Homemade marshmallows and rice krispie treats

Or: Because apparently I like filling my children with sugar

Berry has been begging me for marshmallows. I’m fine with kids having treats. But I do object to them eating ingredients such as high fructose corn syrup and food colorings (also artificial sweeteners, hydrogenated oils and MSG – my list of nos is fairly short).

It’s surprisingly hard to find marshmallows without those first two ingredients. We did, for a while, at Market of Choice. But then they stopped carrying them. The best I could find are Dandies, which list corn syrup (at least not high fructose) as the first ingredient.

So I decided to make my own.

Rather than go the no-refined-sugar approach (by making them out of $20 worth of maple syrup or agave nectar), I went with plain, organic, somewhat brown sugar.

I’m finally found a recipe that called for only sugar (not light corn syrup which contains HFCS) at Marshmallow Chef Sticks (#6). I decided to use this one as, when I went to look for the candy thermometers other recipes called for, I found them both cracked. Adding mercury and/or little bits of broken glass seemed like a bad idea, so out they went.

Homemade marshmallows

2 envelopes Knox gelatin (o.5 oz/14 g)

1/2 cup cold water

2 cups sugar

3/4 cup boiling water

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp vanilla

1. Boil sugar and hot water together until thread stage (which I think is around 450-480F if you do have a candy thermometer). Note: I didn’t actually look up what “thread stage” means, but I decided it’s the point at which you can see the sugar mixture visibly change and thicken and a thread of stickiness hang from the spoon. This takes a while — a good 10 minutes at least.

2. Mix gelatin and cold water together to dissolve (do this while boiling hot water and sugar). It will swell up.

3. Add gelatin/cold water mixture to the hot mixture. Stir.

4. Add salt and vanilla.

5. Beat until thick, white and fluffy. Mixture will have cooled down at this point.

6. Cover baking pans with powdered sugar. Pour mixture into pans 1/2″ to 1″ deep. Allow to cool.

7. Loosen edges with a wet knife. Turn out onto a sheet of waxed paper covered in powdered sugar. Cut into cubes and roll in powdered sugar. Store in an air tight container.

Note: My experience with step 7 didn’t quite go as prescribed. The marshmallows didn’t gracefully slip out of the pan ready to be cut up. Marshmallows are sticky. I cut them into cubes, then pried them out of the pan with a spoon, then rolled them in powdered sugar. It ended up working out fine, if not exactly according to directions.

This is what the mixture looks like when it’s done (and a little girl is helping you clean up and do quality assurance testing).

I used half the mixture to make marshmallows and half to make rice krispie treats.

Rice Krispie Treats

Melt butter (about 1 TBSP). Mix in gooey marshmallow. Add rice crispies and mix until well coated. Note: Use fresh cereal, not stale cereal. The end result will be much better.

I didn’t use exact or measured amounts, as I simply emptied the box of cereal into the marshmallow. I added some natural red food coloring to make them pink (the color Duncan picked).

Empty bowl into greased pan and spread. Allow to cool. Cut into pieces and feed to children.

The cooling concoctions:

Christmas

The essence of Christmas,  of which we celebrated the first round yesterday, in a few photos.

Grief Struggles On

I got my hair cut on Friday. I’d had to cancel my appointment in June because I was out of town for a couple of days. Early August was the soonest she could fit me in.

As I sat there, wet hair being combed and snipped, it struck me that the last time I’d been here — in late May — Mum was alive and healthy. How can so much change in between two hair cuts?

People ask me how I am — and I know they mean it. I say that I’m mostly OK. I mostly am. There are moments, lots of them, when my thoughts collide with reality. My counselor says I’m still in shock. It doesn’t feel like it. So how will I know when I’m out of shock?

I tend to get saddest at night, before bed. Perhaps because the day is finally quiet and I have time to do more than go from one activity to the next. I started crying the other evening and Adam held me and said something to the effect of, “You haven’t cried in a few days, so this is probably good.”

Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m supposed to talk about Mum or not to other people. Today I’m wearing a shirt she bought me. A coworker complimented it and I mentioned it was from my mum. Then wondered if I should. But then I remembered that it’s only a terribly sad thing for me. At most it might make someone else feel a bit awkward, if they don’t quite know how to react. I’m not always sure how it will make me feel, to talk about her. Sometimes it feels warm, sometimes hollow.

A better answer to how I am is that I miss her every moment, ever day, but most of the time I deal with it all right. Some moments are harder than others: Duncan’s birthday (which I was sure she’d still be here for), getting my haircut and realizing my hair dresser knows nothing of how my life has changed in a short interval, holding Berry while she cries, loudly missing her Nanny.

Hanging on and letting go

At Mum’s memorial service, Christopher told a story about her ability to hold onto things for years.

He used the example of yarn that she used in an airplane sweater that she knitted for him as a child. She carried that yarn all the way from England, to Barbados, to several houses in Florida all the way to Oregon over the years. And she used those same balls of yarn for the same sweater pattern thatbshe made for his son, her grandson last year.

I now have that yarn in my garage. I may need it for a sweater for my grandchildren…

My story about Mum holding onto things is about her curtain rod. It hung in her bedroom in England. It travelled to Florida, by way of Barbados to hold up her bedroom curtains for years. Then it came to Oregon, where it fit none of her windows, yet she still kept it.

And now? Now it’s in my car, the very last of her things to empty out from her house. It’s clean and vacant in there now. I said goodbye for one last time and shut the door. Time to go home, unload and see if it the blasted curtain rod fits in Berry’s room, where Mum’s curtains, that I made for her from bed sheets, now hang.

Random things that make me cry

Day 1 of Mum’s estate sale is over. A lot has sold. Fortunately, most of the big stuff has sold. We still have a couch, dining room table, clothes dryer and TV cabinet. But her beautiful, massive bedroom furniture made its way out the door.

That moment was hard. I’m grateful for it – that it’s sold, that we have the money for it, that we don’t have to move it or deal with it anymore. But it was hard to see it go. It’ll go in the bedroom of a girl, upgrading from a kid twin-size bed to a mature, pretty bedroom set. Her mom offered her condolences, and I told her and her daughter how much Mum loved that furniture.

Yesterday I took Mum’s cable TV modem and box back to Comcast. Initially, the customer service rep balked at someone other than the account holder returning items. “She’s dead,” I said. He accepted them without another word.

On Tuesday, I went to vital records to get copies of her death certificate (in case folks like Comcast thought I was merely ripping the cable out of my mother’s apartment, denying her the pleasure of Desperate Housewives — my favorite vapid show, not hers). The woman behind the counter (after she got back from a long break) offered her condolences, too. She said she couldn’t imaging not having her mama around. I couldn’t have, before, either. I made it back to the car before I started crying.

I took the kids to the airport this morning to spend 2 weeks with Kevin (I picked Kevin up from where he was staying at a friend’s house down the road and took him, too). Now I’m back at home, in an empty quiet house with the summer sun warming up the world outside. Their bedrooms seem empty. I know I’ll see them again soon and that they’re fine.

In fact, they just called. They’re safely in Chicago, looking for the pizza place that Duncan likes to eat at (it’s his favorite pizza restaurant). They love me very very very very very very very very very … very very very very much! And that makes me cry a bit too – with gladness, at least.

There’s a way that Duncan looks at me sometimes that fills me with joy. He looked that way this morning in between rub-a-noses and kisses goodbye at the airport. There’s a sparkle in his eye and a little crinkle in his freckle-covered nose. It melts me. And makes me realize that any of the things I’ve let go of or given up in order to succeed at motherhood are entirely worth it.

Being strong and put together is hard work. I’m grateful for it, though.

Mum’s wedding dress

Just found Mum’s wedding dress as I haphazardly go through her things. I’m through most of it now and am ready to call in friends and family to help prepare the rest for an estate sale this weekend.

Adam is somewhat dismayed at the number of boxes that have entered our house. I will find homes for all of it, though.

I didn’t know Mum had kept her wedding dress from all those years ago. I suspect, in one of the many bins of old photos, her wedding album is there, too. I foolishly plan to keep all of Mum’s never-used photo albums and put them in over the next week or so. A girl can have dreams. It’s more likely than her dress ever fitting me.

Saying Goodbye

Mum’s memorial service was yesterday morning. It went well. Christopher and I gave the eulogy. Several people did readings. Friends had a chance to speak. I sang Another Star in the Sky, which I wrote when Nanny passed into spirit.

Here’s the eulogy and song.

I’m glad we’re moving through all the things that need to be done, checking each one off. It’s hard, though. I’ve been slowly going through the things in her apartment. We’ll keep some of it, but most of it needs to find a new home.

I sorted through her clothes and shoes and donated them to Womenspace on Friday. She had 42 pairs of shoes — most of which were high heeled sandals. Shame we aren’t the same size. I’m packing up her multitude of books which I think we’ll donate to…oh, it’s name escapes me now…but my mother-in-law-equivalent has that covered. They sell them on ebay and use the funds for the legal services they provide.

I need to post some of the larger items on craigslist: her bedroom furniture, patio furniture, couch, dining room table and chairs. And then have an estate sale, hopefully next weekend.

The kids are doing OK, although are showing signs of regression — like both Duncan and Berry peeing in their beds last night. And Emma woke up with growing pains. There seems to be more frequent breaking down into tears, too. D and B will be going to their Dad’s for two weeks soon, which I think will be a good break for them. They’re looking forward to “Daddy Camp.”

Au revoir, maman

She was diagnosed with cancer only 2 1/2 weeks ago. Yesterday morning, Mum took her last breath and passed into spirit. Figures she’d choose the summer solstice – she was always in rhythm with the Earth and its seasons.

The last two days of her life were difficult for us. She rapidly became less able to communicate and seeing her unable to make even her basic needs known was heartbreaking.

On Sunday, we brought her to my house, realizing that it was her last trip, that she wasn’t going back home again. Hospice ordered a hospital bed — which made helping her sit up to drink a lot easier. She ate breakfast that morning — some fruit and a cup of red rooibos tea, shuffled to our house, and went to bed. That turned out to be her last meal.

There are many things I’m grateful for:
Your prayers and loving thoughts.
Being with her and taking care of her with my brother, Christopher.
Sitting up through the night with her, playing reggae music and singing songs, until Christopher sent me to bed for a couple of hours.
Talking with her, letting her know we love her, that we’ll be strong for each other and letting her go.
Putting on Goddess Inside and Another Star in the Sky (my recordings). She took her last breath during Daydream Song.
Knowing that she’s no longer trapped in a dying body, that she’s free, that she has peace.

Some photos from her last couple of weeks.

After Berry and Duncan’s ballet recital on June 4.

At her apartment on June 12.

Saying goodnight to Berry after dinner on June 15.

Hugging a somewhat reluctant Duncan the same day.

Having a rest on the couch on June 18.

Leaving her house in her PJs on Sunday, June 19.

That’s the last picture I took of her.

Watching her during the night, that Sunday, she still looked beautiful. I curled up in bed with her for a while, knowing that soon I wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. She always gave good snuggles.

Saturday update

My brain can’t seem to think in full sentences at the moment.

Mum seems to get a bit weaker every day. She’s on medication for high blood pressure and a diuretic for swelling now. Along with a steroid to give her some energy, cough medicine for the previously unending cough, something for her liver and narcotic pain medication. The Hospice nurse brought over a medication sorter-outer, with boxes for each day, but I have yet to figure out what to put where to get it set up.

She’s having a lot of visitors. Which is nice, yet an exhausting whirlwind. Hospice comes again today and I think a bath aide starts next week at 3 times a week.

Mum’s not up for reading and answering emails at this point and talking on the phone is getting harder for her. I’m happy to read email to her (although I may not manage a reply either), so feel free to send it to me at joanna.y.bartlett@gmail.com. My cell is 541-525-5144.

At this point, I’m not holding out hope for a curative miracle. Kevin and I have talked to Duncan and Berry via Skype about Nanny’s body not working anymore and that, when it stops working, she’ll die. It’s a hard truth, but one they need to know is coming.

It’s hard to hold sentences together when you keep getting interrupted…

People are asking what they can do to help. I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Meals are helpful – although we’re something of a large and difficult crowd to feed. I’m gluten-free, Adam is vegetarian, and then we have 4 kids.

More later. I’m off to Mum’s now.

Maybe we should stop going to the doctor

It seems like every doctor’s visit brings more bad news.

Today we learned that Mum’s bilirubin level is 3.5. About 10 days ago it was 1.8. Over 4.0 means liver failure. Things don’t look good. At this point, her oncologist estimates she has 2 to 4 weeks left to live.

I took her home from the appointment and a parade of hospice folks arrived: someone delivering oxygen and a wheelchair, a chaplain and a social worker. Their almost simultaneous arrival was unplanned.

Thanks to all of them, Mum now has oxygen at home and portable oxygen, a wheelchair in case we want to take her places, a lifeline alert system in the process of being set up, a volunteer to come over and record her thoughts and stories and a bedside commode on its way.

Christopher arrives from France tonight and will stay for 2 weeks.

I can’t imagine how Mum feels, having her time on Earth cut so short. I’m reeling, myself.

I’m not sure what we need at this point. Other than WiFi at her house so I can work from there in the afternoons. I want to spend as much time as I can with her, as heartbreaking as it is to see her body cease to function. I go between realizing that we’ll have to say goodbye soon to believing that she’ll somehow fight the cancer back and become a world-traveling evangelist for alternative cancer cures.

Keep sending those good thoughts. We need them.