Well hello my little troublemakers. Hope you are having a great day. Here is this week’s scary movie. It’s called Attack of the Giant Leeches,and its subject matter is pretty self-explanatory. Hope you enjoy it.
Now let’s all try to keep our clothes on out there.
I used to have this theory about adulthood, that you aren’t actually a for-keeps, responsibility-driven, “adult” until one or two things happened.
It was a convenient theory because the day after my eighteenth birthday I moved to New York, three thousand miles away from anyone I knew. Normally, this would have the event that triggered entrance to the world of “adults,” but I wasn’t ready to claim that title and its attendant responsibilities (Who is at eighteen?). So, I crafted a sort of bill-paying, binge-drinking, working full-time and going to school full-time pseudo-adolescence for myself. It carried me through conservatory, college and almost a full year out in “the real world.” I could fuck-up (within reason) all I wanted because this was not yet my Official Adult Life. Nothing counted, yet. Given the fact that I was committed to never having children and my mom was still young, I thought this maturing theory would give me a couple decades of freedom.
Then, one spring night, my forty-four year old mother had a massive brain hemorrhage.
Looking back it’s insane that we all didn’t see it coming. Well, no, correction, I DID see something coming. She was having at least one nosebleed a day paired with crippling headaches and she kept going to the same doctor and urgent care provider who told her one ridiculous tale after another. My mom is a head-in-the-sand kind of lady, so she never sought out a second opinion. We had a huge fight about it, about two weeks before the stroke. But, like most fights between mothers and daughters, nothing was resolved.
I was in D.C. when it happened. I traveled for work and instead of going all the way home to Seattle, I decided to stay and spend the weekend catching up with some college friends. We got stunningly drunk. I made it back to my hotel room around three or four in the morning. Just as my beginning-to-pound head touched the pillow, my phone, that was on the desk, on other side of the room, began to ring. Before I could even make the decision to ignore it, I was asleep.
Two hours later it rang again.
Through the thick, pain-soaked, ears ringing haze I sensed the doom that goes along with all late night phone calls. I drug myself across the room to answer. It was my uncle’s voice, telling me to get home as soon as possible, the ER doctors couldn’t stop the bleeding and that my mom was probably going to die. Soon. My family is nothing if not blunt.
I could write several separate pieces about everything that happened in the next ninety minutes. How to arrange grieving flight travel. How to deal when the guy you’re dating, who is in the place you’re going, refuses to just pick you up at the airport and drop you off at the hospital so your family can stay put, because he has Laker’s tickets. How to not curl into a ball on the dirty hotel carpet and cry until you pass out. How to manage all of this when you have The Worst Hangover You Have Ever Had In Your Life.
I made it in time. D.C to L.A. in about eight hours door-to-door and my mom was still alive. My grandma and I lived in the ICU for the next few days. There are so many things about strokes you don’t know about until they hit you in the face. One of the big ICU recovery benchmarks after a stroke is a “swallow test.” My grandma and uncle abandoned ship. They couldn’t deal with seeing mom possibly choke on some water. It was just me, her, the nurse and about a gallon of my terror-induced sweat.
She drifted in an out of consciousness for the next few days. The only person she recognized in midst of her delirium was my grandma. That was fine with me. I don’t think I could have dealt with my mom calling out to me for help. It was bad enough being the unspoken point person.
Things improved steadily within the next ten days, except that her entire right side was paralyzed. Two different rehab centers, thousands of hours of therapy and time have not significantly improved the situation. She can walk short distances with a cane and take care of almost everything herself inside the house, but she is disabled, confined mostly to a wheelchair, and probably will be for the rest of her life.
There is only about a twenty year age difference between my mom and I. This seems astronomical when you are five, not so much when you are twenty-four. I love and like her dearly. This is a very good thing because she (and my grandma) will be living with me, within three or four years of my graduation from law school, for the rest of their lives.
I can count on one hand the years left of my life where I can just float around, sleep late, bring men home, study whenever I want, come home late, hell, just BE alone whenever and for however long I want. It’s like knowing almost the exact date you will one day wake up instantly married with kids.
I don’t mean to sound bitter; it’s just overwhelming to see it in writing. Mostly because, while I am a Type-A, obsessive compulsive, I am also a free spirit. I never planned to “settle down.” I loved being able to pick up and run back and forth across the country. I had hopes of being able to run across the world a few times. Sure, it still could happen, but it will require a lot more planning than just popping over to the North Face store for a large backpack.
However, the worst moment of my life was thinking I was going to be on some stupid fucking airplane when my mom died. I consider everything that isn’t that, the last three years of adjusting, the next decade of planning (and more adjusting), my accelerated membership into adulthood, all a fair trade for the continued presence in my life of the woman who regularly emails me pictures of baby koalas.
Seriously? Look at that! That is totally worth all the yelling at real-estate agents I’m going to have to do in Seattle, land of hills and stairs. ” What part of “HANDI-CAP ACCESSIBLE” do you not understand?! I’m not paying you a commission to show me fucking stairs!”
Sup Crasstalk? Having a great day? You better be because The Grand Inquisitor demands that you do so. So get to it. Let’s have some adult cartoons this week to get us in the weekend mood.
Have a great day.
Ask almost anyone what their favourite food was when they were a child, and chances are, they can give you an immediate answer. Because I love food and am indecisive, my answer would probably be a mixture of foods Momma DS used to make for me- grilled cheese, banana slices in milk for breakfast, Kraft Dinner, sliced cucumbers soaked in salt and vinegar, Chocolate chip cookies made so many times mom and I no longer needed to look at the recipe… and Mushroom Chicken Rice.
Of all the foods mom made for us, this one has remained both my brother’s and my favourite food that reminds us of our childhood. As well, this recipe is my go-to meal when I want plenty of leftovers for work lunches. (Ok, breakfast too. I love leftovers for breakfast!) Mom’s recipe was simpler than the 0ne I now use, but no less delicious. I’ve modified it over the years through trial and error, before finally settling upon this particular method.
I tend to eye-ball it when making recipes, but I will do my best to break everything down into measurable quantities.
Ingredients:
1 big-ass casserole dish. Mine is big enough to bake a chicken in. I don’t know the actual dimensions.
3 cups of Minute Rice (I never said this was fancy food!)
6 (or so) cans of Campbells Mushroom soup (I’ve tried no name brands, but don’t like the taste. If you have a canned version you prefer over mine, go nuts.)
A package of chicken thighs (6 or so?). My mom used chicken breasts, but I find then too dry for my tastes. Again, if you prefer white meat, feel free to substitute it in.
Salt, Pepper, Cayenne Pepper for a bit of heat.
Oven temperature: 350 or so.
Lets get cooking!
First of all, I was a dunce and bought chicken thighs with the bone in. If you did too, go ahead and carve those suckers out. 
Next, you’ll want to cook the rice. I usually make about 3 cups of Minute Rice.
(3 cups of rice, 3 cups of water, dash of salt and a little bit of margarine in the water.) I tend to add more rice than water so it comes out firm- that way, it will absorb some of the mushroom soup while baking. I usually add an extra handful, or about 3/4 cup.
While I am waiting for the rice to absorb it’s water, I cook the chicken. This was the first time I used chicken thighs, and I was pleased with how they turned out. It doesn’t matter if the skins are left on or off. I left them on just to experiment, but to make the dish a bit healthier I would remove them next time. Season the raw meat with a bit of salt n’ pepper, and fry then up in a hot pan greased with a bit of EVOO (Extra Virgin Olive Oil) till they are cooked through. Remove from pan and set side.
To save doing extra dishes, I empty out the cooked rice into the casserole dish I plan to bake the food in, Using the now empty pot, I empty my cans of mushroom soup into it and heat the soup over medium until it starts to become hot and runny, stirring often so the bottom doesn’t burn. I don’t add water or milk because it isn’t necessary, and would only dilute the flavour. I season the soup-goop mixture with a dash of salt (1/2 a teaspoon maybe?), a bunch of black pepper and a generous shake of cayenne pepper to give the recipe a bit of kick, without being spicy.
Now is the time to add the rice back into the soup. I cook the mixture for a few minutes, just so it’s all mixed together.
I spray my empty baking dish with a light coating of cooking spray, and spoon in a small layer of the rice mixture till the bottom is covered.
Next, I layer the cooked chicken pieces around the dish, and cover it with the remaining soup/rice mixture. Sometimes I’ll add an extra can of mushroom soup to the top of the casserole to make it extra delicious- the soup looses some of it’s moisture while baking and turns into a nice, creamy sauce.
I put the cover on the dish and bake it at around 350 F for about 45 minutes- just long enough for
The rice to absorb some of the soup, but not so long that the edges begin to get crispy and dehydrated. You never want to cook it so long that the layer of soup on top evaporates- that top layer of soup is my favourite part.
Now it’s time to eat! This dish is so easy to make as a side or vegetarian- just reduce the proportions and leave out the chicken.
Enjoy!
