In an Irish Home

Cancer is on my mind a lot right now. My wonderful, vibrant, energetic grandmother has just been diagnosed with a somewhat rare form of the disease and is in stage four. She recently underwent chemotherapy and immunotherapy. The chemo sent her to the hospital for a month in September and then sent her, again, for four days this week. It has been awful.  Frightening, really.

Grandma’s cancer has meant our family has had to quickly get up to speed with the disease and how to treat it.  Her doctors have told us today they’re not looking for a cure: she’s 81.  They’re looking for a “management programme” that will allow her to live the longest (number of years, please God) in the best possible health. It sounds like a good plan.

While the doctors treat her with medicine, we, her family and friends, are treating her with love, support, laughter, healthy food and encouragement. On the latter front, grandma’s friend Laura M gave her a book called When You Need to Know Your Strength: Messages of Hope for People Living with Cancer, written by Melvina Young. It’s a wonderful gift to give and it’s a wonderful gift to receive.

The book is small.  It can be read in ten minutes.  It’s divided into four sections: 1) for when you need encouragement; 2) for when you need to know your strength; 3) for when it gets hard; and 4) for when you need to know you are loved.  Melvina wrote it after a relative and a couple of close friends were diagnosed with cancer.  In the prologue she writes, “I wanted desperately to offer words of encouragement and hope.  I wanted to express my love and support.  Instead, I found myself at a loss for what to say.” (Sounds familiar.) Melvina asked others for advice, listened well and offers us this little book to share with friends and loved ones who are battling their cancer.

I offer it as a gift idea for you.  May it help you bring comfort into the life of your friend or family member who has cancer.  When a day gets really bad, sit and read it aloud to them. Leave it in on a table so whomever visits may read it too. Doctors have medicinal therapy for fighting this disease…we have love and encouragement.  Together the combination is powerful.

Please keep my grandmother in your thoughts and prayers and let me know if you have someone who needs remembering too.

Mixology.  Have you heard this term yet?  I must be living in the dark ages because, until recently, the only mixed-drink terms I used on a regular basis were “bartender” and “blender”.  Anyway, since coming to America, I’ve learned a thing or two about mixology.  For example, people on this side of the Atlantic host “mixology-themed” book club nights and mixology parties whereby a drink specialist is hired to craft new and exotic beverages and push out the limits on classic bartending. It’s a real American fascination.  Given that the Irish aren’t famous for their cocktails, I decided to jump taste buds first into the unknown whilst visiting San Francisco.  Our libation exploration lead us to The Slanted Door, a famous Vietnamese-inspired restaurant located in the Ferry Building Marketplace.  From the first sip I was quite literally hooked!

I like Mojitos (yes, it’s so yesterday, but, hey, I’ve been living in Ireland for 20+ years – give this girl a break!) so that’s what I ordered first.  It  was not sickening sweet nor was it gritty from the sugar. I believe our bartender used guarapo, sugar cane juice, which imparted a natural, less sweet, flavour. The mint was cool and refreshing and reminded me of the long, fresh stalks of mint growing in our organic garden back in Ireland. The muddling and stirring, both done at lighting speed, made the short wait from ordering to sipping a pleasurable experience.

My next drink was a Panama Orange Caipirinha (pronounced Kye-puh-reen-ah). It’s made with pixie tangerines, organic sugar, and Mae de Ouro Cachaca (a super-premium Brazilian white rum made in pots still using a 400 year old process and then laid down in oak barrels for at least one year before being bottled).  It was simply amazing. Seriously.  I’m not a big drinker.  In fact, I’m not much of drinker at all these days so to enjoy not one but two alcoholic beverages in the same place in the same night is remarkable.

I tried to get the recipe for both drinks from our bartender but was unsuccessful.  My advice is thus…the next time you’re visiting San Francisco call into The Slanted Door and don’t bother asking for a table but rather sit at the bar and enjoy the mixology and tasting experience for yourself.  You won’t be disappointed!

The Slanted Door is located at 1 Ferry Building, San Francisco, CA.  The phone number is 415-861-8032.  Their website is www.slanteddoor.com

Photo credit belongs to Mastermaq’s Photostream on Flickr – Thank you!

For the past 48 hours I have been walking around San Francisco with my husband and feeling every bit like we were in Paris, France.  From our lunch at the Grand Café Brasserie & Bar on Taylor Street to the Picasso exhibit we toured at the de Young Museum, I could only marvel at the similarities of the two cities (wide streets, pollard trees, great shopping…”que dire de plus?” (French for “need I say more?”)).

As we left the de Young, I turned to my husband and asked, “doesn’t this feel like Paris?” Not yet feeling the vibe, he answered with a shrug, and we continued walking into the Golden Gate Park (which seemed to me to be like the Jardin de Luxembourg). It was only when we stopped at the Music Concourse to listen to a lone accordionist playing Midnight in Paris that my husband finally felt it.  Voila! So bowled over was my lovely Irish husband that he suggested we sit on two of the many white folding chairs before us and enjoy the moment.

Of course the magic got me thinking and, while he soaked up the atmosphere, I whipped out my trusty iPhone and googled “Is Paris like San Francisco?”. Sure enough, it seems, I’m not the only folles américaines (crazy American). San Francisco is not only twinned with Paris as sister-cities, it has often been called The Paris of the West.

In fact, in 1896, the mayor of San Francisco, James D. Phelan (the son of Irish immigrants) became interested in remaking San Francisco into a grand and modern version of Paris and is often credited with giving San Francisco its charming nickname. In 1915, Alma Spreckels, the wife of sugar magnate Adolph B. Spreckels, convinced her husband to recapture the beauty of the Palais de la Légion d’Honneur in Paris by building the Palace of the Legion of Honor in San Francisco’s Lincoln Park. The project was completed on Armistice Day 1924 and, in keeping with the wishes of the Spreckels, to “honor the dead while serving the living,” it was accepted by the city of San Francisco as a museum and was dedicated to the memory of the California men who lost their lives on the battlefields of France during World War I. And finally, in more modern times, San Francisco has been compared to Paris in terms of its gastronomy, its attitude towards gay life (think the Marais), the undeniable fact that it’s a “walking city”, and its multi-cultural diversity.

Unfortunately my husband and I are only able to spend two days getting to know this more unusual side of San Francisco but I have to say it’s been une expérience fantastique!

The other morning, my lovely Irish husband and I dropped our two girls off to summer camp and flew four hours away to San Francisco.  As the plane taxied down the runway and climbed into the air I had an awful realization of what we were doing.  We were running away! Ok, maybe I was doing the running.  But for a moment, several in fact, I felt a sadness wash over me.

I’m not the kind of mom who gets rid of her kids for the sake of peace. They don’t go to boarding school, we don’t drop them with the in-laws for the weekend while we jet off to exciting places, and the only times they’ve slept away from home is when they’ve gone to a friend’s house for a sleepover. When my husband first brought up the idea of sending the girls to summer camp I hated it.  “No way. Not going to happen.” These were my immediate thoughts but as the weeks passed and the time got closer it seemed alright.

On arriving to the camp, the kids were excited to leave us.  Was this a good sign? Did it mean we’d done a good job raising them thus far and they were set to spread their tiny wings and flee the cozy Irish nest? Or, did it mean we are terrible parents and they’re happy to be leaving us?  Oh, the worries an Irish mom can press upon herself.  Whatever it says, when we kissed them goodbye and got into our rental car, I thought, “we can do this for 10 days”.

Ten days can be a long time. Then again, ten days can be just about right.  We spoke to the kids’ camp counselors this morning.  They’re having a great time. Our youngest is enjoying horseback riding and the freedom of being in a safe environ without her mom and dad peering over her anxiously.  Our oldest is enjoying windsurfing, which is not something we would have thought she’d be at all interested in, and she’s also bonded well with the girls in her cabin.  As for us, we’re good too.  In fact, we’re great. That horrible feeling I had as our plane took off was long gone by time the plane touched down in California.  San Francisco sans kids has been a good decision, it seems, for all of us.