Cleaning, cooking, and a crowded bed...

I mentioned this weed a while ago, and Caryl asked for a photo.  We've had a bit of a dry spell, and I noticed one popped up in a bare spot right by the garage door.  They seemingly appear overnight, grow out of hard-packed dirt, and look more like a succulent than a weed.  I already plucked and disposed of this one, but I should have taken progress photos.  In mere days that feel like just a blink of an eye, the weed will become this rather substantial plant, growing ever thicker in stem diameter and broader in leaf as it grows longer in length and numerous in branches.  In some ways, I would almost welcome one in a pot or an isolated bed ... except that when I first transitioned the front curved bed to a rectangular shape and had raw dirt for a while, these suckers would spring up and start taking over the adjacent grass when my back was turned.  Were I skilled in time-lapse photography, I believe you would agree I am not exaggerating in just how quickly these grow.  Were the weed edible, we would no longer have a hunger problem in America or across the world.

Today, I dusted all of the second floor, save for the baseboards.  Dusting makes me sometimes faint.  Dusting baseboards makes me always faint.  I dusted the front and back of all 11 doors, all 17 window sills, and the entire frames of all 22 pieces of artwork and five mirrors.  Of course, I also dusted the surfaces of all of the furniture and the doodads atop the furniture.   So, tomorrow I will clean my bathroom, put out fresh hand towels in all three bathrooms, steam mop the kitchen floor, and give the fluffy white beast a bath.  Then, I shall hope no new visitors (only old ones I can welcome into a less-than-clean home) arrive for months and months and months.  Other than pulling out the couch and tending to the horrible dirty floor beneath it, my house will be cleaner than it has been in ... well, let's just say it will be clean.

I don't like cleaning because it leaves me sweaty, shaking, and short of breath.  I also sometimes faint.  Amos doesn't like me cleaning because it means less snuggling-with-Myrtle time.  I agree with him on that point.

The Red Lentil Dahl was definitely tastier when made with the inclusion of the missing coriander and with the reduction in salt.  The saint in me was happy to put an overly generous serving of the dahl in a container and bring it to my neighbor for her first day of work at her new job on the morrow.  The sinner in me was saddened to see her actually accept the gift out of my slightly-too-clenched hands, because that means I have just one serving left for me since I had a bowl and a half of the new batch for my own lunch today.   The new cookware set has a 5 quart sauteuse pan that I would like very much.  I believe that I could more easily make a double recipe of the dahl in it and use it to make Marie's most magnificent Sante Fe Soup.  I would feel silly making a double recipe of the dahl in the 7 quart stock pot that came with the set.

While I was making the dahl, I did finally figure out that I had the stock pot lid on the sauteuse pan, and when I switched the lids, steam no longer escaped from the sauteuse pan.  They are extremely close in size, so I am not all that upset with myself for not making the mistake, but I do think that four times of using the pot and wondering about the escaping steam is a little overly long to work out that perhaps you should check to see if the lids were mix-ed up when you unpacked the box.

Both last night and today, I also worked on the effects of sexual abuse blog.  I had not been writing because of what writing about emotions was bringing up within me, but I want to write.  I want to help in whatever small way my blog can, help others learn to recognize and understand the effects of sexual abuse ... in others, in themselves.  Then, I wondered if I should explain why I had not been writing or just move on, because I do not want the blog to be so much about me as about sharing the effects of sexual abuse.  I ended up posting about the why of the lack of posts last night.  Then, today, I girded my loins and wrote another entry on an overview of  stages of healing from sexual abuse.

Someone who read the latter emailed me to tell me that I had already written about the Living Word ... basically telling me that part of today's blog entry was my repeating myself.  A part of me felt stupid and ashamed that I cannot even remember what I wrote on a brand new blog with just a few entries.  A part of me thought it fitting and proper to repeat many, many times the efficacy and sufficiency of the Living Word for all persons in all circumstances and that one need not worry about what to say to the wounded soul because our Triune God has said it all for us.

I will admit that I was upset writing about why I had not written, so much so that I slept with all my copies of my beloved NASB 1977 and all my copies of the Christian Book of Concord (BOC).  Amos had to pick his way through the circle of scripture and doctrine I made about my person.  At first, he thought to just sleep atop me, but my slow-suffocation punctuated by ever-increasing gasps and whimpered begging for him to "lay down" caused him to re-think his decision.  Amos ended up stretched out at my side with his head on my pillow.  A pillow with Myrtle, Amos, ice packs, a bible, a BOC, Flower Baby, and Froggy Long Legs Baby.  I am not the only one in need of comfort.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!