Someone To Count On

When someone says “I made the reservation for three because I know that either you and Mike or you and Katie would be there.”
When someone  quotes Rory Gilmore, “I don’t think she ever realized that the person I most wanted to be was her….”  “Mom, you’ve given me everything I need.”
And when still someone else says, “I know that I don’t want to live without you.” 

I realize that I’ve become that person to these people, that person I never had in my life until them.  I don’t know how this happens.  They say you either end up being just like your parents, or just the opposite.  I’m not quite sure where I fall in that range. I would like to say I have the best of both my parents but then…who knows (as the skeletons rattle behind the closet door). I likely have the worst of my mother, the stoic silence when I’m pissed, and the ability to hold a grudge forever if I choose to.  And then I go and do something nice, like, I don’t know, bail a kid out of jail or something and I realize that maybe I did get some of the good from her.  

I have become one of those people who feel good when she makes someone happy. How does that even happen?  I’ve no clue. I do know that I would do anything for them.  To be able to make sure Fay has everything she needs to move into adulthood, to hear her thank me for the thousandth time, to know that she appreciates what I do, to know that she’s safe and secure, to be able to be part of her moral and emotional support system, is everything to me.

Just to see Katie smile, is worth the world. Her smile lights my life. I do many things for this girl, just as a matter of it’s who I am. Just. To see. Her. Smile. To know she’s happy, knowing that she appreciates even the smallest things. Half the things I do for her, it’s so much a part of who I am, I don’t even think twice about it. Talking her down from the anxiety cliff, I don’t think, I just do it. Knowing when she’s about to panic and heading it off, yea, I just do it. Because I hate to see her stressed and unhappy. 

Ah, le fiancé, my better (sometimes) half. This weekend I understand suddenly how he feels when I go away for a girls weekend. I love my house, this home we’ve got here together. But my God it’s so quiet and empty without him here. Even La Luna is depressed. I understand now that I do not want my life without him in it. I understand that we were meant to be, and that I would be so much less without his constant support.  I would do anything for him, and I know that he would lay down his life for me without question.  It’s been a long road to get here, but maybe that time so long ago just wasn’t the right time for us. Now is.

I lately think of people who have come and gone in my life. Surely there’s a reason why some don’t stay, just as surely there’s a reason why some come back. Those who have not, for whatever reason, I realize that I wish them well, I wish them happiness, I hold no grudge (even though God knows I could if I wanted to, it’s in the genes).  I realize  that life is good , and that I am happy. At long last happy. It’s been a long time coming.

You better stand tall when they're calling you out

Don't bend, don't break, baby, don't back down

It's my life
And it's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just want to live while I'm alive
(It's my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said
I did it my way
I just want to live while I'm alive
(It's my life)

It's My Life~Bon Jovi

Low carb, not cardboard

Low Carb is NOT synonymous with cardboard. It can actually be delicious. 

So I had three goals this weekend. The first of which was the apple crumb cake. Low carb style. For le fiancé. Since I had, you know, like 4,283 Vermont apples still waiting to be consumed. The other 3.717 Made the best ever applesauce, and an apple pie.  I have a basic crumb cake recipe, which I took and twisted and tweaked until it worked. I learned that from Katie. She can’t strictly follow a recipe to save her life. It’s a chef thing. We bakers have to be a bit more careful because chemistry.  Ironic, that, as I failed chemistry miserably in high school.  Now, forty-something years later, I  understand that one doesn’t mess with the baking powder measurements, and yeast has to have the right temp water to live. Because chemistry.  Anyway, 

The recipe:

Low Carb Apple Crumb Cake
1/2 cup butter, softened slightly
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 cup granular Splenda
1 teaspoon vanilla
5 eggs, room temperature
6 1/2 ounces almond flour ( 1 1/2 cups plus 2 tablespoons )
1 teaspoon baking powder
3-4 apples (Honey Crisp and/or Gala), peeled and chopped

Cream the butter, cream cheese, Splenda and extract. Add the eggs, one at a time. Mix the almond flour and baking powder. Add to the egg mixture gradually. Stir in about a cup and a half of Pour into a greased 8” square cake pan. Mix the topping ingredients until crumbly; sprinkle over the cake batter. Bake at 350º 45-50 minutes, or until the top is nicely browned and the cake is firm to the touch.

Crumb Topping:
1/2 cup almond flour
1/2 cup Splenda Brown Sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
4 tablespoons butter, softened just until pliable

Makes 12 servings
Can be frozen

With granular Splenda:
Per Serving: 286 Calories; 26g Fat; 8g Protein; 7g Carbohydrate; 2g Dietary Fiber; 5g Net Carbs

I followed the recipe pretty much exactly, since, you know, I sort of adjusted it and made it my own.  This is le fiance’s second favorite, I think, after the Low Carb Chocolate Mousse (recipe here: Sinful Chocolate Mousse) It’s awesome as a breakfast cake, or as a dessert cake with whipped cream. The cake is moist (it’s the apples, I think, that help there. Almond flour tends to soak up a lot of moisture, they add a little extra).  It’s not overly sweet,  and the crumb topping is ALMOST as good as standard brown sugar topping.
And when le fiancé is happy, everyone is happy.

October ~Dolores O'Riordan

WIth love, from Vermont

So the kids went to Vermont and brought back all the things.  Among which was about 80 pounds of apples. And when life (or the kids) gives you apples, make apple pie. It’s a no-brainer.  When the request includes “sugar free”, therein lies the challenge.  So, we go mostly sugar free.  It’s Nana’s crust. You just don’t mess with Nana’s recipes.  But it’s a minimal amount of sugar. Shhhh! No one will know.  I could have taken the easy way out and used frozen crust. However, knowing this crew, I would never have lived it down. Being a baker and all. Nana  AND my brother  would have come back to haunt me. That, I don’t need, thanks. Bad enough my mother’s words slip out of my mouth on occasion and my father whispers in my ear.

It’s a basic crust recipe. The secret is, the butter has to be cold, and it has to be ICE water.  And forget the pastry blender, the knives, just use your damn hands, it’s easier.  Once the crust is in the fridge chilling, get to paring and slicing apples. 8+ cups worth (+ because deep dish).  It takes a while, but hey, the deer will eat good tonight.
So, the recipe*
Sugar Free Apple Pie
1/3 cup thawed apple juice concentrate
Sugar substitute equivalent to 8 teaspoons sugar
2 teaspoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Pastry for double-crust pie (9 inches) 
8 cups thinly sliced peeled tart apples
1 tablespoon butter

Combine the first four ingredients. Line pie plate with bottom crust; add apples. Pour juice mixture over apples; dot with butter. Roll out remaining pastry to fit top of pie; cut slits or an apple shape in top. Place over filling; seal and flute edges. Bake at 375° for 35 minutes. Increase oven to 400°; bake 15-20 minutes or until apples are tender. Yield: 8 servings.
1 slice: 337 calories, 17g fat (0 saturated fat), 0 cholesterol, 233mg sodium, 45g carbohydrate (0 sugars, 0 fiber), 2g protein.  1 slice: 337 calories, 17g fat (0 saturated fat), 0 cholesterol, 233mg sodium, 45g carbohydrate (0 sugars, 0 fiber), 2g protein. Diabetic Exchanges: 3 fat, 2 fruit, 1 starch.

Have your bottom crust ready in the pie plate (Nana’s deep dish pyrex, I tend to channel her when I get to baking like this). Have the top crust rolled out and ready to go. And so, mix the apple juice concentrate, sugar sub (I used baking Splenda), cornstarch, and cinnamon, whisk that mess up. Dump the apples carefully in the bottom crust and pile them up so they’re nicely mounded. Pour the mess you just whisked over them. Carefully would be my suggestion, if you don’t want to be cleaning it up off of the counter.  Dot with butter (I may or may not have used more than a tablespoon. OK, yea I did. So sue me.)

Cover the whole mess with the top crust. Fork the edges, twist them, flute them, do whatever you want to do to seal them. I did a flute-y  kind of thing. I swear one of these days I’m gonna try doing a braided edge. Could have latticed it but the apples were piled too high; it would have been a mess. Brushed it with milk for gentle browning. 

It looked dreadfully boring and I hate having to eat the leftover crust dipped in sugar, so I did the heart things. Cut out 8 hearts with a tiny heart cookie cutter from the leftover dough, dipped them in milk (dropped them in is more like it, as both sides needed to be coated, one side to stick to the pie, and the other to hold the sugar) Dipped one side in sugar and stuck them on the top crust. Sugar side up. 

Pressed them down a tiny bit so they stuck. Is that not adorable?  Cut 4 slits in the top to let the steam out (visions of apple pie explosion in my oven) and in the oven it goes. 
Bake as directed. Remove from oven. Let cool enough so it doesn’t burn your tongue if you try to eat it. Voila!  Le Apple Pie!

Serve warm with (no sugar added) vanilla ice cream or whipped cream. Or both. Whatever floats your boat. Personally I prefer it with chocolate ice cream. Don’t judge til you’ve tried it. 
The fact that we ate it while watching Stephen King's "Gerald's Game" (it had to be the scene where the dog was eating Gerald, right?) aside, this was not a horrible, no sugar apple pie. In fact, it was quite good, not too sweet, and absolutely no hint of fake sugar. I think the apple juice concentrate helped there quite a lot. Definitely a keeper, and oh hey, I have a ton more apples!


*Credit where credit is due: Recipe from “A Taste of Home”

"Gypsy" ~Fleetwood Mac~“So I’m back to the Velvet Underground
Back to the floor that I love
To a room with some lace and paper flowers
Back to the gypsy that I was
To the gypsy that I was”
~Stevie Nicks~

Not Your Mothers Meatloaf

Cheese Stuffed, Bacon Wrapped Meatloaf. No, this is not your mothers meatloaf.  This is rich, deliciously sinful meatloaf.  I have nothing against standard meatloaf. However sometimes you just need to kick it up a little. I have wanted to try this for a while, finally did. I added another twist and stuffed it with cheddar. Oh. My. God. There was some serious flavor bursts going on here.  I will admit I used bread crumbs instead of the rolled oats. Rolled oats and meatloaf…no. Just no.  I also may or may not have actually measured the Worcestershire and salt and pepper. Who ever does that anyway?? Oh, and I may have used one or two cloves of elephant garlic. Katie’s influence-there is no such thing as too much garlic. Perhaps some Herbs de Provence also. Oh, and the brown sugar, I used Splenda brown sugar because, you know, low carb. And, um, there may have been a full pound of apple smoked bacon involved. Apparently Katie’s influence carries over….she never, NEVER follows a recipe to the letter. She makes it her own. Not a bad thing.

SO. Once you get this thing wrapped and stuffed and baked, be sure to let it sit for AT LEAST 10 minutes, unless you want to lose all that melted cheese it’s stuffed with.  That is, if you went with the cheese stuffed alterative. To do that,  cram about two thirds of the meat mix into the loaf pan, mash down a trench right down the middle of it, to within about a half inch from the ends (I really wish I’d taken photos in process!) and fill it with slices of cheddar. Or American. Or whatever kind you prefer. I went with cheddar with the thought of the bacon in mind. It sort of complimented it, I think.   I would not use shredded, once it melts it may leave a space and then you would have a caved in mess, I think. I packed the cheese in there pretty good.  Once that’s done, take that other third or so of meatloaf mix and cover it up, mashing the edges so the cheese doesn’t leak out.
I cannot stress enough, LET IT STAND FOR AT LEAST 10-15 MINUTES BEFORE CUTTING.  I actually ended up wedging a towel under the pan at the cut end so the cheese wouldn’t ooze out.
The end result was amazing. The glaze was a tease of sweet against the savory of the cheese and and bacon, and the meatloaf itself. This one is another keeper, I believe I’ll be making it over and over again.

Bacon Wrapped Meatloaf*
Ingredients
2 lbs lean ground beef
1 cup onion, diced
½ cup green bell pepper, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
2 large eggs
½ Cup rolled oats
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
10-12 strips bacon

Ketchup glaze:
1/3 cup ketchup
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon paprika

Preheat oven to 350º F. Line a 9 x 5-inch loaf pan with slightly overlapping pieces of bacon.
In a medium-sized bowl, mash together beef, onions, bell pepper, garlic, Worcestershire sauce, eggs, oats, salt and pepper.
Spread 2 tablespoons of glaze over the bacon in the loaf pan.
Then press the meatloaf mixture into the pan.
Fold any overhanging bacon over the top of the loaf pan. Flip the loaf pan onto a baking sheet lined with foil or parchment paper. Carefully wrap the ends of the meatloaf with bacon as well, tucking the strips into the other pieces of bacon so it’s tight.
Bake meatloaf at 350º F for 50 minutes. Remove meatloaf, brush with ketchup glaze and return to oven for another 15-20 minutes. Finished meatloaf should have crispy bacon edges and reach an internal temperature of 165º F in the center of the meatloaf.
Let meatloaf rest for 10 minutes before slicing and serving.

Serving Size: 1 Serving
Calories – 320Calories from fat – 160
Total Fat – 18g
Saturated Fat – 7g
Trans Fat –1/2 g
Cholesterol – 125g
Sodium – 420g
Potassium – 400g
Total Carbohydrate – 13g
Dietary Fiber – 1g
Sugars – 7g
Protein – 26g

*Credit where credit is due: recipe from tablespoon.com
**Please note this is only if the recipe is followed exactly. That is, not counting the bread crumb/rolled oats exchange, the cheese, and the Splenda brown sugar sub. 

Of Birthdays and Love

She wasn't Lianna for long

How. Friggin. Cute.

Today I celebrate 26 years of joy.  What does one say about Katie… Born Lianna Caitlin after a hella long night in 1991, after, in fact, a hella long summer (I strongly advise NOT getting pregnant in December if your summers are hot and humid), a 7 lb. 7.5 oz. bundle of pure joy.  Lianna was my second choice. She would have been Brianna but, you know, that was just too Irish. And for what it's worth, I never even picked out a boys name, so sure was I.  I settled for Caitlin being her middle name just to get my Eire in there. 

With her Uncle Warren

And at two days old, on meeting her Uncle Warren, she was christened Katie forevermore. “We’ll call her Katie,” he said, “we need a Katie in the family.”  (consider yourself very lucky he said Katie, and not Kitty, after our paternal grandmother). Oh. Well ok.  To anyone who is baffled when they hear me call her Katie, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. We have issues with name confusion in my family. It’s tradition. My name isn’t really Tess, but that’s a story for another day. At the risk of sounding cliché, she was actually a good baby. And she spent at least two years attached to my hip. I’m not quite sure the separation is complete even now.  This kid started out so shy, so quiet, so damn adorable. She didn’t  often speak up, speak out, defend herself. I know!  Hard to believe for anyone who knows her now, right??  I have always encouraged her to be herself, to fight for what she believes in, to do what makes her happy. I distinctly remember the conversation about what to do when she grew up. “I don’t care if you flip burgers in McDonalds, if that’s what makes you happy. “ Well, she flipped cheesesteaks and grilled sandwiches and manages a cheese and spice market and private chefs  instead, but dammit, she’s happy. That’s. All. That. Matters.  And I have never been able to, still cannot to this day, resist the quiver chin. That’s the official name of it. The quivering of her chin that warns of heartbreaking tears not far away. She has done it since she was like a year and a half old. And still does. It’s friggin adorable. Why do I do what I do for this kid? Because I would do anything to see that contagious smile, pure joy, again.  (Sorry, Katie, I am dutybound to embarrass you. It’s my maternal right.)

 I’m not sure what happened to that shy kid.  She grew into a beautiful young lady, with a husband (who I grudgingly accept as family, since, you know, we’re kind of stuck with him now, and if he’s man enough to love my kid with all her quirks, well then, that’s enough for me. We won’t discuss the fact that he drives a Ford), a four legged furbaby, a home, and a good life. She’s found her voice, has, somewhere along the way, learned to speak out for what she believes, speak out for the injustices of the world, for equality.  She has learned responsibility and love and compassion. Her heart breaks for those not so fortunate, for people she does not even, and may never, know, and for those she does know.  

Sure, she has a dark sense of humour, a sarcastic streak (I take total credit for that. You’re welcome) but it’s what gets us through some dark times. In our family, there have been many dark times. 

We have had our disagreements, our bad times. There were times when divorce was going on and she hated me mostly, perfectly normal. I accept that, and I forgave her long ago.  There was that time that we didn’t speak for like 3 months, or 36 years, or whatever it was. But this bond runs deeper than that. We have truly become best friends in her old age. Yes I will mention Gilmore Girls because she is my Rory, I am her Lorelei.  I finish her sentences, at times there’s just no point talking because we both know how the conversation is gonna go. We have that thing, that thing where we can have a conversation, back and forth and no one listening has any clue what the hell we just said, but we know that we have just solved a major crisis.  When we order Chinese, it's half the menu, enough to feed a small army. She introduces me to new alternative music, I brought her up with classic rock. We went to the Muse concert, and we will go to see Patti Smith in Central Park. It’s what we do. Overnights in the city, road trips to New England, there is no better traveling partner (SO’s aside, of course).  She gets an itch for a road trip, my response is where to and whose Jeep should we take.  She has a bad week,  I tell her I’ve got cornstarch pudding – it’s one of her comfort foods. Holiday dinners,

Born decades too late...retrogirl.

my kitchen,  she cooks, I assist. And do the desserts. Because chefs don’t bake.  She gets an itch for a tattoo, I fire up Photoshop and ask her what she wants.

I’m not sure how I got so lucky, to have this kid in my life, but I do know that she has made my life better and possibly more interesting. I am quite sure I would be lost if she hadn't been here. She is not afraid to tell me when I'm wrong, to appreciate me when I'm right about her being wrong. She has been a challenge, a comfort, confidante, partner in crime, defender. She is, always will be my Katie, beautiful child, beautiful young lady, my best friend. 
Happy birthday to you, my baby, may your day be filled with love, life, laughter and happiness. And Lady Gaga at Citifield,  weather permitting. Perhaps for this one year, any random storm threats of the hurricane season will pass your birthday by.  Love you to the moon and back always <3
PS: this is payback for the HUGE oversized Mothers Day card that you actually FILLED with your tiny writing. I win.

Child of Mine ~ Carole King

Yup, that's my pride and joy right there!

Rit and Pickles

Sliced and ready

So today it’s crappy out.  A good day to do inside stuff.  Katie presented me with a recipe for bread & butter pickles courtesy of her boss. And said, “You HAVE to make these!”  Who am I to say no? We got Kirby cucumbers when we were out  east last weekend. You know, the miniature dwarf cucumbers.  Apparently specially geared  and destined to be pickled.

Cleaned them, sliced them, sliced the onion, threw them in a bowl (I could have used one of the crockery bowls I have downstairs and been thrown back immediately to the 1940’s, but I didn’t) with salt and ice cubes. And found myself idle for the next three hours while they…marinated? 

Marinating...I think?

However, never waste a minute, and all that. I decided to revive a dress that I’d gotten while thrifting, awesome little dress, drearily off white.  With pearl enhancements at the neck.  I  had the dye (Rit Violet. Or purple, maybe it was straight purple) Heated up the water (thought I could do it in the washing machine but, oh, front load. Not so much)  mixed in the dye – this isn’t so much different from baking, I’m thinking!  Wet the dress and threw it in. And stirred for a half hour. Working out pays off right there.  I gotta say, this dreary little dress came out amazing! It’s outside even as I speak, dripping leftover purple on the deck. Don’t worry, I’ll bring it in if the rain starts. 

A little Rit, a brand new dress!

But that detail, tho!

So after doing a little of this, a little of that, three hours later, I drained the cukes. And rinsed them. And drained them again. Had everything else mixed on the stove ready to go. I feel horrible. First time I ever used Mom’s “potato pot” for anything besides potato salad. I’m sure she’d understand. And likely be shocked that I actually am doing this. Boiled and stirred and poured them into jars. Done. Whoa. That was way too easy. I remember my grandmother boiling jars, covering the filled jars with wax to seal them.  Standing at the stove for, like, hours. That’s it?? They’re done?? Hmmm. Maybe I’m thinking of her making blackberry jelly. And I’m just not ready to go THERE yet.

So. These pickles. I’m not enthralled with the whole pickle thing. Kids who insist on drinking the pickle juice, I just don’t get it. However, I actually tasted one. Whoa, holy crap, it actually tastes like a legitimate bread and butter pickle!  Asked the fiancé to taste.  Knowing he is not enthralled with B & B pickles (he likes dill. I knew there was some reason we got along so well). Lo and behold, he actually LIKED them! And proceeded to quality check all 8 jars.

Pickling in process. I think.

Obligatory wide mouth funnel. 

And done!

So thank you, Patty, for sharing the recipe:
Bread And Butter Pickles
2 lbs. Kirby Cucumbers, scrubbed, ends trimmed, sliced crosswise ¼ inch thick
1 medium white onion, sliced ¼ inch thick
1 C. Ice cubes
2 Tblsp. Coarse salt
 2 C Apple cider vinegar
1 ½ C. Sugar
¾ tsp. Mustard seeds
½ tsp celery seeds
½ tsp. whole black peppercorns
¼ tsp. ground turmeric (I had fresh, go me!)

1.       In a large bowl, combine cucumbers, onion, ice cubes, and salt. Toss to combine. Let stand for 3 hours. Drain. Rinse well, and drain again.

2.       In a medium saucepan, combine vinegar, sugar, mustard seeds, celery seeds, peppercorns and turmeric. Bring to a boil. Add cucumber mixture, and return to a boil, stirring occasionally. (no hint about how long to boil and stir, however I did for a bit, until they turned from fresh cucumber green to, you know, that pickled looking color.)

3.       Ladle pickles into clean jars. Let stand until cool. Cover and store, refrigerated, for up to one month.

That being said, Katie, clean out your fridge and make room, your pickles are ready!

Skeletons

Thirty-something would be a hell of a time to find out you’re not who you thought you were.  It would change everything….yet it would change nothing. I guess that’s just how life rolls out for some people, for one girl…

Who grew up believing she was part of a family, wholly part of a family of certain descent, who was proud of whom she was, of the heritage, the history. And then one day for a brief few seconds, the bottom fell out of that world and she learned that it was not at all true, but only half true.  Nothing  changed…aside from losing half a family, a couple of siblings, which in the end was no great loss. There was no room for that particular negativity or unacceptance in this life. But the loss of half her history, well that was a nagging little detail. It hit hardest when it came to doctor visits. Is there any of this in your family, any of that….well, crap. She doesn’t even know now.  Nothing major here, just something that will effect generations forevermore. Move along.  People joke about the skeletons in the closet. God knows she has some, and has learned to get along with them. But this.  How does one dance with this one?   Just a small town girl…..especially when it turns out the whole town probably knew. Maybe that’s why they call them bedroom communities…she muses. 

 As time goes on, small things haunt her. The jokes about “the milkman”, the absolute conviction when she was 13 that she was adopted, HAD to be adopted, she wasn’t like the rest of them, the rebellious nature she couldn’t seem to let go of, the godfather she never knew, the unanswered questions. “There was a falling out”…what does that even mean to a child who’s looking for answers? The truth always comes out in the end, no matter who tries to hide it, or how. There is always some little tell, some little glitch that brings it on. Like when some people know the truth and it causes them to go a little bit insane with vengeance, threatening to spill it. Like when some people know the truth and go a little bit insane because the truth is not the lies they’ve been living. Oh what a tangled web we weave….better to tell the truth than to try to create an alternate reality of lies upon lies, bury oneself in them, suffocate under the weight. I suppose there was no really good time for that girl to find out the truth, not when she was living the lie so well, despite not knowing it was a lie. But maybe it’s just one more step to being stronger, being more proud of who she was.  Maybe after so long it really didn’t matter anymore.  Maybe her life was her truth, and having lived it a certain way, maybe  nothing else mattered, but to be proud of who she’d become, independent of anyone or anything else.

A Beautiful Lie~Thirty Seconds To Mars

Lie awake in bed at night
And think about your life
Do you want to be different?
Try to let go of the truth
The battles of your youth
'Cause this is just a game

It's a beautiful lie
It's a perfect denial
Such a beautiful lie to believe in
So beautiful, beautiful it makes me

It's time to forget about the past
To wash away what happened last
Hide behind an empty face
Don't ask too much, just say
'Cause this is just a game

It's a beautiful lie
It's a perfect denial
Such a beautiful lie to believe in
So beautiful, beautiful it makes me

Lie...
Beautiful...

Everyone's looking at me
I'm running around in circles, baby
A quiet desperation's building higher
I've got to remember this is just a game

So beautiful, beautiful...

It's a beautiful lie
(Beautiful, beautiful)
It's a beautiful lie
(Beautiful, beautiful)
It's a beautiful lie
(Beautiful, beautiful)

It's a beautiful lie
It's a perfect denial
Such a beautiful lie to believe in
So beautiful, beautiful it makes me

The Right Thing

Where do I begin….
I have spent the last two weeks working, Working and thinking and trying to figure out if I’m doing the right thing. And trying to convince myself that my job matters, that it’s worth it, that anyone really cares if these things get done or not. Trying to make this stuff matter, knowing that there is so much that matters more.
This is the story of a girl….a fragile, yet strong girl who came fighting into this life, who I have watched grow and blossom and shoulder too much, far too much for her age.  I have dried her tears every time she has had to leave me,  I have rejoiced in her innocence, her smile, her laughter, I have had my heart broken by her sad, sad eyes at times.  What do you do when faced with a choice to try to help the hopeless or save the innocent? What is the right thing to do when you are trashed and attacked for the umpteenth time in this vicious cycle of mental torture, and you have a chance to save at least one of the victims. At least one.
The choice is clear. I know now that I cannot save the attacker. That ship has sailed, it’s beyond my power as matriarch, mother or friend to do anything to change it.  But the child who is no longer a child, the innocent victim who longs only for a normal happy life after too many years of conflict, too many years of carrying the responsibilities that never should have been hers.  She is the victim in this, she needs us,  needs shelter and protection and unconditional love.  And so we have spent the last two weeks doing just that. Discussing her future, college. We took her out east to the farm stands, to lunch, took her to her first concert, we let her be who she is. This beautiful young lady who still loves Disney, yet watches NCIS and Law and Order.  We crammed all of the unconditional love and support and encouragement we possibly could in to these days with her, and tried to teach her to rise above the adversity, rise above the attacks, walk away from the toxicity and never, never let it destroy her.  In all of the insecurity and confusion, I can only hope that we have become an island of serenity and security for her, a safe place where we will not tolerate anyone hurting her like that ever again, where we can do our best to fade the memory of the cruel words and names that were hurled at her out of anger, out of jealousy, out of rage.  That we can be here for her always to come home to, always to count on, always to trust not to use or abuse her, not to steal from her or con her, but to be her family, because that’s what we are. Unconditionally accepting, loving, supporting this beautiful girl, and helping her to grow into the best young lady that she can be. I know I made the right decision, it’s what my parents would have done. In different ways, in a different time, it’s what they did.  Stepping in when I faltered, when I was unsure, offering security where I was unsure.

Offering love when I was hating myself and my life. They let me sort out my own demons, but saw to it that my kids were secure. What comes around goes around, and history does repeat.  In this, I will try to break the cycle, try to give this beautiful young lady a positive path to follow, the foundation that she should have had all along, and the common sense to rise above and shine, despite the demons, despite the hurt, despite the sorrow and loss. She does not have to fight the demons alone, she does not have to wallow in the past. Never again..

This is the story of a girl

Who cried a river and drowned the whole world

And while she looks so sad in photographs

I absolutely love her

When she smiles...

~Absolutely by Four Years Strong~