100 Days toward a healthier life - Day 14

Breakfast:  Eggs, bacon, coffee, many, many cups
Lunch:  Pho, half a bowl, half of a spring roll
Snack:  Cake on the drive home
Dinner:  Rest of the pho, rest of the spring rolls, more cake

Holy crap, it is now two weeks since I decided, reluctantly, to become a healthier person.  I hope that this is not a pattern, a continuing two-week of pretty dam good and then a backslide where the cake is concerned.  But, it is not my fault.

Really.  After breakfast and taking my friend on her errands, which I enjoyed very much, finding a few lovely craft materials things for myself and my mentee and the grandbabies.  Then, I dropped her at home and went for pho.  The older man there took my order and encouraged me to try a spring roll with pork.  It was very good and I think that I might ask for more help from him sometime.

I did have a moment today, though.  At breakfast, the errand friend needed change for a ten dollar bill.  I gave it to her in singles and a dollar's worth of change.  Cool, yes?  Then, I went to pay my bill for lunch and the ten spot was nowhere to be found.  I had left it on the table at the breakfast place.  With the tip I had already left, our lovely (truly, I like her very much) waitperson received a 150% tip today, just from me.

I was like totally freaked for a minute or two and then realized that it was likely the least expensive lesson I have ever learned.  It was offset by the mind-blowing sale that I got for a tiny, wooden barn and animals that I bought for our newest grand-nephew.  It was on sale for 50% off and then for another 75% off of the sale price because it was damaged.  I have to replace the screws in the hinges of one of the doors and two of the animals are missing, although the tractor was still there.  My mind is still blown over that one.

Where was I?  Lunch.  After, I walked to the Asian market next door and shopped for treats for my daughter and the boys, including daddy in that count, some herbs and a whole roasted duck.  You can choose your own duck from the pile of carcasses in the case, but I let the guy do it and he then hacks it to pieces and puts it into two, large carry-out boxes.  He does not give me the head, but that is fine.  Having my dinner looking back at me, bill and all, makes it impossible to disconnect myself from that lovely, rich, meaty goodness and the abrupt ending of the ducky's life.  He sure is delicious, though.

So.  The cake.  In this market you have to pay for the duck separately, as it is in the deli section.  No problem, except that today the corner of the place was packed, and I mean really, seriously packed, with sweets.  Asian sweets are not like those in any other part of the world.  They are made from sugar, of course, but also a stunning variety of starches, beans, rice and who knows what else.

I chose a wedge of this yellow cake that seemed strangely resilient in it's Styrofoam  and cellophane package.  Then, there were these rice things and those bean things and before I knew it, there were four small packages of sweets joining the hacked-up meat pieces, formerly known as ducky.

I sampled each one in the car on the way home.  The first taste is almost always the best, no matter what something is, and these were no exception.  Except for the cake.  Goodness.  And goodness does describe it.  It is moist.  It tastes of egg and not too much sugar.  It is sort of the airy, chewy texture of angel food cake, but more dense.  Lovely.  Charley and I have been snacking on it all evening.

I never should have bought it.  I will not buy it again.  I should not be eating it, but I am and the rest will be put out for the critters in the morning, along with the other sweets.  All of them, the sweets, cost only $6, so added to the lost $10, not a completely horrible day of wasted money, especially when I remember the huge meat waste I had a month or two ago.  Shudder.  That was shameful, but today's lapse is just a lapse.  Gonna move on.

I tried the new decongestants last night and have felt a little better all day.  Still not using my cane, and using less pain meds.  I bought fiber today and my colon is very happy.  It is a good day when your colon is not sad.  I am personally less sad today because I managed to get over the fact that my friend sort of stole my place to live in town.  At least I think that I am over it.  At this moment I no longer feel the need to stop helping at the gallery and I will try my best to not be upset and all grudge-holding with him when we next meet, which will be Friday.  Yeah, I am pretty sure that I am not upset about it anymore.  Pretty sure.  Maybe I do need a little more time to grieve the loss of that safe place, but I do not plan on using more than a few days for being sad about it.  Yeah, I can do that. No, he did not sort of steal it, he wrangled, pushed and punched my sorry ass right out of that place.  Bastard.  O.K., I am fine now.  Yeah.  I am, but that felt good.  Smiling now.

Tomorrow is back on the healthy wagon.  No cake for anyone.  I have some sewing that I would like to do and I promised to make some doll clothing patterns for a friend and, oh, there looks like there will be time for a nap in the early afternoon, altogether a fine prospect for a Sunday. 

On Monday I call the travel place and plan another short trip or two for the summer and I still have to join WW.  I am ditching the whole getting a new checking account and debit card thing and opting for paying the higher week-at-a-time fee for each week that I go there.  Maybe the extra $3.88 each time will help me value it more and make better use of the program.  That is an easier solution to the other stuff, and it is certainly much better than forgetting to keep enough money in that extra account so that I do not get hit with overdraft fees.  Now, that would seriously amp up my cranky-factor.

So, tonight's GP is one that makes me laugh.  A lot.  It is named Come here often? and there are several interpretations of what this depicts.

It might be:

1. Two of the microbes/germs/bacteria/bugs in my ailing body having a conversation whilst my white blood cells wander around taking long breaks, getting hyped on coffee and angsting about the meaning of life instead of doing their jobs.
2. A couple of citizens of other planetary systems, meeting out at Area 51, in honor of the couple of new books about the place.
3. Two Eastern European countries, redistricted by the machinations of their inbred leadership.
4. Two people from around here, transformed by the Rapture (or is it Raptor, I cannot ever remember),  making connections with the other left-behinds.
5. A pair of new lifeforms found in my refrigerator.

Tired

Today was too long and I am too old and still not well enough to manage such a strenuous day. 

Keeping in mind that what I actually do is not difficult in the sense of what strenuous really means, but it is within the context of what I am able to do.  In fact, I was going from one errand to another and there was a two-woman road crew that was making small repairs to the road, and I remember thinking, as I was driving past them, that I really do not have much physical work in my life. 

I see and know about so many people who really do physically demanding work and I always feel a little of my inner slacker coming through when I see it or think about it.  I really do not work very hard.

When it comes to mental work, I am right up there with just about anyone you could name, but my best bet is that even those other mental-workers have some aspect of physical activity in their lives.  I know that even T, who spends most of his time in his wheelchair makes time each day to work out at the Y or at home.  Me, well, I do not do that.  Even when I am making art or sewing or messing up a batch of soap, or whatever the heck else that I do around here, it is not hard work in that sense. 

It occurs to me, fairly regularly, that I am not as physical as I should or could be.  I do not because it hurts.  It hurts in a way that pain support cannot help.  I make no apologies for that, but even a day like today simply exhausts me.  Today found me at the dentist, at work figuring out the logistics of how we are going to serve clients within the context of the remodel, visiting the gallery to prepare for the next exhibit, the post office, the bank, and the grocery store.  Once at home I did laundry (up and down a tall staircase), made chicken curry soup...oh, my, will it ever be ready to eat?...and I have to take a rest before I can shower and wash my hair.  This here, sitting at the computer with a fan blowing directly on me, is the rest.

Seriously, that that little effort could bring me down and make me sweat and ache all over is just ridiculous, insane, stupid and astounding.  Heck, even I can see that. 

I do not think that it makes me a bad person or anything, but I really and truly do not work very hard.  Well, maybe it does make me a bad person, but even that thought is not going to have any effect on what I do, you know.  Sad, but true.  Enough of this.

I have to share that giving myself the name of Simpleton is one of the most bestest things that I have ever done for myself.  I have been calling myself that for at least a year or so and I think it completely suits me.  Making it the title of this place was brilliant.  Every time I see it, and my eyes looking back at me, well, it just makes me tingle all over.  It is like a little hug each time I look at it.  Even better than having Jimmy Smits as my fantasy boyfriend, and that is saying some.

The soup cannot be ready yet, but I am going to put in the coconut milk and thicken it up a bit and have some because I am unable to resist that seductive aroma any longer.

Slowing down

I have to begin eating more inexpensively.  Groceries are just too darn expensive.  I have been trying to have a garden here for nearly three years.  I had one, a nice large one for decades, but you know how it is, you get busy with family stuff and then someone plants grass and there you are.  But, I want another garden space.  Interestingly enough, I can plant all the flowers that I want, which I do not want, and that is fine.  I want a food garden, but I need permission.  Those who give permission are not.  Giving it.  I do have this small patch of rhubarb, crowns from my daughter's garden and next summer they will be old enough to harvest.  I am so looking forward to rhubarb preserves.  Lots for me and lots to share.

I tried this year to plant food crops around the ornamental plants in the front yard, but they did not grow and some of them completely disappeared.  We used to have a lovely garden in the back, but the preferred plantings there are turf grasses.

This is not about the darn gardening, but not being able to grow my own food is at the core of the whole grocery problem, or at least part of it.  We have all of this outstanding space and nothing but grass growing there.  I do not get to choose.  Were there a committee who decides these things, I would not be on it.  Actually, I think that there is a committee, but there seems to be room for only one person.  And, that ain't me.

I do have this plan for next year, though.  There is this thing that you can do with pairs of big, plastic tubs that you cut up and put together and use an indirect watering system, like, ummmmm, where you use textiles or ropes or some damn thing to wick the water into the soil.  Damn, I wish I could remember what that was called.

Anyway, if I haunted the charity shops and found suitable containers, I could totally do that next year.  They, the containers, would be on the patio, which no one uses, although I used to when I smoked, so I would not be damaging any turf and I could grow a lot of food in them, maybe even beets and carrots and onions.  Oh, yeah, baby, that could so work.  I would just have to haul in some soil and buy seeds.  I am also thinking that they could look kind of cool and decorative, as well.   Well, that is my hope so that I do not find myself on the wrong side of someone's opinion.  Lordy.

So, anyway, got to save money on vittles.

No more convenience foods, although I do not know how I will survive without my Progresso chicken noodle soup. It is my budget and I can make that exception.  Whew!  That was a close one.

No forgetting to take food with me when I am out and about and then having to grab something at the drive-through.  That does not often happen, but every little bit helps.

I do not think that I can give up Saturday morning coffee with the friends, so that is off the table.

Plus, I am not eating enough flesh.  Really.  I have diabetes and a vegetarian diet is simply not working well for me.  Besides, I am always so hungry and that inevitably leads to extra snacks and meals.

So, I dragged out the slow-cooker and used it on Monday.  Three days later I am still enjoying the lovely soup that I made.  It was supposed to be stew, but it would not thicken, so it is soup.  Really lovely soup, and there is a huge chunk of meat that has not been shredded into the broth.  It was a sandwich this morning for breakfast, but I have to noodle around and find more things to do with it.

I will also be going back to making a week's worth of oats and rice again.  If it is already there, waiting for me in the refrigerator, then I have no excuse for wanting something quick and not-so-great.

I also have to start meal planning.  Man, I am so bad at that.  I used to do it, like decades ago, when my daughter was still little and even later when she was still living here, although I was already slacking off then.  But, it has to be done.  Oh, gods, I am going to be so cranky about this. 

Part of the problem is that I am too busy to make recipes.  Since I retired, I am busier than ever.  I sometimes wonder how I had time for a paying job, but I did, although I was always exhausted after a day of being on my feet and trying to satisfy customers.  I was pretty darn good at that, but it takes a lot out of your energy bank account.  And, I like plain food, like the soup.  I do not like fussing with more than a couple of ingredients or making anything that takes more than a few minutes to throw together.  That is why the slow-cooker will be nice.  You just toss everything in there and forget it for a few hours or overnight.

That is my inner slacker talking.  Well, truth be told, I am a fully invested outer slacker as well for things that do not excite me, get me all juicy and motivated. 

So, food.  Easy and healthy food.  The lovely beefy and vegetable-y soup will last through the weekend, but I am going to have to come up with something to buy for the next go-round.  I am thinking that a nice chicken curry would be nice.  Yum, nice.  And, I have to keep looking on the Internet for more slow-cooker recipes, but ones that do not have soup mixes or salad dressing or other convenience ingredients, all full of salts and sugars.  That would be such a huge step backwards.  There have to be healthy recipes out there, right?

Oh, rats, it just occurred to me that if I am going to do this here, that I will have to, or should, take pictures of the stuff I make, as in keeping a decent visual record in addition to all of the spewing.  I do not know if I should do that.  The food I make is delicious, but kind of ugly.  I do not want to look back on this project and unintentionally disgust myself.   Maybe there is some kind of photo resource that I could join and pay for beautiful food images.  I would not pass the images off as photos of my own food, but could say that this is what my food would look like, were it not so freaking ugly.

Aw, crap, I have to do labels, too.  Man.

Sheesh, already messed up.  Forgot the recipe.  I am too tired.  Maybe tomorrow.