French Bliss

I picked up a copy of My Life in France yesterday at Barbara's Bookstore at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. I had some time to kill while waiting for John's surgery to be done and after all the hype I'd heard about Julia and Julie, I was curious to read about the real Julia Child. At the time, all that I knew about Julia Child was that she cooked French food, had been in the OSS, and had a TV cooking show.

My earliest impressions of Julia Child came from coming across her TV show on PBS when I was a child and, sad to say, from the Saturday Night Live skits. I hate to admit it, but somehow I gathered that she was rather opinionated and snobbish and not someone I'd like to know. I'm not exactly sure how I drew that conclusion, but suffice to say she wasn't someone who interested me until the whole Julia and Julie thing came about.

Picking up the book, with the picture of Meryl Street as Julia on the cover and thumbing through it, I was impressed by the humlity and humanity I saw reflected on the pages. I started reading it when I got back to John's room and I found myself getting drawn into Julia's foodie adventures. My mouth watered as she described the butter laden treats she learned to cook in France, I felt saddened to read about her having to leave her beloved France, and I cheered for her as she found a publisher who actually got what she was trying to say.

I recognized my own opinionated nature and love of travel in her stories and I was charmed as she described shopping in markets and learning to cook from scratch. I empathized with her in her search for herself in Paris. For although, I was the one with the career while John stayed home, I know how difficult it was for him on Okinawa. It's hard to be the one following your spouse around to the far corners of the earth. I especially empathized with how hard it must have been for her to go from having a career of her own with the OSS (the precursor to the CIA) to being a dependent spouse.

Some of the recipes Julia cooked, such as the beef bourguignon look as if they would taste incredible, but some of the others like the aspics I'm not sure I could ever bring myself to try. I know that someday soon, I'll be getting a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and expiremienting with some of the recipes she cooked. Even if I never become an international celebrity or public foodie, I'll at least have the bliss of creating and eating wonderful food.

Heartfelt Bliss

Today's the day of John's second heart surgery. God, those words sound so incredibly scary. I know that this isn't open heart surgery and that they're going to go in through a artery in his leg, but it's still scary to think that they're going to mess with his heart. What if something goes wrong and the man I've lived with, loved, and had two children with for almost half my life is gone after tomorrow? There's so many things I haven't said, so many things I regret, so many experiences we have left to share. How to you fit all those things into a few hours time, just in case? He made sure to tell the kids he loved them yesterday, just in case, but our last few minutes would be spent at the hospital surrounded by strangers.

The day dawned bright, clear, and cold and the courtesy car that we'd arranged for the night before turned out to be a caddy with an opinionated driver who kept us entertained for the short drive to the hospital with his tales of rich clients and his opinions on government waste. We got to the hospital and headed up to the eight floor to the cardiac cath lab. They swept John away from me and I was left alone in the waiting room. At that time more than at any other time in my life, I regretted my tendancy towards privacy, my belief that I had to tough it out and I had to stand on my own two feet. As I sat all alone in that waiting room, I realized it would have been nice to have someone to share the burden with, someone to tell me that it was all going to be okay.

After they prepped John and got him ready for his surgery, they called me in so that I could wait with him. We waited, and waited, and waited. He slept and watched TV and I twiddled my thumbs and waited. I slipped out for a few minutes ostensibly to grab some food, but also to stop by the chapel and to say a fervent prayer that John would come through this in one piece. I also stopped to admire the beautiful views and to thank the heavens for places like Northwestern where they save lives.

The kids both texted me to check on their dad and I had to tell them both that I didn't know anything yet. Finally, the doctor's started trickling in and they told us that it wouldn't be much longer. Finally, it was time for him to go into surgery and after they wheeled him away, I pulled out my laptop and made a pretense of working, but in reality I was praying, surfing, and trying to take my mind off all the things that could go wrong.

I ended up stepping out to go to the bathroom (way too much soda) and when I returned, they were wheeling him back into his room. He was drowsy, but all in one piece and the doctors said that his surgery had gone really well and there had been no complications. He had to be flat on his back for the next hour or so, but then he could get up and walk around. Knowing he was all right gave me a huge sense of relief and I went out for a walk and to grab us some lunch so he had something to eat when he woke up. I headed not staying by his side, but I knew from personal experience that having someone sit and watch you sleep makes it hard to actually sleep.

The Markethouse restaurant was a few blocks away so I got a meatloaf for us to share and then two deserts because I couldn't choose between them. We got a wonderful chocolate desert and a pear tart. It was nice to walk in the crisp air and to feel the relief that John had come through this in one piece and that hopefully our lives would be back to normal soon. Walking back to the hospital, I felt a spring in my step and I felt home for the first time in a long time.

John was awake when I got back and he devoured the meatloaf and the deserts. It was almost 3 pm and we both agreed that I shoudl start heading back to the train so that I wouldn't get caught up in rush hour. I hugged him extra tight and headed out to grab the train, feeling incredibly thankful that my sweet hubby had been spared and vowing to try to be nicer. That's hard sometimes, but I'm going to at least try.

Walking, Bliss, and Dinner

John has his second stent put in his heart tomorrow so we headed downtown to spend the night in a hospital before his surgery. Showtime is scheduled for tomorrow morning at 7:00 am so our choices were spend the night downtown our choices were get up at an ungodly early hour in the morning (probably 4:30 am) or spend the night downtown. We like our sleep, so we opted to spend the night downtown.

We took the train downtown and then spent some time exploring Chicago's new French Market before grabbing a cab to the hotel. The French Market is a cornucopia of treats for the body, mind, and soul. There are stalls selling fresh fruits, fresh veggies, fresh meats, and wonderful smelling body butters and potion. We bought an apple turnover to share, sampled some incredible bread, and then dawdled over the blissful smelling potions in Abbey Brown booth. I splurged on some Rose Petal bath salts, a delicious smelling bar of soap, and All that Jazz Body Balm.

An enchanted carriage (okay, a cab) whisked us away to our hotel where we checked in and checked out the amazingly deep soaking tub. After stowing our bags, we walked a few blocks up to the Corner Bakery for dinner. I fell in love with this part of Chicago as it is cosmopolitan and homey all at the same time. We were only a few blocks from the lake front, but it seemed like a neighborhood with grocery stores, stop signs (and not stop lights), and friendly people who took the time to say hello. My meal was a little disappointing and I was stupefied (and glad I only ate half) that the pecan maple bar contained almost 800 calories. That will teach me to read the labels before I pop food in my mouth. John, however, had the club panini and it was awesomely good.

We headed back to the hotel and after getting John settled, I headed out for a walk around the Gold Coast to get my exercise for the day and John settled in to watch a football game. I walked for over an hour, window shopping on Oak Street and wandering through Water Tower Place (the only place that was open). Most of the items for sale were way out of my league price wise, but it was fun to dream and think about what it would be like to have an unlimited budget.

Back in our cozy little hotel room, I ran a bath in the incredibly deep soaking tub, sprinkled in some of rose bath salts and slipped into Nirvana. The tub wasn't perfect as it was really hard to get the stopper to stay stopped, but considering that we don't have a working tub at home, it was awesome to slip into the deep tub and soak my troubles away. Getting out was the hard part as I could have stayed in that wonderfully scented water forever.

After the lights were turned out and we snuggled under the covers of the king size bed, the fears came to light as we both admitted some trepidation over John's upcoming surgery. It's really easy to be fearless in the light of day, but late at night the boogey man comes out and it's easy to let the fears get the best of you.

The things going are way are that John is going to be in a really good hospital, this is the second operation so they have all of his records, and it's not being done in emergency circumstances, but it's still a little scary to think about them threading a needle into his heart, inflating balloons, and leaving behind a metal stent.

Hopefully we won't need it, but wish us luck tomorrow anyway.

Foodie Bliss

I always thought foodies had to be super obsessed and obese people whose entire lives focused on their next food fix. However, over the past year some careful blog reading and introspection has taught me that being a foodie isn't about quantity, it's about quality. Despite living in the land of plenty, we live in a world that is obsessed with the quantity of food we can shovel into our fat little faces (and yes, I get to say fat little faces because all too often, I was the one doing the shoveling).

From seeing folks eating at all you can eat buffets, you'd think that they were seriously thinking that they didn't know where there next meal was coming from. I've been there done that as I used to be a devotee of Ponderosa, Old Country Buffet, and all the other feeding troughs masquerading as restaurants. The funny thing is that even when I was the one at the trough, I was thinking to myself, "So this is why Americans are so fat." America's a society truly believes in more more more when it comes to food and that mentality is sticking to our thighs, our butts, and any place else that flab sticks.

We're taught at an early age that cleaning our plates (even if the food is tasteless, fat filled, junk) is a virtue and that leaving anything behind is a mortal sin. Who among us hasn't heard about those starving children in Africa? We reward ourselves and our kids with food and then wonder why we're all fat.

My first glimpse that food should be about quality and not quantity happened three years ago in Amsterdam where I savored perfectly ripe strawberries with two pieces of perfect chocolate. I savored that meal and it filled me up and satisfied more than any of the stomach busting trips to the buffet I'd taken in my life. That lesson came back to me over the past six months as I've started reading foodie blogs, shopping for fresh foods, and really taking time to savor my food instead of shovel it in.

Being a foodie is really about enjoying what you eat and making it meaningful. It's about eating that perfect strawberry when it is perfectly ripe. It's about savoring a perfectly cooked chicken and enjoying every morsel. I guess the first time I realized that food should be savored and enjoyed and not shoveled. The best part is that being a foodie doesn't mean I have to give up anything, if I really want a fast food hamburger that's okay, as long as I savor it and enjoy the experience and knowing I can have my cake and blissful eat it too is pure joy.

Is Anybody Out there?

Okay, like most writers I have to admit that I'm deeply insecure, some would say neurotic and it drives me absolutely nuts to go day after day with no evidence that anyone other than my family is reading my blog. I get amazingly excited when I see that my stats are up and deeply depressed on the days I check the stats and see that absolutely no one has found my blog. That's a depressing feeling for a writer who craves a feeling of connection and wants to change the world through her words. Deep down, I harbor dreams of getting those calls from New York editors who think my blog is the coolest thing ever and want to offer me a bazillion dollar book deal. That's never going to happen if no one is reading my blog.

On the days when I start to get depressed and wonder if it's worth it to even keep writing this blog, I realize that at the end of the day, I started it as a way to chronicle my journey to bliss. It's about finding my own path to bliss and maybe inspiring other people by my journey. My blog wasn't started as a way to get publicity, to drum up readers for a possible book deal, or anything else.

My blog is about my journey to find bliss, balance, and even meaning in the ordinary events of life. My Everyday Bliss is about stopping to smell the flowers, about looking for the good in the world, and about being open to having bliss come into my life. Maybe my blog is self absorbed at times, maybe no one wants to read about my journey to balance and bliss, maybe no one cares about how awesome my kids are, about how much I learned from my dad, or about my heartfelt plea to find bliss in the world.

Maybe at the end of the day, I have to be satisfied knowing that my life has changed because of this blog and that on the days when I don't blog and focus on finding bliss, I'm not living life to the fullest. And if my blog only changes my life, than it's worth the effort because I'm worth the effort.