I don't know if it's been three months since I've cooked anything worth posting, or if it's because my head has been so darned bad that for three months I don't feel like typing. Either way, I am still tasting the best cornbread stuffing in my mouth, so although my head is in a world of hurt I need to get down the recipe before I forget it...and it's Thanksgiving. I woke crying. For pain, for sadness, for Pop. I miss my Dad every day. But of course a holiday that we always spent together is just so hard. I see him so clearly, kissing him hello. He was ALWAYS happy to see me. My whole life, I barely remember him ever being mad at me. EVER. Maybe once or twice when I really deserved it (wild teenager in the seventies that I was! dirty stayout, pot smoking, tequila drinking, lying brat of a kid!) He always made me feel like the a movie star in training. Like the best mom, and the best daughter -- when really I was none of those. But he saw in me something that gave me hope, that made me feel as if I was worthy. For that I am thankful. And those last weeks of his life were my way of giving back to him all he gave to me, and it was grand in the hardest of moments. I was able to mother him. The one and only thing I really know how to do. My sweet Dad. Anyway, this has absolutley nothing to do with cornbread stuffing. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure if my Dad would've even touched it. He was strict in the food he ate -- meaning close minded, pretty much only eating what he knew. And only what my mother made. He loved her cooking. He might've tasted something I made. But. Liked it? not sure. He might've made fun of it. Or pissed me off about it. I miss that about him. He was fresh in his funny. I can see him slapping his knee and laughing after making me mad. God, I miss him. (The picture in this post is a photo of the items left in the sunparlor of my mom's house that were his. His Giants tie and hats, his CD's: Pavarotti, the irish tenors, Clay Aiken - gay or not gay, the constant discussion; his glasses.)

Anyway, I am Thankful that I have food to bring to the table, and money to make a nice dinner for my family; for a job. I am Thankful for the shelter I am lucky enough to afford. And for my beautiful family, children, mother, sisters brother. For my pets. For my good friends. Especially you. For not walking this path alone; for the tears I cry every day. Without them I would be cold inside. Hardened, perhaps. I am especially grateful that on this juncture, on the Thanksgiving I am turning 50, that I am alive to tell the tale. The long and the short of it.

OK, Here's the best stuffing I ever made. It looks beautiful, like it should be in a magazine, but the taste is absolutley divine. Subtle, yet savory. And I believe it's actually "Dressing", not "Stuffing." as it's cooked outside of the bird.


Enjoy! As for me, off to the 15lbs of potatoes I have to peel.....

Yum.



Lisa's Cornbread Stuffing

12 cups cubed cornbread -- dry. I made mine myself, but you can buy it anywhere already made. Next year I will cube it and dry it for a day, so it's a bit stale. although it ended up being perfect.

1/2 Tablespoon butter
1 c. heavy cream
2 large eggs
4 C.chicken stock
1 tablespoon Emeril Lagasse's Original Essence
1&1/2 cups mushrooms, cut in quarters, not slices
1 cup pecans, chopped
1 cup cranberries, whole
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 C chopped fine, yellow onions
2 C chopped celery
1 tsp. salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/2 tbls. cayenne pepper
3 tbls. minced garlic (around 3 cloves)
2 tspoons thyme

Preheat oven to 375. Grease a 10x15 baking dish or 2 9inch square pans

Combine chicken stock, cream, milk, eggs, and Essence in large bowl and whisk to blend. Add the dried cornbread (carefully) with a wooden spoon, and cranberries; and stir to mix. You want a combo of large peices and small -- I poured the bread into the bowl with the wet ingredients, then put it all back into a pot and poured the remaining liquid on top.
Put it into the fridge to sit for an hour, or until you cook up the rest of the ingredients.

Then, heat a large skillet over high heat. Add the pecans to toast, stirring up until crisp. about 10 minutes. Pour them into a bowl, add 1/2 teaspoon butter & 1/2 of the oil into same skillet, and when butter bubbles, add garlic first, browing a bit, then mushrooms, sprinkling with salt and pepper as they cook. Sautee until mushrooms are golden and they release some of their liquids - but don't overcook, as they are going to cook some more in the oven later. Transfer to another bowl or dish. add rest of butter and oil, when it's really hot, add onions and celery and sautee until they are soft and translucent. Add salt, pepper, and thyme and cayenne. Remove from heat and add mushroom/garlic concoction to cornbread, stirring thoroughly. But carefully. Pour into baking dish, holding back some of the larger cubes. Place larger cubes on top, hopefully covering the top, as a top layer. Bake until golden and firm, about 35 to 45 minutes.

It is really a beautiful dish, if I must say so myself. Looks like it should be in a magazine, and tastes that way too. Next year I will make a little dish on the side, to eat right away. My mom and I dug into it, now we need to cover up that bit with parcely!.

Mom's Pot Roast

I'm sitting in my mother's dining room, on chairs that are 40 years old...surrounded by photos of family long gone, religious icons of Jesus and his Blessed Mother, and STUFF...it's early but I'm enjoying the lovely scent of Pot Roast cooking. I've been sleeping here whenever I can, which makes my poor little mom happy, but honestly it kills my head. I'm tired. All told, my head doesn't matter, it's my Mom that matters.

Since my Dad died I'm here as much as I can. It's become my childhood again, only now I'm an adult. It is my childhood home and every nook and cranny of it holds a memory. Even the scent of food cooking will whisk me right back to a place or a time long gone. Life is long, thank God. And I am blessed.

Today my mother is cooking a big dinner for all of us. Her blood pressure is high, though, so I'm trying to help her and make her rest. Pot Roast in summer has to be cooked early, so as not to heat up the house:

Mom's Pot Roast
A big slab of some sort of beef
Dredge it in a little flour, salt and pepper and brown it on all sides (I'm hungry smelling it.) In a nice dutch casserole, something heavy, add water to the pot 1/4 way up, not filling the pot and not covering the meat.) Cook until soft, adding water every half an hour or so. It should cook for a few hours or more, depending on the size. When it's almost done, add carrots and an onion, and a clove of garlic for good luck. When it's cooked take out the meat, make a roux for the gravy, add it to the water in the pot, and voila.
Serve with mashed potatoes, fresh stringbeans, carrots and a strawberry shortcake for dessert and you have one of Willy Walsh's favorite meals (or is it mine???)

xoxolisa

Death Food



It was exactly one month to the day that my father, Willie Walsh, died after a 7 and 1/2 hour long surgery at Sloan Kettering Hospital in NYC. We went through many stages of food, to keep him healthy, and in the end he stopped eating, and died anyway. Damn. We tortured him. I think he left because he couldn't stand what we were doing to him. I was all set to make him soy protein shakes with ice cream and bananas...he must have gotten wind to that.

First it starts at the hospital.
Hospital Food:
The food at Sloan Kettering is ordered like room service. Anytime. Just call and order from the menu:
Baked Chicken
Real mashed potatoes
Green beans
obligatory jello, beef bouillion, canned peaches
Burger and fries hospital style (not bad, not bad..)

Then it was rehab at the worst rehab facility in NJ:
Rubbery baked chicken
boxed mashed potatoes
green beans
obligatory jello, bouillion, canned peaches
gray burger, old fries, rehab style
(No wonder the poor codger decided to go on a hunger strike and lost 9 lbs in a week)

Then he was dying, only we didn't know. And we were giving him anything he wanted to stop the starvation diet: milkshakes, rootbeer floats, doughnuts, cake. Anything he wanted, Will, please eat. Cherries, watermelon, cold foods, warm foods. Make it hotter, colder. Two bites, three. Eat dad, eat. Farina, did he eat the farina? How about yogurt?

Then he was dying and we knew it and we ate anything we wanted while he was finally left alone to rest and we were doing anything to wait: Italian food, Delicioso, by Aunt Joe. Meatballs and sausage, crusty italian bread, salad, a carafe of cool water. Who even cared. Leftover cherries, watermelon, cold foods warm foods. the foods we didn't feed him because he was too sick to chew. He could only have sips of water. A cool washcloth to his lips.

After death we ate Funeral Food:
Panini sandwhiches & cakes sent over by the Undertaker
Muffins by Mrs. Sweeney
Chicken Marsalla & pasta by Diane
Sloppy Joe sandwhiches by Aunt Carol
A spiral ham by Katy
More sandwhiches, more pasta.

At the funeral we ate The Body and Blood of Christ.

At the repass we had a brunch: eggs, potatoes, salad, pasta, chicken francais, beautiful desserts. coffee, bloody mary's..

Only he wasn't there. Dad's gone.
RIP Bill Walsh, August 2nd, 2008

My Mother's Kitchen

Sitting in my mother's kitchen, the screendoor open to the back porch, the warm breeze blowing through, I smell the hamburger frying in the frying pan. This is a smell that says I am home. No young-ish woman nowadays cooks a burger in a frying pan . If she even has a frying pan. (I hear my mom "swiffering" her way up the stairs as I eat...pink curler placed precariously in her permed hair, robe on, headed for prayers then bed. It's 9:00 pm...)

Kitchen's say MOM. At least in my house they did. The smell of hot italian peppers frying in the morning wafting up the steps making you choke -- a nice way to start the morning! -- for dinner that night, or as an accompaniment to lunches. So funny to think of. Full breakfasts before school, cream of wheat or oatmeal or eggs; a "nice" piece of cake after school, dinner at 6, no matter what. Sunday dinner at 2pm..no matter WHAT...

I remember certain situations as if they were yesterday: my mother nonchalantly telling us how her mother died, her back to us while she did the dishes one night, when one of us aksed. Quietly saying two words, "Illegal Abortion." We all looked at each other and fell into laughter then silence at the lucidity of her simplistic response and at the fact that after all these years she never shared with us something that had impacted her life so greatly. An illegal abortion - wow.. I remember my father working 2 jobs -- being a cop during the day, then driving a taxi at night and her making him dinner at 11pm. Us all sitting around the kitchen table again, him making us laugh, telling us jokes, her whipping up chicken cutlets or scrambled eggs. No matter what time it was always delicious. (My mother is an exceptional cook.) Me getting in trouble in the kitchen, coming home late and her waiting by the clock to yell at me. Often. Those stealy sicilian eyes that have softened over time burning into me. It was brighter in the kitchen for her to see my eyes. Long talks in the kitchen about boys and friends, about heartbreak and heartache. Dancing in the kitchen after dinner to the radio (Do the Hustle - doo doo doo doo doo doo de doo doo..). My father singing at the kitchen table - Fly me to the Moon and let me sing forever more.... And even now, as I sit here typing to a BLOG, I hid it as she walked in the room so I wouldn't have to explain what I was doing. (a What??) Even now I am keeping secrets in the kitchen.

Since my Dad has been sick I've spent so much time in this kitchen it's hard to remember I have my own kitchen. My own kitchen holds the same magic. Hot chocolate for the little kids in the winter in the kitchen, long talks about curfews and drinking in the kitchen, homework at the kitchen table, burping a baby walking around the kitchen. And for a long time while I was married, typing emails way into the night at the kitchen table to someone I probably never should have typed to...yes, the kitchen.

Tonight my mother made me a hamburger, fried in a little bit of oil, with a nice slice of Kraft american cheese melted on top of it (on 2 slices of gluten free toast.) with ketchup (no onion) and a good jersey tomatoe. Nuthin better! Medium rare. Crispy on the outside, pink on the inside. Salt and pepper. A tall glass of shop rite Iced Tea. nummy. As I'm eating I look up and Jesus watches me with his eyes, keeping me company. He's all over this house, in the form of plastic statues, and pictures. The Blessed Virgin too (my home girl.) St.Jude. And lots of angels. I wonder with all this idolatry surrounding us how anyone ever gets sick.


Now that my mom is in bed reading, I can pass on the desert. But maybe I'll wander in for a midnight snack, passing pictures on the wall of all my neices and nephews, grandma and grandpa, aunts and uncles...

My mother is one of the last people I know that prays on her knees at bedtime. She is upstairs now, door halfway closed, on her knees praying to my sisters long passed, to her mother, and saying the rosary. There is always a special prayer for me. Which I in turn pass on to the people in my life I always pray for. As a woman, I've become my mother. I am blessed for that.

Tonight I will sleep in my father's sick bed, watching the TV, smelling him on his pillows. Not in the hospital with him for a change, next to him, but this night sleeping close enough to my mom in case I want to crawl in with her in after a nightmare, or maybe even just getting some of that woman stuff from her. Secretly asking her for advice I cannot verbalize, or telling her about a love I cannot have. Someone elses love. She won't hear me, I can whisper it in her bad ear, but she will look at me anyway and tell me how pretty I look, and that will be good enough...

Until the next meal in the morning....and a big smile on her face....with a weak cuppa joe in her hand..

I remain..Marylou's daughter. God speed and g'night...

Psych Lunch

Sitting here at Memorial Sloan Kettering (MSK) watching me Dad sleep with his mouth open. Just a little while ago he told me he sees Spider webs on the wall where there are none...he's off in another world since his cancer surgery 3 days ago. He thought he was in a contest, he sees little people, he was reaching for invisible raisins. I've answered the same questions well over 100 times: Yes, we're still in the hospital, no, it's a different day, no there aren't small children watching him (not that I know of...) etc etc.

Today they brought the Psych guy in. He told us it's normal, but they gave him something to counteract the affects of anisthesia which they believe it's what he's stuck under. So Dad reaches for things he can't see, and says stuff we can't understand...

I had a scare though..as I was returning to his room after going to the nurses station, I came back to the room and saw an old man slumped over in the chair! I almost had a heart attack until I realized it wasn't his room and it wasn't my father. I found the room (he was moved last night) and there he was sleeping peacefully with his mouth open and no teeth..relief..My dad.

The doctor's just left and they told me he was suffering from delirium and in a few days he would be better. The tall long haired psych doctor who looked alarmingly like Lenny Kaye was kind and comforting and said he would be fine. Thank god for cute tall doctors..

Today I ate the psych lunch: A Dunkin Donut, ice coffee and two pills. So what It wasn't a gluten free donut..so what it won't help me get into my skinny jeans. After finding the man in the chair I had to do something...Unfortunately I'm not delirius...just scared out of my mind. Though now I must say, I'm fine. A couple more daze of this, and he should be fine.

Here's to delerium. I told my Dad, as long as it's temporary, he might as well enjoy it. Think Good Thoughs, Imagine Love, Feel Happy....

Lennysmile

There's a great picture I saw today on a website honoring the great poetess of rocknroll, Patti Smith. Everyone knows that I am a huge Patti Smith fan. I stand tall in line with the others for #1 Fan club member...but the true FanClub I belong to is for her longtime gee-tar player, Lenny Kaye. Now Lenny has the honor of being my adult Bobby Sherman.

I belonged to the Bobby Sherman fan club when I was around 8 years old; and soon after he was on the show "Here come the Brides." I wrote to him, and dreamed of him, and carried my Bobby Sherman lunchbox proudly. I had his signed picture up on my wall. Needless to say I had a HUGE crush on Bobby Sherman, possibly because even though I was only 10 years old, we were most likely the same height.

Now funny enough, that was around 1968, when groovy bands like The Kinks had already published their Greatest Hits and songs like "Your Really Got Me" were being dance to all over the world; and psychadelic dudes like Lenny Kaye were starting their own bands like The Lenny Kaye Connection, and beginning his own career in music as RockLegand, and writer. Bobby Sherman was just cute. It had nothing to do with the music.

As far as music goes, Lenny makes me smile. I love his his hardrockin and mistical guitarplaying, and his little gigs he does all over the city. His work with Patti Smith I have no words for. Basically I have a hard time describing music I love. But besides that he's just dreamy. All the gals love him. I have been known to stare into the computer as I listen to webcasts from Germany, or stare at his picture up on my screen almost real-time from Japan, smiling at him as if he can see me. Since having the opportunity to meet him many long years ago, I have been lucky enough to have some big laughs with him, and get jealous of the other girls who dance with him, or flirt with him. And although he is happily married to the lovely Miss Stephanie, a sweet friend of mine, I still get that PANG when I see him up on stage singing to ME...of course he's singing to ME, right? Isn't that what all our rocknroll heroe's do? Sing to us?

Lenny has been called the nicest guy in RockRoll..but he's way more than that. He's a good friend, and a kind human. A wonderful father and a devoted husband. When I'm really sick I'll get a nice email from him reminding me of the importance of life, or I'll go and see him appear at a fundraiser for someone down and out on their luck. Someone lucky enough to call him friend.

For lunch today I'm drinking iced coffee and passing on the meal. Someday I'm gonna get skinny again and find me a guy like Lenny that I can dream about and that loves me...but it's not going to happen unless I forego the icecream for lunch diet...comeon..we all know that the men of our dreams go for rockchicks..and this rockchick can't get into her leather skirt so lunch is pure caffeine today.

Here's to our guitar heros', to the one who we dream of and look up into the sky and see when times are hard...and sighing is way more fun than eating anyway...

Reliefinsite.com.

An early lunch -- or is it brunch? Hot Italian coffee and some pain pills...what more does a girl need to start a saturday working in the garden that my puppies dug up.

I have been asked to work on a project for reliefinsite.com - a webcam project with the help of icyou.com. I think I will work on it as part of my Lisa at Lunch blog. As pain is a daily issue, I will probably incorporate my sad and bad pain poetry in it. What could possibly be worse than Pain poetry? Well..um..me READING my pain poetry on a webcam! Who knows, maybe I'll meet someone with a prescription pad!

This is a favorite. It's actually what happened to me during an aura I had, before a migraine. Very mystical. To be honest, I don't know what I would do without poetry. And pain meds... oh, and YOU!



ps.. the last of my baby birds has flown the coop..



Pain During a Migraine

the wind blows
so pretty
lifting the leaves off
the metal chairs on the porch
dancing sideways and this ways
and that.
they tap their feet
wrapped in silk ballet slippers
some in pink socks
others in brown paper bags.
flitting about weaving in between cars
not a worry in the world, lifting their skirts.
leaves twirl in rainstorms
capture sun
on the veins of their
translucent skin. I watch them go.
here and there
the squirrels chase them.
Left here to play alone I cannot move I
hold my head in pain
speak softly.
really, i truly want to sob.
-lw

St.Mark's Poetry Project Silent Auction

Today I volunteered at the Poetry Projects Silent Auction. I am now the proud owner of many cool items. But the one I love the best is a broadside of a Ted Berrigan poem writ in 1970:



Scorpion, Eagle & Dove (A Love Poem)



November, dancing, or

Going to the store in the country,

Where green changes itself into LIFE,

MOVING ON, Jockey Shorts, Katzenmiaou,

A Chesterfield King & the blue book,

In OLD SOUTHAMPTON

you make my days special

You do Jimmy's & Alice's,

Phoebes, Linda's

Lewis' & Joannes too...

& Kathy's (a friend who is new)

& Gram's...

who loved you,

like I do,

once...

& who surely does so since

that 4th of July last,

A Saturday,

a day that left her free

To be with & love you

(& me)

(all of us)

just purely;

clean;

& sleflessly...

*

no thoughts

*

Just, it's true. As i would be

& as I am, to you,

this

November.



Ted Berrigan, 1970

Celiac and Me

Today, I woke feeling my Celiac Disease at its worst. Which means I feel like shit. Which means I can’t move too good, and my head hurts and is fuzzy and everything hurts, including Liver, Kidneys, and the artery in my left leg. Swelling hands. Joint pain. Nausea and migrainey… and there are pills for all these symptoms, but I still have to eat. lunch. I’m sick of yogurt and shrimp. I ate beef soup with ditalini last night – at Bridget’s..she made her mom’s soup. But I can’t eat gluten. And I hadn’t told her I’m back off the wheat and our dinner was already planned. A bowl of soup. So I ate it. And it was good. And today I woke sick. Really sick. Celiac sick, which is something I KNOW, like I know my name.

Celiac-sick feels like somebody punched you in the stomach. While you are severely hungover. Nothing makes it better really, but time. Time without gluten. Gluten is the protein found in wheat. Which is part of the wheat grain, and in pretty much everything. I was born with Celiac Disease. As soon as I ate cereal as a baby, a wee bairn., which in those days was as an infant. I had failure to thrive, and pneumonia’s (multiple) and a bi-afran-ish-baby belly, with skinny arms and legs. And all I did was cry. The classic celiac-baby. And five years ago I went gluten free, and it was better. So much better. (though I still cry.) And now I’ve been on a gluten-trial, through the doctor's at the Columbia Presbyterian Celiac Center, which means I put gluten back into my diet to prove it exists, which is a torture and ridicilous. and I am really sick from it. So no more. Back to gluten-free-me. But it takes time and planning and people have to know how to feed you and it’s not so easy for some but for me it was fine. Gluten hurt my belly my whole life, and made me feel hypo-glycemic, lightheaded and weird. And I was always skinny and now I'm fat. so back at it.

So no wheat, means a gluten-free diet. Which is really great, and really ok, as long as you embrace the fact that you are essentially cured by this diet. For once and for all. So no beer, no real pizza, no italian bread, no pancakes is a drag, but really…If I could only cure all my pain so easy.

Today at lunch I had Amy’s rice crust pizza which is the best frozen pizza out there. Gluten or no gluten. You can “doctor” it up, as Marylou says, which is what I did. And it’s great.

Amy’s Rice Crust Pizza Dr’d.Up.

Add some fresh mozzarella slices (whole foods) to your liking. Some portabello mushroom slices and a drizzle of olive oil,with a pinch of hot pepper seeds and cook it,at 425degrees for about 23 minutes, until it's crispy and melted. And add some good grated cheese if you want. or Garlic powder. (I bought the new personal pan pizza, which isn’t worth it financially. But was perfectly delicious anyway.)

I feel like I’m hallucinating. Is it the celiac? Or the pills? “I keep seeing a person in my peripheray…am I stoned, or is it a ghost? Or maybe it’s you?”

OK, going to lay down and watch another movie..Oh, I just watched “Juno” a very cute movie that mentiones Patti Simth. But Adoption? I don't get it. hmm. But that’s a dinner conversation.

Buenos Dias.

Let them eat Shrimp

Isn't life just like a recipe that you're making on the fly?

Like todays Shrimp salad:

6 large cooked shrimp chopped into midsize pieces, tails removed
One handful of spinach, washed chopped upA small amount of raisins -- like a 1/4 cup
An even smaller amount of chopped walnutssome chopped up sweet ripe tomatoe
2tbls Mayo
lots of Salt & Pepper
Mix it all together and serve open face on some good grainy toast (gluten free for me)

Every morsel, bite of this has something tasty in it. It's pretty to look at, it's very nice for company, but it's easy to make and eat alone. Which is what I'm doing. Except for the mayo, it's very lo-cal. It's gluten-free.

If I was going to have a dessert with it, I'd serve some my special yogurt/whipped cream dessert:

One cup Stoneyfield Caramel lowfat yogurt
1 dollup cup Stonefield Whole Milk French Vanilla yogurt
2 Tbls (squirts) Organic Whipped cream in a can
Blackberries

First put the Caramel yogurt in a nice bowl or wine class. Dollup the vanilla yogurt in the middle. Squirt the whipped cream in the center, and sprinkle the blackberries around the whipped cream.

Magnificent.

Lo-cal. Today I was watching the great documentary on the NYDolls...chronicling the demise and comeback of the band. So great where they've been and where they've come back to. But as I was dancing at the end, rocknrolling I got a glimpse of my old self...you cannot be fat and be a rockchick.

Amen.

When Taken Ill

When it comes to food, what can you eat when you've been up all night with a migraine, then horrific acid reflux? Acid reflux is no laughing matter. Neither is a migraine or head pain. The only good answer to this is to sleep sitting up.

Things to eat during an attack:
Acid Reflux & Migraine

Dried Papaya
Soft chew rolaids
Green water (chlorophyl)
stay away from the pizza
cupcakes and party food.
even the morning concoction
of Aloe Vera Gel, Mango puree and
Flax see oil could kill you.
over time.
Coffee rots the gut but
can you really live without not
one little cup?
Rice toast is good. Rice. In general
soothes.
Don't eat too much fatfilled yogurt
I love Stoneyfield French Vanilla with
the layer of cream on top.
The cream hurts.
Is this all a punishment?
Has god abandoned me or is it payment of some
sort; for my sins.
like wiping out a whole family?
How can I atone?
I'm hungry.

-lw

Let them Eat Cake

It's morning and birthday week here at my house. Todd's birthday (the ex), and my sister. Both born a day apart, same year. So different yet the same in their actions and characteristics. Amazing. It was also my niece Molly Sweeney's First Holy Communion on Sunday.

It's all about food, these occassions. All occasions. (I don't know how to spell, and the more I write this blog the more you'll notice it. I have a good idea of how things are supposed to sound, but ever since brain surgery I just can't seem to hone it in. I also make up words, which I think is highly acceptable. But I digress.)

The end of the week last week was all about Peg's funeral and the food being the final piece of the pie, so to speak. The Capawanna's are italian so the after party was of course Italian Food. I missed it, but I heard it was delicious. Had at The Appian Way in Orange, NJ. A perfect sendoff for Peg, who rests filled and satisfied with family and friends surrounding her.

Then the Communion Party -- Molly Sweeney. That was a combo-nation of italian/american food from The Brownstone Inn, in Patterson, NJ. Really good, with Fettucine Alfredo, chicken, beef tips, the requisite spiral Ham, Salad, Eggplant rolantine, and cake and dessert. A real sleep enhancing type of meal. The best part was the kitchen help my sister Melissa paid for. Gee, totaly worth it.

Then last night's dinner for Todd's birthday: Star Pizza, Orange NJ.

If anyone lives anywhere near Star, they've eaten the thin crust pizza. A tiny pie, you can probably consume a whole one yourself, and many have. I've been going to Star since I'm a wee girl, remember being there when my brothers were little and they used to mess up the tournaments at the skiball machine. (I saw grown men want to kill them; red faced and ranting to my father. There were money on those games.) It's not a fancy place but you could die for the pizza and all the other food that mingles with it, eaten on paper plates. Hot Roast beef sandwhich on italian roll; sausage and peppers; Fried Calamari; the Mista salad. It's all delicious. French Fries. Nothing is good for you, but it's incredible. Wash it down with a pitcher of Rootbeer or coronna and you've got yourself one great dinner. Most nights the wait is worth waiting for -- with babies in high chairs and big groups filling the dining room. The cool thing is that you're going to get what you're getting when you get it. It's crowded, the appetizer concept doesn't work, and once you get a seat just let the food come and the chips fall where they fall.



OK, it's early. Not anywhere near lunch, but it's been a while and I think I should go back to bed for a while. My head hurts and the news is on behind me: Obama and Hilary are neck in neck. Gas is 4.19 in NYC today. There's a backup on 287 North with a tractor trailer overturned loaded with Methasomething, highly flamable... It's going to be 76 by noontime.

Bed is calling....I hear the birds ..lovely.
Later on a poem.

Filet of Flounder

It's lunch somewhere right now. Or dinner. Or late lunch. Sunday lunch is always bigger. It's supper actually. We can't eat until the filet of soul thaws out. I put it right into the deep freeze yesterday as soon as I bought it, and promptly forgot it. Peg is dying. That's Bridge's & Danielle (& Len & Janine's) mom. She's dying naturally. They forego life support, which is painful for the family to watch, but a much gentler form of death. I was there to see her this morning, one last time before she dies. She looked really great, her color was good and she was not hooked up to machines, bloated and blotchy from a feeding tube and liquids. The priest was there yesterday and reminded them that what they are doing is illegal. Of course they then lied to the priest. Don't we all lie to priests? Of course I don't..I tell the truth and cry and what's up with that? (See my Fatima post..oh, I didn't write it yet.) Anyway, this morning I had a vision of Dan, B's father. He came to me at my desk this morning, early, as I dozed in and out writing. I saw him clear as day and heard him say he had to go take care of her now. He was young with a full head of hair. I woke with a start, remembering he is the one that's dead. Poor Peg.

When it's my time, I want a big needle full of whatever it took to put my big dog Bear to sleep. I nice fat syringe. One, two three...

You read it here.

For lunch I had a muffin that Mara made. Carot ginger. For dinner I will eventually have that lovely filet of soul. Italian style. Maybe we'll have a sweet potatoe with it. Although that doesn't go. Some fresh mozz... perhaps.

The weather is rainy, gloomy almost. Perfect for dying.

Lunch today...
A good coffee, salad with mango, walnuts, goat cheese, salt lemon olive oil...a recent poem.

Divinity in the Form of Ministries

In the form of gifts
ministries
show themselves all weekend
a blue and white sky
An outpouring of friendship
An overlay of love a soft
ripe mango
Purple and white impatiens
Heads drooping dying for water
smacking their lips
then awake the next Morning.

Duties.
Scratching my face her paws
sharp touching my face
as I touch her soft fur she has no
reason to want to hurt me.
Sanguin she is.

I call pain "she" I call it "her"
She made me late today
she never showed up
I am late because I wait
for HER.

I can't see you
because she comes first.
I promised we'd spend the day together
but she's unpredictable
and I apologize greatly
needing to be flexible

(for her.
I stay in bed, underneath
the sky, staring up)
That's why I can't see you.
That's why
although it is a beauty
of a city
(I love you)
the blue and white sky
a gift
I cannot see you.
Although I would like to.
I think. I call him, break the rules
to call a boy. Praying
to do the right thing.
Eat someone elses dinner.
At 4am I take opiates,
I sit in the window looking out
I smoke
I pace
I pray.
Who can i share this city with
who will understand me
who can I trust. Besides you,
that is.

I dreamt of you
throwing the suitcase
on the bed
to take leave. I trust her;
I call pain "she".
although behind my back
I swear she is trying to kill me.

This mid of night
has become a friend
a place to pray as if
in a church.
The incense stinging my nose
my eyes
my sincere prayers come from deep within my bosom
comforted.
my breasts wakened
I think please. please
lord don't take them.
I think please, please lord let me feel
his hands upon them (yours) one last
time, full, soft,
womanly. I have always loved
them I remember
the first time
I felt them underneath my
Thin summer shirt
And they gave me
A shudder. Please lord,
one first time
before they're gone.
Should they go.
I meditate on please
one last time
one first time
before they are gone.
Before you are gone.
Before he ever gets a chance to touch them.

The ministry takes
Place on the side
Of a road.
In a white van.
Eyes closed he prays

The homeless man
Prays, head down,
feet together, Standing still.
Asking
nothing
for himself
but forgiveness.

Why Lisa at Lunch

..Why would anyone want to read anything I write? And why especially at lunch? I have no idea, but I'm writing it anyway. At lunch. Today for lunch I had my favorite yogurt, Sunnyfield Farm's Whole Milk French Vanilla. It's creamy and really yummy and not that many calories, and if you add banana and mango to it, and a few raisins you have a great filling meal. It reminds me of the Woodstock Inn, in NY State, which is where I had it first. Or at least that's where it made it's first impression on me. It was my friend Bridget's Fiftieth birthday and a bunch of us were there. They served a lovely breakfast in the morning. The Woodstock Inn on the Millstream serves a beautiful breakfast and is a lovely little B&B nestled in Woodstock NY. http://www.woodstock-inn-ny.com/breakfast.html

Well it's not actually breakfast right now, and it's not lunch. It's dinner and I'm eating a couple of little slices of Amy's Rice Crust Pizza..it's gluten free. On the television behind me I hear the news blasting...all about the Bell Verdict. I have to stop typing and listen. More on that tomorrow..

I also need to rest. Tonight Bridget and I are going to Banjo Jim's to Lenny Kaye's Hootenanny...This from Tom Clarke's email:

"Whoa, what a night......a crazy-fun line-up of all our pals in one night....and it's gonna be old school hootenanny night, too! It's all happenin' at Banjo Jims (which used to be 9C, where me and Lenny and Phil would often play!) All of us doing sets, and all of us playing together. What a beautiful mess! Here's the line-up!
First off is Little Craiggy Chesler of the High Action Boys and Dreamboat, plonkin' that uke (amongst other things) and puttin' everyone in an unbelievably good mood, then our pal Kevn Kinney(Drivin n Cryin, Suntangled Angel Revival), one of my favorite songwriters of all time, pretty much!!! Thennnnnn, who else but Mr. Lenny Kaye ( record geek guru, fancy pants writer of great tomes, and rock star!) and then, if you can actually handle more, Me!!! Doing a rare solo thing, and also getting a little help from my friends!! By the end, it's gonna be like the Last Waltz....but we'll call it "The First Waltz"! Oh......it's free, too!!! xoxoxo Tom"
Friday April 25th
Craig 9:30-10:30
Kevn 10:30-11:30
Lenny 11:30-12:30
Tom 12:30-1:30
Everybody again 1:30-2:30am
Banjo Jim's, Corner of 9th St. and Ave. C
NYC



Now before i end this, realize that I will mostly post poetry, and anything else going on at lunch. I hope you check in. Otherwise I'm just eating alone.