Random Mondays

The song ‘Rainy days and Mondays get me down’ flitters across my thoughts.   I woke before my alarm and the brain cells were already humming with how to craft a narrative for work.  Perhaps it is just best to start work early and bank those hours to take off at a later day.   But I still have a few moments before I begin…enough time to make a special breakfast.   Why should that be reserved for Sundays?

I scanned the refrigerator for possible ingredients – bread, leftover fat-free ricotta cheese and cream cheese, half a can of sugar free cherry pie filling.   That pasta dish a week or so ago was great with the ricotta.  I had tried my sister’s French toast recipe and loved it.  Hmmm, oh yes, the leftover fat-free half and half from the chowder I made this weekend.  I hope Bea enjoyed the dish I brought her.  And eggs.  Of course, breakfast casserole.   I turn the oven to 350 and start cutting bread cubes.  Layer them into the dish and spread ricotta and cream cheese on the top.  Pour out the pie filling.  Top with more bread.  Pour on the beaten eggs and half-and-half with the spices.  It took less time than the oven pre-heat.  Place into oven and head to home office. 

Catch up on the email and start drafting that narrative.   The buzzer goes off.  Isn’t it funny how just about anything you create can be baked at 350 for 30 minutes or so?  I serve up a plate and indulge in a decadent breakfast at my desk.  And I confess it is a jammie morning.  Snuggled into a luxuriously soft sweater atop them.   Fresh mug of tea.  

The randomness of it makes it all the sweeter.  And I contemplate what I should do after work.   Should I take a steak out of the freezer and serve with baked potato for supper?   I do have those fresh asparagus I picked up at the market.  And lemon to drizzle over.  And I think some home-cooked squash from Thanksgiving is nestled in that freezer bin.   Why yes it is.  A feast day on a random Monday.  No need to get down. 

Flying Monkeys

Remember watching ‘The Wizard of Oz’ as a child?  What were the scariest moments for you? Mine were the instant when the mean neighbor on the bicycle morphed into the witch on the broom and any scene with those flying monkeys.  I’m shuddering at the memory.  I have a natural fear of open heights.  So any beasty that can swoop down, pick you up and dangle you up in the air is worthy of fear.  Of course, they also carried you over to the evil castle lair of the wicked witch.  Enough said.  

Why is she talking about flying monkeys?  I can see why you would be curious.  Well, I’ll get there.  Just be patient.   Let me tell you some car stories that, while horrible at the time of happenstance, are actually amusing when linked together into a pattern over the years.    

Back in the ‘80s I bought my first new car.  I think the interest rate was 15.8% on the loan.  Good times.  I couldn’t afford much so I purchased a Hyundai Excel.   It was the perfect shade of blue.  A few months later we moved to New Hampshire and rented a condo with a carport.   It was a large roof supported upon cement posts.  Shortly after the move, I came home from work and parked my little car under the carport.  I went upstairs and opened the front door of our unit when suddenly my cat came racing from the back bedroom and launched himself at me.  He was terrified.   I picked him up and walked to the back of the condo.  What?!$%^&    The carport had collapsed onto our cars.  And where I had parked was the worst of it.   I was proud to say that it did take over a week before the roof of my little car totally caved.  But it sure was sitting lower in the interim.  The cause of this fiasco was unusually high winds and an updraft that pulled the unanchored posts from the ground.  The insurance company insisted on repairing the damage instead of replacing the vehicle.  They replaced the roof, windows, door, etc.  I stopped doing business with that company shortly thereafter. 

A few years later I was driving a zippy red Celica.  I loved that car.   I was now living in a townhouse.   One day I saw the sky darken.   The wind picked up and the lightning came down with a vengeance.  Suddenly the lights in the house went to an eerie half-light and I could hear trees thrashing about.  I opened the front door and there was the top of the utility pole complete with transformer and all the wires on top of my favorite car of all time.  Sigh.  At least it wasn’t caved in I told myself.  Just damaged the front end where it crash-landed and bounced onto the ground.

Several years later I finally replaced that Celica with a Corolla.  The next spring, in the early evening, I had just pulled into my parking spot after a visit to the dealership for an oil change.  I went inside and immediately the wind started picking up and the sky was a tinge of yellow.  Within moments the sky darkened, rain poured down and lightning came down en masse.  The locals called the river in back of our home ‘lightning alley’ for a reason.   Then the power went out and there was a bright light out front radiating into the windows.  I was in the kitchen closing all the windows and then ran to the front door and ripped it open-  and there it was.  I saw this very large tree on top of my car and the transformer was on the car and the wires were live and snaking in the street with flames shooting up into the air.  The utility pole beside my car was cut in half.  The utility pole across the street and down a ways was literally cut off three feet from the ground and standing in the middle of the street.  I called the fire department.  They called the utility company.  What a mess!  There were neighbors parked nearby.  My car was the only one damaged.  The trucks were there for hours making sure there was no fire risk and power was shut off.  Then the utility trucks were there through the night restoring power to the area.  

As for the car?  My brother came and helped me get it towed to a local body shop that had unbeknownst to me recently changed ownership.  I had to wait until the fire department removed the tree.  The body shop turned out to be very bad.  The car was there for months and they repaired it instead of totaling it.  They wouldn’t let me know what ‘repairs’ were made.  I began to suspect an arrangement with the insurance adjustor.  When they finally said I could pick it up my brother came with me.  Not only was the car not repaired properly but there was also fender damage from an accident with a white vehicle.  They tried to tell me that damage was already there!  I had the dealership visit just prior to the falling tree to back me up.  I refused delivery of vehicle.  Ultimately I protested with the executives at my insurance company and they immediately absorbed the repair expenses and totaled my car.  I bought a new Corolla that weekend.  And changed my insurance company.

A few more years go by and I am now driving a Honda CRV.  I had wanted a small SUV for years and was thrilled with my car.  One summer day I am quietly working at home.  Clear blue skies.  No signs of any storms on the horizon.  Just like a Kansas day right before a tornado strikes.  Now, as I already shared, I know to beware flying monkeys.  But what I did not know was to be on the lookout for flying tires.

I had run a quick errand at lunch and then pulled into the designated parking spot for my CRV.   Around 5:00pm a neighbor arrived home from work and parked beside me.  She knocked on the door and asked ‘have you seen your car?’.  And I said ‘no, why?’  She said ‘you have to come look at your car.’  I grabbed shoes and keys and went outside.  I noticed nothing wrong with my car from the back and asked her why this large tire was sitting in her parking spot.  My neighbor calmly said “Karen, you need to look at the front of your car.’

I slowly approach the front-end nestled deep into the parking space and exclaimed ‘oh no… not again’.  I sighed.  ‘How did this even happen…. it couldn’t have been that strange tire could it?...how could it bounce off the street onto the front end of my car … and with all those trees on the embankment from the highway up above…how could a tire have possibly rolled down the embankment and then gotten airborne in order to land on the windshield.  I don’t understand’

Yet somehow this most mysterious incident of all did indeed occur.  The windshield and roof frame were caved in as was the dashboard and steering column.  That tire had to hit with excessive force from the air to do such damage.  Leather seats damaged from flying glass.  The door had to be replaced, etc.  Another rental and months of repair work. 

And the insurance adjustor, insurance agent, body shop, family and friends all agreed…  how could this have happened?  In fact the insurance agent / adjustor over the phone was convinced that a tire must have come off a moving vehicle on our street and then bounced up in the air to land on the front of the CRV.  I tried explaining that I parked with the front of the car deep in the spot and that wasn’t possible.  Eventually the insurance inspector came over and cleared that up.  They were trying to link it to a moving vehicle accident that would have a much higher deductible.  Then they wanted to be sure I wasn’t driving when it happened. Fortunately, I had my neighbor and the photos I took right after she told me about the accident. 

For me, I have learned to practice detachment when it comes to my vehicles.  They certainly don’t stay new for long.  I have wondered about the timing of some of these incidents.  What if I had been in the car when these things happened?   I had just left the vehicle moments before most of them.  As for the flying tire incident – no one knows when that occurred.  It could have been just after I came inside. It never tripped the alarm due to the damaged dashboard. Maybe I was more fortunate than I realized at the times.

And the consensus is that my cars just attract objects to fall upon them.  Half of the people we know think they should never park near me and the other half think it would be the safest spot as things only land on my cars.   I can only conclude that my fear of flying monkeys- flying tires- flying utility poles- flying carports is justified.  Flying beasties be bad.  

Efficiency is Overrated

I am seemingly an inherently efficient person.  I have a time clock embedded in my mind.   I have honed the skill of maximizing all my tasks in order to increase my free time.  I wonder if it stems from a branch of Germanic folk deep in my family tree.  I wonder if it’s time to have that clock removed.

It could just be from years of having to be efficient in order to accomplish all my goals in the academic and career arenas.   But I am known to take it to a new level.   It’s long been a game to see how short a time I can spend on errands, housework, laundry – you name it and I’ve played beat the clock.   That allowed me to squeeze in my craft and scrapbook projects over the years.   It allowed me to spend time with my husband.  I wouldn’t say he was overly demanding but he did enjoy having my full attention and lots of home cooked meals.   And he always wanted me to help him with his projects.   It was my pleasure to do so.   Yet when I was doing my own chores or projects, I always had this clock in my mind and an awareness of the other things on my endless to do list.

These days many of those items on my to do list are gone.   Instead of multiple properties to maintain, I am enjoying life in a condo where everything outside my unit is very well attended.  The time I used to spend with my husband was initially earmarked for grieving but this year I find that to be decreasing.  Or at least larger gaps in between the grieving.   Large home cooked meals are no longer on my agenda.  Yet I am finding some new joy in cooking smaller meals for myself.   And I am rediscovering writing as a past time.   I’ve been told that when I get to the other side of grief that the ability to scrapbook will return.  For now some of my projects are on hold – I know not to force the issue.

As I contemplate my future retirement, I begin to suspect this newly discovered free time is a good thing.  It allows me to practice a new mindset.   Lately when I am grocery shopping I am fully in the moment.  I go up and down all the aisles and explore my culinary options and really learn the store layout.  I am more aware of sale items than I used to be.  And I am remembering that I used to really like grocery shopping.  Before the beat the clock mantra took over.   It reminds me of my husband’s joy in doing the shopping after he retired. 

But then again Robert was always good at living in the moment.  He never played beat the clock.  He focused on a current task and did it extremely well.  And when he relaxed and sat outside soaking in the sun he was able to be one with the sunshine.  I used to tease him that he had no internal clock.  I think our innate differences were part of the attraction between us.   He relied on my ability to plan and get things done and I relied on his ability to slow me down.  I think he would be proud that I am beginning to learn the value of tossing that clock out the window. 

Living in a Post-Cancer World

I was watching the news recently.  It was just after that Malaysian flight went missing.  An analyst was talking about living in a post 9/11 world and how of course terrorism must be considered.  It got me thinking.   I’m living in a post-cancer world.  What does that mean?

Well, for me being a cancer survivor is still relatively new.  It’s only been 29 months since my breast cancer diagnosis.  I was fortunate that it was caught so early.  But my life and how I view it was irretrievably altered.   My situation was unusual.  It was greatly complicated by the fact that within months of completing the radiation treatments my husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer.   I was still adjusting to my own diagnosis but had to set that aside to be there for him.   And of course I’ve been dealing with the grief of losing him for the past 15 months. 

Yet somehow I keep moving forward.  One tiny step at a time.  Sometimes with guilt.  Sometimes with grief.   I think the cruelest thing of all is when a cancer patient has to watch a loved one die of cancer.  I lost my medical innocence.  I now know only too well that all those blood tests they run at the cancer center may not tell the whole story.  My husband continued to have really good blood test results for months after his diagnosis.  There are days when I wish they would just do a full body CT scan and rule out any and all kinds of cancer.  But of course a CT scan contains so much radiation that they would never do them routinely.   It’s reserved for when they are fairly certain there is a new problem.  

In my case, I have to be aware of certain risks associated with Tamoxifen.   Annual eye exams to rule out any crystals forming near the retina, watch out for early symptoms of uterine cancer.  And of course the standard areas of concern for breast cancer recurrence are lungs, brain or bones.  Fun to contemplate, isn’t it?  Trust me- it’s best not to think of it at all.  Of course there are times when you must.  

During the holidays I had to have a biopsy to rule out uterine cancer after having some unusual symptoms.  It came back normal.  I was told to just self monitor and let them know if I need more tests.  I recently began having ocular migraines.  I had them years ago so it isn’t that unusual for me.  But now that I am a cancer survivor, the ophthalmologist had to do her job. She explained that while there are no signs of metastasis, if the headaches continue I should call her.  She’s willing to schedule a MRI to rule anything out.   I cried that night.  She doesn’t really believe there is a problem.  Nor do I.  But she made me think about the possibility.    

So, in this post-cancer world, I try not to dwell on what could be.  I keep my old mantra from when I was first diagnosed firmly in mind:  ‘Any one of us could step off a curb and be hit by a bus on any given day.’  Life is uncertain.  Cancer, or an illness far worse, could happen to anyone.  At any time.  

The best advice I could offer a fellow cancer survivor is not to dwell on what could go wrong.  You'll think about it sometimes.  Just don't dwell.  Find the joy that you can each day.  Savor the good moments.  Live in love.  Take the time to notice those sunrises and sunsets. Admire all the flowers.  Spend some quiet time with God.  Join in with the silly laughter of a small child.   Listen to the ocean waves.   Let the sun soak in on a warm spring day.  Bring home a bunch of those supermarket daffodils.  Connect with friends and family.   Read interesting books.  Catch the latest movie you heard was so good.  And above all else, be gentle with yourself.   You are still moving forward bravely, even if it doesn't always feel like it. 

Dawn’s Early Light

I awaken before I need to rise.  Squinting at the bedside clock.  The clock that is so high-tech I find it difficult to operate.  My husband’s clock.  I can go back to sleep for another 45 minutes or just get up.  Tossing back the covers.  The decision’s made.

Gosh, it’s dark out.   I put on the lights and dress in my exercise clothes.  Fumbling with the remote to start the exercise dvd.  Realization slowly settles in.  This is not the remote for the dvd player.   I dutifully start the routine.  Just listen to the directions and keep moving.  Before I realize it the half hour is done.  Still a bit bleary-eyed, I head to the kitchen.

The silence of my home is deafening.  Water boiling away in the electric kettle seems unusually loud.   Email is quickly scanned while waiting for the tea to steep.  Morning prayer time and bible reading is engrossing.  The last half of cup grows cool.

That kettle again makes its loud boiling noises as I contemplate the beauty of the early morning light.  The subtle light before the sun comes up over the horizon.  The sudden piercing rays through the window once the sun appears.  Holding the warm mug of tea in my hands as I stand at the window.  The steam wafts up to my face as I slowly sip.  Aaaah, ‘Nectar of the Gods’.  That’s what I would answer every time my husband asked why I drank so much tea. 

I contemplate my day.  Work looms large in my mind.  A colleague asked how I was doing yesterday.  We hadn’t spoken in months.  And he really cared to hear my response.  We were working together when I was diagnosed with cancer.  His daughter had cancer as a teen so he could relate a bit.  He was very kind during my husband’s illness and as I dealt with his death.  Our work together is done and our paths will not likely cross again. 

I think perhaps he is one of the rare people God has placed in my path to help me on my journey.  Here for a fleeting time to bring some bit of kindness.   A blessing.  The beauty of that rising sun and the risen Son join together in a moment of peace.   I smile softly as I realize that tossing back those covers was a good decision today.

Beware the Ides of March

Convergence.  The state of being converged upon.  Intersecting demands.  The art of scheduling becomes more a mastery of juggling.  Just don’t drop the most important ball.  Which one is that?  Exactly.

I’m an organized person and actually enjoy planning my ‘to do lists’ and calendars for work and home.  But lately it’s become a bit more challenging.  For quite unexpectedly my working life has become like an advanced algebraic problem gone awry. 

I’m always working on several project teams at once.  They typically involve completely different groups of people and the work usually is fairly hectic at the beginning and the end of a project period. Of course, there is a rather lengthy cast of quirky characters involved.  Gathering information and coordination, endless meetings and conference calls at the beginning and then it levels out to a manageable pace in the middle with a lot of documentation.  The end is another flurry of activity with determinations, recommendations, written reports.

Well, at the moment, I am working on the end of two projects and the beginning of three more.  And my boss retired a couple months back and the new one started this week.  Yes, really.  And you know what that has meant?  Interim status reports.  So, picture each segment of work as curves on an X and Y scale.  Now circle the points where the multiple curves intersect.  That subset of points is my current work existence.  And you thought you could live your life without understanding algebra, right? Suffice to say it’s not a pace that is sustainable in the long run but perhaps for a month or two. 

Then there is the bevy of usual doctor’s appointments.  At this stage of life, there is a fleet of medical professionals to keep happy.  This past week was the dentist, orthodontist and ophthalmologist.  So I’m actually attempting to schedule conference calls and meetings around the medical appointments and the schedules of everyone on each of those project teams.  I am one person who is looking forward to May- my best estimate of when this will all settle down. 

How am I taking care of myself, you might be asking?  Very carefully.   Getting to sleep early, healthy meals, exercise and lots of lazy, unplanned weekends.  Long phone calls with people who care.  There has to be somewhere I exist with no schedules to juggle.  No demands being made upon me.  You know all those things we all know we should be doing, but don’t always?   For now, they are my mainstay as I continue on my grief and cancer journeys.  And I am looking forward to spring flowers.  So yes, beware the Ides of March.  And keep an eye out for convergence.  You might want to practice your juggling, just in case.

My Father’s Voice

When I was young, the voice in my head was my father’s.  You know what I mean – that voice telling you to handle this situation a bit differently.  Such as:  ‘make more than one trip’ as I walked by with arms over laden- ‘you’ll drop something or fall on the stairs’.  Or the driving comments- he taught me to drive, you see.  Such gems as ‘don’t follow so close’ or ‘yes, you have the right away but that guy wasn’t looking.  Would you rather be right? or dead?’  I admit that to this day, every time I take a huge armful of something and carry it anywhere, I think of my dad. 

My dad was an advice-filled man and as reluctant as I was to listen to him, inevitably he was right.  How annoying is that, right?  But I’m showing you my stubborn side now.  Later in life my dad found it highly amusing that I fell in love with another advice-filled man who was inevitably right.   Robert was known to exclaim ‘stop typing so fast- no wonder your hand hurts’ or ‘be careful with that knife- I don’t want to take you to the ER if you cut yourself’ or, my favorite, ‘why are you carrying all that laundry in one trip?  Put it down.  I’ll take it upstairs.’   See, I really do have a stubborn side.  And for the record, I never cut myself while slicing veggies other than a one-time very small nick.  But, now I hear his voice too, every time I pull out that paring knife and cutting board.  And I think – gosh, now I’d have to get myself to the ER.  I better be careful.  And I picture him in heaven, smiling at me. 

As you may have surmised, today is the anniversary of my father’s passing.  Thirteen years ago he died on the 13^th of March.  The date is not without some family significance.  My parents were married on a Friday the 13^th and nearly two years later I was born on a Friday the 13^th.  My dad always said that day was ‘our’ lucky day – him, mom and me.  In recent years I have begun to wonder how true that is, but I like to cling to my dad’s belief.   As he was nearing death, he lingered in a coma and passed just a few minutes past midnight on the 13^th.   Coincidence?  I think not.  

I remember that week- in the midst of my grief  - just knowing that I would spend the rest of my life and never again would the phone ring and be him.  If I was having a bad week, at random the phone would ring and I would hear Dad’s voice saying ‘I’ve been thinking about you.  Are you okay?’  Or back in the 80s when the Bell Phone system was in place and they had frequent commercials with people saying ‘I just called to say I love you.’  Well, you guessed it.  My dad used to do that too.   Or the times he would tell his funny stories- with some facts created out of the blue with such skill that you couldn’t tell truth from fiction.  Consequently, Dad rarely met a stranger he wouldn’t engage in conversation.

And his utter pride the time I wanted shelves made for this tiny kitchen cupboard and he made them for me remotely.  I measured and told him the numbers over the phone.   ‘Yes, I checked them twice’, I said.  Then he cut out the wedges to hold the shelves and predrilled the holes for the screws.  He carefully used his saw and finishing tools to make the shelves.  He tossed it all into a box and mailed them to me.   I called him when it was being successfully put into place.  He was so proud of himself that it worked.  He had included a mini-level in that box so I could get the shelves mounted properly and he told me how to use it.  I still have that tool in my toolbox.  It was one of the few that got moved to the condo.

He loved to laugh and spend time together as a family.  And when we couldn’t visit – well, he picked up that phone to check in on his kids.  And at the end of those phone calls, then he would say, ‘Well, Karen Marie, I’m out of words.  I love you.  Goodbye.’  Right back at you, Dad. 

That Can of Soup

When we moved into this condo the movers we hired were young and strong, so I didn’t hesitate to toss everything into boxes for them to lug around.  I even packed all the food in the pantry.  My husband was still able to grocery shop at that point so some of the things I moved were items he had purchased.  Like this can of organic, low-sodium chicken noodle soup he bought for himself.  I’m sure it was expensive.  He didn’t worry about things like that when it came to food.   But that soup was placed in the new pantry and then forgotten.

As the months went by after he died, I would occasionally see that can and ‘see it without seeing it.’  At that stage, if it was going to cause pain – just avoid it. So it got placed in the back as I purchased other canned goods.   I found it this winter when I organized the pantry.   I put it near the front and there it has sat.   It’s funny the ability we have to ignore what we don’t want to see. 

So, the other day was really busy.  I didn’t have time for lunch and suddenly it was nearing 2:00pm.  And I was feeling queasy and light headed.  I needed something soothing and fast.  In that moment, I wasn’t thinking about my husband.  I was thinking chicken noodle soup would be perfect in the microwave.   As I was nearing the bottom of the bowl, the waves of grief hit me and I cried.  That was HIS soup.  And I ate it.   I cried a bit and then went back to work.  And as I did, I heard a song on the digital movie station that I had never heard played there before.  The song we danced to at our wedding for our first dance.  I smiled.  Perhaps he was saying hi.   To help me as I said ‘another goodbye.’ 

And I marvel still today at the ability we humans have to see only what we want to see.   On some level, I had to know that last can of soup he purchased for himself could only cause pain.   But I didn’t toss it in the trash.  I kept it.   I must have known that I needed to experience this moment.  This moment of goodbye contained in that can of soup.   It’s the knowing behind the knowing.

Hambone, Hambone

A couple weekends back I took a ham bone out of the freezer and placed it into the fridge.  I had picked up a bag of dried peas and was planning on making my family’s pea soup recipe.   But as the weekend went on, I just didn’t feel like it.   So, on Sunday afternoon, I pulled together the ingredients and made a ham broth / stock. 

That orange bowl is my cooking 'garbage bowl' in the style of Rachel Ray.  A few years ago I used to watch her cooking show on the Food Network.

I think a couple bay leaves are the secret ingredient in most soup bases.  I topped the ham bone with water and walked away.  I did use a lid.

I let it simmer for a couple of hours and then set it out to cool a bit while I pulled off the good bits of meat.  By the way, that meat makes the best ham salad sandwich that coincidentally was my reward for making the broth.  I don’t like to simmer the pot for five plus hours like some recipes call for because I like my broths to be a bit mild tasting. 

Steaming broth - still too hot for the fridge.

In case you haven't made broth before - you toss out all the ingredients in the pot except for pulled meat off the bones.  It's all there just to add flavor and nutrients to the broth.

Then I put the broth in the fridge and let it sit for a few days.  I skimmed off the fat so all in all it was fairly healthy looking.  I froze a few small cartons of it for later use.  And still that bag of peas was sitting on the counter by the bananas.  Sigh.  Just didn’t feel like making that soup.

Finally, I realized what was happening here.  I cooked a ham our last Christmas together.  And I had made a homemade pea soup the week after.  Robert loved my pea soup.  I always used the green peas like my grandmother did.  The last batch of my soup had come out great and he really enjoyed that dish of soup on that chilly afternoon.  In the months after he died, I had cartons of that soup in the freezer that I was moving around to make room for other things.  The memory is a bit fuzzy but I believe that I tossed them in the trash one day because I just couldn’t eat them. 

Aha!  So here I have ham broth still in the fridge.  And obviously I shall not be making pea soup.  Should I just toss it out?  Hmmm….I found a few wonderful ham and potato soup recipes online.  I made it on a Thursday evening so I had lots of homemade goodness to eat for the weekend.   I used some of the ham that is stashed in my freezer.  

I added one pat of butter to the olive oil while sautéing the onions.  It adds tons of flavor for relatively few added calories over a pot of soup.

With homemade broth - I chose to use about 3 cups broth to maximize the good flavor.    After veggies were tender, I  added one cup of skim milk with corn starch and let it simmer a few minutes to thicken the pot.  The fat free half and half and sour cream were just a touch at the end after warming the corn.  I used whatever corn was on hand but I plan on making this again when I have fresh, sweet New Hampshire corn in August.

Nirvana – it really was a great recipe.  Use the photos for your cooking pleasure.  Not a lot of  measurements – I always learned to just make it the way that looks best to me.   I had combined this process and ingredients from several online recipes.  And I dare you to try and keep the refrain from the song ‘hambone, hambone’ out of your mind.