Author Archives: themidlifesecondwife

Curb Shoes: We Love Them, They Don’t Love Us

25 Tuesday Oct 2011

Posted by in The Healthy Life, The Well-Dressed Life

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , ,

Acrylic platform shoes.

Image via Wikipedia

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of the blog wrote to say that around the time I used her euphemism for high heels—curb shoes—in my interview with Dr. Amanda Miller, she was, coincidentally, trying on a pair of gorgeous ones. Before I share with you what C. had to say, you’ll want to know that according to the Guardian (and reported by Huff Post Style), a recent study revealed that 40-percent of high-heel wearers have suffered an accident in them. Hurts just to think about it, doesn’t it? You can read the complete Guardian article here, or visit Huffington Post‘s take on the story here.

You’ll recall that my friend’s term refers to the fact that the shoes one wears are impossible to walk in: “Please pick me up at the curb or drop me off at the curb.” Hence, curb shoes. Here’s her story:

In the end I chose not to buy them due to the very concerned look on my husband’s face as he watched me (try) to walk around the store. He didn’t appreciate my reasoning, which went like this: “But when I am just standing in place they look fabulous!” I, too, have been suffering with back problems, which have been attributed to leg length discrepancy. I’ve been working with a chiropractor and massage therapist over the past year and I regularly “engage my core.” I am seeing results slowly but surely.

Be careful, ladies. It’s a fashion runway out there, and we’re all Carrie Bradshaw, just one sashay away from disaster.

Postscript: A Perfect Cup of Coffee

25 Tuesday Oct 2011

Posted by in Food for Thought, Indulgences, The Healthy Life

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , ,

A photo of a cup of coffee.

Image via Wikipedia

Well, it just gets better and better. Today the Washington Post reported on new research related to my favorite beverage. According to findings of the American Association for Cancer Research, coffee-drinkers are at a reduced risk for developing basal cell carcinoma, the most common form of skin cancer. The odds are better for women than for men. (Sorry, guys.) My thanks to Lucy Carson and her awesome Twitter feed for bringing this to my attention. You can read the article here, along with last week’s post and your favorite cup of joe. Bottom’s up!

Under the Laughing Tree: Our Wedding Vows to Our Children

24 Monday Oct 2011

Posted by in Relationships and Family Life, Remarriage, Second Weddings, Transitions

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

, , , , ,

All wedding photos by Roger Mastroianni

When you remarry in middle age, the chances are good that you’ll be enlarging your family by more than one person. Between us, John and I now have three sons. (Before remarrying, my boy was the only child of an only child—me.) At the time of our wedding, the three boys were, in fact, not boys at all but young men: my Matthew was 29; John’s Patrick was 23, and Colin had just turned 18. And that is the last time I shall refer to them in an individual, proprietary way; they are ours now. Guys, I know you’re reading this. We love you.

Much has been written about blended families, or bonded families, or whatever euphemism you wish to use. But I find myself coming back to Wendy Swallow’s book, The Triumph of Love Over Experience; she writes with great sensitivity on the challenges inherent in merging two families when the children are adolescents or younger:

“We hardly thought of the boys as baggage, but there they were nonetheless, hulking young men with their own perfectly appropriate teenage issues and growing suspicions about the intimacy between us. Whether they liked it or not, they were passengers on this journey …”

Passengers on a journey…what a wonderful metaphor! I’ll have a question or two about the stepchild aspect of remarriage when I interview Wendy for this blog. But for now, and to paraphrase Tolstoy, I can’t help observing that every original family is alike; every blended family is blended in its own way.

In John’s and my case, we’ve had scant time or opportunity to engage as a cohesive family unit since our marriage. We relocated from Ohio to Virginia when John was offered a job here. Matthew, already graduated from college, has his own established life in Ohio; Patrick is busy attending graduate school in Illinois; Colin, also in Ohio, is in his first year of college. Varied schedules and the vagaries of geography have kept us apart more than they have brought us together, and John and I knew it would be thus. Aside from one major holiday, our wedding was the only time our three sons have been together with us. When we were planning our wedding, then, the question  of how to encourage each young man to feel a part of something new, vital, loving, and familial was paramount. What roles could they perform in the wedding to secure our mutual bonds? And what—if anything—should we do with respect to ceremonial vows?

An Australian blogger here on WordPress, “Stepmum of the Year,” posed the question with more than a little trepidation. She has no children; her partner, known on her blog as “The Lovely Man,” has three boys, all pre-adolescent or close to it. Stepmum and Lovely Man are getting married; he has asked that his sons be included somehow in the ceremony, suggesting that perhaps they even write vows to them. Given her life experience and the ages of the children, she is understandably cautious, and in this terrific list, she exhibits sage wisdom:

I’m absolutely not going to say anything that doesn’t feel true.
I’m not ready to promise the kids anything that isn’t entirely in my power to deliver, or shouldn’t be solely my responsibility…
And I refuse to say anything that might tighten the choke hold of their loyalty binds – no “Yay, new family, love everyone, take you to be my children, yay!” kinds of things. Honestly, I Googled “stepfamily wedding vows” and there was so much schmaltz that I entered a whole new emotional state – kind of a cross between nauseated and despairing.

So? What’s a soon-to-be “stepmum” to do?

Given the differences in our circumstances, the approach that John and I took might not work for the Aussies; those concerns, however, inspired me to share this part of our story on the blog. And I should tell you that it is only with the permission of my husband and all three of our sons that I am doing so; if even one of them had a moment’s hesitation, you’d be reading something else right now.

To begin with, John and I felt that it was important for the boys to actively participate in the ceremony itself.

My mother walked me down the aisle at my first wedding; my father had died when I was 13. Now, with my second wedding at hand, who was the logical choice? My mother had passed away in 2000.

There was no doubt: it should be Matthew. In no way, however, was he “giving me away.” Aside from being a rather archaic expression, the phrase was packed with meanings I didn’t want him to carry: I am, and always will be, his mom. He doesn’t “give me away” to anybody. Instead, he “presented me” to John, as in: “Mister Groom, may I present Ms. Bride?”

Patrick was John’s Best Man, and he and Colin ushered guests to their seats and lit the candles prior to the ceremony. All three of our sons gave beautiful readings during the ceremony. These were clearly age-appropriate roles. Engaged couples with small children might not find them to be the best candidates for candle lighting; perhaps they could guide guests to their seats instead? Or serve as junior members of the wedding party?

At the end of the day, though, this is all just logistics. John and I still wanted to publicly acknowledge our love for our guys, yet we didn’t want to detract from our own vows to each other. And here is where I should add that we opted for the steeped-in-tradition vows from the Book of Common Prayer: This is what John said to me after taking my right hand in his:

“In the Name of God, I, John, take you, Marci, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

My vows to John were the same. We loved the simplicity of these words, rich with meaning. At this stage in our lives, it just didn’t make sense to tamper with tradition. Although timeworn (not unlike us!), these vows perfectly expressed what we were, and are, acutely aware of: our union truly is “for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health.”

As for vows to our children, the “Marriage Missions International” website was of considerable help. We would, however, articulate these vows in our own special staging. Allow me to explain with a brief bit of back story.

On our first date, June 14, 2009, John and I met outside the Allen Memorial Art Museum on the campus of Oberlin College, where I worked. Slightly to the south of the museum sits an ancient European Weeping Beech Tree and an arbor. In June, this tree was in full foliage; we sat beneath its branches, talking and getting to know one another. And laughing! We both laughed so hard and so happily that a couple, peering through the foliage, said:

“There are people here. We couldn’t see anyone; we thought this was a laughing tree.”

And so it was that one year and two months—to the day—after we first met, following the formal ceremony in Fairchild Chapel, John and I led our guests in a brief procession around part of Tappan Square until we reached the Bacon Arbor and our Laughing Tree. It looked like the Sicilian Wedding scene in The Godfather, Part I.

When all were assembled beneath the arbor, John began:

“Matthew, I want you to know that I dearly love your mother. She and I met beneath this tree, and this spot is hallowed ground to us. We have become very good friends over this past year and we have learned to love each other. As you have so graciously shared this wonderful woman with me, so will I share the love I feel for her with you. Together, we will learn much more about each other.

At this place that means so much to your mother and me, I promise also to be fair and to be honest, to be available for you as I am for your mom, and in due time, to earn your love, respect, and true friendship. I will not attempt to replace anyone, but to make a place in your heart that is for me alone. I will be father and friend, and I will cherish my life with you. On this day, when I marry your mom, I marry you, and I promise to love and support you as my own.”

John gave Matthew a hug after reading his vows to him.Then it was my turn:

“Patrick and Colin, I want you to know that I dearly love your father. He and I met beneath this tree, and this spot is hallowed ground to us. We have become very good friends over this past year and we have learned to love each other. As you have so graciously shared this wonderful man with me, so will I share the love I feel for him with both of you. Together, we will learn much more about each other.

At this place that means so much to your father and me, I promise also to be fair and to be honest, to be available for you as I am for your dad, and in due time, to earn your love, respect, and true friendship. I will not attempt to replace anyone, but to make a place in your heart that is for me alone. I will be mother and friend, and I will cherish my life with you. On this day, when I marry your dad, I marry you, and I promise to love and support you as my own.”

Reading my vows to Patrick and Colin

John and I also wanted to say a few words to the boys we each raised, especially since we would be, within two short weeks, moving so very far away:

Patrick and Colin, my sons, thank you for the generosity with which you have welcomed Marci—and Matthew—into your lives. Thank you for being such an important part of our wedding ceremony. And thank you for being such wonderful and fine young men. I love you both forever, and Marci and I will always be there for you, no matter how many miles separate us.”

“Matthew, my son, thank you for the generosity with which you have welcomed John—and Patrick and Colin—into your life. Thank you for being such an important part of our wedding ceremony. And thank you for being such a wonderful and fine young man. I love you forever, and John and I will always be there for you, no matter how many miles separate us.”

Our celebrant, Brian K. Wilbert, concluded this moving part of our ceremony with the sign of peace.

Our guests and witnesses, our family and friends

Laughing Tree photo by John Rich

Our Laughing Tree
Oberlin, Ohio

A Musical Postscript to Grandma Monia’s Breaded Eggplant

22 Saturday Oct 2011

Posted by in Food for Thought, The Musical Life

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

Happy Saturday, everyone! I typically try not to work on the weekend, but I just had to share this with you. It’s a cozy day at home, and John is puttering around listening to his favorite Pandora station—Kenny Rankin. He came up to have me listen to a song by Michael Franks. “This is your song,” he said. When I heard it, I knew I had to add it to the post with Grandma Monia’s recipe for breaded eggplant. The name of the song is—say it along with me—”Eggplant.” According to JRFMRadio’s posting on YouTube, this was recorded live at La Cigale in Paris on October 7, 2010. And since I’ve been wanting to add a department for the arts, I herewith inaugurate “The Musical Life” section of the blog with this entry. Enjoy!

Serves 4, with ample leftovers. Kept in a tightly sealed plastic container or on a plate covered tightly with plastic wrap, these should keep for about a week refrigerated.

One medium-size eggplant
Salt
Four eggs
Seasoned Italian bread crumbs
Parmesan cheese
Good olive oil

A word before you begin: It’s always a good idea to read through a recipe a couple of times before you launch into things. That said, please don’t let the length of this recipe scare you away—it’s an easy dish to prepare! I tried to be as detailed as I could  because for this dish, it’s all about preparation and process. Have all of your ingredients at hand and ready before you start, and give yourself ample time for working on this, because once you begin frying the eggplant you really need to remain at the stove until you’re finished. But trust me: the reward will be delicious!

Fill a pot with cold, salted water and set aside. (I find the plastic tub from my salad spinner is perfect for this.)

With a vegetable peeler, remove the skin from the eggplant. Using a sharp knife, trim off the ends. Using the same knife or a mandoline slicer, carefully slice the eggplant into large discs, approximately ¼ -inch thick, placing each slice immediately into the waiting tub of salted water.

Let the eggplant slices soak for about ten minutes. Drain the water and rinse the eggplant slices with cold water, then refill the tub with cold salted water and repeat the soaking process.

(Why go to all of this bother? Because you’ll notice the water from the first rinse, and even the second, will be a yucky brown. The salted water is drawing the bitterness out of the eggplant. Trust me.

Drain and rinse well, then pat the slices dry with paper towels.

Whisk the eggs in a bowl large enough to hold several eggplant slices.

Now set up your preparation area:

Using a breading pan, place about two cups of breadcrumbs and one cup Parmesan cheese in one of its sections; mix well with a fork. (If you don’t have a breading pan, use two baking sheets with sides—I use two old pizza pans. Don’t do anything with the other section or the second baking sheet or pizza pan yet; you will use it to hold the breaded slices.

Line a third baking sheet with paper towels. Set aside. (You’ll use this to drain the fried eggplant.)

Place the sliced eggplant, three to four slices at a time, in the egg wash and making sure to coat each side thoroughly.

Then, one at a time, place an egg-washed slice of eggplant in the crumb-and-cheese mixture, pressing firmly enough to ensure a good, even coat of crumbs on each side. Set the breaded eggplant slice on the extra pan you have set aside. Continue this process until all of the slices have been breaded.

Over medium heat, warm a large sauté pan for about 30 seconds, then add enough good quality olive oil to coat the bottom of the pan. Increase the heat to medium-high. Once the oil is hot, place several eggplant slices in the pan, taking care not to crowd them. Brown for about five minutes or until the bottoms are golden brown, then turn them over and brown the other side. When the first batch is complete, remove from the pan and drain on the large, paper-towel-lined pan you had set aside. Then place a layer of paper towels on top of the fried eggplant slices, ready to receive the next fried batch. (You’ll end up with paper towels between each layer of eggplant.)

Complete this process until all of the eggplant has been fried. Note that after about two fryings, you’ll need to carefully drain the hot oil from the pan and replenish it with fresh oil, repeating this process as needed. (An empty coffee can works great for this.) You don’t want the oil to get black and smoky; this will burn the eggplant and ruin the taste. What you are looking for is nicely golden-brown slices.

Serve warm, or prepare ahead and refrigerate. These are delicious cold; I’ve never tried to reheat them. You can eat them plain. (I dare you to have enough left over to serve guests!) Although I’ve never felt the urge to reheat them, John suggests doing so and serving them with a warm marinara dipping sauce.)

Incidentally, this is also a great first-step in making Eggplant Parmesan—something that I’ve never attempted, for some inexplicable reason. As someone who is half-Sicilian and thinks her Italian cooking skills are pretty sharp, I’m embarrassed to admit this to you. Now I’ll have to hunt for a good recipe. If you have a great recipe for Eggplant Parmesan that you’d like to share, please post it in the comment section following this recipe!

Postscript (Thank you, Vera Wang): The Bride Wore Black

21 Friday Oct 2011

Posted by in Second Weddings, The Well-Dressed Life

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

As much as I’ve always loved clothes, no one could ever mistake me for a fashion trendsetter. I mean, come on. Until last year, I lived in Ohio. For my entire life. (No offense, Buckeye State. I love you and always will.) But three days after posting an essay on the blog about wearing black for my second wedding, a friend on Facebook sent me a link to an October 19 ABC News story about acclaimed wedding gown designer Vera Wang’s newest collection. I found additional coverage from Buzz60 via YouTube. Take a look:

I’m sensing that announcer Maureen Aladin isn’t a fan of the look. What about you? If you were getting married again, would you wear black? Would you consider it if you were planning a first wedding? Share your comments below. And have a great weekend!

A Perfect Cup of Coffee: The Best Part of Waking Up

19 Wednesday Oct 2011

Posted by in Food for Thought, Indulgences, The Healthy Life

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

National Coffee Day 2011 has come and gone (it was September 29), but, as Kismet and UPS Ground would have it, I was able to celebrate the occasion with my shipment of Zabar’s coffee.

I first discovered the wonders of Zabar’s miraculous brew on a trip to New York City several years ago. I was traveling for the Oberlin Conservatory of Music, where I worked, and my hotel was just down the block from the famed Upper West Side delicatessen. I dropped in to start my day with a cup of coffee and a bagel, and I was transported. The coffee I made at home didn’t taste like this: this was rich and smooth, with varying notes of flavor, and not at all bitter. I bought two pounds of the Number 7 grind to take back with me to Ohio—Zabar’s blend, the roast I had ordered—and hazelnut decaffeinated. To this day I order two pounds of each (shipping is free at these quantities), and I keep them in the freezer until my canister needs refilling.

My mornings have always seem rushed. (Of course they do! I can’t work up any traction until I’ve had my coffee!) And as much as I’d like to tell you that I grind my own beans for each pot, the process is much more streamlined. Nevertheless, the methodology I’ve devised is specific, never varies, and never fails to yield what I believe to be the perfect cup of coffee:

My canister is always filled with equal parts Zabar’s blend and Zabar’s hazelnut decaf, and I use two coffee scoops of this to ten cups of water in my automatic drip coffee maker. But before I push the filter drawer in and flip the switch on, I sprinkle cinnamon on top of the grounds.

I have served coffee this way every day for years, and every time that I have company. The results are always the same—delicious—and friends and family want to know my secret. So I go to my freezer, pull out the bags of Zabar’s, and tell them.

And now I’m telling you.

(Truth be told, I rarely make coffee anymore. Why? My husband, who is not a coffee drinker, typically wakes up before I do. He makes the coffee most mornings, and brings me a fresh cup with the Richmond Times-Dispatch. Sorry ladies. He’s taken.)

You know, now that I think about it, I have been drinking coffee for as long as I can remember. My first sense-memory is that of a comforting concoction prepared for me by my mother. I must have been around ten or so. Milk filled at least two-thirds of the mug, but the coffee taste was unmistakably there. It brought to mind chocolate that wasn’t chocolate. I was hooked, promptly began dunking my buttered toast, and never looked back.

Turns out my mother might have been on to something.

A “Healthy Living Brief” on the Huffington Post reported on a recent Harvard University study, the results of which are fascinating, and a shot of caffeine in the arm of women who might be admonished for drinking too much of the beverage:

Women who consumed two to three cups of caffeinated joe per day had a 15-percent lower risk of depression than non-coffee drinkers, while those who drank four-plus cups daily had a 20-percent lower risk. In general, women are more likely than men to be diagnosed with depression.

“Our results support a possible protective effect of caffeine, mainly from coffee consumption, on risk of depression,” the researchers wrote … in the Archives of Internal Medicine. The researchers followed more than 50,000 participants in the Nurses Health Study—one of the largest women’s health studies in the U.S.—for 10 years.

And guys, take heart. National Public Radio’s report on this study also noted earlier research, including a study among men, suggesting that caffeine could possibly have a protective effect against certain prostate cancers.

The Harvard study’s authors did caution that their results must be replicated before any firm  conclusions can be drawn about caffeine and depression risk. The Archives of Internal Medicine is a peer-reviewed medical journal published by the American Medical Association.

The AMA might not think too highly of the following recipe, given its quantities of luscious half-and-half, whipping cream, and ice cream, but all (good) things in moderation, right? I discovered this delicious coffee punch at a holiday open house hosted by a wonderful cooking school in Vermilion, Ohio—Laurel Run. Owner Marcia DePalma is not only a culinary genius, she is also a wonderful teacher. I attended some of her cooking classes when I lived in Ohio. With typical generosity, she graciously allowed me to share her recipe with you. I’ve made this twice, and it was a huge hit with my guests. If you’re hosting a party this holiday season and want your guests to mingle, you might think about having several smaller bowls of this stationed throughout your house; people will cluster around it, I promise you.

Laurel Run’s Creamy Coffee Punch
Makes 60 4-ounce servings

2 ounces instant coffee
2 quarts (8 cups) hot water
2-1/4 cups sugar
2 quarts half-and-half
1 tablespoon Nielsen-Massey vanilla
1 quart ginger ale, chilled
1 pint heavy cream, whipped
1/2 gallon French vanilla ice cream
freshly grated nutmeg

Dissolve instant coffee in hot water; cool. Add sugar and half-and-half, mixing well. Chill. When ready to serve, pour coffee mixture into a punch bowl. Add chilled ginger ale, whipped cream, and ice cream. (Let some of the ice cream chunks remain.) Grate a light dusting of fresh nutmeg on top before serving.

The Bride Wore Black

16 Sunday Oct 2011

Posted by in Remarriage, Second Weddings, The Well-Dressed Life

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

Photo Credit: Roger Mastroianni

It almost goes without saying that the experience of shopping for a second-wedding dress differs dramatically from the inaugural experience. The two are as different, you might say, as black and white.

In 1977, as a rookie bride-to-be, an entourage accompanied me on this cultural rite-of-passage: mother, maid of honor, and three bridesmaids. They attended me with the sort of devotion and diligence that acolytes reserve for royalty. They were as solicitous as a bevy of Pippa Middletons.

I and my entourage laid claim to Maryann’s Bridals in Lorain, Ohio, with the unbridled enthusiasm exhibited by women who, one would think, had never shopped before. We squealed. We sighed. We preened. We vamped. After several hours, we departed triumphant, a jumble of Qiana, tulle, and sequins in our wake.

Photo credit: Gordon de la Vars

This is what being a bride for the first time is like. This is what it is like on your wedding morn, too. I remember driving to Cleveland on the day of my divorce, 26 years later, painfully mindful of the disparity. When you get married, you do it surrounded by loved ones. When you get divorced, you do it on your own.

I was not alone, however, when I shopped for my second wedding dress; my fiancé accompanied me, in defiance of all superstition. It was a gray, rainy afternoon, and we had just left his younger son’s rugby game. The drive took us past Catan’s—“America’s Largest Bridal Salon”—in Strongsville, Ohio. It was late April, the wedding was less than four months away, and I was quietly panicking. A dress I had ordered online looked gorgeous on the website. On me it was matronly; I felt tired and washed-out looking in it, like week-old champagne.

“Let’s just run in and see what they have,” John suggested. “It will be fun.”

Fun? Let me tell you something about shopping for a wedding dress on a rainy day when you are 54-years-old. It is, in a word, ridiculous.

But John actually enjoys shopping, especially for me. In that enclave of satin, lace, and tiaras (which might as well have had a “Women Only” sign over the door, or, in my case, given my trepidation, “Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here,”) he was my doting entourage.

I had already decided that I was not going to wear white or ivory, and I was far too mature for the traditional gown and veil. My choices were limited to the “Mother-of-the-Bride” and “Special Occasion” departments and hampered by an extremely modest budget. Truth be told, there were times when I thought it might be wiser and less stressful for us to elope, but this wedding was far too special to me to put a gloss on it. It marked the beginning of a new, midlife life, with the kind of man I always dreamed of but never thought I’d meet. I wanted to make a meaningful entrance into this fresh, second-half of my time on this earth, and with as much elegance as I could gather around me.

We had, in fact, agreed that a traditional ceremony, with as many of the trimmings as we could afford, would be a lasting memory for our sons, and symbolize for them the new family that we were fashioning.

Yet, as ridiculous as being my age and shopping for a wedding dress (or, more precisely, a dress in which to get married) seemed, it also represented something exhilarating and somewhat paradoxical, given the circumstances: freedom.

I was, forever, no longer 21. The princess-bride fantasies I once harbored had long since been relegated to the remainder bin. If I wanted to wear my favorite color, I was free to do so.

And so it was that the bride wore black.*

If the dress that I selected had anything to say to the world, it would be this:

Here is a new, albeit older, bride. A modern bride. A bride who, on occasion, likes to tweak tradition. A bride who knows what is what in this world. A bride who has lived five decades and four years, and who holds no preconceptions or illusions beneath an illusion veil. (Indeed, I would wear a single, simple calla lily in my hair.)

Yes. The dress suited me. And, winking at superstition myself, I peeked out of the fitting room to find John.

“Well? What do you think?”

“You look beautiful,” he said, smiling. “You’ve found the dress.”

Yes. The groom saw the bride in her gown before the wedding.

And so far, they’re living happily ever after.

*There’s a marvelous François Truffaut film from the late 1960s called The Bride Wore Black, starring the exquisite Jeanne Moreau, the plot of which has nothing whatsoever to do with my own story. Luckily.

Peppery Pasta Parmigiano

12 Wednesday Oct 2011

Posted by in Food for Thought

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , ,

John and I love spending lazy Saturday mornings at the South-of-the-James, our favorite local Farmers’ Market. One recent, early-autumn day, we saw these beautiful peppers. I couldn’t resist photographing them, and of course I wondered how I might prepare them. I asked the vendor if they were sweet peppers or hot.

“Oh, they’re very mild,” she said. “I like to pop them right in my mouth.”

With that disclaimer in hand, John and I circled back to Cavanna’s, a fresh, handmade pasta stand, where we bought tagliolini, a sort of secondo cugino to fettuccine. We also picked up a zucchini, and—back in our neighborhood—bought some sweet Italian sausage to give the dish some heft.

Reader, if by writing this blog I can impart one lesson and one lesson only, let it be this: Whenever a farm vendor tells you that a pepper is mild, question it. Doubt it with every fiber of your being. Bring all of your skepticism to bear and, above all, never ever roast a pan of them in a hot oven and breathe in the fumes when you open the door. That said, use—at most—one-half of two of the smallest peppers for your dish. And only after removing their seeds. You must trust me on this. As for the remainder, give them to your husband’s colleague from India, who is as passionate about spontaneously combustible spices as mares are to oats or lambs are to ivy.

The recipe I concocted ended up being incredibly delicious. And, not counting the inhalation of hot-pepper fumes, no husbands or wives were injured during the preparation of this dish.
MiseEnPlace for Peppery Pasta_0743CAREFUL! Roasted Hot Peppers_0745The Sauté_0746Peppery Pasta Parmigiano_0748

Peppery Pasta Parmigiano, a set on Flickr.

Gallery of images for Peppery Pasta Parmigiano Recipe

Peppery Pasta Parmigiano

Makes four to six servings

1 pound of fresh tagliolini pasta
1/4 cup of good olive oil, divided
1 onion, finely chopped
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
1 zucchini, peeled and sliced thin
1/2 pound sweet Italian sausage, casing removed and sausage crumbled
1/2 cup dry white wine
2 tablespoons fresh Italian parsley, chopped
1-2 small, colorful peppers (refer to above disclaimer), seeds removed,
cut in half, and then cut in ribbons. Use one-half of each pepper.
1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon Kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil.

Heat 1/8-cup olive oil in a sauté pan and brown the sausage until it is done and no longer pink. Set aside. In a second sauté pan, heat remaining olive oil and add onion, garlic, zucchini, and the browned sausage. Cook at medium heat for five minutes, or until onion is transparent.

Add wine and reduce at high heat for five minutes. Lower heat to medium, and add parsley and peppers. Season with pepper flakes, salt, and pepper and cook for five minutes.

With the pot of salted water at a roiling boil, add the fresh pasta. Take care to cook according to the package directions, noting that fresh pasta typically only takes two to three minutes to cook.

Drain the cooked pasta and rinse with cold water. Place about half in a large serving bowl and toss with the pepper/sausage concoction. Add remaining pasta and continue to toss. Top with cheese and serve.

Charter Membership Has Its Privileges

12 Wednesday Oct 2011

Posted by in What's the Buzz?

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Dear Friends and Followers of The Midlife Second Wife,

The site has just welcomed its 1,500th visitor. I can hardly believe how many of you have peeked in the windows at my home-away-from-home on the Web. To date, here’s a by-the-numbers look at TMSW since its August 24, 2011 launch:

1,500 Total Site Visitors

49 Followers on Twitter (30 since 8/24/11)

44 Friends on Facebook

38 Blog Subscribers (35 by E-mail, 3 by WordPress)

30 Daily Visitors, Overall Average

All of this has got me quite gobsmacked, you know. Thank you from the bottom of my midlife-but-hopefully-healthy heart for reading and supporting The Midlife Second Wife.

Since we’re online, I can’t really propose a toast (well, I suppose I could, but it wouldn’t be as much fun as it would with us gathered in a room, holding flutes of Champagne). What I can do, however, is this:

I herewith announce the formation of The Midlife Second Wives’ Club. All of you who are now following the blog with your subscription, either by e-mail or as a WordPress blogger, are Charter Members of the club. That’s 38 Charter Members.

The Midlife Second Wives’ Club will be limited to 110 Charter Members. Here’s how I arrived at the number: John was 56 when we got married; I was 54. Add 56 and 54 and you get 110. This means that there is still room for 72 more subscribers to become Charter Members.

As you know, membership has its privileges. I cannot predict where The Midlife Second Wife will take us, but should the day come when TMSW merchandise becomes available, Charter Members will receive discounts. A book deal? Charter Members will receive autographed copies. A film? (Yes, I know. I dream big.) If there’s ever a premiere, Charter Members will receive the full red-carpet treatment.

Why? Because you have been with me from the very beginning. You’re my supporters, my posse, my peeps and tweeps. You deserve some perks!

What, you might ask, must I do to become a Charter Member of The Midlife Second Wives’ Club?

Well, if you’ve already subscribed to the blog by entering your e-mail or blog ID on the left-side of the screen, you’re in! And while we’re on the subject, I want to assure you that WordPress and I have a very strict privacy policy; neither I nor WordPress will ever share your e-mail address with anyone unless required to do so by a court of law. And come on: how likely is that to happen? Right.

So consider this scenario: You’re a Charter Member, but your partner/spouse/best friend is not. You don’t want to attend a movie premiere without him or her, do you? Ask them to join you in subscribing to the blog. (And by subscribing, I mean following. There’s no cost to you.) There’s room for 72 more in the VIP suite, so let them know!

What, you might ask, happens when the 73rd person subscribes to the blog? Are they, and those that follow after, relegated to some dank, subterranean room? You know me. I couldn’t do that. I will devise some secondary level of membership, and a tertiary level, and then whatever level comes after tertiary, to ensure that all followers of The Midlife Second Wife will feel the love. But I cannot in good conscience ignore the first 110. You are, and always will be, my inner circle.

Now go out and encourage your friends and family to follow the blog. And if you’re already liking it on Facebook or following it on Twitter but haven’t signed up here, please do so. I want you at that film premiere!

Thanks and Love,
The Midlife Second Wife

What’s Baggage Got To Do With It?

07 Friday Oct 2011

Posted by in Midpoints, Relationships and Family Life

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

MorgueFile Image

Baggage. It can ruin a spirit just as easily as it can ruin a back. We carry so much of it throughout our lives, but never more so than when we chart a different course, at the intersection where middle age meets true love.

To get remarried at life’s midpoint is to start life as a grown-up all over again. What takes some of the fear and sting out of starting over from scratch is, paradoxically,  some of the baggage that we carry. That which has influenced us, marked us, and wounded us has also taught us. We have a glowing map this time around, whereas the first time some of us might have been driving in the dark, without any headlights on.

We have, in short, been forewarned.

The baggage metaphor springs today from that most pedestrian of pursuits: travel. I am writing this from the middle seat of the mid-section of a United Airlines flight to Orange County, California. I am multitasking, engaging my transversus abdominus the way that Dr. Amanda Miller taught me, so that all the bags I’ve just schlepped while walking down the endless airport corridors won’t wreak havoc on my lower back, and ruin my six sunny days in Southern California.

I’m thinking of baggage because, while I’m in California, I’m going to revisit a book that I read during my engagement to John. If you’ve been following this blog from the beginning, you’ll remember an article I wrote for the Richmond Times-Dispatch about online dating, and how I met John. In the article, I referenced a wonderful memoir of remarriage called The Triumph of Love Over Experience. The woman who wrote the book, Wendy Swallow, shared this stunning insight:

The single most important thing to making a marriage work is the ability of each party to tolerate the neuroses of the other. If you’re going to make it for the long haul, you’re going to have to learn to live with those neuroses. In fact, you’re going to have to learn to embrace them.

John and I like to think that we hug one another’s neuroses at least as often as we hug one another. We each possess a fairly sophisticated baggage-ometer, and can ferret out subtext pretty well, knowing when it’s time to give the other an extra mite of space. Or a strategically-timed hug.

Wendy Swallow will be my guest for an upcoming “Monday Morning Q & A,” so while I’m in California I’ll be doing my homework—re-reading her book with the vantage point of a full year of (re)marriage under my belt, and thinking about what I want to ask her.

One of my readers wrote me the following:

I’m not in midlife (not admittingly) and not a second wife, but I’m having thoughts and fears of a second marriage. I’m 43 (admitting it) and said that I would never remarry, but I have recently found someone who I would consider marrying and I’m scared as hell!

For this reader, I’ll formulate a question for Wendy. Is there anything you’d like me to ask her? If so, please send them to me at:

marci.keyword@gmail.com

Gotta run. The Southern California sunshine is calling me!