I Feel Pretty

I'd like to think that I don't have a mean bone in my body, but I know that's not true. I believe in karma, retribution, and vengeance. Vengeance is mine, saith The Lord.  I'm good with that, especially if I get to watch, although there have been a few times in my life when I've gently pushed things along. If you are recoiling at this point, please remember that I am a Jewish lady from New York, and turning the other cheek is not in my makeup.

I'm not going to recount the instances of my meanness, except to say I will never shed a tear for Germany, nor for a certain judge whose antics have gotten her banished to The Bench From Hell in another county, far away from here. That I got to watch the evidence of what I surmised was the frantic burning of the midnight oil to finish writing and reviewing all those orders, and to pack up and get out of Dodge, was sheer lagniappe.  I can't be positively certain, but there was one set of judicial chambers, clearly visible from the second floor of my house, from which the lights have been glowing well past the hour when other, more normal judges, have released their staff and gone home. I knew from personal experience that one courtroom was humming along at obscene hours into the deep, dark evening. At least for my courtroom peeps, the horror ended weeks ago when she was unceremoniously yanked off her bench and put on medical leave. She still, however, had the responsibility of finishing those orders, bogged down as they had been with her unreasonable expectations and requirements.  During the last two or so weeks, the lights in this particular judicial chamber have been burning like a hot, bright sun well into the night. Until last night, when for the first time in a very long time, all was dark. Black as coal, in fact, the color of emptiness. Which leads me to believe she finished the orders, and the packing. "Out, damned spot."  Get in your car, head north and don't look back.

I like quoting Shakespeare. Not necessarily about killing all the lawyers, but about ladies protesting too much, the stuff that dreams are made of (earworm alert), the winter of our discontent (northern peeps just need to look out of their windows), catching the conscience of the King (c'mon all you Star Trek junkies, you know what I'm talking about), and how all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.

Speaking of sweetening, I have no recipes to share with you today, very sorry.  I finally made an appointment at Decent Nails for a nail fill and a pedicure. I feel pretty, oh so pretty, that the city should give me a key, a committee should be organized to honor me. I made an appointment for Monday at Quest Labs for those tests the rheumotologist ordered. I feel like I accomplished a great deal today, but none of it was cooking. I researched reflexology. I started to pull together a list of recipes to cook in the next few days, which will let me prepare a shopping list. Like I said, I made real progress. I ran into our friend Jay on his way into Rob's office, and he asked if I was done working, and then asked what I was doing with my free time. "I have fibromyalgia," I told him, "I sleep a lot." Jay is on the Osceola County School Board, in addition to another full time job, coaching, Boys and Girls Club, very involved dad of two, and one of the hardest working guys I know. Sleeping a lot and having free time are not in his wheelhouse, but bless his heart he never said a word about my getting out more or exercise or any of that other stuff I can't do anymore.

The Magic lost, AGAIN, this time to the Boston Celtics, making their total losses 8 IN A ROW!! Just kill me now and get it over with.

The recipes I'm thinking about include arancini (Italian rice balls), Ina Garten's cream of wild mushroom soup, Spanish Pork Chops from Rachael Ray, my Burgundy Beef Stew, and Chicken with Mussels and Clams. The pork chops and beef stew are repeats; the rest are new. Stay tuned.