Graciously Rolling With the Punches

February 19, 2019 85 Comments

Lately, I feel as I get on in age, different health issues are attacking my being. In October of last year, while I was brushing my teeth, I heard an unusual sound hitting the sink. Much to my chagrin, it was the back part of my front tooth. I went to bed thinking, “Dear God, how much is this going to cost us?” For a week I postponed going to see the prosthodontist; in the meantime, every time I talked, every word ended in a whistle. It was time to make an appointment with the specialist.

My front tooth has been an enduring cross for most of my life. My sister Jo was the cause of this injury. I do not recall if she was beating me up or swinging me as a small child. Either way I landed on my face and my front teeth took the brunt of the fall. With one tooth cracked down the middle, it would take years for the other tooth to manifest its injury.

I was in junior high school when I noticed that my other front tooth had turned to dull shade of gray. I never brought this to the attention of my mother because she was too busy making sure my three older brothers were staying out of trouble. One day I noticed that I had developed an abscess, and finally told my mother. She took me to the worst dentist in Colton. This small-town dentist did the minimum for his patients, and if it had it been anything but my front tooth, he would have extracted it. All my adult dental problems stem from his lack of professional training. His name was either Dr. Van Voorhis or, fittingly, Dr. Pain. I’m sure he is no longer among the living; he has either gone to heaven or perhaps hell. I pray the former. For sure he has made my life a living hell.

This doctor filed down most of my front tooth, and every single dentist and specialist that I have gone to, has remarked on the botched work he did. I have had my front tooth replaced at least five times. I was not going to mess around with a novice dentist, so I made an appointment with one of the best in Orange County, Dr. O’Brien.

Dr. O’Brien getting ready to take a picture of my new teeth

I knew it was going to be a great expense, but sometimes we have to make sacrifices. At the first appointment doctor O’Brien fixed my chipped tooth with a composite veneer, and placed a temporary cap on the botched tooth.

I so badly would like to remodel the main bathroom in our home but all that had to be put on hold. I cannot share the cost of the work done on my teeth, but I could have purchased a nice used car.

In the meantime, my temporary tooth had fallen out three times, because I’d forget and use the water pick. It took almost four months to get my tooth right, partly because I was traveling and I missed several appointments.

Taka, the specialist from Japan was making the tooth, and each time I would go in for an appointment for the fitting, Dr. O’Brien would say, that was the color was off. I would hear them discussing my tooth. “It needs more gray, and yellow, and some pink.” I was right there when they were describing the color of my teeth. Finally after a few months of working to get the color perfect, I was scheduled to go Taka’s lab, the Japanese genius. There on 4th Street, in Tustin, California, with bright lights overhead, the perfect porcelain tooth was born.

Allan, Taka, and Dr. O’Brien, the best teeth team in Orange County

These doctors are doing what God has called them to do. I love going to their office because there is always a cohesive atmosphere. Dr. O’Brien takes hours to make certain he gets it right. He is never in a rush to get you out because it’s as if he is doing this unto the Lord. When you are doing what God called you to do, you do it with great joy; you look forward to your daily task, because it not only pleases you but also bring a smile to the Lord.

Colossians 3:23-24 New King James Version (NKJV)

²³And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men, ²⁴knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance; for you serve the Lord Christ.

I’m certain that my sister Jo can still beat me up, as she was always the strong girl in our family. I remember in one fight, after sassing my Mom, Jo came after me. I threw our pet cat at her, because I knew that this would allow enough distraction for me to escape the inevitable.

Jo, her sons, Nick, Frank, Rocky, and Torie

Thank God we outgrew our childhood without any serious injuries. All that toughness that my sister developed would later help her raise four boys that grew into fine young men.

I love to smile, and now, thanks to these great specialists, my confidence is restored, and I thank God that they followed their calling!

Romans 11:29 New King James Version (NKJV)

²⁹For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.

Have you answered your call? I have, I follow Him, His love guides my path.

Funny Stuff

Ski Diaries Part Two

January 8, 2019 6 Comments

I’m here with my family at Mammoth Lakes, a ski resort in California, but I no longer ski. Mike still skis, but has added more than goggles as part of his headgear, he now wears a helmet. I don’t ski for three reasons: 1. Fear of falling, and getting injured; 2. All the heavy gear; 3. I never liked it in the first place. I sit in the lodge and meditate on all the fond memories we have as a skiing family.

Mike, Me, Mikos, and Sonja

To many, skiing is a fun sport, but for me it was a laborious task. We always did winter skiing, and we had to protect ourselves from the elements that Mother Nature threw our way. The turtlenecks, the sweaters, the jackets, the hats, the gloves, the pants – and this is all before stepping outside. Next came the ski boots, and skis, adding more weight. So by the time I hit the slopes I was already exhausted. Even in a blizzard, I was sweating by the time I got on the first chairlift.

The chairlift is a moving object that you have to mount with strangers. There is no room for error. I suffer from dyslexia, and I could never figure out what hand to hold my poles, or which way to turn. It was a small miracle each time I got on safely.

Dismounting the chairlift was no different. I’d just look for a soft landing. One thing I did master as a beginner/intermediate skier was how to get up after a fall, I was proficient at recovering from a fall

When Sonja was 5 years old, I accidentally knocked her off the chairlift. You can imagine the shock seeing her little face through the opening slates of the chair as I was going up. This is when I discovered that I could only be responsible for myself, and I had to forget that I had small children while loading and unloading the beastly bench on cables.

One of my falls

Deer Valley became our favorite ski resort in Utah. When Mikos, Sonja and Carter, Mikos’s best friend, were still in their teens, we invited our best friends, Larry and Helen, to join us to ring in the New Year. Larry and Helen were not skiers but agreed to meet us in Salt Lake City. On the morning of their scheduled arrival, I asked Mike if we were going to pick them up at the airport. Mike waved one of his ski gloves in a downward motion saying, “Forget them, we’re going skiing!” There were no cell phones available, so I could not forewarn them.

So many things went wrong after that, and I was the subject of all the punishment. I took a really bad fall on the first run. My right calf was injured to the point of tears. I immediately skied back to the lodge and waited for the rest of the family. I could barely walk, let alone ski, but Mike would not hear of it. I had cried wolf one time too many, so he made me go back out.

Sonja, Mikos, and Carter

I was being extra careful not to re-injure my right leg, so when I fell again, I placed all the force on my left side. With the weight of my body facing forward, I heard a loud crack as I fell. Thank God it was my boot that cracked in half and not my leg, but now both of my legs were injured.
God always sends special agents to help, and I know this is the only reason I got down in one piece. My pain was so intense when I removed my skis, I became delusional, and had no idea where I parked them.

“The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him, And rescues them.” Psalms 34:7

Once again no one believed me, but this time I had tangible proof. I showed them the cracked boot and convinced everyone, with the exception of my son Mikos.

When it came time to leave, Mike asked Mikos to carry my skis. One problem: I had no idea where they were. Mikos was 18 years old and had the patience of a hungry newborn. Mikos did not appreciate the hide-and-seek game either, so he and Carter finally found the skies.

I wondered if all this happened because we left our friends hanging at the airport. Larry and Helen traveled with Selena and Jason, their teenagers, and Richard, Helen’s nephew, along with Bea, a good friend of Selena’s. They waited for us at curb side, but we were too busy creating our drama on the slopes. Larry told Helen that maybe we’re going to pick them up at baggage claim; they finally gave up and rented a vehicle.

Us
La Caille
Mike, me, Helen, and Larry

One of the highlights of the trip was eating at “La Caille,” a French Château. This restaurant is situated at the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains, and long meandering cobblestone road leads you to the door of the one of the most beautiful eateries in the US. We wanted to share this experience with our friends. We were a party of eleven, driving two SUV, the teens in one and the adults in the other.

La Caille

After dinner I struggled getting into the vehicle; with both legs injured, I could not get in without causing a small scene. Larry got impatient and helped me into the vehicle with a shove. I let out a loud scream, that was followed by unsympathetic laughter.

That night one leg hurt more than the other, so I could not remove my cute leather boots. Mike was fast asleep and had grown tired of my moaning, so I called Sonja to help me. Mike ended up driving us to the ER. This would not be my last visit to the ER while skiing.

The injury separated my calf muscle, leaving a permanent reminder. It appears as if I’ve developed a muscle from working out, but it’s not. And this, my friends, is just one of the many reasons why I no longer ski.

We had a wonderful trip with Mikos , Jenny, Maddie, and Will. To see them interact as a family made my heart glad. Mikos and Jenny’s lives are so busy that I cherish these special bonding times spent together. I always worry about our grandchildren occupying too much time on electronic devices, but this time a 2,000 piece puzzle kept us all busy.

“And now these three things remain; faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. 1 Corinthians 13:13

Larry has a much more interesting version of this story, and always reminds us how we abandoned them at the airport of a strange city. Happy to share that we are still best friends.

May the Good Lord Bless Your New Year!

Mikos, Maddie, me, and Jenny

Funny Stuff

New Tamale Recipe

December 4, 2018 1 Comment

Tamales are a staple for most Mexican families, especially at Christmas. The perfect tamales should only be cooked no more than 1 1/2 hours, and the masa (corn dough) should easily separate from the hoja (corn husk). My mother made the best tamales in the world, and I wanted to try her recipe for our “Annual Tamale Contest.” I called my sister Norma several times to be certain of our mother’s recipe for tamales. In the past Mike was always the one getting everything prepped for the tamales, but this time things were going to change. In the last 2 years our tamales have not won. All I could think about was winning the contest with my Mom’s secret recipe.

Mike and I did a lot of running around on Saturday to get all the ingredients together. We went to a different Mexican market for the masa this time. Masa is the freshly cooked corn, ground up, and mixed with lard. We purchased 25 pounds of masa, but Mike mentioned that the masa looked too mushy. My sister Norma assured me that Mother always used pork shoulder for the meat. Mike made the sauce with California chiles, pasillas, and New Mexico chile, just like my Mom. Mike kept reminding me, “This is your show; I’m just helping.” As Mike cut the meat I browned it in a large frying pan, and then transferred it into the sauce. For two hours we allowed the flavors to unite into one, and soon our home was filled with the sweet aroma of Mexican comfort food. Before Mike went to bed he told me, “Make sure you let the meat cool down before putting into the fridge.” It was already 10:00 P.M. and my eyes were getting heavy when I went to check on the meat, It was still too hot. I wondered if this putting hot food away was an Old Wive’s Tale. I Googled it, and sure enough, every single post said that it was fine to put hot food in the refrigerator.

Second shift, Russ, Maddie, Sonja, me, Mikos, and Adele

The following morning was production day. I recruited my neighbor Adele, one of my longtime friends to help us.

I taught my class of catechumens at St. Norbert, and from there went to the Dollar Tree to pick up a plastic table cloth. As usual, I left the store with a lot other junk, including Christmas headbands for the kids.

I Came home, soaked the corn husk and waited for the laborers to arrive. Sonja, Russ and the kids, including their dog, arrived at 2:30. My job was to mix the masa with sauce to give it some color, but I decided to go off on my own tangent and add some broth from the pork shoulder. No one knew I was doing this, until nosy Russ asked, “What are you putting into the masa?” “None of your business” I answered. Russ would not leave it alone, “It looks like fat!” “It’s my Mom’s recipe!” I sharply replied. It was not my Mom’s recipe, but my creative way of making things taste better.

I cooked the first dozen tamales for us to enjoy while we worked. The tamales had been cooking for over 2 hours when I got one out and served Adele. The weirdest thing happened. When I opened the tamales it was like mush, Mikos opened the second one and said, “Mom, these are raw!” “No they’re not, they’ve been cooking for almost two hours, ” I replied. Poor Adele, she graciously ate the mushy tamales and said that they was great. Mike was all over this and said , “I knew we should have never changed where we bought the masa, it was way too moist!” So we continued to cook the tamales for another half hour. This time Sonja got into the act, saying, “Wow, what happened Mom? They’re sticking to the hoja (corn husk)!” I had no reply, but I started to panic, because at this point we were almost done with the production. Mike said, “Cook them longer!” Someone cranked up the heat on the pot and while everyone was pointing fingers at me, the tamales started burning. The smell hit all of us at the same time because we were all in the kitchen. “Oh my God, now you’re burning them!” Sonja yelled.

These are the loving words that came out of my family’s mouths:

Mikos: “Mom, did you make tamale soup?”

Sonja: “They taste so good, but they look so awful!”

Mike: “The masa was too moist because we did not buy it at the right place.”

Russ remained silent but we both knew what I did. So to clear my conscience, I sat down and said “Well, maybe because I added some broth from the pork shoulder to the masa, this could have changed things.” At this point everybody started going crazy. Even Jenny, who did not help with the production, said, ” So you compromised the masa?” and her loving husband, my only son, Mikos, added, “You’re never going to win with these tamales Mom.” Russ finally opened his mouth and ratted me out saying, “It was not broth, it was fat.”

After everyone left, I called my sister Norma and shared with her my observation that the recipe that she gave me was a disaster. At first she was very empathetic, then came all the questions: “Did you put the meat away while it was hot? What did you do? You guys worked so hard.” Then I told her about adding the broth. “You did what? You added more lard? That is not our mother’s recipe!” She ended the conversation with, ” It’s a shame, It’s a crying shame!” I told her to shut up (in a nice way).

So on December 15, 2018 I will enter both of my pork and chicken tamales, and pray that God will fix this debacle in time for me to be crowned the “New Tamale Queen.”

Please remember that we are entering into the New Liturgical Year, and Sunday was the first day of Advent. The first Sunday of Advent symbolizes Hope with the “Prophet’s Candle,” reminding us that our Lord Jesus is coming. We prepare our hearts for his birth.

God Bless You!

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