There is only so many ways to say the exact same thing, and today is version number 200 (at least) of the same problem: I'm sore and tired and don't feel like writing. I pushed through the pain to get through the day, but slowly and gracelessly, and I hated it. There wasn't a choice, so I did what I had to do. I had one of my last physical therapy sessions early this morning. I've spread out the appointments to once weekly, so they last longer. I wasn't sure I was getting much out of the iontophoresis at first, but now I think I see mild improvement in the shoulder. It takes longer before the muscle starts screaming. I am willing to accept that as progress.
It was worth the extra effort to bake as soon as I got home. It was suggested to me that the dough recipe I created on Sunday for cinnamon rolls would make an interesting base for a cheese danish. So I tried it again, exactly as written out, but instead of filling it with a ring of brown sugar and cinnamon, I lined a square dish with parchment and smooshed it out in an uneven layer. Then I crumbled the Wensleydale cheese with cranberries that has been sitting too long in our fridge and pushed a few clumps of it down into the dough. I had leftover homemade cranberry jam, and I used up the rest of that on top as well, with an extra sprinkle of coarse sugar on top. It took a long time to bake. I think it stayed in between 35-40 minutes to make sure it was done all the way through. The cheese was a little tangy for this concoction, but overall, I would do this again in a heartbeat. Maybe next time I'll use cream cheese and some of the raspberries I harvested that first summer I lived in this house, before we moved the canes and reduced the yield. (There's still a bag of them in the freezer.) If you didn't try Sunday's recipe, and you have either a need or a curiosity about gluten-free/grain-free cooking, give it a shot. I do live a mile above sea level, so if there is an altitude adjustment, you may have to work that math out on your own.
I got to go out on a date with my handsome neighbor Barley tonight. We went to a brewery a few towns south of here, and Barley came along. He was so sweet, making sure every one of us in that private room in the back of the brewery had plenty of puppy love. But when it was time for him to go find a patch of grass outside, he pouted and stared holes in the backs of our heads. Poor guy had to really work to get anyone of us to understand what his desperate need was. Nonetheless, he was a perfect gentleman all night.
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