The Group

Los Angeles, California


Over a month has passed since my last post. With so much going on in my life, it is perhaps time to confide that in the midst of all this fun and frivolity: Carmel and Billy; girlfriends, cake and chocolate; I must share that I also meet a daily challenge. I am my mother's caregiver. My mother is ninety years old. Now, before the calculators get pulled out and the eyebrows get raised, I must state unequivocally that my mother was into her thirties when I was born, and my father was close to forty. Growing up in those days with parents who were much older than the parents of all my friends, was a challenge on its own. But it was nothing compared to what faces me now. My mom is afflicted with both diagnosed dementia and age-related memory loss. For the most part she is doing great -- especially for her age. Her doctor says that there is no clinical reason that she shouldn't live another ten years, which in most ways is very good news. She is strong and healthy. But, unfortunately, she is also angry. And as often happens with dementia victims, she is angry at her only caregiver. And that person is me.

This was a particularly rough week. I took her for an appointment with her primary care physician, who has been a rock through this process. Mom spent much of the appointment sniping at me and complaining about me to the doctor. This was not lost on him. "Wow," he said to her. "You're really beating her up." But that didn't stop her. When she finally said to the doctor "No one wants to be 'mothered' by someone who didn't have children," he looked at me and shook his head. "Welcome to my mundo," I said quietly. Mom is also profoundly hard of hearing.

I can't change my mom's situation. But maybe I can change how I experience these episodes. Maybe I can even learn to accept my grief and anxiety which I fear will intensify over the course of her decline. But I can't do it on my own. I need help. So last night, I attended my first support group for caregivers. It was offered by a non-profit organization established to help families who are dealing with memory impairment in a family member.

I've never attended any kind of a support group, so I was nervous about it. I briefly explained why I was there. My voice trembled. Then later, when the person seated next to me told a particularly sad and poignant story about an experience with a parent, I lost it. What was said (without revealing so much as genders here) was the expression of a fear that this is what will be remembered about this parent, after they are gone. As if my thoughts were read and spoken aloud. But then I realized that we all think this way. We all feel fear, and, at times, anger, frustration and a potent dose of railing-at-the-Gods. Why us?

The obvious answer is that we all have to deal with something in our lives. But my mother was lucky. My grandparents and father (her parents and husband) lived to ripe old ages and died swiftly and quietly. Ditto her two brothers. There was little care giving involved. As her children, we didn't abuse drugs nor get pregnant out of wedlock (a big taboo for her generation). We graduated from college, stayed married, never needed financial assistance, and heeded her admonition that we live close to her. She and my dad were healthy throughout their lives, and had a wonderful retirement. They traveled far and wide before retirement. After they retired, Billy and I always said that they traveled like the police were after them. Her life was good. Very good. Always. And now, she has the financial resources to live in a retirement community that operates like a luxury cruise ship -- with elegant ambiance, good food, amenities, and activities both in-house and beyond.

But she's angry. I feel her anger acutely, and when she lashes out at me, I am profoundly hurt. So I took this hurt with me to the meeting last night. And, of course what I discovered is that there are not only people in the same boat as me, but that all of those people were in such worse situations, that I later felt sheepish and embarrassed for weeping. On the other hand, I am also cognizant that, while things are not that bad yet, what lies ahead is not known.

Over the last eighteen months, I have watched so many of my friends cope with the loss of a parent. In most cases it was the last surviving parent. But, in my friend Lisa's case, it was both parents within the same calendar year. My heart has gone out to my friends in their bereavement. But now, in a terrible way, I envy them. Not for the loss of their beloved parents, but rather for their release from the unknown -- the how will this play out? They know the worst and it's behind them. Not so for me and the other members of the group who sat in the circle last night. For us, every day starts it all over again. And none of us know what is ahead of us now that the role we play with our parents has finally reversed.

And now, if you're still reading (hanging on by your fingernails), I want to apologize for being so morose. I promise that the next post will have a recipe and maybe even a joke. Autumn is on its way -- my favorite season. I see pumpkins in all our futures. And I guess it's a lesson to all of us to look forward to what we can count on in the days before us. Even while we anticipate the unaccountable that also surely lies ahead. Thanks for reading my blog (I'm so sorry!).

Too Darned Hot

Los Angeles, California

Someone has pointed out that I haven't left a recipe here for well over a fortnight, or more. You see, I do have followers. They just don't actually . . . follow. Nor do they leave comments. They just tell me when they see me! Which is fine. Anyway, let's get back to the recipe conundrum. The truth is, that I haven't been cooking in a way which is really worth sharing. I mean, for Fourth of July, we had cold cracked crab. And I didn't cook it, nor crack it. What did we have with that? What you should have with it: Chardonnay and good sourdough bread with butter. And I'm not going to share the trauma of having fed this to a dinner guest who discovered that, lo and behold, he isn't only allergic to lobster, but crab as well. Quel awful.

Anyway, as I racked my brain for some summer standard that we cook often and is worthy of sharing, what flew through my brain, in no particular order was: beer-can chicken; grilled corn (asparagus, yellow squash, on and on ad infinitum). Again, nothing stellar enough to share. Then I realized why I'm approaching this so limply. It's too darned hot.

We were tooling along, here in the Los Angeles basin, with a delayed June Gloom forecast. For those of you not in the know, June Gloom is paradoxically this very cool meteorological phenomenon which prepares you for the furnace blast of later summer. It is comprised of mild, overcast mornings (technically caused by what is called an on-shore flow), giving way (as the weathermen say) to mildly sunny afternoons. Aside from the mildewed roses, everyone is happy. Sometimes, we even get this in May. Then it is called May Gray. Well, this year we got it through the first twelve days of July. This is called: July Schmoo-lie. OK, it probably doesn't have a name when it occurs in July, as this rarely happens. But, blessedly, it happened this year. So, we could do gardening in the morning, work in the afternoon, and sleep soundly at night. And, we were probably cooking up a storm. I can't remember, because as of July 13th, it came to a screeching halt and the temperatures climbed from about 75 to 105 in ONE DAY. My body just couldn't handle it. I basically wanted to lie around on the floor all day, though that isn't what I actually did. I went dancing that first day. And it was HOT at that club, The Borderline, but as I've written before, we salseros dance in the face of it all.


But, back to cooking. Not doing much of it. However, I did finally come up with the idea to share a recipe which is a variable standard at Casa Healy. It is perfect for hot days, and can be prepared last minute, when necessary. The only heat involved is cooking the pasta, and if you want ciabatta bread with this (which I recommend) you can heat that briefly in the oven, or on the grill. I am even, generous spirit that I am, going to offer an alternative recipe which involves roasting the tomatoes. You have to turn on the oven for this, but I will offer it anyway, just in case June Gloom creeps into your life on one lucky summer's day.

Summer Pasta


6 medium or plum tomatoes, peeled, seeded,
      cut into 1/2 inch cubes *1
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 garlic cloves, minced
2/3 to 3/4 cup olive oil*2
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (or 1/2 teaspoon whole
      pink peppercorns)
3/4 cup cleaned, fresh basil leaves, cut into strips
1 pound smoked mozzarella, cut into 1/2 inch strips*3
1 pound penne rigate
A handful of fresh parsley, chopped
Freshly grated parmigiana
A grind (or two or four) of pepper


Place tomatoes in a large, heat-proof ceramic pasta bowl which will fit over the pot in which you will cook your pasta. Sprinkle the tomatoes with the teaspoon of salt and let sit for ten minutes, stirring lazily, if and when you think of it. Add garlic, olive oil, and the red pepper (if you're using it). Walk away.


You can let this sit up to, oh, let's say two hours or so in advance. I find that the longer it sits, the better, but the freshness of the tomatoes will ultimately tell the tale. That is why this is so good in the summer.


When you're ready to eat, fill your pasta pot with water and place the ceramic bowl with the tomatoes on top of it, as if for a lid. Bring water to boil. Remove pasta bowl, add salt and pasta to water. Cook.


When the pasta is ready, dump the basil on top of the tomatoes, then the pasta on top of the basil. Toss. Add anywhere from 2 tablespoons to 1/4 cup of the magic pasta water (it contains the starch from your pasta which will help meld the ingredients). Again with the tossing. Add the mozzarella immediately, toss one last time. Serve with the freshly grated parmigiana (and I would say a good loaf of ciabatta bread and a bottle of Bernardus sauvignon blanc, but now I'm just being bossy).


This will make about four servings. Leftovers are appealing at room temp, and can be served as a side dish to chicken or sausage or what have you.


Here's where it gets interesting:



*1 You have a lot of latitude with the tomatoes here. Heirlooms are wonderful, both in flavor and their rainbow appearance. You can also mix red and yellow cherry or small pear tomatoes. If you can find cherry tomatoes still on the stem, wash them intact and place them in a small ovenproof dish. Drizzle with a tablespoon of olive oil and two teaspoons of balsamic vinegar, and dust with salt and pepper. Roast in a 475 degree oven for ten minutes. Let cool until you can handle them without blistering your fingers. Remove from the stems and chop (this is messy). Use as all or a portion of the tomatoes. And, last but not least, you may add some (about two tablespoons) of sun-dried tomatoes which have been packed in oil. If you do this, chop them finely and add 1/4 cup of the tomato oil (using the smaller 2/3 cup of olive oil, in this case*2).


*3 You may substitute regular fresh mozzarella, or brie cheese -- even feta or pepper jack. If using feta, use fresh, chopped oregano in place of basil, and add pitted, halved kalamata olives. This is good topped with mizithra cheese or ricotta salata. If using pepper jack, skip the red pepper/pink peppercorns, replace basil with chopped cilantro and top with aged, dry jack cheese. A handful of chopped tomatillos added to the tomatoes is another option with the pepper jack.



Too many choices? Do what I do. Make the recipe faithfully the first time around. Get a feel for it. Decide whether you even like it enough to revisit it. Then, begin to experiment. We've gotten a lot wilder than I mentioned above. Leftover roasted asparagus, sliced into little-finger long lengths is a lovely added option. Don't even get me started on artichoke hearts and grilled eggplant. As you can now see, we're talking about drawing way outside the lines with this recipe -- and even being encouraged to do so.

So, if it's hot, you're hot, or even if it's not/your not, this is a perfectly feasible summer way to eat pasta. Since I grow basil, and Billy grows tomatoes, we have often commented that if we could grow mozzarella we could be set for a good portion of the summer. Except for the corn . . . but that's a whole other post. Hope you enjoy your summer and this pasta, and thanks for reading my blog.