When “My Turn” Isn’t a Good Thing

First, it was managing Oakley and his meds for his autoimmune problems. That took a chunk out of me. Right now, it looks as if he’ll officially be done in about two weeks. For that I am truly grateful.

Second, it was Hubby’s UTI. The one that drove him through the snow during the last bad storm to the nearest doc-in-the-box. That got to me on a couple of different levels: he was miserable to the point where it hurt me as well. I have had those, too, and know they are no fun. The other level was the reminder that we are not getting younger. He is some years older than me, and while in good health otherwise, still needs to be reminded to take basic self care  measures including  drinking enough water and taking supplements.

And then it was my turn (she says with sarcasm). Or turns. In the middle of the above, I had a flare-up of stress related IBS. That took time and white carbs to get under control. That end is fine now.

Problems on the other end started earlier this week. Monday was dry and windy, filled with the promise of spring and allergens taking flight. My nose started running uncontrollably. I wrote it off as allergies. Then Tuesday I woke up at 4 AM feeling as if my sinuses and skull were on fire.

I drank a lot of healing herb tea, used a sinus oil that my acupuncture dude had given me some years ago, and rested as much as I could. I can’t take OTC cold or allergy meds (except Claritin) because they render me stupid or wired. I grabbed naps, ate soup, and amped up the spice content of food with hot sauce and chili where I could. I slept decently last night. Still tired, but better.

On we go. This is not a space where I want to be stuck.  We drink our water, take our supplements, and go on with the day.

 

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Safe Passage, Dr. Hawking

We interrupt today’s planned social issue entry to bring you this breaking story:

Stephen Hawking: Visionary physicist dies age 76

We still have his words, his thoughts preserved for future generations in his writings, videos, and the memories of those who personally knew him.

Dr. Hawking was 76. He contributed to the understanding of the mechanics of the universe, made science cool, and brought a sense of wonder about the workings of the world to the not-so-scientifically oriented.

Not only did he make physics accessible to the lay person (Amazon’s posting that A Brief History of Time had a huge spike in sales after the word came out early this morning in North America. As if selling ten million copies in various languages hadn’t been enough), but he showed that humor, passion, and academia are not incompatible. Stephen (I think he would have preferred that over Dr. Hawking) appeared on “Big Bang Theory,” “Star Trek: The Next Generation,” and many talk shows, including David Letterman.

He’s already missed.

Peaceful journey, Dr. Hawking.

 

 

 

The Great Meal Planning Experiment

 

Image courtesy The Graphics Fairy

The good news is that our errand routes take us past a good, inexpensive ($5 and change) Chinese takeout place as well as several Subways (the only fast food I like).

The bad news is that we started relying on them a little too much. In addition to a lot of leftovers going to waste (boo), I started feeling bloated from the sodium and Mystery know what else. Not good. Hubby’s blood pressure started creeping up the dial. Even worse, considering that his mom had chronic headaches and kidney problems from hers.

On top of that, the takeout containers and sauce packets collecting in the fridge doors were getting out of hand.

We talked it over and decided that advance prep and planning would be a good thing.  I don’t think it will be that difficult to plan out what we’re going to eat this week. Saturday I made a Crock-Pot full of chicken caccitore (ok, you caught me–a couple pounds of thighs, drumsticks, and wings braised in a high quality jarred pasta sauce. Sunday I tried a new-to-us recipe involving tofu whipped into a creamy sauce, pasta, and veggies. The author called it a “quiche.” I called it a “casserole.” If one were to make the sauce, change up the seasonings and veggies, and pour it into a pie crust, you would have a respectable vegan quiche. I’ll try that next time.  I’ll invest some time today in prepping hummus and a bowl of fruit salad to go with what I made.

With those two meals, we have plenty to get us through at lunch and dinner until I run errands further east later this week. Before I go, we’ll look at recipes and plan things from there.

Breakfast is not included. We get up at different times because, well, we do. Hubby needs to be out of the house by 6:15 on school days or face a 45 minute commute more than doubling. He sleeps in until the call of nature rouses him on other days. Except for eggs, hummus, and the occasional batch of muffins, we both have our individual preferences in the morning. He likes his plain bagels. I like oatmeal or yogurt.

So we begin. Say tuned for updates.

 

 

Singing to the Moon and Wind

Image courtesy The Graphics Fairy

Finally, March is here. If the old adage of “in like a lion and out like a lamb” has any truth to it, we’ll be in capris and shorts by the end of the month.

I just took Oakley out for a quick jaunt. The winds that tumble from the north carries the scent of green buds, damp earth, and grass with it. Oakley turned and faced into the wind, nose all a-quiver. Dogs have something like 44 million scent receptors as opposed to the paltry seven million that we humans have. If it was heady for me, it would be downright intoxicating for him.

In addition to the liminal winds, today also features a moon at her fullest. She’s hiding behind the clouds right now and on the other side of the world. At night when the sky is clear and dark and her polished face looks down on us, we sing to her.

To common ears, our music sounds as if a mildly insane woman and her dog howl loudly enough to wake neighbors and start their dogs and the resident coyote pack.

To the moon, our songs mean so much more.

We sing the primal songs of Oakley’s ancestors and contemporary cousins. The songs of reassurance, of community fill the air.

We sing the songs of the wise women, the craftswomen, and musicians who proceed me in my mother line. The playful, the joyful, the spontaneous  voices coming through me harmonize with his.

Wherever she is right now, the winds carried our songs to her, even though we sang beneath a daytime sky covered in thick grey clouds. We have sung in daylight before. We will again.

We have sung to her beneath star dappled velvet skies. On those nights I swear I have seen her look down at us and smile.