My cup runneth over...

All you lovely people just make me want to weep with gratitude.

Thank you so much for your kind words and your thoughts and your prayers. We are (keep your fingers crossed) starting to see some tiny pin pricks of light at the end of a very long tunnel.

The last two years have been harrowing for us. It has really tested us in so many ways.

I feel that we have passed what ever this test has been. We have not broken up, lost our children, harmed anyone, or gotten down in mud with these animals. We have maintained our dignity, when others have not. This has come at an extremely high price for both of us.

However, we still have each other, we have our beautiful, healthy, happy children, we have a business that is thriving. We have a roof over our heads, food in the kitchen and a place to lay our heads each night. So many people don't even have those simple things.



My parents (pictured above on their wedding day, some 43 years ago) have stepped into a breech left my the other set of would be grandparents. They have done so willingly, with unfailing generosity and support. Mr. Smith and I will never be able to sufficiently thank them for everything they have done for us. I will owe them an enormous debt of gratitude for the rest of my life...I am more than glad to repay it with anything my meager means will allow.

I think the most amazing thing to me though has been the supportive emails and comments from this blog. Total strangers stopping by, leaving a little line of support. Just amazing. None of you know me. We have never laid eyes on each other. Yet you have reached out to me.

I have never in my life experienced anything like it. You all make my heart swell and my eyes fill with happy tears that are now spilling down my cheeks.

An experience like this could make you lose faith in people. And, I will admit, on many days, I have hated this life and the world and many people in it. I have felt that no one cared, that we were so alone out here, fighting to keep our heads above water, felt helpless and hopeless. But you people, you wonderful internet bloggers, tweeters, writers, you keep me afloat.

You are total strangers, but I will always be thankful to you as well. You have warmed my heart on some of the coldest days of my life.

So, enough wallowing in the self-pity. I will be getting back to cooking and getting away from venting.

Where did I go?

Oh the stories I could tell! Over the few weeks, it has been crazy around here. We had Grammy's birthday, we had a cancer diagnosis after it was cured, we have had much drama with The Sad House, we have had even more drama about The Lawyer's Fee-Generating Lawsuit (fittingly just before Mother's Day...thanks to my MIL and the big bad scary abusive law firm...way to go!), and last but so very not least, Baby C is now a year old.

I also was heavily involved with a project concerning my beloved and recently departed Papa Doty. During the archeological dig that is his home, his World War II journals were unearthed. To describe them as chilling, moving, amazing, beautiful would be selling them short.

If you are feeling curious, and would like to read them, they are here and here.

During all of this, turmoil, angst, busy-ness, I have been fretting about my neglect of vertigobcooks. I have been trying desperately to come up with a post. I have about a half dozen half-written, half-hearted posts, but not a single one has been right.

Truth be told, I have been fretting about many many things...for about two years. In that short space of time we have gotten sued (by my Mother-in-Law...Happy Mother's Day!), found out we were having Baby C, gone bankrupt (I don't recommend it), lost my grandfather, had a cancer scare, had countless stress-related medical problems, lost a house, got a house back, paid far too much money to lawyers that failed to get results, kept a business going in this economy and a bunch of other stuff that got lost along the way for obvious reasons.

Last week the notion of anti-depressants was floated by our therapist. For now, I (after much discussion and thought with Mr. Smith) have decided to ride this out. I am hoping that this will pass and that it will not become necessary to take them, but none of us know what the future holds. Our situation may get worse or our situation may get better.

In the meantime, we are seeking comfort where we can find it. Naturally, food provides comfort and heaven knows, I (we) need it now.

We will just have to wait and see and that is the hardest part.

For now, I choose to focus on these two little faces. They will make me laugh, will make me smile, will brighten my day when I need it brightened. The caption for this photo comes from Mr. Smith, "No drooling on the piano!"




I rediscovered this gem the other day. It is one of those that you can whip up after dinner, or have for an after school snack, or just because you need some chocolate to tide you over while you wait for the next disaster to sweep over you.



No Bakes

1/2 cup butter
2 cups sugar
1/2 cup milk
4 tbsp. cocoa
2/3 cup peanut butter
3-3 1/2 cups quick oats
2 tsp. vanilla

Combine butter, sugar, milk and cocoa in a medium sauce pan. Heat until boiling. Boil for 1 minute. Remove from heat and add peanut butter, oats and vanilla. Once mixture is thoroughly blended, drop by teaspoonful (or tablespoonful, if you are feeling ambitious or particularly in need of comfort) onto wax paper or parchment paper.

Allow to set, if you can. I keep them in a plastic storage container in the fridge, but what you do with them at this point is entirely up to you. They are pretty tasty, even while still warm, comforting too!

Happy Mother's Day

This photo kind of says it all. Three generations together. This photo was taken in early August of 1966. The family had gathered for my christening. I was a few days old and obviously not too thrilled about it.

That is my poor exhausted mother on the left and my beautiful little Irish Grandma Doty on the right holding me, the screaming object of their affection.

Mother's Day can be a little sad around here. Grandma Doty left us almost 13 years ago. She fell down the stairs, hit her head and a few days later was gone. It was that fast. Anything but simple. I am not quite sure that we have fully accepted it to this day.

I feel her spirit almost every single day. She was a nurturer extraordinaire. She raised five daughters, helped raise grandchildren, and dozens of other people's children. For decades she ran the most lovingly firm daycare center from her home.

She was tough, but so loving. She taught some children to crawl, she taught others to accept the little boy that wanted to wear a dress all day, she taught us all what we needed to learn when we needed to learn it.

She was tiny, but formidable, Irish to her marrow.

Recently I found her Yellow Layer Cake recipe. It is in her handwriting (Palmer method and perfect). The handwriting I remember seeing in her weekly letters to my mother when I was growing up. She would keep us informed on the weather, and all the news from the neighborhood.

For a period of time, she has a Barbie pink felt tip marker that she used to write just about everything. I love it because it was so completely out of character. Too flashy for someone as below the radar as Mary tried to be, but use it she did. Every so often we will unearth an old note or recipe jotted down in that raucous splash of color. It makes me laugh every single time.

I think about the chain that goes back farther than any of us know, much farther than those three generations on that couch in 1966. Now it extends into the future with my daughter. All of these things, these recipes, these photos, these memories, will be passed down to her now too. Like a string of pearls, priceless pearls.