I haven’t done as well with trying new recipes last month, but I did manage a few:

Coconut Shrimp Curry with Red Pepper and Spinach, from Stuck on Sweet. A+ This was delicious. I just took some leftovers out of the freezer for work tomorrow.

Cambodian Chicken and Rice Stew with Shrimp from Food & Wine. A. This was delightful–and good for the end of Winter/early Spring crappy weather.

Okay, so there were only two experiments last month, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t cooking. Here are some not-new recipes we love at the Waltonen house.

Creamy Tomato Soup from Taste of Home. A+ I always double the recipe, since the boy loves it so much (also, because my freezer must always be full). I add basil.

Fish PoBoys. A+ Recipe: You can use fresh white fish or frozen (I get frozen Swai from Safeway or Target; they can be cooked thawed or frozen). Spray the fillets with pam on both sides. Sprinkle with cajun or blackened seasoning on both sides. Cook according to directions. (In the last few minutes, I throw the french bread buns in so they can be toasted.) We then liberally apply Remoulade from Simply Recipes.

St. Urho’s Day Cookies A+

I adapted this recipe when I was a teenager. Finnish cookies use ginger quite a lot, but spices are traditionally used sparsely there; they were off the spice routes for a long time. My cookies are Finnish-America, meaning there’s way more spice. They became our de facto way of celebrating the Finnish-American holiday, St. Urho’s Day. Since they were also my Finnish-American Daddy’s favorite, I made them for him on all of the other important days too.

Ingredients: 3/4 c. butter, softened; 1 c. sugar; 1 egg; 3 T molasses; 2 tsp. baking soda; 2 tsp. cinnamon; 2 tsp. ginger; 1/4 tsp. cloves; 1/4 tsp. salt; 2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips; additional sugar for rolling.

Preheat the oven to 375.

Cream butter and sugar. Add the egg and the molasses–mix. Add the baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and salt to the bowl–mix. Add the flour in batches–mix. Stir in the chocolate chips.

Grab a T of cookie dough. Roll into a ball. Roll in the additional sugar. Place on a greased/pamed cookie sheet, 1 inch apart. Flatten the tops of the cookies slightly. Bake for 8-10 minutes.

(If you’re feeling lazy, you can do bar cookies. Spread into a greased/pamed 8 x 8 pan and cook for 20-25 minutes.)

Eat, while thinking of me.

“How did the presentations go?” I asked my class this afternoon.

They all started talking at once, not about the presentations, but about the substitute teacher.

I have two conferences this month, so I scheduled student presentations for the two days I’d be gone–something that’s easy for a sub to supervise. I didn’t get to choose my sub–it’s someone I’ve never met, actually, a full-timer at SCC, who usually teaches on the Sacramento campus.

Their complaints were numerous–she started roll before class started and then “tardy-shamed” people who weren’t actually late. She cut off their presentations and was strict with questions. She criticized how I wrote the presentation instructions (I was surprised she did something like that in front of them). She made a student take his baseball cap off.

“Well, you’ll see her on Thursday, for the next group of students to do presentations while I’m gone.”

They groaned.

“Are you going to wear your hat?” I asked the student who always wears a hat.

Another student: “Maybe we should all wear hats.”

They got really excited.

“Could we?”

“I can’t condemn peaceful protest. . . but please make sure you actually get to do your presentations.”

Tune in next week . . .

I am always astounded when my students tell me former teachers have told them they’re bad writers.

This quarter, someone implied I had.

We were at a writing workshop with Douglas Abrams, co-author of The Book of Joy. My student said her confidence was shattered–she had thought she was a great writer, but now she knew she was a bad one.

“Who told you that?”

She looked right at me.

I got defensive, immediately.

“I never said that–I would never say that.”

“But I got a bad grade on the punctuation quiz.”

“That was an automated quiz–I haven’t even seen it. And I certainly haven’t told you you’re a bad writer.”

The student seemed to think my distinction wasn’t important.

(Abrams tried to get us back on track by telling her to just put a comma wherever she would pause, which caused ALL of my students to swivel their heads to me, since I had told them that only people who don’t know the formal rules (and who aren’t professional editors) say that.)

My student’s feelings were hurt by the quiz results, though. She had been in AP English. She had been an editor for her school’s yearbook. My assuring the class that I go over punctuation with my graduate students hadn’t mollified her.

I tell my students that we all need more practice–that’s why writing classes, from remedial to graduate level, exist. I also tell them that I am usually their first and last hope at getting an actual explanation of punctuation.

None of my teachers had really gone over it. Having a BA in English doesn’t necessarily prepare you for teaching writing, especially at the nuts and bolts level. I taught myself the rules (and the names of them) when I was becoming a professional writing teacher, a professional editor. In other words, I had to go out of my way to understand the difference between the restrictive and nonrestrictive clause, the cumulative and the coordinating adjective.

(This lack of formal training is what leads to so many people saying that commas and pauses are interchangeable.)

My student isn’t a bad writer–she did fine in my class, especially since grammar is one small part of writing and therefore of writing instruction. But she is a graduating senior who makes comma and semicolon mistakes. The latter is compounded by her inability to spot and fix her unintentional fragments.

But I’m worried that her assumption about what I was “saying” with a quiz grade will change her memory of what I did say–what I would say.

This week, I got a small envelope in the mail. I opened it to find this.

Nothing happened.

So I flipped it over.

And now I’m very happy indeed.

My grandfather taught me about St. Urho’s Day many years ago.

Last year, I wrote about how I was spending my first St. Urho’s Day without him in the world.

Today, my nails are green and purple. I’ve made our cookies. I’ve opened my favorite wine, and I’m drinking it out of a wine glass he gave me.

Last night, just as I was falling asleep, my son asked if Thoth, our black kitten, was with me.

He wasn’t.

I assumed he was on our fenced porch.

He wasn’t.

Our adult cat is indoor/outdoor. He jumps the fence regularly.

When we discovered our other kitten, Graymalkin, was blind, however, we wanted to keep the kittens inside.

Graymalkin, strangely, figured out the cat door first (he also tore up the carpet in front of the cat door when we locked it, which led to us deciding he should be allowed the few feet of porch).

Thoth watched it all, but didn’t follow to the porch until earlier this week.
He only figured out how to jump on to the bathroom counter two days ago, so I wasn’t overly concerned.

Apparently, once he gets going, he progresses quickly.

The boy went out to look for him around the neighborhood. I did too, but I stayed closer to the house. After calling him for a while, I heard his distressed cry.

He had jumped the fence, but only made it into the neighbors’ fenced porch.

The neighbors weren’t home, but I found a loose board (sadly, we all have loose boards). I was able to gently bend it just enough to reach my hand through near the top–and I asked him to climb up to me.

He did, and I was able to get him out.

Once we were back inside, he ran to the now-locked cat door.

My back always hurts–that’s because I have degenerative disc disease and neuromuscular problems.

I am currently in PT (ongoing) for my low back and my TMJ.

Over a month ago, though, my back got worse–I thought it was just prepping to go out, like it did over Christmas break. One day, I wore a brace to teach so I didn’t bend over and exacerbate it.

But on February 13th, I woke up in crazy pain. My physical therapist worked on it that day, but it didn’t get better. Over the next few days, my massage therapist and my chiropractor also worked on it, to no avail.

And then I found myself in the ER–they gave me the usual shot for a back that’s going out and sent me home.

And the next day, I got the same shot again at my doctor’s office, because the first one hadn’t done anything. My doctor gave me oral versions of Toradol (the shot) to take through the week. At this point, I realized that the pain was really familiar–it was like when I herniated a disc 20 years ago.

I was able to drag myself to work, but my back was still awful.

So on Monday afternoon, my doctor gave me another shot and sent in an urgent request for an MRI.

Here’s what it said–three of the discs are worse than they were the last time I was checked there. However, one of them has a big bulge–it’s pressing on the nerve root in my spine.

Now I have an urgent referral to the pain clinic. My doctor would like to try injections to reduce the bulge, but I won’t know more until I get in to see the specialists.

When this happened 20 years ago, I didn’t have insurance (even though I was a full-time graduate student and employee of a university). Thus, there wasn’t much I could do but suffer.

When I started work at Davis, though, I had access to care, because my union had fought for that.

Still, it took a year to get me into an MRI. Because no one believed me. I was young and thin. They told me to do yoga and to exercise. They said I could lose five pounds.

When I finally got the MRI, I was scheduled for an emergency surgery the next day. A massive herniation was pressing way into the spinal column, causing nerve damage that has never healed.

Me: I TOLD YOU SO!

My surgeon bragged about how big the herniation was–he said he’d showed it to everyone.

It was probably so massive because it had been allowed to get bigger for over a year.

So this sucks. And it’s affecting my mood and cognition and abilities.

But I’m also thankful for healthcare, for a doctor who knows and trusts me and who sent a message about the MRI results late on a Friday night, so I would know what they revealed on the same day he did, for options for what to do now–and I’m not worried if they say surgery–cause last time it took the average pain from a 9 to a 6, right away, and for my friends who are offering me so much love and support right now.

After working all week in incredible pain, I slept for 11 hours last night. And I’m ready to face more work.

New recipes:

Shrimp sauteed with red bell pepper in a yellow ginger curry sauce (the sauce was from a Target-brand jar): B

Garlic Butter Shrimp with Cilantro and Lime, from Inspired Taste–B+. I served this with rice. The boy thought it needed something else, like bell peppers.

Mississippi Pot Roast from TheCountry Cook (via Vanessa): A+. Great over potatoes, and since you cook it in the crock pot, there is a lot of juicy goodness left over.

Cottage Pie: A+. I had never made one of these before, but I took the leftover roast and juices, put it in a pie pan, topped it with the leftover potatoes, and baked it with a bit of cheese on top.

Shrimp Masala, from Food & Wine–A. I served this with rice and an unintentionally soupy indian creamed spinach. The boy had two servings.

I also made a recipe I can’t find an online version of. I had taken a picture of this, probably while in a doctor’s office. It was okay. Squash & Curried Noodle Soup from Better Homes and Gardens.

Old recipes that should know about:

Sidecar from Epicurious: A+. I add some cloves to this, an idea I got from my friend Rae.

Russian Vegetable Pie from All Recipes: A+. I first had this when Vanessa’s dad made it for her graduation party. I’m not a fan of cream cheese or mushrooms, so I don’t know why I love this pie so much, but I do.

Zucchini Pie from Seasoned Mom: A+. Tiffany first made this for book group when she lived in California. I have it handwritten in a book, but I found it online for you, dear reader. I grate the zucchini instead of slicing it. Book club debates whether this or the Russian Vegetable Pie is their favorite. (They don’t have to; when I make one for company, I make them both.) 🙂

Beer Biscuits from my grandmother: A+. Mix 2 cups of bisquick, 2 Tbs sugar, and half a beer. While drinking the other half of the beer, drop into greased/oil sprayed muffin tins. Bake for 20 minutes at 375. Makes about 12.

[A Davis doctor’s office. This last Tuesday.]

My doctor came back into the room.

“Are you sure you want the shot?”

“Yes.”

“The nurse is afraid to give it to you–she’s thinking about what happened last time she injected you with this drug.”

“That wasn’t her fault–I’m just that weirdo that all the weird stuff happens to. Send her in.”

“Okay, but she really doesn’t want to.”

Several years ago, my back went out. My doctor ordered a shot of Toradol, a drug I’d had before. It usually breaks the pain cycle enough for the back to even out after a few days.

On that day, I made a noise when the needle went in. The nurse and I were both surprised it hurt that much, especially since it has to go into the thick ass muscle. But I got my bandaid on and went home.

I went to sleep early that night. When I woke up, I thought I had rolled over on a book.

A hardcover book.

Something was under me.

Except there was no book–just a giant blood bruise–six by four inches–across my ass cheek.

I was scheduled to see my GERD doctor the next day, so I ended our appointment by making things uncomfortable–

“I have a weird blister from a shot on my butt–can you look at it and tell me if I need to see someone else about it, officially?”

He declared it big but fine and fled the room. His nurse, who had had to come in, since I’d dropped my pants, said it was the largest blood bruise she had ever seen.

Two days later, I was getting my allergy shots. I hadn’t been able to sleep, due to the discomfort, so I asked my allergy nurse if there was something I could do to ease the pain of my bruise/hematoma.

“What bruise?”

I showed her.

“Oh, hell!”

The original nurse who had given the shot was summoned, as was my doctor. There was consternation all around.

My doctor cleaned the wound and bandaged it. He said I would have to come back the next week to get the bandaged changed.

“I can’t–I’m gonna be at a conference in Oxford.”

And then they started telling me that I couldn’t go, in case I got necrosis. I over-rode them, explaining that I would keep a good look at for necrosis and that I was going to a country with better healthcare than ours.

The 9 hour plane ride was not fun.

When I had to change the bandage, halfway through the conference, what I saw was truly gross–it wasn’t black or red or green, but there were multiple layers of skin that were simply gone.

Having promised to check in, I sent a message to my doctor’s office: “No necrosis, but it looks like something took a big bite out of my ass.”

In the years since, the nurse has checked my ass whenever she’s worked with me–there’s a scar. My doctor told me he had to counsel her quite a few times after the bruise–she kept trying to figure out what she had done wrong.

But she hadn’t. As he explained, when you give thousands of shots, one of them will eventually create a hematoma.

Tuesday, she walked into the room. “When I saw your name, and the drug, I didn’t want to come in.”

“I know.”

She made sure to give me the shot on the other side, away from the scar.

It’s two days later, and there’s no bite.