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.