tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18714874741922788272024-02-19T09:33:37.345-05:00Eat What Steph Eatsmorsels for your mouth,
musings for your mind...Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.comBlogger242125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-43725148310135849232014-05-16T15:13:00.004-04:002014-05-16T15:13:51.524-04:00Hello again!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So I've put this thing back out there, perhaps against my better judgement but then most of my life has been led that way. :)</div>
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Not sure what sort of drivel will pop up on these pages, but I am opinionated and much less into censoring myself than I was the last time I wrote. As I get older I find that I care more about many things and less about what anyone else thinks.</div>
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Still searching for Paxton. </div>
<br />Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-45145343135493935082013-09-30T19:03:00.004-04:002013-09-30T19:03:58.243-04:00Welcome back?So...it's been a while. <br />
We left Texas bound for the North Shore of Massachusetts in June of 2012, when our new daughter was 2 1/2 months old. Since then it's been...hectic. <br />
<br />
I love it here, but not quite in the distict locale we have landed. We are in a small town filled with snobby people. I want to move to Beverly. That's all I will say about that, for now.<br />
(When neighbors report your garbage to the recycle police? It's time to move on...)<br />
<br />
Anyhow, here I am, mom to 2, in a place I never could have imagined geographically or metaphysically. I lived in RI for 38 years. I do miss my home. But. I'd be very happy in a grittier community on the North Shore.<br />
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I'm putting this stupid blog back online. I have a lot to say. Hope you are ready.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-49962236525658288972011-07-09T08:27:00.001-04:002011-07-09T08:27:54.939-04:00Settling in<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/5902043213/" title="Pigs"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5273/5902043213_a4311f651d.jpg" alt="Pigs by whatstepheats" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/5902043213/">Pigs</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p>Finally we are feeling somewhat settled down here. There is just so much involved in relocating. Tomorrow will mark the date one month ago when the movers came to pack up our lives in Providence. One month ago tonight was the last night we spent in our Providence condo. It's gone by so quickly and yet never has it felt like I've jammed so much into 30 days.<br />We've been trying to get health records sent, appointments set up, to make friends, to find hairdressers and babysitters, get Sam a passport (here you have to make an appointment with the post office to submit passport application materials!), learn where to go for what.<br />It's such a big deal, moving to a 'foreign land'. Though it's made me realize that we lived in a part of the country where people just are not kind for far too long. It's made me realize that it is really hard to be nasty to people who are kind to you, even when they are incompetant or annoying. It's made me realize something I've always suspected - I am not a typical Rhode Islander, if I am a typical anything.<br /><br />I love that it's sunny and hot here everyday, I love that the whole town slows down on Saturday and nearly shuts down on Sunday. I love that everywhere you go there are kids. I love the food we can buy at the grocery store 5 minutes away - great, fresh produce, fish, meat. All you need. <br /><br />Basically I really love it here! I can see myself someday living in Little Compton right on the ocean, or in Boston, but short of that, I'm not sure I could ever move back north. Even if I did it would be part time.<br /><br />We are within driving distance to Houston, Dallas, and most closely Austin. I can't wait to explore Austin.<br /><br />A friend's photo of Fenway got me thinking of Boston. I love Boston, always wanted to live near there. When I was a teenager and used to visit my dad's cousin who is a renal pathologist at NEMC. I would follow him around at the hospital all day. I wanted that life. I guess I still do. I didn't realize then that what you want when you are 14 really doesn't morph much over the years. You are who you are. I've been suppressing it, trying to take shortcuts (shacking up with one doctor and marrying another instead of becoming one? Freud would have a field day)...but it keeps coming back. <br /><br />Now I have Sam so for now this is my life. But I still consider nursing or massage school down the line, when he's older and when the next potential child is too. I love the human body - maybe massage. That's another thing that keeps surfacing in my head. <br /><br />I finally got some tomatoes and peppers in the ground. Hope to find more seedlings this weekend...<br /><br />Happy weekend, happy summer!</p>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-31276040394640223322011-04-04T18:36:00.001-04:002011-04-04T18:36:08.568-04:00Boy Colors?<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/5586160035/" title="Boy colors, at last"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5020/5586160035_06f274543a.jpg" alt="Boy colors, at last by whatstepheats" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/5586160035/">Boy colors, at last</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p>Last week I ordered binkies from Amazon.com. The ones I picked were billed as: 'boy colors: colors may vary'. <br />I received one pink and one purple. My Western-conditioned mind reflexively reacted, "how are these boy colors?". <br /><br />The incident has got me thinking.<br /><br />The link between gender and color symbolism is fascinating to me. According to what little I've been able to find out, in the early 20th century color and gender were dissociate. It was only around the 20's that pink became the masculine color (likely because it was close to the strong, distinctive, fiery red) and blue the feminine (the Virgin Mary, and blue for whatever reason was considered the fairer and more delicate shade). Since then, obviously, they have been inverted. <br /><br />This whole color thing is amplified in the US, as most everything is.<br /><br />Then it struck me - grown men can wear purple and pink with little, if any, consequence. Is it simply because a baby can appear to be either a boy or a girl sans clothing, and color is all we have to go by?<br /><br />More confusing is the issue of why the change happened, and why so abruptly. <br />From what I can tell, some factors may be that the pink triangle was used to mark homosexuals by Hitler. Was this cause, effect, or neither?<br />WWII in the 40's involved blue navy uniforms for men. Was that part of the equation?<br />The switch did seem to happen in the years surrounding WWII. Perhaps the woman who had been filling the 'man's place' in the factory switched her role to the 'happy housewife', and took her working man's strong red-related pink with her? <br /><br />Whatever the truth may be, I can personally testify that in Italy several years ago the colors were reversed, much to my embarrassment. While at a small, family run restaurant in a rather remote area of Tuscany, I ducked into the bathroom bearing a pink plaque. As I exited, a small Italian boy was laughing, shouting, and pointing his finger at me! I had made the wrong choice. Pink was for guys, and this little fellow had to go! (The ugly American skulked back to her table...)<br /><br />I can only say that to me, color is color. I love them all. If my son someday wants to wear tights and prance around in a pink tutu, I will love and accept him no less than if he becomes a linebacker in the NFL. <br /><br />Color!</p>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-89909044665695892832011-03-18T19:53:00.001-04:002011-03-18T19:53:10.911-04:00It's a Luxury on Toasted Bread<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/5537855177/" title="It's a Luxury on Toasted Bread"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5056/5537855177_e5e0f02f1b.jpg" alt="It's a Luxury on Toasted Bread by whatstepheats" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/5537855177/">It's a Luxury on Toasted Bread</a> a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p>Peanut butter and grape jam, that is.<br />It's what's for lunch. On toast.</p>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-81963171052217200622011-03-18T19:43:00.001-04:002011-03-18T19:50:25.171-04:00Stuff That Works For Me - Fisher Price Rock 'n' Play Sleeper<img alt="Fisher Price Newborn Rock 'n' Play Sleeper" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/public/K-Oa48-UCb8fUtPuOsZsbWy-foGYZrU8nVYTJlA8OLBeu5EUkKwnF69FNBCs7emrZkARjNspOMdKHc4u5IxwrUzBAFz3T8nBk_FI0lse0KpgOzD-LR_3hrORSq9Obqy94eQiNB6FshJQNcZz0jkmapDSGkZ0kKHH7M6SS85GDrA18NW-96E" title="Fisher Price Newborn Rock 'n' Play Sleeper" /><br />
Not sure how this product flew into my airspace. Could have been a random pregnant Google search, of which there were many.<br />
Anyway, this sleeper has been one of the best things for us. Sam has slept in it every single night since he came home from the hospital at 2 days old. The weight limit is 25 lbs, which he will likely hit sometime before his first birthday, as he's already 17.5 lbs or so. I wish they made them bigger.<br />
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The great things about this product:<br />
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1) Cozy little bed positioned at a slight incline. This helps with reflux, which believe it or not, is an issue for a fair number of babies. Plus, Sam was just plain comfortable in it, as it hugs the little baby body a bit.<br />
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2) Inexpensive (we bought one for $49.99 or so on Amazon).<br />
<br />
3) Very easy to fold and take on the road. We've traveled to Texas and Florida and used it in hotel rooms.<br />
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4) Super easy to assemble; easy to take apart and stuff in a suitcase too.<br />
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We didn't know what to expect with the whole sleep situation, which is a plight common to many new parents I'm sure. We were open about it, but from what I'd read it seemed important to swaddle the baby, and to have him in our bedroom, at least at first, as in the beginning babies wake every few hours to eat and well, it just seemed practical. Also, we had no clue what the fuck we were doing, so leaving the baby down the hall in a separate room did not even enter the realm of possibility. This sleeper is small and light enough to fit beside our bed. <br />
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An added bonus is that I can take it into the bathroom if I need to shower while home alone with Sam. (As he's become stronger he has to be strapped in though, lest he flail his way to the tile floor. Another bonus, this thing has a 3 point restraint strap.)<br />
<br />
I'm sure this is very boring to those of you without kids, and perhaps barely readable to those of you who have or are expecting or planning or considering having any. <br />
<br />
In any case, I'm currently being drooled upon and pinched in places I've never been pinched before, so as all good things, this blurb is coming to an end.<br />
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<a href="http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3739296">http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3739296</a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-48393218189830694832011-02-26T18:36:00.000-05:002011-02-26T18:36:47.559-05:00Stuff That Works For Me - Playtex Drop-Ins<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<img height="96" src="http://www.babygiftsoutlet.com/images/large/3-pack-4-oz-playtex-premium-designer-drop-ins-nurser-holders_BG02730.jpg" style="filter: alpha(opacity=30); left: 114px; mozopacity: 0.3; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 64px; visibility: hidden;" width="96" /> <a href="http://www.babygiftsoutlet.com/images/large/3-pack-4-oz-playtex-premium-designer-drop-ins-nurser-holders_BG02730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" id="il_fi" src="http://www.babygiftsoutlet.com/images/large/3-pack-4-oz-playtex-premium-designer-drop-ins-nurser-holders_BG02730.jpg" style="cursor: move; padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" unselectable="on" width="320" /></a>Like many moms-to-be, I had a laundry list of idealistic notions of how I would do things once the baby arrived. Front and center was the issue of breastfeeding. I was certain that I wanted to breastfeed. <br />
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Sure, I'd heard about the difficulties involved, but I thought, I'm stubborn. I will persist, and we will emerge victorious. After all, that's the natural way, right? Where would mankind be if breastfeeding failed over the centuries on a large scale?<br />
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I wasn't breastfed, but my sister was. So there was that. My baby would be healthier and happier and bond better with me if I breastfed him, so who gives a shit about sore nipples? And that's really what I thought the worst scenario would be actually, sore nipples. Ha!<br />
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As usual, reality came and bit me in the butt.<br />
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Sam was born 3 1/2 weeks early, and he was perfectly healthy, but a heel-stick glucose test at birth revealed he was hypoglycemic, and medicine being what it is in this litigious state, in these litigious times, he bought himself a stay in the NICU. <br />
(I'm sure husband being a physician played into the overkill as well.)<br />
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In the NICU he was bottle-fed, and he thrived. I was simultaneously pumping, but it took a few days for the milk to come in, and then he was having problems latching. So we went home with a breast pump and lots of formula, thinking we'd do the best we could and see where it got us.<br />
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Looking back, I know 2 things. One, I was a nervous first-time mom of a preemie, which combined with the rigid NICU scheduling that had been ingrained in out heads (my husband, as we were leaving the NICU, actually thought we had to take his temp each time we changed his diaper! Um, no) made for little left to chance with his scheduled feeding times and amounts. Time spent at the breast was far too nebulous. Latching was far too erratic. So I pumped! Literally around the clock. And we made it work, and got no sleep. But it was fine! It was ok! I was so revved up, so wrapped up in making sure everything was as it should be, that sleeping and eating were secondary. It went on like this for a couple of months! Everyone told me I was crazy, that I should just switch to formula. I tried to - but couldn't pull myself away from the pump.<br />
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Until the point where I was not producing enough milk for his growing appetite. Which leads me to the second thing: I learned at 9 weeks post partum that I had retained products of conception, and while it thankfully did not hurt me, I'm willing to believe it interfered with milk production. Right after that the pump went back to the hospital, and we embarked on the equally scary decision of: which formula? There are only about a thousand different kinds out there. How hard could it be?<br />
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Yada yada yada...tried regular milk-based formula which irritated his digestive tract. Landed in a patch of soy. <br />
<br />
But that's not the point of this post, actually. I want to talk about how much I love Playtex Drop-Ins. <br />
You buy the bottle shells and the nipples, and the liners are disposable. What's better than that? <br />
<br />
I tried many other bottles before going with these. Maybe it's just what my baby took to, but they were and are a dream for us to use. <br />
(Just yesterday he started eating solid food - maybe a little nostalgia is behind this right now! It happens so quickly!)<br />
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<a href="http://www.playtexbaby.com/Bottles/Dropins.aspx?gclid=CIu87tPWpqcCFeR65QodVxr8Cg">http://www.playtexbaby.com/Bottles/Dropins.aspx?gclid=CIu87tPWpqcCFeR65QodVxr8Cg</a>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-5831098008007382982011-02-26T06:06:00.001-05:002011-02-26T06:06:27.870-05:00From Liquids to Mush<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/5401411507/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5213/5401411507_3f104466dc_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/5401411507/"></a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a></span></div>This is a picture of Sam that typifies all his responses to our attempts to feed him anything solid on a spoon - utter confusion.<br /><br />That is, until yesterday, when a light went off somewhere inside that little head and he devoured nearly an entire jar of sweet potatoes. <br /><br />Something tells me he'll be a good eater.<br clear="all" />Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-60298656316274912112011-02-22T06:56:00.002-05:002011-02-22T09:00:15.511-05:006 Months<div style="float: right; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/5467571021/" title="photo sharing"><img alt="" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5259/5467571021_9422ce177a_m.jpg" style="border-bottom: #000000 2px solid; border-left: #000000 2px solid; border-right: #000000 2px solid; border-top: #000000 2px solid;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/5467571021/">6 months</a><br />
Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a></span></div>Happy 6 month birthday, my love. It's been the best time of my life!<br />
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May you have hundreds more half years filled with happiness, love, joy, good health, peace and prosperity.<br />
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You are such a good baby, very easy to read. <br />
You babble nonstop, just started making 'mum mum' noises and what sounds like 'hai'. <br />
You can sit up, sort of, and are infinitely curious about your surroundings. You love to watch people and look out the window.<br />
You love music! All kinds, anything we play gets your little legs kicking.<br />
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You love to sleep. Last night you slept from 9pm to 6am and woke up smiling!<br />
You love to eat, but thus far have yet to swallow a bite of solid food. We keep trying!<br />
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You are very cuddly, which is great for your dad and me as we are too. We both love you more than we ever imagined possible and can't fathom this world without you here. <br />
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You HATE the nasal aspirator, and also hate to be left alone. As long as someone is nearby you are fine.<br />
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It's so much fun watching you grow up, Sam, and we are so very lucky to be your parents.<br />
<br clear="all" />Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-48029792440669382542011-02-21T15:22:00.006-05:002011-02-27T10:17:43.265-05:00How We Made A Baby, Part I<div style="float: right; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4576082550/" title="photo sharing"><img alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4035/4576082550_20d8a862d9_m.jpg" style="border-bottom: #000000 2px solid; border-left: #000000 2px solid; border-right: #000000 2px solid; border-top: #000000 2px solid;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4576082550/">Yep, I chose to wear horizontal stripes</a><br />
Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a></span></div>I got pregnant in December of 2009. Steven and I were sort of trying, not sure if we were a breeding pair or not, vaguely certain that we wanted to be parents but frightened that we might not be great ones. I'd had my Mirena IUD removed the previous November, with fantastic faraway notions of 'someday! baby!'. We'd been flying free for most of 2009.<br />
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We spent a week in New Orleans eating and drinking with abandon right before Christmas and right after, it turns out, the deed had been done. More debauchery followed at Christmas and New Year's before, in early January, a missed period (I am like clockwork) prompted a home pregnancy test. It was positive.<br />
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I said nothing and did the 2nd test of the 2-pack a couple days later. Again, positive.<br />
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Then I told the baby daddy, who'd had some idea all along. Does a sixth sense arise when your sperm has been successful at its rightful job? <br />
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We were scared more than anything at that point, mostly due to the weeks of holiday imbibing I'd done, but we decided to go with it. We were also deeply excited as neither one of us ever expected to be parents. We met each other after the failure of respective long term relationships that took up our 20's, what I thought of as prime baby making years. We'd both done damage to ourselves over the years. I did not embody the ideal of what I thought of as a fertile female. But lo, there I was! You can't argue with the double pink lines.<br />
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January was spent doing a lot of Googling. It was at this time that I discovered that there is a huge 'fear culture' out there relating to pregnancy, at least in this country. It really bothered me. I thought that this was supposed to be a natural thing - heck, it's been happening since the beginning of time - so why do we have to fear every morsel that crosses our lips and freak out over every little ass ache? The worry alone can't be good. <br />
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I was, however, trying to do all the right things. I started taking a prenatal vitamin, extra folic acid, and the very refined fish oil that I'd been taking all along. I became much more aware about what I ate, trying to optimize my nutrition and fortify my own body, which wasn't exactly robust at that time. I was so very tired all the time, and I did experience morning sickness every day right before lunch, which thankfully went away as soon as I ate. <br />
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We had a vacation planned at a resort in Cozumel for the first week of February, and the couple we went with (Steven's college buddy and his wife) were shocked that I wasn't drinking more than a sip here and there. I guess I had made an impression as quite the lush in the past. I drank a lot of tea. My husband's friend remarked that my breasts were outstanding. I suppose they were at that point, thank you very much. <br />
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It still wasn't real to me; I hadn't seen the little bugger yet.<br />
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I saw my ob/gyn for the first time the second week of February, and the ultrasound showed a normal fetus (embryo?). I was so amazed that this little creature was formed and going at it, dancing a jig it seemed, inside of my body. It seemed like such a miracle. From that point on I was hit with the gravity of it all. I also had an immediate feeling it was a boy. The due date was September 15, 2010.<br />
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I was the most paranoid person when it came to talking about it. I only told a long-distance friend and my husband until I was 3 months along. Then I only told a few close friends and family. Everyone was really, really surprised.<br />
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I bought some maternity clothes which I started to need toward the end of March. The metamorphosis is amazing. I started to really show in April. <br />
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The fatigue started to fade at the end of my first trimester (but came back with a vengeance in the 3rd), and the nausea disappeared. I felt really great for my second trimester. The only thing that was an issue was that I kept having protein in my urine, and my doctor was freaking out about it. I was having no other symptoms and it wasn't in the nephrotic range, but medicine likes closure on these issues. I was aggravated to have to do a 24 hr urine, but I did it. And I was told it was within normal limits for pregnancy. But it remained a red flag throughout for my ob/gyn (and finally toward the end it went away). It was annoying to me to have to talk about it all the time when I felt fine, though.<br />
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I was sent to a 'specialist' for the proteinuria thing. That whole episode really pissed me off, because she wasn't a nephrologist even. She was an infectious diseases physician who was doing some time in this women's medicine clinic. It felt like a circle jerk, or at best a waste of time. What was I going to do differently if the protein was still there? Not a thing. No other symptoms, not preeclampsia.<br />
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I was lucky; I had a really easy pregnancy. I never had hypertension, gestational diabetes, or edema. My mom had had 2 easy pregnancies so honestly I wasn't that worried. Except I was worried, all the time.<br />
<br />
<em>(We got married right after Easter, on April 7th. Though we'd been together for almost 6 years with no sense of urgency, suddenly Steven was against the idea of having a little bastard. Easy peasy. Got the marriage license, dropped by a judge's office, then bought rings at the mall. All within 3 hours.)</em><br />
<br />
Since I was over 35, I was scheduled for a level II (more sensitive) ultrasound at 20 weeks. That too was fine. It was really amazing to watch with my husband - to see all the structures, so perfectly formed. It was at this time, in mid-April, that we found out it was a boy, and named him Sam. Not Samuel, just Sam.<br />
<br />
Things became rather uncomfortable toward the end, in the heat of the summer months with almost 30 extra pounds on my frame, but my husband was wonderful, and thank goodness for a/c.<br />
<br />
I never stopped eating sushi. I never stopped going to the gym, though I did slow down. I still drank a cup of regular coffee each morning. I had an occassional glass of white wine.<br />
<br />
I had a feeling Sam would emerge before the end of Leo. I didn't think he would want to be a Virgo. (I'm not that into astrology, but Steven and I are both fire signs, and I thought Sam would be too...I'm a little wacko like that.)<br />
<br />
I didn't really want a baby shower, but my family kind of insisted. I'm very much a loner by nature, and certainly hate being the center of attention. Opening gifts in front of everyone, being 'on' when all I want to do is lie down - just not my idea of how to spend a Sunday. But I acquiesed. It was to be my father's first grandchild, and he wanted to show me off. I did insist that men be invited, however.<br />
<br />
The family wanted to schedule it for late August, but I said that would be too late. I had a feeling. So the shower was August 8th. <br />
<br />
Steven had to travel the next weekend for work, and the following Friday, August 20th, our hot water heater broke. (Obvious foreshadowing.)<br />
<br />
Luckily we caught the water heater before it flooded, and arranged to have it replaced (for a pretty penny) the following day, Saturday, August 21st.<br />
<br />
The hot water heater install took much of the morning, then Steven and I went to Not Just Snacks for a late lunch. It was really hot, and I got chicken vindaloo. Then we went to 7 Stars for bread and granola.<br />
<br />
We came home, took looong showers, and sat in the a/c until we got hungry again. <br />
<br />
I remember this day so vividly, the events leading up to the inevitable conclusion. Looking back, it seems like it's all in slow motion.<br />
<br />
(This was the end of the week that I thought I had a feeling would see the arrival of Sam. I had given up on my hunches; I thought I was wrong, but I was mistaken.)<br />
<br />
I called Pizza Pie-er and placed an order. We were sitting on the couch watching tv. The pizza guy arrived, and as I stood up, my water broke. I knew what was happening and what we had to do, but I was in a bit of denial. It kept leaking, but I went to get the pizza anyway, and I really wanted to eat it right then.<br />
<br />
No worries, I thought. I'll call my doctor after we eat! <br />
<br />
But Steven, being a physician himself, would have none of it. I didn't even have a bag packed. We scrambled around after I called my doctor and was told by the doctor on call to get my butt to the hospital. <br />
<br />
It was kind of awesome - I was so excited and filled with the biggest adrenaline rush! We were going to meet our new little guy. I just had to get through labor first...<br />
<br />
We had one more day left for him to emerge a Leo...Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-25310530840960877512010-10-29T18:08:00.002-04:002010-10-29T18:12:40.855-04:00Baby's Got Back!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQdHlq2xrd3nJ8suTo5q-zCpiyUnBfNJ9MSIVh2npflbachmfbi6MBGifxnqHMd3Mgz2ZHCb7EwG2Ww4j-U6AFjoMTpo5OeVhrFcNUAo1Quf6sDzgSpsBt9obg0Js5u6hCy-qA1bMaQ9Ib/s1600/Picture+185.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533594342949814754" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQdHlq2xrd3nJ8suTo5q-zCpiyUnBfNJ9MSIVh2npflbachmfbi6MBGifxnqHMd3Mgz2ZHCb7EwG2Ww4j-U6AFjoMTpo5OeVhrFcNUAo1Quf6sDzgSpsBt9obg0Js5u6hCy-qA1bMaQ9Ib/s320/Picture+185.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>That may be so, but what I mean to say is that I'm back, back with a baby.</div><br /><div>Sam was born on August 22nd, but the last bits of the experience didn't come out until yesterday. TMI? Go read someone else's blog, filled with fluffy padding. </div><br /><div>This is me, baby. And baby's back!</div>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-76964231196731489132010-02-10T13:21:00.001-05:002010-02-10T13:21:08.310-05:00Red Snapper!<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4345189926/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4031/4345189926_c825fed636_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4345189926/">Red Snapper!</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a></span></div>Even though today's much-hyped snowstorm seems more like a 'faux' storm, and even though I missed my kitchen and my bed, part of me wishes I were still on that boat - if only to relive feasting on that gorgeous snapper.<br /><br />Sigh.<br clear="all" />Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-12319449645423022352010-01-15T07:53:00.003-05:002010-01-15T08:00:59.512-05:00My Heart Bleeds for HaitiJust taking a moment to call attention to the situation in Haiti, which is horrifying and very sad.<br /><br /><br />While it certainly is heartening to see how the entire world has jumped to attention in efforts to help, the tragic devastation of the island nation is of grand proportions - something that will likely take years and years to turn around.<br /><br />Though I'd never been to Haiti, I have a friend who spent 3 years there in the Peace Corp and loves to regale any audience with stories. Those years have been fondly remembered - he learned Creole and came to love the people. <br /><br />Even if you have no money to give, a good thought or a prayer can help too.<br /><br />I'm sure there are many ways to give; this is just one and likely old news by now: by texting 90999 to Haiti you can donate $10 to the Red Cross for Haiti Relief Fund. It adds up! Last time I checked the fund had reached $4 million.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-87166571987926463552010-01-14T12:24:00.001-05:002010-01-14T12:24:04.941-05:00Wickenden Street Bridge Demolition 01.14.10<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4273882161/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2762/4273882161_6191a3ef40_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4273882161/">Eye to Downtown Providence</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a></span></div>Here's your daily dose of demolition.<br /><br />This is the view today, after 4 full nights of action.<br /><br />I thought I'd be more upset at the noise and inconvenience, living essentially across the street from all this, but I'm really not. I'm grateful. I look at it like a huge neighborhood landscaping project that I don't have to pay for (yeah, taxes, so what) or worry about. <br /><br />Where will all the displaced pigeons go?<br /><br />Click on the picture to view more.<br clear="all" />Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-68102730950859612402010-01-13T16:37:00.002-05:002010-01-13T16:38:35.322-05:00Twin Oaks<div style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10px; MARGIN-LEFT: 10px"><a title="photo sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4242113558/"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 2px solid" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2751/4242113558_4f2bfbacdb_m.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="MARGIN-TOP: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4242113558/">Scallops in Bacon</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">whatstepheats</span></a></span></div><p>What can be said about Twin Oaks that hasn't been said before? Since this old-school bastion of Italian American food has been around since the 1930's, I'm guessing not a lot remains untapped, but here's my take.<br /><br />Having grown up in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Cranston</span>, Warwick, and Providence, Twin Oaks was to me always in the background. I have vague memories of going as a child, or hearing grandma rave about her leftover lobster club, but really, it was not front and foremost in my life.<br /><br />Lately, however, for many reasons I suppose, including my ever-growing sense that this world is a scary and cold place, I've been reaching out to things that bring me comfort. Since this is largely not a conscious process, it was an innocent question that brought the words 'Twin Oaks' to my lips a month or so ago: "Where do you want to eat, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Steph</span>?"<br /><br />So we were.<br /><br />To understand Twin Oaks, one must first take in the sheer size of the operation. This place is big, and busy. Wander in during lunchtime on a weekday and you're likely to find nary a booth to call your own. Friday and Saturday nights? Plan to wait, my friend, unless you've got connections. Despite the magnitude - or perhaps because of it - this place runs extremely efficiently. The service is very fast and exceedingly polite - not in an ingratiating way, but in a no-nonsense old fashioned way. It's like you're stepping back in time.<br /><br />The time warp thing is likely due to its long history. In 1928, during Prohibition, owner William <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">DeAngelus</span>, Sr. began distilling whiskey to sell to friends, and the basement of his home became a speakeasy. After federal agents shut this operation down, the original Twin Oaks opened later that year, with seating for 56 in 3 small dining rooms. Today, in its current location, there are six dining rooms that can <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">accommodate</span> close to 650 people.<br /><br />And the food? It doesn't get more old-school than this. The menu is huge, with sandwiches and specials popping off the page at lunch, and everything from broiled steaks to veal <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">parmesan</span> to baked stuffed shrimp pleasing the dinner crowds. The appetizers run to the old fashioned as well, with offerings rarely seen anywhere these days - like celery with anchovies, sardines on lettuce, and fried smelts.<br /><br />I usually get broiled swordfish and the man has his chicken <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">parmesan</span> fix. Or a steak. Last week it was a steak. These bacon-wrapped scallops were an appetizer special. They went very quickly.<br /><br />With such history, I recommend that Anthony <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Bourdain</span> take time to visit Twin Oaks when he comes to Providence later this month! It reflects the patina of this state so well, and is a comfort on many levels, especially in the frigid days of winter in January.<br /><br /><br /><em>Twin Oaks<br />100 Sabra Street<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Cranston</span>, RI 02910-1099<br />(401) 781-9693<br /></em><br /><a href="http://www.twinoaksrest.com/">http://www.twinoaksrest.com</a></p><p><br clear="all"> </p>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-9792181007160922922010-01-13T12:21:00.000-05:002010-01-14T12:25:01.878-05:00Wickenden Street Bridge Demolition 01.13.10<div style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10px; MARGIN-LEFT: 10px"><a title="photo sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4272063954/"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 2px solid" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2772/4272063954_732bfc3233_m.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="MARGIN-TOP: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4272063954/">Wickenden Street Bridge Demolition 01.13.10</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a></span></div>Here you go, curious people.<br /><br />This is the progress after 3 full nights of work at tearing down this bridge.<br /><br />We got a notice that they'd go from 8pm to 5am, but they start earlier than that. I'm happy to see this eyesore disappear, bit by bit.<br clear="all">Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-10247322673326901582010-01-07T19:05:00.003-05:002010-01-07T20:24:08.448-05:00The Art of Losing<span style="font-size:130%;">The art of losing isn't hard to master;</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">so many things seem filled with the intent</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">to be lost that their loss is no disaster.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Lose something every day. Accept the fluster</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The art of losing isn't hard to master.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Then practice losing farther, losing faster:</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">places, and names, and where it was you meant </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">to travel. None of these will bring disaster.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">next-to-last, of three loved houses went.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The art of losing isn't hard to master.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">the art of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">losing's</span> not too hard to master</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">though it may look like (<em>Write</em> it!) like disaster.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"One Art", from <em>The Complete Poems 1927-1979</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">by Elizabeth Bishop</span><br /><br /><br /><br />It seemed to me that 2009 was, in many ways, about losing - both in my own life and in the lives of many I know. This observation is from my own perspective, obviously. I also am aware that this past year brought a great deal of positivity and new beginnings to many - myself included. But at the same time, for me, it was not the best year. It wasn't just the actual, tangible losses suffered - losses of loved ones and friends, for example - but a subtle loss of hope. The economy continued to tank, and my own life just felt, largely, stagnant. It was the build-up of several years of frustration in other matters that still have little to no resolution in sight. Matters that I'd taken too far to heart - matters that, if I kept allowing them to, could have taken my over my life's energy entirely.<br />With the advent of a new year and new decade (I first wrote 'century'!), there has been a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">perceptible</span> shift, both in my perspective and in life's actual events. There just seems to be so much possibility that has displayed itself, almost out of nowhere. It's as if the year 2010 came in with so much energy and is inflating us all.<br /><br />Today I drove by my childhood home, the place I had lived from age 6 until I moved in with a man at age 20. It remained the home of my mother and sister until my mom's death in 1997, when I was 24.<br />Every now and then I drive by, and each successive time the place manages to simultaneously tug at my emotions more while becoming increasingly unrecognizable as my home. Today was no exception.<br />I had other things planned after this spontaneous drive-by, but it was all I could do to compose myself for the journey 'home'.<br /><br />Anyway, I found this poem in a book which I've had for years on my shelf, and serendipitously pulled out this evening, <em>The Girl's to Hunting and Fishing</em> by Melissa Bank.<br />I'm going to devour this one slowly.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-81323600107240100902010-01-03T12:22:00.001-05:002010-01-03T12:22:08.942-05:00Beaver Butter<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4240671263/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2533/4240671263_034bd1b31c_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4240671263/">Beaver Butter</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a></span></div>I know I am completely juvenile for finding humor in food packaging laden with sexual innuendo.<br /><br />I've long mourned the fact that Little Rhody Egg Farms has removed the little dancing egg on their cartons with the caption, "We Just Got Laid at...Little Rhody Egg Farms!".<br /><br />Just remember - It's Always Better with Beaver Meadow.<br clear="all" />Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-4573399544933173242010-01-02T17:44:00.002-05:002010-01-02T17:47:42.666-05:00Happy 2010, Y'all!<div style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10px; MARGIN-LEFT: 10px"><a title="photo sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4210019074/"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 2px solid" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2797/4210019074_86a8b95593_m.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="MARGIN-TOP: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4210019074/">Roosevelt Lobby, NOLA</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a></span></div><p>So we emerge into a new decade as well as a new year!<br /><br />(I'm all reflective tonight, so as I listen to the man playing Wii golf and sip my potato vodka, I will let loose some of my random thoughts.)<br /><br />First of all, it just hit me the other day that we are indeed embarking on a brand new decade as well as turning the calendar over for another year. The past 10 years have been filled with some of the highest highs and the lowest lows of my 36 years. There were quite a few new additions to my family (blood and chosen!). People were married and others were buried. Relationships ended and other, more lasting ones, were forged.<br /><br />I learned a lot, about myself, about the world, about pain, and about joy. It was a difficult decade, but then again, it did teach me to appreciate how fragile we are, which in turn lead me to value every moment a little more than I used to. Is that just part of growing older? </p><p>There is much still in my life that is not the way I want it to be, but I think above all, I've learned that life is not perfect. It's a process, and while the grass may always seem greener over the septic tank, it smells pretty bad there too. Trade-off?<br /><br />I wish you all prosperity, success, health, and happiness in the coming year. Here's to 2010! (That's 'twenty ten'. Not 'two thousand ten'. I made up my mind...)<br clear="all"></p>Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-13714889490960190982010-01-02T17:33:00.001-05:002012-10-01T07:56:16.437-04:00The Big Easy in December<div style="float: right; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4238560036/" title="photo sharing"><img alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2542/4238560036_d31bc380dc_m.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4238560036/">Best Bloody Mary Ever</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a></span></div>
Made a short jaunt down to the Crescent City a couple of weeks ago. Wandered down Bourbon Street one Sunday morning, and stumbled into this place from which many people were emerging with beautiful Bloody Marys. I think it was La Bayou?<br />
<br />
(It was just across the street from several people puking on the sidewalk; I know that helps narrow things down a bunch. Puking post-revelry drunken folks were prevalent since the Saints had played the night before. Or maybe they are always prevalent. It was not far from Bourbon House...if that helps.)<br />
<br />
This Bloody Mary was made with 2 ounces of olive-infused vodka (our generous bartender added a little extra, just because we looked like we needed to relax a bit, shake the Northeast off our shoulders...), plus the best commercial mix I've had (Zing Zang, which I've not seen in these Northerly parts). Also, it had all that I consider essential in a Mary. Celery, olives, sure. Those are standard accoutrements. <br />
<br />
(You'd think celery and olives are omnipresent in Bloodies, but not in Little Rhody, where I've had bartenders all over ask me how to make such basics as Manhattans. What's up with that?)<br />
<br />
In addition to the celery and green olives, this baby had a pickled string bean, a peperoncino, and a pickled cocktail onion. It was so spicy and wonderful. Our bartender kept feeding us extra pickled goodies on the side, claiming them to be 'fresh out of the jar'. Indeed.<br />
<br />
New Orleans is quite a cocktail town! The bartender in our hotel made me a Vieux Carre the first night we were there, and it was everything I could have imagined. Having tried to order one at various places up here in Rhode Island (even those who proclaim to respect bourbon and rye-based cocktails), only to be met with blank stares, this was landmark. <br />
<br />
Everyone seemed to be focused on enjoying life. Mardi Gras was touted, and there was much mention of the annual Tales of the Cocktail - clearly the cocktail is king in this town. Cocktails before dinner are de rigueur; a person need not feel like a stand-alone lush for ordering one because the entire table seems to do so.<br />
<br />
Anyhoo, my first trip to NOLA put hooks in my soul. We managed to fit in quite a restaurant itinerary: Cochon Butcher, Cochon, Mr. B's, Domenica, and Lilette. Drinks at the Roosevelt's bar. Caroling in St. Peter's Square. All of this in upper 50 to mid-60 degree temps with sun - in December!!!<br />
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NOLA, beautiful NOLA. You've won me over. Swoon.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-48323160829691964892009-12-02T02:34:00.006-05:002009-12-02T08:45:47.213-05:00Powder Blue Corduroys with Elastic WaistbandsShe walked by my desk on her way to the front of the class for 'current events', and farted through her powder blue corduroys. They had an elastic waistband. She had long wavy dark blond hair, a flat butt, and a tracheotomy, though I didn't know the term for it at the time. I was in 5th grade - a fat blob of a girl with no clue about life's hardships, no aspirations to anything beyond my next snack or newest sticker for my collection that I'd buy at <em>Simply Sondra</em>, and no experience of having lived greater than 16 years with doctors in various stages of their training/ careers. In short, I was feeling no pain. I was feeling nothing at all.<br /><br />Her name was Jennifer Salisbury. Maybe I should change that, but this story jolted me out of bed at 2:30 am and I just can't think of anything so flowing that's false.<br /><br />I knew her peripherally. We shared a grade, a classroom. We shared little else, though I'd visited her home at one point...a birthday party? It smelled of steamed lunch meat. I was all about texture, sights, smells, and sounds then. Still am. Though now my temporal lobe epilepsy has evolved into frontal lobe dementia. I remember that the few friends I'd had in grade school who were neither Italian nor Jewish had homes with that particular odor of warm cold cuts. I've no idea why. One time I ate dinner at a friend of that category's house and was served rolled-up bologna with warm milk. I never ate dinner there again, even though her dog and my cat shared a name. (I probably copied her. I was that kind of child - afraid of my own shadow, ashamed of my own thoughts.)<br /><br />On that weekend afternoon at the home of Jennifer Salisbury, I was accompanied by other kids of our class. We were shown the machine she was hooked up to at night which helped her breathe. I don't recall feeling sorry for her, or compassionate, or anything at all. I think she had a loving family, and may or may not have had a sibling. She seemed to matter little to my life then, as most things did. She was very kind, but I wasn't into kind. I liked dramatic and scary. I liked to cry and invent songs in my head.<br /><br />I have not thought about those childhood moments in many years. I recently have become slightly more reflective - almost nostalgic. I think often of where it is I came from, and want to go back in time to that place. I miss my grandparents, my mother. I miss my potential. I recognize now that I had so much of it, and not everybody does. In my own way, I suppose I've developed into someone worthwhile to some, but it should have been more. Maybe there's still time. After all, I'm still breathing.<br /><br />I used to believe there was a great distance between myself and people whose lives seem so gravely different from mine - people whose suffering seem so much greater. That gap has closed.<br /><br />We are all suffering. As I get older, as my body aches more and more for reasons both self-imposed and organic, I see this with both increasing clarity and fog.<br /><br />I used to think we were so different, Jennifer Salisbury and me. I used to believe I was the one who had more strength.<br /><br />Insert pithy phrase here. (Thanks for that, Rémy Robert! <a href="http://twitter.com/passionfrtbuttr">http://twitter.com/passionfrtbuttr</a>)<br /><br />(With thanks and homage to Scott Turow, whose short story <em>Loyalty</em> sparked this mental vomitus of mine; Rémy Robert, whose Tweet sparked the pithy thing (and if you don't know what I mean by that you can go Google Twitter, pithy, Rémy Robert, and yourself); my lovely man, whose restless sleeping habits helped jostle me out of bed to write this in the wee and scary hours of morning; my man's mom, who has helped me to see that the world extends so far beyond the borders of my mind and body; my family, for having loved me (albeit sometimes too much); and my sore throat, which makes me appreciate better what feeling good feels like.)<br /><br />And thank you, Jennifer Salisbury, wherever you may be now. You will always be held fondly in my heart.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-23047961042277355892009-11-20T10:59:00.002-05:002009-11-20T11:01:31.654-05:00Back in the High LifeI made this thing private because there is some issue with each picture in the posts which I've blogged directly from Flickr.<br />I thought I'd fix it and go public again, but then realized it's probably going to take more time than I have right now, and so I just went public again.<br /><br />Gah! <br /><br />(If you click the actual picture that says it's not available, it takes you to the real picture, which is available...wtf? Just read and click, read and click...)Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-25920153628908638842009-11-07T14:29:00.002-05:002009-11-07T14:42:10.304-05:00I Love James Woods as Much as I Despise Kent County HospitalThere is a small article in today's Providence Journal announcing that James Woods has sued Kent County Hospital over the death of his brother in 2006. The lawsuit claims his brother received negligent medical care. <br /><br />Here's the link to the article (from the Boston Herald - not the Projo link because their website SUCKS): <a href="http://tinyurl.com/yzg2f8o">http://tinyurl.com/yzg2f8o</a><br /><br />I now love James Woods even more than ever, and I'm a longtime fan. Before you all start in on me with tales of how he's a douchebag (as happened when I last broadcast my love), let me say this - he's a Rhode Islander. That, in itself, explains it away. We are a little rough around the edges, and don't mince words.<br /><br />He grew up in Warwick, and so did I. He's had surgery at Rhode Island Hospital, and so did I! I even had x-rays on the same day as he did one day in late July 2006. <br />Now we have even more in common. Kent County mistreated one of our family members.<br /><br />While we did not pursue any legal action for various reasons, my mother was definitely the recipient of negligent medical care at KC Hospital back in 1997. She would have died anyway, but I firmly believe that had she been given appropriate attention and care she would have likely suffered less and perhaps lived a little bit longer. Botched care. That's what it was, plain and simple.<br /><br />So, I am rooting for James Woods to prevail over Kent Hospital when the trial begins this coming Monday.Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-61898458465993179632009-11-04T15:22:00.003-05:002009-11-04T15:31:46.895-05:00Can You Hear Me Now?<em><strong>Setting:</strong> Urban condo, modern day. I am in the kitchen making dinner; my man is on the couch watching television and drinking Maker's.</em><br /><br /><strong>My man:</strong> "I want a Lap Band."<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> "Why do you want a lap dance? From who?"<br /><br /><strong>My man (laughing):</strong> "Lap Band. Because I'm fat! Not lap dance!"<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> "I've never given anyone a lap dance. You don't have much of a lap!"<br /><br /><strong>My man:</strong> <em>Lap Band.</em> I just saw a commercial for the Lap Band!"<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> "You want your black pants? You split the crotch when you bent over in that hotel room in Italy, remember?"<br /><br /><strong>My man:</strong> "No! Not my black pants! <em>Lap Band.</em> Lap Band! I'm too fat! I split my black pants, and there's no room on my lap for a dance."<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> "What's a Lap Band?"<br /><br />We need either an open kitchen or hearing aids.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">(</span>In case you don't know what it is either, here's the website for the Lap Band system: </span><br /><a href="http://www.lapband.com/"><span style="font-size:85%;">http://www.lapband.com/</span></a>)Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1871487474192278827.post-68910241308286969812009-11-04T12:33:00.000-05:002010-01-03T12:34:12.640-05:00Goodbye to Grilling<div style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10px; MARGIN-LEFT: 10px"><a title="photo sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4075533481/"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 2px solid" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2553/4075533481_b82a176a90_m.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="MARGIN-TOP: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21569696@N07/4075533481/">Grilling - A Retrospective</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/21569696@N07/">whatstepheats</a></span></div>It's that time of year again - when the grill first gets gradually neglected, then altogether ignored, and finally just put away until spring.<br /><br />This always saddens me, because grilling is probably my favorite method of cooking. And it's not so much an issue of the days being too cold, just too short!<br /><br />Since we turned back the clocks, the sun has been shining so brightly with temps in the 60's most days this week.<br />Great! I think of what to grill...<br /><br />But by the time our stomachs are rumbling for dinner, the sun has gone down. I know I'm pretty adept with a spatula and some tongs, but even I can't cook in the dark.<br /><br />Farewell, my friend the grill. Have a restful winter's nap, because I'll be giving you quite the spring training workout!<br clear="all">Stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998700965688959938noreply@blogger.com0