Seduced by a Zucchini

Any novice gardener can tell you. Watch your zucchini plants closely. Give it any private time at all you will be harvesting something the size of a baseball bat.

Now if you have a large family, or are one of the many underpaid/underemployed adults in the nation, or are simply a romantic and as such are overly fond of your plants and cannot abide wasting a single one, then by all means shred, dice, peel, bake and saute your days away.  I do not blame you, for I myself uncovered a gargantuan specimen this morning, and instantly gave into the temptation that all other pressing matters must be shoved aside to make room for this one glorious thing.

The day was a disaster.

The first thing I tried was a new recipe for zucchini blondies.  If you come across this recipe, do not make it.  There is a large chance that you will be drawn by the sculpted abs on the woman who posted this farce. But she is not what is on the menu.  And go ahead, add the 1/4 cup of chocolate chips to the scant amount of sugar in this dessert, but the experience will still be a bitter one.

And while I'm on the subject of things not to bake.  Do not, I repeat do not attempt to bake a pie with a store brand ready-made crust.  You will not be doing anyone any favors.  Least of all yourself. My husband—late last winter—came home with two boxes of Kroger brand pie crust.  He was trying to do me a favor (see earlier remarks about favors). In all fairness to Kroger, the box was cleared stamped "Best used by February 2018."  The poor things have been sitting quietly on the shelf in the refrigerator.  I've looked at them often and passed them over.  Still, not wanting them to go to waste or make my husband feel bad, I attempted to make them into part of a blueberry pie for the Forth of July holiday. This made perfect sense because the frozen blueberries that had been patiently waiting in the freezer had also been stamped for use by February 2018.  Long story short, the pie is inedible.  Not because of the berries, but because of the aroma coming from the crust.  Think bacon-lemon flavored.  Americans are crazy for  bacon, but I am not putting any stock in this particular flavor catching on.

Getting back to the zucchini, I continued shredding another 3 cups to make into an "Italian Zucchini pie."  It was cooking next to the bacon-lemon-blueberry pie, so I am afraid to eat it.

On the dinner menu tonight is zucchini noodles (if I can stuff this monster into my handy veggie noodle maker).  Then I have about 700 kitchen utensils, pots and pans to wash, followed by mopping the floor.

All for the sake of one zucchini.

With age, they say, comes wisdom. May I have the strength to never again succumb to the seductive power of a vegetable.

Earth Day and EskieRescue

Earth Day 2018:  The Day I surrendered Caspian 

It is a heart-breaking thing to give up your dog, even if he really wasn’t your dog to begin with.  This may be obvious to all the dog lovers out there.  But I am not a dog lover. I did not have a dog growing up and my husband and I did not raise dogs along with our 4 children. I was my daughter's I-can’t-keep-my-dog-or-I’ll-get-kicked-out-of-my-apartment-foster-mom. For the better part of 4 years.  

The first time my husband and I met the rescued Eskimo Spitz we were living New York State.  The Alpha pup bolted out of doors and ate shoes and never came when called.  But he was an amusing site romping through the snow, seeming to grin from ear to ear, and coaxed in from play only when ice began to wedge itself between his toes.  So when our daughter needed a reprieve, we gathered up the pup and his things.  Totally ignorant of anything dog worldly, a $$$ personal in-home trainer instructed me on the basics of dog whispering - the bare basics. Caspian, she said, was the smartest dog she'd ever met.

Daughter followed pup. At the time, our whole family was in crisis due to circumstances and events I could not wish even on those who so callously inflicted them on us.  But the upheaval had only begun.  It would be several months before it was over, and by then, well we weren’t "in Kansas anymore."  Not even close.  The whole thing landed us, doggie and all, in the deep south of Mississippi.

It is, I suppose, one thing to be a displaced Yankee in Mississippi and quite another to be a fur-lined, long-haired Eskimo Spitz in Mississippi. 

For a couple of years Caspian went back and forth between my daughter (soon off to Texas) and me.  Mostly me.

For my part, I saw to it that Caspian had excellent health care, a large home, large yard, the best dog food and treats (real bacon). He even sported an ice blue cooling vest for outdoor play and had his very own doggie pool.  But I kept my heart locked.  He was, after all, not my dog.

He used his disarmingly good looks to his advantage, like when he wandered into the bedroom and gave me that is-it-time-for-our-pack-walk-in-the-park-I-think-I-heard-you grab-your-driver's-license look.  A simple nod of the head and "yes" from me set-off excited barking and a quick, bouncy, hurry-up-grandmom back and forth run to the garage door.  Outdoors he was a sight to behold in a full-out run, his eyes sparkling and his mouth in an open grin.  And Caspian was I-just-want-to-hug-you cute when he saddled up next me in the garden and gave me that what'cha-you-doing look, then snuck in a few kisses before setting off to explore somewhere else in the yard.

But there were things I didn't like. I could not or would not walk him in the park every day. And he had this howling thing that I called his death aria whenever he lost a toy or was left alone.  And  anyone, phantom or real, who ventured near the door was met with an exasperating frenzy of barks and jumping, and close inspection.  And ever the leader, he always released himself from those commands he deigned to obey.

Earlier this year, my daughter married.  She decided that she was a “bad” dog owner and Caspian should stay with me.  I wanted Caspian to have a home where they did the dog thing right, 100%.  A family that understood this handsome, intelligent, curious, protective, friendly breed and its needs.  A family that loved this beautiful dog and could take them wherever they went, that would not have to board him as much as out-of-state family obligations required me (Caspian has acute separation anxiety, and boarding was traumatic for him).

After all my husband had undergone two major surgeries only a few months apart.  And my father, living 1000 miles away, was so ill and in so much mental anguish.  And two of my close friends and kindred spirits had been seriously ill and died just months apart in  2017.  And truthfully, I had shockingly few tools in my doggie-training toolbox. Caspian, I felt, deserved more, and I was tired. And he was, after all, not really my dog.

Fast forward to today. Earth day 2018.  A brisk walk on lead in the park.  A ball tossing free run at the air field.  Ah, but you saw that right?  Air field. We were there to meet Pilots N Paws.

When I placed Caspian in the plane that would take him to his new foster mom, he tilted his head, his ears back, and looked at me as if to ask, “What’s going on?  Why am I in this thing without you?”

And I said that thing I almost never said to him.  Usually, if I had to leave him I said, “Stay,” followed by, “I’ll be back.”

But not today. Today I said, “Good-bye.”

That tight lid that I had kept on the not-my-dog-fostering-heart burst.  

I cried all the way home.