Saturday, September 14, 2013

Headed for Africa! Sorry, Mom

This is a screenshot from TIA Adventures website. TIA means This Is Africa. PK and I are going on a safari with this company that includes a night or two "bush" camping. Will we hear the lions roar? Maybe. Will we be nervous? Probably. But as the homepage of TIA's website quotes Helen Keller,
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.
The countdown is on. Well, actually, it has BEEN on for a couple years. But now that the tickets are purchased, the itinerary is established and our (PK's and my) dream trip to Africa is imminent, we're watching the clock, obsessing about packing, and scurrying to corral the garden into jars and the freezer without killing ourselves or each other. That's the two of us.

Me? I'm also skirting the edges of guilt about leaving my mother.

She's  a healthy 97 and lives in assisted living one mile away. She keeps forgetting that I'm leaving. I have told her at least 50 times. Our initial plan was to travel last February. She asked how long before I would leave.  I told her it was eight months. She said—and I'm not making this up—Oh, that's OK. I'll be dead by then.

As if it wouldn't be OK if she wasn't dead?

Today, when I told her for the umpteenth time about our imminent departure, she expressed horror that I was going to Africa, because, Aren't there a lot of black people? What about the lions and tigers?Don't stick your leg outside the bed or something will chew on you!! How long will you be gone?

Twenty-five days, I told her. She grimaced. Grimaced.
Oh, well, when you get back and I'm not here, you'll know where you can find me, she said. The cemetery!

I laughed. Because it is laughable. And what else could I do?
Not go?

My mother never understood the part of me that wanted to GO. Never, although going has been a mostly unfulfilled part of me, she cannot relate. But really, does she need to? Is it odd, and also pathetic, that as a person nearing age 70, I am worrying about what my mother thinks?

I didn't worry about that for most of my life. But now is different. It isn't so much what she thinks, but what she feels. I know that I'm important in relieving the boredom of her long days in assisted living. I also know she's well cared for, safe, and, for at least part of each day, entertained.

I've spent many hours struggling with this dilemma, which has, of course, another side.

That would be the side of my understanding husband of going on 40 years, PK, who is hot to travel the world. He retired in 2008, the year we brought my mom to Oregon from Minnesota. He's raring to go and he'll go without me. He has. I don't like it, but I understand. I don't hold it against him.

I think I'm near the end of working through this, balancing my needs against my mother's, my husband's needs against my torn allegiance.

I have to go with him. While we're both still healthy. While we have the resources. I've explained repeatedly to my mother (who I expect to live to 100 and beyond)that I love her and admire her spirit more than ever, but that my primary relationship is with PK.

Next week PK and I are headed for South Africa and then on to Uganda. Twenty-five days total. Hardly a blip in a lifetime, especially if you're about to turn 98. Or even if you're edging uncomfortably close to 70. I can't wait to experience the places and meet the wonderful people in a world that our son Chris has opened to us. His friends and admirers will be "catching us" on a new-to-us exotic continent.

Before we know it, we'll be back home to "ordinary life" but, no doubt, itching for the next adventure, even if it's just driving the Four Wheel Camper south during the winter rains. Mom, you will have to get used to this.

I'll think about my mother every day, and send messages for her caregivers to relay about my adventures. I can't imagine that, given a sound mind, she would deny me.

NOTE: My wonderful daughter-in-law, a long-term care ombudsman, assures me my dilemma is not at all uncommon. As longevity increases and many people are living well into their 90s, their children, also aging, are caught between what they want and what their parent wants or expects. It isn't easy.

P.S. I won't be posting blogs from Africa, but I bought a New Camera! and a Moleskine notebook in which to jot notes, and I am excited to share 
images and words about a world so distant from my own.


Saturday, September 7, 2013

Beloved Birkenstocks Bite the Dust

My elderly Birkenstocks, age 36+, were recently put to rest after a remembrance ceremony. Yes, friends, I threw them into the trash and the garbage truck hauled them to the landfill.
My other Birks got together for a send-off. I forgot to add the ones I was wearing, a black three-strap pair with brand new soles. Only about 12 years old, as are all the others except for the tan fat-strapped units on the right.  They look mature, but are less than a year in my possession.
One year down, 36 to go. 
I wore my first Birkenstocks for nearly 37 years. I can't recall how many times I had them resoled, and the shoe bed was replaced once, or maybe twice. When PK and I traveled to Italy for a bicycling trip, they were my only shoes, in addition to cycling shoes. Several days of that adventure were spent hot-footing along Italian streets, 10 miles a day, at least. These Birks also carried me down the Rogue River trail for 20-some miles after my official hiking shoes produced a huge blister and rubbed a toenail off. I have worn Birkenstocks to death and have never suffered a blister, corn, bunion, ingrown toenail, plantar wart, toenail fungus or feet-that-failed-me on their account.
My original Birkenstocks finally faded beyond repair. 
I remember the day in 1977 that I purchased them for around $30 - a lot of money then, in Medford, Oregon. I was pregnant with my first-born, Quinn, who turned 36 in August. I wore the Birks a lot during the next 20 years, but not exclusively.

Those were the days when I could wear other types of shoes. It wasn't like NOW when Birkenstocks, or other high-quality sandals, are my only choice since developing, several years ago, a hostile bone spur, which defied bone spur-removal surgery and grew back with attitude. It is my enemy,

Left foot—perfect. Right foot—big painful gobby-looking bone spur, the reason I rarely
wear shoes with closed toes, unless I"m in a self-flagellating mood.

I must say I've taken a lot of, ummm, derision, for being a constant Birk wearer, especially regarding the recent cast-offs. Hey, I should get credit for loyalty and the wisdom to ignore current fashion. To Birk aficionados, shoe-horning feet into pointy high-heeled shoes seems ludicrous.

Through the decades of being the only person I knew wearing Birks, I believed they must be in style someplace. I am now thrilled to learn that Birkenstocks are officially back! The Fashion Beast (of online Newsweek's Daily Beast fame) even said it. 

This article confirmed my suspicion, and gratified my hope, that my decades-long devotion to Birks has not gone unnoticed, and now luminaries such as Miley Cyrus and other famous beautiful young people, whose every fashion move creates headlines, have perked up their toes with the world's best shoes! Like moi!

I have a few decades on them, and I live in the Oregon boonies, so I'm wondering how the fashionistas knew? Who knew first? How did the word spread that a fashion leader had emerged in Southern Oregon? Well, that was about a week ago and the Birk revival is likely fading already, despite my continuing devotion. Sigh.

I'll be going to a fancy wedding next weekend, where the fantastically gorgeous bride will be wearing shoes worthy of her sleek bridal gown and beautiful self, and where her multitudinous lovely friends will be fashionably attired and shod. Me?  I'll be wearing my "dress Birks", the black ones with the back strap that served me well during a mud fest at the rainy New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Fest in 2008, and also as my official bike shoes on numerous rides over the past several years.
The "bandages" are duct tape blister prevention.
These Birks provide a clue to how the word "shoddy" may have originated? But seriously. Since this photo was taken a mere five years ago, they've been cleaned up and resoled and are ready to rock and roll! They're likely to be useful far longer than me.  I'm taking them to South Africa and Uganda in a couple weeks. Aside from gorilla tracking (the subject, no doubt, of a future blog post) I know the black-strapped Birks will be up to the challenge. I hope I will be too!




Sunday, August 25, 2013

Buy Hendri Coetzee's Memoir, Please

Dear Readers - I'm asking you to consider purchasing a memoir written by Hendri Coetzee, Living the Best Day Ever. No one asked me to promote the book and I have nothing to gain other than the satisfaction of sharing insight into a young man whose impact on my son, and the ripple effects through our family, have been significant. Also, it's a good read! A bonus is that this first hardcover collectors' edition is being produced in the spirit and style of a classic explorer book, complete with Hendri's hand-drawn maps. The book includes five photos by Chris Korbulic.

Hendri Coetzee, 2010 shortly before his death.  Photo by Chris Korbulic.
Do you remember Hendri Coetzee? I sure do. I became acutely aware of him late in 2010 when our son Chris Korbulic and his kayaking partner Ben Stookesberry launched into what was planned as a three-month circumnavigation of rivers that connect Africa's West Rift Valley. Their expedition was to end when they arrived at the Congo River. Hendri was their guide.

Who the heck is he? I asked Ben, who had searched-out Hendri online and made the long-distance arrangements. Is he legit?

Ben said, in as many words, This guy is great. And indeed he was. Hendri was a modern-day explorer,  extreme kayaker, and adventurer. I later learned he was also a thinker, philosopher, comedian, and one helluva writer.

The trip would take them down the gnarly hippo and crocodile-infested Nile River in Uganda, across Lake Victoria, into the Ruzizi River and then the Lukuga River. Ahh, yes. The Lukuga, which I bet anybody who's reading this had never heard of before this expedition.

By this trio's ridiculous standards the Lukuga was tame. Most of Hendi's exploits were far sketchier, and Chris and Ben travel the world chasing waterfalls and unexplored rivers. The Lukuga was an unlikely place for any of them to die.

Hendri was taken by a crocodile on that river. Chris was just a few feet away and saw the split-second attack. Why didn't the croc take Chris? Or Ben? They will never know but will forever question: Why did I live? Why did Hendri die?

Just the previous evening, sitting cross-legged in a rainstorm while Chris and Ben huddled beneath a tarp, Hendri laughed and joked, bringing light to what could have been a miserable situation. Despite the downpour, their meagre dinner of a shared candy bar and a bit of dried fish, he was having the time of his life— another Best Day Ever. The next day he was gone.
 What could be more ironic than dying when you feel most alive?      From Living the Best Day Ever 
His memoir brings to life many of his incredible adventures, and he tells the stories with delicious detail, impressive descriptive power, humor and self deprecation. In most cases, he's aware that death is at his side, a subject he mentions time and again.

He wrote in one of numerous foreshadowings:
The lack of happy old people in my environment is a good indicator that this is an unsustainable lifestyle. Either I find something better, or I die on the river. Either way I have nothing to worry about. The worst possible scenario is that I don't let go when the time comes, that I live out my life by an empty well, depressed and chained to a dead passion."  From Living the Best Day Ever
I was asked to give the manuscript a quick edit. (It had been edited already and would undergo a more thorough treatment before publication.)

It was sent to me from Uganda via the Internet. I printed all 296 single-spaced PDF pages, sharpened my pencil and went to work. (The boxed manuscript traveled back to Africa with Chris a couple weeks later.)

Fascination and awe grew as Hendri's life unfolded. My eyes flew over the words, stopping now and again to correct a comma, substitute a word choice, or eliminate excess. I laughed out loud, (Yes LOL!! as they say on Facebook) teared up, shouted at Hendri, talked with him quietly, and marveled that a young man bent on apparent self destruction was also sensitive, compassionate, thoughtful, self deprecating, courageous, outrageous, damn smart and funny!

With his muscular physique and history of daring adventures, you might think he was macho in the worst sense. Not at all. In fact, he was full of self doubt, always questioning, always thinking—and always writing. He began his  Great White Explorer blog to chronicle what would be his final expedition. He was 35. His blog posts are part of the book.

Note: If you check out the blog, you'll find a piece written in August 2013 by his good friend Leyla Ahmet. Her piece is worth reading. To see Hendri's 11 posts, scroll down on the right to 2010 archives.

When our Chris is deep into an adventure, we are always hungry (desperate!) for news. When Hendri's blog came to light, I was thrilled to learn expedition details, terrifying as they often were. I was also amazed by his writing. He generated a flurry of words that he obviously didn't have time to labor over, let alone go through the torture of revising/rewriting. He was a natural. He wrote out of excitement and the need to tell his stories. As I worked through the manuscript, I was taken with his respect for African people, who somehow manage moments of joy in the midst of great poverty and pain. A couple of my favorite quotes:
 White people are not tough enough to be black
The Heart of Darkness is a label that will hang over the Congo for a long time. The cliché is turned on its head when you find out it is your own heart that leans in that direction. 
His ability to create a sense of place in the here-and-now and also in historical context is remarkable. I developed a desire to GO THERE and I am! (PK and I are soon headed to South Africa and Uganda.)

Fear,  disillusionment, death, good, evil, leadership, self-doubt, haves and have-nots, joy in the moment, guilt, implications of being white—all are themes that are woven throughout the book. All this is mixed with the adventure stories that wouldn't be unbelievable  if they were in a novel. Who would believe, for example, that cannibals are still operating deep in the Congo and that Hendri nearly succumbed to a group of them?

Extreme kayakers will relish the wave-by-hole accounts of class five and six rapids, and the trials of expedition leadership as well as unsupported solo explorations. The rest of us will enjoy those parts, but will be taken as well  by his insights and original thinking.


Why do I care? Because I care about the people who put their hearts and resources into getting it into print, and I care about Hendri, although I never met him. And I care about my son, Chris, who could have been crushed between a crocodile's jaws but wasn’t.

Chris escaped death, and because he loved and admired Hendri, he thought about conducting his life in a more conscious way that Hendri had demonstrated, specifically about accepting the troughs that occur between peak experiences, and learning to accept and even welcome the “flat water.” He wrote about Hendri’s  “best day ever” state of mind in a piece in Canoe and Kayak magazine.

Hendri's philosophy demands embracing the moment, whatever it brings.
Do I always do this? No. But I do think about it, and I do try. And I believe I have been elevated in some situations that otherwise would have been terribly dull or uncomfortable. Hendri’s memoir made me realize the role individuals can play in creating their own realities. 

He caused me to think and wonder. What more could one ask from a book? Or from a person, dead or alive?

 For how-to-pre-order info, keep reading. 

Sunday, August 18, 2013

The Bomb! Zucchini, Potato, Tomato Gratin with Pesto

Does this look good or what?! And it is. Easy, too, except for making it look pretty.
I'm not claiming "low-carb" for this one. I am claiming that this recipe at least mitigates the evils of potato starch (AKA carbs) with loads of zucchini, tomatoes, cheese, and basil pesto. It is basically a potato gratin but with half the potatoes. Ok, ok, it is not virtuous at all carb-wise, but I need to adapt to the husband factor here. He grew an entire row of potatoes this year, recently harvested them, and we are now looking at several big burlap bags of spuds hanging in the somewhat-cool pump house. What's a girl to do? Short answer: use zucchinis with potatoes in roughly equal parts in every potato dish to calm the blood sugar surge perpetrated by potatoes, and, at the same time, please the potato man. And if anybody's counting, subbing zukes for spuds also lowers the calorie count. 

Idea! You could make this without potatoes. I bet it would taste just about as good.

Pesto Gratin with Potatoes, Zukes, and Tomatoes 

Choose potatoes, zukes and tomatoes that are of similar diameter when sliced whole. In my case, all were approximately three inches around, give or take. I used a food processor to slice the potatoes and zucchinis, reducing a 10-minute tedious exercise to a few seconds. I sliced the tomatoes by hand. Use a 9X13 inch casserole dish. Preheat oven to 375. The recipe below serves eight as a side dish. 
  • 3 potatoes, medium-sized, red or yellow, sliced. Russets not recommended.
  • 2-3 medium zucchinis, sliced
  • 2-3 medium tomatoes, sliced
  • 6-8 tablespoons basil pesto, preferably without cheese added (if you're using commercial pesto, don't worry about the cheese.)  See photo.
  • 1 medium onion cut in half and into slices
  • Italian cheese blend, about a cup, grated
  • salt and pepper to taste (I bet a dash of smoked salt would be great!)
  • a few sprigs of fresh basil, torn into pieces to add the last few minutes of baking 
Directions
Spread the pesto onto the bottom of your casserole dish. Stir in the raw onion.
As you can see, pesto covers the bottom but isn't thick. I used four pesto cubes. (To make pesto cubes, use your favorite pesto recipe but leave out the cheese. Freeze in ice cube trays, then transfer to plastic freezer bags. My inexact pesto-making method is below.)

Four pesto "cubes" (that's a cube from my freezer there in the middle).
Together they equal to five or six tablespoons of  pesto. 

The slices are more-or-less the same size. I used a food processor to
cut the zukes and potatoes. 
Overlap sliced vegetables as shown below, using about the same amount of potato slices as zucchini slices but fewer tomatoes. Salt and pepper as desired. Cover the casserole with foil and bake at 375 for 35 minutes. Remove from oven, take off the foil and bake for another 15 or 20 minutes, until most water has evaporated and the potatoes are soft. Cover with grated cheese and torn fresh basil and return to oven until the cheese is melted and slightly browned.
Layer the potatoes, zukes, and tomatoes as shown, I used red and golden potatoes.

The finished product......a crowd pleaser. 
Pesto cube directions below.

Monday, August 12, 2013

Summer Berries Crisp- Low Carb-ish

A berry "crisp" made with coconut flour and oats isn't crunchy but it is delicious. 

I'm calling this dessert, which is a popular potluck contribution, "low carb-ish" because it tends in the right direction but oatmeal pumps up the carb count. Still, with four to six cups of berries and zero real sugar, it is far more virtuous than fruit desserts made with flour and sugar. It tastes great, too, and is so easy to put together. Figure about 10 minutes assembling and 45 minutes in the oven.

I credit my sister, Monette Johnson, for coming up with this recipe 10 years ago when we both were acquiring the low-carb habit. She modified a recipe that started with a boxed yellow cake mix. Yuck! Commercial cake mixes, with processed ingredients and high sugar/flour content, are death to a low-carb effort or healthy eating in general. I've tweaked her recipe a bit further to use coconut flour rather than whole wheat or oat flours. Almond meal would work well, too. This is also a gluten-free dessert, provided you use the right oats. Turns out that Quaker, the most commonly available oatmeal, has traces of gluten-containing grains, which could send the truly gluten-sensitive bolting for the restroom.
Splenda, oats, butter, coconut flour, walnuts, cinnamon—that's about it for an easy topping.

Summer Berries Sensational Dessert

4-6 cups of berries, fresh or frozen. I tend toward six cups of strawberries, blackberries, blueberries and/or raspberries
3-ounce package sugar-free J-ello
1 cup water
1 cup old-fashioned oats
1/4 cup coconut flour (other non-wheat flours also work)
pinch of salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
3/4 stick butter, melted
3/4 cup Splenda, or other sugar substitute
1/4 cup chopped walnuts (or other nuts)
Strawberries and blueberries this time around. I also use raspberries and blackberries, or any combination of these four berries. We are still harvesting and freezing strawberries, and our first picking from our wild blackberry "fence" is in the freezer. More berry crisps are coming soon.

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350. Spread the berries in a 9X13-inch baking pan. Shake the J-ello powder on top, then drizzle with water. Mix gently.
Melt the butter, then mix in the oats, flour, Splenda or whatever you like for a sweetener, cinnamon, salt and walnuts.
Spread the mixture evenly atop the berries. Bake for 40-45 minutes. It's best served warm with plain half and half, whipped cream, or vanilla ice cream.