Without intending to be overly morbid, I have to admit that this poem has been floating around in my head these past two days. A poetic ear worm, courtesy of Emily Dickenson.
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
It's not Death I've been thinking about, but his cousin Isolation. Always a loner, and mostly an introvert, I nonetheless enjoyed a world outside of the confines of my home. I have family and many friends, and we met on an irregular basis to share dinners, holidays, and simchas (happy occasions, celebrations), sufficient to qualify as a social life. Back when the boys were highly involved in taekwondo competition, we traveled regularly by car to out-of-state locations, meeting up with our ATA friends in places like Little Rock, Atlanta, Valdosta and Panama City Beach.
Most importantly, however, for my daily mental health, I went to work, every single day - I didn't even take too many sick days until the fibromyalgia shifted from annoying to debilitating. The people I worked with made up the fabric of my social life, and I was very happy. Just the right amount of positive human contact to keep me grounded.
Things change, for various reasons, and I have fallen into a pattern of social isolation that can't be healthy. I am fortunate that I can make it to my tri-weekly tai chi classes, and it goes without saying that I meet with my therapist once a week, but beyond that, I am willingly confined to the house. At the beginning of this debacle, I made it a point to go out on my own a few days each week, whether it was to Publix or Walmart or even the office to see my peeps. I would take a walk with Horatio Cane, admiring the neighborhood gardening and architecture. Now, with increasing pain and decreasing cognitive ability, I hesitate to step outside the house unless I have to. It took me two days to work up the courage to make the drive to CVS for prescription pick-up.
To say that this sucks is a vast understatement. I've been a loner, yes, but not a hermit like my great-grandfather Charles Albert. I don't particularly like this, but I don't know what to do.
Enough of that. I did some cooking, but the results were less-than-stellar, so I can't recommend you try this. Needless to say this is absolutely the LAST time I try to use a bottled Alfredo sauce. I had to add some pizza sauce and a few glugs of sherry to make it even close to palatable, and I'm still not happy. I made the meatballs from a pound each of ground chuck and ground Italian sausage, and then stuffed each meatball with mozzarella pearls, and they don't taste right to me either. Could be my palate taking a fibromyalgia-funded vacation. Feh.
Speaking of My Friend Fibro, I finally made an appointment with a rheumatologist. First available was February 10, and I was okay with that, but then they called me back and asked if I wanted to come in tomorrow morning. Hell yeah!
My memory and word recall has been worse than ever these past few days. Scary that I couldn't "find" the word "shallots"to use in a conversation. I've had to ask Robert more than just a few times for help in recalling words. I don't feel good about the whole thing.
Turns out the meatballs and sauce are rather good, but this evening's winner is the spiralized zucchini, also known as zoodles. A really delicious substitute for spaghetti, especially with the sauce and some grated Parmesan cheese on top.
The zucchini was the size of a dachshund, so I only needed one. Once it was spiralized, I heated a couple of tablespoons of garlic-infused olive oil in a large deep skillet, and sprinkled on some black pepper and granulated garlic. NO SALT. I cooked it over medium high until it was done to my liking, which is slightly underdone because I know it is going to be reheated. I used tongs to move it around in the pan, and then to remove it from the skillet, letting excess liquid drip off. Finally, I put it in a serving dish, spooned on some of the sauce from the meatballs, and sprinkled on some cheese. Right now, it's in a 350 degree oven, just to warm up and finish in the sauce. Serve with meatballs or anything else that goes well with spaghetti. This was fun.
Things change, for various reasons, and I have fallen into a pattern of social isolation that can't be healthy. I am fortunate that I can make it to my tri-weekly tai chi classes, and it goes without saying that I meet with my therapist once a week, but beyond that, I am willingly confined to the house. At the beginning of this debacle, I made it a point to go out on my own a few days each week, whether it was to Publix or Walmart or even the office to see my peeps. I would take a walk with Horatio Cane, admiring the neighborhood gardening and architecture. Now, with increasing pain and decreasing cognitive ability, I hesitate to step outside the house unless I have to. It took me two days to work up the courage to make the drive to CVS for prescription pick-up.
To say that this sucks is a vast understatement. I've been a loner, yes, but not a hermit like my great-grandfather Charles Albert. I don't particularly like this, but I don't know what to do.
Enough of that. I did some cooking, but the results were less-than-stellar, so I can't recommend you try this. Needless to say this is absolutely the LAST time I try to use a bottled Alfredo sauce. I had to add some pizza sauce and a few glugs of sherry to make it even close to palatable, and I'm still not happy. I made the meatballs from a pound each of ground chuck and ground Italian sausage, and then stuffed each meatball with mozzarella pearls, and they don't taste right to me either. Could be my palate taking a fibromyalgia-funded vacation. Feh.
Speaking of My Friend Fibro, I finally made an appointment with a rheumatologist. First available was February 10, and I was okay with that, but then they called me back and asked if I wanted to come in tomorrow morning. Hell yeah!
My memory and word recall has been worse than ever these past few days. Scary that I couldn't "find" the word "shallots"to use in a conversation. I've had to ask Robert more than just a few times for help in recalling words. I don't feel good about the whole thing.
Turns out the meatballs and sauce are rather good, but this evening's winner is the spiralized zucchini, also known as zoodles. A really delicious substitute for spaghetti, especially with the sauce and some grated Parmesan cheese on top.
The zucchini was the size of a dachshund, so I only needed one. Once it was spiralized, I heated a couple of tablespoons of garlic-infused olive oil in a large deep skillet, and sprinkled on some black pepper and granulated garlic. NO SALT. I cooked it over medium high until it was done to my liking, which is slightly underdone because I know it is going to be reheated. I used tongs to move it around in the pan, and then to remove it from the skillet, letting excess liquid drip off. Finally, I put it in a serving dish, spooned on some of the sauce from the meatballs, and sprinkled on some cheese. Right now, it's in a 350 degree oven, just to warm up and finish in the sauce. Serve with meatballs or anything else that goes well with spaghetti. This was fun.
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