An Adventure At Age 50.An Adventure At Any Age.

I choose to refer to it as an "adventure."

True, I turned 50 two weeks ago.  I turned 50, sold my house and put a contract on a house on the Lake.  And yes, it is Carter's senior year of high school, which means we're pretty busy here with the whole college and graduating "business" (and it is a "business," but that's a topic for another post), and yes, it will be just me and Julia at home next year, and yes, I fully intend to make DB live up to his promise to marry me when Julia graduates.  Which means, yes, I'll  be moving to Charleston in three years.

Still, moving to the Lake in the interim doesn't necessarily signal a mid-life crisis.  Nor is it "insanity," or "impetuous" or "rash."

"Adventure," remember?  "Adventure" is the word I'm looking for.  Or, in a pinch, "carpe diem."

Julia and I are keenly aware of the gaping hole we'll face when Carter heads to college next fall, so listmakers that we are, we maintain a "When Carter's Gone" list.  For example, "When Carter's gone, we'll eat more salad."  "When Carter's gone, we'll take yoga."  "When Carter's gone, we'll get an exchange student," which sounds just like getting a kitten, in that we'll be dealing with language neither of us speaks, but better, because there's no litter box.

A few months back, Julia tacked something new on the list, "When Carter's gone, we'll live at the Lake."

To which, Carter, who was entirely in favoring of dodging salad and yoga and exchange students, responded, in essence, "What the aitch? I wanna live at the Lake."

The way I see it, I only have a couple more years -- or in the case of Carter, months -- of full-time, hands-on parenting.  I'll always be their mom, of course, but God willing, they won't always be under my roof.  They won't always be my funny, thoughtful, insightful dinner companions.  They're already slipping away, moving on, spending less and less time with me.  It's not that I want to cling to this time.   I want to cherish it.

So yes, we're moving to the Lake.  Yes, I understand the transaction costs.  Yes, I understand the longer commute.  Yes, I understand that I'll no longer be able to walk to Starbucks.  And yes, moving is a colossal, miserable, unremitting pain.

But it's also an adventure.  I'm 50 years old, and I'm heading out on an adventure.  With my kids.

Carpe diem.

Three-Way Caesar Dinner

I don't have any regrets about relocating to the Lake, but I do need to watch my budget to make everything work.  Using a single ingredient as a marinade/sauce/dressing is tasty and budget-friendly, to boot!

Caesar Dressing/Marinade/Sauce

1 clove garlic

2 teaspoons anchovy paste

1/4 cup fresh lemon juice

1/2 cup olive oil

1/2 teaspoon hot sauce

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon fresh ground pepper

3 boneless chicken breasts

12 oz medium chicken noodles

1 bag romaine "salad"

Make dressing/marinade/sauce but combining garlic, anchovy paste, oil, lemon juice, hot sauce salt and pepper in a blender.  (Or, even easier, combine using an immersion blender until smooth.)

Place raw chicken breasts in a zippered plastic bag with one third of the caesar dressing.  Allow to marinate at room temperature for about 30 minutes.

Grill chicken until done.

As chicken grills, boil noodles in a large pot of very well salted water until done.  Drain and toss with one third of the caesar dressing.

When chicken is done, allow to rest for 10 minutes, before slicing on the diagonal and tossing with hot noodles.  Toss salad with remaining dressing, and serve alongside chicken and noodles.

Soap -- It's NotJust For Washing Any More

I sleep with a bar of soap.

It's not what you think.  Unless you think that a white cake of Dial or Irish Spring (but not Ivory or Dove) has magical, medicinal powers, fending off muscle cramps, back spasms, migraine headaches, and perhaps, even the common cold, in which case, it is exactly what you think.

This past August, in the wake of my questionable decision to sign up for the Cooper River Bridge Run, I threw out my back.  It was a kind of routine injury for me, but this time, I really did it good -- teary-eyed and crumpled on the floor, before being driven to the doctor by my teenaged son.

Few things bring on unsolicited advice -- both medical and not -- like a doctor's visit.  Well-meaning friends and family suggested all kinds of cures -- heating pads and ice  packs, exercise and bedrest, hot tea and Scotch, massages and chiropractic treatment all made the list.  As did soap.

No kidding.  A close family member suggested that I tuck a bar between my mattress and box spring.  She even went so far as to suggest that I get some of those little hotel soaps and keep them in my pocket.  And since the "advisor" was my mom -- with 20 years actual medical experience -- I did.

And wouldn't you know it?  About eight weeks later, my back issue was resolved.  Of course, it could've been the months of physical therapy.  Or, it could've been the prescription drugs, which, at the very least, altered my thinking sufficiently so I found it entirely reasonable to order $300 worth of "Steals and Deals" from The Today Show website one Thursday morning.  While I was at home.  Not at work.  In other words, squandering money while not making money.

Or, it could've been that little white cake of Dial.

In any event, I got back on my feet, and in January, got back into training.  Now, tomorrow morning, I aim to complete a 10K run across the Cooper River Bridge.

And, yes, tonight I'll be sleeping with a bar of soap.  Just in case. 

Sadly I haven't lost a single pound (what the aitch?) while preparing for the run, even though I've been eating pretty healthily.  One of our current favorites is this simple Caesar Salad with Parmesan Crisps.  I'll post the recipe soon -- but for now, I've got to run!

Darling Daughter At Age 15

Yesterday, Darling Daughter turned 15.

Today, she got her driver’s permit.

She’s stretching her wings, while I’d prefer to snugly swaddle her once again in the sweet pink jersey blanket her grandmother bought when she was born and which is, even now, tucked under the pillow on her queen-sized bed.  She’s ready to take flight, while I’m reminiscing about her very first self-assured steps across the hardwood floor of our family room.

As the two of us leave the surprisingly uncrowded and pleasant DMV office, I’m worried – near frantic.  I realize I’m not done with her yet.  There’s still so much I want her to know – so much I want to teach, so much I want to share.

But Darling Daughter is already a teenager.  I know less and less about the daily details of her life. Does she have a French test this week?  Does she like her English teacher?  Did she eat all of her lunch today?  Does her backpack need to be cleaned out?  Is she out of deodorant?  Are her socks too small?

Beats me.  She handles all that on her own – quietly, gracefully, uneventfully.

She’s taller than me, she’s stronger than me, she bristles at my parenting style.  But I’m not done.

I haven’t yet taught her to shake a little cayenne pepper into chocolate cake batter and a little salt into chocolate frosting.

I haven’t yet revealed that guys are impressed with a girl who knows how to drive a boat.  And that it doesn’t matter what guys think.

She doesn’t yet know that she’s smarter than she thinks and more capable that she realizes.    I haven’t made it clear that she can do oh-so-much more; but that she doesn’t have to do anything more for me.  She's funny, she's insightful, she's wise.  She is control of her own happiness, her own joy.

As we drive back to school, freshly-minted driver’s permit on the backseat, I know she has no idea of the blessings and pride she brings into my life.  And then, abruptly, she asks, “Are those chickens?”  I squint at the 18-wheeler five or six car lengths ahead of us.  “I don’t think so.  I think they are turkeys.”

And sure enough, we find ourselves at 50 miles an hour, trailing a truckload of turkeys, headed to the next, um, “exit.”  “OMG.  What is he doing?,” Darling Daughter squeals,  “Is he peeing?”

And sure enough, one of the turkeys empties out enough urine to make a racehorse prance with pride.  But not on our Honda Pilot. We smoothly change lanes, as the Jeep Cherokee beside us is christened with poultry urine.

Always look ahead.  Lesson number one for Darling Daughter’s 15^th year. 

Assuming I can share a lesson-a-day with her this year, that’s three hundred and sixty-four to go.

Happy birthday, Julia Wiles.  I hope you can bear with me.  I still have a lot to share.  And from you, I still have a lot to learn.

No new recipe today, as we celebrated the birthday girl's special day with dinner out and her favorite Chocolate-Chocolate-Chocolate Cake.  Just click to find the recipe.  And be sure to sprinkle a little cayenne in the batter and salt in the frosting.