chocolate crepes and breast cancer

It's on my list: learn to make crepes, so last night Bill wanted donuts.

"I tried before, they didn't turn out so well, plus we don't have any oil," I told him.

He continued on, trying different tacks, wanting fresh donuts.

"How about crepes?" I asked.

"Uhm, sure," he answered, not knowing what crepes were.

I raced upstairs, to get the three recipes I'd downloaded from foodtv.com (I'm a foody - love Rachel Ray and Giada, plus they've got great recipes). I thought I'd try the simplest one from Paula Dean (I had all the ingredients, too). I found my biggest saute pan, melted the 6 tablespoons of butter, whisked the 3 eggs, 3/4 cup flour, 1 1/3 cup skim milk (plus a touch of organic heavy whipping cream, just in case), and 3 tablespoons of cocoa powder. It seems awfully thin, but since I'd never made them before, I had nothing to compare it to.

I greased up my saute pan with a touch of butter, then poured the 1/4 cup of batter in. I could see teeny bits of dark from the unwhisked cocoa powder, and touches of unwhisked flour, but oh well - the recipe said small lumps were okay. I waited with my blue rubber spatula in my hand, for the edges to start to curl - there they were, curling. It was like magic to me. So I slid my spatula under one side of the crepe and tried to loosen it from the bottom of the pan. Paula said it only takes 30 seconds to cook, and I was pretty sure it had been 30 seconds already. Rats - the crepe kept ripping every time I tried to flip it. Steve came in, grabbed our big honking gray spatula and expertly flipped the crepe over. It held together - I was amazed.

"Now you'll just have to stand here while I do all the rest," I told him. He smiled and left the kitchen.

Really, now what was I supposed to do? I flipped the first crepe, albeit with a couple of good-sized rips, onto the plate and dipped the 1/4 cup measuring cup into the batter to start again. I found that I didn't need to keep oiling the pan, what with 6 tablespoons of melted butter in the batter (those crazy French). Now I found my rhythm - I waited until the edges curled, ran my blue spatula all around the edge, shook the pan a little until the crepe moved, then used the big gray spatula to turn it over. 10 beautiful crepes later, and I was dancing around the kitchen. I don't know if it was because they were so perfectly beautiful, or if it was because I had accomplished one of my goals, or if I was craving carbs. I don't care - I was happy. I got out the red plastic scoop and filled it with powdered sugar, powdered a crepe, rolled it up, and brought it, warm, to Bill. He dutifully ate it, but declared it kind of blah-tasting. Steve, too. I thought it was heavenly, and I DO recognized that you're supposed to actually FILL the crepes with something - that's the nature of crepes - to be the vehicle through which the rest of the culinary dish is carried, kind of like tortillas or lettuce.

Standing in the kitchen washing up the saute pan, the phone rang. It was my friend Kim from Mayville, the one who's going to walk the half marathon with me. We've got matching t-shirts that read "Wild Women Walking" on the front, with our names on the back. Man, we're going to look hot come the middle of May. When I'd first asked her to join me in the half marathon, she told me she'd walked the Avon 3 Day 60 mile walk last year, and had loved it. I told her I'D wanted to do that last year, but hadn't known anyone. She said it was too late to start training and raising funds for this year, but we promised each other we'd do it NEXT year. But her phone call last night told a different story.

"I have a friend up here who had breast cancer 15 years ago," she told me. "Now it's back. I want to walk. Will you walk with me?"

Call me crazy, blame it on the chocolate crepes, but I instantly said yes, and we both started crying a little, relieved, scared, sad, happy, determined. Train to walk 60 miles in 3 days? Will my knees and back and hips take it? Will I have enough time? Can I raise the $2200 necessary to enter?

You know what? I don't know the answers to any of those questions. All I know is that life is short, and you have to grab it by the horns (or other body parts) and hang on and just go for it. Whether it's learning how to make crepes, or walking a half marathon, or walking 60 miles, or running for Public Service Commissioner (and giving up everything to help someone do it) - life is a hands-on sport, it's a contact sport, and I've been resting on the sidelines for too long. NO MORE. I'm present, I'm here, and I'm going to be kicking some life butt and taking names. Just watch me. Wait - don't just watch me - kick your OWN life butt... and take names.