Failed plans and a good dahl...

With all my thank you cards, note cards, and letters done (19 pieces of correspondence in all), I thought to be mightily productive today.  I was not.

I did try a new recipe, about which I am excited.  Yes, it takes little to rock my world, but this is especially special because the recipe was for Red Lentil Dahl.

Oh, I love me a good dahl!

I have not had one in a very long time, between going out not being in my budget and having moved away from easy access to stellar Indian food restaurants.

While I have never had a red lentil dahl before, I recently bought some red lentils and was looking for a recipe in which to use them.  When I saw a dahl, I immediately decided that was the one for me, even though the very thought of trying to cook an Indian food dish would scare me spitless ... and paralyze me with fear ... normally.  Other than the fact that I was missing one ingredient (well, two if you count the one I did not notice until I was half-way through assembling the dish), the dahl turned out very well.  It was slightly more salty than I would wish, but I have already adjusted the recipe.  I ate two bowls.  And I am very much looking forward to having the leftovers.

In the recipe, I noted that I had the dahl with Redfire Tandor Baked Naan.  This is the sixth grocery store naan I have tried and it is by far the best.  With all the naan, I put them straight into the freezer.  Redfire claims its naan is actually made to be frozen.  For once, I believe a manufacturer's marking claim.  Sadly, I cannot remember where I bought this particular brand, but I hope to find it again.  After all, I have lots and lots and lots of red lentils still to cook.

I also noted in the recipe that the lentils I used were Roland Red Lentils.  I actually got them on the subscribe and save subscription service.  I have four other things I get regularly and I received a notice that if I added a fifth item, I would get 15% off the entire order.  Essentially, I got these for free.  They are smaller than any other lentil I have ever seen and are really delicate.  I did not need to wash them, and they cooked very quickly.  I highly recommend them.

I am curious about whether or not I could make a brown lentil dahl.  Eons ago, in Pennsylvania, I had the best ever dahl at an Indian food restaurant that had a $4.95 all-you-can-eat buffet.  Usually, I managed to stuff down three plates.  Once, it was four, though I spent the rest of the day like a beached whale.  A happy beached whale.  Anyway, never have I had one as flavorful as that which they had out in this huge kettle by the buffet.

To make the dahl, I used my new 3.5 quart sauteuse pan.  This is the pan Marie used to make the béchamel sauce.  It is, I believe, going to be my favorite pan of the entire set.  Last night, I used it to make fried rice.  In case you were wondering, the way you add egg to fried rice is actually not to cook it up separately in a pan (which I did at first), but to actually mix the egg into the cooked rice and let the heat of the rice cook the egg (which I also did).  Amos ate the first cooked eggs.  Happily.  However, the pan was an absolute, utter mess.  However, I barely had to look at it for the ruined bits of egg on the side to fall off into the sink.  Seriously, these are truly non-stick pots and pans!

Anyway, I had plans for this day. I had plans.  I was going to get lots of things accomplished. I was going to be so very productive.  None of my plans came to fruition. Of course, that might very well be because none of my plans were even started.

I did give a consult about a logo change for a company.  Someone asked me to respond to the four comps the company received.  I meshed two together (after making some rather strident remarks about the lack of diversity amongst the comps) and changed an aspect of one to arrive at their new logo. I am not a designer, but I do know what works and doesn't work.  It was a good moment for me to be helpful.  Though, my friend Caryl would have a great big guffaw if she saw what I did in inDesign to put together a draft of my idea so the company could go back to their designer for the changes.  I am not a designer and I am not a PhotoShop person.  I simply do not have design/PhotoShop brain cells.  Maybe I should send her the file for a rainy day, when she needs a good snicker or two or three.

Mostly, I napped.
And rested.
And decided to take the chill out of the air in my house with a fire.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

Fires and a bit more...

Even before I started trying to get better at using my cameras, I loved to take photos of my fires.  Mostly, because I love having fires.  This is my third season of having fires and I am still not used to the thought that I have my own fireplace and can have fires whenever I want.

The first fire is always the hardest to build, because I do not have a good ash base from which to work.  Plus, it appears I need a hood on my chimney because I have had both birds and rain make their way into my house through this opening in my roof.  One particular rainstorm seems to have cleaned out the chimney a bit, because I had a large pile of sparkling soot after it was over and everything dried out.  So, first I cleaned out fireplace and then set about building a file.  

I have posted about the fire-starters my realtor's husband taught me to make.  You take the bottom of a paper egg carton, fill the cups with sawdust, and then top them off with melted wax.  Once the wax has hardened, you cut apart the twelve cups to create the fire-starters.  He regularly buys old candles at garage sales for his fire starters.  They keep a steady flame going as the wood catches fire.

An idea for slower burning kindling to go with the fire-starter I had at the end of fire season last year involves toilet paper cardboard tubes.  I take one toilet paper tube, fold it in half length-wise, and then stick it into a second toilet paper tube.  I then will fold and stick in another tube and another and another.  I can get about six toilet paper tubes inside a seventh.  So, I am basically left with a piece of cardboard "wood."  I saved and stuffed toilet paper tubes all summer long and used two of them on last night's fire.

The way I build a fire (once I have an ash bed), is to crumple up paper scraps, junk mail, and torn paperboard (like from the Honey Nut Chex cereal boxes and Dr Pepper cartons) and place it on the ash base.  I will also toss in pieces of bark that have fallen off the wood.  And, as I noted, I have added the stuffed toilet paper tubes to my arsenal of non-wood kindling.  Then, I put a eggfire-starter in the middle of it.  Directly above the fire-starter, I place a piece of kindling wood, something that is barkless on at least two sides and is about the size of a paper towel center tube.  Often, my kindling has been left over scraps of wood from the various projects about the house.  Then, I place two pieces of wood on either side of the kindling.  The next layer is two pieces of wood stacked in the opposite direction.  And then the third layer of wood is another two pieces stacked in the same direction as the bottom layer.  Using this method, I can light the crumbled kindling and walk away.  In less than two minutes, I will have roaring flames strong enough and sustaining enough to catch all the wood on fire before the kindling is burnt up.  One of the best moments of my fires is the Great Collapse, in which the initial stack of wood has burned to the point where it breaks apart, falls down, and sends a great shower of sparks upward.

At this point, I will also note that I have become quite skilled at banking coals.  Basically, before the bed of coals begins to cool down after the last piece of wood has broken into pieces, I with take all the ash from the sides of the fireplace and pile it up in the center, to bury the still-glowing coals.  If the ash is thick enough, I can keep coals alive for up to approximately 18 hours.  If I am starting with banked coals, I do not use an egg carton fire-starter.  Instead, I spread out the ash to expose the coals and to ensure there is enough space between the ash base and kindling base for a flow of air to pull the flames upward and then pile on the paper kindling and finish creating my stack of wood.

Of course, my 1920 fireplace has what the chimney service guy said was a "wicked updraft," which helps in the fire-building process.  There is no flue.  The weird thing is that when the air is cold, a pocket or bubble of cold air will be near the bottom of the chimney.  So, the chimney service guy told me I should light a roll of paper and stick it up the chimney to "pop" the bubble so that the chimney will start drawing the smoke upward.  Because I am lazy, I pop the bubble with the fireplace lighter I have.  I've even stuck my hand up inside with a Bic lighter a workman once left behind.  Either is sufficient and is less of a hassle than rolling paper into a tube, lighting it, and using that to pop the cold air bubble.

Last night, I forgot to pop the bubble, so I had much smoke rolling inside before I remembered to do so.  Eventually, the fire would have done so, but not before a colossal amount of smoke filled my living room.

Anyway, when I have a bare surface, I have found that I have to keep feeding the kindling pile new bits of paper and paperboard and such to build up a bit of a faux ash base.  I did add some of the wood scraps, because I kept every scrap of wood that was used in every project over the past year.  I even have round circles from where the closet rods were trimmed to fit.  Those scraps of raw lumber burn quickly, but they produce a strong flame.  So, last night, I had to use several bits of scrap wood, an entire cereal box, and my last church newsletter before I could see that the fire would hold.  Then, I had a fire from about six in the evening until about 2 in the morning.  Bliss.

I used my small tripod to take the photos, setting it up directly in front of the fire, but far enough back so the camera would not get too hot.  What I noticed right away was that weird glow in the center.  Thinking about it now, I am wondering if this is because I forgot to remove the polarizing filter or if it was from the settings I was used.

I have antique andirons instead of a grate for the wood. I wish that I could have captured them as well as the fire, but I was also trying to take photos without using flash.

The next three photos are a set of bracketed photos.  

In this set, I think that I prefer either the original setting one (the middle) or the overexposed one (the third one).  These were all taken with a smaller aperture setting to let in a greater amount of light.  My friend Caryl helped me understand that I need to think opposite about the numbers.  A greater number is smaller opening.  Though ... I wish someone would have asked me about the logic of that.  If I were making up setting numbers, I would have a larger number mean a larger opening and a greater amount of light.

This next bracketed set was done while focusing on shutter speed.  Nearly all of the photos were either completely black or had the merest speck of fire.  These were taken on the fastest shutter speed possible.

I deleted all of the rest, but I sort of liked this "barely there" version of the fire.  However, after seeing the results, I went back to focusing on aperture.

I wish I could understand what was making the whole hazy middle thing.  I also wish I could capture the shooting sparks the way that I was able to do so using my iPhone in the photo below.

But I do not think this photo is a clear as the ones I took with my Fuji.  Below are the best bracketed set I took.

Looking at these now, I think I should try again when I have a bed of coals atop a bed of ash.  Later in the evening, I had more coals, which sometimes mesmerize me, but nothing like what I will have once I am several fires into this season.

After these photos, I took many more trying out the scenic program settings on the camera. I wonder if, for example, the sports setting might work since it was for movement.  Only two worked.

This is the fireworks setting.  I loved the warm glow of everything and the marked lack of purple haze in the center of the photo.  It makes me wonder what settings the camera is using for fireworks.

This is the sunset setting.  Again, I really have no idea what the camera is doing in all the parameters because I told it I was looking at a sunset, but you have a better image of the entire fire.  

I think, of the scene settings, I prefer the fireworks one.  I am not sure what I think of all the manual ones I did.  Mostly, the ones I found interesting were the barely-there-shutter-speed ones.  However, I am not really sure I captured even a fraction of how awesome the fire was to me.  SIGH.

On a totally and separate note, I finally remembered—on the third one—to take a photo of the Three Cheese and Balsamic Glaze Flatbread.  I should have taken a before photo because the drizzling is every so much more artistic before all the ingredients melt together.  Three times now, folk have found this to be fantastic.  Their enthusiasm makes me giddy, for I am excited that I was able to figure out how to make something I saw in a store ... and make it better!  

Yum!

For reference, the amount of béchamel sauce in the recipe (the smallest amount I could create from all the recipes I perused) was enough to make three flatbreads (before I ran out of brie) and then to make three bowls of a faux lasagna, where I layered (twice) mezzo penne, béchamel sauce, tomato basil spaghetti sauce, and mozzarella cheese.  

When storing the extra béchamel sauce, I debated using a mason jar or one of the Snapple bottles that I use for keeping heavy whipping cream and homemade dressings and such in the refrigerator.  I chose the Snapple bottle since all I have are quart mason jars, totally and completely and utterly forgetting that once it is chilled, the béchamel sauce is more like custard or an extremely thick yogurt.  Once you use it again, it melts beautifully.  Just wonderfully tasty.  But when cold in a Snapple bottle you will have to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to use a knife to scoop it out.  Definitely the mason jar would be better.  Actually, I probably should just have used once of my glass leftover containers.  In any case, if you are storing leftover béchamel sauce, be sure to put it in something with an opening wide enough for a spoon or rubber spatula.  

Last night, I finished off all the thank-you cards and note cards I had wanted to send.  And so I started thinking about the letters that I wanted to write.  You see, I like written correspondence and am single-handedly trying to keep the practice alive.  I send out handwritten thank you notes for all the gifts I receive and even for acts of mercy.  I rarely get any response back or receive them myself, but I have been doing so for about 15 years or so, have once become personally convicted that I had been taking for granted both the kindnesses shown me and the gifts given.

I want to write letters to my nephews, my best friend's cherubs, and Mary's two oldest.  I know that I enjoyed receiving letters as a child and I have the time to write.  However, I have gradually stopped writing letters to my own friends because they don't answer them.  I struggle to maintain one-sided correspondence.  I know that's how it will be with children.  Plus, my life has become so very narrow that I do not really have much to say.  I have been toying around with the idea of just writing nonsense,  something like talking about a trip to Jupiter or the like.  That way, I wouldn't be trying to have a written correspondence, a written conversation, per se, but just sending bits of writing in the mail to let the children know that writing is important and that I value them.  Only, I am not much of a silly story writer.  I write about challenging things, about hard things, not happy ones.  And my sweet nothings that I whisper in Amos' ears are all mostly nonsense puppy talk.  All the stories I tell him are about us, about a puppy dog who came to live with a care for a woman whose life was full of hurt and pain and loss and change.

Anyway, that is my goal for tonight.  I wish to write those six letters, print them on the special computer paper stationary I have amidst my stash of office supplies and get them out in the mail. I would like to first remember that I want to be sending them regular letters and then to actually write them and send them.  Maybe at least once a month.  Maybe twice.

I suppose what I am saying is that I believe it is important for children to know that other adults value and care for them.  My writing letters is a way I can let them know that I value them.  That really is why I send notecards to my friends on a regular basis ... or at least try to do so.  When I receive a letter or a notecard or anything from someone, it tells me that in that moment of the sending, I was thought of and cared for by that person.  It is a heady and wonderful thing to realize, to think and feel, as an adult.  It is even more so as a child.

I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

First love, fires, GREEN, and dweebiness...

I had started to wonder if Amos had finally set aside his ardent love for Flower Baby in favor of Froggy Long Legs Baby.  Amos has been dragging Froggy Long Legs up and down the stairs each night/morning so that he is not parted from his baby.  However, the other day, I awoke to find myself sharing a pillow with Amos and Flower Baby.  Actually, Amos had placed Flower Baby between us on the pillow and was resting his chin on her face, a paw flung across her body and tucked into my armpit.  While I discovered that it was most assuredly time for Flower Baby's next bath, I smiled and stared at my puppy dog, struck anew at what a merciful gift from my Good Shepherd he is to me.

Today, I had to get up really, really, really, really early.  Of course, the reason I did was because Firewood Man was bringing me more firewood!  The past two afternoon/evenings, it has been colder inside my house than out.  I have not wanted to turn on the heat yet and was hankering for wood.

Last fall, I had left-overs, so that I did not have to wait on delivery.  However, I had the lofty goal of scrapping and painting the back porch this summer.  As you can see, this task did not get done.

The outside door to the porch drags along the floor.  It has been shaved once since I moved here.  Well, it has been cut with a saw-zall, but it still sticks in certain weather.  So, I wanted it trimmed again before I set to work.  I never got it trimmed, so I never painted.

Anyway, now I have enough for a couple of weeks of fires ... maybe three!

Actually, I have not been able to remember just how often I buy wood, so I marked the calendar today as a wood delivery.  I have found that if I close the French doors to the dining room the French door to the parlor, a fire will warm up the living room sufficiently to not run the heat.  Since I sleep better in cooler temperatures, I can set the thermostat rather low in winter if no one else is in the house.  However, with the body temperature regulation problems from Dysautonomia and the Reynaud's, last winter I found myself turning the house up to roast (about 80 degrees) when I would have a cold spell.  What I need to somehow remember is that when those cold spells happen, my best friend helped me figure out that external heat against my skin works best.  So, some time in the next month or so I should get an electric twin-sized blanket to keep in the living room.

Tim mowed as well.  He very nearly had to sickle my prairie first!  We have ever so much rain and my backyard has just loved all the extra drinks.

Last week he did a fertilizer treatment for me.  And I will admit, openly, that I oft have a bit of a pride battle when I look at my yard compared to those of my neighbors.  Firewood Man has this super secret special weed killer and super secret special fertilizer.  In just one year, there was a tremendous difference in the coverage of my yard and now, after a second full year of him treating my yard, I have luscious grass that does not sport either the dandelions or the clover that I see all around me.  GREEN grass wherever I look is bliss!  This year, my mother has paid for Tim to mow as well.  So, the whole of the tending of the yard did not fall upon my fainting shoulders.  It is amazing, really, the transformation he has made to the very, very neglected lawn.  And I simply can never get my fill of gazing upon all that GREEN!

Amos ... well, he prefers snow.  Hopefully, he will have lots and lots of stress free tending-his-business trips out into the yard this winter!!

I am actually thankful that Firewood Man dragged me out of bed early today because I realized that I have two family birthdays this week.  Last year, I started making birthday cards.  I am NOT artistic or crafty in the least.  Seriously, kindergarteners have been art skills than I.  However, I had stopped sending cards after losing my job because of the rather non-economical cost of them.  Last year, I decided dweeby handmade cards from a middle-aged-talentless woman were better than nothing.

What was nice about working on those two cards (and two more that will be coming up in the next month) was being able to sit at the table.

By the way, what did one candle say to the other?  Don't birthdays burn you up?

Yep, I'm making dweebie handmade cards complete with horribly corny jokes!

You can see the new sit-able chairs in the photo.  I could ask you:  Do those look like tone-on-tone BROWN damask chairs to you?  They are, in fact, predominately this rather unidentifiable color ... some sort of silver/green/blue mix.  However, the seats are not broken, the backs are not out, and all the legs are functioning.  So, I was able to sit at the table, spread out my left-over supplies that I am using for the cards, and work rather easily and comfortably.  I cannot sit in any chair for long periods of time, but this was far, far, far better than spreading everything out on the floor and working from there.

With regard to the chairs, what I discovered is that having a patterned chair affects your placemats and napkins.  My mid-1800's chairs were almost cream colored, having been a pale pink when they were first created.  Not a single placemat or napkin goes with the chairs.  I find this unsettling.  My mustard-colored plates will be a tad strong in comparison, but I love them and have plans to keep on using them in heaven.  However, florals, butterflies, and madras plaids ... make for a very disturbing visual contrast with the fabric of the new chairs.  So, I hope to eventually find some plain brown placemats and napkins that will fit with the background of the chairs.  Eventually.  As in 2014.  Meanwhile, I will have horrible mis-matching table dressings until then.

In any case, now that the cards are out in the mail, I shall be taking my very exhausted self back to bed until 3:15, when I have to go fetch Sandra's son.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

Huh???...

I have studied aperture for two weeks and cannot tell you anything other that it has to do with how much light you are letting into the camera during a shot.  How in the world is it that I used to actually take really fine photos?  I miss being able to use my beloved Minolta X-700.  But I have had digital cameras for years, so there really is no excuse for this utter lack of knowledge retention.

Other than my brain really is broken.

This is my worst photo of the spider web I tried to capture last night, using my tripod and playing around with aperture and shutter speed:

A real stunner, eh?  [Yes, the lens cap was off!  I have twelve of these stellar shots.]


This one is the best, but I still never managed to get a clear image, while refusing to use a flash:

Coincidentally, today, after fetching Sandra's son, I got caught in the back yards talking to two different neighbors.  One of them had talked with the construction crew and is wildly curious about how my kitchen turned out.  While we were talking, we all noticed this:

I texted it to Sandra and my neighbor got her son to searching.  It turns out is a corn or a garden spider. Wild looking, if you ask me.  And, yes, I took this with a macro zoom setting so I stuck my lens right near her.  I still have the heebie-jeebies!  

I was out last night because I saw clouds in the night sky.  They were simply glorious, white and puffy against the black sky.  Oh, how I wanted to photograph them.  I failed.  I wonder if I had been able to do a manual focus, if I might have done so, but all this time I have not been able to figure out the manual focus.  It is utterly and completely different from the manual focus of my old Minolta, which had a circle made of two halves that you made match in both focus and lightness.  

After reading the instruction book section on manual focus more today—something I wish I had done earlier—I learned that the two half (not-connected) circles that look almost parentheses must be yellow to be in focus.  Huh???

Yellow?

Apparently, the little arrows I was seeing are helpful hints telling you the direction you should go to find focus.  SIGH.  Shouldn't I have realized arrows would mean direction?

Anyway, automatic focus must not work on a cloud in the night sky because of contrast or distance or something.  I mean, automatic focus means sending out some sort of red light, which I imagine is bouncing off the subject matter and determining focus.  Who knows.  What I do know is that no matter how hard I tried to capture the night clouds, I could not.

In my mind, in order to photograph the clouds, I would need lots of light (aperture) and slow shutter speed.  I simply cannot figure out what is more light and what is less.  For that matter, I am not understanding the shutter speeds.

What is interesting is that I then wondered if I could take a photo of the crabapples on my tree in the dark.

Funny my efforts turn white garages into yellow ones.

But along the way, when looking at the photos on my computer I noticed something:

Huh??  There are my clouds ... blurry and off color ... in the background!

Oh, wait, there they are again!  Why can I not just take pictures of the clouds??  And, what is that glare across the top of the ornamental magnolia tree?  After all, this is night.  No sunshine shinning down for which I would need the circular polarizing filter.

In any case, this was my best nighttime-shot-without-flash of the crabapples:

Mostly, I spent the night wishing rather fervently that my camera, which has many a settings on it, had a setting that could turn the timer on and leave it on for as many shots as you wish.  Since my hands shake so much, I could not press the shutter and remove my finger whilst the shutter was open.  For each shot, I had to navigate to the 2-second timer and turn it on and then take the photo.

I believe that my Olympus is actually a better camera, especially since I have extra lenses for it as opposed to working with a single fixed lens.  And it has this simply, utterly wonderful remote control.  Perhaps I should switch main camera efforts, but I have this love for Fuji that is close to my adoration of Minolta than my feelings for Olympus are.  I know, I should be fawning after Nikon or Cannon, but I have ... actually ... three Fuji cameras and the Olympus.  And, well, it is not like I would ever be spending money on a camera or equipment since I am already struggling to live on a limited income.

I will admit ... well ... I have my eye on a tripod mount for my iPhone that I want ever so much.  I would very much like to be able to take steady shots with my iPhone in certain situations and I would like to be able to film my playing with Amos for my broken rememberer's sake.  It is a mere $20, but having bought symphony tickets and sitable chairs, all my self-care spending is over for the long-term.  Maybe I will get Amazon gift certificates for Christmas again.

Anyway, I was watching Fringe and trying to figure out the manual zoom:

I was struggling to understand what the instruction book was telling me and thinking that, perhaps, sitting in the dark was not the best time to be trying to learn exactly how to do manual focusing.

And I was wondering if ever I would get this process, when I discovered another feature that works on most of the shot settings I might choose.

The setting one of five continuous shooting options and is called "bracketing."  What it does is takes three photos, with the first being slightly underexposed and the last being slightly overexposed in relation to the settings you have chosen.

On three of my cameras, I have a natural light option that will take two photos, one without flash and one with, so that you can choose later which you like.  In a way, I think bracketing is sort of like that.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could bracket the moments of our lives, under- and over-exposing our words and actions, so that we might, after the fact, choose which was the best thing to say or do?


Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.  Lord, have mercy. 

Culinary victory...

Marie and Paul came over for a visit and were generous enough for us to eat sort of a whacky meal and stay long enough to start watching the series Due South with me, a show Paul recommended.

You see, Marie and I had planned to make the Grilled Eggplant with Balsamic Vinegar, Feta, Basil and Grilled Baguette, since Paul had yet to try it.  But I have also been hankering to try an re-create an Archer Farms flatbread that I found.  And, since even the grilled eggplant would not have been enough, I thawed chicken so we could have baked chicken with Thai peanut sauce over basmati rice.  Yes, that final bit is an odd addition to the other two parts of our "meal."

I am very excited about the flatbread. In posting the recipe I created, I was not sure what to call it, but settled upon Three Cheese and Balsamic Glaze Flatbread.  It was very, very, very tasty.  The good thing is that you end up with more of the base sauce than what you need for just one flatbread, so I can have it again as soon as I wish.

Because I am a chicken, I made Marie tackle the béchamel sauce, ostensively because I was allowing her the opportunity to learn how to make a béchamel sauce ... but I am a chicken.  We ended up putting the garlic paste on the bread, since I didn't think to add it to the sauce at the beginning, so I wrote the recipe up to add it to the sauce so that I do it properly next time.

As the recipe notes, the Archer Farms flatbread simply said "Italian cheese sauce" as an ingredient.  I looked high and low trying to figure out what that might be and ended up deciding to make a béchamel sauce with gruyere cheese.  That was the sauce base on top of which was to be brie and balsamic glaze.  However, I thought it should have more than what Archer Farms did, so I added feta cut basil paste.  Hence the third cheese of my recipe name.  I stink at guestimating what I have dumped in, but I tried to think more carefully about how much basil went into the feta.  Since Marie brought a container, I was able to see just about how much feta was used and I tried to cut the gruyere so that I could also know how much was used.  Despite my poor recipe writing skills, I would highly recommend you try this flatbread.  Actually, I would highly recommend that you try it out all by yourself (i.e., eat the whole darn thing) before serving it to others.

Because I am still so very exhausted from the past week, I set my alarm for 10 minutes before Marie and Paul were to arrive.  They got here early and let themselves in, since they needed to change from church clothing to arctic gear (most folk find my house cold).  Without even looking at a mirror (even though I went to bed with wet hair), I dragged myself to the GREEN chair and mumbled a greeting.  Those poor folk had to wait for me to wake up some before eating.  I think I half starved them.  But they left stuffed ... so perhaps it all worked out in the end?

Being the researcher, I would only be willing to say that this is a preliminary finding, but close scrutiny of my water bills since the dishwasher was installed, taking into account the additional water usage of guests' showers, I believe that there has be no increase in my water bill from using the dishwasher. In fact, I almost believe that it might be saving water usage, by not having water running whilst doing dishes everyday. I still wash certain things by hand, but what can go into the dishwasher goes into it.  The reason I say this is because I had guest showers and I had one evening of watering the yard (in moving the sprinklers a total of four hours of running water) and yet still did not go over the previous month's bills!

Fort Wayne seems to have set levels. I really don't understand it, because I have the same bill each month unless I do something stupid like trying to keep my yard alive during a drought.  We had an increase in basic fees this last year that was not insignificant to me.  However, despite having a dishwasher, having done more laundry than usual, having watered the yard, and having had a guest, my bill was the same.  Again.

The reason I mention this is that we made a bit of a mess in the kitchen, using lots of dishes.  First, without the dishwasher installation, which expanded the counter space, making such a mess would have been harder.  Making three different dishes would have been really difficult.  Second, though we made a great mess, clean-up was fairly easy because much could go in the dishwasher.  I washed by hand what needed washing by hand and was finished before Marie and Paul would have arrived back home.   So, there was no real strain on me for the visit and the culinary adventures, either physically or financially.

Amos, of course, is very happy during culinary adventures with guests.  Guests mean that he had more dishes to pre-clean for me.  And his Aunt Marie and Uncle Paul are oft a tad bit generous on how much they leave for him to clean.

I've napped thrice since my guests left.  For whatever reason, I never dream when I nap in the GREEN chair.  However, I am fairly sure this night will be filled with dreams of flatbread tastiness.  A day with a culinary victory, merciful guests, a new show to watch, much rest, and a contented puppy is a good day.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

Dear General Mills...

Please ... please ... stop making Honey Nut Chex cereal.  Or please stop selling it in Fort Wayne.

Heroine rewires the brain in one dose.
So, too, must Honey Nut Chex cereal.
I am addicted.

I have had it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner on several occasions.  It is now not uncommon that I have it for breakfast and then for dessert after dinner.  My Honey Nut Cheerios are sadly neglected.  But I blame General Mills for putting some super secret ingredient in Honey Nut Chex to make the cereal crunch ever so much more satisfyingly and the leftover milk ever so much tastier.  It is manna in my mouth.  Tasty.  Satisfying.  Complete.

Amos, too, is addicted.  He no longer is able to wait until I am finished with my portion to clean the "bowl" I use to eat cereal.  He puts his head on my shoulder, pressing down harder and harder with each spoonful I take, inching his nose closer and closer, until he starts licking air in attempt to get me to hand over the bowl.

I think he thinks that if I hear him licking air, I will be smitten with remorse over the dearth of tastiness in his mouth and will simply let him finish off my portion.  It is very hard to eat cereal and chuckle at the antics of your puppy dog.

[Please ignore the BreatheRight strip.  I am too cheap to waste one by pulling it off to take a photo after I am all ready for bed.  At nearly $0.63 a strip, public humiliation is better than waste.]


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

Teaching, praying, and healing...

I am exhausted.

As soon as Sandra picked up her son—thankfully early—I was lights out for about two hours.  That gave me enough strength to then haul myself out of the GREEN chair, feed Amos, support Amos in his battle against his fear so that he might conduct his major business, then change into my pajamas, and collapse back into the GREEN chair.  Yes, as I type this, it is 7:21 PM and I already have my teeth brushed, my BreatheRight strip applied, and am dressed in GREEN head to toe in the hopes I might have an extra measure of rest tonight.  As in, a nap or two before heading to bed and then languishing in bed until ... well ... Sunday, when Paul and Marie are coming over for the cooking of tasty food.

I am exhausted.

Five days of dressing myself, hauling myself out to the car, picking up a child, bringing him back home, and staying awake in the GREEN chair until his mother finishes school wiped me out.  Of course, since I had to drag my person out of the house, I used the opportunity on Wednesday to run to the post office and do returns at Target and the opportunity today to stop and both fetch milk and fill up my gas tank before going back home.  I figured, getting out five days in a row was going to be hard, so I tried to maximize the getting out.

I am exhausted.
And I have five more days next week.

Marie came by for some keep-body-and-soul-together basil burgers before setting off to spend four hours tutoring.  Whilst she was here, we talked about one of her students, and I got to be Dr. Literacy Professor for a while.  She left with an armload of books (graduate and undergrad) to study, since one of her students is in need of creative teaching and skillful managing.  I savored the opportunity to talk theory and pedagogy, to revel in literacy.  I also savored the excuse to make up a bag of the pumpkin spice cookie mix so she could have something to bring home to Paul after work.  Poor guy missed out on basil burgers.

Before we launched into all things literacy, I gushed (yes, embarrassingly so) about how much I have enjoyed being able to listen to Pastor Brown's sermons as I read along with the text he posts.  I honestly do not know how I missed that he had started posting audio files.  I plowed through all of them rather quickly ... and repeatedly.

It is hard to put into words just how much it means to me to have both the written text and the audio file of sermons which properly divide Law and Gospel.  Both pastors at my church are rather skilled in that area, but while the audio files are posted, only one writes out his sermons and he does not make them public.  I grieve the changes in my brain that affect auditory comprehension and memory function/loss. Most particularly so because sometimes—when reading plot summaries whilst I watch television shows or movies—I feel as if I have been punched in the stomach, as if the wind has been knocked out of me, when I realized just how much I need those plot summaries to follow, to comprehend, what I am watching.

Anyway, there is one sermon in particular I first told Marie about and then read one bit aloud ... and another ... and another ... and another.  It is the perfect Word for Myrtle.  Perfect.

I still would like to write about that other thought, about how Psalm 18 and Psalm 143 mirror Article VIII of the Formula Solid Declaration in the Christian Book of Concord.  But I am exhausted.  Really exhausted.

And, honestly, much of what I am thinking in that thought also is mirrored in Pastor Brown's sermon.  Especially.  Especially the thoughts I am longing to gather and write about the physicality of the Gospel.  So, I thought I would post the sermon below and give the link to the audio file so that this precious bit of Living Word might fall upon your ears.


Trinity 12    |    Mark 7: 31-37

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost †

So Jesus had been wandering through the north country, through Lebannon, actually—away from His homeland, away from His people, away from the Jewish nation. There He had met the Syrophoenician woman—even little dogs get to eat the bread that falls from the master’s table. And He comes back into the fringes of Galilee, and a man is brought to Him. A man who is deaf, a man who has a speech impediment. The crowds beg Jesus to heal this man. Now, when we see Jesus come across a deaf man, we jump to the end of the story in our minds. There’s going to be a miracle—Jesus is going to walk right up and do a miracle! Well, the miracle does come—but that’s not the first thing that Jesus does. The first thing Jesus does is teach. Let us see what Jesus teaches us this morning in His Word.

Then he returned from the region of Tyre and went through Sidon to the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis. And they brought to him a man who was deaf and had a speech impediment, and they begged Him to lay His hand on Him. There’s a few things to note here. First, let us note this man’s problem. Can’t hear. Can’t talk. Think on what that would mean. Think what happens in your life when the hearing goes—how you get cut off from other people, you can’t understand what is going on around you. And think on what happens when you can’t speak well—it’s hard to let people know what you need. The lines of communication break down. That’s the situation of this man. Even surrounded by the crowd, by people who wished him the best, he must have been terribly isolated. He possibly was quite confused, when people suddenly come and grab him and drag him out.

Also, these verses sort of make you wonder about the motives of the crowd. We’ve seen people ask Jesus for healing before—fathers pleading for their children, the Centurion for his servant, friends lowering a man through the ceiling, even people for themselves. There’s that direct tie to the person asking and the person receiving. There doesn’t seem to be that sense here. It’s almost as though these people just want to see a miracle, see if this Jesus is all He is cracked up to be—and they are thinking, “Well, what can we have him do? I know, let’s go grab old deaf Chuck and see what this Jesus can do.” Go on Jesus, lay Your hands on Him, let’s see what you’ve got.

And taking him aside from the crowd privately, He put His fingers into his ears, and after spitting touched his tongue. Is this not just fascinating? Here you’ve got the crowd hankering for a miracle, to see what this Jesus can do. And what does Jesus do? He takes the deaf man off privately. Away from the crowd. This miracle would not be a spectacle. It would not be some type of Dog and Pony show. That is Jesus teaching us. That teaches us about how God works, how He operates. When God shows care, when God shows love—He shows love. Jesus, when He heals this man, has as His focus—the deaf man. Jesus doesn’t do this miracle to impress the crowd—He isn’t like last week’s Pharisee bragging of what He does. No, when Jesus acts, His focus is on what He’s doing. If people were just coming to see a show—wasn’t going to happen. Jesus was going to do what is important—Jesus was going to show love, not worry about entertaining the crowds.

And then, once Jesus has pulled this man to the side, He touches the man’s ears, and not just touch, but reaches into the earhole and pokes around. And He spits, and touches his tongue. And at first glance, that seems kind of strange. There’s a man who needs healing Jesus, this is no time for charades or hand gestures. Yes it is, it is precisely the time for hand gestures. Why? Because the man is deaf —he hasn’t heard the crowds begging for him. He may not know what is going on. So Jesus takes him away privately, where there’s less confusion, where there aren’t people jostling him around. And when Jesus has this man’s attention, see what Jesus does. He touches the man’s ear. The man can feel, and Jesus by touch says, “This is about your ears, your hearing.” Then Jesus spits, and touches the man’s tongue. “See, this is about what comes out of your mouth, this is about that tongue that misfires.” Jesus lets the man know what is going on—Jesus teaches. And then, after the teaching, He heals.

And looking up to heaven, He sighed and said to him, “Ephphatha,” that is, “Be opened.” One beautiful little note. Jesus is always praying before miracles. At the feeding, He gives thanks. Before other healings He prays in a loud voice. Before the miracle of the Lord’s Supper, He gives thanks. And He does so here. It’s not a long prayer. Jesus simply sighs. Luther once said that the best prayer is simply the heartfelt sigh of a Christian, because God knows exactly what it means. Here, Jesus gives us an example of this style of prayer. Just something to think about when you are struggling with words when you are praying—don’t worry about struggling—God knows what is going on—sigh, say “Thy Will Be Done”—maybe the entire Lord’s Prayer, and go on with life trusting that it’s in God’s hands.

And his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. And Jesus charged them to tell no one. But the more He charged them, the more zealously they proclaimed it. And Jesus heals the guy. And Jesus takes him out back to the crowd, and the deaf guy can hear, he can talk. And the crowds are astonished. They see what has been done and they are amazed. And so they start running off to tell people, and Jesus says, “wait, don’t go off running, don’t go off talking,” but they do anyway. So, why does Jesus tell them not to go tell anyone. Is Jesus being shy here? More, I’d wager, is that Jesus is just being practical. The people were already pretty revved up, waiting to see a miracle, and then they just explode. And do you know what comes next in Mark’s Gospel? The feeding of the 4000. Thousands of people come running—but they don’t bring anything to eat. They come running, not prepared. Jesus wants to teach—in fact, He’s going to teach for three days—and in their haste, these folks end up not being prepared. We know the feeding of the 4000 thousand, it’s going to work out, but still, we shouldn’t be going off half cocked.

Yet the people do understand that something important is going on, something other than a simple miracle. They aren’t disingenuous. And they were astonished beyond measure, saying, “He has done all things well. He even makes the deaf hear and the mute speak.” Think on Genesis. And it was Good. Creation restored. Things made the way they should be. The crowd gets this, they are excited because they see that Jesus isn’t some showboat, some huckster, He’s from God putting things back the way they should be. And we know this too—we know these miracles just lead up and point to the great miracle that Jesus would do, the great fixing of creation, when He goes to the cross and pays the penalty for sin, when He rises from the dead and restores our relationship with God. The crowd gets it, the crowd understands that something more than they were expecting is here for them. And that fuels their excitement and eagerness.

So, that is our text. That is our lesson for this morning. Now, let us ponder it a moment. Who in this text are we most like? Who do we relate to, who do we parallel in our lives? And there are parallels we can draw between us and the crowd—we eagerly look to Jesus, and what He does for us is beyond our expectation. That is completely true. And we can compare ourselves to Jesus—and rightfully so, for it is not I who live, but Christ who lives in me. We show forth His love all the time, and we see the instruction that the love we show out should be individualized, personal, one on one—not to our own praise. There’s a lot here in this text, but I don’t want to keep you here for two hours. No, to close this morning, let’s compare ourselves to the deaf man.

The man was deaf and mute—he had a hard time communicating. How often that describes us. That’s what sin does. It isolates us from each other, cuts us off. Sin makes us quick to turn a deaf ear to the hurts and wants of our neighbor. Sin stops our mouths from saying a kind word, or worse, Sin has us speak vileness and words of hatred and anger. Sin does spiritual and emotional damage to us just as much as it did to that deaf man physically. But just as Christ cured this man physically, He comes to us—for Jesus is the great physician of both Body and Soul, and He treats our spiritual malady. Jesus makes us to hear. Through His Word, Jesus opens our ears; His forgiveness rips the sin away, unplugs our ears so we can hear—we can pay attention to the needs of others. He teaches us to hear—He continues to teach us to hear His Word all of our life. And Jesus also teaches us to speak. I love the introduction to Matins—the first lines. O Lord, open my lips/ and my mouth will declare Your praise. This is what God does for you. He opens your lips, so that you can now speak forth words of love to each other and words of praise to Him. This is one of the reasons He gave you His Holy Spirit at Baptism—so that His Word, that same Word which you have heard, would be on your lips. God is present here among us in His Word, and He is shaping and changing and building us into who we are to be. He does this constantly—He does this over and over by His Word. He does this by His Supper. This is training, this is healing. In His Word and in His Sacraments God gives you forgiveness, gives you His strength, does it for you now, here, this time, this day. Now, O Zion, is the day of Salvation, here and now, O Zion, is the taste of heaven, here and now, O Zion, your Lord calls you out of the hustle and bustle of the world, takes you aside, and gives you healing in His Word, in His Supper, gives you strength for the coming days, He gives you forgiveness. And that indeed, is a fantastic thing.

Dear friends in Christ, see and learn today that our Lord both teaches and heals. He wishes people to know what He is doing in their lives, the miracles He does. And our Lord wishes you to know and understand the miracle which He gives you—the miracle of the forgiveness of your sin, the restoration of your soul. He teaches you as He forgives you, the two are always intertwined. He teaches and forgives you in His Word, and He teaches and forgives you in His Supper. And thus, having been opened by Him, our lips give praise. Our hearts having been cleansed and renewed, we sing His praises, both now this morning, and on through all eternity, with Angels and Archangels and all the company of heaven. This is your hope and joy in Christ, which none shall take away. In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost † Amen.


Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!

For Caryl...

...because she doesn't seem to mind my playing around with cameras again and posting the photos I like.

First, the BEST news ever!  Yep, I found some moss in my back yard!!!  I sure do wish I knew how to make it spread.  Wildly.

The other night, when we had the most fog I have ever seen in my life, I tried to take some photos of it. Sadly, I found the tripod, tonight, not then.  This was taken with the circular polarizing filter and a rather shaky hand.  However, I did not try to figure out anything other than just how to spin the filter to the best place in order to eliminate the halo.

This is the second one that I took.  I am not sure which one I like better.  I think the first one, but sometimes I stare at similar photos and just cannot make up my mind.

You know, I am grieving that Baby Bunny has left us, even though Amos regularly has parties in the back yard now (i.e., he happily makes circuits about the brick borders and the stepping stones).  But with Baby Bunny gone, the grapes have gone uneaten.  [Yes, I would see Baby Bunny eat them.]  The grape vine is at the back of the yard near the Victorian stone bench (on the way to the back corner where I can lean over the fence and put out the trash and recycling).  So, every time I approach that area, the sweetest aroma wafts my way.  I am not sure, but I actually believe it is because of the grapes that are rotting on the vine.  I ate some last year, but they have seeds.

I took this one with my iPhone because it does not mind that I shake so much.  Now that I found the tripod, I might try again with the Fuji another day.  Anyway, I was trying to focus on the rotted grapes in the inside of the cluster.

And this one I took trying to focus on the flesh of the still viable grapes.  The veins, the skin, makes me want to touch them.  I am not sure what you could call the cobweb stuff that you see on the bottom center grape, but lots of the grapes have it.

How incredible is it that I bought a house that has a grape vine growing along the fence??  Yet another stellar feature that was not listed on the description.  Surely that is why the house was on the market for so long, eh?  Not that there was a toilet and sink in the middle of the parlor, but that someone had failed to mention the grape vine, right?  An incredibly fragrant grape vine??

Finally, see that MONSTER scurrying away from my macro shot?  We are in a battle of sorts.  The spider keeps building humongous webs across the spaces between me and the trashcans.  Here, the spider is in the ornamental magnolia tree, having spun a web between the tree and the corner of the garage.  After I destroyed that web several times, the spider moved along to the (still un-identified) cedar trees that I walk past to get to my trash and recycle bins.

Today, just to emphasize how angry the spider is with my web obliterating behavior (i.e., taking out the trash and recycling), when I destroyed the web, the spider leapt to my hair.

I screamed.
Loudly.
Until my voice gave out.

Amos is still traumatized and I am still checking to make sure the spider is no longer in my hair (after all that screaming and flailing and dancing about).  My friend Celia would probably find a new home for the spider.  If I see it again, I am thinking it might just end up permanently flattened.  Squished.  Dead.

I am thinking that Amos would not mind if I got rid of the spider.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

Borrowed words, take two...

I cannot begin to say how wonderful it was to take a shower last night, save for the fact that I have red and blistering splotches on my skin from the heart monitor adhesive and the tape used to ensure it remained in place for 14 days.  Trying to climb into and out of a tub, still avoiding water near the monitor, and then washing my hair in the sink was hard work.  It was also immensely confusing for Amos.  He's never seen me take a bath and kept thinking that since there was water in the tub it was time for his bath.

Here he is all exhausted from worrying about my change in bathing habits.

My dear friend Mary wrote some words that I wanted to borrow on her blog a while ago:  Part of me really wants to feel like myself again. But I can be brave enough to admit this is me too.

Borrowed words.  Not within the context of her life and how she meant them, but in the context of my life and how they spoke to me.

As I was reading her blog, I realized that they were words I needed, to speak, to think, to hear, too.  In a large part, they are words I need with regard to the anxiety alone.  By nature of Dysautonomia, I will never—baring great scientific advancement—I will never be free from anxiety.  I need to brave enough to admit that an anxious person is me, too.

I've written before that for so long, I thought that the fainting was the first symptom of Dysautonomia, but that I now believe that it was anxiety.  The epitome of this was how great the struggle to pack became for me.  Even visiting my best friend was something that threw me into a maelstrom of doubt and confusion.  What should I pack?  I would call my friend and ask her to talk with me about packing.  Me.  Myrtle.  The woman who packed up her entire life in a Toyota Corolla four years in a row whilst in college.  I can load a car like no one's business.  But I couldn't fathom what I should put in a suitcase, much less the car.  It got to the point that my visits filled the car almost as much as my moves in college.

It was not just packing.  Anxiety crept into so many areas of my life and my work.  The part of my brain that allows me to see both the forrest and the trees turned on me, showing me the potentials hazards of both.

Of course, the breaking down of all my coping mechanisms that were a tattered patchwork quilt covering the wounds of my past brought its own anxiety.  And two events—the pit bull attack being the second—led to the fruition of PTSD.

Flashbacks, panic attacks, anxiety.
Nigh terrors, nightmares.
Fear, horror, shame.

There is healing that can come from the effects of sexual abuse.  There is healing that can come from PTSD.  But I will not be free from anxiety because of the dysfunction of my nervous system, both central and autonomic.   I do not believe the words I am borrowing from Mary are about accepting this, but rather understanding that the me I am now is still me, even if it is not the me I was.

Okay, that made no sense.

Back to Amos.


Amos fights his anxieties every day.  The slightest bit of unexpected noise startles him.  Even my sneezes.  Especially my sneezes.  In the Great Outdoors, nearly everything startles him.  And then there is the GREEN grass.  Oh, how it fells him.

Normally, Amos needs to conduct his major business twice a day.  However, he does not always conquer his fear twice each day.  As I have written, I used to force him.  We would have major arguments over his doing so.  We would spend hours each day having this argument.  Begging, pleading, yelling, time outs—such was my life.

Now, I will let him choose to give up the battle, if he has made a good faith effort to tend to business but cannot bring himself to actually step out onto the grass.  If he skipped the morning,  then we do not go to bed without accomplishing his business.  If he skipped the evening, after he has breakfast, we will not come back inside until he has done so.

Even when I must be firm, I find it near impossible.  I know I must be because a body will override the mind when too much time has passed.  He will be sorry.  He will go and hide.  But he will poop inside.  So, I sit on the steps and wait and call out, "Amos, go poo-poo.  Go poo-poo outside!"  Again and again and again.

Amos is very skilled at pulling at my heart strings.  For when his anxiety is high, Amos will crawl into my lap.  He will crawl into my lap, put a paw around my neck, and tuck his head beneath my chin.  Or.  Or Amos will crawl into my lap, put a paw around my neck, drape his head across my other shoulder, and whisper sweet nothings in my ear.  I melt.  I struggle not to cave.

If it is a time when he must face his fears, I will peel him off of me, kiss the top of his head, and turn him around to face the yard.  Over and over and over again.  If it is one of those times he can choose to give up, I will ask, "Would you rather go inside?"  In five seconds flat, Amos, upon hearing that question, will crawl over my person, scamper up the rest of the steps, and have his nose plastered against the screen door, waiting to be let back inside.

I love when Amos puts a paw about my neck.  He does this not just when he's wanting to flee his fear.   He does this when I am writhing on the bathroom floor.  He does this when I am weeping.  He does this when I am afraid.  He does this for me.

This.  This life now.  Who I am now is me.  But who I am now is also a beloved child of God, whose Good Shepherd sent her a puppy dog to be with her in her anxiety.  Even when he is napping.


Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!