Holding you

I held you tight today. Not like I normally hold you – but tight – so tight that you couldn’t move your hands or your head. Tight so that the doctor could clean your ears and you would be able to hear again. Over the last few weeks, you’ve lost the rest of your hearing due to earwax. For most people this is bad news. With your sightless eyes and dementia, it leaves you in sensory deprived darkness yelling “I can’t hear you!” when you hear faint noises. You started lashing out at everyone – and understandably so. You didn’t know what was happening. Random people would intrude on your silence and darkness for unknown reasons.

Over the last few years, I have told anyone who comes near you that you are to have agency over as much as possible – even when that devolves to decisions about fish or chicken for dinner. I teach each one of your caregivers to speak slowly and clearly and then… wait for an answer… no matter how long it takes.

Then today I had to violate my own rules. The first part was easy. Getting you out of bed, changed into warmer clothes, wheelchair to the car and sitting in the car were all manageable. As I drove, I gave you water and asked you to take a pill that would take the edge off the ear cleaning. Nope. It was too bitter you said. Then you held onto the small cup like it was the last belonging and your most treasured possession.

Once we arrived at the doctor’s office parking lot, you were so far out of your comfort zone that you refused to get out of the car. I cajoled, spoke loudly into the ear that seemed to work better than the other. I finally begged the practice nurse to have the doctor treat you in the car, but she said it couldn’t be done.

I steeled myself. Marched out to the car and, after you refused to move and insisted on staying in the car and wanted me to close the door, I picked you up and transferred you to the wheelchair. I wheeled you in: parking lot, ramps, sidewalk, office door, door to hallway into the examination room. When the nurse spoke to you I’m not sure if you ignored her or didn’t hear her. I think that with familiar voices you try hard. Otherwise, you ignore them. We left you in the wheelchair and when the doctor came in, I knew there was one way forward: hold your hands tight. Hold the top of my head against your head so that it wouldn’t move too much and repeat over and over again as you struggled and shouted that the doctor was cleaning your ears so that you could hear again.

Dementia is a strange beast. As he worked, your hearing came back little by little. You still struggled, but now could respond back to me. “It hurts!” “I know, mom. He’s cleaning the wax out of your ears so that you can hear.” “Not much longer now” I’m not sure how many times I said “Not much longer now” as the small pile of ear wax slowly piled up on the tissue. Yes, it’s gross. Having a constantly distraught mother is much worse.

It was bad enough that over the last few days, I’ve had to unilaterally pour in ear drops when you were on your side in bed. I didn’t ask permission. I’d stealth drop liquid in and then step away. It would take multiple visits every day to get enough drops in so that the doctor’s visit would not be even more painful. And I felt horrible doing it.

I felt horrible holding you down today. No agency. The last time I remember doing something similar is raising babies where I had to hold them as I put eye drops in when they had pink eye.

And then a miracle happens. You can hear again – and I get my mom back. On the way home, you recognize my voice. Call me by name. Ask where we are. Where we are going – you even knows you’re in San Jose. And you beg me not to leave you alone when I bring you to your home. “I’m blind” you say. “I know, mom. I won’t leave you. I’ll take you in and make sure you are safe.” I text ahead and when I arrive, the caregivers are ready to let us in. Your food has been kept warm and you sit at her usual spot at your usual table. Your reach for her food and I leave you in a contented state. I hug you, kiss your forehead. Push back your hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Her caregivers heave a sigh of relief. I … am a wreck. I am full of guilt of not following my own rules – and knowing that to do so would leave you in bad shape. These are the tough days. The days we aren’t heroes. We do what needs to be done with as much love and compassion as possible.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Two days later, I check in with you. “How do you feel now we went to the doctor and cleared your ears out. Is it better for you.” You use your emphatic voice, “Oh yes. Much better.”

Whew

Christmas 2023

2023 started with Pamela starting work as a Product Coach for the IT department of the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA). The initial expectation was that she would travel to New York once a quarter. For the first few months it was more like once every 2-4 weeks. She knew the staff in the nearby hotel by name and even figured out her favorite room locations. Even worked out the number of the luggage carousel in both Newark and San Francisco. Yes. The sad business traveler story.

Working with folks in New York is so wonderful – even within a bureaucratic government organization like the MTA. People from around the world live in New York, so the teams she worked with were a true cross-section of Americana. And the other coaches also had lots of different perspectives. The challenge was to get out and explore New York during the evenings.

Joe, meanwhile, continues to do chemistry stuff that’s useful for making semiconductor chips. He was able to add to his staff at the lab in Hayward. He also has a great diverse team. People bring food from around the world and when he brings it home, Pamela is never sure what kind of cookie or cake she’s biting into because we can’t read the packaging – but hey – what is life but new experiences?

March brought the wedding of Nate and Joanna. Amara and Aidan flew over from the UK and then we all proceeded to walk Washington DC flat. We packed a lot into that week: Our first (and then for Pamela second) time eating at Nobu which was a long-time goal. Amara, Aidan and Pamela getting nails done. Visiting Smithsonian museums – Pamela, Amara and Aidan for the first time. Nando’s: Joanna and Joe – first time. Nate and Pamela thought it was strange to both be working in transportation – however tangentially for Pamela. And Joanna impressed us all with her travels to far-flung places like Mongolia and Mozambique.

  

And then there was the wedding. Lots of threads of their lives woven together in a series of dinners, breakfasts, lunches, dancing. You name it. We had FUN! We were also fortunate enough to visit them again over Labor Day, a more relaxed visit to spend time with them and see their new house – and also watch a bike race in Baltimore.

Over the summer, Pamela and Joe visited Arnold in the Sierras. Part of the visit included two trips to see the giant sequoias at Calaveras Big Trees State Park. The size of the trees and hush of the forest was amazing.  

 

We also managed a trip to the UK where we visited Aidan in Edinburgh, Amara in Cumbria and then had a few days in London. Highlights: The contrast between the windy lonely crags near Arthur’s seat and Edinburgh Castle nearby was memorable. Aidan was very patient with Pamela. Aidan runs up and down the hills of Edinburgh. Pam makes her way slowly up and stops often to “admire the view” (aka catch her breath).

 

Amara decided to challenge Aidan in the “can we exhaust our visitors” sweepstakes. Her “short walk” up a crag in the Lake District turned more interesting in the rain and the last scramble up the slippery slate path was memorable. Later on, Joe recommended that we leave before they managed to kill us. I think he was joking…

We spent time investigating the border region between Scotland and England especially places associated with the time when this was a lawless border region dominated by Rievers who raided across the lightly protected borders. One morning found us on the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere near a cross from the 10th century and the ruins of a castle, aka Bewcastle. By the evening we were in central London.

Once back in California, Joe started running again working towards the Thanksgiving Turkey trot. He’s decided to focus on shorter runs so that he doesn’t have to spend so much time training. He breaks up running with the stationary bike in the living room.

Pamela has followed almost the same schedule when home throughout the year: Up for the New York workday starting at 5:30 or 6 am. Finish off by 2pm. Quick nap, then run errands and visit her mom, Cam, in the nearby memory care facility from 5-6pm. The car sits in the driveway since most trips can be done with either a bike or E-bike. The E-bike is great for heavier shopping or when she doesn’t want to change into biking gear.

The front garden is maturing as the native plants bed in. In March, the earlier rains led to an impressive show of poppies. The penstemon tried to compete with their blue flowers, but the poppies really were showing off. We had to remove many to make way for the next show of color by the buckwheat, California fuchsias, sages and other flowers. Closer to the house, the squashes took over and now we can’t figure out what to do with the pile of butternut and acorn squashes. Luckily, they should last a while. Finally, the Toyon is putting on its own show with beautiful red berries. Our reward is almost daily sightings of birds including hummingbirds that are very curious about us. 

 

Happy Holidays and best wishes for 2024!

Cousins

“My cousin is promoting a week where you don’t eat dairy or meat.” Joe’s eyes roll back. Oh yeah. I forgot again. WHICH cousin. My dad was the eldest of 10 children born in the south of the Netherlands. My mom was the third child in a family of 4 with Sicilian roots. Her mother was one of 8 children. Do the math. I have a LOT of cousins. 20 first cousins on the Dutch side and many different types of cousins on the Sicilian side. I haven’t figured out how many. To give Joe his due, if I feed him the name of a Dutch cousin, he knows enough to place them in the family hierarchy. Who is their uncle? Name of their mother. Siblings. He’s even pretty good with their partners’, wives’, and husbands’ names. On their children’s names, he is arguably better than I am. And he’s asked for special dispensation to ignore any cousin on the Sicilian side who is not a first cousin. I can’t blame him. It’s hard enough for me to keep track of the hierarchy of my mother’s cousins. I do know enough so that once when Joe asked me who exactly we were having dinner with, I could draw the ancestry chart on a whiteboard. It stayed up for some time.

With so many people, the diversity of occupations is stunning. I have cousins who are/were astrophysicists, event planners, IT techs, bus drivers, petroleum plant worker, doctors (physician and PhDs in different topics), teachers, professors, engineers, estate sales specialists, international developmental specialist and more. And strangely enough, I have a very high trust level on these folks. I once needed a babysitter for a couple of weeks on an urgent basis. I put out the word to my cousins and one volunteered for a two week trip to our home outside London. I didn’t censor the list at all. It turns out the cousin who arrived at my doorstep was into theatre and spent her free evenings in the city taking in the shows.

They are also willing to pitch in at a moment. On one business trip to the Netherlands, my luggage was lost in transit. By the time we came back from dinner to the hotel, one amazing cousin had rounded up business clothes for the next day’s meetings. The look on my US bosses’ face was priceless as the front desk clerk handed over a paper bag with clothing. Oh yes, we are also around the same size and have been known to swap shoes around at family events if ours become uncomfortable – or even if we want to try a new style.

One cousin came for a visit and volunteered to help me get a small flat ready for rental. Lucky for all of us that he was tall and a dab hand at hanging curtains. He’s also very funny. He had arrived at my house when I was at work and when I got home, my son greeted me with sparkles in his eyes saying “He’s great fun!”

If you wanted to start a company and only hire people related to me directly or via close relationship, you could staff most of it, no problem. They are, collectively an amazing group of people. And caring, too. As my children graduated from college, I encouraged them to Link in with relatives to extend their professional network quickly. One cousin’s husband even coached my son through his interview prep. And he got the job.

Most of my Dutch relatives

On the cousin front, I am very lucky. So, thanks to my cousin (the physician) I now try and eat less meat. I prepare vegan and vegetarian dishes in the fridge and dip into them when I’m hungry.

And on the Dutch side, we love to hang out together. Last summer we met up with 70+ of my nearest and dearest relatives in an ex-convent in the Netherlands. It’s the only place big and cheap enough to hold all of us as we chat, eat buffet meals and play in the sun for 2 1/2 days. Here’s to all of us – cousins and our next get together in 2024.

Happy days!

Holiday Greetings

We hope you are doing well and are having a nice holiday season.  We are having a quiet end to the season here after a busy year.  Joe is still working for DuPont as the Research & Development Manager for the Hayward, California site where they make cleaning solutions used in the semiconductor manufacturing process.  Pamela’s prior job ended as the consulting company for which she worked finished their contract with Ford, but she has found a new position doing consulting for the New York MTA on a digital transformation.  Meanwhile, Nate is working in Washington DC for DC Metro. 

A highlight of the year was Nate’s graduation.  We went to Massachusetts in May for his commencement where he got his Ph.D. in Transportation Engineering, and we are very proud of him.  His fiancée, Joanna, also graduated from the same group a couple of years ago and she is working at the World Bank in DC – working on evaluating transportation development programs for investment. So, Joe feels he’s the only one not working on transportation right now. 

We also went to the Netherlands at the end of June / early July for her Dutch (Father’s side) Family Reunion. We spent a week bicycling around the Netherlands starting near Arnhem and circling around the east and then to the south-west and ending near Tilburg. It was a lot of fun and a relaxing way to vacation.

Recently, we went to Hawaii where Joe ran the 10 km run as part of the Honolulu marathon weekend.  And Christmas came early as we got to see Santa arrive on Waikiki beach by outrigger canoe.  We didn’t do a lot of sightseeing, but it was good to be warm

Pamela also continued to travel up a storm this year as she also went to Sicily with her daughter, Amara, in May and visited Amara and Aidan, in the UK in November.  As Amara lives in London, Aidan in Edinburgh, and now with Nate living in Washington DC, we’re starting to ask what are we doing in California? 

Pamela’s mom is still nearby in memory care, and she visits most days which keeps Cam in good spirits. Here is a picture of Alec and Pam visiting Cam. She managed to join us for part of the Christmas dinner. Pamela is using the E-bike for her visits and shopping which is great for getting fresh air daily.

She also finds time to work in the garden. The front lawn has been replaced with drought-friendly native plants and the back garden has more and more native plants and yummy veggies. We now see a lot of birds and bees. Even the redwood tree in the back garden is full of birds happily chirping away. And that brings us joy.

Wishing you a very merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Stuck in the middle…

Most stories are in an arc: Beginning, Middle, End. For a long time now, I have been in the middle in almost all aspects of my life. Here’s an update

In the middle of work.

In the middle of a transformation. It’s like watching paint dry – only slower. The nudges keeping it on track are small and distributed among many other people. I have put the final touches on a long-term training plan and realized that I will have delivered18 weeks of workshops by the time I’m done. And I’m on week 13? 14?

While I say we’re in the middle, I see small shoots of progress. It’s early days. Like the snowbells that were the first signs that winter would come to an end – at some point. Managers are waking up to the possibilities that the new structure and governance offer and they are figuring out what they want to do with it. I can’t help myself, but think of animals that have been caged for a long time – and their reaction once the door is opened. I look forward to watching them virtually galivant on the grass soon. Seriously. Gaining the freedom to determine the best way forward in your work is powerful stuff.

In the middle of helping my mom.

She was full of confidence and still business minded at the start of COVID. Months – and approaching years later, her mind has settled into a low state. She no longer asks about her life before. She doesn’t pester us about her grandkids. For a long time she would call my brother, sister-in-law and me several times a day. Yes, 4, 6, 8 and more times a day – each. When anyone complained I reminded them that at one point the calls would stop. As a blind person she has to memorize phone numbers. And the calls stopped this last November.

We then agreed to move her closer to where my brother and I live. The facility’s incoming evaluation had to specify whether she could live independently or in memory care – and it was unequivocally memory care she needed. Now part of my daily routine is pop on a bike, ride 1.5 miles to where she lives, hang out with her – mainly while she eats dinner at 4pm – and make conversation with the folks at her table.

It’s terribly schizophrenic attempting conversations with 4 people in memory care. I have 4 separate conversations with people who eat every meal together – and completely forget their table mates in a matter of minutes. Here is a sample of my conversation: “Hans, wait, dessert is coming. You like dessert,” “Shirley, how are you doing?” “Jesse, I like the flowers in your hair.” “Mom, there are three bowls: ham, sweet potato fries and broccoli” As I mention each bowl I tap the bowl so that she knows how to find it. She is having hearing issues, so I’m not sure how well the taps work any more. I’m also in the middle of getting her ears checked.

I have been known to use unspecified nouns in my time, but these folks at the table take the biscuit. Jesse struggled with the word flowers and plants the other day. Hans can’t figure out how to find the food on his plate in front of him. Shirley doesn’t feed herself and has to wait her turn to eat a few bites before she gives up. I think I’m slowly gaining ground, though. Hans asked me my name yesterday. It took a month for him to acknowledge that I even exist.

In the middle of redoing the front garden.

Taking advantage of the bare front yard at Halloween

It took Joe most of the summer to take up the lawn and then dig out the left over grass roots. We now have a lovely front yard – if you like bare dirt. That said, it made for memorable Halloween decorations!

Part 2 was removing hedges and a couple of small trees. In the process, I discovered the essential difference between a regular saw and a pruning saw. Buying a pruning saw was the best $28 investment I’ve made in a long time. That saw cuts through wood like it’s paper. Joe even wrote up part of the lumberjack song on our whiteboard he’s so excited. Yup, we are easy to please!

Trying to tame the jungle with a normal saw

The last step in going back to ground 0 for the front yard is happening in a few moments. I have half an ear listening for the folks who will come and remove the stumps. Then we can start to build back a native plant, drought-friendly front yard. A while ago, my neighbors asked me if we could take down the height of the trees and hedges bordering their driveway. I didn’t promise anything because we were waiting for a friend to create a garden design for us. Keep in mind that my neighbor is very much into plant control. Her yard – front and back is almost devoid of any plants at all. Now we are at bare earth, I hope she doesn’t expect us to follow in her footsteps. In fact, I’m not sure how she is going to react to the wildness that is our native plant garden-to-be – and I don’t much care. I am looking forward to bees, butterflies and birds camping out in the plants. That and having a greatly reduced water footprint is going to be just grand. I also can’t wait until the native plants grow up and hide her driveway once again. OK, we’re being reasonable and planting no closer than 4′ from her driveway, so we won’t encroach on her space as much as before.

In the middle with the kids.

Aidan and Amara are both in the UK . They are working. Amara gets her first full paycheck this month and officially goes off my payroll. Their lives have been on hold with COVID. Aidan has decided that after 2 years of life on hold, he’s going to live in Edinburgh where his firm is based. I suspect that having an independent life as a social young person is on the cards for him. Amara is making some decisions about where she lives as well. And in the meantime, she enjoys her work, and the socializing (ahem, drinking) that goes along with it. Both in the middle, with an upwards trajectory.

In the middle of getting back to shape.

Joe has signed us up for a 100k bike ride in April. I am NOT ready. The Christmas gift (post-Christmas gift if you want to be accurate) we gave each other was a Wahoo Kickr training bike. When we moved to San Jose, I managed to get the bikes OUT of the living room. This one snuck back in. I can’t really complain. I think it will work well being able to watch TV and train at the same time. The bike has been set up for Joe, so that’s another thing I’m in the middle of – setting up the training bike.

In the middle with Joe.

I have no complaints with Joe. Instead, I am very happy that we are together – and grateful as well. We both have milestone birthdays within 6 weeks of each other and are spreading out the fun. The first chapter was 10 days in Barbados in November. Yes, beach, sunrise swims (me), doing nothing (both of us + Amara for the time she joined us), bar service at the side of the pool (absolutely!), driving around the island on small, dangerous roads (gulp, yes). I drove. I have more experience with roundabouts and the old, driving on the the wrong side of the road trick. As usual, this left me with two weeks of checking which side of the car to get in when I got home!

Every beach was spectacular

We all enjoyed the break in Barbados

Last dinner in Barbados

Then Joe’s birthday dinner, lots of family time over Christmas as people came out of the woodwork to visit from Texas, Florida and Washington D.C.. Luckily, we have paranoid family members who are COVID cautious. And, so far, we have both dodged COVID.

Our last adventure is a short trip to San Diego for my birthday. And then I think that we are finally going to bring something to a close!

Tears?

My bike ride starts with the same admonishment my mom had when I was growing up: “be home before dark!” I have left it late in the day to get started. I let the traffic lights determine if I go right or straight. The light is green, so I go straight – straight into a nearby hill: Communication Hill. At the top there are mysterious metal frames with small dishes and antennae pointed at all corners of San Jose. Underneath the towers KB Construction has built and is continuing to build a small town on the hill. Of course they forgot to build any amenities, so it’s street after street of condominiums piled on top of each other and piled on top of this hill.

It’s a good biking hill for me. I’m not great with anything over a 6% grade and this one is a comfortable 5%. My mind wanders. I start checking out the long lines of cars parked on the side of the road. Almost automatically, I check out which ones have been moved recently and which ones have leaves and debris collecting under their wheels. Then I remember. It’s been over a year. Over a year since we all parked our cars and the street sweeping stopped. A year since the cops no longer cared that you kept your car parked in the same place for over three days.

Our lives wrenched into a new gear. At first we all walked and avoided each other with distance. Later on the ones that hadn’t already done so added masks. I lived in a heavily Asian town at the time and masks were an easy transition for folks coming from areas that had more experience with pandemics. We non-Asians had so much to learn!

We gave up hugs, hand shakes, eating inside with friends. Heck, we gave up meeting most friends altogether and the few we risked it with we thought long and hard about their health safety protocols. Some people chose to close their doors and seal themselves away like modern day hermits and cloistered nuns. Food was delivered to a door. If it wasn’t their roof over their head, they just didn’t go. It’s how I discovered that so many people I know have dangerous health conditions they live with – but without fanfare.

Joe and I had no pressing health concerns other than age. We chose a middle ground and ventured to Safeway. There I broke social norms by chatting to other people in the line – yes, you can still chat through masks and separated by 6′. We made our acquaintances with the door guard who had a mask from Cape Verde. We have a few people over on our one year wedding anniversary. Lots of extra cutlery to avoid sharing – and held outside. That was it.

Eventually I ventured to the YMCA. Outside workouts were surprisingly enjoyable. And even socially distant and masked spin classes had a lovely camaraderie.

Outside Spin Class at the Y – One way to see the sunrise!

A few days ago, the state opened up vaccinations for people my age. I jumped online and got an appointment the very first day I could. I drove up to a huge stadium, parked where folks used to park for the nearby amusement park, now standing empty and silent. I joined the stream of people headed towards the stadium – and tears started rolling. I held back sobs. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my previous life. How important friends, family and hugs were. My responsible adult had been in charge for so long that the ‘should’ had taken over my life. Walking across the tarmac, through the socially distanced lines for bag checks, health checks, paperwork filling, registration checks, up escalators to the area where shots were being given and finally directed to seat 13 where the national guardsman in scrubs kept holding out tissue boxes for me, the tears were hard to keep back. I told anyone who would listen how moved I was by this huge government effort to get us all safe again. And most of all how I missed hugging my mom.

It’s hard to show smiles behind a mask.

If it’s been a hard year for me, for her it has been excruciating. She spends all her days in bed. To a certain extend she’s waiting to die. And I’m dreading the day she doesn’t call me 4 times telling me how bored she is and making up issues to worry about. Somehow the small sin of passing cups of hot tea to her under the plexiglass barrier is no replacement for a the human touch.

And I am not alone. On Sundays after Zoom service, we can join breakout rooms to chat. I share my vaccination story and a grandmother shares how she plans to go and visit a young grandchild all the way across the country. She was a powerful executive in tech and has been president of the church board – and she, too, pulls out tissues and wipes back tears. We are all holding it together with willpower and social responsibility. Seeing a glimmer of light at the end of this dark tunnel shows us how much we gave up – and what we so want to have back again.

Italian Bread Recipe for Anna

A few years ago, Joe and I visited Italy and became fascinated with the frequency that we had amazing bread at each and every restaurant we ate at from Costiera Amalfitana to Florence. Since our trip, every restaurant visit is evaluated on the following criteria: “On the basis of bread alone, is the restaurant any good?” And so far, it’s proved to be a reliable scale. If the bread is good, so is the food. Stale or indifferent bread means that the quality of the restaurant is a crap shoot.

When I came home, I researched the reason that standard Italian bread was so lovely. And I found this amazing Italian bread recipe – which I have now lost the link to.

However, repetition means that enough of the process remains so that I thought I’d recreate it for Anna. Anna is married to an Italian and lives in Silicon Valley. I’m sure that he would like to have a quality crunchy crusted loaf of his homeland.

How I started making bread

My bread making journey started in earnest with a bread machine I bought when the children were young. Over time, I found that bread makers assumed that the ingredients and their interactions were standard. The reality is that bread making comes under the category of variable cooking. Is your flour dry? Is your yeast newly bought or, like mine, a warrior of my cupboard and long past it’s sell by date? What time of year is it? Bread develops more quickly in summer and languishes in winter.

When I moved to the farm in South Africa, time became more fluid. I no longer travelled as much. And my home was my work. I switched to the stand mixer to make bread. I had two mixers at the time. One had US electrical supply and one had European power supply. The US mixer worked through a two-pronged (non-earthed) transformer and, if you weren’t wearing the right shoes, you got a slight shock. You may ask why we actually put out two mixers. One was used for bread and the other one covered other tasks like making butter or whipped cream.  Farm kitchens are busy places, farmers sell each other vast quantities of ingredients like cram and feta cheese, and the kids were young and ate a lot.

A stand mixer allowed me to react to the bread in front of me as opposed to the rigidity of the bread machine. And I used bread dough’s inherent indifference to clock time to my advantage. It turns out the actual time I spent on making the bread was really short. The time that the bread was doing its thing could take hours and days, but my time involvement was low. But I digress. Italian bread.

The flour

Italian bread is, by and large, made from all-purpose flour. I have bread flour, but I save it for proper bread loaves. And I mix whole wheat and white flours approximately 50:50, but it varies.

Step 1: Biga

The first thing I learned is that Italian bread relies on something called ‘Biga.’ Think of it as sourdough starter only easier. The day before you want to bake your bread, you combine yeast, water and flour in the stand mixer. If you are using whole wheat flour, I use it at this stage because it’s better at feeding yeast. Using the normal mixing paddle, you combine the ingredients until it’s this gooey mess that lurks at the bottom of the bowl. At that point, I cover it with a plate and walk away. The original recipe says 8-16 hours. My kitchen is cold, so I regularly leave it for 24 hours. When is it done: when you can see bubbles on the top of the biga. Wait at least 8 hours no matter how many bubbles you see.

Step 2: Main dough stage

This is where the bread dough comes together. Switch to the dough hook and add in water, salt and more flour. If you didn’t add sugar before, add it in now. At this stage, wait before adding more water. In most cases, you will need a lot o=more flour than you think. Here’s a picture of an interim stage with floury bits at the bottom and a wet dough twisted around the dough hook. This dough took another cup of flour to be ready. Sometimes I stop the mixer and combine what’s in the bowl roughly by hand before I start it up again.

Keep the mixer going until the dough – looks like dough: In one piece and when you slap it it’s like a cold baby bottom (not my description. It’s taken from a bread cook book I long ago lost track of). The dough is stretchy; not too runny and not too stiff. By the way, there are Italian bread doughs that are quite runny. You can try to make bread with more water and the bread comes out surprisingly well. You can add other ingredients at this point, too. Olives, oregano, rosemary. Make something that you find tasty or that goes with other things you plan to eat the bread with.

Almost there

Oil the bread dough and leave in a warm place to rise. I use a plastic container, cover it with whatever is to hand to keep it from drying out and then put it on an oven glove/mitt and drape a dish towel on top. The dough now has a safe warm place to rise. You can leave it in the mixing bowl. I find that because the bowl is metal, it takes a LOONG time to rise. Timing: 2-8 hours.

Tucking up the dough

All wrapped up for warmth

Step 3: Final proofing

When the dough has ~doubled in size, turn it out onto a baking sheet covered with parchment paper. I form it into a raised round and cover with oil again. As if rises, the dough spreads out a bit. If I want it to be more compact or it’s a runny dough, I put a bottomless cake ring around it and that limits the diameter. I cover the top of the dough with plastic so it doesn’t dry out. Be careful not to seal the edges of the dough with the plastic or you constrain the growth of the bread. Then I put an oven glove/mitt under the metal tray and cover it with a dish cloth again. Timing: 2-8 hours.

Step 4: Baking

Turn the oven to 425°F or 220°C. Take a serrated knife and cross cut the bread: cut two cuts one direction and two cuts in the other over the center of the bread. I started by making shallow cuts. I now make them up to 1/3 the depth of the bread. This helps the bread rise better as it bakes. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon flour on top. When the oven is hot, bake the bread for ~30 minutes. Keep an eye on it. Before you take it out, knock on the bread to hear the hollow sound that it’s done. Yeah. It’s weird, but it works. If the bread turns brown quickly, then try a 400°F oven next time. This bread is pretty flexible. I’ve overcooked it bit a couple of times and it turned out fine.

Ready to go in the oven

Ingredients

Biga:

1 cup warm water (not hot or you kill the yeast)

1.5 tsp yeast or a yeast packet

1 ½ cups of white all-purpose flour. If you want to have more fiber, replace this with whole wheat flour

(Pam’s special geriatric yeast accommodation) add in 2 tsp sugar at this stage. If you don’t add it here, it’s an optional add in the next stage.

Rest of dough ingredients:

1 cup warm water

1 ½ tsp salt

2 cups white all-purpose flour.

Keep the flour around. I regularly have to add another cup of flour until the dough looks right.

1 tbsp flour to sprinkle on before it goes in the oven.

Just out of the oven. This one had a firm dough and kept it’s round shape very well.

There’s the lovely moment when the bread is just out of the oven. You’re supposed to let it cool off. I’m impatient and often cut off the end and smear it with butter so it melts into the bread. Yum!

Leave me your comments below on how this worked for you.

How did I get to be Google?

In March 2020, my mother, then aged 83 entered an assisted living facility. Three days later, the lockdown of all assisted living places in California started. It’s been almost a year, and, in that time, I have not hugged her once. Full confession, I touched her hand as I passed her a paper cup of tepid tea under the plexiglass barrier – once.

We’ve developed a rhythm in this time of separation. She calls frequently – up to 6 times a day. On average it’s 4 times a day. And she calls my sister-in-law just as often. My brother has managed to scare her off, so he’s exempt. Maybe she calls him once a day or a couple of times a week. And more likely than not, he’ll ignore it. The phone system in the facility has been flaky. So flaky that they replaced their vendor. And so flaky, that if I don’t hear from her for a couple of days that I call the front office to find out what the current phone wiring situation is.

When she went into the facility, she was not the steadiest on her feet. Now she clings onto her carer’s arm as they escort her to her chair behind the plexiglass. When I leave, I call someone over and they escort her back down the hall and onto a small lift up to her room on the second floor.

The result is that she is more and more confined to her room – and to her bed. There she has abandoned her old habits. She no longer listens to books and magazines that arrive from the blind services. Her addiction to Jeopardy (7 pm every night) has waned. For a long time, she struggled to come to grips with the TV remote. Her blindness meant that managing the remote was an uphill battle. Now she can find the History Channel and news.

The upshot of her confinement is that when she needs information, she calls me. I have become Google for her.

“Honey, what day is it?” “What day of the week is it?”

“Dolly, what does ‘caisson’ mean?” Yes, she really calls me Dolly. Frequently enough so that my husband uses that term when he tries to mimic our conversations. This is worrying… And I had to look up caisson, too.

“Did we ever get a report about the tree in the back yard?” She’s worried about a tree in the back yard of her house with a slight lean to it.

And yesterday: “Did you print the report about the tree” Her fear is that the Pacific Grove arborist will delete the report about the tree and swear that it was never sent. I don’t know where to start with that one. I am not printing anything if I can avoid it because I’ll lose the paper! I can find an email no matter where I am in the world. And my brother has the email, too. We’re covered. That discussion took 10 minutes.

“Who is the president?”

“Should I take the vaccine?”

I have finally worked out that she doesn’t want Google, she wants conversation.

The other day I took a different tack. I reminded her of all the big vacations that we took. Important vacations when I was in my mid-teens, one in my early 20s and finally late 20’s. Italy, Mexico and Egypt. Each time, they were to rescue me in some way. And they were all memorable: rich in sights, people, experiences. And personally important. They were each life pivots that helped me take a deep breath and move to the next stage of my life. She loved the reminder of happier days. And then, she stopped calling that evening.

Now when my brother complains about the calls, I tell him to have a real conversation with her. Remind her of good times. Remind her of the world outside of her blinds and walls. She can savor the memories … until the next time she has a question. “Dolly, what….”

Bears – and Home

On Saturday morning, I put on knee warmers on under my biking shorts, added a short sleeved biking shirt and a longer warm one on top. Over it all, a bright yellow Forever 21 wind jacket which was a find a few years ago. I count on it to keep the wind at bay and make me visible to cars. So far, it has done the job.

We packed lightly and headed off. Over the next two days, we’d cross virtually all the freeways that crisscross south Silicon Valley – twice. We cross highway 101 at Menlo Park – and South San Jose. Highways 880/17 in Los Gatos and Fremont. And we cross the Dumbarton Bridge – a big first for me.

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  The middle of the Dumbarton Bridge

Earlier this fall, we ate at the Black Bear Diner in Sunnyvale and joked that we’d bike to the first one in Mount Shasta. Google says that’s 5 days biking! 12,000 ft (3600m) up and 8500 ft (2500m) down! I promptly forgot about it. Joe didn’t.

Joe has planned this trip around our first Black Bear Diner challenge – in Fremont. The look on the hostesses face when we said we’d biked from South San Jose to have dinner in the chilly outside tent in a parking lot was priceless! After our meal, we packed up the inevitable take home boxes and walked back to a nearby hotel.

Leaving Fremont. A last goodbye to the bears!

In the morning we bundled up and biked almost 36 miles home. We travel through east San Jose and I name our trip after a famous Spanish bike ride. Joe and I are completing the La Vuelta del Bahía del Sur – Tour of the South Bay.

If you take a horse out for a ride, they will inevitably go faster when they can tell they are headed home. The last few miles are like that for us. I’m sore and my muscles are complaining, but I’m almost home. I turn in a great time for the last run into the house. We fly out of the nearby park and onto the final streets. Our driveway appears like the gates of heaven. We are home!

Over the two days, we covered 84 miles. For the serious bikers out there, this distance is easy-peasy and can be done in one day. For me, a week later and I’m still not 100% recovered. The good news: I did it!

Challenges

I can see the sky lighten on the horizon this morning. Dark blue fades light blue then into orange and yellow. I’ve been getting up early a couple of times a week for a while now. I throw on workout clothes that hang on a converted coat rack and drive 2 miles where I join the few souls that are crazy enough to believe that they can warm up fast enough on the spin bikes so that they won’t be wearing heavy clothes the entire 45 minutes of the class. It’s the pandemic and we are spin cycling outside at 6:45 am. After five minutes, we are warm and 20 minutes in, each person has a small and growing pile of discarded clothing next to their socially distanced bikes. At 45 minutes, I am through my small horde of tissues that I use to wipe the sweat from my face. Then I wobble home to breakfast.

This is not my usual behavior. I love to lie in bed for as long as I think I can get away with it. Typically 2 hours more than Joe who wakes up and heads to meetings or just hangs in his office consulting a spreadsheet or two. Yup. I don’t like getting out of a warm bed.

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It was Joe’s birthday yesterday. I cooked up a storm of Italian inspired dishes and made a cake. As part of his birthday weekend, pandemic style, we are going to take a bike trip and spend the night in … Fremont … a small town in the east bay of Silicon Valley if you’re not from around here. Truth be told, I’m not sure I can do it. Over two days we’ll cover over 80 miles and the most I’ve ever done in one unplanned long bike ride was 40 miles. The training rides of 20-30 miles with any hills whatsoever have been very tough. My body now takes longer to recover, longer to train muscles and, while I exercise regularly with weights, walks and biking, I’m not that confident about this trip. And yet, I am still up early, getting myself ready.

Check out my bike and running inspired cake decorating!

We don’t need a lot of stuff. A change of clothes, toothbrush – enough to survive 24 hours. What is harder to pack – or unpack is confidence, certainty.” What ifs” litter the landscape of my brain. And I want to pack more things to stave off my uncertainty knowing that I can’t. And I really don’t want to carry any more weight than I have to.

What I do have is a long history of taking on challenges and figuring out a way through the landmines of the challenge in front of me. We have planned stops in local parks and food is available on the way if I don’t have it in my back pockets. In case of a physical emergency, I know that there are busses, trains and Ubers that can get me home. Joe is great with bikes and the random sprinkling of bike stores will help in a bike emergency.

And I’ve prepared physically as much as possible. All that is left is to pack a panier, attach it to my trusty bike – tell my mind to keep its uncertainties to itself – and head off.

Wish me luck!