I am utterly useless. Seven weeks after surgery, I still have a tenth of the stamina that machine... I mean, that man has. I don't understand how he can cover so much ground, so quickly. When I weed and mulch and plant, I have to do it from a seated position on the ground. I get sore from sitting on the hard earth, and my back and arms ache from the effort. He can just lean over, quickly clear an area of weeds, grab a big bag of mulch, and spread it, without even taking a knee. I can't compete. I have to stick with my own strengths, which are not field work, apparently.
It doesn't help that the poison ivy rash covers about forty percent of my body at this point. I am living on Benadryl, if you could call being comatose on the couch in the afternoons living. When I am awake, I try to do work outside, and I get two, maybe three small tasks done, before the heat makes the itching a thousand times worse. At this point, I'm not even sure it's a simple poison ivy rash. Whatever it is, it's everywhere, like it has gotten into my blood. The worst part is looking like I'm wearing a corset made of measles.
I revisited one of my newest recipes this evening. I fiddled a little with the orange-almond chicken, using sherry instead of sherry vinegar, adding a tiny bit of local honey near the end (anything to help stop me sneezing and itching), and using twice as much amaretto once I turned off the heat on the glaze. Wow. It was the right thing to do. (For the original full instructions, it's available here: http://scenesfromsmithpark.blogspot.com/2015/03/spring-chicken-atk-11.html) I felt much less like a failure by the time dinner was over. Okay, so the man can outstrip me by a country mile on Park maintenance and home repairs. I can compete with four star restaurants with brash confidence. I know my strengths.
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