Striking Culinary and Choir Gold

Alison's Herron High School Choir group won gold at a competition this weekend, and the medal was a fitting description for our culinary adventures as well.

It all started with a mid-week date night at the Indy Monthly Best Restaurants event where the magazine's top picks offered up great samples of their work. It was followed up with a dinner that paired the courses with great drinks.

We got really lucky with our table mates and met a couple of the guys who own a few of some of our favorite Broad Ripple restaurants. Which led us to celebrate Alison's choir gold status on Saturday at The Vanguard.
 
Barring our vacation extravaganzas and that week when we eat out at new places when Ali is at summer camp, it was probably the best Wednesday dinner we've ever had. The venue was pretty awesome, too: a former fancy restaurant-turned-Ivy-Tech-culinary-school with a penthouse view of downtown.

We had Ali's friend Corie with us at The Vanguard -- we'd snagged her from the choir competition. The girls were in a food coma before the dessert arrived.

After, we were all in a bit of a state. We should have walked home rather than driven and next time we probably will. Especially when we have Ali along and we're in Broad Ripple for a meal, we end up at Brics for ice cream. Not this time.

The only thing that saved us from dying of culinary excellence was that the four of us shared two desserts.If we'd each had our own, we'd probably have exploded. It would have been an OK death, though.

It was even better than we'd been led to believe, plus we ran into Kip and Robin Tew so it was a bonus.  If you're coming into town to see us anytime soon, you can trust that you'll get to know the place. I had Sunday brunch at another site recommended by the restaurateurs -- Ruth's Cafe -- with one of my favorite people in the world: Vicki Burdick.

The table could barely contain the pancake I substituted for toast, but we managed. And again, the recommendation was spot-on. I can't believe we've never been there before.

In other weekend activity, we celebrated science with Ali demonstrating how to crush a soda can with atmospheric pressure.  "Hey Mom, can I do a science experiment," she asked while I was distracted out in the yard.

"What are you going to do?"

"Crush a can. With fire."

"OK."

"WHAT is she going to do?" Jeff asked.

"Crush a can," I said.

"Not unsupervised!" he said.  I went inside.

"I'm supervising," I said.

She glanced over.  "OK."

It was pretty cool. She replicated an experiment her Chemistry teacher did last week. Jeff was impressed and suggested she could do a larger can next time -- one of his big craft beer can.

Flush with confidence, she said she was pretty sure she could crush the microwave or refrigerator. I'm going to send a note to her teacher and ask that he offer up a different kind of experimental inspiration this week. Maybe a chemical reaction that results in yummy food.

Pot brownies and a giant chicken

This may be the first year Alison got a chocolate bunny in her Easter basket. For the longest time, she didn't like chocolate so I never got her a bunny when she was little. She made do with Laffy Taffy and gum.

When she finally embraced chocolate, I tended to get her dark chocolate bars and fancy bites. But this year, I found a bunny shaped container of her favorite Ferrero Rocher truffles along with some super cute baking supplies. In addition to liners, I found tiny baking tins that look like little terra cotta plant pots. I thought she'd make pretty cupcakes decorated like potted flowers.

"Oooh. I can make pot brownies and take them to school," she said, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

I worry about that girl.

She doesn't remember an Easter when we didn't go home, and this year was no exception. In past years, we've had pretty complicated egg hunts. One year, we had an egg shoot. This year, we hadn't planned a hunt, but Jaime's foreign exchange daughter, Andrea, hasn't ever participated in an egg hunt so Jaime and I hid 100 of them around Donna's house.

It took them the better part of an hour to find them all and to sort out who had found those with Lottery ticket prizes. I made them take a photo at the end showing off their loot as if it were a squirrel hunt.  No one questioned what that meant.

On the way down and back home, we passed by what may be my favorite piece of yard art, ever. I'm trying to talk Jason into getting one. I mean, who doesn't need a giant chicken? It's got to be six-feet-tall.

Like Jason, Jeff doesn't see the charm but I'm going to work on him. Or I'm going to get Alison to make him some of those pot brownies.

Don't say it's over

Suffice it to say that when you spend a few days in paradise, the return to reality does not come gently. It was rougher for the Maine contingent of our Spring Break party so I shouldn't be complaining at all.

 

A winter storm canceled the Mainer's flight home and resulted in a stay in Miami then arrival to snow. Our only real setback was sitting behind a two-year-old who really wanted off the airplane. By some fluke, we'd flown out first class.

It was coach going home. I'm short so I always have plenty of room. Jeff always sleeps so it doesn't really matter that much as long as he can be on the aisle. Ali tends to stretch across me, so we're pretty low-maintenance travelers.
 
We will forever be grateful to Gary Reed and his generosity in taking us all to the idyllic Beaches resort in Turks & Caicos and to everyone in our party who makes family travel something to desire rather than to dread.

Highlights of the trip:

Alison spent a ton of time in and underwater and came up with a collection of sand dollars, conch and assorted small shells that will result in a decor redesign, I suspect.

James and David ended up with new beachwear thanks to luggage lost (but eventually recovered) on the flight in.

We counted more than 200 geckos and got a great shot of Godzilla, King of the Lizards.













I overestimated the length of the beach and left a bunch of my soles in the sand and might have done more damage to an ailing leg. But none of us suffered much more than a little bit of sunburn.

The snorkeling group saw sea turtles, sting rays, a giant lion fish and bunches of other swimmers.

We had amazing meals, including snails for Ali, Grandpa and me at the French restaurant one night.
Ali wasn't a fan. I'm ambivalent. Jeff was adamantly against the attempt.

Ali wore one of her bikini tops upside down one day.

James and David won about as much at the casino as they had to spend on clothes to make it through the days until their luggage was found.

Peter was placed on the DL with me after tossing a ball to Ali and reminding himself that he'd hurt his shoulder when Nicodemus -- attached by leash -- took off at a dead run when Peter wasn't looking and nearly got to the door carrying just an arm.

Jen discovered that paddle boarding on Pleasant Pond in Maine is much more tranquil than in the Turks bay where speedboats zip up and down the coast.

It's time to turn our attention back to getting ready for a work week. Ali still has a bit of homework to focus on.

But the laundry is done; we've restocked the fridge and I've spent too much of the day backing up photos.

It's time to face Indiana spring. Which could mean boots and sandals all in the same week.

But there's always Spring Break 2018 to look forward to.

A step (or 12K steps) too far

When my pleas for the rescue boat and/or a search party were said out loud instead of just in my head, I knew I'd gone more than a few steps too far.

It was the Chocolate Monkey or maybe my sister-in-law's fault, really when she replied to my question, "How far do you think it is to that point over there?"

She shrugged, guessed three miles, and went back to her Rum Punch. She was busy arranging a beach pizza party and I decided to test her ability to judge distance on the beach. So off I set.

My plan was to rest my left leg, which has some sort of a tear or pull deep into the muscle. I'd go slow, I reasoned. I'd be fine.

There are many problem with a walk on the beach when one of your legs is wonky.

1. Your leg is wonky.
2. You have to walk back with an even more wonky leg.
3. Rescue boats work in the water not in sand.
4. If your potential rescue party is more Donner than Blitzen, they ain't coming to get your lame ass. Even if it's literally lame.
5. A short walk on the beach will give you a nice, smooth polish on the soles of your feet. A Bataan death march will flay whole -- and quite necessary -- layers of skin.
6. Once your protective layers are gone, your feet try to build new ones. (Not so)Fun fact: calluses are born as blisters.
7. Your non-wonky leg will eventually remember it comes in a pair and start to be wonky in solidarity with the other one. Who knew legs are Democrats!?

Jen's estimate was off by two miles. In the bad direction. But I had no business walking one mile down the beach so really it was my own damn fault. Or maybe the Chocolate Monkey.

Today I will rest. As long as, you know, I can get the Chocolate Monkey off my back.

Fit(bit) to be tied

“Dad is like a dog when he does something wrong,” Ali declared this afternoon, claiming that when he knows he’s in the wrong, he tucks his head down and whines a little bit in the back of his throat.

“And,” she went on, he blames other people for doing it.”

We were in the car coming home from school/work and I was fretting about misplacing the actual fitbit part of my Fitbit wristband. I’d put it in the charger this morning and when I went to replace it in the wristband, it was gone from the charger. I looked all around the counter, in my purse (twice for some reason including again when I got to work.)

“I didn’t touch it,” said Ali.

“I found it on the floor by the bed,” Jeff said, according to Alison, his head was down and no eye contact was made.

I KNEW he’d picked it up off the floor and put it on my bookcase. It was from there that I’d picked it up to get it juiced up.

“Sometimes you lose it at night and it falls on the floor and I pick it up for you,” he explained, continuing to wax poetic about my fitbit foibles.

I resisted my “yeah, yeah, yeah, but did you really  think it was YOUR fitbit charging in the kitchen, and did you help yourself to it?”

We were trying to get out the door to school/work and I decided to address it in the evening. 

My rationale: "We need to get to work/school.  My leg still hurts. Maybe this is the Universe telling me to give it a rest." 

Everyone knows you can't exercise when you don't have your fitbit on. It's like none of that good work ever happened if it's not recorded.

 

"Besides," I reasoned. "I know where the damn fitbit is. It's wherever Jeff put it. I know where it wasn’t when I went to get it. Ali doesn’t wear a fitbit. My logic was irrefutable."

Fortunately I didn't voice my suspicions because this evening, foraging for food, as we discussed the fate of the fitbit and all the different ways Jeff could have snagged it and immediately forgotten he'd done so, Alison sang out: "Hey Mom. Found your fitbit. It fell into the fruit bowl."

Argh! Not only is Jeff  not the thieving varmint Ali and I had pegged him, I now have to exercise. But first it has to charge.

Week in Review

I had to leave work early this week when Alison's annual bout with respiratory issues flared up. Her cough reached the tipping point where medication could be had, so off we went to the doctor.

Happily medicated, she's getting back to normal just in time for benchmark tests and Spring Break.

One day during her recovery, she wandered into my bathroom where I was in a bubble bath, hoping the warmth would help ease a muscle issue I've been having in one of my legs. After she complained that I could spend time bathing while she was burdened with homework, she pushed out her non-existent stomach and said: "All this being sick and studying and laying around has given me a pooch."

"Yeah, that's what did it," I said.

She was on the way out when she realized what I said.

"Hey!" She said. I was still laughing at her when she returned, armed with a Nerf gun, then turned the cold water on.

She's a vengeful thing. But at least she won't be hacking on the beach.

With vacation coming up, I'm trying to stay away from the french macarons my friend Kirsten and I made during a french pastry lesson. It was a Christmas gift that was for the three of us, but Alison's cough was too bad to take into a commercial kitchen. It was super fun, though we did miss Ali, and we were sure she'd have done better than the two of us.

She's decided that she needs to switch from using the traditional measuring cups and spoons we've always used because the pastry chef who instructed us weighs all of his ingredients. For her birthday, she's asked for recipe books that give weights in the ingredient list and a kitchen scale so she can practice.

"I think I love baking so much because it's really chemistry," she said. "And I love chemistry."

On a less happy note, my Uncle Larry had some pretty serious heart surgery this week. He is my father's youngest brother and has been a constant in my life. He can tell the funniest story in as few words as anyone I know. He's also one of those people who you can always count on. Years ago I was up visiting my cousin, Lori, and staying with them, we'd come in from seeing a movie.

She and I were laughing as we came in the door but found Larry and Shirley in the kitchen, clearly waiting on us. My dad had had another heart attack. It was late. Not midnight, but late. I turned to get back in my car and Larry followed me out, insisting that I shouldn't drive by myself.

I don't remember that drive. He does. He's also never ridden with me behind the wheel in the 30 years since that night ride. In my defense, there's nothing but hilly, curvy country roads between their house in Columbus and Greene County General and we had reason to rush. I guess we were lucky that Larry wasn't in the ICU next to my dad, though I didn't realize that for a while.

And, I'm told that when she got a similar call about her Grandpa, Lori's daughter, Allyssa, made a strikingly similar trip from New Orleans where she lives to St. Vincent's in Indy. Her canine co-pilots didn't refuse to ride home with her.


The good news is that Uncle Larry seems to be on the upswing since the surgery. I popped in for a short visit today and he asked me to tell Aunt Shirley to stay home for a couple days. He's worried she's worrying to much and needs to rest. He was hoping that as Lori has to go back to work, she'll be stranded.

Aunt Shirley greeted his request with the snort and scheme I had suspected. Donna's driving her up tomorrow.  If you're inclined to find favor from higher powers, send up a note for my aunt and uncle. They're amazing people.

Apples and trees and the fireplace in March

Ali just read "Lolita" for school and it's been the topic of many a conversation around the dinner table or in the car.

She's been disgusted by the premise but intrigued with the writing style of the book. We've tried to get her to stop focusing on the actual relationship and to think about the motivations and explanation for the reprehensible behavior. She has to give a speech and offer a 3D prop.

We talked about it going home last weekend. She was planning to get a block of styrofoam that use for floral arrangements and carve it into a brain. She was going to stick toothpicks in it with paper flags attached, with references to the brain abnormalities of both HH and Lolita.

We found a mannequin head instead. I came home the other day to find her hands-to-elbows covered in enough green to make the Hulk envious. (I was going to say green with envy, but, well, that seemed redundant.) Anyway, she had carved a really creepy looking brain in the top of the head. It's pretty gross. But I suspect will be effective. She was planning on sticking toothpicks or wooden skewers in it with flags detailing the array of mental illnesses she'd identified. I don't know that she'll need more than this to showcase her theory that the main characters needed treatment.

I kind of want to see her give the report. She was the only one in her class to pick "Lolita" out of about 30 options for the pre-AP English 10 class. She's had a few weeks to get over her initial, visceral reaction to the book. Her classmates won't have had that opportunity.

"This was a real thing. It actually happened," she said. "It was pretty awful but the writing style was pretty cool."

In other Alison news, she's been selected to be among a group of young people to take part in the Richard Lugar Series for Excellence in Public Service Next Generation. I am super pumped about this, mostly because her selection had zero to do with either Jeff or me and 100 percent all Alison Renee Reed.

Teachers make the decision to ask kids if they're interested, and then they choose from there. Jeff and I aren't super-involved at the school so her teachers have no idea that I have any prior involvement in state service, that Jeff is currently serving or that Grandpa Reed served 10 years in the Maine Legislature.

Dick Lugar is one of those statesmen who even diehard Democrats thought was awesome and didn't mind crossing party lines to vote for him.  The series will include a state at the Indiana Statehouse where they'll choose one of three bills to follow and they'll visit with elected officials and others throughout the day.

One of the stops will be the Governor's Office. I don't know if the couch she peed on as a poorly diapered child is still there. Cindy had it cleaned, so I'm sure none of the folks who came after would have known. But we know she marked the space at an early age.

She doesn't remember, as I do, when she correctly identified letters on the state seal in the office carpet to Heather Willey, then the governor's E.A. for education. Ali was two or three, and Heather was delighted to find an early enrollee in  FOB's  early education program.

Anyway, I'm enormously proud of her. She quickly grew tired of me going through the paperwork I had to sign for her to do it. "You are such a government nerd," she said.

She's hoping they pick a bill she can talk to Speaker Bosma about because it just strikes her as wrong and he should know about it. We'll have a discussion about how to respectfully disagree the morning of the event.

Today we're spending the hopefully last bitterly cold day of the year with a fire in the fireplace. Ali had homework and was sequestered in her room for a while. She'd ventured out earlier and he'd bemoaned her lack of slippers. (She's been sick and it's really cold.)

"If you don't put something on your feet, I'm going to stab you with this knife," he threatened. She remains barefoot. The knife never met her flesh.

I put some music on and she and Jeff both assailed me when the first song came on -- Billy Currington.

It's a 5-disc player. Only one is country. They didn't believe me. Elvis Costello, Bruce Springsteen, Fountains of Wayne and a home-made disc with Ben Folds Five and Barenaked Ladies. It was enough to eventually lure her out of her room.

These are my favorite Sundays. All of us in the same room, good music and assorted toys to play with together or apart. I'd like a lot more of them.

Oh! On Friday, Hilary Ricks and a new friend, Heather Barton and I went to the Anderson Cooper-Andy Cohen show. We ran into a few other friends, including Cathy Garver and Alisha Valentine. The show was super fun. Great night out. Ali had a friend over and Jeff took them to see Logan. Good reviews from all involved. 

This week, Ali and I are meeting up with Kirsten Jasheway to get a french baking lesson. I finally cashed in Kirsten (and Duane's) Christmas gift of a massage so I'm all relaxed and ready for it. Ali is going to smoke both of us at this lesson. But we'll have wine so it'll be OK.