The Lasagna Method

These days I have more time than ever, yet I’m consumed with saving more time than ever, especially when it comes to meals.

It wasn’t always this way; I used to embrace the whole dinner process, albeit lengthy at times. I’d start combing through recipes for creative and tasty dinners, which often led to a supermarket trip, followed by a long prep and often a big mess before and after dinner. 

Then one day I noticed our focus shifting, from satisfying our taste buds to clearing our schedule, as if we really need that extra time.  

In a nutshell, we’ve taken on “the lasagna method.” This is the kind of meal that can stretch and stretch and stretch…it can always feed one more hungry mouth and/or – more to the point for us – last for one more meal.    

This trend started without much fanfare, just by buying as big a piece of salmon as would fit into the pan, so we could have it the next day(s) or night(s) hot or cold, because we discovered we like it chilled on a bed of greens as well.

Then one day David came home from the market with 4 fillets of branzino instead of the usual 2, so we could have the same yummy meal the next night too, he said. The “experiment” went so well that now he always buys 4...While so delicious, even the second night, I can’t go past 2 nights with this fish; it is the kind of meal that goes from delicious to gross fairly quickly.

Now I’m approaching all my meals in this manner. Why make marinade for 3 chicken breasts that will work for 1 or 2 meals when I can make marinade for 6 breasts and multiple meals and have it hot or cold, whole or sliced? There’s even plenty for Shea Doggy to indulge in this way, too.   

This will work well with one of our other staples too: penne with red sauce, sautéed vegetables and shrimp. When I think of all that labor required for one meal, with few leftovers, if any, I am floored...Why on earth did I not think this through, until now?!??! There are also multiple mix-and-match combinations with these ingredients that can fill our tummies for the better part of a week. 

What does this all mean? We are only in the kitchen now a fraction of the time we once were (for preparing, not eating 😊) Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?

Don’t worry folks. I still love my daily shower.

 

My Time

 Ten years ago, when David had just turned 50, he would talk about retiring by 58 or 60 “at the latest.”

What a slacker, I had thought; even though I knew he worked hard, why quit when he’s still so young? Who does that?  

Every now and then I’d ask, “What are you going to do with all your time?” He’d respond by saying, “Whatever I want to do that day…I don’t want to be on a schedule anymore.”  I found this simplistic view incredulous! How could he be OK at home with no specific plans, with potentially decades left to live?

My only frames of reference at the time were my dad, who died a sitting City Councilman when he was 90, and my mom, who worked as his chief of staff until she called it quits at 80. They reveled in their work and would’ve been bored to death at home with no battles to fight.

Because I had always measured my days based on how much I could squeeze into them, as well as the joy I experienced crossing items off my to-do list, I just couldn’t comprehend David’s plan for himself. Perhaps, I wondered, there was an underlying reason, such as riding off into the sunset with his lovely lady 😊.

As life would have it, I found myself out of work at 56; David was 57 when he retired - even earlier than in his wildest dreams - and each of us reacted to our newfound freedom very differently.  

For me, this change came unexpectedly and was unwanted and caused emotional upheaval for at least one year, primarily because I felt the pressure to reinvent myself. Even though I was suddenly given the gift of time that I had previously craved, I also saw it as a big black hole that would swallow me up if I didn’t figure out how to make each day satisfying. Over time, I settled into a groove that worked well for me.    

In contrast, David’s retirement took him from “Work” to “Play” mode on Day One. It was eye-opening and impressive, I have to say, to see him transition to “the cutting edge of relaxation” so effortlessly, given how difficult it had been for me.   

When COVID hit, I watched him further embrace a home-based routine. I wasn’t surprised given how much of a homebody he is, but I appreciated his calm demeanor, especially given that I was somewhat nervous that, once again, I’d struggle to find my footing...but I didn't! 

As I reflect on why that was the case, I'm pretty sure that a few things came into play: Having faith that one day, we’d get back to some kind of normal; Living with a man who was happy at home, didn’t complain and even made me laugh at least once a day; and Most of all, learning to take life one day at a time.

2 Dead Grandmas

In late April, I took my 3^rd driving trip to the West Coast of Florida with my daughter’s mother-in-law, Andrea, to see our children, Allison and Dave, and their 11-month-old bundle of sweetness, Zoey.   

In contrast to our first outing, Andrea and I didn’t need to talk about much before we left, such as who would bring what foods/snacks, how we’d stay safe from COVID, who remembered how to pump gas from our teen years, or anything at all. Back then, we were probably nervous to be in the car with each other for such a long stint…Would we be compatible? Would we still be talking when we reached our destination? But by the second time around, I knew we’d have a blast. In all the time we’ve spent together, we’ve never run out of things to gab about.   

The ride back to NJ, however, had a bit of a twist with an extra anxiety-producing component, as we were transporting precious cargo…frozen breast milk, packed in dry ice.

This milk was to cover Zoey for the family’s 9-day visit with us/Dave’s mom that they were planning to make over Mother’s Day weekend, once they realized Hey, we are fully vaccinated, let’s go visit our families, many of whom hadn’t met Zoey yet. While they first thought she could switch to formula while in NJ, it became clear that taking the frozen milk home with us was the better option.

Even though in theory this frozen milk didn’t alter our actual strategy for the ride home – 10 hours the first day, stay overnight in North Carolina, and drive about 8 or 9 hours the second day – our unfamiliarity with dry ice and concern about it getting to its destination fully frozen for Zoey dictated our journey.

The goal was to keep about 280 ounces of already-frozen breast milk frozen for about 34 hours (a drive of 20 hours plus an overnight stop). If the milk defrosted, it would have a shelf life of 24 hours, so essentially it would all have to be trashed. That’s a lot of Allison’s milk and time devoted to pumping that would have been for naught…and how would Zoey fare? It would surely have soured her/their visit, given that Zoey has only had her mother’s milk in a bottle and loves the routine of laying in her Boppy pillow with her bottle at key points during the day, especially as she’s going down for a nap or for the night.

The plan to travel with the milk had been formed after a group effort on researching the transport of frozen breast milk. There were components of the plan that had to be figured out, such as: 1 – the amount of breast milk needed for 9 days and the associated quantity of dry ice required; 2 – the type of cooler(s) needed; 3 - how to pack the dry ice while protecting the plastic bags of frozen milk; and so on. On the home front, David was charged with cleaning out our packed freezer to accommodate the goods.

About 7 a.m. on the morning of our drive back to NJ, Dave met us at Publix, a Florida supermarket. He bought the dry ice there, packed and taped up the containers – about 2 cubic feet each – and placed them in the back seat, which took up most of the bench. He then said his goodbyes to each of us. As we got into our car to go, he mentioned something about the boxes exploding.

Andrea and I looked at each other and said, “W H A T ???” This hadn’t been discussed beforehand.

We called David (Dave was headed to work) who did further research and learned that as the dry ice melts, it gives off carbon dioxide; therefore, he said we need to keep the windows cracked so we don’t die from the fumes. While it may sound simple just to keep the window open a bit, when you're on the highway driving some 70+ mph, this means that talking turns into screaming so that we can hear one another. He also said to “burp” the Styrofoam coolers periodically so they don’t...explode!

Thus, the title name of this story…2 Dead Grandmas.

Our first stop was in Dunn, North Carolina, about 6 pm. We emptied our car with all our bags, the 2 hefty containers of frozen breast milk and organized our stuff on a luggage cart. While we have gotten quite good at loading and unloading, it remains a production in and of itself.

We opened our hotel window as much as we could for ventilation so we wouldn’t pass out or die from carbon dioxide poisoning, as we had been warned. By the time we got settled, had dinner, climbed into bed and began to discuss our morning plan, we noticed a couple of ants crawling across my comforter. These plus the ones we saw earlier totally skeeved us out.

After calling the hotel front desk to ask if they had another room available for us (which they did not), we once again packed all our belongings on to the luggage cart that we had just unpacked, and hit the road. These 2 grandmas weren’t dead, but we sure were dead tired.

At this point, we didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

It was about 10:15 p.m. when we got back into the car, and my adrenaline was pumped. I envisioned driving all the way home; we would get there by around 5 a.m. and that would shave off a huge chunk of time that the dry ice would need to stay in top form.  

An hour later, we reconsidered. David had called a few times with pleas to stop at a hotel and get a good night’s sleep before the 2^nd leg of the trip. The reality of how exhausting it would be to finish the drive that night hit me by midnight.  

I was so hyper about the milk that I didn’t think I’d get any sleep, but I passed out within minutes of our unloading all our stuff once again in the second hotel. I told Andrea not to look down or around so as not to see anything unpleasant; just look straight ahead and dive into bed. 

After 8 more hours of driving, we arrived in Cherry Hill. I prayed aloud while Andrea poked around the dry ice to see the status of the milk…

F R O Z E N  S O L I D.

What a glorious sight…and an even bigger relief!