Someday Walkabout

The best things to come out of Cleveland have been Michael Symon's restaurants and (dare I say) Howard the Duck. The upcoming Republican Convention is not going to add to that list. Okay, maybe Lebron James and the Cavaliers. Maybe.    

The last few weeks have been so tiring I could scream. This is despite the weekly Vitamin D I have been faithfully taking. The rheumatologist has me back on B-12, but even that is not making a dent in this physical fog. Even tai chi is taking too much effort. Lately I've been napping away half the day and then going to bed early.

The rheumatologist, in addition to tweaking medication instructions, also recommended some light aerobic exercise and a daily walk in the sun (excluding midday). I had let my daily walks fall by the wayside as the weather got colder and the fibro flares got more vicious, so I was very happy to get back on track at the doctor's suggestion.

This was not an easy thing to do, however, as I am apparently out of practice, but I'll keep at it. It's just that after a good walk, my back sets up a protest of great magnitude, the kind that sends one to bed with a bottle of Advil, a handful of muscle relaxers and a box of tissues to mop up the tears. Part of that may be that I walked in quite perfect weather and kept walking, and I suspect I covered a pretty good distance, and this, my friends, constitutes overdoing. I never learn, although my pace is pretty slow. My power walking days are long over, but even a neighborhood stroll has to be carefully planned.

So I walked and kvetched, but I did get that nice photo of the blue pinwheel garden in Courthouse Square, reminding folks that April is National Child Abuse Prevention Month, as well as a street photo celebrating Spanish moss.

Officially speaking fibromyalgia sucks. Lately I've developed a weakness in my arms and hands, making it difficult to knit, type, and scroll an iPhone - my hand and arm shake, and I end up clicking on unintended links or missing keyboard letters. When I type a blog post - or anything, actually - I end up having to constantly erase and correct. Then I'm also in the midst of a memory fog, unable to recall words or names when I need them as part of a conversation. This time it is particularly bad, scary bad, the type of bad that makes you think senile dementia is right around the corner.

When I have good days, I want to enjoy them. I want to celebrate their existence. But that joy is tempered by the knowledge that the bad days are going to reappear. Always, no exceptions. And that's where the depression comes from. That plus the loss of loved ones, in my family and the families of people I care for.

So I felt well enough to do some cooking, the first time in a long time, but I'm still too tired and my hands too shaky to start that typing.

Coming soon to a blog post near you

Hold on, I'm getting there, but right now I am dreaming about my bed - low lights, feet up, back well-supported, and a couple or five furry children snoring at my feet. And something medicinal for the pain, did I mention that? No opioids and no damn medical marijuana. Don't get me started. Everybody is so happy happy joy joy about the possibilities of enjoying the wacky weed legally, they've forgotten about side effects.                                                          

And the side effects, Morpheus? Paranoia, rapid heart beat, respiratory ailments, impact on brain function?

I'm With Her

So I was imagining the Presidential election between Ted Cruz and Bernie Sanders, and I laughed so hard I fell down and cried. And cried some more at the thought of either one of them in the Oval Office with their finger on the nuclear button.

In the meantime, the world keeps heading to Hell of its own volition.

It's Fibro Fog Friday here in Historic Downtown Kissimmee. Having trouble moving forward on my plans for today, lists be damned. I'm not really comprehending my own lists, and I can't seem to put together the steps for any task. I woke up with Cat Flat Hair, a direct result of Anakin's determined possession of this pillow.  My pillow, as it happens.

This is going to need application of a hot hair roller thing (so help me, I can't think of the word) while standing, and lately I don't do standing all that well.

Anyway, I spent all my standing spoons on a bath for my little old guy Woody. He's lost most of his hair and his weight is way down, but he's in good spirits, even if Anakin did take his favorite sleeping spot. There is so much I have to do, and so little I can actually do, a typical fibrotastic day bereft of energy but full of pain and fog.

The cottage pie remains incomplete; there is no way I can leave the house to buy a rutabaga. Even if I had, I don't have the ability to stand at the kitchen counter whilst peeling said rutabaga. Everything - laundry, beading, cooking, spot cleaning, book shelves, and you-name-it - has come to a big halt. Believe it or not, what set off this latest flare was that shower I took yesterday. All of this and Bernie Sanders has sent me into the Bad Mood Zone. Best I stay in my room, where I can't snap at innocents and where going without a bra is not going to cause nervous laughter and SMHs posted all over Facebook.

I did manage to finish one UFO, so now all of the ends on those utterly luxurious handknit wash clothes have been woven in.  The cloths are in the linen closet alongside the more pedestrian terry cloths that Rob and Cory will continue to use. The sense of accomplishment feels good.

I'm glad something feels good.

Lost My Marbles, Found My Beads - Zoodle Ziti

Although I swore a solemn oath to forego starting any new fiber-based project (that includes knitting, crochet, and looming) until I had made satisfactory inroads on completing the 9 million UFOs (UnFinished Objects) tucked ever-so-neatly into my nifty closet, cunningly designed to make the best possible use of a ratty old dormer window area, by Diane of D&R Interiors, I am dying to head off into a new direction.

Ratty-looking dormer

(D&R also remodeled the rest of the house, starting with My Favorite Kitchen and My Amazing Bathroom (amazing because with very little space she created a 2-part bathroom with a full shower (we hate bathtubs) and put in a good-sized laundry room.) There's more that I love, but just take my advice - next time you are thinking about making interior changes to your house, call D&R.)  

Magical interior of ratty-looking dormer

More magical interior of 3-sided walk-in closet with built-in shelves

Where was I before I wandered off wherever I wandered off to? Ah ha HA, the self-imposed ban on starting new fiber-based projects (it hurts, it really does).

Fortunately it is a ban that excludes my other happy hobby, jewelry design. So I am engaged in something new, designing a Pandora knock-off for a friend, gathering baubles, beads and bits to create a meaningful story. (I also make drop earrings and stitch markers but this friend does not have pierced ears and she does not knit.)

This is a minor hobby in terms of volume, and it is hardly as time-consuming as knitting a bedspread, or even a pair of socks. But, if you have ever received one of these bracelets as a gift from me, or have taken a look at one from my personal collection, you may begin to understand the time that goes into finding just the right beads and charms that not only look good together, but create the symbolism I'm trying to convey.

I've also worked beads into some of my knitting, but we don't wanna go there now.

Still not in the mood for cooking. Lotsa leftovers, though. I'm done. If you know how to work a microwave, you won't starve in my home.

What? What? What? Its fewking Wednesday, and I haven't even tried blogging since last Saturday. Too much to do the past 3 days, too much shopping for food , files, and beads (uh oh) and too many fibromyalgia flare episodes peppered between those tasks. Monday, for example, while integrating that great stack of papers into the file drawers, I was moved to tears twice by the pain generated by the simple act of bending down to place papers in the lower drawers. I napped - a lot. Same with the bookshelves, which took 5 days for me to do an hour's worth of work.

Not done yet, poppets, but looking much better. Between that and the closet, I can see myself moving my base of Organizational Operations to the dining room, wherein I will probably get lost for at least a month. At least.

I did, however, partially regain my cooking mojo, but even that simple dish - cottage pie - is being stretched out over several days and many hours.  Standing is bad. So is sitting.

I had an appointment with the rheumatologist yesterday, and one with the therapist today. That finished me for the day, although I did leave my nice, comfortable bed long enough to watch the Magic lose to the Detroit Pistons, coached by Stan Van Gundy and featuring the not inconsiderable talents of Tobias Harris.  I yelled at the TV a lot, and then I slept badly. I still miss Stan - the last time the Magic made the playoffs, and actually made Eastern Conference champions, is when he was the coach, before the Dark Times - before the Dwightmare. Tobias was one of my favorite Magic players these past few years. Trading him to the Pistons was as stupid as trading J.J. Reddick to the L.A. Clippers.

See, being that I believe the two most important human traits are kindness and loyalty, I am infuriated  by the chronically asinine trades one sees in the NBA. Trading players is a game to these basketball types, and it has gotten out of hand. Where is Jameer Nelson? And Vince Carter? I know those two would have happily given their best to the Magic until retirement.

So now it is Thursday, and I am still working on that cottage pie. The meat layer is done - that's three out of four - but I had a brainstorm this morning that involves the purchase of a small rutabaga as part of the mashed potato topping. Maybe tomorrow. So what if it will take 4 days to make a cottage pie? It's taking me 5 days to write a single blog post!

But I have finally typed up the recipe for the zoodle ziti I made about 2 weeks ago - as we say in Fibromyalgia Land, better late than never.

Baked Zoodle Ziti

Zoodles are noodle or pasta substitutes made from spiralized zucchini. Really delicious, and better for you at so many levels.

2 medium zucchini, spiralized on medium blade
15 oz. container whole milk ricotta
1 egg
1/4 cup grated Parmesan, plus extra for layering and topping
Parsley flakes
Kosher salt and ground white pepper
1 pound package whole milk mozzarella, sliced
1 jar prepared spaghetti sauce (I used Prego sauce with meatballs)

Steam the zucchini until just tender; set aside to drain off excess liquid. With kitchen scissors, snip the long strands into thirds or quarters.

Mix together the ricotta, egg, 1/4 cup Parmesan, parsley flakes, salt and pepper.

Construct the zoodle ziti: on the bottom of a baking pan, spread a few tablespoons of the sauce. (My sauce had been used to cook the meatballs I made to accompany the ziti.) Layer 1/2 of the zoodle said, 1/2 of the ricotta mixture, 1/2 of the sliced mozzarella, 1 tablespoon of grated Parmesan, and 1/2 of the sauce (about 1 cup). Repea, ending with the sauce.  Bake uncovered in a preheated 350 degree oven for 30 minutes. Sprinkle a generous amount of Parmesan over the top, and return to the oven for 15 minutes more, until the dish is bubbly and the cheese is melted. Let set 15 minutes before cutting into portions.

This is so good, you will not miss the pasta. Or not too much.

Rant Until The Cows Come Home

No cows were harmed in the making of this blog post

Friday - My back feels like it is breaking, damn it. Advil is worthless right now. Here I am, propped up in bed and the pillows are just making the pain worse.  No idea how that works, but I hate it. I had rather reasonable plans to shelve some books and give Woody a well-deserved bubble bath, but that all fell into my Fibromyalgia Garbage Can of Broken Dreams, to be followed by a sleepless night. And that resulted in my starting out for Saturday morning tai chi class disgracefully late, which also meant I broke my own rule about not leaving the second floor of this house without having taken my medications, and that kind of omission never ends well. Class was intense this morning - not physically intense, but tai chi intense. And that's all I am really going to say about that, except you should all come out and try it. So of course I had to stop at the St. Cloud Walmart on my way home (yes, that is my third Walmart day in a row and I am tired from it), because I had to buy yet another 3-drawer container, because ... well, let me show you.

You may recall just how pleased I was at the resolution of my paper overload - photostats and other paraphernalia related to my hobbies, but none more especially than knitting. You may not have realized I was positively smug about it.

I love the illusion of organization. It satisfies my obsessive-compulsive nature. And yes, those are some of my jewelry-making supplies on the lower shelf.

You also may remember that I still have not fully unpacked from our move to this house 2 years ago. Nowhere is this more obvious than in our dining room/library/kitchen extension/music room/used to be the law office conference room.

When I chose my upstairs bath as Project Zero, I knew that it would start to flow naturally to my closet, the hallway, the master bedroom, and finally the dining room. I was/am in no rush for any of this, as I have neither the energy, strength, nor immediate need to have a nice neat house. My big entertaining days are over and besides those stacks of boxes give Anakin a place to keep in touch with his catness.

So I'm not clear on exactly what made me peek into one of the big boxes in the dining room, but I did and all I could do was stare in horror while sending up a silent prayer that the heretofore hidden stack of papers was chock full of recipes and cooking hacks.

No such luck.

I'm still trying to figure out how I could have forgotten the existence of these papers, which contain a veritable treasure trove of patterns, notes, pictures, and more patterns. Most of my favorite patterns for socks and squares are in that stack, so what was I thinking, assuming I was thinking, albeit in my New Normal Fibromyalgic way? Really, that kind of memory glitch feels like I dropped my personal hard drive on a cement garage floor causing severe damage, and that doesn't feel good at all.

The good news, of course, I that I did find them, (Christmas in April!) including my design notes for those handknit wash clothes I wrote about just yesterday.

What makes those wash clothes particularly charming is the combination of multiple patterns for each cloth. In designing them, I pulled out a bunch of stitch libraries and got busy mixing and matching based on a number of different factors. Having those notes (which make sense to me), allows me to recreate my favorites or having a starting point for any pattern tweaking. So while I am a bit bemused, I am pleased.

Now you know why I ended up in Walmart yet again, purchasing more Sterilite. At least I now understand why one of the guests at the graduation party whispered "plastics" in Benjamin Braddock's ear. (And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson.)

I am also more than a bit bemused by the sudden resurgence in the cow population of Osceola County. Driving to tai chi class this morning, I noticed that at least three empty lots have been converted to cow pastures, complete with real grazing cows and their gamboling calves, which means major development construction is on its way. I don't know if those tax abatement cows have anything to do with the really big rodeo set for April 7th (Kissimmee=Kowtown; you knew that, right?) or if they are participating in the cattle drive through downtown Kissimmee this coming Monday.

Cattle drive. Yes, I live in downtown Kissimmee. Can't wait to see just how close they get to my front door.

I still don't feel like cooking, so Rob and I picked up a ginormous amount of Chinese take out last night and ate while we watched the Magic lose - again. To the Milwaukee Bucks, of all teams. We are totally excluded from the playoffs - again. Next year, kids.

Quiet Themes

April Fool's Day isn't as much fun as it used to be, just more of the "getting older sucks" theme. Bah.

My father-in-law passed away on March 30, at home. And that's all I'm going to say about that, except I will miss him. He was a wonderful husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and father-in-law.

Watching Donald Trump implode is interesting. Now if only Ted Cruz would implode along with him, the Republicans could clear the decks and start from scratch. The FBI is moving closer to finishing Hillary - I mean, finishing the investigation of Hillary's emails - and once the dust settles on this political silly season, we may all be wondering how an old Jewish guy from Brooklyn got to be President.

I haven't been cooking lately. No energy, and no real interest. For God's sake, I actually got an order of Junkyard Fries from Krystal, rather than prepare lunch at home. I am never doing that again. Better to go back to ordering soup from Wawa.

I felt a little better, so I overdid massively and now I feel ouchie all over. Fibromyalgia, my shadow. Stop stalking me.

Knitting. One sock done.

One sock to go.

And a wonderful, soft cotton wash cloth, ends pulled in and officially in service.

You've never heard of handknit wash clothes? Awwww ... sorry about that. Really one of life's gentle little pleasures.

Just passing through

I am incurably sentimental, part of my being an old soul who lives in the past.  Going through boxes of old stuff just makes me feel sad. Actually, everything makes me feel sad, and just a trifle panicky. The world has turned into a universal war zone and the Dark Side of the Force is prevailing. And like any other extended family, we are facing inevitable health issues. Late night calls, little sleep. A general feeling of emotional and physical malaise. Attack of the killer fleas. That surrealistic feeling that it s no longer safe to be a Jew in America.

I hope your week has been going  better, but unless you are living in a cave without wifi, you've been hearing the same news reports. These are terrible times, my friends.

These are the ends, my friends ...

It's Tuesday, and I headed downstairs with a Doctor Who earworm in my head and a couple of crocheted scarves around my neck. The weather got funky again, causing local temperatures to plunge into the low forties. In Florida. In late March. Pretty darn uncomfortable. Anyway, I grabbed a G hook on my way to the stairs so that I could finish pulling in the ends on the scarves while wearing them to keep warm. In my kitchen. In Florida, did I mention that?

I love scarves; I love to wear them, inside or out.

I also love to make them, knitted or crocheted, mostly for my personal use, but occasionally as a gift for someone who appreciates handmade stuff (most people do not.)

 

I have only owned one store bought scarf in my life, and that's because my mother bought it for me when I headed off to the Shawangunk mountains for college. It was part of a set that included a hat of the type made popular by Ali McGraw's character in "Love Story." Orange and gray. Damn, a really ugly scarf, but my mother honestly loved the color orange. Matched her hair, the living room carpet, and the flocking on the wallpaper. Somewhere among all my possessions (I hope) is the first scarf I ever knit, in a box stitch pattern I worked out myself, in blue and gold. (Go Lawrence Tornadoes!)

Doctor Who got stuck in my head because my wake-up alarm uses the opening theme for the Twelfth Doctor. I'm probably doomed, at least for the rest of the day, but I have to admit it makes a very effective alarm. If I'd had it back in the sixties and seventies, my Pop would not have had to call me every morning while I was away at college. That 8:00 AM biology class was a killer, and he knew it.

(This is also a very bad morning - if you follow the news then you know that Belgium has had multiple terrorist attacks, killing at least 31 people. I'm not sure of the number of injuries, but I do know that this is unbearable. There is not one world leader who knows how to deal with ISIL and its colleagues-in-crimes against humanity.)

Fibromyalgia killed my fall/winter garden, incapacitating me so that some planting never actually got done, and the whole thing was neglected to the point that the weeds were choking out the vegetables.

I have flares that can knock me on my ass for days or even weeks, rendering me ritually useless, and that is exactly what happened this growing season.

Here comes James to the rescue. Today weed pulling, tomorrow roto-tilling, after that a visit to Lowe's to start building the spring garden. I'm already craving tender okra (which doesn't grow during the fall and winter. Ask me how I know.)

Will I never learn? I did too much - much too much - purging my closet of clothes I will never wear again.

Not only sizes I will never wear, but my entire work wardrobe - suits, jackets, skirts and dresses all terribly worn because, having not received a raise in over 8 years, I simply could not afford to replace them. Five enormous bags ready for Goodwill. I didn't do any of the heavy carrying, but it was still too much. I also finished sorting my craft books, making up bundles of Workbasket and Annie's Pattern Club (and her Crochet and Fashion Knitting clubs) booklets to pass on to friends who I know will enjoy them. I've been shlepping those booklets from one house to another since 1979 and it is time to share the love. There's a lot of great ideas in those pages, but most are for items I no longer have an interest in taking on as a project.

Truly, I am too tired to write anymore. More thoughts, more recipes, maybe tomorrow.

Watcha Dune? - Plans Within Plans

Plans. I got 'em. More than the Bene Gesserit, kinder than the Harkonnens, better than the Emperor of the Known Universe.

Cooking. Baking.

Organizing.

Taking control.

Investigating.

None of these are moving anywhere except backwards. The last week has been a dreadful combo platter of chest pain, brain fuzzies, and worst of all an exhaustion that left me unable to even knit a sock, with featherweight needles and a few ounces of super fine weight yarn. All I've wanted to do is nap. No strength in my hands or arms.  Can't keep my eyes open. Can't think, can't type, can't blog. Thank you, fibromyalgia, you joy-sucking miserable f*cking son of a bitch. Yeah.

So here it is late afternoon Sunday and I've decided to give up until tomorrow. Although I am well-primed with Ranitidine and Ibuprofen, it seems a better plan to hold onto my spoons until tomorrow and then try this Living Thing again. Monday is a good day for Plans. Doesn't everyone start their diets on Monday? There you have it.

Except Monday turned out to be, well, Monday. I did a little cooking (recipe to follow) a little complaining to the firm handling my social security disability claim, and a little organizing of craft booklets and pamphlets (no lifting, can't lift) and all that did was get me ready for a 4 1/2 hour nap. My communication with the social security disability firm was ultimately helpful, however, I was
distressed at being told that obtaining a hearing in front of an administrative law judge involves an 18 to 24 month wait. Since we've already spent 6 months getting to this point where we can file an appeal, that means I will receive nothing from the SSA until I am 64 or 65, even though I retired when I was 62. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, knowing how long it can take to get a termination of parental rights case through the state court system or for veterans to receive medical care. I just wonder, how are people supposed to pay their bills when their claim gets stuck on sluggish? It looks like I'm about to find out.

This recipe is from last week. Sorry for the delay, but I've been knocked on my ass (tuchis to my fellow MOTs) most of the time in between.

Hawaiian Barbecue Flanken Riblets

First of all, flanken is a crosscut short rib, very popular in Jewish and Korean cooking, which suits my family to a tee. My mother (and therefore I) used flanken when making cabbage soup. Best
cabbage soup ever. Better than Toojay's, better than your Jewish grandma's version, assuming you have a Jewish grandma. Better, best. But that's another blog post.

Next, I made this dish to include rice with fire-roasted green bell peppers, to go along with the Hawaiian theme. I held back on the pineapple - Cory is not a fan - and Robert agreed that it would
not have added anything to the finished dish.

2 pounds chuck flanken (mine was frozen), a total of 6 pieces
Water
2 Knorr beef bouillon cubes
2 tablespoons McCormick garlic pepper
1 1/2 tablespoons turbinado sugar
1-18 oz. bottle Sweet Baby Ray's Hawaiian Style Barbecue Sauce
4 medium green bell peppers
Buttered rice, for serving

In a large pot, just barely cover the ribs with water. Add the bouillon cubes, garlic pepper, and sugar. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat, cover the pot and simmer the ribs until tender, about an hour. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Move the ribs to a baking dish and pour on about 2/3rds of the bottle of sauce. Cover with foil and bake in oven for 45 minutes or until the riblets are tender enough to be enjoyed by the dentally-challenged. Using kitchen shears, cut between the bones to make riblets, and set aside while you prepare the peppers.

Broil the peppers on all sides until he skin is blistered and charred. Immediately place in a plastic bag, sea, and set aside for at least 10 minutes. When cool enough to handle, use your fingers to remove the skin. If you don't get every last bit off, don't worry about it. Do not put the peppers under water while you are peeling them; this washes away a lot of the flavor. Remove the seeds and stem and cut the peppers vertically.

Cover bottom of a baking dish with cooked and buttered rice.  I used 2 boil-in-bag packets, a lot of butter, kosher salt and white pepper. Place the pepper strips over the rice. Spoon the riblets with all their sauce over the peppers. You may want to reheat the dish before serving so that all the elements are hot at the same time; if so cover with foil so the riblets don't dry out. Serves 4 to 6.