Life Inside the Dash: Living Fully and Chasing Your Dreams | HealthConnect

Life Inside the Dash: Living Fully and Chasing Your Dreams | HealthConnect

A Dad’s Day
In celebration of a pauper, prince and king

I was recently asked by a friend, “Are you a princess or a queen?” Growing up as the token female in an all-testosterone, football playing, outdoor loving clan, I was never allowed to primp like a princess. Also, I cannot tell you how many times I heard that “Being beautiful because your are loved is far greater than being loved because you are beautiful.”  Yes, there were times in my life when I felt like a “pretty, pretty princess” but the majority of the time I have put my kingdom’s needs before my own and make every attempt to lead with a strong will and an open heart--plus I own a Corgi and was born on the queen’s birthday which pretty much solidifies my “queenship”.  With Father’s Day quickly approaching, my thoughts turned to the alpha male, paternal ruler of our family and the role he has played in his subject’s lives.
From prince to pauper
My Dad grew up the son of a workaholic, German/Dutch surgeon. There were privileges of course, many of which, including a free education, ended when my Dad dropped out of medical school to pursue a career in business. Dad joined the army to help pay for his education and made the brilliant move of marrying a woman with a wicked sense of humor, never-ending supply of patience and unconditional love,  who opts for mammal attired sweatshirts and comfortable shoes instead of glass slippers. During the course of their fifty-five year marriage, they have long since moved from “pauper status” yet remnants of their early days still surface from time to time. You should see the man move his vacationing subjects-- with such military precision--out of lounge chairs and into a van to get the shrimp special before it ends at 5:30pm. Yet, the same man who waits until the “Wacky Wednesday” special to go to the carwash doesn’t blink an eye while writing a check for a grandchild’s tuition or a good cause.
The town crier
There are times when I think my Dad’s role in our court is spreading the news. If you are in a 20 ft. radius of my father, there is a high likelihood that you will be read some interesting tidbit from the Wall Street Journal -whether we want to hear it or not. I have perfected the art of the “smile and nod” as he announces the conditions of fluctuating foreign market values. He has also made his presence known in around other courts-especially while his granddaughters play competitive tennis. At times, he has been banished-by his own people mind you-to sit in the car when he gets a bit overly excited.
A hands on ruler
Growing up there were times when I wished the proverbial bar he placed over our heads could have been lowered a notch. As an adult and parent I now know how blessed I am that he continually pushes us to be our best. He is not castle bound. Dad has trudged through the moats of listening to “Hot Crossed Buns” through countless band concerts (although he recently came up with a number). He has lost feeling in his limbs from sitting cross-legged at Indian Princess gatherings and has racked up countless hours sitting on aluminum bleachers watching his kids’ and grandkids’ sporting events. We were always told, “Leap and the net will follow.” Thanks to my Dad, I have taken risks with the unspoken knowledge that he believes in me yet will be there to catch me if and when I fall. Yes, he is strong willed and a TAD controlling (somewhere my Mom is rolling her eyes back into her head). Often instead of the warm fuzzy hug I get a pat on the back with a firm, “Love ya!” but I will take it all. For I get to call the man who is a beautiful combination of jester, town crier, deacon, and benevolent leader “DAD”.

I have the pleasure of being on Rebecca Regnier's Full Plate. The episode is airing this weekend on 13abc. Tune in to see how you can have a relaxing no fuss day for the cherished men in your life! Visit www.13abc.com for air times and episodes. 

Father’s Day is in the Bag!

I looked around our gathering for Mother’s Day and realized that the only women who seemed to be relaxing were those over 80 and/or with bum hips. Moms with infants were also “cut some slack”. The rest of us were busy thanking our offspring for begonias and having our hearts melt with homemade cards as we simultaneously prepared brunch.  I realize many moms head to restaurants to celebrate their special day. However, the “pre-game” of finding matching socks, buckling “big girl shoes” and trying to get our youngsters spiffed up for public viewing can still be a challenge.
With this in mind, I thought it would be nice for mothers to have Father’s Day “In the Bag”. Below are some simple make ahead dishes that will allow you to put your feet up and enjoy the day as much as the beloved dads in your life. Enjoy!

Pork Roast with Herbs
Salt and pepper both sides of roast and rub with 2 tbsp. Dijon mustard
Chop 2 tbsp. fresh thyme or rosemary leaves and the zest of two limes and rub into roast
Place roast in zip lock bag
Add ¾ cup lime juice (around 7 limes) into the bag. You may substitute lemons if you prefer.
Drizzle 1 tbsp. of olive oil over roast in bag.
Refrigerate overnight or for at least three hours.

Take roast out of zip lock bag and discard marinade. Place 3 tbsp. of olive oil in pan and sear roast until lightly browned on all sides. Place roast in 400 degree oven for 20 minutes. The internal temperature should be 137 degrees. Remove from oven and let rest for 8-10 minutes. Slice, plate and garnish with fresh herbs.
Sweet Potato Fries
You may prep these potatoes the night before and bake before your guests arrive.
4-5 medium sweet potatoes (may reduce amount based on number of guests)
Slice potatoes in wedges (make certain you have good biceps and/or a sharp knife) and place in mixing bowl
Drizzle 3 tbsp. olive oil over potatoes to coat (or until potatoes are lightly covered)
2 tbsp. brown sugar (coat wedges)
1 tsp. black pepper and a pinch of sea salt
Pour fries onto baking sheet and bake 15 minutes at 450 degrees. Turn fries with spatula after 15 minutes and bake another 15 minutes.
*You may add Cajun seasoning for a little heat or substitute balsamic vinegar for the brown sugar
Salad in the Bag
This salad is a “make ahead” favorite in our house.
1 bag spinach
1 pt. strawberries
½ red onion sliced into rings (I make them big so the kids can pick them out)
1 cup blackberries
½  cup blueberries
Feel free to add raspberries or change fruit proportions based on personal preference.
Dressing
¾ cup sugar
¼ tsp. paprika
¼ cup cider vinegar
1/3 tsp. Worcestershire Sauce
½ cup vegetable or canola oil
1 tbsp. poppy seeds (Please note if you are serving a largely geriatric group, it may be wise to omit poppy seeds. They are tough getting out of dentures!)
Toss spinach, fruit, and dressing for a visually appealing and tasty salad.

Equality Is a Light Switch Away

I am one of the fortunate ones in life to lay claim to a lifelong friend. Sherri and I have known each other literally, our entire time on this great earth.  Our dads caused major havoc together in art classes and in Sunday school since they were seven.  We have been sharing family vacations and holidays ever since we were infants.  In my family filled with testosterone, Sherri was my source of “all that is girl.”  She still nabs me poolside on spring break to complete the annual toenail painting of her non-primping friend. She serves this up with a side of “I have tweezers and I know how to use them!” and “How can you go so long without shaving?”

It was with great pleasure that I began the preparations for her couple’s bridal shower.  I prayed that things would go smoothly especially since Sherri was marrying a wonderful man who, never the less, fell outside the proverbial “box.”  Sherri is, as we women of height like to say, 5”12”, and Donnie is well, not.  He is also a person of color. I knew my little family would welcome their new uncle with open arms, but would the rest of the world? 

The big evening arrived. Crisp white linens (with all the stains strategically hidden with scattered rose petals) were draped over my card tables to cover the remnants of finger paint and glitter glue.  I hung so many twinkle lights in the backyard that a small plane could make a landing.  It may not have been a perfect “Martha Moment,” but things were looking pretty darn good.

My first indication that things would head south was with the arrival of the cake.  The bakery tried, but did not succeed, in playing up the “shower” theme by putting what were to look like dainty rain drops made of sugar on the cake.  Unfortunately, the affect made it look like dried contact lenses were sticking out of the frosting. Nan, Sherri’s Mom, who is always the voice of calm in a crisis of any proportion, dealt with the issue at hand.  Meanwhile, Uncle Todd decided after one too many glasses of champagne, to darken the plastic groom that stood on top of the confectionary nightmare, with a black Sharpie to make things more believable.

It was then that my dear friend whispered in my ear ten minutes before the guests were to arrive, that her parents and the mother of her future husband had never met.  I said calmly, “NEVER, AS IN NEVER?” and immediately joined Uncle Todd at the champagne table.

Guests and beautifully wrapped packages that put my crumpled, used gift bag to shame arrived. I barely had time to take a sip of bubbly, when a wind that could have blown Dorothy back to Oz began to sweep across my Martha-wanna-be backyard haven.  We all worked together to bring what we could indoors before the lightning started its impressive display giving my twinkle lights some hefty competition.

Having 40 guests now crammed inside should have been the end of the unexpected, at least so I thought. Gram always said, “If you want to give God a good laugh, tell Him your plans!”  Sure enough, a large flash in the sky followed by a thunderous boom, found us in the dark. In those brief moments my mind was racing. Even though somewhere, my deceased perfectionist Grandmother Scheib was shaking her head in disbelief, I realized that the evening was indeed PERFECT.  Nothing like a little electrical storm to solidify in forty people’s minds what we already knew.  Equality is an electrical outage away. We didn’t need a flashlight to see the immense love of two people who were meant to share one life.

 

Sleep in for the cure!

Why race?

For many the Race for the Cure is an important part of a survivor’s journey. Why race? This is a question my fellow survivors and I are constantly asked. I can only answer for myself, for the reasons are as varied as the people who have been affected by the disease. It’s not an easy day. It is a day of celebration with an undercurrent of sadness and loss. I still find myself looking for my friends Gretchen Gotthart Skeldon, Liz Ham, and Jackie Darah in the sea of faces. I cannot begin to describe the jumbling of my insides and the ache in my heart when I see a child stroll by with photos of a departed mom or the husband who now walks alone. For me, taking part in the race means I get to play a small part in giving someone one more day with the people they love.
The one thing I constantly hear from the “cape-less” super heroes who have risen above the fear, pain and loss of cancer is that they are more concerned about the people they might leave behind than themselves. I know as a survivor, I worry about my three daughters and frankly, I'm selfish. I want more summers on Maple Lake, “Catch Phrase” games where Helena, totally embarrassed, describes “manhole” as an “opening in a boy," unofficial contests to see how many kids can fit on our couch, hunting for rocks up north and shells down south, acting as official “starfish savers” at the beach, creating chaos, mess and meals in the kitchen, cookie decorating parties that end up in frosting fights … I also want to see them find love and careers where I hope they aren’t stuck in cubicles, make a difference, and can afford more than mac and cheese. I want to continue to be there for every milestone, huge or inconsequential. I also want to be the kind of grandmother that will stick in a child’s heart and take up permanent residence in their memory.
Why race? I race to give the aunt, mom, daughter, or dad more memory making moments. If you are not willing or able to get up Sunday morning, there is a category called "Sleep in for the Cure." I realize how difficult it can be to rally the troops. I usually have to bribe my gang with promises of post-race pancakes. "Sleep for the Cure” allows you to make a donation, receive a race packet and T-shirt while you get to keep your sneakers in the back of the closet. Who knew that you could make a difference in so many lives while hanging under the covers or chilling on the couch? Whether you are racing, walking, strolling, or snoozing, thank you for helping me and countless others have another day.

Quit Starring at Closed Doors!

I had the honor of being part of a group of incredible women who met to map out their goals and dreams for the year ahead.  While waiting for things to begin I hung with a young mom, Kristi, who is also in the “pink survivorship” club. She informed me that she is no longer going to give any energy to the “Big C” and wants to leave cancer in the past. My Gram would always say, “If you have to go through Hell, don’t stop and take pictures!” I am trying to adhere to both of these wise women but at the same time I fear losing the “lesson” and man it is a valuable lesson.

Cancer, like I’m sure any life crisis, teaches you to live in the now and that this and every moment is a gift. Kristi and I discussed that when we were in the thick of things, even being stuck in traffic was a grand opportunity. I took it as the universe’s way of saying it was time to play the air drums to my favorite jams or pop in the “Learn German in 10 Minutes a Day” CD which tragically I am Ich bin noch nicht sehr gut (still not very good!). Lately, I feel as if I have slipped back into normalness.  The constant reminders (no hair, short- term memory loss or finding my checkbook in the freezer) of my potential mortality, are now happily a blurry distant memory. However, I still desire to hang on to that gift of turning the ordinary into the extraordinary.

I want to have BIG days even while doing the mundane. I want to say “YES” to things I normally talk myself out of doing. I want to be the one who lounges in my big bathtub, stay up late by the fire, and have pizza and homemade smoothies at midnight. My daughters and their friends are having far more fun in this house than I am! My “BIG” doesn’t have to be “Paris big” (although I’m open to offers-major hint here people). It can be splurging on a latte, taking time to read, reconnect with friends and playing catch the squeaky toy with the pooch. Somehow I have to figure out how to remember the lessons from being told that this beautiful life of mine could all come to a screeching end while simultaneously closing the door on that experience.

One of my heroes, Helen Keller once said, “When one door closes, another opens. But we often look so regretfully upon the closed door that we don't see the one that has opened for us.” I am ready to slam that door and jump into the one that has swung open. I hope you step into new doorways and HAVE A BIG DAY!

 

Take My Breath Away!

I have no idea who said "Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away” but it always bubbles up from my subconscious this time of year. Believe me, as a single Mom I have had my breath taken away this past year but many times it is NOT for reasons of bliss and joy. If you want to cease breathing there is nothing like attempting (operative word here) to instruct your 15.5 year old exchange student from China the fine art of driving.

What really made me sound like a vacuum cleaner in reverse was seeing my youngest daughter walk down in my wedding dress which she found in the attic. It wasn’t too long ago when she was stuffing Malibu Barbie in a white frilly frock (even though I think she and Surfer Ken had a few prenuptial encounters). There she was before me looking like a young woman of maturity and not like the teen who just toasted the “E” off the back of my Ford Edge (which we now call a “D-Ge” with a thick French accent) when backing into the mailbox.

2012 took my breath away with an assortment of moments of mayhem but it also left me gasping for air when the women of this house inspired me. I let out a happy sigh upon finding out that my middle daughter who taught a geriatric water aerobics class as part of her school curriculum, quietly continued volunteering even when she had met the requirement and exhaled deeply when my child who would receive an A+ if they gave a “socializing and partying” grade somehow pulled a 3.97 out of…somewhere.

So bring on 2013! I am bracing myself with humor, patience and a sense of adventure for the breathless moments that come my way.