Nauseous and quivery and weak...

Yesterday, I did something that was very frightening to me.  In so doing, the full body tremors started.  I have not a smidgeon of courage.

Thankfully, the tremors did not last long.  But, at times, I look as if I have N stage Parkinson's.  I know it is a combination of how my brain is reacting to the stress of the extreme level of anxiety that I have ... so easily now ... due to the wretched existence that is dysautonomia.  However, that does not help me bear such times any better.

It seems to me that I split into a few people in those times.  There is the Myrtle who is anxious and afraid.  There is the Myrtle who is terrified at how out of control her body is.  There is the Myrtle who is actually fascinated by how is body is being affected.  And there is the Myrtle who is ashamed of her weakness.

Last week, when I was being instructed by my pastor, the questions that I was asking were fearful to me, and the tremors started.  Oh, how I wish they didn't.

It would be easier if I had Parkinson's.  I mean, I do not want yet another chronic, incurable disease.  However, others would understand something like Parkinson's.  No one really understands dysautonomia.  Well, Celia, being a nurse and having seen some folk like me, has inklings.  And she is so utterly gracious for me to send her my I'm-feeling-wretched-and/or-terrified-about-what-is-happennig-to-my-mind-and-body texts, even responding in the wee hours of the morning if she is up feeding her new baby.  But, even so, I feel so alone.

And I really, really, really hate the tremors.

Today, all day, I have been feeling as if I am a guitar string that has been plucked.  Inside.  Not the tremors.  Just nauseous and quivery and weak.  But quivery and weak deep inside.

A while ago, Marie passed on her father's sermon from last week about sin.  Well, about Genesis.  And sin.  And our foe.  I found his voice as a writer rather fascinating, for he speaks with casual style that is very disarming.  Now, that might sound strange, but there is this simplicity in diction and syntax, along with a wonderful cadence, that cuts straight to the heart of what he is trying to communicate.  Since becoming a Lutheran, folk have said that hearing a sermon is always better than reading one, but even the way the words were arranged on the page made for effective communication.  Yet, in her father's sermon, even via electronic mail, I was blessed with hearing the Word of God and having the Holy Spirit work His truth in me.

Anyway, two points have stayed with me:

• When you look at the fall, when you look at how sin entered the world, it was from a lack of faith in the Word of God.  That's what satan does, twists what we know to be true by sowing seeds of doubt and distracting us with the fallacy of human reasoning ... Did God really say that you would die if you ate from the tree?  What does His word really mean?  How should it be interpreted to fit you here, now, in this time?  Cunning all aimed at destroying faith in God's Word.  It's not so much about the fruit as the lack of faith.  I have never really thought about sin and the fall that way.
• What was the very, very, very first result of sin?  It was not the pain and broken relationships and toilsome labor and thorn and thistles and even death that comes from sin.  It was that Adam and Eve noticed they were naked.  Pastor Holowach talks about how there is probably little else that would make you feel more humiliated or disturbed (distraught would be the word I would use) than being naked in public. At work. At a football game. At church. There is no place that would be a good thing. And the feelings that arise from being naked in public are really what we ought to feel when we recognize our sin before God: "Sin leaves you naked, vulnerable, and ashamed before God.  It leaves you exposed and humiliated in His Holy presence."     

The sermon was fascinating to me.  Of course, Pastor Holowach didn't leave his congregation with nakedness.  He talked about how God approached His children, had them acknowledge their sin, and then provided them the comfort of clothing.  He provided the immediate comfort of being covered and the promise of the enteral comfort that we would have in being clothed with Christ.

I suppose that has remained with me because I really do savor the song Welcome to Our World, especially the verse:

So wrap our injured flesh around You
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sin and make us holy
Perfect Son of God
Perfect Son of God

Welcome to our world

I savored the sermon Marie shared because the focus of sin during Lent has, before this year, been rather soul-crushing for me.  The delivery of Lenten messages that is.  Here is a message of sin that begins and ends with faith, begins and ends with Christ, begins and ends with God forgiving and restoring.

Why remember that on the same day I am remember how nauseous and quivery and weak I am in my body?  I am the same in my mind.  And in my faith.

My next catechesis lesson is March 31st.  I hunger for the Lord's Supper.  In truth, I long for the protection I believe it to be.  But I also know that to wait is—while not perfect for me—good for me. I came across something last night that ... evidenced ... just how long I have been asking to be instructed, to be taught rather than just told something ... or have someone try to "fix" what is broken in me, focusing on the physical or psychological and skipping right past the care of the soul.  I was distressed looking at what I found, but I was also comforted, reflecting on how much I have learned in just two catechesis lessons.

Yes, I gulped down the Christian Book of Concord from the first moment I was gifted a copy.  Yes, I spent over three decades in church prior to that time.  Yes, I read the Bible every day, memorizing much as every good evangelical girl is supposed to do.  But the utter dearth of true doctrine in the mainline evangelical churches I had attended is sobering and soul-crushing in and of itself.  And the dissonance between both my experiences and the false teaching I absorbed so fully all those years and what I read in the BOC has been tearing me apart inside.

My soul has been nauseous and quivery and weak.  That is worse ... much worse ... than all my bodily and mental distress combined.

Yes, I forgot the Zofran all day.
I just took some now.
And next I shall dose myself with psalms.


Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!

77 days...

I do not like that I have missed capturing two days this week.  I have so little memory ... remember so little of even recent things, that is ... that I hate missing an entry.  However, I have been rather disturbed by what I read in a news story Tuesday ... and have been avoiding the thoughts and feelings it engendered.

Mariska Hargitay, an actress on Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, is working to help advance legislation in Michigan with the aim of convicting more serial rapists through the processing of rape kits.  Yes, legislation is needed to ensure a rather non-novel, should-already-be-happening practice in law enforcement.  Processing rape kits can catch rapists.  Hmm.  A non-brainer.  And yet it is.  The article mentions the discovering of some 11,000 rape kits in a storage facility in Detroit in 2009, the majority of which had never been processed.  In fact, hundreds of thousands of rape kits across America are sitting unprocessed.

That's what our country, our legal system, thinks about rape.
It doesn't really matter.
It really isn't worth the time and energy and man-power to process.
It's over.  Let's be done with it.

If you knew what courage ... what a horrid thing it is to have a rape exam after being raped ... well ... its a crime, at least figuratively, committed against the survivors of sexual assault.  And is it shame upon our nation.

77 days.

I had asked Marie to help me tackle cleaning beneath the couch during her visit.  Even though she rather readily agreed to help me, the asking part was so hard that I started the job before she got home from work today, lest my request be too troublesome.

I pulled the couch out, after chasing Amos off the rug many, many, many times so that I could make room to pull the couch out.  I am embarrassed to say that I do not know what that CD/DVD is.  Some gift, perhaps, unopened.  For shame.

I found a total of six of Amos' balls.
And four toilet paper tubes.
And four canisters of dirt.

If you look real hard (since you are so very interested in my dirt), you will see that in pulling the couch forward, I dragged a lot of dirt forward.  So, I lifted up the bed part of the couch and vacuumed more.

Then I removed the back cushions, so I could switch the right and the left, and turn the center one upside.

Stuffing the cushions back in is so utterly exhausting that this is where I stopped.  So, Marie walked into find the couch this way.

And me sitting on the step by the front door.  Waiting.  Waiting for non-exhausted arms to jamb those cushions back in place.  Since I had help, I asked Marie to help me turn the seat cushions as well, which is something I had never had the energy to do after killing myself just trying to rotate the top ones so that Amos' depression on the right hand side is less noticeable.

Amos was so happy to be able to get back up on the couch when we were done, he let me take ahold of Baby Froggy Baby, who had been lost in the couch for months on end.  Maybe a year or so.  Poor Baby Froggy Baby.  Poor Amos.

After all that exhausting work, we had Beef Stew with Beer, roasted broccoli, and french bread for dinner.  Then, as we did last night, we played Rumikub.  Or rather ... Marie slaughtered  me at Rumikub.  Just like last night, we also traded turns listening to our favorite music.  The idea was not so much to try and choose songs that the other person would like, but to trade turns enjoying music we liked.  So much the better when there was common ground.  Marie is introducing me to progressive rock.  Me the one who never much listened to any rock.

Last night, I chose some Contemporary Christian music that I still like, though it is a deep, dark secret.  For example, this song is way better than "Away in a Manger":

Tears are falling, hearts are breaking
How we need to hear from God
You've been promised, we've been waiting
Welcome Holy Child
Welcome Holy Child

Hope that you don't mind our manger
How I wish we would have known
But long-awaited Holy Stranger
Make Yourself at home
Please make Yourself at home

Bring Your peace into our violence
Bid our hungry souls be filled
Word now breaking Heaven's silence
Welcome to our world
Welcome to our world

Fragile fingers sent to heal us
Tender brow prepared for thorn
Tiny heart whose blood will save us
Unto us is born
Unto us is born

So wrap our injured flesh around You
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sin and make us holy
Perfect Son of God
Perfect Son of God

Welcome to our world

And, if you are plagued with anxiety and/or nightmares and night terrors, this is just the song for you:


Jesus, King of angels, heaven's light,
Shine Your face upon this house tonight.
Let no evil come into my dreams;
Light of heaven, keep me in Your peace.

Remind me how You made dark spirits flee, 

And spoke Your power to the raging sea.
And spoke Your mercy to a sinful man;
Remind me, Jesus, this is what I am.

The universe is vast beyond the stars,
But You are mindful when the sparrow falls, 

And mindful of the anxious thoughts 

That find me, surround me, and bind me . . . .

With all my heart I love You, Sovereign Lord.
Tomorrow, let me love You even more.
And rise to speak the goodness of Your name 

Until I close my eyes and sleep again.

The universe is vast beyond the stars,
But You are mindful when the sparrow falls, 

And mindful of the anxious thoughts 

That find me, surround me, and bind me . . . .

Jesus, King of angels, heaven's light,
Hold my hand and keep me through this night.

In fact, some of my choices were a heavy doses of Jesus.  Lots of Jesus.  Jesus for me.

Tonight, Marie and I sat before the fireplace as we played and traded music.  I thought I would test the waters with Country music, as well as some songs I found watching television.  For me, I truly savor the lyrics and beautiful instrumentation.  Lots of my "favorites" have stringed instruments in them.   We both sang along with our music; it was fun when Marie knew my songs and we could sing together.  Getting slaughtered two nights in a row was a tad less fun.

77 days.

I actually managed to make it to the donation center today.  I laughed because it took a while to get a receipt since the men there all wanted to take turns playing the African wooden tongue drum that I dropped off.  One of the tongues somehow got damaged after I moved here, so I could not sell the rather expensive instrument.  However, I feel certain someone would enjoy picking up the drum at a bargain basement price despite the single flat note amongst the twelve notes that can be played on it.

Then, I went to CVS, where I learned that the 200 ml bottles of erythromycin are all gone.  What they were able to order was a 150 ml bottle (10 days).  I asked the pharmacist if he could check how many others were still available.  There were six. I asked if he would go ahead and order them, so that I might be sure to at least have as many days possible left taking that life-changing drug.  Target had called me a few weeks ago to let me know that they managed to track down a 100 ml bottle (7 days). In sum, providing the order placed today is filled, I have 77 days left during which I will be able to digest food with minimal discomfort and in a timely manner.

77 days.

I am extremely thankful that I was able to find out an end date, well in advance, for procuring the erythromycin.  I am also extremely thankful that the pharmacist was willing to place the order to get those final bottles.  I am distressed, though, at the thought of going back to days where more hours are spent writhing in pain and nausea and other unfortunate symptoms than in not.

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

This whole having-Marie-full-time visit has been such a blessing.  To her, I think, it seems like she's eating all my food, but she's eating freezer food!  [Well, I did buy some broccoli for her.]  She's got to have her beloved curry twice and my stew.  And she's made good inroads on the slabs of Double Chocolate Dr Pepper Cake still in my freezer.  Marie also brought me eggs, which she's using as her breakfast, and half a container of sour cream.  So, I should now be able to have two servings of both Spicy Dr Pepper Pulled Pork and Chipotle Chicken Chili over the final 11 days of this month's budget window since I am dangerously low on sour cream.

Another economy of sorts is that Marie ate seconds of our Cookin' with Marie meal yesterday:  Herb Roasted Pork Tenderloin.

You can see that I made us Crash Hot Potatoes (with properly sized red potatoes) along with the pork.  It is not that I did not enjoy the pork roast, but it is a pale second to the chili and the pulled pork and the stew and the curry and ....  So, Marie offered to have it again for dinner last night if I would make her a second Hassleback Potato.  I did.  And one for me, too.

I did a far better job of evenly smearing on the minced garlic paste this time.  And, I think, I did a better stuffing-the-cuts job over all.

And, in exchange for all that food that I mostly had on hand, I have had great company, game-playing, psalm reading, music sharing, cleaning help, Amos entertainment, and lots and lots and lots of both laughter and being normal.

Anyway, I am still going to end the month with at least a week's worth of cooked meals (one main meal per day, to go with smoothies, oatmeal, and other small "meals"), which was my goal. I also already have on hand that which I need for another batch of chili, one of stew (except for the herbs), and a double batch of pulled pork.  So, I am actually well into food for April.  That is why I care not a whit that Marie's here raiding my freezer with me.  After all, Marie's here!

A perfect excuse to go ahead and spend April's entertainment money on pizza tomorrow, right?
Budgets are supposed to be fluid, right?

Even if I break down and buy a container of sour cream (remember I would have absolutely no problem having every single one of those remaining 9 servings of chili in my freezer over the next 11 days), a review of my credit card account shows that I have still shaved a grand total of ~$324 off of that one multiple-category budget total of $881, about half due to frugality and half due to bartering.  I actually saved a bit more if you consider that I will be paying for 8 more days of erythromycin than needed March 25th, since the bottle size changed and threw the purchase schedule off.

While I am not sure it is sustainable, I would like to cut that one multiple-category budget total to $750 on a regular basis.  That is, no matter what items in any of those categories are needed, to not have more than $750 in charges each month.  That would give me $100 for the tax shortfall and $31 for medication.  My budget already has $80 a month of cushion, something the financial advisor had me build in and something that always seems to get eaten up until this month.  If I am already saving on groceries and if nothing replaces the erythromycin and if I have no hospitalizations, I realistically could end the year without dipping any more into retirement and set a solid precedent for existing solely on disability and whatever bargaining I might be able to do unless I have a hospitalization.  And, with the tax error savings being finished April 2015, I would have room to absorb the inevitable increases in house, car, and health insurance.

I could be totally off, but I am feeling a bit positive about eventually achieving the level of frugality I need.  However, I would rather be having to spend money on erythromycin, than save it.

77 days.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

Chipotle chicken chili is my smack...

[With a zonked out puppy dog draped across my lap, I take no responsibility for any typographical or grammatical errors in the following.  Amos finally got to see his Aunt Michelle after being gone for so long and his Aunt Marie came for a sleep-over or two or three.  He's exhausted from excitement.]

Marie's beloved is traveling, so I wheeled and bargained for a sleepover.  I get her company from tonight through Sunday after lunch, baring the time she has to work.  On the morrow, I am going to brave my first roast pork loin with her, as she cooks up two meals for her freezer.

Today, however, I also got to spend the day with her, since I did a wee bit more organizing at her place.  Really, I absolutely did not deserve the lunch she treated me to at Panera.  For really, the organizing consisted of taking everything out of her closet, repositioning shelves and bins, relocating a few things to her storage shed on the balcony, and then designating new spots for all the things left in her closet.  That part took the tiniest bit of brain power, studying what was in there and asking her questions about how often she used each item.

The end result was a bit impressive, primarily gaining about a third of empty space back.  However, we were finished practically just after I got there.  Her next area she would like to tackle is her bedroom closet, but that is a whole day project.  In fact, it was not until I was sitting on her bed chatting as she packed for her visit that I realized they are living without a dresser in their bedroom.  Smart ... for saving money until her beloved finishes school and receives a call, but difficult to have great organization.  That area will be a true challenge.  Maybe I can look at the utterly delicious and completely satisfying lunch at Panera as a pre-thank-you for broaching the last great frontier in Marie's apartment.

Normally, I would have just chowed down on a chopped chicken cobb salad.  However, I chose the You-Pick-Two and had half salad, half chipotle chicken panini.  Marie even let me get a dessert to save for later.  However, I will note that the best part of the meal is that the bread for our "side" was warm!  I've never had warm Panera French bread before.  Oh, my!

Then, because our initial plan was changed and there was no more organizing that we could fit in, Marie graciously took me to Walmart and fetched my things and what she needed to cook.  Yes, that means I now have a windshield wiper blade that will not merely smear water, snow, and ice around my window.  I also caved a bit in the budget department and spent $16 into next month's groceries, because I was there.  I would like to say that that way I did not need to go to Walmart for several weeks, but I forgot to do my return.  So, tomorrow, after Marie heads out to work, I shall have my blood work done, fetch my Target prescriptions (with my gift card!), do the return at Walmart, and finally drop off the donations that have been riding around in my car for well over a month.  Then, when I am plumb exhausted, I shall come home, lay a fire, crawl into the GREEN chair, and eagerly await Marie's company again.

What was the biggest carrot I dangled for the multi-day stay?  Marie can pick anything from the freezer to eat for her meals ... even if it means she has Vietnamese Chicken Curry with Sweet Potatoes all three days!  If it were up to me, I would probably be eating Chipotle Chicken Chili each and every day.

Having bartered for the rest of the ingredients I needed, Tuesday night I whipped up another batch.  Currently, there are nine (maybe even ten!) servings in my freezer.  And, yet, still I think that is not nearly enough.  Yes, I already have what I need for a third batch, since my second barter needed another two pounds of chicken and a gift card that so conveniently covered the beans I needed.  Mmmmm........  I am beginning to think that the chili is my heroin—one hit and you're addicted for life!

Since I had a ginormous meal from Panera, I thawed out curry and naan for Marie for dinner, but thought I would just have a potato myself.  [I have many russet potatoes on hand because I bought them, forget I bought them, bought some more, forgot about those, and then bought some more.]  Tonight, I tried my hand at Hassleback Potatoes once more.  The fourth attempt.

These are a culinary white whale for me.  Anyone who claims they are easy to make is lying.  Period.  Getting the slices right without splitting the potato is hard. Stuffing the cuts without splitting the potato is hard.  Getting the seasoning right is hard.  Getting the cooking time is hard.

Marie's was better than mine.  Both were a shade underdone.  I adjusted the cooking time to add a 10-minute window.  I also need to make them when I am less tired, so as to adequately smear fresh garlic paste over all the ones I am making.

At least I understand that the potato needs to do a backbend in the making process and I found a combination of flavors that worked well.  I am certain that the fifth time will be the charm, so I went ahead and posted the recipe.  I do think, however, that the size and shape of the potato is part of the key to success.  For tonight's attempt, I chose ones that were fairly uniform in shape, were medium in size, and were flat-ish in appearance.

My first freezer meal yesterday was the bisque.  It was every bit as tasty as I remembered after making the stock from which it came.  However, a few bites into the bowl, I started thinking about the fact that I was actually eating rutabaga and turnips.  That wretched squeamishness started and I found myself unable to take another bite.  Then, I thought about how many bisques are made and swirled some cream into my still hot bowl.  I finished it off whilst thinking of the cream and not the three icky vegetables I was eating along with the carrots.  Even with the cream, I believe that was the healthiest dish I have ever consumed.  Marie might try it whilst she is here, so I can know if anyone else would find it edible.

I really, really, really do not like that particular weakness.  I am assuming it is from the breakdown in my brain, perhaps tied to the anxiety.  However, I find it rather ... embarrassing.  The odds things, however, turn my stomach and set me to fervently trying to keep myself from vomiting at even the thought, if not the sight.  Case in point, finding dried bits of food in the sink.  Even my own food, somehow missed from cleaning dishes can cause me to lose a meal.  But also dead things ... especially birds, as I think about how much I miss mine that I had to give up.

Wednesday was the first two-real-meal day since I missed my doses of erythromycin.  I had found the serving of the original batch of Dr Pepper Spicy Pulled Pork that Becky had set aside for her beloved, but accidentally left behind. Completely forgotten for the past month, the bag called out to me, despite the fact that I had already had pulled pork tacos this week.  Being that the serving was for her husband, there was enough for three tacos.  Yes, I polished off three tacos on the same day I had a heaping bowl of icky vegetables disguised as a soup.  Then, I had to try the chocolate wine Leslie brought over to go with the contraband Blue Bell.  It. Was. Odd.  It is not that I did not like it, but I would never go out and buy a bottle myself ... because that would mean no funds for something wonderful like Bailey's Irish Cream or Amaretto or the honey liquor.

I cannot imagine anyone drinking the wine outright, unless it was in a shot glass or something.  I am not really willing to move my snoring puppy dog to go look up the name on the label.  However, does one really need to be drinking a combination of red wine, dark (ick) chocolate, and cream???  Probably not, eh?

I believe an update on the de-mullet-ification process is probably due.  Having not cut my hair since removing the "tail" from my unfortunate mullet at the end of July, my hair has been growing out from being textured and short rather short up top.  Finally, if curled to obscure the raggedy ends, my hair looks relatively normal again.  It is not near long enough to find someone to clean it up for me, since there are short pieces still just below my ears and all manner of unevenness.  However, I decided to see if I might at least have stubby braids yet.

Barely.

I believe that I won't be ready for professional repair work on my hair until this summer.  But ... then ... where will I go?  I am not going back to Great Clips even if I had fantastic haircuts for 18 months before receiving a mullet when my glasses were off and my eyes were closed.  Mostly, even if the migraines return, I want my braids back. In fact, I want my waist-length braids back.  Who cares that someone closer to 50 than she cares to think about ought not to have hair cascading down her back.  I'll never be a member of the blue-hair club.  I am a wall-flower hermit. And I have no one to impress with my lack of comeliness.  Why not have the hair of child on the head of a middle-aged mess of a woman?

I do miss the days when I could blink and my hair would have grown an inch or two.  I guess every part of me is exhausted.  Even my follicles.

You know this whole communicating with your cardiologist thing?  I wrote for the third time about the chest pains I have, using all manor of describing words.  I get that all the other cardio symptoms I have (save for the swelling in my lower legs) have been clearly explained by the doctor as being part and parcel to how dysautonomia affects the autonomic cardiac function in my body.  However, feeling  pain that is pressing and tearing and boring into your chest in the same darned spot right over your heart is really, really, really disconcerting.  It is particularly disconcerting with a family history of heart attacks about this age ... and younger.

But ... it might be that this is the week of his vacation.
I hope it is, actually.

Three days in a row, then not one, then every other day.  The pain has both awoken me and kept me from being able to concentrate on a book or a movie.  On days when I have the chest pain, I also often have this very weird symptom in which the palpations I feel in my heart actually radiate down the inside of my arms, past my wrist, into the palms of my hand.  On my right wrist, this artery pops up and pulsates just beneath the skin.  My heartbeat reverberates through my palms against whatever I am touching.  So, I will try to keep from touching anything.  It is especially distracting if I am touching Amos, though, because his heart beat does not match mine, so if my hands are resting on his body in the right place, I feel both our heartbeats in my palms ... a discordant sensation if ever there was one.

Nerves are a curious thing.  A mystery really.  Why it is that the autonomic processes in my body become so disrupted is very much a medical mystery.  I mean, many of "us" have the same symptoms and yet many have also very individual symptoms.  Much in the manner of the central nervous system disease that is multiple sclerosis.  Having both ... is horrid.  But I would willingly having a much more severe condition of MS if it meant that I did not have to face all the sensations and pain of dysautonomia ... and the innards writhing, of course.

Maybe this is a lie ... but I think I would trade a worsening of MS ... gladly ... for a cessation of the anxiety.  Life as an anxious person is ... difficult.

As she was getting ready for bed tonight, sweet and merciful Marie took absolutely no offense as I stumbled my way through explaining that the cup she chose for her water-by-the-bed was my Gatorade cup and I needed it back.  Instead of being offended or hurt or judgmental or ridiculing, Marie merely explained that she preferred plastic to glass when it came to a cup by her bed in case she knocked it off the table.  That I can understand.  After finding a suitable replacement for her water-by-the-bed, I tried really hard not to snatch up my Gatorade cup and clutch it to my person.

Yes, I have two of them.  However, I need both available, because I oft forget one by my bedside if I have been sugar-correcting in the middle of the night.  And, yes, both of those glasses are ones that change color with the temperature of the liquid in them.  That they are these childish, ridiculous cups oft helps me get through the upsettedness that follows a bad blood sugar crash.  Plus, well, I like them.

I do wish that I remembered Marie is a water-by-the-bed person.  I think I would like to make a notebook ... or maybe a spreadsheet ... to keep track of the things that the people who visit me like.  For example, Becky likes to have orange juice when she visits and her favorite "candy" is Peppermint Patties (gross!).  My mother has to have Equal on hand for her coffee, which cannot be decaffeinated, and she wants flannel sheets on the bed all year round.  Wynne really likes those Starbucks mocha frappuccinos that you can get in the grocery store.  I believe it is important to consider the desires and longings of your guests if you wish to provide a restful, peaceful, and bolstering stay.  However, I am forgetting those things even for the few who do visit.  A spreadsheet would work best, maybe, with categories for kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.  After all, not everyone is a washcloth sort of person.

I shall have to ponder the best way to preserve such information and then get to polling potential guests for their preferences.

[Alliteration is a great gift from God.]


I am yours, Lord.  Save me!

Myrtle Math...

My recent bartering netted many good things, two of which are gift cards to Target and Walmart.  If I use them for the rest of the month, I will actually be ~$77 under my targeted, crazily-severe goal to shave $281 off my credit card bill, which comprises the bulk of my budget (grocery, household, medical, car, etc.).  And I will have a bit left over on the Walmart card, despite the anticipated purchase on Friday of a much needed windshield wiper blade) for next month's spending.  However, if I do not count that which was not in my budget in the first place (the gift cards), I will have fallen short of that crazily severe goal by ~$23.

In my mind, that is a failure.  In other people's mind, I'm sure, that would be a ginormous success (still a savings of 29% in my monthly budget).  Do I castigate or celebrate?

[Yes, I am aware the budget period still has 16 days left, but remember that I have projected math worked out all the way through December 31, 2014, because my end goal is to find a way to live on only 80% of disability since that is the oft-repeated-in-the-news solution (cutting distributions) to the insolvency projected for 2016.]

However, another factor is the justification math I do in my head.  For example, I discovered that I had $9.22 of points available to me and I was surprised to learn that a DVD series I had forgotten was still listed at Amazon.com sold.  Without a moment's hesitation, upon learning of said windfall, I immediately put the points credit and the selling credit together and ordered the set of measuring spoons I have been lusting after since January for the bargain basement net cost of $3.00.  That is $3 of the ~$23 overage.  However, without Myrtle Math, the measuring spoons (high contrast, magnetically nesting, double-ended, stainless steel ones) still actually cost me $18.67.  Only, well, I used a different card, so, technically, that money is not even due until April's budget's expenses (which has money available for household items), so I didn't actually add to the expense bottom line of this month's budget.

You see?  I understand now how something like Enron can happen.  Budget justifications are very, very, very easy to make.  SIGH.

And then, how do I factor in the goods I received in barter, most notably the honey liquor (oh, how glad I am that was picked from the list!!!), the butter, the chicken breasts, the white cheddar cheese, the eggs, the flour, and the missing ingredients needed to make a second pot of Chipotle Chicken Chili?  And where/how do I penalize myself for the Blue Bell that I just bought to go with the honey liquor, but bought only because it was literally half-price this week and the sale price of the milk I bought nearly covered the cost of the Blue Bell?

And what about the (surprise) grocery money from Becky and her mother and the cash I got for a small task?  I don't count such things in the budget at all because all cash (even birthday or Christmas money) goes into the wooden box on the mantle for work that Firewood Man does (or for actual firewood).  For example, an upcoming project is to dig two trenches in the front yard to extend the current gutter extension pipes from the front of the house all the way to the sidewalk, so as to minimize any water getting into the channels of the basement.  Since my neighbor has absolutely no plans to repair her gutter that dumps water onto her side sidewalk that then runs into my yard, down the slope to corner of the house, and on into the basement channel, he is also planning to put catch basins of a French drain type in that area and have them funnel to the newly extended (and buried) gutter pipe on that side of the house.  I have a list of six projects I hope to have completed by the end of 2014 that are all not in my budget (unless you count stealing household funds that are earmarked for things like paper products, plastic products, and cleaning supplies) and that will all, hopefully, come out of the wooden box, filled magically by unexpected gifts or teeny tiny jobs.

So, basically, I think I have become a very boring (if not actually irritating) person, because, if you won't talk to me about the Book of Concord, pretty much the scope of my conversation is either food-related or budget-related.  Okay, you probably should throw in there Amos-related.

For example, if not distracted by his curls or his hanging-on-to-my person, I find that his stretching ability rather mind-boggling.

And then there is the fact that Marie's compassion, patience, and kindness toward my fluffy white beggar warms the cockles of my heart to the point of tears whenever I think about it.

[Did I mention that Marie wore a GREEN shirt for me last Friday because she knew it would cheer me up even though I was feeling so poorly with my innards malfunction?]

Also, what I really want to know is:  How long do I have to go without breaking my budget (once I finally understand what breaking a budget constitutes) so that I can reward myself for keeping to my budget?  Because, well, I already have my reward lined up.  I want these ... shoes ... that I think would be like a casual version of my leather boots that would be fun to wear with my jean skirts.  It is only by the grace of God (and a colossal amount of pre-meditated guilt) that I have not already caved and bought them.  After all, I discovered them last summer.  In case you are wondering, I have absolutely no clothing allowance for all of 2014 and, most likely, 2015.

Finally, since I don't think there is enough food-related talk here, for the record, my next three dish-conquoring goals are, in no particular order:  1) carne asada tacos; 2) a roasted pork tenderloin; and 3) a beef and broccoli dish.  I am also on the prowl for an authentic beef schwarma recipe.  Plus, well, I need some recipes to put that contraband hoisin sauce to work.

Plus, being a merciful person myself, I conducted an experiment for Marie.  You see, she has so little time to prepare dinner.  I made her a batch of Texas Flour Tortillas dough balls and wanted to know if they could be cooked cold—thawed from the freezer, but still cold from the refrigerator.  So, last week, when I had my Dr Pepper Spicy Pulled Pork tacos, I did not allow the dough balls to come to room temperature.  They rolled out fine and cooked fine, but the texture was not quite right.  Although less than a week has passed, I forced myself to eat the tacos again and, this time, I took the dough balls out of the refrigerator and allowed them to come to room temperature before cooking them.  They were perfect!  Hence, the result of my experiment is that the tortillas are best cooked when at room temperature, although they keep in the freezer just fine.

I will also note that I believe the key to making good tortillas is to work the dough as little as possible.  That even includes handling them as you roll them out.  So, I did not form a ball before I wrapped them up in wax paper for storage in the freezer.  I just used the pastry cutter to divide the dough.  I also did not even form a ball before I rolled them out for cooking, because I am not opposed to slightly misshapen tortillas as my tacos ... they are so very, very, very tasty.

And, for the record, I got the whole idea of pursuing bartering from Becky.  She actually traded house cleaning for sign language lessons.  How cool is that!?!

So, there you have it.
I have become a boring person.
And I am besotted with my puppy dog.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

The thoughts in my head...

First, let me tell you that I thawed out Vietnamese Chicken Curry with Sweet Potatoes for my main meal today and greatly missed Marie.  You see, the kind, merciful Marie will pick out and eat the onions in your bowl of curry for you so that there is no waste about which to be guilty.

And, to know the brilliance of Becky's mind, I will say that I asked her where the bathrooms in my church might be, even though she's never been in them, because I knew that Becky would have an answer.  She did!

But I am writing out of order.

I received something today that greatly distressed me, not long before I was to leave for catechesis.  Friday I had some distressing news and wrote my distressing thought to my pastor.  Last night, he sent back a Gospel reply.  I had a terrible dream and sent out frightened texts and received back Gospel answers.  And then the mail.

Despair and fear.
Gospel.
Despair and shame.

I called everyone I could think of to help me with the overwhelming thoughts and emotions, because, amongst other things, I was thinking and feeling I had no business going to catechesis.  And I was scared that the hormones weren't working.  I finally actually had three different perspectives on the matter, which helped me look past what I was thinking and feeling.  Not that my thoughts or feelings were wrong, but to move past them.  So, I left for catechesis.

In a way, it was like we went round and round and yet at the same time it seems like we took a large step forward.

We talked about the Lord's Supper, looking further at Article VII of the Formula Solid Declaration, at the Gospels, and at the 11th chapter of 1 Corinthians.  From what I understand, while most certainly it is the Word of God that makes the Sacrament, those church bodies who deny the Real Presence of Christ in the Sacrament, do not confess that it is His true body and true blood, are not actually joining the Word of God to the element.  And, therefore, the element remains just that, an element.

I still struggle with what it means to have the Word of God.  And, finally, near the very end, my pastor made a distinction that was very, very, very helpful to me.  He said that to have doubts about the Word of God, to struggle with the dissonance between God's Word and your experiences, is not denying the Word of God.  He said that was why, in fact, he could easily make the offer to take whatever judgement there might be upon himself, not because he was being all noble and brave, but because he was confident that he would not be adding harm to his life.

In briefly touching on doubt, he looked at my fear of James 1, but did not actually have me look at the words in the Word that distress me so.  Not the part about being tossed about on the ocean, but the bit that comes after, the bit that sounds as if you have doubt then you will be punished by the absence of God.  What my pastor said is that those words are not a Word of Promise and that they are specific in nature.  We did not really talk about that, the specificity of them, because the time was late and I really was not up to actually looking at the words.  However, even in my weak mind, I can cling to the idea that James 1:7(8) is not a promise to/for me.

We looked briefly at what the judgement of the Lord's Supper is, at what it might mean to take harm upon yourself.  Next time, I want to look at that more the judgement before we move on to repentance.  As I said, we read in the 11th chapter of 1 Corinthians, which was a bit surprising to me if only because we looked at the larger context.  And we talked about that while it is not crystal clear what harm may come, it is clear that Paul was concerned.  So, in a way, closed communion—and those cases where one is barred from the altar—is more an act of concern and protection than an act of judgement.  Only, with being barred, it is important to understand the difference between an unrepentant person and someone struggling with and against sin.  For every single person who stands/kneels at the altar is standing/kneeling in sin.

Jesus came for struggling sinners.
Jesus gave His body and blood for struggling sinners.
Struggling sinners are the very ones welcome at and worthy to approach the Lord's Supper.

It is hard to explain, for really we were out of time, focusing so deeply on trying to find the right words to help me understand what having the Word of God is.  However, tonight was the first time that I walked into church without being nearly bowled over by shame.  It is not that shame is no longer a burden, but, tonight at least, it was not an obstacle.  A great, big, seemingly insurmountable obstacle.

I am not a denier.
And doubt is okay.
I am still forgiven.

In a way, I think I got sort of a precursor to talking about repentance, because my pastor mentioned how Jesus and John would say (or end teaching with): Repent and believe.  However, those are not meant as commands, as something that we do.  They are what we receive in the Word of God.  Given my thoughts about Article XII of the Apology to the Augsburg Confession, what he said made sense even though I was not quite sure what he was saying.  I know.  Confusing.

Still, I walked in without battling shame for daring to be there.
I am no longer convinced that I am an interloper.
It was okay for me to pass the threshold.

My pastor really threw me for a loop, though, because he was standing in the bit of the church before you go into the church. I think it might be called the narthex.  I am not sure. I don't know the parts of a church, because in the evangelical world, there is the sanctuary and then there is everything else.  As in the sanctuary is the only thing specific.

Anyway, he was standing there to greet folk.  My first thought was that he was there to say there was no service because of a flood or fire or something.  My second thought was: purple!????!!!

If I were picking colors out for church seasons, I would pick red for lent, representing the blood of Christ.  But purple???

Best. Lent. Sermon. Ever.

I confess that I slipped back into my evangelical roots and got out a pen. Yep, I blatantly sat in a Lutheran church and took notes.  Shiver me timbers!  How daring!

You see, as a Christian, I grew up in a world where you always carried your bible to church and where you took notes during the sermon.  Heck, many churches, these days, have handouts where the notes are half-taken, where you just fill in the blanks.  Not. In. Lutheran. Churches.

In Lutheran churches, you don't carry the bible.  You don't take notes.  You bow and cross yourself and kneel and stand and do all manner of things I don't always understand.

I felt wicked.
I felt like I was home.
I was finally me.

I caught the usher staring at me scribbling in all the empty spaces of the bulletin.  I think I felt the church fathers rolling over in their graves.  Still, next time in church, I'm going to bring a notebook.

[If you are trying to actually read my scribbling, that "D" word at the center bottom is "Devil" not "David." I'll spare you photos of the other side ... and the inserts.]

But, let me back up.   So, I was talking with Becky just before I walked into the sanctuary (I'm sure that is improper) and she told me that she came up with a way to describe Lent that was not soul-crushing.  I was all ears:

Advent is preparing for the coming of Christ, reflecting upon all the ways He comes to us even now, as well as how He came to us then.  [I love Advent and am thankful that Lutherans have Advent, which is something Becky knows.]  Lent is similar, in that it is a time of reflecting upon how Jesus died for us so that we were/are not left with our sin, left with eternal death.  So, Lent really is about forgiveness, not about us being better Christians or more appreciative of our salvation.  It's about what Jesus does for us, not about us or what we do for Him.

Now THAT'S a Lent description that does not strike terror in my heart.

And, for the record, I am becoming less ashamed about being terrified of sin because, actually, sin striking terror in the heart is exactly how the Confessions describe contrition.  Sin is supposed to terrify me.  I am not a freak.

Anyway, this is a little out of order, but I was looking forward to singing the sanctus because Mary—God bless her—explained to me the whole Hosanna in the highest thing.  Do you want the translation? It is:  Save us now, You, up there in heaven!  Doesn't that make perfect sense to you know?  It does to me.

Hosanna in the highest!
Save us now, You, up there in heaven!

But, before the Santcus, long before, was the Old Testament reading.  The Old Testament reading that led to a snicker because I was fighting so hard not to let out a great bit guffaw right there in church.  My pastor was not being humorous at all in the reading, but what he read struck me as utterly hilarious.  God asks Adam how he knew he was naked, asks him if he ate the fruit, and Adam's response was to immediately absolve himself of any blame by pointing the finger at Eve. "She made me do it."  How so like the typical response of a child, caught by a parent in a wrongdoing!

It was as if God was telling me that He understood my desire not to be at fault for the sin that terrifies me.  And, honestly, I had this image of God chuckling as He caused those words to be penned by whomever wrote Genesis.

Yes, I actually believe God has a sense of humor and that there is humor in the Bible.
Subtle humor.
But humor nonetheless.

Does not every parent, at some time or another, secretly chuckle as he/she watches a child try to talk his/her way out of a jam?

We are His children.
I am a child of God.
He understands me!!

Oh, and moving backwards again, Mary said that the antiphon was a refrain.  So, I sat there, during the Introit, trying to figure out:  A refrain of what?  I wondered ... wildly ... Could the antiphon be the Lutheran version of a "Life Application"?

Here was tonight's "refrain:"

When he calls to me, I will answer Him; I will be with him in trouble;
I will rescue him and honor him.
With long life I will satisfy him
and show him My salvation.

Call to God when you are in trouble and He will save you.  That's the Gospel answer to the Law of being felled by temptation—temptation being the subject of the Gospel reading—isn't it?

And, it struck me, not just that perhaps the antiphon was what I should reflect upon throughout the week, but that "long life" probably does not mean a long earthly life but an eternal life.  Children who die in the Lord are still satisfied with a long life.  At least, it reads that way to me.

So, the sermon.  Well, how can I really say what I learned?  Expect that I heard more than I have in a long, long, long time since I gave myself the freedom to take notes.  The points I found sweet ... very sweet are:

• The Devil gives us another word to confuse us, to distract us away from the Word of God.
• Jesus was tempted because He was fully man and fully lived the life we face.
• Jesus was tempted so that He is the perfect obedience for us in our temptations.
• Jesus is not only our High Priest, but He is our champion!
• Jesus' answer to temptation is the very same answer as we have:  The Word of God.
• The Word of God is the Sword of the Spirit, is the weapon of defense wielded by our Comforter, our Sanctifier, on our behalf.
• Yes, we will be tempted.  Yes, we will fail in our struggles with temptation.  Even so, we are forgiven, because Jesus did not fail in His temptation on our behalf.  
• When God looks at us, He does not see our failings; He sees His Son.

The thing I circled in the Gospel reading, the bit that reverberated through me like a deafening gong, was the repeated phrase: "If you are..."

If you are...
If you...
If...

I think that, perhaps, the word if is one of the most powerful tools our foe uses, twisting the Word of God and sowing doubt within the minds of those who have no need to listen to the ifs of the devil, for he is already defeated.  The answers to all of his questions have already been given.  And yet we listen.  And we doubt.

If you are a Christian...
If you really love God...
If...

The thing that my pastor said in catechesis about there being a difference between denial and doubt and that it was okay that I struggle with doubt was that he takes great comfort in Mark 9:24.

And when they came back to the disciples, they saw a large crowd around them, and some scribes arguing with them. Immediately, when the entire crowd saw Him, they were amazed and began running up to greet Him. And He asked them, “What are you discussing with them?” 

And one of the crowd answered Him, “Teacher, I brought You my son, possessed with a spirit which makes him mute; and whenever it seizes him, it slams him to the ground and he foams at the mouth, and grinds his teeth and stiffens out. I told Your disciples to cast it out, and they could not do it.” 

And He answered them and said, “O unbelieving generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring him to Me!” 

They brought the boy to Him. When he saw Him, immediately the spirit threw him into a convulsion, and falling to the ground, he began rolling around and foaming at the mouth. And He asked his father, “How long has this been happening to him?” 

And he said, “From childhood. “It has often thrown him both into the fire and into the water to destroy him. But if You can do anything, take pity on us and help us!” 

And Jesus said to him, “‘If You can?’ All things are possible to him who believes.”

Immediately the boy’s father cried out and said, “I do believe; help my unbelief.” 

When Jesus saw that a crowd was rapidly gathering, He rebuked the unclean spirit, saying to it, “You deaf and mute spirit, I command you, come out of him and do not enter him again.” 

After crying out and throwing him into terrible convulsions, it came out; and the boy became so much like a corpse that most of them said, “He is dead!” But Jesus took him by the hand and raised him; and he got up. 

When He came into the house, His disciples began questioning Him privately, “Why could we not drive it out?” And He said to them, “This kind cannot come out by anything but prayer.” (14-29)

Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!

Those curls...

Reasons Why Myrtle Didn't Make Her Insanely Restricted Grocery Budget This Month

• Pencil Thin Asparagus
• Eggplant
• Acorn Squash
• Scali Rolls
• Chili Paste (finally finding that all-too-elusive-stuff)
• Hoisin Sauce (I want to try more Asian things)

Yep, one of the items of contraband I bought at the store was an eggplant ... because it was actually in great shape.  I had visions of finding a new way to cook an eggplant.  Only my innards—my forgetting to take my innards medication—got in the way.  So, tonight I roasted the eggplant and froze it so that, eventually, I could make some more baba ganoush.  

Good thing I have this freezing stuff going on in my life, eh?

I wrote a few letters today, but not even half of what my goal was.  I was too distracted.

He is so adorable.  

And I am not able to concentrate on anything.  

Except for his curls.

It is staggering, to me, just how much my mind has changed.  But instead of drowning in that today, I lost myself in twisting those corkscrew curls atop his head.  And thinking that one day, eventually, in a while, before too much time has passed, I should pick up the scissors, sheer the sheep, comb out those tangles in the goat's ears, and give the garbage disposal a bath.

I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

Three whole dollars...

My doctor's office finally faxed the form (on Friday) ... the one received Wednesday morning ... to the insurance company for the medication to help my blue toes.  Only, it was not expedited.  So, I called the insurance provider and sobbed my way through trying to get the authorization review to the front of the line.

Sobbing worked.
I was approved.
The insurance coverage is for $3 of the cost of the medication.  I have to pay the rest.

Three. Whole. Dollars.

SIGH.

Today's mail had a notice of fraud investigation regarding my homestead exemption on my house taxes because there was a discrepancy in the records.  The original filing of the title did not have me as a resident, but rather an out-of-state owner.  It really bothers me that I had to pay a title company for the closing and, thus, paid for a mistake.  It really, really, really bothers me that, obviously, the mortgage company has not yet filed the new title.

So, being a down-sizer, I have no utility bills save for the prior month.  But, really, utility bills in your name do not prove residency.  I do have a driver's license, from a while after I moved here.  I have to go prove I was not trying to commit fraud.  And I have to go figure out why I do not have a paid-off promissory note and do not have a new title. SIGH.

I have been eating just one meal a day, since my innards have not yet got to working properly again.  Today, I thawed out the Dr Pepper pulled pork, two tortillas, and made tacos.  I had some milk early in the morning and an apple tonight.  I feel as if I chowed my way through a cruise ship buffet line.  However, I am a tiny bit better.  Each dose of erythromycin helps.  Whatever will I do without it?

Celia texted with me a while, during my bluest of blue moments—toes not excepting—to help defunkify me.  She has such great humor and incredible compassion.  Plus, she is a good listener/reader when one wants to rail against the trails and travails of life in a fallen world ... especially the asinine nature of what our healthcare system is turning into thanks to a certain US president.

And then I lit a fire, so I could roast my toes for hours on end.
And sobbed.
And read more books downloaded from the library onto my Kindle.
And clutched my puppy dog.
And wished I had some chocolate.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

Barter anyone...

Marie was very kind to me today.  I am still not feeling well at all, but I still wanted her to visit.  So, I gave her several options ... one including bacon ... and then sweetened the deal with starting the day with milk and muffins.  What I love about Marie is that she makes good counter barters.  The end result was that she came, we (mostly her) made Irish Soda Muffins, she made my pot of Vietnamese Chicken Curry with Sweet Potatoes (we had it for lunch with Naan and five more jars joined the other meals in my freezer), and we sang Evening Prayer together.

I was hoping to making another pot of Chipotle Chicken Chili, for I bartered cookie dough for the missing ingredients I needed.  However, I haven't actually received the exchange goods yet.  Marie, however, loves the curry.  So, today worked out well for us both.  Hopefully, I will get to make the chili soon, so as to deepen the diversity of the meals that I am thawing out for the month of March.

Tonight, I did my first professional work barter.  The first half of the job actually came earlier in the week, when I created a branded information article on Visual Rest for a newsletter mailing.  Tonight. I folded the newsletter contents, stuffed the envelopes, and affixed both the recipient and return labels.  I was some labels short, because the person printing them did not feed them well.  However, I had a partially printed label sheet and I was able to find a template that I could use on the MAC and then print both types of labels that needed to be redone.

I really like solving problems.  At first, I texted that I would need more labels, but I really dislike leaving a task undone.  Honestly, I did not think I would be able to figure out how to do the labels in Pages, but I did.  Some of those braincells in my head are still working!

For the past year or so, I have been trying to teach my barteree about the importance of branding.  So, creating the piece for the newsletter mailing was a good opportunity to demonstrate what I meant.  Mary and Becky proofed it for me, so that it was clean when I submitted it.  Sometimes, I fear that I come across as critical, trying to nudge this person from casual to professional.  In truth, I feel I come across as critical every single time I try to help someone with business, strategic planning, writing, etc.  The things I know I like sharing, to help.

It helps me feel less of a waste of space on the planet when I can help with communications and literacy and organizing and even cooking ... though the latter still surprises me.  I'm a culinary hack ... the blind leading the blind mostly.  Anyway, when I look at those things ... those processes ... I am thinking about them and not the person.  So, it is not personal.  I mean, the personal part is helping the other person accomplish something or develop new skills.  But not the process.  That is just ... technical to me.  But I feel like I come across as being critical.

Anyway, I proposed bartering for newsletter help a while ago, and this was the first month we tried it.  You'd laugh if you saw my list of possible bartering items.  Chief amongst them is a bottle of this honey liquor I had last fall.  Mmmmm!  But I also have windshield wipers on there.  Funny, but I don't think "washing my car" will be chosen as a bartering item.

But back to Marie's visit.  I really like singing offices of prayer with her.  And Evening Prayer is a good one.  After the Psalmody, there is an option to read additional psalms.  Marie asked me if I wanted to do so, which is like asking a child if she wants to eat more candy.  I did, and so she read Psalm 51 and 104, because I was thinking about forgiveness and how great God is.

Marie said that Psalm 51 was appropriate, since Lent is about forgiveness.  That is not a description of Lent that I have ever heard before.  Mostly, I still do not understand Lent and it seems that I am not alone in that ... given how many different explanations of Lent I have had.  Still, I like thinking about forgiveness ... since I do not really understand it.

When we got to the readings portions, Marie barely opened her mouth before I suggested we read in Hebrews about Jesus being our High Priest.  Where?  Well, Hebrews 7:1-10:25.  Marie's eyes widened a bit when I rather blithely called out the reference (after looking it up in my ancient NASB 1977 as opposed to my newly beloved single column copy of the NASB 1977 she was holding).  To me, though, that is really a small reading!

[Yes, I am rather greedy about hearing the Living Word.]

I really do savor the entire selection, the scaffolding of teaching in the old and new covenants, in the old and new high priests.  Comparing and contrasting as you spiral your way to the fullness that comes with Jesus as our High Priest.

Since therefore, brethren, we have confidence to enter the holy place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way which He inaugurated for us through the view, that is, His flesh, and since we have a  great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water (10:19-22).

Only, long before you get there, you read this little jewel:

Hence, also, He is able to save forever those who draw near to God through Him, since He always lives to make intercession for them (7:25).

Jesus always lives to make intercession for you.  
For me.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

Writhing and weary...

I was so focused on being responsible yesterday that I was not responsible.

I mean, I went to the doctor's and picked up my glasses and fetched my groceries and made stock.  However, I did not take my erythromycin all day.  In fact,  I somehow managed to let 24 hours go by in between doses.  Even though my abdomen got worse all day.  I forgot.

Really, I forgot about how much I forget things because all my overlapping reminders have been helping me remember.  But I am not actually remembering. I am reading/listening to the reminders.

I've been writhing since last night.
Miserable.
Angry at myself.

I am also, thinking about how it has now been seven days of toe problems, frustrated with my Medicare company. I still do not have authorization for the medication for the Reynaud's.  In my opinion, it is FAR cheaper to give me a medication than it would be to amputate, care for stumps, a rehabilitate my foot.  And, frankly, I want my toes staying in place.

I am weary of battling Medicare.  And, ever since the new year rolled over, battling Medicare has gotten harder and harder and harder.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

On second thought...

Since I was a work-in appointment this morning, I had a bit of a wait.  Just before the doctor was to come, a nurse popped her head in the door and asked me to go ahead and take off my shoes and socks.  I told her that as soon as I did, my feet would turn blue(r), so she said to just be ready.

Then, I had a rather good second thought.  It would actually be a good thing for my doctor to see my blue feet.  She was only about five minutes more, but in that time, I had a deep blue in three of my toes, which made the two red ones really stand out.

The difficult news is that the medications used to treat Reynaud's are drugs that lower blood pressure ... a bad thing for someone with already low blood pressure ... when it isn't shooting sky high.  So, she prescribed a nitroglycerin paste to get the medication onto my feet with (hopefully) a lesser effect on the rest of my body.

Of course the medication requires a pre-authorization.  The pharmacist called whilst I was still in the doctor's parking lot—for a medical building, there is very little handicapped parking.  I trudged back across the lot and to the second floor to let them know there was fax awaiting them that needs to be completed and submitted.  SIGH.

I then went to pick up my third pair of glasses.  Charm was accomplished.  I can finally see distance in my left eye.

Then, I set out to try and spend my limited grocery money to get the things I chose for this month.  I did not make my goal.  However, if half of the items for the vegetable stock are in the freezer for when I make chicken stock, does that really count as going over?  My new goal is $75.  Given that I am short of milk and am in need of the fresh herbs for stew, I might have to allow $80.  Still, that would be $95 less than my new grocery budget and $145 less than my old grocery budget.

It was with much fear and trepidation that I set out to make my vegetable stock with the ingredients on my grocery list: "icky vegetables for stock."

The green onions are for a recipe on Friday, but I will not need all in the package, so I tossed in a few.  Whilst choosing "icky" vegetables, I studied the nutritional labels for each and chose things that had vitamin C, thinking that I couldn't go wrong there.

I thought the end result was much, much, much better than I expected.  The tiny bit of ... goodness ... that you see on top was a bit of butter and avocado oil.  I read through 13 recipes before I just started plucking things off the shelf, but Martha Stewart recommended a bit of goodness, so I added it.  She actually recommended using olive oil, but I had yet to try my avocado oil, so chose it.  Technically, though, are not avocado's fruit????

In the middle of carrying all the vegetables to the trashcan, I had another second thought.

Yep, I made a bisque with four of the "icky" vegetables!

Okay, carrots are not icky.  But certain turnips, rutabagas, and parsnips are!  I cannot really tell you how I made it, because I was not all that focused on measuring.  However, I decided to use those four vegetables, sea salt, McCormack® Peppercorn medley, ginger, garlic, and some stock.  It. Was. Heavenly.

One serving is in my belly and the other three are cooling for the freezer.  Imagine that!  Such a tasty fillip to stock-making!

Whilst I was being a stockmaker, I also cooked up another pot of Spicy Dr Pepper Pulled Pork.

This is what it looks like when you pull out all of the onions!

My final goal for the day is to do a double batch of Texas Flour Tortillas (one for me and one for Marie).  I have yet to start that.  Mostly, because I decided to start a fire.  Yep, Firewood Man tracked down some wood for me.  Since he worked so hard to find some, I did not have the heart to tell him that I did not have room in the super tight budget that is March 2014 for firewood.

Therein lies my real problem. I do not yet have enough fiscal discipline.  SIGH.  I am warm, though!


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

Worry wort...

So, I am very much worried that we are going to go to war with Russia.  I am worried about this because our fragile economy has been very hard on me, and I am not really up for the stress of it getting worse and having to work even harder at scraping by.

To get my mind off of this, I thought I would try to see if there was some notice when the erythromycin will be back in stock by the manufacturer.  Now, I could be wrong, but from what I read, Duramed was acquired by Teva Pharmaceuticals.  And, as required by law, Teva Pharmaceuticals notified the federal government that it was discontinuing the production of the erythromycin because of its inability to acquire one of the active ingredients.  That notice was actually given November 13, 2012.

November 12, 2012.

Now, Target gets its supply directly from the manufacturer.  CVS gets its supply from their own warehouse.  I noticed, when the pharmacist made a mistake in mixing up the medication, that the expiration date on the bottle was November 2014. I thought that was strange, given that this was nine months away and the prescription expiration dates I get are usually more than a year.  Of course, mixed, it expires in 14 days.

Anyway, if I were a betting person, I would bet that, soon, if not by November of this year, I will no longer be able to get the erythromycin.  I checked.  The last three bottles expired November 2014.  That would be two years from the notice of the cessation of production.  It makes sense, to me, that the expiration date is less than a year because I am getting a stock-piled product that, by all indications, is no longer being produced.

What am I going to do when it runs out?

I'm sure this would fall under the heading of "let's cross that bridge when we come to it," but this is the only medication that has helped the gastroparesis because the gastroparesis is caused by nerve malfunction, not organ malfunction.  And all the organ or system drugs for all the innards stuff either do not help or make things far, far, far worse.

So, I am worried.
Really worried.
And rather blue at the moment.

Literally and figuratively.  I am seeing the doctor tomorrow about my toes.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

This brain of mine...

I was talking with Celia whilst she folded laundry when my alarm for church went off.  I asked her, with Ash Wednesday being this week, if it would be a soul-crushing does of Law sermon yet.  Her husband, a pastor, hearing me on speaker phone, said that it shouldn't be.  So, I dared church one more week.

The sermon was not soul-crushing, but I did not understand it.  Both pastors are really good at properly dividing Law and Gospel and giving a fair amount of Jesus.  But I am not sure what the sermon was about tonight.

So, I thought I would note some of the things that flitted through my mind, through the brain I no longer recognize.

• I don't get why the introit is oft a mash-up of psalm verses or is only a part of a psalm.  And I really don't understand the whole antiphon thing.
• I wish there were more time for silent confession before absolution.
• There is a conspiracy amongst the Monday night organists to slip in an extra note in the final amen of the Kyrie in Divine Setting One just to drive me crazy.  There. Are. Only. Six.  Notes.
• This little snip of a girl a few rows up started belting out the Gloria in Excelsis as if she were auditioning for a role on Broadway in a theatre without microphones.  She was so enthusiastic, if a bit off key, and I was jealous that, at her age, she knew the Gloria without even looking the hymnal.
• Speaking of the Gloria, even will all the rests in each of the lines, I cannot sing it.  I cannot mange to finish singing any of the words before the next one is due and I cannot breathe through it at all.
• In the Old Testament reading, I noticed at the end that it said Moses was up on the mountain 40 days and 40 nights.  I was very surprised.  Then I was saddened.  There is so much I do not remember about the Bible anymore.  Details that are important ... at least to me.  I know that Jesus was tempted for 40 days (I think) and that Israel wandered in the wilderness for 40 years.  Are there other 40s that I am missing?
• What in the world is hymn 413 talking about?
• What does it mean that Zion is now?
• How come I never seem to manage to keep on the same word as the folk around me when we are saying the Nicene Creed or the Lord's Supper?  Everyone else is really great at the whole collective voice.  Is it because of Star Trek?
• If Hosanna means "Save us now," why do we sing "save us now in the highest"?  That makes absolutely no sense.  What does "in the highest" mean anyway?
• I've never been to a church that prays the Prayer of Thanksgiving before and I wonder why the others do not.  Tonight, listening to it, I was certain that the pastor meant every word.  Was praying them for me.  And I don't even think he saw me hiding in the back.
• Ushers at the back of the church should not talk during the Words of Institution.
• Why would anyone choose Thank the Lord over the Nunc Dimitis? I miss the Nunc Dimitis deeply.
• How cool is it that the walls of the sanctuary of my church are GREEN?
• There is this ginormous carving thing many stories tall at the front instead of a cross or a crucifix (although there is a cross on the altar).  It has Jesus and two others whom I cannot remember even though I have asked now four times.  Seeing Jesus, front and center, almost looming, but not in a creepy manner, really emphasizes the whole for you thing.

On my way out, I ran into the pastor who is doing my catechesis.  I ended up giving him the hymnal I stole during my first lesson, so nervous as I was leaving that I packed up everything in front of me.  I thought the weight of the church stamp on the front of the hymnal sitting in my car all week was horrible, but it was much, much, much worse actually having to return it in person.  Whilst it helped that he said he'd stolen hymnals before, I still felt bad.

But it did give me a chance to ask about Lent.
And soul-crushing doses of Law.
We are going to be talking about Lent later, since he said we could add it to the list.

I've avoided Lent for a while, because soul-crushing doses of Law make any Gospel, which may or may not accompany said dose, impossible to hear.  My pastor said he had been thinking about my email about Lent and thought the readings for Ash Wednesday might be difficult for me.  However, he said the first sermon, which he actually hasn't written yet, was about Jesus, so he suggested that I come next Monday, just to see. And that he would think about the other readings before we got to those weeks.

I'm thinking a single week of Lent, with me in church, passing without feeling as if all is lost and I'm not worth the next breath would be good.

What I liked is that he understood that I don't want to do anything that might upset this small bit of hope that I have been nursing ... standing in awe, really, when I think about the idea of having hope.  Two things I know about Lent:  1) my evangelical friend gives up chocolate to honor God during Lent and 2) Lent is full of soul-crushing doses of Law sermons.  Truth be told, I am terrified of Lent.

Someday, I'd like not to be.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!