Domestic therapy

To be honest, dear reader, I have had a honey of a time trying to think of what to discuss on my blog that won’t include nonsensical references to new DRGs, fixing the SGR, preventing DSH cuts, guaranteed issue, and the like. When healthcare reform isn’t occupying my time, the belabored appropriations process is – which, to me, is even less interesting than healthcare, so I can only imagine what it would be like if I wrote about it here.

So, I thought I would address the question I am asked somewhat frequently: “how do you survive living in that city?” The answer is God’s grace, of course, but that is exercised in numerous tangible ways, some of which I will share with you here. Specifically, I find my best and favorite stress release in domestic undertakings, starting with cooking. A lot of cooking. Especially in the polka-dot apron my Mom sent me recently.

This shot was from Buffalo chicken pizza night, one of our many new favorite dinners at D Pasta. Another new culinary discovery is what I can only refer to as pasta perfection, developed after a few months of trial and error:

Toss this over pasta of your choice, and trust me, you will be delighted.

Another new culinary endeavor was undertaken for Felicity’s baby shower. This quiche recipe was passed on by a dear friend, and it is very easy, very tasty, and quite aesthetically pleasing if I may say so myself:

Speaking of the baby shower, the impending arrival of the Holtlet recently drew me back to what used to be a pretty common hobby: crocheting. Here is the product of my most recent undertaking:

Now I get to start working on the Fendrich’s afghan. Hoping to get it to them before their 5th anniversary…

All told, I think my proudest domestic venture has been my garden: tomatoes, chili peppers, herbs, and a few flowers. Inconstant gardener as I am, the extremely rainy late spring has been very good to my plants. Here are my tomatoes (raised from seed!) in late May:

And here they are today, with the very first blooms that will hopefully become giant, juicy, sun-kissed beefsteak tomatoes:


(Clearly, my photography is not nearly as good as my shutter-happy roomie, who took most of these shots. Shout out to Em for being a brilliant photographer!)

Last, but certainly not least, I was rather startled to see this picture of myself and the devastatingly cute Nate, who came to visit us last weekend:

Now that is a level of domesticity I have not yet achieved, and am not likely to for some time yet…

But there you have it: the regime that maintains my sanity, my tether to the real world. It’s finding joy in the simple things – the wonderful scent of a home-cooked meal, the feeling of rain-dampened dirt under your fingernails, a baby’s giggle. That’s the stuff even more real than legislating, and as long as I can remember that, I think I’ll be able to get by in this city.

For a few more years, at least.