A Viral Resolution

The humorous side of fibromyalgia: the electric shocks have rendered my hands too unsteady to unwrap a Hershey's chocolate kiss. For a chocoholic such as myself, that's a pretty serious problem.

Speaking of problems, I may have uncovered the source of my photo-posting problems the past few days. While I was catching up at the Forgotten New York site (I've been reading there at least once a week for the past 15 years - it's that good), blogmeister Kevin Walsh mentioned that he had been having the same kind of problem, and attributed it to some sort of meta-virus. He is on an entirely different platform, but it could have well been that the sick little f*ckers who created the virus sent it out to infect various major blog sites. I am also going to assume that one of the Silent Geniuses (I have never gotten a return email from Google regarding any of my questions or problems) managed to disinfect Blogger, thereby accounting for the sudden unexpected return of that particular function. As the kids say, whatever.

Back to my shocking hands - I am at the point of needing to cook for the family, but with my hands jerking hither and yon, I am a little apprehensive about wielding a very sharp knife. I have some ideas in my head, but I'm still not sure they are going to make the transfer to my hands. Another humorous side to fibromyalgia: this is a cooking blog, and between my St.Vitus-dancing hands and my inability to stand on my feet for any length of time, I haven't been able to cook. I can still knit (although this isn't a knitting blog) but the results are sometimes less-than-desired. Shaky hands and arms, and a dicky memory that defies the application of even simple patterns.

Today is May 18th, and it would have been my parent's 69th wedding anniversary, if they hadn't both passed on years ago and assuming they hadn't killed each other before passing. It was a hell of a marriage, and I should know; I had a ringside seat.

Today is also the anniversary of the day we lost our beloved Tuffy, at an advanced age for a dog, but still much too soon.

I do have some pictures to share; late to the party, but a rather nice collection of photos of the stir fry chicken dish I prepared last week. Minimal knife work a plus.

Shattered Dreams

What a perfectly craptastic day. I still haven't figured out what happened to the bookmark function on my iPad, nor why I can no longer insert photos into the blog. I don't have the energy to sit at Rob's desk while the iPad and his desktop make friends and allow me to access the contents of my iCloud, which is still not going to resolve the issue of the photos.  I am so over Blogger and Google I could scream. Convenient to use and at the same time the clumsiest, most user-unfriendly piece of programming I have met in a long time - at least since I retired. Programs developed by and for governmental agencies are the worst. (Think: Signing up for Obamacare)

That wasn't the worst, by a long shot. It never is, when you have fibromyalgia and you've just drifted through six straight days of steady pain and chronic exhaustion and you really truly believe, from the bottom of your misfiring heart, that tomorrow will be better. Last night, after Tai Chi class, I was  feeling sufficiently better (and quite a bit more chipper) to set my mind to a Much Better Day. So today, Day Seven, I woke up with that happy thought lingering in my head only to find it was 3 hours later than I anticipated and my body was already engulfed in spasms of pain even though I hadn't yet tried to stand up. It was downhill from there.

Forget the whiny details. Besides the pain, my head has been going to those Dark Places I try to avoid. First, a few days ago I was able to remember which of my doctors had upset me when he/she spoke the words "I can't write down that you are disabled just because you don't want to work anymore." I knew I had to get rid of that doctor, but fibromyalgia brain fog took that memory from me for the longest time. I was considering getting rid of both of them, when as in a dream, I heard the person speak those words. I know that voice, clear as crystal, and I now remember the doctor who thoughtlessly and cruelly added to my distress by not believing me. From that one moment of clarity after so many months of fog, I grabbed the memory and wrote it down to hold on to it. Time to do a search for a doctor in that area of medical practice that accepts my insurance.

What the chronic pain and exhaustion means is that I have to reinvent my life. I imagined that retirement, which I had planned for at age 67, would be a slow, pleasant waltz with my husband, during which we would do some traveling, if not overseas, then motor trips around the US. I wanted to do some volunteer work with the GAL and Teen Court programs. And for years, I silently dreamed of going back to school to finish my advanced degree in psychology. I was going to cook and bake all the recipes I'd had to set aside while I was busy working. I would entertain again, keep a garden, finish my first degree black belt in taekwondo. Shattered dreams, all gone now.

Some new symptoms to add to the recently appended electric shocks in my fingers, hand, and arms - excruciating lower abdomen pain and nausea followed by full body weakness and passing out. Not a true faint - I was able to make it as far as the bed, but the second I got there I was down and out.

Sorry to kvetch yet again, but I had high hopes of driving to Tennessee this weekend for a very special high school graduation and I simply can't do it. Sitting in the car for extended period of time, standing, socializing, eating, smiling, applauding, exchanging hugs, and crying happy tears, all too much for me now. I've lost count of how many special occasions I have had to miss because of fibromyalgia.

The photo-inserting function and my favorites list just reappeared as suddenly as they disappeared last week (and that's how long it has taken me to finish this one post). I still have no idea why it happened and how to avoid it in the future. Story of my life.

The Russians are Coming, The Russians Are Coming! - Pantry Pollo Stir Fry

Really, I don't get it.

What particular interest does the former USSR have in my little blog? This isn't the first time my blog statistics have revealed the Russian adoration for a blog that is usually seen by maybe 35 people on a good day. Right now the Russians are beating the Americans, which is never a good sign. Any techie-type folks out there who might have an answer? Please send me a clue, because I clearly don't have one.

Today is Tuesday and it promises to be as painful as the four immediately preceding it. Forget laundry, unpacking, cleaning up after the pets, or even knitting; all I can think about is whether I have the energy to get into the shower. Yeah, it's that bad. My mood is in the dumpster.  

My arms don't have the strength to hold knitting needles, but even if they did, my hands are shaking too badly to even attempt it. With a lacy-type pattern, that's an invitation to hysteria, wherein I melt down faster than eighties-style cheap acrylic yarn near a cigarette lighter.

I still can't contemplate cooking and I fear I am getting to the point where my family may just starve. It's true that I can live on soup from Wawa and Little Debbie's cakes, but my two martial artists need a little bit more than that, and the rotisserie chicken from Publix is just a fond memory. Good thing I had some beef stew in the freezer, but even my frozen stores are winding down.

Wednesday isn't shaping up to be any better. I have no choice but to leave my house today, which is both good and bad. Bad because my entire body hurts and all I want to do is head back to bed. Good because I have a necessary appointment with the individual who has been helping me keep my head attached for the past 18 years, and because I have to pick up a chicken if my family is ever going to eat again.

I've decided to throw together a chicken stir fry for my Hungry Men, "throw together" being the operative phrase. I tried to find an actual recipe to follow, but my eyes are playing tricks on me and my brain is stuck in neutral. In other words, I left my ability to comprehend the written word back on the cruise ship. I'll certainly be contacting Carnival's lost and found department but until then I'm going to wing it. That means no shopping list - too stressful - with the majority of the ingredients coming from the depths of my pantry. I have a rather impressive collection of Chinese-type ingredients stored there, and now would be a really good time to dig them out.

And now it's Thursday, and I did cook last night and it has cost me dearly. My head, neck, and shoulders are not responding to the Advil, and my rheumatologist doesn't want me taking the Advil anyway (because of my gastric bypass) so my pain-killer options have been reduced to zero. The rest of me hurts also, but not quite to the same degree. Just enough that getting out of bed to use the bathroom was a tough choice, and walking downstairs to get some coffee took an act of will on par with sitting for the bar exam.

Lately I've been super hypersensitive to heat and cold and sound. I happen to live on a somewhat noisy corner, but that has never bothered me in the past. I've almost always lived in very close proximity to an airport, including 17 years right next to JFK - now that's noisy! - and then there were those years I lived in my parent's house fronting Kings Highway. Noisy city buses, belching smoke and squealing brakes, and of course there was a stop on the corner closest our house. Trust me, my current location doesn't even come close, but because of the fibromyalgia everything is unreasonably amplified, and that includes voices, television, and the sounds normally associated with dogs and cats. You know, woof and meow and incessant scratching. Doors being opened and closed; remember, part of this building is an office and there is a lot of door repositioning, as it were. Audible pain, it sucks.

Here is the recipe and it turns out I didn't use a darn thing from my pantry. Frankly, I couldn't have opened any cans or sliced my own vegetables if my life depended on it. Bad enough I had to cut the chicken. Just so you know, I used an electric wok, which has a nonstick interior and comes with a lid. The boys report that this turned out rather tasty. I wouldn't know, I'm still subsisting on Wawa soup.

Ingredients:
Cooking oil (canola, vegetable, peanut, corn)
1 bottle or jar pre-chopped garlic
Salt, pepper, granulated garlic, ground ginger
2 pounds chicken tenderloins, crosscut into squares
2 - 8.8 oz. bag a Uncle Ben's Ready Rice, Teriyaki Style
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 - 12 oz. bag Pero brand Fajita Mix
1 - 12 oz. bag Eat Smart brand Vegetable Stir Fry
1 - 20.75 oz. bottle Panda Express Orange Sauce (available in supermarkets)

Season the cut-up chicken with the salt, pepper, granulated garlic and ground ginger and set aside. Add a few tablespoons of the oil to a very hot wok, and then add the rice. Stir fry for several minutes to get rid of excess moisture and until the rice is lightly browned. Remove it to a serving dish and keep warm. Add a little bit more oil to the wok and cook the egg, stirring constantly while spreading it out so the pieces are somewhat thin. Break up the cooked egg into small pieces and scoop them on top of the fried rice.

Add several tablespoons oil and a tablespoon (or more) of the chopped garlic. Cook for just a few seconds then add the contents of the vegetable stir fry bag. You put this in first because the broccoli takes a little longer to cook. Stir fry for several minutes, then add the fajita mix. Continue to stir fry together until the vegetables are as tender or crisp as you like them. Because I like even my stir fry vegetables to be more tender, I added about 1/4 bottle of the orange sauce and put the lid on the wok for a few minutes more. When the vegetables are done to your liking, remove them from the wok, either to a separate serving dish or on top of the rice.

Finally, heat a little more oil in the wok and add the seasoned chicken. Stir fry until chicken is cooked through and browned slightly. Add the remaining orange sauce and cook until the sauce reduces a bit and the chicken has a glossy appearance. You may want to cover the wok for just a few minutes at some point near the end of cooking to ensure that the chicken is completely cooked but tender. Add the finished chicken and all of the sauce to the vegetables. Serve and enjoy immediately.

It looks to me like this can serve six to eight.  And although it was ridiculously easy as wok cooking goes, you've got all fresh vegetables and chicken in there, and the prepared ingredients are good quality additions. I do think this dish lends itself to personalization - a handful of cashews, a small can of well-drained pineapple tidbits, some slices of jalapeño or another hot pepper, the smallest grape tomatoes you can find. You get the idea.

P.S.: Something has gone terribly wrong with either my iPad or Blogger or Safari, and I am unable to establish a link to my photos to insert them here. Will work on it, ha.

When Homebound Becomes Housebound

You all know what happens - after spending a gorgeous week on your favorite beach (St. Croix, in case you were wondering) or cruising the Caribbean while sipping chilled wine (Italian Moscato, very fine) or seeing the sights in your favorite go-to vacation city (Savannah, oh the food and the architecture!), you return home and promptly collapse. It doesn't matter if you never moved from that pool deck chair or rappelled down into the Grand Canyon, you are going to collapse. No matter if you have to report into work at 8:00 the next morning or are retired and can sleep a little later - you are going to collapse, and worse, you are going to feel like you never had a vacation.  Bam!

For me, crossing time zones has always been a problem, and I happen to live in a state with two time zones. A road trip to Panama City Beach for a taekwondo event could whack me out for a week, even though I did not participate in the event. Flying, which I used to undertake easily and joyfully has crept onto my list of Worst Nightmares. Sometimes I think I am still recovering from a return flight I made from Greece in 2005.

So it was no surprise to me when I managed to shuffle off the ship and into our car parked at the Port of Miami, and thereafter crashed into a deep sleep for most of the drive to Kissimmee. This is, we all agree, normal behavior for many post-vacationers. I passed out in Sunrise and awoke only after we crossed over the border at Yeehaw Junction. We made it home, Rob unloaded the car, we cleaned up after our rowdy four-legged children, and I fell back to sleep. I was, by now, in considerable pain (you don't think I left the fibromyalgia on the ship, did you?) which withstood several different kinds of medication, and sleep was my only option unless I wanted to stay awake, moaning piteously. No way. Besides, I couldn't keep my eyes open.    

So here it is, The Day After, and I am back in the position of gathering spoons for my upcoming week. Today I am going to unpack, which is going to take me a ridiculous amount of time because I am moving about like a crippled turtle. And then, if I have any shred of energy left, I am going to knit some more on the Branching Fern Scarf.

I generally don't have a great deal to celebrate, but permit me a bit of pride over my stick-to-it-ness to this project, the result of some deep thinking during the weeks I cleared and organized a yarn stash dating back to the Nixon administration. Since I committed to finishing the UFOs in my closet, I have knocked off several pairs of socks and made major progress on the scarf. Normally I would have gotten distracted and started a shawl or something, but I did not, at least not after a stern talking-to or two I had with myself while perusing Ravelry.

While on the ship, the knitting was everything I hoped it would be: personally fulfilling, enjoyable, and relaxing. Which caused me to wonder, and not for the first time, why don't more people knit? (Or crochet - same lovely benefits!) Up until the sixth day of a seven day cruise, on a ship with several thousand passengers, I did not see one other person knitting! Knitting is not incompatible with cruising or television-watching, or even reading (audio books, folks). If I am not chatting with Robert or screaming at a basketball game, or keeping most of my political opinions to myself, I like to listen to music while I knit. Of course you have to pick just the right music and I have several playlists that enhance the knitting experience. You should try it. Knit, crochet, even needlepoint (which I love but find difficult on the eyes). Do something with your hands besides exercising your thumbs while texting or checking Facebook. Dig down deep to find your unused creativity. Go for it.

Yes, I realize you may be a bit embarrassed to ask for my help in learning how to knit, or perhaps you are hesitant to intrude into my fibromyalgic nightmare, or are faced with the sad reality that we live 1,156 miles from each other making a series of pleasant afternoons drinking coffee and learning how to slip-knit-pass-slip-stitch-over a bit difficult. I could point out that the year is 2016 and there is Skype and there is FaceTime if you would like to ask me for real-time assistance, but if you are an introvert like me who does not like to display my lack of coordination even to my nearest and dearest, there are books and there is the Internet with limitless search engine possibilities including glorious sites like Ravelry, Pinterest, and Knitty. No one need ever know that you dropped a stitch 10 rows down or that you can't figure out a way to wrap the yarn around your finger so that it flows evenly to morph into completed stitches, or that your stitches are so tight that the aluminum needles have been bent into a 45 degree angle. I certainly kept these little problems a secret all these years.

Seriously, if you have been thinking about trying to knit or crochet, I would be more than happy to point you in the right direction (regretfully, my lesson-giving days are over.)  I can even guide you through all the bad parts, like finding out you don't knit English or Continental, that you are neither a thrower or a picker, that you really do knit weird, and there is even a name for it.  If you want to crochet, I can help there also.

Sometime this week I hope to return to cooking. Standing has been problematic, but I'm working on it. The keys to success are the gathering of spoons and muscle relaxers, but figuring out a way to sit while chopping onions has crossed my mind.

As to this Day After, when all was said and done I did not unpack one thing, not even a little thing. Instead I let my backache be my guide and stayed upstairs in my room, mostly with my feet up, and quietly gathered spoons. And I don't feel guilty, not a jot or a tittle, because chronic pain is no frelling joke and besides I needed a few extra spoons in case I decide to do laundry...

... What was I thinking? Laundry? Cooking? Really? Two more days since I wrote that and I've spent them practically incapacitated, sitting on the bed feet up when I'm not passed out. Arms too tired to hold knitting needles, legs too tired to support me for a little Tai Chi practice, and all-over pain that prevents me from sitting downstairs to watch the NBA play-offs. Now you know it's bad.

And I still haven't unpacked.

A Week on Cruise Control and Not Yo Mama's Mama

First, the cruise.

We sailed out of Miami on the Carnival Glory, our first time on that particular ship. The itinerary was a blend of old and new, so with four stops we decided to sign up for shore excursions at the two new locations, Amber Bay in the Dominican Republic, and San Juan, Puerto Rico. That meant two days at sea plus two days in port (St. Thomas and Grand Turk) wherein we stayed onboard. Staying onboard is a big part of our vacation; having the ship mostly to ourselves, picking our favorite seats to hang out, read, knit, and sample the different food venues. Most importantly (to us, at least) the food was fabulous. Yes I said fabulous. On a Carnival ship, no less. The only items that were less-than-successful were the frog's legs (sauce was oddly bland) and the corn bread that accompanied my frankly fabulous barbecue ribs. The rest of the food (and we ate a lot) was prepared perfectly. The desserts and baked goods were utterly sublime. Way to go, Carnival!  

Both of our shore excursions were extremely enjoyable. We have traveled around the Carribbean a number of times and taken many excursions where we climbed onboard a nice, cool tour bus to see and hear about the particular island - it's history, people, economics, infrastructure, and food. Somehow I never gave a coherent thought to the Big Picture involving the aboriginal peoples, the not-so-pristine actions of Christopher Columbus, the Spanish Catholic royalty, the Dutch, and a couple of wars we never really studied in the Lawrence-Cedarhurst school district. I've always  admired the various styles of architecture, but never really thought about the "how?" and the "why?". And although I have gotten into the habit of thinking of Puerto Rico as a southern outpost of Florida, our tours of Old San Juan and Amber Cove consolidated the rich back story of the Caribbean in my admittedly cognitively-impaired head.  Loved every minute.

These photos are from Amber Cove in the Dominican Republic. Then came Old San Juan, but by that point, I was seriously wearing down, and left all of the picture-taking to Robert. Once he gets a chance to download them from camera to computer, I'm going to steal a few to share with the blog, but until them, I did snap just a couple from our stop at Princessa for lunch:

Mojitos and mofongo - one of the best lunches ever.

In addition to being our annual post-tax season cruise, this was a celebratory cruise. Robert turned 70, an exceptionally special birthday, plus we had an anniversary fall out during the week. I was all about making the birthday special and had made some arrangements via the Internet prior to sailing; cake and room decorations, a bottle of wine and glasses, and all the birthday cards a dad could want. To our surprise, Carnival got in on the act, birthday and anniversary, possibly because we are at their frequent cruiser platinum level. Extra cake, messages on the mirror, special towel animals, cookies (really good cookies), champagne and a special dessert at our Steakhouse dinner, and I probably forgot something. Thank you, Carnival. It was all rather wonderful.

Of course the fibromyalgia came along for the ride, but I managed. Moved at a comfortable (read: slow) pace, maintained a positive emotional attitude, took my prescribed medications faithfully, took all time necessary to rest and relax. I napped often, put my feet up when I wasn't using them for walking, knit comfortably on one project that was just the right degree of complexity to avoid causing me to rip the yarn off the needles in crazed frustration and hurl big handfuls into the nearest garbage pail (don't giggle; my knitting experience in South Korea was less than stellar, resulting in my leaving piles of shredded bulky red yarn all over Korea except in Busan. That was only because we didn't stop in Busan.)

And perhaps most importantly, I practiced my Tai Chi, at least as much as I could remember. Tai Chi has really helped me live with fibromyalgia; look, there's no cure, medical, pharmacological, or otherwise. All I can do is find what works for me and use it to obtain a few more lower-pain hours and to keep the really dark depression a little bit at bay. This is where Tai Chi shines. My memory is still crashed and my overall cognitive ability just ain't what it used to be (and will never be again) but I can calm myself when I feel a panic attack coming on, or focus better, at least for a short while.

It was a very good cruise, I can't emphasize that enough.

Lots of birthdays this week! Yesterday was my cousin Steve's birthday, and I am sure his beautiful family celebrated accordingly, with much joy and laughter and cake. Gotta have cake.  I truly believe that the measure of a man is what kind of family he has helped to make, and Steve is at the top of that list. I wish I had known you while growing up, but I am so happy I did find you. Happy birthday cuz, and may you have many more happy and healthy birthdays.

Today is my sister's birthday, which still feels strange (but very nice) to be able to write. Happy birthday, Nora! So glad I found you and so grateful to your daughter/my niece, for helping to put us in contact. Have a wonderful day and a blessed year.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. Lilacs are blooming in my hometown of Brooklyn as they always do in time for Moms Who Live In The Northeast. I miss lilacs so much. A relatively new phenomenon, public declarations of love and appreciation are all over my Facebook News Feed. So many of my friends and relatives have been posting lovely photos of their mothers and it is very clear that those mothers are much-loved and in some cases, missed terribly. I think all that sentiment is absolutely heartwarming but also terribly foreign to me. I don't understand people who proudly announce that their mother is their best friend. As long as I can remember, my mother was my worst nightmare.

Don't get me wrong; I am truly happy for my friends and family who have clearly experienced the type of childhood I never imagined existed. I won't deny there is a twinge of envy there. Okay, maybe more than a twinge. At the same time, I am woefully aware that my experience is not unique. Toxic parents like my mother have sadly left a trail of tears and huge therapy bills.

But then there are mothers-in-law and I've got the best. Thanks for everything these past 45 years, Mom. Happy Mother's Day, with love.

Mother's Day will always be a mixed bag for me, with the very best part being that I am the mother to the Best Son in The World. All grown up now, but still my crowning achievement as a human being. So many wonderful characteristics that sheer modesty prevents me from recounting them all; however, I can tell you how I did it: I simply did everything the opposite of how my mother raised me. Worked like a charm.

                                                           

This Time I Know It's For Real

For the first time since I acquired my iPad Pro, I feel like it is a wonderful, useful extension of my fingers. My Zagg Slim Book finally arrived from Amazon, and if first impressions count for anything, this is even better than the Zagg keyboard I had for my last iPad, which served me extraordinarily well for years and years.

There was no Zagg case for sale when the iPad Pro first arrived, so I bought a much cheaper keyboard case through Amazon. Within a day I realized I was saddled with a real POS; within two days, the iPad had jumped free of the case and landed on the tile floor. There was damage to the corner of the glass protector and I was pissed. Eventually it became so difficult to use that damn keyboard that I avoided using my iPad. When the Zagg Slim Book became available I bit the proverbial bullet, paid the steep price and here we are. You get what you pay for.

Over the past few days I've had another flare, and my normal bad got worse, a lot worse.  Never mind the details, you've all seen my ubiquitous complaints.

So today is now Thursday, April 28th and I have made it past yesterday's eye evaluation - yes, it is cataracts, yes, we can schedule surgery as soon as we get an approval letter from my insurance company, yes, it will take about a month - I figure the first surgery will be in July, which is after the disability hearing. I'm good with that. Besides, I got the good news there was no retinal detachment.  My eyes got dilated in the process, which put an end to any driving I might have wanted to do yesterday, which meant no therapist, which was unfortunate because I was feeling unbearably cranky and trying so hard not to turn it on Robert and Cory.  I sort of yelled at Romeo and Anakin though, and I feel a little guilty.            

The days are starting to get jumbled for me as I move closer to our cruise. There is stuff one has to do before leaving for a vacation but it just seems this time there was a lot more stuff than usual. Having done all my gathering, it is time to pack. I don't mind packing, but it does leave me exhausted.

I want to pack today, but I promised myself that if I did nothing else I would finish a certain bracelet and earrings to match and bring them to the post office to be sent off for a certain birthday. Just when I thought it was all ready to go I got a brainstorm and made two additions.  It pulled the whole thing together. In typical Cindy-style, I forgot to take a picture before I sealed the box, and all I have is this shot from several days ago.

The theme is Sisters, and this is a birthday present for my sister who I have never met. We have a father in common, and I think I've told the story of finding my father's side of my family at an advanced age - I was 60 - and learning that I'd had four siblings beside the brother I grew up with. Sadly, three of the four had passed away years before, but I was fortunate to find, and with the help of her daughter, my niece Rachel, make telephone contact several times.

I added an angel charm and a beautiful sky blue and cloudy white bead in memory of our youngest sister, who died of breast cancer almost 30 years ago. I also made some drop earrings to go with the bracelet and tucked in a couple of those cotton face cloths.

Without a common upbringing, and without being able to see each other on a regular basis, and you know I hate the bloody telephone, it's been hard to build a relationship. Anyway, I knew her birthday was coming up and I decided to send her a little something. All I have to do is get this little box to the post office because if it fits, it ships, and this box is stuffed to the gills. I hope she likes everything because truly it was made with love.

(She liked her gifts!)

So then, I did not post this before we left on our cruise nor at any time during our cruise, and now it is Saturday, May 7th, and we are back from our cruise, back from Miami, sitting in our personal chairs and recovering from 8 days off our regular schedule. It was a lovely vacation, one of the nicest cruises we've taken. Details to follow.

Gonna Take You To Electric Avenue

A new manifestation of the fibromyalgia has been plaguing me these last 4 weeks, and I am more than a little upset. Electric shocks in my arms, hands, toes, but especially my fingers have made it difficult to type, scroll down an iPad or iPhone, hold a book, or even knit. Besides the constant discomfort, the hands and fingers jerk and twitch, causing me to make numerous mistakes. I also find my hands and arms are totally lacking in strength. It is unreasonably tiring to chop an onion, or hold objects in my hand without risking having them slip out and drop to the nearest surface.

I have trouble keeping my head upright; this has been getting worse over a long period of time. Also I recently read that eye pain, floaters and flashing lights are associated with fibromyalgia and of course I have those as well. They can occur due to other conditions, but apparently the fibromyalgia can make them worse. I have an appointment with an eye specialist on Wednesday to address the cataracts that were seen by the optometrist last month; maybe he can check on the floaters and flashes as well.

I am feeling emotionally battered by the constant physical deterioration, and that's no lie.

I figure it is taking me twice as long to type, since I always have to back track to add missing letters and to make other corrections. Add in a factor for time spent searching for a forgotten word or name and I am hopelessly slowed down. When I was still working, I would type one or two sentences of a petition or final judgment, stop to correct them, then put my head down on the desk because I was totally lacking energy and mental clarity. If I think back to my working days (no easy task as much of that is a mental blur) I remember my arms feeling too heavy to stay in position on the keyboard, and everything slumping down off the keyboard and onto my lap.

It may seem silly, and even petty, to bitch about my difficulties with crafts and hobbies, but those  activities are critical to my well-being, physically and mentally. Pre-fibromyalgia I had very good fine-motor coordination; now knitting and bead jewelry are literally slipping out of my grasp.

For those reasons, I was gratified to actually finish two of the six bracelets I had planned for, and it only took me 3 weeks. That's called sarcasm. But I am rather pleased with how they look and I hope the recipients like them as well.

Despite feeling rather grim, last week was a really fine one for me.  Getting to watch Emeril cook and kibbitz on the stage in front of me was a thrill. I learned so much from him over the years, about cooking and food in general. His show was so good, and watching him do his shtick in person reminded all of us that the present evening line-up on Food Network just ain't what it used to be. Not even close.

I am also the proud owner of one autographed cookbook. The book signing was an uber-speedy, well-choreographed blur, but there was still time to exchange pleasantries as I watched him write my name and his name on the same page. Yeah, I'm a fangirl.

Bam!

Saving All My Spoons For You, Emeril

With my plan to head over to Walmart still inchoate, last night I made the earth shattering decision to take today off. First of all, there is no immediate need for more plastic.  More importantly, we have a special evening planned, and it is going to run late, and I want to be able to enjoy every minute. Rather than leave the house and risk incurring exhaustion and enhanced pain, I got smart for a change and boldly gathered all of my daily spoons for the single purpose of heading to downtown Orlando to see Emeril Lagasse. This might not mean much to you, but he is at the very top of my list of favorite celebrity chefs and always has been at the top, since the early days of Food Network and "Emeril Live!" five nights a week. I really miss giving it up for Doc Gibbs and laughing at Emeril's silly jokes, and drooling over the food he prepared.

Publix, who created this series of three chef performances, sent an email the other day, reminding the ticket holders` to come early to taste their food samples. During which I should have the time to purchase Emeril's newest cookbook (which I would have bought anyway) so he can sign it after his presentation. The signing part won't start until about 45 minutes after his presentation ends, and then there's the waiting with several hundred other fans which makes this a very late night indeed. Since I'm normally tired enough to go to bed at 8:30, I had to plan carefully. Look, I know it's not a Barry Manilow concert, but this is going to be another special memory and I don't want the #@%&!! fibromyalgia ruining it for me.

So that means no walking up and down the stairs except as absolutely necessary, no cooking, no long walk in the Vitamin D-drenched sunshine, no gardening (haven't been able to do that for months), no driving, no shopping, no working on Project Zero. No nuthin'.

I'm stoked.

The Absolutely Incredible Emeril

The New York primary on April 19th drove me nuts. I've developed a pretty healthy dislike of Bernie Sanders and consider him an embarrassment to the Jewish people. Worldwide anti semitism is at an alarming high and he is complaining about Israel. Anti Zionism is anti semitism, Bern. If the day ever comes that we Jews are persecuted to the extent that we have to leave our home countries, I hope the Israeli government tells you to stay in white bread Vermont.

The entire primary and election systems need to be burned down and rebuilt from scratch. The differences from state-to-state border on the absurd. Their only purpose seems to be the perpetuation of he two major parties, and that's a serious issue. Major reforms are needed, starting with lifetime term limits for all members of Congress. Hey, I would have loved a job where I could vote myself a raise!

Get them the hell out of there. Twelve years is more than enough time to rip off the American people, an even better deal than the President's eight years. Forty or more years in Congress is an abomination - think about it, and try not to punch your fist through a wall.

Finally, I received a Notice of Hearing on the pending appeal of my disability claim. Now I have something else to obsess over. That cruise can't come soon enough.

Drugs, No Hugs (because hugs hurt) - Tin Roof Cottage Pie

Tuesday - I hate fibromyalgia because, among other things, it overrides the medication I take for depression.  At least that's what I think is happening. I took Cymbalta for years with pretty good results, but when I look back I realize the efficacy began to decline as the fibro symptoms increased, resulting in some very deep, dark depression. My psychiatrist, who I am seriously thinking about replacing for various reasons, took me on a wild ride of pharmacopeia intended to replace the Cymbalta. She was determined to get me away from an SNRI (serotonin norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor) - not sure why - and I became a test subject for all sorts of crap, including that oldie-but-goodie Lithium, and when it was all over the only "experiment" that worked was the relatively new drug Fetzima. Which is, you guessed it, an updated SNRI, just like the Effexor I took for a number of years until the side effects became unbearable, and which the good doctor replaced with Cymbalta.  I didn't have any side effects from Cymbalta, and it probably just needed to have the dosage increased, and did I mention it serendipitously gave me a small amount of relief, but relief nonetheless, from the fibromyalgia pain? (Fetzima isn't approved for treatment of fibromyalgia, nor have I noticed any serendipitous relief.) Apparently SNRIs are most helpful in treating my depression, provided the dosage and side effects are monitored. I can only imagine she'd had a spat with the sales rep who handled Cymbalta, because why else take me off that medication without even trying to adjust the dosage when I was nowhere near the maximum?  

To conclude this dreadful rant, I woke up today yet again in a funk and not a good Uptown Funk kind of funk. I am always depressed these days despite daily medication and weekly talk therapy. Not the horrible, landed-me-in-the-hospital depression from last year, but bad enough. Fibro fog has been brutal, what with forgetting simple words ("recess" is just one of many examples) and names (Samuel L. Jackson and several people I worked with fairly recently). I have to stop what I am saying and ask for help from the person I happen to be speaking to. I lose track of the thread of a conversation and have to ask what we were talking about. Can't do simple math without writing it down or hauling out a calculator. And then there's the anxiety - will I even be able to get out of bed today? Will I get any of my chores done (incidentally, I had lost the word "chores" for weeks, which is why I referred to them as "tasks" in recent blog posts). Can I take a shower and dry my hair without having to take an inconvenient nap immediately afterward?

In other news, the Magic did not make it to the play-offs which means, at least for them, basketball season is over. Placing blame is part of the game, and I place the blame squarely on the heads of the overpaid morons who whipped up the latest series of trades. Congratulations, you are all right up there with Otis Smith for making the Most Destructive Magic Trades this century. Asshats, all of you.

As you know, I did a little cooking. Very little. And now I typed up the recipe for you; it only took me three days. But you're worth it.

Tin Roof Cottage Pie

There are endless variations of this humble dish and its venerable first cousin, Shepherd's Pie.  It resembles a pie as much as does my mother's sweet potato pie - which is to say, not at all. There is no bottom crust and unlike a potpie which does have a top crust, shepherd and cottage pies have none. Instead they are topped with a nice layer of mashed potatoes. Meat and mash, what could be better?

This version was inspired by my extended possession of mushrooms and onions. They were threatening to go limp, like Dom DeLuise's lizard in "Robin Hood - Men in Tights".  You know how I adore Mel Brooks, and how I hate to waste food, so instead of confining this pie to the maximum 3 layers - meat, mash, and green peas (and sometimes corn) I threw in a fourth because anything worth doing is worth overdoing.

It took me 5 freaking days to complete this simple dish. (And 3 additional days to type it up.) That's me - I have fibromyalgia and have to stop frequently to take an Advil, or a nap, or a day off.  For most people, excluding the overnight slow cooking of the mushrooms and onions, you are looking at 2 to 2 1/2 hours, including the final baking time.

As I previously stated, there are 4 layers to my version, and they all ready work well together. Like the United States and no other country in the world. (Maybe Britain - Mexico is furious with us, and even Canada is a bit miffed after the Keystone pipeline debacle. And let's not even mention Israel.)

And now, the pie:        

Mushroom and Onion Layer 

1 pound white mushroom, sliced thickly
2 large cloves garlic, sliced
2 large onions, halved and sliced thickly
1 stick butter, cut into smaller pieces
Kosher salt, ground black pepper, granulated garlic, granulated onion,
 Emeril's Original Essence, dried thyme leaves - all to taste
1 1/2 tablespoon Worestershire sauce

Combine all of the ingredients in the order given in a 4-5 quart crockpot. Cook on low for 8 hours; stir and cook for another 2 hours. Set aside to cool.

Corn and Peas Layer

1-11 oz. can niblet corn, drained
Equal amount of frozen green peas, thawed under warm water
1-14.75 oz. can creamed corn
To taste: Kosher salt, ground black pepper, pinch of sugar, cayenne pepper, dried thyme
1 tablespoon butter

Combine everything except the butter in a small saucepan, and over medium heat bring to a steady bubble. Add the butter and stir until it is melted and incorporated. Set aside to cool.

The Meat Layer

2 pounds ground beef
1 large onion, chopped
2 carrots, chopped
2 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons tomato paste
1-10 1/2 oz. can Campbell's chicken broth
1/2 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
To taste: Italian seasoning, garlic pepper, kosher salt

Cook the beef, onions, and carrots together in a large skillet until the meat is browned and te vegetables are tender. This will take a little while; the carrots need time. Sprinkle on the flour and cook, stirring for a minute. Add the tomato paste, stir to combine, and cook for 2 minutes. Stir in the chicken broth and seasoning; hold back on the salt until you have a chance to taste. Both the chicken broth and the garlic pepper have salt in them, so taste first, then adjust the salt. Simmer until the natural juices are mostly reduced. Drain off any excess grease, and set aside to cool.

Potato and Rutabaga Topping

1 pound rutabaga, peeled and cubed
1 pound gold potatoes, peeled
1/2 tablespoon sugar
Grated cotija or Parmesan cheese
To taste: kosher salt, ground black pepper
1/2 stick butter
1-2 tablespoons heavy cream
Dried chives
1 extra large egg, lightly beaten

Boil the rutabaga with some sugar in the water for 10 minutes. Drain and keep warm.  Set the potatoes to boil in salted water; once the water boils, add the rutabaga and boil together for 30 minutes until the rutabaga is soft enough to mash. Drain, return to the pot and mash using an electric hand mixer. Add the butter and mash with the potatoes and rutabaga until melted. Add the cheese, heavy cream and chives and mix them in. When cool enough, mix in the egg, using the hand mixer.

Construct the pie:

I happened to use 4 aluminum loaf pans, but you can use any baking dish that suits your fancy. Spray the inside lightly with some no-stick stuff and make the layers, pressing each layer down lightly:

1/2 of the meat mixture
All of the mushrooms and onions
Remaining half of the meat mixture
All of the corn and green peas

Top the entire dish with the mash, making sure it is covered to the edges. Since I intended this to be rustic,  I did not use a piping bag or tip. Instead I used the tines of a dinner fork to form some swirly track. Nothing too complex. Finally I sprinkled the top with more of the grated cheese, and baked in a 375 degree preheated oven for 45 minutes, until the interior is headed through and the top is browned to your liking. Let it cool slightly before serving.                      

Very tasty. And filling; add a salad and bread and dinner is abundantly ready. And pretty. Yes indeed, it's a culinary trifecta.

Stick a Fork in the Taxman, He's Done - New-Fangled Old Fashioned Chicken

The Interregnum of the Profits is coming to an end ...

Today is the official end of Tax Season, and as the spouse of an accountant I am deeply and completely relieved. Tax Season annually represents the yin and yang of a public accountant's career - the craziness of the hours and the insane number-crunching, versus the financial recompense. Fortunately we have gotten into the habit of a pre-tax season cruise and a post-tax season cruise, and with our Alaska excursion sadly on indefinite hold, I have booked a traditional post-season fling on Carnival for a little later in the month. Yeehaw! By the way, does anyone know why the Federal Government, in its infinite wisdom (now there's an oxymoron) extended Tax Day to April 18th?

Having said all that, today is going to be a rough one for the folks at Taxman, going down to the wire with appointments throughout the day, including one brave soul/crazed procrastinator coming in at 9 PM. Well, there's always one.

As for me, I woke up at a reasonable hour with my usual aches and pains, plus an unreasonable dose of panic attack. No flippin' idea why. During the week I've been chipping away at the new phase of Project Zero, organizing, packing small items into plastic shoeboxes and tucking them into the few remaining open spots in my closet, which has turned out to be bigger on the inside. Unlike the TARDIS, that space is not infinite. Neither is my energy; lately I've been going through spoons like a sailor on shore leave. Perhaps that is the source of the panic. Who knows? Not me - I'm not a doctor nor do I play one on TV.

I have spent the day nibbling away at a few tasks and grumbling about the pain. Grumbling, whining, trying not to spill a few tears; it is that bad. The medication is having no damn effect; even my collar bones hurt. I had figured on a trip to Walmart for more plastic drawers, and a shower, but there was no way I could swing either one. Ain't got no spoons for that, kids.

Old Fashioned Chicken

Tucked neatly into a plastic page protector and stored in its logical location in my personal Poultry ring binder was this recipe for Old Fashioned Chicken. Scribbled in pink ink on a page that was clearly meant for other purposes, it brought me back to a time when young married women exchanged favorite recipes, before the Internet, before Food Network, before the Dark Times when young people with absurdly muscular thumbs lived on fast food - fast, but unhealthy.

The numbers in the right hand corner are the babysitter's hours, and the name in the left hand corner (the phone numbers are blocked off) belong to the young man who eventually bought our house in Ronkonkoma. The Fudge Square recipe was from one of my friends; I've yet to try it.

The year is 1991, I'm getting ready to take the Florida bar exam, and George H.W. Bush is the President. Ha, who needs a TARDIS when you have a recipe?

This is easy, and although I moved slowly, I finished it in one day. My family actually had it for dinner the same day I cooked it. I changed the original recipe slightly (does that make it new-fangled?), and it was a big success on the Homefront.

To make things easier, take the Brussel sprouts and little corn cobs out of the freezer and put in the refrigerator the day before you intend to prepare this dish.

Ingredients:

8 chicken thighs, bone and skin intact

Garlic pepper
Lemon pepper
Cayenne pepper
Dried herbes d' Provence
Kosher salt
Sugar

2 onions, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons garlic olive oil
6 tablespoons flour
1-32 oz. carton unsalted chicken stock
1 Knorr chicken bouillon cube
1/4 cup semi sweet white wine

3 gold potatoes, cut into 8 wedges and then cut in half crosswise
3 small white turnips,  peeled, cut into 8 wedges
1-12 oz. bag baby carrots (avoid thicker ones)
1-10 oz. box or bag frozen Brussel sprouts, thawed
8 miniature frozen corn on the cob (Pictsweet calls them "short"), thawed

Season the chicken with the different spices and herbs. Go easy on the salt. Let the chicken sit while you cut and chop the vegetables to give the seasoning time to be absorbed.

In a large, deep skillet over medium high heat, brown the chicken in the butter and oil. Do this in two batches, and if you have one of those splatter screens, this would be a good time to use it. Place the browned chicken in two regular or one ginormous baking dish.  Place the carrots, potatoes, and turnips around the chicken. Sprinkle the vegetables with a small amount of salt and black pepper. (Use a little Hungarian paprika if you are so inclined.)

In the same pan you browned the chicken, cook the onions until they are browned around the edges. Stir in the flour and cook for a minute. Add the chicken stock and stir until the flour is well-combined.  Bring to a boil while stirring, adding the bouillon cube, and cook a few more minutes until the sauce has thickened and reduced slightly. Stir in the wine, then taste the sauce and adjust the seasoning.  Shut off the stove but leave the skillet on the burner.

Ladle about 2/3rds of the sauce over the chicken and vegetables; cover with aluminum foil and bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 50 minutes. Add the Brussel sprouts and corn on the cob to the skillet, rolling them around in the sauce (remember, the heat is off.)

At the end of 50 minutes spoon the Brussel sprouts, corn, and all the remaining sauce over the dish. Cover again and return to the oven for another 40 to 50 minutes until the chicken is cooked through and the vegetables are all tender, but not mushy. This will serve 4 to 8 people.