Month: April 2021

Sea Turtles, Butterflies, and Brownies

Deb Zuroski, , , , Leave a comment

Years ago, my husband replaced our key locks with keypads. It was a convenience thing mostly. We didn’t want to leave the ubiquitous key under the doormat for our kids in case they forgot their keys and we didn’t want to give out keys to people who inevitably need to get into the house. The keypad unlock codes are easy to create and just as easy to delete. It was one of those true perfect systems. 

At some point, we got a little sloppy with the code distribution and one day, unfortunately, my daughter woke up to someone in her room. I still get a sick feeling in my stomach when I think about what could have happened but the person who came in was a friend. My daughter had overslept. When she didn’t answer her friend’s call, the friend was understandably concerned and entered the house by a keycode we didn’t realize she even remembered/knew. Still, it was a big wake-up call for me and I deleted all the codes, created new codes for us and swore to never let that happen again!

Anyway, earlier this year, the keypads started to fail. I reset them, fiddled with them, replaced their batteries, took them apart, etc. They’d start working again temporarily, only to fail after a few days or a couple weeks. One evening, Haley and I came home a bit late from an outing. We were trying to solve a particular home repair problem … hours walking the hard floors of DIY big box stores, UGH. We had drive-through Wendy’s in the car and a few small packages of screws and bolts and … you know, STUFF. 

You saw it coming, didn’t you? Both keypads had failed again. We were locked out of the house. The temperature was below freezing. Ian wasn’t answering his phone. What could we do? 

Eat ALL the Wendy’s … no, no, that isn’t the answer. 

Break a window … wait, break a 125 year old window? Are you crazy? Those are irreplaceable. That wasn’t the answer.

Get the ladder out of its storage spot and climb onto the second floor …. NO. First, the ladder isn’t even tall enough to reach the roof. Second, that’s exactly the kind of thinking that leads to broken bones and hospitalizations.

So, what did we do? We banged on the door until we (or perhaps the hysterically barking dogs) woke Ian up and he let us in. A simple, noisy solution but it worked. And Ian got a share of the Wendy’s too.

Oh, and I’ve replaced the keypads. The hardest parts: finding keypads in the right colors and waiting for a somewhat warm day so I could work with the door open. The job took me about 45 minutes but mostly because I made a couple false starts, nearly removing stuff that didn’t need to go and … possibly … putting something on upside down. Anyway, they work great! 

Ian had a birthday recently. Since we’re not 100% vaccinated, it was another quiet one. As the birthday boy, he chose the meal — chicken fried rice with my own chocolate syrup brownies for dessert. Ian said that we weren’t allowed to sing so I did a brief spoken word birthday poem that made him say, “MOM.” Haley sang an aria and Tristan said, “Sorry, bud” and patted him on the shoulder. You’d think, after 15 years on this planet, he could have seen our responses coming.

Ian and Haley played a beautiful game of chess as part of the birthday entertainment. It’s the kind of game he excels at because, like his father, he’s actually good at playing three or four moves ahead. Haley is new but she’s also very good, especially at the end game. The outcome was inevitable because Ian has much more experience but it was a pleasure to watch. And the trap Ian set for Haley was one that Ken would have been proud of.

The recent cold spell delayed our butterfly release. Today is the big day! It reminds me of a trip we took in 2014 to Padre Island, a National Seashore, completely natural, with — literally — no phone service, and facilities only at the visitor center. We camped a mile from the access road, on an empty stretch of beach. It was quiet, windy, and amazing. Poor Ken, who hated being warm, hated sweating, and hated sand, was pretty miserable but he endured it for our sakes.

It was so hot on the beach that we got up at sunrise, not just because it was beautiful but also because the tents became unbearable within about 40 minutes after the sun came up. The water was so warm you could walk right in. Dolphins — and sharks — made regular appearances, following the schools of fish. They never came close enough to scare us out of the water, though small tropical fish sometimes tried to nibble my pink bathing suit. 

Anyway, one morning, we got up even earlier than usual in order to attend a turtle release. The Park Service has an extensive volunteer program to identify nests and ensure that the eggs are protected until it’s time for the hatchlings to be released. Because the island is deliberately untouched, there are many turtle predators — we had frequent close encounters with snakes, coyotes, and lizards. Alligators are also common in the marshes though we didn’t see any, not even from our kayaks. 

Sea turtle babies walk into the ocean toward the sun as it rises above the horizon so you have to be at the beach early to watch a hatchling release. We stood there for over an hour, as the temperature climbed from the chilly 60s into the 90s, watching turtle hatchlings about the size of a silver dollar crawl slowly toward the water, eventually getting picked up by the tide and swept out of sight. 

As we prepare to release these nine butterflies, I’m thinking about those turtle babies. Did any of them make it? Did they return as adults (many do) to lay their eggs on Padre Island? Will our butterfly hatchlings lay eggs in our butterfly garden? Will we see future generations of the butterfly cycle at work? At a minimum, we’ll give these little ones a fighting chance by releasing them when our pets are inside the house! 

Time to get back to work:  My protagonist has added another wrinkle. She still has feelings for an ex-boyfriend from high school. He’s a cutie with dark eyes and a teasing grin. What’s a girl to do? What’s the author to do? She needs to do some healing, focus on some self-care, not get involved or re-involved with someone. But will she listen to me or herself? She’s a teenager, so that seems unlikely.

Take a deep, slow breath: in through your nose, out through your mouth. 

Stay safe. Wear your mask. Get BOTH of your shots (unless you got the J&J, in which case, please only get one shot!).

Much love.

Sea Turtles, Butterflies, and Brownies

Painted Ladies

Deb Zuroski, , , , , Leave a comment

I have poison ivy … again. Thankfully, this time it’s only a small spot in the crook of my elbow. Yes, it’s tremendously itchy but I have all the necessary defenses to keep myself from scratching this itch. In particular, I have memory. 

So, let’s go back, briefly, to another spring and another case of poison ivy. Eight years ago, I spent a lovely spring weekend digging in the dirt. I pulled weeds, raked leaves; you know the drill. Two days later, I noticed a little spot on my left arm. By that Friday, my arms and legs were covered with red, itchy poison ivy sores. It became badly infected and I made multiple trips to the doctor for treatment. It was my first encounter with poison ivy and it was a great teacher. 

That experience also gifted me with an amazing memory. Someone — no, I am not telling — recommended a foolproof treatment for poison ivy: gasoline. Yes, you read that correctly. To treat poison ivy, this individual told me to pour gasoline all over the affected area(s). I love everything about that recommendation: that it was said with such purity, with a great desire to be helpful; that it involved covering over half of my body with a highly toxic and flammable liquid; and that the individual had absolutely done that to their own person (I know for a certainty because I asked).

To this day, I remain convinced that pouring gasoline on my poison ivy would have killed it. It would likely have killed me too. Sometimes the host has to die in order to remove the infestation, right?

The weather has been very spring-like here: sunny, then cold, then rainy, then windy, then sunny again. Today looks to be one of the sunny days but later this week we are expecting temperatures to drop below freezing. Those of us who live in the freeze zone can thank me personally. I brought the freeze to us by anticipating summer and seeding our newly dug wildflower bed. I knew that it was too soon but I did it anyway. And I enjoyed it so much that I’m not even sorry, though I might be when I have to do it again after the freeze….actually, no, I won’t be sorry even then because I’ll still be digging in the dirt.

We have 10 butterfly chrysalides hatching today. Four butterflies are currently perched on the side of the habitat while their wings dry. We got to watch the fourth one emerge, sliding slowly out of the chrysalis and landing in a heap on the habitat floor, wings crumbled. It doesn’t take long for their wings to straighten, and now each of them is resting. We’ll have to let them go over the next several days but the weather here is going to turn chilly again. I hope they don’t have to move in with us. 

Watching the butterflies makes me think about how closely our own transformations match theirs. Perhaps we should take a lesson from them and be a little more gentle with ourselves as we emerge and stretch our damp and wrinkled wings.

Over the weekend, Haley made paneer masala, a homemade cheese in a fragrant tomato-based sauce with chili powder, whole cinnamon sticks, ginger, cardamom, fennel, and garlic. The house smelled amazing. This one can be a multi-day project since the cheese should rest overnight. I’ve included the link below in case you are interested. 

This week’s recipes are yogurt cake and the latest internet sensation: deep-fried pasta. I’ll report back on the results for sure. 

In case you are wondering how the real work goes, my YA protagonist has taken matters into her own hands. She has a crush on TWINS. What’s a girl to do? More importantly in this case, what’s an author to do?!  

My MG verse novel is half-finished and on a brief hiatus. My protagonist is so angry and sad that I’m afraid she might kill herself. I don’t want that ending for her so I need to take a break and think about how she can save herself. I’ve killed off a protagonist before but I’ve never had a protagonist commit suicide. That might be too close to home for me to write and too dark for a MG audience to read. 

Back to work on that romance. One of the twins wears a talisman ring. I wonder what it symbolizes for him?

Stay safe.

Here’s the paneer masala recipe. Enjoy!

Painted Ladies

Not Authentic 15-min Chix Fried Rice

Deb Zuroski, , 3 Comments
  • Raw boneless chicken, chopped into bite-sized pieces (I use a couple boneless breasts to feed 3)
  • Frozen peas & carrots (of course you can use fresh but frozen is FAST). We like lots.
  • Leftover rice (freshly cooked is TOO sticky). 2 cooked cups of rice will easily feed 3 with leftovers
  • Onion, chopped into nice chunks, maybe a cup but you can choose your quantity. We like more.
  • 1 or 2 eggs
  • Sesame oil – optional but tasty
  • Veg oil
  • Soy sauce
  1. This is a pretty fast process so if you can chop your chicken and onions ahead, that’s great. I usually pants it TBH
  2. This is the cook your egg(s) step. Heat a skillet with a little butter. While it’s heating, crack your eggs into a bowl and stir, stir, stir them into a nice scramble. Now, turn your heat down to like 2, pour your eggs in the pan and leave them alone. They’ll cook slowly into a nice crepe-ish shape while you are working on the rest of the meal.
  3. Heat your wok (or griddle or cast iron skillet) with a little — enough to coat the sides and bottom — veg oil
  4. While your wok is heating, take the quantity you want of your frozen pea/carrot mix out of the freezer and let it defrost a bit.
  5. If you haven’t chopped up the chicken yet, also do that while your wok heats. If it takes more than 2-3 minutes to chop your chicken, you are worrying too much about it. This is NO RULES cooking. Love yourself.
  6. You can test your wok temp by flicking a drop of water onto the surface. It should sizzle and dry FAST. If your wok passes the hot test, throw the chicken. Stir occasionally. If it’s sticking, add a drizzle of sesame or veg oil.
  7. Chop your onion while the chicken cooks.
  8. When the chicken is nearly cooked through (3-4 minutes-ish), throw that onion in.
  9. When the onion is translucent, add the peas and carrots. If you need more oil, add a little sesame or veg.
  10. Check your egg. If it’s done, slide that egg onto a cutting surface and give it a quick chop up. I usually roll it up and then chop, because FAST. Leave it there, all chopped.
  11. Now, add your rice to the wok. Stir, stir, stir. If you need a little oil, add it now.
  12. Add your soy sauce. I use a couple good glugs. It’s probably about a half cup but I’ve never measured. Stir, stir, stir. It’s thoroughly mixed when there are no rice clumps or white rice.
  13. Turn off the burner. Add your chopped egg in and stir, stir, stir.
  14. Enjoy. It’s really delicious leftover too.

You can do a lot with this recipe: add chopped peppers, garlic, shallots. Make it veg only by increasing your veggies and leaving out the chicken. NO RULES. Love yourself.

Unclench your jaw. Take a deep breath. Stay safe.

Not Authentic 15-min Chix Fried Rice

Did You Just Sacrifice Your Queen?

Deb Zuroski, , , , 1 Comment

Today my daughter challenged me to a “quick” game of chess. Of course I said yes. We sat on our patio in the late afternoon sun, her dad’s chessboard set up between us. 

Ken taught me to play many years ago. As with most things he committed to, he was a remarkably good chess player and I never came close to beating him. Both of our sons played in chess clubs in school and participated in tournaments. My youngest, especially, loved the game. He and I used to play regularly and were evenly matched (when he was 9!). 

My daughter, though, had no interest in chess as a child so I was surprised when she recently started studying the game. Today, as she set the board up, Haley confessed that, while she understands the rules, this would be her first actual game. 

No worries, I thought. We’ll have a nice, easy game, test her knowledge of the way the pieces move, have fun so she’ll want to play again. Right? Yeah. She kicked my butt. We played for more than 3 hours and ended in a draw. It was fantastic. 

And yes, I did sacrifice my queen so I wouldn’t lose the game. It wasn’t pretty.

Moments like today are the reason we endure all the rest.

We are still doing lots of cooking, by the way. Yesterday, I used the overripe bananas to make chocolate chip, peanut butter, banana bread (and muffins). It’s my own recipe. If you want it, let me know and I’ll write it up for you. Tonight, because I spent three hours playing chess, we used some leftover rice to make a quick chicken fried rice. It was delicious — also no recipe but I’m happy to provide details if you haven’t tried to make it before.

Tomorrow, back to work on the novel.

Stay safe.

Did You Just Sacrifice Your Queen?

Powerpuff Girls and Clouds

Deb Zuroski, , 7 Comments

I was feeling a little low this morning. My computer and my hotspot were acting up, seemingly not caring that I had work to do. I still don’t know, hours later, if it was the network, the building I was in, or gremlins doing gremlin-y things.

The phone rang — at least that was working, I thought. It was the bank.  There was a snafu with a transfer I initiated last Friday. Could I stop by the branch for a minute? Great. Technology worked fine for that but not for things I actually wanted to do.

As we were leaving our appointment, I tried to negotiate a trip to the local grocery store with my passenger — unsuccessfully, because he’s now a better negotiator than I am, darn it — so I dropped him at home. Bank first or grocery store?  Bank, I decided; and as I look back on the day, I can point to that as the moment that changed everything. 

The bank visit itself took less time than I waited at the crosswalk after parking across from the bank but I was in no particular hurry at that point. Bank issue resolved painlessly, I drove to the grocery store, nearly empty on a Monday morning, and picked up the various essentials, as identified by two hungry young people — bananas (the daughter), a baguette (the son), smog balls (the daughter), wheat chex (me), orange juice (the son), rosemary (the daughter) — you know, just the essentials. 

As I’m loading my groceries into the car, a woman approaches. “Excuse me,” she says. “I need some help but I don’t want to make you nervous so I’m going to stand back a ways.” I know what she’s saying — she’s black and she doesn’t want to upset a white woman.  She’s a little afraid of what I could potentially do to her with one phone call and that makes me feel even sadder than I did when I got up this morning. 

“What’s wrong?” I say, as I put the last of the groceries in the car. I’m smiling at her but she can’t see that through my mask. She’s masked too. It’s deep yellow, drawing the gold from her eyes, but she’s upset and I know she’s not smiling. 

“I’ve forgotten my EBT card,” she says. I don’t hear the rest of her sentence because it’s noisy in the parking lot. 

I pull my credit card out of my pocket (I almost never carry a wallet or purse). “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I don’t have any cash.” 

She’s horrified. “I don’t want money,” she says. “I need a ride. I forgot my EBT card and all I have is $5.” She shows me the bill in her hand. She’s not carrying a purse or wallet either. “I just want to know if you’d be willing to give me a ride home because it’s a long walk.”

“Of course,” I say. She offers to sit in the back (absolutely not, I tell her) and keeps assuring me that she doesn’t have COVID-19. I say, “Me neither.” And she laughs. 

“You’re a superhero,” she says. “A girl superhero. You know, like those cartoon girls.” 

“Powerpuff Girls,” I guess. 

“Yes,” she says and puts out her fist for me to bump. “We’re both Powerpuff Girls.” Yes, we are.

Once we’re settled in the car, I ask where I can take her. 

“The projects,” she says. “Do you know where that is? Low-income housing?” 

I do, sort of. I’ve passed the projects many times on the way to Ian’s school. It’s a long way, more than 3 miles, from the grocery store. I ask, “Did you walk this whole way?” 

“Every time,” she says. There’s no grocery stores near the projects, you know; it’s not profitable enough. She directs my driving gently. “Left at the exit. Can we turn right onto Graham?” 

I tell her that I think so. There’s an officer directing traffic because there’s construction all around us. She says she’s going to ask so we don’t get in trouble and she calls out to him. “Sir, sir. Can we turn here?” 

He rounds on us with such a look that I flinch. Then he smiles and says. “Yes, you can. Have a good day.”

I say to her, “I thought for sure…” 

And she laughs. “So did I. He sure had a look on his face.” We share a relieved laugh. “Left turn up here,” she says. 

And then she talks to me. If there’s such a thing as reincarnation, she’d like to be a tiger — because they take such good care of their cubs — or a cloud. “A cloud?” I say. “I’ve never heard anyone suggest that before.”

“I’m going to explain it,” she says. “Clouds seem so soft but nothing can hurt them. They move. They stay still. They’re beautiful. They come in many different shapes. They even change shape. I’ve been abused my whole life. I think I’d like to come back as a cloud.”

We keep talking. She tells me about her daughter, only two pounds at birth, but now a beautiful, happy 22-year-old. Her neighbor, kind of a nasty woman, passed away two days ago. She wonders if the lady would still be alive if she’d just been a nicer person. What did I think? I said that I thought negative emotions were destructive. 

She nodded. “I’m 47,” she says. “How old are you? You look really young (HAHAHAHAHA) but talking to you is like talking to my daughter AND my mother.” The conversation, and her gentle directions, continue the whole way to her home. “A right here. Do you see that it’s a triangle? You want the sharp angle.” 

As we’re driving up her street, I see a statue (in the Garden of Hope) made from rebar. I point to it. “That’s beautiful,” I say. 

“It IS! There’s another one, a little bigger, on Webster. You should go see it on the way home,” she says. “Just ahead now. You can pull over beyond that white car on the right.”

“I’m glad I met you,” she says as I stop the car. “I hope we meet again someday, under better circumstances. Now, do you know how to get home?” I tell her that I do and that I’m glad I met her too. She slips out of the car and turns around to say good-bye one last time. I watch as she starts walking away. 

She turns suddenly and stretches out her hand. “Do you want this $5 for gas?” She shows me again the bill in her hand.

I shake my head and say, “Thank you but you can’t pay for the gas. It was my pleasure.”

She pulls her mask down and smiles at me. “I hope we meet again,” she says, as she presses that $5 to her chest and walks away.

I didn’t realize until I was almost home that I don’t even know her name. 

If there’s such a thing as reincarnation, what would you be? 

Stay safe.

Powerpuff Girls and Clouds