replacing a knee (lyn)

About three years ago, my dad, who is 87, pulled a groin muscle playing tennis.  Until his injury, he golfed, played tennis three times a week, fixed anything that needed fixing, and made coveted birdhouses (that some lucky neighbors and good friends received as gifts).  But it seemed that following the groin injury, other health issues cropped up.  His right knee started bothering him, and his red blood cell count fell.  In a short amount of time, my father (who never complains and who has never had an operation) became inactive and in constant pain.  For the past year, he has pretty much been living his life from a living room chair in front of the TV.

My 81-year old mom, who walks three miles, five days a week (regardless of weather), has also had her life compromised.  Her once active partner is dependent on her, and she is now the one who does everything (caring for my dad, tending to Ellie, their cat, and managing the house).  I think my father has fallen in love all over again, as he can often be heard saying, “Your mother.  Isn’t she amazing?,” as his eyes fill with tears.

Despite recommendations from everyone, my dad has resisted getting surgery on his right knee.  But in the past few months, the pain has gotten to the point where he cannot walk at all.  Once a robust eater, he has lost all interest in food.  His big fear is infection.  And at his age, his concern is legitimate.  But by December, my father finally decides that he is ready.  He will have his right knee replaced.  Everyone is thrilled. 

Today is my dad’s surgery.  I speak to him and he sounds great.  Then I talk to my mom.  For a woman who is in a constant state of worry over weather, bridge-traffic, and arriving somewhere late, she is remarkably calm.

By late afternoon, my dad is out of surgery, on a morphine drip, and doing great.  The hard part for him will be the rehab.  But every day he’ll get stronger, and closer to getting back his life.  He’ll probably even think, “What took me so long to decide?” 

When Alexander was in 10^th grade, he returned from a summer trip to Chile and consciously decided to focus more on his studies and less on making the class laugh at his jokes.  He went from a 3.1 GPA to a 3.7.  And he was clear, “Your nagging had nothing to do with it.  I had to be the one making the decision.”

When my mother, in the summer of 2009, told me that I had gotten so heavy that her friend didn’t even recognize me, I just got angry.  Like my dad and my son, deciding to lose weight was a choice I had to want.  Others telling me was not incentive enough.

I am happy my dad had the surgery, and I am grateful that it appears to have gone so well.  It was his decision alone to make, and everyone is so glad he made it.

missing items (lyn)

If Alexander likes something, it disappears quickly.  A big bag of little Babybel cheeses can live in my refrigerator for only a few days.  A pint of sorbet from Agata?  Gone in one sitting.  Fresh blueberries?  Same thing.  A loaf of fresh bread?  Maybe two days.  So disappearing items is not a new concept in our household.

I have a small apartment and I am very neat.  Alexander used to be, but since he entered the double-digits, his proclivity for neatness has declined.  Now, whatever he wears, ends up in a heap in his room.  He wears more clothes than one could think possible, and they all lie everywhere except in his drawers or laundry basket.  I find his winter coat in many places (over a dining room chair, on the arm of our sofa, on a table.  Once he even left it at school).  His shoes, which he does take off in the apartment, can usually be found in a corner of the living room (at least it’s always the same corner).  And his clothes…weeks’ worth…are everywhere.  In fairness, Alexander likes things being neat, he just doesn’t like being the one to make them that way.

Zelia and I were discussing this the other night (she has the same problem) and she’s come up with a solution that I’ve adopted with some modifications.  Here are the new rules, as I explain them to Alexander.

“From now on, you have to put your clothes and things away (or fold them neatly in your room) or they will disappear.”

“What do you mean, they’ll disappear?” he asks. 

“I mean, you won’t see them again.” 

“Ever?” he asks. 

“Ever,” I say.  (Though I’m sure it would be temporary, otherwise he’d be going to school in a skimpy summer parka and sandals. But on the positive side, at least he’d wear some of the great clothes he has that have never been removed from his drawers).

“OK, “ he says, “But if I’m going to live with this new rule, then so are you.”

 “Fine,“ I say.  I know this won’t be a problem.

So today I can’t find my glasses.  I look everywhere for them and wonder if they have gone into hiding along with the living room remote that disappeared last week and has still not been found.  After searching everywhere and not finding them, I ask Alexander if he’s seen them. 

“I’m sorry, they’re gone,”  he casually responds while reading A Tale of Two Cities.

“What do you mean gone?” 

“Well, I found them in the bathroom, so now they’ve disappeared.  Sorry.”

Hmmm, maybe I need to re-think these new house rules.  

what I do instead (lyn)

Here’s my plan for the day:  eat little, finish my overdue library book, and watch a movie with Carol at night.

Around noon, I get an email from Adam, asking if Alexander and I are around for lunch.  I love seeing my nephew and do not see him enough.  It’s raining, so I suggest making lunch and invite him over.  Instead, he ends up stopping at Sables and picking up lobster salad sandwiches for all of us, along with a pound of their amazing tuna fish salad.  I supply only the drinks and chips.  Each one of my three grown nephews is the perfect guy.  All handsome, smart, kind, funny, witty, fun, and genuinely nice.  I’m not exaggerating either.  I adored each of them when they were little kids, and now that they are grown (Adam just turned 30), my adoration has only become stronger.  Now that Alexander is older, his relationship with “the boys” (as the family has always referred to them) is one of respect, also adoration, and genuine like.  When Alexander returns from Saturday Morning Tutoring at his school, and I tell him Adam is coming over, all other plans get put on hold.  Spending time with Adam is a favorite activity for us both.

Carol comes over around 7, and our plan is to watch one of the many screeners I received as a voting member of BAFTA.  I chose Leaving, a foreign-language film with Kristin Scott Thomas that is described by one critic as “a masterpiece.”  I put it in the DVD player, and because it was sent from the UK, the DVD will not play (though strangely it will play on my computer).  So then we choose Made In Dagenham,  another foreign-language-like film.  We watch about an hour before admitting that we cannot understand the thick British accents.  Our third and last attempt is a movie called, Get Low with Robert Duvall, a true story about a man who wants to enjoy his won funeral.  I later think of Hazel's comment about my soup: how could I even think that a soup dominated by parsnip could be good!  I lose interest 10 minutes into the film, and Carol dozes off. 

We order pizza from my favorite pizza place, Giorgio’s, and wait an agonizing hour before it finally arrives.  The  large, thin-crusted, 8-piece Santa Monica (mozzarella, tomato sauce, pesto sauce, sundried tomato, and goat cheese) is amazing and I’m starving.  I eat three slices. 

In the end, I do nothing as planned.  I eat a ton, read little, and watch half of two movies (does that qualify for one whole?).

capital grille (lyn)

Zelia has been managing my miniscule portfolio, is doing an outstanding job,  and will not accept a fee of any kind.  So tonight, even though she resists, I insist on taking her to dinner.  It’s restaurant week, so dinners at many top restaurants are $35 for a 3-course meal.  We choose Capital Grille in the Chrysler Building;  neither of us has ever been. 

The restaurant is beautiful and busy.  We get a great table near the floor-to-ceiling window.  The menu displays calories, which is a big help in deciding what to order.  The Caesar salad, which I had thought to get as a first course, is 800 calories, compared to the less exciting field greens, tomatoes and fresh herbs at only 200 calories.  It’s not worth splurging on the salad.  The bread basket holds the most delicious onion bread that is impossible to resist.  We each split a piece, then go back and split another.

The main course choices all look good, so we ask our waiter for help.  With no hesitation he says, “Get the Kona crusted dry aged sirloin with shallot butter.”  “What is Kona?” I ask.  “It’s a type of coffee that is rubbed on the steak.”  It sounds awful but the waiter assures us that we’ll love it, so we both order it, along with sides of creamed spinach and Sam’s mashed potatoes (neither of us is curious enough to ask who Sam is). I love a great steak and this one ranks up there as among the best I’ve ever had.  I order medium rare and it comes cooked to perfection.  There is no coffee taste at all but the rub makes the outside a little crunchy.  For dessert, we order both the crème brulee and a chocolate flourless espresso cake; both are good.  Nothing is downsized, as I had expected it might be to compensate for the low price.  On the regular menu, the steak alone is $45, the salad $10, and one side $9.

Our waiter is fine, although the meal feels a little rushed.  No down time at all between courses.  I’m home within two hours of leaving.

Forecast for tomorrow: cold winter rain with lots of fruits and vegetables.

tonight's dinner (lyn)

So after I have my taxes done I head over to Zabars to purchase my favorite 4-points-per-piece 7-layer chocolate cake.  While there, I shop for dinner. 

Zabars has a large, reasonably priced prepared food section.  I see something interesting:  a salmon loaf.  It looks like an orange meatloaf.  I ask the surly guy behind the counter if it's any good.  "I have no idea; I've never tried it," he responds.  Despite the loaf's questionable appearance and lack of endorsement, I get one.  It's wrapped, price-stickered, and handed over.  Next I walk over to the Bakery section and get Alexander a big beautiful berry muffin.  While there, I see the brioche rolls and imagine them filled with something good.  I think more about the salmon loaf and imagine the conversation I’ll be having with Alexander if I purchase it.  It would likely begin with, “That looks disgusting; I'm not having it.  Make me pasta.”  I play out the conversation in my mind and then sheepishly return to the surly counter-guy and tell him I’ve changed my mind.  He doesn’t care.  I buy two pre-made tuna burgers to put between the brioche rolls, and feel more confident that Alexander will be pleased with my purchases.

I get home and find an email from Hazel. 

I love reading your blog but I do have to wonder about something, and I say this with no sarcasm, mean-spiritedness, etc.  You are a brilliant and creative woman.  You like and appreciate good food whether it be a hot dog or some dish with an unpronounceable, unrecognizable name.  When I read, however, of your cooking disasters when you try new dishes, it never ceases to surprise me that you think there is a chance in hell that they might taste good!  Ick!...Now your pork chops (she’s referring to a simple WW recipe for honey-mustard pork chops), that is a great recipe with no turnips, parsnips, or spaghetti squash.  I loved it.

Dinner is a major hit.  We eat while watching episodes from the first season of Modern Family. I love laughing with my son.   

tax prep (lyn)

Every year I spend an hour or so with Janet, my accountant of 26 years.  I last saw her February 22, when I weighed exactly 10 pounds more than I do now.  I take off my coat and she looks at me and says, “ In all the time I’ve known you, you have never looked this good.  You look beyond fabulous.”  And I’m not even trying (jeans, sweater, no eye makeup, straggly needs-coloring hair).  Even with a near-zero income tax return, I leave Janet’s happy.  

snow day #5 (lyn)

No school again today.  Once a week for the past five weeks school has been cancelled.  Last night we had an icy rainy snowy night.  The streets are deemed too hazardous to travel on, so school is closed.  


Despite the weather, I want to go to my Weight Watchers meeting.  I tracked every day this week  on this new Points Plus Plan and now I'm curious to see how I’ve done.  It’s raining out, so I wear a coat with a hood and put on some sneakers, thinking that rubber soles will make traveling on the icy sidewalk less slippery.  I walk half a block to the corner of my street where I’m confronted with a small river.  I can only go through it; it is impossible to walk around it.  Three minutes out the door and already my feet are cold and soaked through.  I cross the street and a similar-sized river awaits me.  I turn around and come home.  With all the footwear I own, I have nothing that will keep my feet dry. 

I go on Zappos and order a pair of deep purple tall Hunter boots, and get Alexander waterproof Uggs. Next time we’ll both be ready.