kids says, “Remember when I told you [BLAH, BLAH, BLAH] last week,“ I worry.

I even do those little brain exercises that are supposed to keep a person mentally sharp. Crossword puzzles. Sudoku. Brushing my hair and my teeth using my left hand instead of my right.

But then I forget. And I worry.

I recently found a fabulous and fabulously easy chicken recipe in a magazine. I was so taken with it, that I left the magazine open, on my bathroom counter, for weeks. I wanted to make sure I saved the recipe. It was in Food and Wine magazine. Or Oprah. Or maybe Real Simple.

Honest. I have no idea. I went looking for it a few days ago and couldn’t find it. I must’ve flipped through dozens of magazines. (Nope. It wasn’t in the April issue of Money, either.) Convinced I’d seen the recipe in Food and Wine, I checked their website. Dead end. I googled “food wine magazine chicken recipe.” Well, that was stupid. I did another search, adding the word “pancetta.” No good.

WTH? What ? The? H?

Finally, I just came up with my own recipe. I knew the original called for pancetta, but I was out. It called for sage, but that’s not a hit with the kids. But what I came up with instead was really, really tasty. And it’s only got three ingredients, which makes it really, really easy to remember.

No worries. 


Bacon-Wrapped Chicken

Boneless skinless chicken breast halves (smaller sizes are best)
Four short slices of raw bacon per chicken breast
Fresh thyme
Kosher salt
Fresh ground pepper

On a 12-inch piece of plastic wrap, lay four strips of bacon, side by side, slightly overlapping to form a bacon “sheet.” Sprinkle generously with fresh thyme. Lay one boneless breast on bacon sheet, season well with salt and pepper. Now, tightly wrap and roll the chicken in the bacon, so bacon wraps snugly around the chicken. Wrap plastic wrap tightly around the chicken “sausage,” and place in fridge. Repeat with remaining chicken and bacon. Refrigerate chicken rolls several hours or overnight. Now, place chicken rolls in large, non-stick skillet, seam side down. Turn on heat to medium and slowly cook, turning until evenly browned on all side (20-30 minutes).

Remove chicken to a cutting board, and cut in thickish slices. Serve hot.

One Mom's Superpowers.

At Darling Daughter’s middle school, the year-long academic theme for seventh graders is “heroes.”

The students study Greek and Roman mythology to learn about heroes of ancient times.  They read modern novels where everyday people emerge as heroes, albeit occasionally with some reluctance (both the students and the heroes).  In their advisory groups, the kids discuss what makes a hero – both in fiction and in real life.  As I understand it, common heroic qualities are courage, strength, ingenuity, daring and trustworthiness.  Superpowers, while less common, are a plus.

After eight months of having these valuable teachings seared into their brains, each student applies these lessons to identify a bona fide hero in his or her own life.  Now hold on just a minute.  If you're thinking DD named me as her hero, she did not.  I’m her mom – and occasionally, The Worst Mom Ever.  Instead, she named Cougar Bait – who is both fun and funny, not to mention strong, daring, trustworthy, and, to paraphrase DD, doesn’t get all upset when there's a problem.  He also has a boat.  Since I’ve found few occasions in life when I myself wouldn’t rather be on a boat, I have absolutely no qualms about DD’s choice.

Besides, I don’t need a 13-year-old to tell me I’m a hero.  Even without the cape and tights – or even sceptor and tiara -- I have no doubt but that I am SuperMom. 

Behold my superpowers:

•  I can shrink everyday objects.  Chez Wiles, I am the only one who, utililizing a secret series of intricate, origami-like folds, can reduce a full-sized, fitted sheet to dimensions suitable for stacking neatly in the linen closet.  (My mysterious abilities further allow me to both open and close the closet door.  My powers do not, however, allow me to reduce my own weight.  Or shoe size.)

•  I have Superman-like vision.  See that clump of cat hair?  See it?  See it?  See it?  No?  Of course not.  I, and only I, can spot the pale orange fur on the dark striped rug, pick it up and properly dispose of it.  All of that, without squinting, closing one eye, or using x-ray vision goggles.

•  I, alone, control the darkness and the light.  OK.  Not the "light" so much, but the "darkness"?  Absolutely.  This is due, in large part, to training my Dad gave me during the 1970s energy crisis, when he would ask, repeatedly and irritatedly, "Am I the only one around here who knows how to turn off a light?"  Why no, Dad, you are not.  You have shared that superpower with me.  And I am grateful.

•  I can make things disappear -- permanently.  Behold the cat vomit and dog poop on the upstairs landing.  Without uttering a single “abracadabra,” I make them vanish, and with a quick spritz of Febreze make it seem as if they never even existed.  Likewise, show me a dishwasher full of clean dishes.  Within moments, the dishwasher will be empty.  Spooky.

•  I am a master of transformation.   Without benefit of a telephone booth or even the aforementioned cape, I take limp, pink, somewhat slimy items (meat), combine them with impossibly crunchy and oversized items (vegetables), apply magic dust (i.e., kosher salt) and voilà – a meal.

This Stir-Fried Chicken – with only a handful of ingredients -- is yet another example of my extraordinary, nay, heroic,  powers.

Anyone see a cape around here somewhere?

Stir-Fried Chicken

This dish comes together very quickly.  I usually serve it with white rice (cooked with a ½ teaspoon of toasted sesame oil), which I prepare in advance and keep warm while preparing the chicken.

2-3 boneless chicken breasts, sliced in thin strips

3 tablespoon soy sauce (or more, to taste), divided

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 teaspoon toasted (dark) sesame oil (optional)

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)

3 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 12-ounce bag of pre-cut and washed stir-fry vegetable mix*

3 tablespoons water, plus additional ½ cup water

2 tablespoons cornstarch

Toss chicken with 2 tablespoons of soy sauce, garlic, sesame oil and red pepper flakes and set aside.  In large skillet (with a lid), heat oil over medium high heat.  When very hot, stir in vegetables.  When veggies become bright green, add 3 tablespoons of water, put lid in place, and continue cooking 2-3 minutes or until crisp-tender.  Remove vegetables from skillet and set aside.  Stir together ½ cup water, cornstarch and 1 tablespoon of soy sauce in a measuring cup and set aside.  Reheat skillet over medium high heat.  When very hot, stir in chicken mixture, stirring constantly until done.  Reduce heat to medium, stirring in vegetables, and then, cornstarch mixture.  Stir gently, but constantly, until sauce becomes clear.  Thin with additional water if necessary.  Serve hot over fresh cooked rice.

* I use Eat Smart Vegetable Stir-Fry Mix from my grocery store’s produce section, but you can easily create your own mixture – of broccoli, snow peas, carrots, red bell peppers, etc. --  from the fresh salad bar.