Chicken and Sponge

When Long-Distance Partners Are Reunited

Oh, my!  Not exactly the honeymoon, or the second honeymoon, suite, is it?  Please, please, believe me, I swear, that this is actually much worse than usual.  And if the mess isn't enough to derail a second honeymoon, that body in the bed is our child.

Well, it was wonderful to have Mick at home, even though it was only for ten days.  It was a happy reunion and a sad parting.  In between, save for intimate details that no one wants shared, was A LOT of exhausting work.

Case in point, that mess in the picture up above.  We used to have an ugly, awkward, monstrosity of an entertainment center in our bedroom.  Not something we bought, but had gained and had decided to make use of, even though we both kind of despised it.  The dresser in the above picture had once belonged to my dad, definitely the best piece of furniture we own ( no time to attach the mirror before Mick had to leave), even if not to our personal taste.  When our belongings from Alaska arrived, we decided to bring in the dresser and banish the entertainment center to the shop.  Much easier said than done.

We tackled this chore on the Saturday before Mick left.  Because of all our earlier activities, this was more a testament to our strength of will, than our physical strength.  But I must say, thank you, God, for making my husband freakishly strong.

Mick, in his sexy, super-strength, reading glasses is beginning to be a common occurrence.  I think the man finally needs regular bi-focals, but being both stubborn and cheap, not to mention prone to misplacing small objects, like say, uh glasses, he'll probably stick with just wearing his reading glasses of various strengths for years to come.  What I love about Mick is that he is so self-confident, he has no self-consciousness AT ALL about these glasses.

As you can see from the above picture, Mick is holding his beloved chain saw.  He must have missed it while in Pelican, and was just forced by circumstances to split all the wood he and Jon worked up.  I had been watching the little advertising paper we get for firewood ads for awhile now.  We have a wood stove, evidenced by large burn marks in our carpet ( and boy, is that another story), and it helps greatly with our natural gas bill if we regularly burn wood.

When one drives around Oregon, or anywhere else in the Northwest, one will see massive quantities of fallen trees EVERYWHERE.  And it brings to mind that saying, "water, water, everywhere and not a drop to drink".  No one will let you gather that wood.  Not anyone.  It can be on public land and just forget it.  Liability.  Vandalism.  Potential profit.

So people have to buy their wood, one way or another.  The cheapest we've seen was $150 a cord, on up to $220 a cord.  That better be pretty L.L. Bean wood for that price.  Mick's sister Cheryl had needed a few trees thinned out last year, and will need a few more this year, but that is about it for free wood.  Then we saw the add.  $60 a cord--U-cut.  Marvelous.

Mick enjoys getting wood, the sawing, the hauling, the splitting, the whole deal.  I'm not sure what is wrong with him but I think it relates to testosterone.  Now, I don't mind getting wood.  I enjoy being outside and a little hard work never hurts anyone, does it?

Oh, my God!  The pain...Mick's brother Randy brought over his trailer for us to use.  It can hold two cord.  We planned to get six cord and leave the trailer loaded for Randy.  By the way, sorry, Randy.  Ambitious plans, out-of-shape back.

Here we are, just getting started.  This is the point where Mick realized that he didn't bring a wrench or a screw driver and is trying to make some flimsy little metal clip/ piece of junk work for him.  It's also the point where I realized that we'd left the house without ANY water.

The area we were in was beautiful.  The weather was in the low 70s.  And I became very aware of what not exercising for six weeks does to a person--nothing  good.  The good news was, the logs had all been pulled right up next to the road, so it was very easy to work on.  Besides all the other things we forgot, we also forgot a tape measure, but managed to saw a thick stick to the right length so that everything Mick cut would fit in our stove without having to be cut again.

He couldn't understand why I didn't want to hold that stick for him as he made the cut marks in the logs over and over again.  I don't know, call me picky, but there's just something irritating about having a chain saw by my ear and sawdust flying into my eyes and down my shirt, front and back.  Mick held the stick himself.

My job was to carry and stack.  Over and over and over again.  I haven't decided if this is a good job or a bad job for a fat person.  A good job if one eats salad.  A bad job if one feels compelled to go eat a huge juicy burger when done.

Then there was the danger element.  It's a good thing that I know Mick loves me.  But in his boundless enthusiasm he almost took me out, more than once.  It was almost as if he were bowling and I was the pin.  I'm still trying to decide if this tender spot on my left temple was due to a wood mishap, and I'm just concussed and don't remember, or if I had some other sort of accident that now totally escapes my memory.  The bruises on arms and legs I just contribute to carrying the wood.

So, Thursday ended and we were exhausted and dehydrated, but two cords richer.  Mick split the wood on Friday as I stacked it in the shed.  His splitting ability amazes me.  He's so good at it that there's no need for me to even try.

We returned for another two cord on Saturday morning.  This time we brought his tool, water, and some oranges that tasted more like lemons.  It went more smoothly.  Less damage done to the wife.  But I kind of felt like I'd been hit by a train anyway.  In any case, it was going to be a total of four cords and not six.  No time, no stamina.  Maybe this fall.  After I recover.

We decided to unload the trailer the following day, Mick's last day at home.  But there were still other major tasks that required Mick's help, and if I didn't have it, I'd just have to wait until he comes home this fall, or winter, or whenever he gets to come home again.  Namely, we had bedroom furniture to remove and more to move in.

I am 5 foot 4.  Mick is 6 foot 3.  I don't know what the difference in our reach is, but it had better be considerable or one of us looks really weird.  Furniture is easier to manipulate with someone of similar size.  But that just wasn't an option.  I didn't have enough crap cleared out the day Randy came to visit to have him help Mick.  That just left me.  With a punky hamstring (but doing so much better now), and a chronically bad back.  Oh, and a bad shoulder, weak wrists, and my thumb joints seem to be deteriorating.  Poor Mick is married to a mess.

To make the ordeal as much fun as possible, our two-wheeler has a completely flat tire and inner tube.That almost made me cry.

The most direct route was in and out of our back master bedroom door, even though it meant squeezing past the hot tub, you know, the broken one.  This required Mick moving the hot tub lid out of the way.  It had been propped against the side of the tub.  The hot tub is looking pretty ugly because some of the outer boards of the surround had been removed to try and find a pesky leak in the hoses.  There just hasn't been time to fix or build a new surround.  I'll put that on Mick's list.

So we're moving this ridiculously heavy furniture, and we're ridiculously lop-sided because of our height and strength difference, and as we are squeezing past the hot tub with me containing my whimpers and grunts, a swarm of angry hornets come charging out of the hot tub surround!  They zoom around us, threaten us, and then they fly into our bedroom because of course we can't get the dresser in if we don't open the door!

Sam is sitting naked in the middle of the bed watching the spectacle.  Miranda is hyper-ventilating in panic and goes running for a fly swatter.  I smack one, but being a hornet or wasp or whatever nasty it is, it is struggling to get up and have another go at me.  So I stomp it.  And stomp it and stomp it and that satanic beast continues to get up.  Now Mick, who can't actually see the thing, because we have the ridiculously cumbersome dresser between us, is getting impatient and irritated because he thinks I'm over-reacting.  I repeat, he thinks I'M OVER-REACTING.

I am NOT over-reacting.  I ignored him and continued my slaughter until I knew that creature of evil was DEAD.  Because hornets are like Rasputin.  You kill them and kill them again.  You turn around and there they are, coming right at you.  I am not afraid of bees.  Not at all and I've been stung (and have had a reaction, no less), but I'm not afraid of bees.  They are benevolent, misunderstood creatures of goodness and light.  Not so with hornets and wasps. They are pure evil, minions of Satan. But I don't panic and I don't freak out when I see them; I just try to keep a healthy distance.

Sam used to pick up hornets off of flowers when she was between four and six.  She would grab them behind the wings and hold them up with their legs and stingers vibrating in FURY and then she would throw them up in the air and call out, "Good bye, good bye" and wave as they flew off.  It was a Winnie the Pooh thing.  She only got stung twice.  I never know when she's going to relive her old pleasures and I didn't want her picking up wasps in our bedroom.

By the time we were done with wood and furniture removal on Saturday, I really did feel like I'd been hit by a mac truck.  Not conducive to romance, but no one was complaining when we collapsed in bed that night.  Mick was already snoring along with the dogs.  I cursed our lack of a bed frame when I tried to get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.  I crawled there to relieve myself.  Found the ibuprofin, too.

Sunday we unloaded the last of the wood.  Thankfully, Miranda helped.  Mick mostly watched, but he'd worked hard in the garden that morning.  And as tough as he is, he gets tired, too.  He tried to convince me that we could stack wood at our leisure, but there was no way I was going to maneuver that truck and trailer through the tight spaces  to get it back in place in front of the shop.

As it turned out, the wood episode ended with Mick saying, "Uh, hon, I'll replace those boards this winter."  Those boards are the bottom part of our porch ramp that he completely crunched while getting truck and trailer put away.  And he thought I could do it?

So the next list starts:  water filter (remember that one?  still on the list), hot tub surround, porch ramp, Zeus-proof gate...

Although I had other photos to choose from, I picked this one simply because Miranda now hates to have me take her picture, a very reluctant subject.  However, she helped unload the trailer and now she is included.

Three Again: Continuing the Long Distance Marriage

If this isn't a revealing photo!  There's my tell-tale glass of wine, Mick's bag of cookies (which he consumed the entire thing all by himself), unbelievable clutter, blankets everywhere, and a begging dog.  I'm not sure if Louise is begging for cookies (which she never gets, but never gives up on) or if she's begging to get up on the couch.

Time is up.  The visit is over.  Hopefully my procrastination is over, too.  The eleven days of Mick's visit home flew by in an exhausting frenzy of chores and food.  Like about seven or eight pounds worth.  Just for me.  Mick doesn't torture himself by stepping on the scale.  However, he wasn't thinking he could wear his skinny clothes either.

All the activity I'll cover tomorrow or the next day.  Today, I want to talk about having a successful long-distance marriage.  This might be more of a pep talk to myself than anything else because I am awfully tired of this extended separation.  I didn't even mind having to give up my side (the middle) of the bed.  I even ended up on the couch a few times as Sam took over Mick's side of the bed and told me to leave in her own little way (" Mom, get off please").  However, take note of the please.  Whether it's sincere or not, and most manners are habit rather than a sincere reflection of  feeling anyway, at least she goes through the motions and says it.

Why does this marriage still work?  We've certainly faced a large number and variety of challenges over our almost 15 years of marriage.  Perhaps it's because we didn't want to face those challenges alone.  Yes, there were a few bumpy spots along the way, but I think Mick and I have always felt like a team; we've felt like we're better when we're together than when we're apart.  Of course, if his friend Jon was a woman, then I think I'd be out in the cold.  I don't resent Jon because he's my friend, too, and when Mick won't listen to me, all I used to have to do is work one night and shoot the breeze with Jon, discussing whatever I'd tried previously to discuss with Mick, and then when my thoughts had been transformed and had come forth from Jon's mouth, miraculously, they were suddenly good ideas.  Successful marriage tip?  See the humor in these infuriating moments and focus more on getting the end result rather than how you get that result.  And feel free to use your husband as a whipping post in your blog.  ( Mick used to say that was the whole purpose of the Chicken and Sponge blog--to poke fun at him in a public forum.  Don't worry, hon, I'd say, it's a small forum).

What else is making this marriage work?  Well, naturally having the kids is a factor, making the commitment that much stronger.  And we're lucky where the kids are concerned.  We both agree and without any soul-searching discussion, that Sam will always live with us, as long as we are able, and will not go into a group home or institution.  Miranda is also in agreement on that.  In fact, Miranda, rather unrealistically, had thought that Sam could come live with her once she graduates from college.  Slow down there, we told her.  It won't be that soon.  And I don't mind the idea of Sam always being with us.  Yes, she drinks all my creamer, takes over our computers and bedroom, and still manages to make some incredible and diabolical messes, but then Louise drags her butt across my carpet and Mick wears t-shirts that would make my mother turn pale as she ran to the garbage to dispose of them.  And Miranda is a wonderful person who is going to cause me to break a bone or something because she leaves her shoes right in the doorway.  I mean, RIGHT IN THE DOORWAY.  My point is, on some very important issues, Mick and I are in complete agreement. We don't always agree on the smaller issues and one usually gives in without too much fuss.  We have opposing views on the use of moss in landscaping ( I'm pro and he is ANTI-MOSS!!!) but I can give a little on the small things, just as he can.  HANDS DOWN, I said, I PREFER FLORIBUNDAS TO TEA ROSES. Oh, really?  He countered, well, ok then.

I think a very important ingredient in the successful long-distance marriage is having separate interests and goals outside of the shared ones.  Our time apart is a time to pursue those interests and goals.  I'm a much more productive writer when Mick is gone.  So I'm reaffirming my goal to finish my novel sometime early next year, and sooner if possible.  However, I plan on being somewhat a perfectionist and polishing it up, too, which takes time. My point is, I will write, rather than be in bed at 8:30.

 I also have some health and fitness goals.

Now here is the crying shame of the situation.  Mick, too, has similar goals.  We both want to lose weight, be fit, eat healthy, and be healthier more energetic people.  Can we seem to accomplish this together?  EIGHT POUNDS IN ELEVEN DAYS!  Gain, not loss.  We refer to this unhealthy phenomenon as being or doing a "J.D. and Marie".  J.D. and Marie were dear friends of ours for years, now, sadly, both deceased.  J.D. had been Mick's deckhand and had the distinction of being one of the worst deckhands ever.  Not that he was a bad fisherman, not at all, he would just rather stay tied up at the dock and catching fish cut into his reading time.  Marie, his long time love, had been one of our bartenders up until her death.  The two were very funny together and watching the two drink to excess together was like watching a stand-up comedy routine.  If one ordered something, the other had to have it, whether they had a full drink in front of them or not.  They'd drink beer for beer together, but then one would order a rum and coke and then the other had to have rum and coke.  And if one got up to use the bathroom, the other would down his or her partner's drink and then innocently go back to their own drink as though nothing had occurred.  And on and on it went.  We miss them terribly, but they've certainly supplied us with a lifetime of stories.  Mick doesn't drink and hasn't for 16 years, but boy, he and I can both eat.  And when we're together we tend to do a J.D. and Marie.  Commonly overheard at our house is, "Uh, hey, what's that you got there?  Chips?  Did you buy me a dip, too?"  "Of course".  Or "You know what sounds really good to me?  A Busick breakfast!"  "There you go reading my mind again!"  So is that eight pounds any surprise?

Separately we'll tackle this problem and hopefully when we are together once again, we'll feel stronger and have a better handle on the food issues.  If first you don't succeed...this is one of those things where a person just can't give up.

Time apart is a time for reflection, for building inner strength, for exploring one's potential.  It's a time for me to gain confidence and realize just how capable I am.  For Mick, it is a time to be a total guy.  If he's in Pelican long enough this winter, it will be a time for hunting (which he has sorely missed and everyone but Miranda has missed the venison), fishing, and more wood gathering and chopping.  He finally got the satellite hooked up, so it will also be a time for watching baseball with fishermen friends, and of course good neighbor Jon.  He can watch sports and sports highlights (Mick is under the mistaken impression that this is the "news".  When apart, he almost never knows what is going on in the world if it didn't take place in a ball park or arena.  And he's a happier man for it).  He can watch without having to negotiate interruptions for vampire shows, BBCAmerica, or Project Runway (which he knows more about than any of his guy friends would imagine).

For all the positive things about a long-distance marriage (absence makes the heart grow fonder, yada yada yada), we've had about enough.  At least we've had enough of these long separations.  We're hoping we've come up with a solution to this situation.  Tomorrow, I will post an announcement.  In the meantime, now we are just three.

Recipe for Quick and Easy Rice and Beans with Sides From the Garden

First, this looked better in person.  Second, it would look nicer if I'd put nice, lady-like portions on my plate, took the picture, and then loaded my plate like a TRUCK DRIVER'S SPECIAL!  Now you know the ugly truth.  However, besides the (optional) copious amounts of butter that I added to EVERYTHING,( TAKE THAT, JILLIAN MICHAELS!), it was a very healthy, vegetarian meal.  And calling all carnivores, feel free to add a big slab of cow or pig.

What to call it?  How about...Quick Rice and Bean Recipe With Sides From the Garden...ok, I'll keep working on it.  I agree, that's a lame name.

So here's how I did it.  You have to understand a couple of things first.  As my paranoia increases, growing in leaps and bounds and entangling itself in conspiracy theories about the dangerous state of the food supply, questionable, greedy farming techniques, and the desire for obscene profits possibly, reallybeing the root of all evil, I try to avoid using the microwave as much as possible.  But, and this is a big but, BUT, when the temperature hits 100, or even 93, I find that I no longer care about chromosome damage, nuclearly altered food, free radicals or ANYTHING, except that we are NOT going to turn on that damned oven.  I would, in fact, eat out every dinner, which would be to Sam's absolute delight, but you know, the economy and everything...This is just a very long-winded way of telling you, this is a microwave meal.

So, here we go:

Make a pot of brown rice--NOT instant.  I have a rice cooker and could endlessly sing its praises, but you'd find that about as interesting or even less, than the preceding rant.

Make a pot of black beans ( oh, ok, then just open the can since that's what I did, lazy slattern).

Saute mushrooms and chopped red onion together and sprinkle with garlic and sea salt.

Steam spears of fresh asparagus.

Chop of  some heirloom tomatoes--most stores carry them now and they are SO GOOD!  No comparison.

OK.  Plop a couple of scoops of brown rice in the center of your plate and then pile a couple of spoons of beans in the middle.  Be bad and add a little butter, salt or season salt, a sprinkle of chili powder and then top with grated cheese of your choice--as much as you prefer or as much as you think wise.  Toss it in the microwave and nuke it until your cheese melts.  Top it with slices of fresh anaheim peppers, then add asparagus and tomatoes on the side.

You're done.  Quite good.  What would make this even better would be to put it all together as described ( minus asparagus and tomatoes until ready to serve) and put it in a casserole and bake.  However, baking is often not an appealing prospect in the summer so that is why we nuked it. And because I put my comfort over the health of my family. I know there is no meat in it.  I KNOW IT.  I know not everyone is a vegetarian and many people actually get OFFENDED if anyone suggests a meatless meal.  So just add some meat already!  However, beans and cheese are good sources of protein and we don't always need to eat meat, especially during a heat wave.  Once in awhile we need something besides daiquiris and chi-chis.

Am I desperate for a subject to write on?  Yeah, maybe a little. I also started a category called "Recipes" which only had one recipe in it.  Again this was starting to seem lame (apparently my new favorite word.  Did I turn into a fifteen year-old from the eighties overnight?)  We don't cook much anymore, with Mick gone and we just kind of pick and microwave (oh, yes, it's true) and with Miranda being a vegetarian, I haven't made some of my best stuff. So there is my excuse. 

In other riveting news: 

Not a lot of sleep last night.  Mick used to make fun of me for not sleeping right before we'd travel somewhere--could be because we'd end up with a flight leaving at 5:00 a.m. and would have to get to the airport so early that we were setting the alarm for 2:00 a.m.  Well, Mick tells me he hardly slept last night, basically for the same reasons I never could.  I stayed up very late writing last night because I knew there wouldn't be time this morning.  Then I stayed up too late and reached that crazy level of exhaustion where one wants nothing more than to fall asleep, but can't.  I could have if I'd made it to bed an hour earlier, but for some reason the brain sometimes plays tricks and just says, "sorry buddy, you missed the train and are just going to have to wait for the next one."  So I tossed and turned, decided to get up and use the bathroom yet again, noticed it was now 2:00 a.m., groaned and rolled over.  Next thing I know it's not quite 5:30 a.m. and Sam is saying, "Mom, get off please", which is her way of kicking me out of my room and taking over my bed.  I removed myself to my trusty couch and would have slept well at that point but for the dogs being dogs and needing a very attentive doorman.  Not having one, they have to settle for me.

But I survived the night.  Survived the trip up to Portland,too.  Inexplicably I wasn't the nervous wreck that I normally am.  Someone take my temperature.  Mick's plane was late, but not too late.  Just late enough by a few minutes to double the parking fee.  If I'd just driven around the loop endlessly, as he'd suggested, we would have had to gas up the car again or Airport Security would have taken me out for suspicion of terrorist activity, so I parked.  But Mick made it in safely, not nearly as fat as he'd claimed.  That makes one of us.

So here we are, reunited again.  And utterly exhausted.