I’ve told this story a thousand times.

I stood in a chain discount store, staring at the action figures, trying to recall what four-year-old Patrick had asked Santa to bring.   I finally settled on something and hoisted it into the cart.  A wistful teenage clerk spoke to me.

“Ma’am,” he ventured, “you’ve been standing there a long time.  Did you get what you wanted?”

“No,” I admitted.  “I wanted a girl.”

I love my son, make no mistake.  But I imagined he would be a girl.  I was so certain that I had her name selected — Elizabeth Lucille, after  my sister Joyce Elizabeth and my mother Lucille Johanna.  When I had amnio, the technician asked if I wanted to know the gender.  I shook my head and said, “No, I don’t,” in a loud clear voice.  I didn’t need to be told; I knew.

“It’s a boy,” she crowed.

Which part of “no” didn’t you understand?  I have not forgotten her stunned look, nor my next question:  How in God’s name will I potty-train a boy?  She shook her head and muttered, “Pregnant women.  Spare me.”  I don’t think she meant me to hear.

I couldn’t think of a boy name until Patrick was a week old.  I called him “Buddy” for those first days, a name which he subsequently carried until late in elementary school.

But I love my son; and he loves me.  He’s kind, strong, and gentle.  He’s witty, talented, and accomplished.  He inherited his writing talent from his mother’s side and, it must be said, his musical talent from his absent father.  Thankfully, he got his father’s calm demeanor but just as thankfully, his mother’s fiercely loyal nature.

I’m glad, now, that I had a boy.  But I truly did want a girl.

I’ve latched on to other people’s daughters over the years, hopefully not in a creepy way. In the first of my ill-fated marriages, I strained to be a decent stepmother to Kim and Tshandra.  I failed, but later in life,  I’ve reconnected with them, especially with Tshandra.  Our relate gives me extraordinary enjoyment.

My son’s best friend Chris has two sisters, and I came into my surrogate mother role with them.  I relish the times that I’ve had with  Caitlin and  Jennie.  I take a small measure of satisfaction that I might have done them some good.  They both turned out smashingly.

I had another stepdaughter, Cara; and I mourn the loss of my relationship with her because she’s a fabulous woman, beautiful, keen-spirited, tenacious, determined.   Then there’s a few more, the daughters of friends — Abigail Vogt comes to mind, with her two little boys growing like weeds.    Abbey will be married this fall, and I am hoping to play some small role in her ceremony.

This morning, I left the Delta with the sun full in the sky here in the river valley.  I headed north.  A blanket of fog clung to the foothills above the San Pablo Bay.  I drove for two hours, to Windsor, to the home of another of the girls whom I’ve collected and from whom, with the blessings of their mothers, I vicariously derive the experience of being a girl-mother.

I met Sharon Alberts and her daughter Ellen Cox at Pigeon Point Hostel several years ago.  They had come down to see the seals.  We got to talking about yoga, and I sensed something phenomenal in each of them.  Sharon has a peaceful, kind spirit, and her sweetness shines from her daughter’s eyes.  Ellen’s fierce intelligence dominates her  persona, though.  Every moment that I’m around her, I sense that she hovers one step away from greatness.

Maybe I got what I wanted after all:  the wonderful son who will never forsake his mother, no matter how far he roams; and the chance to share in the lives of some grand girls who’ve grown to be phenomenal woman.  Yes, yes; and oh, it was Batman that Patrick wanted.  Turned out, I had gotten it right.

It’s the first day of the fifty-second month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

 

Me and the lovely Ellen Cox.

A different person might have taken the first Beet and Mandarin Orange Salad recipe offered by Madame “Ok, Google”.  Had I done that, I would have used 1, 10-ounce can of Mandarin Oranges with juice; a jar of “good” pickled beets; a red onion, thinly sliced; and equal measures of quality olive oil and a vinegar of my choice.  Season to taste with salt and pepper.

But I could not take such a mundane dish to Sharon Alberts’ Easter Sunday brunch so I kept looking, and eventually, came across a recipe which I could cobble together along with a modified version of quick-pickling instructions to make something fresh.

I feel good about that.  I have no complaints, even though I’ll be attending said brunch with red stains on my hand.  The pleasant afternoon of cooking faded into an evening which ended on a perfect note — with visitors.  The Karaoke Diva, Jeanne Oxley; her husband Danny Johnson; and the lovely Louan Lee came over to my side of the park to look at my new screen door and assess what it will take to install it.  They sashayed around the inside of Angel’s Haven, cracking wise and generally inducing a feeling that they might actually like the place.  Just as quickly as they arrived, they piled back into Jeanne’s car and returned to the south side of Park Delta Bay.  I’m still smiling.

It’s late in the evening on Holy Saturday. at the tag end of the fifty-first month of My Year Without Complaining.  A tolerable fatigue has settled over me.    I’m not worried about eggs, or Reese’s bunnies, or even the fact that all my Easter Bonnets must be in the storage unit 1800 miles from me.  It’s all good.  Life continues.

BEET AND MANDARIN ORANGE SALAD, Mugwump Style

This recipe is a cobbled-together blend of several found on the internet, and hence, original.  The secret is fresh quick-pickled beets.  Yum.

 

For this recipe, which made 9 cups, I used two whole LARGE fresh beets.  Cut off the ragged ends and peel with a good, sharp peeler.  I use one with a firm grip because — well, lily-white spastic hands and all.  Clumsy!  Peel clean and rinse.

 

Chop the peeled beets into one-inch cubes.  Approximate, don’t obsess.

 

Using about two inches of water, steam the peeled and cubed beets fork- tender.  I steamed for about 12 minutes on a medium-high gas flame.  Then I set it aside and of course, as we learned on the Food Network, the beets continued cooking and thus were absolutely perfect.

 

Don’t forget to use white vinegar to clean the cutting board! Especially if, like me, you find plastic boards slippery and stone boards too heavy so you insist on using the wood board your father made which is the right size and easy to use but porous.

 

Thinly slice a large red onion.  As far as I can tell, this is one of the few times that even Scott Conant would approve of using red onions and he despises them.

 

You’re going to use 2/3 of a cup of red wine vinegar, three tablespoons of sugar, a few good rounds of fresh ground black pepper, a couple of dashes of cinnamon, and of course, pink Himalyan salt, as your pickling liquid.  The salt was sitting elsewhere and thus not pictured.  Quantities not exact.  This is a Rachel-Ray sort of recipe.

 

Dump out the steaming liquid (which will be beet-red, so watch out for your clothing especially if your lovely apron is still in Kansas City).  Put the onion and the pickling ingredients into the pan which previously held the water with which you steamed the beets.  (Notice the beets still sitting covered in the steamer portion of the two-tiered pan.)  Turn the burner on medium, and let the pickling liquid get nice and warm, stirring with a heat-safe spoon like this bright-orange one that somebody brought to my house and forgot to reclaim.

Cook until the onions soften

 

Then throw the beets into the pan with the onions.  Turn the heat off.  Mix like crazy!

 

Put the beet/onion mixture in a nice stainless steel bowl.  I have a set of these that I traded for the stand mixer when I got divorced the second time.  My ex threw in the cast iron pans as a bonus.   I have always felt that I got the best of the bargain.

 

Now things got really lovely.  You’re going to peel and section six mandarin oranges.  As far as I am concerned, Halos are better than Cuties but pick whichever one you can get.  Zest each one before you peel it, letting the zest fall into the beet mixture.  Don’t zest down to the palest part as that is nasty and bitter.  You want to stay sweet.  Always.

 

Zest, peel, section.

 

Once you have all your nice little orange sections in the beets, dress with about three tablespoons each of olive oil and red wine vinegar, and of course, add a bit more pink Himalyan salt.  If you don’t have pink Himalyan salt, use a good coarse sea salt or even just kosher salt.  If you have neither of those, use Morton’s or even Best Value but don’t let on that I said it was okay.  Once you have it dressed, refrigerate in a covered container.  Serve chilled.

Please let me know if you like it!

 

As you can see, my hands got a little red when I peeled the beets.

Happy Easter!

 

Dedicated to Sharon Alberts, who asked me for my recipe.