Four Seeds

I’m really excited about tomatoes right now.

For the last ten years, since the first year we lived together, Dennis has been planting tomatoes. The first few years, when we had a spectacular garden behind our little rented cottage in Rockridge, the tomatoes were amazing and plentiful. The next several years, we moved a lot, and the tomatoes really never ripened as well as those East Bay stunners. This season brings our first crop of tomatoes in our Sugartown house. And they are scrumptious.

I’m so inspired by the taste of this fruit, by the fact that, when I pick one in the heat of the day, I can taste the spirit of the California sun in each bite. So I’m going to make sauce. Lots of sauce.

I called a local organic farm that is expecting a bumper of San Marzanos later this month.

Zoe from the farm is going to call me when they have the tomatoes that won’t sell at market because they are too ripe or less than perfect. I’m going to drive up and get those tomatoes, and with a little advice and equipment borrowed from Leigh’s chef friend, Ingrid, I’m going to jar sauce. This way, I can feed the family on the California sunshine all winter long. How pioneerish, right? Like I said, I’m excited. I’ll let you know when the call comes from Zoe and take pictures of the process.

In the meantime, I want to share a sauce recipe I made up the other day.

I went out to the tomato vines with my bright red colander and picked a handful of Super Sweet 100 cherry tomatoes (vine selected and planted by Dennis) and a few Early Boys (selected and planted by Little J). I pulled off the greens and put the tomatoes right into the slow cooker. I drizzled olive oil and about a quarter cup of red wine over them. I added some sauteed onion, garlic and red pepper. I sprinkled on salt, pepper and oregano. Then I cooked them on low for four hours.

When Little J and I came back from the pool, the house smelled heavenly. The tomatoes had released a lot of liquid, but were still whole (!?). I smashed them up with a wooden spoon and added a small can of Muir Glenn organic tomato paste. Then I let them simmer for another hour. The smell was intoxicating.

I blended the sauce with my Braun immersion blender, which is the best cooking tool ever because you don’t have to transfer hot contents to a blender. Then, I pressed the liquid through a fine mesh colander to separate out all the skins and seeds. The result was a creamy, delicious sauce that looked like a too thick tomato soup and tasted like  a balmy evening in southern Spain.

We dined alfresco that evening as it was the hottest night of the year. Little J ate shirtless and shoeless. He devoured a plate of ravioli smothered in the sauce made from the tomatoes he grew. Then he played in the back yard while Dennis and I ate the sauce over shredded spaghetti squash (which looks like pasta. Have you cooked this? It’s amazing).

I’d added some fresh basil during the last ten minutes of cooking and a little chevre to gild the lilly. Wow. What a satisfying meal.

A little bit of heaven from a little red fruit and a gorgeous end-of-summer night. Dennis and I sat outside later with a glass of wine and drank in the stars for dessert. Perfection.

Hugs,

Jennifer

This morning, I was so inspired by Dennis’s playing music, then I read this poem from one of my favorite books, The Illuminated Rumi:

(Click on the image to enlarge.)

On the way home from post-treatment-then-post-healthy-five-yr-check-up for J,  we stopped for our usual frozen yogurt. After that, Little J was tuuuckered. “Daddy WHEN are we going to be back in Sugartown?”

“By the time you count to thirty, we’ll be off the freeway,” Dennis answered.

Immediately and predictably, Little J started to count as fast as he could. To get the off-ramp there faster.

When he realized he was going to finish before the off-ramp came, he slowed down. When he realized he couldn’t control how quickly the off-ramp was going to come, he let it go and started to do something more fun. “Let’s all count to one hundred.” We were home before we knew it. The kid’s been in kindergarten for three whole days, but he already knows the most important lesson of all, one that Joan Didion taught me: “Play it as it Lays.”

Speaking of Kindergarten, here’s Little J on the first day.

We agree as a family that we’ve accomplished our goal set back in May to have a great summer in spite of the cancer treatments. The last few weeks were no exception. With my birthday celebrations followed by a super-amazing blood-transfusion, and James tearing it up at summer camp, how could they not be great weeks. Here for you, the five senses tour:

Taste

Uncle Mike turned 50 two days after I turned 41, so he treated us all to brunch at Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc in Yountville. Yum is not enough. Family-style delicious fare shared with Coopers, their BFFs, their lovelies, and their little ones is about as much perfection as one can take. Then there was the local pub for Fish ‘n Chips on my actual bday with my Sugartown girls. Finally, Central Market with the BFFs Mari and Carolyn.

Watermelon salad with feta cheese and lavender-infused honey. MMM.

*Romantic dinner in SF with Dennis after quick jaunt to Tiffany left out to preserve sweetness and mystery.

Smell

Chlorine, spray-on sunscreen, and victory as Little J and his swim coach Mason engage in a smile-off. J has just swum half the length of a full-length pool.

Sound

The crunching and slurping and satisfied mmms of the long-awaited last-day-before-school-homemade ice cream sandwiches. There were even some bees buzzing nearby. And maybe a cat yawning in the sunshine.

Touch

The last hug and kiss before school.

Sight

Before this happened:

Sixth sense?

Well, the last thoughts of summer leave us so grateful for my successful treatment and our healthy, happy kid. I have one more round, possibly two (if my bone marrow can take it, visualize strong marrow!) but I’m not counting the seconds to the off-ramp, either. I’m walking to school each day with J and D and playing “I spy with my little eye” and secretly fantasizing about being a part of the PTA when I have the strength. Playing it as it Lays.

Hugs,

Jennifer

Melody Gardot

Instead of chemo yesterday, I had a blood transfusion. My platelet count was too low for me to be treated. At first, I was so disappointed, mostly because this means we’ll be pushing the end date of my treatment out by one week. Then Mari pointed out that I actually just earned another week of summer, a week of feeling good at that. Getting two giants bags of blood added to your system is a very positive thing. A-positive, to be exact.

So I got my blood and wow! (Dear vampires, I see what all the fuss is about.) I haven’t felt this good since maybe 2007. I’ll be enjoying an extra week of summer with extra energy and feeling strong. Fabulous. Blessing in disguise. Which reminds me. Do you know the story of Melody Gardot? Mari told me this one.

At nineteen, Ms. Gardot was hit by a car while cycling. Injuries to her head, spine, and pelvis kept her in a hospital bed for an entire year. Lying on her back. It also left her with hyper-sensitivity to light and sound, so she has to wear sunglasses all the time, even indoors.

Melody used music therapy to lift her spirits and to help with the neurological damage that made it difficult for her to speak, think of the right words to say, and remember things. During this time, she started to play the guitar and to sing and write her own songs.

I think you’re going to want to add her to your play list when you hear this. Enjoy Ms. Gardot singing Worrisome Heart: (ps: The second photo looks exactly like the street I lived on when I lived in Spain, right Jon?)

I’ve been thinking a lot about angels lately. The invisible ones are my little secret. The ones that walk this Earth are my friends and family. And they fluttered all around me this weekend. All the messages, cards, and presents, from a bottle of Holy Water from Lourdes, to a pot of a succulents for my garden, touched me deeply and left me feeling so loved.

The ones I want to share with you are from the tiny angels in my life. A card from Little J:

And two from the little cherubs of Sugartown:

I’m so lucky.

Hugs,

Jennifer

Persephone and Hades, by Stephanie Pui-Mun Law

I got an email from a dear friend this morning. I haven’t seen him or his sweet husband, one of my most cherished friends, in a long time, and I learned that he is so worried about me that he feels scared to even contact me to ask how I’m doing. Sweet dear. I had no idea people worried about me. Are you? Please don’t. If you are, this post is for you.

Dear, sweet friend writes:

We have been thinking a lot about you lately. How are you doing? What are the docs saying about this round? Honestly, he is often so worried that he can not even come straight out and just ask how you are. It really upsets him. But, I know he really wants to know…It’s just terrible that the disease has come back. I hope you can keep it in remission longer this time if not forever. What do the docs say about that?

I write:

Dearest Sweet Pea, I hope I can, too. What do the docs say about that? I don’t ask. I have lots of reasons to believe it won’t come back. They are my secrets, and I hold them close.

Terrible is one way to look at it. But I don’t really give it that much power. It is something that happened to my family and me. And then it came back. It’s what ovarian cancer does.

The truth is, I’ve taken more goodness and beauty from this disease than it has taken from me.

My experience of life is richer and more peaceful than ever, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Of course I wish I were healed and believe that I am, on some level. And of course there are moments when I break down and mourn over the possibility that I could die from this disease. But these are brief moments of suffering. And then they pass.

I believe that the majority of people suffer more than I do on a day-to-day basis. Because they’re sick of their jobs or their spouses.  Because they feel like they haven’t come far enough in life yet. Because they don’t like their bodies. Because they don’t see how beautiful every moment of this life is or how precious the people in their lives are. Because they don’t feel the love that flows to them from those people. Because they focus on what is wrong.

But that is not where I dwell, so I’m not suffering, or worried, or sick. So please don’t worry.

I love you two tons. Let’s see each other soon. And when my treatment is done, go dancing.

Hugs,

Jennifer

Frog Hollow Peaches from The Frog Hollow website (Can you smell them?)

File this one under “Things that Make me Go Mmm …”

Peaches. Lately I’ve been harassing encouraging anyone who will listen to try Frog Hollow Farms peaches. They are the best in orange, fuzzy goodness that California has to offer. Farmer Al Courchesne has been growing these beauties on his farm near the Sacramento Delta for over thirty years.  In the Bay Area, you can get them from Whole Foods Market or at the Frog Hollow Market at the Embarcadero Ferry Building.

If you’re like my friend Leigh, or me, and you grew up with peaches or nectarines in your backyard, you knew what summer fruit was supposed to taste like, to smell like. But maybe because it’s been so long since you tasted fruit that wasn’t picked before it was ripe, that was sprayed with stuff to keep it from ripening until it got to the store. It’s understandable. I love the kind of peaches we had as kids, the kind you could smell in the bowl on the counter before you even touched them, that were juicy but not squishy, the kind that filled your entire head with the nectar of sweet summer after one bite. If you love these too, or if you’re reading this and realizing you’ve never had the experience of California’s finest fuzzy gold, then you must (here I go again!) track down some Frog Hollow Peaches in the next few weeks. I think they even ship them across the U.S. I know there are lots of readers around the world. Don’t fret. I’m sure you have your yummy fruits that  I can’t even imagine. Please share in comments.

I’m not working for Frog Hollow, I swear.  It’s just that this year, their crop really sent me over the edge. With my chemo treatments, I can barely taste anything. I’m so grateful to be able to taste the peaches. So grateful. I know that I’m known for hyperbole and, even at the age of forty, often use more than one “o” for the word so. As in, the peaches are soooo good. But this time  I mean it.

When you try the peaches, let me know how you like them. Below is a salad I like to make with peaches, romaine, and herbs straight from the garden. I’m still trying to get the recipe for Heather’s “Disappearing” Peach Crisp. I’ll post that soon too. Oh, and below the salad is a picture of my very own newly shorn head, in keeping with the peach-fuzz theme.

Hugs,

Jennifer

Peachy Keen Romaine and Chevre’

Toss crisp Romaine hearts with a tbs each of mint and basil

Crumble a good Chevre’ over all

Place Frog Hollow peach chunks over all

Drizzle olive oil and a good dark balsamic

Add a touch of black pepper and sea salt or better yet, fleur de sel

This photo sort of says it all. Our camping trip to Spring Lake in Santa Rosa was perfect. We were not expecting to feel so far away from it all, but we did. Little J took to it like a squirrel to a pile of acorns, which he collected and left outside little squirrel holes.

The three of us spent hours at the picnic table building the Lego fire truck Uncle Mike had gotten him for his birthday. Then it was down to the swimming pond for splashing and paddling and ice cream sandwiches. My favorite was lying on my warm beach towel and watching Little J play with Dennis in the water, J’s summer-bleached hair drenched in sun like a halo.

I did get into the water myself, and Little J said, “Mommy, I can’t believe it’s your first time swimming since your medicine.” Just when you think kids couldn’t possibly be keeping track of such things.

At night, after glorious bbq’d meals by Dennis, we ate s’mores and counted stars. Then we all piled into the tent to sleep. It’s a three-man tent, but with J sleeping at a diagonal between us, his face smashed against mine (bliss) and his feet tangled up in D’s knees (not so much), we barely fit. This arrangement was well-worth the sleeping in til 8:30 each morning, though.

In the end, Little J missed his cat and his friends, but Dennis and I felt we could have stayed another week. We’ll definitely be going back there soon. I’d lost track of my supposed illness the whole time, all the walking and playing and breathing fresh air. It’s magic. And it reminds me of our family’s favorite summer anthem: California Stars, written by Woody Guthrie and performed by Wilco and Billy Bragg. Enjoy.

Hugs, Jennifer

Yesterday, after chemo, we unfurled Little J’s new slip-n-slide and discovered it was a deluxe  dual-lane race slide with a checkered flag at the end. Perfect! We’d been talking about checkered flags all morning.

Yesterday’s treatment marked the turn around the half-way bend in the road. I now have more treatments behind me than in front of me. And YES!! My numbers continue to plummet. The CA-125 is down nearly another 80% at 25, which is, WNR (within normal range). Fabulous.

I still have Thursday’s dose, then two more rounds, but I can see that checkered flag already. Can’t you? Flapping in the wind, welcoming me back to remission.

The camping trip was a huge success, more on that tomorrow.

Hugs and happy weekend!

Jennifer

A Bigger Splash, David Hockney, 1967

On Wednesday, Little J walked into our bedroom after his swim lesson, and suddenly I saw him as this kid who’d grown up while I wasn’t looking. His sun-bleached hair in his eyes, his tanned skin, his hoodie zipped half way. The smell of chlorine. I was looking ten years into the future when he’ll be this tall, athletic teenager who walks around without a care.

“Mom, I have somesing to tell you. Your are going to blow away by this.”

And then he was little J again. I pulled him into my arms. I could feel the sunshine lingering on his his cheeks, his warm back.

“What is it, my sweet?”

“I passed the swim test at the club.  I can go off the diving board now.”

I look at Dennis for some confirmation. This seems far fetched, coming from the kid who was barely dog paddling last week.

Dennis nods, all grins. Proud papa.

“That’s amazing!” I sqeeze Little J tight, trying to picture him full-out swimming, and honestly I can’t.

There have been patches of this summer that have gone by, small bits of time, two weeks, one week, where I’ve been flat out with chemo fatigue, and Little J has unfurled a whole new part of himself. Then during my week off, we spend every second together, and I catch up. This was one of those times.

We took J to Finn’s to celebrate the completion of his swim lessons and his diving-board test. He doesn’t want to go off the diving board, by the way. But he’s ready if, for some reason, he has to. He told us this over dinner, during which he ate two meals from the kids’ menu.

And after polishing off his sundae, he hands me the cup of crayons and paper. We’re ready to pay up, but he wants me to draw him a picture first.

“Mommy. Draw a pink castle because that’s your favorite color. And draw you as the princess inside.”   I do.

“Now draw daddy as the prince, and he needs a crown and a big, big sword.”   I do.

“Now draw the super-hero kid flying over everything with a giant knock-out-punch fist. In case the other people can’t kill the dragon, and he has to.”    I do.

He thinks it’s perfect and is finally ready to go home. He doesn’t want to have to kill the dragon himself, by the way, but he’s ready, if for some reason, he has to.

Today we’re celebrating Little J’s birthday with a small group of friends, and tomorrow we’re headed off for our first camping trip as a family. I’ve never seen a happier, more excited kid. And the fact that he didn’t have me draw this dragon that he might have to tangle with is giving me hope that his summer is as carefree as we’re trying to make it. Hope yours is too, so far.

Hugs,

Jennifer