Reliving good days…and some not so good

          If you heard laughter ringing from the rafters tonight, it came from my cottage. Two old friends came for supper—all of us were doctors’ wives in the ‘70s, when our doctors were beginning their careers and dreaming of glory. Nancy’s ex was a pathologist and, I believe a classmate of my ex, Joel, or in the class behind. Joel and I moved to Texas in 1965; Nancy and Tom, in 1971. The third member of our group was Linda, whose husband, Lynn, was a surgeon in nearby Granbury and died way too  young. We shared good times back in the glory days—dinners or parties every weekend, we ladies involved in the women’s groups; our kids growing up together. There’s a bond there that lasts over the years

And we could laugh about the negative times—Joel and I divorced in ’82; Nancy and Tom in ’84. Nancy and I went to dinner frequently until the dinners sort of tapered off. I think we got tired of talking about exes and their faults. Nancy, an administrative surgical nurse, moved around in several jobs and even to Austin once. I forget what year Lynn died but Linda’s uncertainty came out in the form of a bad relationship followed by marriage to a guy she met on the internet. I was horrified but he turned out to be a really good guy I was proud to call my friend. I grieved when he died unexpectedly a couple of years ago or more. So now we all three are widowed, and we can joke about the second-wife syndrome of doctors.

Linda and I had rehooked long ago but it was only in the last year or so that we found Nancy. Tonight was our second reunion of sorts. Linda brought a delicious salad and a skillet of sauerkraut and sausage, with chocolate bread for dessert—it tasted to me like pumpkin bread with chocolate chunks.

Yes, Nancy and I talked some about the faults of our exes but not excessively. I am always reminded of a young friend named Joel who listened to his mom and me talk about the original Joel and his late-in-life peccadillos and, yes, flaws. “If he was so awful, why am I named after him?” he asked. His mom looked at him and said, “Because we all loved him.” Best explanation I’ve heard.

It was good to bring the past alive for a bit tonight and to realize that we’ve all moved on and had full and rewarding lives since those days. We’ll do dinner again soon.

It had been an upsetting day, just because of the tension in all our lives right now, and this evening erased that. I’m going to bed a happy camper tonight.

Staring into Space

I’ve noticed this tendency in myself for the last few months: I tend to stop what I’m doing and stare off into space. It happens any time of day but particularly in the morning. With my leg either in a boot or brace and my other leg compromised by pain, I dawdle over getting my pants and shoes on in the morning. I t has to be done in ritual order—left (sore) leg first, because it hurts to lift it—so that leg goes into underwear, pants or shorts, sock (now that’s really a challenge) and shoe; then the right leg and add to the ritual these days buckling into the brace and fitting it into the shoe. Sometimes it may take me a half an hour to get to that point because I stop to stare into space—and because I put off standing up because it hurts my left hip. Doctor, home health nurse, everyone tells me I have to do it because walking on that hip is the only way to make it better, but damn!

I find myself staring into space at other times during the day too. I’ve always wondered about people who say they meditate—how do they get their mind to fix on one topic and stay there? When I gaze at the far horizon or whatever, I have no conscious thought in my brain, though I often sense that an idea comes into my head and instead of continuing what I’m doing, I follow that idea off into wherever,

I’ve blogged about and most of you are aware of the major changes in my lifestyle I’ve experienced lately—health and mobility, living quarters and cooking accessibility, independence (I’ve had to give up ideas about that). I’ve tried to meditate, but I simply couldn’t or wouldn’t focus on one subject.

It occurs to me however that in those times I drift into space I’m really meditating, working on the issues in my life I need to sort out. Jordan was upset last night that I was upset (I know, bad sentence) over the prospect of limited mobility in the future-tonight she made it a bit worse by saying she doubted I’d ever drive anywhere by myself again. And she may well be right, and it may turn out to be a blessing for which I will forever be grateful for good friends who take me hither and yon, but what Jord didn’t understand in her quest to make everything better, is that I need to work all that out in my mind and it isn’t going to happen overnight.

So if you see me staring off into space just think that maybe I’m driving my VW on a scenic backroad, top down, my dog Sophie at my side.

It’s all going to work. It just takes time.

29.00

Oops. There goes my lifestyle, changed again—for what? The fourth time within a year? There was the broken ankle/leg with non-weight-bearing which finally morphed into weight-bearing in that black boot; then there was the whole huge change of moving out of the house and into the cottage—which I absolutely adore.

Today I saw the orthopedic surgeon, proudly showing off my new, lightweight brace. He approved, showed me where and how it is supporting the ankle. Of course I had questions? May I go to the bathroom barefoot in the night? Yes. You have no idea what a relief that is. Struggling into either the boot or the brace is a pain in the middle of the night when all you want is to answer nature and then go right back to sleep. Besides, sometimes there’s a certain urgency to my night trips.

Next question: may I drive? Yes, if I practice in an empty parking lot and find that I can stop in time and control the car. My right foot is, he told me, a clumsy foot. But unless I make a miraculous mobility recovery, the car presents problems. It’s a VW Bug convertible, and the walker won’t fit. I love my car. I’ve had it eleven years. It’s my sporty car to keep from being a stodgy grandmother. I don’t want to sell it (probably $500) and buy a new car. Dilemma, but at least I don’t have to solve it today.

Then the kicker question: how long do I have to wear the brace? As long as I’m walking. “The rest of my life?” I queried, and I’m sure my voice went of the chart for squeakiness. He, a taciturn man, nodded and said yes. I’m still processing that in my mind. First of all, there go all my cute shoes, and I am sentenced to wearing orthopedic shoes with ankle socks. Second of all, it isn’t at all like running carefree through the grass. I will always be awkward, which I guess is better than not being able to walk. I’ve actually wondered how much that was a sentence to the walker, whether sitting in it or walking.

We will be getting an electric wheelchair, but I thought of it as something in the far-off future. I don’t want to put myself in a wheelchair now, because of that old adage, “Use it or lose it.” Spend 24 hours without walking and there’s a strong possibility that you’ll never walk again.

The physical therapist should be here in a day or two, and I’ll run some of these questions by him. I know however that I have to get serious about exercising and recovering the strength I’ve lost.

Another piece of good news in all this is that the doctor says the brace should help alleviate the terrible ache and pain in my left hip, though, as he emphasized, it takes time. But if that pain lessens, I’ll be more willing to walk and do exercises. Right now, it hurts. And yet, I guess I have to walk to heal the hip. Seems to me I’m caught in several circular dilemmas.

Who thought, the night last spring that I fell, that I was triggering all these changes in my life?

Bad Day at Black Rock

We all have bad days but today was surely one that I’m glad to put behind me. I’m often slow to get dressed in the mornings—it takes time to move my feet around and into pants and shoes, and I have to put on my brace. Today I lingered in bed until it suddenly dawned on me that I needed to use the potty—yes, I had one of my sudden GI attacks. By the time I got over that and redressed, I had spent an hour—and was pretty demoralized.

I went to work at my computer with a certain determination. I’d had a couple of spells of drifting off and then catching myself at my computer, and I surely didn’t want that to happen again. I think it’s the only bad thing that didn’t happen today.

AT&T sent me a friendly reminder that my bill was overdue for the cell phone. Checked the bank records and I made two payments in September. Result was that I spent about an hour and a half on a conference call with the bank and AT&T. The representatives of both were cheerful and helpful but it takes time to dig through records and find the solution. I am incredibly indebted to the two women I talked to, but I was so frustrated spending all that time on hold when I could have been doing something—anything—else.  We have it straightened out, I think.

Jordan came in just as I finished the call and sympathized, which was a help. I doctored the tuna from yesterday and in futzing about the kitchen managed to flip the tuna fork onto the floor, spattering tiny bits of tuna all over the kitchen area. Let Sophie in—it took her a few minutes, but when she discovered the tuna, she cleaned it up for me. I had a box of wine (shh! Don’t judge) on the counter and when Jordan came back in she discovered I hadn/t turned the spigot all way off and it was sending a steady stream of chardonnay to the wonderful wood floor in the kitchen area. On hands and knees, she wiped it up—and left me feeling apologetic and guilty. Nothing I did went right today.

Subie called and came by for a quick visit—during which time I had another GI accident. Fortunately, she’s an understanding friend, and it didn’t bother her at all. After she left, I settled down to edit the blog draft I’d written last night—not for my blog. Napped about three and slept till shortly after five.

No more major or minor upsets but I figure I’d had enough for the day—including spooning my dinner soup all over my pants. Neighbors came over to see my digs and then I got back to work. I’m ready to put this day to bed.

I did it! I cooked a meal!

Okay, Jordan helped—plus she did most of the dishes. But I really did cook our main—and only—dish. It was a pork and white bean chili recipe that I found in prowling through recipes. It was relatively easy with few ingredients—ground pork, cannellini beans, chicken broth, cumin, salt, green chilies (a poblano chile was optional and we optioned to omit it). On serving, you sprinkled it with shredded Monterrey Jack and lime juice. I bypassed the cheese, but the lime juice makes an enormous difference. We definitely decided the recipe is a keeper, and I did most of the cooking—Jordan did the stirring, adding broth and beans as needed.

For me, a big part of the satisfaction I got was in standing up to cook—and I did. I’m intimidated by weaning myself from my walker, and I am often hesitant to walk because my legs and low back ache—a result, I’m sure, of changes in my structure from wearing the walking boot. I think it’s getting better but it’s slow. So I’m proud of what I did tonight. I try to stand and walk as much as I can, but I realize it’s not enough.

A good day. I had a guest blog on my mind for 24 hours—I knew how it was going to work out, and I thought it would be one of those times when writing is sheer joy. When the words flow, and it just pours out. Not at all how it worked out—each word came like pulling teeth. And it was a subject I am really interested in—the history of the Ferris wheel—an astounding story. The original and only genuine Ferris wheel could carry 38,000 passengers a day. I know enough about writing to know that simply having gotten the draft done I accomplished a lot. The easy part will be tomorrow going back to polish.

So tomorrow I go back to it again—polishing, choosing what I’m writing, studying what to write next. I do it because writing is what I choose to do with my life, and it’s a great life.

The debate? Yes, I’ve got it on. I find Trump subdued tonight, but he goes for the old debate trick: when accused, turn the accusation to your opponent.

More cooking in the cottage

My kitchen

This is going to turn into a cooking blog if I don’t watch out. Maybe that’s not all bad. Tonight’s dinner was experimental and obviously needs work. But yesterday I asked Amy to buy scallops at Central Market—they came in a bag with ice, and she asked me what to do with it. “Just throw it in the sink? I said, intending to come right back, drain the ice (they tell you not to refrigerate with ice), and put in refrigerator for tonight’s dinner. Six hours later I found the scallops still in the sink, the ice now all melted.

At first I thought I’d go ahead and cook them. I remembered the tables upon tables of raw seafood in the fishermen’s huts at Seaview, sitting out with no refrigeration. But given my stomach problems I decided that wasn’t smart and reluctantly threw them away. Double tragedy because scallops aren’t cheap and I was really looking forward to them, and because it left me with nothing for dinner. I had found a recipe for baked eggs on spinach and decided to try it, though I have no way to bake.

Taste was good, flavors blended well, but I need to work on my cooking technique.

The induction burner cooks hot and quickly, and while I was waiting for the top of my eggs to solidify, the bottom was turning into hard-cooked egg—not the way I pref3er. The recipe called for a toasted English muffin (I tried to saute several baguette slices and burned them), bacon (frozen, so I left it out), and an egg—I used two for good measure. Obviously my limited cooking facilities and ingredients made a huge difference, but I think the recipe has potential.

I need the toaster oven out here but have avoided it for lack of counter space. The Burtons have my wonderful, handmade wooden butcher block in storage, and we’ll measure to see if it will fit in the kitchen area.

This was the kind of day that renews my faith in myself—I got a lot done. Finished reading a book for the Sarton competition and turned in the evaluation (hate that part of it) and did the internet search on the Ferris wheel. I know a lot about it and about Ferris himself from The Gilded Cage but needed to get facts and dates back in mind. I’ll do a guest blog on the wheel later in the month if you want to watch for it. But the whole story, with its impossible outrageousness, intrigues me. One of what I judge the better scenes in The Gilded Cage occurs on the original Ferris wheel.

So now I’m going to treat myself to a cozy mystery.

Stormy days

My dinner tonight

Lovely early this morning to be wakened by crashing thunder and heavy rain, the kind of noise that makes you want to snuggle down in the covers and stay there all day. It was not so lovely when a wet dog jumped in the middle of my bed and refused to be budged to give me any space. Sophie, once brave and undaunted, is now terrified of thunder. Jordan had let her out at seven and put her right back in. Hence my wet visitor.

Spent the day spinning my wheels, taking one step forward and two backward. Tried to uipload a book to several digital platforms, on review found a typo, went back to correct it, and now I can’t get the text to upload. And similar frustrations/

Planned to finish reading the book I’m almost through with tonight, but I had young people here until 9:30—finishing that book goes on tomorrow’s agenda. I wouldn’t trade the company for work time. I’ll have plenty of that over the weekend.

Big achievement today was cooking a good, balanced dinner from scratch. I planned for it to be the first meal I cooked all alone but Jordan and Chandry came out here and nothing would do that Jordan took over the cooking, laughing about how much fun it was. We fried a potato in olive oil, then quickly cooked four cut-up stalks of asparagus and seared a ground sirloin slider. Good, and I ate most of it, but I have to learn to cut the amount of olive oil. Good grease but still grease, and I felt the dinner was heavy because of all that oil.

The young people are all getting old—it’s 9:30 and they’ve gone. And I’m getting older—woke with a touch of a rainy day headache, and it’s back tonight. Time to take myself to bed. Hoping for another storm tonight.

Sweet dreams, everyone.

What’s for supper?

I woke with one of those three-o’clock in the morning panics this morning. It dawned on my what I’d be giving up in going lactose restricted. When I announced that, Jordan immediately collected the cottage cheese, yogurt, and Sargento cheese slices from my fridge. But I eat much more dairy than that-milk with cereal, mayo on sandwiches and with all kind of salads—egg, chicken, tuna, ham. What was I going to feed myself?

Lunch today was easy. Friends Jeannie and Betty brought me meatloaf, green beans, and roasted apple slices. Turned out dinner was equally easy—I had the same thing all over again. And a friend visited for happy hour and convinced me of what I suspected—mayonnaise does not have dairy. It is creamy because when you mix the olive oil and lemon together, it emulsifies. And Jordan and I both found lactose-free mayo recipes, so I’m home free on that count. I can have tuna salad and tough it out without the cottage cheese.

Still I decided if I’m going to do this—and do it right—I need to plan ahead. So I had a delightful morning sorting recipes—something that was on my to-do list and that I love to do anyway. I came up with recipe ideas--like a baked egg on a bed of spinach. Oops? I don’t have an oven. How am I going to bake it?  I think I can figure a way. And a frittata with asparagus, green beans, and scallions—I’ve never made a frittata in my life, but how hard can it be? Once again I’ll have to figure out a way to cook the top without overcooking the bottom. This cooking without a stove or oven is going to be a challenge. I have a good toaster-oven in the main house that would do all these things but really don’t have counter space for it.

Scrambled eggs (with water and a tad of olive oil) will be good. I can get almond milk for my morning cereal. This is going to make me think more about the creativity of cooking. Other things I found that will make cooking this week fun: tortilla, green chili and lime soup—with chicken of course; that baked egg, which sounds better all the time. A white bean and pork chili. I think in my reliance on tuna and cottage cheese I’ve been missing a whole world of good food, and I’m ready to discover it.

And who knows? We may discover lactose isn’t my enemy and move on, searching for another cause for my gastric distress. Meantime I don’t intend to starve.

The Joy of Old Friends

October 5, 2016

….and the trauma of a doctor’s visit. Today I had both those pleasures. I had an afternoon appointment with a gastroenterologist to get to the cause of my ongoing GI problems. Yes, I was nervous about it. The doctor is an old friend who has treated me previously; we have friends in common, and he reminded me that he treated my oldest child and diagnosed his Crohn’s disease. So the appointment should have been a piece of cake, and in many ways it was because I felt at ease to talk with him. But there is no easy solution—he recommended a two-week trial period of lactose restriction, ordered blood work, and told me to come back in three weeks. A step in the right direction.

During his exam, I panicked because I was on a narrow table and was sure I was going to fall off—in fact I thought I was falling. He and the nurse kept assuring me they had me, but I wasn’t convinced. Realized that my fear of falling is strong, and I have to get over it if I’m to be fully mobile again. Kind and gentle as he was, the experience made me feel wrung out and exhausted.

And the no dairy news was not good for me. I used to live on cottage cheese, still eat a lot of it and yogurt and cheese. I had prepared an appetizer array for my guests but realized I couldn’t eat any of it—pimiento cheese, roast salmon with herbed cream cheese, assorted veggies which aren’t yet on my “can’t have” list but the doctor warned against them

I’ve known Bill and Sharon well over forty years, and they came to see my new digs tonight. We had a wonderful visit—lots of laughter. We talked about their kids, my kids, our Chicago trip. They had brought a cold supper—a Mediterranean salad with roasted vegetables and salmon. But we ate so much appetizers, we weren’t hungry—I tasted the eggplant and squash but passed on the tomato and mozzarella. They left, repeating how pleased they were for me, how impressed with my cottage.

It’s a nice night to be cozy in the cottage, and I’m ready to tuck myself in. Sweet dreams, everyone.

Cats, clowns, water bottles, and bacon

Another insignificant day in the life of Judy Alter, wannabe rich and famous author. I have decided that the world is going crazy. It’s not just the Trump scary silliness—though I’m sitting here ready to watch the Veep debate. But take for instance the current craze with water bottles. Yep, recyclable plastic water bottles. Jacob and his buddies fill them halfway with water, put the tops on, and practice flipping them. The object is to make them land right side up. It sounds really boring to me, but they spend hours at it, both alone and with each other.

But then they branch out. One afternoon I woke from a nap to hear strange noises on the roof. Turns out Jacob and a friend were lobbing bottles onto my roof. I reminded them it was a new roof, and I didn’t think that was a good idea. A few minutes later I watched Jacob lob a bottle toward the back fence and then cover his mouth with amazement. Yep, he’d broken a title in the patio table. We stressed how expensive those tiles are. Those incidents have not deterred him—I sit at my desk and watch him lobbing bottles, though for now to less sensitive places.

I am subject to this idiocy. I got a new pack of bacon out tonight and was horrified that it said, “Use or freeze before October 29” I hadn’t even frozen it. How sick would it make me if I went ahead and made a BLT? Slowly, it dawned on me that’s it’s only early October. I whipped the remaining bacon into the freezer and made my sandwich. It takes me a long time to cook though I admit I wasn’t hurrying tonight—still it took me over half an hour to make a half BLT.

I find the same thing sometimes in the morning. I’m prone to sit on the edge of the bed and stare into space. I’m not sure if I’m procrastinating or just enjoying the luxury of not having to rush. Some mornings it’s 30 minutes between waking up, doing my morning ablations—teeth, etc.—and getting to my desk. Add twenty minutes for washing my hair.

Two scary things loom on our horizon. One is the national problem of scary clowns. Jacob really grilled his mom tonight about the clowns and why she had warned him about them. She did it of course to warn him in the unlikely case that he ran into one of these creatures. Jacob is sometimes a bit scared, and this is one of those times.

Which means it’s good we didn’t tell him about the coyote(s) who apparently roam our neighborhood at night. In past months we’ve heard of an occasional cat killed, but last night, if my reading of the bulletins was correct, two cats were killed. And friends in other parts of the city have lost outdoor cats in the same manner—what you find is mostly a furry of fur. The south end of my neighborhood has a creek and wooded area, and we figure one or more coyotes are coming from there. But it could be a bobcat. We keep our animals in at night, but I know some people with feral cats can’t do that and these are scary times. When our dogs are out in the evening I have a birds’-eye view of the backyard so I’m not worried, but I hate to hear about other animals killed.

My verdict on the veep debate: pretty boring, but Kaine has a nice, open personality. Pence is a smug, supercilious piece of work.

Over and out.

 

October 4.2016

Another insignificant day in the life of Judy Alter, wannabe rich and famous author. I have decided that the world is going crazy. It’s not just the Trump scary silliness—though I’m sitting here ready to watch the Veep debate. But take for instance the current craze with water bottles. Yep, recyclable plastic water bottles. Jacob and his buddies fill them halfway with water, put the tops on, and practice flipping them. The object is to make them land right side up. It sounds really boring to me, but they spend hours at it, both alone and with each other.

But then they branch out. One afternoon I woke from a nap to hear strange noises on the roof. Turns out Jacob and a friend were lobbing bottles onto my roof. I reminded them it was a new roof, and I didn’t think that was a good idea. A few minutes later I watched Jacob lob a bottle toward the back fence and then cover his mouth with amazement. Yep, he’d broken a title in the patio table. We stressed how expensive those tiles are. Those incidents have not deterred him—I sit at my desk and watch him lobbing bottles, though for now to less sensitive places.

I am subject to this idiocy. I got a new pack of bacon out tonight and was horrified that it said, “Use or freeze before October 29” I hadn’t even frozen it. How sick would it make me if I went ahead and made a BLT? Slowly, it dawned on me that’s it’s only early October. I whipped the remaining bacon into the freezer and made my sandwich. It takes me a long time to cook though I admit I wasn’t hurrying tonight—still it took me over half an hour to make a half BLT.

I find the same thing sometimes in the morning. I’m prone to sit on the edge of the bed and stare into space. I’m not sure if I’m procrastinating or just enjoying the luxury of not having to rush. Some mornings it’s 30 minutes between waking up, doing my morning ablations—teeth, etc.—and getting to my desk. Add twenty minutes for washing my hair.

Two scary things loom on our horizon. One is the national problem of scary clowns. Jacob really grilled his mom tonight about the clowns and why she had warned him about them. She did it of course to warn him in the unlikely case that he ran into one of these creatures. Jacob is sometimes a bit scared, and this is one of those times.

Which means it’s good we didn’t tell him about the coyote(s) who apparently roam our neighborhood at night. In past months we’ve heard of an occasional cat killed, but last night, if my reading of the bulletins was correct, two cats were killed. And friends in other parts of the city have lost outdoor cats in the same manner—what you find is mostly a furry of fur. The south end of my neighborhood has a creek and wooded area, and we figure one or more coyotes are coming from there. But it could be a bobcat. We keep our animals in at night, but I know some people with feral cats can’t do that and these are scary times. When our dogs are out in the evening I have a birds’-eye view of the backyard so I’m not worried, but I hate to hear about other animals killed.

My verdict on the veep debate: pretty boring, but Kaine has a nice, open personality. Pence is a smug, supercilious piece of work.

Over and out.