The Sniff Test

I was thinking with my nose recently. I am visiting Battle Creek, Michigan, home of Kellogg Company - the Cereal City. On Monday morning I stepped out of my hotel and the smell hit me. It was like something wonderful baking. I was pretty sure my grandma was lurking nearby, pulling a pan of something golden and toasty out of someone's oven. Except for the fact that it was raining, I wanted to stand and inhale deeply...many times.

When I entered the Kellogg Company headquarters, the smell disappeared. I had nearly forgotten it when I left the building that afternoon, but there it was again. Stop, take a deep breath. A flood of memories, all linked to baked goods. The feeling was so overpowering, I ran into the nearest coffee shop and bought a pumpkin scone to savor on the trip home.

Smell can be a powerful force. It can trigger deep, strong memories and emotions without warning. I remember a stay at the Koehler resort in Wisconsin a few days before Christmas. The weather was strange - no snow, just an annoying drizzle. We checked in, then started across the courtyard to our room. Again - stand and inhale. This time, though, I breathed the intoxicating nectar that is cocoa. By the time we unpacked our bags, I was gripped by a craving for chocolate. We sought out the concierge to find out where the chocolatier was that was creating these wonderful aromas. He looked puzzled for a moment, then his face lit up. There was no chocolatier (rats!) but the gardener had just mulched the plantings in the courtyard with cocoa husks, the waste by-product of making chocolate. Alors! I was desolate...and desperate! Chocolate! I must have chocolate! Fortunately, it was the holiday season at a resort. I didn't have to venture too far to find some, but it was far inferior to what my imagination conjured up, based on the musky smell.

Think about it. What smells jog your mind or emotions? Does the smell of chlorine bring back memories of swim classes, or your mom doing laundry? What about the smell of baking or toasting bread? Fresh herbs? I can't just use fresh herbs when I cook - I must thrust my face into the leafy greenness and breathe. I can't walk past a pot of lavender without running my fingers through it like I was tousling my little boy's hair, then holding my hands to my face with a goofy smile, I'm sure.

You know what? I was going to talk about how bad smells can be equally compelling, but I won't. I'm having too much fun with the good stuff. What about bubble gum - the old Bazooka eraser-pink hunk o'stuff? or face powder - does it make you think of a favorite aunt? Mmmmm...

So this afternoon I pulled back into Battle Creek and when I opened the car door, I stopped and inhaled for a moment. Yes, I'm sure grandma is here somewhere, and I'm getting hungry again. I love this town!

Julie & Julia & Me

Yesterday I saw the movie Julie & Julia, the story entwining the lives of Julia Child, renowned American French chef (I mean, an American who was schooled in French cooking methods) and Julie Powell, a writer who never got off the ground until she decided to cook her way through Mrs. Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year, and blog about it. Julie was successful, in the cooking and the blogging and, eventually, the book.

The movie made me think about the types of work that really make me happy - cooking and writing. I have considered going to cooking school. The more I learn about cooking, the more I realize I don't know. That doesn't bother me, it excites me. It means there is so much I can learn.

As a cook, I am self-taught, including cooking shows and websites and books and just plain experimentation. My husband encourages me, because in almost 29 years of marriage, there have been only, by his count, two meals that were inedible, and neither of us remember them. There have been many good and a fair number of great meals, though, so I guess I'm still on the plus side.

There's something freeing about cooking for me. Often, I decide on the fly what I'm going to cook, and it changes as I go. I may stand in front of the pantry or the freezer, pondering the contents - what's there that I've forgotten about? Can I do something interesting with this? Hmmm...

When things don't work as planned, no worries. Sometimes I'm the only one who knows. My mom taught me that there are never lumps in the gravy, but there may be dumplings! If the sauce doesn't thicken, then call it au jus. As long as it is (1) not raw, unless that's the proper state in which to serve an item, (2) not burnt, unless you are torching a brulee, (3) hasn't been dropped on the floor, unless you are Julia Child - then serve it with your head held high!

Over time, I have developed a few fail-safe classics - tomato basil bisque (I know, it's technically not a bisque unless it contains seafood), pears poached in red wine (and its summer cousin, peaches poached in white wine), pasta with fresh vegetables and garlic, marinated flank steak. In fact, I always - I mean ALWAYS - keep canned diced tomatoes, fresh basil, minced garlic, evaporated milk and good Parmesan cheese on hand. You never know when you might need to whip up a pot of tomato bisque for unexpected guests!

Alright, I've convinced myself. I'll sign up for a knife skills class at the local cooking school. Let's take it one step at a time and see where this leads. I won't be dedicating my life to cooking my way through the recipe collection of, say, Alton Brown - that schtick has been done. But I may wax poetic about my culinary successes, and I'll share my failures, with a modicum of humor and a dash of salt.

And now, I'm hungry!

Post-Walk Reflections

It's been a few weeks since the Breast Cancer 3-Day Walk. My blisters have healed as time has passed. I realize I need to record my thoughts about the event before time further gets away from me.

I walked further this year. I completed 50 of the 60 miles - a new record for me. Seventeen miles on day one, 19 on day two and 14 on day three. I could have done all 17 on day three, except the bone in my right foot (the fifth metatarsal, which has been broken three times and repaired with a screw) began to hurt early in the day. I jumped on a bus to rest the foot and resumed walking after lunch.

I met some wonderful people. Even with over a thousand participants, plus many volunteers, it's surprising how often you cross paths with the same people over the course of three days and 60 miles. Friendly walkers would pause to chat as they passed by me (everyone passed me by - I told people I walk slowly so they will feel like they are going fast).

Best t-shirt of the event. Hands down, the prize (which consists solely of my admiration) goes to the breast cancer survivor with whom I dined Friday evening. Her shirt read: "No, they're not real. The real ones tried to kill me." Last year's award went to a man with "Does this fanny pack make my butt look big?" on the back of his shirt.

Least favorite t-shirts. I'm sure it's just me, but I don't particularly like the team names and t-shirt slogans that use slang names for breasts. I grew up hearing these words as derogatory terms and to me they still sound like insults.

Favorite time at camp. It was wonderful to get mail at camp. Last year I didn't know people could send you mail until I got to camp. This year I made sure my loved ones got the mailing instructions. I got six cards and letters, which cheered me on and kept me going.

Least favorite time at camp. So I've just walked about 20 miles. Now I have to hydrate and refuel, then shower. The camp was set up with the various facilities at a significant distance from each other. Things seemed further away this year, and for someone with arthritis, walking 20 miles was enough. There were times I wanted to go to the 3-Day Cafe or the vendor tents, but just could not walk any more. Golf carts???

Favorite time on the walk itself. Knowing that someone you know will be waiting for you at a cheering station is incredible motivation to keep moving. My wonderful family and friends waited for me in sun and heat at four different sites on days two and three. Seeing them brought me to tears more than once.

Least favorite time on the walk. Rain! We started days one and three in the rain. It was funny, though, to see the lengths to which walkers went to keep their feet dry. I saw women with the tops of their shoes and socks sealed with duct tape, with their feet encased in plastic bags (inside their shoes), with plastic bags tied around their ankles. Me? I just walked and made sure to put on dry socks at midday.

This was a great experience. I honestly don't know if I can do it again next year. The physical toll on my body - the exhaustion, the joint pain - was pretty heavy. But I won't rule it out yet. I walked in honor and memory of a number of women - friends and the friends and relatives of friends. I was a walking memorial, and there's something holy about that. Few things in our lives can be seen that way. I will cherish the memories and the names.

The Eve of the Walk

I should be asleep. It's after midnight - any sane person would be asleep, knowing she has to get up at 4:45 a.m. Knowing a full day of grueling exertion, walking 22 miles of concrete - the first leg of 60 total miles - awaits.

But I am awake, thinking of the first day of the Breast Cancer 3-Day, starting in the morning. I'm thinking of the women on my honor roll: friends and friends of friends, all facing breast cancer or surviving it or losing the fight. I've lost track of how many names are lettered on the sash I will wear - there must be 16 or 18 by now.

I keep repacking my gear, trying to weed out anything superfluous, winnowing down the weight of my duffel. I lay in bed and close my eyes. Instead of drifting off to sleep, though, I review the contents of my belt pack. Can I fit one more necessity in it? Is the disposable poncho good enough if it rains? Did I remember to pack sunscreen? Insect repellent? Ibuprofen?

My husband, my soul mate, is sleeping in the next room, breathing softly. He has supported my strongly held belief that I must walk this 60-mile trek again, raising money for breast cancer research, raising awareness and educating women and men about this horrid killer. I am very close to my personal fundraising goal...but just how close does that take us to a cure and prevention?

The task is daunting...progress is slow, but there is progress being made. What can I do, besides raising money? I can learn and I can share what I learn. So here's what I know:

• Nearly 200,000 women and 2,000 men will be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2009
• Over 40,000 women and 440 men will die of breast cancer this year
• Breast cancer is the most common form of cancer among African-American, Chinese, Japanese, Korean and Filipino women
• The two most important factors risk factors for breast cancer are being a woman and getting older
• Men with breast cancer often get treatment at later stages than women because they are less likely to report symptoms immediately, and this can affect their survival

Please learn about your risk and the signs and symptoms of breast cancer. Then share what you learn with your family members and friends. And if you can, please make a donation, however large or small, by clicking the pink box at the right or visiting http://www.the3day.org/goto/connie.walks. I know we'll all sleep better at night.

The Joys of Being Owned by a Cat

We didn't see ourselves as cat owners. When we said a final goodbye to our dear canine friend last fall, my husband and I agreed to wait before bringing another pooch into our lives. We said we would wait until we had completed the three trips we had scheduled in the winter and spring, and then we'd see.

Then my friend's cat got sick while my friend was out of state, so we took Sabrina in and nursed her back to health. When it came time to send Sabrina back home, we had a tough time giving her up and our lives were a little less full.

So we put the word out to our friends at Love-A-Stray that we would consider rescuing a cat, but not just any cat. We wanted a female, spayed, front-declawed (please, no lectures) with a warm and snuggly personality. It wasn't long before such a kitty was found, and we had a new critter in our home.

Belle - her name was Jingle Bells, but that wasn't going to fly - rules our roost. Fortunately, she has decided - for now - to let us stay here too. She talks to me constantly, squeaking and chirping and meowing. She expects a dollop of wet food every evening and will chew me out if I'm late. She is fascinated by our bedroom, where she is not allowed, and plots how she will sneak in. She also plots how she will sneak out into the garage. It's not that she's trying to run away, it's just that she's not allowed, which makes it more attractive to her.

Belle especially likes to curl up on my lap and stare into my face. She's completely entranced with the laser pointer. She also likes the stick with the feathers and streamers and will carry it around with her, much like a dog.

Our lives have changed so much, but it feels so right to have a pet again. The house doesn't feel empty, I have someone to talk to (and who talks back), and Belle clearly dotes on me. At least she has good taste! She's a messy eater who hates to get to the bottom of the bowl, and given the chance, she will drink from the toilet. Other than that, we're delighted to have Belle in our lives.

Thinking about getting a pet? Please consider rescuing an animal through Love-A-Stray: Click here for more information.

Cutting the cord

So today we cut the cord...literally. We no longer have a landline - a standard telephone line - in our home. This has been coming for a while. We keep expanding our mobile services, relying more and more on the little hand-held device that is so addicting.

Then one day we realize that the only calls we get on the landline are solicitations - sales, charitable organizations, political canvassers...and my mother. For this we pay $45 a month?

Now that I thnk of it, my son has never had a landline since he went away to college and then moved on to real life. If he can do it, why not me?

Our phone service was bundled with cable and internet service. I was warned "That's what keeps your rate so low. If you 'unbundle,' the prices for the other services will go up." Imagine my pleasant surprise at our new rate without phone and dropping a few cable services we pay for but don't use. The bill dropped by about $80. Wow - I can think of a few other things I can do with the money!

So I called my folks and told them to please use my mobile number. Right away, dad calls the landline and notices that the voicemail is still intact. He also calls back, worried that I have forgotten and put my old landline number on the resumes I am sending out in my job search. I reassure him that I have thought of that and am okay. "Just looking out for you," he says.

So I'll pack up the phones and put them away for now. Let's see how we do with completely mobile communications. We may never go back.

Diary of an unemployed writer

Monday - first thing this morning I got the news: I've been RIF'd. Thank you, it's been fun, here's your box. No hurry. Take time to say goodbye, hugs all around, but be gone by the end of the day. I call my husband, my son. I go to lunch with a co-worker who is retiring at the end of the month. We commiserate about what to do next over wine and pasta. We laugh - drinking at lunch and back to the office! What are they going to do - fire us?

At home we sit down with the bills, analyze our income, the small severance amount, our meager savings. How long can we subsist on one income and unemployment? What bills can we trim, what extravagances can we do without? Time for an honest appraisal. I am giddy with weak gallows humor. I practice saying "Would you like fries with that?"

Unemployment, day one. Thought I would sleep in, but my internal alarm wakes me at 6 a.m. Showered and dressed (no jeans!), have breakfast while reading the paper. I can't believe we put the Sunday classifieds out with the recyclables on the tree lawn! Set up the home office, the dedicated email account. Call the outplacement company. The return call is from a former co-worker from the 1990's! It's a small world after all. They can't get me into the program until the middle of next week, so I'm on my own until then. Cancel the fitness membership - walk for free or workout for $45 a month? No brainer. Also cancel the holiday weekend at Put-in-Bay and save about $500. Looks like we'll stay home, grill some burgers, maybe paint the bathroom. Whoopie! Eating at home saves money but more work. I start straightening and cleaning - not going crazy, just doing a couple of things like mopping the kitchen floor, clearing the kitchen counters. Bake some cookies - chocolate chip/pecan.

Unemployment, day two. File for unemployment - online, while on a conference call for a volunteer organization. Everyone shares their concerns and best wishes. Start a list of each call and e-mail contact I make, with notes for following up. Update my resume - takes me forever to figure out where I saved it from the last time. Well wishes continue to pour in from colleagues, relatives. Cancel the land line phone, which we had planned to do for weeks but never got around to it. Reduce our cable TV services. Never watch it anyway. Clean some more - scrub fingerprints from door frames and light switch plates. I now know what my cat does all day...sleep in my desk chair. She insists on sharing it with me, squirming between my back and the chair back, pushing until I scoot to the edge of the chair. Well, one of us was comfortable. I struggle to print business cards and waste most of the card stock because I can't get Publisher to adjust properly. I get twenty nice cards and a stack of off-center ones that I will reserve for updating family with my new address, and maybe for dropping into "free lunch" jars at restaurants. Go to dinner with friends, using a coupon to save $5. More where that came from.

Unemployment, day three. My cat now thinks I will be here every day. It is no longer a novelty to have me around, and she is bored with me. There's a professional association luncheon today, so I dress up, taking care with hair and makeup. Except only about 20 people show up because of the holiday this weekend. Still, I pass out a bunch of the few perfect cards from last night (and get a compliment on how well-designed they are!). Get a spam e-mail for a scam headhunter web site - Google it and delete it. Apply for my first opening since losing the job. Receive career advice from half a dozen people, most of it conflicting: Target large corporations; no, target small companies; no, target non-profit organizations. Hang out your own shingle. Take on freelance work. Take some time off and relax, but don't waste any time in this economy. Hold out for the money, perks, title, whatever; no, settle for less and you can work your way back up. Leftovers for dinner - getting two meals out of last night's dinner. I hate leftovers.

Everyone marvels at how calm and self-assured I seem, but in reality, doubts linger. I hear of people out of work for years. No medical insurance for years, forgoing needed treatment for serious conditions. I start to think about looking for work teaching cooking or selling fabric and crafts...and it's only day three! Good grief!

I promise not to turn this blog into a day-by-day, blow-by-blow description of the ups and downs of job hunting. Hell, even I wouldn't read that. Three days of self-pity is enough. Let's move on.