Stuff 'em if ya got 'em bell peppers

So now we pick up where we left off, with a toe in need of grafting.

It's called a Kitchener stitch, and when it is done, the toe of the sock will be closed without a hint of a seam. Think of it as weaving. I can never remember how to do it without first looking for the instructions online, and once I finish Kitchenering or whatever the proper verb is, I spend at least 15 minutes just admiring this little fiber-based miracle.

After that, I get to pick out one from my "many" ziplock bags of unfinished socks. You may wonder why I would start work on multiple socks at the same time, only to stop and start a new shawl or scarf, but all I can tell you is that it's a knitting thing. I suspect other crafts like quilting (and I know from personal experience needlepoint and crochet) attract the same sort of people. The joy of starting a new project outweighs any other point in the process. Some people, like my mother-in-law, have the strength of character to finish each and every project before casting on a new one, but when it comes to strength of character, I am sorely lacking.

Yesterday was Bethe's yahrzeit, marking 3 years since we lost her. I was so focused on Cory's birthday dinner that I did not feel the date as I usually do. And yet, she came to me at a low point during the afternoon. And I miss her. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Our dinner at Morimoto's Asia was such fun. We finally got to try the Peking duck and their pork bao and a calamari salad that was unexpectedly fantastic. The boys tasted a "flight" of 4 different sakes (sake is most definitely not my drink) and we talked and admired the beautiful rooms.

Today is a day well-suited to making stuffed peppers as requested by my husband. Jewish stuffed peppers, not southern (given a choice he always chooses the Jewish version) which also happens to be one of the very first "real" recipes I learned to cook while back in college (and that, my little chickadees, is a very long time ago). The sausage and peppers I threw into the crockpot a few days ago is a big bleh, because the sausage itself was annoyingly bland. I won't be buying that again, and I know I won't be eating it (I'm kind of weird that way). I was going to make meatballs with the ground beef, but I couldn't get excited about them, and it turns out Rob already thought I was going to make stuffed peppers when he saw me buy the bag of bell peppers and the ground beef. Listen, I'm no rocket scientist, but I can work stuff like this out, and I will eat a stuffed pepper or two along the way.

I made these with 2 pounds of ground beef and however many peppers I happened to have in the produce drawer. You can see some of the peppers are rather small. Interspersed with a bunch of normals, so prepare to be flexible when it comes to number.

This is the kind of recipe you commit to memory, like eggplant parmigiana or beef brisket, something that's been in your family for so long it is as familiar as Flatbush. Meatloaf. Basically, there is 1/2 cup of rice cooked in 1 cup of boiling water for about 8 minutes, then drained and set aside.

In a couple of tablespoons of olive oil I sautéed a sliced leek, a shredded carrot, and 2 chopped garlic cloves. If you wanted to grate a small onion and leave it raw (instead of the leek) fine. Leave out the carrot. Add some fresh thyme leaves. You get the idea. 

Combine the ground beef with the cooled leek-and-carrots, the cooked rice, 2 eggs, some ketchup or chili sauce (Heinz, not Asian style) and season with salt, pepper, granulated garlic, whatever. Stuff the peppers with the filling and set aside while you make the sauce. You can leave the peppers whole or cut them in half before stuffing, the only thing that might change is how long you cook them. The sauce is 2 cans of stewed tomatoes, 4 tablespoons brown sugar, and 6 tablespoons lemon juice. Break up the tomatoes and heat it up or not. Pour it over and around the stuffed peppers, cover and bake at 350 degrees for 60 to 90 minutes.  

Enjoy. You will, I know.

And then there were five ... needles

Let's see if I can list them: Donald Trump, Marco Rubio, Ted Cruz, Dr. Ben Carson, John Kasich. Jeb Bush dropped out after the South Carolina primary. Things are getting serious in the Republican Party. Here at home, too - I want to take a shower and wash and dry my hair, and I am afraid to start. The part about drying my hair is the worst, as I have trouble holding my arms up long enough to do the job. Up until now it's been a pleasant day, sunny outside, almost relaxing despite Rob and I still coughing our heads off, but that whole wash-and-blow-dry thing has me shaking.

Today I'm in one of my "fight or die trying" moods, when I manage to trick myself into believing I can beat this thing if I just try hard enough, spoonie be damned. So I did my best, stood my ground, fought down the urge to chuck the whole mess out the window, and voila!   Front okay, back not so great. So I bought me a do-over with a little more styling mousse, and now I can leave the house without pulling a big, floppy hat down around my ears.

Sunday score: Cindy-1, Fibromyalgia-0. If only it was always this easy.

I've always thought that the most creative people in the world are the ones who wear crazy socks. It takes nerve to wear crazy socks under your wing tips, and let's face it, you'll never get a promotion, but crazy socks are cool, like bow ties and fezzes. I always wore pantyhose to work (and I'm proud to say it's been 356 days since I last pulled on a pair of those cheap nylon sausage casings) but outside in the real world, it was all about the socks.  For years I bought my socks at Target, especially the ones with puppies and kittens in all over patterns. Flowers, birds, bunnies, holiday themes, bright colors all tucked into my Nikes, mostly hidden from view by the length of my pant legs. My own little secret, not quite as titilating as a black lace thong but just a little bit bad. (Was I ever going to grow up? Hell, no. Especially if growing up means wearing a scrap of black lace held up by a piece of unwaxed dental floss creeping up my nether region, I say the hell with it. Cotton lollipops are good enough for me.)

But about 15 years ago I decided to tackle the Greatest Knitting Project of all - the humble sock - and I got hooked.  Never mind the first pair being a disaster, or that the only human with feet big enough to wear them was my man Shaquille. I kept trying, working on my stitch gauge and committing myself to giving up my favorite size 7 bamboo straight needles and knitting with a set of 5 long, double-pointed toothpicks.

Knitting socks is like getting a tattoo - just one time and you are hooked. One day you're having a delicate little butterfly tattooed on your wrist, and the next you're wearing more ink than than the workers at a Faber Castell ink cartridge factory. Once you've worn hand knit socks (and you've accepted the fact that you are limited to wearing clogs a size larger than normal for the rest of your life) you can never go back to store-bought. Never. And you will never need to because hand knit socks last practically forever. Nothing will ever feel as right for your feet. Nothing else will ever look as nice or will hug your cold and tired tootsies with such gentle loving care.

I don't know how many pairs of hand knit socks I own, but I have one or two that are beginning to show wear, and another pair that should not have been machine washed, no matter what the yarn label said. Since I am wearing socks more frequently during Tai Chi, I simply need more socks. I really want more socks. So as soon as I finish grafting the toe of these purple beauties, I am off and running  (limping, whatever) to finish another pair.

I know I said I don't have the count on my stash of knitted socks, but I have at least half that number in unfinished socks, or as we knitters refer to more generally, UFOs. Unfinished objects. I got over
the guilt years ago. Each project is neatly tucked into ziplock  bags, just waiting to be set free. Think of my closet as a sort of Hand Knit Sock Phantom Zone. Not that there are only socks in there ... never mind.

And the winner is ...

Something is wrong. My keyboard and I are out of sync. My touch screen and I are also out of sync. I'm starting to take this personally. It's true that I am still getting adjusted to the iPad Pro and the new keyboard case (no idea of the brand at the moment), but both seem to need the application of a firm hand, which I do not presently possess. My hands shake, flutter, flake, and shoot sparkles from my fingertips, none of which is normal. Also, they are so icy cold that I cannot get the touch screen to respond.

So that was yesterday, Thursday afternoon, and now it is Friday and things are looking up. I finally made it to Tai Chi class last night, and while I coughed my way through part of it, I managed the rest and felt good. I am getting ready to head over to the office for cookie delivery and lunch date with Terry. Normal!! I feel normal! Had I really been in that much pain for so long?

The only good thing about having such intense pain is that once it finally breaks, the relief is positively giddy-making. I had such a wonderful visit at the office and lunch with Terry. I have plans for the future, including maybe the annual chili contest later today, my first cat show next weekend, and an engagement party in March.  Life is measured in tiny steps now; the good one are too rare and precious to ignore.

Friday was also Cory's birthday, although we'll do our family celebrating at Morimoto's on Sunday. Which is today. See how that works? Writing has become a bit troublesome for me lately, and I haven't been doing much in the way of cooking either. The blog is kind of limping along (like me).

I did cook on Saturday, but it was hardly my best work. Two crockpots chugging along with whatever I'd thrown into them, recipes I'd made before and neither one a hit to my palate.

I indulged my interest in politics, letting myself get all worked up about the Nevada caucuses, ready to write a scathing message to young liberal women regarding their lack of support for Hillary, but I took a walk down by the lakefront instead, and when I got back, she'd been declared the winner. Good thing too, because I was white hot angry. I'll save it for another time.

Finally, I have finished the foot of the last sock, which I feel like I've been knitting since 1983. Once it's done, I'm going to pick up yet another unfinished project and chip away however slowly. At this rate, I won't have to ever buy any more yarn for knitting. Even if I live another 30 years, which is a real possibility, I'll have enough yarn.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday - Red Beans and Rice

6:30 AM on Day 9 and I am beginning to suspect I am going to live through this, the worst flare I've ever experienced from the fibromyalgia. I still have the remnants of that deep cough, but I think this is its last hurrah. 

7:30 and I'm not so sure. I walked to the bathroom with my cane, I got dressed; I gathered up all of my medications and returned to my bed to set them up in a pill organizer. I could not have stood up at the counter to do this. Even sitting on the bed sapped more energy than I'd wanted to devote, but it's finally done and I'm glad.

I really want to go downstairs for coffee and something to eat, but once I'm down there I won't be coming back up for a long time, so this trip has to be perfect, meaning I have to be able to carry everything I'm going to need for the day, like iPhone, iPad, knitting, pill case, wallet, cane, and one small Yorkie.

So I pushed and I prodded myself and I accomplished more than I expected. I took care of online registration at Princess Cruises. I got into the State of Florida Retirement website and got as far as I could. I prepared red beans and rice and that is the recipe I am going to share with you today, whatever day today is. I've got myself set to call the Princess Travel Lady in California just as soon as Pacific Time has turned into working time, so I can refine our airline and hotel reservations. God willing, I'll make it toTai Chi tonight. (Didn't happen.)

Somewhere I lost Wednesday. I went to the therapist - drove there, first time driving in a week - but I had electric needles in both hands, and flash hallucination of color patterns. One flash of overall  color, then back to normal. Reminds me of a project I did in 12th grade art. But I had these flashes at 4 different times today, different colors, all bright. Shiny, and just a bit scary.

The Princess Travel Lady called back and is trying to initiate my idea, but the airline schedules are not cooperating. The Pope and Donald Trump are having a papal pissing match, very sad. The President is not going to attend Justice Scalia's funeral tomorrow, which borders on treason. Instead, he sent Old Joe and Dr. Jill, who have already had their fair share of funerals this year and deserve a break.

This is a non-meat version of red beans and rice, from chef Robert Irvine at Food Network. I made a few minor changes, but here is Chef Irvine's recipe just as it appears on the Food Network site.

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
4 large cloves garlic, lightly crushed with the side of a knife blade and minced
1 large red onion, diced
1 stalk celery, diced small
1 green bell pepper, stem and seeds removed and small diced
2 (15 oz.) cans Goya small red beans, rinsed in water and well-drained 
1 teaspoon granulated onion 
1 teaspoon granulated garlic1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves, chopped1 tablespoon Crystal hot sauce

1 can Campbell's chicken broth plus 1 soup can water

1 cup long grain white rice
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon sliced green onions (green part only of the thinnest green onions you can find)

Heat olive oil over medium heat in a large saucepan. Sauté the vegetables, starting with the onion; let them cook until softened, then add the celery; after time to soften the celery, add the garlic and bell pepper and cook until all the vegetables are very tender. Stir in the small red beans, granulated onion, granulated garlic salt, pepper, thyme leaves, and hot sauce. Reduce heat to low and let mixture simmer slowly while you cook the rice.

In a medium saucepan, bring the chicken broth and water to a boil and stir in the rice and butter. Return to a boil, reduce heat to low, cover and cook for 20 minutes without removing the lid. Remove from heat and let stand for 5 minutes, covered. Uncover the saucepan and fluff the rice with a table fork. Fold rice and beans gently together and transfer to a serving dish. Serve garnished with the green onions.

Goodbye, Justice Scalia, Hello Political Haranguing

Although I did not agree with his brand of staunch conservatism, I always had a soft spot for Justice Antonin Scalia. I've mentioned previously that my favorite US Supreme Court Justice is The Notorious RBG. I may not have mentioned that my least favorite is Clarence Thomas. Clarence doesn't speak - he hasn't asked a question during oral argument in 20 years. Clarence doesn't think - he always waits until Scalia decides, and then he concurs. Oh, hell, what will Clarence do now?

But I had met Scalia in 1990 and he made a huge impression on an over-aged law student from a tiny Jewish law school out in Long Island's Suffolk County. He was approachable, warm, and humorous.  He was smart, and he was comfortable with his smartness. He was one of the judges at a Moot Court Competition at Brooklyn Law School, and I was part of the team representing Touro Law Center. We won two third-place awards - first time little Touro had done that in a national competition - and Scalia handed us the awards with handshakes all around. Although we would never sing in the same key when it came to legal decisions, that evening in Brooklyn would remain one of the best moments of my life.

The angry posturing by the Legislature and the President regarding who gets to fill the open position on the High Court is disgusting. Really, the Court cannot sit in a limbo of 4-4 decisions for a year, which is what the Republicans want. And the President should not be trying to sneak in a recess appointment; this position is too important to take away the Senate's right to investigate and interrogate the nominee.

And that's my opinion.

In the meantime this is Day Eight of this never-ending illness, with its raw, harsh cough rattling deep in my lungs, and the pain from the heavy pressure against the back of my head and shoulders. I have nothing left to give to fight this. I can't walk or stand and keep my head erect. I keep experiencing muscle spasms. I can't lift my hands easily to use the iPad; I haven't got the strength, and if I try to force the issue, my hands shake and I start hitting random keys. I remain certain that this illness is taking place at the intersection of a really bad cold and a fibromyalgia flare, which is why I haven't bothered to go to the doctor - he doesn't "get" fibromyalgia, and I am too tired to try to educate him.

I am tired of this crap, and I am going to try to accomplish something, several somethings, as a matter of fact, starting with a nice hot shower with lavender body wash. If I live through that, I have a bunch of stuff to take care of, online and on the phone, regarding our cruise to Alaska. (Less than 3 months. I am so excited.) Cooking - I haven't done anything more complicated than butter a corn muffin in well over a week. Time to make the rice and beans.

Hope springs eternal , but I can't get passed the shower. I can't stand up to dry my hair. I can't support the weight of my head or the weight of the blow dryer. There came a time I gave serious thought to going to the rheumatologist, and later on Rob asked me if I wanted to go to the ER, but I slept those suggestions off. Nothing got done today, and there were times I cried from pain and sheer frustration, but I am where I want to be, in my home, in my own bed with my husband and a couple of Yorkies. Maybe tomorrow will be better.