I have mentioned before it seems to me to be an odd year. Perhaps it’s just in my life. Aside from the weather, which continues to break records, the news itself is disturbing. The world seems a little uneasy on its axis, and I must admit I’m sensing the vibe.
My phone rings more often, and I am pulling out my shrink hat, dusting it off, and offering my invisible chaise for quick sessions at an alarming rate. Why, as I’ve said before, people seem to think I have any kind of handle on how to face the world escapes me. Maybe it’s the universe sending me a message? Possibly I should have leaned towards psychology as a major rather than computer science, I don’t know.
To add to the untidy mix, Friday is blocked out for dental surgery. Ugh. Even though I was a dental assistant, I view dentistry as barbaric. Why after all these years they can’t just knock you out and do it all at once escapes me. Part of the reason I was an abysmal dental assistant stemmed from accepting my first job in a orthodontic office. Most of our patients still had occasional bed wetting incidents. Like the guards in the background at an execution, I was the one delivering the needle.
Over the years I have suffered many an hour sitting in a dental chair. Although blessed with good genes in general, teeth were definitely not on the plus side while listing the pluses and minuses handed down by my ancestors. Teeth were not well thought out, to my mind, when the original plans for human beings were drafted. “Hmmmmmmm, let’s see. Teeth should grind food for the average life span. About thirty years should get er done.” Originally I don’t think it was expected we humans would be the clever industrious little beings we turned out to be. Living to be 100, once a noteworthy phenomenon, is certainly far less unusual of late.
Not being my first rodeo with dental procedures I have stocked the larder with soft foods and the freezer with ice cream. Once I had to live on soft foods for three months. So desperate was I for the taste of meat, my apologize to the vegans out there, I actually ground some cooked meat up in the food processor just to savor the flavor on my tongue. Euwwww. I know. Talk about addiction, but that’s another blog.
In my early twenties I’ve written about my year on the road. Traveling with my husband and two toddlers we meandered across the country making an untidy run at seeing as many states as we could until our money ran out. Our vehicle of choice was an ungainly yellow station wagon, which served often as “home”, and managed to get us from Southern California to as far east as Lynn, Massachusetts breaking down only twice. The first mechanical issue arose early in the trip. The morning found us waking up in Casper, Wyoming. What a gorgeous piece of American real estate Wyoming is. Each round in the bend looks like a landscape painting suitable for mounting over a cabin hearth. I have heard people go there to lose themselves, and after touring the area I can see how easy that would be to do in that part of the world. For me it’s a bit to cold in the winter, and although I enjoy peace and quiet along with the next guy, I need a little more civilization around me than some parts of the state would provide.
Aside from the fact the car was showing some signs of a problem, I had a tooth ache. On the road this is not a good thing. We hadn’t thought ahead and invited an oral surgeon to share the back seat, so finding one on short notice where we were wouldn’t be a snap of the fingers.
Small towns were strung out along the highway between Casper and Cheyenne like clothes on a line. Many you passed through before realizing you’d entered. Sputtering, the wagon indicated going on without an examination wasn’t going to possible, so we pulled over at the first populated area with a gas station in place. In the 70′s gas stations were full service. Most of them, not all, had repair bays in the back. Fortunately for us this was one of them, as it was the only game in town. The patient was to remain overnight. Asking the location of the nearest motel, and learning there were two, we chose the closest one several miles away. Offered a ride to the lobby, we checked in.
Inquiring at the motel as to dentists in town, the cheerful clerk said there was one, but he was a ways out of town. Not able to stand the throbbing much longer, we called the number given us and thankfully someone answered on the other end. Because I was becoming an emergency, the gruff voice identifying himself as Dr. Wilkins suggested coming right out and gave directions on how to do so. How, with the wagon up in the stirrups, was to be the problem.
Inquiring again with the clerk in the lobby about transportation, she once again came to our rescue. She was off shift shortly, she told us, and lived near the dental office. If we’d like a ride out we could go with her and she would send her son to bring us back. The chances of that happening now are nearly as likely as picking the winning numbers on Power Ball, but I digress. As promised an hour later we were dropped off at the end of a long dirt road at a lone building standing nearly in the middle of nowhere.
We were greeted at the door by a man clearly long past retirement age. The office was limited to one examining room and the lobby, but it was clean and the equipment relatively new. As it turned out my tooth was beyond saving and had to be extracted. Of all the extractions I’ve suffered in my life, this one caused me the least pain. Dr. Will, as he called himself, far nicer than his voice belied, was only willing to accept $10 for his trouble. Shortly we were picked up in an old Ford truck up concealed by a swirl of dust by the clerk’s son. A dinner invitation was offered but I was in no condition to accept. The following day, swollen but better, the wagon was retrieved and thanking them all we made our way down the road.
I assure you for this procedure on Friday, $10 wouldn’t allow you to sit in the lobby and read the out-of-date People magazine waiting for you. Ah well.
This was the best vegetable pasta ever. Love, loved it. I had a lot of veggies on hand, and it was the perfect way to put them to work.
Spring Garden Pasta
1 bunch broccoli
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
1/4 cup olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
5 slices Coppa ham, sliced thin
3 large mushrooms sliced
1/2 cup dry white wine
1 zucchini, halved lengthwise and sliced thin
4 yellow tomatoes (small) sliced 1/4″
2 Roma tomatoes, coarsely diced
1 lb. thin spaghetti
1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
5 large basil leaves, sliced in strips
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes
Salt and pepper to taste
Cut broccoli into florets. Place in top of double broiler or steamer. Sprinkle with 1 Tbsp. lemon juice. Cook until fork tender. Season with salt and pepper as desired. Keep warm.
Saute garlic in 1/4 cup olive oil until slightly browned. Add Coppa ham to pan and saute until crisp.
Add mushrooms an zucchini to pan. Cover and allow to cook over med. heat, checking occasionally and stirring, for 5 mins.
Bring water to boil for pasta and cook as directed. Reserve 1 ladle of pasta water.
Remove saute pan from heat and add wine. Continue to cook over med. heat until wine is reduced by half. Stir in tomatoes, lemon juice, basil, pepper flakes and cooked broccoli. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Drain pasta reserving 1 ladle full of pasta water. Add pasta and water pan and toss.
Serve topped with lots of shredded cheese.