Just today I received an email titled “The cab ride”. It’s one of those sentimental emails about a kindly cab driver and an old woman, most likely taken from the pages of “Chicken Soup for the soul.”
I know some people find those stories trite and doubt their veracity. I don’t.
In my “map of the world” (as my counselor used to call it) there is an entire army of philanthropists, just looking for someone to bless.
I think there is an entire brigade of people with stories, like I have, having touching (little) moments every day. Reading this email inspired me to offer one of my own stories, in hopes that people close to me will tell their stories too.
Several years ago, my husband was in the hospital. He wasn’t eating well, so I went to one of the local ice-cream shops to get him a shake.
When I walked in, there was an older woman (I think in her 70’s) ahead of me.
The (very young) lady behind the counter went to dip the woman some ice-cream (in a to-go cup). As she popped open the ice-cream freezer she asked me “What did you want?” I drew a breath, and said “I need a coconut shake, and I want to pay for this woman’s ice-cream.”
The young lady didn’t bat an eye, really, she just smiled and said “yes ma’am”, as she was scooping cool mounds into a small to go cup. The older woman swiveled around so fast, I thought she was going to slap me.
She said “You want to pay for my ice-cream?” I flinched a bit and shrugged my right shoulder and said “Yes ma’am. If you’ll allow me, I need to do a good deed today.” She was stopped for a long moment and looked into my eyes. Her eyes started to dew-up, and I didn’t look away. She said “Do you know what I’m doing?” “No ma’am, I don’t.”, I responded.
The well-dressed woman said “I’m taking ice-cream to my husband. He’s got cancer and the chemotherapy. He can’t swallow much because his throat is so sore from the treatments, so I buy him ice-cream.” The worker handed the woman her ice-cream. I said “I hope he feels better soon.”
The woman took her bag, wiped at an eye and left.
She didn’t say thank you. I wasn’t looking for one.
Looking back all this time later, I think I might have a sense of perspective.
It’s not that the older woman couldn’t carry the burden of her sick husband.
It wasn’t (probably) that she couldn’t pay for the ice-cream.
I think, it’s that someone offered her a kindness, and for an instant, it lightened her burden. For a split-second, she lived in a world tinted with compassion and smelling of whipped cream.
I think there a great many people offering acts of kindness to strangers.
I don’t for a moment believe these acts to be random.
Until next time: Eat something wonderful
And live a life worth loving.
-Kim
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
You don’t realize how much pain you’re in
Until your therapist tells you!
Over the last year, I’ve been through all kinds of changes. One of those changes was sort of forced upon me. I’ve suffered from occipital neuralgia for (at least) 10 years. I was diagnosed by a Neurologist and went through months of excruciating deep massage.
Over the years, I’ve kind of learned to adapt to varying levels of pain, slowly creeping up the pain scale.
During the last year of caring for my mother, the demands on my physique (such as it is) seemed to create increasing amounts of pain and fatigue.
My method of coping: Darvocet. I would take one (or two) at night to (hopefully) get a few hours sleep.
My blood sugar levels increasing with my pain levels, the cycle abruptly stopped about two months ago, when, my primary care physician refused to refill my RX unless I went in for a pain management consult.
I did try to get a course of massage therapy, which my insurance provider refused to cover.
I had my first consult with the Physical Therapist last week. Prodding, poking and an odd impersonation of an optometrist (Better this way, or that way? How about now?)
Two hours later, I was in crippling (but not unfamiliar) pain. By the next appointment (the next day) I had recovered and was ready for another round, when I got---the exercises. Ow…oh my aching…everything!
(sighs) OK, I have the weekend to recover. Did the exercises on Saturday and by Sunday, I had this blinding headache (also familiar) which knocked me off my feet the entire day.
Today, I was once more into the breach and now, two hours later, am beginning to recover from the torturous adventure, the young and size 5 “therapists” call “Physical Therapy”.
I am remembering something I learned early on in my life. Suffering can sometimes bring me “clarity” in a way that few things can.
I’ve been abusing and neglecting myself for so very very long.
It hurts me to think that, to know that.
The path of healing is painful (often).
The pain that I’ve been enduring has been effecting my never-ending struggle with my blood-sugar, with my life.
But I sort of feel now, in an odd way….I’m kind of “in Training” (like Rocky).
I’m drinking the gross, raw- eggs, I’m starting to run-walk-crawl up the steps.
I remember Rocky, saying (in Rocky V---the one no one likes) “If you’ve got a strong heart-beat and two fists, you’ve got a chance”.
I’m learning to make a fist, I think.
Until next time:
Eat something wonderful
And live a life worth loving.
Over the last year, I’ve been through all kinds of changes. One of those changes was sort of forced upon me. I’ve suffered from occipital neuralgia for (at least) 10 years. I was diagnosed by a Neurologist and went through months of excruciating deep massage.
Over the years, I’ve kind of learned to adapt to varying levels of pain, slowly creeping up the pain scale.
During the last year of caring for my mother, the demands on my physique (such as it is) seemed to create increasing amounts of pain and fatigue.
My method of coping: Darvocet. I would take one (or two) at night to (hopefully) get a few hours sleep.
My blood sugar levels increasing with my pain levels, the cycle abruptly stopped about two months ago, when, my primary care physician refused to refill my RX unless I went in for a pain management consult.
I did try to get a course of massage therapy, which my insurance provider refused to cover.
I had my first consult with the Physical Therapist last week. Prodding, poking and an odd impersonation of an optometrist (Better this way, or that way? How about now?)
Two hours later, I was in crippling (but not unfamiliar) pain. By the next appointment (the next day) I had recovered and was ready for another round, when I got---the exercises. Ow…oh my aching…everything!
(sighs) OK, I have the weekend to recover. Did the exercises on Saturday and by Sunday, I had this blinding headache (also familiar) which knocked me off my feet the entire day.
Today, I was once more into the breach and now, two hours later, am beginning to recover from the torturous adventure, the young and size 5 “therapists” call “Physical Therapy”.
I am remembering something I learned early on in my life. Suffering can sometimes bring me “clarity” in a way that few things can.
I’ve been abusing and neglecting myself for so very very long.
It hurts me to think that, to know that.
The path of healing is painful (often).
The pain that I’ve been enduring has been effecting my never-ending struggle with my blood-sugar, with my life.
But I sort of feel now, in an odd way….I’m kind of “in Training” (like Rocky).
I’m drinking the gross, raw- eggs, I’m starting to run-walk-crawl up the steps.
I remember Rocky, saying (in Rocky V---the one no one likes) “If you’ve got a strong heart-beat and two fists, you’ve got a chance”.
I’m learning to make a fist, I think.
Until next time:
Eat something wonderful
And live a life worth loving.
Monday, January 18, 2010
A trip down memory…Beach?
My family moved down to Florida (from St. Louis, MO) in 1965. My father worked for McDonald Douglas, and the Space Center was his dream.
Oddly enough, I remember living a bit of a “dream” for the first several months that we were down here. We were staying in an apartment/efficiency right on the beach. These apartments were in Cocoa Beach, that’s right, the land of “I dream of Jeannie”.
During that time our family lived a page from Hawaiian Eye. My sister Dee found two hula-dancer dolls, whose hips actually did the Hula.
These adorned the hotel-ish chest of drawers.
Nearly every day, we walked down the steep, sandy stairs to the beach.
There, I learned about sun-burns, sand castles, wading in the surf and what my parents looked like in bathing suits.
But there was another phenomenon I experienced then, that was most vexing to me. After we found an actually house to live in, we got company.
I think it was the first two or three years after we moved down, we had a never-ending parade of “relatives” who came to visit. Most of them were people I didn’t recall seeing before and probably haven’t seen since.
Mom would dutifully explain to me who they were…well, the first year of the visitations she did. After a while, everyone was “Aunt-something-from-Michigan” and “Uncle-who-its-from-Ohio”. I recall an older couple visiting, and showing them our new litter of kittens. I remember mom telling me to “put them away”, that “your Grandpa’s had enough”. But when I questioned her later about him, she told me that both of my Grandfather’s were deceased. To this day, I don’t know who he was.
In the days before Travelocity and Priceline, if you “knew” someone in Florida, your vacation was made, I think. It’s “pack up the four door station wagon”, head south. No need for hotels and hospitality would dictate that you would be fed (at least one meal) per day during your stay.
This was also before the looming, encompassing and entertainer of ALL visitors to Florida…the Orlando theme park. No Disney world (started building about 1974) No Universal. There were two, much farther away. One was called “Six-Gun Territory” –a western town with shows and rides. The other was Bush Gardens, over by Tampa.
But on the barrier Island of Satellite Beach, which is an hour (traveling time) south of Cape Kennedy (it was then), an hour east of Orlando and about 20 years behind the rest of the world, there was very little to entertain guests. So we developed routines. We would take the visiting family to LUMS…a pub-type eatery, which boasted huge hot dogs (steamed in beer) and it was on the ocean side of the main high-way, so after dinner, we’d walk down so the visitors could see the Ocean.
I remember wading into the lapping surf and the saline air filling my lungs along the sea shore.
There was one summer that I remember the family that came to visit. Mom was SO excited. “Shirley” was coming to visit. “Shirley” and my mom had spent a great deal of their youth together and by my mother’s accounts, “Shirley” was “hell on wheels”. I remember a story she told me about Shirley and her going into town to get some cigarettes. While they were on this trip, they ran into a friend (male) who was driving his “hot rod” and asked if they wanted to go for a ride. Apparently, they didn’t get home until 11 that night. Ah..Rash youth!!! (sighs).
Anyway, Shirley and her husband , Jack (his name is Edward but everyone called him “Jack”) and their two daughters, Shantelle (who was closer to my sister and brother’s age) and Michelle (who was a “t’ween”, older than me, but younger than Shantelle and Dee and Bobby.
We took them down to the pier in Cocoa Beach, where there was a live band and soft drinks and I guess there was food (I don’t remember eating any thing). What I DO remember was that after several days in the Florida sun, Shantelle (a fair skinned red-head) got so sun-burned she was peeling and oozing and leaving pieces of herself on chairs when she sat.
I felt so badly for her.
When my mother became so ill, I went through her address book to make some calls and I called Shirley Bradley. She talked to me as though we had just talked last week. She talked to me that way when I called to give updates. She told me about Michelle’s ongoing illness and that “uncle jack” wasn’t getting along so well.
When mom passed away, she was so sad and so sympathetic. She called several times just to “check on me”. She made me feel like family.
Just before Christmas, her husband Jack ended up in the hospital and compound complication upon long illness, he passed away last Friday.
I remember him as a tall, lumbering man. He was kind, but gave me lots of skirt room, I think because He thought he intimidated me.
I was able to say some things that, I think, gave her some sympathetic comfort.
We sent them flowers.
Walt promised we would get up there this year to see my family.
I hope I get to see Shirley again.
I pray God keeps the whole family in His care.
Until next time,
Eat something wonderful
And live a life worth loving!
-Kim
Oddly enough, I remember living a bit of a “dream” for the first several months that we were down here. We were staying in an apartment/efficiency right on the beach. These apartments were in Cocoa Beach, that’s right, the land of “I dream of Jeannie”.
During that time our family lived a page from Hawaiian Eye. My sister Dee found two hula-dancer dolls, whose hips actually did the Hula.
These adorned the hotel-ish chest of drawers.
Nearly every day, we walked down the steep, sandy stairs to the beach.
There, I learned about sun-burns, sand castles, wading in the surf and what my parents looked like in bathing suits.
But there was another phenomenon I experienced then, that was most vexing to me. After we found an actually house to live in, we got company.
I think it was the first two or three years after we moved down, we had a never-ending parade of “relatives” who came to visit. Most of them were people I didn’t recall seeing before and probably haven’t seen since.
Mom would dutifully explain to me who they were…well, the first year of the visitations she did. After a while, everyone was “Aunt-something-from-Michigan” and “Uncle-who-its-from-Ohio”. I recall an older couple visiting, and showing them our new litter of kittens. I remember mom telling me to “put them away”, that “your Grandpa’s had enough”. But when I questioned her later about him, she told me that both of my Grandfather’s were deceased. To this day, I don’t know who he was.
In the days before Travelocity and Priceline, if you “knew” someone in Florida, your vacation was made, I think. It’s “pack up the four door station wagon”, head south. No need for hotels and hospitality would dictate that you would be fed (at least one meal) per day during your stay.
This was also before the looming, encompassing and entertainer of ALL visitors to Florida…the Orlando theme park. No Disney world (started building about 1974) No Universal. There were two, much farther away. One was called “Six-Gun Territory” –a western town with shows and rides. The other was Bush Gardens, over by Tampa.
But on the barrier Island of Satellite Beach, which is an hour (traveling time) south of Cape Kennedy (it was then), an hour east of Orlando and about 20 years behind the rest of the world, there was very little to entertain guests. So we developed routines. We would take the visiting family to LUMS…a pub-type eatery, which boasted huge hot dogs (steamed in beer) and it was on the ocean side of the main high-way, so after dinner, we’d walk down so the visitors could see the Ocean.
I remember wading into the lapping surf and the saline air filling my lungs along the sea shore.
There was one summer that I remember the family that came to visit. Mom was SO excited. “Shirley” was coming to visit. “Shirley” and my mom had spent a great deal of their youth together and by my mother’s accounts, “Shirley” was “hell on wheels”. I remember a story she told me about Shirley and her going into town to get some cigarettes. While they were on this trip, they ran into a friend (male) who was driving his “hot rod” and asked if they wanted to go for a ride. Apparently, they didn’t get home until 11 that night. Ah..Rash youth!!! (sighs).
Anyway, Shirley and her husband , Jack (his name is Edward but everyone called him “Jack”) and their two daughters, Shantelle (who was closer to my sister and brother’s age) and Michelle (who was a “t’ween”, older than me, but younger than Shantelle and Dee and Bobby.
We took them down to the pier in Cocoa Beach, where there was a live band and soft drinks and I guess there was food (I don’t remember eating any thing). What I DO remember was that after several days in the Florida sun, Shantelle (a fair skinned red-head) got so sun-burned she was peeling and oozing and leaving pieces of herself on chairs when she sat.
I felt so badly for her.
When my mother became so ill, I went through her address book to make some calls and I called Shirley Bradley. She talked to me as though we had just talked last week. She talked to me that way when I called to give updates. She told me about Michelle’s ongoing illness and that “uncle jack” wasn’t getting along so well.
When mom passed away, she was so sad and so sympathetic. She called several times just to “check on me”. She made me feel like family.
Just before Christmas, her husband Jack ended up in the hospital and compound complication upon long illness, he passed away last Friday.
I remember him as a tall, lumbering man. He was kind, but gave me lots of skirt room, I think because He thought he intimidated me.
I was able to say some things that, I think, gave her some sympathetic comfort.
We sent them flowers.
Walt promised we would get up there this year to see my family.
I hope I get to see Shirley again.
I pray God keeps the whole family in His care.
Until next time,
Eat something wonderful
And live a life worth loving!
-Kim
Friday, January 8, 2010
Eat Differently. Eat Better. Just EAT!
I have been a victim of the Hollywood/Commercial media sell-job of the religion of THIN. Of course my parents (God Bless them) telling me that I was “fat” didn’t help my self image. I remember my first “diet” being before I got out of high-school and I weighed 100 pounds.
In my early 20’s I became a vegetarian, eschewing salt, white flour, white rice, white sugar.
From there, I became a Fruitarian for 6 months. Not good for me. Collapsing from lack of protein and hallucinating from high blood sugar was not a good life plan for me, as it happens.
I’ve tried fasting diets, shake diets, the Adkins diet , the South Beach diet, the Over-eaters Anonymous diet, the Jenny Craig Diet or the Nutrisytem Diet , can’t remember which (too much salt).
The American Diabetes Association diet, the Healthy Exchanges Diet,
I‘ve done Juicing, Detoxing, sweating, anguishing and weeping. I had a workout coach, at one time, who was a bodybuilder.
I’ve toured the inner depths of my “food issues” and my eating disorders.
Over the last 4 years I’ve lost 20 pounds. How? I became a caregiver for my mother, and (for the most part) stopped taking care of myself at all.
Through all of these different and sometimes painful journeys I’ve learned some things that I think are helpful to me and might serve me.
One thing I learned, since the diagnosis of type 2 diabetes, is that stress effects blood sugar (in a negative manner).
It has been mentioned to me that stress “effects one’s blood sugar” , it’s been mentioned in books about stress causing “high readings”. What I’ve heard, mostly is “don’t eat sugar. Watch what you eat and lose weight” from my (former) doctors.
Somehow the “stress factor” (as I’ve come to call it) is sort of “skimmed over” in the ongoing lecture of my self-destructive diet. I’ve really had too many of those conversations from “health professionals” . Me sitting there, feeling like a puppy being scolded for messing on the floor, and doctor holding the rolled up newspaper in a threatening manner, telling me if I “lose weight, this all goes away.”
All of my medical involvement and my experience with alternative diets and therapies had made this amalgam of nutrition “soup” of my brains and total terror of my eating habits. So this year, I’ve decided to apply some of the things I’ve learned…really learned, about myself , my constitution and my wants and needs. I thought sharing them in this forum would clarify some of them for me.
So here goes:
Number 1) Stress is a MAJOR factor my blood sugar rising.
Two corollaries: I am not as good as I could be (involving my diet).
But I’m not nearly as bad as I have been,
and not nearly as bad as some people are, involving their diabetic diet.
Number 2) I take all my meds every day, without exception.
Number 3) Watching the Food Network is good for me (in some ways because it inspires me to cook & eat).
Number 4) DON’T DEMONIZE THE FOOD!
Number 5) Eating (nearly) anything, is better than eating nothing.
-I learned this one from my bodybuilder, coach and friend Doug,
my husband and lover, Walt
and my endocrinologist, Dr.Ojha.
Number 6) Eating something that you’ve made at home (even if it’s not something quite on my diet,) is always better than anything I can eat out at a Restaurant.
Number 7) Walt and I don’t drink (alcoholic beverages) nearly enough. (see observation #1)
Number 8) If I’m craving it, have it and eat it.
Corollary: Walt will not judge me for eating something.
Number 9) Exercise is good for me. (sighs-as much as I hate to admit this one)
Until Next time;
Eat something wonderful
And life a life worth loving.
-Kim
In my early 20’s I became a vegetarian, eschewing salt, white flour, white rice, white sugar.
From there, I became a Fruitarian for 6 months. Not good for me. Collapsing from lack of protein and hallucinating from high blood sugar was not a good life plan for me, as it happens.
I’ve tried fasting diets, shake diets, the Adkins diet , the South Beach diet, the Over-eaters Anonymous diet, the Jenny Craig Diet or the Nutrisytem Diet , can’t remember which (too much salt).
The American Diabetes Association diet, the Healthy Exchanges Diet,
I‘ve done Juicing, Detoxing, sweating, anguishing and weeping. I had a workout coach, at one time, who was a bodybuilder.
I’ve toured the inner depths of my “food issues” and my eating disorders.
Over the last 4 years I’ve lost 20 pounds. How? I became a caregiver for my mother, and (for the most part) stopped taking care of myself at all.
Through all of these different and sometimes painful journeys I’ve learned some things that I think are helpful to me and might serve me.
One thing I learned, since the diagnosis of type 2 diabetes, is that stress effects blood sugar (in a negative manner).
It has been mentioned to me that stress “effects one’s blood sugar” , it’s been mentioned in books about stress causing “high readings”. What I’ve heard, mostly is “don’t eat sugar. Watch what you eat and lose weight” from my (former) doctors.
Somehow the “stress factor” (as I’ve come to call it) is sort of “skimmed over” in the ongoing lecture of my self-destructive diet. I’ve really had too many of those conversations from “health professionals” . Me sitting there, feeling like a puppy being scolded for messing on the floor, and doctor holding the rolled up newspaper in a threatening manner, telling me if I “lose weight, this all goes away.”
All of my medical involvement and my experience with alternative diets and therapies had made this amalgam of nutrition “soup” of my brains and total terror of my eating habits. So this year, I’ve decided to apply some of the things I’ve learned…really learned, about myself , my constitution and my wants and needs. I thought sharing them in this forum would clarify some of them for me.
So here goes:
Number 1) Stress is a MAJOR factor my blood sugar rising.
Two corollaries: I am not as good as I could be (involving my diet).
But I’m not nearly as bad as I have been,
and not nearly as bad as some people are, involving their diabetic diet.
Number 2) I take all my meds every day, without exception.
Number 3) Watching the Food Network is good for me (in some ways because it inspires me to cook & eat).
Number 4) DON’T DEMONIZE THE FOOD!
Number 5) Eating (nearly) anything, is better than eating nothing.
-I learned this one from my bodybuilder, coach and friend Doug,
my husband and lover, Walt
and my endocrinologist, Dr.Ojha.
Number 6) Eating something that you’ve made at home (even if it’s not something quite on my diet,) is always better than anything I can eat out at a Restaurant.
Number 7) Walt and I don’t drink (alcoholic beverages) nearly enough. (see observation #1)
Number 8) If I’m craving it, have it and eat it.
Corollary: Walt will not judge me for eating something.
Number 9) Exercise is good for me. (sighs-as much as I hate to admit this one)
Until Next time;
Eat something wonderful
And life a life worth loving.
-Kim
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
I REALLY want an herb garden!
I fell in love with herb (plants) early in life. I remember, still this wonderful book from Sunset which featured the Sandy Mush Herb Nursery, which inspired me into the world of herbs. It was the biggest marketing of herb plants I have ever seen. I remember the owner saying that they had horrible, rocky, sandy soil, but herb plants, once established, do very well in poor soil.
Hmmm, well, then certainly they should do well in Florida. (insert bewildered expression here). I haven’t had a lot of success with herb plants. I seem to over water them, under water them, ignore them too much, or mother them too much.
But I am determined to try again.
To be perfectly honest, what I want is Ina Garten’s herb, vegetable and flower garden. Ok, she has a gardener (probably two or three). Being a fan of her show, Barefoot Countessa, I’ve often seen her, in the midst of a dish; stroll out to the garden and clipping fists-full of fresh parsley, thyme, rosemary and basil.
While watching this, I find myself thinking “This is NOT fair. She lives in Connecticut for gosh-sakes!” Certainly, down here where we have two or three nights of frost and its warm most of the time, I should have lush jardinières of rosemary and entire hedges of basil plants at my beckon call.
When I think of herbs, I think of that woodsy fragrance and their mystical overtones. Both make me think I “should be more success with the herb plants than I have been”. Being with Tammy (my new-old friend) has reminded me of a project that we created for a mutual friend, several years ago.
I decided to host a Christmas party for three lady friends of mine. One of the Lady-friends was pagan/wiccan and wanted an herb garden. So, for Christmas, we (the other two friends) gave her one.
We bought herb plants from various nurseries from Rockledge to Sebastian. We bought an old-ish red flyer wagon (which my husband painted purple). I made a magnetic sign with my favorite Cannon printer which said her name—Herb Garden. As an appetizer, we gave her a used herb encyclopedia we found at a used bookstore, which she was happily engaged in, when we pulled her garden in by the handle, in the wagon. She was speechless. I was high from the fragrance of the herbs and envious beyond measure.
Later reports said that she did plant some and “some of them established and some died”. Well at least I didn’t feel alone in my herbal efforts any more.
About 4 years ago, we purchased an Aero Garden. You know the indoor, aero-ponic garden that advertises that you can grow your own strawberries? For the uninitiated, four years later, they still don’t have a strawberry kit for the Aero Garden. They do have a cherry tomato kit (we never got tomatoes from that kit). Salad greens (that was fabulous, fresh baby greens that just kept producing and producing). A “master gardener kit “where you, allegedly can grow your own seeds (we have this but haven’t tried it yet). We also have tried a few of their catalogue of herb kits. Some do well, some sort of peter out. (shrugs)
So, this year, I am determined to work on my errors in growing herbs and having a successfully lavish herb garden.
Until next time
Eat something wonderful
And life a life worth loving.
-Kim
Hmmm, well, then certainly they should do well in Florida. (insert bewildered expression here). I haven’t had a lot of success with herb plants. I seem to over water them, under water them, ignore them too much, or mother them too much.
But I am determined to try again.
To be perfectly honest, what I want is Ina Garten’s herb, vegetable and flower garden. Ok, she has a gardener (probably two or three). Being a fan of her show, Barefoot Countessa, I’ve often seen her, in the midst of a dish; stroll out to the garden and clipping fists-full of fresh parsley, thyme, rosemary and basil.
While watching this, I find myself thinking “This is NOT fair. She lives in Connecticut for gosh-sakes!” Certainly, down here where we have two or three nights of frost and its warm most of the time, I should have lush jardinières of rosemary and entire hedges of basil plants at my beckon call.
When I think of herbs, I think of that woodsy fragrance and their mystical overtones. Both make me think I “should be more success with the herb plants than I have been”. Being with Tammy (my new-old friend) has reminded me of a project that we created for a mutual friend, several years ago.
I decided to host a Christmas party for three lady friends of mine. One of the Lady-friends was pagan/wiccan and wanted an herb garden. So, for Christmas, we (the other two friends) gave her one.
We bought herb plants from various nurseries from Rockledge to Sebastian. We bought an old-ish red flyer wagon (which my husband painted purple). I made a magnetic sign with my favorite Cannon printer which said her name—Herb Garden. As an appetizer, we gave her a used herb encyclopedia we found at a used bookstore, which she was happily engaged in, when we pulled her garden in by the handle, in the wagon. She was speechless. I was high from the fragrance of the herbs and envious beyond measure.
Later reports said that she did plant some and “some of them established and some died”. Well at least I didn’t feel alone in my herbal efforts any more.
About 4 years ago, we purchased an Aero Garden. You know the indoor, aero-ponic garden that advertises that you can grow your own strawberries? For the uninitiated, four years later, they still don’t have a strawberry kit for the Aero Garden. They do have a cherry tomato kit (we never got tomatoes from that kit). Salad greens (that was fabulous, fresh baby greens that just kept producing and producing). A “master gardener kit “where you, allegedly can grow your own seeds (we have this but haven’t tried it yet). We also have tried a few of their catalogue of herb kits. Some do well, some sort of peter out. (shrugs)
So, this year, I am determined to work on my errors in growing herbs and having a successfully lavish herb garden.
Until next time
Eat something wonderful
And life a life worth loving.
-Kim
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Stir-Fried Red Cabbage with apples
½ Red Cabbage
½ Red Onion
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
1 Granny Smith Apple
Quarter the cabbage and remove the heart of the cabbage.
Cross-cut the red cabbage in very small shreds.
Do the same thing to the red onion (leaving the heart in).
Put a teaspoon of canola oil in the wok. (I have an electric wok, and turned the temperature up to 350) Place the onions in the wok, and allow them to cook, followed by the cabbage, salt and pepper.
Put the lid on the wok and allow the cabbage to cook for 4-5 minutes. Stir well.
Add the apple cider vinegar. Cover to cook two more minutes.
Peel your apple and slice/cut into bite size chunks (make sure apple is cored).
Stir apple pieces into cabbage mixture. Turn temp down to 300. Cook for another 3-4 minutes.
Serve as side dish.
I remember my mother making boiled cabbage for dinner. I disliked the smell wafting through our home that used to linger for half the week after it was cooked. I disliked the look of the boiled cabbage nearly as much as I disliked the smell. The pale shapeless globs of linen green lumps on my parent’s plates were enough to make me for-go dinner at all, and I often did.
A staple of several Slavic dishes, and my father was part polish, we had this too often for me to make friends with cabbage, at least in it’s boiled form.
I did find that I liked cole slaw growing up, but I resolved that the wonders of cooked cabbage would be something forever alien to me.
I heard on a Martha Stewart show that cabbage (as well as black-eyed peas) were supposed to bring wealth into your life. (draws a breath) Well, Walt likes cabbage, so I decided to try something new with the cabbage and maybe I could choke some down, just for the good karma.
When I made this on New Years Day, I couldn’t believe the fragrant aroma encircling my electric wok. The red onion was carmelizing, the cabbage was earthy smelling and it was all turning this jewel-toned magenta. I had seen a similar recipe for green cabbage several years ago on a Disney Christmas vhs. So I added the apple cider vinegar, as I remembered.
Then I tasted it. It was crispy, sort of and pungent. The cider vinegar made it kind of sweet and there was no acrid aspect that I remembered of boiled cabbage. I remembered thinking “this would be good with apples”. So tonight when I made it , I added the Granny Smith apple. Zingy with different textures, this dish is a vegitarian’s dream (I know because I used to be one) .
It’s a welcome addition to my vegetable repertoire.
Until Next time;
Eat something wonderful
And live a life worth loving.
-Kim
½ Red Onion
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
1 Granny Smith Apple
Quarter the cabbage and remove the heart of the cabbage.
Cross-cut the red cabbage in very small shreds.
Do the same thing to the red onion (leaving the heart in).
Put a teaspoon of canola oil in the wok. (I have an electric wok, and turned the temperature up to 350) Place the onions in the wok, and allow them to cook, followed by the cabbage, salt and pepper.
Put the lid on the wok and allow the cabbage to cook for 4-5 minutes. Stir well.
Add the apple cider vinegar. Cover to cook two more minutes.
Peel your apple and slice/cut into bite size chunks (make sure apple is cored).
Stir apple pieces into cabbage mixture. Turn temp down to 300. Cook for another 3-4 minutes.
Serve as side dish.
I remember my mother making boiled cabbage for dinner. I disliked the smell wafting through our home that used to linger for half the week after it was cooked. I disliked the look of the boiled cabbage nearly as much as I disliked the smell. The pale shapeless globs of linen green lumps on my parent’s plates were enough to make me for-go dinner at all, and I often did.
A staple of several Slavic dishes, and my father was part polish, we had this too often for me to make friends with cabbage, at least in it’s boiled form.
I did find that I liked cole slaw growing up, but I resolved that the wonders of cooked cabbage would be something forever alien to me.
I heard on a Martha Stewart show that cabbage (as well as black-eyed peas) were supposed to bring wealth into your life. (draws a breath) Well, Walt likes cabbage, so I decided to try something new with the cabbage and maybe I could choke some down, just for the good karma.
When I made this on New Years Day, I couldn’t believe the fragrant aroma encircling my electric wok. The red onion was carmelizing, the cabbage was earthy smelling and it was all turning this jewel-toned magenta. I had seen a similar recipe for green cabbage several years ago on a Disney Christmas vhs. So I added the apple cider vinegar, as I remembered.
Then I tasted it. It was crispy, sort of and pungent. The cider vinegar made it kind of sweet and there was no acrid aspect that I remembered of boiled cabbage. I remembered thinking “this would be good with apples”. So tonight when I made it , I added the Granny Smith apple. Zingy with different textures, this dish is a vegitarian’s dream (I know because I used to be one) .
It’s a welcome addition to my vegetable repertoire.
Until Next time;
Eat something wonderful
And live a life worth loving.
-Kim
Monday, January 4, 2010
Why do I love Ben Stein?
Allow me to offer a disclaimer to begin with: I do not know very much about Ben Stein’s politics. Saying that, it is possible that I would not espouse some of his political views.
All deference to his money, my love affair with Ben Stein began when I was told about this odd game show titled “Win Ben Stein’s Money”. I heard he made an appearance in a film with his monotonous tone.
I watched the show and became inthralled. I do love an intelligent man.
However, it was more than that, and I think I figured out what it is.
To explain, I need to tell you why my affection for Mr. Stein has become current for me. Today, one of my movie channels aired a film titled “Expelled! No intelligence allowed.” This is a film about theories of Intelligent Design, Darwinism, Creationism and the scientific community at large. It is an excellent film I would recommend viewing.
As I was following Ben Stein down his exploratory journey, I realized over and over again, I was thinking “I really love Ben Stein”.
It was made clear to me; it’s the sound of his voice. There’s something in the timbre of his voice that says to me “Come with me and look at some new things. I’m not threatening you or coercing you, just view and assess for yourself.”
His voice has those warm, slightly growly tones of a man with a cold—without the Carvelle Ice-cream man’s grating quality, which made me want to clear my throat for him.
Ben Stein sounds reasonable and makes many of the most comprehensive scientific theories accessible for me. I like that. I like feeling that my tiny human brain can join (at least in a minimal way) the great minds of a topic, at least for long enough to ask myself “Do I have an opinion?”
As it happens, on the Intelligent Design front, I do have an opinion. As so often occurs in my life, a character from a movie seems to encapsulate my perspective, wonderfully.
In the film Lady Hawk, a character named “mouse” talks to God throughout the film.
At one point, Mouse finds himself breaking back into the prison from which he successfully escaped. Speaking to God, he says “I would like to believe that this all has some higher meaning. It certainly would reflect well on you.”
That does express my essential belief. I’ve tried not believing in God, but it doesn’t work for me. You see, I’m basically an optimist.
If I didn’t believe in God, afterlife and spirit guides, my life would not be nearly as rich.
Also, I find myself thinking, (in a nearly stand-up comedy sort of way), if I didn’t believe in my spirit guide, Andrew, what would he do? It’s an endless loop to be sure.
The one thing I can embrace as fact is that most of the scientists don’t have better answers for me.
So here we sit. Me and Ben Stein, saying “We would like to believe there is some higher meaning in all of this. It certainly would reflect well on God.”
Until next time;
Eat something wonderful
And live a life worth loving.
-Kim
All deference to his money, my love affair with Ben Stein began when I was told about this odd game show titled “Win Ben Stein’s Money”. I heard he made an appearance in a film with his monotonous tone.
I watched the show and became inthralled. I do love an intelligent man.
However, it was more than that, and I think I figured out what it is.
To explain, I need to tell you why my affection for Mr. Stein has become current for me. Today, one of my movie channels aired a film titled “Expelled! No intelligence allowed.” This is a film about theories of Intelligent Design, Darwinism, Creationism and the scientific community at large. It is an excellent film I would recommend viewing.
As I was following Ben Stein down his exploratory journey, I realized over and over again, I was thinking “I really love Ben Stein”.
It was made clear to me; it’s the sound of his voice. There’s something in the timbre of his voice that says to me “Come with me and look at some new things. I’m not threatening you or coercing you, just view and assess for yourself.”
His voice has those warm, slightly growly tones of a man with a cold—without the Carvelle Ice-cream man’s grating quality, which made me want to clear my throat for him.
Ben Stein sounds reasonable and makes many of the most comprehensive scientific theories accessible for me. I like that. I like feeling that my tiny human brain can join (at least in a minimal way) the great minds of a topic, at least for long enough to ask myself “Do I have an opinion?”
As it happens, on the Intelligent Design front, I do have an opinion. As so often occurs in my life, a character from a movie seems to encapsulate my perspective, wonderfully.
In the film Lady Hawk, a character named “mouse” talks to God throughout the film.
At one point, Mouse finds himself breaking back into the prison from which he successfully escaped. Speaking to God, he says “I would like to believe that this all has some higher meaning. It certainly would reflect well on you.”
That does express my essential belief. I’ve tried not believing in God, but it doesn’t work for me. You see, I’m basically an optimist.
If I didn’t believe in God, afterlife and spirit guides, my life would not be nearly as rich.
Also, I find myself thinking, (in a nearly stand-up comedy sort of way), if I didn’t believe in my spirit guide, Andrew, what would he do? It’s an endless loop to be sure.
The one thing I can embrace as fact is that most of the scientists don’t have better answers for me.
So here we sit. Me and Ben Stein, saying “We would like to believe there is some higher meaning in all of this. It certainly would reflect well on God.”
Until next time;
Eat something wonderful
And live a life worth loving.
-Kim
Run for your life, My Li’l Pony!
This is the first post that had me deciding to start Blogging.
It is based on an experience on the trip home from visiting Pennsylvania in early November, last year.
Walt and I had the most wonderful trip to Pittsburg, PA to visit Walt’s first grandchild, Sophia Marie. Sophia is a truly extraordinary baby. She’s is cute beyond measure and for the most part, a happy baby, and we spent three magical days with Sophia and her parents, Shayna and Carl.
When we boarded the Air-Tran plane to return to Orlando, honestly, my sense of perspective was skewed. Before we boarded the flight, the worst scenario I could conjure in my (innocent) mind, was the “crying baby” scenario.
All the stand-up comedians that I have ever seen have had a horror story about the “crying baby” on a trans-continental flight.
It was my misfortune to travel into the twilight zone, for a two-hour flight, seated in front of the bi-lingual, “my little pony”, little girl.
We were informed by the flight attendants, even before the cabin door was closed, that it was a very “full flight”. This would later thwart any plans I might have had for escape from the mid-flight horror, which ensued.
The family was a larger, extended family. Behind us, were seated the mother, father and at the window seat, a sweet looking little girl.
She had a book with her and a toy for the flight.
I quickly learned that the family was from another land. The slightly built mother, had a loud and powerful voice, and she spoke rapidly in a Slavic sounding language, which sometimes slid into fragmented English phrases.
The father spoke in accented English, to his little girl who was ravenous for his attention during the flight.
It began with the child reading a book aloud….sorry, should have made that “a-LOUD”. During a plethora of key phrases she would loudly proclaim “I can’t remember this word!” Mother, demonstrating characteristic understanding for the fellow passengers, made the little girl read the phrases over and over again until she got it right.
I told myself, “we’re still on the runway, I know the little girl will go to sleep when we’re in the sky and the airplane lights are dimmed.
What a fool I was.
As the flight ensued, a drama unfolded of gory and unfathomable purport ions, that, I, myself would never have anticipated.
Let me start this part of the story with an admonition to ALL parents and grandparents not to purchase My Li’l Pony for their children. Apparently, they have a propensity for hemophilia. Who knew?
As the flight went on, the little girl lost interest in the book, and decompensated into fantasy land.
In this land, there is a “mommy scorpion”, a my li’l pony, and a monster.
The mommy scorpion gives the pony a ride, somewhere, and somehow, is mortally injured. As the pony is injured, the traitorous Mommy scorpion somehow disappears, and the pony begins to hemorrhage. This stage is punctuated by the little girl telling her father “she’s bleeding…she’s bleeding”. Father seems to encourage this pathos by offering the appropriate amount of concern, saying “Oh no!”
In this fantasy land, there are medical personnel, but no ambulances. The pony must, now, be air-lifted by helicopter, to a hospital. The helicopter sounds are cheerfully provided by the father.
The pony is being transported, and as it arrives at the hospital, its condition is critical. We know this, because the little girl provides updates. “He’s dieing. He’s dieing!”. This was followed by more pathos from father “Oh no!”. A brief pause, during which a “doctor” treats the My li’l pony.
Lastly, victoriously, the pony recovers.
I begin, silently praying that the drink cart will wheel by soon. Maybe low blood sugar accounts for the tragic scenario.
The “snack break” only stems the scenario for a few moments.
After the juice break, some marshmallows and two complimentary bags of pretzels (given to the little girl) the scenario resumes with Father, being induced to participate.
Actually, I should say “repeats”, not resumes. The “mother scorpion” makes another appearance, a monster visits (sounds provided by Father) , my li’l pony is injured in the melee. The pony bleeds, pony is air-lifted by the helicopter (sounds provided by father). Pony’s condition is critical. Pony is respirated by a straw and splashed with water (from the cup provided by the flight attendant) after a 5-minute pause, the father ask “Did he (the pony) get better?” To which the child offers an enthusiastic “yes!”.
I look over at my dosing husband. I, now, resent him with the passion of 1000 suns. Half-way through the flight, Walt, typically loses his hearing due to the air pressure, and cannot hear again until his ears “pop” (which might happen sometime next week). He is oblivious to the perils of riding on a mother scorpion. He doesn’t know about the bi-lingual intercourse occurring between the Mother, the father and the grandparents (seated across aisle) about the fact that the mother couldn’t get sugar for her tea.
Walt is blessedly ignorant about the My li’l pony in the endless loop of horror, the monster biting it, the angel flight, the resuscitation, and the eventual recovery.
At this time, I’m wondering why the pony doesn’t happily clip-clop through endless green fields, with a faithful little girl riding with her and feeding her carrots and apples.
Why ARE mother scorpions so devastating? If they are so dangerous, why does the pony continue to accept the ride. If the mother scorpion is so dangerous, why doesn’t she sting the monster, before it bites the pony.
I close my eyes and engage in modified LaMas breathing. It’s quiet for a full ten minutes. Maybe the pony is in it’s stable which is magically monster and scorpion impenetrable.
I was wrong.
I hear the little girl. “Here is the mother scorpion…”….. My brain and solar plexus clutches…..the words echo in my mind “No…pony ….don’t get on the scorpion!” …Too late…the pony is injured. This time a plane comes to air-lift the pony to the hospital.
By the time we actually land in Orlando, I’m ready to reach back to the child and say “Just GIVE ME THE PONY!” (but I didn’t).
Deplaning gave me a false sense of liberty from the Mother-Scorpion-my-li’l Pony-Little-Girl-fantasy land.
The family and my husband and I parted ways on the trip past baggage claim, so I believed I was free, at last.
When Walt and I boarded the shuttle bus to go to our off-site parking lot, I was already reflecting on grand-daughter Sophie’s smile and how she loved the alphabet song. Then, who to my wondering eyes should appear?
That’s right, the bi-lingual family, complete with little girl, grasping the pathetic My Li’l pony in her hot little hand.
Personally, I think this must be karma for me, unknowingly eating cheval meat.
-END
Until Next time;
Eat something wonderful
and live a life worth loving!
-Kim
It is based on an experience on the trip home from visiting Pennsylvania in early November, last year.
Walt and I had the most wonderful trip to Pittsburg, PA to visit Walt’s first grandchild, Sophia Marie. Sophia is a truly extraordinary baby. She’s is cute beyond measure and for the most part, a happy baby, and we spent three magical days with Sophia and her parents, Shayna and Carl.
When we boarded the Air-Tran plane to return to Orlando, honestly, my sense of perspective was skewed. Before we boarded the flight, the worst scenario I could conjure in my (innocent) mind, was the “crying baby” scenario.
All the stand-up comedians that I have ever seen have had a horror story about the “crying baby” on a trans-continental flight.
It was my misfortune to travel into the twilight zone, for a two-hour flight, seated in front of the bi-lingual, “my little pony”, little girl.
We were informed by the flight attendants, even before the cabin door was closed, that it was a very “full flight”. This would later thwart any plans I might have had for escape from the mid-flight horror, which ensued.
The family was a larger, extended family. Behind us, were seated the mother, father and at the window seat, a sweet looking little girl.
She had a book with her and a toy for the flight.
I quickly learned that the family was from another land. The slightly built mother, had a loud and powerful voice, and she spoke rapidly in a Slavic sounding language, which sometimes slid into fragmented English phrases.
The father spoke in accented English, to his little girl who was ravenous for his attention during the flight.
It began with the child reading a book aloud….sorry, should have made that “a-LOUD”. During a plethora of key phrases she would loudly proclaim “I can’t remember this word!” Mother, demonstrating characteristic understanding for the fellow passengers, made the little girl read the phrases over and over again until she got it right.
I told myself, “we’re still on the runway, I know the little girl will go to sleep when we’re in the sky and the airplane lights are dimmed.
What a fool I was.
As the flight ensued, a drama unfolded of gory and unfathomable purport ions, that, I, myself would never have anticipated.
Let me start this part of the story with an admonition to ALL parents and grandparents not to purchase My Li’l Pony for their children. Apparently, they have a propensity for hemophilia. Who knew?
As the flight went on, the little girl lost interest in the book, and decompensated into fantasy land.
In this land, there is a “mommy scorpion”, a my li’l pony, and a monster.
The mommy scorpion gives the pony a ride, somewhere, and somehow, is mortally injured. As the pony is injured, the traitorous Mommy scorpion somehow disappears, and the pony begins to hemorrhage. This stage is punctuated by the little girl telling her father “she’s bleeding…she’s bleeding”. Father seems to encourage this pathos by offering the appropriate amount of concern, saying “Oh no!”
In this fantasy land, there are medical personnel, but no ambulances. The pony must, now, be air-lifted by helicopter, to a hospital. The helicopter sounds are cheerfully provided by the father.
The pony is being transported, and as it arrives at the hospital, its condition is critical. We know this, because the little girl provides updates. “He’s dieing. He’s dieing!”. This was followed by more pathos from father “Oh no!”. A brief pause, during which a “doctor” treats the My li’l pony.
Lastly, victoriously, the pony recovers.
I begin, silently praying that the drink cart will wheel by soon. Maybe low blood sugar accounts for the tragic scenario.
The “snack break” only stems the scenario for a few moments.
After the juice break, some marshmallows and two complimentary bags of pretzels (given to the little girl) the scenario resumes with Father, being induced to participate.
Actually, I should say “repeats”, not resumes. The “mother scorpion” makes another appearance, a monster visits (sounds provided by Father) , my li’l pony is injured in the melee. The pony bleeds, pony is air-lifted by the helicopter (sounds provided by father). Pony’s condition is critical. Pony is respirated by a straw and splashed with water (from the cup provided by the flight attendant) after a 5-minute pause, the father ask “Did he (the pony) get better?” To which the child offers an enthusiastic “yes!”.
I look over at my dosing husband. I, now, resent him with the passion of 1000 suns. Half-way through the flight, Walt, typically loses his hearing due to the air pressure, and cannot hear again until his ears “pop” (which might happen sometime next week). He is oblivious to the perils of riding on a mother scorpion. He doesn’t know about the bi-lingual intercourse occurring between the Mother, the father and the grandparents (seated across aisle) about the fact that the mother couldn’t get sugar for her tea.
Walt is blessedly ignorant about the My li’l pony in the endless loop of horror, the monster biting it, the angel flight, the resuscitation, and the eventual recovery.
At this time, I’m wondering why the pony doesn’t happily clip-clop through endless green fields, with a faithful little girl riding with her and feeding her carrots and apples.
Why ARE mother scorpions so devastating? If they are so dangerous, why does the pony continue to accept the ride. If the mother scorpion is so dangerous, why doesn’t she sting the monster, before it bites the pony.
I close my eyes and engage in modified LaMas breathing. It’s quiet for a full ten minutes. Maybe the pony is in it’s stable which is magically monster and scorpion impenetrable.
I was wrong.
I hear the little girl. “Here is the mother scorpion…”….. My brain and solar plexus clutches…..the words echo in my mind “No…pony ….don’t get on the scorpion!” …Too late…the pony is injured. This time a plane comes to air-lift the pony to the hospital.
By the time we actually land in Orlando, I’m ready to reach back to the child and say “Just GIVE ME THE PONY!” (but I didn’t).
Deplaning gave me a false sense of liberty from the Mother-Scorpion-my-li’l Pony-Little-Girl-fantasy land.
The family and my husband and I parted ways on the trip past baggage claim, so I believed I was free, at last.
When Walt and I boarded the shuttle bus to go to our off-site parking lot, I was already reflecting on grand-daughter Sophie’s smile and how she loved the alphabet song. Then, who to my wondering eyes should appear?
That’s right, the bi-lingual family, complete with little girl, grasping the pathetic My Li’l pony in her hot little hand.
Personally, I think this must be karma for me, unknowingly eating cheval meat.
-END
Until Next time;
Eat something wonderful
and live a life worth loving!
-Kim
Friday, January 1, 2010
Happy New Year, to all of us!
This morning I was doing my usual routines. Brush teeth, brew coffee, turned on TV to Good Morning America and check my email. So far 2010 doesn’t seem a lot different from the previous 5 years.
Then I swiveled to pick up my coffee and saw a wonderful picture of my mom.
Then I remembered. This is the first year that I begin without my mom.
I found myself saying (in my head) “Dear Mom, it’s 2010.”
So I began this letter:
Dear Mom,
It’s 2010. Good Morning America has a new group of hosts (except for Robin). Charlie Gibson is retiring and Diane Sawyer is taking his place. Ju-Ju Chang and George Stephanopolis are taking Diane and Chris’ places.
The day is rainy and I’m remembering how you and I both love (d) rainy days.
I’ll spend the day making black-eyed peas and a new dish, stir-fry cabbage (trying to build a lot of “wealth karma” for this year). Maybe THIS year it will work.
The truth is, mom, I’m missing you. Not in the way I’ve missed you so far.
I think of you coming out of the master bedroom with that bright smile and those bright eyes, opening the back shades, and proclaiming to the kittens “Good morning, honey!”
I’m remembering you saying how good the coffee brewing smells, and walking into the living room to talk about the latest story on GMA.
I miss telling you about the menu for the day and you telling me that sounds “delicious”.
I just miss you.
But in a brighter way.
Not in the grainy painful memories of your last gasping moments. Or in the memories of you being so small and sick in a hospital bed in your room.
The better memories are starting to come now.
So it’s with a grateful heart, I tell you, mom,
I think 2010 is going to be different for me.
Our family does and will miss you.
But I can now remember the person that you were, instead of the illness that overcame you.
I think that is, (as my daughter-in-law Shayna calls it) “Evidence of Grace”.
Maybe I would call it, “Evidence of Lois”.
I love you, mom.
--Kim
Until next time:
Eat something wonderful
And live a life worth loving.
---Kim
Then I swiveled to pick up my coffee and saw a wonderful picture of my mom.
Then I remembered. This is the first year that I begin without my mom.
I found myself saying (in my head) “Dear Mom, it’s 2010.”
So I began this letter:
Dear Mom,
It’s 2010. Good Morning America has a new group of hosts (except for Robin). Charlie Gibson is retiring and Diane Sawyer is taking his place. Ju-Ju Chang and George Stephanopolis are taking Diane and Chris’ places.
The day is rainy and I’m remembering how you and I both love (d) rainy days.
I’ll spend the day making black-eyed peas and a new dish, stir-fry cabbage (trying to build a lot of “wealth karma” for this year). Maybe THIS year it will work.
The truth is, mom, I’m missing you. Not in the way I’ve missed you so far.
I think of you coming out of the master bedroom with that bright smile and those bright eyes, opening the back shades, and proclaiming to the kittens “Good morning, honey!”
I’m remembering you saying how good the coffee brewing smells, and walking into the living room to talk about the latest story on GMA.
I miss telling you about the menu for the day and you telling me that sounds “delicious”.
I just miss you.
But in a brighter way.
Not in the grainy painful memories of your last gasping moments. Or in the memories of you being so small and sick in a hospital bed in your room.
The better memories are starting to come now.
So it’s with a grateful heart, I tell you, mom,
I think 2010 is going to be different for me.
Our family does and will miss you.
But I can now remember the person that you were, instead of the illness that overcame you.
I think that is, (as my daughter-in-law Shayna calls it) “Evidence of Grace”.
Maybe I would call it, “Evidence of Lois”.
I love you, mom.
--Kim
Until next time:
Eat something wonderful
And live a life worth loving.
---Kim
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