use real butter

Recipe: miso-glazed salmon

It was time. I had announced to Jeremy at the end of last summer that I would cut my hair after the ski resorts closed this season. I’m not especially attached to my hair. Whatever length or style it is, it always winds up being pinned or pulled back into a ponytail and/or braid so it doesn’t interfere with whatever I’m doing. But this was the first time I was cutting my hair since I lost it to chemotherapy back in 2008.

last week

For the past few decades, I’ve been in a pattern of growing my hair long for 3-4 years and cutting it very short to donate the ponytail. I was graced with great hair – my dad’s hair. He’s over 70 years old and has merely hints of a few greys in a sea of thick, black, healthy hair. I figured it was the right thing to do to donate that hair every few years so someone else could benefit. After my breast cancer diagnosis in 2007, I was sitting at the end of the table in my surgeon’s office, swinging my legs to release my nervous energy, asking what comes next. He mentioned surgery, chemo, radiation. He told me, “You will lose your nice long hair.”

No I won’t, I thought in defiance. I got it cut and dyed with blue highlights and donated the ponytail. It’s just hair. It’s easy to let it go. I did it all the time.

i’m donating 16-17 inches this time

Two weeks after my first chemo infusion, I was well enough to resume my telemark ski program. I was in the advanced class with some really wonderful women – a few of whom are dear friends to this day. We were chatting over lunch at the ski lodge, our helmets, gloves, goggles, and hats strewn about the tables. I was listening to Leyla when I reached up to my hair to tuck it behind my ears because I had forgotten it was short. But when I grabbed for the hair, it came out without any effort. I looked at my hand and there were maybe forty strands of hair resting on my fingers. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. My eyes met with the eyes of my friends as everyone fell silent. I knew this was coming, I just didn’t know when. “I guess I have an appointment with a hairdresser in Boulder this afternoon,” I smiled.

I pushed it from my mind until class was over and then I drove home, changed out of my ski clothes, and drove to a Cost Cutters in Boulder. There was no need to have anything fancy done. I just wanted my head shaved so I wouldn’t shed everywhere. Hair loss was going to be on my terms, not chemo’s terms. When the hairdresser asked me what I wanted done, I quietly explained to him that I wanted to have my head shaved because my hair was coming out, but that I needed him to be extra careful not to cut me because I was immunocompromised from chemo. He nodded and proceeded to gently shave my head, softly calling me “sweetheart” and saying, “There you go.” I had trouble looking up at the mirror, but I watched it disappear. And I was fine. I didn’t cry. I thanked him, gave him an enormous tip, settled up at the front and put a hat on as I stepped outside the shop into the cold air.

And then I sat in the car and all of the emotion I had held in check welled up out of my chest and into a stream of tears pouring down my cheeks. Everyone told me I was going to lose my hair and I was totally ready for it. Except I wasn’t. I didn’t know that it would sucker punch me the way it did. It wasn’t the hair. It was the feeling of losing control as if all of the rules of my body had changed. I was scared and I felt very much alone. Cancer is a jerk.

the new cut is called an inverted stacked bob

It would be nine months before peach fuzz began to materialize on my head and another couple of months before I observed, “Jeremy, I think my hair is coming back curly!” My once straight, thick, dense black hair was growing back finer, softer, thinner, a shade lighter, and curly. I thought it might return to normal after a few years, as some folks have reported of their experiences, but after I washed out all of the styling from my haircut on Friday it is still the post-chemo hair. What matters is that I have hair I can donate.

My braids and ponytails have been shipped to Locks of Love in the past (several times, in fact). I was going to do it again when my friend, Wendy – who was also donating her hair, looked into charitable organizations that accept hair donations. I know Locks of Love is the de facto hair donation place, but after reading up on their numbers and their wig recipients (primarily children with alopecia and not so much children with cancer), I’ve decided to send my hair to Pantene Beautiful Lengths (which is where Wendy’s hair went). Pantene Beautiful Lengths makes real hair wigs for women with cancer.

That felt good, to be able to donate again. I’m already starting on the next one.

short hair, just in time for summer

That’s probably the most I’ve ever talked about hair since eighth grade. For me, the thing I love most about short hair is how much less time I spend on it. Even though we’re slated to get another foot of snow Monday night (I know, right? could it BE any better?!?!?), these longer daylight hours have my mind fixated on all manner of outdoor fun this summer like hiking, mountain biking, trail running. That means I want to spend less time in the kitchen too. Wild caught salmon are showing up at my local Whole Foods, so you know that’s a good thing.

salmon, miso, mirin, rice vinegar, sesame seeds

mix the miso, mirin, and rice vinegar together

a nice paste

**Jump for more butter**

Recipe: chocolate zucchini cake

So much can happen in a few days… or in a matter of moments. I’ve struggled with my feelings since the Boston Marathon bombing earlier this week, just as I do whenever things don’t make sense. In times of crisis, I try to understand what is happening because sorting it out in my head helps me deal with difficult situations. But the truth is, I will never comprehend the motivations of those who willfully do harm to civilians. And while we know that there are always good people who will put their lives on the line to help those in dire need, it makes my heart hurt knowing that someone intentionally set the violence and destruction in motion in the first place.

Upon learning the news on Monday, I scoured around for more information, checking in with friends in the area or those who might have run the marathon. Past the first hour it became apparent that the news was just a cycle of regurgitation, confusion, and sadness. I pushed away from my desk and stepped outside to clear my head and maybe ease some of the sorrow I was feeling. It has been snowing here like gangbusters – all of the snow we should have received in January but will gratefully take now. It’s high enough (about 2 feet) that Kaweah can only go where I break a trail because she’s too weak to bound around me and run off like she did in her prime. I took in the silence of snow falling and muting all sounds. Except there were chirps and flutters that caught my attention.

perched in the aspens

cedar waxwings

many cedar waxwings

I’m no birder, but I enjoy making note of the birds that pass through our woods. Through the falling snow they looked like a dozen or more LBBs (little brown birds) constantly flitting about to find the perfect branch. Only when I examined the photographs could I see the splashes of bright yellow and red in their plumage to determine they were cedar waxwings (thanks Google!). When I went back outside to see if I could get closer (birds are skittish), they had moved on. Still, it was a lovely little gift on such a sad day. Life is fragile, yes. Life is also resilient. Most of all, it is precious.

As you can see, it has been dumping this past week after many ski resorts closed for the season last weekend. Some are re-opening this weekend to take advantage of the 2+ feet of new powder. And while we are always glad to get snow to ski, the mountains and the foothills are breathing a collective sigh of relief because our snowpack is approaching 90% of normal. Hopefully that translates into a less eventful wildfire season, beautiful mountain streams and wildflowers late into summer, and more food for the wildlife. For now though…

we ski

jeremy breaks trail

april in colorado

I’m still in the mood to bake, which will diminish as the sun climbs higher into the sky and dawdles about dragging its bedtime later each day. I was cleaning out a pile of old recipes when I found a chocolate zucchini cake recipe from a friend back in graduate school. The recipe itself didn’t tickle my fancy, but the idea of a chocolate zucchini cake did and so I went searching for a recipe that suited my preferences. I tend to prefer cakes that use sour cream or yogurt or buttermilk because they bake more stably at my elevation.

butter, chocolate, eggs, sugar, oil, flour, cocoa, leavenings and salt, zucchini, buttermilk, espresso powder, and vanilla

shredding the zucchini

**Jump for more butter**

Recipe: chili cheese fries

It’s been a working weekend over here, both of us sitting at our computers processing photos or data, listening to my recent compilation of songs from the 80s and 90s. [I’m realizing that was a really long time ago.] We took a break on Saturday to go over to our favorite neighbors’ house for dinner. They served grouse, which they hunt each year in Canada. We’ve never had grouse before, although we’ve seen and heard a lot of them on mountain trails. The meat is sweet and tender, an absolute treat on top of the wonderful evening spent chatting with people we like. As we walked across the driveway to go back home, their flood light caught snowflakes racing past in night. By morning, our local hill had reported a foot of fresh snow for this, their closing day of the season. Dear snow, where the hell were you in December?! We scarfed down some breakfast while pulling on our ski pants and rushing out the door. This is Colorado. You don’t turn down a foot of freshies!

happy and rosy-cheeked after catching the powder

There is MOAR snow on the way too. Folks on the lift were bemoaning the snow that would come after the end of the ski season. Most of the big mountains have shut down their operations. Heck, I’m just getting started. The backcountry beckons (after the snowpack stabilizes – it has been a horrendous avalanche year). I still reminisce about skiing fresh powder on the first day of summer in 2011. One can always hope.

No matter what is flying through the air – be it snowflakes or hummingbirds, there are some foods that have no season… like chili cheese fries. Oh, I remember the first time I was introduced to chili cheese fries my freshman year in Southern California. What insane deliciousness was this?! I’ll tell you what it was. It was a pile of greasy hot french fries, fake orange cheese, and a glop of chili (I use the term loosely). These days we still indulge in the occasional chili cheese fries, but we tend to opt for a more flavorful and healthy homemade version.

cheddar cheese, potatoes, chili, salt, pepper, cayenne, olive oil

slice the potatoes

place in a pot and cover with cold water

**Jump for more butter**